Cruel as the Grave

by Meg Elizabeth Atkins

  Vi made a disgruntled noise; she was one always wise after the event.

  Liz said, ‘I know he wouldn’t. I’m his niece.’

  They reacted with a kind of indignation: how dare she come here, being who she was? Then curiosity, naked, fixed and — for the moment — speechless.

  Annette said, ‘You see, she’d just like you to talk to her about him. You know how it is when someone’s passed on, you feel you’ve sort of... lost touch.’ This largely true statement was delivered with a fraudulent sentimentality that had its effect in a change of expression — on Doris’s face, at least; but both women continued to sit, not speaking, smoking and staring at Liz.

  Liz said, ‘There’s so much we, his family, don’t understand. He never said anything to us about Beattie — we didn’t even know he knew her. Not until after his death, and then I learned that they met here. And you were the witnesses. Would you tell me about it?’

  Doris said grudgingly, ‘Told the big feller.’

  ‘Oh, well, he’s not likely to give nothing away,’ Annette said with a great show of cynicism.

  ‘You’re dead right there,’ Doris agreed. ‘Know him, then?’

  ‘You could put it like that.’

  ‘But young for him, aren’t you?’

  ‘Am I?’ Annette looked innocent.

  Vi was spoiling to intervene. ‘Didn’t you say as he had a wife, Doris?’

  ‘Wife?’ Annette repeated, wide-eyed.

  Side-tracked by their interest in Hunter, they had the air of settling down for an evening of sharp exchanges. Liz took a hand, speaking directly to Doris. ‘What was she like — Beattie?’

  ‘Well, I'd not seen her for years, but I can tell you, she’d worn bloody well.’

  ‘Mind you... ’ Vi was not to be left out. ‘I didn’t reckon nothing to what she were wearing. A bit, well... plain. From what I heard tell she liked to flaunt it.’

  ‘Yeah, well... ’ Doris pondered. ‘She looked more the type as would suit him.’

  Annette said, ‘Do you mean you think she was dressing specially to appeal to him?’

  ‘Well, we all has to, don’t we? You know fellers — won’t walk down road with you if they think you’ll show em up.’

  Liz wasn’t sure why she found this interesting and — sensing a diversion into the preferences of males — decided to leave it till later and speak to Annette. ‘I mean, Doris, what sort of a person was she?’

  ‘Well... just like anyone. Just... ordinary. Never had owt, but that weren’t her fault. And allus letting fellers string her along.’

  ‘You mean, she had lots of boyfriends?’ Liz asked.

  Doris gave her a look of great forbearance. ‘If that’s what you want to call em.’

  ‘Were they — do you think — from round here? Or people like my uncle?’

  ‘Not fucking good enough for your sort from round here?’ Vi asked aggressively.

  ‘Come on, Vi, that’s not what she meant,’ Annette said placatingly.

  ‘What did she fucking mean, then?’

  Liz held on to her patience. ‘You see, we don't even know when or where they met.’

  ‘They bloody met here — or are you too stupid to catch on that’s what we’ve been talking about? All the same your sort, bugger all on top.’

  Stridently, Annette began, ‘There’s no call for that — ’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re getting so frigging aerated about, Vi. Do summat bloody useful for once and go and get some more in.’ Doris produced a well-stuffed purse.

  ‘Let me,’ Liz said.

  ‘No, you put that away,’ Doris ordered. ‘I know you mean well, but we’re not short of a bob or two round here.’

  Apologising, Liz felt Annette relax. She understood now why she had said this might not be such a good idea.

  Temporarily relieved of Vi’s truculent presence, the atmosphere lightened. Doris said earnestly, ‘I understand what you’re getting at, love. Well... I think I do.’ Her face took on a pained expression indicative of complex thought. ‘They might have met here — but it were as if they — like as if they was expecting to.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. That must mean they had some prior contact through... I don’t know,’ Liz said. ‘After all, Beattie didn’t just come and stand here on the off-chance. Yes?’ Doris’s expression caught her attention.

