Killed in Cornwall by Janie Bolitho

it a bit big?’ It was, like many older houses in the area, built of granite. It stood in a terrace and was reached by a short flight of steps from the pavement and a path with steeply sloping lawns on either side of it. There were three bedrooms, a large front room and a dining-room. In Nathan’s situation she would have found somewhere smaller and cosier and easily manageable. But when David died I knew I could never leave my house, Rose recalled. Perhaps Nathan felt the same way.
    ‘I’ll manage. Doreen says I ought to get someone in to do for me but I don’t know as I can afford it yet. The lawyer’s going to have a word with me next week.’
    ‘Don’t take on, Nathan. The house is paid for, it’s yours now and there’s a bit of money put by. You won’t starve, take it from me. Besides, you’re free to find work now. Why don’t you see if they need you back at the farm?’
    Rose was aware that Nathan had received asmall benefit payment as a full time carer. That would have stopped with Phyllis’s death. She had no idea of his financial situation although Doreen seemed to. She hid a smile. There was little information to which Doreen wasn’t privy, no matter how private it was supposed to be.
    ‘Take my advice, Nathan, start looking right away. It’ll give you something to do and take your mind off your mum.
    ‘He’s not been hisself at all,’ she added turning to Rose as if the forty-year-old man was no more than a child.
    And nor have you, Rose thought, catching the fleeting expression of pain which crossed Doreen’s face. She couldn’t make Nathan out. Despite his recent bereavement there was an expression of quiet determination on his face. Doreen seemed to be worrying unnecessarily. But it was early days, a time of numbness; there would be worse to come. She did not suggest that he saw a doctor as she had done after David died. After ten days and at Laura’s insistence, Rose had succumbed and seen her GP. She had tried to drown her sorrow in wine but it had only exacerbated it. Nathan, loner that he was, would come to terms with his loss in his own way.
    Rose accepted the tea Doreen handed her. Itwas dark and strong and had been made with loose leaves. Nathan sipped his tea with his right hand, his left was resting on his knees. Had there been a woman, Rose thought, or even some friends, it might have been different but Nathan Brown had spent all of his forty years devoted to his mother, a hard task-master from what Doreen had told her. What a gap it must have left in his life. I’m here to comfort Doreen, not Nathan, she reminded herself. But he had worn well and looked several years younger than the forty he had already lived. ‘The fête went off well, how much money did it make?’
    ‘Just over a thousand pounds. There’ll be a report in the Cornishman tomorrow.’ Doreen’s pride was obvious. She deserved to feel proud, she had put much work into it.
    ‘That’s an awful lot of money.’
    ‘I know, but we were selling raffle tickets beforehand and we had some very generous prizes donated, including a day trip to the Scillies for two on the boat. Terrible about that poor girl, wasn’t it? Has Jack said anything to you?’
    ‘No, not really.’
    ‘I know, you can’t talk about it. I just hope they catch ’en. Rape. I ask you, no one’s safe anymore. And I’ll tell you what, I’ve heard a rumour that someone from round here was attacked, another girl. Helen Trehearne I believe her name is.’
    ‘Doreen.’ Cyril glared at his wife. It might not be true and he did not like to hear such gossip.
    So Doreen also knew. That was the name Jack had mentioned. ‘What makes you say that?’
    ‘I know the Trehearnes. Good family. And Helen’s a good girl, not like some of them nowadays. The police were outside her house the other day and she hasn’t been at school this week. That Helen’s a strong maid, she won’t hide her head in shame and keep it a secret. I know I’m not far out,