‘Yes, it’s wrong. But come in, Chas. No point putting yourself in hospital. This garden wants somebody with the proper stuff to have a go. You know – big machines that rip everything out and turn the ground over. Then we grow spuds.’
‘Eh?’
‘Spuds. First year is potatoes. They help the soil.’
‘Have you been reading books again?’
She nodded.
‘I’m going to get drunk,’ he announced, leaving her to tidy away his tools. ‘If anybody wants me, I’ll be in the pub,’ he called through the window.
Eve picked up all the bits and pieces, carried them into the little workshop and stood for a while looking round the lean-to, one of many additions made to the cottage since the original build. It had a low sink called a slopstone, and she pictured women long dead who had stood at sinks like this one, rubbing and scrubbing till their hands were red raw and stung by carbolic. This must have been a very small wash house. It would have held just one slave at a time, she guessed. Life was so easy now. Except for people like Lily.
The cottage was taking shape. Lily had told her to go incongruous and enjoy it, so Eve had looked up the word and taken her friend’s advice. Among dressers that took up whole walls and next to doors made from vertical planks, Eve had placed her washing machine, dishwasher, dryer and cooker. But she had hung on to the black grate with its open fire, drop-down hob and swinging kettle-hook because it was beautiful. The old oven, too, remained. One day in winter, Eve would make bread in it. She would do it because the oven deserved to be used, and because bread made in these primitive appliances was supposed to taste better than any other.
She hoped he wouldn’t get too drunk. She hoped his mouth wouldn’t run away with him, because the last thing Lily needed was sympathetic attention from her neighbours. In fact, Eve would go and join him, in case he needed someone to stop his gob before it got away from him. She combed her hair, grabbed a cardigan and stepped out into the cool evening air.
Halfway to the Reaper and Scythe, which was her husband’s favourite hostelry, Eve stopped for a moment. An unusually short man was standing outside Pour Les Dames. He dropped a cigarette end and ground it to death with a foot. Slowly, he melted away into the darkness up the side of Fullers Walk. Was he waiting for Chas? Did he have something questionable to sell? Was it Lofty? Lofty, who had gained his nickname because he was about three inches short of five feet, was a Liverpudlian who would do just about anything for money. No. Lofty would have gone to the shop, and Derek would have sent him on to Rose Cottage.
Eve stood still for a few moments before pulling herself together. She was a woman on a mission, and she had to keep Chas quiet, so men with cheap booze for the shop were low on her agenda. The main thing was to get to the pub as quickly as possible.
All thoughts of the undersized man were deleted from her mind when she walked into the bar. Chas was doing his darts show, so he was all right. Blindfolded, he scored double top twice. Bending down and throwing the dart between his legs, he managed a near bull’s eye. He wouldn’t talk tonight, because humour was his own therapy and he was using it well.
She sat with Babs and Pete, trying hard not to feel like a gooseberry. But she wasn’t uncomfortable for long, because these two lovely people were not a closed shop. ‘Hey,’ whispered Babs.
‘What?’ Eve grinned at the copper-headed southerner.
‘Lily’s up to something.’
‘Is she?’
‘Take no notice,’ said Pete. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Lily – she’s just that bit happier, that’s all.’
Babs dug him in the ribs. ‘Listen, Plod. I know that girl better than anyone round here, and I’m telling you, she’s changed.’
‘Into what?’ Eve asked. ‘A pumpkin?’
Babs blew a raspberry. ‘Shut up, ye of little faith. If she’s happy, something’s happened. I know stuff you two don’t know.’
Eve knew enough, but she kept her counsel. ‘It’s time she cheered up,’ she said. Chas was still in his element. With his sleeves rolled up and his forehead furrowed, he concentrated on acting the clown. As long as he didn’t actually kill anyone with a dart, he would be OK. ‘I’m going,’ she said. ‘And, if I were you, I’d have an ambulance on stand-by, because he gets dafter by the minute when he’s showing off.’
Outside, Eve breathed in the scents of the countryside. She remembered wanting to remain in Liverpool, remembered feeling that she would never be at home anywhere else. She was still congratulating herself when she entered her newly acquired home. Rose Cottage reminded her of a patchwork quilt, since so many extra bits had been added over the years since it was built. But it all fitted; it was all good.
