The Back of Beyond

by Doris Davidson

  She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair where she had thrown it when she came home and ran out, and David, his face red because of the nature of the conversation, stood up. ‘I’m late, as well, Dad, but I think Leila’s right. Not that I know about feelings and emotions,’ he added hastily, ‘but it makes sense … doesn’t it?’

  Left alone, Alistair wondered if he should have resisted the urge to make them see things from his point of view. He had uncovered something else for him to worry about. Had his sixteen-year-old daughter been speaking from experience? Had Barry Mearns been …? It was agony to think that the postman’s son’s rough paws had touched her, caressed her, knowing it would arouse her passions as well as his own.

  ‘I’m surprised we haven’t heard one word from Gwen.’ Marge eyed her husband warily, because she sensed that he didn’t like speaking about her older sister now. ‘She’s been away for well over a week.’

  Dougal drained his teacup and got to his feet. ‘She’ll be all right. Don’t fuss!’

  ‘It’s not like her, that’s all.’ But she said no more about it, and kissed him before he left for work, Nicky running out to wave him goodbye as he drove off.

  When her son came in again, Marge said, ‘Mummy has to go to the dentist this morning, remember, so be a good boy for Auntie Pam.’ The courtesy title was given to Pamela Deans, who lived in the other half of the semi-detached villa. She was a widow who lived alone, but she had brought up a family of three and knew how to amuse little boys, even little boys as active as Nicholas Finnie.

  ‘Auntie Pam found a box of tin soldiers in her attic,’ Nicky observed, fidgeting with impatience to get his hands on them. ‘She says they’re her Frank’s, but he’s in Australia. Her Frank must be a funny man if he played with soldiers, what d’you think, Mummy?’

  Marge couldn’t help smiling. ‘He’d just have been a boy when he played with them. He was grown up when he went to Australia.’

  ‘Where’s Australia, Mummy?’

  ‘On the other side of the world, darling – a long, long way from Lee Green.’

  ‘When I grow up will I go to the other side of the world, Mummy?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. It depends on a lot of things. Now stop asking questions and put on your jersey.’

  It was one of Dougal’s busiest days. They’d had a long weekend off because of the Bank Holiday, and there was a mountain of paperwork to catch up on. He had told the girl in the outer office that he didn’t want to be disturbed, so he glared at her when she gave a timid knock and walked in. ‘I told you I didn’t want …’ he began, but stopped, his face paling, when he saw the uniformed man behind her.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Finnie,’ the policeman said, ‘but …’

  Dougal held his hand up. ‘It’s all right, Jane, you may go.’ Only one explanation had jumped to his mind, so when the girl shut the door behind her, he said, ‘I suppose this is about my sister-in-law? What has she done?’

  The other man turned an embarrassed pink. ‘No, Mr Finnie, it’s not about your sister-in-law, it’s … about your wife. There has been an accident …’

  Dougal could feel the blood draining from his face. ‘An accident? How bad is she? Which hospital did they take …?’

  ‘I’m afraid … she died on the way to hospital. It seems she was standing at a junction speaking to another lady when an articulated lorry carrying sewage pipes took the corner too quickly, and …’ The young policeman licked his dry lips. ‘The load slipped and … it all happened in a matter of seconds, according to witnesses.’

  ‘Where is she? I have to go …’

  ‘Look sir,’ the uniformed man looked most uncomfortable, ‘I know how anxious you must be, but another ten minutes or so won’t make any difference, and I really think you should give yourself a little time … to steady your nerves.’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right!’ He couldn’t help being curt.

  ‘If you say so. Your wife’s identity card was in her handbag, that’s how we knew where she lived. There was no one in when we called there, but a little boy was playing in the garden next door …’

  ‘That had been my son,’ Dougal managed to croak. ‘Mrs Deans was looking after him to let my wife go to the dentist.’

  ‘So I believe. Your son said his Mummy had gone to the tooth man, and Mrs Deans gave us your office address. Is there anyone I can contact for you, Mr Finnie, someone to give you some support through this dreadful time?’

  ‘Will you please notify my sister-in-law? Mrs Pryor.’

  ‘Would she be the lady you were referring to earlier?’

