But he didn’t come back that night or the next. Much to Alice’s relief he stayed away and she was grateful for that. At the end of the week, there was still no sign of him. Deanna came to see her with her case of cosmetics and showed Alice how to disguise her facial bruises with foundation and face powder. ‘That will let you get back to work, Alice.’ She added, ‘With a small plaster over your stitches, you’ll look fine and with your overall on and your stockings, no one will see the bruises on your arms and legs.
On the Friday night, Sandy, one of Victor’s mates, came round to the house. The room was almost empty of furniture, as Maisie had taken all the broken stuff down to the bins. The bed was the only item left virtually untouched and Alice had borrowed a table and chair from neighbours. Everyone had been so kind.
‘We heard what happened, Alice, and we wanted to say how sorry we are for all this.’ His hand swept around the room. ‘I always thought Buffo was an idiot, but to treat a good looking wife like that is terrible.’ He looked quite embarrassed as he handed her an envelope. ‘The rest of the lads and me had a whip round and we want you to have this, to help with whatever you need.’
Alice was so touched by this act of kindness that she had tears in her eyes. ‘Oh Sandy, there’s no need to do this. I’ve still got my job and I’ll get by, but Victor better not come near me or this house or I’m going to the police.’
‘Don’t worry – I don’t think you’ll see him again. There’s a rumour going around that he’s joining the army and that’s the best place for him. At least his enemies will give as good as they get. Now take this wee gesture from us and use it for yourself.’
‘Okay, I will. Thank you.’
After he left, Alice opened the envelope and found four pound notes inside. She was so overcome that she burst into tears, then she remembered how Sandy had called her a good looking woman and she smiled.
24
Maggie Flynn was in the town to buy new shoes. She had passed the agency on her way to Birrell’s shoe shop and had hesitated. She would love to work in the agency when she left school and Miss McQueen had been helpful, but she wasn’t confident enough to go in.
As luck would have it, on her way back to catch the bus, she met Molly going into the office. ‘Maggie, how are you?’
‘Good – I’m back at school next Monday. I’ve been off with a bad dose of tonsillitis but I’m better now.’
Molly was pleased there was a genuine reason for her absence at school. It wasn’t right for a young person to miss their education. ‘Come in and have a look around.’
Maggie almost leapt through the door. ‘As I said, Miss McQueen, I would love a job here when I leave school next year.’
Molly said warily, ‘I did mention it all depends on your school exam results, Maggie.’
‘I’ve brought them with me,’ she said, pulling a brown envelope from her handbag. ‘These are my last three report cards.’
Molly was amused by the way she had nonchalantly produced them and guessed Maggie had been debating about coming in to see her. Taking the cards from the envelope, Molly sat down and studied them, fully expecting them to be mediocre, but she was astounded too see that Maggie’s marks were very high, except in science, a subject she had barely passed in, but her attendance at school was also very good. This dose of tonsillitis was genuine.
Maggie pointed this out. ‘I’m hopeless at science. I just can’t get my head around all those Bunsen burners and chemical things.’
Molly laughed. ‘You won’t need any Bunsen burners here, Maggie. Your marks are excellent, so I’ll expect to see you nearer the time when you leave school and we’ll discuss a job here.’ Maggie was pleased and glad she had seen Molly. ‘How is your mother?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘She’s fine. I just wish she would give up smoking. She’s always worse when that horrible Miss Price comes around. Dad calls her “Vincent”, after that spooky film star in The House of Wax.’
‘Is that your ex-neighbour?’
Maggie’s lip curled in disdain. ‘She’s not an ex-neighbour. Mum just says that because she’s scared stiff of her. She used to be mum’s teacher at school and she is always spouting on about hellfire and damnation. No wonder mum smokes like a chimney when she visits, because she knows Miss Price hates it. She calls it a sin but it doesn’t stop her visiting us.’
‘So why does she come round so often?’
Maggie laughed with such pleasure that Molly had to join in. ‘Mum say it’s because she fancies my dad and always has.’ Maggie could barely contain her glee. ‘Imagine anybody fancying an old man like Dad.’
