by Cathy Ace
‘That doesn’t sound good. Not you being alone in charge of a pub, but the Jones family dynamic. And if Helen’s not there I might just turn around; I need to talk to Sadie, and I can’t do that without her mother or an approved adult being there.’
Evan couldn’t help himself. ‘Why do you need to talk to Sadie?’
Silence.
‘Liz?’
‘I’m thinking. About what I can and can’t say.’
Evan waited.
‘I’ll be there in about half an hour. Can’t talk now.’
Liz was gone. Evan hoped it meant she was going to give him some information face to face that she didn’t want to divulge over the phone. He felt the old excitement rise in his belly, then thought it might be the orange juice. He took the empty glass back to the bar. A hesitant knock at the door drew his attention. He opened it, ready to point at the note, but when he saw the hollow eyes and pallor of Mair Bevan he helped her inside, and made her take a seat while he brought her a glass of water. She drank it, gulping it down.
‘Better?’ he asked. The woman looked dreadful.
‘I’d have preferred a glass of Mackeson, but beggars can’t be choosers,’ she replied, a wicked glint in her rheumy eyes.
Evan wasn’t too sure that she was in any fit state to drink beer for breakfast – or at any other time, for that matter. ‘Maybe I could find some somewhere,’ he suggested.
‘I’m just kidding. I know I shouldn’t. Not with the tablets I’m on. I had two glasses yesterday, and regretted it all night. Didn’t sleep at all well. But here I am. I came to see Helen before church.’ She looked at her watch. ‘With everything that’s been going on, and me being ill, the vicar’s got some of the younger one’s on the altar guild now, so I don’t need to get there until the service starts.’
Evan explained everything that was going on, without mentioning Sadie’s involvement in her mother’s fall.
Mair sucked her dentures. ‘This family. Always the same. Trouble.’
Evan was curious. ‘How do you mean?’
Mair narrowed her hooded eyes. ‘I know you. You used to come here when you were a youngster. Shirley Pritchard’s boy, aren’t you? Married some bloke from Gorseinon, didn’t she?’
Evan nodded. ‘She did. David Glover. I’m Evan. You knew my mother?’
‘I did. In passing. Your gran, too. Vi. Still alive, is she? Your mother, not your gran.’
‘Left us a few years ago. Too young.’
Mair sighed. ‘One of the problems you face if you live as long as I have is that there’s almost no one left alive to remember with. Even the ones I recall being born, like your mam, and Myfanwy here, have gone. Being old is bloody hard work. Lonely, too.’
‘Better than the alternative,’ said Evan as brightly as possible.
Mair’s expression suggested she didn’t agree. ‘Pain all the time, a constant parade of doctors and specialists, and the people you know dropping around you like flies? Oh yes, barrel of laughs it is. Policeman, aren’t you?’
‘Retired.’
‘You’re not old enough to retire.’
‘I’m old enough to want to.’
Mair looked toward the bar. ‘Nan wouldn’t have begrudged me one little bottle of orange juice. Don’t bother with a glass. Find a cold one in the fridge for me, would you? Good lad.’
Evan smiled at being called a lad, and returned with a chilled, opened mixer-bottle of orange juice. Mair picked it up with two rope-veined, claw-like hands and drank deeply. Evan found the sight unsettling.
‘Have you lived here all your life?’ asked Evan, by way of conversation.
‘Worked in Swansea through the war, and after. But yes, born in the house I live in now,’ she replied. Having wiped her thin, purplish lips with the tips of her wizened fingers, Mair added, ‘So Helen won’t be back for hours. Pity. I was going to tell her what Nan and I had been talking about the day Nan died. It’ll keep, I suppose.’
Evan couldn’t resist. ‘I could pass it on when she gets back, if you want to get to church.’
Mair rolled the bottle between her hands. She stared at Evan, but her raisin eyes gave nothing away. She made chewing motions. Spittle gathered at the corners of her lips. Evan studied his nails.
‘Can’t hurt,’ she said, ‘it’s a later start at church today, for Easter, so I’ve got a bit of time yet, and they’ll be forever up at A & E. I go to bed early these days.’ She took another swig from the bottle. ‘I won’t beat about the bush. Nan and her husband Jack had problems. Years back. Before Helen was born. Jack was a man who had certain . . . tastes. Did you ever come across a place called the Cat and Whistle in your time?’
