‘Did the police think Olivia was guilty then?’
‘I think, to this day, many of the locals believe she’s hiding something.’
‘And do you?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say. I haven’t even had the chance to interview Olivia myself yet since reopening the case.’
‘Were there …’ I pause as a woman with dyed black hair and heavily drawn-on eyebrows arrives at our table with the pizzas. Ham and pineapple for me and pepperoni for Dale. I wait for her to leave before continuing. ‘Were there ever any sightings of the girls?’
Dale takes a bite out of his pizza and chews, then swallows. ‘Yes. Especially in the early days. Mainly in the UK and about ten years ago there was a sighting in Germany.’
‘Of all three?’
He nods. ‘Apparently they were spotted in Munich. But it was never verified. An anonymous source claims he saw them wandering around the grounds of Nymphenburg Palace. I dunno …’ he shrugs ‘… it doesn’t sound very feasible. Another time a woman with blonde hair matching Tamzin’s description was seen in Thailand. But, again, nothing came of it.’ He finishes his pizza slice in a few mouthfuls. ‘Sorry.’ He grins. ‘I didn’t have time for lunch.’
I smile and take a bite of my pizza to show solidarity. ‘I bumped into a woman in town today.’ I explain about Rita. ‘She said she used to live next door to Tamzin but her parents split up and moved away.’
Dale has a swig of his pint. ‘Yes, that’s right. They were always arguing.’ He bows his head. ‘So I heard anyway.’
‘And Sally and Katie’s parents?’
‘Sally’s parents are still together and live in Stafferbury. Katie’s dad died a few years ago but her mum is still around.’
‘Do you think they would talk to me?’
He wipes his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘It doesn’t hurt to try. They’ve been very private over the years, though. No press interviews, apart from a televized appeal not long after they disappeared. But they’ve always been helpful to the police.’
I tell him about my visit to Ralph Middleton earlier and witnessing Olivia storming out of the caravan crying. ‘Ralph said Olivia had asked him to keep something secret.’
His expression grows serious and he puts the napkin down. ‘And he didn’t give any clue as to what that was?’
I shake my head. ‘He basically kicked me out of the caravan when I asked and … Oh.’ I stop mid-flow. Wesley has just burst into the pub, bringing with him a blast of cold air and a buzz of high-octane energy. He’s talking nineteen to the dozen and I spot Olivia behind him, a more subdued presence. He turns to help her down the stone step and gently leads her to a table. She’s limping quite a lot, more than earlier. They haven’t seen us. She looks downcast but he seems excitable, regaling some story of a recent night out. The odd words like ‘Such a laugh …’ and ‘Stan couldn’t stand up for hours,’ drift over to us.
‘What is it?’ Dale cranes his neck to look at them, then turns back to me, his eyes wide. ‘I heard they were still together. God knows what she sees in him. He was a bit of a knob in school.’ He coughs. ‘Sorry, not very professional of me. But let’s just say we weren’t in the same crowd. In fact, he was a bit of a bully at school. Pushed me up against the lockers once.’ Dale is a good three inches taller, although slighter, than Wesley. ‘I was a late developer.’ He laughs as though reading my mind.
It’s not until Olivia sits down that she sees us.
And when she does I observe the flash of fear in her expression.
15
Wesley seems not to have noticed us. Olivia looks pretty in a deep rose blouse that brings out the colour in her cheeks. She scrubs up well. I don’t know how she can work with horses all day – they terrify me with their flaring nostrils and large teeth. Wesley’s voice carries over to us, loud and brash.
‘Stop staring,’ whispers Dale, a laugh in his voice.
Olivia is sitting diagonally across from me and is doing her best to pretend I’m not here but there’s something in her expression I can’t read. Panic, maybe. I pull my gaze away from her and back to Dale. ‘Am I that obvious? I’m so nosy.’
‘I can tell. Subterfuge wouldn’t be your thing, would it?’ He chuckles. ‘Now do you want another drink?’
‘Let me get it this time. You paid for the pizza.’
‘It’s not going to break the bank.’ He grins. ‘What do you want?’ He stands up and I ask for another wine and lemonade. While he’s at the bar I finish my pizza. Wesley is chatting away, loving the sound of his own voice, unaware of our presence. And then I see his eyes go to Dale at the bar. He leans forwards and whispers something to Olivia. Then they turn in my direction. I smile but they look away.
‘I see they’ve clocked us,’ says Dale, returning with our drinks. ‘We’d better be careful what we say now.’
Damn it. ‘I’ve still got so much I want to know …’
‘Well, hold off on those questions. There will be other opportunities. I’m staying with my dad in Stafferbury for the next few days so I won’t be far.’
‘And you’re happy for me to interview you for the podcast?’
‘Sure. Why not? You might want to wait a few days, though, until I have more information.’
It’s there again, the nagging feeling that there is a reason for reopening the case. Something he’s not yet ready to share.
‘This works two ways, though,’ he adds, in a low voice. ‘If you find out anything while conducting your interviews I’d appreciate being kept in the loop.’
‘Of course.’
Since we can no longer discuss the case, he starts telling me about his family, how his mum died a few years ago of cancer and how he tries to stay with his dad regularly to keep him from getting too lonely. He has a sister who lives in Spain – he sees her twice a year. ‘And you’re from Manchester? I can tell by the accent.’
‘Yes. I’ve lived there all my life.’
‘Have you ever thought of moving away?’
I shake my head. ‘Not really. My son is happy at school and I wouldn’t want to uproot us all.’
He glances at my wedding ring. ‘And what does your husband do?’
‘He’s in finance. He’s …’ The wine burns in the back of my throat. ‘We’re actually separated at the moment.’ I instantly regret saying this. Gavin says I often overshare.
Dale looks a little uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Then he adds softly, ‘I’ve been there.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Now he tries to look nonchalant, even though I’m not fooled. A broken marriage – I’m coming to realize – hurts like hell.
‘It is what it is.’
‘How long ago?’ I ask.
‘Two years now.’
‘Kids?’
‘No, thank goodness. It was messy enough without bringing a child into it all.’ Then he’s mortified. ‘God, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.’