“Yes. I expect so. Why?”
“I’m just going to follow up on something. I’ll fill you in later if that’s okay?”
She was curious, he could tell but she didn’t press him for detail. Unhooking his seatbelt, he got out. Tamara came around to the driver’s side and slipped past him into the seat. She looked up at him as he went to close the door for her.
“You’re an interesting man, Tom Janssen,” she said with a smile. He returned it.
“I’ll catch up with you later.” He watched as she pulled away. The wind was picking up and the clouds gathering above. Buttoning up his coat and putting his hands in his pockets, he stepped from the track and set off into the woods. He had a pretty good idea where Mark was heading.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mark McCall sat on the bank, watching the clouds rolling across the horizon. The blades of the wind turbines, far out at sea, were shrouded in a haze. Further along to his left a cargo ship was still visible as it picked its way north. He loved it here. At least, he did once. Looking over to where he used to sit, where they had on that night, he knew things had changed and the same thoughts and feelings would never return. The police officers at the house were frustrating. Going through his things, picking up anything they pleased without asking.
Recognising the growing anxiety within, he went to his father for safety, strange as it may seem to others. His father was a permanent presence in his life despite his obvious shortcomings. To see him so rattled by the police was odd, unsettling. Anyone who didn’t know his father probably wouldn’t realise. He did though. A man of few words at the best of times, for him to offer up explanations to the police was unheard of. He’d said more in those brief minutes than Mark usually heard in a day.
Then there were the shoes. Her shoes. They suited her, matched her lipstick, dress and overall style. “You used to love that colour too, didn’t you.” His eyes drifted back to where he and Holly sat after leaving the beach party. Holly shivering against the cold and him draping his jacket over her shoulders. She had leaned into him and he thought about putting an arm around her but couldn’t summon the courage, bottling it at the last moment. “I thought she would like it here, just as you did.” He felt his eyes water and blinked back tears. Instead of picturing the vision of the two of them alone, beneath the stars, the image that came to him was of her lifeless body. Even now, the image was as clear as the morning he found her, lying in the grass, the frost covering her dress, face and her hair glistening in the sunlight. Far more serene and angelic in death than she had been in life.
Startled by the presence of another, approaching from his left, Mark made to stand. The man raised an open palm, indicating for him to stay as he was and he sat back. It was the tall detective, the one who bought him the coke and a bacon roll. Assessing the man’s smile, he seemed nice enough. You can’t trust him, remember? Dad said so. He acknowledged the policeman’s greeting. He looked past Mark, over to the bank nearby.
“This is where you found Holly, isn’t it, Mark?”
He turned away, as if not looking would make the image in his mind’s eye disappear. It didn’t. He bobbed his head. “Yeah.” The policeman sat down alongside him, somewhat awkwardly he thought.
“What brings you back?”
Mark glanced at him. What was his game? Was he trying to trick him? The policeman didn’t seem too bothered about being all proper and official, bringing his knees up and hooking his arms over them and turning his gaze away, looking out to sea. If he wanted to question him then it should be at a station, like on the telly. He chose his reply carefully. “I like it here.”
“Nice spot. Great view, quiet.”
“I come here a lot. It helps me calm down.” Suddenly feeling like he was giving too much away, he inwardly chastised himself. They sat in silence for a minute. The breeze was gentle, warm.
“Who were you talking to when I arrived?” Mark felt a flash of panic. He must have been there for a while. He felt his face flush red. “You were talking to someone, weren’t you?” The tone wasn’t accusatory or judgemental. He felt his embarrassment subside.
“My mother used to bring me here when I was a boy. She loved the sea and it was close to home.” Glancing at the policeman, he was listening not merely paying him lip service. “Sometimes, I think it was just to get away from Dad. When he was at his worst.”
“You miss her?” For a moment he worried the subject had shifted to Holly. “Your mum. You must miss her.” It was true, he did but what child wouldn’t. “Do you ever see her?”
He was saddened to think about her leaving. In his memories there was no blame, no abandonment. They were fond recollections. “No. I’ve no idea where she is. I do miss her.” The man was friendly, asking questions but without ulterior motive. He wasn’t what his father led him to expect. “I was talking to her. My mum. That probably sounds weird, right?”
“Not at all.”
Is he humouring me? He didn’t think so. There was something in his manner, firm and reassuring. “I tell her what’s going on in my life. Whether I’m having a good day or not.” Conscious of appearing mentally unstable, he sought to explain. “I know she can’t hear me. I’m not mad or anything.” The policeman smiled.
“I talk to myself all the time.” Mark looked at him, suspicious. He seemed genuine enough. Holly said that was his