  ‘Well, you saying she come and stood there. That’s just what she did — but expecting, like. Standing in middle of room, looking at door. I mean, if she’d said, like, beforehand, on phone or summat — said, “I’m blonde and I’ll be wearing a blue coat.” Well — he couldn’t miss her.’

  Liz smiled at her. ‘I knew you’d have something to tell me.’

  Annette said quietly, ‘Liz, it doesn’t get us anywhere.’

  Vi returned, plonked the drinks down, directed a poisonous look at Liz, then sat staring into the distance, ostentatiously ignoring everyone. Doris gave an eloquent tilt of her head, mouthed, ‘Take no notice.’

  ‘Doris — would Beattie have been the sort to go to a dating agency?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that. Them places cost money, don’t they? and I can’t think of no one as I know round here ever done such a thing. Would he have, your... uncle?’ She hesitated over the word, looking away as if she had committed some social blunder.

  Liz sighed. ‘Reggie was potty enough to do anything just for a lark — if someone else suggested it. He never thought anything out for himself, but if someone put him up to it... but he’d have told me.’

  Annette asked, ‘Would it be the sort of thing he’d tell your aunt?’

  ‘God, no, she’d think it bad taste. He hated her to know if he’d done anything she disapproved of.’

  ‘Did he — er — have women?' Doris enquired delicately.

  ‘Quite a few girlfriends, on and off, no one special.’

  ‘He were well set up. I can’t see he’d need to go to no dating agency.’

  ‘I can’t either. But you know, Doris, I think you’re right — what you said about Beattie describing herself beforehand — “I’m blonde and wearing a blue coat” and standing waiting there — ’

  Vi, dying of silence, said, ‘And looking at door. Plain as owt, that was.’

  ‘Oh, come round, have you? Good of you to favour us with your attention,’ Doris said mildly.

  Vi chose not to hear. ‘I mean, minute she walked in, she looked round, quick like, didn’t take no notice of us. Well, she might of if she’d seen Doris on account of knowing her — but you had your back to the door, didn’t you? And then, she didn’t go and sit down or owt, just stood there. You’d clocked her by then, hadn’t you? and you was telling me about her.’

  Doris nodded sadly. ‘Fool to herself she was, with fellers.’

  ‘Just like her mam, you said, Doris, didn’t you? And exactly the same thing happened to her.’

  Liz was aghast. ‘You don’t mean — you don’t mean her mother was murdered.’

  ‘Not exact Vi, not exact. No, she weren’t done in. Near enough, mind, left for dead.’

  ‘That’s what I mean,’ Vi snapped. ‘Beat up and left for dead by this fancy feller as no one’d ever seen. Well, that's what you’ve said often enough, Doris, told any bugger as’d stand still long enough to hear.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you suddenly remembers these things. All this carry-on called to mind her mother and her mystery man. Supposed to be summat special he was, shitting diamonds or summat. Well, to hear Beattie tell it, though she were only a kid at the time, and allus a liar. Still, it were odd... ’

  Liz and Annette exchanged glances. Annette, did you know about this?’

  ‘I’ve heard the occasional comment about her mother, but... ’ Annette shook her head.

  ‘Tell us about it,’ Liz said.

  Doris sat in impressive silence, ordering her thoughts. Vi made a loud, exasperated noise. ‘You know it by bloody heart, I don’t see as there’s owt to think about.’

&nb
sp; ‘The young lady doesn’t want a lot of unrelevant details. It were like this. Beattie’d be about twelve. Just her and her mam. No bugger ever knew who her dad were, least of all her mam. Now, her mam was a lovely looker — ’

  ‘Bit of a hooer, too,’ Vi interposed.

  ‘So what? Plenty of those about; if you can get owt out of a feller, I say good luck. And she had to make the most of her looks while she’d still got em. She weren’t really on the game,’ Doris said to Liz, as if this would in some mysterious way reassure her. ‘Bit of part time. Well, God knows there’s enough of that allus gone on. And she kept her and Beattie clean, nicely turned-out, you know. She weren’t no slag. Anyroad, she gets this special feller, has a bit of money to spend, and Beattie swanking her drawers off about how posh he is and he talks la-di-da and he’s going to take them away to live in this big posh house. Buckingham friggin Palace to hear her. Not that she’d ever seen it. All talk, you know, all talk. And they got her out of the way sharpish when he called on her mam.’

