The Yearning Heart

by Sylvia Broady

‘What do you want?’ the woman interrupted, coldly.

  Fran drew a deep breath. ‘I’m concerned about Nick and I was wondering if Rufus could contact him.’ Fran hugged nearer to the wall of the house to shelter from the rain.

  ‘You’re concerned about that scum? I wouldn’t waste my breath on him. He’s a killer!’

  And before Fran could utter another word, the door was slammed in her face. Stunned, she just stood there, shocked at what Helga had said.

  A cold fear seeped into her body and she shivered involuntarily. She turned quickly and headed for home, thinking what a lucky escape she had that Rufus wasn’t home. She must warn Dad not to encourage Nick to come to the house ever again. The wind whipped at her face as she hurried down the lane. She kept her head down, thinking of the warmth of the welcoming fire.

  She was almost upon the house before she saw, parked near the back door, Rufus’s Land Rover. Entering the porch, she wondered what had brought him here. Surely, not a social call? Shrugging off her boots and waterproofs, she pushed open the kitchen door and was stunned to see Nick sitting in front of the fire, shivering and sneezing.

  ‘Fran!’ Rufus came bouncing towards her. ‘We were getting worried about you.’

  She stared at him, anger welling. ‘What’s happening?’ she demanded.

  Before he could answer, Will butted in, ‘We’ve plenty of room. I’ve said Nick can stay.’

  In disbelief, Fran rounded on Will. ‘You’ve what?’

  At the harshness of her tone, Nick glanced up at her. His face flushed, he began a series of sneezes again. At this point, Rufus came and put an arm about her shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry to impose this on you, but Nick’s home is flooded and he’s not well. In fact, he’s running a high temperature and I’m loath to bung him into a hotel. It’s just for a few days until he’s feeling better.’ He looked pleadingly into her eyes. ‘Nick said you’ve been kind and friendly towards him. You’d be doing me a great favour. Things are rather difficult at home.’

  I bet! she thought. Having a murderer under your roof it would be. Though, looking at Nick sitting huddled into himself, he looked pitiful, not a threat. But then, who could tell?

  When she didn’t answer, Rufus said, hastily, ‘If there’s a problem, I’m only down the road.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know where you live.’ She couldn’t keep the aggression from her voice.

  He glanced sharply at her. ‘Are you all right?’

  She sat down heavily on a chair. ‘I’m tired, cold and wet, and in need of a hot bath,’ she said, feeling all her energy draining away.

  ‘Poor you,’ Rufus said, sympathetically. ‘You go and have your bath. I’m going into town to collect Nick’s prescription from the chemist and on the way back I’ll call at that new Chinese takeaway.’ Pulling on his green waxed jacket, he winked at her. ‘And I’ll call at the off-licence and buy something to make a hot-toddy.’

  Fran, feeling totally exhausted, both mentally and physically, just nodded. She closed her eyes. Nick sneezed, the fire hissed, Will muttered to himself and she? She was unable to believe the scenario that had unfolded before her.

  Joe whistled Perry Como’s ‘Magic Moments’. He couldn’t believe his luck. A whole two weeks alone with Tina at Nancy’s house. Cyril had taken Nancy to Scarborough for a holiday. ‘Keep an eye on her, Joe, but no funny business,’ Nancy said. He’d pretended to be shocked. But he and Tina agreed, it was an opportunity not to be missed. He turned the sizzling bacon in the frying pan. He glanced at the clock on the cabinet, ten minutes and Tina would be home from work and, as soon as she came through the door, the eggs would be cracked and in the pan. There were two bottles of beer cooling on the pantry stone floor. The tiny kitchen table was set for two with a plate piled high with bread and butter. Tina had a ravenous appetite for someone so slender. His whistling wobbled as fat from the pan spurted, spraying his bare arm. That didn’t bother him, but the shrill ringing of Nancy’s new-fangled telephone did.

  ‘Who the hell’s that?’ He listened a moment because Nancy had said they were on a party-line and shared with another household. But the ringing seemed to become more persistent.

  Lifting the pan from the stove, he went into the sitting room, picked up the handset and held it near to his ear. He bellowed, ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Can I speak with Nancy?’ a woman’s voice replied.

  ‘She’s away.’

