When the rehearsal finished Sally stayed where she was. The children seemed in no hurry to leave. They chatted as they put instruments into cases and then they sauntered out. No one noticed her. Marilyn lingered behind to stack the chairs and fold the stands. A couple of girls called polite goodbyes to her, but they didn’t stop to help her. Sally thought Marilyn would always, stay behind to clear up. It would give her an excuse for being alone on her walk to the bus stop.
Mark Taverner and the conductor were talking. Suddenly the conductor looked up at the clock on the wall, shuffled together his music and hurried out. He shouted back to Mark.
‘Sorry to leave you to sort things out here. I’m due in Whitley Bay Playhouse in twenty minutes. Auditions for Cabaret.’
But Mark made no attempts to help Marilyn with the chairs. As soon as the conductor had disappeared he strode after him, in a hurry, without a word.
Sally emerged from the shadow and walked into the main body of the hall. Marilyn was struggling with the last music stand. Sally nodded towards the door through which Taverner had disappeared.
‘What was wrong with him?’
‘Mr Taverner? He’s a pompous git, that’s all. He thinks we should only play serious music. And that he should be conductor.’
Sally was reassured. She’d had the impression that Marilyn was pompous herself, something of a goody-goody. Now it seemed she was like any other teenager, slagging off her teachers.
Marilyn picked up her school bag. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’d like to ask you a few questions. I could give you a lift home. Better than waiting at the bus stop on a night like this.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Shall we go for a coffee somewhere? Or do you have to get straight back?’
‘They know I had orchestra. They won’t be expecting me until six when the late bus gets in. There’s time for a coffee if you like.’
The only café still open in Otterbridge was a burger place next to the bus station. It was full of teenagers eating chips and drinking Coke, smoking cigarettes. Marilyn had taken off her school tie and blazer before going in. She’d folded them neatly and left them in the car.
‘Won’t you be cold?’ Sally was wearing two jumpers and a coat.
‘I don’t care. No one wears their blazers in town. What if someone I know comes in?’
They sat in a corner as far away from the smokers as they could get, and drank milky coffee from glass cups. Their conversation was punctuated by the rumble of buses beyond the fogged-up window, the screech of brakes.
‘What’s this about?’ Marilyn asked. Seeing her closely Sally realized that she was wearing make-up. Thin eyeliner, the remains of mascara. A tentative experiment which hadn’t quite come off.
‘It’s rather delicate. That’s why I didn’t want to come to talk to you at home.’
Marilyn stared at the window, though it was impossible to see anything through the condensation except the distorted yellow glare of bus headlights.
‘I think I know what you want to ask.’
‘Do you?’
‘Go on, though. I’d look a right fool, wouldn’t I, if I got it wrong?’
There was no humour in her voice. She sounded terribly weary.
‘It’s about your father. And Claire.’
Marilyn said nothing, continued to stare.
‘Is that what you were expecting?’
Marilyn nodded slowly. ‘How did you find out?’
Because Ramsay guessed, Sally thought. He’s more of a magician than your father.
She said, ‘Things often come up in an investigation. If it weren’t for the murder it wouldn’t be any of our business.’
‘This has nothing to do with the murder,’ Marilyn said firmly. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘All the same we do have to ask.’
‘They’re so stupid,’ Marilyn cried. ‘They don’t realize there’s bound to be talk. The two of them living in the same home. They’re like kids. Kids playing house. It’s so embarrassing.’
‘And there is something to talk about?’
‘You mean, are they having an affair?’ Marilyn demanded. She turned away and blushed.
Sally nodded.
Marilyn cupped her hands around her coffee. Even when she spoke she didn’t look up.
‘Did Inspector Ramsay tell you that I knocked on his door one evening looking for my mother?’
‘Yes. In the autumn, wasn’t it?’
‘That was the day she found them in bed together. She ran out of the house.’
‘It started as long ago as that?’
Marilyn sighed. ‘Oh, when I think back I realize it had been going on for ages, years even.’
‘Did she talk to you about it?’
‘Mummy? Of course not. She’d die.’
‘Claire, then?’
‘Nobody told me about it. They wouldn’t. I’m sixteen but they treat me like a baby. And they were so dumb! It’s a small house with thin walls. When I was upstairs in my room working they forgot about me. They assumed I couldn’t hear what was going on, what they were saying to each other.’
‘They were shouting?’ Sally was wondering if the neighbours had heard. If it ever came to court they could do with an independent witness.
‘Mummy was a bit hysterical when she found out. I could tell that. I don’t suppose it ever occurred to her to think of Claire as a rival. Her little sister, not much older than me. It must have come as a shock. That’s why she ran away, forgot all about me coming home from school that day. But no, there wasn’t much shouting. Enough for me to work out what was going on but not rows that went on for days and days. Nothing vulgar like that. That’s never been our style.’
‘How did they work things out?’
Marilyn shrugged. ‘I’m not sure.’ She gave a little smile. ‘I could hardly ask them, could I? I wasn’t supposed to know that anything was wrong. I was swotty little Marilyn who only cared about GCSEs and music exams. I wondered at first if Claire would be banished from the house, but things seemed to carry on much as they did before. I presume they both promised to behave in the future.’
‘And did they behave?’
‘I think they must have done, at least while Mummy was alive. There were no more rows.’
‘And after your mother’s death?’
‘They’ve tried very hard to be discreet.’
‘But not hard enough?’
She paused, looked up and smiled. ‘I told you. The walls are very thin.’
‘You don’t seem very upset. About the relationship between your father and your aunt.’
‘I’m not. I mean, I would have been if Mummy were still alive, but now I don’t blame them. It’s hard to explain. Mummy’s dead and nothing’s going to bring her back. Why shouldn’t they have the chance to be happy?’
Sally chose her words carefully. ‘ Even if they only achieved that happiness through your mother’s death?’
‘What are you saying?’ Marilyn demanded, though Sally thought she knew very well.
‘You told me they couldn’t have been involved in the murder. Why are you so sure?’
‘They wouldn’t have had the nerve. Get real!’
The brash slang which was natural to Sally seemed foreign to her, as if using it were a newly acquired skill. She blushed again. ‘I’m sorry, but really it’s not possible.’
Sally let it go.
‘You must miss your mother.’
Marilyn looked up at her bleakly. ‘Yeah, I do. More than I ever would have imagined. She could be a real pain at times but she was always there when I came home from school, asking what I’d been doing, encouraging me. You know.’
Sally nodded.
‘Dad does his best but it’s not the same.’