Careless in Red

  “Would you like to meet my real self?”

  “I suppose I would.”

  She nodded. She hadn’t removed her gaze from him since he’d looked up from the postcard. She seemed to be trying to evaluate his reaction. Whatever she read on his face either reassured her or told her there was no further point to obfuscation.

  She said, “Right. Come along then, Thomas. There’s far more to see.”

  WHEN KERRA CAME OUT of her office to ask Alan’s advice on a hiring issue, she was greatly surprised to see Madlyn Angarrack in reception. She was alone and wearing her kit from the bakery, and Kerra had the odd sense that Madlyn had come to make a delivery of pasties. She looked at the reception desk to see if a box with Casvelyn of Cornwall written upon it was sitting there.

  No box in sight, Kerra hesitated. She reckoned that Madlyn had apparently come on a different sort of errand, and she assumed that the errand might have to do with her. But she didn’t want any more harsh words with Madlyn. She felt somehow beyond them now.

  Madlyn saw her and said her name. She spoke tremulously, as if in fear of Kerra’s reaction. That was reasonable enough, Kerra decided. Their last conversation hadn’t gone swimmingly and they’d hardly parted as friends. They hadn’t, indeed, been friends in ages.

  Madlyn had always possessed a glow of health, but that was missing at the moment. She looked as if she hadn’t been sleeping well, and her dark hair had lost something of its lustre. Her eyes, however, were still her eyes. Large, dark, and compelling, they drew you in. No doubt they’d done as much for Santo.

  “Could I have a word?” Madlyn asked. “I’ve asked for a half hour from the bakery. I told them personal business…?”

  “What, with me, then?” The mention of the bakery made Kerra think Madlyn must have come about a job, and who could blame her? For all the relative fame of its pasties, one could hardly expect to build a career at Casvelyn of Cornwall. Or to have much fun. And Madlyn could give surfing instruction if Kerra was able to talk her father into offering it.

  “Yes. With you. Could we…somewhere?”

  Alan came out of his office, then. He was saying, “Kerra, I’ve just had a word with the video crew and they’ll be available—” when he saw Madlyn. His look went from her to Kerra and rested with Kerra. His expression was warm. He nodded and he said, “Oh. I’ll speak with you later,” and then, “Hullo, Madlyn. Fantastic to see you again.”

  Then he was gone and Kerra was faced with whatever reason Madlyn had for coming to speak to her. She said, “I s’pose we could go up to the lounge?”

  “Yes, please,” Madlyn said.

  Kerra took her there. Outside and below, she saw that her father was directing two blokes who were making something of a mess out of a flower bed, which edged a lawn that was clipped for bowling. They had containers of shrubbery meant to go at the back of the bed and Kerra could see that the labourers had nonsensically planted the shrubs at the front. She muttered, “What are they thinking?” And then to Madlyn, “It’s to give the less adventurous something to do.”

  Madlyn looked confused. “What is?”

  Kerra saw the other girl hadn’t even glanced outside, so apparently nervous was she. She said, “We’ve done a pitch for lawn bowling over there, beyond the rope-climbing setup. It was Alan’s idea. Dad thinks no one’s going to use it, but Alan says a gran or granddad might come along with the family and not exactly want to abseil or rope climb or whatever. I tell him he’s not got the first clue about modern grans and granddads, but he’s insisted. So we’re letting him have his way. He’s been right about other things. If it doesn’t work out, we can always do something else with the area. Croquet or something.”

  “Yes. I can see how he would be. Right, that is. He always seemed…He seems very clever.”

  Kerra nodded. She waited for Madlyn to reveal the reason for this call. Part of her was prepared to tell the girl up front that Ben Kerne wasn’t likely to offer surfing, so do save your breath in that regard. Part of her wanted to give Madlyn a chance to make her case. Yet another part had a small suspicion this might not be about employment at all, so she said helpfully, “Here we are, then. D’you want a coffee or something, Madlyn?”

  Madlyn shook her head. She went to one of the new sofas and perched on the edge. She waited for Kerra to sit opposite her. Then she said, “I’m very sorry about Santo.” Her eyes filled, quite a change from their previous encounter. “I didn’t say properly when we talked before. But I’m so very sorry.”

