by Dawson, H A
‘You’re such a poor liar. No doubt you watch porno movies with nurses in.’
He feigned surprise. ‘There are porno movies with nurses?’
She gave him a bemused look.
‘I must hang around with you more. I learn all sorts.’
They reached the end of a corridor and paused, unsure of which way to go. After checking his notes on a scrap of paper, they continued to the right away from the wards and to rooms with either department names or individuals names on the doors. They turned left into another short corridor and rapped on the end door.
A scrawny woman in her late fifties with blonde streaked hair welcomed them inside. She introduced herself as Joyce Cunningham, now a senior administrator but once a nurse, and offered them drinks.
‘As I explained on the phone,’ he began, ‘we’re trying to trace the whereabouts of Karen Jefferson. Her daughter was born in this hospital. At least that was what the birth certificate says.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Ms Jefferson did come here. I didn’t need to check. I remembered it well. I was working on the maternity ward back then and was quite startled when I saw the name on the list of the day’s entries. See, I knew someone of that name and I hadn’t seen her for a few months. I thought it was her.’
Luke nodded, encouragingly.
‘We had been good friends, but then she married and we started to drift apart. It’s quite a sad story because she was desperate for a baby yet couldn’t get pregnant, so as you can imagine, when I saw the name on the list I was elated.’
‘But it wasn’t her.’
‘No.’ She gazed through the window. ‘Unfortunately not.’
‘Were you involved with the birth?’
‘Yes, I was there. I was a bit miffed because she repeatedly told me she didn’t want the baby. It seemed unfair. The Karen I knew was desperate for a child, and this woman wanted to be rid, so I had an idea . . .’
‘You wanted to unite the two.’
‘Yes. I felt it was meant to be. They had the same names. I saw it as a sign.’
‘What happened?’
‘Karen, the one you’re looking for, moaned endlessly. She said she could never face anyone with a baby in her arms. It was wrong, and she said she had let everyone down. I tried to convince her otherwise but she just kept saying it was sinful.’
Luke and Imogen’s eyes locked.
Joyce continued. ‘Times were different back then, but still, a baby was a wonderful gift. Karen didn’t see it that way.’
‘She definitely said that?’
‘Yes, as clear as though it was yesterday. I assumed she didn’t have a partner, and when I went out into the corridor I was proven right.’
‘She was alone?’
‘No, a woman was with her. We talked. I was still thinking about my friend, see? But she was sure she’d change Karen’s mind and get her to accept the baby.’
‘Do you remember her name?’ Luke asked.
She looked to the table. She gazed at the doorway. She scratched her cheek. ‘It was an unusual name.’
‘Joanne?’ Luke said.
‘No. It was something quite strange.’
‘Queenie or Rusty?’
Joyce’s face lit up. ‘Queenie! That’s it!’
Luke glimpsed at Imogen. ‘Do you have any idea where they lived or worked?’
‘They were renting a flat above a restaurant. I took the address so I could check on Karen. That baby had become a bit of an obsession, see?’
He nodded, urging her on.
‘I think it’s still there.’
‘The name?’
He had his pen poised. With any luck, she might still be there.
At the end of a row of townhouses, set at the corner was a restaurant. Luke pulled into a parking bay, turned off the engine, and looked to Imogen.
‘It’s worth a shot,’ he said.
‘You never know, she may at least have left a forwarding address. Are you feeling lucky?’
He gave her a baffled look.
‘You must have days when you feel everything’s going your way. I certainly do.’
‘And you think today is one of them?’
Imogen clicked open her bag, retrieved a small mirror and peered at her reflection. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
She touched up her lipstick. ‘You know what my Mark does? He is constantly fiddling with his phone and drives me mad. Last night, we were having a conversation and he didn’t look at me once. It’s so annoying.’
She returned it to her bag. Then, using the mirror scrutinised her eyebrows.
‘We all have faults,’ Luke said.
‘It’s an addiction, an obsession. He never stops.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Texts, Facebook, Twitter.’ She peered at him, eyeliner in hand. ‘He brags about how many hundreds of friends and followers he has. I’m just not interested.’
‘Tell him to stop.’
‘I’ve tried. I tell you, it’s like a drug. He seems to think the world will end if he doesn’t tell everyone what he’s doing. I wouldn’t care so much if he led an exciting life, but he doesn’t. He tells people what food he’s eating or what programmes he’s watching. There’s no privacy.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘He won’t accept that it involves me too. I don’t want my life scrutinised by the world.’
‘It might just be a phase.’
‘You think? Would you like it if your girlfriend was telling everyone what colour underpants you were wearing?’
‘He does that?’
‘He’s been known to.’ She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. ‘You know what, if you ever want to know my dress size or waist measurement go to my Mark’s twitter page.’
He exited the car and strode around to the pavement. ‘I might just do that.’
She nudged him in the ribs. ‘Cheeky.’
He smiled.
‘Sorry for whingeing.’
‘No worries.’
They strode a few doors away to the restaurant and peered up to the first floor flat. Given the lack of curtains and blinds it seemed as though it was unfurnished, Undeterred, they found a doorway around the back and rang a bell. After a few moments, they decided it was, in fact, empty. Imogen suggested they tried the restaurant. It was closed, but inside there was light and movement. They rapped on the door. An aging man strolled across.
‘I’m Luke Adams, a private investigator, and this is Imogen. We’re trying to trace someone who lived in the flat upstairs about thirty-five years ago.’
