“Glad?”
Jason’s gaze shifted, “Yeah, glad his dad’s dead. He hated him, said he was vile to his mum.”
“You shouldn’t be saying things like that,” Beth told him.
“True though.” He straightened up, “I’m going to my room.” He slouched off up the stairs and Beth stared after him. If he’d been affected by what had just happened he wasn’t showing any signs of it. He was his usual morose self. Not that she could blame him, Jason didn’t have a particular high opinion of dads in general. They either weren’t there when you needed them or they were there and making a pigs ear out of bringing you up.
Suddenly Beth knew it was time.
She followed her son up to his room and ignoring his dirty looks sat down on his bed. “I need to tell you about your father, Lawrence,” She said.
Jason looked around his bedroom as if he was searching for an escape route. “Now?” He muttered.
“Yes, now. It’s about time. You’re old enough to know the truth.” She patted the bed, “Come and sit beside me.”
“Mum!”
“I mean it, Jason.”
Reluctantly he slouched down next to her, his head hanging down.
“Lawrence didn’t leave us when you were three months old, he was sent to prison for armed robbery and manslaughter.” Jason didn’t say anything so Beth continued, “He was part of a gang of four men who robbed a warehouse. They thought the building was empty but there was one worker who’d stayed late to finish a job. Your father,” Beth paused and took a deep breath, “had a gun and he shot the man, killing him.” She hesitated then added because it was important, “I was at home with you, I had no idea what he was doing.”
Jason raised his head and the accusation in his voice made Beth cringe. “He was your husband, how could you not have known?”
“He was secretive, always staying late at work, that’s what he told me. I found out later that he didn’t have a job, had never had a job, he made his money from robbing businesses.” I swear I never knew, Jason. He was a charming man, always smiling. You can’t imagine the shock when I found out.”
“How long was he sent to prison for?”
“Life without parole. I’m sorry. He shot the man in the back as he was running away. The judge called him a violent and unpredictable man who deserved to spend the rest of his life locked away. The police turned my house inside out and found guns and knives hidden in the loft. They thought he was responsible for other crimes in the area but they couldn’t prove it. He was a bad man and I never knew. I....I couldn’t stay in the same house so I left the area and made a new life for us here.” Beth waited for her son to absorb what she’d told him. His next words took her by surprise.
“So he didn’t really abandon me, did he?”
Beth wanted to hug him, put her arms around his bony shoulders and reassure him. She said, “I’m sorry, but I think he did. He was incredibly selfish and self serving; he put himself before us, left us without a husband and father.”
“A bad man,” Jason said thoughtfully.
“Yes, a bad man. Are you okay?”
Jason smiled at her. “It’s better to know, now I can put it behind me like you did.”
Dear God, Beth thought, the poor boy will probably end up in therapy but it was done now, he knew the truth. She left him sitting on the bed, a faraway look in his eyes.
As she walked into the living room the phone rang.
“Beth, it’s Abby. Did you know Vera’s dead? I mean, have I ever told you that or is this the first time you’ve heard it?”
Abby’s voice was calm, almost happy but Beth couldn’t understand the question. “Vera’s dead?” She repeated stupidly.
“That’s what I said. Apparently she died three months ago and I didn’t notice.” She paused and laughed, “Do you know Joe got rid of all her animals, sold them off, except for the tank of fish. I’ve been buying dog and cat food for months.”
“Are you all right, Abby?”
“Never better. I need to thank Shandra; it’s all become clear now. Because of what she told me I’ve come to my senses. Imagine, Beth, the old witch had been dead for three months and I didn’t know.” She giggled almost hysterically. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I’ll see you at work tomorrow; help you get some more takers, well worth it.” She rang off and Beth stood staring at the phone feeling sick. It rang while she was still holding it.
“Abby,” she gabbled, “I think we need to talk...”
