‘I suppose it was.’
Derek half smiled. ‘I did RE at A level. Seems daft for an accountant, but it was interesting. If we had Moses and Solomon and a couple more of that lot back, there’d be no ASBOs.’
‘No, but there’d be a lot of brutally punished people, Derek.’
‘Exactly. So look on my dad as a junior Moses. And again, stay out of it. You’ll be safer that way.’ Derek went in search of food for his father.
Mike stretched his legs. He walked up and down the corridor for several minutes before deciding to take Derek’s advice. He had learned over the years that people made up their own minds when it came to the serious areas of life, and little difference could be made by intervention when a man was in a blind rage. Perhaps Chas would cool down after a few days. And perhaps he wouldn’t. Whatever, Mike needed a shower and a change of clothing, so he set off towards Eagleton, his mind still reeling about the Lofty and Titch twins. He’d lost track and forgotten who was who . . . ‘I hope Lily’s all right,’ he said aloud. ‘And Eve, too, of course, God keep her.’
He drove like a bat out of hell all the way back to the old presbytery. She wasn’t there. The panic hit him immediately – he couldn’t lose her, wouldn’t lose her, panicked at the idea that the criminals had got to her while he’d been at the hospital. He went into her bedroom, interpreted piles of clothing and a rejected suitcase as evidence of recent packing, even went so far as to peep inside her two wardrobes. The summer one was almost empty. So Lily was definitely the person in trouble; she had run, because the crime committed against Eve had really been meant for her. A powerful dart of fear pierced his chest; he had to find her, had to protect her from whatever was out there. Where was she? Like something from a Disney cartoon, he ran stupidly from room to room, knowing that she wasn’t there, yet managing to hope that she might be.
He found the note, read it, re-read it, ran across to the flower shop. CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE was the message on the door. No one answered when he rang the bell connected to Babs’s flat. Would Pete know? How could he find Pete? Entering Pour Les Dames, he asked Mo whether Babs was supposed to be in today.
‘Yes, she is, but Paul’s filling in for her. Paul?’ yelled Mo.
Mo’s partner entered, face rather flushed. In his left hand was clasped a big lie in the form of a mobile phone. He had just received a message from Lily, who had used a new SIM card. He alone had her phone number. ‘Babs has gone away with Lily,’ he said lamely. ‘No idea what it’s about, but I suspect it’s some sort of family trouble in the south. Or a friend in difficulty,’ he added, his voice rising slightly in pitch. ‘Babs told me because I have to fill in for her.’ He busied himself at a washbasin, his cheeks darkening even further.
Mike was used to lies, could spot them from a great distance. Paul knew more than he was saying, but he had probably given his word to Lily and her friend. ‘Thanks,’ he said before leaving the salon. If necessary, he would work on Paul later, though he suspected that Paul just might be a person who didn’t break promises. In which case, he was a better man than most, and should be forgiven for recent behaviour.
Outside, he stood helplessly on the Walk and wondered what the hell to do next. Then he remembered the eyes and ears of the world. She hated Catholics, but Mrs Barker missed next to nothing. The Reading Room was open, and Mike stepped inside. Dave had begun organizing daily newspapers and some magazines. He stopped when he saw Mike. ‘You’re the early bird today,’ he said. ‘We didn’t get much sleep, either. How’s Eve?’
Philly, abandoning her scones and sandwiches, ran through from the back room, Skippy hot on her heels. ‘How’s Eve?’ she echoed.
‘She’s being operated on now,’ Mike said. ‘And it looks hopeful, although we have to wait for her to regain consciousness. The surgeon is very optimistic, but it’s still a waiting game for the rest of us.’
‘God love her,’ breathed Philly. ‘I’m praying, Father. I’m even offering up my work as prayer.’
Mike smiled at the good woman. ‘But have you any idea where Lily is? Or Babs?’ he asked, his tone deliberately light.
Dave offered no explanation.
Philly sat down. She was full of tears, but she managed, just about, to stem the tide. Journalists were coming to ask about their clever dog, and she didn’t know what to say because she was too upset. ‘They’re calling Skippy a heroine, and I’m proud, but I can’t stop thinking about Eve and Chas,’ she said. ‘Father, are you sure she’s going to be all right? I mean, when I saw her on that stretcher, mask on, bloody bandages, big collar round her neck – well – I wondered if she’d ever be Eve again.’
