by Ann Purser
“I’ll be in touch, then,” he heard Cowgill say, quite kindly. “Let me know if you go anywhere where you can’t be reached on your mobile. And don’t forget what I said. Be careful.”
Jamie watched as the big car slid away down the track, and then he emerged. “Annabelle!” he shouted, and she turned back from the cottage door. She saw him, and hesitated. Then she was flying down the path and out along the track to meet him. He held out his arms, and she ran straight into them, burying her face in his jacket and clinging on to him as if the hounds of Hell were in pursuit.
Which, of course, in a way, they were.
THIRTY-NINE
THE FAMILY WAS NOW BACK TO SIZE AROUND THE BIG kitchen table, to Gran’s delight, with Brian and Marion digesting a good meal and trying to contribute to the chat. Conversation did not flow easily. The Meades were awkwardly avoiding talk of the fire and the funeral, and Brian and Marion found it difficult to escape from private thoughts.
Jamie was totally silent, and Lois was beginning to wonder what was wrong when he suddenly blurted out, “Mum, I’m thinking of going away for a few days.” His face was scarlet, and Lois and Derek stared at him.
“Away?” they chorused.
Jamie nodded. “Um, up to London. Thought I’d do a concert at the Albert Hall. Meet a friend …”
“What friend?” said Lois sharply. She need not have asked. She knew whom he would be meeting, though did not expect him to tell them. “Just an old friend from school. Interested in music. I’ll be back Monday or Tuesday.”
“How nice,” said Brian politely, and Marion managed a smile.
“I used to go to Promenade Concerts in my youth,” she said. “Stand and queue with Gerald for tickets. That was before …” She stopped, then said, “Oh, sorry … excuse me …” and walked quickly out of the kitchen.
Brian stood up. “Better go and make sure she is all right,” he said apologetically, and followed.
Silence reigned for a minute or two. Then Derek, fed up with all this, said firmly, “Right, now then, young man, why the sudden need to go to London? We’re not fools, you know.”
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t …” Gran started to say. “Just keep out of this for the moment, Gran,” Derek said preemptorily. She snorted, and got up to clear dishes.
“Well, why shouldn’t I?” said Jamie loudly. “I’m studying music, and there’s bugger-all in the way of concerts in the great metropolis of Tresham!” He was shouting now. “I’ll be on my own soon at the uni. Shan’t have to ask your permission to go away for a couple of days then! You don’t know how lucky you are,” he added, speaking directly to Derek. “Most of the boys I was at school with are clubbing and fixing and dealing, and have no plans for the future, and cost their parents a fortune …”
Derek glared at Lois, as if it were her fault. She put a hand on his arm. “Leave it, Derek,” she said. “We’ll talk later, Jamie. Don’t forget we’ve got a guest who’s lost her son in a bloody awful fire. Let’s think of her first.”
“I’ll be going in the morning,” Jamie said, and left the room.
LOIS CREPT UPSTAIRS A FEW MINUTES LATER, WHERE THE only sounds came from Jamie’s room. She tapped lightly. “It’s Mum.”
He opened the door and she went in. He had a backpack on his bed, and had begun throwing in a few clothes.
“Right,” she said briskly. “Sit down, and tell me the truth. That way we’ll not waste time.”
Jamie did not sit down. He walked over to the window and stood with his back to her. “You know, don’t you,” he said.
“Annabelle.” Lois’s voice was neutral. “You’re going back with her. That’s fine by me, for a few days, but I have a good reason for wanting to know more. Tell me why you’ve suddenly decided to go, when you spoke to her, what she said. Not private things, o’course. But anything else. And, Jamie,” she added, “I want an address of where you’ll be, and for you to make sure you have your mobile switched on at all times.”
Jamie sat down now, and sighed. “I wish I knew what was going on,” he said quietly. “You’re mixed up with that cop again, aren’t you? Something to do with the fire. Still, fair’s fair. I’ll give you Annabelle’s address. She’s sharing a flat with a girlfriend. And yep, I’ll keep me mobile on.”
“Go on,” said Lois.
“Go on with what?”
“Tell me what she said. And where you saw her.”
