‘No!’
Nell now turned her head and nodded at Fiona. ‘Oh, yes, yes.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Seven, nearly eight.’
‘Really?’
‘She couldn’t stand me because Dad made a fuss of me. She led me hell until I left home. Quite candidly, I ran away when I was fifteen. I went down to my aunt’s in Wales, her sister, who was as different again from her, and my Dad said I could stay there. It was there I met Harry.’ Again she looked towards the window, saying now, ‘I was married when I was nineteen. Thirteen years.’ She said the last words with a sigh. ‘And the only thing I’ve wanted is a family, and the only thing he didn’t want, and will never want, is a family.’
‘Oh Nell, I didn’t know.’
‘Well—’ Nell smiled at her, adding, ‘You can see why I’m so pleased to have a second-hand one next door.’
Their hands joined for a moment and then they put their arms round each other, and both of their faces were wet when they separated. And it was Nell who now said, ‘I wouldn’t like to be the man who’s done this if Bill gets his hands on him.’
‘That’s what I’m frightened about too. He swore that he’d kill him.’
‘I don’t blame him.’
It was at this point the phone rang and they both sprang up. Then Fiona ran through the room and into the hall and, grabbing the mouthpiece, was about to say, ‘Yes?’ when the voice said, ‘Fiona.’
She closed her eyes, ‘Yes, Mother.’
‘What is this? What is this? It can’t be. The local wireless, it’s just said that Katie is missing. What have you been up to?’
‘Mother! Mother!’
‘Never mind, Mother, Mother, why didn’t you pick her up from school as usual?’
Fiona held the mouthpiece well away from her and glared at it before bringing it slowly towards her again.
‘I was at school, Mother, to pick her up, but she had been picked up before.’
‘What are you doing at home then? Why aren’t you out looking?’
‘Don’t be silly, Mother.’
‘Don’t take that tone with me, Fiona; I’m not going to stand it any more. Now I’m coming round.’
‘You’re not coming round, Mother.’
‘You try and stop me. She is my granddaughter.’
‘Mother!’ The line went dead. Slowly she put the mouthpiece back, then turned and, leaning her buttocks against the telephone table, she bent her head.
‘Your mother?’
‘Yes, Nell, Mother. You’ve never met her, have you? Well, you’re about to. My dear, dear mother, who has always done everything for my own good. You’ll hear all about it and the dreadful man I have married, and Katie’s disappearance has come about just through that. You’ll hear it. Oh my God! I can’t stand much more, I just can’t, not Mother tonight.’
‘Come on.’ Nell took her by the arm. ‘Come on and have a drink; that’ll fortify you.’
‘Nothing can fortify me against my mother.’
‘Funny about mothers. Mine was a swine. I can say that now, a selfish swine. But there’s Harry’s mother and father next door, you couldn’t find a more caring or nicer couple in the world. They’re thoughtful, even loving. Yet Harry hasn’t inherited any part of them, not that’s noticeable. Although I say it, and only to you, life ain’t all roses. The world owes Harry a living and Harry owes the world a grudge.’
For a moment Fiona forgot her own trouble and said, ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. He seemed so…well, quite charming.’
‘Oh, yes, yes; that’s the outward skin. But like all of us, he has a façade. I can only wish it was hiding a nature like his father’s or his mother’s. Anyway, what is it to be? Sherry? Gin and lime? A whisky?’
‘Gin and lime, dear.’
She didn’t care for gin and lime, but she imagined it had a much more sustaining quality than sherry, and at this minute she needed sustaining.
It was only fifteen minutes later that the sitting-room door burst open and Mrs Vidler stared at her daughter sitting on the couch with another young woman…drinking.
Fiona was on her feet, gasping slightly. She needn’t ask how her mother had got in, she had come the back way, perhaps thinking she wouldn’t be allowed in the front door.
‘Well!’
‘Yes, Mother, well!’
Mrs Vidler took four steps into the room and glared down on the glasses on the small table to the side of the couch; then lifted her gaze to the open drinks cabinet at the end of the room, before exclaiming in icy tones: ‘I can see how troubled you are that your child is missing. Disgraceful!’
‘Be careful, Mother.’
Nell now rose from the couch, saying quietly, ‘Your daughter was exhausted and distressed; she has only just sat down…’
‘Who are you, may I ask? And I don’t need any explanation from a stranger with regard to my daughter’s odd conduct, and I’ll thank you to leave the room, as I wish to speak privately…’
‘I’ll leave the room when Fiona says so and not until, and I’ll thank you not to use that tone with me, or I’ll consider it insulting and take the matter into my own hands. So I’ll advise you to moderate not only your voice but your whole attitude.’
At any other time Fiona would have almost cheered Nell’s approach; it was so like Bill’s would have been, only said in a more refined tone. But at the moment her emotions were very mixed, that of fear being dominant, and so, her voice low, she said quietly, ‘Mother, this is Mrs Paget, my neighbour. She has been of great help to me, and so I would ask you…’
‘Oh, and I haven’t of course. That’s what you are inferring, isn’t it? Oh, I know you of old, oh I know you…’
What happened next startled both Nell and Mrs Vidler, for Fiona, grabbing up the glass, threw it with force at the marble-framed fireplace and her scream mingled with the sound of the shattering glass: ‘Go! Get out! Leave me alone. Do you hear?’
