The Mill on the Shore (2 page)

Jimmy Morrissey, adventurer and hero.

‘Never thought he’d marry again,’ said the companion, poorly shaven, leering. ‘Not after Cathy. Thought he’d make the most of his freedom after that little disaster. Could have knocked me down with a feather when he got hitched to Meg. That was some bloody party mind you. I had a hangover for a fortnight after that. I was booked to do the sound for Attenborough in the Galapagos and nearly missed the sodding plane.’

Jimmy Morrissey the great lover.

What was wrong with Mother? Ruth thought defensively. She looked back to the door where Meg still stood and began to worry about her again. There was no specific cause for concern. Meg was performing her role to perfection. But the welcome to the last of the guests now seemed slightly too loud, tinged with hysteria and desperation.

What else would I expect? Ruth thought. A week ago her husband committed suicide. Isn’t she entitled at a time like this to be hysterical? But the shaky public image was so unlike her mother that Ruth became tense and anxious. She looked around for Aidan thinking that he might reassure her, but he was not there. As the afternoon wore on and the light faded over the mudflats and the brent-geese flew low over the water to roost, she waited breathlessly, expecting some new disaster.

Ruth was the oldest, Meg’s child by a previous marriage. She’d always been a worrier. Caitlin was her full sister, the younger two were James’. All the children had been in the church. Meg had said they could stay at home but they had chosen to go, afraid, Ruth supposed, of missing something.

Caitlin’s laughter floated to her over the crowd. Ruth stared in her direction, hoping to make her see that mirth was hardly appropriate, but she was surrounded by people and did not notice. Ruth had thought that Caitlin would miss James most. They had been very close, wrapped up in each other. He had spoiled her more than his own children, taken a delight in her beauty, demanded her company even when Meg said she should be studying. But now she seemed to treat his death as a joke. Perhaps the actress in her was enjoying the melodrama of it and grief would come later. Caitlin was sixteen, very arty and posy. She played the flute and painted, wore strange home-dyed long skirts and large floppy hats. Ruth worried occasionally about the gaps in Caitlin’s education. She did well enough here, showing off in front of the students, chatting up the single men, but how would she survive in a world away from Markham Mill? For three years she had known nothing else. Meg seemed unbothered and assumed that Caitlin would find a niche somewhere, in the theatre perhaps or television. Ruth suspected that it was not that easy. Even in television, wasn’t there a requirement these days for A levels, a degree? But Caitlin was beautiful with wide flute-player’s lips and an oval Bardot face and perhaps that would see her through just as well.

She caught Ruth’s eye across the crowd and came over to her, with a glass of wine in one hand and a plate in the other.

‘What a load of bores!’ she said in a stage whisper. ‘When do you think they’ll all go home?’

‘You seem to be enjoying yourself well enough,’ Ruth said.

‘Oh well!’ Caitlin said. ‘You have to put on a show, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ruth said. Perhaps that’s where I go wrong, she thought. I’m no good at pretending. ‘I shouldn’t suppose they’ll stay long,’ she said. ‘Most of them have a long way to go.’

But the gathering had turned into a party. There was a sudden outburst of giggling and people shouted to be heard above the noise. Ruth turned away from it and stared out at the shore, her nose pressed against the glass like a child’s. It was nearly dark and the buoy which marked the shingle spit at the far end of the bay was already lit. Ruth could make out, silhouetted against the water, the row of staithes which had once formed a pier. Boats carrying grain had tied up there and unloaded their cargoes for the Mill but now they were broken and rotten, perches for cormorants and gulls. The glass was cold and she realized that there were tears on her cheeks.

‘Ruth!’ It was an insistent whisper and she recognized the voice not as Caitlin’s but Timothy’s. She took a tissue from her sleeve and wiped her eyes before turning to face him. Of all the children Tim was her favourite and she didn’t want to upset him. He was an earnest ten-year-old, solitary, uncertain. She often thought that like Caitlin he would be better off at school, but from the beginning Meg had been convinced that formal education destroyed creativity in a child and she saw schools as prisons. Her first husband had been a master at a minor public school and she said that put her off for life. They had all been educated at home. When Ruth had broached the subject of school discreetly with Tim he had been unenthusiastic.