  ‘Tina?’

  Joe caught the anxious note in the woman’s voice. ‘She’s at work.’

  ‘When she’s home ask her to ring me, Fran Meredith, please.’ She gave the number.

  ‘Sure.’ He let the receiver drop back on its cradle. But as soon as Tina came home, the meal was ready and he forgot about the phone call until much later.

  They were cuddling up in bed, mulling over their day, when it jolted into his mind. ‘A woman rang you on Nancy’s telephone. She sounded a bit upset.’

  Tina untangled herself from his arms and raised herself on her elbow to gaze into his honest eyes. ‘What did she want?’ She sounded casual, but inside she trembled. Was it her mother, Isabel Renton? Had she discovered from the medical records that Tina was her daughter?

  ‘Didn’t say.’ He kissed the tip of her pert little nose.

  She wriggled away from him. ‘Well who the hell was it?’

  ‘Fran something or other.’ He made to gather her back into his arms, she resisted and sat up.

  ‘I was supposed to ring her about some stencilling, but it wasn’t anything important. It’s my Saturday off tomorrow, I’ll ring her then.’ She snuggled back down in the bed, pulling Joe down with her, entwining her legs around his warm, appealing naked body.

  When Joe woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of Tina vomiting in the lavatory He pulled the blanket over his head and closed his eyes, but sleep was lost to him. He scrambled out of bed to see a white-faced Tina coming back into the bedroom.

  On the defensive, he said, ‘You’ve got a bug. It isn’t my cooking or I’d be sick as well.’ Ignoring him, she tumbled back into bed and lay moaning. Joe stared at her. He had no idea what to do with an ill woman, so he quickly dressed and went down the stairs.

  In the kitchen, he put the kettle on to make tea and, while he was waiting for it to boil, he popped two slices of bread under the grill. The kettle sang and his attention was diverted to pouring the water into the pot, so he forgot about the toast. He was thinking about his motorbike. She needed a good clean and polish. He’d do that this afternoon after he finished work at one. And, tomorrow, he and Tina would go to the coast for a spin. Suddenly, the kitchen was full of smoke as the toast burnt to charcoal. At once, he turned off the grill, opened the window and wafted the room with a tea towel. He scraped the black off the toast, but it just crumbled. So he poured out the tea and was just about to take Tina hers, when she dashed passed him into the lavatory. The sound of her being sick again mingled with the burnt toast made him feel nauseated as well.

  Tina was back in bed again so he crept up to peep at her. Peaky-faced, her half-closed eyes glared at him from the pillow. ‘Shove off,’ she muttered, wearily.

  ‘Will you be okay?’ She didn’t answer, but sank lower in the bed. He sighed, glad to be dismissed. He’d ask the boss if he could use the office telephone and ring her at break-time.

  Tina woke to the insistent ringing of the telephone. She wished that Nancy had never had the damned thing installed. She lay for a moment contemplating getting up to answer it when it stopped. She turned over and it began ringing again. She stretched out her body, surprised that it didn’t ache. Pushing back the blankets, she padded downstairs into the sitting room, picked up the receiver and, thinking it was Joe, said, ‘Now what do you want?’

  ‘Tina, its Fran. I’m sorry to disturb you, but with Nancy away, I wondered if you are free to come down. I …’

  ‘Fran, you sound worried. It isn’t Will?’ Tina thought of the old man’s confused state.


  ‘Dad’s fine. It just that I’ve got someone staying whose home is flooded and he’s not feeling too well. I could use a pair of extra hands and if you could stay over for a couple of nights that would be a great help.’

  Tina took a deep breath; she didn’t feel queasy any more. ‘Sure, I’ll come on Nancy’s bike.’

  ‘Take a taxi. I’ll pay.’

  As Fran put down the phone, she breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, she went into the kitchen. She hadn’t slept much last night. The very thought of Nick Saunders tucked up in bed in the room next to her filled her with dread. She didn’t know how to deal with violence. For the moment, she was safe. He was ill with a heavy cold and running a high temperature, and she had to nurse him. There had been no chance to speak to Rufus yesterday, no chance to voice her fears, to ask for confirmation of what Helga had said. She sighed. Was she overreacting?

  Will interrupted her thoughts. ‘Are you going to help me write this letter to Michael?’

