by RJ Hunter
William was delighted and called the rest of the family to tell them of the news.
"I'd better get ready and go along to the boutique," said Sally rushing back upstairs. "I can't wait to tell Lizzie! We'll have to give the place a thorough clean and make sure all the lines are organised on rails."
Sally was like an excited child, and flew into the bathroom to shower. William, meanwhile stared at the full plate of food, as he carried it back downstairs. He was reluctantly about to start, when Jonathan strolled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.
"What's all this about the boutique being on TV?" He asked, before noticing the full English breakfast going to waste. "I can help you with that Dad, if you don't want it?"
By the early eighties, Frank's mini-cab and nightclub ventures were thriving. He had installed both Pauline and Anne to take over the general running of the club, and Frank himself would only put in an appearance during the evenings. This was usually to drink with his cronies, gamble and have his way with the female staff. It was tolerated only due to the fact that most of the women preferred Frank to be the owner. He was very generous at times, and despite his fearsome reputation, he actually let the girls get away with a lot. All they had to do was smile at him, wiggle their bottoms, and they would get a bonus, or some extra time off. Although there was discreet prostitution at the club during Claire's time, it was now rife, with Frank demanding his share of the takings, supplying rooms and pimping girls to the clients.
Frank also had over a hundred drivers working for him, with most of those hiring their cabs directly from the company. By using this method, Frank would be assured of a regular income regardless of how poor business was. He would provide a vehicle with a valid MOT certificate and a tax disc, but it was up to the individual driver to insure, maintain and put in their own petrol and oil. Many drivers new to this type of work were attracted by the vast amounts of money that could potentially be earned, and thought this to be a fantastic opportunity. All they had to do was earn enough each month to pay for the hire of their car, and apart from running costs, the rest of the money they earned was theirs to keep. It was good in theory, but in reality, very few drivers made enough to live on. There were busy times, especially evenings at the weekend and over Christmas, but only the most dedicated drivers were willing to work these hours. Many left after a few weeks, with the reality of the situation hitting home when they found they still had the rest of their car hire contract to honour, and Frank was meticulous about making sure they kept their payments up. The situation led to many dissatisfied drivers, and to many heated arguments. However, some did earn a good living, and these were always the professional, collar and tie drivers who took their work seriously. They all owned their own vehicles, and maintained them to a high standard. As they had newer and better quality cars, they could vary their work from the bread and butter local trips, to airport and VIP work, and many of the larger companies who had accounts with Frank preferred to use these drivers.
It was one afternoon in late May, and Frank had just returned from a trip to Heathrow Airport. It had been a busy day, and finding all his available drivers out on jobs, Frank decided to use one of the Mercs and take the job himself. The traffic was appalling, and he didn't return to the office until after 5 pm. He was hungry, thirsty and irritable. Walking over to a local burger bar he treated himself to a quarter pounder, fries and a drink. Calls were still coming through to the control room, so he took his food into his office, where he could have some privacy. Turning on the TV to catch the news, he hungrily devoured the huge bacon burger. Frank was about to switch channels, when a local news story came on about aspiring entrepreneurs. What he then saw took him completely by surprise.
"So what do you owe your success with Scarlet's Boutique to?" Asked the smiley, red-headed presenter.
"Vision, lot's of hard work, determination and a bit of good luck." Replied Sally, looking every inch the business woman in her tailored suit.
"Would you say the rag trade was an ideal career for a school-leaver to enter into?" The presenter, then asked Laura.
"Yes, I would highly recommend it, if that's what they wanted to do. There's certainly plenty of variety. I'm now more involved in the marketing side of the business, after initially starting out in the back, sewing!" Replied Laura confidently.
The presenter laughed, and now directing her next question to both Sally and Laura, continued.
"So is it true that Laura will soon be leaving Scarlet's to take up nursing?"
"Yes, she will," smiled Sally proudly. "My daughter has been offered a place at Westminster later this year."
