by Kitty Neale
Carol didn’t want to see a doctor. She just wanted to be left alone. ‘No, Dad, I just need a bit more rest, that’s all,’ she protested, ‘and the doctor will only say the same thing.’
‘All right, we’ll leave it until Monday, but if you’re no better by then, I’m calling him out. In the meantime I suppose it’s down to me to get a bit of shopping in, but
I haven’t got a clue what to buy or how to cook anything.’
Carol struggled to make an effort. ‘I’ll write you a list and if you get something simple, like sausages, I think I can manage to cook them with a bit of mash.’
‘Well I suppose that’s a start,’ he said, looking marginally happier as he went to find a pen and paper.
When the list was done and her father left, Carol sank back on the sofa. Not only was he pushing her to do things around the house, he was constantly on at her about Roy. He wanted to find him, but she couldn’t tell him where the flat she’d been taken to was, making it impossible for him to go there to question the real owner. Nor could she tell him who Roy worked for. All she knew was that it was a shop fitting company and now Carol closed her eyes, thinking back to that dreadful night when she’d been raped. She found that her anger had gone, and her need for revenge was dead – as dead as the baby she had carried. All she felt now was disgust that she had put herself in that situation; that she hadn’t fought harder. If she’d really tried she could have kicked Roy where it hurt, and that would have stopped him. Her weakness had resulted in a baby – and what had she done! She had taken her child’s innocent life. Guilt returned to overwhelm her.
When there was a knock on the door, Carol didn’t go to open it, instead just willing whoever it was to go away.
‘Carol, it’s me,’ Amy called through the letterbox.
Despite telling Amy to leave her alone, to stay away, she had come back time and again, but Carol didn’t want to see her – to talk to Amy or anyone else. When the letterbox lifted again and Amy shouted through, Carol at last sat up and yelled, ‘Go away! I’m busy!’
There was silence then, and relieved, Carol once again put her head back onto the cushions. She closed her eyes, wanting only to escape into sleep again, and remained like that, dozing, until her father returned.
Mabel left the police station, satisfied that at last, after repeating her story to an officer in CID, she had finally been taken seriously. Though she felt it was her duty to report a murder, she’d also been frightened of the repercussions. After all, she was living next door to a killer – and who knows what Frank Cole would do to her if he found out that she’d been the one to dob him in.
However, assured that when they questioned Frank Cole they wouldn’t reveal the source of their information, Mabel walked home feeling happier, though she still scuttled past Frank Cole’s house and into the safety of her own home.
Jack was still at work, and unable to settle, Mabel paced nervously, wondering when the CID would knock on Frank Cole’s door. What she needed was someone to confide in, but how could she tell anyone that she’d been to the police to accuse Frank Cole of murdering his wife? Gossip was rife around here and it would soon get back to him, the thought of that making Mabel’s knees go weak. She’d be safe as long as Frank Cole was arrested, but what if he wasn’t? What if they couldn’t find any evidence?
Mabel would never know how she got through the rest of that day, and she was constantly looking out of her window to see if the CID had turned up yet to question Frank. So far there was no sign of them and Mabel began to wonder if she’d been mistaken, that instead of taking her seriously, she had just been patronised. She should have felt angry, but instead found herself relieved. Maybe she was wrong, maybe Daphne Cole really had gone to look after a sick aunt – yet even as this thought crossed her mind, Mabel still felt it was highly unlikely.
By the time Jack came home Mabel had managed to cook his dinner, and after greeting him they ate in virtual silence. When the meal was over Mabel carried their plates through to the kitchen, unaware that at that moment, a black, unmarked car had pulled up outside the Coles’ house.
Frank had tried Daphne’s mother again, but the old girl insisted that she hadn’t seen or heard from her.
He’d returned home and at dinner time done his best to get through a plate of burned sausages, lumpy mash, and equally lumpy gravy. Carol had barely touched hers, her head down as she toyed with the food on her plate. She looked terrible; drab and scruffy. It was hard to equate her to the vivid, beautiful and vibrant daughter he’d been so proud of just a short time ago.