Evan was surprised. ‘I was a policeman in Swansea, how would I not have come across it? It was the pub for which the term “den of iniquity” was invented.’ He wondered where Mair was going.
‘Used to be the landlady there, I did.’
Evan was gobsmacked. ‘When?’
Mair’s lips stretched into a smile. ‘Barmaid there from 1942. I was still a teenager – not that we were called that, back then. Used to hide in the cellars with the barrels during the Swansea Blitz. Like the Windmill Theatre in London, we never closed. I took the reins in 1960. Retired when I was seventy.’
Evan let the idea percolate. He was looking at a woman with a reputation for running a knocking shop above a pub, who’d been questioned in more cases of prostitution, theft, violence, drug-trafficking and even murder, than he could recall.
‘You’re Mary Bevan?’
Mair nodded.
Evan pictured the notorious woman he was speaking about; he’d never met her face-to-face, but he’d seen a large photograph above the bar in The Cat and Whistle, which had shown her as curvaceous, flame-haired, and fearless. Had that woman become this shriveled thing in front of him?
‘My father insisted Mary went on my birth certificate, but my mother always called me Mair. I married Dewi Bevan in 1953. Used the English version of my name at work; it allowed me to keep the lives of Mair Bevan of Rhosddraig, and Mary Bevan of The Cat, totally separate. Never did time, or nothing, so that was good. Lived upstairs when I worked there early on, then I got a car. Very fancy. I was able to spend the odd night every week here, with my mother. Came back here when I retired.’
Evan was at sea. ‘And what’s that got to do with Jack and Nan Jones?’
‘Before Helen was born, Jack would visit The Cat sometimes. Nan used to hit him about, see? Strapping woman she was back then, not like you’d have seen her recently. Jack must have found he liked it, or maybe he always did. Either way, my girls did a better job of it than Nan, and he was prepared to pay for the superior service. Then Helen came along, and he stayed home. Eventually he started visiting one of my girls who lived here, in the village. Jackie Beynon started at The Cat as a barmaid when she was about twenty. Kids growing up in Rhosddraig? Nothing here for them at all. And Jackie was never the quiet, studious type. Took her a while to get into the drugs though. I know for a fact she was clean when she started there; we overlapped by a couple of years, and all my girls were clean.’
Evan shook his head. How often had he heard that?
‘And don’t look at me like I’m dirt on your shoe,’ croaked Mair. ‘Enough of your lot used to skulk up the back stairs so they wouldn’t be seen by the drinkers below when they wanted a bit of a treat on the house. It’s why I never did time. Backs being scratched all over the place, there were. They trusted me. Especially when AIDS came along. Terrible thing, that.’
Evan was starting to feel angry. He’d never been able to consider working vice – he’d have wanted to shake everyone and tell them to wake up to what they were doing to themselves and those they loved. No, not his cup of tea. And too many people like this woman – ready to enable all sorts, then excuse it to anyone who challenged them.
‘So what did Nan Jones want to talk about?’ he asked bluntly. Why not revert to his old interviewing techniques? He was certain Mair/Mary would cope.
‘Nan hated Gwen Beynon. Everyone knew it, but no one knew why. I certainly didn’t. But when I guessed Gwen Beynon was dying in hospital, I told Nan to go to talk to her; have it out with her, once and for all. See, I’ve lived with the consequences of not having spoken my mind to too many people who’ve died. Of not having asked them questions I should have done. And when they’re gone? Well, it’s too late then. It eats away at you. So, Nan did as I suggested, and confronted Gwen. Then she came to see me because Gwen told her to. She got everything off her chest when she came to see me. It turned out Nan believed that Gwen and Jack had been having an affair. Told me she’d seen them together on New Year’s Eve 1999, with her own eyes. Now there’s a date when everyone knows exactly where they were. I expect you do, don’t you?’
She paused, and Evan nodded. He wasn’t going to give this woman the satisfaction of engaging in an actual conversation with her.