By Molly’s reckoning, if Frances was the same age as Etta, then she would be about forty years old and her husband maybe a year or two older. He was hardly an old man and maybe not too young for Miss Price if she had been a very young teacher back in the late twenties.
Molly suddenly thought of something. ‘Have you ever heard of anyone called Pedro?’ Maggie frowned with concentration.
‘Pedro? Now I’ve heard that name somewhere but I can’t remember where I heard it.’
Molly said, ‘Would it have been someone your mother mentioned?’
‘It could have been but I can’t remember. I think I only heard it the once. I’ll tell you what, I’ll think hard about it when I go home and can I come and see you if I remember?’
‘Oh yes, please, Maggie. It’s very important.’
Maggie looked pleased at maybe having some important information and she promised she would do her best to try and recall where she had heard it. Molly was glad it was Saturday. Some of the cleaning jobs had been hard, especially the one with the unruly children. One of them had thrown a plate of toast and beans at her. It had landed in an orange mess all over the floor but Molly had made the child pick it up and place the debris in the kitchen bin. Then she had a word with the mother, saying if this was a common occurrence then the cleaning rate would have to be increased. Molly wasn’t going to have Alice treated like this and, if she started work on Monday, she would ask her to tell her how often this happened.
Before she climbed the stairs to the flat, she was delighted to see Marigold coming through the door, wearing her cream waterproof coat and black leather gloves. She was also carrying a basket with three jars of jam, a home-baked cake and some mail. ‘I’ve just come for a short visit, Molly,’ she said, handing over the letters and postcards. ‘These are from your parents and I hope you like my homemade jam.’
‘Marigold, it’s great to see you.’ Molly missed her neighbour but she had been so busy these last few weeks with Etta’s case. Marigold cut the cake into portions while Molly put the kettle on for tea. The room felt cold because it had been empty all day but the electric fire soon warmed it up. Molly quickly read through the mail and was delighted to get three photographs of Nell, Terry and wee Molly, plus one of her parents standing in Nell’s backyard with the sun beating down. Her parents were both in short-sleeved shirts and shorts. Marigold laughed at Archie’s knees. ‘It’s a good job he’s not competing in Butlin’s holiday camp knobbly knees competition.’
‘How is Sabby?’ Molly asked, suddenly feeling a pang of longing for the cat.
‘She’s still the same. Thinks she’s the Queen of Sheba.’
When they were sitting down with a pot of tea and a huge slice of Victoria sponge cake, Marigold asked how the case was coming along. Molly would gladly have not mentioned it as this case seemed to be taking over her life but she knew Marigold would be curious. ‘It’s not coming along very well. I’m stuck at the moment and can’t see a way forward. Quite a few people who knew the family at the time all say the same thing: Etta was not a nice child. But that doesn’t explain her disappearance. The only conclusion I can reach is that she killed herself after hearing of her father’s accident. That would make sense. Still, I have one more week to make enquiries and then I have to tell her mother I can’t do anything more to help her.’
‘I’ve been thinking about it as
well, Molly, and I have to agree with you. She was a young sixteen-year-old girl with no known relatives and her mother ill in hospital. Maybe she thought her mother was going to die as well. Girls of that age can have a vivid imagination. She took her post office book with how much money?’
‘She had £3–10/-but she took most of it out. All except five shillings. It would be worth a lot more back then but it wasn’t a fortune. Not enough to run away with and keep yourself in food and lodgings for very long.’
‘Did the police ever find out if any money was taken out of the account after she left home?’
Now there was a thing, thought Molly. ‘I’m not sure. I’ll ask Vera on Monday. If she did go away somewhere, then maybe she cashed the money in another town and that would prove that she had run away.’
‘Well, I wish you luck with it.’
At 7:30 p.m. Marigold said she had to leave. ‘Why not stay the night here?’ suggested Molly.
‘I would but I’ve got to be at the church early tomorrow, then we have a meeting about next week’s sale of work and I don’t like leaving Sabby. She misses me when I’m not there.’
