The Things You Didn't See(47)
‘My morsa got pregnant when she was having an affair with my father, who was on the town council and married. She got support, but she was still a young single mother. Her only role model for behaving immorally was Ingrid Bergman. Do you know Ingrid’s story?’
Holly shook her head.
‘She was an idol – everyone loved her. An actress, a mother, a wife. Then she ran off with her lover and was hated. She wasn’t even allowed to see her daughter for many years. Morsa used to watch her films obsessively, as if to find answers to her own life. When I was a boy, she’d take me to the old cinema in Malm? whenever a Bergman film was showing. It was a special time.’
‘Is that when you got your interest in films?’
‘For sure. And my love of Ingrid Bergman. And older women!’ He kissed Holly, and leaned in for a deeper kiss, but she pushed him back, slightly affronted.
‘Hey! I’m only a couple of years older than you. What are you, twenty-six?’
‘Twenty-four,’ Leif smiled. ‘But, so what? I think you’re delicious as cheese pie.’ And then, wiping her mouth with his thumb to remove a pastry crumb, he leaned in and kissed her again.
She tugged at the navy shirt lapel of his uniform, unable to keep it in any longer. ‘So what were you up to today? Still guarding Innocence Farm?’ She asked the question, knowing there was no longer any guard placed there, but she couldn’t think how else to ease him into the subject. Luckily, he didn’t need coaxing.
‘Not at the farm, but I’m still involved. More of us are, now they think it wasn’t suicide.’
Holly’s breath caught. ‘They’re sure?’
‘Not certain, but the man who works for her has a record for gun crime, so he has been questioned.’
‘Do you mean Ashley Cley?’
Leif raised his eyebrows. ‘Wow, this really is a small town.’
‘And he’s actually shot someone before?’
For the first time he looks uncomfortable, pulls back slightly. ‘This is confidential, Holly. I shouldn’t really . . .’
Two routes flash before her, the second one wins and she moves closer to him, kisses his cheek. ‘You can trust me,’ she says. ‘Who did he shoot?’
‘Look, I don’t know any details. But it shows he’s used a gun before, that he has some tendency . . .’
Holly’s heart was beating fast. ‘Are they going to arrest him?’
‘It’s possible, what with that, and his fingerprints being found on the rifle. But they’re also interested in his mother, they’ve taken her in for questioning.’
‘Janet?’ Holly pictured the poor woman, baking scones for Maya. ‘But why?’
‘Because she was the one who called 999. She swears she never went beyond the kitchen that morning, yet they found her blood on the gun.’
21
Cassandra
‘It’s a horrible drizzly evening, Mum, and the rain is getting heavier. All of the parents and children, waiting in Christchurch park for the firework display to start, how disappointed they’ll be. Their sparklers will fizzle out, they’ll be cold. Younger ones will want to go home before the show is over. It’s such a shame. Do you remember taking me to the display in Felixstowe? How we cried “ooh” and “aah” at the colours blooming in the sky, the explosives as bright as flowers? I have flowers for you now. I wish you could see them.’
I hold the bunch of freesias close to the misted mask covering your mouth so you can catch their scent, and place one flower in your cupped hand. I’m doing what Nurse Lauren told me to, trying to stimulate your senses, though it seems pointless. You’ve already left me, I’m sure of it.
‘Not so close to her face, love, you’re smothering her,’ says Daniel, taking the flowers from my tight grip and placing them on the bedsheet covering your inert body. I can’t help thinking that you look like a corpse awaiting burial. ‘You’re shaking like a kitten, Cass – why don’t you sit down?’
I take the seat, gripping the rim. Dad sits, then stands, then sits again. He hates this – he wants to be outside where he belongs but the rain is stopping him.
Lauren arrives to check the machines. ‘Now then, Maya, I’m just going to move this pillow, love, so you don’t get stuck in one position. There we are.’
She talks to you as if you’re awake, but I’m losing hope. As if she can hear my thoughts, she turns, beams broadly and says, ‘Now then, family! Why don’t you talk to this lovely lady about a happy holiday memory, or something you all enjoy watching on TV?’
Her suggestions are endless and exhausting. I’m mute, there just seems no point, but Daniel sits on the edge of the bed and leans over you.
You and he, always so close. He’d saved you from the knife, from the indignity of hair loss and nausea. He cured you gently with meditation, massage and nutrition so pure and healthy your body healed from within. He was the son you never had, so gifted. It was your idea that you speak on the radio together, which was such a success that afterwards he was offered his own show – though to be fair, Alfie Avon’s listeners were already dwindling and Radio Suffolk was looking for someone new. The Samphire Master was a hit. How could you lose your faith in him, Mum? Please wake up so he can cure you again.