Page 70 of Worse Than Murder

‘Yes. You do need to be quite hardy in this job.’

We watch, me with acute interest, as the diving team recce the scene. Eventually, the lead diver breaks the surface of the water and gave a thumbs-up signal.

‘That means we’ll be able to attach the cables and lift the car out. I’ll need to speak to the inspector about getting a crane in and a low-loader. What’s she like, this Inspector Forsyth?’

‘Prickly, but it’s all an act.’

‘Sounds familiar,’ he says, nudging me playfully.

We stand up and Aaron hands me back the empty coffee cup.

‘I’ll try and come and see you later. I’m not sure how long all this is going to take us,’ he says. ‘Can I give you some advice?’

‘Sure.’

‘Do something to put the fear back in your life. Hand in your notice with South Yorkshire Police. Sell your house. Leave Sheffield and just go somewhere. Don’t plan. Just go. You’ve run away to the Lake District, but it’s still safe and comforting. You know the Meagans. You know they’ll let you stay for as long as you want. In order to move on, you need to drastically change your life.’

I bite my bottom lip to stave off the emotions.

‘You know I’m right,’ Aaron says. He pulls me into another tight embrace and kisses me on the top of my head before releasing me and heading towards Inspector Forsyth.

‘I know you are. If only it was that easy.’

* * *

I watch while Aaron and Gill speak. I can’t hear what’s said from this distance, and very little seems to be happening so I decide to return to the restaurant. My stomach is growling, anyway, and Philip has promised to cook the smoked salmon he’s had hanging in the larder for a few days.

I walk through the trees, passing the myriad of police vehicles and SRUK vans, keeping my head down so as not to engage in eye contact with people who proffer faux sympathetic smiles. Rumour has got around that the infamous Matilda Darke is staying in the area and people seem to be interested in getting a glimpse at the car crash in human form.

‘Can I have a word?’

Alison Pemberton is standing by a marked police car. She looks shocked by something.

‘Sure.’

‘Everybody is lying to me,’ she says.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘They’re all lying.’

‘Who is?’

‘Everyone.’

I can see she’s struggling with her emotions. I take her by the elbow and lead her into the restaurant, up the stairs and into the living room.

‘Start from the beginning and take your time. What have you found out?’

‘My mum was having an affair,’ she says through her tears. ‘She gave a statement on the day Celia and Jennifer disappeared, and five days later she gave a completely different one.’ She thrusts the photocopied pages to me.

I take them and read them through. ‘My goodness. I’m guessing your mum has never spoken to you about this.’

‘No. She knows… she knows how much I miss my dad. How could she do this to him, Matilda?’

‘I’m not going to try and justify it, but your mum must have been very unhappy. It’s not easy living with someone with depression, especially if you don’t fully understand it. The early 1990s was a very different time. We didn’t talk about mental illness as openly as we do now. And men certainly talked about it even less. Your dad will have hated how he was feeling. He wouldn’t have talked to anyone, especially his wife. She might have seen him as cold and distant, and found solace elsewhere. Don’t hate your mother, Alison.’

Alison grabs for a tissue on the coffee table. She blows her nose and wipes her eyes. It’s a while before she speaks.