  ‘No, there are … were … three sisters. Gwen, the one who went away without leaving any address, Marge, my wife, and Peggy, the youngest, Mrs Pryor.’

  As he and Peggy sat by his fireside, Dougal couldn’t remember half of what he had done that day. ‘It’s been a nightmare,’ he groaned, ‘and I kept wishing I’d wake up.’

  ‘I was the same,’ she admitted. ‘I still can’t believe it.’ She looked at him pensively, noting how grey he looked, how absolutely done in. ‘Do you want me to phone Alistair? You might feel a little bit better with another man to lean on.’

  ‘I don’t know if he’d want to come.’

  ‘Because of … Nicky, you mean? But surely he’d put all that out of his mind at a time like this? I’ll tell him Gwen’s not here …’ Peggy broke off, her eyes misting. ‘I wish I knew where she was, though. She’d want to know about Marge. She’d want to be here.’

  Dougal patted her hand. ‘I’m truly sorry she’s not here for you. I’ve been so wrapped up in myself … but you’ve lost a sister. You likely think you’ve lost them both, but I’m sure Gwen’ll come back.’

  A little of the hopelessness left Peggy’s eyes. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘I do, Peg, but are you sure you’ve no idea where she could be? Marge couldn’t think of anybody she’d have gone to, not with dear old Ivy gone, but maybe you can remember somebody else she’d been close to.’

  ‘I’ve racked my brains, Dougal, and I just can’t think of anybody else.’ She stood up wearily. ‘I think I’ll go home and phone Alistair from there. He should know … about Gwen, as well as Marge.’

  She had to get away for a few minutes. The pain in Dougal’s eyes, the change in him from a bright, upright, healthy man to a bowed, haggard wreck with stubble on his chin and upper lip, his hair uncombed since he’d gone to work in the morning, was too much to bear on top of her own grief. She needed a short respite, to charge her batteries.

  Once inside her hallway, her hand trembling, she dialled the number and glanced at the clock while she waited for an answer. Good grief! She hadn’t dreamt it was half past nine already. Thinking that everyone at Benview must be out, she was on the point of laying down the receiver when a rather weary ‘Hello?’ came over the line. ‘Alistair?’ she said, huskily, ‘it’s Peggy.’

  ‘What is it? Is something wrong with Gwen?’ She was gratified to hear a touch of anxiety in his voice. ‘Nothing’s wrong with Gwen as far as I know, but Marge was … killed in an accident … this forenoon.’ It wasn’t easy for her to say. It turned the prolonged nightmare into stark reality.

  ‘What?’ His gasp was followed by a short silence, then he murmured, ‘No, no, Peg, say that isn’t true.’

  ‘It is true.’ Peggy fought down the lump in her throat. She had to keep calm, she couldn’t let herself go to pieces on the telephone. ‘I can’t talk any more, Alistair, I’m too upset, but Dougal needs you.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can. Wait! What did you mean nothing was wrong with Gwen … as far as you know?’

  ‘We … don’t know … where she is.’ The tears spilling out, her throat constricting, she put the instrument back on its rest, and sat down to give way to the sorrow she’d had to deny in front of Dougal.

  On the early morning train to London, Alistair couldn’t help feeling as upset about Gwen being missing as about he
r sister’s death, but he tried to concentrate on what Peggy had said. An accident? She might have explained and not left him wondering? Had it been anything to do with Dougal? Had he fallen out with Marge over young Nicky? Had he finally let out the fury he must have nursed since her deceit was uncovered? Had he lost control … and killed her? Oh God, not that!

  The noises in Edinburgh’s Waverley Station brought him reluctantly out of the exhausted sleep he had succumbed to. He didn’t want to remember, but he couldn’t banish the memory of the awful event in Benview he couldn’t remember how long ago – sometimes it felt like for ever, at others it was as if it had only just happened. He drew in a ragged breath. The pain Gwen had caused him was still too raw to dwell on. Maybe, like the pain of bereavement, it would ease with time, but he didn’t think so; the deception she had played was far worse than any bereavement. He had blamed Marge, as well, at the time, but … oh, Lord, how he wished now that he had made his peace with her.

  Roddy Liddell didn’t relish what he had to do. Lexie was distressed enough already, but it was better that she knew. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly, when she let him in, ‘it’s more bad news, I’m afraid.’

