The Smog (A Jean Clarke Mystery Book 1)

by Timothy Allsop

  She maintained a calm reasonable voice, although it took all her effort not to lash out at him.

  ‘Well, I suppose if you feel it would help.’

  ‘It will. Where is your jacket?’

  He pointed to the cupboard next to the bed. She wasted no time in opening it and pulling out his jacket. She felt through his inside pocket and pulled out a pocketbook with his cheque book inside. He had no pen, so Jean went to the nurse to borrow one.

  ‘How much do you need?’

  ‘I want my inheritance back.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You can pay it to me in instalments. But that is part of any agreement we make. I want my own independent income. I intend to get some kind of job.’

  ‘But there is no need for you too.’

  ‘Yes there is Frank, I have never felt a stronger need to do anything in my life. You can make this cheque out for fifty pounds. You can send me one every month until the inheritance is paid in full.’

  ‘But.’

  ‘You took him away from me, you understand that? Ten thousand pounds wouldn’t make up for what you did. Now sign that cheque or I will never speak to you again.’

  Frank acquiesced and scrawled out the details and handed her the cheque.

  ‘You can send the cheques to Harry’s address. I will call you in one month and we will talk. Do not attempt to contact me. I’m going now.’

  Jean was silent and motionless. Then she turned her head to the window. The smog outside had broken and there was sunlight streaking through the glass.

  ‘I’m sorry darling,’ Frank said.

  Jean got up from her seat.

  ‘Get well soon Frank.’

  She left the hospital, the smell of disinfectant flooding her nose, and it was a relief to get into the open air. She walked along the street with Harry at her side, mindful that they had much to discuss but knowing it would take time to work through everything. Having at first felt revulsion at what she knew about him, she saw the terrible suffering he had endured through his silence. He was a man in grief and in seeing that she was drawn to him. She understood what it meant to lose something and she understood that the human heart needed consoling. They both needed to find a way to move beyond simply existing into some kind of living.

  Jean glanced at her watch. It was a little after midday.

  ‘Harry I need to sort a couple of things with Frank. Do you mind going to the hotel and packing our things up? I will meet you back at your place in a couple of hours.’

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘I told him that I was going to stay with you for a while. I made him no promises. It is all right, isn’t it? To stay with you?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Harry said.

  Jean took an underground train to Victoria. When she arrived it was a little before one and she wondered if Phyllis would show, but as she made her way around the station she saw Phyllis sitting on a bench, wearing a headscarf and staring blankly into space.

  Jean sat down beside her.

  ‘They caught him,’ Phyllis said, not looking at Jean.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I heard on the wireless. How did the police know?’

  ‘The police were on to Newman. But at least Charlie’s safe.’

  Phyllis put her hand up to her eyes but turned away from Jean, so that it was impossible to tell if she was crying.

  ‘He said it would be all right.’

  ‘The police have him,’ Jean said, factually. ‘But as far as they know he hasn’t hurt anyone. He’ll probably only get a few years, if he’s lucky.’

  ‘A few years.’

  ‘It’s to be expected.’

  ‘The fool. We should have just gone. I told him that. What am I supposed to do now?’

  Jean opened her bag and pulled out the envelope Charlie had given her.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘He gave it to me last night.’

  ‘You saw him?’

  ‘Yes, I went down to try and stop him. The police were already there.’

  Phyllis opened the envelope and saw the money.

  ‘He’ll be all right now. Newman was drowned.’

  ‘Yes. That’s something.’

  A station bell rang and Jean glanced up a large board which had written on it: ‘The Gateway to the Continent’ and above the sign there was a clock.

  ‘We need to get you onto a train,’ Jean said, checking the time against her watch.

  ‘Where am I supposed to go?’

  ‘Go abroad for a while. There is enough money there to keep you going for months.’

  ‘But what about Charlie?’

  ‘You can’t see him.’ Jean leaned in. ‘You don’t need him anymore. Write to me when you’ve found a place to stay. I will send you ten pound a month, as long as you stay away from him and from Harry.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘You must never see Harry again. You two are not meant for each other.’

  Phyllis said nothing. She had a weary look, as though all the feeling had drained from her. No longer would she be happy or sad or get excited or angry. She would simply exist.

  ‘You don’t need Harry or Charlie to help you raise this child.’

  Phyllis looked at her dumbfounded.

  ‘You want the baby for yourself, don’t you?’

  ‘No. I want you to be the mother. But I’ll be a good aunt and you can trust me when I say I will help in whatever way I can.’

  Phyllis was staring at Jean now and she could see that Jean meant what she said.

  ‘I wish I could have loved Harry a little better.’

  Jean nodded her head but there was no answer that would satisfy Phyllis on that particular subject.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you onto a train.’

  ‘Can we sit for a while?’

  And so they did, saying very little. Jean kept reassuring her that she would help and that when Phyllis returned to England she would make sure she would find her a place to live. Finally Phyllis worked up enough courage to haul herself onto a train. Jean purchased a one-way ticket to Portsmouth for Phyllis and sat with her in the carriage until the train was ready to leave and only when the train had pulled out of the station did Jean feel able to relax. She sat for a long time in the station watching all the people coming and going: couples hand-in-hand, station porters lugging cases and children running ahead of their mothers to catch sight of a train. Life moved on feverishly around her.

  When she stepped outside, the smog had completely lifted but the winter light was already beginning to die away and she stood for a while watching the darkening sky. It felt strange to see the horizon again and the clouds high above, gilded in the orange light of the fading sun. The buildings were sharp and present, the windows turning a deep ocean grey and the stone and brick around them appeared freshly cut and cemented. The people she passed had a dazed look about them as they adjusted once more to their newly visible surroundings. There was no comfort to be found in the city before her but then she sought no solace from it. The world was gearing into action once more and she felt ready for it now. She started walking with a vague sense of heading back to Harry’s, but she wasn’t quite ready to go home. Her thoughts shifted from Harry to Phyllis and then, by some unknown impulse, she became aware of herself at the centre of things. She had found a knack for pulling apart other people’s lives and opening up new possibilities. It gave her a tremendous feeling of her own body growing out in all directions, her arms and legs unfurling infinitely into space. Perhaps she could free up the entire city if she was given enough time. So much still to do, she thought, but for now she kept walking, her feet treading the pavement at a firm and steady pace, while the dark void of night crept upon the city and the air grew crisp and still.

  Amper & Sand Publishing

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