by Ruth Sutton
‘No, doc, you stay there,’ she said. ‘I can get my own. They do serve women in pubs these days, as long as there’s nothing more important to be doing.’
From the bar she watched him lifting another glass of whisky carefully towards his mouth. He took a sip, put down the glass and began to cough, covering his mouth with a large handkerchief.
‘Were you looking for me?’ he asked when she sat down with her half of cider.
‘I knew where you’d be and that you might save me some time,’ she said. ‘Things in the newsroom are a bit tricky. Skelly thinks his territory is being invaded by his boss, so he’s out to show me who’s in charge, and that means hiding things from me, slowing everything down, the usual games.’
‘Happy days,’ said Dr Hayward. He was quiet for a moment. ‘I suppose you want to know how that poor lad died?’
‘Have you done the post-mortem?’ she asked.
He waited, staring into his drink. She wondered how much he’d already had.
‘Yes, I’ve done it,’ he said finally.
‘I knew it,’ said Judith. ‘Not a word about it from Bill, but I have been out all day, so maybe I’m doing him a disservice. Anything you can tell me?’
He looked up at her. His eyes were wet and he wiped them with the handkerchief. He beckoned with his fingers and Judith leaned close to hear what he said.
‘He didn’t drown. No water or mud in the lungs. If he’d got sucked into that quicksand there would have been.’ He hesitated. ‘I’ll put it all in the report. Tomorrow, I’ll do it tomorrow. You’ll have to read the rest for yourself.’
Judith stared at him. ‘If he didn’t drown –’ she began. He held up his hand. ‘It’ll be in the report,’ he repeated. ‘And that’s where it should be, not under discussion in a public house.’ He picked up the glass and finished it. ‘You’re a fine woman, Judith,’ he said, getting up from the table. ‘Don’t let them change that. Find something to believe in and stick to it.’
He patted her head and left her wondering about the boy, and death, and loneliness.
CHAPTER 5
On Wednesday, Judith was at her desk early, impatient for something to happen. How long would it take before Stevie’s post-mortem report filtered through the porous network of policemen and then the press, she wondered? Doc Hayward said the boy didn’t drown, but could he have made a mistake? He wasn’t well, Judith could see that, and probably drinking too much. She had to see the full report herself. Or maybe she would have to get Doc Hayward on his own again and pester him until he told her all the details. Couldn’t print it of course, but it would help to fill in the picture she needed.
And what about Brother Sam, the zealous detective? He would know what the PM had uncovered. She could ask him, use him as a source of information and by-pass the newsroom gang all together. He might refuse of course, but she could trade some stuff that she knew and he didn’t. Mikey might tell her something he wouldn’t tell the police. Edwards had said the lads liked talking to women more than men. That could work in her favour.
In the meantime, she’d made up her mind about something else. Maybe it was telling Elspeth about what had happened to her that brought it to a head, but suddenly Judith couldn’t stand being around Cunningham any longer. The smell of him, his eyes on her, she couldn’t bear it. She needed to make a call, but couldn’t use the phone in the newsroom. There was a public phone box in the street outside and she gathered up her change to call the only person she could think of who might advise her what to do. Eight-thirty. He always went to work early and would be at his desk by now, hopefully. ‘Mr Pharaoh’s office,’ said a crisp voice. Judith explained who she was. ‘Hold on a moment, Judith,’ said the secretary.
‘Judith,’ said her father, ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No Dad, nothing. I’m OK. Sorry to call at such a funny time. Didn’t want to call you at home. Mum, well you know how she is.’
‘What is it, pet, that can’t be discussed with your mother?’
Judith hesitated. ‘It’s something at work, and you’re a man, so I thought…’
‘Good heavens, Judith. I’m imagining all sorts of things now.’
‘It’s nothing bad, really. I just don’t know what to do about a man in the office who…’ She stalled again. It all sounded so feeble. ‘He stares at me all the time, and tries to touch me, and he says I should be nice to him if I want him to help me, that kind of thing.’
