The Sleeping and the Dead

‘I wouldn’t give that marriage long.’ Eddie cupped his hand to catch the oozing tuna mayonnaise before it splashed on to his lap.

‘No?’ It wasn’t the first time Porteous had been surprised by Eddie’s cynicism. ‘I thought they were well matched. He seemed supportive. Protective even.’

‘Nah. She blames him already for the lassie’s death. I’d give it six months. She doesn’t trust him. We should get her on her own.’

‘What have you got against him? Besides his money?’

‘That’ll do for the time being. And the fact that he was lying.’

After the glare of the afternoon sun the pub was inviting. Rosie had been right. At this time of day the place was quiet. She was on her own behind the bar, chatting to a thin lad with a pony tail. She realized who they were as soon as they came through the door, and went to the back to call a plump, balding man, before greeting them.

‘Do you want a drink?’ It was an offhand snarl. Porteous thought if she was as ungracious as that to all the customers she was lucky still to have a job.

‘Orange juice.’ He raised his eyebrows to Stout, who nodded. ‘Two.’

She poured the drinks then turned to her boss. ‘Can I have my break now, Frank?’

‘Aye. Take as long as you like. We’re hardly rushed off our feet.’

She helped herself to a Coke and led them to a table in the corner. The skinny boy followed after.

‘This is Joe,’ she said. ‘Mel’s boyfriend.’

‘It was good of you to come.’

‘What do you want?’

‘To talk about Mel, that’s all. To try to get a clearer idea what she was like. Her parents are upset.’

‘We’re upset too.’

Porteous wished Eddie would help him out. He hadn’t expected the girl’s hostility. Didn’t Eddie know about teenagers? But Eddie drank his orange juice and seemed content to let his boss struggle on.

‘It’s not just that. She’ll have told things to you that she’d never let on to her parents. Wouldn’t she?’

‘Yeah. I suppose.’

‘So just talk to us. Describe her. Joe?’

‘She wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever met.’

That hardly helps, Porteous thought.

‘She was delicate, fragile. It wasn’t just the anorexia. I mean, I could never get to the bottom of what that was about. It didn’t seem to be about food. Not image even. I mean, it didn’t seem to be about the supermodel thing. She didn’t want starvation chic. She had more about her than that. It was as if she didn’t feel she deserved to eat. Which was crazy when you knew her, because everyone thought she was brilliant. Not just the teachers but her mates. People liked being around her. I couldn’t believe it when we started going out. I was on a high for months.’

Hadn’t that been how Hannah Meek had described her relationship with Michael Grey? Porteous thought. But perhaps it could be a description of any teenage infatuation.

‘Did she talk to you about her dad?’

‘You know about that?’ Joe seemed surprised. ‘My God, you’d have thought he was a murderer the way Richard Gillespie made her keep it secret. I think that made her dream about him even more. She had this romantic notion that Ray Scully, the great musician, was going to turn up and take her away from all that respectability.’

‘Richard wasn’t Mel’s real dad?’ Porteous could tell Rosie was hurt.

‘No.’

‘You never said. Even when she went missing.’

‘I couldn’t,’ Joe said. ‘She’d made me promise…’ Like a six-year-old in the playground.

‘Had she heard from her dad recently?’ Porteous asked.

‘No, I’m sure she would have said.’

‘How were things between you before she died?’

‘I hadn’t seen her for a few days. Her parents said she was too ill.’

‘You’d spoken on the phone though?’

‘They’d said she wasn’t up to it. I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to me.’

‘Why wouldn’t she? Had you had a row?’

‘No!’

‘But?’

‘But something had happened to freak her out. I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was something I’d done or she’d thought I’d done, but she wouldn’t say.’ He paused, drank his beer. Porteous thought that despite his grief part of him was enjoying this – the attention, the drama. At university it would make an unusual chat-up story. The murder of the love of his life would demand sympathy. Women would go for it in droves. ‘We were going on holiday. It was her parents’ idea. They thought she should get away. The stress of waiting for exam results was getting to her. They knew someone with a villa on the Algarve.’

‘Eleanor said you weren’t very keen on the idea.’

Joe seemed shocked by the interruption. Porteous thought he’d already conjured a fantasy in which there’d been no disagreements in their relationship.

‘I just wasn’t sure I wanted the responsibility.’

‘She could be disturbed?’

‘Not mad!’ Joe said. ‘Troubled, depressed maybe. I’m not saying she was insane.’

‘So you were all set for a holiday to the Algarve. What happened?’

‘We were in here. All packed. Our suitcases with us. It was an evening flight and we’d arranged for the taxi to pick us up outside at six. We were having a few drinks, saying goodbye to our friends. Not Rosie. She’d gone away with her mum.’