One afternoon I bumped into Joe McGregor in town, in a suit. I had never seen him dressed like that before, and when he stopped to say hello, I saw that he had red eyes and a shrunken look.
‘Morning, Joe. Everything OK?’
‘Not exactly,’ he replied, and wiped his nose with his sleeve. ‘It’s the missus. She passed last week. I held her hand as she went. But she was in a lot of pain, poor lamb. Nothing we could do.’
‘I’m so sorry, Joe,’ I said, touching his arm gently. But I knew that whatever I said, no words would comfort him. He was alone.
‘Funeral’s in a couple of hours. I’ve just some … something … to do first. Can hardly remember what. Papers to sign and things. I’ve had a trouble remembering it all.’
‘Oh Joe. I had no idea. I’m so sorry. I’d come and pay my respects but I’m on a shift this evening.’
‘Don’t worry. There’ll be a fine crowd. Last night I’m sure I heard her, you know. Talking. Beside me in bed. Just whispering or something. Saying my name. Then when I looked, just an empty space. The pillow. But I could still smell her. Strange.’ His voice began to crack a little. ‘Anyway, I can manage. You be on your way. You don’t need to be troubling yourself with death and all at your age.’
As I watched Joe walk up the road slowly, I thought what a contrast it was since our first meeting all those years back, with Bertie the escaped bullock. Funny how things change.
When I got back to my digs that night, Malcolm was sitting in the kitchen with Caroline. I had been expecting him this weekend, but he’d come over just to say hello before he caught the bus up the road to stay at the farmhouse. He seemed a little on edge and I wasn’t sure why.
‘Shall we take a walk? Down the castle?’ he suggested.
‘It’s late but … why not? I could use some fresh air. You know old Mrs McGregor passed a few days ago. Poor Joe. I only found out today. I hope he’ll be all right in that old house on his own.’
We walked in silence down the road for what seemed like ages, then across Market Place. The sun had set not long ago, and it was just getting properly dark. The air was humid, moths and insects flying about in the streetlights and the last few swifts high in the sky.
We walked along by the river for a while, hand in hand. Out of nowhere a big brown and speckled fish swirled up out of the water and caught a fly on the surface.
‘Trout, probably,’ said Malcolm.
I watched its shiny back continue to curve across the surface of the water as it made its way along the river, picking off insects.
We sat down on a bench and looked at the castle, the whole of Richmond stretching out in front of us. Suddenly, out of the blue, Malcolm turned to me, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blue box. My heart fluttered for a moment, as though someone had jump-started it momentarily.
‘I’ve never … you know. Not sure how to do this. But will you … ?’
He opened the box and there inside was a gold ring with three diamond stones set inside it.
‘How did you … ?’ I breathed in deeply and looked inside the box, unsure what to do.
I thought about Joe and his wife, and the end of their world together, and how the cycle just continues, on and on. One ends, another begins.
‘Yes,’ I said softly, and he put the ring silently onto my finger. I squeezed it, and then his hand.
That night as I slept, though, it wasn’t the ring and Malcolm that swirled about in my mind. It was that brown fish, its shiny back and swirling tail. It was like a sign. Though I had no idea of what.
The next day, at the station, I showed my ring to Doris and she squealed with delight. The lads all patted me on the back and the Sergeant shook my hand. Someone brought in a cake a bit later and we had a bit of a celebration.
But as the noise of congratulations rung around me, I felt like I had gone inside my head for a moment. I was suddenly far away, looking down on my own body from above. I was gripped with a sudden uncertainty that this was the direction I really wanted to go in. Housewife. Wife.
It was as if I was on an uncontrollable roller coaster, and there was no getting off now, no matter what.
For the next few months, though, before the wedding, and all the fuss that goes with that – dresses and cakes, family and friends, deciding where we would live – I remained, for the moment at least, Pamela Rhodes, Miss. Bobby on the beat.
Illustrations
1. When the buses went on strike for a few days during the war, army lorries took us to school in Bradford.
2. My brother, Peter, being presented with the prize for winning a cycle race at the youth club in Scarborough.
3. Some of the other boys from the youth club competing in the cycle race. A friend and I waved them on at the corner of Seamer Road.
4. First trip away from home on my own, aged seventeen. With the girls down in London, in Trafalgar Square with all the pigeons.
5. Me in Maritana at Scarborough open-air theatre. My friend and I were in the chorus.
6. One of the lads at the Scarborough youth club had a motorbike. We were ‘trying it out’!
7. Early days at the Bruche police training centre.
8. Me with a couple of the lads.
9. War Duties course – having a giggle in our gas masks.
10. Putting out a blaze with stirrup pumps and buckets of water. Hope it was a small fire – there’s not much water!
11. All bandaged up, practising our First Aid.
12. All smiles after Physical Training – mustn’t have been too tiring!
13. This is what we got up to on sunny weekends. You can see the Nissen huts in the background.
14. Relaxing after class.
15. At the end of the course, we entertained in our concert with songs from The Student Prince.
16. Don’t they look a treat? The lads in their ballet outfits!
17. Me in my new hat.
18. Leading a parade in Richmond.
19. On the beat in Redcar. Maureen and I met up on our separate beats along the seafront and a friend took this picture. We were ‘hamming it up’ for the benefit of the camera, I think.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Jo Wheeler for her help (and a little ‘poetic licence’). All place names, other than Richmond and Redcar, have been changed, as well as the names of the characters I’ve described.
THE BEGINNING
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PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published 2013
Copyright © Pamela Rhodes, 2013
Cover photos © Patricia Crayt
on
All rights reserved
The moral right of the authors has been asserted
Bobby on the Beat is inspired by true events, but all persons appearing in the book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
ISBN: 978-1-40-590947-1
Bobby on the Beat Page 28