That kind of damage didn’t happen during a card school. She called Ivor, wanting an explanation of what really happened the previous night, but he didn’t reply. Her mind filled with what she would say to him when she found him. She went to pick some vegetables for supper. If she didn’t have a decorating job to do they ate late on Sundays to make the day easier.
Ivor was in the garden, reading the paper in the last of the sun.
‘There’s blood on your clothes,’ she said in a hoarse whisper so the children couldn’t hear. ‘What happened last night? You have to tell me. I can deal with anything as long as you’re truthful. Heaven knows I’ve had plenty of experience in dealing with things, living in this family recently!’
‘My shirt got messed up when I was chopping firewood, that’s all. A splinter sprang up and cut my arm and I wiped the blood on my shirt. Sorry, love, but I couldn’t find anything else. Not a bad cut, though, don’t worry, it soon stopped bleeding.’ He looked to her in the hope of seeing a sympathetic expression.
‘What about your jacket? There’s quite a lot of blood on that, too.’
‘No, that’s grease, sure to be. I drive the firm’s van sometimes, remember. Give it to me and I’ll clean it with some white spirit.’
‘But you don’t wear those clothes for the office.’
‘I did yesterday. I knew I’d be getting a bit messed up and didn’t want to spoil my good suit.’
‘And the scratches and tears? Was that chopping wood too?’
‘Walked home through the fields, didn’t I?’ His explanations were slick. Not so long ago she would have believed him, wouldn’t have given the situation a second thought, now the glib replies filled her with dread. She sat on the ashbin and felt her whole body droop in despair.
‘Tell me what’s wrong, Ivor, please. Once we were a normal family, now we’ve no money, the boys are encouraged the break the law, losing their jobs is a joke. Why won’t you tell me why everything has changed? I’ll listen, Ivor. If you tell me what’s wrong I’ll listen and do all I can to help, whatever it is.’
‘There’s nothing wrong, you’re imagining things. I just need a bit of fun now and then, that’s all, a bit of male company.’
‘Fun? Stealing from your family?’
‘It’s my money too, I can decide how I want to spend it.’
It was such a stupid remark she didn’t try to answer it. She dug a root of potatoes for their supper, and when she went to find the jacket, it was gone. Something stopped her asking Ivor its whereabouts, she had again that inexplicable feeling of unease. Without understanding why, she washed her hands repeatedly as though washing away the memory of the stains that weren’t grease, and denying the violence shown by the torn fabric.
All the time in the back of her mind was the news about the accident that had killed Emily Clarke, the hairdresser. Apparently no one saw the accident and whoever was responsible had dragged the poor woman into the hedge and hidden her, presumably to allow himself time to get away and build an alibi. Could Ivor have been involved? Common sense told her no, that if he had hit someone he’d have sought help, called the police, not dragged a body away from the road and hidden it. Rumours hinted that the woman had been alive when she had been hauled off the road and placed under the hedge; that a call for an ambulance might have saved her. To have become an obsessive gambler, someone who could steal from his own family, didn’t mean Ivor was also capable of such a cold-blooded act.
*
Bill and his father were talking about the accident to a couple of policemen, one of whom was taking notes. When they were told the woman might have lived had she not been moved, Bill gave out a wail of distress. The policeman looked at him. ‘Did you move her, sir?’
‘I wasn’t there. I knew nothing until you knocked on my door this morning. She was just back from Tenby and I hadn’t seen her since she got back. I was going to marry her. She was precious to me. If I had been there I’d never have moved her. I know it’s the wrong thing to do.’ He combed his fingers through his hair, a gesture of despair. ‘I can’t imagine how you’d think I’d have risked moving her. I loved her.’
‘I’m not accusing you of anything, we just need to know all the facts. Perhaps you thought she would be safer off the road while you ran to the phone box for help. Another car might have come around that rather nasty bend and—’ He allowed the thought to hover. Bill stared into space as though seeing her lying there, utterly still, then being carried to the grass verge and, later, as Jennie had described, being tucked under the hedge.
‘I didn’t move her. I didn’t know she’d been hurt until you came and told me.’
‘Another of your fiancées lost her life in an accident, didn’t she, Mr James?’
