The Couple at No. 9(41)

Euan Cutler. Her one-time husband, lover and best friend.

His head is bent over a spiral-bound notepad, chewing the end of a pen, and as she is led over to him by an over-effusive waiter, she spots ink stains on his index finger. It takes her back to when they were first married and he’d started his journalism course, always scribbling away in the corner of their tiny flat.

He looks up as she approaches and puts down the pen. He has one of those faces that appear stern, a little intense, like a boxer before a fight, until he smiles, when his features instantly soften. ‘Lorna!’ He stands up. At six foot two he towers over her. He bends down to kiss her cheek. He smells like he always does, of musky aftershave and laundry detergent, at odds with his ruffled appearance.

She slides into the seat opposite. They wait until they’ve been handed their menus and ordered their drinks before they speak.

‘You’re looking well,’ he says.

‘You too.’ And it’s true, he does. Still broad but leaner, less tubby around the belly. And even though he has lines around his eyes, at forty-two he still has a boyish quality.

‘How’s it going, living in Spain?’

‘Good. You know me. Itchy feet.’

He laughs. ‘Sounds about right.’

‘What about you? Met the woman of your dreams yet?’

‘Too busy working.’

‘Sounds about right,’ she quips back. They hold each other’s gaze.

‘I’m sorry to hear about Rose,’ he says, breaking eye contact.

‘About the dementia or the bodies?’ she asks, trying to make a joke but he doesn’t laugh.

‘It must be hard for you and Saffy.’

She fiddles with the napkin on her lap without meeting his eye. ‘It’s like we’ve lost her but she’s still alive. When I went to see her she …’ her voice cracks ‘… she didn’t recognize me.’

He reaches across the table and takes her hand. ‘Rose was good to me … even after we split.’

Lorna nods, ashamed that a lump has formed in her throat. She’s tried so hard, this week, to be strong for Saffy, to remain upbeat and positive. ‘It’s difficult because she gets confused and I don’t want Saffy to worry because of the baby.’ She looks up at him. ‘What do you make of that, then? Grandparents in our early forties.’

He grins. ‘It was to be expected, I suppose. Saffy was never going to play the field. She was born a grown-up, that one.’ He takes his hand from hers.

‘Such a serious little girl,’ she agrees, and they smile at each other, remembering their shared history.

They fall silent and their eyes lock for a few seconds until Lorna pulls her gaze away. She needs to be proactive and practical. That’s what she’s here for, after all. She bends down to retrieve the newspaper clipping from her bag, then pushes it across the table towards Euan.

He smacks his hand onto it but doesn’t pick it up. ‘Before we get into all this let’s have a look at the menu. I’m starving and I can’t take longer than an hour and a half.’

‘Oh, God, of course.’

He chuckles. ‘And you know what we’re like once we start talking.’

The waiter appears at the table with their drinks, and Euan orders a steak and Lorna the fish.

‘Now that’s out of the way, let’s have a look,’ he says, picking up the article. ‘The Thanet Echo. That paper’s still going.’

Lorna explains their findings. ‘It sounds like this Sheila woman killed herself.’

Euan frowns. ‘Or death by misadventure. Anyway, I’ve already spoken to Saffy about this. I found a file.’

‘Oh, really? On Sheila?’

‘Yes. Not much, but I’ve promised Saffy I’ll email it to her later.’ He hands the clipping back to her. ‘You don’t think your mother knows anything about the bodies in the garden, do you?’

Lorna takes the article and puts it back into her bag. ‘It’s doubtful. It’s just … it’s probably the ramblings of an old woman, but her talking about Jean hitting someone over the head and saying it was Sheila. Then finding this clipping. And the link between Alan Hartall and Daphne Hartall. It’s got me intrigued, that’s all.’

He laughs. ‘Maybe you should have been a journalist!’

‘I’m surprised your lot haven’t been down to Skelton Place to check it out,’ she says, taking a sip of diet Coke.

‘We’ve used a press agency and we’ve run a story, of course. But it will be more interesting if and when the victims are identified and when the police have an idea who is responsible. Then, I’m afraid, there will be even more of a swarm. Just warn Saffy, would you?’

The waiter is back and Lorna’s stomach rumbles when the sea bass is put in front her. It looks delicious. She takes a bite. ‘And have you any contact details for Alan Hartall?’ she says, with her mouth full.

Euan cuts into his steak. He obviously still likes it cooked to within an inch of its life. ‘Only addresses. All ex-directory. I found two Alan Hartalls living in the Broadstairs area but I have no idea of their ages.’

‘I’m going to head there this afternoon.’

He looks up from his steak. ‘It’s an hour and a half on the train.’