‘Look, I don’ want trouble. You just tell Mehjabean – ’
There was jeering from the hallway. Mr Siddiq turned, and as if on some theatrical cue there appeared at the gateway that Laura Ashley-clad figure that Ben had expected earlier, hands on the gate, looking at the scene with an expression of feigned shock and barely concealed pleasure. Mr Siddiq turned back to the faces opposing him.
‘You tell her. You tell her is all over.’
Then he brushed past Mrs Ingram and hurried towards his car. There was silence from the refuge. Visitor and visited looked at each other, neither attracted by the sight. When Alicia spoke it was in the hushed and carefully articulated tones that Mrs Thatcher used to use in interviews when she wanted to be most threatening.
‘Obviously I’ve come at an inconvenient time. I’ll be back when things are more . . . normal.’
To Alan, standing behind Ben’s shoulder and watching this second visitor also retreating to her car, there had been an oddity in the woman’s words. She had paused before the final word, and if he’d merely heard her he would have thought she was searching for that last word. But looking at her as well she seemed to him to be momentarily nonplussed by something she had seen. Someone she had seen, perhaps? Presumably, therefore, someone standing in the doorway. As they stood there watching the billowing russet tints of her dress as she opened her car door, the telephone rang.
‘Right – battle’s over!’ said Ben, shooing them out of the hall and taking up the handset. It was Charlie Peace.
‘Mr Marchant? I thought I’d tell you I’ve been to talk to Mr Haldalwa.’
‘I know.’
‘Oh? Has he rung you or been round?’
‘No, the suitor has.’
‘I see . . .’ Ben could sense Charlie considering the implications of this. ‘Was it a friendly visit?’
‘Yes. At least on the surface. He said he wanted to talk to Mehjabean.’
‘Did he?’
‘No. I said I’d give her a message.’
‘I think that was wise.’
‘Then things got rather out of hand. One or two – well, more actually – of the residents came into the hall, and there was some hostility.’
‘A fight?’
‘Oh no, nothing like that.’
‘Then I shouldn’t worry too much. I presume he wanted to assure her that she could go back and live with her family.’
‘That seemed to be the message. That the marriage was off.’
‘Yes, that was the message I was given. I don’t know whether I believe it. What are you going to advise her?’
‘I don’t advise. But we’ll talk it over. I don’t see any need to rush things myself.’
‘Nor do I. I think the important thing is that the terms of her going back are clear to both sides before she actually moves back in with her family. That sounds legalistic, but experience suggests that it’s necessary. And it’s essential that she gets the terms down on paper.’
‘I’ll tell her that. Oh, by the way, during the fracas this Mrs Ingram arrived. She seemed to regard it with great satisfaction.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about her. She seems mainly interested in muscling in on any possible local issue in order to get the Conservative nomination for the Bramsey ward.’
‘That’s what I heard. I’ll play it cool. Anyway, thanks a lot for your help.’
‘Remember – take care.’
‘Oh, I think the battle’s over for today.’
But Ben went and checked that the front and back doors were locked.
It was half an hour later, when Mehjabean and Alan were finishing the washing-up, that Ben went into the kitchen, sat on one of the bench-tops and watched them for a moment. As Alan dried the last plate he said:
‘I think we should talk, Midge.’
She nodded.
‘Sure. About what?’
‘It seems as though things are entering a new phase.’
‘Maybe . . . But OK, let’s talk.’
Ben led the way through to the dining room, and they sat down together on two of the chairs still set around the dining tables. Midge looked enquiringly at Ben, and he thought for the hundredth time what a beautiful woman she was going to be.
‘Well, the position seems to be that your father has abandoned this projected marriage,’ he said.
‘Seems to be,’ emphasized Midge. Then she conceded: ‘It’s not impossible. My father has always seemed a fairly reasonable man, until now.’
‘And apparently Mr Siddiq has abandoned the idea, too.’