“Hello, my dear.” Shandra’s crackly voice cut into her sentence. “Things are moving too slowly, you’re not trying hard enough. When you go into work tomorrow you’re going to have to do better, you know that, don’t you?”
“How do you know I’m working tomorrow?”
“The same way I know you’ll get me my twelve signs of the zodiac.” Her voice took on a sly edge, “Do you recall how grateful and amazed you were when you won your five hundred pounds?”
“So?”
“That’s what I’m doing for the other star signs, making them grateful and amazed, nothing wrong with that, is there, my dear?”
“Why? I mean, what do you get out of it?”
Shandra chuckled, a dry heaving croak. “Money.”
“No, I think it’s more than that, what are you up to?”
“Now, my dear, that’s none of your business. Let’s just say it’s a little hobby of mine, helping people. Oh, wait, I can hear my red phone buzzing, that will be my next customer from you. Goodbye, my dear.”
Bert. Right now he was phoning the mad woman up, telling her his secret wish and there was nothing she could do about it. Was it possible that everything that had happened over the past twenty four hours had simply been coincidence? How could Abby not have known her mother-in-law had died three months ago? Every day at work she’d mentioned her, moaned about the demands Vera was making on her time, how was it even possible she’d imagined it? Had Vera’s death been so traumatic that her friend had simply blocked it from her memory? Somehow Beth didn’t think so. She remembered every time Abby mentioned Vera’s name she flinched as if even talking about her was distasteful.
Unless, and the thought made Beth go cold, her friend felt guilty, had done something to cause her death. Did Abby feel responsible? Was it possible she’d been mistreating her mother-in-law and the guilt had caught up with her? Beth didn’t want to think that. Abby was sweet and kind, she’d also been afraid of Vera.
She remembered Abby taking a couple of days off around that time. Did she go to the funeral?
What have you done, Shandra? Beth thought. You’re messing with our minds for your own amusement. Well, I won’t do it anymore. You can threaten me all you like but I’m done with you, old woman.
Feeling better Beth picked up a letter from the doormat and headed into the kitchen. She stopped halfway. It was Sunday, how could she possibly have post on a Sunday? She stared at the letter, it had a stamp on it but it looked grubby, used, and the design was old fashioned, one she hadn’t seen in years. Her address had been handwritten in squally fountain pen ink that had dropped blobs and smudges over the envelope. There was no post code. It definitely said her name though, or at least part of it, it was simply addressed to Bethany.
She went through into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Maybe, she thought, it was a thank you from one of her nephews or nieces for birthday presents sent, and it had simply got lost in the post.
She pulled out the letter. The handwriting was on thin blue paper.
‘My dear,’ it began and Beth felt her stomach twist. She took a deep breath and carried on reading, ‘I’m sorry to hear you’re having second thoughts, I thought we were over all that nonsense. It seems I need to spell it out to you. You can’t stop now, if you do then the wishes that have been granted will turn bad. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for that, would you? We’re dealing with your friends, people you know. I repeat, you now have less than fifty five hours to complete your promise
to me.
I’m waiting.
Shandra.’
Beth glanced at the clock, it was twelve fifteen.
Jason stood in the doorway. “Liam’s back, they’ve put his old man in the mortuary. He wants me to go for a bike ride with him, okay?”
“Of course. Is his mum okay?”
Jason shrugged his bony shoulders, “How should I know?” He paused, “She’s baking a cake, she seems happy enough to me.”
Beth watched him slouch off. He seemed to be taller than she remembered, had he grown another couple of inches overnight? What had he said, Fiona seemed happy? Beth sighed. She’d got what she asked for, it was unpleasant but Fiona hadn’t made it clear how she wanted to get rid of Rod. Maybe, Beth thought, when she found the other star signs she should warn them to be specific about what they wanted. Leaving it up to Shandra was a very bad idea, Beth was beginning to realise.