  “Yes. Well. I expect you are.”

  Madlyn flinched. “I know what you think. That I wanted him dead. Or at least that I wanted him hurt. But I didn’t. Not really.”

  “It wouldn’t have been so strange if you’d wanted that, at least that he be hurt as much as he hurt you. He was rotten in the way he treated you. I thought he might be. I did try to warn you.”

  “I know you did. But, see, I thought that you…” Madlyn pressed her hand down the front of her pinny. The whole kit she wore was terrible on her: the wrong colour, the wrong style. It was amazing to Kerra that Casvelyn of Cornwall could hold anyone in their employment, making their girls wear such a getup. “I thought it was jealousy, you see.”

  “What? That I wanted you for myself? Sexually, or something?”

  “Not that. But in other ways. In friendship ways. She doesn’t like to share her friends, I thought. That’s what this is all about.”

  “Well. Yes. It was, rather. You were my friend and I couldn’t see how you could be with him and still be…It was so complicated. Because of how he was. And what would happen when he threw you over? I wondered that.”

  “You knew he’d do what he did, then.”

  “I thought he might. It was rather his pattern. And then what? You’d hardly want to come round here and be reminded of him, would you? Even being with me would remind you of him, put you into the position of having to hear about him when you weren’t prepared. It was all too difficult. I couldn’t see a way past it and I couldn’t put what I was feeling into words anyway. Not in any sensible fashion. Not in a way that would make me sound reasonable.”

  “I didn’t like losing you as a friend.”

  “Yes. Well. There it is.” Kerra thought, What now? They could hardly pick up where they’d left off in the pre-Santo days. Too much had occurred, and the reality of Santo’s death still had to be dealt with. His death and the means of it hung between them even now. It was the great unspoken and it would remain so, as long as there was the slightest possibility that Madlyn Angarrack was involved.

  Madlyn herself seemed to understand this because she next said, “I’m frightened about what happened to him. I was angry and hurt. Other people knew I was angry and hurt. I didn’t keep it to myself…what he’d done. My father knew. My brother knew. Other people knew. Will Mendick. Jago Reeth. One of them, you see…Someone might have hurt him, but I didn’t want that. I never wanted that.”

  Kerra felt a tingle of apprehension along her spine. She said, “Someone might have hurt Santo to get revenge on your behalf?”

  “I never wanted…But now that I know—” Her hands balled into fists. Kerra saw her fingernails—those nicely clipped crescents—dig into her palms, as if telling her she had said enough.

  Kerra said slowly, “Madlyn, do you know who killed Santo?”

  “No!” There was a rise to Madlyn’s voice, suggesting that what she’d come to say had not yet been said.

  “But you do know something, don’t you. What?”

  “It’s only that…Will Mendick came round last night. You know him, yes?”

  “That bloke from the grocery. I know who he is. What about him, then?”

  “He thought…I’d spoken to him, you see. Like I said before. He was one of the people I told about Santo and what happened. Not everything, but enough. And Will…” It seemed that Madlyn couldn’t finish. She twisted her hands in the hem of her pinny and looked generally miserable. “I didn’t know he fancied me
,” she concluded.

  “You’re telling me he did something to Santo because he fancied you? To…to get even with Santo on your behalf?”

  “He said he sorted him. He…I don’t think he did more than that.”

  “He and Santo were friendly. It wouldn’t have been impossible for him to get to Santo’s climbing kit, Madlyn.”

  “I can’t think he actually…He wouldn’t have.”

  “Have you told the police?”

  “I didn’t know, you see. Not till last night. And if I’d known…If I’d known that he’d even planned it or thought about it…I didn’t want Santo hurt. Or if I wanted him hurt, I wanted him hurt, not hurt. D’you know what I mean? Hurt inside, the way I was hurt. And now I’m afraid…” She was making a real mess of her pinny. She’d balled it up and got it hopelessly wrinkled. Casvelyn of Cornwall was not going to like that.

  “You think that Will Mendick killed him for you,” Kerra said.

