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Authors: Janie Bolitho
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else.’ There was another pause, this time longer. ‘I shouldn’t have come. I don’t think I can tell you now. I’m sure it doesn’t matter.’
It matters if she’s gone to all this trouble, Rose realised. It probably matters a great deal. ‘You might feel better if you do. You have my word I won’t mention whatever it is to anyone without your permission.’
Sarah took a deep breath and brushed her long fair hair away from her face. ‘I saw him. Mark. He was with another man. We were on the last Mousehole bus, that’s where Amy lives, in Mousehole. They were just standing there, gazing out to sea. I wasn’t sure it was him at first, it was dark, but when he turned round I knew for certain. I’m not sure if he saw me or not.
‘You see, I’d spent several hours looking for him, I know all the places he goes to in the evenings but he wasn’t at any of them. Then, suddenly, there he was, and he wasn’t with another girl. I was so relieved at the time. Then, yesterday, I realised he must have been very close to the place where Joe fell.’ Some of the tension had left Sarah’s body now that she had voiced her concern.
‘You don’t seriously think Mark had anything to do with it?’
‘Of course not. It was just seeing him there and – well, I don’t know what to say if the police question me.’
‘Just tell them the truth, Sarah. Mark can’t possibly hold that against you.’ Or could he? By the expression on Sarah’s face itseemed that he might. But maybe that wasn’t it, maybe Sarah did not want the fact that she had been jealous enough to try to follow him to come out, coupled with the deceit she and Amy had employed in telling their respective mothers they were going to the cinema. ‘How old is Mark?’
Sarah’s head came up and she met Rose’s eyes. ‘Why?’ Her mug was empty. Rose got up to refill it. The sun had moved to the south. A broad stream of sunlight slanted over the kitchen floor and turned Sarah’s pale hair into a halo.
‘I just wondered.’ Rose smiled to soften her inquiry and refilled their coffee mugs.
‘He’s twenty-three.’
Not a schoolboy as Rose had imagined, but a man. ‘Have you known him long?’
‘About six years, since I started secondary school with his sister, but we only started going out a few months ago.’
‘Where does he take you?’ Rose had no idea why she was asking these questions, only that something seemed wrong with the relationship.
Two spots of colour appeared across Sarah’s cheekbones. ‘To the pub or clubs and sometimes we go for a walk. There’s a hut …’ She stopped. Telling Rose Trevelyan what went on in that hut was taking things too far.
‘Nothing changes,’ Rose said to reassure her, avoiding the mention of under-age drinking. ‘There were fields and canal walks and woodlands in my day. Lovers’ lanes, they were called then.’
As if she had waited only for that moment for the floodgates to open, Sarah talked at length about Mark and how they spent their time. It gradually occurred to Rose that Sarah had no one else in whom to confide, she no longer trusted her own mother. She listened carefully but only because she realised that, for the moment, Sarah had put Joe’s death to the back of her mind. The pain would return but a respite from it would do no harm.
‘You won’t say anything, will you, Rose?’ Sarah said when she got up to leave. ‘I mean, Mum doesn’t know about Mark, and she doesn’t know I know about her and that man.’
‘Not a word. But remember what I said, if the police do question you, just tell them the truth.’
But Sarah did not reply. She thanked Rose for the coffee and left looking a little better than when she had arrived.
Rose watched her walk down the path. Aside from her grief there was something more than having seen Mark troubling Sarah. Leave well alone, she could hear Barry Rowe saying, although that was impossible now. Dear Barry. How good of him it was to have invited
It matters if she’s gone to all this trouble, Rose realised. It probably matters a great deal. ‘You might feel better if you do. You have my word I won’t mention whatever it is to anyone without your permission.’
Sarah took a deep breath and brushed her long fair hair away from her face. ‘I saw him. Mark. He was with another man. We were on the last Mousehole bus, that’s where Amy lives, in Mousehole. They were just standing there, gazing out to sea. I wasn’t sure it was him at first, it was dark, but when he turned round I knew for certain. I’m not sure if he saw me or not.
‘You see, I’d spent several hours looking for him, I know all the places he goes to in the evenings but he wasn’t at any of them. Then, suddenly, there he was, and he wasn’t with another girl. I was so relieved at the time. Then, yesterday, I realised he must have been very close to the place where Joe fell.’ Some of the tension had left Sarah’s body now that she had voiced her concern.
‘You don’t seriously think Mark had anything to do with it?’
‘Of course not. It was just seeing him there and – well, I don’t know what to say if the police question me.’
‘Just tell them the truth, Sarah. Mark can’t possibly hold that against you.’ Or could he? By the expression on Sarah’s face itseemed that he might. But maybe that wasn’t it, maybe Sarah did not want the fact that she had been jealous enough to try to follow him to come out, coupled with the deceit she and Amy had employed in telling their respective mothers they were going to the cinema. ‘How old is Mark?’
Sarah’s head came up and she met Rose’s eyes. ‘Why?’ Her mug was empty. Rose got up to refill it. The sun had moved to the south. A broad stream of sunlight slanted over the kitchen floor and turned Sarah’s pale hair into a halo.
‘I just wondered.’ Rose smiled to soften her inquiry and refilled their coffee mugs.
‘He’s twenty-three.’
Not a schoolboy as Rose had imagined, but a man. ‘Have you known him long?’
‘About six years, since I started secondary school with his sister, but we only started going out a few months ago.’
‘Where does he take you?’ Rose had no idea why she was asking these questions, only that something seemed wrong with the relationship.
Two spots of colour appeared across Sarah’s cheekbones. ‘To the pub or clubs and sometimes we go for a walk. There’s a hut …’ She stopped. Telling Rose Trevelyan what went on in that hut was taking things too far.
‘Nothing changes,’ Rose said to reassure her, avoiding the mention of under-age drinking. ‘There were fields and canal walks and woodlands in my day. Lovers’ lanes, they were called then.’
As if she had waited only for that moment for the floodgates to open, Sarah talked at length about Mark and how they spent their time. It gradually occurred to Rose that Sarah had no one else in whom to confide, she no longer trusted her own mother. She listened carefully but only because she realised that, for the moment, Sarah had put Joe’s death to the back of her mind. The pain would return but a respite from it would do no harm.
‘You won’t say anything, will you, Rose?’ Sarah said when she got up to leave. ‘I mean, Mum doesn’t know about Mark, and she doesn’t know I know about her and that man.’
‘Not a word. But remember what I said, if the police do question you, just tell them the truth.’
But Sarah did not reply. She thanked Rose for the coffee and left looking a little better than when she had arrived.
Rose watched her walk down the path. Aside from her grief there was something more than having seen Mark troubling Sarah. Leave well alone, she could hear Barry Rowe saying, although that was impossible now. Dear Barry. How good of him it was to have invited
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