‘I don’t know,’ he had said. ‘I’d have to be indoors all day, wouldn’t I? There’s my project on the shore. When would I find time to finish that?’

‘You might make friends,’ Ruth had said. ‘ There’d be more to do. Football. That sort of thing.’

But it seemed football was not much of an attraction when compared with a study of the Markham Mill rock pools, so he continued to be taught by Meg at home.

Today he looked scrubbed and uncomfortable in a white shirt and tie. Ruth had got him ready for the service herself and she was sorry she had been so hard on him. A clean sweater would have done. She put her arm around his shoulder but he pulled away embarrassed by the gesture, not wanting to be shown up in front of all these friends of his father’s.

‘What is it?’ she said smiling, whispering too. ‘Fed up?’

He nodded. ‘Do you think Mum would mind if Em and I went to the flat to watch telly?’

Emily was eight, considered the baby, indulged by them all.

‘Why don’t you ask her?’ Ruth said. She never liked to take decisions for her mother.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t like to bother her really …’

They both looked at Meg who had moved away from the door and was walking slowly among the crowd. Ruth could understand his diffidence. Their mother seemed tense and preoccupied. As they watched she took a glass of wine from Rosie the housekeeper and drank it very quickly. The action surprised them both. Usually she drank very little, preferring mineral water to wine at dinner, getting angry when Caitlin persuaded the students to buy her beer at the bar, or take her to the Dead Dog in Markham Law.

‘Why aren’t the Cairns here?’ Tim asked suddenly as if it had just occurred to him.

‘I don’t know,’ Ruth said. ‘They were asked.’ She was surprised by the question and wondered what lay behind it. ‘ Look,’ she went on, ‘I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind you watching television. I’ll tell her where you are.’ It had come to her again that Meg’s control was fragile, that it could give way at any moment and she wanted the children out of the way before her mother broke down.

‘There’s a survival programme on,’ Tim said. ‘ I don’t suppose Em will want to watch that … She’ll make me put on some ghastly game show. Or
Neighbours.
’

‘I tell you what,’ Ruth said hurriedly, ‘if there’s any problem you can watch the television in my room. Then you can choose whichever programme you like. But take Emily with you now. I expect she’s had enough too.’

‘She’s had four meringues already,’ he said gloomily. ‘You know what she’s like with Rosie’s meringues. She’ll probably be sick.’

But he went without a fuss to fetch his sister who was standing by the buffet, staring covetously at the last piece of coffee gateau. With relief Ruth watched them go quietly from the room.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves then went over to her mother and shyly took her hand.

‘Are you all right?’ she said. ‘You don’t have to go through all this, you know. We can tell them to go home.’

They’re only showing off, she thought. Claiming they’re important because they knew the great Jimmy Morrissey. And they didn’t really know him at all. Not like we did.

‘No,’ Meg said. ‘ We can’t send them away. Not yet. I’ve got something to say.’

She was a small woman, dark and fine featured, compelling. Ruth towered over her and always felt clumsy in comparison. After years of living in England Meg’s voice could still become Welsh when she was emotional. ‘Moulded by chapel and the valleys,’ James would say of her, half teasing. ‘And very principled indeed. When it suits.’

He thought Mother was stupid, Ruth realized in surprise. And she saw that in one way her mother was indeed stupid. Her reactions were always passionate and instinctive. She was incapable of cool thought, of seeing anyone else’s point of view. For the first time she wondered how James could have liked her mother. It was an uncomfortable thought and she returned to the conversation.

‘What do you want to say?’ she demanded, confused, but her mother ignored the question and looked around her.

‘Where are Tim and Emily?’ she asked.

‘Watching television in the flat.’ She knew Meg disapproved strongly of the television. ‘ They did ask. Is that OK?’

Why does my mother always make me feel so nervous? she wondered. Why can’t I trust my own judgement for once? She’s made us all too dependent on her.

‘Yes,’ Meg said, absent-mindedly, almost to herself. ‘Of course. It’s as well they’re not here. I’d be reluctant to speak in front of them. But it has to be said …’

‘What has to be said?’ Ruth cried. She thought her mother was going mad.

