“By ‘odd’ you mean ‘criminal’?”
“Possibly. The fact is that her brother – Phil – well, he’s been in trouble with the police a few times.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Nothing major. Petty theft. Stealing cars. I think he has a bit of a drug habit.” Stephen blushed again. “I feel guilty saying this, but Gaby did say I should. She said better you know a bit about Phil before you actually meet him.”
“I see. Have you met him?”
“Yes, and he’s a perfectly nice lad. A bit brash, maybe, and he looks a bit of a thug, but he’s amiable enough. The story is that since he’s got the warehouse job in Hoddesdon, he’s a changed character, back on the straight and narrow, but…well, he does have this history.”
Suddenly Stephen looked very vulnerable, a sight Carole had not seen since he was a small boy. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“What are you apologizing for?”
“Involving you in this. It’s Gaby I’m marrying, not her family.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Stephen. It’s not a problem. Gaby’s adorable. She’s absolutely right for you. And all families have their secrets and black sheep and what have you. I mean, Howard and Marie probably think I’m rather odd.”
“Hm…No, I’m sure they don’t.”
Carole wouldn’t have minded if he’d come in a bit quicker with that reassurance.
“So…Gaby has a brother who’s occasionally been on the wrong side of the law. That’s not her fault, I’m sure,” Carole went on, her confidence more for Stephen’s benefit than because she felt it, “that I’ll get on fine with Phil. On the other hand, though – why on earth would he have wanted to break into his sister’s flat?”
“I’ve no idea. I should think it’s extremely unlikely that he’s got anything to do with the break-in. It’s just, as I say, in the Martin family, whenever something happens that’s odd…”
“Or criminal?”
“Mm. Phil is the first suspect.”
“Which might explain why Gaby is unwilling for the police to come and inspect her flat?”
“Yes, Mum. I think it might.”
Carole had only momentary qualms about sharing with Jude what Stephen had told her. As soon as his BMW disappeared down the road, she was round at Woodside Cottage. Only after she had rung the doorbell did she remember that Jude had a guest.
But, to Carole’s relief, there was no sign of Gita when Jude ushered her into the cluttered sitting room.
“Fancy a glass of wine? I’ve got some open in the fridge.”
“Well, I did actually have some with Stephen at lunchtime.”
“All the more reason. Come on, it’s Sunday,” said Jude as she disappeared into the kitchen.
When they were both set up with a glass of white wine, Carole announced, “What I’m saying is in confidence, but I think I should tell you, because it may be useful background – you know, if Gaby does come and see you…”
“What?” Jude was bemused, and about to say that of course Gaby had already been to see her, when she remembered the girl’s stricture about not telling Carole. So she changed her tone and asked, “About her back, you mean?”
Carole nodded. “You’ve often said that bad backs are caused by tension.”
“Frequently, yes.”
“So I thought it might be useful for you to know what’s making Gaby tense.”
Jude had her own theories about this, but she waited to hear what Carole had to say.
“The fact is, there’s no problem between her and Stephen, which I must say is a relief. But there are things in her family which may be upsetting her.”
“Ah.” Jude wondered if she was about to hear more details of what had happened round the time of the Martins’ marriage, the ‘things’ which Gaby didn’t want brought ‘back to life’, which ‘should have been long forgotten’.
She was disappointed. “Gaby’s brother apparently is a bit of a delinquent.”
How characteristic of Carole to use that slightly dated word. “He’s called Phil – short for Philip, I assume. Got a police record, that kind of thing. Only for minor offences, but all the same – I think Gaby could be worried that Phil might do something to disrupt the wedding.”
“What kind of thing?”
“I don’t know.”
Jude took a sip of her wine, thinking again about Gaby’s words when she had been lying on the couch. “Did Stephen say anything about the Martins’ past? Was there anything unusual, you know, round the time they got married?”
“I don’t think so, no. Well, apart from the murder.”
Jude’s brown eyes widened. “Apart from the murder’? That was rather casually said. What on earth do you mean?”
Carole brought her neighbour up to date with the little information she had received from her son on the subject. “But it wasn’t anything to do with their family. Just the victim was a school friend of Marie’s. They got the man who did it, anyway.”
“And he wasn’t a family member?”
“No, I’m sure Stephen would have told me if that were the case. But whether or not this ancient murder has anything to do with Gaby’s unease, I’ve no idea. As is so often the case, we have insufficient information.”
Jude was torn. She felt tempted to share the tiny bit more information that she did have – the fact that Gaby had expressed anxiety about ‘things’ being brought back to life. But there were two strong reasons why she couldn’t. The first was that she had been treating Gaby and, though Jude was not a conventional practitioner, there still existed a rule of confidentiality between patient and healer. The second, even more compelling, reason was that Gaby had expressly asked her not to tell Carole about their consultation. With exasperation, Jude asked herself how she managed to get into such situations. Her instinct in life was always to tell the complete truth, and whenever she was persuaded by someone to go against that instinct – even for the best of motives – trouble ensued.
Still, she’d given Gaby her word. She couldn’t break that confidence.
Further conversation about the causes of the girl’s distress was interrupted by the arrival of Gita from upstairs, where she had just woken up. Instantly, Jude could see her neighbour tightening up with jealousy. After some brittle chat about very little, Carole finished her drink and announced that she must ‘be getting on’.
Seeing her out, Jude reflected, not for the first time, that Carole was not the easiest person in the world with whom to sustain a friendship.
Eight
Carole Seddon had long since stopped pretending that she hadn’t got prejudices. Prejudices were unavoidable for a woman in her fifties, brought up in the middle of the English middle-class, and one of her biggest was geographical. Almost as big as the divide amongst Londoners between ‘north of the river’ and ‘south of the river’ was Carole’s attitude, from ‘south of London’, towards places and people ‘north of London’. She had been brought up and lived her working life in the outer suburbs south of the metropolis, and her ambitions had always been directed towards the English Channel. Living in Fethering, therefore, seemed entirely right and appropriate. And, though ‘some very nice people’ came from and lived in the North of England, they were always bound to be ‘rather different’ from people from the South.
In this geographical hierarchy, Essex occupied a unique position. Proximity to London might be thought to make it a special case, but not to Carole’s way of thinking. Though she would never admit it if asked, her image of the county was a lifelong compilation of media stereotypes. She imagined it to be full of semi-retired East End gangsters, larcenous travellers, overpaid uncouth footballers and their wives, who, like most of the other female denizens, were blondes of voracious sexuality and minimal perception. She thought the only bathroom styles available in the county were onyx and gold, the only garden accessories were windmills and wishing wells, the only newspaper read was the Sun, and no vowel was ever properly pronounced. And Epping Forest existed only as a place to put murder victims in shallow graves.