One thing was sure, though. When she rose in the morning, she would go and ask Mrs Haley to arrange for someone to install a telephone for her. Catherine was right about that; it would certainly be a boon in an emergency.
She would even ask Mrs Haley to accompany her to the bank, so she could put all her money away safely … but maybe that was going a bit too far. Her imagination was playing tricks on her and if she carried on like this every time she heard a funny noise, she would soon be afraid of her own shadow. That was what came of watching the Haleys’ television set occasionally. All those programmes about thugs - that’s what they called them - beating up old ladies for their money. It couldn’t happen in real life … could it?
Mrs Martin was not altogether sure in her mind now what could happen and what couldn’t. She had a vague recollection of reading some terrible things in the newspapers. It would really be best not to have anything of value in the house, she supposed, but she had saved that four hundred pounds to cover her funeral expenses when she was gone.
CRASH!
That was definitely glass being broken. Of course! The only way an intruder could get in would be through a window. Clutching her flannelette nightgown up round her neck, she admitted the truth. This was not her imagination. This was really happening!
Why hadn’t she listened to Catherine? Please God, she prayed, don’t let this intruder come up here, but if You can’t stop him, make it quick. Murder, not a beating. She felt as if she were choking. She had always thought that authors were exaggerating when they wrote about people having their hearts in their mouths, but it described exactly how she was feeling right this minute.
She could hear voices now. Voices? More than one! A gang? They were inside - coming up the stairs. She must shout for help. She jumped out of bed, the panicky terror giving strength to her arthritic legs, and turned the key in the lock before she ran to the window.
Sam had tried the back door, found it locked and placed his shoulder against it. He knew from experience that these old houses had stout doors inside as well as out, and gave up after the fourth attempt to break it down. ‘Hang on a mo, Pat. I’ll have to get something heavy from the car to try to prise it open.’
He came back in a few moments with a tyre lever, but was just as unsuccessful as before. ‘It’ll have to be a window,’ he said, his mouth gripping with frustration. ‘It’s the only way we’ll get in, Pat,’ he added noticing his companion’s worried expression.
The crash of splintered glass echoed shrilly, but he led the way in and straight up the stairs. They found the old lady in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Sam felt for a pulse. There was nothing, and he looked up in dismay. ‘She’s dead.’
Patricia Haley shook her head sadly. ‘I knew something had happened to her when I saw her milk still on the doorstep in the middle of the day. That’s why I phoned you. She’s still in her nightie - she must have had a heart attack when she got up this morning, poor soul! If only she had given me a key, I might have been able to do something, but I don’t think she liked the idea of us being able to get in at any time.’
‘Don’t upset yourself, Pat. Even if it was a heart attack, you wouldn’t have been able to get in if she’d had the chain on. At least she went peacefully.’
His wife sighed deeply. ‘Yes, that’s one consolation.’
***
Word count 1533
Written for Writers’ Monthly Competition.
Sent: 25.8.86 - returned (with no comment) 1.12.86
Teddy Bare
‘We’ve stopped! Oh God, Phil, something’s wrong with the ferry!’ Tessa’s blue eyes were fixed anxiously on her husband.
Philip Martin tried to appear calm. ‘The engines hadn’t been properly started, I expect. Nothing’s wrong.’
She leaned against him, briefly. ‘I’m scared, though … after Zeebrugge.’
‘They’ve doubled their safety precautions, Tess. A disaster like that couldn’t happen again.’
‘I suppose not … it’s just …’
‘We’ll be all right, I tell you!’
Tessa summoned up a tight smile although she had never felt less like smiling. There were so many people milling about in the saloon, they would all be trapped if anything happened. A wild stampede to nowhere … except destruction.
She grabbed her husband’s arm for support. ‘It’s suffocating in here. Can we go on deck, please? It would be better for Christopher as well.’
‘Sure! Why not?’
They unwittingly caused much amusement as they made their way to the exit - the leggy man and the slim, blonde girl, in matching navy shorts and red striped T-shirts, and, strung between them, it seemed, a small boy in blue and an enormous teddy bear wearing a yellow tracksuit - but at last they were outside in the fresh, gentle breeze.
When one of the Belgian crew began setting out chairs, Philip asked him, ‘Can you tell me why we’re being held up?’
The sailor just shrugged his shoulders brusquely, and Philip turned to his wife. ‘Damn! Why can’t any of these ruddy foreigners speak English?’
His vehemence made Tessa suspect that he was more apprehensive about the situation than he cared to admit, so she said, tentatively, ‘What d’you really think’s happening,
Phil?’
‘How should I know?’ His childish anger evaporated when the ferry’s engines suddenly sprang into life and the vessel began to move. ‘Whatever it was, it’s been fixed. I told you not to worry. Grab a couple of seats before they’re all filled up, too.’
After almost half an hour of silently watching the tall buildings of Ostend seafront gradually dwindle in size and disappear, Philip leaned over, solicitously. ‘Are you feeling any better now, darling?’
‘Not much,’ Tessa replied, truthfully. ‘And I’ll tell you one thing - I’m never going to do this again, Phil.’