Jamie told her about the cottages, but did not mention Cowgill. “She’d come down to look after the horses while her Gran was away. Stayed in a cottage from choice. Doesn’t like the Hall when nobody’s there. Says it’s haunted.” He smiled indulgently.
“And what else?” persisted Lois.
“Nothing else,” said Jamie, and Lois knew he lied. But there was nothing more to be done, and so she left him and went off to placate Derek.
IN THE TIDY LITTLE HOUSE IN WALTONBY, BILL AND RE-becca sat at either end of the long sofa and stared blankly at the television screen. After a few minutes, Bill reached for the remote control and switched off.
“Rebecca,” he said quietly, “we’ve got to talk.”
She did not answer, and shrank back into the cushions, closing her eyes.
“It’s no good, I know you’re not asleep,” he said, after more minutes passed in silence. “For goodness sake, talk to me. Say anything, but please say something!”
She stirred and opened her eyes. “Who started it?” she said in a low voice.
“Who started what?”
“The fire, of course. Somebody started it. It couldn’t have happened by itself inside the house. Sandy was there, wasn’t he? He’d have smelt the smoke, or seen it. It must have got hold too quickly for him. So who did it?”
He stared at her. “Why are you looking at me like that? You don’t think …? Bloody hell, Rebecca, you can’t think it was me?”
She looked at him with hate in her eyes. “You were drunk,” she said, “and you were away for ages. You could’ve done it, if you’d found something to gel it going—paraffin, or petrol—in the vicar’s garage.”
He thought he would hit her. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, and turned away.
“If that’s what you think,” he said, and she thought he sounded shifty, “then it’s over, isn’t it. I’ll get out as soon as possible. Probably go back to Yorkshire. But don’t forget, Rebecca,” he added in a warning voice, “it was you who started it—not the fire, but the trouble between us. You and him. And mostly him. You’re probably not interested, but I’ll tell you anyway. I’ve always loved you, and still do.”
She heard him clumping up the stairs and the spare-room door banged shut. She began to sob silently to herself, curled up in the corner of the sofa.
FORTY
ANNABELLE COLLECTED JAMIE NEXT MORNING. SHE did not get out of the car, but sat waiting for him. He kissed Lois and Gran, smiled reassuringly, and ran down the drive. They were gone in seconds, leaving the two women staring out of the window at the vanishing car.
“Sod it all,” said Lois, and went quickly into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her. Gran shrugged, and went back to the kitchen. If Lois did not want to talk, fine.
IN HIS MOTHER’S UNTIDY HOUSE IN TRESHAM, DARREN Cockshutt sat on the edge of a chair and drank beer from a smeary glass. “God, Mum, don’t you ever wash up?” He polished the rim with a clean handkerchief from his pocket.
“Oo … er, too posh to ‘ave a drink in our mum’s house, are we?” Mrs. Cockshutt smiled to soften the criticism. After all, it wasn’t often that Darren, or Max, or whatever he called himself, came to see her. He’d parked the sports car outside her tiny terraced house, and she could see the neighbours’ curtains twitching. Let them look! Her Darren had done well for himself.
“Beer’s flat,” said Darren. “How long have you had it? Anyway, what did you want me for?” he added. He had scarcely surfaced since the fire, keeping to his room and sleeping most of the time. It had all been very exhau
sting, and he just hoped it had gone to plan. He had made sure no nosey-parker could say he’d been there. He’d have to check there’d been no hitches. But everyone knew what they had to do. He looked around him in disgust. Why couldn’t his mother clear up a bit? Rubbish everywhere. The sooner he got out of here the better. What had she wanted? Something to do with bloody old Auntie Doris …
“Is that the paper?” He reached out and picked up the local newspaper from the floor.
“Yesterday’s,” Mrs. Cockshutt replied. “Nasty old fire, that, at Farnden.”
Darren looked at the front page story, and half-smiled at the picture of the vicarage ablaze. So everything was fine. Then he saw the headline:
LOCAL MAN DIES IN FIRE
He read on, and the sub-heading was like a blow:
YOUNG CHOIRMASTER
TRAPPED IN THE BLAZE
His face contorted and his colour drained away. He stood up, spilling his beer over the dingy carpet.