  “Someone. P’rhaps. And I didn’t want that. I didn’t ask…I didn’t tell…”

  Kerra saw why the girl had come to her, finally. The knowledge dawned upon her and with the dawning came a fuller understanding of who Madlyn was. Perhaps it was the central shift within her that had come about because of Alan. She didn’t know. But she did feel different about Madlyn at long last, and she could see things from Madlyn’s perspective. She rose from her place opposite the other girl and sat at her side. She thought about taking her hand, but she didn’t. Too abrupt, she thought. Too soon.

  She said, “Madlyn, you must listen to me. I don’t believe you had anything to do with what happened to Santo. There was a time when I might have done and I probably did, but it wasn’t real. Do you understand? What happened to Santo wasn’t your fault.”

  “But I said to people—”

  “What you said to people. But I doubt you ever said that you wanted him to die.”

  Madlyn began to cry. Whether it was from grief too long withheld or from relief, Kerra could not tell. “D’you believe that?” Madlyn asked her.

  “I absolutely believe it,” Kerra said.

  IN THE INGLENOOK OF the Salthouse Inn’s bar, Selevan waited for Jago Reeth in something of a lather, which was unusual for him. He’d phoned his mate at LiquidEarth and asked could they meet at the Salthouse earlier than normal. He needed to talk to him. Jago was good about the matter. He didn’t ask could they talk on the phone. Instead, he said, ’Course, that’s what makes mates mates, eh? He’d give the word to Lew and set out directly, soon as he could. Lew was a decent bloke about things deemed emergencies. He could be there in…say, half an hour?

  Selevan said that would do him fine. It would mean a wait and he didn’t want to wait, but he could hardly expect a miracle from Jago. LiquidEarth was some distance from the Salthouse Inn and Jago couldn’t exactly beam himself there. So Selevan finished his business at Sea Dreams, packed up the car with everything he would need for the coming trip he’d be taking, and set out for the inn.

  He knew he’d carried things as far as he could, and it was time to bring it all to a conclusion, so he’d gone into Tammy’s cramped little bedroom, and from the cupboard he’d taken her canvas rucksack, which she’d first brought with her from Africa. She hadn’t needed it then and she certainly didn’t need it now, because her possessions were few and pathetic. So it was the matter of a moment only to remove them from the chest of drawers: a few pairs of knickers of the overlarge sort an old lady might wear, a few pairs of tights, four vests because the girl was so flat in the chest that she didn’t even require a brassiere, two jerseys, and several skirts. There were no trousers. Tammy did not wear trousers. Everything she possessed was black, except the knickers and the vests. These were white.

  He’d scooped up her books next. She had more books than clothes and these comprised mostly philosophy and the lives of saints. She had journals as well. Her writing within them was the one thing about her that he hadn’t monitored, and Selevan was rather proud about this since during her stay with him the girl had done nothing to hide them from him. Despite her parents’ wishes in the matter, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to read her girlish thoughts and fantasies.

  She had nothing else except a few toiletries, the clothes she was currently wearing, and whatever she had in her shoulder bag. That wouldn’t include her passport, since he’d taken it from her upon her arrival. “And don’t let her keep her bloody passport,” her father had intoned from Africa once he’d put her on the plane. “She’s likely to run off if she has it.”

  She could have her passport now, Selevan decided. He went to fetch it from the spot where he’d hidden it, beneath the liner of the dirty clothes bin. It wasn’t there. She must have found it straightaway, he realised. The little vixen had probably been carrying it round for ages. And she had been carrying it on her person as well, since he had regularly gone through her bag for contraband. Well, she’d always been a step ahead of everyone, hadn’t she?

  Selevan had made a final stab that day at bringing her parents round. Ignoring the cost and the fact that he could ill afford it, he’d rung Sally Joy and David in Africa and he’d felt them out on the matter of Tammy. He’d said to David, “Listen here, lad, at the end of the day, kids got to follow their own path. Let’s s’pose it was some ruffian she decided she was in love with, eh? More you argue against it, more you forbid her seeing the bloke, more she’s going to want to do it. It’s simple psycho-whachamacallit thingummybob. Nothing more or less’n that.”

