been mugged at knife-point by teenage thugs and lost the will to live.
He opened his mouth to say that in the direst of emergencies he would go to a whole range of people – including complete strangers – before he would involve his mother, but Bowskill was on a roll. ‘What parents wouldn’t help their child? I haven’t got siblings, so it’s not as if there’s any competition for their attention. I wasn’t asking them to donate their kidneys.’
‘What happened?’ Simon asked.
‘Connie was disintegrating. Physically and mentally – shouting in her sleep, nightmares, her hair was falling out. I was properly worried about her. I thought . . . well, she didn’t, so it’s not tempting fate to say it: I thought she might do something stupid.’
Simon nodded. Properly worried about her. As opposed to pretending to worry about her? Was that what Bowskill was doing this time round?
‘Mum and Dad made it clear I could expect no help from them.’
‘Did you ask for their help?’
‘Oh, yes. There was nothing ambiguous about it. I asked, they said no.’
‘What did you want them to do, exactly?’
‘Has Connie told you about her parents?’ Bowskill asked. ‘That they brainwash her and browbeat her, cripple her thought processes so that she can’t think for herself?’
Simon shook his head. ‘She mentioned them being difficult. About you moving to Cambridge.’
Bowskill laughed. ‘Understatement isn’t usually Connie’s strong point,’ he said. ‘Nice to know she’s expanding her repertoire.’
‘So what happened?’ Simon asked. ‘With your parents?’
‘Connie needed to get away from her family, especially her mother. I don’t know why I’m talking in the past tense – she still does. I was hoping Mum would act as a mother figure, just temporarily – you know, boost her confidence, tell her she could have the life she wanted, achieve whatever she set out to achieve. I told her myself until I was sick of the sound of my own voice, but it had no effect. I’m only one person, and I’m not a parent, I’m an equal. No matter what I said, I wasn’t enough to replace Connie’s family, however bad for her they were – and she knew perfectly well the harm they were doing her, it wasn’t as if she couldn’t see it. But . . . she was scared to go against her mum, who didn’t want her to move to Cambridge. It was hopeless. I knew I’d never lure her away from her family unless I had . . . well, something more than myself to offer her. She and Mum had always got on well, Mum and Dad claimed to love her like their own daughter, but . . . when it came to it, when I asked them to rally round and be a family for Connie, they said, “No thanks, we’d rather not get involved.” ’
‘Do you think they were wary of encouraging her to go against her own parents?’ Simon asked. ‘They didn’t want to interfere?’
‘No,’ said Bowskill flatly. ‘Nothing to do with that. They don’t give a shit about Val and Geoff Monk, only about themselves. They didn’t want to put themselves out, simple as that. Started spluttering about the need to stand on one’s own two feet, dependency not being good for people . . . It was disgusting, frankly – a complete abnegation of responsibility. I’d never do that to my child, if I had one. I looked at them and thought, “Who are you? Why am I bothering with you?” That was it – I haven’t spoken to them since.’
‘Sounds rough,’ said Simon. He tried to produce a cheerless expression to match Bowskill’s, hide his satisfaction. He’d had a theory, and although he hadn’t yet been proved right, everything Bowskill had just said indicated that he soon would be.
Chapter 17
Friday 23 July 2010
‘Connie.’
Don’t look pleased to see me. You won’t be, once you’ve heard what I’ve got to say.
‘Thanks for coming.’ He’s not your husband. He’s a stranger. This is a business meeting.
I try to pass Kit a menu but he pushes it away. He smells of beer. We’re in the restaurant at the Doubletree by Hilton Garden House, Selina Gane’s hotel and now mine too. I checked in an hour ago.
‘Not hungry?’ I say. ‘I’m not either.’ It seems a shame. The food would probably be good. The lime green and purple velvet upholstery looks expensive. It makes me think of the dead woman’s dress; the colours are the same.