Molly stayed silent but thought to herself, Sabby was one clever cat that had Marigold wrapped around her striped, furry paw. ‘Let me run you to the Fifie. It’s dark outside and I think it’s starting to rain again.’
The two women hurried out to the car, which was parked in Baltic Street. The rain was quite heavy and Marigold was grateful for the lift. The town centre was busy with people going out for the evening and the lit shop windows reflected off the wet pavements. ‘I wish you didn’t live on the other side of the river, Marigold,’ said Molly.
‘But you like living in your flat, don’t you, Molly?’
Molly said she did but it was a bit lonely in the evenings. Marigold had a suggestion. ‘Is there no place you can go to? Like an evening class or something like that?’
‘If there was an evening class for sleuths, then I’d gladly join that,’ said Molly, laughing.
Within five minutes, the car drew up at Craig Pier. The two women noticed the boat had already docked and Marigold quickly made her way down the walkway and on to the Fifie. Marigold stood on the lower deck and waved until the paddle steamer began to slip away from her moorings and headed for Newport. Molly was glad she wasn’t on it as the sight of the dark water made her shiver. She stood until the ferry was almost in the middle of the river before she turned the car around and made for home. Molly felt another familiar pang of loneliness but she decided she’d spend the evening reviewing the case again.
A white envelope was lying on the mat as she opened the office door. It was addressed to Miss McQueen and had obviously been delivered after she’d left with Marigold. Wondering who could have left it, she carried it upstairs to the flat. Inside was a single piece of paper from Maggie Flynn. Dear Miss McQueen, I hope you don’t mind me delivering this letter, I thought I would leave it with you when I went to the pictures with my friend. I’ve been thinking all day about the name Pedro and I’ve remembered where I heard it. My brother Jimmy has a workmate called Peter Walsh who lives at 28 Alexander Street. A couple of years ago, I heard someone call him Pedro but he said not to call him by that name as his wife Donna didn’t like it. He said it made him sound Spanish and that annoyed her. I hope this is a help to you and thank you for being so kind to me today. Yours sincerely, Maggie Flynn.
Dear Miss McQueen,
I hope you don’t mind me delivering this letter, I thought I would leave it with you when I went to the pictures with my friend. I’ve been thinking all day about the name Pedro and I’ve remembered where I heard it. My brother Jimmy has a workmate called Peter Walsh who lives at 28 Alexander Street. A couple of years ago, I heard someone call him Pedro but he said not to call him by that name as his wife Donna didn’t like it. He said it made him sound Spanish and that annoyed her. I hope this is a help to you and thank you for being so kind to me today.
Yours sincerely,
Maggie Flynn.
Molly almost danced with joy. This could very well be Etta’s one-time boyfriend. If it hadn’t been so late she would have gone to see him tonight but she planned to go tomorrow. Hopefully he would be able to add some sense to this mystery. She was so glad she had made a friend of Maggie and she would tell her when she saw her next.
She wondered what this Pedro looked like. From what Vina had gathered, Etta had gone out with him for a few weeks but then the relationship, if that was what it really was, had finished. Did they have an argument? Or was it just a youthful flirtation that ended when one of them had a change of heart? Or perhaps it turned out to be more of a friendship? Hopefully all would be revealed tomorrow and this case might get solved. Maybe this Peter Walsh had kept in touch with her and knew her address. But if that was the case why hadn’t he come forward when she disappeared? He must have seen the news of her father’s death in the papers, followed by Etta being reported missing.
According to Vina and Frances, Etta had been a master of keeping secrets. Whether it was to protect her boyfriends from scrutiny or to keep her lies from being detected, there was so much secrecy here that Molly didn’t think she would be able to get to the bottom of it. She would give it her best try though.
Marigold would be landing on the jetty by now and heading for her home. Molly was starting to wish she had gone with her.
25
Molly was unsure when she should go and see Peter Walsh. According to Maggie, he worked with her brother Jimmy, so maybe he liked to stay in bed later on a Sunday. She also didn’t want to go at dinner time. After a great deal of thought, she decided to go around one o’clock in the afternoon and if that wasn’t suitable, then she could always return at another time. Her desire to see this man was intense. After so many blanks in the story, she had at last found the elusive boyfriend that Mrs Pert had glimpsed that night twenty-four years ago.