John Pharaoh was silent.
‘Are you there, Dad?’
‘How long’s this been going on?’
‘Since I started on the paper. He’s been there for years. He must be your age, maybe older. He says I should give him a hug and kiss him like I would do with my father. It’s really disgusting.’
‘Is he your boss?’
‘Sort of. He’s the sub-editor, the one that has to approve all my work.’
‘And you think he’ll block your work if you don’t go along with this?’
‘Yes.’
‘You poor thing,’ said John. ‘Of course you meet men like that, but I haven’t really thought about the girls and what a spot it puts them in. Girls like you –’
‘I’m not a girl, Dad, I’m a grown woman,’
‘But he’s not treating you like one, is he? I could come down and knock his block off but that wouldn’t help much, would it?’
‘Probably not,’ said Judith ‘but I’d love to see you do it.’
‘Is there someone you could tell, someone more senior? What about the editor?’
‘Mr Thornhill?’ Judith couldn’t imagine it. ‘I could try I suppose. Don’t know what he could do. I think Cunningham bullies him too.’
John sighed. ‘Let’s not tell your mother, Judith. She’d want me to call the police or she’d come down and deal with it herself, heaven help us.’
Judith could hear him smiling at the thought, and she laughed too at the vision of Maggie beating Cunningham over the head with her handbag.
‘I’ll try telling the editor, Dad. Could make it worse but I have to do something. I have to work with a sub-editor, can’t get round that, but if he touches my hair again I’ll hit him myself and lose my job.’
‘No, don’t do that. Talking to his boss is the only thing I can think of,’ said her father. He was quiet for a moment. ‘None of this would happen if you just came to work with me, Judith. Not in finance like me, in the press office. They’d jump at someone with your experience, someone local who knows about Sellafield and how important it is to us up here. The Irish are kicking up again about pollution in the sea. We need all the help we can get.’
‘Maybe sometime, Dad, but not yet. Have to get some more experience on a proper paper, and I’m not sure I want to deal with Sellafield stuff the whole time. How’s Vince?’ she asked, anxious to change the subject.
‘Doing remarkably well, considering. His sight’s no better, just light and shapes but no detail. He would love to see you, Judith. Why don’t you come up this weekend? It’s been ages since we saw you last.’
Judith remembered all too clearly the blame in her mother’s voice, but John heard the silence and understood. ‘She doesn’t blame you, you know. She knows it was an accident. Vince was old enough to know that he shouldn’t climb that wall, and you weren’t close enough to stop him.’
‘But she still blames me. You know she does.’
‘Maybe at the time, but that’s all forgotten now.’
It was no good talking any more: Maggie would blame her daughter for her younger son’s blindness till her dying day. For Judith the thought of living in St Bees was out of the question.
‘I’ll have to go, Dad. Running out of money. I’ll let you know what happens but don’t say anything to Mum.’
She put the rest of the unused change back in her purse, and pushed open the door of the phone box, relieved to escape the lingering smell of urine She’d be early for her meeting with Mikey but she would need plenty of time to ask the growing
list of questions in the bag that she slung over her shoulder on her way out.
❖ ❖ ❖
Judith parked the Vespa well away from Montgomery House and walked round to reach the digging field without going near the building. From the top end of the field she looked down to find the best place for their conversation. The hut Mikey had mentioned, where the teacher would be engrossed in his newspaper, was down at the bottom of the field near the path that led through the rhododendron bushes surrounding Montgomery House. Dividing the field from the house was a fence that ran up the slope and then bent round to the west. If Judith could find a spot among the bushes and Mikey arranged to work close by they could talk without her being seen and their conversation being overheard. The top gate into the field led directly off the little road up to the village. There was no one around. Judith closed the gate behind her and walked across to the corner of the fence, climbed over it with ease and found a place in the thickest part of the bushes where she couldn’t see the hut but found herself within a few feet of the edge of the field. The boys had obviously been working here. There were rows of sprouts waiting to be picked, and other areas where the reddish soil had been tilled ready for some winter planting.
