Power on Her Own

by Judith Cutler

  When she got to the Manse Maz and Giles were just getting into their car. Feeling a heel, she parked and ran over: ‘Not a very long weekend,’ she said.

  ‘Meeting overran,’ Maz said. ‘You know how they do. Anyway, we’re off!’ She cupped her ear. ‘I can hear that jacuzzi calling from here. Drive on, Macduff!’

  The cluster on the steps did not include Lynn.

  ‘She’s off at a friend’s,’ Tim said airily. ‘Sleeping over.’

  ‘You mean she won’t be back to watch the game tomorrow? But I was relying on you all! You’ll be there, Paul? And Jenny? Tim?’

  ‘I was thinking of taking them out for the day,’ Paul said, scooping them back into the house.

  ‘Hell! Tell you what, you couldn’t postpone it till Sunday? We really are hoping for a decent result. Young Marcus is coming on by leaps and bounds. You can’t all let us down!’

  ‘Does it really make a difference?’ Tim asked. ‘Do you think it’s time we switched the central heating on? Dad said we could.’

  ‘It really does make a difference. Like putting the heating on!’

  ‘I want to go,’ said Jenny. ‘And I’ll bring Wol too. He’s wise. He’ll help.’

  ‘You’re too big for toys,’ Tim said over his shoulder. ‘I’m going to switch on the heating.’

  ‘D’you think there’s any point? I was going to take you all out for burgers,’ Kate said.

  ‘BSE and rainforests,’ Tim said, stopping short. ‘But there’s a lovely pizza place in Harborne. We’d have to book.’

  ‘I was going to cook one of my specials,’ Paul said. ‘Steak –’

  ‘Won’t that have BSE?’ Kate asked, conscious of her lack of logic.

  ‘I go to this organic butcher.’

  ‘Pizza! Pizza! Don’t want to go mad!’ Tim yelled, putting hands to his head for horns and charging around. Jenny joined in.

  ‘So we have steak tomorrow. With chips and onions,’ Kate said.

  ‘And I’ll make some of my own ice cream.’

  ‘I suppose you two will want wine,’ Tim said.

  ‘What do you and Jenny have if we do?’

  ‘We have wine too! Wine too!’ Jenny declared. ‘With fizz.’

  ‘Soda water,’ Tim explained.

  ‘Wine and water it shall be,’ Kate said.

  ‘Sounds like a wedding in Cana,’ Paul agreed.

  Kate had persuaded the children into bed by promising a small but valuable prize to whichever was undressed, washed and in bed first. Without assistance from either grown-up, she had added, as if it were an afterthought, not something she’d been taxing her brain over for the best part of the evening. She and Paul had declared a dead heat – two small but valuable prizes coming up! – and together kissed the children goodnight. There was no sign anywhere that Kate’s colleagues might have been busy. But she would bet her teeth they had.

  Paul had poured a couple of glasses of wine and retired to the living room when she came down from the bathroom. He was squatting by the CD player, going through the small collection beside it.

  ‘English string music OK for you?’ He flourished a double album. ‘There’s not much choice. They only had the player last Christmas. We all chipped in – all the family, that is. Maz loves music, but she hardly gets a chance to hear any – what with the kids and the cost. I mean, some of the Symphony Hall prices are absurd.’

  Kate nodded. She wasn’t sure of his mood. She hoped it wasn’t romantic. She prowled round looking at books till he sat down. Then she came to rest facing him. She gestured with the wine glass: ‘Cheers!’

  He responded, almost absently, then slumped back in his chair. ‘You were really good with those kids,’ he said.

  ‘It was a lovely evening all round,’ she said. ‘They obviously think the world of you, Paul.’

  ‘I love them more than I can say. They are all the world to me. I wish they were mine.’ He drank slowly. ‘I just haven’t met the right woman, I suppose. One I could care for and who could return my feelings. It’s always been unrequited love, one way or the other. I mean – you know how attractive I find you, but you’re still grieving for – for –’

  ‘For Robin,’ she agreed quietly. She nodded as if she understood what he was saying. It sounded so right, so honest and truthful. If it hadn’t been for the business of the folders, she might have believed him. Perhaps she still should. She drank too.

