White Nights - Ann Cleeves [84]
Booth’s wife was called Amanda. She’d remarried, a man called Stapleton, a teacher. Taylor wasn’t sure if the trip would be worth the effort. Booth had run away years ago. Why would his ex-wife be involved in his murder after such a long time? Surely she had too much to lose. Yet Booth had left home quite suddenly. He’d completely changed the direction of his life and had relinquished any contact with the child. Taylor knew that families could haunt you, resentments grow with time. And why had the relationship fractured in such a dramatic way?
The family lived on a pleasant estate of 1950s houses near Arrowe Park Hospital. It was anonymous, a straight tree-lined road of semi-detached homes. A place you could lose yourself, Taylor thought. Yet when they parked he thought the elderly woman working in her garden opposite had taken note of them. So it wouldn’t be that easy to hide.
It was early evening but Amanda Stapleton was on her own in the house. She seemed to belong to the time it had been built. A comfortable blonde in a sleeveless summer dress and sandals, she made Taylor think of women with big skirts and permed hair. His mother had been a great one for the pictures and for watching old films on the telly in the afternoons. This woman could have been a minor film star.
‘Thank you for your time,’ he said. ‘I hope it’s not inconvenient.’
‘I’m a stay-at-home mum,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I think I should look for work now the children are older, but I love being here for them when they get back from school. John got promoted to deputy head last year, so we can afford it.’
She’d been told about Booth’s death, but seemed unaffected. Taylor wondered if she would get round to mentioning it. She took them into a living room at the back of the house. The door was open into the garden.
‘I’ll make tea, shall I?’
She returned with a tray, home-made biscuits on a plate, a teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl.
‘The boys have cricket practice tonight,’ she said. ‘John will pick them up after work. It’s not usually this peaceful.’
‘What about your daughter?’
‘Oh, Ruthie makes her own way home. She’s in her last year at school. A grown-up really, or so she thinks. She’ll be here soon. She doesn’t know yet that her father’s dead. I’m not sure how she’ll take it.’
She settled herself on a straight-backed chair, a cup and saucer balanced on her knee, her legs neatly crossed at the ankle. ‘I haven’t seen Jeremy since he left in the middle of the night more than sixteen years ago. He took one suitcase. Left me with a daughter. And a note which said he was very sorry, but this wasn’t the life he wanted.’ She looked up at them. ‘You can’t expect me to be grieving about his death.’
‘He’d given you no warning that he was leaving?’
‘None.’
‘Was there another woman?’
‘He didn’t mention one in the letter. But there could have been. He was an attractive man. I fell for him, after all.’ She paused. ‘He was the love of my life.’
Taylor didn’t know where to look. He felt himself flush with embarrassment. He hated people who spilled out their feelings, and this woman had seemed so controlled that it was unexpected.
Jebson leaned forward towards the woman. ‘Tell us about Jeremy,’ she said. ‘We haven’t met anyone yet who really knew him.’
‘I’m not sure I can help you with that either. I’m not sure Jeremy knew himself. It was all dreams and stories with him. He featured in his own dramas. In his head of course. None of it was real.’ She stared out into the immaculate garden. ‘He’d have quite enjoyed this. Being the object of so much attention.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘At work. We were both teachers. He taught English and I worked in the technology department, doing craft and cooking. That summed us up really. I was the