‘Well, now, can I help you?’ she said, looking at Theo, her teeth very evident in a wide smile, and Maggy thought, ‘She sounds just like Dolly. That soft blurred sound –’
‘We’re trying to find some information about – about an old friend of my father’s,’ Maggy said quickly, and the small woman turned her head and looked at her, the smile fading a little. ‘He – er – my father died, you see, and left a few mementos of the war and he wanted them to go to this chap he was in the army with. A James Hornby. He said – well, he said, to tell the truth, that he wasn’t as good a citizen as he’d been a soldier, and blotted his copy book more than somewhat but still he wanted him to have these things you see, so – we can’t find him, that’s the trouble. So we thought if we came to Cheltenham, where he came from, you might be able to help – I mean, he ended up in prison, I’m afraid, for armed robbery, though he’d been a very brave soldier –’ And she beamed at the little woman who was listening with her mouth half open. ‘– and you have to forgive people, don’t you? And my poor old father was so anxious his medals should go to this old friend –’
‘Oh, my dear, o’ course we’ll help if we can, gladly.’ The little woman looked ferociously at the girl who stood hovering behind her. ‘Dawn, you keep an eye on the phone now. I’m goin’ down to the cellar, see? Just keep an eye on the phone and don’t do nothin’ daft –’
‘Yes, Miss Stapleton,’ the girl said, and watched in dim fascination as the little woman lifted the flap of the counter that stretched across the reception room and made way for Theo and Maggy to go through.
‘We keep a few, like, of the old papers,’ she said chattily. ‘Not all of them, mind, because we bin goin’ a long time here, that we have. Why, do you know, the Gazette reported news of the Great Exhibition, it did! We got that edition on account of it was a big one, an’ they must ha’ been main proud of it, but we don’t have a lot as far back as that.’ She was leading them along a corridor and down stairs at the far end, chattering busily all the way. ‘Mind you, we got a clear run for the last few years, like up to the war and all –’
‘The war? So you’ll have them for say – forty-nine, fifty or so?’
‘Oh, yes, my dear! I meant we got ’em back to the War – fourteen-eighteen! So if this chap o’ yours was writ about then we should find ’im! Went to prison you say? For armed robbery? Around 1950? Well, now, that rings a little bell with me. We don’t get that many armed robberies, you know – that does ring a little bell, indeed. I’ve been here thirty years now, since I was little more’n a girl, and there’s not much I don’t know about the Gazette, or the town either, come to that. So we’ll have a little look – and we’ll see what I can remember for you –’ She chatted all the way down to a dusty cellar smelling faintly of mice and old paper and with white walls lined with broad slatted shelves on which leather bindings were piled, the month and the year stamped on their narrow spines.
It was ridiculously easy to find him. It was in an early May edition for 1951. ‘Cheltenham Man Gets Twenty-Year Sentence,’ the headline read and there were several close-printed columns about the trial at the Old Bailey. Hornby and Codling had made quite a showing at their trial, for they had been pert in the witness box, had shouted back at the counsel throughout the trial, and several times been threatened by the judge because of their behaviour. Clearly the press had thoroughly enjoyed it all, not least the Gazette reporter who took a gloating satisfaction in detailing virtually every word Hornby had spoken. Clearly Local Boy Making Bad had been as important as Local Boy Making Good, back in 1951.
Maggy read every word of it, with Theo reading over her shoulder, while Miss Stapleton chattered on and on and leafed through later editions of the paper, and then, when Maggy had finished she said cheerfully, ‘So there you are! That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? I told you we had a good run here – and that I’d a good memory –’
‘Well, not exactly,’ Maggy said carefully. ‘I mean, this says where he used to live, but not where he lives now, of course –’
Miss Stapleton beamed at her, her teeth gleaming joyously. ‘Oh, my dear, but you wouldn’t find that there, would you? No, o’ course not! That was when he went to prison, wasn’t it? Oh, I remember all about that case you know. I remember so well! You see, he had an old Mum, he did. Lived over to the other side of the town – over to Charlton Kings. And she were ill at the time. I well remember, you see, there was such a fuss, on account the Vicar said as it’s all wrong to make a public spectacle of her for nothing she done, only that her wicked son had done, when she was so ill. So the address was never put in. I remember that –’
‘Remember it?’ Maggy stared. ‘After all this time?’
