by Ann Purser
“Enid? Enid, can I have a drink of water, dear?” It was her father, calling in a much stronger voice. She stood up, and with a huge effort walked slowly into the kitchen to run some cold water into a clean glass. She gulped a mouthful herself, and then took it in to her father.
“Ah, there you are,” he said. “I’m feeling much better, dear. Perhaps I’ll get up soon and maybe manage a stroll outside?” He seemed to have forgotten they were prisoners, and Enid wondered if it had all been too much for him.
“We’ll see,” said Enid, and managed a small smile. We’re not going anywhere, Father, she wanted to say. At least, not until I’ve made it safe for you. “We’ll see,” she repeated. “Now, would you like me to sit with you for a bit? We can have a nice talk.”
§
“Oh, look!” said the woman from the Midlands, peering round the edge of the curtain down into the courtyard. “There’s another man from that staircase. Must be several of them in that tiny flat. He walks like the other one. Perhaps he’s his brother…?”
“For goodness sake!” said her husband. “We haven’t come all this way to indulge in gossip about what you see through the lace curtains. Come away from the window at once!”
“They’re not lace,” said his wife stubbornly. “The Trust would never have lace curtains. And it’s not gossip. You’re the one who’s always saying I’m not observant enough. I’m just taking an intelligent interest in my surroundings.”
“Huh,” her husband replied. “Sounds like gossip to me.”
She gave up, and came away from the window. “I think I’ll go shopping,” she said.
“Hang on a minute,” he said. “I’ll come with you.” Oh, bugger, she thought, but she waited while he put on his coat and hat, and they went out together.
Forty-Three
Lois ticked off dusters from her list. A robot could do this, she thought, as she went on to the shelves round the corner. Operating mechanically, she continued to push her heavy trolley round the wholesalers, her mind on Enid, captive and miserable. She knew Cowgill had the whole thing well organized now, and she expected a call any minute to say the Abrahams had been found. But she dreaded one thing. It was certain they would be found – but dead or alive? Two dead, and one alive? Anyone who had murdered his mother and buried her in a muddy field would stop at nothing. She was sure that a criminal’s first murder, like the first theft, would be the most difficult. After that, the most basic hurdle had been taken. Thou shalt not break the law. Most of us, she thought to herself as she consulted her list, don’t even try. We may feel like it sometimes. Some people even have enough provocation…
Provocation. That word stuck in her head as she struggled on. What had driven Edward to do it? She knew he had frequent rows with his father. He’d even physically attacked him that night in the yard. It had been him, for sure. But his mother? She adored him. Lois knew that from the diary. She supposed she should give that to Cowgill now, but for the moment…
When she returned home, she took it out of her drawer and turned again to the last entry. “Haven’t seen my Teddy for so long…” What had happened to stop her just there? It was the day of the flood. And the day Enid said her mother shut herself up completely, and she’d not seen her since. Because she’d not been there at all. Because she’d been rolling down the swollen torrent until she’d fetched up on the bank, and then one of them, Edward or Walter, had dug a shallow grave and buried her. She remembered Enid saying her father had been out very early next day and done a thorough search.
§
Bridie Reading was also thinking about Enid. She hadn’t particularly liked the woman, and nor had Hazel. Particularly Hazel. She knew too much about the Abraham family, and was wary. Her mum said she had a nose for trouble, and meant it as a compliment. Now they sat watching breakfast television, but neither was concentrating.
“Mum,” Hazel said. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything about that Mrs Abraham living round here as a girl? You know, Lois asked us.”
“Never heard anything. ‘Course, I wasn’t in Farnden when she was a girl,” Bridie said slowly. “When they came back, they were just left to get on with it. Villages are like that.”
“Yeah, but villages are full of gossips,” said Hazel. “Surely somebody…?”
“Hey, wait a minute!” said Bridie. She sat up, reached for the remote, and turned off the television. “Why didn’t we think of it before? Ivy Beasley!”
