It was the woman’s turn to look surprised. ‘Can I ask what it’s about?’
Molly didn’t want to discuss it on the doorstep but it looked as if the woman wasn’t going to let a complete stranger past the fortress of the door. Molly handed over her card and said. ‘It’s about an old neighbour of Mrs Pert. A girl called Etta Barton. I’m working for her mother, trying to trace her.’
‘Wait there a minute, while I check if she wants to talk to you.’ With that curt sentence she turned on her heels and disappeared into the dim lobby, but not before making sure she closed the door first.
Molly felt a fool standing in the close. She should have made an arrangement to see Mrs Pert in advance and not pounce on people like she had been doing. Suddenly, the door was opened and the woman said, ‘Come in.’
Molly followed her through the lobby to a bright living room, which had too much furniture in it; large solid pieces that looked antique and well cared for. A fire was blazing in the grate and two women sat in comfy armchairs at either end. Molly could tell they were sisters because they resembled each other very much. Both were thin with short, grey hair and sharp, enquiring eyes that gazed at her with anticipation. ‘Sit down. Sit down. I’m Isa and this is Mabel Pert.’
Molly sat down on a large armless chair, which was surprisingly comfortable and wished she had something like it in her own flat. The young woman came back into the room and Isa introduced her as her daughter Moira.
Mabel said, ‘Sorry you had to wait outside but we’ve had a bit of trouble with people coming round the doors, wanting to buy furniture and ornaments. The woman up the next close let a couple of men into her house and they robbed her.’
Molly was alarmed. ‘That’s terrible. Did the police catch the thieves?’
‘No, no. They weren’t burglars,’ clarified Mabel. ‘They bought a few of her lovely things from her display cabinet and a footstool and small table. They paid her two pounds for the lot but when her son came to see her, he was furious because they were antiques and worth a lot more. So we’ve all been warned not to let any strangers in.’
Molly was quite bemused by all this drama. She had come here to question Mrs Pert and here she was, listening to what sounded like an episode of Mrs Dale’s Diary. She decided it was time to mention why she had come. She explained her part in the search for Etta. ‘You stayed in the same close as the Bartons. Can you tell me anything about them, especially Etta?’
Thankfully, Isa and Moira stayed silent. ‘I remember the family very well. It was a small community in that close and we all knew one another’s business.’ Molly knew this wasn’t totally correct, as she knew Mrs Pert was the main gossip, but she stayed silent.
Mabel continued. ‘The father was a strange man. He would take off at weekends and go for long walks, and Etta was like him. I used to see them sometimes going off together and I felt sorry for his wife. He may have had his job in the foundry but she worked hard with her lodgers.’
Molly mentioned Sasha Lowson. ‘There were rumours about a relationship between Dave Barton and her.’
Mrs Pert drew herself upright and said. ‘They were not rumours. They were true.’
‘I spoke to her yesterday and she said there was nothing true about the gossip.’
Mrs Pert laughed. ‘Oh, she’d say that, of course. A young girl of nineteen and a man in his early thirties. But he was a good looking man and he certainly fancied his chances with her. And she left very suddenly. One day she was there, the next she was gone. Now why is that we ask ourselves?’
‘She said it was because of a threat from Etta.’
Mrs Pert laughed again. ‘Oh, I can well believe that, but I think it was because of him.’
Molly was getting a bit tired of all this rumour and conjecture with no proof to show of any wrongdoing. She said as much to Mabel Pert.
‘Oh, but I’ve got proof,’ she said. ‘There used to be a small woodshed at the end of our houses and I caught them twice coming out of this shed late at night and they weren’t carrying wood. Then there was the fact that her parents lived in Arbroath at the time – could that have been the reason why he was there on the day he died? I think they met up and something happened. Perhaps she told him it was all over and he threw himself off the cliff in despair, because let me tell you he was in love with her.’
‘And what about her? Was she in love with him?’
Mabel made a rocking motion with her hand. ‘I’m not sure. I think she was flattered that an older man fancied her, but she wouldn’t have wanted it to go any further.’
