The traffic started moving again and Holly drove on without glancing back at the pavement. She arrived at the station early and waited on the platform for Alicia Randle’s train. The sight of the old woman from the pavement cafe was still troubling her. She’d always considered herself without prejudice, open-minded and fair. How could she have such an appalling reaction to someone who was obviously ill?
Boxes had been planted with flowers all along the platform and there were ornamental cherry trees, white with blossom beside the track; the air was heavy with the smell of them. Holly sat on a bench, suddenly tired. She must have fallen asleep and was only jolted back to consciousness by the screech of brakes as the train arrived. Alnmouth was a small station and few passengers alighted. A woman with very short white hair who’d been waiting further up the platform greeted a friend. They kissed and walked away arm-inarm. Holly tried to remember the last time anyone had greeted her with such affection. Then she saw Alicia Randle. Tall and elegant, dressed in well-cut trousers and a tweed jacket. Classy. Only a big leather shoulder bag for her overnight stay. As she got closer, Holly saw how pale she was, her eyes red-rimmed.
‘Mrs Randle.’ Holly held out her hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’ What else was there to say? ‘I’m Holly Clarke. We’ve been speaking on the phone.’
The woman’s hand was very cold and dry. She was older than she’d seemed at a distance, certainly in her late sixties. Holly remembered that Patrick had been a late baby, a consolation.
‘It was good of you to meet me.’ Manners would matter to Alicia Randle. Politeness was probably holding her together. It wouldn’t be good form to break down in front of strangers.
‘Let me take your bag and I’ll drive you to your hotel.’
Holly had found a small hotel for Alicia close to the park in Kimmerston. The owners brought them tea in a conservatory at the back of the house. The door was open and the sound of birdsong seemed very loud. Too cheerful for the occasion.
‘We wondered what you’d like to do this evening,’ Holly said. ‘My boss suggested that you might like to have dinner with us, but really if you’d rather stay here on your own, that’s fine too.’ She didn’t want to inflict Vera, with her size and her brash questioning, on this grieving woman. ‘There’s no restaurant here, but I’m sure they’d make some sandwiches for you to have in your room, and I can pick you up in the morning.’
‘That’s very kind.’ The politeness seeing Alicia through again. ‘Though I would like to meet the inspector, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble.’
‘It wouldn’t be too much for you?’
Alicia blinked and briefly the mannerly mask cracked. ‘I’ve lost two sons and a husband, Ms Clarke. I’m sure that I can survive dinner with the women who will, I hope, bring Patrick’s killer to justice.’ There was a brief moment of silence filled by birdsong, before she spoke again. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be rude. You were just trying to be kind.’
The private room in Annie’s was too big for the three of them and it felt cold and unused. The only natural light came from a narrow window. They sat at one end of a large table. In the main restaurant there seemed to be a sixtieth birthday party, three generations celebrating, and whenever the waitress opened the door laughter and children’s voices spilled in. Vera had made an effort. Her hair was combed and she was wearing the suit that she kept in the cupboard at work, in case she was called to court. She was there before them and stood up to greet Alicia Randle. ‘Eh, pet, I’m so sorry.’ Holly thought Vera might attempt to take the woman into her arms, but she sensed in time that the physical contact might not be welcome.
The service was slow and they spoke as they waited for the food. Vera offered Alicia wine and she accepted, so there was a bottle on the table. Holly never took alcohol when she was driving, not even a small glass, so the older women drank it between them. They carried on the conversation too. Holly thought she might not have been there.
‘Tell me about your son.’ A classic Vera opening line. She was spreading butter on a warm roll and was looking at that, not at the woman on the opposite side of the table. Not wanting to make this sound like an interrogation, though the way they were sitting each side of the table reminded Holly of the interview room.
‘Patrick was a joy from the moment he was born. I was already in my forties and never thought I would have another child. Simon…’ Alicia looked at them to check that they knew she’d had another son, ‘was born while I was still a student and he died not long after Patrick was conceived. Perhaps it was because I was already middle-aged that Patrick was so calm and relaxed. My husband was considerably older than me and he died when Patrick was a boy.’
‘And now you’re on your own.’ A statement of fact.
‘I have friends, but Patrick and I were very close. I didn’t think anything could be worse than losing Simon, but I was wrong. Losing my husband wasn’t so terrible. He’d been ill for a while when he passed away, so it wasn’t a shock.’ She paused. ‘But this is horrible. Nobody should have to suffer in this way. I’m not sure I’ll get through this intact.’
‘Of course you will.’ It was Vera at her most bossy. ‘You’re strong. I can tell that.’ She paused for just a beat. ‘Did you find another man, after your husband died?’
Holly almost gasped at the bluntness of the question, but Alicia gave a little smile. ‘Yes. A widower. He’s really rather special. We were planning to get married in the summer. Now? I don’t think I can face it. Not just yet. It’s not a time for celebration.’
‘Did you not want to bring him with you today?’ Vera was poised with the bread close to her mouth.
‘No. This was something I had to do on my own.’
Vera nodded as if she quite understood. ‘You were telling me about your boy. Patrick.’
‘He was an easy child. Self-contained. He could spend hours lying on his stomach on the grass staring at bugs. He did his homework without being asked, and he never went through that teenage time of rebellion.’ Holly could tell she loved talking about her son. She was grateful to Vera for giving her the time and the space to do so. ‘I even liked his girlfriends. Simon was much more normal.’
‘He did go through the teenage rebellion thing?’ Vera reached out for more bread.
‘Well, you know, he slammed a few doors in his time.’ She paused. ‘Actually it was worse than that for a few years. He mixed with kids I didn’t really approve of. He even had a brush with the law. Drugs. Though I never told Patrick that. Patrick always thought of Simon as some sort of role-model. And Simon did pull his life around. He got into Oxford. He was very bright. Very ambitious. In the end, I think that was what caused the suicide. He could never live up to his own expectations. He’d only been there six months when he died.’ A pause. ‘I was careful not to put Patrick under any pressure academically.’
The waitress came in with their food. They ate without noticing what was on the plates.
‘You said that you liked Patrick’s girlfriends,’ Vera said. ‘Was there anyone special at the moment?’
‘He’d been in a relationship for three years. All the time that he was doing his PhD in Exeter. She was a medical student. Rebecca. They were living together, and I was imagining that they’d marry. I must admit that I’d started to think about the wedding, hoping for grandchildren.’ Alicia put down her cutlery and sat for a moment staring into space. There would be no grandchildren now. ‘Then a little while ago they separated.’