The breathing interrupted her, the failing heart bruising her ribs.
‘Then Don died. Don died and it was all down to me. I just couldn’t. He loved you too, Estelle, loved you more than anything–more than his life. He said that before he died – believe me – I haven’t the breath to lie. He didn’t count for anything without you. He told me that for you. His daughter…’
She took a breath and held it.
‘But you weren’t, love. Or mine. We tried to have a family, but it didn’t happen. I think it was a punishment for me, although the doctors said it was Don. But it was my punishment for giving Matty away. For walking away from a child. And a punishment for both of us for wanting a son. Only a son.’
The tape clicked off, then almost immediately back on. ‘The adoption service promised us a son. It was easier then, even with Don’s age. But it went wrong, the family took the boy back at the last minute and it broke my heart, Estelle, broke my heart again. So we said we’d be happy to take the next child. We didn’t mind then if it was a boy or a girl. We just wanted it… wanted you. And when Don brought you home I loved you from the minute I first saw you. I loved you like my own… more than my own.’
Estelle was frozen. ‘Mum,’ she said, and began to cry again.
‘More than my own,’ said Maggie again. ‘A few people knew. But Connie had gone, and I didn’t really have anyone I could tell at Black Bank. So we thought it was best left. School: it worried us. That you might be teased. So we brought you back to Black Bank as our child. You are our child, love.’
Out on the fen seagulls wheeled, calling, sensing the long drought was about to break. The laboured breathing on the tape returned and slowly tapered into sleep. Dryden switched it off.
‘My God,’ said Estelle, and Dryden knew instantly that she was thinking about Lyndon. About the consequences of another lie.
‘Where is he?’ said Dryden.
‘My God,’ she said again.
‘Laura told me to watch out for Freeman White–Lyndon’s roommate.’
Estelle just said ‘Laura’, and cried again. ‘We didn’t know she could hear us. I’m sorry. We just used to talk. About us. About what to do after Mum died. We didn’t do it in front of Mum because she could hear us, even, sometimes, when she slept. We couldn’t be sure. We wanted to surprise Mum – about us, when she was better. We still thought that then – that she would get better. And after she died we went back to pick up her things. Laura must have heard. We talked about what to do. We thought she was in a coma. I’m sorry.’
Dryden nodded so that she could go on: ‘We asked Freeman to follow you. We were desperate. You were asking questions, so many questions. I couldn’t refuse because you were right, it was what Mum wanted. She wanted it all out. And you came out to see us. We thought you were close to finding out about the marriage.’
‘And the fire at the register office? White too?’
She looked him in the eyes, a silent affirmation. ‘We thought it would destroy the evidence. Give us some time to think. We told Freeman not to hurt you. Lyndon told him that. But Freeman owes him everything, his life, really, because of Al Rasheid. Lyndon kept him alive, gave him water, food. When the Americans got to Al Rasheid they were both nearly dead. Freeman knows that, the loyalty’s fierce. So he agreed to help, when we told him we just needed to know if you’d got close. And if you had, we wanted to stop you. Warn you off.’
‘Where’s Lyndon?’ asked Dryden.
‘I have to tell him,’ she said. ‘Before…’
In the silence thunder rolled. ‘Has he ever talked about suicide?’
She nodded. ‘Sometimes, since Mum died. It got worse – when I wouldn’t go back. Back to the States. He left, left here, the night before Mum’s funeral.’
Dryden thought
‘He took the Land Rover and went. Said he’d find somewhere to think. Rent, I guess. He didn’t have any friends outside the base. He just wanted to go somewhere that wasn’t here, somewhere that wasn’t the air force. He wanted space. He said he knew a place… out there.’ She looked out over Black Bank Fen as another lightning bolt zig-zagged down into a stand of trees.
Dryden counted the seconds before the thunder struck, 1–2–3–4, and then the rumble which made his joints vibrate. She was still looking out. ‘He said you’d told him of a place he could go.’
‘Me?’
‘To be on his own. That’s what he said… a place you loved. Somewhere like Texas – somewhere he could be free.’
Dryden saw it then as he’d seen it last; the black peat of Adventurer’s Fen stretching out to the reed beds by the river. ‘Does he have a mobile?’ he said.
‘Yes. But he never answers. Just listens to the messages.’
‘Ring him. Ring him quickly. Tell him about the last tape. And tell him we’re coming.’
