Thicker Than Water

by Anthea Fraser

  On their return from school, Jilly had a long phone call from Felicity, about some boy she’d met at the dance. It entailed a lot of giggling and shrieking, and Cal, disgusted, retired to his room and made a start on his homework. It was therefore later than usual when they set out to keep their tryst.

  Jilly put her head round the door of the sitting room, where Abby was watching television.

  ‘OK, we’re going now.’

  ‘I’ll be down in a minute – this has nearly finished.’

  Jilly glanced at the screen. ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to be watching it?’

  Abby merely grunted in reply, and Jilly shrugged and withdrew.

  ‘She’ll see us down there,’ she told Cal.

  They were discussing Abby’s idea of nails in tyres when Abby herself came flying into the enclosure, tears streaming down her face.

  ‘I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!’ she cried, and hurled herself on to the grass, her face buried in her arms.

  ‘What is it? Whatever’s happened?’

  ‘He came back early, that’s what happened.’ Abby’s voice was muffled, punctuated by sobs. ‘He caught me watching Teen Times, and now I can’t go riding for a month, as a punishment! I wish he was dead!’

  ‘You were taking a risk,’ Cal said judiciously. ‘You know what he’s like.’

  Jilly was more practical. ‘Sit up, Abby, we need your input. We were discussing what you said, about nails in his tyres.’

  ‘I’d rather put nails in him!’ Abby said, but she sat up, wiping away her tears. ‘I can’t go a whole month without riding! I just can’t!’

  ‘Nor can I, without sailing,’ Cal said gloomily.

  ‘We could go and see Mum all together,’ Jilly said. ‘Explain how we feel.’

  ‘And what would that achieve? You know how she and Dad always backed each other up, no matter what. She’s doing the same with him. No, we’re on our own on this. Abby’s idea about the car’s good, though.’

  Suddenly Cal’s face lit up. ‘Eureka!’ he shouted, punching the air. ‘I know what we can do! Why didn’t I think of it before?’

  ‘What?’ the girls asked in unison.

  ‘You know how I used to watch Dad, when he was working on his car? I’ve just thought of something. It ought to work.’

  ‘What?’ his sisters demanded again.

  ‘Well, every now and then he had to top up the brake fluid. He kept a bottle of the stuff on a shelf in the garage.’

  ‘So?’ Jilly demanded impatiently.

  ‘You have to be very careful with it, or it could seize up the brakes. Dad showed me how to unscrew the top of the chamber where it goes, and pour it in very carefully so there are no air bubbles. He said if any contaminants got in, they could gum up the works.’

  ‘What’s contaminants?’ Abby asked.

  ‘Dirt of any kind. So,’ Cal ended triumphantly, ‘we could deliberately put something in – soil, for instance – and scupper it.’

  He looked expectantly at their doubtful faces. ‘Don’t you see?’ he demanded. ‘It’s a perfect solution! Dad said there wouldn’t be any warning – nothing leaking on the floor or anything – but the pipe would be blocked. His lordship would be well and truly stuck, hopefully on his way to work. He always prides himself on his timekeeping; well, with luck this would hold him up for hours, and take time – and money – to fix.’

  ‘You know how to do this?’ Jilly asked.

  ‘Yes, I told you. It’s easy. And afterwards, it would never occur to him we’d had anything to do with it.’

  Jilly said, ‘Wouldn’t it be dangerous, tampering with the brakes?’

  ‘It’s not really tampering; not as if we were cutting the cable, like you see on TV. Dad never said it’d be dangerous, just that you must be careful with it.’

  ‘Did he say what would happen, if dirt or something did get in?’

  ‘Only that it would block the pipe so the fluid couldn’t get through.’ Cal shrugged, implying he knew more than he did. ‘No big deal, just like putting sugar in the petrol.’

  Jilly considered while Cal and Abby watched her in silence, trying to gauge her thoughts. Then she looked up.

  ‘OK, let’s go for it; we’ve not come up with anything better.’

  ‘Great!’ Cal rubbed his hands together. ‘Now the question is, when?’

  ‘Tomorrow? That’ll give us time to work out the details. We’ll meet here after school to finalize the arrangements.’

  ‘He’ll soon be laughing on the other side of his face,’ said Cal with satisfaction.

