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‘I’m going to drive over to his place now,’ says Nelson. Although he doesn’t say this to Clough, he can’t forget that, when the body in the wall was mentioned, Cathbad had fallen in a dead faint at his feet.
Nelson is in luck. Cathbad is on his own.
‘Judy and the kids have taken Thing for a walk. I’m just making a cake.’
Cathbad is the only person still making cakes, thinks Nelson. He remembers, during the first lockdown, when all anyone could talk about was making banana bread. Even Ruth had bought the ingredients before letting the bananas blacken and the flour collect weevils. But Cathbad has a mixing bowl all ready. He’s wearing an apron that says Wonder Woman.
‘How are you feeling?’ says Nelson, sitting at the table.
‘Fine,’ says Cathbad. ‘Friday was just a blip. I went for a long walk on the beach this morning.’
And he does look well, humming as he moves around the kitchen. But is it Nelson’s imagination or is there something watchful beneath Cathbad’s apparent serenity?
‘I wanted to ask you something,’ says Nelson.
‘Ask away.’ Cathbad is cracking an egg. He keeps chickens; Nelson can see them in the garden, roosting on the roof of the shed and pecking their way through the flower beds. Maybe this is why the yolk is so orange, almost fluorescent.
‘Does the name Emily Pickering mean anything to you?’ says Nelson, watching as Cathbad folds the egg into the mixture.
The spoon pauses.
‘Emily Pickering?’
‘Yes,’ says Nelson patiently.
Cathbad gives him one of his direct stares. ‘Once I knew Emily Pickering very well indeed.’
‘How come?’
‘We were part of the same archaeology group.’
‘Led by Leo Ballard?’
‘That’s right. It was Leo and a group of his students. Emily was one of them. We were all close for a while. Then, one day, Emily just disappeared. Oh my God. . . Was it her body you found? In the wall of the café?’
‘We think so,’ says Nelson. ‘I’m sorry. It must be a shock if she was a friend of yours.’
Cathbad has gone very white. Is he about to faint again?
‘How do you know the remains are Emily’s?’ he asks.
‘I can’t tell you any more,’ says Nelson. ‘It looks as if this might be a murder investigation.’
‘Murder?’
‘Take some deep breaths,’ says Nelson.
‘I’m OK,’ says Cathbad. ‘But. . . it’s so horrible. . . Have you told her parents?’
‘Cloughie and I have just been to see them. But, tell me, Cathbad, how did you know it was a café? I described it as a shop before.’
‘It was a café when I knew Emily. The Green Child Café. Funnily enough, I was thinking about it only this morning.’
‘The Green Child? What sort of a name is that?’
‘It’s an interesting legend. I’ve got a book about it somewhere.’ Cathbad looks across the room to a bookcase squashed between the door and a sofa. Who has a bookcase in their kitchen? Or a sofa?
‘Don’t worry about that now,’ says Nelson. ‘Do you remember who owned this café?’