Midge screwed up her face.
‘Ye-e-es. I find that even more difficult to judge, because I don’t really know him. I don’t get the impression he would find it easy to climb down. On the other hand, he may have decided that a forced marriage with a young bride would go down badly with his white British contacts if they got to hear of it.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Makes cheap clothes. Most of his buyers are white – they’re cheap Western-style clothes. He may not want to seem like an ogre or a tyrant to them. Or, more to the point, he may be afraid of appearing ridiculous in their eyes.’
‘That was DC Peace on the phone earlier. I brought him up to date and he advised caution.’
‘He didn’t need to. I’m not rushing into anything.’
‘He emphasized that before you go back to live with your family the terms on which you’re going back should be clearly agreed, and then put in writing.’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m sure that’s right. And I’d like to know that my father has solved his financial problems as well . . .’ Midge looked down at the table, thoughtful. ‘We’re not a primitive family, you know. Some girls, in my situation, would be in fear of their lives if they were taken back. That’s not the case with me. But constant drips can wear away a stone. That’s more what I fear.’
‘Yes. Though I think it would need an awful lot of drips.’
She looked up, and shot him a brilliant smile.
‘The thing is: is it all right to stay here?’
‘I don’t see why not. We should probably regard you as a special case. I had my doubts at first, but you don’t take up a room, sharing with Katy, and you pull your weight. Everyone likes you, and there are good reasons for relaxing the “fortnight and then out” rule. No, my feeling is that you add generally to the gaiety of nations, or this particular part of this particular nation, and you’re welcome to stay on.’ He reached over the table and took her hand in his. ‘I hope you’ll see this as a second home – a home from home. What we have to try and do is make it absolutely safe for you.’
Mehjabean instinctively wanted to nestle her head against his shoulder, as once she used to do with her real father, and she was just wondering whether this would be understood for what it was when there was a sudden irruption from the doorway behind her and she felt a presence over her, then a searing terrible pain down the length of her cheek, and she heard a cry of anguish that was not her own and felt Ben slump, choking and bloody, down on to her lap, and a terrible wetness on her jeans.
Midge clutched him to her and began to scream.
CHAPTER 9
Aftermath
Through the pain Mehjabean heard footsteps in the hall, footsteps stumbling in a rush downstairs, heard the door of the dining room flung open. Then, as she felt Alan’s hand on her shoulder, realizing he had taken the choking body of Ben from her lap and was laying it on the floor, she fell forward and found herself being cradled in Katy’s arms. There was still noise, more and more footsteps, both on the stairs and from the upper floors. She heard the voice of Alan, now in the hall.
‘Stop there! Don’t get in the way. Anyone know anything about first aid? Jezebel. Go in and do what you can. I’m ringing for police and ambulance. Zak – get clean towels and cloths. You know where they are . . . ambulance and police – Bramsey area . . . Come quickly . . . there’s been a serious attack. You must get him to hospital . . . 24 Port
land Terrace . . .’
Mehjabean was conscious of Katy taking her to the ancient sofa in one of the recesses of the dining room, laying her down on it and binding a clean towel around her head, shutting in the searing pain. Katy was still folding it round when a siren was heard from a distance, then screaming tyres outside.
‘They can’t be here – ’ Midge began to say, then flinched.
‘Don’t talk,’ said Katy urgently.
The policemen, a uniformed man and a woman, ran up the path to the front door, then through to the dining room, where Jezebel was trying to stem the blood from the retching figure on the floor. The policewoman knelt beside them and added more expert aid, while the policeman radioed through to police headquarters the urgency of the case and the need for an ambulance to get the victim to hospital.
‘You got here quickly,’ murmured Alan to the kneeling figure of the policewoman, feeling it was a feeble thing to say.
‘We were on our way. The ambulance will take a bit longer. DC Peace should be here before long, too. I believe you know him. What about the other one?’