“Careful, Darren! ‘Ere! Where’re you going?” Mrs. Cockshutt stared at him. “You only just got here! Darren, we haven’t had our talk … what’ll I tell Auntie Doris?”
But Darren, or Max—young man about town—was gone. Mrs. Cockshutt heard the gears grating, and then the wheels spin as he took off at speed down the street, narrowly missing a child who ran out after a ball.
MARION HAD GONE OUT EARLY, ASKING BRIAN TO GIVE her a lift into Tresham. She was going to call in at the estate agent’s where Sandy worked, to collect one or two things he had left there. She said she would like to see where he had worked, and been happy. She would be out most of the day. Brian, too, had a number of things to attend to, and would not be back until tea-time. Gran, relieved of duties for the moment, set off for the shop, savouring the consoling sunshine which filled the village.
“Morning, Mrs. Weedon.” She looked up, and saw Sharon Miller.
“Morning, Sharon,” Gran said. “You look a bit pale. Feeling better?” Lois had told her crossly that Sharon was off colour and would not be able to work for a day or so.
“I’ve asked Mrs. Miller to tell Sharon I want to see her as soon as possible,” Lois had grumbled. “Silly woman tried to say she couldn’t disturb her. I’ll disturb her when she turns up!” Gran knew better than to disagree.
Now Sharon smiled weakly at Gran and nodded. “I’m much better this morning. I’m just going to see Mrs. M. Is she in? I hear the vicar and Sandy’s mother are staying with you. How’s that going? I’d like to meet Sandy’s mum, if that’s all right.”
“Hold on, one thing at a time,” said Gran sharply. “Yes, Lois is at home. Yes, the vicar and Mrs. Mackerras are staying with us for a day or two, and no, you cannot meet Sandy’s mum because she is out all day, and going back home tomorrow. I’m not sure she’d want to meet anyone else, anyway, poor woman. And how it’s going is none of your business.”
Sharon bristled. “There’s no need to be like that! I was only making conversation,” she said.
“Mmm,” said Gran. “Sounded like gossip to me. You need to watch it, Sharon. Anyway, you’d better get going, else you’ll not catch Lois before she goes out.”
That was not like me at all, thought Gran, as she opened the shop door. She felt the usual stab of pain in her stomach, and went over to look at the remedy shelves.
Mrs. Carr came over, and said, “How are you, Mrs. Weedon. A bad business, all this. And how’s Mr. Rollinson, and Mrs. Mackerras?”
“All right, under the circumstances,” said Gran. Blimey! Is this all the village is talking about? Of course it is, she told herself. Best thing that happened to the gossips for years.
“Your usuals?” Mrs. Carr said, taking a packet off the shelf.
Gran shook her head. “Got anything else?” she said. “And not those things you gave me last time. They nearly killed me.”
Mrs. Carr laughed. “Nonsense!” she said. “That was a bug going round the village. Nothing wrong with those tablets. Been selling ‘em for years.”
Gran hesitated. “Oh, all right then. I chucked the last lot away. Maybe I’ll give ‘em another try.”
When she returned, Lois was still in her office, and Gran could hear Sharon’s voice. They seemed to have an awful lot to say. Time for coffee and a biscuit to help the tablet down. Lois came through to the kitchen and said, “Ah, coffee, good. Sharon’s a bit upset.”
Gran looked guilty. “Nothing I said, I hope.”
“Good heavens, no,” said Lois. “I’ll tell you later. Here,” she added, picking up the tablets. “What’re these?”
“For me indigestion,” Gran said. “Got them from Mrs. Carr. She swears by them.”
Lois turned the packet round in her hands and looked closely. “Mum,” she said. “Where did she get these from? There’s no sell-by date, and I’ve never heard of them.”
“She’s had ‘em for years,” Gran said. “Keeps them in the storeroom and gives them to favoured customers. Cyril was one, and I’m another,” she added smugly.
Lois put the packet in her pocket. “You’re not to take these,” she said. “On no account, Mum. Stick to your usuals. Now, I’ve got to get back to Sharon, but we’ll talk later.”
