Road Closed Read online

  2

  Funeral

  Geraldine glanced around the kitchen.

  Hannah bridled, misunderstanding the expression on her friend’s face. ‘There’s no need to look so disapproving,’ she snapped. ‘Not everyone’s as anal as you.’ Geraldine smiled as Hannah seized a damp rag and swiped at a patch of butter on the table, smearing crumbs. ‘Oh sod it. Let’s go in the other room.’ As though that would be any better.

  Over the years Geraldine had grown used to the chaos that surrounded Hannah. Looking around at the jumble of clothes, children’s books, toys and women’s magazines, Geraldine remembered her surprise the first time she had walked into Hannah’s bedroom after school.

  ‘No wonder you keep losing your homework,’ she had said, staring primly at the clutter that covered every surface of her friend’s room.

  ‘I know, I’m hopeless.’ Hannah had shaken her head until her ponytail wiggled. ‘My mum goes spare.’ That was how their friendship had begun. Geraldine lost count of the number of times she saved Hannah from detention by lending her friend books, PE kit, or homework to copy.

  ‘So what’s the problem this time?’ Hannah asked. She swept a pile of towels off a chair so Geraldine could sit down. ‘I thought you were going to Dubrovnik with Craig. I thought you said it was all booked.’

  ‘It was. It is.’

  ‘So…?’

  Geraldine shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I want to go away right now.’

  Her friend let out an exaggerated sigh. ‘It’s a bit late to be having second thoughts, isn’t it? I thought you liked this boyfriend. Why did you agree to go away with him if you don’t like him?’

  ‘Of course I like him. I really like him. But –’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I’ve already had to take time off –’

  ‘For your mother’s funeral. That’s hardly a holiday. And in any case, one thing’s got nothing to do with the other. If anything, it’s even more reason for you to go away. Look, you’ve booked this trip to Dubrovnik, haven’t you? You’ve paid for it. For goodness’ sake, give yourself a break. You’re entitled to a holiday. We’re not getting any younger. And it’s not healthy to be so obsessed with your work.’

  ‘I’m not obsessed with my work. I happen to believe it’s important, that’s all.’

  ‘Self-important more like.’

  ‘That’s not fair. Police murder enquiries protect everyone.’

  ‘Oh cut the pompous crap. So you’re a detective inspector. Well, good for you. You work on a Murder Investigation Team. You make a difference to people’s lives and help to make society better for everyone. I’m not saying you don’t. But what about your life? You’ve finally met someone you like. At least give him a chance. It’ll be a break if nothing else. You need to get away. You look terrible. Understandably. You have just lost your mother.’ She patted Geraldine’s hand sympathetically and Geraldine sighed. She couldn’t even tell her oldest friend how she felt about her mother’s death.

  From an early age Geraldine had been aware that her sister, Celia, was very close to their mother. As they grew up, her sister’s life followed a similar pattern to their mother’s. Geraldine, independent, ambitious, hadn’t married or produced precious grandchildren. Her mother had never openly criticised the life choices Geraldine made, but nothing Geraldine achieved ever seemed to please her. Her mother had greeted the news of Geraldine’s promotion to detective inspector with congratulations but she was more interested in hearing about her granddaughter.

  ‘I’m a detective inspector, mum,’ Geraldine had wanted to shout. ‘I’ve worked hard for this. It means something. It matters.’

  But her mother was speaking to Chloe. ‘You’re going to learn the flute? How wonderful!’

  ‘How wonderful,’ Geraldine had echoed, smiling at her young niece.

  When Geraldine’s mother died unexpectedly, Geraldine felt crushed by regret that she had never tried to improve their relationship. Now it was too late. The funeral passed in a blur. A chill wind gusted across the cemetery making Geraldine’s eyes water. She glanced around the drab assembly of mourners. Celia, black coated, leaned on her husband, shaking with grief. Unmoved, Geraldine watched the wooden casket disappear from view. Her sadness had given way to a dull anger. Her mother had never really cared for her.

  The ceremony over, the mourners went to Celia’s house. Time gathered dust while Geraldine engaged in small talk with vaguely familiar relatives.

  ‘You remember me, don’t you, Geraldine?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Geraldine lied.