The presenter turned back to Sally's eldest daughter.
"I'm sure you wont have to make your own uniforms there, Laura? So does that mean there'll be a vacancy coming up at Scarlet's?"
"Yes, my mother, and her partner, Lizzie will be interviewing candidates very soon." She added, smiling over to where her father was standing.
Frank watched intently. Laura was the spitting image of her mother nearly two decades earlier, the same glorious blonde hair, the same deep blue eyes, and the same smile that could melt any male heart. Glancing at Sally, his memories of what were, and what could have been came flooding back. His emotions however, were split between jealousy, lust and hatred. He eyed Sally, as the presenter talked to the ever flamboyant, Lizzie about her ground-breaking designs. Sally oozed elegance and style, and still looked stunning, despite being at least thirty seven now. It was amazing to see both mother and daughter together, and Frank not only wanted them both, he wanted to get into the rag trade too.
As the programme finished he noticed William Peddlescoombe grinning contentedly in the background, and his face turned into a grimace as he recalled that night back in December 1962, when Pauline had glassed him at the dinner and dance, and how he had tried to murder William Peddlescoombe for stealing his girl, only to end up behind bars for his trouble. He still had a debt to settle with Peddlescoombe and now seemed like a good time to exact payment. Frank liked what he saw, a thriving business that attracted beautiful women, and better still, was run by beautiful women. With visions of catwalks in Paris and Milan going through his mind, he finished off his meal, and decided to take a drive over to Scarlet's Boutique and have a look for himself.
Frank eventually arrived home around 7 pm, took a shower and poured himself a drink. He had entertained the thought of going to the gym, but he'd already been four times that week and now just fancied having a few drinks, a meal out, and going along to the club to play some poker. He shouted out to Pauline, and since there was no reply, he assumed she was already at Lake's. Pop music was blaring from Tina's room, as he made his way up the stairs and knocked loudly on her door.
Tina's bedroom door was always locked. She had been fearful of Frank since childhood, and could never forget just how brutal her father could be. The music was suddenly turned off, and Tina waited nervously behind her closed door.
"Tina, it's dad. Open the door, I want to speak to you."
Tina felt her heart drop, and anxiously looked around her room for a weapon. She knew her mother wasn't there, and the thought of being alone in the house with her father filled her with dread.
"What do you want? Go away." She called out, feeling herself beginning to shake.
"I just want to chat, that's all. What are you doing?"
"I'm practicing my dance moves." She replied, hesitantly opening the door. She knew she had no other option. It wouldn't be beyond Frank to break the door down, he'd done it in the past.
"So you still want to be a dancer, Tina?"
"Yes, I do, but why are you asking?" The eighteen-year old was confused by his interest, but he appeared sober. He could sometimes be trusted when he hadn't been drinking.
"It's just that I have a friend whose daughter is about to start training as a nurse. Wouldn't you like to be a nurse, Tina? It's a very rewarding profession."
"I've never really thought about it." She replied, pu
zzled.
"Just think, you could be at Westminster Hospital, in London, saving all those lives, and doing good. I think you would make a fantastic nurse, Tina."
"What about my dancing?"
"You can still dance. But think of all those dashing doctors, in their white coats, and the excitement of being in an operating theatre, or being in charge of a ward, saving lives."
It worked. within the space of a few months, Tina had been offered a place at Westminster Hospital as a Student Nurse, just like Sally's daughter, Laura.
However, it wasn't Frank going on about doctors and saving lives that eventually swayed her, as she was a very caring person in general, it was the knowledge that she could have a room in the nurses home, and finally be away from her abusive father.
William drained the last dregs of his coffee before picking up his holdall and heading out to the garage. It was 4 am and he intended to make an early start on the motorway before the traffic began to build up. He wanted to wake Sally and kiss her goodbye, but she was sleeping so soundly, he decided not to disturb her. As he went to open the front door, he remembered the packed lunch in the fridge that Sally had made up for him. He then wrote her a note telling her he would call once he'd arrived at Falcondale, and how he loved her and missed her already.