She was staring at the bellows on the kitchen hearth when a tremendous pain arrived in the back of her head. Staggering, she fell awkwardly onto her rocking chair and turned slightly. This time, she saw the weapon as it descended. This time, she slipped gratefully into unconsciousness.
Eve didn’t hear the small noises made by men rifling their way through the house in search of treasures; nor did she hear the criminals leaving. She simply lay there in a beautiful house on a perfect summer evening. The nightingale did not wake her, nor did the owl. Her sleep was too deep to be disturbed.
Skippy was fooling around again. Good as gold when helping to run the vet’s surgeries, she remained a puppy when out on her walks. After almost getting stuck down a rabbit hole, she was now tethered to her master and on her way home to the cottage. But she wasn’t exactly behaving herself.
Dave and Philly had taken her down to a place known as the Dell, a steep dip in the land behind church and graveyard. She had paddled about in the brook, had chased a frog, and was now dripping her way homeward. Dave hung on to the lead. ‘She’s powerful. With an extra leg, she could have pulled a dray from here to Manchester. Something in the Dell upset her – did you see her messing about and whining near the water?’
‘I did. She’s never done that before. Be a good dog,’ Philly chided. But the animal seemed to be distracted.
When they reached Eagleton’s main street, the bitch began to whimper again. ‘She gets like that if I try to stop her going into the vet’s place in a morning,’ said Dave. ‘Are we giving her too much of her own way? They’re like kids, you know. They can be spoilt.’
‘She’s not herself.’ Philly stopped walking and spoke to Skippy. ‘What’s the matter?’
The dog whined.
‘Is she in pain?’ Philly wondered. ‘Shall we go and knock at Mr Mellor’s door?’ She bent down and patted Skippy’s head. ‘Come on – let’s go and get your dinner. You’ve got chicken and lamb’s liver . . .’
The word ‘dinner’ might have been designed for this greedy Labrador, but on this occasion it had no effect on her. The whining grew louder, dropped in timbre and became a near-growl. She wasn’t going home. She had no immediate interest in food. She knew where she wanted to go.
Dave removed the lead. Since her accident, Skippy had needed next to no constraint, since she had learned the hard way that vehicles were bigger and faster than she was. Released, she dashed through the gate of Rose Cottage, her owners hot on her heels.
Dave slowed down and grabbed his fiancée’s arm. ‘Remember, you’ve a passenger on board, love. Slowdown a bit.’ He looked round, and the dog had disappeared. The front door was open, and an old armoire had toppled across the opening. Skippy had clearly run underneath this angled furniture, but Dave had to set it upright again before entering the house. ‘Chas?’ he called. ‘You there, Eve?’ But the place remained silent until Skippy howled. This time, she sounded like a wolf baying at the sky. ‘Stay where you are, Philly,’ Dave called.
He entered the hell that had been Eve’s kitchen, where Skippy sat beside the still form of Eve. Although there was little light, Dave saw blood seeping from the woman’s head into a folk-weave rug in front of an upturned rocking chair. He dropped to the floor and felt for a pulse. ‘Phil?’ he cried. ‘
Ambulance and police. Do it now. Don’t come in here.’
He listened and waited until she had made the call. ‘Go to the shop and get Chas,’ he ordered. ‘Right away, love.’ When her footfalls were no longer within earshot, Dave continued to search for signs of life. A faint, thready pulse faltered in a wrist. Eve’s breathing was shallow, so he turned her into the recovery position, thanking God for the Red Cross and the course he had done with them. She gurgled, and more blood came from her mouth. ‘Dead men don’t bleed,’ he whispered. ‘Stay with me, Eve. It’s Dave from the Reading Room. Philly’s gone for Chas.’ The blood in her throat might have choked her had she remained on her back, but that hadn’t been the greatest of her problems. Her skull had been battered at the back and on the left temple. ‘Eve, you’re going to be all right. Stay with us, lass. Don’t you dare leave me, don’t you dare.’
