A Dark Matter

Episode 41

Dorothy

The Church of Scotland minister didn’t seem to know anything about William Baxter. Dorothy knew more from Jenny’s scribbled notes a few days ago. There were two dozen people at the service in the Skelfs’ chapel – William’s widow stoic and quiet at the front, flanked by two sons, their wives and three grandchildren.

The rest were elderly, in various states of decay, many walking sticks and a mobility scooter parked at the back. Dorothy felt the age of her bones. She closed her eyes and thought of those Pismo barbecues, school dances, picnics and fairgrounds, car trips and flirtations with boys, then Jim, her big, Scottish boy appearing and changing everything. She looked out of the window to where they’d burned his body, not even a week ago.

She stared at the back of Mrs Baxter’s head. They had this in common, left behind by the men they loved, the men they thought loved them. Left behind to find out all the secrets, to float rudderless on a sea of grief and lies. Dorothy swallowed and took a deep breath, looked at the leaves shimmering in the breeze outside.

There was a disturbance outside the chapel door, voices raised. The minister hesitated, looked up from his notes. Mrs Baxter turned to her son, who shrugged then gave Dorothy a hard stare. She moved towards the door. Her hand was almost on the handle when the door flew open and clattered against the wall.

“How dare you.”

Rebecca Lawrence was hard-faced and fuming, shaking off an apologetic Indy as she gripped the door handle with red knuckles. “I’m so sorry,” Indy said.

“It’s OK,” Dorothy said. She turned to Rebecca, nodding behind her at the Baxter funeral service. “Maybe we could go somewhere private.”

Rebecca let go of the door handle and came into the room, pushing past Dorothy.

“No,” she said. “I want everyone to know what a nasty piece of work you are.” “This isn’t appropriate,” Dorothy said. The Baxters and friends were staring, William’s widow confused, the sons with faces like thunder.

“I’ll tell you what’s not appropriate,”

Rebecca said. “Coming to my house and raking over my husband’s death. I grieved for him twice, when he went missing and when I had to declare him dead. And now you come round making accusations, suggesting I’m screwing you out of money.” “I never said that.”

“You said I wasn’t due anything from my husband’s life assurance.”

“There was no life assurance,” Dorothy said. She reached out and tried to touch Rebecca on the elbow but the other woman shook her off. “And now my bank tells me you’ve cancelled the payments.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m a single parent with a 10-year-old daughter, what am I supposed to do?” “Please leave.”

The voice from the doorway made Dorothy turn. Jenny was in her funeral outfit, her fists balled, strands of hair falling from her ponytail.

Rebecca turned, wide-eyed. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Jenny said, stepping into the room.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Jenny Skelf, I help run this business. And we don’t owe you anything, not a penny.”

Rebecca was shaking, her head angled to the side. “It was your father who made me sign the paperwork, who set up the payments.”

“Do you have any of that paperwork?” Rebecca smiled and reached into her handbag, pulled out some crumpled pages. “Too right I do.”

Dorothy took a step towards her. “Can I see that?”

Rebecca snatched the papers away. “My lawyer will be in touch. I’m going to sue, I’m going to put this place out of business. You won’t even stick to an agreement your dad made. That’s how you honour him.”

“Don’t you dare speak about honour,” Jenny said.

“He promised me.”

“He lied to you,” Dorothy said, finding her voice. She looked at Jenny, Indy still hovering in the hallway behind. She

avoided looking at the Baxter party, the minister’s face. “He lied to all of us.”

Rebecca looked from Jenny to Dorothy and back again. She swallowed hard and spoke to Dorothy. “Why did you come back round?” Dorothy frowned. “What?”

“You came to our house yesterday morning, spoke to my daughter then left. Natalie is traumatised by all this, people talking about her dad.”

“I’m sorry,” Dorothy said. She thought about Natalie’s hair fibres in the police lab. “I wanted to explain to you in person, but I lost my nerve.”

Jenny narrowed her eyes at Dorothy. Rebecca lowered her head. “Do you know what it’s like?” She seemed to be talking to herself. “To have someone just disappear? Your husband, gone forever.”

Dorothy didn’t know what to say. Rebecca’s shoulders slumped, all fight gone. “A girl needs a father,” she said.

Dorothy shared a look with Jenny, then reached out and touched Rebecca’s elbow. This time she let herself be led away. Dorothy closed her eyes as she passed Jenny and thought about husbands and wives, fathers and daughters.

Jenny

Sunshine and traffic noise, the chatter of Spanish students at the next table. They were sitting outside a Brazilian restaurant on Lothian Street, green-and-yellow flags everywhere, boards advertising cheap tapas and pints of Brahma.

Orla Hook had a large glass of Shiraz in front of her as she fiddled with her wedding ring. It was lunchtime and the place was busy. Jenny would always know this place as Negociants, a late-night cafe in her student days, and an even later club downstairs.

All the pubs and clubs had changed since she was a teenager, the turnover of styles and decor rolling onward all the time. Across the road was Bristo Square, which had also been transformed and gentrified, surrounded by Edinburgh Uni buildings and full of students soaking up the last sunshine of late summer.

Rebecca snatched the papers away. “My lawyer will be in touch. I’m going to sue, to put this place out of business.”

More tomorrow.

A Dark Matter by Doug Johnstone is published by Orenda Books, as is Black Hearts, his latest in the same series. www.orendabooks. co.uk