In Search of Hope

by Anna Jacobs

  Steven frowned as he studied the house. He was assuming Libby was somewhere around here, because she’d talked about her grandmother living in a small village on the edge of the moors, but what if she wasn’t? What if the lawyer’s visit was about something else? Neither of the two other cars was hers, after all.

  His elation faded. He’d have to check, which meant waiting here in this cold, damp field until darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of the occupants of the house. Or should he go back to wait in his car? No. He’d wait here. He had to know.

  When it began to rain, he cursed, but stayed where he was.

  It was well over two hours before the light faded enough for him to approach the group of houses. He made his way round them, climbed over another damned dry-stone wall and approached the rear of the buildings from uphill.

  His shoes were muddy, he was cold and his clothes were damp, but the anger burned brightly enough still to keep him there.

  Whatever it took!

  When he reached the rear of the house, he found they’d drawn the curtains in the kitchen and cursed under his breath.

  But luck was with him, because a movement upstairs showed Libby in a lighted bedroom, just about to draw the curtains.

  He laughed softly and moved back up the hill, easily finding his way to the church car park. He’d done it! He’d found her!

  He started the car, hoping they wouldn’t notice it, and drove slowly down to the village. The shop was closed but there was a brightly lit pub. He was tempted to go in and see what he could find out, but he didn’t want to give his presence away by asking questions. And anyway, he was wet through.

  He turned up the heater, shivering still, and found his way back to Rochdale, stopping to buy some fish and chips. Luckily the rain had stopped, so he could eat them standing outside the car. He couldn’t bear to have it smelling of grease and food.

  There was an off-licence nearby, so he bought a bottle of whisky and took it back to the hotel. He wasn’t in the mood for sitting in a public bar; he needed to think.

  Just a nip, he told himself, enjoying the warmth trickling down his throat. But the bottle was half empty before he realised it.

  He forced himself to stop and put the top back on the bottle. He mustn’t drink too much. He didn’t want to end up an alcoholic like Libby’s stepfather.

  After taking a hot shower, he got into bed. He still hadn’t made proper plans, but the long day had taken its toll and he fell asleep before he could work anything out.

  Fifteen

  The following morning, Steven woke knowing exactly what to do. He visited a magistrate, pleading an emergency. He explained about his wife, how fragile her emotions were, how she’d taken their son and run away, leaving her anti-depressant medication behind.

  He obtained a letter requesting Mrs Pulford to appear before the magistrate with her son at the earliest possible opportunity to answer the claims her husband had made against her.

  That wasn’t enough, so Steven emphasised that he was worried about his small son’s safety. ‘She has been known to beat him,’ he said sadly, shaking his head and sniffing as if close to tears. ‘I can’t bear him to be hurt again. Or worse.’

  Steven knew there had been a case recently where a father had killed his child rather than let the mother take him back after a parental visit. As he had expected, the magistrate erred on the side of caution.

  An officer of the court was sent with him to deliver the letter, make sure Mrs Pulford received it and see that she presented herself to the magistrate immediately, with her son.

  This time Steven drove openly up the hill, smiling at his own cleverness, followed by the official.

  The two cars were still outside the cottages, thank goodness. Where the hell had she got a new car from? He got out and saw a figure in the downstairs room. The figure left the room immediately, but it had been a woman. Well, Libby couldn’t get away without her car, could she?

  He turned to wait for the official, who was standing by his car fussing with some papers. Come on, you fool, he thought. Get a move on!

  When Libby heard a car, she rushed into the front room and peered out of the window. ‘Joss, come here! It’s Steven!’ she yelled, moving to the back of the room. ‘And there’s someone with him.’

  He came running to take a quick look. ‘The other guy looks like an official.’

  ‘I won’t be able to get away now that they’re here. What am I going to do? If Steven gets hold of Ned, I’ll have to go back to him, for my son’s sake. I bet he’s relying on that.’

