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‘How did Emily seem that day?’
‘Exactly as she always seemed. Cheerful, friendly, interested. She really was a lovely girl. I can see her sitting in this room, just where you are. . .’
‘She camehere?’
‘Yes.’ Leo sounds surprised. ‘It’s quite usual for tutors to see students in their homes.’
Another reason to go to Loughborough, thinks Tanya. At least teaching happens in actual classrooms, not in book-lined lairs.
‘So, Emily didn’t seem worried on that last day?’
‘No.’
‘She was seen in Ely at midday on the twenty-fifth. Do you know why she was there?’
‘I’ve no idea. Ely’s on the way to Lincoln. Perhaps she just fancied a visit. It’s a beautiful place.’
‘Did you ever go to a café in King’s Lynn called the Green Child?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m not a fan of King’s Lynn. . .’ He stops. ‘Is that where she was found? In the café?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ says Tanya. ‘Thank you, Professor Ballard. We’ll be in touch.’
On the way out, Bradley surprises Tanya by asking Leo how Grime’s Graves got its name.
‘Good question,’ says Leo, favouring Bradley with his gap-toothed grin. ‘It’s thought to be after the Anglo-Saxon god Grim, one of the names of Woden, or Odin, sometimes called the hooded or masked one. In old Norse “grimr” means “masked”. It survives in some English place names like Grimsby. Grim’s Gaben means the masked one’s quarries. The name eventually became Grime’s Graves. Of course, the shafts had all been filled in by Anglo-Saxon times, but the area has a rather strange, uncanny appearance. It’s interesting that they knew there were mines down there.’
Interesting is not the word Tanya would have used.
Tony enjoys his trip to London. It feels rather strange to be travelling on a train in the middle of the day. The carriage is empty apart from two teenage boys sharing a can of lager. Neither of them has a mask on and Tony wonders how long it will be before they are also sharing Covid. The journey feels surprisingly fast, the flat countryside rushing past like an advertisement for rail travel. As they pass Cambridge Tony wonders how Tanya is getting on with the mysterious Professor Ballard. He thinks that she would be a match for any creepily charismatic lecturer. Pity she wasn’t inThe Secret History(Tony’s favourite book) really.
The outskirts of King’s Cross, grey and rain-swept, fill him with unexpected happiness, as does the view of Arsenal’s Emirates Stadium, adorned with giant posters of the players’ backs. Tony has never dared to admit to Nelson that he supports the north London team. Freya Webster lives in Walthamstow, but she works in a bookshop on Charing Cross Road, which is where Tony is meeting her. Then he is going to Clapham to see his parents, having promised Nelson that he’ll catch the first train back to King’s Lynn in the morning. All this puts a spring in his step as he emerges from Leicester Square Tube station, breathing in the heady mix of Chinese food and exhaust fumes. When Tony was at school, people– pupils and teachers– routinely assumed that his parents worked in a restaurant or a takeaway. Tony’s brother Mike hated it. ‘It’s a racist stereotype,’ he’d say. ‘Can’t you see that?’ Tony could see it, but he also remembers wishing his parents had done something so interesting. After all, everyone loves Chinese food. Instead, his father was a tax accountant and his mother stayed at home with the children. Until Tony’s little sister Lily died and she retrained as a nurse. But nothing was the same after Lily died.
Charing Cross Road is full of bookshops, from the luxurious Foyles to musty establishments that look like they have strayed from the pages of Dickens. Freya works in a place called Between the Lines, which falls somewhere between the two. The bay window displays the latest titles, leaning heavily on crime, but inside there are armchairs and piles of second-hand books, their covers soft with age.
‘It’s impossible to see anything in here,’ says Freya. ‘But Madge, the owner, likes ambient lighting.’
‘It’s very cosy,’ says Tony, falling over a small table.
‘We specialise in cosy crime,’ says Freya. ‘Perhaps that’s why. Let’s go upstairs. It’s quieter there and we’ll actually be able to see each other.’
As they climb the steep staircase, Tony asks about the phrase ‘cosy crime’. He’s heard it before but has never been sure what it means. Surely, it’s an oxymoron?
‘It is really,’ says Freya. ‘It means crime without too much gore and bloodshed. Often there’s humour and lovable characters. Set in an old people’s home or farmers’ market. That sort of thing.’
‘I hate to break it to the writers,’ says Tony, ‘but murder usually means bloodshed.’ As he says this, he thinks of the bones behind the wall. There was no blood there but he’s pretty sure that a murder had occurred. He wonders whether Freya is conjuring the same image.
Upstairs is certainly lighter, partly because there’s a large sash window looking out over the street. This area seems reserved for children’s books. Tony and Freya sit on beanbags next to a cardboard cut-out of the Gruffalo.
Tony tells Freya about the discovery of Emily’s body. She’s heard some of it before but gasps when Tony describes the skeleton lying beside the boarded-up chimney breast.
‘I remember that fireplace so well,’ she says. ‘We had an electric fire there, but it looked like the real thing.’
‘Tell me about the café in your parents’ day,’ says Tony.
‘It was called the Green Child,’ says Freya. ‘Do you know that legend?’
‘No,’ says Tony. Despite going to the University of East Anglia, he’s rather ignorant about Norfolk legends. But, then again, there are so many of them.