She looked down at the letter. How the hell did the weird old bat know she’d thought about stopping? Was she guessing? She was remarkably good at that. There was a good chance she’d pulled this stunt before with other people. Not a bad week’s haul to add to her pension, Beth mused, two hundred and twenty pounds every time she found a mug to do her dirty work. Reading between the lines the covert threatening in the words were worrying, also the fact that she’d found out her address. Beth knew she hadn’t given it to her on the phone so unless she was a local woman how had she found her so quickly?
A thought struck Beth then that it must have been the old woman herself who had hand delivered the letter to her door. She felt creeped out imagining her licking the old stamp before pressing it on the envelope and shuffling along the path, head down secretly slipping the envelope through her letterbox.
Jason was heading out of the door.
She called out to him, “Jase, I don’t suppose you saw someone put this letter through the door, did you?” Beth waited for the front door to slam shut but surprisingly Jason put his head round the kitchen door.
“No,” he said and then added, “but I did see an odd looking man wearing a black suit with a walking stick shuffling up the path.”
Chapter 6
Surprised to see his hands trembling, Bert picked up the phone. In his other hand he held the piece of paper Beth had given him. He knew he wasn’t too good with telephone conversations, he tended to mumble. He was always being asked to speak up, told they couldn’t hear him, occasionally he’d make the suggestion their phone might be on the blink which would send them into a panic while they fiddled trying to make the sound louder. Most of the time it didn’t matter, it was rare indeed for anyone phoning him to have something important to say. It was usually an inquiry into whether he could bear to go through yet another winter without their cavity wall installation in place. Well, yes, he could.
Bert didn’t have any family or friends, at least none that bothered to keep in touch with him. A few drinking buddies but he’d never given them his home phone number. He did own a rather large old mobile phone brought on a whim many years ago, lying now in the bottom of a drawer, if it still worked it would be a miracle. The last time he’d called anyone was to complain to the council about the dog mess outside his drive leading into his garden, he’d promptly been told to clean it up himself as if he’d personally been responsible for squatting down on his own front lawn and pooping.
Now his fingers trembled holding the receiver. It was a stupid idea. He’d only gone along with it because he liked Beth. He suspected she was trying to make a few pounds on the side and he didn’t blame her for that, he did it all the time. For him it wasn’t even about the money any more, he simply enjoyed feeling useful. Phoning a psychic up for help seemed a silly thing to be doing but there’d been something almost desperate in Beth’s eyes when she told him he had to ring the number right away. Bert couldn’t see what could possibly be gained from calling a stranger and telling them his business. The Internet couldn’t help him, parish records were useless and over the years ads in papers had produced no results. He’d even brought a small laptop, learned how to use Google but still couldn’t get any answers. He sighed, anything was worth a try.
His call was picked up on the second ring.
“Is that Shandra?” He asked, his voice stumbling on the words as he cleared his throat.
“It is, and you are?”
“My name is Bert Doncaster; I got your number from Beth my next door neighbour.”
“Well, Bert Doncaster, you’ve come to the right person. Now, let’s start with your first names, in full please?”
“Albert Humphrey.”
Bert realised his hands were sweating. His living room was cold, he hadn’t switched the fire on to take the chill out of the room, yet the palms of his hands were wet with perspiration. The woman he was speaking to was pleasant so why was his old heart jumping around his chest as if he was in danger?
“Your date of birth?” the woman asked.
“March 3rd 1930.”
“How lovely my dear, you’re Pisces, all the little fishes swimming in the sea waiting for the big net to scoop them up and gut them.” She sounded delighted as if Bert had done something clever being born in March. “Now,” her voice dropped to almost a whisper, “What do you want for your twenty pounds, Bert?”
What do I want? thought Bert. I want to drop this phone on the table and forget I ever made this call. There’d been nothing untoward said, nothing to make him feel this way but every instinct was telling Bert to stop.
Shandra’s voice cut through his indecision. “Come along, my dear, I’m a busy woman, spit it out.”
“I thought you were supposed to tell me my fortune.”