Mike told her again what the surgeon had said, and decided that Philly was in no fit state to hear any more about the disappearance from the village of two further women. ‘May I go up and see your mother?’ he asked Dave.
‘Have you got your hard hat?’ Dave asked. ‘No, I’d better re-phrase that, because she’s decided to start being nice. I’m warning you, Father, because it may come as a shock to your constitution. She’s mending her ways. Now, I don’t think she’ll mend them all at once – nobody has a long enough darning needle for that job. But you may not need a gun or an anti-stab vest. Good luck with her, anyway.’
Mike ascended the stairs and knocked.
‘Come in,’ called a disembodied voice.
The priest entered Enid Barker’s personal arena. Prepared to find himself in the modern equivalent of a lions’ den, he was surprised when her only comment was, ‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘It is indeed, Mrs Barker. How are you?’
She sighed audibly. ‘Get in if you’re coming in – I can’t be doing with hoverers. How am I? Different. Angry. Tired. That Liverpool woman never did anybody any harm as far as I can work out. Makes you think, doesn’t it? I’ve not slept. Well, I might have dozed off a time or two, but I’ve kept my eyes and binoculars pinned to this bloody window nearly all night. They’ve not been back, them bad beggars.’
‘They won’t come again, Mrs B. The place is too dangerous for them. Shall I make a brew?’
‘Aye, go on, lad.’
This was progress indeed. He had gone from ‘that holy Roman’ to ‘lad’ in a matter of minutes, so she must be on the mend. It was strange how the worst for some people brought out the best in others. Until this moment, few would have believed that Mrs Barker had a better side, but he could see it now. He brought her a cup of tea. ‘You should sleep,’ he said. ‘A full night awake’s bad for the constitution – I should know. Get your head down.’
‘I can’t yet, but I’m sure I will soon. I just need to know she’s all right. I phoned the hospital, said I was her auntie, and they told me she was in theatre. How’s her husband taking this?’
Mike couldn’t tell the truth, dared not say that Chas was bent on vengeance. ‘Eating at last, walking about a bit. I’d say furious and afraid.’
Enid nodded. ‘See, till it lands on your own doorstep, you don’t think, do you? Any road, your landlady’s gone. She was up before seven and planting luggage in the back of her car. Later on, her friend took the little girl in a taxi from the back – I saw them through my other window. It looked as if they didn’t want to be seen leaving together. Babs had luggage, too. None of them’s come back.’
‘I know,’ he said carefully. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve any idea where they’ve gone?’
‘Not a clue, son. Fetch me a digestive, will you? No sleep means my diabetes is up the pole.’
He handed her the packet of biscuits and his card. ‘Any time you need me, Mrs B.’
‘Thanks. Go on now, off with you. I’ll have to catch a few minutes’ sleep before I start seeing things. They’ll be parking me in the funny farm if I have one of my hypos.’
Taking this as his dismissal, he walked to the door.
‘Hang on a minute,’ she ordered. ‘That Lily one likes you, doesn’t she?’
He nodded.
‘And you like her?’
Again, Mike simply bowed his head.
‘Well, bloody good luck to you. Time priests got flaming well wed and found out how the rest of folk suffer.’
‘Priests can’t marry yet,’ he told her.
‘Oh, aye? What will you do?’
‘The priesthood is not imprisonment, Enid. May I call you Enid?’
‘It’s my name.’
‘I’m Mike.’ He left the flat. Should he have denied ‘liking’ Lily? Should he have insisted that there was nothing going on? No. That might have seemed like protesting too much.
Enid watched him as he walked across the road. It was as if his shoulders had become heavy, because he looked shorter. He was a good-looking bloke. That Lily was a pretty woman if she’d just liven herself up a bit. They’d look good together, that pair, and they’d probably have handsome kids. She wondered for a moment what her grandchild might look like, because neither Dave nor Philly was much to look at. Ah, well. It couldn’t be helped, she supposed. She had to try to like Philly, must make an attempt at peace with her son. It wasn’t easy, because her nature was angry.
