The Thursday Friend

by Catherine Cookson

  Peter was helping Hannah off with her coat when he said, ‘We have a visitor, madam.’

  At this, David, who was in the act of taking off his topcoat, swung around. His face was straight and he repeated grimly, ‘Visitor? Where?’

  ‘Oh, not that kind of a visitor, sir. It’s . . . it’s your niece, madam, little Maggie.’

  ‘Maggie? By herself? What on earth . . . ?’

  ‘If you’ll both come up to the fire and unfreeze, I’ll give you a rundown on why she’s here, then take her up a cup of tea.’

  It took Peter only a few minutes to go over what Maggie had told him, but now he added, ‘If I may suggest, madam, I’d go very carefully with her, because to my mind she’s disturbed. You know, it’s some time since the afternoon of the tea party, and apparently the fact that her father thrashed her shows what importance he put on her behaviour. She insists that she just wanted to make people laugh; but I don’t think she’s laughed since, madam, and she’s got the idea that no-one loves her, and through her parents’ reaction to her this is now deeply ingrained. She was very perceptive when she told me about this – as she says, her parents . . . they speak to her, but they don’t talk to her.’

  Hannah, obviously distressed now, cupped her face in her hands as she said to David, ‘I can imagine that at this moment Janie is going mad. I must phone and tell her that Maggie’s here.’

  It was David who said, ‘I’ll phone them. You go up and see her.’

  But at this Peter checked them both by saying, ‘If I may suggest, sir, I wouldn’t talk to Maggie just yet – wait until she’s had a cup of tea and feels more settled. Why don’t you both go and get tidied up, and I’ll prepare your meal, and over it you can decide on your next move. And if you’ll allow me, madam, I’ll phone your sister and tell her that her daughter is here and everything is all right.’

  Hannah and David exchanged a glance; then almost simultaneously turned and hurried towards their bedroom.

  Peter went into the kitchen for the tray to take upstairs, and when he had placed it on a small table at Maggie’s side he said, ‘I’ve told them, and everything’s going to be all right. You drink that tea, and they’ll be upstairs shortly.’ He smiled at her. ‘Trust me; everything’s going to be all right – and with your mum and dad. You’ll see.’

  What happened next was so sudden and unexpected, he would remember it for the rest of his life . . .

  He did not take Carrie for an apparition, for she was standing there in the flesh, and for the first time in his life he was experiencing body-shuddering fear. It did not seem to have its origin in the stomach, as with most fears, but, strangely, in the very soles of his feet, for he felt as if he was about to topple over.

  The next he knew was that something was happening to his heart – it seemed to be bursting through his ribs. He eventually gave vent to it through his gasping mouth, and the sound came out as a drawn-out ‘Ohhhh!’

  Carrie’s voice, when it came to him, sounded calm: ‘You shouldn’t be surprised to see me, Peter; the door was unlocked, although I could have got in anyway; I have a duplicate key,’ and this she lifted up and dangled.

  When his next move was to make for the door, she sprang in front of him, saying, ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I – I,’ he stammered, ‘was just going—’

  ‘Yes, to tell your master he has a visitor? Well, Peter, I’m going to do it for you.’

  When his hand moved swiftly to grab the rolling pin, hers was there first, and after grasping it she thrust him backwards. Then, as he went to yell a warning, she checked it with a doubled fist to his mouth, to which he instinctively responded, as he had done years before, by kicking her in the shins.

  She let out an oath, and the next minute she was grappling with him, and so fierce was her hold he had no wind with which to yell; but he was to recall making one final effort to grab the rolling pin before it was brought down on his head.

  It was as if his body had been splintered into myriad pieces, all aiming to reach the ceiling, only for them to be drawn together before dragging him down into blackness. He wasn’t aware that he had slid down her body into a heap on the floor, or that she was now standing over him, prepared to strike again.

  She stood for a moment, breathing heavily and looking towards the door that led into the sitting room. There was a sign of bewilderment on her face that no-one had yet put in an appearance. Slowly now she approached the door.

