At about ten to nine Carole, unable to stand the wait any longer, had gone into Woodside Cottage to find out what was happening. Jude said she wouldn’t be more than a quarter of an hour. Why didn’t Carole have a cup of coffee? But Carole didn’t want a cup of coffee. Apart from anything else, if she took on too much fluid, she might have to stop the car for an early toilet break, and that would be embarrassing. All she wanted to do was to leave at the time they had agreed to leave. So she just stumped around between the car and the two front doors.
Jude would normally have found the situation amusing, but she was preoccupied. She was sending an emotionally complicated email to a client who had just had breast cancer diagnosed. But she didn’t tell Carole that. Eventually, they left at nine-thirty, ‘exactly an hour after we intended to go, Jude’.
Only a couple of hours into their journey, however, there was already talk of stopping for lunch – from Jude, inevitably. This too went against everything Carole had grown up with. She was used to journeys during which you pressed grimly on until you reached your destination. If nourishment was required, you took sandwiches in Tupperware boxes. And yet Jude was proposing stopping at a pub for lunch, as if they were still in Fethering and wandering down to the Crown and Anchor, rather than in the middle of a journey. The way Jude talked, it was as if travel could be an enjoyable experience in its own right.
Still, Carole wasn’t about to sound like a wet blanket, so she didn’t take issue with the pub idea…until Jude suggested that they should look for the pub in Lyme Regis.
“Lyme Regis? But that’s not on the way.”
“It’s not directly on the way, but it’s not far off. Just a minor detour.”
“But if we start taking minor detours, goodness knows what time we’ll get to Treboddick. Not till after dark, at this rate.”
“So? Did we say a specific time that we’d arrive?”
“Well, no. But it’s a strange place. If we arrive after dark, we may not be able to find things.”
Jude couldn’t suppress a grin. “Carole, I think we’ll find that the Treboddick Cottages do have electric light.”
“Yes. Yes, but…Well…”
By the time she actually turned the Renault off the A35 down the steep road that led to Lyme Regis, Carole had almost become used to the novel idea of what they were doing. “But will there be somewhere I can take Gulliver for a walk?”
“Perfect place. You can walk him round the Cobb.”
“Cobb?”
“
“Well, I did see it, yes, but I wasn’t really aware that it was in Lyme Regis.”
“It very definitely was. Anyway, Gulliver will love the Cobb. Lots of lovely smells of bits left by the fishing boats.”
Jude was right. Though at first annoyed at being kept on his lead, the Labrador soon responded to his environment. As they walked around the great stone harbour wall, his nostrils twitched with pleasure. This was better than being cooped up on the back seat of the Renault.
When they got back to where the Cobb began, Carole announced that she’d better put Gulliver back in the car. “Nonsense,” said Jude. “There’ll be pubs we can sit outside. He’d much prefer that, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes, he would,” conceded Carole, not convinced that dogs – or indeed anyone else – should be allowed to have what they preferred.
The pub they found was perfect, with lots of wooden tables at the front, commanding a view over the wide sweep of Lyme Bay. “I’ll get the first drinks,” said Jude and went into the bar.
First drinks, thought Carole. We’re meant to be going on a journey, not a pub crawl.
Jude came out with a menu. Carole had, as ever, had in mind a small lunch, but was persuaded that not to take advantage of the local seafood would be sacrilege. So they both forced themselves – not that there was much force required for Jude – to order the Three Fish Feast.
“I won’t eat this evening,” said Carole, but with diminishing conviction. She had a feeling that abstinence was never going to be a major feature of travels with Jude.
Her friend looked out over the summery blue of the bay and sighed. “Lyme Regis always does something for me.”
“Have you spent a lot of time here?”
“Nearby.”
“On your own?”
“No, with someone.” A deeper sigh. “It didn’t work out.”
“Ah.” Carole dared to ask a personal question. “Was that with Mr Metarius or Mr Nichol?”
“No.” And once again the moment was lost. “Incidentally, if you’re worried about Gaby, do give Stephen a call.” Jude looked at her mobile. “The signal here’s quite good.”
Carole thought what she’d said about her daughter-in-law had been sufficiently casual, but Jude had read the depth of her underlying anxiety. Resisting her first instinct to say no, she gratefully accepted the offer. Stephen was at work, doing whatever it was he did, but unusually he didn’t have his phone switched to voice–mail. No doubt leaving lines of communication from the hospital open. And the news about Gaby was better. Her blood pressure was down, but they still wanted to keep her in for observation. And Carole’s grandchild was moving around in a very vigorous and healthy manner.
“Thanks for that.” She handed the mobile back.
“No problem. I’d be worried sick, if it was happening to one of my children.”
Was this a hint of yet another secret from Jude’s past? Carole seized the opportunity. “Do you mean that you’ve actually had children?”
Her friend roared with laughter. “I can assure you that I would’ve told you by now if I had.”
“Yes.” Carole was about to say it was difficult to be sure, because Jude was always so secretive, but that didn’t seem entirely accurate. So she went on, “Have you ever regretted it?”
Jude screwed up her face wryly. “Not really. There have been a couple of times, with certain men, when I thought having a child would have put a seal on the relationship, but the timing was never right. And in each case I’m very glad it didn’t happen. A child would have made the break-up even harder. No…” She grinned. “I can’t say I feel
Then she laughed and, before Carole could pursue the subject, said, “Daft, aren’t we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Two middle-aged women wasting our money on a wild-goose chase to Cornwall.”
“Actually, Jude, so far we haven’t talked about the money. You did the booking on your credit card – well J. Metarius’s credit card.”
“You don’t have to worry. It is legitimate. It’s not identity theft when the identity you’re stealing is one of your own.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that. I just thought we ought to work out how we’re going to split the costs.”
“You’re providing the transport. You’ve paid for the petrol.” Jude shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’ll sort itself out.”
Carole was not of the opinion that money matters ever sorted themselves out, but she didn’t say anything. “Anyway, why do you say we’re on a wild-goose chase?”
“Well, what are we hoping to get out of our little trip? Based on the flimsiest of clues, we’re setting off to try and discover the Lockes’ lost Narnia. We must be out of our skulls.”
“You say the flimsiest of clues, but we have got the anagram of Biddet Rock from Treboddick.”
“Yes, but that could be a coincidence.”
“Unlikely.”
“All right, Carole, it probably is an anagram, but there’s no reason why it should have anything to do with the disappearance of Nathan Locke.”
“Do you think the girls knew it was an anagram? Chloe and Sylvia – or whatever their wretched nicknames are?”
“I wouldn’t think so. They’ve grown up with that Wheel Quest game. I doubt if they ever think about where
