Her Husband’s Grave

Chapter 3

With every mile that went by, it was as if she was travelling back in time.

As the concrete of tower blocks and huge industrial chimneys had given way to countryside, different shades of greens and yellows passing by, then finally the sea, the cliffs … The town spread out like a child’s toy in front of her.

Golden Sands: the place where she’d spent every summer, growing up.

And suddenly she was on the high street, driving through it and taking in everything on either side, still slightly in a state of wonderment. The old place hadn’t really altered massively in the last fifteen years or so: certain shops had changed hands by the looks of it, but still sold the same things, like postcards, a rack of which were outside the newsagents.

Robyn spotted a few knick-knack shops, a second-hand book place and a traditional seaside chippy, or so it claimed. But the real change was the pound shops that had cropped up, reflecting the current state of the economy. The offices of The Torch newspaper were still in the same location, she noted. And there was The Majestic hotel up ahead, which they hadn’t really frequented as teens on a night out because it was too posh and expensive. That was looking a little the worse for wear, but still practically the same, still standing. And not far away their old local, The Barnacle – though it looked like it had become part of a chain.

She checked the sat-nav to find that it had stopped working a while ago, especially now that she needed it and couldn’t go from memory. She’d been warned in advance that parts of this place had that effect on technology, sent things a bit screwy. Back when she’d been here last, mobiles and the internet were still relatively new, definitely hadn’t caught on here like they had now. Switching to a paper map instead, she eventually found the street she was searching for, complete with one or two news vans and a handful of disinterested reporters still scattered around.

Spotting the right number house, a new build, Robyn parked up, summoning the courage to get out and head up the path. To knock on the door.

The face that greeted her when it opened took her aback, made Robyn wonder if she’d got the right house after all. Framed by a mop of frizzy ginger hair – straight out of a bottle – that face sported more lines than Robyn needed to worry about, not to mention a pair of colourful glasses Dame Edna would have been proud of. She also hadn’t expected the person to look so stern.

Robyn wasn’t quite sure what to say at first, but managed: ‘I … er … This is number 17?’

The woman nodded, expression still pretty severe. ‘And you are?’

‘I’m … My name’s Robyn Adams, I’m Vic … Mrs Carter’s—’

‘Cousin!’ she heard a voice say from behind the woman. ‘She’s my cousin.’

The woman with the frizz and glasses grudgingly stepped to one side, allowing Robyn to see past her. To see the woman standing there wearing a green trackie top and grey jogging bottoms. And though the face had definitely aged, it hadn’t done so dramatically and was still recognisably Vicky’s. The only real shock was that she’d had her hair cut short, getting rid of those raven locks that Robyn had been so envious of back when they were young.

‘It’s okay, Tracy, this is the lady I told you about,’ confirmed Vicky. ‘My cousin Robyn.’

The woman nodded, but still didn’t move. Robyn cocked her head, waiting at least for an introduction, which the woman finally gave her. ‘Oh, I’m Tracy Dobbs. I’m the FLO assigned to this case. That means—’

‘Family Liaison Officer, yes I know.’ She wished she didn’t, and hadn’t meant to say it in quite such an offhand way, but she was still getting some weird vibes from this woman and for some reason they were making her defensive. Obliterating that sense of belonging she’d been starting to feel again. ‘Sorry,’ said Robyn and stuck out her hand.

The woman’s face relaxed slightly, but she didn’t take the proffered hand. Robyn might have said the woman was in the wrong line of work, but Vicky explained she’d had to answer the door and fend off quite a number of reporters and ‘well-wishers’ recently – checking first whether Vicky knew them or not. It was bound to make you a bit tetchy. Or was it more than that? How much had this woman been told about her, and did that have something to do with the attitude? Nevertheless, Tracy offered to make some tea.

‘That would be … er, thanks,’ Robyn told her, not even sure she was included. ‘Milk, no sugar,’ she ventured anyway.

