long. He asks if they want coffee or something a little stronger.
‘There’s no need for you to be involved in this,’ says Bridget. ‘There’s that shopping to do.’
Staffe says, ‘I think it would be good for Malcolm to sit in.’
Malcolm nods, sheepishly, and sits down beside Bridget.
‘Sean tells me that you and Kerry were adopted.’
‘How is that relevant?’ says Bridget.
‘Perhaps it’s not. But what interests me is why you didn’t tell me.’
‘Because it has no relevance.’
‘I’m trying my damnedest to understand her. You know that.’
‘So now you know.’
‘And we know she had been offered a residency at the Rendezvous in town. Are you au fait with the place?’
Bridget nods, crinkles her nose.
‘How would that make you feel?’
‘I don’t see how what I might feel has anything to do with what happened to Kerry. And it’s no business of yours.’
‘I need to understand you too, Bridget.’
‘You make her sound like a suspect, for God’s sake,’ says Malcolm.
Bridget shakes her head, disdainfully, at Malcolm.
‘I’ve been reading Kerry’s poems – from school. There was a teacher – a Mr Troheagh.’
Bridget looks at Malcolm again and her hands clasp tight.
‘When was the last time you saw Kerry?’ says Josie.
Bridget regards Josie with suspicion. ‘Not in a long time. She is in my prayers, of course.’
‘Did you go to the hospital?’
‘It wouldn’t have helped.’ She looks at Malcolm, who nods. ‘But Sean did come to see me, when she left him, in January. He thought she would be here. He said he was sure the baby was his this time and he said she was going to get rid of it.’
‘You would have been dead against her not having the baby?’ says Josie.
‘Wouldn’t anybody, who knew right from wrong? It was for her career. You can’t kill just to get a step ahead.’
‘Especially as you aren’t in the position to have a family,’ says Staffe. ‘That must make Kerry’s decision hard to handle.’
Malcolm glares at Staffe, tries to restrain himself, but can’t. It seems that a suppressed force has been released. He takes a step towards Staffe. ‘What gives you the right to pry so? You are a guest in my house, my parents’ house. They knew your parents and you might have deemed yourself superior to me, but we are adults now. Do you have no common decency? My wife has lost her sister and you come snooping like this. Not an ounce of decency, not an ounce!’ Malcolm is shaking. His chin is weak, trembling.
Staffe stands, looks slightly down on Malcolm. He recalls him as a frail boy, but dismisses that. ‘There’ll be no stone unturned here and let’s all pray that if we ask enough questions and look under enough stones, we might unearth some decency, for the sake of that baby. If she lives!’ He scribbles in his notebook for a minute, allowing the silence to stretch. He has a notion that Malcolm had a disease, a condition, at least. ‘I hope your wife is what she seems, Malcolm. I really do.’ He looks at Bridget. ‘You see, I know. Sean told me.’
Bridget looks quickly away and begins to shake. Malcolm puts his hand on her shoulder and she shrugs him away, says, ‘He told you what?’
Staffe takes a step towards Malcolm, puts a hand on his shoulder and says, looking at his watch, ‘Perhaps that drink might be in order. DC Chancellor and I will have tea.’
Staffe waits for Malcolm to go, then sits beside Bridget. He says, softly, ‘You have to tell your side of it.’
Bridget looks up, fierce determination in her eyes, her jaw set firm. In a clear, unwavering voice, she says, ‘I don’t have to do anything. Their lives don’t touch me. I’m not like them. Whatever he has said, take it with you. You’ll get nothing from me.’
‘Then we’ll do it the hard way. Shame, for Malcolm.’
‘He’s a good man,’ says Bridget.
‘We’ll see.’
On their way out, Staffe and Josie meet Malcolm coming out of the kitchen,
‘There’s no need for you to be involved in this,’ says Bridget. ‘There’s that shopping to do.’
Staffe says, ‘I think it would be good for Malcolm to sit in.’
Malcolm nods, sheepishly, and sits down beside Bridget.
‘Sean tells me that you and Kerry were adopted.’
‘How is that relevant?’ says Bridget.
‘Perhaps it’s not. But what interests me is why you didn’t tell me.’
‘Because it has no relevance.’
‘I’m trying my damnedest to understand her. You know that.’
‘So now you know.’
‘And we know she had been offered a residency at the Rendezvous in town. Are you au fait with the place?’
Bridget nods, crinkles her nose.
‘How would that make you feel?’
‘I don’t see how what I might feel has anything to do with what happened to Kerry. And it’s no business of yours.’
‘I need to understand you too, Bridget.’
‘You make her sound like a suspect, for God’s sake,’ says Malcolm.
Bridget shakes her head, disdainfully, at Malcolm.
‘I’ve been reading Kerry’s poems – from school. There was a teacher – a Mr Troheagh.’
Bridget looks at Malcolm again and her hands clasp tight.
‘When was the last time you saw Kerry?’ says Josie.
Bridget regards Josie with suspicion. ‘Not in a long time. She is in my prayers, of course.’
‘Did you go to the hospital?’
‘It wouldn’t have helped.’ She looks at Malcolm, who nods. ‘But Sean did come to see me, when she left him, in January. He thought she would be here. He said he was sure the baby was his this time and he said she was going to get rid of it.’
‘You would have been dead against her not having the baby?’ says Josie.
‘Wouldn’t anybody, who knew right from wrong? It was for her career. You can’t kill just to get a step ahead.’
‘Especially as you aren’t in the position to have a family,’ says Staffe. ‘That must make Kerry’s decision hard to handle.’
Malcolm glares at Staffe, tries to restrain himself, but can’t. It seems that a suppressed force has been released. He takes a step towards Staffe. ‘What gives you the right to pry so? You are a guest in my house, my parents’ house. They knew your parents and you might have deemed yourself superior to me, but we are adults now. Do you have no common decency? My wife has lost her sister and you come snooping like this. Not an ounce of decency, not an ounce!’ Malcolm is shaking. His chin is weak, trembling.
Staffe stands, looks slightly down on Malcolm. He recalls him as a frail boy, but dismisses that. ‘There’ll be no stone unturned here and let’s all pray that if we ask enough questions and look under enough stones, we might unearth some decency, for the sake of that baby. If she lives!’ He scribbles in his notebook for a minute, allowing the silence to stretch. He has a notion that Malcolm had a disease, a condition, at least. ‘I hope your wife is what she seems, Malcolm. I really do.’ He looks at Bridget. ‘You see, I know. Sean told me.’
Bridget looks quickly away and begins to shake. Malcolm puts his hand on her shoulder and she shrugs him away, says, ‘He told you what?’
Staffe takes a step towards Malcolm, puts a hand on his shoulder and says, looking at his watch, ‘Perhaps that drink might be in order. DC Chancellor and I will have tea.’
Staffe waits for Malcolm to go, then sits beside Bridget. He says, softly, ‘You have to tell your side of it.’
Bridget looks up, fierce determination in her eyes, her jaw set firm. In a clear, unwavering voice, she says, ‘I don’t have to do anything. Their lives don’t touch me. I’m not like them. Whatever he has said, take it with you. You’ll get nothing from me.’
‘Then we’ll do it the hard way. Shame, for Malcolm.’
‘He’s a good man,’ says Bridget.
‘We’ll see.’
On their way out, Staffe and Josie meet Malcolm coming out of the kitchen,
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