‘Well, I should say I do! There’s not a lot happens you know, like that, in Cheltenham! Most people are quiet enough – and a big case like that, it got everyone goin’, that it did! I mean, it was in all the papers, all over the country, so o’ course we was extra interested. I’d misremembered his name, I don’t deny, but I remember it all now, because I was in the office when the Vicar came in and made all that fuss about this old woman, the feller’s mother, you see –’
‘What else do you remember?’
‘Well, let’s see now –’ The little woman settled herself on a stool and folded her arms, watching Maggy with bright little eyes. ‘It’s been a main long time, o’ course – but I know there was a lot o’ fuss because the police got a search warrant for his mother’s house, and the Vicar, he said as they couldn’t come in, because it wasn’t right, with her so ill, and the police started a great fuss –’ She leaned over and picked up another of the old newspapers. ‘It’s all in here – how they got in to search at last, but only after the old lady died and the Vicar said it was because she’d been harried by the police – oh, the trouble went on and on in the paper for weeks! But of course they never found it.’
‘Found what?’ Theo said, as Maggy took the paper from Miss Stapleton and began to read the columns she pointed out.
Miss Stapleton opened here eyes very wide. ‘Why, the money, o’ course! The money they stole. It was never found, you see. The police never found it, and if the man’s mother had known, she wasn’t in no situation to say, bein’ dead, and there it was! Never been found, and there it sits to this day, wherever it is.’
Maggy looked up, and stared at her, her eyes wide and blank. ‘Never been found – and it was a lot, wasn’t it?’ She turned back to the first paper they had read, and ran her finger down the columns, looking for the information. ‘A hell of a lot – here it is. Five hundred thousand, they said –’
‘And never found,’ Miss Stapleton said triumphantly. ‘So he never got nothin’ for his trouble, did he?’
‘Well, he’s not in prison, now, is he?’ Theo said. ‘He got twenty years, it said here – he must have come out of prison several years ago, what with time for good behaviour and all that sort of thing –’
Mis Stapleton laughed, a cheery little sound, and shook her head. ‘No, that he isn’t. Not in prison now. Because he never got out in a manner o’ speaking. Died, he did, both of ’em did –’
‘Both – who? How do you –’
‘There was two of them, you see. Look –’ And again she went rifling through the paper, looking for the right place. ‘See? Codling, that was the name o’ the other one. And he and this Hornby got into a fight in the prison yard seemingly – it was in another paper – now, let me see. They were in the same prison, and got into a fight with knives and there was three people died. And they were two of ’em –’
There was a little silence and then Maggy said blankly, ‘Dead? Hornby? Dead? I’ve been looking all this time for a dead man?’
‘’Tis a pity at that, my dear’ Miss Stapleton said, cheery as ever. ‘Now your Dad’s medals’ll have to stay with you, I dare say! Still, if they’re all dead, I suppose no harm done. I mean, none of ’em know, so they won’t be upset, will they? ‘Tis only the living gets upset, aft
er all.’
‘And the money was never found,’ Theo said. ‘The money they stole was never found.’
‘Mr Geary always said they had a minder.’ Miss Stapleton began to tidy away her old newspapers. ‘That’s what he said, and that whoever it was had done nicely, once the two of them were dead. There it was to hold on to and no questions asked.’
‘A minder?’ Maggy said, watching her stack the papers neatly in their worn leather folders, trying to organize her confused thoughts.