“What, that old biddy over at Ringford? Her that nearly married her lodger, and then he done a runner?”
“That’s her,” said Bridie. “Why don’t you call in on that old woman at the lodge, just in a friendly way, to check she’s OK. Then you’d have an excuse to go on and see Miss Beasley. She’s the old one’s friend. Nothin’ has ever escaped her eagle eye. Chat her up.”
“Chat her up!” said Hazel, grinning. “She’ll have my guts for garters, if what I’ve heard is true. Still, I’ll give it a try. Nice one, Mum.”
§
“I know who you are,” said Ivy Beasley. “No need to go into all that.” She had opened the door a crack, and peered through at this unwanted visitor.
Hazel stood on the scrubbed white step, and smiled. It was an effort, but she had to stop the woman shutting the door. “I need help,” she said. “They say you know everything about what goes on in these parts. Old Ellen said. Can you spare me a minute?”
There was pause while Ivy Beasley considered it. Then, to Hazel’s relief, she opened the door wider and said, “I suppose you’d better come in, then. You’ll have to be in the kitchen. Front room’s just been cleaned. And it had better be quick.”
Hazel ignored the suggestion that she might sully the best chairs, and went through.
“It’s about the Abrahams at Cathanger,” she began.
“Of course it is,” said Miss Beasley sharply. “D’you think I’m stupid? What d’you want to know?”
“The mother’s maiden name. Seems she came from round here.” Hazel realized there was no point in niceties. Straight to the point with Ivy Beasley.
“Ah, yes, well, it looks like your boss has backed the wrong horse in employing one of them Abrahams,” she said. “Still, that’s her affair. But if you ask me, she’d steer well clear of them in the future.”
“Yes, well, as you say, that’s Mrs Meade’s affair, Miss Beasley. We just think it might be helpful – I don’t need to explain why – to discover as much as possible about them. Enid Abraham’s a good worker, and Mrs M’s very concerned.” Hazel knew she sounded defensive, but could not help it. There were limits.
“No need to get all hoity-toity, Hazel Reading, not if you want me to tell you what I know.”
Hazel sighed, trying to be patient. If this Miss Beasley knew something, it could be worth waiting for.
After settling herself, Ivy began in a different, confiding voice, “Well, I didn’t think nothing of it when Mrs Meade’s mother was asking around at the WI. But later on, when I got home and was feeding that cat, it came back to me.”
“Yes?” Hazel diplomatically stroked a big, ordinary-looking tabby that had landed unasked on her lap.
“The Abraham woman. She were a Blenkinsop. Big family o’girls. Father worked on the railways with my dad. She was younger than me, o’course. But I remember her as a whiney, spoilt sort of creature. Good at getting her own way. That kind o’thing. Blenkinsop. She went away when she got married, and then when they came back, didn’t want to know any of us. Ideas above her station, if you ask me. Well, that was it. Blenkinsop.”
She was silent then, and Hazel said, “That’s very interesting, Miss Beasley. Thank you. I wonder, could I…?” But Ivy Beasley was on her feet, showing her out of the kitchen. Hazel knew she’d got all the information Miss Beasley was prepared to release, and, standing once more on the white step, turned to thank her. But the door had shut, and she returned to her car.
§
Lois listened carefully to what Hazel re
ported. “Well done,” she said.
“Not much help, really,” said Hazel gloomily, shifting the telephone receiver from one hand to the other. “Everything helps,” said Lois. “Now we know what kind of woman she was. That could be very useful, and we might catch up with some other Blenkinsops…”
But when Lois finished talking to Hazel, and searched through the local directory, there were no Blenkinsops listed. Well, all those girls must have married and got themselves different names, and the old folk would have died by now. Miss Beasley’s comment, faithfully relayed by Hazel, came back to her.
A whiney, spoilt sort of creature. Good at getting her own way. Was that why she became a recluse, discovering that it was a very effective weapon? And where did that leave Enid? Whose side was she on? Lois sighed again. If only she could hear from Enid, just to know she was still alive, then she’d be happy to leave the rest to Cowgill.