  Looking round the sitting room, her eyes focused on the tea trolley standing towards the head of the couch. Each shelf was covered by a white cloth. This brought her eyes to the far door and the bedroom, from where she could hear voices.

  She was wearing a heavy dark blue overcoat. It had large flat pockets, and from one she extracted a gun. Then, holding her left arm across her waist, she laid the gun gently along it. Her finger on the trigger, she crept very quietly towards the bedroom door.

  She stopped in the open doorway of the bedroom. David was standing before the dressing table mirror, his body bent slightly forward. His upper lip was exposing his teeth and he was pressing one of them. It had been troubling him for days but the thought of the dentist had put him off. His head was moving slightly to take in the reflection of the other side of his face when his body stiffened and he muttered, ‘Oh, my God! Oh, my God!’ Then he swung round, his buttocks pressed tight against the edge of the dressing table, and he cried, ‘Stay where you are, Hannah! Stay where you are!’

  Hannah appeared at the door of the bathroom, saying, ‘What did you—?’ Her words were frozen and she remained rooted to the spot at the sight of the woman with a gun in her hand, who was now addressing David, saying, ‘I warned you, didn’t I, David, of what I’d do if ever you brought me low again? The boys got me to sign the legal separation, oh yes. If I hadn’t, they would have gone their own ways. They did that for you. But they’re not here now, are they? At this moment they think I’m still chatting and listening to the drivel of Aunt Amelia Goodall. They want me to keep in with her. She’s very wealthy, is Aunt Amelia, and she’s known as an eccentric, not mad like Mama or Eva or me. But I needn’t have been like the rest; I was getting better. I knew all about myself. If you’d been patient . . . No, you were ashamed to be with me, weren’t you, David? But even then I was just known as your hysterical wife, not a madwoman. I didn’t show you my real side until you decided to leave me, and what did I promise you then? I ask you again, can you remember?’

  David now muttered, ‘Get back in the bathroom and lock the door. Do as I say.’

  As Hannah made an effort to obey him she was brought to a halt by Carrie’s voice. ‘You move an inch and I’ll shoot him. I need this to last for some time. I need recompense for what I’ve gone through. No-one’s pitied me. No; it’s been, “Poor David, poor David married to her.” So I’m warning you, you blonde slut, stay where you are. I’ll deal with you in a minute. Oh, yes, we’ve met before. Played your little game, didn’t you, going up the street as if you didn’t know him?’

  With almost a jump now David sprang round and lunged at Hannah, but as he did so a high scream came from the woman and she fired the gun.

  There was silence while Hannah stood gripping the stanchion of the door in terror. Then she was on her knees, holding David’s bleeding body to her and crying, ‘You’ve shot him! You’ve shot him, you bitch!’

  ‘Yes; yes, I’ve shot him and I’ll do it again.’

  As Carrie pointed the gun at the prostrate body Hannah sprang from her knees and threw herself against what seemed a solid wall of bone, and the next minute the two women were struggling madly.

  When the gun went off for a second time it was evident it hadn’t hit Hannah, for she continued to claw at the woman’s face. But her efforts were stopped when she saw the woman’s hand flash up to show the blade of a knife. It was when the p
oint pierced some part of her neck that she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  And as she too slid to the ground the mad creature gripped her by the loose braids of her hair and dragged her along the floor. Then, gripping a smaller handful of the hair, she proceeded to saw it from the roots with the knife. But on finding this a slow business she got to her feet, stepped over Hannah and, avoiding David’s body, examined the pieces on the glass tray of the dressing table, looking for scissors; not finding any, she paused for a moment. Then at a run she crossed the room.

  When Maggie heard the first scream she had run downstairs, terrified, to find Mr Peter lying on the floor, dead, as she thought. Then there was the sound of a woman’s voice yelling from another room. She stood petrified, until what sounded to her like the crack of a gun caused her to dive under the table. A minute or so later she was amazed to hear running footsteps, then, from her position under the table, to see a pair of wool-covered legs and the bottom of an open coat showing bloodstains on the bottom of a skirt.