From her hiding place she heard a bell ring in the main house and some minutes later a group of boys in rubber boots appeared near the hut followed by a man that Judith realised she had seen before. Harries – the name came back to her at once. Desmond Harries. He’d been in Edwards’ office the day they found Steven’s body, but had said nothing that she could remember. And Mikey had mentioned him, as the digging teacher who left the boys to their own devices.
She ducked back into the bushes while the boys collected their various implements and set off to their tasks around the field. Mikey hadn’t forgotten. He was looking around as he walked slowly across the field and spotted her almost at once, altering his path to bring him up the field towards her. He spoke to another smaller boy, who glanced up at Judith and then began his work closer to the hut. Harries stood at the door for a while checking on the activity before he disappeared inside.
‘That’s good, miss,’ said Mikey as he bent to fiddle with the sprouts a few feet away from Judith’s hiding place. ‘Harries wouldn’t see you unless ’e knows where to look. Can you ’ear me or should I come a bit nearer?’
‘That’s OK, Mikey. Glad you remembered.’
‘We miss Stevie,’ he said. ‘We want to know what ’appened to ’im, just like you do.’
‘Have the police been?’ she asked.
‘Oh, aye. Copper looked about the same age as me. Not from round ’ere though and ’e had a funny name. He asked what time Stevie left that night, what ’e’d said to us, usual sort of stuff.’
‘Did you tell him about someone coming to fetch Stevie?’
‘E never asked about no one else. We told ’im Stevie’d talked about going home to ’is mam, and that was all. Never tell the cops nothing you don’t ’ave to, that’s what me dad told me. So I don’t.’
‘What time did Stevie leave that night, do you know?’
‘Late, miss. Darren was in his room and said he was gone when he woke to go the lav about midnight.’ He stood up.
‘Are we still OK?’ asked Judith. ‘Any sign of the teacher?’
‘Old ’Arries won’t stir till we have to go in, ’e never does. Reads that big paper from cover to cover. We could be off over the fence and away but ’e don’t care.’
‘Well keep checking,’ said Judith. ‘Mikey, do you lads ever get hold of any drink, you know, alcohol?’
‘Booze, miss? Would if we could. One of the lads brought some back from home once, but ’e put it in ’is hot water bottle and it tasted ’orrible. Stevie drank some, I remember that. Not much, but ’e threw up in the lav. Stank the place out.’
‘Is there any alcohol on the premises, in Captain Edwards’ office maybe, for visitors?’
‘I saw Matron with a glass of sherry or summat once, on ’er birthday. And there’s a posh bottle with whisky in it that they get out at Christmas. That might be in the office, but it’ll be locked up.’
‘So you hadn’t been drinking the night Stevie disappeared?’
‘We ’adn’t but there were some visitors making a bit of a racket. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’d ’ad a few. Captain has ’is mates over sometimes and they get a bit noisy.’
‘You said that Stevie told you someone was coming to get him.’
‘Yes, he said that. We thought he were making it up, showing off. No one ever came to see ’im.’
Mikey looked up suddenly, away from Judith. The boy he’d spoken to earlier was standing up, whistling a tune. Beyond him, Judith could see Mr Harries standing outside the hut, looking away from them out to the shore and the flat expanse of the bay beyond. Judith ducked back into the darkness of the trees while Mikey bent to his task of picking sprouts with convincing commitment. A few minutes later the whistling started again and Mikey whispered. ‘E’s gone, back in the hut. Is that it, miss? Me back’s killing me.’
‘Nearly done. I’ve got some pocket money for you if we can just finish this off.’
‘Fire away, miss,’ said Mikey.
‘You say no one ever came to see him, but did you see anyone hanging around the home at all, or out here even, over the past few weeks?’
Mikey was thinking and Judith wished she hadn’t mentioned the money. Maybe he would make something up just to keep her interested.