She told Derek this when he came in from the garden. “Don’t deceive yerself, me duck,” he said. “You’ll ferret away ‘til you come up with somethin’ like the truth. And we’re all prayin’ to God it’ll be soon, if only so’s the kids can get through to you! Josie’s bin asking for new jeans for a week now, and it’s time you listened!”
As they ate, Lois told Gran about Hazel’s call, and she smiled. “Right ole acid-tongue, that one,” she said. “Everybody knows her, and most of the WI are scared stiff of her. Still, she came up with the goods.”
“Hazel wasn’t sure it’s much help,” said Lois. “But it’s a start.”
“I’ll ask around,” Derek said. “I’m helpin’ next door with his paving tomorrow, then we’re goin’ to Waltonby for a refresher. Someone in the pub might remember the Blenkinsops. The old farmers get in there, playin’ dominoes. Get them goin’ on the old days, and you’re there for the afternoon.”
“Mum?” Josie smiled pleadingly at her mother. “Mum, can we go shopping soon? I need some new – ”
“I know, love,” said Lois, “some new jeans. Yep, o’course we can go. I bin a bit busy lately, but we’ll go to that new shop in the centre. Get you some T-shirts as well. I reckon you’re goin’ to be busty like your gran!”
“That’s quite enough of that, Lois Meade,” said her mother huffily. “Your dad used to say I’d got a better figure than Betty Grable.”
“Betty WHO?” chorused the kids.
Forty-Four
Edward Abraham was looking for a chemist. In his new guise, he strode along, head held high, smiling to himself and seeing miraculously more clearly through Donald’s spectacles. He was quite unrecognizable, he was sure of that. He even felt like a totally different person! Whoever would have thought that it would be as easy as that? He should have done it years ago.
“Afternoon!” he said, passing an old newspaper seller, who was offering papers with Edward’s photograph emblazoned on the front page. The seller nodded at him without a second glance. Wonderful! He walked into a small supermarket and picked up supplies for Enid. Now for a chemist to find some pills for Father. He was sure Enid had been exaggerating, trying to worry him about the state of their father’s health. He was clearly better, and after a day’s recuperation would, Edward was convinced, be as good as new. The change of scene would do him good. Still, better humour Enid for the moment.
He walked on down Nicholson Street, and saw a green cross sign coming up. That would do. As he walked into the light, airy chemists, it seemed familiar. Had he been here before? Certainly not this visit. Then it came to him: this was where Enid had worked. Everything had changed, of course; a completely new interior, but the general layout was the same, and a panel of coloured glass over the door had survived. Ah, yes, and there was the huge bottle filled with bright blue liquid that had stood in the window for as long as he could remember. He was the only customer, and a woman assistant had perched herself on a stool in the corner, leafing through a newspaper.
He stopped to look around, and muttered to himself, “Well, bless me…”
“Excuse me?” said the assistant, coming forward. “Can I help you?”
Edward smiled at her. He dared to do that now! Perhaps he would mooch around a bit, indulging in memories. “In a minute, thanks very much,” he said. “Just looking around. I used to come in here in the old days. It’s changed a bit!”
“Yes, well…” The woman lost interest. She had thought she knew him from somewhere, school, maybe. But he was too old to have been at school with her. He was drifting about the shop now, picking up things and putting them down again. One of those. Still, what was it to her if a couple of packets went missing? She wandered back to her stool and picked up the newspaper again. She turned the page, and a face stared out at her. She frowned, and looked up to where Edward had picked up a small hand mirror and was looking admiringly at himself.
He caught her eye.
He turned and saw the newspaper and her startled expression. In a second, he was out of the shop and running.
“Mr Gordon!” The woman rushed out to the office at the back of the shop. “Look, here…this photo! He’s just been in the shop…honest, it was him!”
The manager took the paper from her and stared. “Are you sure?” he said, but he knew the woman was reliable, not one of the mbberty young ones. He picked up his telephone and dialled. “Hello? Police?”