  ‘I’d die for them, you know. Literally die. And yet they’re growing up and they won’t want me any more.’

  ‘They will. In a different way. But just as much. It must be hard, growing up in a Manse – all these people popping in and out. Your parents public property. God’s property, come to think of it. All the congregation expecting you to be somehow “gooder” than your friends and contemporaries. Imagine being caught puffing your first spliff!’

  ‘“Spliff”?’ He sat upright. ‘Surely you never smoked cannabis, Kate?’

  ‘At Uni I did – didn’t you?’

  ‘Never!’

  No, he was too busy being good, no doubt. And maybe buggering little boys. ‘See what I mean? A bit of honest, decent law-breaking in your teens can have a lot to commend it. And it might become an absolute necessity if your dad’s a clergyman. Which is where you’d come in. The non-judgmental shoulder to cry on when it all goes pear-shaped.’

  ‘I could never encourage them to do anything like that.’

  ‘Not encourage. Just understand.’

  He frowned into his drink.

  So how could a man with such morals do what she thought he was doing? She too frowned into her wine. The music played on.

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘Please, Uncle Paul, please, please, PLEASE!’ Jenny held on to his hand, swinging it from side to side. ‘Please say yes! A sleep-over!’

  Jenny had met her best friend, her very best friend, at the playing fields, where, on a fine mild morning, Brayfield Road were trailing three-one.

  ‘I’m cooking your very favourite dinner tonight,’ Paul objected. ‘Why don’t you stay till six o’clock and then come home? Yes, Marcus! Yes!’

  The joys of surrogate parenthood, Kate thought with dour amusement. Robin’s kids had been just the same. Robin had always been hurt that they didn’t want to spend whole weekends with him and Kate; Kate had always tried to remind him that kids had social lives too. They’d had rows about it. ‘Yes, Marcus! Shoot!’

  Three-two! That was better.

  ‘None of your friends here today,’ Paul observed.

  ‘They’ll still be up to their elbows in your files,’ she said, carefree as if he hadn’t tried to get rid of the important ones. She could see them toiling away, and felt momentarily guilty. But her job was just as important as theirs – more! – and a good deal more delicate. And now a good deal more difficult. With the family splitting up, it would be really tricky if Paul had the nous to play on Tim’s vanity and suggest they go off and do manly things together.

  No. However evil he might be, Paul would never harm Tim. Not his own flesh and blood. Not someone he loved as much as he loved Tim. Unbidden – and she found herself shuddering – came the memory of Cope crying the night Darren had been killed.

  She hadn’t mentioned her fears – scarcely even suspicions – to anyone. Not even Graham. There was the business of the incomplete file to explore. Could Cope be bent? Could he?

  There was a flurry in Halesowen’s goal-mouth. She’d no idea what had led up to it. But Marcus was in there somewhere! And on the ground!

  ‘Foul!’ A pity Cope wasn’t here with his stentorian yells. But the ref had got the message, and blew for a penalty. And Marcus, dusting himself down, was preparing to take it. It didn’t make sense. He’d be shaken. It would be better for someone else to take it. She didn’t know which would be worse, absolute silence or the chorus of ‘Come on, Marcus!’ from the touchline.

  Cool as a pro, Marcus re-adjusted the ball to his liking, ran, and kicked. And as accurately!<
br />
  Yes!

  It was too much to hope for another. There were only five more minutes to go, and Brayfield always flagged with fatigue at the end. But it was as if someone had switched them on to overdrive – they brought the ball back effortlessly into the opposition’s penalty area, and won a corner. They’d been through this scenario with her at practice. Marcus was to stay in the middle, Martin to take the kick. So what the hell were they playing at now? What was tubby little Leo up to?

  Kicking like an angel, that’s what!

  But it was too high, too high! She’d give him clever stuff when she saw him. But there was Marcus, jumping like a young gazelle, and heading it home, sweet as if they’d rehearsed it a hundred times.

