She didn’t have to admit it, he could see it in her face. She had never been a successful liar, she always coloured up, her eyes took on a hunted look. ‘No, Reg, you’re wrong,’ she bleated.
Reg moved back from her, and she leaped off the couch, backing away from him towards the fireplace.
‘Swear on the children’s lives, then maybe I’ll believe you,’ he demanded.
They faced each other, both panting and wild-eyed.
‘Swear,’ Reg commanded. ‘I don’t think even you are low enough to swear on your own child’s life if you aren’t telling the truth.’
He could see her indecision, mouth opening and closing, wanting to swear, yet afraid to. ‘You can’t do it, can you?’ he taunted her. ‘You’d leave a small child alone while you go out with a Yank, you’d take money from my pockets when I’m asleep, you’d buy clothes for yourself when your kids need shoes, but you aren’t quite evil enough to swear on their lives.’
Her mouth began to quiver and her eyes to fill with tears. That was all the confirmation he needed.
‘Don’t turn on the waterworks,’ he snarled at her. ‘Just get out of this flat now and never come back.’
‘You can’t throw me out at this time of night,’ she whimpered. ‘Oh, please calm down, Reg. I’ll go in the morning, but don’t make me go now.’
‘Why don’t you want to go now? Won’t your lover be pleased to see you?’
She seemed to wilt before his eyes.
‘Who is he, Anne? Where do you go with him?’
‘Does that matter?’ she said, tears running down her cheeks.
‘It matters all right,’ he said. ‘You see, if he’s another poor sap like me who fell for your posh voice and your pretty face, he needs warning what a calculating, lying bitch you really are. On the other hand, if he’s been laughing up his sleeve as he knocks you off, then he needs his head kicked in. If you want to ever see the kids again, you’d better tell me who he is.’
Anne knew in that instant that she’d seriously misjudged Reg. The gentle way he had started probing about the past when she got home from work had made her think he was looking for a amicable solution to their problems. Divorce was what she had in mind, and in her stupidity she’d imagined this would be arranged the way she’d seen other couples part, with her staying in this flat with the children, and Reg finding another place of his own.
But she should have known better, a tough man like Reg wasn’t going just to give up without a fight, it wasn’t his way. He’d fought for everything he wanted throughout his life. What a fool she’d been to try to wound him with her infidelity, all it had done was strip him of all his illusions about her, and now he was wounded he’d move heaven and earth till he got at the whole truth.
But she couldn’t let Reg rush around like an enraged bull questioning every Tom, Dick and Harry. There were too many people out there already whispering that there was something going on between her and Tosh.
‘It was a man I met at the pub,’ she blurted out. ‘You don’t know him, he’s a travelling salesman, he doesn’t come from round here.’
Reg’s face grew dark with anger, his eyes mere slits as he came towards her.
‘You bitch,’ he screamed at her. ‘You were off in the afternoons having it off with him while I’m working my socks off to keep you in new clothes and hair-dos. How could you?’
‘I couldn’t help it,’ she sobbed. ‘I was feeling so miserable.’
‘What sort of an excuse is that?’ Reg raged at her. ‘You’ve made me miserable too, but I never looked at another woman. Get out of here now. Go on, go, before I hit you again.’
‘No, Reg, please don’t throw me out,’ she whimpered. ‘I’m sorry, it’s all over with him now.’
‘I don’t care whether it’s over or not. You are going this minute and I’ll never let you in the door again,’ he roared at her. ‘You won’t take your bag, your coat, the key or anything. You can go to him just as you are.’
‘But the children,’ she tried to plead with him, knowing that was his one weak spot. ‘You can’t do this to them.’
‘Better for them to live without a mother than to know she’s a whore,’ he retorted, pushing at her shoulder, edging her towards the door. ‘Out now!’
He pulled the door open and pushed her through it on to the landing, and by putting one hand on either door jamb, barred her way from getting back in.