She took two steps towards her mother but how she would have followed up this action she never knew because Nell gripped her arms and, looking at Mrs Vidler, she cried, ‘You had better go, hadn’t you?’
But Mrs Vidler did not immediately react except to gulp before having the last word: ‘She’s drunk. Disgraceful!’ Then she marched regally out.
Fiona, dropping onto the couch, burst into tears, and Nell, holding her, said to no-one in particular, ‘By! I thought mine took some beating, but that one takes the cake.’
It was nine o’clock. The children were in bed but only Mamie was asleep; the other two were wide awake, sitting up waiting, as she had been waiting seemingly for years. Bill had phoned her twice: first, to say the little girl who saw Katie get into the car thought the car was blue. Through her they had traced the other two girls. One said the car was black and the other said she thought it was dark green.
The second time he phoned he said the police had interviewed the men who had been sacked. Two of them hadn’t cars. The third, a young fellow, owned a battered old Mini with stickers plastered on it. And it was considered the children would surely have picked that one out. The other one had a grey Austin 13. His last words were, ‘I’ll be home shortly. They say there’s nothing much more they can do tonight.’
Following the second phone call, she had walked from the sitting room to the dining room, then into the study, back into the hall again and, finally, as she had already done numbers of times, ended up in the kitchen because there she could find something for her hands to do.
She had been alone for some time now as Nell, at her husband’s suggestion, had gone home. She didn’t care for Nell’s husband and it wasn’t because of what she had learned of him through Nell. Although his manner could be quite charming he was, she considered, a cold fish. And this evening he had seemed a little irritated that his wife should be more concerned with the loss of a neighbour’s child than with his achieving the enviable job of clerk in an accountants’ office, and the duties thereof.
It was as if in panic that she rushed out of the kitchen and into the hall, there to see the front door opening. And with an audible cry she fell into Bill’s arms.
‘There now! There now! Stop it! Stop it! You’ll make yourself ill.’ He pressed her gently away, took off his hat and coat, then, once again holding her, led her into the sitting room.
When seated, she didn’t actually ask if there was any news, she just stared at him through her streaming eyes. And in answer he said, ‘They can do nothing until daylight. They’ll be out at first light, the inspector said. And I’ve just come from the site. I’ve had to send Barney and four of the fellows home; they’ve been going out in relays. Tommy Turnbull and Dave McRae have never been home. So, everything that can be done has been done, at least for tonight.’
He turned from her, lay back against the head of the couch and, gripping his hair with both hands as if intending to pull it out, he said, ‘And I made all that fuss about that damn scent. And the last thing I said to her this mornin’ was, “I’m going to keep it out of your pocket money, miss. Forty-nine quid you’ve got to pay me for that bottle,” and she said, “Well, there’s still some left, it wasn’t all spilt.” Oh, God Almighty!’ He leant forward now and, his hands between his knees, he rocked himself and groaned, ‘Forty-nine quid. I’d sell me all down to the last penny and buy a scent factory if she was only up above this minute.’
It was her turn to comfort now. Putting her arms about him, she murmured, ‘She loved you. I…I can tell you she never showed the same affection for her father. She worshipped you.’
‘Don’t say it like that’—he almost pushed her from him—‘as if she was gone, dead. Oh, I’m sorry, love.’ He pulled her to him again. ‘Look’—he rose abruptly to his feet—‘what I think we must do is have a bath, then get a couple of hours sleep. That’s if we can. We’ll put the alarm on for five. And if we’ve never prayed before, we’ll pray the night.’
Chapter Eleven
It was on the eight o’clock news; it was on the nine o’clock news; and in an interview on the one o’clock news the inspector had said that he felt the search must now go beyond the town, for although it was being assumed the kidnapper knew the child, he must have driven her away. He also stated that a number of men had already been questioned and premises searched.
Bill had called into the house and so heard this latest news but he made no comment, except to say, ‘I’ll be away; I’ll keep in touch.’
‘Mr Bill.’
‘Yes, Mark?’
‘Can…can I come with you? I…I can look.’
‘I’m sure you could, laddie, but there’s a lot lookin’. You stay and look after your mother, eh, and these two?’ He patted Willie and Mamie on the head, and the children remained silent and watched him as he walked from the room followed by Fiona.
At the door she said, ‘Where are you going now?’
‘To the bank. It’s pay day and I’ll get it over early on because some of the lads are coming out with me over towards…’ He didn’t finish but put his hand out and patted her shoulder as he turned away, pulled on his coat and cap and went out. But he was only halfway down the drive when he turned and, almost at a run, he came back as she was closing the door and, pulling her into his arms, he said, ‘Look, love; I’m not being offhand but I’m just near breakin’ point. We both are, I know. I’ve…I’ve never felt so womanish in me life ’cos I just want to sit down and howl me bloody eyes out.’
‘I understand, dear, so don’t worry about me, please. That’s the last thing you need to do.’
He kissed her, then again made his way down the drive.