But Meg seemed not to hear and walked to the front of the room where she clapped her hands like a teacher calling for attention. The noise in the room subsided and they jostled forward so they could see her.

‘My friends …’ she said. Ruth stood with her back to the window. Meg’s slight figure was hidden by the crowd but her words were quite audible.

‘My friends …’ Meg went on. ‘ I want to talk to you about my husband, to make one thing clear …’

Ruth wished she had the courage to interrupt. Don’t listen to her! she wanted to shout to all the people in the room. My mother’s distressed. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She can’t think it through. But she wasn’t sufficiently brave and the guests listened sympathetically, admiring Meg’s calm, thinking she would make a short loving speech to Jimmy’s memory and that then they could go back to the booze.

‘The verdict of the inquest was that James took his own life when the balance of his mind was disturbed. It was a reasonable decision considering his medical history. We all know that since his accident he’s suffered periods of depression. But it wasn’t a true verdict. I know that James didn’t kill himself. He wouldn’t have done it. As the days have passed since his death I’ve become more convinced …’ Her voice broke off. ‘I just can’t let it go!’ she said desperately. ‘There has to be an investigation. I have to know if there was a dreadful accident or some malicious intent.’ She stopped again. Perhaps she expected some reaction or encouragement but there was only awkwardness, a cough, an uneasy murmur from the back that Meg had been under considerable strain for years and it was hardly surprising if she broke down now.

Meg looked around her and suddenly seemed her old self. She smiled.

‘It’s been a terrible day,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll understand that I want to be on my own now.’

And she left the room without saying anything more. There was a stunned silence and the crowd broke up. Ruth stood at the front door and watched them run through the wind to their cars. She had expected some comment about Meg’s state of mind but no one spoke to her. There were only sympathetic and embarrassed glances as they dashed away.

When she returned to the common room Caitlin was draining dregs of wine from the empty bottles.

‘What was all that about?’ she demanded. She was flushed and unsteady. ‘What the hell was she trying to say?’

‘I rather think,’ Ruth said quietly, annoyed by Caitlin’s flippancy, wanting to shock, ‘I rather think she was trying to say James had been murdered.’

Caitlin went very pale, dropped heavily into a chair and began to laugh out loud.

Cathy Cairns was pleased when Aidan Moore asked for a lift to the church with them. She thought her husband Phil would want to talk about James. She had avoided the subject since his death and was still not quite sure what to say. In Aidan’s presence, surely, even Phil would restrain himself to polite and superficial expressions of sorrow.

They arrived at the church early and waited outside for the family to arrive, shivering in the cold. Phil who usually seemed impervious to extremes of temperature bounced around like a puppy, slapping himself to keep warm. He was a plump jolly man with a thick black beard and boundless nervous energy. He could never stand still. At last Meg’s car drew up and it was like a royal procession when she and the children paraded into the church, the flashlights snapping as the local press took pictures.

Cathy, as usual, felt the shock of recognition as Emily climbed out of the car, then the old bitterness and anger. The girl looked so like Hannah at the same age that she wanted to go up to her and take her into her arms. She turned away with tears in her eyes. Phil, who had never noticed her reaction to Emily, patted her shoulder and said: ‘Nay, lass, don’t cry. He had a good life,’ which made her smile despite herself because ‘good’ was never an adjective to describe Jimmy Morrissey in any context.

Cathy had been married to James Morrissey briefly in the early seventies. During the courtship she had been overwhelmed by him, infatuated beyond reason, but after the wedding she had seen quite soon that it would not work out. The main problem was that he was never there. He was at the height of his fame and besides the routine trips abroad to film for the BBC he was invited to lecture, to advise, to promote internationally the interests of conservation. He had been public property and had never really belonged to her. It would never have occurred to him to turn down these invitations. He needed the admiration and the excitement, the sense that life was full, that he was always rushed off his feet. So Cathy had been left on her own, abandoned, she felt, out of preference for elephants and rhinos. Even when Hannah was born James had turned up late, still dressed in some ridiculous safari suit, and had entranced the midwives and doctors so they clustered around him asking for autographs while she and the baby were left alone, forgotten.