  Jack Spencer had been in a bad mood all day. He’d not slept well the previous night – even with door and window wide open, the walls had seemed to close in on him, and when he did sleep, he dreamed he was trapped in an underground tunnel. He’d woken drenched in sweat, and had had to lean out of the window drawing in breaths of cool night air before he was composed enough to return to bed.

  And it was Tuesday, his day for The Lodge. Previously, it had been one of the highlights of his week, but that had ended with the advent of Mr Sheridan and his continual carping. What was more, with Jack’s hours being three forty-five (on account of picking up young Bryan) till five forty-five, more often than not Sir came home while Jack was still there. In order to check up on him, Jack suspected darkly.

  ‘Honest, Moll,’ he said over breakfast, ‘I’m in two minds about carrying on there. If it wasn’t for Mrs Beth, I’d have given up months since.’

  Molly laid a sympathetic hand on his. ‘Don’t let him drive you away, love. You’ll only cut off your nose to spite your face.’

  ‘I didn’t get them chrysanths he wanted,’ Jack confessed, with a tired grin. ‘Can’t abide the things, no more could Mr Simon. “Only fit for funerals, Jack,” he used to say.’

  ‘Oh Jack, won’t that get you in trouble?’

  ‘Happen he’ll not notice. He says things off the top of his head to annoy me, and likely forgets them straight after. More’n once I’ve not done as he said, and he never came back to me.’

  ‘All the same, love, like it or not, as master of the house, he’s entitled to choose his own flowers.’

  ‘He’s not master of me!’ Jack declared illogically, and Molly, with a sigh, gave up.

  ‘Liza? It’s Pam Firbank. Is Beth there?’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Firbank, they’re all out. Can I take a message?’

  ‘Yes, you could, actually; I’m afraid Stephen left his pyjamas in the bathroom. He didn’t realize till he looked for them last night. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I saw them just now, hanging on the back of the door.’

  ‘That’s how I came to miss them. Could someone possibly post them on to us?’

  ‘Of course. Where will you be?’

  ‘If you send them Next Day Delivery, we’ll be care of Mr and Mrs Strachan, at Cairn View, Nevis Road, Fort William.’

  ‘Just a moment, while I find a pen. Right, now: Cairn View, you said?’

  Pam repeated the address as Liza wrote it down. ‘Sorry to be such a nuisance,’ she finished.

  ‘That’s all right. Beth will be back for lunch, and I’m sure she’ll get them straight off to you.’

  ‘Thanks so much, Liza. And thanks again for all those lovely meals.’

  ‘A pleasure, Mrs Firbank,’ Liza said.

  There was an air of excitement when they met by the swings that afternoon, mixed, in the case of the girls, with slight trepidation.

  ‘You really think it’s OK, doing this?’ Jilly asked.

  ‘Depends what you mean by OK,’ Cal answered impatiently. ‘We want to get back at him, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but – wouldn’t it be better to stick to nails?’

  ‘Don’t be so wet, Jilly. Anyway, if he found nails in his tyres, he’d have a pretty good idea who put them there, and there’d be hell to pay. This way, we’ll be anonymous.’

  ‘And you’re sure it’s not really dangerous?’

  ‘Of cour
se it isn’t.’

  ‘OK. So let’s recap then. As soon as we leave here, we’ll collect some soil—’

  Cal held up a jam jar. ‘Already done. The shed was open and I could see a sack of gravel, so I took a handful. Probably better than just soil.’

  ‘OK. So now what?’

  ‘We wait till they’re settled in the sitting room after dinner, then we let ourselves in to the garage and – do it. It’ll only take a couple of minutes, but someone will have to stand guard.’

  ‘Will we be able to open the bonnet?’ Abby asked.

  ‘Yep – the car’s never locked when it’s in the garage.’

  Cal shifted his position, and there was a sudden snapping sound. They all froze, then he reached beneath him and held up a broken twig. ‘OK, it was only this; it was digging into me, that’s why I moved.’

  ‘We’d better put a definite time on this, so we know where we are,’ Jilly said. ‘Eight thirty?’

  ‘Eight thirty it is. Synchronize watches, everyone.’

