by Bud Craig
“The Park Hotel quiz, no less,” she explained.
Bugger, I’d forgotten it was quiz night. I should have looked at the office notice board more closely.
“You know how to live. I’m meeting a mate in there so I might see you. Bloke I haven’t seen for years.”
“You can join our team.”
That was a thought.
“I’ll see what Tony thinks.”
I remembered Karen coming to work at Ordsall Tower as a keen, newly qualified social worker. It was hard to believe she was now mentoring inexperienced workers and doing it well. It hardly seemed five minutes since she’d started herself. The phone on her desk rang. She answered it, listening for a few seconds. A door opened to our right and a woman with carefully coiffured fair hair came out. A few years older than Karen, she wore a straight, black dress with a V neck.
“Hi, Gus,” said Angela. “You OK?”
“Fine,” I said.
“We could have our conflab in my room,” she said. “Just give me five minutes.”
Angela began walking back to her office. As she was about to open her door, she was accosted by Josie, who had entered stage right, carrying a handful of printouts. Karen finished her phone call and started to get her stuff together for our meeting.
“Oh, Angela,” said Josie, leaning on her stick, “I wondered if I could see you about some...stuff...”
“Difficult at the moment.”
“It’s quite urgent,” Josie added.
“Sorry, Josie,” said Angela, “got to dash, try and catch me when this meeting’s finished.”
“I really do n...”
“For the last time, sod off and leave me alone.”
Shock all over her face, Josie stood still, gripping her stick, as Angela turned on her heels. Then she gave me a ‘what can you do’ look, watching Angela go into her office.
“Josie,” said Karen as though taking pity on her, “some of us are going to the Park Hotel quiz tonight. I don’t know if you fancy it.”
Josie thought for a moment.
“Yeah, why not? Thanks.”
Karen said we’d see her there at 8.30. Josie started to walk away then stopped.
“Oh, by the way, Gus,” she said, “I did look you up on the internet. You really are a private eye.”
“I know,” I smiled.
“Cool.”
With that Josie left us.
“What’s up with Angela?” asked Karen.
“God knows,” I said. “She was a bit hard on Josie.”
Karen nodded.
“Stress no doubt. You’ve heard the rumours about her, haven’t you?”
“About Angela? No.”
I was always the last to hear any gossip.
“Something that’s supposed to have happened at her last authority. Derbyshire, Staffordshire, somewhere round that way.”
“What was it?”
Karen lowered her voice.
“Financial irregularities.”
To say I was shocked was an understatement.
“What, Angela?”
Karen shrugged.
“Allegedly. They reckon it was all hushed up, but who knows?”
Who indeed?
“It would explain how Angela affords all that designer gear,” Karen went on.
“I didn’t even know it was designer gear,” I confessed.
“Oh, yes,” insisted Karen, “She’d be lucky to get change from £200 for that dress.”
Even someone as unobservant as me had noticed Angela had a lot of clothes. And didn’t she have a house in Bramall and a flash car? I was buggered if I knew what make it was though.
“My entire wardrobe wouldn’t fetch that,” she added.
But you look a lot better, Karen, I thought. Karen had style; Angela didn’t. Anyone could see it.
“And she’s always off somewhere exotic,” Karen went on. “It was the Caribbean at Christmas.”
“All right for some,” I said.
Angela was well-paid but she had three kids. Maybe her husband was loaded; maybe she owed thousands on her credit card. I thought of my cousin, Vince, who died without making a will. That had meant a nice windfall for me and my sister. Maybe Angela had inherited a few quid. On the other hand, maybe I didn’t give two fleas’ knackers.
Two minutes later we sat round Angela’s desk, waiting for somebody to say something. I took out a pen and notebook. I wrote the names of the children concerned at the top of a clean page, reminding myself of school. Angela, unaffected by her outburst at Josie, decided to make an introductory statement.
“This is just an informal discussion in the aftermath of the death of Edward Tattersall.”
We looked on expectantly.
“I’ll take a few notes. We don’t need a formal chair,” she smiled, “but I’m sure Gus will keep us on the right track.”
Since I had done the course that meant I could act as Independent Reviewing Officer, I had got used to the job of chairing meetings. Keeping people ‘on the right track’ was, it had turned out, something I was good at. Angela continued with her remarks.
“We need to be sure we have handled everything correctly. I am also aware that privileged information concerning Mr Tattersall has entered the public domain.”
We all looked suitably sombre at these words.
“This may have had a bearing on his death. We need to be certain there has been no breach of confidentiality at our end. Partner agencies have to be just as sure.”
She invited Karen to summarise the main points.
“Edward Tattersall moved to the Ordsall estate six months ago,” she said, “took a flat in Dedby Mansions.”
It struck me now how appropriate the nickname, Deadbeat Mansions was, given it housed a lot of, well, deadbeats.
“I see,” said Angela.
“When he moved to our area,” Karen continued, “he only had a week of his licence to go.”
Crafty swine, I thought.
“Soon after this he began a relationship with Imogen Attwell.”
“Karen, what was your impression of him?” asked Angela.