  ‘Your poor mother.’

  Geraldine circulated, clutching a glass of wine.

  ‘Wasn’t it a lovely funeral?’

  ‘Didn’t Celia do everything beautifully?’

  ‘Those lilies.’

  ‘You know she saw to everything herself?’

  ‘Well, you couldn’t expect Geraldine to –’ catching sight of Geraldine, the speaker pressed thin lips together. Geraldine turned away, pretending she hadn’t heard.

  ‘Thank God they’ve all gone,’ Geraldine exclaimed when she finally fell into an armchair and kicked her shoes off.

  Celia burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, dropping her face into her hands. ‘I miss her so much.’

  Geraldine wondered if working with other people’s anguish had dulled her capacity to experience it first hand. While Celia was inconsolable, Geraldine felt only a guilty impatience to return to work. ‘When’s Chloe coming back? I’m –’ She almost said she was dying to see her niece. Celia had decided that her daughter was too young to attend the funeral. ‘I can’t wait to see her.’

  Celia blew her nose. ‘Yes, it’s been a while since you were here. You won’t believe how much she’s grown. Seven going on seventeen. You will stay here tonight, won’t you? I know you’re busy, but it would be nice to see more of you, and I’m not saying it just for my sake. I know Chloe would like to spend more time with you. She’s growing up so fast’.

  ‘Yes, I’d like that. I know I’ve been preoccupied with work lately, but I will make more of an effort.’ She studied her sister. Other than their pale complexions, they weren’t alike. Geraldine had always envied Celia her ash blonde hair, fine and naturally wavy. Geraldine’s hair was coarse and straight, so dark it was almost black.

  ‘We’ve only got each other now,’ Celia said.

  ‘I’ll change.’ Geraldine promised out loud. ‘I want to spend more time with you.’

  ‘Yes, this makes you think, doesn’t it? None of us know how much more time we’ve got.’ Celia sniffed.

  Chloe’s return lightened the mood. She came running in, pigtails bouncing, and flung herself at Geraldine. ‘Are we going shopping, Aunty Geraldine?’

  Geraldine smiled. ‘Not this time, Chloe. But soon, I promise.’

  ‘Don’t pester Aunty Geraldine or she won’t buy you any more presents,’ Celia scolded.

  Chloe snuggled down on the sofa beside Geraldine and prattled about her best friend. She kept up her chatter throughout supper. When Chloe finally went to bed Celia broke down in tears again. Geraldine reached for another bottle of wine.

  ‘You’ll regret it in the morning,’ her sister warned her. ‘Haven’t you had enough?’

  ‘I’m not driving, and it’s not as if I’m on duty.’

  ‘Your all important duty.’

  ‘Here, let me,’ Geraldine’s brother-in-law seized the corkscrew from Geraldine.

  ‘You need some coffee,’ Celia snapped. ‘For God’s sake, Geraldine, we buried our mother today. Show some respect.’

  ‘Respect the dead.’ For the first time that day, Geraldine felt like weeping. ‘That’s all I ever bloody do. I spend my whole life respecting the dead.’

  ‘Coffee,’ her brother-in-law said firmly. He stood up and took the bottle from Geraldine.

  ‘You’ll feel terrible in the morning,’ Celia said. She was crying again.

  ‘I feel terrible anyway
.’ Geraldine felt queasy, yearning for a grief she didn’t feel.

  ‘Your mother’s dead, you unnatural bitch,’ she muttered to herself as she climbed into bed. In her mind, a small voice answered. So what?

  When Geraldine opened her eyes the next morning, her head felt as though someone was thumping it with a bottle. Groaning, she rolled out of bed and kept her eyes shut as she felt around for her clothes.

  ‘So I did suffer when my mother died, after all,’ she thought sourly.

  3

  Sophie

  ‘Slow down. You’re making me nervous,’ Tom said. Sophie jammed her foot on the accelerator. ‘Slow down.’ The car jerked forward.

  ‘She can’t even be civil,’ Sophie fumed. ‘From the first moment she set eyes on me, she’s resented me. Well, the feeling’s mutual.’

  ‘It’s me you married, not her. And I love you.’

