by Anita Waller
David smiled.
‘I saw how protective John was towards you – he’s fully committed to you. Don’t forget I’ve known him all my life. I think I understand him better than anyone.’
‘I think you misunderstood me. I’m fully committed to him. I just refuse to have a man in my life full time. The only time I have spent a full night with him was in London – he’s never stayed over at my flat.’
David paused for a moment.
‘Tell me something, Dawn. Have you ever met Amy?’
‘No, I think it’s better that way.’
‘Then let me tell you a bit about her –‘
She held up a hand.
‘No! I know there is something in her past that ties John to her but that’s all he’s ever said. I don’t want to know if John can’t tell me himself. Don’t burden me with any more guilt than I already have, David.’
‘I can tell you what she’s like though. She’s beautiful. Long blonde hair. The sweetest face since Helen of Troy. Style. Figure that belongs on Venus de Milo.’
‘Then why…?’ Dawn looked bewildered.
‘Why does John want you? Because beneath this perfect beautiful exterior is a mind that is warped and twisted.’
‘Don’t exaggerate, that kind of stuff belongs in books.’ She let out a dry disbelieving laugh but her hands clenched.
‘It’s not her fault. Please don’t run away with the idea that she controls this attitude. She doesn’t. I can’t say much more without revealing her problem but I wish to God John and I had never met her. Although,’ he said with a smile, ‘just to lighten the atmosphere, if I hadn’t known Amy as a child I wouldn’t have met Pat. There’s a plus side to everything if you look hard enough.’
‘Can there be a plus side to my staying on here? If my private life will cause you difficulties, or you can’t accept this relationship between John and me, then it’s better that I go now. I don’t want our working partnership to deteriorate because…’
‘It will only deteriorate if you cause him any grief. He’s my best friend, Dawn. We’ve always looked out for each other and I’m looking out for him now. Word of advice though, don’t ever let Amy find out. She’ll kill you.’
Dawn laughed.
‘She can try.’
‘She’ll succeed.’
Ken was immersed in facts and figures when Brenda walked into the lounge. He looked up from his notes and smiled.
‘I can put this away if you want to watch television. Want me to wipe the pots?’
She loved the way he always said wipe the pots and not dry the dishes but that night she didn’t want him to perform either the Yorkshire or the Cornish version. She shook her head.
‘No, they’re done. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve asked Freda round for a drink. I need to talk. Will you walk her home afterwards?’
‘Sure, no problem. You look harassed. There’s been something on your mind for some time. Is that why Freda’s coming round?’
‘Yes. She’s so full of common sense – like you in a lot of ways. I think I need my imagination slapping down.’
She sank into the old armchair. In this worn grey chair she could relax, curl up with her legs underneath her and meditate on pleasant thoughts – and unpleasant ones.
She stared into the fire, her mind in turmoil. Every word of the conversation with Pat Farmer was etched into her brain and she knew she’d kept those words to herself for far too long. She needed someone to tell her that Pat was wrong.
‘She actually saw this happen?’
Brenda nodded miserably.
‘She was as close as I am to you. She says she saw Amy’s fingers open and let the poor girl fall to her death.’
‘And why has she suddenly decided to tell you? I thought she was supposedly Amy’s best friend.’
‘She’s worried. About Lauren.’
Freda gave a small cry of surprise. Ken watched her closely.
‘Something wrong, Freda?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Another person said the same thing. Nothing to worry about I’m sure.’
‘Somebody else has expressed concern about Lauren? Who?’ Brenda was beginning to think she was going insane.
‘That young secretary of John’s. Linda. She didn’t say anything so awful as ill treatment… no, she was bothered that the baby isn’t loved, at least not by Amy. She seemed to think she’s a showpiece.’
‘That’s almost exactly Pat’s words,’ Brenda said slowly. ‘She told me about the Sonia Dawes incident along with one or two other things that have bothered her over the years. She needed to drive home just how unbalanced Amy is. And how clever she is at concealing it. We had no idea, did we?’
‘I did,’ Ken said, his face colouring up. ‘I knew she was disturbed that day in the glass house. She wanted me to make love to her, no to fuck her, on the floor. And she wanted me to do it right there knowing you would see it happening. Oh, I knew all right but then when you explained what had happened to her Bren, it seemed to make sense.’
‘So what do we do?’ Brenda’s face was devoid of colour.
Freda stood and moved towards the kitchen window. Both Brenda and Ken followed her movements, waiting for her to speak. She stared for a moment at the pathway leading to the garden gate, her thoughts in turmoil.
‘I don’t know what we do,’ she said quietly. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘Then it’s up to us to think of something, Ken. I’m going to take more of a back seat in the business, spend time with Amy and Lauren, try and teach her how to love this little girl, because if I don’t that baby is going to have a miserable life.’
Ken reached across and touched his wife’s hand.
‘I’m sure you’re right, duck. Let’s have her to stay here, give Amy a break. We can make her a bedroom; decorate Amy’s old room for her.’
‘Ken Buckingham, you’re wonderful.’
‘No, I’m not but I’ll need Freda to work in the fields if I’m losing you.’