  ‘Tina’s coming soon and then I’ll have time.’

  Will’s face brightened. ‘She can help me.’

  ‘No!’ Fran snapped. ‘I want her to look after Nick.’

  ‘You sound just like our Isabel – bossy,’ he muttered, reaching for his baccy tin.

  ‘Dad!’ she admonished. Sometimes there was no pleasing him. She made an effort of normality and, when Tina arrived, the kitchen had a delicious aroma of warm muffins and coffee.

  ‘Gosh, I’m hungry,’ were Tina’s first words as she sniffed the air.

  ‘Help yourself,’ said Fran, so pleased to see the girl that she could have hugged her.

  ‘How are you today, Will?’ Tina asked.

  ‘Middling. You come and sit near me, lass. Careful what you say to Fran, she’s got an edge on.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ she said saucily. ‘Have you been naughty?’

  ‘Not me. I reckon it’s him upstairs.’

  Tina looked questioningly at Fran. ‘We have a guest staying. Nick Saunders is ill – nothing serious – but I would appreciate your help with nursing him.’

  ‘I wanted you to help me write my letter to my grandson, but …’

  ‘Dad! You know I want to do it.’

  Tina jumped up from her chair, sensing the need to escape from family quarrels. ‘That’s filled a corner, great. This bloke who’s ill, what’s he having to eat, Fran?’

  As Tina left the kitchen, carrying a tray of hot soup and orange juice upstairs to Nick, Fran sighed. She fetched pen and writing pad from the dresser and sat next to Will at the table. ‘What shall we write?’ she asked, knowing what she would dearly like to write, but couldn’t.

  She began writing, mentioning the appalling weather and Will’s need to wear spectacles. Will contributed a few ideas he had for the joinery shop and yard, and what did Michael think about them. Will mentioned Nick, so Fran countered by writing about what a lovely girl she had helping her. She was just sealing the envelope when Tina came bursting into the kitchen. ‘Fran, come quickly. Nick’s fallen out of bed.’

  Later, after they’d settled Nick back into bed, Tina telephoned Joe.

  ‘Where are you?’ he demanded. ‘What do you mean, you’re at Fran’s?’

  ‘If yer stop shouting, I’ll tell yer. She’s got this fellow staying, been flooded out of his place and he’s got a bad dose of flu and I’m helping to nurse him. I thought I might stay the night, not much point in coming home then having to come again in the morning.’

  ‘You what? Who’s this bloke?’

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s old enough to be me uncle.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t well, so don’t you go too near him, catching his bugs.’

  ‘I’ll be okay. Sorry for messing up the weekend. What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll go home, then to the pub, see me mates.’

  Tina went back into the kitchen. Fran asked, anxiously, ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Fran breathed a sigh of relief. Earlier, she didn’t know how she would have managed without Tina’s help in getting Nick back into bed. She didn’t mind getting up during the night to see to Nick if need be, but she felt happier, safer, with Tina staying. Then she wrestled with her conscience – should she tell Tina what Helga had said about Nick been a killer? She didn’t want to alarm her if it wasn’t true, so, best to remain vigilant until she confronted Rufus.

  Fran uncurled her legs and rose from the chair. ‘I’ll just pop up and see how Nick is.’ Tina made to get up from her chair, but Fran stopped her. ‘You relax and keep Dad company.’

  Fran climbed the stairs and tiptoed into the room Nick was occupying, Michael’s old room. He was sleeping soundly after his earlier mishap and the restlessness and high temperature had subsided. How soon would he leave? She noticed the deep jagged scar on his arm that she had seen earlier and wondered how it had occurred. Then ‘murder’ flashed through her mind and she gasped. Hurrying down the stairs, she picked up the telephone and dialled Rufus’s number, praying that he would answer and not Helga. He answered.

  ‘Rufus,’ she gabbled, ‘I need to ask you an important question.’

  His voice cut in. ‘Is Nick all right?’

  ‘Yes, he’s sleeping. When I saw Helga, she said Nick was a killer. Is it true?’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Christ!’ bellowed Rufus. ‘What the hell has she been saying?’

  ‘What I just said. Rufus, I need an answer now. I have Nick in the next bedroom to me.’