‘That’s right, my dear. Someone to look after it, you see, until they were out of prison and could collect it. Mr Geary told me – you learn a lot about life on a newspaper, you know, and he was our reporter for years, went to all the courts and knew everything that went on, did Mr Geary. And he said as someone looked after that money for ’em because that was what thieves always did, had minders. But there, the mills o’ God grind slow, don’t they? Both dead, and never got nothing for their evil ways. It only goes to show doesn’t it? I’m sorry you couldn’t give your dad’s medals the way he wanted, my dear, but like I says, once folks are in their graves it don’t make no nevermind, do it?’
‘No,’ Maggy said. ‘It makes no nevermind at all.’
27
Ida sat behind the desk and stared at her, and Maggy stared back, her face very still, and then, feeling awkward and embarrassed, she nodded.
‘Hello, Ida.’
‘Well, this is a surprise! Slumming, are we? Or coming to keep an eye on the wage slaves?’
‘May I sit down?’ Maggy said quietly and Ida shrugged, making no other move, and Maggy brought a chair from the other side of the office and sat down in front of Ida’s desk.
‘I need to talk to you, Ida,’ she said, after a moment. ‘There’s a lot I have to –’
‘I’m in no mood for arguments,’ Ida said harshly. ‘And I’ve no time for ’em either. There’s a lot of work to be done here, whoever owns the place, and keeping heads above water doesn’t happen by accident. I’ve no time to –’
‘Please, Ida. I know we – it’s been difficult in the past. But there have been changes. Things are different.’
‘Changes?’ Ida looked at her sharply and Maggy stared back, determined to hold her gaze. I wish I could like her, I really wish I could. But after so long –
‘First of all, I have to thank you.’ She said it steadily, still holding her gaze, and Ida stared back, blankly.
‘Thank me?’ she said, her voice expressionless.
‘Yes. You’ve coped with a difficult situation since Dolly died – and I was no help.’
‘That you weren’t,’ Ida said, her voice still harsh, but she seemed to relax a little, leaning back in her chair instead of sitting ramrod straight.
‘I had a lot to cope with too. Dolly and I – it wasn’t easy.’
‘No.’ Ida said. ‘It never was. She was such a fool with you, always was. Told you such lies, led you such a dance –’
‘Why, Ida?’ Maggy leaned forward. ‘Ever since she died, I’ve been trying to find out – I’ve found out a lot. Such extraordinary things. Incredible things. She was – some of the people she had there in Creffield Road were – they were trouble, weren’t they?’
Ida laughed then, a sharp little sound that echoed in the small room. ‘Trouble? My God, you don’t know the half of it! She was such a fool, Dolly! Too soft for her own good, such a fool.’
‘Can you explain? I don’t think I ever really knew. I saw it all –’
‘You saw it through your eyes and no one else’s,’ Ida said dispassionately. ‘Spoiled rotten you were. I used to try, tried to make you see there were other people in the world apart from you, because I knew you’d have a bad time of it later on if you went on being as spoiled as she wanted – but it made it worse, I suppose. I was young, then, and foolish. Thought I knew better than anyone else – and –’ She bent her head sharply, deliberately cutting off what she had intended to say and Maggy said, ‘What?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does. It’s why I’ve come this evening. Well, one of the reasons. I need to know. I really do. About you, and why I got so – why we never got on –’
‘Why we never got on?’ Ida looked up and Maggy stared at her, trying to see her as she really was, not as just the smooth hard-faced woman she’d always loathed so much. A clean skin, only sagging a little with age, lightly powdered. A little rouge. Narrow eyes under straight brows, a hint of mascara, just enough for a face of that age. Neat hair, well-cut, agreeably arranged. But was that all? Was there a real woman behind that veneer of understated business-like rightness? There had to be somewhere –
‘Well, if we’re going in for the all-girls-together bit, and trying a bit of honesty – though I can’t imagine why we should, after all this time –’
‘I told you. I need to know.’
‘All right. The reason you didn’t like me – that was what I was for. It was what Dolly wanted me to do, so I did it. The way everyone always did what Dolly wanted. She couldn’t bear to be the nasty one, you see, not ever. So that was what I was for. We played it all the time we were together. I’m the bastard, she’s the nice one.’