Freda ignored the joke.
‘Right, I’ll be off. Er… any help, Bren, you know where I am.’
‘It’s helped just talking about it. Thanks for listening.’
‘I’ll walk you home, Freda. Don’t worry; we’ll have Lauren more. Amy’s baby will be quite safe here.’
34
‘It needs a new carpet.’
Ken laughed as she stood hands on hips staring at the newly decorated bedroom. Mickey Mouse was running riot along one wall.
Bending, Ken began to pull the carpet away from the skirting board. ‘And to think I took all that care not to catch the carpet with the paintbrush. Why didn’t you say at the beginning you wanted a new one?’
‘It didn’t look shabby until we decorated. Let’s take it up.’
Fifteen minutes later they surveyed the bare floor, coffee cups held in their hands.
‘Needs a bloody good clean.’
Brenda nodded. ‘I’ll sweep and mop it. Looks like a loose floor board over there near the skirting board. Want to fix it before I mop?’
‘I’ll fetch my tools.’ He put the cup on the floor and went downstairs.
When he returned Brenda was sitting on the floor in the middle of the dust, the floorboard pushed to one side. In the revealed hole he could see bundles of papers. She was holding a sheet of white foolscap in her hand, scanning the words.
‘What…?’
She looked up to face him.
‘Amy’s,’ she swallowed, ‘Amy’s stories.’
Freda was almost afraid to open the pink cardboard folder. She had seen the distress in Brenda and had tried to refuse the papers.
‘Please, Freda,’ Brenda begged. ‘Read them and tell me she’s not completely insane.’
Sure that she would need the comfort. Brenda lit a cigarette, her first for three weeks. There were some twenty stories in all, ranging in length from a thousand words to nine thousand six hundred and eighty two. Each one had a meticulous word count typed i
n at the end.
And each one dealt with the subject of rape from the victim’s point of view with the exception of two. One portrayed a bungling police officer who didn’t believe a victim and the other, a far more horrific story, was from a rapist’s viewpoint.
Freda didn’t go to bed that night. It would have been a pointless exercise. There was no way she would have slept.
The stories had proved what she had known for many years. She understood Brenda’s distress. Brenda had always looked on the bright side, but after reading the stories she could no longer deny the enormity of the damage done by Treverick.
And she also knew without a doubt that John had to see these stories.
Brenda had been reluctant to give the stories to John. Freda said it was only fair; he should know just how deeply her past still affected her. And just how wrong the paediatric psychiatrist had been.
‘But even if he knows, can he really help? It’s professional help she needs…’
‘Brenda, that young woman is in a dreadful state but what I find most disturbing is that she fools everybody. Oh, I know Pat was concerned and so was Linda, but we would have swanned along pretending everything was okay, wouldn’t we? It’s only these stories that have showed us just what is below the surface, below that beautiful exterior.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Freda. It’s like peeking into her life, the part that she wants to keep private. She would be furious if she knew we had read them, wouldn’t she? Even if John reads them, what can he do?’
‘They have a young daughter and Amy is going to be the one to bring her up. John works far too hard to have time for his daughter so she will be most influenced by her mother. Is that what you want? A warped, dangerous mind bringing up your granddaughter?’
Brenda felt and looked as miserable as she had ever been in her life.
‘Okay, I know you’re right. But just what can John do? Answer me that one, Miss Logical.’
‘He’ll think of something. He’s got to.’
Mark Carter saw very little of John that Wednesday. It had been a peculiar day.
Carrying little Lauren, Amy had been standing in the hallway when he had arrived at nine o’clock. He couldn’t remember seeing her holding the child before and he tried hard to hide his surprise.
‘Morning, Mrs Thornton. Everything okay?’
She had looked at him for a moment trying to work out if he was being sarcastic, before deciding he wasn’t.
‘I’m fine. Just waiting for Brenda to call for me, we’re going shopping. She wants Lauren to stay for a couple of days. They’ve decorated my old bedroom and she wants to get some nursery furniture for it, so I’m going with her.’
‘That’s nice. She’s a lovely lady, your mother. It’ll give you and John a bit of a break as well. I’m sure you’ll welcome that.’
‘Have you got children, Mark?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I’m not married.’
‘Then you’re hardly qualified to judge whether we need a break or not,’ she said icily and turned to walk into the lounge with Lauren. He stared at the closed door for a moment before touching his burning cheek. She certainly knew how to put someone down. Luckily, if that was how she wanted to play it, he didn’t need to have anything to do with her.
He walked into the study and removed the cover of his typewriter. The French windows were open and he crossed to look outside. John was in the garden staring at the herbaceous border, clearly lost in thought.
‘Morning, boss,’ Mark called and John turned and waved.
The room was warm even with the windows open and Mark eased his bright yellow tie slightly as he bent to look at John’s list of things for him to do. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, aware of how much his eyesight was changing since starting to wear them.
The list was short but comprehensive and Mark went to the filing cabinet to take out the relevant paperwork. He heard a car horn beep, and then the front door open and close.
Amy had gone, and suddenly the air felt lighter.
John was surprised to see Freda. He couldn’t ever remember her calling before working hours and he led her into the lounge.
