Red Bones

then decided that would be pathetic. He’d wait until he had something to report.

The road was less busy when he went out to find Gwen James’s place. He decided he’d risk the Underground. It was only a few stops and Perez had marked the route from the Underground station on the map. He didn’t have change for the ticket machine and had to queue at the office; he was ridiculously pleased with himself when he found the right platform for his train.

He arrived at Gwen James’s flat far too early and walked about the streets waiting for time to pass. It was dark and the streetlights had come on. Some of the basement flats had lit windows so he could see inside. In one, a beautiful young woman dressed in black was cooking dinner. It seemed unbelievably glamorous to Sandy, the sight of the slender young woman with her shiny hair down her back, a glass of wine on the table beside her, cooking a meal in the city flat. There were trees down each side of the street; the leaves were new and green in the artificial light. On the corner of the road music was spilling out of a pub. The door opened as a man in a suit came out and Sandy heard snatches of laughter.

He stood outside Gwen James’s flat and took a deep breath. There were two bells. Beside hers was a handwritten label – James. The writing was in thick black ink and italic. He rang it and waited. There were footsteps and the door opened. She was tall and dark. If you were into older women – and Sandy wasn’t really – she was attractive. High cheekbones and a good body. She carried sophistication about her and seemed completely at home in this city. It occurred to Sandy that in twenty years’ time the young woman he’d seen in the basement flat would look like this.

He introduced himself, trying to speak slowly so she’d understand him first time and he wouldn’t be forced to repeat himself. Perez always said he had a tendency to gabble, and she wouldn’t be used to the accent.

‘I was expecting Inspector Perez.’

‘I’m afraid he couldn’t leave the islands.’

She shrugged to show it was of no real consequence and led him into a living room that was as big as the whole of Sandy’s flat. The colours were deep, rich browns and chestnuts with splashes of red. She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply.

‘I gave up when I joined the Department of Health,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think anyone would criticize me now.’

‘Don’t you want someone with you?’ If there was a death in Whalsay, folk gathered round the relatives. This seemed an unnatural way to grieve.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I really don’t want to become a spectator sport.’ She looked at him through the cigarette smoke. ‘Did you know my daughter?’

‘Yes, my mother Evelyn was involved in the archaeological project. My grandmother lived at Setter, the croft where they were digging.’

‘Mima? The old woman who died?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She got on very well with Hattie.’

‘Hattie wrote to me about her. I was pleased she was making friends on Whalsay, but jealous too in a way. My daughter and I always had a very strained relationship. It seemed sad that she was closer to a stranger than she was to me.’

‘I don’t think that was true.’ Sandy knew families were tricky. Look at his relationship with his mother. ‘My grandmother got on with all the young folk in the place.’ He paused. ‘Did Hattie write to you often?’

‘Once a week. It was a habit she developed after she left home. A duty. I think she found it easier than talking to me on the phone. She started when she went to university and continued even when she was quite ill in hospital. She kept it up ever since. We got on quite well by letter. Things only became difficult when we met in person.’

Sandy wondered fleetingly if he should try writing to his mother. ‘I don’t suppose you kept her letters?’

‘I did actually. Isn’t that sad? I have them all in a folder. When I feel especially lonely I re-read them. And do you know, she probably thought I just glanced at them then threw them away.’

Sandy didn’t know what to say so he kept quiet. That was what Perez did. ‘Just give her time and sense that you’re really listening to her.’

‘Would you like to see them?’ Gwen stubbed out the cigarette and looked at him through narrow eyes.

‘Very much.’

‘Shit,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I can do this entirely sober. Will you have a drink with me?’

He nodded. It wasn’t even as if he wanted a drink now, though he could have used one earlier. He didn’t want to break the mood.

‘Wine?’

He nodded again.

She came back into the room with a bottle of red wine and two large glasses, which she held by the stems between her fingers. She uncorked the wine and left it on the low table beside him, then went out again. When she returned she was carrying a folder full of letters. She sat on the sofa beside him, so close that he could smell her perfume and the cigarette smoke that remained in her hair.

‘This is the most recent. It arrived yesterday. That was why I was so surprised when she phoned me. We didn’t communicate by phone very often, and what new could she have to say?’

‘Did you keep the envelope?’ Sandy asked.

‘No.’

‘I wondered when it was posted.’

‘Oh, I can tell you that. Just the day before I got it. I was impressed – it had come all that way.’

She handed him the sheet of paper. It was A4, white, unlined. It seemed to him that the writing was very neat. He thought it was a strangely old-fashioned way for someone so young to keep in touch with her mother. He always phoned home and even Evelyn used email.

Dear Mum

It’s been a very odd week. On Tuesday there was a terrible accident. Mima, who lives at Setter where the dig is based, was shot. It’s hard to imagine a tragedy like that on a place like Whalsay. Apparently one of the islanders was out after rabbits and she was hit by mistake. She was wearing my coat. I can’t help feeling responsible. You’ll say that’s the old paranoia coming back and perhaps you’re right. Her death has unsettled me. Don’t worry though. I’m fine, keeping on top of things. And yes, I am eating.

Then today we made a tremendous discovery on the dig – silver coins which prove that I was right about the building there. There’s some talk about recreating the house as it would have been in the fifteenth century, but that’s a long way off. Sometimes I’m not sure that I’m up to carrying it through, then I think it would be the most exciting project in the world. And I’m here at the start of it.

How are things going with you? I heard you on the Today programme earlier this week and thought you kept your cool very well. Look forward to hearing from you. See you soon.

Love, Hattie

‘What do you think?’ Gwen had almost finished her first glass of wine.

Sandy’s mind went blank and he forced himself to come up with a response. ‘She doesn’t sound so depressed.’

‘That’s what I thought when I first read it, now I’m not so sure. “Sometimes I think I’m not sure that I’m up to carrying it through”. Perhaps that means she was thinking about killing herself.’

‘No,’ Sandy said. ‘It means she was making plans for the future. That’s what it sounds like to me.’

‘If you’re right, something must have happened between her writing the letter and phoning me. Don’t you think so? Or at least she came to see events in a different way.’

Sandy didn’t know what to think. He had very few opinions of his own. He said nothing.

‘I mean, this letter is quite calm. But by the time she phoned me she sounded really distressed.’

‘Have you saved her message on your mobile?’

‘Yes.’ She fumbled in her bag and pulled out her phone.

‘I’d like to take the SIM card with me, let my boss hear it. And there are other things we could learn. Like where she was calling from. It might help.’ He wasn’t sure he could face hearing Hattie’s voice now. Not in this room with her mother listening. But Gwen James hadn’t taken any notice of him; she was already pressing buttons.