A Lesson in Dying (17 page)

‘Come in,’ she said quickly. All her movements were violent and jerky. ‘Do come in.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Patty said. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t interfere. But I thought there might be something I could do.’

Patty knew she would never endure even a lesser crisis alone, in a strange part of the country without the support of her family and friends. Hannah seemed not to be listening. Throughout the conversation she was restless, nervous, and Patty had the impression that this was only an intensification of her usual state.

‘If you’d prefer to be alone,’ Patty said, ‘just tell me and I’ll go away.’

‘No,’ Hannah said. ‘It was kind of you to come. I must seem very rude.’ She opened the door wide. ‘ Would you like some tea? I expect you would.’

She switched taps full on and filled a kettle. There was a pile of dishes in the sink and she began to wash two mugs, then gave up and took clean ones from hooks on the wall. She banged open cupboards and drawers with a random frenzy.

‘I don’t know where Paul put the tea,’ she said helplessly. ‘I’m not here much and he saw to all that.’

Patty found the tea in a caddy on the work top. There was milk in the fridge. She had never been in the old mill and was reassured by the domestic clutter. Hannah Wilcox was not very different from her after all.

They took the tea into the long living room. It smelled fusty, of stale smoke, and Patty wished she could open a window. The Sunday papers were still lying open on a coffee table. There was a dirty mug and a plate with a half-eaten piece of toast on the window sill. Hannah kicked open the door of a big wood-burning stove and threw on more logs.

‘I feel so cold,’ she said. ‘I can’t seem to get warm.’

‘It’ll be the shock.’

‘I suppose it is.’ Hannah looked at Patty. ‘You found his body, didn’t you? That must have been a shock too.’ She walked backwards and forwards in front of the stove then sat on the hearth rug and stared at Patty, waiting for an answer.

‘It was.’

‘Did you know Paul well?’

‘Not well. Only through the Parents’ Association. But I liked him. I thought he was brave. It can’t have been easy for him staying at home with the children. My husband would never manage it.’

‘No, I never realized how hard he found it, not until it was too late.’ Hannah paused. ‘Would you mind if I talked to you about him? I’ve no-one else to talk to. My mother wants to come and look after me but I can’t stand the thought of anyone staying in the house. I haven’t seen anyone since the policewoman went. Except the children. Mrs Irving will pick Joe up from school for me but she won’t stay.’

‘Of course,’ Patty said. She remembered that Ramsay had said she was a good listener. It was nice, she thought bitterly, to be considered good at something.

Hannah was curled up on the rug. She seemed to have shrunk, to be no bigger than a child. She wore large round spectacles which covered most of her face. She was very dark – dark-haired, olive-skinned, exotic. Then she jumped up and lit a cigarette. Patty wished she would sit still.

‘Paul wanted me to give up smoking,’ she said, ‘but I could never manage it.’ She seemed to Patty to have enormous energy. Patty thought she would always be dissatisfied, looking forward to new plans, a new challenge.

‘Did you know Paul had a lover?’ she asked suddenly. Patty was shocked, a little embarrassed.

‘No,’ she said awkwardly, ‘I had no idea. He always seemed so happy.’ It seemed tactless to mention that Jack had seen Paul and Angela together on the night of the bonfire.

‘He thought I didn’t know,’ Hannah said, and she wandered off again to fetch an ashtray.

‘But you found out?’

‘I guessed,’ she said. ‘Paul was an innocent. I could tell he was guilty about something. Then I thought it must be over.’

‘You didn’t ask him?’ Patty imagined the scenes there would be in their house if she suspected Jim of infidelity. She would never pretend that nothing was wrong. There would be thrown plates, shouting, tears.

‘No,’ Hannah said. ‘I didn’t ask him. Perhaps I didn’t want to know. It would have been a reflection on our marriage. I couldn’t afford to give it any more time.’ She looked at Patty with dry, angry eyes. ‘ Now I would give all the time in the world to have him back.’

She began to pace again and to talk, as if movement and speech were some relief.

‘He’d written poetry to her,’ Hannah said. ‘I never found out until the morning he died. He’d written poetry to her and the cow had given the poems to Harold Medburn. Medburn blackmailed Paul. He was frightened that I’d find out, that I might leave him, as if I hadn’t in a way left him already.’