‘Look at the state of you!’ he said. ‘When I get my hands on the man who did this to you he’ll be sorry he was born.’
As though his words had lit a fuse, Carol cried in anguish, ‘My baby wasn’t born. I killed it, Dad. I killed my baby.’
For a moment Frank was too surprised to react, but as Carol shook with sobs he quickly stood up to go to his daughter’s side. At first he just stroked her head, but then Carol surged up and into his arms. He felt helpless, unable to understand why his daughter was in this state. She must have been only about twelve weeks pregnant, maybe less. ‘Come on, girl. You didn’t kill a proper baby. It would’ve been little more than a blob.’
‘A blob!’ she cried, pulling away from him. ‘How can you say that?’
Frank had never been much good with words of comfort and it was with some relief that he heard a sharp knock on the door. He rose to open it and seeing two men he asked, ‘Yeah, what do you want?’
‘Mr Cole. I’m Colin Foreman, CID, and this is my colleague. Can we come in?’
‘What for?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘We’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘What’s this about? What sort of questions?’
‘They concern your wife.’
Frank paled and stood back, asking anxiously as the men walked in, ‘Has something happened to her?’
‘That’s what we’re here to find out, Mr Cole.’
Both men saw Carol, and seeing the state she was in, Frank wasn’t surprised that their eyes widened imperceptibly. He said quickly, ‘This is my daughter, Carol. She hasn’t been well, but what’s this about my wife?’
‘We’d like to see her. Is she here?’
‘No, she … she’s gone to look after a sick relative.’
‘What relative?’
‘A … an aunt.’
‘I see, and where does this aunt live?’ Foreman asked.
‘Err … in Kent.’
‘At what address?’
Frank swallowed and stalled by asking, ‘Why are you here asking me questions about my wife?’
‘All in good time, Mr Cole. Now as I said, I’d like this relative’s address.’
‘I haven’t got it.’
‘So you’re telling me that your wife has gone to look after a sick aunt, but you don’t know where this relative lives.’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
‘Do you have any means of contacting your wife?’
‘Err … no.’
‘When do you expect her to return?’
‘I’m not sure. As soon as her aunt recovers I expect, but what’s with all these questions?’ Frank asked yet again.
‘We’re investigating certain allegations that have been made, Mr Cole, and as I’m not satisfied with your answers we’re going to have to take them seriously.’
‘Allegations! What allegations?’
‘They’re regarding the fact that your wife seems to have disappeared, and as I think this matter now needs further investigation I’d like you to accompany us to the station.’
‘What for? I haven’t done anything,’ Frank protested, but then he paled as the penny dropped. ‘Wait! Surely you don’t think I’ve done my wife in?’
‘Have you?’
‘No, no, of course not! If someone is accusing me of doing that they must want their head examined.’
‘Dad, tell them the truth. Show them the lett
er Mum left for you,’ Carol urged.
Frank’s mind was reeling. Yes, Daphne’s letter, but where had he put it? He hurried to the mantelpiece, searching, but there was no sign of it. ‘I can’t flaming well find it!’
‘What’s this about a letter, Mr Cole?’ Foreman asked.
‘It’s one my wife left when she walked out on me.’
‘So now you’re saying that she isn’t looking after a sick relative.’
‘Yeah, that’s right. The truth is she left me.’
Foreman’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as he asked, ‘So why concoct the story about a sick aunt?’
Frank ran a hand through his hair in agitation. ‘Look, my wife walked out the same day that my daughter went into hospital and I was in a bit of a state. I just said that to keep the gossips at bay for a while, that’s all.’
Foreman didn’t look convinced, but Frank saw a spark of the old Carol as she said sharply, ‘My dad isn’t lying. I saw the letter and read it.’
‘Did you recognise your mother’s handwriting?’