Derek entered the room at a run. ‘What’s wrong?’ was his first question. Then he saw his mother. Shocked, he slid down the wall and sat on the floor. ‘Oh, my God,’ he repeated continuously. Then, thickly, he uttered, ‘Get Dad – try the Reaper and Scythe.’
Dave called out to Philly and sent her on a second errand as soon as she entered the hallway.
By the time Chas arrived from the pub, the siren of an approaching ambulance was growing louder. Chas crouched beside his wife while Dave went to switch on the lights. There was a great deal of blood. Her head was no longer the right shape, but the bleeding had slowed.
‘Who?’ asked Chas, his voice thickened by fear and grief.
‘No idea.’ Dave placed a hand on Chas’s shoulder. ‘Looks like a burglary gone wrong. The door wasn’t closed, there was furniture tipped over – the dog came in, I followed, and found . . .’ He waved a hand in Eve’s direction. ‘The parameds are here now, Chas,’ he said, gently pulling him away. ‘Let them get to her. Come on, we’re only in the way. They have to take her to hospital and get her sorted.’
From the hallway, Chas, Derek and Dave listened to commands about fluids, bags, stats, ventilation, defibrillation. It was a while before Eve was stable enough to be moved. She was carried out on a stretcher, a spinal board beneath her, a collar round her neck. Only then did the dog return to her master. ‘Good girl,’ whispered Dave. ‘Whatever happens, Skip, you did your job.’
Philly was in the front garden when Eve was placed in the ambulance. She expected Chas to accompany his wife, but the vehicle screamed away at speed before he was given the option. Eve wasn’t dead, Philly kept reminding herself. Had she been dead, the paramedics would have driven at a slower pace. She ventured into the house.
Dave shook his head and placed a finger to his lips. On the floor beside him, propped up by the walls, sat the husband and son of Eve Boswell. Not a sound was uttered by either of them. It was eerie. Neither was reacting, and Dave realized that they were in deep shock. ‘We can’t go in the kitchen,’ he told his wife. ‘It’s a crime scene and we’ve already contaminated it. Open the shop and make sweet tea for these two.’ He gave her a bunch of keys.
The village had arrived outside in the street. It seemed that someone from every house in the immediate vicinity had put in an appearance, while both pubs had spilled out customers in various stages of bonhomie that died immediately when they realized what had happened. Some tried to talk to Philly, but she pushed her way through, because she was focused on her mission. Sugar for shock, she kept telling herself. She glanced upward, saw Dave’s mother at the window as usual. But the old woman was standing, so perhaps she had seen something?
While waiting for the water to boil, Philly went upstairs. ‘Mrs Barker?’
‘Three of them,’ came the reply. ‘The cops are there now – send them up here, will you? And make me a hot drink. Please.’
Philly paused for a split second. Please? But there was no time to lose. She dashed out, took tea across the road, told a policeman that Mrs Barker had something to say, then returned to her side.
‘What happened to Eve Boswell?’ asked Enid.
‘Somebody beat her halfway to death, Mrs Barker. She’s gone in the ambulance. The house looks as if it’s been burgled, and Eve’s been hit about the head. Dave’s with Chas and Derek – neither of them can move for shock.’
Enid shook her head. ‘One of the men was less than five feet tall, I swear. The other two were normal size, dark clothes all three of them. I think the little fellow hid behind a bush in the front garden while the other two followed her in. But I can’t be sure where the small chap went – I can only say what I saw and what I think went on. They waited for her. For a burglary, they’d have gone in while the place was empty. It’s her they were after, I’m sure.’
Philly sat down. She felt sick, and she wanted Dave, but she couldn’t leave his mother on her own at a time like this.
‘Philly?’
‘What?’
Enid bowed her head. ‘Stuff like this makes you think. I’ll never alter, but this has shook me to the bones. I’m sorry. I’ll tell Dave I’m sorry, too. Life’s too bloody short, isn’t it?’
Philly burst into tears. Eve’s almost lifeless body had been the bridge across which Enid had walked to make her first attempt at peace. Was Mrs B intending to join the human race?
