by Anna Jacobs
When he’d finished, she stayed where she was, studying the cottages. They were very similar to Grandma Rose’s original home, with a third storey and with long mullioned windows across the whole frontage. Weavers’ cottages. She liked the idea of living in one.
She shivered. What was she doing standing out here? It was cold for May. Holding Ned’s hand firmly, she walked along the short row of dwellings to the end one on the right: the one she’d be living in.
Please let the key be where Mr Greaves said it was, she prayed as she walked past the car and peered into ‘her’ cottage window.
This was such a chancy arrangement, but the lawyer had assured her the key would be where he’d left it.
As he was coming out of the bathroom, Joss heard a car turn into the lane, something so unusual he went to look out of the front bedroom window. A battered old Ford came to a stop in the common parking area and the driver switched off the engine.
He was the only one living in the group of cottages now. The others had been empty for several months and the only visitors had been people from the lawyer’s office checking them out regularly. But they wouldn’t be doing that at dusk.
He couldn’t get a proper look at the face of the woman who got out of the car, but she was moving slowly and stiffly as if something hurt.
She reached into the rear seat then stepped back to let a little boy scramble out. Joss smiled as the child made jigging movements that showed an age-old need. After a quick glance round she helped him to pull down his pants and relieve himself.
When she’d set the little boy’s clothing to rights, she took hold of his hand firmly, though he tried to pull away, before walking along the path to Rose’s cottage, next to his. Intrigued, Joss continued to watch her.
She peered through the front window of the cottage, though he doubted whether she’d see much in the half-light of dusk.
He sighed as it occurred to him that if she was looking for Rose, he’d have to go and tell her she was too late by six months. He didn’t enjoy being the bearer of sad news and hated it when women cried.
She vanished round the back of the houses and he wondered what she was doing there. He hurried into the back bedroom, fighting his way quickly into a sweater as he peered out again. She was fumbling on the lintel of the outhouse and as she stepped back her shoulders sagged and she pressed one hand to her mouth.
He hurried down the stairs and opened the front door, waiting for her to come round to this side of the houses again. ‘Hi there. Are you looking for Rose King?’
She had been lost in thought and jerked in shock, looking at him warily.
‘I’m afraid you’re too late. She died six months ago.’
‘Yes. I know that. I just …’
Even in the fading light Joss could see that her face was white with exhaustion. Suddenly she swayed and before he could get close enough to catch her, she’d crumpled to the ground. ‘Damnation!’
The little boy started screaming in terror as Joss bent to pick her up, shouting, ‘Don’t hit her! Don’t hit my mummy!’
He froze, surprised that such a small child would react like that. ‘I’m not going to hit her, lad. I’m going to pick her up. She can’t lie there in the mud.’ He reached out to gather her into his arms just as she started to regain consciousness. The minute he touched her, she began fighting like a wildcat.
In the end he had to yell, ‘Stop it! I was only trying to help you up!’
She let out a muffled sob and sagged against him. At that moment he saw her face clearly for the first time, because her hair had fallen back. There was a huge new bruise on her cheekbone, just below a black eye. He knew the signs only too well. Someone had thumped her – hard.
Drops of moisture spattered his cheeks and he looked up at the dark clouds, which were piling up ominously. Well, the weather people had forecast storms for this evening and, for once, they were right. He couldn’t leave these two out here. ‘Come inside out of the rain. I’ll make you a cup of tea and you can tell me what brought you here.’
She hesitated.
He spoke very gently. ‘I was a friend of Rose’s and I don’t beat women. Or little boys.’
Her pallor was replaced by a flush and she looked ashamed now. It always upset him when victims of domestic abuse looked as if they had done something wrong.
It began to rain in earnest and he gestured towards his house again, not daring to touch her. ‘Come inside, or you and the boy will be soaked.’
She followed him inside, staying near the door, looking nervous.
‘I’ve got a fire in the back room. This way.’