Although it was still dark he could just about make out where he was going and didn't bother to turn on the light in the garage. The car responded immediately, and the Ford's three litre engine roared into life. The streets were empty and William made rapid progress along the Chertsey Road, which would eventually lead him towards the M4 motorway, and then a straight run into Wales, via the Severn Bridge. The rain was coming in sheets, so he put on the wipers and listened to the radio. Blondie was playing, and listening to the song made him smile, as he recalled Penny dancing away with her walkman on, oblivious to the world and playing the same tune. He stopped at some lights near Sunbury and waited as a convoy of assorted trucks turned left and looked as if they were heading the same way as he was. William noticed the brakes didn't seem very effective and moved his seat forward, remembering he had moved its position to vacuum the car the day earlier. It was then that he noticed the red roses he had brought for Sally, laying on the back seat, along with the card. He cursed himself for forgetting to leave them for her, and decided to bring her something back when he returned in a couple of days.
The house his parents owned was about to undergo some essential repair work. There were both leaks and cracks, plus damp had started to appear on some of the walls, causing a foul smell to be ever present in the property. David was still absent, where, nobody knew, and William's parents weren't able to make the trip from Canada, due to his father having a heart condition. So, it was left to William to return to Falcondale and meet the builders to go through a plan of repair. He knew the company, and once a price had been agreed, he would leave the keys and let them get on with it. Besides, a local woman called Carol would look in and make sure the house was all in order. Carol was now the Housekeeper at the nearby, Falconhurst Hotel. She was well known in the town and had gained promotion after the previous housekeeper had retired.
The lights turned green at long last, and William looked forward to a long stretch of motorway. He soon passed the trucks and swung back into the inside lane. At last he saw a sign for the M4 and put his foot down on the accelerator. The road was clear apart from another truck in the distance which he was quickly gaining on. Indicating right, he moved out into the middle lane. However, the truck also began to move out into the same lane. It had been overtaking another slower moving vehicle in front of it, and the driver hadn't noticed William approaching. William then had to take evasive action, and seeing there was nothing behind him, he swung out into the third, outside lane. It was then that he saw the startled face of a terrified young deer, just a few yards ahead if him. Thinking he had got clear of the truck on the left of him, William swerved back over into the centre lane. The car went into a skid and William, in an effort to straighten up, slammed on the brakes. He was shocked to find they weren't working, and the car, still skidding was careering off the motorway. William desperately pulled at the handbrake, and twisted the steering wheel around, but it was too late, it flipped over several times and went over the barrier, crashing down a slope into woodland.
The last thing William recalled was the terrible crushing feeling, the heat, and seeing flames all about him. He shouted out Sally's name, as the car came to halt against a tree, with William trapped inside.
Sally woke with a start around 5.30 am. She could no longer sleep, and sat up on the edge of the bed. She glanced over to William's side of the bed, and wished he'd woke her before he'd left for Wales. She put her hand under the covers to see if it was still warm, where he had been sleeping. But it was cold, and she felt herself shiver, and went over to open the curtains. None of the children were awake, so she decided to go and make herself a coffee, before waking them for school.
Sally had just got to the bottom of the stairs when she heard the telephone ringing.
"Hello, is that Mrs. Peddlescoombe?" The voice was pleasant enough, but distant and official.
"Yes, this is she, who am I speaking to?"
"Sergeant Harris, Metropolitan Police. Are you related to William Peddlescoombe?"
Sally felt her heart drop as soon as she heard William's name mentioned.
"Yes, he's my husband, but why, is there something wrong?" She replied, with a gut-wrenching feeling of sickness in the pit of her stomach.
"I'm sorry to inform you, Mrs. Peddlescoombe, but there's been a traffic accident involving your husband."