  Annette said, ‘You mean he called during the day?’

  ‘Well, there, you’ve said it. It were obvious. He takes an hour or so off from work for a bit of the other, then, end of the day, back home to his wife and family.’

  Liz said, ‘I thought — I thought you said — nobody ever saw him...

  ‘Well, they didn’t hardly at all, love. He never took her mam out, for a drink, like, nothing. Never seen about with her. And nobody knew owt about him — because, it were bloody obvious she didn’t. And he’d come — tall feller, dark overcoat, collar turned up, trilby hat pulled down — and he’d walk dead fast, like coming out of nowhere. Down back alley — never street — back alley, in through yard. Anyone standing about he'd go straight past, head down, never look no one in the face. Then it’d be getting dark by time he left — it were that time of year — and he'd be off like Phantom of the Opera.’

  Annette said, ‘What did Beattie call him — when she talked about him?’

  ‘Now, that’s asking. Apart from “me mam’s new feller” you mean? That’s how it started out; then summat like Arthur... Alfred... Arnold... It’s that long ago. Then she says he’s going to be her dad. Well, that took some swallowing, I can tell you. Nobody believed it, but I distinctly remember her saying it, only a couple of times, mind, not long before he put in his last appearance. Beattie were out playing and she’d managed to get herself invited round to tea somewhere, so it’s quite a bit later than usual when she gets back home. Her mam’s not in — that’s what she must have thought, anyroad, cos she — I don’t know, messes about, whatever. Then she finally goes upstairs, door to her mam’s room’s open — and there she is, lying on the floor, beaten senseless. So Beattie’s off down road, knocking on doors, getting neighbours out, frantic, she was, frantic. Someone got an ambulance and they took her mam off to hospital. But as for him, well, he’d long gone, long gone. And you see, poor cow, she were never same after. She were weeks unconscious, and when she come round — brain damage. She couldn’t remember nothing, what had happened, who she was.’

  Liz said, ‘But the police — surely they tried to find him.’

  ‘Police? What’s it to them? Another slag beaten up — happens all the time. And nobody could say who he were, you see, no name, no description, not where he were from — nothing. Beattie couldn’t hardly describe him, not as made sense to find him, anyroad. She still had one or two relatives round here, then — auntie, cousin. And neighbours were really good to her. When her mam came out of hospital, she managed — ’ she smiled at Liz’s involuntary surprise. ‘Kids can, you know. Maybe not your sort, but round here — leave em to it, they get on with things.’

  Annette asked, ‘Was there never any sign of him again?’

  ‘Not him, not a sausage. For all he knew she were dead. And really, you know, she weren’t fit for nothing. Needed looking after. Had her good times, got a bit of a job, cleaning — but then she’d not turn up, or get things in a right mess — she couldn’t help it, it weren’t her fault. They’d sack her, she’d be living on assistance, as it were then, and bloody mean they were with it, I can tell you.

  Sometimes they’d cart her off to the funny farm, but they never kept her there long — she weren’t mad, you know. Just, a bit daft, and Beattie were around to look after her.’

  ‘Poor things,’ Liz murmured.

  ‘But then,’ Vi said stridently, ‘buggered if Beattie don’t go and do same thing. Believes everything some feller tells her, finishes up in river.’ Her triumphant look fastened on Liz. ‘And him vanished into thin air — till he confesses and tops hisself.’

  ‘You just hold your horses,’ Doris said. ‘Not the young lady’s fault. She were fond of him and if she says he didn’t do it — ’

  ‘What else she friggin going to say? What were he doing here, anyroad, in first place? And now her, turning up. Their sort bring nowt but trouble — ’

  ‘Now you just listen to me, Vi Twemlow,’ Doris began.

  Annette touched Liz’s arm. ‘Time we were going.’

  Seventeen

  The air was cold. The melancholy surroundings had taken on a grimmer aspect — a personal message of past violence, spoiled lives. Annette said, ‘We need supper.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Liz said absently.

  ‘How do you fancy Thai food?’