  She motioned him to a chair. ‘You’d better tell me.’

  The resigned acceptance on her face made him revise what he had said. ‘It’s not all bad, a sort of mixed bag, actually. The good news is that we managed to trace Doctor Birnie for the second time, purely by accident. One of his patients happened to be in another part of Glasgow yesterday, at the opposite side of the city, when she recognized him going into a small villa. Word having got round her own area that he was wanted by the police, she gave the address to her nearest police station. The Investigating Officer presumed that he’d been visiting another patient, but it turned out that Birnie hadn’t had time to find another practice.’

  ‘So that’s it?’ Lexie, breathed. ‘You’ve got him?’

  Roddy shook his head angrily. ‘No, he’s too clever by far, and here’s the bad news. He professed deep sorrow on hearing that his first wife’s body had been found in Forvit, but swore that he knew nothing about her death.’

  ‘He would say that, wouldn’t he?’ Lexie muttered.

  The detective nodded. ‘It would be only natural, whether or not it was true. On the following day, however, he contacted the DI and told them that, after much deliberation, he had concluded that …’ He stopped. ‘Oh, Lexie, I don’t think I should go on.’

  Steeling herself, she whispered, ‘Whatever it is, you’d better tell me. You can’t leave it at that.’

  Standing up, the detective moved swiftly to sit beside her on the sofa. ‘Yes, you’re right. It would be insensitive of me not to tell you now. Birnie said that he had been thinking, and it had occurred to him that Alec Fraser, the man he thought Margaret had run away with, must have killed her, possibly she’d been pregnant and he hadn’t wanted anyone to find out. Birnie also said he had probably buried her there to cause most heartache to him, her husband.’

  ‘Oh, Roddy!’ Lexie burst out. ‘That couldn’t be true … could it?’

  Taking her hand, he clasped it reassuringly. ‘I doubt it. It sounds to me more like the invention of a desperate man … a guilty man. Please, Lexie, don’t distress yourself.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ she whispered, but she obviously wasn’t. ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘When he was told there had been no evidence of pregnancy, he shrugged it off and said they must have quarrelled. He made a point of saying that his wife was an even-tempered woman, but hinted that your father could be “quite volatile if he was angered.”‘

  This was too much for Lexie. ‘Nancy said he was a liar,’ she sobbed. ‘You don’t believe him, surely?’

  ‘Absolutely not!’ Wishing that there was more he could do to put her mind at ease, Roddy added, ‘If Birnie thinks he’s got away with it, he has a nasty shock coming to him. The case is not closed, not by any means.’

  ‘They didn’t let him go?’

  ‘With no proof of his guilt, we have to presume him innocent, but he’s obviously on the run, and we will get him!’

  When Lexie recovered her composure, Roddy said he had to report at HQ that night, and although he did feel guilty at leaving her, she vowed that she was perfectly all right.

  * * *

  It was almost nine the following night when Alistair rang Dougal’s doorbell. At one time, he would just have walked in, but their last parting had not been on the best of terms and he was feeling uneasy about this meeting. Peggy let him in, and he was relieved that she, at least, had no reservations with him, giving him a kiss and a warm hug before he went into the living room.

  Dougal, his eyes puffy and red-rimmed and surrounded by dark circles, jumped to his feet and came towards him as though they hadn’t seen each other for years. ‘Oh, Ally, I’m right glad you’re here.’

  Alistair could tell that every word was heartfelt, and his own emotion was such that he could hardly speak for a second or two, then he flung his arms round his old pal and held him, their cheeks running with tears, and Peggy, her own eyes streaming, withdrew to the scullery.

  Scarcely noticing when their sister-in-law excused herself and went home to bed, the two men sat for hours, reminiscing about the early, happy, days of their marriages, of the hotel in Guilford Street, of Tiny and Rosie, even of Manny Isaacson, who had also been a big part of their lives at that time. They avoided talk of the war and the years following, afraid to come anywhere near to the ‘trouble’ and having to skirt around it, which would draw more attention to it.

