When Tristan came off the phone, he went indoors. The house was empty, and he saw that the back window had been mended in the kitchen. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Sarah was pregnant. She was having a baby. It made him think about his own life. He was happy at work. Very happy, but what about his personal life? There wasn’t even a significant other on the horizon. And what about kids? He’d always wanted children, but now he didn’t know how it would happen, and that made him feel sad and lonely.
He changed into his running gear. It was a warm evening, and he ran along the seafront and across the beach to the lighthouse and back. Running made him feel better and made his thoughts and worries fall off his shoulders. The weather would be good for the next few months. He would have to buy Sarah and Gary something. Did you give pregnancy gifts? Money was a worry. What if Bev and Bill decided not to keep them on after the first month, when they were getting closer with the investigation? He was now on reduced hours at the university over the summer. He could cancel his gym membership, which was sixty pounds a month, and his habit of buying an expensive pair of trainers every month could stop, or he could start taking sandwiches to the office—that would save him a fortune. It would give him the extra money for the mortgage if things didn’t work out. His birthday was coming up, and he could ask for free weights.
When he reached the seafront, he was dripping with sweat, and he took off his T-shirt and mopped his face and chest and stopped at the water fountain by the pier and had a long drink. When he stood up, Ade was coming out of the chip shop on the pier with a big cone full of chips and a battered sausage. He looked at Tristan’s torso.
“Bloody hell, I hate you,” he said with a smile.
“Why?” said Tristan. “Hello, and nice to see you too.”
“Look at your body! Oh my God,” said Ade, pulling out the battered sausage and fanning himself with it. “And here I am about to guzzle three thousand calories.” He bit the top off the sausage and offered him a chip. Tristan took one and chewed.
“Thanks.”
“What’s up? You look a bit down. Well, you look hot, but your face seems a bit down,” said Ade.
“Money worries . . . and my sister’s pregnant.”
“Are you the father?”
“No!”
“Then what are you worrying about?” cried Ade, taking another bite out of the sausage.
“At some point, before . . . before I was gay, I thought I might have children. That’s probably not going to happen now.”
“Why not? You can go online and buy an egg . . . Find a nice fag hag with childbearing hips, inseminate her with a turkey baster. Or you could adopt. Or you could do both and become the Mia Farrow of Ashdean!”
“Ade. Be serious,” said Tristan.
“I don’t know how it works. I’ve never wanted kids . . . Come on, let’s go and sit on the pier. I feel rather common, eating chips on the pavement.”
They found an empty bench looking out to sea.
“This case is getting to me. Hearing about these four young men whose bodies were found, raped and strangled. Noah Huntley is gay but got married so he wouldn’t be lonely . . . My sister loves me, but I know she’s scared I’m going to end up alone, that I won’t find happiness . . . And you said something a few weeks ago, at the pub, that you’ve lost plenty of friends to parenthood. I just don’t know where I fit in. What my life is going to be like.”
Ade put his hand on Tristan’s.
“Tris. You don’t have to fit in, you know. There are plenty of straight people who don’t want children or can’t have children. And that’s fine. Life isn’t all about having children. Yes, there are plenty of gays and lesbians who have children or adopt. And then there are rancid old queens like me, who are quite happy to live alone . . . I love my own space. I cherish living alone, but I’m not lonely.”
“Don’t you wish you had a boyfriend?”
“Sometimes. But I’ve been there, done that, got the T-shirt. I’m a very good friend, but I don’t think I’m a good boyfriend. Tris, you’re what? Twenty-five?”
“Yeah.”
“You know who you are, and you know what you want to do with your life. I believe you are going to be a successful private detective, with a successful business. Think how lucky you are in comparison to David Lamb and—what was his name?”
“Gabe Kemp.”
“They didn’t have the choices or the advantages you do, and they no longer have the luxury of life. And you get to be the person to catch who killed them. Yes?” said Ade. He was now looking serious.
“Yes, but the police want to reopen the Joanna Duncan case, now we’ve found the link. We’re worried Joanna’s mother won’t want us to continue,” said Tristan.
“Yes. I saw the news earlier. Kathy Marshall.”
“I know. Kate wasn’t happy about that. The police said they would credit the agency, but they got her name wrong. It was thanks to us that they’re able to link the investigations.”
“Then don’t give up! If you and Kate want your business to succeed, make it happen!”
“Thank you. You’re right,” said Tristan, wiping his eyes and pulling his T-shirt back on.
“Good, that’s settled, then,” said Ade. “What are you doing tonight? Do you fancy a couple of bevvies at the Boar’s Head? There’s that Canadian Cilla Black impersonator who sings ‘What’s It All Aboot, Alfie.’”
Tristan smiled and nodded. “Okay. Just a couple. We’re meeting Noah Huntley tomorrow, and I need to prepare.”
37
After Tristan left to go home, Kate made dinner for Jake, and they ate, watching the TV. The story came up again on the evening news, showing the photos of David and Gabe and part of the Crimewatch reconstruction.
When they’d finished and Jake was clearing away the dishes, Kate had a craving to smoke, so she found the pack of cigarettes she kept on a shelf on the back porch.
It was a balmy night, and the sounds of the wind and the waves were muffled by the dunes as she climbed down the cliff. At the bottom she found the two rusting deck chairs that she and Myra had sat in many times to talk and have a cigarette. One of the chairs lay on its side. Kate picked it up, and dusted off the sand, and placed it next to the first. She sat down, tipped her head back, and looked up at the stars, brilliant against the black sky. Tiredness and worry overwhelmed her, and she closed her eyes.
Kate heard a rasping cough and opened her eyes. Her friend Myra was slowly making her way down through the dunes, her shoulders rounded and hunched over. She wore a long dark coat, which was open, and underneath, an old gray tracksuit and bare feet. Her white hair was luminous, even in the darkness, and her skin glowed.
“Evening, Kate,” she said. “Good Lord. The dunes have shifted, haven’t they? It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”
She sat next to her. The deck chair creaked. The tide was far out, and the wet sand glistened in the moonlight. It was the strangest feeling. Kate knew that she was asleep and dreaming. How else would her dead friend be sitting here on the beach, talking to her?
“Hello,” said Kate.