She gestured towards Midge, who was just a bejeaned figure swathed in a towel, indeterminate as to sex.
‘It’s facial,’ Katy said from the sofa. ‘She’s in a lot of pain. A deep cut down the cheek.’
‘Nasty. They’ll both have to go to the infirmary.’
Alan went up to the policeman, who had retreated to the front door, which was open.
‘There ought to be a guard on Mehjabean at the hospital. She’s under threat from her family.’
‘Yes. They’re aware of that at police HQ. I’m to go with her. Ah, that sounds like an ambulance.’
Alan turned and saw the white vehicle swerving at speed into the Terrace. He looked the other way, to the doorway of number twenty-two, where a little knot of the residents next door had gathered. He gestured to them to keep back, as the ambulance screamed to a halt and two men ran out, bringing a stretcher. The constable directed them through to the dining room, where one close look at Ben was enough.
‘Into the ambulance,’ said the first of the medical team, and they began the painful process of stretchering him.
‘There’s another, over there, with bad facial injuries,’ said the constable.
‘Fight, was it?’
‘Not as far as I know. Double attack. I’m told I’m to come with her.’
‘I’ll come too,’ put in Katy.
‘No way,’ said the constable firmly. ‘You might be a complication, if there was trouble from her family.’ He went over to Midge. ‘Are you all right? Can you walk?’
Midge nodded, and let him help her up and lead her out to the ambulance on his arm. She gazed into the dim recesses of the vehicle, where Ben was being attached to various devices whose purpose she could only guess at.
‘Will he be OK?’ she asked, painfully articulating the words. The ambulance man shrugged.
‘Can’t tell. It’s serious all right. Can you get up on your own? Right. You sit here, the constable there.’ He banged on the window, the back doors were shut automatically, and the ambulance took off, smooth but fast, in the direction of the Leeds General Infirmary.
Alan watched it go, tears in his eyes: it seemed as if he had just lost someone he had only recently found, just started on the road leading out of Eden. For a moment he was in danger of losing the control that thus far had served him so well. He shook himself and put an arm round Katy, who was beside him, hugging her encouragingly. Then they realized that another police car had drawn up several yards down the road, and Charlie Peace was at the gate, taking in the situation with his sharp eyes, and making swift decisions.
‘It was at number twenty-four the attack occurred – right?’ He came through the gate and looked at the little knot in the next doorway. ‘I don’t want anyone from twenty-two coming in and complicating matters.’ He looked through into the hall and saw the policewoman. ‘Will you go next door, keep everyone there till we’re ready to talk to them, but report back if there’s anything of interest that seems urgent – for example, anything seen through the windows, heard through the walls.’
He came into the hall and stood in the doorway to the dining room, contemplating the blood on the tablecloth, chairs and floor. He looked at Alan and Katy compassionately.
‘You can’t always tell by the amount of blood,’ he said.
‘I heard the ambulance man say it was serious,’ said Alan, his voice breaking.
‘That was Ben, was it?’ Alan nodded. ‘And what about Midge?’
‘It looked horrible and deep,’ said Katy, trying to repress a shiver. She had always hated the sight of blood. ‘But it was just down the cheek.’
‘The police were here so quick,’ said Alan. ‘Perhaps that will save him. They said they were on their way.’
‘That’s right,’ Charlie nodded. ‘We had a call.’
‘But how could anyone have called before me?’
Charlie held up his hand and went into the hallway. Jezebel was back on the stairway, and so were Zak and Pal, a pathetically young boy, all three watching proceedings in silence. Charlie nodded to them.
‘Thank you for keeping out of the way. That’s important, as I’m sure you all know, but not everybody does it. Now, will you all go back to your rooms? There’ll be a DCI here before long, and then we’ll get down to questioning everybody.’
As they turned and grudgingly went back upstairs, Charlie watched them, then came back to the dining-room doorway.