‘What did Etta think about all this? When he went off to Arbroath to meet Sasha, she must have known about it.’
‘Oh, she did not like having Sasha as a lodger and what a noise she made about it. We could hear her shouting at her mother so much that Vera used to put her coat on and clear off out of the house.’
‘I think it’s a pity that Etta didn’t have a boyfriend to take her out and about. It couldn’t have been a great life for her, only having her father to talk to.’
Mabel’s eyes lit up. ‘What makes you think she didn’t have one?’
Once again Molly was surprised. ‘Everyone I’ve spoken to said she didn’t.’
‘Oh, she was a fly one all right. I used to see her sneaking into the backgreen with a young man. I almost knocked them over one night when I was putting my ashes in the bin.’
Molly almost groaned with disapproval. Mrs Pert seemed to spend her nights either beside the woodshed or the ashbin. Still, it was something new in this tangled story. ‘Did you recognise the young man?’
Mabel looked disappointed. ‘No, he turned his head away and it was dark, but I recognised her.’
‘I’ve talked to the young woman who was the last to see Etta on the Saturday.’
‘Well, that’s rubbish for a start because I saw her on the Sunday evening, which was the day of the accident. Of course, I didn’t know about that until the next day when the police came to see her. By then, she was gone. Never turned up for work on the Monday. I never saw her again and I don’t think the policeman saw her either. Goodness only knows where she went. I thought she had maybe run off with the boyfriend.’
Moira spoke. ‘Can I say something? I worked in Marks and Spencer’s shop the same time as Etta and it wasn’t common knowledge, but she was going to be sacked from her job. There had been lots of complaints about her being rude to the customers. Still, with her disappearance, nothing came of it.’
‘Was there anyone else who worked with her who could maybe remember the name of this boyfriend?’
Moira thought for a moment. ‘I don’t think she was very friendly or popular with any of the staff. She seemed to think she was superior to the rest of us. There was one girl who used to share her table in the canteen. Maybe she can help you. Her name was Davina McDonald, but she’s now a Mrs Foster. She lives at the top of the Hilltown but you will have to go and see her at night because she works in the SCWS shop on the corner of North George Street. I used to go in there quite a bit and I’m sure she’s still there.’
Molly couldn’t think of anything else to ask, so she thanked the three women for all the help and got up from the super chair, ready to leave. ‘Come back and see us if you solve this mystery,’ said Mabel. ‘I’d love to hear what happened to Etta.’ Wouldn’t we all, Molly thought, but she smiled and said she would.
Mabel continued, ‘Now remember, rumours are only rumours if they’re not true. People lie for all sorts of reasons and getting to the truth isn’t easy.’ Molly said she would heed that good advice and made a mental note to go and see the evasive Sasha Lowson again, and see what she had to say about Mabel’s story. If it was true that Sasha’s parents had lived in Arbroath at the time of the accident, was Dave on his way to see her there? Perhaps they had arranged a meeting and she wasn’t as immune to his charms as she had said.
She hated digging up all this past history, especially since it was all in the hope of finding
an obnoxious girl who had made up her mind to disappear from the planet, and had successfully done so for the past twenty-four years.
13
Molly made her way up the Hilltown. She was going to the SCWS shop to see Davina Foster. She didn’t want to appear at the woman’s door in the evening, so she thought she’d have a quick word with her at her work.
The shop was busy with customers and Molly waited until she reached the counter. There were three women and one man serving but it was the man who was cutting the bacon and cheese, while the women quickly gathered the items requested by the customers. The woman in front of Molly had obviously just nipped out from a nearby house because she wasn’t wearing a coat but she looked warm enough in a bright red jumper, black skirt and floral apron. She was also wearing her slippers. When it was her turn to be served she said, ‘Twenty Craven A and a pan loaf.’ After paying for her purchases, she darted out of the shop, clutching her bread and cigarettes.
The assistant looked at Molly. She was so plump that her overall was straining at the seams and some of the buttons were unfastened, but she had a smiling face. ‘Can I have a word with Mrs Foster, please?’