  Three minutes, and still Brayfield were swarming round the opposition goal. You couldn’t pray for something like another goal, could you? Could you? If she couldn’t, Kate could still will them through. Another. Another. Please. She was running to get closer. And then she realised they all were, all the parents and brothers and hangers-on. All that will-power concentrated on those young feet.

  It worked. Young Marcus again, with a touch like silk.

  She was hugging Tim and Jenny and even Paul. Certainly young Marcus the minute he came off the field. And suddenly she found she was hugging Graham. Graham!

  ‘Just popped round for the last couple of minutes. And what do I get? Two smashing goals. Well done, lad.’ He’d pulled away from her and was patting Marcus on the back.

  They all surged back to the pitiful apology for a pavilion, Graham and Kate in the midst of the yelling, sweaty kids. Paul too.

  ‘Tell me,’ he called across the bobbing heads, ‘have you found what you were looking for, Graham?’

  ‘Needle in a haystack time,’ Graham smiled affably. ‘But we usually find what we’re looking for. Sooner or later.’ His smile and voice were sociable but surely no one could have missed the implicit threat. ‘Are you and Kate going to celebrate?’

  ‘With Tim,’ Kate said quickly. ‘Jenny here’s going to her best friend. But you will be back for six, won’t you, love?’ She smiled across her head to the best friend’s mother. ‘Paul and I are cooking a special dinner.’

  ‘We’re going to have fizzy wine,’ Jenny added.

  ‘And what are you all doing this afternoon?’

  Kate almost saw the idea coming into her head. ‘Let’s go on a train!’ she said. ‘On a real steam train. How about that, Tim? My treat. Though I shan’t have time to make my special ice cream.’

  ‘We can get some from Sainsbury’s,’ he said, irrefutably.

  She was aware of Graham listening in silence to all that was being said. She’d have his approval, she was sure of that. What she wanted was two minutes’ conversation with him. That was all. Two.

  ‘I’ll go in there and keep some sort of order,’ Paul announced, heading into the pavilion.

  Over Tim’s head, Graham looked at her, his face exuding angry amusement. She pulled a similar face back. ‘Everything’s set up,’ he said. ‘Took a lot of talking: money, cost centres, ethics – I’ve been through the lot with the management. Gordon took an enormous amount of persuading. You don’t half owe me, Kate!’

  ‘Yes, Gaffer!’ She returned his smile. ‘How’s the rest of the business?’

  ‘Kings Heath surveillance has thrown up a very nasty development – hell!’

  Paul was coming out.

  ‘Forgot his camera,’ Graham muttered.

  ‘The conditions in there are shocking,’ Paul announced. ‘I’ve told the lads not to bother with showers – just get themselves home as quickly as they can.’ He looked across to the fleet of cars waiting. ‘Looks as if most of them will be chauffeured.’

  ‘What innocent pleasures these bloody perverts have destroyed!’ Marcus’s father agreed loudly, joining the group. ‘No one walks any –’

  ‘Hi, Mr Fulton – wow, your son!’ Kate interrupted.

  ‘Doug.’ He shook hands with her. ‘Yes, bit of all right, that, wasn’t it? Thanks to your coaching. Funny thing is, he isn’t getting so much asthma these days. Anyway, as I was saying, in my day walking to school was the norm. My parents used to walk everywhere – a ten-mile round trip was nothing. Well, you only have to read Hardy or Lawrence to see how times have changed.’

  ‘My road wasn’t built for all the parents’ cars,’ Kate agreed. ‘Parking’s a nightmare, isn’t it, Paul?’

  ‘Specially at going-home time,’ he agreed. ‘Or first thing in the morning, I’d guess. My special hate is the parents who just stop in the middle of the road and open their car door for the kids to jump out. Don’t they realise that there’s more real danger from cars than from any of these so-called perverts? Cars kill!’

  ‘So do perverts,’ Fulton pointed out. ‘And if they don’t, the damage can be immense, physically and mentally. God knows, I’m not the best of parents to young Marcus, but I can’t imagine – Jesus!’ He broke off, shuddering. ‘And they’re all over the place,’ he continued. ‘Aren’t I right, Kate? In the police force, in social services, in the judiciary – everywhere. Look at that business in Belgium! I hope you lot are better at hunting down the monsters than they were.’