  Abby looked blank, and Jilly showed her what to do. Then, hugging their secret, they returned to the house.

  Jack’s last job on a Tuesday afternoon was to wash Beth’s car, a task Bryan enjoyed helping with. She always left it on the drive for them, and when they’d finished, Jack would garage it and, if no one was about, drop the keys through the letter box.

  ‘It’s been playing up a bit, Jack,’ she’d said earlier. ‘Perhaps you’d have a look at it, and see if you can spot the trouble.’

  He and Bryan were hosing the car down when Mr Sheridan drove past, straight into the open garage.

  Jack checked his watch. Barely five-forty, which meant he’d left work early again. Bastard! he thought. His mood had not improved during the day, and when he saw Sheridan walking purposefully towards him, he could feel anger building up inside him.

  ‘Spencer,’ the man began imperiously, when still several feet away, ‘I thought I told you I wanted chrysanthemums in that far bed?’

  Jack gritted his teeth. ‘We never have chrysanths in the garden, sir,’ he muttered.

  ‘I’m not interested in what you’ve done in the past. I specifically asked you to get some, and since you’ve deliberately ignored me, I’ll see your pay’s docked this week.’

  Jack dropped the hose, and water spurted over Harold’s trousers and shoes, causing him to jump back with an expletive.

  ‘I’ve had enough o’ this!’ Jack declared, his voice shaking. ‘Ever since you come ’ere, you’ve done nowt but criticize – “do that”, “don’t do that”. When Mr Simon were alive, he left me to do as I thought fit, and he were allus right pleased wi’ it, and all.’

  Sheridan’s voice was steely. ‘As you might have noticed, Spencer, Mr Simon, as you call him, is no longer with us; but I’m willing to bet even he wouldn’t have stood for being addressed in that tone.’

  ‘There weren’t never the need of it, that’s what I’m saying. Mr Simon were a gentleman, and—’

  ‘I’m not?’

  Jack was aware of Bryan tugging nervously at his sleeve, but there was no stopping him now.

  ‘Not the way you talk to me, you’re not, bossing me around all t’time as though I’m not good enough to tie your laces. And it’s not even your garden, it’s Mrs Beth’s! If she wants chrysanths, I’ll get ’em and gladly, but I know damn well she don’t!’

  Sheridan’s face was white, and a tic jumped at the corner of his mouth. ‘That’s quite enough. Take your things and go. And you needn’t bother coming back.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. But I’m not going afore I’ve finished cleaning yon car.’

  And he picked up the hose, relishing Sheridan’s instinctive skip backwards, and continued with the rinsing. After a moment of total immobility, his employer turned on his heel and strode away.

  ‘Arrogant bugger!’ Jack said, loud enough for him to hear.

  ‘Oh, Dad!’ Bryan whimpered. ‘Have you got the sack?’

  ‘No, son,’ Jack replied loftily, ‘I resigned. And not before time, neither.’

  Jack was still shaking when, having recoiled the hose, he climbed into Beth’s car. A turn or two of the ignition showed the battery to be totally flat.

  He climbed out again and turned to his son. ‘Get in, lad, and steer t’wheel while I push ’un inter t’garage.’

  Between them, they managed to roll the car inside. Jack took out the keys and handed them to the boy.

  ‘I’m not goin’ within fifty yards of any of ’em, Bry. But you knock on t’back door and hand these to Miss Jenkins. Ask her to tell Mrs Beth as her battery’s flat. It’ll need chargin’ afore she can shift it.’

  The boy looked at him anxiously. Then he nodded, took the keys, and ran round the back of the house. Jack stared malevolently at Sheridan’s large black car. For two pins he’d have run his keys along the gleaming paintwork.

  Smiling grimly, he walked back outside and pulled down the door.

  The deed was done. Hearts hammering, the three children had crept out of the house, and as arranged, Abby took out her rope and began skipping outside the garage, ready to warn of anyone’s approach. Jilly watched with bated breath as Cal propped open the bonnet and, after a moment’s scrutiny, unscrewed the cap of the relevant container. Slowly, careful not to spill any, he dropped a handful of gravel into the fluid and replaced the cap.

  Then, breathing heavily, he looked across at his sister and gave her the thumbs up.

  ‘Geronimo!’ he said.

