‘Give me a minute, Dr Ghoshal.’
For the first time in twenty years he walked out of an autopsy with no intention of returning.
27
On Marine Drive, one street back from the foreshore, Jessie found a weathered, white-painted bed and breakfast sign, the word ‘Vacant’ swinging below it. Though she couldn’t see the sea, she could still smell it, the scent of salt carried on the wind, so hyper clean that it even made the country air around her Surrey Hills cottage seem clogged. The white-painted house, with its sea-green woodwork, looked as if it belonged on a Cornish clifftop.
The woman who opened the front door was late sixties, coiffed hair dyed a strawberry blonde, a thick layer of tan foundation that had caked into the crow’s feet around her eyes, a dusting of blue eyeshadow and pearl pink lipstick. She was of the generation and type who wouldn’t be seen outside their own bedroom without having ‘done’ their hair and ‘put on their face’.
She smiled. ‘Good evening, dear.’
‘Do you have a room available?’
‘For one night?’
‘Yes.’ Jessie lifted her shoulders as the woman’s gaze moved to her handbag. ‘I travel light.’
‘I’ve got a lovely room overlooking the beach, a double, if that’s OK.’
‘That’s great, thank you.’
‘I’m Una Subramaniam,’ the woman said, opening the door to reveal a cool, white-painted hallway, wood-framed seascape photographs pulling Jessie’s gaze along it to a sitting room with a stunning view, through a wall of glass, to the beach and sea beyond. She led Jessie upstairs, past more framed seascapes, a sign made of driftwood that read, The sand may brush off, but the memories will last forever, an old tin notice proclaiming Ladies on the beach must wear bloomers. She walked sideways like a crab, stopping every few stairs to fill Jessie in on the story behind one or other of the photographs.
‘My husband used to volunteer for the lifeboats,’ she whispered conspiratorially, stopping beside the photograph of a group of men standing by the open doors of a lifeboat shed, the red bow of the boat inside extending from the shadows. She jabbed her index finger at the floor. ‘Now he sits and expects to be waited on.’
Dazzling orange light cut into Jessie’s eyes as Una Subramaniam opened the door to a white and breezy double bedroom, its far wall a huge window overlooking the beach and the evening sun reflecting off the sea. She dropped her handbag on the bed and went to the window. She could see the spot where she had found Carolynn earlier, fancied she could almost see her own footprints strung out along the beach, the indents in the sand made by her perfect heart of shells that were now stowed in her handbag.
‘It’s wonderful, thank you.’
‘You’re very lucky, lovey. Last weekend you wouldn’t have got space anywhere down here last minute, but holiday season’s over now for most kids. It’s a shame. I like to look out of the window and see kiddies playing on the sand. That’s what the beach is for, isn’t it? For kids to enjoy.’
Jessie nodded, unwilling to engage in conversation beyond exchanging mild pleasantries. She wondered if Una Subramaniam had heard about Jodie Trigg. She would have done, surely? She probably hadn’t mentioned the murder, because she hoped her guest hadn’t.
‘Thank you, Mrs Subniam?’
‘Subramaniam. The husband.’ She jabbed her index finger at the floor again. ‘Greek, years back, of course. I don’t think he’s ever been there. Will someone be joining you later, lovey, or are you down here on your own?’
‘No, I’m alone.’
The woman raised an eyebrow. ‘Now that does surprise me, a beautiful girl like you alone at the weekend. Though men are idiots aren’t they? Always like the blondes.’ She patted her own strawberry-blonde curls. ‘Highlighted, obviously, but yours is far too dark to dye.’
‘I’ve just split up with my fiancée so I wanted to get away for a day or two,’ Jessie said. ‘To clear my head.’
Una Subramaniam put her hand to her heart and gasped. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I really didn’t mean to pry.’
Jessie shrugged. Why was she being so facetious? Just for amusement after a frustrating day? A frustrating six months? Or because she had her finger firmly on the ‘destruct’ button – Callan’s opinion. That because she was unhappy, she needed to spread unhappiness to others, make them feel as uncomfortable, as marginalized, as she did.
‘If anyone comes, would you mind telling them that I’m not here?’
Hand still pasted to her heart, Una Subramaniam took a step back. ‘Will he turn up here?’
‘I don’t think so. Hopefully, he doesn’t know where I’ve gone.’
‘Do you have a connection here? One he might know about?’
‘We got engaged on the beach.’
Una Subramaniam’s mouth popped open.
‘But I’m sure he won’t put two and two together and if he does he’ll probably end up with five.’
Una Subramaniam patted Jessie’s arm. ‘I’m sure that it feels terrible now, lovey, but you know what,’ she lowered her voice to that conspiratorial whisper again, ‘they all end up like him downstairs, just getting under your feet. It never lasts, that first flush of love. Really, it never lasts.’
28
Ruby Lovatt stood on the beach alone and cloaked in darkness, watching the dirty white house across the road, the faint shadow of the woman she knew was inside, moving behind the translucent kitchen blinds. The woman had arrived home an hour earlier and as soon as she’d shut the front door she had gone from room to room, quickly lowering the blinds and drawing the curtains downstairs.
Ruby had seen her before on the beach many times, running, always running, pounding the sand, a skeletal automaton, no light in those eyes, no expression on that pale
