home.’
That much she knew only too well.
*
Lexie tightened her grip on McCall’s arm. Another family waiting to mourn parted on the steps outside and let them through. In the memorial garden opposite, McCall thought he glimpsed a man with something like a camera around his neck. But the sun was in his eyes and he was too preoccupied to think any more of it.
The shadow of the crematorium chimney lay across the car park and a reflection of its hazy gasses shimmered on the asphalt beneath their feet.
‘I need a steadier,’ Lexie said. ‘There’s a pub across the road.’
Inside, wet-eyed women sat drinking spirits, self conscious men stood apart, pint pots in their fists, ill-fitting suits on their backs. McCall bought Lexie a brandy and asked to hear more about Etta.
‘I still haven’t got a clear picture of her.’
‘Bit of a lost soul, really… lacked direction, hadn’t much self-confidence.’
‘Why would that be, do you think?’
‘Our upbringing, I suppose. Everything goes back to childhood, doesn’t it?’
‘Wasn’t your home life very happy, then?’
‘No, not really… not looking back.’
‘Would you rather not talk about it?’
Lexie thought for a moment and asked for another brandy. Then she lit a cigarette as if to delay her answer a little longer.
‘Families,’ she said. ‘No one knows what goes on inside them… not truly, they don’t.’
‘That sounds pretty heartfelt.’
‘Etta had it worse than me… wasn’t as strong-willed as me.’
‘Had what worse than you, Lexie?’
‘Dad… Dad and his cuddling. That’s what he called it. Cuddling.’
‘You mean - ’
‘At that age, you don’t know what’s right or wrong or what’s normal, do you?’
‘Couldn’t you tell your mother?’
‘She knew, I’m sure she did but she was as afraid of him as we were so she chose to see nothing, didn’t she?’
McCall would’ve carried on gently probing but Malky Hoare joined them. He’d collected Etta’s ashes from the crematorium office as a favour to Lexie. It was his day off but even if Benwick hadn’t ordered him to attend the funeral, he would’ve done so. He wanted to keep track of a story which had far from run its intriguing course. Lexie went to the loo so McCall had chance to quiz Hoare.
‘The possibility of Etta being mixed up in Ruby’s disappearance, all that black magic crap and her being on the game, is any of this likely to come out at the inquest?’
‘I wouldn’t think so. There’s no hard evidence against her, just suspicion.’
For Lexie, her sister’s suicide was hard enough to take. Any official hint, however oblique, that Ruby’s disappearance involved a background of sex and Satanism and the tabloids would start their own witch-hunt.
Etta’s death had affected Lexie more deeply than she would admit. She was showing a quiet vulnerability which McCall had never noticed before. It engendered an urge to protect her from more harm.
Lexie came back and said they should leave to miss the afternoon traffic. They had a long drive ahead, out of London and to life as it had once been.
*
Lexie and Etta were raised in Upton, a gossipy little town by a bend in the Severn, adrift between the whale-backed hills of Malvern to the west and Bredon Hill in the east. It was set on a marshy plain of brooks and ponds and pollarded willows where cows stood steaming in the early morning mists. Here were idyllic half-timbered cottages, bluebell woods and the bridal blossoms of orchards marking the coming of every spring.
They parked and walked for a while. The softly coloured counties around them were theatrically spot-lit here and there whenever the clouds blustered apart and let snatches of sunshine slip through.
‘What did your Dad do for a living, Lexie?’
‘He was a station porter… only became an important man when he got home.’
‘This abuse you suffered, it must have had a bad effect on you and Etta.’
‘It scarred our childhood,
That much she knew only too well.
*
Lexie tightened her grip on McCall’s arm. Another family waiting to mourn parted on the steps outside and let them through. In the memorial garden opposite, McCall thought he glimpsed a man with something like a camera around his neck. But the sun was in his eyes and he was too preoccupied to think any more of it.
The shadow of the crematorium chimney lay across the car park and a reflection of its hazy gasses shimmered on the asphalt beneath their feet.
‘I need a steadier,’ Lexie said. ‘There’s a pub across the road.’
Inside, wet-eyed women sat drinking spirits, self conscious men stood apart, pint pots in their fists, ill-fitting suits on their backs. McCall bought Lexie a brandy and asked to hear more about Etta.
‘I still haven’t got a clear picture of her.’
‘Bit of a lost soul, really… lacked direction, hadn’t much self-confidence.’
‘Why would that be, do you think?’
‘Our upbringing, I suppose. Everything goes back to childhood, doesn’t it?’
‘Wasn’t your home life very happy, then?’
‘No, not really… not looking back.’
‘Would you rather not talk about it?’
Lexie thought for a moment and asked for another brandy. Then she lit a cigarette as if to delay her answer a little longer.
‘Families,’ she said. ‘No one knows what goes on inside them… not truly, they don’t.’
‘That sounds pretty heartfelt.’
‘Etta had it worse than me… wasn’t as strong-willed as me.’
‘Had what worse than you, Lexie?’
‘Dad… Dad and his cuddling. That’s what he called it. Cuddling.’
‘You mean - ’
‘At that age, you don’t know what’s right or wrong or what’s normal, do you?’
‘Couldn’t you tell your mother?’
‘She knew, I’m sure she did but she was as afraid of him as we were so she chose to see nothing, didn’t she?’
McCall would’ve carried on gently probing but Malky Hoare joined them. He’d collected Etta’s ashes from the crematorium office as a favour to Lexie. It was his day off but even if Benwick hadn’t ordered him to attend the funeral, he would’ve done so. He wanted to keep track of a story which had far from run its intriguing course. Lexie went to the loo so McCall had chance to quiz Hoare.
‘The possibility of Etta being mixed up in Ruby’s disappearance, all that black magic crap and her being on the game, is any of this likely to come out at the inquest?’
‘I wouldn’t think so. There’s no hard evidence against her, just suspicion.’
For Lexie, her sister’s suicide was hard enough to take. Any official hint, however oblique, that Ruby’s disappearance involved a background of sex and Satanism and the tabloids would start their own witch-hunt.
Etta’s death had affected Lexie more deeply than she would admit. She was showing a quiet vulnerability which McCall had never noticed before. It engendered an urge to protect her from more harm.
Lexie came back and said they should leave to miss the afternoon traffic. They had a long drive ahead, out of London and to life as it had once been.
*
Lexie and Etta were raised in Upton, a gossipy little town by a bend in the Severn, adrift between the whale-backed hills of Malvern to the west and Bredon Hill in the east. It was set on a marshy plain of brooks and ponds and pollarded willows where cows stood steaming in the early morning mists. Here were idyllic half-timbered cottages, bluebell woods and the bridal blossoms of orchards marking the coming of every spring.
They parked and walked for a while. The softly coloured counties around them were theatrically spot-lit here and there whenever the clouds blustered apart and let snatches of sunshine slip through.
‘What did your Dad do for a living, Lexie?’
‘He was a station porter… only became an important man when he got home.’
‘This abuse you suffered, it must have had a bad effect on you and Etta.’
‘It scarred our childhood,
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