“One I’d never seen before. Young kid, looked even younger than Aaron. But I know the one they sent up for the drinks.” He spoke without enthusiasm. “He comes in here quite often. Eighteen, nineteen I guess, so he can drink legally. But when he comes up and asks for three pints of lager on Monday night, I says to him, ‘I’ll pull one for you, no problem, but it’s going to be soft drinks for your two underage mates over there.’ Then he gets dead stroppy and starts swearing at me, so I tell him to get out. He’s a nasty bit of work, that one. Deals a bit in drugs and all. I can do without that sort in here.
“Anyway, out they go, no doubt straight down to Nowtinstore, where he buys a dozen cans perfectly legally and they go off and drink them in one of the shelters on the front. At least they wasn’t doing it on my premises. I hope they froze their bollocks off out there.”
“The police haven’t come and asked you whether you saw Aaron, have they?”
“No, but presumably if they was retracing his movements they’d be interested in the next night, wouldn’t they? Not the Monday. His body was found on the Wednesday morning, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Carole agreed thoughtfully.
“So who was this older boy?” asked Jude. “Do you know his name?”
“Don’t know his second name, but his first name’s Dylan.”
“Ah.” The two women exchanged significant looks.
“What does he look like?”
“Tallish. Thin. Short bleached hair. One big earring.”
“Sounds a real charmer,” Carole observed frostily.
Jude looked down at her large watch-face and her expression suddenly changed. “Oh, Lord!” she cried. “I’d completely forgotten! I’ve got a friend coming round this evening! I must dash!”
“So we’ll go to the Shorelands Estate first thing?”
“Yes, fine. Communicate in the morning!” And, having gulped down the remains of her wine, Jude rushed out of the pub.
Carole finished her drink more sedately, as Ted Crisp chatted inconsequentially of this and that. She didn’t feel relaxed alone with him. Carole Seddon would never really be a ‘pub person’.
She tried not to be interested in who Jude’s ‘friend’ might be. They were only neighbours, after all. There was no reason why they should know everything about each other’s lives.
“Another one of those?” asked Ted Crisp, as she sipped down the last of her wine.
“No, thanks. I must get back home.” But at the door she did manage to stop and say, “Good night, Ted.” Just like a regular ‘pub person’ might have done.
? The Body on the Beach ?
Twenty
It was after eight the following morning, the Friday. Gulliver had been duly walked and Carole still hadn’t heard anything from Jude. They’d agreed to go to the Shorelands Estate early and intercept Dylan when he arrived for work at Bali-Hai. According to the duty roster Carole had snooped at, all fitters were meant to pick up their carpets from the depot at eight in the morning and be at the properties where they were scheduled to lay them by nine.
Her hand reached for the telephone to call Jude, but then she thought, this is stupid, the woman’s only next door and I must make an effort to be a little less formal. Something in Jude’s casual approach to life was secretly appealing. Carole knew that the ramparts of inhibition she had built around herself would never allow her to progress far down that road, but maybe she could take a few tentative steps.
Going round to Woodside Cottage rather than telephoning would be one such step. So Carole Seddon put on her Burberry and went to knock on her next-door neighbour’s door.
To her considerable amazement, it was opened by a man. He had a head of black curly hair, more of which sprouted out of the top of his Guernsey sweater. Between was heavy dark stubble. He had jeans, trainers, blue eyes and a huge grin.
“Morning,” he said cheerily. “I’m Brad. You must be Carole.”
“Yes, yes, I am.”
“Do come in. Jude’s just dressing. She won’t be a moment.”
“Oh, thank you.” In a state of bewilderment, Carole followed the man through the cluttered sitting room into the kitchen.
He indicated a plate of toast and marmalade. “I was having some breakfast. Would you like a coffee or something?”
“No, thank you. I’ve just had some.”
“Well, excuse me if I continue munching.”
“Of course.”
“Do sit down,” said Brad, as he lowered himself on to a chair and took a bite of toast.
“Yes, thank you.” Carole knew she sounded ridiculously formal. “So, Brad, have you known Jude long?”
“Oh yes. We go way back.”
“Ah.” Bubbling to the surface of Carole’s mind were a whole lot of other questions she wanted to ask. How far back? Where did you meet? Where do you live? Are you a fixture in Jude’s life? What is the precise nature of your relationship?
“Great place she’s got here, hasn’t she?” said Brad.
“Yes, yes, it’s very nice. Needs a bit of work, of course.”
He didn’t seem to hear the second part of this response. “No, good old Jude,” he said with easy admiration. “Always lands on her feet.”
“Does she?”
“Oh yes.”
At that moment the subject of their conversation swept into the room in her customary swirl of drapery. She was twisting the blonde hair into a knot on top of her head. “Morning, Carole,” she called out blithely. “Brad’s introduced himself, I hope.”
“Yes.”
“Sorry I wasn’t ready. You know how it is.”
Carole didn’t know how it was, and wouldn’t have minded a few background details to tell her how it was. But she didn’t get any.
“We’d better be off then,” said Jude. She leant across the table and planted a smacking kiss on Brad’s marm-alady lips. “Don’t know how long we’ll be, but if you’re not here when I get back, it’s been good to see you.”
“You too. Always is.”
“The door’s on the latch. Just click the thing up and close it behind you.”
“Sure. Nice to meet you, Carole.”
“And you, Brad.” Though she didn’t feel that she’d met him at all.
In the immaculate Renault, as they drove off, Carole said, “Brad seemed very pleasant.”
“Yes, he’s good news.”
“He said you and he go way back…”
“That’s right. He’s a good friend.”
And Jude snuggled back into her seat, leaving Carole desperately in need of a definition of the word ‘friend’. But Jude didn’t volunteer one, and Carole couldn’t see any way of getting one, short of actually asking straight out what her neighbour’s relationship with Brad was. And she would never in a million years have done that.
¦
The Shorelands Estate house which was receiving the benefit of J.T. fitted carpets was an Elizabethan pastiche with tall windows and bunches of thin, imaginatively topped chimneys. With the inappropriate nomenclature which seemed