‘We’ll leave Mark struggling with my hand writing,’ he said with a grin. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’
‘Straight to the point as ever,’ she quipped in return, feeling sick.
‘Then I must have caught it from you,’ he returned with a laugh. ‘Can I get you a coffee? Tea?’
‘Not just yet. I need to talk to you.’
‘Sounds serious,’ he said, a frown crossing his face. He pushed his blonde hair back with one hand and sat down opposite her. ‘I presume that means it’s something to do with Amy? That’s why Brenda has taken her out, so that you could come here?’
‘That’s very astute, young man. It’s also correct.’ She bent down and reached into the bag she had brought with her. She handed a battered pink cardboard folder to him.
‘Brenda found these.’
As he began to lift the flap, she stopped him.
‘No, leave it until later and don’t read them in front of Amy. First I must tell you what they are.’
‘They’re Amy’s stories, aren’t they?’ Suddenly he felt cold.
‘Brenda found them hidden under a loose floorboard. We’ve both read them and they show a very disturbed mind, John.’
‘But she wrote these eight or ten years ago, Freda.’
‘One of them is dated eight months ago. I suspect she started writing it around the time you had Lauren, or just after. It’s about a sexual assault on a young baby by its father.’
John stared at the folder in his hands. He wanted to throw it into the fire but he knew that he couldn’t. Not yet.
‘Has she any idea that you’ve found these?’
‘No, she probably thinks they’re unobtainable now. She won’t be able to take up the carpet without it being obvious.’
‘Have I got to read them?’
‘Oh yes, without a doubt. You must, John. Don’t bury your head in the sand. I’m not saying you can help Amy; if she won’t help herself, there’s not much you can do. What Brenda and I want is for you to be aware of this. You have a young daughter. Think about that, John, before you throw those straight into the fire.’
He looked up guiltily.
‘No,’ she said with a smile. ‘I didn’t read your mind. It was my initial reaction too. But I did read them. And you must do the same in order to understand Amy. Then you’ll know what you’re really up against.’
She stood and picked up her bag.
‘Forget the coffee – I’ve given you enough to think about. If you want to talk when you’ve read them, you know where I am.’
She walked from the room leaving a bewildered man to stare morosely into the flames, the pink folder bent over in hands that trembled.
35
‘Get your friggin’ hands off me, David Farmer!!’
‘Friggin’ hands? Pat, I thought you promised to be a lady this time,’ he grinned into the sweat-streaked face of his wife.
‘This time, this time,’ she muttered through clenched teeth, ‘there’ll never be another time.’
‘But,’ he said, holding her tightly as another wave of pain began to take over, ‘I thought we’d arranged to have four?’
She sank her teeth sharply into his chest and he yelled.
‘You… you bloody vampire!’
The midwife hid her smile as she listened to the exchange between the expecting parents, knowing that in five minutes everything would be joy, tears and laughter.
‘Don’t you swear at me, David,’ Pat warned. ‘Oh, God, no…’ Her long low moan rose as the contraction began to take hold. ‘David,’ she screamed. ‘Tell them that they’re hurting me. Tell them!’
‘Hush, Babe,’ David said, holding tightly in spite of the bite she had inflicted. He’d have to take the chance she wouldn’t do it again. ‘We’re nearly there.’
And suddenly th
e head was through.
‘Pant now, Pat.’ The midwife began to check the baby’s neck for obstruction and then leaned over to feel at Pat’s stomach. ‘Right, lovey, with this next contraction we want this baby out. It’s a hairy little thing so let’s have the rest of it to look at. There, it’s starting. Now come on, push…’
Pat took a deep breath and almost before she had started, it was over.
‘It’s a girl,’ David yelled. ‘God, Pat, we’ve done it, we’ve got our daughter!’
‘I don’t care if it’s a monkey,’ she said. ‘I’m knackered.’
‘You’re such a lady, sweetheart,’ David said leaning over to kiss her. ‘I love you.’
Pat watched as the baby was handed to a nurse and taken over to one side to be checked.
‘Is she okay?’
‘She’s fine for a monkey,’ came the cheerful response. ‘Now relax while we get this placenta out of the way. She’s beautiful – I’d guess about eight and a half pounds. Do we have a name?’
'Bryony Leigh.’
‘Bryony. That’s lovely. A very pretty name for a very pretty baby.’
The nurse brought the now quiet baby across to Pat and placed her in her arms.
‘Bryony,’ she said. ‘This is your mummy. She swears a lot and bites people but apart from that, she’s fine.’
John read the stories and was unable to dismiss them from his mind. In spite of what Freda had said he had thrown them on to the fire after reading them, before scrambling madly to retrieve them.
They had to be kept – from a writer’s point of view they were technically brilliant. He knew that if David ever got hold of them he would want to meet the author.
What hurt John the most was that he couldn’t discuss them with Amy.
He knew what the stories meant; what he didn’t know was how to handle the situation.
He had been staring into the fire, turning the dark implications in the stories over in his mind when she appeared holding a small table. With only a few days to go to Christmas he guessed it was a gift for someone.