by Dawson, H A
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t change anything.’
‘Okay. I will register in my own name. Can I pay be credit card?’
‘Sure.’
Leanne gave her the details and made a note to extract the money from the business. Satisfied that she had made her first booking, she returned her attention to her notebook and continued her attempt to acquire stalls. Some were fully booked, but others, further into next year, still had spaces. By the time she had reached the bottom of her list, she had managed to book four stalls over the summer, two at the start of the year, and one at the end. Feeling satisfied, she leaned back and admired her plans.
An anxious rapping on the door made her jolt. She jumped to her feet, peered out of the window, noting the rain streak the glass, and rushed to the outer door. Her heart skipped a beat. It was Steven. His hair flattened against his head and his clothes were sodden.
‘Is Tansy here?’
‘No.’
‘Have you seen her at all?’
‘No.’
‘Hell.’ He turned around, gazing into the horizontal rain. ‘She’s not run off before.’
‘She could have gone home.’
‘Yeah. I have to go.’
‘Let me help,’ she said.
She rushed for her hat and coat, changed into her sturdy boots and hurried outside. He was scanning the field at the end of her plot and calling out his dog’s name.
‘How long has she been gone?’
‘Nearly an hour. I’ve been around the streets . . . gone to her favourite spots. No one’s seen her. I was so sure she’d be here.’
‘Let me check the barns.’
‘I’ve already done that.’
Nevertheless, she trotted to the barn, stooping to avoid the rain from hitting her face and tussling with the wind and peered up to the hayloft. She scanned a chest in a dark corner and strained to listen for movement or whimpering cries. There was no sign of the dog.
Steven appeared in the doorway, ‘I’m going home. She might have found her way back.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Please, I want to help. Two sets of eyes are better than one.’
He did not decline her offer, so she followed him along the path to the small estate. Steven was frantic; his steps were hurried, his expression pained, his eyes searching. Repeatedly, he called out. Tansy did not appear.
Drenched and wind-blown, they arrived near his street. He strode out, looking into each garden and down each drive, still calling, still uptight. It was difficult keeping pace, and her legs quivered, her lungs tightened, and chilling drops of water trickled down her neck.
‘Tansy,’ he yelled.
Nothing.
‘Tansy.’
Tansy appeared on the pavement at the end of his drive, soaked and wagging her tail. She bounded towards him, leapt into the air, and barked and squealed. Her body twisted as her tail swung in an arch, and her paws padded the ground with none maintaining contact for more than a fraction of a second. Her eyes were shiny and her mouth curved. She was panting and happy.
Steven turned towards Leanne. ‘You’d better come in and dry off.’
Her eyes locked with Tansy’s. She offered the dog her silent appreciation.
Leanne was waiting for Steven to return wearing dry clothes when her phone sounded. It was Tyler.
‘Hello love, is everything all right?’
‘I . . . I just fancied a chat.’
‘Are you at school?’
‘Yes. It’s lunchtime.’
‘What’s wrong?’
He hesitated. ‘Nothing.’
‘Are you sure? You don’t often ring at this time.’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘How’s Darren treating you?’
There was silence.
‘Tyler?’
‘Fine. Everything’s fine.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘He hasn’t done anything. I just wanted to ring you. I didn’t expect the third degree.’
‘You don’t sound yourself,’ she said, ‘that’s all.’
‘I’ve had a hard morning . . . just had French.’
He hated French. ‘Okay.’
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Steven lost his dog. We’ve just been looking for her. We’re both drenched.’
There was silence.
‘Please talk to me. You clearly rang for a reason,’ she said.
‘There’s some stuff I need.’
‘You want some money?’
‘No, I need some things from home.’
‘Okay. I’ll be over tonight.’
No,’ he said quickly, ‘not tonight.’
There were voices in the background.
‘It’s no problem,’ she continued.
‘No. I’m busy. Look, I have to go. I’ll speak later.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am.’
The ring tone sounded in her ear. Leanne clung to the phone, baffled.
‘Is everything all right?’ Steven asked.
He was drying his hair with a towel and had changed into jogging pants and a clean white t-shirt. He looked sensational and a beautiful aromatic scent drifted towards her.
‘It was Tyler. Something’s wrong. He never rings during the day.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He wants something from home. It’s strange that he didn’t ring during the evening.’
‘It must have been on his mind.’
She frowned. ‘His voice was wrong. He seemed a bit depressed.’
‘You might be imagining it.’
‘No, I’m not. I know my son.’
‘I didn’t mean-’
She steadied her nerves. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t like him staying with Darren. It’s not right. He should be with me.’
‘Then tell him.’
‘It has to be his choice. I’ll only drive him further away.’
‘But maybe he needs you to make it clear you want him back.’
She gawped. ‘You don’t think he feels I’m pushing him away, do you?’
He withheld his reply.