‘Don’t start skriking. We’ve enough on without all that. Go. Go on – get out and send me a policeman. And tell Dave to get that man and his son to the hospital. She’ll need them there when she wakes up.’ Enid shook her head. ‘If she wakes up, God help her.’
Philly felt as if she had been running up the steepest bit of Everest. She found Dave, Derek and Chas in the hall of Rose Cottage, but the Boswells were mobile now, and clearly preparing to leave. ‘I’ve told the police to talk to your mam,’ she whispered to her husband. ‘She saw a lot. And she apologized to me.’
Dave grunted, his eyes fixed on Chas.
‘Come on, Dad,’ begged Derek. ‘The taxi’s waiting.’
Chas allowed himself to be led out of the house. He looked like an improbable cross between a child and a very old man. Skippy remained on guard at the door. She wasn’t sure about these police people, but her master and mistress seemed to trust them, so they deserved the benefit of the doubt.
After their interviews, Philly and Dave repaired to his mother’s flat. She made no comment about her canine visitor, but she spoke very clearly to her son. ‘She’ll have told you what I said, eh?’
Dave nodded.
‘Well, same goes for you. I likely won’t improve, but I’m saying sorry anyway. Give that dog a drink, it looks parched. And there’s some bits of ham in the fridge – keep her going till she gets home.’
Dave stared at the floor while Philly fed the dog. He owned too gentle and reasonable a nature to react badly to his mother’s words, but had she no concept of the harm she had done for forty-seven years? Was it all over and forgiven because she had finally climbed down from her high horse?
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Enid said. ‘And I can’t say I blame you. What can I do or say, Dave?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Exactly. Just wait till the police come, then leave me. I’ll remember better on my own.’ She looked at the dog. ‘She’s all right for one with a leg missing, isn’t she?’
Philly almost smiled. ‘She came up from the Dell and went straight to Eve’s house – we couldn’t do a thing with her till she got to Eve.’
Enid nodded. ‘That’s because whoever was in Rose Cottage tonight must have got away across the brook. You were probably only about two minutes away from them on your walk. They didn’t come out through the front door. Your dog will have picked up the scent of something bad down in the Dell. They definitely went the back way.’
‘That’s true,’ said Dave. ‘They shoved a cupboard across the front door. There could be evidence in or near the water.’ He walked across the room and threw open a window. ‘Officer? My mother says she thinks they escaped the back way. If they went through that garden, they’ll be scratched and
nettle-stung. I dare say they climbed over into the graveyard. You’d better come soon and talk to her.’
‘They could be covered in poor Eve’s blood as well,’ said Philly.
‘Well, they’ve got police dogs out there now.’ Dave closed the window. ‘They should have borrowed Skippy.’
Enid sighed. ‘I’ve never liked Scousers. But it doesn’t do to feel like that just because somebody talks different. Happen I’ve learned my lesson.’
Dave let a detective into the flat. ‘My mother’s seen a fair bit tonight,’ he explained, ‘but we’ll leave you to it. You’ve a better chance of getting details if she’s got no distractions.’ He led his fiancée out and down the stairs.
In the shop, they sat with their dog and stared across the road at Rose Cottage. ‘Eve never did anybody any harm, I’m sure,’ said Dave. ‘So why her? Why did they have to pick on her? Mam’s sure it wasn’t a burglary. Stands to sense they would have robbed the house while it was empty instead of waiting for somebody to come home.’
‘Chas knows some funny folk, Dave. His brother’s been in and out of prison since his teens. But Eve? She’s a lovely woman. I’m sure she’d never break the law.’
Dave held her hand. ‘Stay calm, love.’
She sniffed away a tear. ‘Can I sleep in your bed tonight? Just for comfort and company?’
‘Course you can, Phil.’
They took their precious dog and walked home. They would never forget tonight; Dave, in particular, would carry with him the picture of Eve Boswell’s injuries. He needed Philly as much as she needed him.
Like I said, nobody gets paid enough in this bloody country. It’s going to the dogs, and I’m probably best off in here. All kinds of asylum-seekers and Europeans coming in, undercutting our working men, bringing British folk to their knees.
The Reading Room Page 20