  ‘Let’s see if I can help you escape by a little trickery. Take Ned out the back way while I keep them talking. Will he stay quiet?’

  ‘He will if I tell him his father is here.’

  ‘Right. Wait at the corner of the house till I invite them inside. I’ll make sure they come through into the kitchen. Then get in your car and drive away as quickly as you can.’

  ‘What about our suitcases?’

  ‘No time for them. You know where to go. I’ll meet you at the antiques centre and bring the cases if I can.’

  The knocker sounded and she grabbed Ned. ‘Your father’s here, but we’re going to run away. Shh. We’ll go round the back way.’

  He had gone rigid, looking afraid. He’d not make a noise, she was sure. She put her finger to her lips and led him outside.

  Joss closed the back door quietly, waiting until the visitors knocked again before yelling, ‘Coming!’

  He took his time about opening the front door and looked at the two men politely. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m Libby’s husband and I want to see her. I need to make sure my son is all right.’

  ‘Of course he’s all right. He’s just having his bath. If you’re who you say you are, I suppose you’d better come in, but I’m going to insist you produce some ID first.’ He closed the front door, trapping them in the hall.

  The official fumbled in his pocket, producing a laminated card.

  Joss took his time about studying it, then handed it back and turned to Pulford. ‘And you? You say you’re Libby’s husband, but how do I know that? I need some ID from you, too.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! She’ll be able to identify me all right.’

  ‘I’m not letting you near her till I am sure.’

  ‘What are you, her lover or her bodyguard?’

  ‘Her bodyguard. I’m an ex-policeman and her lawyer has asked me to stay with her because she’s afraid you’ll beat her up again. The bruises from last time have only just faded.’

  The official looked at him sharply. ‘What? You’re sure of that?’

  ‘I saw the bruises myself.’

  ‘She’s lying if she said I hit her. She’s mentally unstable and harms herself. Oh, very well. Here’s my driving licence.’ As Pulford started to take out his wallet, there was the sound of a car engine starting at the front of the houses.

  Joss blocked his way for a moment, then heard the car move away, so stepped sideways and let his unwelcome visitors pass him.

  Pulford threw open the front door in time to see Libby’s car leave the parking area and vanish down the lane.

  Joss grabbed his keys and raced out to his own car before the other two men had realised what he was doing. He knew he had no chance of evading both of them, but if he possibly could, he was going to prevent them from following Libby and her son.

  In the morning Des watched Pulford eat his breakfast in the hotel dining room before following him to the magistrate’s court. He was surprised when another man, an official by the looks of him, came out of the court and drove along after him out into the country.

  As he followed them, Des debated phoning the lawyer’s rooms and leaving a message to say that he was keeping an eye on Pulford, but decided to wait a little. He would be able to intervene if necessary. And if that guy was an official, there would be an impeccable witness to any wrongdoing.

  When the two cars left the main road and took of
f along a narrow road that led up the hill, Des stayed where he was, checking his satnav.

  That road was a dead end, leading to a village called Top o’ the Hill.

  He waited to follow them till the two cars had reached the top.

  But there was no sign of them in the village. Damn! He turned his car round in case he had to follow them again, and waited.

  He sighed. You did a lot of waiting in this job.

  Libby slowed down a little as she drove through the village, but speeded up again as she made her way down the hill. She kept an eye on her rear-view mirror but couldn’t see anyone following her.

  When she had to stop to give way to someone coming up the hill, she moaned in despair, but the other driver had already started up the narrow one-lane part of the road, so she waited for him to pass.

  She’d expected her husband’s car to appear behind her, but there was no sign of it. How had Joss managed to stop Steven pursuing her? She hoped he hadn’t done anything that got him into trouble.

  When she turned on to the main road, she looked back at the road up the hill, but there was no sign of any vehicle.

  Feeling she had a good chance of getting out of sight before anyone came after her, she set off for the antiques centre, murmuring, ‘Thank you, Joss. Whatever you did, thank you.’