‘Oh no!’ she said. ‘He went quiet when I mentioned you. Maybe he thinks I am choosing you over him.’
He turned away and laid the towel over the radiator. ‘Try not to worry.’
He avoided eye contact and looked a little unsettled, as though he didn’t want to be dragged into her problems. Not willing taking the risk, and deciding nothing could be done during school hours, she forced her turmoil aside and asked about Tansy. Steven shared numerous stories about her life from the first time she visited the coast to and the destruction of a padded stool. It proved positive and his mood brightened.
‘How is your business plan going?’ Steven asked.
‘Great. This morning I booked stalls at craft exhibitions. The first one is in January. I was lucky, I got the last spot.’
A smile accompanied his approval.
‘I’ve made plans to include crafted products in the shop, done by locals. I’m hoping to incorporate a small stand somewhere. I hope there’s enough space.’
‘You’ve not seen it?’
She hesitated. ‘No. I’ve seen the floor plans.’
‘Why don’t you drive over?’
‘I . . . I suppose I could.’
‘I’d have thought Geoff would have wanted you to see your investment.’
‘He’s been fantastic. There’s been a little delay with the contracts, but he has kept me informed all the way.’
‘Did you have the contract checked by a lawyer?’
Her eyes flitted. She rubbed her hands.
‘My brother’s a lawyer. I could ask him to look it over if you like.’
‘I’ve already signed it,’ she said quietly.
‘He could still point out any grey areas . . . make you aware of any possible problems.’
‘I . . .’ she stopped
and withdrew her negative reply. ‘Thanks.’
‘Do I sense a problem?’
‘We put it in a bank vault.’
‘Okay. When you get it, pass me a copy. How about we check out the business online?’
‘I don’t think there’s a website. I’m not connected so I haven’t checked.’
He jumped to his feet. ‘Follow me.’
They headed into his office and started a search for the craft business. There were numerous references with the same name, but none with the same address.
Her anxieties deepened, her heart thumping. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s definitely that address?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a telephone number?’
‘I . . . I can’t remember it. Geoff was dealing with the paperwork.’
Steven was staring, pondering. She felt such a fool.
‘There’s something I have to do. Can you get the number for Lloyds Bank?’
Moments later, he was pointing to the number on the screen.
‘Hello,’ Leanne said, her voice quivering. ‘I need to access a company vault, but it has my partner’s name on it. Can you check if it’s been accessed?’
After reiterating the question numerous times, she was able to speak to someone at her branch. She waited whilst the assistant checked.
‘I’m sorry,’ the man said, ‘there was a vault in that name, but it was closed a few days ago.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who closed it?’
‘It can only be closed by the person who opened it.’
‘But it has my contract in it. It was mine.’
‘And you are?’
‘Leanne Stark, Geoff Shaw’s business partner. We were going to change the ownership of the vault into my name.’
‘I suggest you speak to him.’
‘Do you know what he did with the contract?’
Silence.
‘Sorry. Bye.’
She replaced the handset onto the charger and gawked at Steven. Her mind was swirling, her legs weakening.
‘There must be a reasonable explanation,’ he said.
She dialled Geoff’s number. It rang and rang. There was no answer.
Chapter 33
Queenie stuffed her washing attire and other small accessories into a small bag, and zipped it up and placed it onto the bed. Then she flung open the wardrobe, a two-door beech effect with plastic handles, and stared at her clothes. There were jeans and trousers, an assortment of tops, a tight-fitting black dress and a navy skirt. It was not a lot, but at least it meant moving was easy.
She perched on the edge of the bed and considered her options. She was too old to roam the streets, money was in short supply and friends were scarce. She could go to Kyle’s house, although the prospect of more arguments and an endless character assassination was unappealing. Queenie exhaled and groaned. Staying with Rusty had given her the mental time out she had needed. If only Leanne had not contacted Luke Adams.
The door creaked open. Rusty was standing on the landing, her red hair illuminated by the light. ‘You’re not leaving,’ she said.
She yanked a garment from a coat hanger and thrust it into the small case. ‘I can’t stay.’
‘I assume this is because of Leanne.’
She held a pained stare.
‘Just be honest! They’ll understand why you acted as you did.’
‘It’s not just that. I was out of control and everyone knew it.’
Rusty heaved a sigh. ‘It was an accident.’
‘It didn’t feel like an accident at the time.’
‘It wasn’t deliberate or planned. It just happened.’
Queenie opened a drawer, removed piles of underwear, and slung them into the case. Then she thrust it shut.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re always running. You’re not guilty, yet you act like you are.’
She gazed at her fingernails and smoothed down a hangnail.
‘Please stay. I need you around.’
‘You’ll manage, you always do.’
Rusty leaned into the doorframe. ‘It’s more fun when you’re here. Remember London and the nightclubs, the men, the wild parties? We didn’t see daylight for weeks.’