Again there was a hesitation but the little boy ran forward, calling out, ‘It’s warm in here, Mummy.’
Joss followed the boy and she hurried after him. ‘Yes, it is warm here,’ he said to the child. ‘Why don’t you sit on that little stool in front of the fire? My nephew uses it when he comes to visit. He’s five.’
‘I’m four. I’m a big boy now.’ He watched Joss move across to the cooker and put the kettle on, then turned his head to make sure his mother was still there.
‘Tea or coffee?’ Joss asked. She was leaning against the door frame as if her bones weren’t strong enough to hold her up. He didn’t try to touch her again. ‘You might as well sit down. Look, if it makes you feel safer, I’m an ex-policeman.’
‘Can you prove that?’
Outside his work, he’d rarely met anyone quite so suspicious. For answer, he reached up to the highest shelf of the dresser and took down the farewell photo, offering it to her.
She took it from him, staring at the line-up.
Too late, he remembered that he’d been in a wheelchair at the time, hated photos of himself in the damned thing.
‘You were invalided out?’
He shrugged. ‘Car accident. We were chasing a guy who’d shot a woman. It happens.’
‘I hope you caught him.’
‘Not then, but later on my colleagues did, yes.’ By that time he was in hospital, starting the long journey back to full health and mobility – well, almost full mobility.
‘Thank you.’ She relaxed visibly, gave him back the photo and went to sit down near her son.
‘I’m Joss Atherton, by the way.’
‘Libby P— No, I won’t use that name any longer. I only left my husband today and I’m not used to giving my maiden name yet.’ She frowned, head on one side, mouthing something, as if trying it out. ‘How does Libby King sound to you?’
‘You must be Rose’s granddaughter.’
‘You knew my grandmother?’
‘We were neighbours for years and she was my landlady.’
‘I hadn’t seen her since I was twelve.’ Her voice thickened. ‘I didn’t know she was still alive. I was told she’d died a few years ago.’
‘She kept an eye on you, though, even had photos of you and the boy. After she died, your stepfather told the lawyer you’d gone overseas and he didn’t know where you were.’
She gaped at him. ‘Walter knew perfectly well where I was.’
‘He swore he didn’t.’
‘That was … even meaner than I’d have expected from him. We didn’t part on the best of terms after my mother died, but to do that …’
‘I long ago came to the conclusion that some people are born nasty. Tea or coffee? And how do you like it?’
‘Coffee. White, no sugar, please.’
He sorted that out and handed her the mug. ‘Milk all right for the lad?’
‘Ned would love a drink of milk. Thank you.’
‘And a biscuit?’
She nodded, cradling her mug in her hands for the warmth. She still looked pale and the bruises startled him every time he looked at her.
‘I found a letter from the lawyer in the rubbish last night,’ she volunteered suddenly. ‘My husband – my ex now – had kept the information from me.’
‘Why did you go round to the back of the cottage?’
‘The l
awyer said Gran’s spare door key was there, hidden on the lintel.’
‘Ah. We had some prowlers two days ago and I took it down. I’ve been a bit preoccupied with something and I forgot to let Henry know.’ He walked across to the mantelpiece. ‘Here.’ He handed her a key.
Then he frowned. ‘It’ll probably be cold and feel a bit damp. Look, I’ll nip next door and switch on the central heating for you. You don’t want to take that lad in there till it’s warmed up.’ He surprised himself with that offer, because lately he hadn’t wanted to get involved in other people’s troubles. But she looked so vulnerable and that bruise really upset him. ‘Won’t be a moment.’
When he got back he asked, ‘How about I open a tin of soup and make us some cheese and ham toasties to go with it?’
She hesitated, then her eyes went to the boy. ‘Thank you. That’d be very kind.’
‘Kind’ wasn’t the way people usually described him these days. ‘Grumpy’ was the word most commonly used. He wasn’t sure he was fit for this Good Samaritan role, or that he even wanted it. Except that she’d fainted. And the boy was only four.