Once again Carol flared as she snapped, ‘Of course I did!’
Foreman didn’t react, unperturbed by Carol’s outburst as he said, ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to see this letter, Mr Cole.’
Frank began searching again, finding it down the side of his fireside chair and with relief he was at last able to hand the letter to Colin Foreman. The man read it, passed it to his colleague, who so far hadn’t uttered a word and still didn’t as Foreman said, ‘It seems you’re telling us the truth this time, Mr Cole. It would have saved us a lot of time if you had done that in the first place.’
‘My dad hasn’t done anything wrong and whoever made the allegation is the one who wasted your time,’ Carol said angrily. ‘Was it Mabel Povis?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say, but I think we can say this matter is closed now.’
With nods of goodbye both men left, and as Frank was still too stunned to react it was Carol who said as the door closed behind them, ‘He didn’t say it was Mabel, but I bet it was and I’m not letting her get away with it.’
Frank looked at his daughter, thinking that at least the visit from CID had served to snap Carol out of her lethargy. ‘Leave it, love. No harm’s been done and we can’t say for sure it was her.’
‘I can’t believe you’re so calm. You’ve been accused of murder yet you say no harm’s been done!’
‘It hasn’t, though it was a bit sticky there until I found your mum’s letter. The CID are satisfied, they left, and I’m just relieved to see that you’ve got your old spark back.’
‘Oh Dad. I wish Mum would come home.’
‘Now don’t go all maudlin on me again. She might and she might not, I don’t know.’
‘I’m surprised that Davy and Paul haven’t been round to see us.’
‘I told them you had food poisoning and knowing those two, they’re waiting until they think you’re fully recovered before turning up, expecting to be fed.’
‘Well they can think again,’ Carol said indignantly.
Frank looked at his daughter, sure that she was going to be all right now. She’d be able to look after this place and hopefully her cooking would improve. As for Mabel Povis, if she was the culprit she was probably shaking in her shoes now expecting him to retaliate, and it served her right. He’d prolong it – leave her to stew until he was good and ready to sort her out.
Chapter Nineteen
It was now mid-June and Tommy was pleased with the way business was going. Though initially reluctant to let his mother take over the books, she kept the accounts efficiently, leaving him more time to concentrate on building up custom. Profits were already up and he’d just gained a contract to supply all the windows for a new build of twenty houses that were near completion.
His mother hadn’t apologised, but thankfully Amy hadn’t mentioned it again. He hoped that one day there could be some sort of relationship between Amy and his mother, but at the moment any mention of apologising or inviting Amy to the house caused hysterics. Tommy knew he was taking the coward’s way out, but until his mother’s emotions were less raw, he was leaving things as they were.
Since his father had left they hadn’t heard from him; not a letter, or a phone call, and with the business to run Tommy was relieved that he’d only had a couple of mild asthma attacks. If he had a bad spell that kept him in bed, at least he now felt confident that Len would be capable of handling things until he was on his feet again. However, Len would need help for the installations and after a hectic day on Thursday, he said to his mother, ‘I’m going to employ another couple of glaziers, along with buying two more vans.’
‘It’ll make a huge dent in our profits. Can’t you manage with one man and a van?’
‘Not with this new contract. As it is, Len and I are already at full stretch.’
‘Very well, I’ll allow it, but if nothing else comes up by the time the work is finished, you’ll have to dismiss them. I’m not paying out wages for men to sit around doing nothing.’
Tommy was close to the end of his tether. He’d been patient, had let his mother handle the accounts, but she was overstepping the mark lately and he had to put a stop to it. ‘Mother, I don’t need your permission to employ men, nor do you pay their wages.’
‘How dare you speak to me like that! I’m your mother and I have every right to have a say in the running of the business. I make up Len’s pay-packet, handle his tax and insurance, and therefore I know just how much extra staff will affect our profit margins.’
Tommy only just managed to stem his temper but he couldn’t hold back the barb. ‘Our profit margins? I think you’re forgetting that Dad handed the business over to me.’