‘You’re expecting a lot. That place has rarely seen the same folks for more than a few months at a time. It causes me a headache.’
‘Are you the owner?’
‘Yes. ‘Greg Jenson. I’ve had the flat and restaurant for the best part of forty years.’
He peered at the orange and brown décor. ‘I like the colours, you’ve chosen . . . very effective.’
‘A lot of work has gone into it.’
‘I can tell,’ he said, ‘it’s smart.’
‘Who are you after?’
‘Her name is Karen Jefferson. I think she stayed with a friend, Queenie.’
Greg smiled and had a distant look in his eyes. ‘Karen Jefferson . . . well, well.’
‘That’s right.’
‘She was a live wire.’
‘You knew her?’
‘We saw each other for a while.’
A man appeared at Luke’s rear, wafting a piece of paper. They stepped inside the restaurant, moving out of the way.
‘Hang on,’ Greg said, weaving past.
Luke peered outside to a large van labelled ‘Parry Foodstuffs’. The name was familiar, but he could not determine how or from where. It rattled.
After a few moments, Greg returned and the man started to deposit his load near the kitchen door.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, ‘now, what were we saying?’
‘Yo
u had a relationship with Karen.’
‘Yes, she had a baby, but after that . . . well, it went pear-shaped and she left.’
‘The baby was yours?’
‘Yes, but it died. Karen flipped . . . couldn’t handle it, and left.’
‘When was this?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. 1973 or 1974. I can’t remember for certain.’
Luke looked to Imogen. ‘When was Leanne born?’
‘1975.’
Pensive, he glanced at the assortment of packages, each one emblazoned with Parry Foodstuffs. ‘Did Karen leave straight after the birth?’
‘No, she hung around for about six months. I saw her a few times after that, maybe over the next year or so. I haven’t seen her since. Is she in trouble?’
He returned his notebook and pen to his pocket. ‘No, her daughter is looking for her.’
‘Do you know anything about her friend?’ Imogen asked. ‘They lived together.’
‘It was her sister, wasn’t it?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I could be wrong. I didn’t see her much.’
‘Do you remember her name?’
‘No.’
‘Jo? Rusty? Fiona?’
Greg shook his head. ‘I doubt I’d remember. I didn’t pay much attention back then.’
The deliveryman deposited the last box near the kitchen door, strode across, and handed him a sheet of paper. Greg added his signature to the sheet and took his copy. ‘Cheers mate.’ The man left.
‘Do you have any photos?’ Luke asked.
‘No. If I did I’d have got rid when I married.’
‘Any ideas about her friends, her job, what her plans were?’
‘No sorry. I only cared about one thing in those days.’
He reached for a card. ‘If you remember anything else can you ring me?’
‘Sure.’
They left the building. It was starting to rain and cool droplets slithered from his face down his neck. The clouds were descending, the visibility was poor, and the road was already starting to congest. It was going to be a tedious journey home.
Chapter 32
Leaves danced in the air, floating and dropping, coiling and weaving, as the almost naked branches displayed their flexibility in the whooshing wind. It was late morning, yet it felt more like late afternoon, and the dark turbulent skies tumbled towards the village, burdened and menacing.
Sensing the chill from the window, Leanne shivered, wrapped her arms around her middle and listened to the whispering cries of the wind. Evergreens tussled, battling to remain upright as a brave bird vacated the apparent safety of cover to fly to new ground. It was a desolate scene; there were no crisp and clear colours in the autumnal sunshine, no elongated shadows extending across the land, and no wildlife enjoying the bounty of berries and seeds.
Her ache for companionship intensified. Just a glimpse of a car or a person would ease her need and dissolve the ridiculous notion in her head that she was alone in the world. What if the roof blew off or if the tree a short distance from the house crashed into her? If she was injured in an accident, she could remain buried for days.
Returning to the kitchen table and her business plans, she willed herself to be at ease with her solitude, but focusing was difficult. Distracted by the blustery conditions outdoors she searched the footpath for Steven’s wind-beaten form. In her mind, he was smiling, a wonderful lopsided smile, and craving her attention; his eyes dazzled, he thrust aside floating strands of hair with his slender fingers, and he caressed his lips with his tongue.
Jolting herself back to reality, she chastised herself for her stupidity, urging her burning longing to subside as his rejection haunted. She recalled his final words and remembered his pained expression, but the comparisons he made to his ex-wife were what hurt the most. The two situations were not the same.
It was infuriating that he would link the two. Disappointed, she folded her arms and scowled, denying his accusations. Unlike Andrea, she had not used the situation to find another lover; she had merely told him what she had seen. It was true, damn it. Steven had been with Queenie.
Closing the door to the hopelessly circulating ponderings, Leanne tried to reconnect with her business plans and looked at the possibility of attending craft fairs and exhibitions. She flicked through magazines and copied the details into her notebook, and then chose the ones that were within about a hundred miles or had business potential. She dialled the first number and listened to the ring tone. A woman with a soft voice answered.
‘Hello,’ Leanne said, ‘I understand there is a craft exhibition in Garston Hall on the 21st January. Are there any slots left?’
‘I will have a look, just hang on a minute.’
There were the tapping of keys and a mumble of voices.
‘You’re in luck. We’ve just had a cancellation. What’s your business name?’
‘Can I make a provisional booking?’
‘We need the money to confirm. These are popular events.’
‘It’s just that my craft shop isn’t up and running yet and I’d like to participate.’
‘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.