She continued, ‘Me? I was at home, nursing Gwen who had the flu something awful. With me for five days, she was. I missed an epic night at The Cat. So there was no way Nan could have seen Jack with Gwen that night. On what turned out to be her deathbed, Gwen sent Nan to me, knowing I’d been nursing her that night. Knowing I could tell Nan her suspicions were rubbish.’
‘So Nan was wrong?’
Mair nodded. ‘Stupid woman. I told her so, too. All those years she’s been such a cow to Gwen? Very unfair. And all because she thought she knew best, and knew everything. Always did. I thought Nan deserved to hear a few home truths about her own family, so I told her all about her Jack’s little habit, and how he’d really enjoyed how she’d treated him. You should have seen her face. Purple, she went.’
Mair paused and drank from her bottle. ‘I didn’t tell her with any relish, mind you, but because she was talking rubbish. Nan went off in a in a terrible state after telling me to my face I was a liar. She was going on and on about her being sure Jack had his trousers off when she saw him through a gap in Gwen’s bedroom curtains, then she went all white, and started swearing her head off about how she’d always known Aled Beynon was the wrong boy for Sadie, and how she was glad he was locked up and on trial. Barmy, that one. Always was.’
Evan waited. Nothing. ‘And that was it?’ He’d expected more.
She nodded.
Evan thought about what she’d said. ‘Could Nan have seen her husband Jack with Gwen’s daughter Jackie that night?’
Mair studied her bottle. ‘No. Jackie would have been down at The Cat. That night of all nights? Bound to be a cracker there that night. She wouldn’t have missed it.’
‘If you say so.’
Mair nodded. ‘I do. Maybe it’s best you tell Helen, rather than me having to do it. I don’t want another Jones woman going off on me. Or maybe don’t tell her everything about her dad. Just tell her about the other stuff – you know, the bits her mam asked about.’
Evan didn’t think it would be the right time to tell an already reeling Helen Jones that her mother had beaten the father she’d worshipped, who had himself enjoyed a predilection for masochistic sex at the hands of prostitutes overseen by a retired madam who lived up the road.
He puffed out his cheeks. His gran had been right when she’d said people in villages hung net curtains in their windows with good reason; there really was no way to guess what went on behind them.
‘I’ll do my best to convey the essence of what you’ve just told me about your conversation with her mother to Helen,’ said Evan. ‘I’ll see how she’s faring when she gets back from the hospital. As you can imagine, she’s still a little raw after her mother’s death.’
Mair put down her empty bottle. ‘Not much love lost there. Nan and her? Oil and water. Nan dominated Jack, Helen was dominated by Bob. Not a nice man, Bob Thistlewaite. Polar opposite of Helen’s father; liked to play-act the tough man just a little too much with the girls, did Bob. In the end, they had to tell him he wasn’t welcome at The Cat anymore.’
Evan’s years of experience were the only reason he didn’t gasp. ‘Helen’s ex-husband, Bob, was also one of your customers?’
Mair shook her head. ‘I’d left by the time he showed up. But I kept in touch with my replacement, of course. Professional courtesy – and curiosity.’ Evan noticed a truly unpleasant gleam in Mair’s eyes. ‘Bob found The Cat long before he and Helen ever moved here, when he was visiting Swansea on business. It’s funny how things happen, isn’t it? I saw a bruise on Helen’s arm one day; she tried to hide it, of course, which made me notice it even more, and the others that followed. I mentioned it to Nan, but she told me it was none of my business. I heard from my successor at The Cat there was a nasty piece of work about; I didn’t put two and two together at first, then it turned out it was Bob Thistlewaite. Returned to The Cat after he and Helen got divorced. He finally got slung out around 2009, not long before they closed the old place down altogether. Best thing for it.’
‘Why wasn’t he shown the door long before that, if he was known to be violent?’ asked Evan. It wasn’t the norm for those who ran brothels to allow their source of income to be endangered, he knew that much.
Mair nodded. ‘Yes, well, when you’ve got a punter who has easy access to all sorts of pharmaceutical samples, it means he has some leverage, see.’
Evan’s train of thought was interrupted by knocking at the door. He was torn. ‘Back in a minute,’ he said.
An anxious-looking young woman wearing every color of the rainbow, and a few extra, stepped through the door as he opened it.
