Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  ‘I’d met Geoff.’

  ‘Yes . . . Geoff.’ She turned, gave her a suspicious look. ‘Why are we here?’

  ‘To forgive and forget.’

  ‘And you’ve no intention of speaking to Leanne.’

  ‘No, none at all. You?’

  ‘Not if I can help it.’

  ‘Wise.’

  ‘I’ve seen you together,’ Queenie said.

  ‘Not recently. We have what we wanted.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A payment. Another bottle?’

  Queenie nodded.

  ‘My legs are aching,’ Teresa said, ‘I’m going to sit down.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  They crouched down, slipped onto the cold stone, and dangled their legs down the steep embankment. They clinked bottles.

  ‘Remember Stuart?’ Teresa said.

  ‘He was something else. I had him once, you know.’

  ‘Doesn’t surprise me. What was he like?’

  ‘Not that good. I’d had better. He liked it rough.’

  ‘And you didn’t?’

  ‘It was too much.’

  ‘Did you have your favourite spots?’

  ‘Not far from here. You?’

  ‘Anywhere and everywhere.’

  ‘You tart!

  Teresa grinned.

  ‘This is good isn’t it,’ Queenie said, gazing down to the line. ‘I feel deliriously happy. We should have done this a long time ago.’

  She turned away, hiding a lopsided smile. ‘You’re right, we should.’

  Chapter 37

  Leanne was leaning forward in the rear of the car and staring out of the windscreen. The seat belt restricted, pressing against her breast and across her middle. She eased it forward.

  ‘How far is it?’

  ‘Turn left at the end,’ Steven said. ‘It’s at the bottom of the hill.’

  Along each side were semi-detached houses of a uniform design with square bay windows, pebble-dashed fronts and small gardens. A car pulled out of a drive. They all surged forward.

  15:29. They would never arrive in time.

  The car in front, a silver Volkswagen, ambled along at a snail’s pace. Her impatience grew. ‘Can we go another way?’

  ‘No, it’ll take longer,’ Steven said, ‘we’re nearly there.’

  The Volkswagen stopped. Something up ahead was preventing them moving forward.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Leanne asked.

  Imogen turned her head. ‘A dog shot out of the garden. A little girl is trying to catch it.’

  Leanne unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. ‘I’m going to walk, it’ll be quicker.’

  Steven grabbed her arm. ‘No. Look, we’re moving.’

  The small dog was in her arms, its legs kicking out. She dropped it over a short wall, encouraged it into the garden, and raced to the gate.

  15:32. Leanne silently urged them forward.

  The car in front arrived at the t-junction and turned right, and a weight lifted. Freed of the encumbrance, they surged down the hill and turned into a small car park surrounded by trees and dense shrubbery. A woman and three children were moving towards the building; the girls were skipping, and the boy, a little younger, was clutching the woman’s hand. They all expressed delight, chatting enthusiastically. The woman ushered them through the door.

  The car stopped. Leanne flung open the door, banged it shut, and hurried down the slight hill. Just as she arrived at the doorway, it swung open and a group of people sauntered outside, heading away. There was a man in a suit, four teenage girls, and an aged woman wearing a long thin coat and carrying a large shopping bag. She stepped inside.

  There was a counter for tickets, a guardsman on duty, and an electronic board displaying train times. Teresa was not there.

  The door opened. She spun around. It was Steven.

  ‘She’s not here.’

  Leanne peered around a partition and scampered to the door onto the platform. It was 15:34.

  Her body tensed and her blood drained.

  She rushed to the outer door. Luke and Imogen were talking to two elderly women. Scowling, she turned to Steven. ‘Where is she?’

  He shook his head. ‘What exactly did she say?’

  ‘That I had to meet her at the station.’

  Leanne clicked open her phone and accessed the message. ‘Oh no, it says: “meet me at the old station by the bridge”.’

  ‘The old station? That was abandoned years ago.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘A few hundred metres that way.’ Steven pointed to a patch of woodland.