The smile grew wider. ‘I’m Mrs Foster.’ For what seemed the hundredth time, Molly told her the reason for the visit. Mrs Foster glanced towards the man who was now slicing cold meat. He was obviously the manager and Molly was worried the woman would get into trouble. Molly said, ‘I can come and see you tonight if that’s all right?’ Mrs Foster nodded and it was settled that eight o’clock was the best time to call. The manager looked over and Molly asked for a half-pound of biscuits. As Mrs Foster put an assortment of biscuits in a bag, the manager turned his attention to another customer’s request for six rashers of Ayrshire bacon.
Molly went back to the office and placed the biscuits on the desk. ‘Something for your tea break,’ she told Jean. She took out her notebook to look again at the statements and she noticed it was almost full. Putting it back in her bag, she went and got a new notebook from the desk drawer.
At 7:30 p.m., she was walking back up the Hill. Mrs Foster lived near the top. Her close lay between a jeweller’s business and a small grocer’s shop. The stairs were well lit and she found the flat on the first floor. Mrs Foster opened the door and ushered Molly into a small kitchen where she had been preparing sandwiches. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll finish these off before we sit down.’ The sandwiches looked tasty and substantial with boiled ham on some and cheese on the others. Molly suddenly felt hungry as she still hadn’t had her evening meal.
‘I’ve got extra pieces to make just now. Some for my husband and the rest for my daughter who’s tattie-picking this week with the rest of her class in school.’
When everything was neatly packed away in brown paper bags, Mrs Foster showed her to the living room. Although the wireless was on, the room was empty. ‘Bob’s gone to his domino match in the pub and Barbara’s gone upstairs to her pal’s. No doubt to moan about their sore backs with the tatties.’
‘Mrs Foster …’
‘Please call me Vina,’ she said, as she moved a bundle of knitting from one chair and placed it on the floor. She chased a big ginger cat from the other chair.
‘Vina, I’ve been told that you used to work with Etta Barton, that you both sat at the same table in the canteen.’
Vina nodded. ‘That’s right. It all seems so long ago but we were about the same age and I think we may have started work together at the same time. I worked in the children’s section and Etta was in the women’s wear department.’
‘How did you get on with her?’
‘To be truthful, I felt sorry for her. Although I have to say it was her fault, because she always seemed to rub people up the wrong way, but I still thought she was a sad case.’
‘What did you talk about with her?’
Vina had to give this some thought. ‘Oh, just the normal things young girls think about. I think I did most of the talking, if I remember it right.’
‘Did Etta ever mention how she got on at home?’
‘No, not much. I got the impression she didn’t get on with her mum but she mentioned her dad a few times. Said they went to lots of places together, which I thought was odd because I hardly ever saw my dad. He was always at work, but I got on great with my mum and my sister and brother.’
Molly was getting the same information about Etta and it wasn’t bringing her any nearer to finding out what happened to her. ‘Do you think she had any other friends or a boyfriend?’
Vina gave a deep chuckle. ‘She used to boast about all her boyfriends, but not to begin with. Like I said, when we first got to know one another, I usually did most of the talking. One day, I was going on about a family wedding I had been to and I kept mentioning the handsome Best Man and how I fancied him. I told Etta this was my very first romance and she told me she had had lots of romances, most of them with her mum’s lodgers. There was a Robert and I think she mentioned a Michael and a Pedro.’
Molly couldn’t believe her luck. She was now getting somewhere with Etta’s love life, and it might hold the clue to her whereabouts. ‘There was also a Lenny Barr who was a lodger. Did she mention him?’
‘Yes, I think she did, but she said he was an older man and she only liked the young students.’
‘How did she seem on those last few days before she disappeared? Was she happy or sad, or was she worried about anything?’
‘She stopped speaking about her boyfriends. I think Robert had left and she never heard from him again and she never mentioned this Pedro again either. I think she made it all up and that no one had ever gone out with her on a date. As I said, I felt sorry for her, but she looked much the same as usual. Only more withdrawn, if that was at all possible.’