  She hoped she’d remember the way and that whatever Joss had done worked for long enough to let her get herself and her son to a refuge.

  If the owners had given shelter to Jane, surely they wouldn’t deny Libby temporary asylum until she could contact the women’s refuge and ask to be taken in and hidden?

  Joss drove along the narrow track like a bat out of hell. He didn’t slow down as he went through the village because there was no one out on the street, but he sounded his horn several times. He was aiming for the far end, where the road began to narrow as it started to wind down the hill.

  When he got there, he chose his place carefully and used all his driving skills to go into a deliberate skid, fishtailing the car and stopping with it turned sideways. Since there was a drystone wall on either side, he was now completely blocking the road.

  ‘Get past that if you can!’ he muttered.

  He waited as the two cars pursuing him stopped and Pulford began to sound his horn, hammering it again and again.

  The official, who was behind Pulford, came up to Joss’s car and banged on the window, asking him to move his car. But he shook his head. He was waiting, giving Libby time to get away.

  People had come running out of the houses, and to Joss’s relief, Pete ran out of the shop and along to the front car. He stopped dead at the realisation that it was Joss’s doing.

  Only when his friend was standing there did Joss unlock the car door and get out, locking it again and slipping his keys into his inner pocket.

  ‘What’s up?’ Pete asked.

  ‘I’m trying to stop that wife beater from catching Libby and hitting her again.’

  Pete turned to glare at Pulford. ‘Ah. Allie told me about her friend’s problems. So that’s him, is it? I want to see this.’ He leaned against the car, folding his arms, and they both stood there calmly amid a babel of voices.

  Pulford came right up to Joss and yelled, ‘Get that damned car out of the way!’

  ‘You’re blocking a public highway,’ the official said.

  When Joss merely smiled and made no attempt to move, Pulford kicked the car. ‘Move it, damn you!’ He kicked the car again, denting it.

  ‘Pete, will you bear witness that this man, whose name is Steven Pulford, has just damaged my car on purpose?’

  ‘I certainly will. What’s up with the fellow? Has he run mad?’

  ‘I think he’s been mad for a long time.’

  Joss tensed, ready to duck, as Pulford bunched up a fist. ‘If you hit me, you’ll be had up for assault as well as the damage.’

  ‘Now, now, gentlemen, we don’t want any trouble,’ the official bleated, edging away from Pulford.

  For a moment or two there was a standoff, then Pulford breathed deeply and dropped his fist.

  ‘That’s right,’ Joss taunted. ‘I didn’t think you’d hit someone your own size. You usually save your punches for your wife, or you kick little boys like your son. When she ran away, you must have missed having them around to use as punch bags.’

  The official frowned at him. ‘Who exactly are you and why are you doing this?’

  ‘My name’s Joss Atherton. I’m an ex detective inspector.’ He pulled an ID card from his wallet and held it out.

  ‘Do you have proof of what you’re claiming about this man?’

  ‘I don’t possess any proof myself, but I’ve seen it. I can take you to the wife’s lawyer who has photos and also testimony from a neighbour, who heard Pulford beating his wife and son just before they left … and saw the results. The neighbour took some photos as well.’

  ‘He’s lying!’ Pulford yelled. ‘And you’re letting him delay you. Do something!’

  Joss ignored him. ‘When the lawyer saw the injuries, he arranged for the Domestic Abuse Unit in town to take another set of photos and hear her story. After that Mr Greaves asked me to keep an eye on her.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The man turned to Pulford, not speaking nearly as politely now. ‘I must ask you to come back with us while we look into these claims. It goes without saying that I cannot help you gain access to your wife if what Mr Atherton says is true.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t true. It’s a pack of lies. She bangs her head on things to try to incriminate me and injures the boy for the same reason.’

  Joss laughed. ‘Is that the best you can do? Your neighbour heard the quarrel. Ach, you’re a pitiful excuse for a man. A real coward.’