“A bit of a smoothie,” said Karen. “Resented any interference from us, but he was always polite. Basically though, he thought he should be able to do whatever he liked.”
I nodded.
“I’d go along with that,” I said. “And he reckoned we’re employing a murderer.”
A collective exclamation of astonishment greeted this. I explained what Tattersall had said.
“Well, it wasn’t me, guv,” said Angela. “What about you, Karen, killed anyone lately?”
Karen shook her head.
“I’ve felt like killing a few,” said Karen.
She got a laugh for that one.
“Anyway, back to business. Karen, what about Imogen?”
“It’s been hard to get through to her,” said Karen. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s brilliant with the kids. But she’s...under confident, nervy. She has eczema, has to wear white gloves to protect her hands.”
Poor Imogen, I thought, picturing her gloved hands in the interview room on Friday. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about, all this aggravation had brought her out in a rash. Karen looked down at the notes she had made for the meeting.
“Imogen didn’t make the most of her potential at school but she’s recently signed up for a couple of college courses. Making up for lost time she called it.”
“That’s good,” said Angela.
“She’s an intelligent woman actually,” Karen added.
“Except when it comes to men, presumably,” put in Angela.
“Tell me about it,” retorted Karen.
More laughter. Karen was on form today.
“Edward was always undermining Imogen,” Karen went on. “He didn’t like her trying to better herself.”
Another way of maintaining control, I thought. Karen then went through the original referral: rather late in the day a probation officer from
Burnley, where Edward had moved to on release from prison, had let us know Tattersall had moved into our area. On her initial home visit Karen had told Imogen there was to be no contact between Edward and the kids at least until we’d done an assessment and held a child protection conference.
After some more information sharing and discussion, the meeting came to an end. We decided to offer services to Imogen and the kids but didn’t think any offers of help would be appreciated. At that stage we were reasonably sure we had done everything properly.
“Thanks everyone,” said Angela as we got up. “I’ll get the notes distributed asap.”
“Oh, Angela,” said Karen as she got up, “are you still on for the Park Hotel quiz tonight? I wasn’t sure if you could make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Angela, “you can tell I don’t get out much.”
“I’ll give you a lift if you like,” Karen added, “I won’t be drinking.”
Angela grinned. I’d never seen her so happy.
“Great. I can get legless. Show the team the real me.”
I can’t wait, I said to myself. That would be a sight worth seeing. Karen said she’d pick her up at eight o’clock.
“Fine,” said Angela. “And I suppose I’d better book a day’s leave tomorrow,”
Karen went out and I followed her. It seemed ages since I’d been on a works night out. A few years ago they had been a regular occurrence. What sort of night would we have in the Park Hotel, I wondered. Did Angela know Josie was coming? That should be fun.
PART TWO: 1974
CHAPTER SEVEN
I left the house to get a bit of fresh air on a sunny Tuesday morning in June. Having just about worked out dramatic irony in Macbeth and memorized some quotations, I deserved a break. As I strolled along ‘If it were done when ‘tis done’ still baffled the hell out of me. What on earth was it supposed to mean? It could hardly be done when it wasn’t done, could it? I fancied a long, country walk but a stroll round the back streets of Salford would have to do. I’d only gone a few yards when I heard somebody calling my name.
“Gus, Gus.”
It didn’t register at first, I was thinking about the trial I had lined up for Salford the following week. If I did well they might sign me. Getting paid for playing rugby league, could anything be more exciting? Stopping and turning round I saw a girl with long, dark hair rushing towards me, struggling to stay upright on her platform soles. I waited for her to catch up, noticing the way her blue flares flapped around as she moved.
Looking along West Park street I took in the building site across the road. Ours was one of the few old back to back houses left. All around new houses and flats, all in the same pale brick, had been springing up. Soon my home would be bulldozed and we’d move to Weaste. Only a couple of miles away but it felt like a major change.
“Hello,” I said, as the girl got nearer, “this is a surprise.”
Brenda McDonald was the last person I would have expected to be running after me in the street. The platforms added at least a couple of inches to her height but she was still a foot shorter than me.
“Have you seen Tony,” she asked.
Tony, I might have known.
“Not since Saturday. Me and Steve went to the test match with him.”
“Do you know where he is?”
I fiddled with the buttons on my purple granddad vest.
“At home, I suppose. He’ll be revising, same as me.”
I looked down at my new, brown boots, almost covered by my jeans. Brenda shook her head.
“Oh, Gus,” she said, “he’s...”
She clutched a crumpled envelope in one hand, screwing up a handkerchief in the other. She dabbed at her red eyes and sniffed, unable to get the words out. She looked even bustier than usual. Her long-sleeved red t-shirt was baggy on her, but if she’d chosen a bigger size to hide her pregnancy, it hadn’t worked.
“I was just going for a walk,” I said. “Why not join me?”
Anything but stand still while she fought her tears. She shrugged.
“If you like,” she said. “Won’t Debbie mind?”
Why should Debbie mind? Just because you were going out with someone didn’t mean they ruled your life, did it?
“Shouldn’t think so.”