  ‘I’ve never been good enough for you, as far as she’s concerned. Who does she think she is, speaking to me like that?’

  ‘I appreciate your keeping your temper with her,’ Tom said humbly. He stared at the streetlights zipping past and waited for his wife’s temper to cool. Sophie was never angry for long.

  ‘She’s never liked me. I don’t know why we have to go and see her every week. Every bloody Sunday. And she’s still not satisfied. What more does she want?’ They both knew the answer.

  Whenever they visited her, Tom’s mother harped on about how she had been twenty-one when her son was born. ‘It doesn’t do to leave it too late. It’s not natural. It causes all sorts of problems. And I’m here to take care of the baby whenever you want to go back to work. I know some women prefer not to look after their own children these days. Best leave the upbringing in capable hands. All these new ideas they have nowadays, they don’t do a child any good. Look at how the youngsters behave these days. It’s not surprising, left to train themselves. It’s a wonder they’re ever toilet trained. I had my Thomas on the potty at six months. More tea, Tom?’

  Sophie wasn’t thinking about starting a family. When she did, she would be back at work within six months, with a nanny at home. She would swing before she let her mother-in-law care for her children.

  ‘She’s on her own. She’s lonely,’ Tom murmured, lighting up a cigarette.

  ‘That’s no excuse for being rude.’ Sophie eased her foot off the accelerator and glanced across at her husband. It wasn’t his fault. ‘It’s hard for you, being stuck in the middle,’ she apologised. ‘She is your mother. I shouldn’t go on about her like that.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘She brings it on herself. I’m with you now. If you want to stop going to see her… Well, you’re the only one I want. You know that.’

  Sophie smiled. ‘And you’re the only person who matters in my life,’ she said fiercely, ‘the only one.’

  Absorbed in computers, Sophie had never considered herself lonely. When a girl at the office had issued a blanket invitation to a Christmas party, Sophie hadn’t even replied. Parties held no appeal for her. The other girl paused when she happened to walk past Sophie’s workstation the afternoon of the party.

  ‘You coming tonight?’ she asked. Flattered by her colleague’s interest, Sophie accepted the invitation.

  She regretted her impulse as soon as she arrived. Everyone in the room seemed to be talking. No one acknowledged Sophie’s arrival. She didn’t understand why she had been invited. She stood in a corner, pressing her back against the wall, uncomfortable with the noise and smell of so many people crammed into one small room. It was a complete waste of her time. There was a new update waiting for her to install at the office, where she could have been working uninterrupted. She turned to leave, and bumped into a stranger.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered.

  ‘I don’t know anyone here,’ he blurted out. She heard the panic in his voice and hesitated.

  ‘I don’t know why I came,’ she replied.

  With music thumping, conversation was difficult. ‘It’s so stuffy in here,’ she complained. She would have gone home but didn’t want to be rude.

  ‘We could go somewhere else?’ he suggested. She felt an unfamiliar thrill and wondered if he was coming on to her. ‘I mean, for a coffee or something. Or a drink. There’s a pub round the corner. I mean, if you don’t mind. My name’s Tom Cliff.’ He held out his hand, oddly formal. Over his shoulder Sophie could see a couple in a passionate clinch.

  They left the party together and went for a drink. ‘Funny we’ve never met before,’ they agreed.

  ‘I don’t really leave my desk,’ he admitted.

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘We’re there to work,’ Tom said. Sophie nodded seriously.

  After a couple of months Tom took her home to meet his widowed mother. Sophie wasn’t clever at reading people, but she recognised the other woman’s hostility straight away.

  ‘You’re imagining it,’ Tom insisted. ‘Mum’s not like that.’

  ‘You’re a substitute for your father,’ Sophie told him, with rare insight. ‘You live in the same house, you eat together every night, you even go on holiday together. She’ll never let you go.’

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ he replied, ‘because I intend to live with you, as my wife.’

  ‘Do I have a say in this?’ Sophie asked, smiling.

  When Sophie announced her promotion, Tom’s mother was shocked. ‘What do you mean, you might have to go to work on Sundays? You always come and see me on Sundays. It’s the weekend. No one works on Sundays.’

  ‘I’m only on call. Chances are they’ll never need me on a Sunday. I’m only on call every other night and it’s only on alternate weekends.’