So. She had a secret. And it was time she learned to keep such information to herself, because folk expected her to talk behind their backs. The priest and the florist – it sounded like some Victorian never-darken-my-door-again kind of story.
Enid closed her eyes and slept fitfully. In her dream, everything was her fault. She woke in a lather, sweat running into her eyes. Dave was right. She had been a bad mother and there could never be an excuse for it. Old dogs and new tricks? ‘I can only do my best,’ she told herself before dropping off again. This time, there was no dream.
While Derek went off to buy essentials for his mother, Chas stayed at her bedside. Apart from breaks to eat and visit the lavatory, he did not move. Nurses in the unit were impressed by him, as he talked almost constantly, reminding his sick wife of how they had met, their wedding day, holidays, getting the shop, moving to Rose Cottage. Almost every tale he told was funny. ‘And I’m not staying there without you,’ he told her. ‘So you’d best buck up, because it’s your bloody choice, not mine. The state of that flaming garden for a kick-off – OK, I haven’t found a tiger yet, but the missing link’s living in a hole near the privets. Says he wants a telly, a washing machine and a fridge. Oh, and double pay on Sundays.’
Members of staff were fascinated, many lingering for a minute or two after completing necessary tasks, since this man was a born teller of stories.
‘Remember when your red high heel got stuck down the grid? And the lads pulled the whole thing up, and you had to carry the grating home so that your dad could get your shoe out? Hey? You were well pissed that night, babe. I mean, standing there screaming at the Liver Birds because the shoes had cost a tenner? I think that was when I knew I’d marry you. If you’d have me, like. I’m glad you did, girl.’
Rick Hislop, Eve’s surgeon, was checking something on Eve’s chart. He smiled encouragingly at Chas. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, patients can hear you. I’ve known them come out of coma and talk about what was happening around them before they woke. Carry on with the good work, Chas.’
Chas was worn out. His shop was shut, but he managed not to care a fig about that, because his wife was shut, too. There were machines bleeping and drawing lines on a screen; there were tubes and plasters and all kinds of things stuck to her. In fact, the more he looked at her, the more she looked like a re-sized aerial photo of a plate of spaghetti. Or, if he concentrated on her head, an Egyptian mummy. ‘Eve?’
There wasn’t even a flicker.
‘Eve? If you don’t talk to me soon, I’m going to cut up your Barclaycard. And your chequebook.’
Nothing.
‘And your American Express. It’s time we cleared out some of your mess, too, kid. You keep saying things’ll come back in fashion – when? After the next Preston Guild?’
Was he mistaken, or had that left eyelid flickered?
He took hold of her hand carefully, keen to avoid interfering with her wiring. ‘I’ll sing to you,’ he threatened. ‘I’ll sing till all these intensive care buggers wake up and run away. Would you like “You’ll Never Walk Alone”?’
The eyelid definitely twitched.
‘Or I could have a go at “Bright Eyes”. Remember? Watership Down?’
Both eyelids moved.
Chas pressed the buzzer, and a nurse appeared. ‘She flickered,’ he said. ‘Left eyelid, then both. If I sing, she’ll do it again, I’m sure. My singing’s so good, it makes all the dogs for miles around howl. She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?’
The nurse looked at the readings, then shone a torch in Eve’s eyes.
‘She won’t like that,’ said Chas.
‘Pupils equal and reacting,’ said the young woman.
‘Eh?’
‘She may well wake up soon. Now, you come with me.’ She almost had to drag him into the office. After pushing him into a chair, she delivered her lecture. ‘Don’t be afraid if she appears to have forgotten things when you get her to wake. Her brain’s been shaken up, so it may take a while for her to get her memory back.’
‘You don’t know my Eve.’
She sighed. ‘All I’m asking is that you be patient with her. I know you love her – we can all see that. But she might not respond properly for a while, and we don’t want you getting downhearted.’
He nodded, then leaned forward. ‘Listen, love. She was made in Liverpool. She’s a twenty-four-carat piece of Scouse, my wife. She’s coming to because I threatened to cut up her credit cards and get rid of all the clothes she’s collected over the years. As for shoes – Imelda Marcos has nothing on my wife. She once went out and bought eight pairs. Eight pairs in one shop.’ He shook his head. ‘If she’d just wake up, I’d buy her every bloody pair of shoes and boots in Bolton. Mind, I’d get no thanks, because she’d still want something different, even if I’d bought the whole lot.’