A flurry of movement at their feet made them both look down. ‘Christopher’s taken the tracksuit top off his Teddy.’ Tessa gave a brittle laugh. ‘That’s quite clever for a two-year-old.’
‘I bet he’s not clever enough to put it back on, though,’ her husband remarked, drily.
Sure enough, after a few minutes spent wrestling unsuccessfully, the boy looked up. ‘Mummy put it on?’
While his mother performed the operation, she said, ‘We had a lovely weekend, hadn’t we?’
‘I told you we would,’ Philip smiled, ‘and we’d never have been able to afford a hotel like that, if it hadn’t been …’
‘I know, but …’ She paused, and handed the dressed toy back to the child. ‘Whole streets and streets of shops, with no traffic allowed, it was heaven, and Christopher really enjoyed that park, with the lake and the pedal boats. I only wish …’
‘We’ll come back some day,’ Philip interrupted. ‘When you’ve forgotten.’
‘Not to Belgium,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t want to be reminded, ever, and the strain’s telling on you, too, isn’t it?’
‘A bit,’ he admitted. ‘But it’ll be over soon.’ His voice became sharp. ‘No, Christopher. Leave Teddy’s tracksuit on. He’ll catch cold if you take it off.’
‘He’s too hot with clothes on. I’m not cold, Daddy.’ The piping voice carried to a chair a little distance away, where a stout, middle-aged woman was smiling at the little episode.
‘Yes, but you’ve got clothes on, darling.’ Tessa yanked the interlock trousers up the bear’s legs. ‘It was lucky your old tracksuit fitted him, wasn’t it?’
‘I’m thirsty.’ Christopher had lost interest.
‘So am I, son.’ Philip stood up. ‘Let’s go and get something.’
In the cafeteria, another worrying thought struck Tessa. ‘Are you sure about the arrangements, Phil? I don’t fancy hanging about in Dover, if that man meant he�
��d meet us off the boat train.’
‘For God’s sake, Tess! I’m one hundred per cent sure, but read his bloody letter for yourself.’ Pulling an envelope from the money belt round his waist, he almost threw it at her.
Hurt by his harsh words, she unfolded the single sheet of paper with tears in her eyes. ‘Will pick you up at Dover 5.45 Sunday. Have a good trip,’ she read out and passed the letter back.
‘Satisfied?’ He laughed to take the sting out of his sarcasm. ‘If Parker says he’ll be there, you can bet your bottom dollar he’ll be there. Okay? We’re due to dock at 5.15, so we should be through customs and out in plenty of time.’
They lapsed into a somewhat awkward silence, broken only when the small boy muttered fretfully, ‘I’m tired.’
Philip pushed back his chair. ‘Find somewhere comfy for him to have a nap, Tess. I don’t want him whingeing in Parker’s car. I’ll go and get our duty-frees.’
Fortunately, several other passengers had also taken advantage of the privilege, so Tessa commandeered a long padded seat in the saloon and let her son stretch out with his head in her lap. But he refused to give up his ‘friend’.
‘No, Mummy, Teddy with me.’ He snuggled against the bear and was soon fast asleep.
Looking idly around her, his mother nodded to the stout woman who had been sitting near them on deck, and who had obviously also felt the need to relax more comfortably, then she lay back and closed her eyes, glad of the peace and quiet.
She came to with a start some time later and, realising that she had dozed off, she checked that the two rucksacks were still at her feet, then her eyes flew anxiously to the clock. God! It was almost five and Phil hadn’t come back yet. The second hand whizzed round madly and her agitation grew with each passing minute. Why was he taking so long? Had anything happened to him? What if he didn’t come back before they arrived at Dover? She couldn’t possibly manage by herself - not with two bags and Christopher and his teddy bear.
A tide of movement to the exits had already begun by the time her husband appeared, carrying a white plastic bag bulging with his purchases. ‘Sorry I’ve been so long, darling,’ he said breathlessly. ‘It was a proper shambles through there, but I got whisky, brandy and four hundred Rothman’s. That should keep us going for a while.’
‘Keep you going, you mean.’ Her smile was broad with relief. ‘We’re nearly there, Phil, and I was really worried.’
‘No sweat, darling, there’s loads of time.’ But he bent down and scooped up the sleeping child and his furry companion.
Christopher’s voice came weakly. ‘What is it, Daddy?’
‘We’re getting off the boat now, son.’ Philip turned in some concern to his wife. ‘Can you manage the two bags if I carry Christopher and the bag of booze?’
‘I think so. They’re not all that heavy.’
In the crush to disembark, Tessa felt a wave of nausea wash over her, and was thankful when her feet were on terra firma, her apprehensive glance confirming that Phil was close behind her.
‘Last leg now, sweetheart,’ he soothed. ‘We’ll be safe at home in less than an hour.’
Her sudden sense of security was shattered in seconds as they were swept along by the pressing crowd into the Customs area.
Philip’s answer to a brisk ‘Anything to declare?’ was equally as brisk. ‘Two bottles of spirits and two cartons of fags.’
‘Would you open your bags, please, Madam?’ The official was addressing Tessa, but her husband saw with some dismay that she was deathly white.