‘When did you find out about this?’

‘The morning of the day he died. Sunday morning.’ She began to speak more quickly, a stream of words, part confession of her own responsibility, part a terrible reliving of the hours and days before her husband’s death.

‘We all went to the bonfire on the recreation ground on Saturday evening,’ she said. ‘I could tell that something had been worrying him all day. He took the children to the swings in the afternoon and came home in a furious temper. We had a row about the bonfire. He didn’t want to come with us, but I persuaded him. It would be fun, I said. The children would enjoy it. We went to the recreation ground together but early in the evening he disappeared. He didn’t tell me he was going home or that he was feeling ill. He just vanished. I didn’t think too much of it. He was in a bad mood and wanted to be on his own. I expected him to be at home when we returned, but the house was empty. I started to be worried, but I got the children ready for bed, and soon after he came in. He was in a terrible state. He poured himself a drink and his hands were shaking so much that he spilled it. I asked him to tell me what was the matter. Whatever it was, we could sort it out together. He said he’d done something terrible, despicable. I told him I didn’t care and I’d love him just the same. But he wouldn’t talk to me. He went straight to bed and I could feel him lying beside me, rigid and wide awake. He was cold. He’d had a shock too, you see.

‘In the middle of the night he thought I was asleep. He got out of bed and came downstairs. I was worried and followed him down. I didn’t mean to pry on him, but I thought he’d feel better if he could share whatever was troubling him. He was standing here in front of the stove, holding a pile of papers. I thought they were letters. He was tearing them into little pieces and throwing them on the fire.’ She paused for breath, took off her glasses and rubbed them with the hem of her jersey. Without her spectacles Patty could see that the skin around her eyes was tight and strained. ‘I thought he would be angry,’ she continued, ‘ because I’d followed him. I would have been. But I think he was glad. It showed at least that I cared. We sat up all night talking. He told me what had happened.’

Hannah returned to the hearth rug and kneeled in front of the stove.

‘While he was at the swings on the Saturday afternoon he met Angela Brayshaw,’ she said. ‘That was the woman with whom he’d been having an affair. She taunted him. She practically admitted that she had given his letters and poems to Harold Medburn. It must have been a great relief to Paul when Medburn died, but he was worried that the poems were still in the school house and that someone else might find them. He seems to have been completely irrational about it. While we were at the bonfire, he was desperate and decided to go to look for them. He broke into the school house through a kitchen window and had just found them when your father surprised him.’

Hannah looked apologetically at Patty. ‘ He was frightened,’ she said. ‘He didn’t mean to hit Mr Robson so hard. Then he was terrified in case he had killed him.’

‘But he didn’t stop,’ Patty said, ‘to see if my father needed help.’

‘No,’ said Hannah. ‘But he heard someone else outside and realized your father wouldn’t be left alone.’

‘Did he see who that was?’ Patty asked.

‘I think he might have done.’ Hannah thought, an intense effort to remember exactly. ‘ Yes, he must have done. He said he looked out of the window, realized your father would be in safe hands and ran away, climbing out through the kitchen again. Of course he felt dreadful about what happened and was still afraid that he might have killed Mr Robson until Sunday morning when we heard he’d just had a nasty bump on the head. That’s why he was so upset on Saturday night.’

‘Did he tell you,’ Patty asked, ‘who else he saw? Who was in the school house that night?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Hannah. ‘Is it important?’

Patty did not answer directly.

‘He didn’t rig up a dummy, dressed as a witch, to frighten my father away?’

‘Of course not. There was no need. Your father was unconscious.’ She lit another cigarette. ‘What is all this about?’

‘My father was looking into Harold Medburn’s death,’ Patty said. ‘I know it sounds ridiculous, but Kitty Medburn was an old friend of his and he was convinced that she was innocent. He’d been asking a lot of awkward questions in the village – Paul wasn’t the only person threatened by blackmail. When he regained consciousness there was a dummy dressed as a witch hanging from the kitchen ceiling and a message telling him to mind his own business. It was an attempt, you see, to frighten him off. I think Dad was followed from the bonfire by Harold Medburn’s murderer. Don’t you see, if Paul saw whoever it was, that might explain why he had to die.’

