‘This was in January?’ I asked, with a shiver. Involuntarily, I inched away from her and closer to the open fire.
‘Aye. First week of the new year. Almost exactly a year ago.’
‘Did you know about this, Holly?’ I asked.
‘I vaguely remember hearing about it when we were here in the summer, but it must have happened just after our last New Year visit.’
Brenda sniffed. ‘I’m not surprised you only remember itvaguely. If it doesn’t affect the Grants directly…’
I stared at Brenda and waited for Holly to react. She didn’t.
‘What was the wee lad’s name?’ Brenda said to herself.‘Samir Anand, that was it. From some place down south. Near Birmingham, where youse lot are from, Holly. Coventry? Guess what the daft bastard was wearing when they found him? Trainers, jeans and a T-shirt.’
I could feel it taking hold. That tingle of intrigue. The same one that had got me interested in Curtis Carroll.
Holly checked the time on her phone. ‘We ought to get back. Lewis is going to be wondering where we are.’
But Brenda ignored her. And I admit, I did, too. I wanted to hear the rest of this story. Holly sat back down, resigned. She knew what I was like.
‘They said his parents last saw him on New Year’s Day. Three days later a sheep farmer found his body here, a thousand miles from where he was last seen.’
‘Are you really saying no one saw him arrive?’
There was no train station in Applecross. The only way in was by car or, I assumed, bus.
‘Maybe you weren’t listening properly.’ Brenda seemed to be relishing telling me this story. I guessed it was because it was the most exciting thing that had happened here in a long time. ‘The police went door to door and showed everyone the daft wee bugger’s picture. Nothing.’ A shake of the head. ‘His poor mum and dad. Never seen two people look so broken. They came in here to get something to eat and just sat there like the world had ended.’
‘Is it that surprising that no one saw him?’ I asked. ‘It’s beautiful round here, but it’s not like it’s a thriving metropolis. It seems like it would be pretty easy to wander around without encountering anyone.’
‘Aye. But how did he get here? He hadn’t passed his driving test yet, so he couldn’t have driven up. There’s no record of him buying a bus ticket. None of his pals had given him a lift.’
We were on a peninsula, surrounded by sea. ‘Could he have arrived by boat?’
‘The police’– she pronounced itpo-lis– ‘spoke to everyone around here who has a boat. No one brought him. And we’d notice if an unknown boat turned up.’ I realized that what I’d thought was relish in telling this story was more like an urgent need for me to listen to her. There was an ache in her voice, as if she genuinely cared for this kid she’d never met. ‘Besides, Coventry’s as land-locked as you can get, aye? It’s not as if you can sail here from there.’
I noticed Holly studying me. ‘Oh God. You’ve got that look in your eye,’ she said.
‘What look?’
‘You know exactly what I mean.’
Holly and I hadn’t yet met when I madeThe Disappearing Act. She hadn’t witnessed how obsessed I had become with trying to find the whereabouts of Curtis Carroll. How making the film, which I had done with a tiny crew, just me, a camera person and a sound man, had taken over my life for around a year. As soon as I was done, I had started to think about what was next– because even though the experience had been exhausting and stressful, it had proved to me that this really was what I wanted to do with my life. The praise the film had received from critics, and the award it won, gave me encouragement.
All I needed was my next subject. A story big enough to fill a ninety-minute film.
Could this be it?
‘That’s where they found him,’ Brenda said.
I had been miles away, and her voice brought me back into the room, into the pub, which had filled up while we were talking. The fire continued to burn in the hearth, and anew member of staff had appeared, carrying food to tables and clearing glasses. It was, I realized, Avril, Morag’s daughter. Brenda’s granddaughter. She looked as sullen now as she had at the house. Working at her gran’s pub, where her mum also worked. Did she feel that her life was already mapped out for her? It wasn’t dissimilar, really, to the Grant family’s lives, even though Lewis, from what I knew, was the only one who had worked directly for Charles. Miranda had married Charles’s right-hand man and Holly had told me she’d never had any interest in the corporate world. But they were all, to some degree, reliant on the fortunes of the company, in the same way that the Hamiltons– Brenda, Morag, Avril– relied on this pub.
Brenda pointed at one of the paintings on the wall. It was the picture of the cave in the hills, a serpent poking its head out into the mountain air.
‘Just outside that cave,’ she said, looking directly at my girlfriend. ‘It’s a couple of miles from here, up in the hills. Holly knows it. Isn’t that right, hen?’
Holly’s phone pinged.
‘It’s Lewis again,’ she said, getting to her feet, apparently relieved. ‘We really need to get going.’
