‘Did you ever see her? I mean, in my day we were always trying to get into the local pubs when we were at school, y’know? Thought it was cool.’
Kylie nodded. ‘Yeah, they do try. The local kids come to play pool – as you can see – and the posh kids come to hang about and pretend to be slumming it. Think we don’t notice them but you can always tell the posh kids. Designer clothes and trainers however much mud they like to splatter on them. Most of the time they leave quietly when they’re told, or they are eighteen, but occasionally—’
‘Yeah?’
‘They make a bloody song and dance and then the landlord has to sort ’em out. When he’s not downing the profits, of course.’
‘What about the school? Do they come down heavily on them? Punish them?’
‘I think it’s punishment enough being up at that place,’ she chortled. ‘They lose some of their privileges, apparently.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘As if they didn’t have enough already. But the diehards always come back again. It is funny, though, when there are teachers in here and the kids come in. They usually turn tail and run fast.’
‘Teachers come here?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ said Kylie in mock horror. ‘Only pub in the village,’ she said, putting on a dodgy Welsh accent.
Alex remembered Gus liking Little Britain and smiled at the joke.
‘Besides,’ Kylie went on, downing her drink, ‘there’s nowhere else to go. Not in Hallow’s Edge. Unless you count the teashop, and that’s not licensed. Have to drive to Norwich for entertainment. Or, I suppose, Cromer or Sheringham, if you’re desperate. And believe me, some of those teachers are that desperate to get out of that place. Another?’ She pointed at the glass that was empty, though Alex couldn’t remember drinking it.
Alex nodded, pushing her glass across the bar. It was a fine line to draw: wanting to be friendly and encouraging without getting totally pissed. ‘And one for you?’
Kylie looked around the bar and shrugged. ‘Why not? The punters can drink a bit more slowly.’ She grinned before pouring two more glasses when someone came to the bar and ordered a round of drinks. ‘Hang on a tic, I’ll be back in a mo.’
‘Busy tonight,’ said Alex, when Kylie came back. ‘The pub.’
Kylie sniffed. ‘It’s not bad, I suppose. Gets better when the summer kicks in proper.’ She nodded over to a corner. ‘Look. Talking about having kids from The Drift in here, there are a couple over there.’
Alex turned slowly, trying to appear nonchalant. Sure enough, in the corner were two boys. One of them she had seen when she stopped at the school when she first arrived. What had he said his name was? Theo, that was it. The other lad was cut from the same mould. Square jaw, blue eyes, tanned skin, silver stud in his ear. He caught her eye and raised his pint.
Alex turned back to Kylie. ‘So,’ she said, ‘why are the teachers desperate to come here?’
‘Huh, that’s easy. Being cooped up at the school is, I am reliably informed, shit, pardon my French. You know, driven by results and all that, and rich kids’ parents wanting their little darlings to succeed. You have to feel sorry for the poor sods: kids and teachers. Drives them all to drink.’ Kylie took a bar towel and started to wipe down the bar. ‘But, you wanna know more about that kid, that right?’
‘Elena Devonshire.’
‘Because? I mean, she killed herself didn’t she? We haven’t had no coppers in here since she was found at the bottom of the cliff that morning. I don’t think old Reg has recovered yet, poor bugger.’
Alex remembered the name from some of the press reports. ‘Reg Gardiner? He found Elena?’
‘That’s right.’
Suddenly, thought Alex, Kylie was remembering a lot more than she had when she’d first walked in. Perhaps the wine had loosened her tongue.
‘Lives in a tumbledown caravan that’s about to drop into the sea, and spends his time walking at all hours with his dog.’
‘Is he the old boy sitting outside?’
‘Reg? In the pub? No, my love, you won’t find him in here. He likes to drink on his own in the caravan. Bit of a loner.’ Kylie leaned over the bar to whisper conspiratorially in a loud voice. ‘There’ve been rumours that he was inside a few years back, but nobody’s sure what for. He’s not quite right in the head, if you know what I mean?’
‘Must have been awful for him.’ Alex took the photograph of Elena that Cat had given her out of her bag. ‘Did you ever see her in here?’
Kylie blew air through her pursed lips. ‘Not in here.’
Alex nodded, not quite sure what she was hoping for.
‘I did see her around the village sometimes. They’re allowed out on Friday evenings and at weekends. She ran with a crowd; you know, the sort of girls that all look the same? Well-groomed, designer clothes, long, straight blonde hair.’ Kylie poured them both another glass of wine, pushed the glass towards Alex. ‘I say she ran with them, but it was odd. She never really seemed a part of them.’
‘Was she ever with a boy. On her own?’
Kylie thought for a minute. ‘Maybe. I dunno.’ She shrugged. ‘To be honest, as I say, I can’t tell one from another. Anyway,’ she drank some of her wine, ‘you sure you aren’t some sort of private detective?’
Alex shook her head. ‘No. I really am a friend of the family. And a journalist.’ She saw Kylie’s eyebrows rise to her hairline. ‘Like I said, I just want to get to the truth,’ she said hurriedly, before Kylie thought to throw her out. ‘If there is another truth. Maybe she did throw herself off the cliff, but her mum wants to be sure, you know?’
Kylie nodded. ‘Yeah. I guess.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Anyway, my break’s done. Nice to meet you, Alex.’
‘If you hear anything or can help in any way—’ Alex took a card out of her bag. ‘My mobile number’s on here.’
‘Cheers. Best get on.’ Kylie turned to serve some more customers, and Alex wondered whether her quick dismissal was to do with the fact she was a hack and thus intrinsically untrustworthy. Still, she wanted to make a few waves, see if anyone came out of the woodwork, and a barmaid as voluble as Kylie was bound to spread the word that there was someone asking questions about Elena Devonshire’s death.
She went out into the still warm summer evening where the light was only just beginning to fail. She was restless, slightly on edge, and didn’t want to go back to the cottage straightaway. Now, she judged, would be as good a time as any to see where Elena had fallen to her death. The walk from the pub to the headland shouldn’t take her long – blimey, by the time she went back to London she would be as fit as a butcher’s dog with all this exercise.
There it was – the road that ended in a sheer drop down to the beach. A huge slab of concrete partially blocked her way but it was easily skirted around. Had that been there when Elena had come along the road? And why would she even have been on this bit of tarmac if she hated heights so much? She must have known where it led.
She walked along it. There was no barrier. Nothing to tell her of the danger at the end of the road. Only police tape that must have been put up after Elena had died. That’s what she had seen from down below. Not that a piece of flimsy tape would stop anybody from falling over the edge. She went closer to the edge and peered over. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said to herself, ‘that is one steep drop.’ Below were the large black rocks, some naturally there, others looked as though they had been brought in as sea defences. As she inched further forward, she sent small pieces of stone and tarmac skittering down to the beach below. She steadied herself. There was nothing between her and