The nurse couldn’t help laughing. ‘All right. Go back and keep talking.’
‘I’ve only just started,’ he replied. ‘Wait till I tell her I’m selling her house.’
‘She’ll have a stroke!’ she said.
‘As if.’
‘Just be careful. You might frighten her.’
‘No, I won’t. She’ll get out of that bed and tear a strip off all of us.’ He gulped. ‘God willing.’
‘Mr Boswell?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘You’re doing a grand job.’
‘Ta.’ He rushed back to his wife.
When Derek arrived with toiletries and nightdresses, he found his father fast asleep in an armchair while his mother, who was supposed to be the comatose one, was wide awake and glaring at Chas. ‘Thank God,’ Derek breathed. ‘Mam, we’ve been so worried about you.’ He blinked away a few tears.
His mother fixed him with a steely stare. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Buying things. We can’t get back in the house yet, because it’s a crime scene. So I got you some nighties and stuff. I hope they’re the right size.’ He unwrapped one of his purchases. His mother was alive, and he no longer cared about his shopping being wrong or right. ‘There’s this blue one, and there’s a—’
‘Where did you go for that article?’ asked the head injury in the bed. ‘Rent-a-Tent?’
‘It is a bit on the large side,’ admitted Derek. ‘The woman said it was medium, but she was about the size of the Titanic. I suppose it’s all relative.’
Eve decided to give her attention to her snoring husband. ‘Typical. I wake up and he drops off. He’s going to destroy my credit cards and sell the house. I had to come round to stop him.’ She winced. ‘I’ve got a terrible headache.’
Chas woke. A huge smile crept across his face, while his eyes filled with saline. ‘Hello, love.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘Oh, God, oh, God—’
‘Oh, shut up,’ ordered the patient. ‘And leave my bloody credit cards alone.’
&n
bsp; Chas wiped away a tear and pressed the buzzer.
The cheeky young nurse appeared. ‘Mrs Boswell. Hiya. I’m Sarah. Good to see you looking so well.’
‘Well?’ She looked at Chas. ‘She calls this well? Have you seen the state of me? Tell her I’m in pain. I want three aspirin and a boiled egg.’
Sarah folded her arms and tapped a foot. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Shall I send the wine waiter and the à la carte?’
‘I don’t want a cart, or a horse, for that matter. Just a four-minute egg and some soldiers. Grenadiers will do. I like their hats.’
Chas laughed through the tears. ‘See? What did I tell you? Twenty-four-carat Liverpool, my wife.’ He gazed steadily at Eve. She was the most beautiful thing on God’s earth. ‘They found something in your head.’
‘Oh, good. If it had been you, they’d have come across a few bits of fluff and a sea breeze.’
‘But Eve—’
‘I heard them. Benign growth, frontal lobe, lucky woman. If I hadn’t been walloped, I’d have been in trouble.’
‘You can have a drink of water,’ Sarah said.
‘Gee, thanks, babe. Can I have drugs? My head’s like a busy soup kitchen just before payday. And perfume. I want my perfume.’
Sarah threw up her hands in mock despair and went off to ask Mr Hislop whether Eve’s hunger might be appeased.
‘I’m not wearing that,’ Eve told her son. ‘Go and ask for your money back, then get yourself to our house. Tell those police buggers I want my stuff. I’m not lying here without my perfume and my own knickers.’
‘And the mail,’ Chas added. ‘I’m expecting something by courier, so bring all the letters.’
Derek kissed his mother and left.
Eve opened her mouth to say something, but Chas had pursued his son. ‘Derek?’
‘Hiya, Dad. Now, stop crying. Come on, she’ll be all right.’
But a sudden surge of emotion drove the father to hug his son. Chas hung on to the boy as if life depended on this moment, and held him uncomfortably close. ‘Derek,’ he managed when the sobs subsided. ‘I don’t mean to use you as a bring-me, fetch-me, carry-me, but I need that letter. There’s a VO in it.’
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