‘Yes,’ Hannah said. ‘I see.’ She stood up. She was wearing stretch jeans and a long loose pullover. There was no trace of the smart controlled businesswoman. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked. ‘Did your father send you?’

‘No,’ Patty said. ‘The policeman, Ramsay, thought you might need a friend.’

‘Did he tell you what questions to ask?’

‘Not exactly.’ Patty was impressed by Hannah’s intelligence and thought she deserved honesty. ‘He thought you might find it easier to talk to me. He’s determined to find out who killed your husband. He’s prepared to use unorthodox means.’

‘Good!’ For the first time in the conversation Hannah seemed to find a sort of peace. ‘Well, perhaps he was right. I do find it easier to talk to you. Do you need to ask me any more questions?’

‘What happened on Sunday morning?’

‘We all had a long, late breakfast together,’ Hannah said. ‘It was lovely. Like a new beginning. All the pretence was gone. We were talking about the future. Paul said he was longing to go back to work. We decided to go into the possibility of employing a nanny. Then I went to the paper shop to see if there was any news of Mr Robson. That’s when I heard he was okay and staying with you.’

‘Did you notice anything unusual on the way out?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘The police asked me that, I think there may have been a car parked in the lane, but I can’t remember anything about it, not even the colour. I hadn’t put in my contact lenses and I wasn’t wearing specs, so I was nearly blind.’

‘When did Paul go out?’

‘At about mid-day. We’d decided to eat in the evening. He said he wanted some exercise. I could understand that. It had been a traumatic evening.’

‘You don’t think he had arranged to meet someone?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sure not.’ She drew on the cigarette. ‘He could have made a telephone call while I was at the paper shop, but he would have told me. I explained. We had decided there would be no more pretence. Besides, he was a hopeless liar. I would have known; I’m sure it was a spur of the moment decision.’

‘I see.’ Patty hesitated. She felt awkward. ‘Paul was a nurse, wasn’t he, before he stopped working?’

‘Yes,’ Hannah said. ‘ He was a psychiatric nurse. He worked in a special unit for alcoholics.’

‘Does he still have friends there?’

‘A few. Why? Is it important?’

‘Harold Medburn was doped with a drug called Heminevrin before he was murdered. I’m trying to find out who would have had access to it.’

‘But Paul couldn’t have murdered Harold Medburn!’

‘I have to ask,’ Patty said, ‘if you want to find out the truth. Are you sure you really want to know?’

‘Yes.’ Hannah looked at her intensely, her dark eyes magnified by the strong glasses. ‘You will do your best, won’t you? Whatever you find out.’

‘Of course,’ Patty said. It was a similar responsibility to her commitment to Ramsay.

She looked at her watch. It was time to fetch the children. As she left the old mill she walked past the window. Hannah was back in the rocking chair, her arms around her knees, staring out towards the road.

It seemed to Patty that Ramsay spent all his time that week in the village. Wherever she went in Heppleburn she saw his car, his distinctive back at doorsteps or disappearing round corners. Everyone was talking about him. In the playground she stood apart and listened to the mothers talking, because Ramsay had said she was good at listening. He’s bewitched me, she thought, in the same way as Kitty Medburn bewitched my father. They speculated about Ramsay’s background and marital status and through listening to them she gathered that he was trying to find out who had taken the witch’s costume from the pram on the night of the bonfire. He or his men must have spoken to everyone who was on the recreation ground that night. Rumour had it that these investigations had so far proved unsuccessful. Many people admitted to having seen the confrontation between Matthew Carpenter and the boys, but then there had been so many distractions – the excitement of the fire and the noise and colour of the fireworks – that the costume was forgotten. The pram had been pushed into the shadow and no one saw it again until the boys fetched it to take it home. They realized that the costume was missing, but thought it had been confiscated by Matthew Carpenter. Despite his persistence Ramsay seemed to have got no further.

That Tuesday afternoon the policeman was back at the school. His car was parked in the playground and Patty could see his dark head through the staff room window. She waited a long time for him to emerge. She wanted to share the information given to her by Hannah. She thought he would be pleased. But there was no sign of the inspector leaving the school. All the other parents and children disappeared, but Matthew Carpenter, Irene Hunt and Stephen Ramsay remained inside. Eventually Andrew and Jennifer became so cold and fractious that she left without talking to him. It would be impossible to have a serious discussion with the children in that mood.