‘Northampton was better. Almost every day for the last thirty-five years, I’ve wished we stayed. I don’t know what we were thinking. God, I was so selfish.’
‘Hardly. We were young and wanted freedom. Having a kid around was hard work.’
‘You always were more for returning than me. You were anti-children back then.’
Rusty’s eyes narrowed. ‘I wanted a kid with a decent man and not some no-hoper I’d met on the streets.’
‘Is there such a thing?’
‘You’re very cynical.’
‘And I’ve every right to be.’ She thrust out her hands. ‘Look at me. I’m not exactly popular.’
‘Maybe not, but you do have a home.’ The doorbell sounded. Rusty gazed down the stairs. ‘For once, see something through. It’s what you should have done with many of your relationships, including Kyle. You never seem to learn.’
With the words echoing, she hurried down the stairs.
Luke and Imogen stared at the door, feet poised to jam the door and ready to force one of them to speak. He surmised it wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary, and he had his hand flat against the surface and his eyes on the handle. It opened. He caught a glimpse of Rusty. The weight of the door was upon him.
‘I just need a few minutes,’ he said, ‘it’s important.’
‘We’ve nothing to say,’ Rusty said.
‘Please. We won’t bother you again.’
‘We’ve already told you what we know.’
‘Then you won’t mind me asking a few questions.’
There were footsteps pounding the stairs and a mumble of voices. The door eased open and a stench of smoke wafted into him.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘We’re not doing this for you,’ Queenie said, scowling.
Rusty departed into a nearby room and Queenie sat on the staircase, two steps up, her face carved with hostility.
‘We went to the hospital and spoke to a woman who helped Karen with her birth. She said you were waiting in the corridor,’ Luke said.
‘So?’
‘Is Rusty Karen?’
Queenie removed a cigarette from a packet, placed it between her lips, and reached for a lighter. She lit it, inhaled, and puffed out. ‘You have it all worked out.’
‘Am I right?’
‘No.’
Luke glanced at Imogen. ‘It would make it much easier if you just told me where Karen is.’
‘And what if I don’t know.’
‘I think you do.’
She rested her hand on her knee and the smoke billowed.
‘Did Karen want her baby?’ Luke asked.
‘Doesn’t every mother?’
‘No, I don’t believe they do.’
‘Well Luke Adams, you know more than me.’
He was exasperated. ‘You were Karen’s friend. You know full well that she didn’t want her baby.’
‘Is that what you learned?’
Silence.
‘Whoever told you must have a good memory.’
He glared. ‘She abandoned Leanne. It fits.’
‘Strange logic. I can assure you, Karen was desperate to be a mother.’
Queenie refused to remove her gaze from him, causing a twitching unease. His eyes wandered, following the billowing circles of smoke rising to the ceiling. Out of his eye corner, he could feel her penetrating stare.
‘How did she feel having a baby out of wedlock?’
‘As I said, Karen was desperate for a baby.’
Puzzled, he glimpsed at Imogen; the entire situation was baffling. He gathered his thoughts and proceeded with his line of questioning.
‘Then we went to see a Mr Jenson.’ He noted a flicker of recognition in her eyes. ‘Karen had had a relationship with him.’
‘So?’
‘He said the baby died.’
Queenie reached for an ashtray, her expression deadpan. ‘Your point?’
‘Was Leanne born before or after this baby?’
‘Should I do your job for you?’ Her eyes darted between Luke and Imogen. ‘If Leanne was born first, Greg would have mentioned the child.’
‘So you did know him?’
Anxiety ripped into Queenie’s face.
‘I never said that his name was Greg,’ he added.
‘And I never said I didn’t know him.’
‘What’s even more interesting is that he said Karen’s sister, Fiona, stayed with her.’
‘And why is that interesting?’
‘Because rumour has it, Karen and Fiona didn’t get on.’
She grinned. ‘You surprise me, Luke Adams, believing in rumours.’
‘Did they live together?’
‘She was Karen’s sister. It probably happened on occasions.’
‘How did you feel about that?’
‘How should I feel?’
‘Fiona was . . . put it this way . . . disciplined and studious.’
‘Really?’
‘Was she working?’
‘It depends on who you ask.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘I’m asking you.’
‘Then no she wasn’t.’
‘So it was a holiday?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was a holiday.’ She jumped up and encouraged them backward. ‘I’ve had enough, time to go.’
‘Why was she having a holiday?’
‘Why does anyone have a holiday?’
Queenie persisted in forcing them out and Luke and Imogen shuffled backward. The door thudded closed. Imogen mirrored Luke’s bewilderment and frustration.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. Shall we go for a coffee and see if we can work it out.’
‘Good idea.’
The café had a historic feel. There were paintings of horses and carriages on the otherwise white walls and there were stone slabs on the floor. In the air, drifting in the diffused light was the gentle aroma of baking food. Having purchased the coffees, Luke and Imogen advanced to a table near the small window.