  It was when she saw one of the legs go out and kick Mr Peter, and the woman running out of the kitchen again, that Maggie had to stuff her fingers into her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

  On hands and knees now, she crawled to Peter’s side, and when she saw his head lift, she whimpered, ‘Oh, Mr Peter. Mr Peter, you’re not dead. Oh, Mr Peter; wake up, wake up properly.’

  Perhaps it was the kick in the side that had brought Peter back from the black depths. He recognised Maggie and managed to whisper, ‘Hide! Hide!’ But her voice came to him, again appealing, ‘Get up, Mr Peter, please! She’s a bad woman, she’s in there.’ She thumbed towards the open door. Then her body seemed to collapse under the weight of Peter’s hand on her shoulder as he tried to pull himself round and on to his knees.

  Having got herself to her feet, she then helped Peter to his; and there he stood, leaning with his back against the table. He felt as if his head must be split in two and that he was about to fall to the ground again, but he turned and looked down on the table, to see the rolling pin. He was quick to notice that the knife and the scissors had gone. Slowly reaching out, he pulled the rolling pin towards him. Then, his hand on Maggie’s shoulder for support, he staggered to the kitchen door, across the sitting room and to the bedroom door; there, the sight of the beautiful golden hair and the blood still oozing from Hannah’s neck aroused such an anger in him that he leapt on the woman. The surprise of the attack and his weight bore her sidewards to the ground, and now they were wrestling. He had dropped the rolling pin and it had rolled almost to Maggie’s feet, as she stood pressed against the stanchion of the door and screaming at the top of her voice, ‘Leave him alone!’

  As the woman’s hand came across Peter’s body in an effort to grab the knife now lying on the floor, Maggie reacted.

  Grabbing the rolling pin, she held it in her hands and swung it into the face of the kneeling woman. There was a gasp and a cry from the woman as the blood burst from her nose and she fell backwards. Then her hand went slowly up to her face and Maggie knew that within a minute she would be on her feet and would kill her, too. Once again she gripped the rolling pin, and this time she brought it to the side of the woman’s head and had the satisfaction of seeing her fall on to her face.

  ‘Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Mam! Mam!’ Maggie was shouting now. Then, looking down at Peter, who was slowly pulling himself to his feet, she cried, ‘Oh, Mr Peter! Mr Peter! Get up! Get up! We must get the police and the ambulance. Get up! Get up! Oh, Mam. Where’s Mam?’

  Peter was on his knees now and staring down at the woman lying at his side. She looked as if she had really been knocked out; but you never knew with her: she wasn’t human, she was a demon. Still on his knees, he turned and looked to where David lay, his back covered with blood, and then to Hannah, pieces of her hair seemingly sticking to everything in sight. Then again he looked at the figure at his side. She wasn’t dead; that was a certainty. Suddenly he pointed towards the window and said, ‘Maggie; bring the cords.’ She turned and quickly brought the window cord to him. He took one of the woman’s arms and brought it on to her back and to Maggie he said, ‘Lift her . . . her arm.’

  When she had done that, he heaved a sigh and fell back on his haunches, and his head drooped before he said again, ‘Maggie!’

  ‘Yes? Yes, Mr Peter?’

  ‘Can . . . can you make a knot?’

  She had to tie the woman’s hands; and yes, yes, she could make a knot, she was very good at reef knots.

  As if she was handling something repulsive she bound the cord round the blood-covered wrists; she found some difficulty in making the knot, as there was a tassel on each end of the cord, but somehow she managed. She turned now and looked at Peter. His legs were now straight and his back was resting against the foot of the bed. Again he said, ‘Maggie.’

  Her voice a mere tremble, she answered, ‘Yes, Mr Peter?’

  ‘Do . . . do the same.’ He pointed now to the other side of the window where the matching cord hung. ‘Do . . . do her legs.’

  She was trembling as she took the cord from the hook, but nevertheless she quickly set about repeating the process she had just finished on the woman’s wrists. When this was done she turned to Peter again. But he was no longer sitting upright; his body had fallen to the side and the sight of him looking dead, like the rest of them, caused her to let out a high cry, and again she whimpered, ‘Oh! Mam. Oh! Mam,’ but this time she added, ‘Oh! Dad.’ If only her Dad were here.