Edward, out of breath and slowing down, found himself approaching Forrest Road, and calmed down sufficiently to give a quick pat to Greyfriars Bobby on his doggy plinth. No harm done, he reassured himself. The chemist woman was probably thinking of something else entirely. He ambled along George IV Bridge and turned left into Lawnmarket. Nearly home. Home? His mood darkened again. They were more or less homeless now. They could never go back to Cathanger, but this did not worry Edward. He hated the place, just as his mother had hated it. But then, she was full of hate.
Hatred of his father, of Enid, of anyone who tried to help her…Still, the three of them would make a life in Scotland somewhere. Enid was good at homemaking.
As he went through the little arched passage leading to the courtyard and the flat, he stood aside to allow a couple to pass. “Thanks,” said the woman. “Lovely day.” He kept his head down and grunted. Musn’t make the same mistake again. He was still a wanted man, however good his disguise. He walked through the passage and into the door of their building.
“That was the bloke from the flat opposite,” said the Midlands woman to her husband. “Now I’ve seen him up close, he is very like the other one, except not so hairy.”
“Really!” exploded her husband. “Don’t you ever listen to anything I say?”
§
Enid took the ham, lettuce, tomatoes, and fruit. “And the painkillers for Father?”
Edward waved the question aside. “Doesn’t need them now, surely,” he said. “Seems a lot better.”
He was pleased with himself, thought Enid suspiciously. But not quite so jaunty as before. What had happened out there on the streets? She was beginning to feel claustrophobic, shut up in these small rooms. She could see out of the window that the sun was still shining, and tourists wandered slowly in and out of the courtyard, visiting a museum in an ancient building across the way.
She prepared the salad, and Edward helped his father to the table. There was no doubt the old man was a lot stronger, and Enid was encouraged. This suited her plan. She could not have carried it out if Father had been ill and bedridden. The time Edward was out shopping had not been wasted. She’d found a current railway timetable shoved in amongst cookery books in the kitchen, and rejoiced.
After their meal, Father sat in an armchair and dozed off. Enid and Edward sat at the table, drinking coffee. Edward had taken a book of old photographs of Edinburgh out of the shelves, and was leafing idly through it.
Might as well forget the sunshine, Enid told herself. When she went out, it would be in the dark, preferably with just enough light for her to see where she was going. It would be difficult with Father, but they wo
uld manage. Meanwhile, she must keep her mind empty, in case Edward tuned in to her thoughts. Conversation, then, about ordinary things.
“Where else did you go, when you were out?” she asked.
He pushed his chair back suddenly. “Nowhere much,” he said casually. “I’ll help you wash up,” he added, and picked up their coffee mugs.
As she washed the plates, stacking them on the draining board for Edward to dry, Enid risked starting a conversation on a more dangerous topic. “Um, I was wondering,” she said, “whether Mother sent a message for me at all?”
She could almost feel the temperature drop, and Edward’s reply was icy. “No message for you, Enid,” he said. “Concerned only with herself.”
Enid was silent, hoping he would continue. She was desperate to know how he had been driven to such violence against his chief champion, the one who had blindly adored him all his life.
“I’d like to think,” he said eventually, after minutes ticked by, “that senility was settling in. Making her worse in every way. Exaggerating her bad points. It does, you know, Enid,” he added, looking at her closely, as if needing her agreement.
She obediently nodded. “I know,” she said, and scrubbed round a dish that was already very clean.
“I couldn’t stand it,” he went on. “All the recriminations if I didn’t see her every day to bring her flowers and swear undying love. And then, when I stayed away, she stored it all up and was hysterical the times I did call in.”
“What times? Where were you, Edward? I never saw you coming and going…”
He grinned, a sudden flash of the old, invincible Edward. “Of course you didn’t,” he said. “I made sure you were out of the way, doing your extraordinary cleaning jobs. My hiding places were many and various, I can tell you!”