“You want your money’s worth, is that it?”
“That’s right.” Bert was beginning to dislike the woman. There was an underlying menace in her voice that his old ears picked up on, something not quite right.
“Very well, my dear, but you understand that at your age there’s not much future to look into.”
“Thank you for that.” What a great way to start a physic reading, Bert thought, his lips twitching.
“My pleasure. Get yourself out and about; exercise is good for you, take a nice walk in the park, it will clear your head and you might just find something interesting. Now, my dear enough of that, what do you wish for?”
“I want my son to contact me.” Bert mumbled and waited for her to tell him to speak up, that she couldn’t hear him but instead she chuckled.
“Then that’s what will happen. Thank you for calling.” And Bert found himself listening to the dialling tone.
Frank, he thought. His son. His only relative as far as he knew , born to him in 1951 at the tender age of only twenty one, now Frank would be sixty six, a pensioner like himself and he’d never met him, never known him, had walked away the day after he’d been born. No, that wasn’t the truth, he’d run away, terrified of the responsibility that lay ahead of him, feeling trapped, loving Frank’s mother, Iris, but it hadn’t been enough. So he’d taken off, left his wife and child to fend for themselves and not once regretted it. He’d lived his life to the full, enjoyed his many relationships, not giving his son a thought in all that time, until three years ago.
He’d had a cancer scare, a lump which had turned out to be benign but no-one had been to visit him in hospital, he’d had to cope alone. In the ward he’d been in with four other men he’d watched as they were surrounded by loving wives and children supporting them and the realisation had hit him that he had no-one.
And he’d begun thinking about his son, Frank, his only living relative, heir to his father’s house and savings. It was then he’d decided to try and find him. He’d actually thought it wouldn’t be that difficult.
He’d been wrong. It was more than difficult, it was impossible. Iris and Frank weren’t on the radar, he’d even searched as far as Australia, thinking Iris might have gone over there on a ten pound passage, she’d always been adventurous, but that produced nothi
ng either.
He finally worked out that she must have remarried and Frank had taken on his new father’s name. For the past six months he’d done nothing more to search for his son, it seemed an impossible task, too momentous for him to tackle.
And now this.
As Bert put the phone down in its cradle his eyes caught the photograph on the sideboard. It was a faded black and white image of himself and Iris on holiday in Colwyn Bay, Wales, the only holiday he’d taken her on and where Frank was conceived. A passerby had taken the photo with Bert’s box Brownie camera. He’d been twenty years old and he was grinning like an idiot, his arm around a pretty nineteen year old girl who nine months later he abandoned.
He shivered and looked around the living room; it was as empty as he felt.
He was restless, unusual for him, he normally settled down around this time, nearly one ‘clock, ready for a sandwich and some sport on television. Not today though, he couldn’t stop pacing around the living room. He went into the hall and grabbed his coat off the hook and headed out of the door. He would take Shandra’s advice and go for a walk in the park, clear his head.
He didn’t walk fast because his knee was playing him up. For an old bugger he wasn’t doing so bad, a bit of arthritis, a gammy knee, and Bert was grateful. The thought of ending up in an old people’s home was abhorrent to him. To start with he’d have to hide his roll ups and then he’d have to watch what he drank, no more nips of whisky throughout the day to keep him going.
The park was ten minutes walk from his house, if he was lucky there wouldn’t be too many people about, a few dog walkers maybe, he didn’t mind them. The youths frightened him though. They stood around in gangs of threes and fours smoking weed and calling out what they thought of as witty comments but were actually insults smothered in bad language when you walked past them. Bert always kept his head down. He didn’t need to hear that he was a creep or a wino, or even less entertaining, a Dickhead.
Fortunately he had the circular walking area around the green to himself. Dinner time, everyone was busy preparing or eating food. Halfway round the path was a bench and he lowered himself onto it gratefully.
The 13th Destiny_Heaven's Deadliest Sign Page 8