  “She’s won you over, hasn’t she?” David had demanded. In the background, Selevan could hear Sally Joy wailing, “What? What’s happened? Is that your father? What’s she done?”

  “I’m not saying she’s done anything,” Selevan said.

  But David went on, as if Selevan hadn’t spoken. “I’d hardly think it was possible for her to do it, all things considered. It’s not as if your own kids were ever able to make you see reason, were they.”

  “’Nough of that, son. I admit my mistakes with you lot. Point is, though, you made lives for yourself and they’re good lives, eh? The girl wants nothing less.”

  “She doesn’t know what she wants. Look, do you want a relationship with Tammy or not? Because if you don’t oppose her in this, you’ll not have a relationship with her. I can promise you.”

  “And if I do oppose her, I’ll have no relationship with her anyway. So what would you have me do, lad?”

  “I’d have you show sense, something Tammy’s clearly lost. I’d have you be a model for her.”

  “A model? What’re you on about? What sort of model am I meant to be to a girl of seventeen? That’s rubbish, that is.”

  They’d gone round and round. But Selevan had failed to convince his son of anything. He couldn’t see that Tammy was resourceful: Being sent to England had hardly put her off her stride. He could send her to the North Pole if he wanted, but when it came down to it, Tammy was going to find a way to live as she wanted to live.

  “Pack her on home, then,” had been David’s final remark. Before he’d rung off, Selevan could hear Sally Joy in the background, crying, “But what’ll we do with her, David?” Selevan had said bah to it all. He’d set about packing up Tammy’s belongings.

  That was when he’d phoned Jago. He’d be fetching Tammy from Clean Barrel Surf Shop for a final time and he wanted to do so with someone’s goodwill behind him. Jago seemed the likeliest someone.

  Selevan hadn’t been happy drawing Jago away from his work. On the other hand, he needed to set out on his journey and he’d told himself that Jago would go to the Salthouse Inn for their regular knees-up later on that day, so one way or another he had to tell him he wouldn’t be there at their regular time. Now he waited and felt the nerves come upon him. He needed someone on his side, and he’d be in a state till he got someone there.

  When Jago came in, Selevan waved a hello with no small measure of relief. Jago stopped at the bar to have a word with Brian and came over, still in h
is jacket with his knitted cap pulled over his long grey hair. He shed both jacket and cap and rubbed his hands together as he drew out the stool that faced Selevan’s bench. The fire hadn’t yet been lit—too early for that as they were the only two drinkers in the bar—and Jago asked could he light it? Brian gave the nod and Jago put match to tinder. He blew on the emergent flames till they caught. Then he returned to the table. He gave a thanks to Brian as his Guinness was brought to him and he took a swig of it.

  He said, “What’s the brief, then, mate?” to Selevan. “You look a right state.”

  “I’m heading out,” Selevan said. “Few days, a bit more.”

  “Are you, then? Where?”

  “North. Place not far from the border.”

  “What? Wales?”

  “Scotland.”

  Jago whistled. “Far piece, that. Want me to keep an eye on things, then? Want me to keep a watch on Tammy?”

  “Taking Tammy with me,” Selevan said. “I’ve done as much as I can here. Job’s finished. Now we’re off. Time the girl was let to lead the life she wants.”

  “Truth to that,” Jago said. “I won’t be here that much longer myself.”

  Selevan was surprised to feel the extent of his dismay at hearing this news. “Where you off to, Jago? I thought you meant to stay the season.”

  Jago shook his head. He lifted his Guinness and drank of it deeply. “Never stay one place long. That’s how I look at it. I’m thinking South Africa. Capetown, p’rhaps.”

  “You won’t go till I’m back, though. Sounds a bit mad, this, but I’ve got used to having you round.”

  Jago looked at him and the lenses of his glasses winked in the light. “Best not to do that. Doesn’t pay to get used to anything.”

  “’Course, I know that, but—”

  The bar door swung open, but not in its usual fashion, with someone swinging it just wide enough to enter. Instead, it opened with a startling bang that would have put an end to all conversation had anyone save Jago and Selevan been within.