Gran frowned, but admitted to herself that she was relieved. She hadn’t forgotten that terrible bout of sickness. Perhaps Lois would find out a bit more about them. Meantime, the coffee and biscuit seemed to have done the trick. She cheered up, and went into the garden to fill up the bird feeders.
“SO, SHARON, IS THAT ALL, OR ARE YOU HIDING SOMEthing? Something that might change my mind about employing you?”
Lois had never seen such a shifty performance. Sharon was clearly still under the weather, and her tale of a party that went wrong was unconvincing. The party had happened, all right. Lois knew that. But the rest? Sharon said she’d been introduced by Max Wedderburn, and hadn’t known any of them. One of them had kept her glass topped up, saying it was fruit punch, nothing alcoholic. She’d believed him, until she realized she couldn’t see properly. Lois had exploded, and said surely she was old enough to know better. Sharon had dissolved into tears.
Now she sipped her coffee and, sniffing reproachfully, answered Lois’s questions.
“It was all blurry,” she said. “After that, I don’t remember much. I’ve told you what I remember. An’ I’m really sorry I couldn’t go to work. Can I go now?”
Lois said nothing. Then she opened the drawer in her desk and took out something. Something small and round. She held out her closed hand and said, “Here, Sharon, have a look at this.”
Sharon stretched out her hand to take it … The bloodshot eye looked at her.
Her scream ricocheted round the room and reached Gran in the kitchen.
“Give it back, then,” said Lois, and quickly put it in her drawer.
Gran put her head round the door looking anxious. “What was that?” she said. “My God, Lois, what’s the matter with the child?”
“She’ll recover,” said Lois acidly. “And she’s no child.”
When Sharon had gone, fussed over by Gran, who insisted on walking part of the way with her, Lois lifted her telephone. “Cowgill? Is that you? Yes, it’s me. I’ve got a couple of things to tell you, and I’d like you to have a look at some pills. Analyse them, if that’s what you do. Yeah, OK, I’ll be there. You do? Well, maybe you’re not so bad yourself.”
Had she really said that? Well, it was a joke, in answer to his. The old thing was getting quite a sense of humour in his dotage. Lois collected her jacket and set off for the new meeting place. He had suggested an empty house on an estate in Tresham, due to be demolished. “All been rehoused,” he’d said. “Number thirty-seven, at the end of a cul-de-sac. Nobody ever goes there. Vandals occasionally, but never during the day. We keep watch.” She hoped he was right. She couldn’t risk Derek hearing any gossip. Not again.
FORTY-ONE
ANNABELLE AND JAMIE SETTLED INTO A COMPANION-able silence until they reached the motorway, and then Jami
e said, “I feel a bit guilty about Mum and Dad.”
“Why?” Annabelle had never felt guilty about her parents in her life. It was they who should feel guilty about her, pushing her around from place to place, school to school. She wondered what it would be like to have a family like Jamie’s, rooted and solid.
“Well, I couldn’t tell them much. I’d promised you. I lied about going to a concert with a friend at the Albert Hall. Mum soon sussed that one. And she guessed I was meeting you.”
“What did she say?” Annabelle was curious. She was used to doing much as she liked, unless Grandmother was around, and then she found it easy to deceive her. The old dear was so busy with her good works, and manipulating people who didn’t realize what she was up to.
“Not much. But she was nice. Practical, as ever. Said she’d make it right with Dad, but I was to let them know where you live … and keep my mobile on all the time! They think London is full of muggers just waiting for hicks from the country with money in their pockets.” He didn’t admit to Annabelle that this thought had occurred to him too. He was still sore about Annabelle’s account of Mrs. T-J’s tirade about “that village boy.” There’d been a lot on the same theme before she had more or less sent Annabelle packing back to London.
Annabelle laughed, and turned into a service station. “Need some petrol,” she said.
“I’ll pay,” said Jamie, feeling in his pocket. “Don’t be silly!” Annabelle said. “I’ll use my card—Dad settles it for me. Makes him feel better about being a rotten dad, I expect.”