‘That’s it, rub it in, add to my humiliation by pointing out that I have to rely on you to support me,’ she cried, tears imminent now.
‘Mother, that wasn’t my intention. I appreciate that you keep the accounts, and we agreed on a monthly salary. I also quite rightly pay you for my keep so I don’t feel that I’m supporting you.’
She sniffed, but her eyes were still moist and she dabbed at them delicately with a lace-edged handkerchief and said croakily, ‘I’m glad to hear that.’
Tommy sighed. He wanted to say more, to tell his mother that she had to let him run the business his way, without interference, but he’d never been able to handle her when she was tearful.
He’d leave it for now; and anyway, it was Amy’s birthday next week and when he told his mother what he intended to do, she’d probably have another bout of histrionics.
Amy hadn’t given up on Carol, and when it came out that her mother had walked out, it went some way to explaining – along with her illness – the state Carol had been in.
As the weeks had passed Amy still saw Carol as often as she could, though she now felt the widening distance between them. They had once been so close, like sisters, but Carol now seemed far older than her eighteen years.
As she wasn’t seeing Tommy that night, Amy was with Carol now and where once they had talked about boys, fashion, and the latest music, these days Carol’s only conversation seemed to be about cooking and housework. Of course she still ranted occasionally about Mabel Povis, but the once-nosey woman was a shadow of her former self and was rarely seen peeping through her curtains these days.
As though aware of Amy’s thoughts, Carol said, ‘People round here don’t like snitches, and after what Mabel Povis did to my dad, she’s been ostracised. Your mum’s the only one who has any time for her now.’
‘I think my mum feels sorry for her.’
‘Well she shouldn’t. That woman accused my dad of murder and he could have ended up in prison.’
‘I know and I’m not sticking up for her. I think my mum’s mad too, but she’s so soft-hearted and when Mabel Povis turned up at our door, crying, she let her in.’
‘She came here too, trying to say she was sorry, but unlike your mum, my dad slammed the door in her face,’ Car
ol snapped.
They had been through all this so many times, and hoping to change the conversation, Amy said, ‘When I finish early on my half days off, I sometimes bump into Lena Winters.’
‘How come she isn’t at work? I thought she’d been transferred to another branch.’
‘Yes, that’s right, in Streatham, but apparently because it’s a larger shop she’s got an assistant manageress. It allows her to take every Thursday off. She seems so different now that she isn’t our boss, and I think she must be lonely as she usually invites me to join her for a coffee and a chat.’
‘I always felt her cold and distant,’ Carol commented. ‘Anyway, let’s get back to Mabel. As I just said, my dad slammed the door in her face, and since then when I see her, I make my feelings plain. I even spat at her feet the other day.’
Not Mabel again, Amy thought as she once again tried to divert Carol, asking, ‘Have you seen anything of your brothers?’
‘Since I told them I wasn’t going to do their washing and ironing, we hardly see them.’
‘Has your mum been in touch?’
‘No,’ Carol said, her face saddening.
Amy noted that as usual now, Carol’s face was void of make-up. Her hair was shiny though and looked newly washed, but it hung without any attempt at styling below her shoulders. ‘Carol,’ she said, ‘I liked Linda, the girl who was taken on to replace you and we became friends, but I was shocked when she was caught fiddling the till. She’s been sacked so there’s a job going; I’m sure Mrs Jones would take you on.’
‘No thanks. I was sick of smelly feet and anyway, I’m needed here.’
‘Don’t you get fed up with being stuck at home all day?’ Amy asked.
‘Not really. I’ve discovered that I like cooking and I enjoy trying out new recipes. I made a lovely meat pie with suet pastry today and my dad loved it. At least he’s still eating, but I’m a bit worried about him. He’s drinking heavily and goes to the pub every night.’
‘So you’re mostly on your own,’ Amy said, feeling sorry for her friend.