‘If you do this to me I’ll fight you in the courts for them,’ she screamed at him. ‘I’ll get them back from you, you’ll see, and I’ll take them somewhere you’ll never find them.’
She was about to go down the stairs when she realized she had no shoes on. Turning to plead with him, she saw he had moved back from the door, and she made a move to rush back into the living-room to retrieve them.
He caught her by both shoulders and shook her.
‘What reason could you possibly give the courts so they’d let you have them?’ he shouted angrily.
‘May isn’t your child, for one,’ she screamed in his face. ‘She’s the child of the airman.’
Even as the words came out of her mouth Anne knew she’d gone much too far. It was true, the real reason she felt so much guilt and unhappiness, but it was a secret she’d always vowed to take to her grave.
Reg gave a bellowing roar and made a grab for her. Stunned by what she’d revealed, terrified of what he was going to do to her, Anne ducked under his flailing arms and sped for the stairs. He caught her at the top, his hands gripping her round the throat, and as his fingers tightened on her windpipe, she tried to kick his shins with her stockinged feet.
Reg looked down at her bulging eyes, saw the terror in them as her feet kicked out at him, and instantly released her. ‘Get out before I kill you,’ he yelled and turned away.
There was a gasp, a thump, and Reg spun round. To his shock she was hurtling head over heels like a ball down the stairs. All he could see was a glimpse of stockings, suspenders and white knickers, then her blonde hair flying out like a mass of gold Christmas tinsel.
‘Anne!’ he yelled, running down after her. But with a loud crash she hit the hall wall at the bottom of the stairs and landed on the floor. She looked like a broken doll, one leg stuck out at a strange angle.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ he said, crouching down beside her. ‘Stay there, don’t move, I’ll get an ambulance.’
But a trickle of blood was running out of her open mouth. Her eyes were glassy. Reg slumped on to the floor and roared out his anguish.
Chapter Two
Dulcie woke at the sound of her mother’s raised voice. She heard her saying something about fighting in courts, and taking someone to somewhere where Dad would never find them. This didn’t make any more sense to her than most of their other quarrels, and she was just about to pull the pillow from under her head to cover her ears when Dad’s voice roared out.
‘What reason could you possibly give the courts so they’d let you have them?’ she heard him say, as clearly as if he were standing at the end of her bed.
Suddenly Dulcie was wide awake, for it sounded as if he was talking about her and May. The bedroom door was open just a crack and the landing light was glimmering through it. As she moved to sit up, May woke up too, but only snuggled closer to her sister.
‘May isn’t your child for one!’ Mum yelled out, loud enough to wake the whole street. ‘She’s the child of the airman.’
There was a wild roar of rage from her dad, and a scuffling sound as if they were struggling together. ‘Get out before I kill you,’ she heard Dad shriek, and then a second or two later she heard a peculiar loud thumping noise. It sounded as if something heavy had been dropped and it was bouncing down the stairs.
When Dad yelled out ‘Anne!’ Dulcie knew her mum must be falling. At the same time as she heard Dad pounding down the stairs, May clutched at her in terror. Dulcie pushed her away and ran out on to the landing to look down over the banisters.
From where
she was standing she could see nothing but Dad’s feet and a bit of his bottom sticking out, as if he was kneeling down in the hall where the stairs ended. But as he began to bellow, a terrible, wild sound, she ran along the landing and started down the stairs after him.
‘Daddy!’ she screamed involuntarily as she saw him bending over Mum.
He turned his head towards her, and even though there was little light there, she could see his face was all twisted up like a monster’s. In terror she ran back up the stairs, grabbed May who was just coming along the landing sleepily rubbing her eyes, and fled back to their bedroom, shutting the door behind them.
‘What’s the matter?’ May asked, her voice squeaky with fright in the darkness. ‘What did Mummy say about me?’
Dulcie switched on the light and reached out for her sister to hug her. She had no idea what to do, she felt she couldn’t even breathe she was so scared. She had heard with her own ears Dad say he would kill Mum if she didn’t get out. Had he killed her?