  ‘Super. Do you know — ’

  ‘I know you’re building a fantasy. No — wait, wait. Talk while we eat.’

  ‘But — ’ Liz turned a troubled face to her. Her expression cleared suddenly. ‘Annette, thank God you’re you again.’

  The food was excellent, the restaurant quiet. They sat in a warm corner, soothed by scarcely-heard music.

  ‘You have to admit, Annette, that we have learned something. Tenuous, yes, but it does take us a little further forward.’

  ‘Where?’ Annette asked, looking at her with sympathy.

  ‘Well, no one’s suggested before that their meeting was arranged through a dating agency — some third party.’

  ‘That’s not a fact, that’s supposition.’

  ‘All right. But not entirely unsupported. Doris was very astute — what she said about Beattie dressing in a way that would appeal to whoever she was going to meet — you remember? It seems that Beattie normally dressed in gaudy, well, common clothes. Reggie would have run a mile at the mere sight of her. But she made sure she looked presentable to him. Because someone told her to.’

  ‘Who?’ Annette asked cautiously.

  ‘The person who murdered her. Don’t look like that. Somebody did and you know it wasn’t Reggie. The person she was with that Thursday night and that wasn’t him. The person who made the anonymous phone call. Now. The extraordinary coincidence of her repeating that episode in her mother’s life — ’

  ‘Stop there, Liz. You know about human nature. There’s nothing extraordinary about a life of deprivation where all the patterns repeat themselves because there’s nothing anyone can do to stop them. Poverty, prostitution, violence... And the parallels aren’t exact — there’s a superficial similarity, that’s all. And don’t forget, we’ve only had Doris’s version — and that, God knows, will be compounded of gossip, hindsight and local mythology.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have said coincidence, I got a bit carried away. This is the point I’m coming to. I agree, Doris’s version is bound to have undergone all kinds of variations — but she did know Beattie and she did know her at the time. As a grown woman she’s made assumptions about the relationship — but she was right what she said about the kids round here — self-sufficient, knowing, even as a child she probably had an instinctive grasp of the situation. And I wouldn’t doubt the clarity of her recollection of how Beattie referred to this man — he evolved from being just another boyfriend to being her “Dad”. Well, in the context of that relationship it’s obvious what was happening, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes. For some reason her mother had been led to beli
eve, or wished to believe, in some more permanent arrangement. Perhaps she began to make demands and things were getting out of hand. Certainly her expectations were echoed by Beattie. Literally. Think of it: a voluble, street-wise kid calling you “Dad’’ — can you imagine anything more threatening to a respectable man who's having an affair with a part-time prostitute?’

  Annette concentrated for a while on eating her dinner in silence. Then she said, ‘You’re right. I’m not giving you an argument, not on this score, any wav. If he’d decided to dump her and she wouldn’t let him — maybe she’d even found out something by then that made him vulnerable — his full name, where he worked, where he lived — then, yes, he’s going to silence her. But, that’s all in the past. Been and gone. How can it be relevant to what happened to Beattie?’

  ‘Supposing — just supposing — that after all these years she suddenly discovered the identity of the man who really did ruin her mother’s life?’

  ‘It’s not impossible... But how?’

  ‘Dunno. She wants recompense, she’s entitled to it. But I don’t believe she could set about it on her own; she hadn’t the background, the education, the confidence. Putting all that aside — even if she was capable of approaching this man — she might have been afraid, felt in need of protection. After all, he almost killed her mother. So she’d need someone to help her.’

  They looked at each other for some moments in silence. Annette said, expressionlessly, ‘Reggie.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Liz, were you sitting there in the Railway putting this together in your head?’

  ‘Yes. Shut up. Listen. You’ve no idea how quixotic Reggie was, how gallant. If a woman went to him with a story like that, it wouldn’t matter what sort of a woman she was — he’d do his best to help her.’

  ‘But why approach him — and why should he help her?’

  ‘Because there’s a single answer to both those questions. He knew who the man was.’

  ‘I need another drink.’

  ‘You never knew Reggie. If someone said to him — there’s been a terrible injustice, you have the means to help to put it right — then he’d feel it was his duty, simple humanity.’