When Tracy wandered off to the kitchen and Robyn closed the front door behind her, Vicky finally approached. There was an awkward moment or two, when neither of them was quite sure what to do, then Vicky moved forward, wrapped her arms around Robyn and hugged her harder than she’d ever been hugged before. She winced a little at the pain from her back, but fought that down because Vicky needed this – probably more than she’d needed anything in her life. More even than any help Robyn could offer her. And so she bit back the discomfort and embraced her cousin too, rubbing her back and telling her it would be all right, even though she didn’t believe that for a second. Things, for Vicky, would never be all right again.

When her cousin finally pulled away, there were tears in her eyes. Those same tears she’d heard her crying over the phone as she attempted to explain the situation. ‘Robyn … Robs, I … Thanks so much for coming. I-I’m so glad you’re here.’

‘Me too,’ said Robyn, then added: ‘I mean, it’s … I’m not glad to be here because of …’ For someone who dealt with depression and grief as much as she did, and usually considered their words with care, she wasn’t half making a mess of this. But then, how often was it someone she knew on the receiving end of such dramatic events?

‘I know what you mean,’ Vicky told her, letting her off the hook. ‘Hope I didn’t cause too much of a problem, with your work or …’

‘I’m owed some time off,’ Robyn reassured her. ‘From both my jobs actually.’ Gordon had been more than happy for her to take some time away visiting family, and she’d already had so much time off from uni because of what had happened that they told her it was better if the students finish the year with the substitute lecturer.

Vicky nodded. ‘I’m just so pleased to see you, Robs, you have no idea.’

‘Same goes,’ she replied. ‘How … how’re you—’

‘It’s like a nightmare,’ Vicky broke in before she could even finish the sentence. ‘Honestly, I keep waiting to wake up from it. You know what I mean?’

Robyn nodded. Sadly, she knew all too well – and a picture of being hauled around that lock-up flashed into her mind. She’d woken from the darkness, only to find more waiting for her … even when the lights had been turned on. And there hadn’t been one moment in that place of mirrors Robyn hadn’t prayed it was all some kind of dream, that she’d wake up properly in her own bed in her own flat. It didn’t happen, though, because she’d been awake already. Unfortunately for Vicky so was she.

‘I can’t even begin to get my head around—’

It was then that a noise – a bumping and thumping noise – cut through the conversation. Robyn looked up and over to see a small figure scrambling down the stairs, holding on to the rail so far and then just giving up and sliding the last few steps on her bottom. Then that same little missile came hurtling towards her, pigtails flapping from side to side, hugging her just like her mother had, except this time it was around the legs and knees.

‘Aunty Robyn!’ shouted the girl. Robyn looked down and when the little girl cocked her head back to meet her gaze, she was shocked not only by how much she resembled Vicky at that age, but also how much she’d grown in the time since she’d last seen her. She’d been what, three then? And, thinking that, Robyn was suddenly incredibly impressed that the girl – who was wearing a T-shirt and a miniature set of dungarees – even remembered her at all.

‘Wow!’ Robyn said, reaching down to pat her on the back, not having the faintest idea how to respond.

‘Mia! Put your Aunty Robyn down now, let her get into the house properly.’

‘It’s okay,’ Robyn said with a faint smile, and actually it was. She found she was getting used to having those arms around her knees and thighs. ‘Really. I can’t get over how you’ve …’ Robyn broke eye contact to glance over at Vicky again. ‘She’s how old? Six now?’

‘Nearly seven!’ Mia announced and when Robyn looked back again she saw her pouting. Realised she should have been talking to Mia anyway, addressing the question about her age to the child herself. Rookie mistake.

‘You’re a big girl now,’ she stated and the pout quickly transformed into a smile.

‘Come on, young lady,’ said Vicky, holding out her hand and having to practically prise Mia away from Robyn, ‘let’s all go into the living room. Tracy’s making some tea.’ Mia pulled a face at that. ‘I’m sure if you asked her nicely, she could fix you a juice instead.’

With that, Mia went racing off towards the kitchen to put in her drinks request.

Vicky wrenched her neck to the side, and Robyn followed as she made her way through into the lounge. ‘I can’t believe she remembers me,’ said Robyn as they went, putting into words what she’d been thinking. ‘It was what, four years ago …’

‘Your mum’s funeral,’ Vicky said sombrely. ‘I brought her to the city for the day.’