‘I’ll do it, dear,’ he muttered hastily. ‘You come and stand beside Christopher.’
Her gaze never left the man as she moved unsteadily to where her son was standing, still clasping his beloved teddy.
‘What are looking for - drugs?’
Philip’s tone was too flippant, too edgy, his wife thought. She had heard that they pounced on anyone showing signs of nerves, and there were stories of suspects actually being body-searched if nothing was found in their luggage.
‘Drugs amongst other things, sir.’ The officer’s voice was cold as he began his search.
‘You won’t find anything in there except dirty laundry,’ Philip grinned.
He was right, Tessa reflected. The rucksacks held only the clothes they had been wearing over the weekend. There was nothing of any interest to Customs, but she couldn’t help wishing this was all over. She flushed suddenly with embarrassment as her bras and panties were held up and shaken out, in full view of dozens of tittering travellers, but she caught the sympathetic eyes of the stout woman she had noticed before and felt better. She even smiled when the grubby underwear of her husband and son was also put on display.
The man was only doing his duty, after all, but she experienced a rush of relief when he cleared the two bags and said, ‘Sorry for the inconvenience, sir’, before turning to the stout woman.
Once outside, Philip lowered his son with a grimace. ‘We’d better wait here so Parker can see us.’ He sounded calm but his hands trembled as he lit a cigarette.
‘You’ve been just as scared as me all along,’ Tessa cried triumphantly. ‘That’s why you were so nervous in there.’
He was stung by the accusation. ‘It’s better to look nervous. Most people do, not panic-stricken like you.’
‘Well, Martin. How did things go?’
A small, dapper man had come up behind them, and Philip turned to him thankfully. ‘Perfect, though Tess was worried sick.’
‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs Martin.’ Parker held her hand for rather longer than was necessary. ‘And now I’d like to meet your son.’
They all turned round to the little boy, their expressions changing drastically as they met the grim stares of four unmistakable plain-clothed detectives, who had positioned themselves behind him.
Then their eyes were drawn downwards, hypnotised, horrified and hopeless, to the matted yellow tracksuit on the ground where Christopher had tossed it, and to the polythene-covered package emerging from the gaping slit in the teddy bear’s groin. It landed silently to land on top of dozens of others already there, then slid slowly, as if guided by the hand of Fate, to land at the feet of the stout middle-aged woman.
Her expression, when she stooped to pick it up, was no longer amused … or in the least sympathetic.
***
Word count 1799
Has never been tried out.
Decision at Gowanbank
Catherine Walker wrestled with the road map, her annoyance fuelled by her frustration at being lost.
She had thought she could find Gowanbank with her eyes closed, but obviously she couldn’t - not even with them open. Surely the place hadn’t changed all that much in twenty years? She’d been depending on the peace and quiet of her childhood holidays - a trip down Memory Lane - to help her to make up her mind about Donald Robson, but …
‘Can I be of any help?’ The voice came through the half open window, and she looked up into the smiling face of a man with a bicycle.
‘I was looking for Gowanbank,’ she explained, ‘but I must have taken a wrong turning somewhere. I remembered there was a church and a manse at the foot of quite a steep hill, and from the top I’d see the farm at the other side. But I can’t even find the hill.’
‘You haven’t gone wrong,’ the man grinned, pointing straight ahead. ‘There’s your church and the manse, and there’s your hill.’
‘No, it can’t be - that hill’s not steep enough, and the church is too small … and the house.’
He laughed loudly at this. ‘Your memory’s playing tricks on you, Katie.’
Katie? It was years since anyone had called her that, so she looked up into his face, trying to place him. The unruly red hair and the deep dimple in his chin told her instantly who he was. ‘
It’s Billy Raffan, isn’t it?’ she smiled. ‘You haven’t changed much.’
‘You didn’t recognise me at first, though.’
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you,’ she defended herself. ‘I thought I was in the wrong district.’
‘You’ve changed quite a bit, Katie.’ His smile was slightly rueful now. ‘You look really smart and sophisticated, like a successful career woman … or a model?’
Pleased though she was by the compliment, she hastened to put him right. ‘Not a model, but yes a successful career woman. I’m head buyer in the gown department of Bannerman’s in Edinburgh.’
He gave no sign of being pleased for her, but maybe he hadn’t done so well with his life. It would be best not to ask him what he did. ‘It’s been great seeing you again, Billy, but I’ll have to be getting on.’
She made to switch on the ignition, but his hand didn’t move from the window.
‘Is somebody expecting you?’
‘No, I just wanted to see Gowanbank again - and have some peace and quiet.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He withdrew his hand at once. ‘I’ve been disturbing your solitude.’
‘Oh no, I didn’t mean that. It’s … um … I’ve a most important decision to make, and I can’t seem to find the time in Edinburgh to think things through properly.’
‘I understand. Off you go, then, and good luck, whatever you decide.’
‘Thanks, Billy.’
She drove on, past the little country church with its manse tucked by it side, both of which she had remembered as much larger and more imposing, over the small hill that she had thought so high and so steep when she was a young girl. From the top, however, just as she remembered, she could see the farm of Gowanbank, and went slowly down towards it, savouring the memories.
Duplicity Page 13