Yet that didn’t seem possible, and even in the midst of her own fright she knew she must look after May. This had always been her role since she was born. It had been she who rocked the pram to get her off to sleep, she who told Mum when her nappy was wet, and as May got bigger she’d played with her, fed her and prevented her from hurting herself.
‘Get back into bed,’ she said. ‘I’ll look after you.’
She got back into bed beside May and cuddled her tightly, straining her ears to hear what was happening downstairs. Dad was still making that horrible roaring noise, but all at once she heard the click of the front door opening, then silence, as if he’d gone out.
This was even more frightening. Had he run away and left them? Was Mum still lying down there all hurt?
There was complete silence now, and after few minutes’ thought she decided she’d better try to be brave and go and look. She whispered that May was to stay in bed and that she wouldn’t be long, and made her way back along the landing and down the stairs.
Mum was still lying there at the bottom, her back against the hall wall. A cold wind was whistling up the stairs, fluttering Dulcie’s nightdress as if the front door was open.
She crept down nervously. ‘Mummy!’ she called out softly ‘Can you hear me?’
By the time Dulcie had reached the fourth stair from the bottom she could see her mother clearly. Her eyes were wide open, her mouth was too, and something dark was coming out of it, trickling down on to the bodice of her new dress and staining it.
She so much wanted to go right down and touch her, but she was too frightened. When children fell in the playground at school they always cried. Why wasn’t Mum making any sound?
Not knowing what else to do, she sat down on the stairs, put her hands together and closed her eyes. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ she began, but then found she couldn’t remember what came next because all she could think of was that Mum was showing all her stocking tops and the lace on her knickers. She wanted to go down and cover her legs up, if the door was open someone passing might see her, but her own legs wouldn’t seem to move.
Dulcie was still sitting there when her father came rushing back in. He stopped stock-still when he saw her.
He was still wild-eyed, as though he’d been crying, but he didn’t look scary any longer. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, Daddy,’ she said, for a moment thinking this was just a horrible dream and he was going to carry her back to bed. Yet she looked past him and Mum was still lying there. ‘Can you cover Mummy’s legs up?’
She watched as he returned to Mum, observed the tender way he stroked her cheek and pulled her dress down over her knees, and suddenly Dulcie realized.
‘Is she, d-d-dead?’ she stuttered, hardly able to get the word out.
He nodded and came back to her, squatting down before her on the stairs. ‘It was an accident, sweetheart, she fell down the stairs. I just went for help.’
Dulcie began to shiver and Dad took her hands in his. ‘I want you to go back to bed, sweetheart. Any minute now someone will come to help. Will you look after May for me?’
Dulcie nodded.
‘The police may take me away with them,’ he said and his voice sounded shaky. ‘If they do and I don’t get a chance to speak to you again, you must get them to take you to Granny’s.’
‘But why would they take you away?’ she asked. ‘Did you do something bad?’
He leaned forward and rested his forehead on her knees which were tucked up under her nightdress. ‘I didn’t push her, Dulcie, you must believe that even if some people tell you otherwise. We did have a fight, but she fell down there.’
‘I heard you fighting,’ she whispered. She didn’t know whether to say she’d heard him say he’d kill Mum if she didn’t get out.
He lifted his head and looked right into her eyes. ‘I loved her, Dulcie, she made me very angry, but I wouldn’t have hurt her.’
Dulcie didn’t have to say anything more for she heard the sirens coming along the road.
He kissed her on the forehead and lifted her to her feet. ‘Go back to bed now, don’t be scared. Trust me, it will be all right.’
Dulcie tried very hard not to be scared when she heard all the men’s voices drifting up the stairs. May had fallen asleep again by the time she got back into bed, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She felt cold right through to her bones, and her head ached with all the questions she wanted answering.
Someone opened her bedroom door and looked in, but she shut her eyes tight and pretended to be asleep. Then she heard men going into all the rooms, their voices low rumblings in the distance.