‘That’s right,’ Robyn replied, feeling embarrassed that she’d forgotten the exact nature of their last meeting – but then there’d been a lot to organise. Distant relatives flying in to pay their respects, friends from the home and their carers. She vaguely remembered saying hello to Vicky and Mia, but not really spending a vast amount of time with them. Certainly not enough to catch up. Then the evening had become a haze of alcohol and condolences.

Vicky and Mia, but no Simon. The reason Robyn was here today.

She was about to ask again about exactly what had happened, when suddenly the little girl was back with them again, having put in her order for juice. Tracy wasn’t long after that with the tea, carrying it in on a tray – if she was a FLO worth her salt she was probably used to making it every hour or so anyway. They all sat down, Mia flocking to Robyn again who was taking off her jacket; she cuddled up to her aunty on the sofa. Nobody really spoke except the little girl for a while or so, telling the newcomer about this and that, her friends and getting into trouble for talking to her bestie Jay in class the last time she’d been in school.

‘I haven’t been there for a while, though,’ Mia concluded with. ‘Maybe it’s because I was talking?’

Robyn glanced over at Vicky sitting in a chair, who answered. ‘It’s … it’s not because you were talking, sweetheart. You’re not in trouble. You just finished school a bit early this year, is all.’

‘But how come I’m not allowed to play outside?’

‘We talked about this, Mia. It’s just for a little bit longer, till the rest of your friends break up. You can play with Tracy upstairs if you like? You’d like that.’

‘Can I play with Aunty Robyn?’ asked the child hopefully, which drew a bit of a strange look from Tracy.

‘Aunty Robyn … I need to have a chat with her myself first, if that’s all right?’

The girl pouted again. ‘But I haven’t seen her in sooooo long. Not since I was really, really little.’

Robyn’s turn to save her cousin now, let her off the hook. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for us to play, Mia,’ she promised. ‘I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.’ Robyn couldn’t help noticing the expression of relief on Vicky’s face at that. Tracy appeared less impressed.

Mia seemed to accept this, hopping down off the couch, holding out her hand and saying to Tracy, ‘Come on then.’ Before she left the room completely, however, she turned and asked Robyn: ‘Why haven’t you ever been here before? Why did it take you so long to come?’ Thankfully, she didn’t draw out the ‘so’ this time, but it still left Robyn lost for words.

‘Your aunty’s a very busy lady, Mia,’ Vicky chipped in. ‘A very important lady.’ And was there a hint of resentment there, or was it just Robyn’s imagination? Then the moment was gone and Vicky was attempting a smile.

Mia simply shrugged and went off up the stairs with Tracy to play with whatever toys she had up there. Finally able to, Robyn reached forward to the coffee table, took hold of her cup and had a sip of tea, her mouth suddenly incredibly dry. Seconds later, Vicky was up and walking across, taking Mia’s place next to her on the sofa.

‘She doesn’t know yet?’ asked Robyn.

Vicky shook her head, eyes tearing up again. ‘I wasn’t sure what to say to her.’

‘No,’ agreed Robyn. ‘She’s bright though. She remembered me.’

‘Sharp as a tack, that one,’ Vicky told her, with no small amount of pride. ‘Like you were back then, Robs. Must be from your branch of the family.’

‘Like her mother, too,’ Robyn said to her. Vicky was definitely no idiot; might not have been academically minded (or perhaps just never had the chance?) but she was far from stupid. Robyn wouldn’t have got on with her so well if she had been. ‘Who does she think Tracy is?’

‘Just a new friend of Mummy’s, and a sort of nanny I guess.’ Vicky shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s all such a mess.’

Robyn wondered what the little girl thought about the crowds that had probably been outside until today, what she thought about Tracy answering the door and telling people to get lost, like she’d almost done with her.

Wondered where she thought her father was.