  ‘Frannie, you have nothing to fear from Nick.’

  ‘But why did Helga say that?’

  ‘Her mind’s twisted. Look, I can’t explain over the phone and I’m rather tied up with a business deal at the moment. But as soon as I’m free I’ll come and explain.’

  Fran banged down the receiver, muttering, ‘It had better be convincing or he will be out.’

  She went back up to look in on Nick. He looked innocent in sleep, but then looks can be so deceptive and, despite what Rufus said, she wasn’t reassured.

  Downstairs, Will was listening to The Goon Show on the radio. Fran poured out Will’s nightly tot of whisky, adding hot water, and took it over to him. She felt like a drink too. ‘Whisky, Tina?’ she asked, raising the bottle.

  Tina looked up from the large book she was flicking through. ‘No, thanks.’ She continued, ‘This is a stencilling book I’ve borrowed from the library. It’s got some swell ideas.’

  Fran glanced at the open page, liking what she saw. ‘A Mexican styled bathroom. I love the warm terracotta colour wash and deeper tone stencilled pattern. So cosy and inviting,’ she added, thinking of their drab bathroom. ‘But it’s not practical at the moment to start there.’

  Tina flicked back a page. ‘What about the kitchen?’

  ‘That’s a better idea. The kitchen could do with livening up,’ she said, looking round. ‘We could start with the walled area above the cupboards. What do you think?’

  ‘You’ve got plenty of space, so if you make a mistake it won’t be noticed.’

  ‘Thanks for that vote of confidence.’

  Later that night, Fran thought about the decorating venture that Tina suggested and was mildly surprised at her surge of enthusiasm, despite having Nick under the roof. She’d taken him a hot milky drink and biscuits before giving him his medication. He’d managed to walk to the bathroom unaided, a shuffling figure dressed in a pair of her father’s pyjamas, which were too short in the leg for him. She wished Rufus would hurry and clear up the situation and explain the meaning behind Helga’s accusation.

  Once back in bed, Nick was soon asleep and Fran went into Isabel’s old room to see if Tina had settled. Knocking, she popped her head round the door, asking, ‘Do you need anything?’

  Tina was sitting in the middle of the big bed, her knees drawn up to her chin. ‘No, this is swell. It’s a big room and I’ve got some fab ideas for decorating it. Whose room was it?’

  ‘My sister’s.’
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br />   ‘I’d strip off all this yucky wallpaper for a start.’

  Fran laughed. ‘Tina, I just might keep you to your word.’

  ‘Do you know, until I met Joe and Nancy, I’d never given decorating a thought. My mam used to do ours. I should have helped her. Poor Maggie,’ she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

  To distract Tina from her sadness, Fran said, flirtatiously, ‘I think I’d like to meet this boyfriend of yours. You’ve kept him to yourself for far too long. Bring him over for Sunday dinner. Not this Sunday, but next.’

  Instantly, Tina perked up. ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Of course I do. It’s a date.’

  The next day, Fran awoke early to the sound of birds chirping. Hopping out of bed, she drew back the curtains to reveal a dry, bright summer’s day. She pushed up the sash window and leant out, breathing in the fresh air and experienced a feeling of pure delight and happiness. The weather certainly helped and, if it continued, she would take a trip into town, visit a hardware store and make a start on decorating the kitchen.

  She shrugged on her dressing gown, she opened her bedroom door and heard the terrible sound of someone being sick in the bathroom. Nick? But he was still asleep and so was Will. She tapped on the bathroom door. ‘Tina, are you all right?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, feebly.

  Immediately, Fran pushed open the unlocked door to see Tina bent over the lavatory basin, retching. Fran rinsed a clean facecloth in cold water, dropped onto her knees and placed it on Tina’s burning forehead. My God, she thought, I hope she hasn’t caught Nick’s symptoms. Guilt racked her. How could she have been so selfish as to involve this young, innocent woman?

  Eventually, Tina stopped being sick and Fran helped her back into bed, alarmed at the girl’s white, pasty face and dark sunken eyes. ‘I must ring the doctor.’ Tina let out a low moan.

  The doctor agreed to call on his way to the surgery. After a quick examination, he came out of the bedroom where Fran waited anxiously on the landed. ‘Has she got the same as Nick?’