We turned left down Oxford street towards Ordsall Park. Why did I feel so awkward with Brenda by my side? Well, she was a girl for one thing and a girl I didn’t know all that well. And I couldn’t help wondering what my mam would say if she saw me out with a pregnant woman.
After a while, Brenda got a grip on herself. Going through the gates we walked in the direction of the swings where I’d played as a kid. Some lads who should have been in school were playing cricket, using a tree as the wicket. Why couldn’t Brenda live further away, I asked myself? Then she would have had to bother somebody else. After a while I stopped by a bench.
“Let’s sit down,” I said.
We sat side by side on the bench. Brenda cleared her throat, twisting the hankie a bit more.
“Now, tell me what’s up,” I said.
I was about ready to face whatever Brenda had to tell me. As ready as I’d ever be anyway.
“Oh, Gus, I’m so worried about Tony.”
“Worried? Why?”
“He’s...well, have a look at this.”
She thrust the envelope into my hand.
“What’s this?”
She sniffed.
“A letter, it’s...read it, Gus, tell me what you think.”
I took out a sheet of Basildon Bond and unfolded it, recognizing Tony’s outsize handwriting. As usual it was hard to read, but I managed to make it out eventually:
“Dear Brenda,” I read, “I’m not sure how to put this into words, but I’m going away and I won’t be back. I’m sorry to upset you but it’s for the best. I just can’t take the pressure any more. Everybody’s hassling me to do things I can’t do. Where I am going perhaps I’ll get some peace. Don’t look for me; you’ll never find me. You’ll soon realise you’re better off without me. Love, Tony.”
What was all that about? It didn’t sound like Tony. I pictured him at the cricket, chatting away to Bert and Mavis, a couple of pensioners sitting next to us. By the tenth over he had formed a lifelong friendship with them. Now Brenda and I sat in silence for a while. At last she said something.
“What do you think?”
A good question.
“I don’t know what to think.”
‘What are you asking me for, I’m only eighteen’ would have been a better answer. Brenda was a year younger, how was she expected to cope with all this? She was the one going through it, I reminded myself. I’d be able to go away and forget about it once she’d gone. Doing A-level revision began to look almost attractive. Brenda sighed.
“When I got the letter, I wasn’t sure what to do.”
Who would be?
“I phoned his mother. She’d had a letter too. She had no idea where he could be.”
She sniffed and wiped her nose before continuing.
“She didn’t seem bothered. Said he’d come home when he was hungry.”
Maybe she was right, I thought.
“Honestly, that woman,” Brenda went on. “Calls herself a mother.”
Tony’s older brother was in prison, probably sharing a cell with his dad, so maybe Tony hadn’t had that good an upbringing.
“I don’t think she’s a full shilling, myself,” said Brenda, “her husband knocks her about, you know.”
I had heard something to that effect, but it wasn’t a subject people generally talked about. In spite of living in that sort of environment, by some miracle Tony had managed to stay out of trouble.
“Then I thought of getting in touch with you, Gus.”
“I see.”
“I didn’t go to work – told the boss I was sick – and came straight to your house.”
What did she expect from me? It all sounded like Tony playi
ng silly buggers to me, but no way was I going to tell Brenda that.
“Gus, do you think the police are after him?”
I thought for a moment then shook my head.
“Tony? No.”
“It’s just that...well, you know that bloke who lives in Captain Fold road?”
“What bloke?”
“Sid Pendleton, he interferes with kids...”
I looked at her, disbelief on my face.
“What’s that got to do with Tony?”
“A few of the lads in Little Hulton went round and gave him a good hiding. He’s in intensive care.”
Would Tony do anything like that, I wondered? For him, Steve and me keeping out of trouble was almost a golden rule. We had too much to lose. I’d always thought Tony had got stuck in at school to escape the influence of his criminal family.
“Do you think Tony was one of them?”
More fool him if he was. She shrugged helplessly.
“When did you last see Tony,” I asked.
Getting the facts of the matter was comforting somehow.
“Friday night.”
I nodded.
“Tonight we were supposed to be going to see Murder on the Orient Express,” Brenda explained, “at the Carlton. That was a definite arrangement.”
She went silent again. She seemed to be building pauses into this little scene like an actress.
“Gus, I might never see him again.”
More dabbing away of tears with the hankie. I did feel sorry for the poor lass, but what could I do?
“How can I be better off without him? Without the man I love?”
The man I love? It was all sounding too grown up for me.
“How will I cope with a baby if Tony’s not there? I’ll be an unmarried mother.”
She put the hankie in her pocket.
“People call them single parents now but it amounts to the same thing,” she said. “God, what’s my mam going to say if Tony really has gone away?”
‘I told you so’ was the obvious thing that sprang to mind. Something else I couldn’t say to Brenda.
“She went mad when she knew I was pregnant. Only the thought of us getting married calmed her down. We’ve got a house lined up in Little Hulton and everything.”
She got her hankie out again to dry her eyes. The park fell silent. Neither of us knew what to say. I read the letter again, going over key phrases to see if I could find some deeper meaning. But it was just a letter.