‘I’m Agata,’ she announced. ‘You’re Evan, correct?’ Evan nodded. ‘Thanks, I’ll take it from here. My sister will be here soon to help prepare the food. She was at a friend’s house, revising. She’ll come on her bike, along the coastal path, and get here as soon as possible.’
‘Is that safe?’ Evan couldn’t help himself.
Agata grinned. ‘It’s forbidden to cycle it, but for the kids around here, that path is like a motorway. They all get bikes that can cope with its rugged surfaces. She’ll be fine.’
As Evan stepped aside to allow Agata to get on with her work, he spotted Liz Stanley striding across the road from the car park. He could imagine she was working on an opening quip.
‘So is this how you’re spending your retirement, sir? Doorman at a pub? You’d think they’d shell out for a nice uniform, with braid on the epaulettes. Get paid in beer, do you?’
‘Oi, less of the lip, you,’ said Evan, truly pleased to see Liz. ‘Come on in. I just have something I want to ask a very interesting woman I’ve been chatting with. Follow me.’
When they entered the lounge, other than Agata singing to herself behind the bar, it was empty. ‘Where did Mair go?’ asked Evan.
‘I haven’t seen Mrs Bevan,’ replied Agata. ‘Surely she would be in church at this time? The bells were ringing as I arrived.’
Liz rolled her eyes. ‘The incredible disappearing woman? Or is it something more serious – should I be phoning Betty?’
Evan was annoyed. He’d wanted to ask Mair some more questions, but it was clear they’d have to wait. He turned his attention to Liz. ‘Maybe Agata will put a pot of coffee on for us. I have to wait for Betty to come back with Helen, so I could be here some time. Good to see you, by the way,’ he added.
Liz cracked a smile. ‘You too, Evan.’
‘So? What couldn’t you tell me on the phone?’ he asked eagerly.
Liz nodded toward a table in a corner. ‘I’ll show you.’ Sitting, she woke up her tablet. ‘I was originally on my way here to go through Sadie’s statement with her again – just a bit of fact checking, which my new boss wants us to do with everyone. But I got a call on the way, and pulled over to take it. Things have changed. You know James Powell was a keen photographer?’ Evan nodded. ‘He belonged to a photographic club in Treboeth, and they had a group cloud-storage area he used. It seems all his photos were automatically uploaded as he took them. They gave us access. The team found these.’
> She handed the tablet to Evan. He scrolled.
‘Good grief,’ he said. ‘I see what you mean about things having changed. You’ll need to do more than just check Sadie’s statement. And, yes, at least her mother needs to be with her, possibly a solicitor too. Were you planning on taking her in?’
‘I think we might need to do that.’ Liz’s tone was grim. Having seen the photos, Evan could understand why.
Betty
The drive to the A&E department at West Glam General had been as fast as the speed cameras allowed. Helen and Betty had hardly spoken. Helen seemed to be in a daze, blurting out half-sentences now and again; Betty wondered about the concussion Sadie had mentioned. She decided she’d speak up about it at the hospital.
Fortunately it was still early when they reached the registration area – or holding pen as Betty thought of it after half an hour. Surrounded by the walking wounded, she could imagine how the scene might have been twelve hours earlier, when the effect of alcohol upon the part of the brain responsible for decision-making had taken its toll on many.
As it was, they only had to wait an hour for Helen’s name to be called. X-rays, more waiting, consultation, more waiting, then setting, strapping, and plastering all followed. They left the car park almost exactly four hours after they’d entered it. Betty was impressed.
‘I might be able to help in the pub when we get back,’ said Helen as they headed toward Rhosddraig.
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Betty. ‘You’re going to listen to the doctor and take it easy. The tablets he gave you will make you sleepy, too. You need a good rest. Your body needs it, and your psyche needs it. Trust me, I’m a therapist.’ She was trying her best to lighten the mood.
‘What if Bob turns up? I won’t be strong enough to cope.’
‘He won’t.’ Betty tried to sound convincing.
‘You don’t know him. He might.’ Betty noticed Helen was staring at the road ahead as though she might spot her tormentor at any moment. She looked more than strained; she looked close to collapse.