‘Before I start questioning people, I need to know what’s been happening today. Ben Marchant told me on the phone about the . . . confrontation, shall we call it, on the doorstep with Mr Siddiq and then Mrs Ingram. I’ll need to hear more about that. Had anything else happened, any fight, any trouble that Ben involved himself in?’
They didn’t need to think.
‘He’d told Mouse he had to go, and wouldn’t be welcome back,’ said Katy. ‘He was a troublemaker.’
‘Did he go quietly?’
‘He went,’ said Alan. ‘I heard him dragging his rucksack down the stairs. Then there was a sort of crack, almost like a shot. I came to the door and looked into the hall. I saw him disappearing out of the front door, and Ben was steadying the telephone table. I think he’d given it an almighty kick. That would figure – it would be like him.’
‘I see . . . Ben was actually on the phone?’
‘Yes, to Mrs Ingram. That was when she had called him, and said she was going to come round, without notice, and more or less make an inspection.’
‘I see. Very interesting. She seems to want to do our job for us. Right – I have something to do. You two go into the other room and hold the fort. No new people to be admitted tonight, obviously.’ He looked up the steep flight of stairs. ‘Which was this boy Mouse’s room?’
‘Top floor, far end of the corridor,’ said Katy promptly. ‘We haven’t done it out, or anything.’
‘Good,’ said Charlie, and watched the pair, touchingly close, leave the grisly scene of the attack and settle down to make coffee in the kitchen. Then he bounded up the stairs, pausing on the dimly lit landing to feel behind the chest of drawers standing between two of the bedroom doors. He took out, unsurprised, a plastic bag containing white powder, and put it carefully into another plastic bag and docketed it. He paused for a moment to take in the feel of the place. Up here was bright with fresh paint, as it was on the ground floor, but here there was a smell – endemic, ineradicable – of unwashed humanity, dirty clothes. It did its best, but the Centre was still of the street, streety.
He turned to the narrow stairwell and went more slowly up the second flight and into Mouse’s room. Again he was unsurprised as he surveyed the mingled bile and filth of the slogans decorating the walls. He soon took in the main drift of the filth, and he had, professionally, to wonder whether there was any truth in it, if there was an affair going on between Ben and Mehjabean. On the whole his instinct told him not. On
the way downstairs he knocked at one of the bedroom doors on the first floor. Inside were Zak and Jezebel, in a clinch on a capacious armchair, with Queenie watching intently from behind the door and Pal incuriously stretching his length on the rug. He was much more interested in Charlie than the clinch, and made him welcome.
‘Was either of you in when the boy Mouse left earlier today?’ Charlie asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Zak. ‘I were.’
‘Did you talk to him?’
‘No, I just ’eard ’im. ’E cum down to this floor, then ’e waited an age, listening to Ben on the phone downstairs. Then ’e went down to the ’all, an’ kicked summat on ’is way out. That was expected. That was Mouse. Vicious little toe-rag. ’E’s a rotten street beggar, because ’e looks so threatening.’
‘That’s very useful. Thanks very much.’
And Charlie bounded down into the hall again, consulted his notebook, and took up the phone and dialled.
‘Mrs Ingram?’
• • •
When Randolph Ingram got home from a quiet couple of pints at the pub, his wife was sitting draped on the sofa, her red hair spread out like a rising sun around her. She had been at a Tory Party recruitment do, but she got up at once and made him his nightcap. This was usually a sign that she had something to communicate. When he was taking the first sip of his Horlicks she sat down again gracefully and said:
‘I’ve been thinking, Randolph – ’
‘Mmmm?’
‘I think I’ll go down and see Mother tomorrow for a few days.’
She didn’t see his sceptically raised eyebrows.
‘Really, Alicia? I thought you’d more or less washed your hands of her. You said beyond a certain point there was nothing you could do, you couldn’t be expected to throw your life away when she showed no gratitude, and the kindest thing you could do would be to leave the pair of them alone.’
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