It was a dreary wet day when she set off for Alexander Street. The tenements huddled in the rain like grey, stone ghosts and few people were out on the street. A couple of brave souls, wrapped up in their thick coats, were coming out of the little grocer’s shop on the corner of James Street but apart from them, even the children, who normally would be playing in the streets, had decided to stay indoors.
Peter Walsh lived on the second floor of number twenty-eight. A shabby looking door bore a tiny brass nameplate. However, before she reached the door, it was yanked open and a young girl who looked about fifteen rushed out. She had no coat on and was wearing a pair of scuffed slippers on her bare feet. ‘Get a Sunday Post and The People and don’t forget my twenty Capstan cigarettes,’ an irate male voice shouted loudly.
This was followed by a shrill female tone: ‘Janey, put on your coat and shoes and don’t go out in the rain with your baffies.’
Janey paid no heed to this advice and proceeded to run down the stairs. Molly went to the still open door and knocked. A thin woman with dark curly hair appeared. She was still dressed in her pyjamas with a cardigan buttoned tightly over the top. Molly felt overdressed when faced by this morning ensemble but she was soon brought back to the reason for her visit when the woman spoke. ‘What are you wanting? I hope you’re no selling anything.’
‘Can I speak to Mr Peter Walsh, please?’
The woman’s eyes narrowed and she swept her hair back from her face with a thin hand. ‘What do you want him for?’
‘I’m looking into the disappearance of Etta Barton and I think your husband knew her.’
The woman gawped at Molly. ‘You’re joking. Etta vanished over twenty years ago. What’s Peter got to do with it?’
By now, Molly was getting tired of conducting a conversation on the doorstep. ‘Can I please speak to Peter?’
The woman went to close the door. ‘No, I don’t think so. He won’t even remember Etta Barton.’
No, but you do, Molly thought. Just then, Janey came rushing back upstairs and her mother was annoyed that she had run out in the
rain with no proper shoes. ‘Didn’t I tell you to put on your coat and shoes?’
‘Just let the lassie get in the house with my cigarettes and papers for God’s sake Donna,’ said the man’s voice. ‘Who’s that at the door? The one you’re busy yapping with.’
Before Donna could answer, Molly said loudly, ‘Can I have a word with you, Mr Walsh?’
Peter came to the door. He was dressed in his pyjama bottoms and a vest. He also had dark curly hair and his face was unshaven. He looked very tired. ‘What do you want?’ he said, repeating the same words his wife had used.
‘Can I come in?’ asked Molly.
He looked at Donna and she looked dubious but he said, ‘All right but make it snappy.’
Molly was shown into the kitchen and she was glad that she hadn’t come earlier because it looked as if the family had just finished breakfast. The table, with its oilcloth covering, held plates with congealed egg and bacon fat on their surfaces and half-full cups of tea. The room was quite small with a sink at the window and the frying pan and kettle on the cooker. The fireplace still held the ashes from the day before.
A young girl of about eighteen years was sitting at the table. She was also dressed in a short nightdress with a thick woollen cardigan over her shoulders. She had the same black hair as her parents and had been wearing mascara at some point because she now had two black-rimmed eyes, like a panda. She barely looked at the visitor but concentrated on eating her toast. Molly was fascinated by her behaviour because she held the slice of toast in her hand and slowly rotated it, taking delicate little bites from the edges. Molly quickly reviewed her first impression of a panda and now thought she looked more like a squirrel.
The other girl, Janey, sat beside her mother and stared at Molly. It was very off-putting but Molly was determined to know if this man was Pedro, the one-time boyfriend of Etta. ‘I’m really sorry to bother you so early on a Sunday morning,’ she said, feeling a bit ridiculous since it was only a couple of hours until teatime. ‘I wanted to ask you, Mr Walsh, if you can give me any information on a girl called Etta Barton?’
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