  It had to come, of course, and with one careless slip, Dougal uncovered it. ‘Marge and Peg were both worried about Gwen …’ Too late, his hand flew to his mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, ‘I forgot … you haven’t asked about her, so I thought …’

  ‘I didn’t know what to say,’ Alistair interrupted. ‘I don’t want to see her, but I didn’t realize there was a problem.’

  Dougal filled him in about his wife’s disappearance then said, ‘I think they were fussing about nothing. She said she wanted peace to think, and I can understand that.’

  Surprised at the alarm that came to him, Alistair muttered, ‘So you think she’s OK?’

  ‘I can’t be sure, of course, and it’s nearly two weeks since she …’

  ‘Two weeks?’ A light cramping had started round his heart … as it would do for anyone he knew who had just walked away from her home and sisters. ‘She couldn’t have been here long when she …’

  ‘Not more than a couple of days, and the thing is,’ Dougal explained, ‘we don’t know where she is. We can’t think of anybody she’d have gone to now she doesn’t have Ivy.’

  Alistair extracted the last cigarette from his packet, snapped his lighter and leaned back to think. No Manny, no Ivy, the two people Gwen had been closest to at one time. She’d never been as friendly with anybody else, not that he knew of. Then the answer hit him square on, making an iciness shoot through him and settle in his very bones. ‘Ken Partridge!’ he said, harshly. ‘I bet that’s where she’ll be. He’s the only one she could go to. Did Marge ever mention where he came from?’

  ‘Not that I can remember. Don’t you know?’

  ‘No, and I don’t want to.’ Alistair’s lips pressed together, and no more was said on the subject.

  ‘What’s on your mind, Tilly?’ Gwen asked suddenly. ‘Something’s been on the tip of your tongue for ten minutes at least, so you’d better come out with it, whatever it is.’

  The woman heaved a sigh. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Gwen, love, I don’t want rid of you, and I know you’ve had a bad time, but … you should be with your husband and children.’

  ‘But Alistair doesn’t want me. He wanted me to leave.’

  ‘It was what he’d wanted at that specific moment, any man would after what you’d just told him, but he’s had time to think. He’s had two whole weeks of coming home to an empty house, having to cook his own meals and do
his own laundry …’

  Gwen felt her hackles rising at the criticism. ‘He’ll have Leila doing everything for him, or …’ She gave voice to a thought that had been niggling at her ever since she left Forvit. ‘… or he’ll get Lexie Fraser to do it. She was his girlfriend before he ever came to London, and I think he still loves her.’

  Tilly shook her head. ‘I doubt that very much. I don’t know him, but from what you’ve said about him, I wouldn’t think he was the kind of man to …’

  ‘You’d have said I wasn’t the kind of woman to be unfaithful, either, but I was, though I’ll regret it to my dying day. If only I’d stood up to Marge and told her to mind her own business, I wouldn’t be in this mess now.’

  ‘You did what you did, love, and you can’t change things by wishing, but it’s time you did something to sort out your life. For a start, why don’t you write to one of your sisters to let them know where you are, they must be worrying, then I think you should write to Alistair. Don’t ask him to take you back, just ask how he is and how Leila and David are. Leave it up to him to tell you how he feels, don’t force him.’

  Pulling a face, Gwen said, ‘It’s too soon. Is it all right if I wait till I’ve been away for … say two months?’

  ‘You’re welcome if that’s what you want. Maybe you’re right about it being too soon. Another six weeks might be best.’

  The funeral had been an ordeal for the three chief mourners. Both Dougal and Peggy had been inconsolable, and Alistair had been hard pressed to stop his emotions from getting the better of him. He had been truly thankful that he hadn’t had to see much of young Nicky. Mrs Deans, Dougal’s next-door neighbour, had kept him until they came home from the service, and he’d gone to bed about eight, asking for his Mummy, which had upset them all over again.

  Back at his own fireside again, Alistair wondered what was going to happen about the boy since Dougal wasn’t his real father, he hadn’t liked to ask his old friend about it, but Peggy seemed to think he would keep him, which was a blessing. He certainly didn’t want him, reminding him of his wife’s faithlessness. His mind refused to veer from the subject of his wife now, and he wondered where she was. He had asked David and Leila if they knew where ‘Uncle Ken’ lived, but neither of them could tell him, and anyway, what did it matter? If that’s where she was, he didn’t want her back.