  She looked helplessly towards David and Hannah. He looked awful; he was covered with blood. But to her young eyes it was her Aunt Hannah who looked the worse. She must phone the police. She wiped her hands down the front of her dress; they were sticky with blood and hair.

  She stood now looking at the phone; the house was very quiet; there was no-one to tell her what to do; well, she knew what to do, didn’t she? She was talking to herself. She must dial 999.

  She lifted the phone and dialled the number. When it was answered she gave the address, then gabbled, ‘Send the police, an ambulance! As soon as you can! They’re all dead, except Mr Peter. I don’t know about her. I hit her with the rolling pin. Will you send somebody?’

  ‘Your call is being attended to immediately.’

  The line went dead. She turned from the table, then let out a high scream as she saw something crawling from the bedroom, but when she realised it was Mr Peter, she staggered to him, saying, ‘Aah! you gave me a fright. Can’t you get up?’

  He did not answer but she watched him twist round and lean his back against the side of Hannah’s desk, and he gasped, ‘Open the front door. Pull . . . pull the chain back, then open the front door.’

  ‘Yes; yes, Mr Peter.’

  She opened the front door, and the cold air seemed to revive her and take away the dizzy feeling that had begun to envelop her and she said, ‘I must phone Mam.’

  The voice at the other end of the phone said, ‘Yes? Yes? Who is it?’

  Maggie knew it was her mother and said, ‘Listen! Mam. Listen! Bring Dad. A big woman came and she’s killed Auntie Hannah and Mr David. And Mr Peter’s bad.’

  ‘Maggie! Maggie!’ She straightened up at the sound of her father’s voice. ‘Maggie! listen quietly. Are you at your Aunt Hannah’s?’

  ‘Yes, Dad; yes. I came to tell her I was sorry, but the big woman came and shot them.’ Her voice seemed to be leaving her head, for it sounded a long way off, and it was saying, ‘I’m bad, Dad. I’ve opened the front door. And I hit her with the rolling pin.’

  The feeling was very odd, and the phone slipped from her hands and dropped on to the table. Then she was seeing a lot of policemen, and one put his arms about her. The house was full of people, and everybody was talking at once. The only comfort she had was lying next to Mr Peter on the floor and that he had hold of her hand.

  Ch
apter Seventeen

  Hannah was feeling weary. She’d had a busy morning of examinations. First to be looked at was her neck, about which the doctor’s verdict was that the slit was healing nicely. He said it had been a near thing. This was followed by an examination of her body bruises. However, the main examination had been to make sure the baby within her was still all right; it was, and that was surprising, after all she had gone through.

  After the doctor had gone she must have slept for a time, but now she was lying lazily turning over the pages of a magazine when the door opened and she saw the child. It was Maggie, and yet it wasn’t Maggie. The last time she had seen her she had been a pert, rosy-faced girl. But the child now walking to the side of the bed looked puny. Her face was white and drawn; her eyes looked enlarged and had a blankness in them; and she was carrying, of all things, a rolling pin.

  She knew what the child had done with the rolling pin, and that subsequently when a policeman tried to carry her to the ambulance she had screamed for it, and one of the many men there had to bring it from the bedroom and hand it to her.

  She pulled herself further up on the pillows and, holding out her hand, she said, ‘Oh, my dear. My dear Maggie; how lovely to see you!’

  Maggie moved up to the head of the bed now and stood mutely looking at Hannah, and when Hannah put out her hand and stroked her face Maggie made no move whatever.

  Turning to the nurse, Hannah said, ‘Will you leave us for a time, nurse, please?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Then, patting Maggie on the head, she added, ‘She’s a good girl.’ Stooping, she looked into Maggie’s face and repeated, ‘You are a good girl, aren’t you?’

  ‘Sit down, Maggie.’ Hannah pointed to a chair, and after a moment’s hesitation Maggie pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down, her eyes all the while on Hannah’s face.