  It was past eleven when Molly, dozing in front of the television, became aware of knocking on the front door. She looked up at the clock, and frowned. Jack should have been back before this.

  She hurried to the door, to find her husband on the step, supported by two of his friends.

  ‘He’s all right, missus, had a drop too much, that’s all,’ Stan Blenkinsop told her.

  ‘More than a drop, by the look of him,’ Molly said sharply.

  Stan grinned. ‘Sounding off he were, all evening, about what he’d like to do to him up at t’Lodge. There was no holding ’im.’

  Molly flushed. ‘His bark’s worse than his bite,’ she said. ‘Thanks for bringing him home.’

  ‘Reckon we’d better give you a hand wi’ him up t’stairs, and all,’ said the other man. ‘He’s no light weight for a slip of a thing like you.’

  ‘Well, I—’

  ‘No bother,’ they assured her. And as she helplessly followed in their wake, they half lifted, half dragged Jack up the steep staircase to their room and heaved him on to the bed.

  ‘He’ll be right as rain come morning,’ they assured her, as they took their leave with her renewed thanks.

  Molly could only hope they were right.

  Sixteen

  The children were surprised to find Harold still at the breakfast table when they came down the next morning.

  ‘He has to see a client, so he’s leaving a bit later,’ Beth explained.

  Great! Cal exulted; thanks to them, he’d be late for an important meeting. He glanced at his sisters, but their eyes were fixed on their plates. They’d not expected to see Harold, and guilty consciences made it hard to look at him. It was a relief when it was time to leave for school.

  At the bend in the drive, they turned to wave to their mother.

  ‘Are you sure they won’t know it was us?’ Abby asked, as they continued on their way.

  ‘Positive,’ replied Cal confidently.

  It was almost lunchtime when one of the prefects came into the classroom and spoke quietly to the mistress in charge. Jilly, who was translating a French poem, jumped when she heard her name.

  ‘Jilly Poole! Mr Graham would like to see you in his room.’

  Jilly stared at her, her mind racing back over past misdemeanours. She couldn’t recall any recent ones, but it was rare to be summoned to the head’s study, especially in the middle of a class.

  ‘Off you go, then!’ Miss Davis prompted, and Jilly, sti
ll wondering what she’d done wrong, rose obediently from her desk.

  The head’s study lay on the far side of the glass entrance doors, and glancing through them, she was surprised to see a police car outside. Then, as she turned into the corridor, she saw Cal and Abby, accompanied by another prefect, waiting for her outside the head’s door. A wave of coldness washed over her. Had Harold discovered what they’d done, and reported them to the police? She wouldn’t put it past him.

  Feeling slightly sick, she hurried to join them. Cal and Abby looked equally worried, but the prefect gave her a sympathetic smile, and knocked on the door. It was opened by Mr Graham himself.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said distractedly. ‘Come in, all of you, and – sit down.’

  This wasn’t the usual opening to a reprimand, and their surprise increased when, as the three of them entered the room, the headmaster left it, closing the door behind him. Then they promptly forgot him, for standing by his desk were a man and woman in police uniform, and next to them – unbelievably – was Liza, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Jilly’s heart set up an uncomfortable, thudding beat.

  The WPC gave them a strained smile. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘My name’s Sue. Would you – like to sit down?’ She indicated three chairs that had been set against the wall.

  Cal, speaking for all of them, said in a strangled voice, ‘We’d rather stand.’ His eyes were fixed on Liza.

  ‘Just as you like.’ Sue replied. ‘But – I’m afraid we have some very bad news.’

  The children, rigid, stared at her in silence. She moistened her lips. ‘I’m very sorry to tell you that your parents have been involved in a car crash – a serious one. And – unfortunately, they – didn’t survive.’

  There was total silence. Then Jilly said in a croak, ‘They?’

  Sue nodded. ‘Your mother and – stepfather, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Mummy?’ Abby asked, her voice rising.

  ‘I’m afraid so, yes. I’m so very sorry.’

  ‘But – it can’t be! There must be a mistake!’ Cal said rapidly. ‘Mum has her own car, she doesn’t—’

  The policewoman glanced at Liza. ‘Miss Jenkins says her battery was flat, so your stepfather gave her a lift.’