Now she couldn’t help it; Robyn was scanning the room, taking in the photos hanging on the walls and those standing on the small wooden mantelpiece. Snapshots of a life she’d had nothing whatsoever to do with. Simon – tall, broad, short dark hair, stubbled chin and a warm, charming smile – with his arm around Vicky in most. Then ones with Mia over the years. A couple with the proud grandparents, Robyn’s Aunty Sue – her mother’s sister – and Uncle Trev, though Mia had only been a baby when they were still alive. Finally a wedding photo – Simon and Vicky being sprayed with confetti …

Robyn had missed that bit of the day, only managing to get to the evening reception – at a cheaper venue outside town, rather than The Majestic – and then only for a couple of hours before heading off to the motel she was staying in. Her thoughts, her memories, were interrupted by Vicky putting her head on Robyn’s shoulder like she’d done so many times when they were younger if she was upset about something. Her summer ‘sister’, a little younger than herself, who she’d spent so much time with when Robyn’s mother used to offload her here for the holidays. Robyn responded by doing now what she’d done on all those occasions in the past – she put her arm around Vicky, comforted her.

‘She hasn’t asked where Simon is?’ said Robyn, bringing it back to the conversation about Mia.

‘He … he very often stays out for a few days at a time,’ Vicky told her, half mumbling into her shoulder. ‘It’s why I wasn’t particularly worried when he didn’t …’ Really? thought Robyn, I would have been. Most folk would have been, wouldn’t they? But if that was their routine … And Robyn knew absolutely nothing about their private life; wasn’t sure she wanted to. ‘Wasn’t worried. Not until … Simon works … worked a few different jobs, you see. Had to since I lost my job at the newsagent’s, and that was only part-time anyway. It’s not easy finding employment around here, Robs. A lot of it’s seasonal. If … if he was working at the local Spa shop, he might stay over – particularly if they were busy, like they are at the moment.’

‘Spa?’ asked Robyn. Like the pound shops, this was obviously a new-ish thing in Golden Sands. They definitely hadn’t had one when she’d been visiting this place.

‘Er … yeah, started up a good few years ago,’ Vicky said, voice wavering. Might just have been her getting upset again, or … ‘It’s at the old castle,’ she then said suddenly. The one neither of them really had any interest in when they were young. Who needed history?

‘Okay … Listen, Vicky, I know you told me a little on the phone and this must be so hard for you, but … well, could you tell me a bit more about what happened?’

Her cousin shifted about uncomfortably, pulling herself up off Robyn and drying her eyes with the backs of her sleeves. Robyn opened her handbag and pulled out a pack of tissues, passing one to her. ‘Thanks. I’m not sure what else to tell you, Robs. They … Someone found him. Simon. Not long after that big storm we had.’ Vicky said this as if Robyn had been around. ‘He’d been … He was on the beach. Someone came to tell me, from the police, that he’d been found. I think … T-There was some talk that he might have drowned or something? That’s another thing, he helps out on the boats occasionally. Fishing, you know.’

‘Though surely it would have been reported if he’d fallen overboard?’ Robyn offered.

Vicky shrugged, then shook her head as if she couldn’t decide. ‘Not necessarily.’ And she got what her cousin meant then, that not all of his work was legit. ‘But, anyway … that’s not …’ Vicky began to cry again and Robyn reached for her cousin’s tea, handing it to her.

‘Take it slowly,’ she told her. ‘There’s no rush.’

Vicky nodded. ‘You should have seen him, Robs. There on that metal. In the morgue. I-I had to—’

Robyn was aware of someone lurking in the doorway then. Tracy – she hadn’t even noticed she’d come back down again. Had she been listening? Seeing she’d been spotted, Tracy entered and picked something up off the sideboard; Robyn didn’t even see what it was. ‘Sorry, I just forgot …’ Didn’t really help in identifying the object, either – and then Tracy was gone again.

‘Is she …’ Robyn said, frowning.

‘Tracy? Oh, she’s okay,’ replied Vicky, who apparently saw nothing odd in the woman’s behaviour. ‘Been a big help, actually.’

Robyn was still frowning, but told her cousin to continue. ‘You were saying you had to …’

‘Right, yeah. It was horrible. I had to identify Simon, you see. Next of kin.’ Sadly, that wasn’t an uncommon thing for Robyn, seeing dead bodies – in the morgue or at crime scenes – but she said nothing. ‘He didn’t have anyone else since his folks passed, same as me.’ She caught Robyn’s eye and apologised. ‘Not that … I mean you’re—’

She held up a hand. Vicky had every right – she hadn’t been around for a long time. They hadn’t been close for a good while. ‘It’s okay, really.’