‘No trouble.’ He busied himself getting the food ready, which avoided the need to make meaningless small talk, at least. He’d never been good at small talk, except with children. They were so honest, so easy to chat with. Still, he couldn’t stay completely silent.
He searched his mind for something to say. ‘You’ll be living next door for a while, will you?’
‘Yes. It’s a condition of the legacy.’
He knew that, because he was one of the trustees, but they hadn’t been sure she’d comply. ‘Rose told me.’
Libby let out a mirthless laugh. ‘It’s a godsend, that house is. I’m twenty-seven and I only have the money in my purse and the things I slung in the car this morning.’
‘If I can do anything to help you settle in, don’t hesitate to ask.’
Suspicion was back in her face, and her tone was harsh suddenly. ‘Why should you help me?’
‘Because I was very fond indeed of Rose and she worried about you. It’s the last thing I can do for her.’
‘Oh. She was … a lovely woman. I really missed her, but children are so helpless about where they live and who they see. When my mother remarried, my stepfather cut the connection because Rose had told my mother not to marry him. She was right, too. It wasn’t a happy marriage and he got all Mum’s money when she died.’
He let the words sink into silence for a moment or two. ‘I’d better tell you that I’m one of the executors for Rose’s will. I probably ought to tell you as well that she left me this cottage. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘It was hers to leave as she pleased and it sounds like you were a good friend to her.’
‘She was a good friend to me after the accident.’ He hesitated again, wondering whether to get further involved, but he couldn’t bear her to make a major mistake. ‘You’re going to need some help straight away about one thing.’
‘What?’
‘You need to contact the domestic violence unit and put that beating on record, with photographs.’
She shivered. ‘My friend took some photos, but … I think Steven might murder me if I use them.’
‘We can get you into a refuge if he pursues you and …’ He broke off. ‘No, we can’t. There are conditions to your inheritance. You have to live in the house for six months. But I do think it’s essential to put this on record.’ He indicated her bruises.
She sighed. ‘I’ll think about it tomorrow.’
He let the matter drop. She was white with exhaustion and the bruises wouldn’t go away overnight. He’d planted the seeds and could only hope they’d germinate. He didn’t feel very hopeful. He’d seen it all too often. Women too frightened of their abusive husbands to do anything about reporting them to the authorities. He’d ring Henry first thing in the morning and get him on side about this.
He ate slowly and watched her eat, not saying anything else. She kept an eye on her son as she cleared her plate. He could see it was an effort and she was forcing the food down, but it showed she had some common sense and he didn’t think it was his imagination that she was gradually getting a little more colour in her face.
The boy made a mess but he too cleared every bit of food put before him. When he spoke to his mother, her expression softened and she replied quietly, at one stage stroking his hair back with one hand and smiling down at him. It was a lovely smile, even from a battered face.
Afterwards, Joss helped Libby carry all the things she’d brought with her from the car into the house next door. He stacked most of them in the front room and took the two suitcases of clothes upstairs. Then he left.
‘Don’t hesitate to come and ask if you need help.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Lock the door carefully behind me. Slide the bolts as well, just to be sure.’
She nodded. He could see that she understood what he was saying.
He lay awake worrying about her. The husband could come after her and cause trouble.
He worried too that this woman stirred something inside him, something that had been missing for a while. Oh, no, you don’t! he told his body. You’ve got enough on your plate building a new life.
He wasn’t getting involved with any woman. Relationships didn’t fit in with the sort of work Leon could offer him.
He was being stupid, letting his imagination run wild. He’d only met her this evening.
In the morning he felt even more stupid, because he’d dreamed about her, too – and it had been a lovely dream.
Steven Pulford was later than usual getting home from work. The last meeting had taken far longer than expected, after which the CEO had invited them to have a drink with him, to celebrate. You didn’t turn down invitations like that, unless you were stupid.
