‘I agree,’ Donna replied through a mouthful of steak and onion rings. ‘That is the obvious question. And the answer is, I don’t know. Marina never gave me any name or anything like that. But I think I know the kind of boyfriend she would have liked to have.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Listen, Carole, I don’t know if you know about where Marina come from. .’
‘Her mother told me about her being found in a rubber dinghy.’
‘Yeah, so you know the basics. Anyway, Marina was convinced that her real parents were Russian. That’s why she was drawn to me. As you might have deduced from my surname, I am not one hundred per cent through- and-through British. My dad was a Russian sailor, came home to see my mum between trips off round the world. Well, he did for a while. Then he buggered off, rather in the manner of Kyle’s Dad. Do you detect a pattern here, Carole?’
‘I’m not quite sure what you-’
‘It’s a pattern called men, that’s what it is.’
The baby in the buggy was beginning to twitch and make little grunting noises. Carole didn’t have the young mother’s undivided attention for a lot longer.
‘So are you saying that Marina had a Russian boyfriend?’
‘No, but I’m saying if she was looking for a boyfriend, she’d have tried to link up with Brighton’s Russian community.’
‘Is there much of a Russian community in Brighton?’
‘A bit, yeah. There is in most big cities. You know, they’ve got their social clubs, that kind of thing. Restaurants, pubs they go to.’
‘Did Marina know about these places?’
‘I’d told her a bit, yes. My mum knew about them, from when she and my dad. . well, we’re talking some time back obviously. Probably the places she knew had closed, but other ones had come along. Anyway, Marina was fascinated by all this stuff. She was convinced that she really was Russian and, well, if any Russian boy had come on to her, she’d have let him do anything to her.’
‘And did any Russian boy come on to her?’
Donna Grodsky shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Did she mention any Russian boy’s name?’
‘She mentioned a few, but, look, I’m not going to remember them, am I? We’re talking over eight years ago.’
‘Are you sure you can’t remember a name?’
The girl screwed up her eyes with the effort of recollection. The lashes looked as if two large black moths had settled on her face. ‘Oh, there was one boy Marina talked about. Vladimir, I think. . Vladimir. . oh, God, what was the surname? Mind you, I don’t know if he even existed. Marina was a great one for her fantasies. Lived in a kind of dream world, you know, where somehow her Russian heritage was going to claim her back at some point. I took everything she said with a large sack-load of salt.’
‘Vladimir. .? Vladimir. .?’ prompted Carole patiently, hoping to stir Donna’s memory for a second name.
But she was only rewarded by a shake of the head and the eyes reopening. ‘No, it’s gone.’
‘Are you sure you don’t know the name of-’
‘I’ve told you, I don’t
‘Right, thank you.’
‘And the other thing I’d check out,’ said Donna Grodsky as she swept up the juices of her steak with the last few chips, ‘is Marina’s Dad.’
‘Iain Holland?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I always thought he was a shifty bastard. And though he treated her like shit, Marina still kind of worshipped him.’
‘Susan said she was as rude and bolshie to him as she was to her.’
‘Doesn’t mean she didn’t worship him. There’s something about fathers and daughters. My dad treated my mum like shit, treated me like shit, and all. .’ The grotesquely long eyelashes tried to flick away tears. ‘Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to see him again. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss him.’
Kyle was now wide awake and crying. Donna Grodsky shoved the last chip into her mouth and swigged down the remains of her third voddy and Coke. ‘Good timing, eh? God knows I’ve had enough practice. Oh, what’s the matter with Mum’s lovely boy then?’
Carole, aware that the last sentence wasn’t addressed to her and that her time was very short, asked, ‘Do you have any way of contacting Iain Holland?’
‘Haven’t got an address or anything, but shouldn’t be too difficult to track him down.’
‘Really?’
‘He’s all over the local paper every week.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s a very important local councillor. New squeaky-clean wife, new squeaky-clean kids, new squeaky-clean social conscience. Oh yes, round Brighton, Iain Holland is very definitely a pillar of the community.’
Carole Seddon drove back to Fethering, sedately careful in her Renault, with three strong impressions. One, that Donna Grodsky was an extremely intelligent young woman. Two, that she was also a very good mother. And three, that the prices in the George’s Head in Moulsecoomb were really very reasonable.
And she didn’t at all regret the twenty-pound note she had pressed into the girl’s hand as they parted.
EIGHTEEN
Jude was still in a bad way. She’d had two clients booked in for sessions on the Monday morning, but postponed both of them. She knew from experience that healing required all her focus and energy. When she was preoccupied with something else it just didn’t work.
And she felt bad about what was preoccupying her. The laid-back manner and serenity she displayed to the world were genuine, but they had not come to her without effort. Though the carapace she had built around herself was less instantly visible than Carole’s, she too had created a protective layer to keep her from the worst excesses of her emotions. And one of the ways in which she had shielded herself was by not falling in love.
There had been a good few lovers in Jude’s past — though not as many as her next-door neighbour fantasised that there were. And of course there had been the two marriages. But since she’d moved to Fethering her life had been quieter. She’d indulged in the odd one-night stand, the occasional nostalgic coupling with an ex- boyfriend, and then she had nursed a former lover, Laurence Hawker, till his death from cancer. But that period of her life with Laurence, though painful, had had an elegiac quality to it. Not the heady mania of a new love affair.
But that was what she had tumbled straight into with Piers Targett, and now Jude felt stupid for having been so precipitate. Both of them knew that there were stories from their pasts that must at some point be told. But they were both so enjoying the moment that they didn’t want to spoil it. For Jude and Piers love had come first; getting to know each other could wait.
Not any more. Jude had gone over again and again the scene with Piers and Jonquil Targett. His wife had spoken of ‘the house we jointly own’. Did that mean they still cohabited there? Was that why Piers had hardly mentioned the place to Jude? And why he had made no attempt to invite her there?
On the other hand, the Goffham cottage’s state of neglect did not suggest that it was regularly occupied. So maybe Jonquil Targett’s arrival there on the Saturday had just been a coincidence? Or maybe Piers had summoned her there to have a final confrontation, to get her agreement to his putting their shared property on the market?