‘That’s why I called. You’re still family, Robs. I still think of you as …’ She shook her head again and sipped more tea, then put down the cup. ‘There were these marks, you see. Around his throat. They said it was consistent with … with strangulation.’

‘He’d been choked?’ asked Robyn, and immediately her mind flashed back to Sykes. What he’d done to those fathers, how he’d ruined so many lives. She was beginning to get a very uneasy feeling.

No. A coincidence. Just a coincidence.

Another nod from Vicky. ‘They asked me if I could think of anyone who might want to do him harm, but for the life of me I … You know what I’m like, I’m quite a private person anyway, don’t really like talking about that kind of stuff with anyone who’s not … And Simon, he was so lovely, he didn’t have any enemies; he’d make friends with anyone, you know? Would help anyone out. But I can’t really find out anything more about … I get the feeling I’m being fobbed off, Robs. I mean Tracy’s really nice and everything, but she doesn’t seem to know a great deal.’ Or won’t tell you, thought Robyn. ‘And I can’t …’

Robyn sat back on the couch. ‘That’s why you got in touch with me,’ she stated, without trying to make it sound like an accusation.

‘Not … not the only reason, Robs. I needed … need you. To be honest, there have been times over the last few years that …’ The tears were coming once more, and she dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. ‘I picked up the phone so many times. I mean I had your numbers … Just didn’t think you’d come.’

‘I …’ Robyn began, then opened her arms wide and beckoned Vicky to hug her once more, barely feeling the pain from those wounds this time. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Why … why didn’t you ever visit?’ Vicky asked, twisting on the sofa and speaking into her neck this time. Echoing her daughter’s question.

‘I …’ There was a noise from the stairs, Mia barrelling down them this time, making up for Tracy’s stealth. Vicky pulled away from Robyn, straightening herself, drying her eyes – though it was plainly obvious she’d been crying. Trying to protect her kid, though how much longer she could do that for was anyone’s guess; if Robyn had learned one thing from those psychology lectures and seminars at uni, it was that kids pick up on things. All kinds of things.

Case in point: ‘What’s … what’s the matter, Mum?’ asked Mia, as soon as she was close enough to see her obvious distress. Tracy was making her way back down the stairs again, saying she was sorry, that Mia got away from her.

‘Nothing. Nothing sweetheart.’ She mirrored Robyn then, opening her arms wide so that the little girl could run into them for a hug. Which Mia did, but kept glancing sideways at Robyn – who reached out and rubbed the kid’s arm.

And there they sat, the three of them huddled up together on the sofa.

Sat there for what felt like an eternity.

Chapter 4

Robyn stood back and looked at all the papers, the pictures that were covering the bed.

This was how she always did it, stepping back and looking at the big picture, though ideally on an evidence wall or board. Maybe walking to clear her head and making use of the ‘dead time’, if you’d pardon the expression: when you switched your mind off and your subconscious was doing the work for you. She knew of people who could ask themselves questions just before going to sleep, only to wake up the next morning with solutions. It wasn’t quite as easy as that for her, but she did dream about the cases she’d worked on. Dreamt – when she could sleep that was – of her time in the lock-up in the dark, then surrounded by reflective glass throwing back images of her own face.

She gazed at the photos of Simon’s wounds, copies taken out of Manila files and laid on the bed. Robyn was glad this room, the spare room of the house, had a lock on it from the inside because there was no danger of Mia barging in and seeing all this. Vicky was putting her to bed anyway.

The files, the photos and paperwork done so far hadn’t been easy to get hold of either. But she’d promised Vicky she would look into things, so that’s what she intended to do. Robyn had left the house that afternoon, after Tracy had fixed people sandwiches and she’d asked the FLO for directions to the police station. There had been another one of those flickers then, those looks of wariness, and she thought the woman might not tell her or might ask why she wanted to know, but in the end she just told Robyn how to get there. As with the castle, the station was one of those places she’d never really had cause to frequent – though she could think of at least one occasion when she probably should have.