Barbara came in and her mother told her it was bedtime. ‘You’ve to be up early tomorrow to catch the tattie bus.’
Molly smiled at the youngster who looked so much like her mother except for the weight. ‘Are you enjoying the tattie picking, Barbara?’
Barbara made a face. ‘Not really, but I like the money. So does my chum upstairs. We’re saving up for some new clothes. Also, we like the farmer, Len Barr. He doesn’t give us big bits to pick.’
Molly said, ‘Len Barr?’
Barbara looked at Molly as if she was daft. ‘Yes, his farm’s called Sidlaw Farm and we’ve been there all this week, but tomorrow is our last day.’ She went over to fill the kettle. ‘But maybe it’s Ben Barr.’
Vina was curious. ‘Do you think it’s the same person?’
Molly didn’t think so. ‘It’s a common enough name and Vera’s lodger went off to England a month or so before all this happened.’
‘Still, I suppose he could be back living here,’ said Vina. ‘I mean, if he left Dundee in 1930, he could be living anywhere now.’
‘Yes, he could.’ Molly put her notebook in her coat pocket and thanked Vina and Barbara for all their help.
Afterwards, as she walked quickly down the Hill, she decided she would go to Sidlaw Farm tomorrow. It was probably a wild goose chase but she had no leads yet in this baffling case and maybe it was the same Lenny Barr who had been the one-time lodger of Vera and Dave Barton. Before she went to sleep, she reviewed all the interviews in her mind. Was there something she was missing? Mabel Pert had hinted that not everyone had told the truth. But the problem was recognising the lies.
14
Molly had found out from Barbara that they stopped for a break – she called it ‘piecie time’ – at about ten o’clock and Molly planned to be at the farm at that time. The temperature had dropped during the night, so she had to scrape a thin film of ice from the car’s windscreen before setting off. But by the time she reached the road that led to the farm, the sun had come out and was shining pleasantly.
Barbara had given her some rudimentary directions. She said the farm was near Auchterhouse. Again, Molly had the feeling of déjà vu. It was like the time she had visited Clifftop Farm but the circ
umstances were different now. She was searching for a missing girl and the way things looked, if she didn’t get any more leads in the next two weeks, then that was that. The job was finished.
The road had narrowed as she left Dundee behind and there were a few farm roads but so far, not the one she was looking for. The sun was in her eyes and she had to squint at the signposts. Then a couple of miles along a road that looked like a track, she saw the name at the foot of an even narrower road: Sidlaw Farm. She drove slowly as she didn’t want to damage the car with some large potholes that were filled with water and looked innocuous enough until the wheels plunged into them. ‘The things I do to run a business,’ she said out loud.
The road ran for a half a mile or so before she came into a clearing. A small grey building seemed to snuggle up against the hill and Molly parked in front of it, scattering hens in her wake. A thin wisp of smoke drifted lazily up into the blue sky but there was no sign of life. As she got out of the car, she heard voices and, a few hundred yards ahead of her, she saw a tractor chugging up a field followed by another smaller tractor pulling a wooden bogey. There was a straggly line of figures filling metal baskets with potatoes and a young man was busy lifting them and throwing the potatoes into the cart.
Molly walked towards the field and stood watching. The elderly man driving the tractor saw her and made a sign for her to wait. Barbara, who was dressed in a warm jacket and hat, saw her and waved. Then the tractor stopped and the man stepped down and walked towards her. He was heavily built with a well-trimmed grey beard and a woollen hat pulled down almost to his eyes and a thick waterproof jacket and trousers. ‘Can I help you?’ he said. ‘Have you lost your way?’
Molly said no and she handed him her card. ‘I hate to bother you but I’m looking for a Lenny Barr.’
‘Better come down to the house,’ he said, before turning to the man who was driving the bogey. ‘Better have our piecie time now, George.’ George waved and all the tattie pickers made a beeline for their bags, which held their sandwiches and drinks.
Private Sorrow, A Page 7