Sally arrived at the hospital an hour later, accompanied by Lizzie. She had called her friend immediately, and sobbing down the phone had told her the news. Lizzie, not wanting Sally to drive, came over straight away, and leaving the children to their own devices, set off following the same route William had taken just a few hours earlier.
"William Peddlescoombe - I was told he was here? I'm his wife." Blurted out Sally, as she rushed into reception.
"Just a moment, Mrs. Peddlescoombe, I'll go and check with the rapid response team." Replied the West Indian Staff Nurse, in a calm and re-assuring manner.
Sally began pacing the corridor. The whiteness, the sterility, the smell of the hospital, was all feeding into her anxiety. Lizzie was doing her best in a difficult situation, and was trying desperately to keep her friend in one piece. Suddenly Sally turned and looked in the direction of where the nurse had gone, and decided to follow her into the accident and emergency unit.
There were around ten cubicles, with three being occupied, two of them by elderly patients, one with an oxygen mask strapped to her face and receiving treatment, for what looked like a fractured neck of femur. The third cubicle had the curtains drawn around. Sally could see there was quite a bit of activity going on inside and began to walk across. She was challenged by the staff nurse from earlier.
"Please, Mrs. Peddlescoombe, you shouldn't be in here."
"He's here somewhere, my husband, isn't he?" Sally pleaded, her voice full of emotion.
A doctor then appeared in blue scrubs, just as Lizzie found her friend.
"I'll talk to Mrs. Peddlescoombe, thank-you nurse." Said the young-looking, Australian registrar. He then ushered both Sally and Lizzie into an adjoining cubicle. "I'm Doctor Irving. I'm sorry, Mrs. Peddlescoombe, I don't know how much you've heard, but your husband's car came off the motorway about five miles from here. No other vehicles were involved."
"Please, is he alright?" Begged Sally, reaching for the doctors arm. "You must tell me, I have to go to him."
There was an awkward silence before the registrar spoke again.
"I'm sorry, we did all we could."
What do you mean, did all you could?" Sally yelled back at him, her eyes filled with a terror she couldn't comprehend.
"Your husband died a short while ago."
"Died? William dead? No, it's not true, it can'
t be - he's my husband, he's on his way to Wales. It must be some kind of mistake?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Peddlescoombe. We have some of his personal; effects." The doctor then pointed to William's holdall, and a plastic NHS bag containing his watch, wallet, loose change and his wedding ring. Beside these were the roses he had brought Sally, along with a scorched envelope containing a card.
Sally walked over and picked up the flowers, they seemed unaffected by the accident. She stared at them lovingly, before putting them up to her face and inhaling the fragrance.
"William always gets me flowers on a Friday." She whispered, her mind and body both in deep shock. "I want to see my husband doctor, where is he?"
"I don't think that's a good idea. He was very badly injured. If you could give us a few minutes, we could..."
"I want to see my husband now." Demanded Sally, clutching the roses to her breast.
Dr. Irving nodded to a nurse who was standing by, and she went into the cubicle where William lay, in order to quickly cover his body, and turn his eyelids down. Dr. Irving then led Sally and Lizzie through to see William.
The first thing that Sally saw, was a lifeless corpse laying beneath a white sheet. Monitors were still attached to him, but they were no longer making any sound. The smell of charred flesh caught in the back of her throat. She went over to him, and pulled back the sheet covering his face.
It didn't look like William, it had to be somebody else, not her husband, not the father of her children. Her mouth was dry and she tried to swallow. Then she began to recognise his features, the remnants of his hair, his dimples, the way he looked when he was asleep.
"William! William!" She cried out. "Wake up, please, it's me, Sally."
She put her arm beneath his neck, avoiding a large, soiled dressing that was covering the left side of his face, and bent down to kiss him. She noticed he was still warm to touch, so she climbed up, into the bed alongside him, still clutching her red roses, and put her head on his chest, just like she had always done.