‘Of course I didn’t throw her!’ she heard Dad shout out at one point.
There were sounds of doors opening and closing, then she heard a vehicle drive off, but still she could hear Dad’s voice and other men’s, and it seemed to her they were up in the living-room now.
It was then she began to cry, for suddenly it struck home what Mum’s death meant. Who would look after her and May? Surely they couldn’t stay with Granny for long? How would they get to school? And what had Mum meant by May isn’t your child?
Dulcie was still crying when the bedroom door opened and two policemen came in. She sat up in bed in alarm, putting one arm across May who was still sleeping.
‘It’s all right, don’t be frightened,’ one of the men said, coming closer to the bed. ‘Your mummy has had an accident, and your daddy has asked us to take you to your granny’s.’
‘I want my daddy,’ Dulcie sobbed. ‘Where is he?’
The policeman sat down on the bed. ‘Daddy’s gone down to the police station now to answer a few questions. We can’t leave you here all on your own, can we?’
Dulcie just looked at him in horror.
‘You must be Dulcie, and your sister is called May, Daddy told us,’ he went on, putting one hand on May’s shoulder. ‘Will you help me wake her up and get her dressed? Then we’ll put a few of your things in a bag and go.’
Some ten minutes later they all went downstairs, the policeman carrying the bag they’d packed, their two dolls sticking out of the top. May was unusually quiet, she didn’t even ask any questions, but as Dulcie got to the place where her mother had been lying, and she saw someone had drawn a chalk mark round it, she began crying again.
‘Did you see what happened tonight, Dulcie?’ the policeman asked as they went towards the door.
‘I saw Mummy lying there after I heard the noise,’ she sobbed.
‘Then maybe you can tell me about that once we get to your granny’s house,’ he said, taking her hand.
‘Gawd almighty, what’s happened?’ Granny exclaimed as she opened the door to her house in Akerman Street and saw the two policemen with her grand-daughters.
‘We’re sorry to wake you in the middle of the night, Mrs Taylor,’ one of them said. ‘But it was an emergency.’
The children broke free of the hands holding t
hem and flung themselves at their grandmother. ‘Mummy’s dead,’ Dulcie blurted out. ‘She fell down the stairs. Daddy said we had to come here.’
Maud Taylor was seventy-five, a small but rotund woman with a face so lined she often joked she looked like a dried prune. Laughter was her way of coping with the hard life she’d been dished out with, and her eight children had rarely seen her fazed by trouble or disaster, yet she looked amazed by what Dulcie had just said and clutched the two children to her tighter, looking to the older of the two men for confirmation.
He just nodded, for he hadn’t realized until now that Dulcie was aware of the outcome of her mother’s fall. ‘I’ll explain inside,’ he said, noting the old lady was wearing nothing but a flannel nightgown. He nodded to his younger companion to wait in the car.
PC Hewitt was forty-two, a warm-hearted, stout man with a shock of prematurely white hair. As a father of four himself, and a veteran of hundreds of cases where the news of a sudden and often violent death had to be broken, he was an ideal choice, but added to this he had a reputation for getting at the truth in awkward family situations.
The senior officer who had attended at the scene of Anne Taylor’s death was of the opinion Reg Taylor had hurled his wife to her death following attempted strangulation. His fingermarks showed clearly on her neck, and even though Reg had freely admitted he’d caught her by the throat in anger seconds before he claimed she fell backwards down the stairs, and appeared utterly devastated by her death, he refused to say what had started the fight. Indeed, his only real concern was that his children should be taken to his mother’s as soon as possible.
Hewitt’s brief was to discover if the children had overheard the fight, and to find out whether the Taylors’ marriage had always been a violent one. As Maud Taylor led them into her home, he noted the smell of mildew and mice. He had been stationed briefly at New Cross during the thirties and had been appalled then at the squalid conditions in Deptford. He could remember calling at tiny houses like this one and finding a whole family in each of the three rooms.
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