  Pulford lashed out at him suddenly with a clenched fist, but Joss was too experienced to be taken by surprise. People like this one didn’t realise how much their eye movements gave away before they took action.

  He ducked the punch and knocked his opponent down, stepping back immediately. ‘I’ll defend myself if I have to, but I do not wish to get into a fight.’

  Pete and another man from the village helped Pulford up and kept hold of him.

  ‘Could someone please call the police?’ the official asked quietly. ‘I need to take Mr Pulford to see the magistrate again, and if you wish to press charges against him, Mr Atherton, you’d better come with us.’

  ‘Happy to.’

  Pulford didn’t struggle. His lips had lost their colour from being pressed tightly together and his expression was now stony. He looked across at Joss and said slowly and sharply, ‘I’ll find Libby. However long it takes, I’ll find her. She’s my wife and Ned is my son. And if you’ve been in her bed, you’ll regret it.’

  The official’s frown grew more pronounced.

  Joss said quietly, ‘You have a low opinion of your wife if you think she’d hop into bed with a near stranger.’

  Des saw a car whiz through the village, noted that it contained a woman and small child, then realised belatedly that it was her – Libby. He was about to start his motor when he heard another car approaching. No, several cars.

  What the hell was going on?

  He watched the encounter with great enjoyment. He’d have intervened if it had been necessary, but the tall guy was doing a great job of blocking the departure of Pulford and whoever it was from the village.

  Des settled back to enjoy it, jeering when Pulford kicked the car, laughing when he attacked the tall guy, who dodged beautifully and knocked his attacker down with one good punch.

  There was a standoff and they were clearly waiting for something. The police, maybe. Someone must have called them by now.

  Des went into the shop again and bought a sandwich, chatting to the shopkeeper, who had been standing in the doorway watching the exciting goings-on. He described the car with the woman and child, and she said that it was her friend Libby.

  When a police siren sounded, they both went to the door again to watch.
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  It didn’t seem as if Libby King needed another protector, Des decided. The one she had was doing a great job of keeping her husband away from her.

  But someone had to keep an eye on Pulford.

  The two men from the village stayed next to Pulford until a police car drove up the hill.

  Only then did Joss move his vehicle out of the way and greet the dark-skinned officer by name. ‘Hello, Lance. Long time no see.’

  ‘What’s been going on, sir?’

  ‘I’m not your boss any longer. I’ve retired from the force. Could we move away for a minute?’

  When they were several paces away from the others, he said quietly, ‘I’ve been doing a bit of protection work, keeping an eye out for that fellow. He’d beaten his wife and their four-year-old, and they’d fled. He followed them. Now he’s claiming she is the danger and has got a court order for her to bring the boy in.’

  ‘Is there any proof either way?’

  ‘Definite proof that he thumped her from a neighbour and photos of the results at the Abuse Centre. What’s more, I’ve spent a few days watching over her and she seems a very devoted and loving mother, to me.’

  ‘They don’t often fool you, Mr Atherton.’

  ‘No. I hope not.’

  Lance scanned the group. ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I blocked the road to let her and the boy get away.’

  ‘Was that wise?’

  Joss shrugged. ‘Who can tell? Gut instinct says she’s telling the truth and I was afraid Pulford might con a magistrate into letting him take the boy. When I wouldn’t move my car, he kicked it and tried to punch me. I have witnesses to that, so I’d like him charged with the damage. That’ll put his violent nature on record nicely.’

  Lance smiled. ‘It’d take a more skilled fighter than him to get the better of you in a one-to-one fight. We’ve missed you, sir. Glad to see you looking so well again.’

  ‘Thank you. Give everyone my best. Now, you’d better question the others about this incident.’ He was itching to leave and find out whether Libby had made it to the antiques centre. He glanced at his watch. No, there hadn’t been time for them to get there yet.