At the bank he drew out enough money to meet the wages and what was needed for his own requirements. But here he found he was again on the verge of breaking down because everyone was so sympathetic. Another time he would have laughed at the idea of the manager walking with him to the door and opening it for him.
When he arrived at the site Barney looked at him and he looked at Barney but said nothing; and after a moment Barney said, ‘You want to get away, don’t you? Will I call them up?’
‘Aye, do that.’
He went into the hut and, sitting down at his desk, opened his big leather bag and lifted out an assortment of notes and silver. Then he drew towards him the ledger and a small stack of payslips and envelopes.
Checking the slips against the ledger he put money into named envelopes. He came to the name, T. Callacter. After staring at it he went to the door from where he could see the men emerging from different parts of the building and, seeing Barney talking to one of them, he shouted, ‘Here a minute!’
Back in the hut he pointed to the name, saying, ‘He was cleared on Wednesday.’
‘Aye, boss, I thought so an’ all at the time I made the slip out. It’s my fault: twice he did an hour’s overtime and I never booked it. I’m sorry.’
‘Why didn’t he ask for it on Wednesday?’
‘He said he didn’t notice it until he got home, and that when he did he thought, Oh, to hell. But I think he’s a bit tight now for cash. Anyway, he said he’d left some tools here kicking around and wanted to pick them up. But as I said, it’s my fault, he’s due for that.’
‘He didn’t seem short of a penny from the place he lives in.’
‘Aye, it’s a biggish house but it’s dropping to bits. It used to be a farm. His dad ran it. But it’s gone to pieces, I understand, since he died. From what I can gather he and his dad didn’t get on. He used to live on his own but after the old fellow dropped down dead—and he wasn’t all that old either—he came into the place. But there was no money to keep it up and as far as I can gather it was mortgaged to the hilt. I got all this from Morris. He lives quite near him. He tells me he’s a queer fish and says he doesn’t know if he’s just gay or glad.’
At another time Bill would have let out a laugh, but now he said, ‘What the hell are we bothering about him for? Let them in.’
The hut was a long one and Bill’s desk was at one end of it. Eight men came in, stood in a line and received their pay, but with no backchat today. Then some of them went out and so made room for the rest. The last one to reach the desk was Thomas Callacter. He was dressed, not as the others, but in a good quality black overcoat and a trilby hat, and he was carrying a small leather bag with an open top, showing a number of tools. And when Bill’s gaze was drawn on them, the man said, ‘They’re mine. Would you like to examine them?’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘Thank you.’ The words were stressed and caused Bill’s jaws to stiffen. Picking up the small envelope from the table, he held it out and as the man leant forward to take it from his hand, Bill’s nostril’s stretched, his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped into a gape for a moment. Then his two hands springing out like an animal’s claws, he gripped the lapels of the dark coat and pulled the man more than halfway across the desk and, like an animal, he sniffed at it. Then the cry that escaped his wide open mouth startled the remainder of the men who were in the hut. And they couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw their boss grasp the man by the throat, then drag him round the side of the table, the while screaming, ‘Where is she? Where is she?’ and then begin to rain blows on the man who retaliated with both fist and feet.
‘Hells bells! What’s up with you?’
‘Give over!’
‘God’s sake! stop it, boss.’
‘Come on! Come on, boss! Let up! What’s he done anyway?’
The clamouring appeals came from the men tryi
ng to separate them, for by now Bill had his fingers on the fellow’s throat and they were both writhing on the ground.
The commotion had brought other men from the yard and the hut was now a mass of workmen, some holding Bill and some the man who had worked with them not so long ago.
‘It’s him. It’s him.’ Bill’s voice was a choking scream.
‘Give over, boss. Give over.’
‘Let me go, blast you! I tell you it’s him; he’s got her.’
It was evident from the looks exchanged between the men that they thought the boss had flipped, and they looked with something like pity on the man who was still struggling to breathe evenly and whose lip was bleeding and one eye almost closed. But their attention was once again drawn to their boss when he shouted to Barney, ‘The scent! Barney. I told you about the scent and the bairn spillin’ it all over her. It stank. It stank, I tell you. And his coat, smell it! Smell his coat.’
There was silence in the room except for the heavy breathing of all of them. Then Barney took three steps forward and as he went to bend his head to smell the man’s coat, the fellow’s foot came out and only just missed Barney’s groin. But now Barney had him in his grip, not by the throat but by the lapels of his coat and he sniffed at it. Then still holding him he turned his head towards the boss, saying, ‘You’re right. You’re right, Bill; it’s scenty.’
‘Some fellas use scent.’ The voice came from one of the men. And another said, ‘Aye; it could be deodorant.’
‘Leave go of me. It’s all right; just leave go of me.’ Bill looked from one side to the other, then down at the hands that held him and slowly the men released their grip on him. And looking at them, he said, ‘My kid spilt a big bottle of Chanel scent over her school coat. It was saturated; the house stank. It’s…it’s an expensive scent. I had it in me nostrils, couldn’t get rid of it, and it’s on his coat. She was wearing her school coat when she disappeared.’
Bill Bailey Page 10