  ‘Is there a path?’

  ‘There used to be.’

  She trotted to the car park. ‘There’s a stile.’

  ‘I’ll catch you up.’

  Leanne peered over her shoulder at Steven who was striding towards Luke and Imogen. She started to jog, pounding the tarmac left and right, left and right, rhythmical and determined, and soon found herself fighting for air and urging her rapidly tiring limbs to carry her forward. Sweat gathered under her clothes and on her face, and she was slimy, cool and sticky. Her eyes were swimming and her chest taut, rising and falling at twice the speed of her steps.

  The woodland was eerily still and silent and she had only her hammering heartbeat and heavy breaths for company. She stepped over the tussocks and weaved around the waist-high nettles. Her legs were giving way, weakening at her knees, and her lungs seemed to be shrinking. Gasping and with red-hot skin, she leaned over, resting her hand on a boulder for support, and felt the trickles of moisture slip from her nose.

  ‘Come on, we’re nearly there.’

  Puffing, she peered at Steven’s legs, wiped the moisture from her face, and levered herself upright.

  He grinned. He looked as though he had just stepped out of an ice-bath. ‘I’m sure she’ll wait for you.’

  Leanne glanced back along the path. The absence of Luke and Imogen and their apparently casual attitude niggled, but she had too little energy to voice her irritations, and single-minded she hurried on. Steven kept in time, striding effortlessly.

  The end of the path was in sight and her energies lifted. They marched along a pebbled track with a handrail, which veered off to her left, and stepped out of the woodland and onto a road riddled with cracks and potholes. To her left was the disused station and above the door was a digital clock, displaying 15:37.

  Leanne’s steps faltered. ‘It’s too late.’

  Steven gave her a curious glance.

  ‘That’s when it happened.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘It’s stopped . . . probably been like that for months.’

  Ignited by a new spark of energy, she scurried to the building. ‘Which way to the bridge?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She gawked.

  ‘There must be a path by the railway line.’

  Pacing back and forth, she scanned the dense foliage for a gap. Wide-eyed, she turned to Steven. ‘I can’t see one.’

  A car rumbled down the hill. It was Luke and Imogen.

  Finally, she thought and reached into her pocket for her phone. It hovered over Teresa’s number.

  ‘Found it,’ he yelled. He disappeared around the rear of the building. ‘I can see a bridge.’

  She dropped her phone into her pocket. The slamming of a car door reverberated through her ears.

  ‘We think we know who Karen is.’ Luke called.

  Leanne spun around.

  ‘It’s Queenie.’ He trotted towards her, breathless with excitement. ‘Those women told me. We’d met her earlier in the café. I knew she was listening in,’ he glimpsed at Imogen, ‘she said Karen changed her name to Queenie years ago.’

  ‘That can’t be right. She said they were friends.’

  ‘She was adamant. Her friend was too. I guess there’s only one way to find out.’

  Leanne was dumbstruck. Queenie was her mother; her mother was a drunk.
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  ‘She also said she saw her walking this way about half an hour ago.’

  Her face scrunched. ‘She’s meeting Teresa?’

  ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘We have to hurry.’

  He hesitated. ‘You go ahead. I have a quick call to make.’

  She trotted around the back of the building and bumped straight into Steven. Her expression drifted between a smile and a grimace.

  ‘What it is?’ he asked.

  ‘Queenie is my mother. She’s Karen.’

  A creeping bramble caught on her jeans. She tugged herself free, and then with the flat of her hands encouraged Steven to continue along the path.

  He looked to her, sheepish. ‘That day she met me for a drink she talked endlessly about Karen . . . knew everything about her, her innermost feelings, everywhere she’d been, all her jobs. I should have realised.’

  They followed the narrow track, treading wilting weeds and trampling decaying leaves.

  ‘I believed her when she told me they were friends,’ Leanne said, ‘it was a reasonable thing to say. Do you think she would have told me eventually?’