‘I’m not sure I understand –’
Ida sighed, sharply. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Maggy! Just think! How often did she ever say no to you? How often did she ever make you do things you didn’t want to do? Once or twice, maybe – I remember the way she tried to stop you going to that Susannah’s place – and how upset she was that you were miserable about it, and she never stopped you again, did she? That was what I was for. The miserable things. I was the one who made you – oh, brush your teeth and get to school on time and – all the dreary things. It was the same with the hotel. She was the kind one, the nice one, the warm and loving one, and I was the one who made them pay their bills and toe the line. Of course you hated me, of course all the boarders hated me! It was what I was for –’
Staring at her Maggy thought, she’s right. My God, but she’s right. Why did I never see it before? Ida always did the dirty work, every single scrap of it. No wonder I loathed her. Oh, poor Ida. You poor, poor –
‘Ida, why? Why on earth did you do it? Why did you put up with it?’
‘Why?’ She laughed her little bark again. ‘That’s another story. The stupid thing really is that it didn’t work properly. She could never understand it, you know. Why you got so – why you didn’t just adore her all the time. She couldn’t understand it, after that man Gerald, and after Oliver she still couldn’t understand it. She didn’t even realize what she’d done. But I did – I was sorry for you. And angry too.’
‘Angry?’
‘Because you let it happen. You let her just – just absorb people to herself, take all the love and attention she could get, and you never hit back. Not till too late.’
‘Hit back? How could I? There was no way I could – I’m not sure I always understood anyway.’
‘Understood?’ Ida smiled then, a tight little grin. ‘She was impossible to understand because she was so – there was nothing there, you see. No bones. Just marshmallow.’
‘Then why? Why in God’s name did you stay around and – why did you put up with it? You’ve got bones! You’re strong. Why should you do all you did, and get so little back? That’s even more impossible to understand.’
There was a silence between them then and Maggy could hear the faint buzz of voices from the other side of the office wall as someone in reception talked to the girl there, and people in the foyer talked and laughed. It was the busy time of the evening, half past eight, with dinner over, and card-players not yet settled down and the television-watchers just beginning to decide which pap they were going to swallow tonight. She was tired, aware of the weight of the day behind her; it had been a hell of a day; first Sally and then the afternoon in Cheltenham and now Ida, sitting and staring at her with her blank face and opaque eyes, saying nothing.
‘Ida,’ she tried again. ‘
Please. It’s been a bad few weeks for me. I’ve had to go back over so much of the past, remember more than I wanted to, and it’s not been easy. And there have been things – things have happened because of it all that I’ll have to explain to you, some time. You might as well know, because you were part of it, too, in a way. Weren’t you? But tell me, first, why. What made you stay? What was it about Dolly that made you put up with so much?’
‘I suppose I loved her,’ Ida said at length and then tried to smile, a twisted little shape that made her mouth look very soft. ‘She was kind to me when I needed kindness, and I felt – the stupid thing is that even after I realized it was such mindless kindness, it went on mattering. She did for me what she’d have done for a dog that had been run over or a starving kitten. Took me and stroked me and then –’ She shrugged. ‘Then I was part of her furniture. Just like everyone else. Except you. You she always went on caring about. But everyone else – once she’d taken ’em in, and been kind to them, they were part of the furniture. But I was still grateful.’
‘You must have needed her very much at the time.’
‘You’re determined to find out, aren’t you? Digging and digging – all right!’ Ida spoke loudly, for the first time lifting her voice and not seeming to care whether the girl outside could hear or not. ‘All right! If it matters that much!’
‘Look, I don’t want to – oh, damn it. Ida, you really don’t have to –’
‘Yes I do!’ Her voice dropped again now, and the faint lift of colour that had come into her cheeks faded. ‘Now I’ve got this far – I had a baby. All right? He’d have been nearly thirty now. He is, I suppose. I had him adopted. In 1950 there was nothing else you could do. No abortions then –’
Maggy sat silent, her head bent, too embarrassed to look at her.
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