Death on the Lake, Jo Allen [e reader TXT] 📗

seen anything, but she was never by the end of this road. I was looking out this morning and I’d have seen. Tom Fenton reckons she fell in on the way back by the lake path and drowned.’

‘Fell in?’ Ryan, clearly determined to make amends by sounding interested, leaned forward. ‘It’s not steep along that way.’

‘And how would you know?’

‘I walked along that way the other day, when I got here. First thing I did. She might have tried to swim and drowned, but there’s nowhere to fall.’

Ryan was wrong and there were plenty of places where you could fall, but you didn’t get anywhere with either him or George by arguing. ‘Awful,’ Becca said, to try and make peace. ‘The poor girl. Are they sure she fell in the water?’

‘No, but she spent Sunday afternoon drinking with those useless young bucks up at Waterside Lodge so she’ll not have known right from wrong by the end of it.’

‘She might have fallen, somewhere. Or wandered off the path.’ Ryan wouldn’t give up. Couldn’t he see he’d already irritated George close to a point way beyond the possibility of forgiveness? ‘She might still be alive. I do know a bit about that, you know, George. Being in the army. I’m a survivalist.’

‘I was in the army myself.’

‘Yes, but times have changed. You must have done National Service. I signed up as a regular.’ Ryan stretched his hands, flexing his fingers together so that the muscles rippled up to his elbows and onwards underneath the short sleeves of his tee shirt.

‘Leave the plates, Becca. Sally can do them in the morning. I’m wanting my bed, and I daresay you’ll be wanting to get home and put your feet up, too.’ He got up from his chair, his movements careful but stable, and turned his attention to the pill box on the table. ‘I’ll take my tablets and be off to bed.’

Becca poured him a glass of water. ‘At least you got to see Ryan.’ And it been relatively painless.

‘Aye. And maybe next time you come skulking up the dale and hanging around near my cottage like you did last week, lad, you’ll call in when it suits me, not when it doesn’t.’

‘I wasn’t skulking. I just came for a walk to ease off the jet lag. Got a bus to Pooley Bridge and walked to Howtown and back.’ Ryan stayed seated, even when Becca nodded pointedly towards the door. ‘George, mate. I can see you’re tired. Sorry if we disturbed you. But I wondered about you doing me a favour.’

That came as no surprise. Becca reclaimed the glass, placed it in the sink and turned to the door. ‘We really do need to go. I’ll call in some time soon, Uncle George. And let me know if you need anything.’

‘What I was thinking,’ Ryan pursued, leaning forward, ‘is that I might be able to do you a favour. I like this part of the area. It’s where my roots are. Where my granddad was born.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me my family history.’

‘No, course not, mate. Sorry. But this is what I was thinking. I could maybe move in with you for a few days. We could get to know one another. I could help you out around the house a bit. Because I need somewhere to stay. I can’t impose on Ruth for any more than a week.’

‘Aye.’ George glared. ‘So you think you’re going to come and impose on me instead?’

‘I don’t see it like that.’ Ryan had adopted a wheedling tone. ‘I thought we could help each other out. Thought you might be able to tell me a bit about the family and all that sort of thing. I love this place. I want to spend a bit more time here. Get back to my roots. You know?’

‘You’re supposed to be a…what did you call it? A survivor?’

‘Survivalist.’ Ryan’s face was contorted, a struggle between keeping a charming front to try and improve his chances of getting George onside, and sheer irritation at the way the old man had received his suggestion. ‘I was just trying to help.’

‘Help yourself, maybe. If you’re a survivalist and you want to get back to your roots, get yourself a bloody tent and camp out. But make sure it’s somewhere I don’t see you.’

‘Come on, Ryan.’ Becca raised her voice, as she might have done with a child who was pushing her patience. ‘I think it’s time to go.’

He pushed his chair back. ‘Yeah, okay. Sorry for caring.’ A trace of petulance flickered in his voice.

‘The only one you care about is yourself. I know why you’re here. You’ve turned up when you’ve never seen me before, out of nowhere, and you’re trying to see what you can get from me.’ George’s voice rose to a shout. ‘Well, you’re wasting your time. I don’t have anything but this house, and if I did I’d be leaving it to people who care about me!’

‘Uncle George.’ Alarmed, Becca crossed the room and stood between the two of them. She could see Ryan was twitching with fury but she trusted him not to turn violent with an old man. George was a different matter. He might be too frail to do Ryan any harm but he had a notoriously bad temper and she could see him working himself up into a sufficient state to harm his health. ‘We’re just leaving. Ryan didn’t mean any harm.’

‘That young lad is just like his grandfather. I never want to see him again.’

‘I’ll call in next week.’

‘Aye. You know I’m always glad to see you.’

Thank God the visit was over. Becca ushered Ryan outside and down the path and the two of them lingered for a moment at the roadside while she waited for some sign of contrition from her cousin.

‘I ballsed that one up, didn’t I?’ He flipped his hood up against a further surge of rain that rocked and rolled its way across the bleak dale towards