  ‘Maybe. Don’t be too harsh on her.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You should let her explain first.’

  She pulled back a stray branch, dipped underneath the tree, and released it. It swung back and forth. ‘I don’t know what I’ll say to her anyway. Should I be blunt?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe Teresa is planning on reintroducing you?’

  The premonition rushed into her mind with such an overwhelming urgency that she jerked forward. There was not going to be a happy reunion, at all. She started to trot. ‘Come on, we should hurry.’

  They reached a junction where the path split; the one that headed slightly left was uphill, the other one descended.

  ‘Which way?’ Leanne asked.

  ‘Straight on. It stays closer to the line.’

  Breathless and panting, she took his suggested route.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s the bridge.’

  ‘Can you see them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They must be here somewhere.’

  The path was almost adjacent to the line and there was a bridge a few metres overhead.

  Leanne’s tone filled with panic. ‘Where are they?’

  They stopped. They scanned the railway line and looked across at the grasses, shrubbery, and the yellowing leaves on the trees. Cackling laughter filled the air. Up above, perched on overhanging rocks were Teresa and Queenie.

  Leanne could not help but look at Queenie through new eyes. The woman was a helpless drunk and now was no exception. Even a short distance away, she could see her eyes drooping and her cheeks a shiny red. Her makeup, too, was more pronounced. She looked terrible, far older than her sixty or so years.

  ‘Leanne,’ Teresa called. ‘Come up and join the party.’

  ‘What are you doing up there?’

  ‘Reminiscing. I have a surprise for you.’

  Leanne was stony-faced. ‘We know who you are, both of you.’

  ‘Do you, do you really?’

  She held her tongue.

  ‘Aw well, that was only part of the surprise. Leanne, meet Karen.’

  Queenie was leaning into the trunk of a tree. She looked to Teresa. ‘Am I Karen?’

  ‘Say hello to your daughter,’ Teresa said.

  She lifted her arm, giving a feeble wave, and reached in a bag for another bottle.

  ‘Please come down,’ Leanne called. ‘We should talk.’

  ‘All in good time,’ Teresa said. ‘You should come up here. The view is fantastic and the vibrations from the train send shivers up your spine.’

  ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I want to see you happy.’

  ‘So why rip me off. I want my money back.’

  ‘Money? What money?’

  ‘You know what money. The forty thousand I gave Geoff.’

  ‘You poor thing. You never gave him any money. You backed out first, remember?’

  She clenched her jaw. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  Teresa grinned. ‘Like I said, I want to see you happy.’

  ‘Taking my money is not making me happy.’

  ‘Aw, you’re confused. You don’t know what’s good for you, but I do. I know what’s good for both of you.’ She turned to Queenie. ‘We’ve voted for a happy future, remember?’

  Queenie chortled and thrust out her bottle. ‘To a happy future.’

  Teresa sneered. ‘Remember how happy we were? When we both had little girls?’

  ‘I had a little girl? Only . . . only . . .’

  Her tone hardened. ‘Go on, say it.’

  Queenie was silent.

  ‘You wanted rid, remember?’

  ‘I did?’ Queenie frowned. ‘No, that’s not right.’

  ‘Tell her what you did.’

  ‘No, that was Karen.’

  ‘You are Karen.’

  ‘No, I’m Queenie.’

  ‘Say you’re sorry.’

  Their eyes locked and Teresa’s determination remained.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said weakly.

  Leanne gulped. This was getting bad. Panicking, she turned to Steven and spoke in a whisper. ‘I don’t like it. She’s going to push her.’

  ‘I’ll go up there. She might listen to me.’

  ‘Be careful.’

  He pecked her on the lips. ‘I will.’

  Having watched him race back to the track, she returned her attention back to Teresa and Queenie. They were together and tranquillity seemed to prevail; Queenie was humming to herself, and Teresa was staring across to the other side of the line, cracking her fingers.

  ‘Are we going to do this again?’ Queenie said.

  ‘All the time.’