  ‘Can’t someone else do it?’ her mother-in-law asked. Her grey curls bounced as she handed Tom a cup of tea. ‘Tell them you’re engaged on Sundays. I’m sure they can manage without you. It’s not as if you’re a brain surgeon, Sophie. It’s hardly life and death, is it? It’s only computers.’

  Sophie explained that the printers had to be kept working round the clock churning out bank statements, pay slips and other essential documents.

  ‘Nonsense,’ her mother-in-law interrupted. ‘It’s nothing that can’t wait till Monday morning. What if there was a power cut?’ Her eyes gleamed as she slid a slice of pie on to her son’s plate. He lit another cigarette and waved the glowing tip in the air in protest. ‘You’ll have to come here later on, when your office is closed.’

  ‘I may be called out at night,’ Sophie said, irritated by her mother-in-law’s interference. ‘I may have to work all night.’

  Tom’s mother stared at her, dumbstruck, cake slice in hand. ‘You’re a married woman.’

  4

  Dubrovnik

  The heat in Dubrovnik was debilitating. Beneath the heavy scent of oleanders a stench of drains lingered. Pink flowering bushes and purple boughs of bougainvillea hung bright against white washed walls. Geraldine followed Craig gratefully into the shade of an arch at the side of a square where tourists gathered to drink from a central fountain. Geraldine screwed her eyes up against the glare of sunlight and watched pigeons perch on top of the fountain. She was aware of Craig’s presence at her side. She could feel the warmth of his arm almost touching hers and breathed in the scent of his aftershave.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll risk that,’ she screwed her nose up at the fountain. ‘Like drinking pigeon piss.’ Tiny lines around his eyes crinkled as Craig smiled down at her. The heat of the day softened slightly as the afternoon strolled towards evening and they climbed up on to the ramparts to view the city of terracotta roofs spread out beneath them in the soft heat haze. Geraldine turned and gazed down at the sea. Flecks of sunlight flickered on the water like fairy lights, winking up at her.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Mark,’ she murmured.

  Words once spoken couldn’t be unsaid.

  ‘What?’ She didn’t answer. ‘Did you just call me Mark?’

  Geraldine hesitated. Craig knew that she had lived with someone fo
r six years, but she couldn’t remember if she had told him her ex was called Mark.

  ‘A mark,’ she stammered stupidly. ‘There’s a mark.’ Flustered, she rubbed at Craig’s shoulder. He shrugged and turned away from her feeble lie. The moment was tainted.

  Staying in Dubrovnik felt like stepping back in time, a world away from the stresses of her normal day’s work: studying crime scenes, reading post mortem reports, observing bodies laid on cold slabs, interviewing suspects, reading witness statements and the endless paperwork that accumulated at every step of the process. Geraldine revelled in the sense of purpose her job on the Murder Investigation Team gave her but, along with her colleagues, deplored the pointless paperwork demanded by bureaucrats who had probably never seen a cadaver, let alone felt a thrill of adrenaline at the start of a case. If they had, they wouldn’t care whether officers filled in forms or not, only about putting the killers behind bars.

  Geraldine smiled at the feel of Craig’s hand on her shoulder. He had suggested a city break when her last case had finished and booked a flight as soon as she could escape.

  ‘Surely you’re entitled to a break before they throw you into your next case? You’ve been working twenty four seven for weeks.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that.’ Geraldine had tried to explain the importance of the paperwork that followed a successful arrest. ‘We have to make sure he doesn’t get off on a technicality.’

  ‘How can he possibly get off? He’s locked up. But you’re not.’ Eventually the case was tied up and they booked their holiday.

  ‘You look better already,’ Craig told her as she rolled out of bed after their first night in Dubrobnik.

  ‘Better than what?’ she asked, grinning. Craig was right. Three days in Dubrovnik with Craig was just the tonic she needed. She hoped it would give them a chance to establish the terms of their relationship, but they didn’t seem to be making much progress with that. There never seemed to be time to broach the subject at home. They had been seeing each other on and off for a year, but she still wasn’t sure how serious their relationship was. Going away together had offered them an opportunity to talk. She had ruined it by calling him Mark.