His car sounded a bit rough, needed a service. He’d better get Libby to arrange that soon.
He sighed and wriggled his shoulders as he pulled up at the house and clicked the remote to open the garage door. It had been a long, tiring day. He hoped Libby wouldn’t be awkward tonight. He hadn’t meant to hit her so hard, but she’d forced him to chastise her, talking about divorce. No, surely she’d have learned her lesson.
It wasn’t till he was driving into the garage that he realised her car wasn’t there. He stiffened. Where was she? She knew he liked her to be ready with his meal when he got back from work. Anyway, she never went out on her own in the evenings. He didn’t allow it.
The kitchen was in chaos, with cupboard doors open and a packet of sugar spilled on the floor.
He guessed at once what had happened. She’d run away.
Well, she wouldn’t get far. You needed money for that and he’d made sure she had very little. Unless she’d gone into a women’s refuge, and even if she had, he’d find her.
He walked slowly through the house, checking every room. She’d taken a lot of her clothes, and most of Ned’s, too.
‘You will definitely regret this, Libby,’ he muttered.
He swept up the sugar first, annoyed by the crunching sound it made underfoot and the stickiness it left behind. When he started to get his own meal, he found the fridge nearly empty of fresh things. She’d taken those too. No thought of how he’d cope, the selfish cow.
He didn’t start thinking clearly until he’d eaten and poured himself a glass of wine. He was never at his best on an empty stomach.
Where would she go that required her to take food with her? Not a refuge, he reasoned.
She had no close family left. He got up to stare down the street, wondering if any of the neighbours had seen her leave. But he wasn’t going to ask them. He’d never encouraged neighbours to poke their noses into his business and he wasn’t going to start now.
In the end, he phoned her stepfather. ‘Walter, keep this to yourself, but Libby’s gone AWOL. She hasn’t come to you, has she?’
‘No. I’d have sent her straight back if she had.
She hasn’t stayed in touch since her mother died, not even a Christmas card, and after all I did for her, too. When did she leave?’
‘Earlier today.’
‘Ungrateful bitch. She should have counted herself lucky to marry a strong man like you.’
‘Thank you. Er … you can’t think of anywhere else she’d go?’
‘Not really. That nosey grandmother isn’t still alive, or I’d say Rochdale. Was it this year or last that she died?’
‘She died at the end of last year.’
‘Good riddance to her.’
Walter’s voice was slurred and Steven realised he was half-cut. He’d wondered once or twice whether Walter had a drink problem.
Steven would never allow himself to rely on drink, or on anything but himself. He realised the other man was speaking and paid careful attention again.
‘It’s so long since Joanna and Libby left Rochdale, I doubt she knows anyone there now.’
‘Hmm. Well, I’ll find her, I promise you.’
‘Good luck. If you want her back, that is.’
‘Oh, I do. She married me, made promises, and she’s damned well going to stick to them. Besides, she’s an excellent housekeeper and I have a son to raise.’
Where to start, Steven wondered as he put the phone down. He didn’t want word to get out at work that Libby had left him. He’d have to set about this quietly.
He paused, wine glass raised to his lips. His son. Maybe Ned was the key. Maybe he should consult his lawyer about getting custody. If he got his son back, Libby would follow. He smiled and drank a delicate mouthful of wine, then set to work cleaning up the house.
He could not and would not live in a pigsty.
But he’d find Libby. Oh, yes. And his son.
Three
In the morning Libby woke early, unable to figure out for a moment where she was. She glanced sideways to see Ned fast asleep beside her, looking utterly angelic, the only time he ever did. She smiled at him, then stared round the bedroom. They were at Grandma Rose’s.
Her son didn’t usually share her bed, but the poor little love had been nervous of the strange house, so she’d made an exception last night.
‘Mummy!’ Ned sat up, beaming at her, and she quickly took him to the bathroom.