  ‘And we’ll be like proper cousins.’

  ‘Proper cousins.’

  A faint rumble broke the silence. Panicking, Leanne looked for the train and then to the ledge. Teresa was smiling.

  ‘Please don’t do this,’ Leanne said.

  ‘I want you to be happy.’

  ‘And I will if you stop.’

  ‘No!’

  The tone, the hatred, made Leanne shudder. She held her arms to her body and searched the higher path for signs of Steven. Her skin was moist, her body throbbing and tense. She made a fist.

  Queenie had a bottle to her lips and Teresa was looking along the line displaying satisfaction. Her expressions were changing on a whim.

  The rumble was deepening, the train approaching.

  ‘Please,’ Leanne said, ‘let’s talk about this.’

  The vibrations grew louder. A train came into view. She glanced up. Teresa had shuffled backward, her arm and shoulder inches from Queenie’s back. There was movement in the trees.

  Leanne’s mouth dried, her heart throbbed in her throat. She glimpsed back at the train, and out of her eye corner saw a tangle of bodies. One came free. She screamed desperate and plaintive.

  Chapter 38

  The stickiness of Steven’s palm transferred to Leanne’s as they stared at Teresa in the hospital bed, strapped to a unit and in a coma. His distress was immense, so obvious in the way he dragged his legs, dipped his head and shoulders, and spoke breathy words. She could not provide comfort. It was, although a cliché, a waiting game.

  Every minute he could spare he spent at her bedside, reading books and magazines and sharing the day’s events. Whilst he forced a perky tone, determined to project a positive attitude, she could tell it was a huge effort.

  He pecked Teresa on her cheek, told her he would return and shuffled past Leanne and out of the ward.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ he muttered.

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘I should have got there sooner.’

  ‘We acted as soon as we knew what was going on. We did our best Steven.’

  ‘If I hadn’t grabbed Queenie’s arm, Teresa wouldn’t have slipped. I . . .
I . . .’

  ‘Look at me. It wasn’t your fault.’

  He averted his gaze. In her gut, she knew he would have preferred to grab Teresa, but he was too good-hearted to say it aloud. Silently, she thanked him for his respect and prayed for a full and swift recovery.

  ‘How is she?’ Luke asked.

  They were in Leanne’s house; Luke and Imogen were side by side on the sofa, Steven was in one armchair, she was in another. Luke’s cheery expression was the opposite of Steven’s ashen skin tone and lacklustre movements, and it was a welcome change of mood.

  ‘No change,’ she said, ‘the doctors say it could be a while, if at all.’

  He nodded and started to speak, but an incoming call on his phone caused a brief interruption. As she offered Steven supportive words, Luke retrieved his phone, looked at the screen, and rejected the call. He turned to Imogen.

  ‘It was Sarah.’

  ‘What’s she want?’

  He looked sheepish. ‘I called her a few days ago. I thought we could catch up.’

  ‘Are you going to ring her back?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Too right. She used you. Forget her.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ He laid the phone on his leg. It beeped. It was a message. ‘She wants to meet up . . . says it’s important.’

  Imogen glared. ‘I hope you’re going to say no.’

  He tapped in his answer, put it on the arm of the sofa, and smiled at Imogen. ‘I told her I’d made a mistake contacting her.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  There was a faint knock at the door. Leanne leaped to her feet and scurried through the hallway, and with her pulse racing thrust it open. The cool, damp air rushed towards her. She searched for eye contact. Queenie’s gaze never settled.

  ‘We’ve just been to see Teresa,’ Leanne said, guiding her into the room, ‘she’s still the same.’

  ‘I don’t remember much of what happened. I don’t understand why I was so out of it. Alcohol hasn’t affected me like that for years . . . if ever.’

  She bit her tongue. It sounded a weak excuse.

  ‘Why did you change your name to Queenie?’ Luke asked.

  ‘It was just a nickname. I didn’t change it officially or anything. I never felt like a Karen.’