‘There was someone,’ he said. ‘Couple of weeks back. A man. He looked cold but it weren’t a cold day. He were standing by the road, near where the hut is, looking down the path towards the house. We were in the van coming back from town. Must’ve been the Saturday, not the one just gone, or the previous, the one before that.’
‘About two weeks ago,’ said Judith.
‘That’s it. When ’e saw the van slow down to come in the drive, ’e just turned and walked away, but ’e’d a good look at us when we passed.’
‘Was Stevie with you?’
‘Nah, ’e were in trouble again and couldn’t come out. That’s what they do. You ’ave treats like trips out and comics and that, and if you mess around they take them off you.’
‘And Stevie was in trouble a lot was he?’
‘E were an idiot, miss. Never knew when to shut up, except when it suited ’im. One day ’e spat out the window over the back door, and someone was coming in. Gob hit him right on the ’ead. The bloke went mental and stormed up the stairs to where we all were and said he wanted the kid who’d gobbed on him and we all knew it was Stevie and ’e never said a word the little runt, so we all copped it. No trips, no comics, for two weeks. We gave ’im hell over that.’
‘Could Stevie have run away to get away from you lads, then?’
Mikey stood up to stretch his back. Judith could see that he was smiling. ‘Run away from us? Nah,’ he said. ‘We’re ’is family, poor little bugger. Sorry miss.’
He looked down towards the hut. ‘Eyup,’ he said. ‘Ere ’e comes, ’Arries.’ Mikey coughed and put a hand to his mouth. ‘Leave the money right there, miss, and I’ll pick it up later. Gotta go, before he comes up ’ere. Stay there until you ’ear the bell in the house and then get out quick before the next lot of kids come.’
He picked up the bucket of sprouts and set off down the field. Judith stepped back and waited, putting two half crown coins under a stone near her feet. The voices diminished and when she heard the bell she looked around once more, climbed the fence and hurried back to where the scooter was parked near the post office.
She’d learned a few things but nothing that would stand up, or even make much sense. The only person she could think of who might have been hanging around Montgomery House recently was the man that Donna had mentioned, Stevie’s elder brother who’d suddenly turned up in Morecambe. But why didn’t he visit properly, if he was part of the family? Judith made a mental note to check the tide times for the night of Stevie’s death. If he l
eft before midnight, could the incoming tide have been the problem? But he wasn’t drowned. None of it made any sense. For the time being, the only facts she could pull together would be about the funeral, and she needed the date of that, too.
❖ ❖ ❖
Back at the office she made a phone call.
‘Stevie’s funeral?’ said Mrs Clough. ‘One moment please.’ She was back almost immediately. ‘It’ll be at the crematorium in Barrow, this Friday at eleven in the morning. Some of the boys will be going, and some of the staff of course.’
‘What about the family?’
‘The family were expected to arrange the funeral, obviously, but the mother declined apparently. You didn’t hear that from me, Miss Pharaoh. They left it to us, and the Captain will probably have to find the funds from his own pocket, a very noble gesture if you ask me. But what can you do with parents like that? They should be prevented from having children, in my view. Don’t print that.’
‘I won’t, Mrs Clough,’ said Judith. She pictured the small coffin, going through those final curtains into the flames. Then there would be nothing left of him but a plaque on a wall somewhere. She remembered Vince at eleven, bursting with energy and questions and jokes and life. She would go to the funeral and then she would go and see her own brother who was still alive.
She looked up suddenly as Bill Skelly began roaring at Andrew the young trainee who had claimed he had nothing to do. Judith listened to the tirade, smiled sympathetically at Andrew and was reading her various messages when Bill sat himself down on the spare chair beside her. ‘Even you weren’t as pathetic as that, were you Judith?’
It was an impossible question to answer and she didn’t try. ‘How’s that story going,’ Bill went on, ‘about the kiddie who drowned?’
He hadn’t seen the PM report, she decided, and her question about it dried in her mouth. ‘We’re still waiting for the PM report,’ she said. ‘Will you get the details from the cops or shall I?’