The Sleeping and the Dead

When Hannah went to find Arthur at lunchtime he was still running a class. He’d got them to pull the tables together and they sat round as if they were at a board meeting. The prisoner who’d pushed over the library shelf was standing at the front, writing on a flip chart with a fat felt-tip pen. This must be the prerelease course. Hannah knew it was feeble but she didn’t want to meet him again so she waited in Arthur’s office until they all streamed out. There was a list of the men attending the course on his desk, with their dates of birth and release dates. By a process of elimination she identified her troublemaker as Hunter. The next day he’d be gone.

Despite the rain Arthur took her out of the prison for lunch. It was her choice. The food in the officers’ mess was cheap but she hated the noise in there, the banter, the unspoken implication that anyone not in uniform was an outsider. They went to a pub in the nearest village. Often that was full of prison staff too, but today it was empty. They sat in the bay window but low cloud hid the view. Arthur went to the bar for drinks and to order food. As soon as he returned he said, ‘I’m sitting comfortably. Let’s hear the story.’

She didn’t know where to start. She would have liked to go back to the beginning, to her first meeting with Michael and the bonfire on the beach. She would have liked Arthur’s opinion. He was an expert. But the friendship hadn’t developed to the stage of discussing ex-lovers. And besides, they only had three quarters of an hour for lunch.

‘Did you meet up with your friends?’

‘Yes, and I’ll go back. It’s broken the ice.’

‘But something happened?’

‘Yes.’ She sounded abrupt and ungrateful – Rosie on a bad day. She’d found it easier to talk to Marty. Arthur was a professional. The reassuring voice, the laid-back manner, these were techniques he’d perfected. He listened to people’s confidences for a living. She felt resentful. She didn’t want to be one of his clients. Anyway, wouldn’t he resent her spilling out all her fears in his lunch break? It was like asking a mechanic to check your brakes in his dinner hour. Still, she couldn’t stop now and she stumbled on. ‘Did you hear on the news that a body was found in the lake?’

‘Exposed after the drought. Yes.’

‘I knew him. When I was at school he was my boyfriend.’

There was a minute of silence. It was obviously the last thing he’d been expecting. ‘I’m so sorry.’ The response seemed genuine. But so, she supposed, would his Monday-to-Friday compassion with the inmates.

‘The police think he was murdered.’

‘Can they tell after all this time?’

‘There’s evidence of a knife wound. Apparently.’

‘You went to the hills to escape all the crime and punishment thing here, then you ended up with that.’

‘I know.’ She forced out a laugh. ‘As Rosie says, it’s shitty.’

‘How is Rosie? Is she giving you grief?’

‘No. She’s being a sweetie.’

There was a slightly awkward pause. ‘She seems a nice kid. Protective.’

‘She is. Usually. I’m sorry she was so prickly when you met the other night.’

He shrugged. ‘Understandable, isn’t it?’

A middle-aged waitress approached with the food. She had flat feet and they could hear her as soon as she left the bar. Arthur waited for her to put down the plates and retreat.

‘Just because it happened thirty years ago doesn’t mean you won’t go through the normal stages of bereavement. You’re bound to feel anger, guilt, all the usual junk.’

Of course he was right. Hannah supposed she should be grateful. No one else had given her the right to mourn. But it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. It wasn’t any of his business. She didn’t need a psychologist.

‘It was all a long time ago,’ she said briskly.

‘But you’ll have memories. Intense at that age.’

‘No danger of forgetting,’ she said. ‘The police are coming tonight to interview me.’

‘Whatever for?’

She was about to make a flippant remark. Something like – Perhaps they think I killed him. But that was too close to the truth. That was what really frightened her. She didn’t want to tempt fate by saying it, even as a joke.

‘After all this time they can’t find out much about him. They haven’t even traced his family. They think I can help.’

‘Ah.’ That satisfied him. He hesitated. ‘Would you like me to be there with you? Not to interfere. Just for support.’

It was tempting. If she hadn’t dismissed his earlier kindness she would probably have accepted. But she’d decided the body in the lake was none of his business. She couldn’t have it both ways.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Really. It’s just a few questions.’

She looked at her watch. It was time to go back inside.

Chapter Sixteen

When Hannah got in from work Rosie was in the kitchen and there was a smell of cooking. A wooden spoon hung over the edge of the bench and dripped tomato sauce on to the floor. Pans were piled on the draining board. Hannah moved the spoon. ‘This is a surprise.’ A nice surprise. Since the end of exams, Rosie had seldom been there to share a meal with her.