  Graham said, ‘We always do our best. But you’re right: you may even find some in – what line are you in, Mr Fulton?’

  ‘Business consultancy.’

  Not bad for an erstwhile English teacher, sacked because of his relationship with a pupil. And was he protesting too much – a man, after all, with a taste for younger women? Come off it, Kate. A taste for one young woman, to the best of your knowledge.

  ‘How are you going to celebrate Marcus’s triumph?’ Kate asked.

  ‘With the last thing he wants, I’m afraid. A baby brother or sister. Melanie was just starting to twinge when I left.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he come with us to the Severn Valley Railway?’ Paul said. ‘We could pick him up – only a few yards out of our way. And he could stay over at the Manse with Tim.’

  How reasonable it all sounded. Kate caught Graham’s eye.

  ‘What a splendid idea,’ he said, with a smile that confirmed the presence of some very expensive equipment at the Manse.

  They had the perfect afternoon for their trip – yes, they’d go the whole length of the line. They started from Kidderminster, two, or in this context three, small boys and Kate. Marcus had not been keen on consorting with someone as young as Tim, but, on the basis that it was that or the rest of the day at his grandmother’s, had conceded it might just be all right. In the event, he was lapping it up. The train was already in the station, a huge Great Western loco pulling it. Hagley Hall. The driving wheels must have been nearly six feet in diameter, the tapered boiler equally massive. Kate felt disorientated – the pretty prettiness of the stations, with hanging baskets still glowing with late season colour, seemed at odds with the noise, no, the sheer size and power of the locomotive. But that was elegant too, in its own way. At last she sat back and prepared to enjoy herself. She began to: the engine’s silly shrill Toy-Town whistle for a start. ‘Not the sort of whistle Gordon would approve of,’ she said to Tim.

  He grinned, but rather self-consciously. One didn’t mention children’s books in front of older boys like Marcus, of course.

  Then there was another noise. Deep, regular.

  ‘What on earth’s that?’ she asked. ‘That woofing?’

  ‘They call it barking,’ Paul explained. ‘It’s typical of the Great Western engines. It’s caused when the cylinders exhaust the steam.’

  He must be using some technical term; but she couldn’t suppress a quick vision of thin, emaciated trickles of steam staggering around. This would clearly be woman’s talk, however, not the sort of thing to introduce into this male company.

  There was a model railway at one of the stations, operated by coins. The boys couldn’t resist it. Neither could she. And then she remembered other uses of small locos.

  Tucked away in one of the engin
e sheds was a pannier tank.

  ‘Look,’ Tim yelled. ‘Duck!’

  Paul took photographs at each station, and the boys, armed with pocket-money from Doug Fulton – a very successful business consultant to judge by the way he bank-rolled his son – and Giles and Maz, had bought wagons for their model railways.

  ‘A friend of mine has a huge layout,’ Paul said. ‘It runs on several different levels, with tunnels and bridges and whatnot. He’s landscaped it all, too. It’s really quite realistic. And he’s got some good stock, too.’

  He left the information dangling in the air.

  Kate knew it for a bait as soon as she heard it. She wanted to hit herself: she should have foreseen it. If the boys responded, she’d better feign an interest she didn’t feel – her own motive for playing trains was to play with Tim, after all.

  They bit: ‘Uncle Paul, you don’t suppose he’d let us see it, do you? To get a few ideas?’

  ‘Has he gone in for farms and things?’ Kate asked.

  ‘It’s the locos we’re interested in,’ said Marcus, loftily.

  ‘I’ll have a word with him when I see him. Which isn’t all that often. But it’s not for playing with, like you knock your stock around, Tim. It’s serious.’

  A train set not meant for playing with. That defeated Kate. But her mind was working nineteen to the dozen. Yes: she’d bet her pension that the man with the train set used an ultra-quiet house in Leavensbrook Close. What else would make a tiny whirring noise that stopped suddenly when someone rang the bell? And what would the noise suddenly cut off be, but a boy protesting when his game was ended?