‘I was in London at the time, on a training week, and I could account for my whereabouts then as now.’
‘An amazing coincidence, though. And I’m a man who doesn’t like coincidences, Mr James.’
They took away most of his clothes and left him sitting as still as a statue, his father trying to coax him to drink some brandy. He regretted lying to the police but it was too late to change his story now.
He had been waiting for her to arrive and, impatient, he had walked a part of the way to meet her. He had a ring in his pocket in a jeweller’s velvet-lined box, and wanted to suggest they didn’t wait until Christmas before announcing their engagement.
At first, he had been aware of a slowly approaching vehicle, then, as the small figure appeared around a bend in the lane, the engine revved, the brakes squealed, making him jump out of its path, then the vehicle had raced past him, swerved and hit her. Up in the air she had flown, before landing, with a sickening thump he kept reliving, in the centre of the lane.
Ivor had been coming home from a card game. He heard the car and the squeal of brakes, but hedges hid the scene from view. Fearing an accident he ran to where Bill was bending over the still figure in the middle of the lane. He could see from the unnatural angle of her neck that she was dead.
‘Oh no,’ Bill had chanted repeatedly. ‘It can’t be happening again.’ He called Emily’s name, whispering to her, telling her it would be all right, but he knew there was no hope of her coming back to him.
Ivor placed fingers on the pulse point but shook his head, she was quite dead. ‘We can’t leave her here, Bill,’ he said. ‘Another car might come along, and…’ Ivor’s sentence remained incomplete as the horror made Bill wail in distress. They lifted her as gently as they could on to the kerb.
‘I’ll go to the corner, there’s a phone box there. I’ll dial 999. We need an ambulance and the police,’ Ivor told him.
‘Who’ll believe I’m innocent this time?’ Bill whispered. ‘It’s happened again. In exactly the same way. First Gloria and now Emily. They won’t believe me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Ivor asked, thinking the man was in shock. ‘Sit there beside her while I call for help.’
‘I was engaged before, to Gloria, and she was killed by a hit and run driver too. Just like now. How will I convince them I’m innocent a second time?’ he wailed softly. Then he took off down the road, leaving Ivor staring after him in disbelief.
Finding himself alone with the dead woman, Ivor panicked. He pushed her further into the hedge and neatened her clothing in a respectful gesture before running away in the opposite direction from the one Bill had taken. He paused only to make the emergency call.
As he left the lane and hurried across fields, pushing through hedges, he knew he was being foolish, leaving the scene of an accident, knowing the woman was dead and he had witnessed or at least heard it, and had seen Bill there immediately afterwards. Out of breath, he slowed down, bent forward with hands on his knees and asked himself why he was running away. Panic was contagious and Bill’s fear had trapped him, caught him in that unthinking instinct for survival that was stronger than the needs of the poor woman he’d left, lifeless, under the hedge.
Too late now to cha
nge his mind, the police would be there and he was best out of it. If he told them he’d seen Bill and Bill denied it he’d be accused of covering up the truth, and if he said he wasn’t there and Bill told them different the result would be the same.
He was shaking with the shock of it, unable to consider going home, and some time later – he had no idea how long – he went to Bill’s house and, seeing a light burning, knocked on the window. They didn’t stay together long, just enough time to agree to say nothing at all.
*
Bill felt he was living through a nightmare. Now, with his father putting the brandy glass to his lips, it all seemed like a dream, something he’d half imagined, made up of bits of films he’d seen, not really true. In moments of sanity he knew that by moving her, running away, not calling at once for an ambulance, he had created trouble for himself and Ivor that might be serious. All this was racing through his mind and it was several minutes before he spoke to his anxious father.
‘Dad, why did she die? What happens to make becoming engaged to marry me such a risk? Two engagements and both ended in death. You see, I don’t believe in coincidences either.’
*
Marie usually visited her parents at least once a day. Sometimes she would call on the way to or from work and occasionally, when there wasn’t shopping to do, she would use her lunch hour. Today being Sunday, during late afternoon she left the small roasting joint in the oven. She put the water for the vegetables on low and ran to 1, Rock Terrace with Violet.
In her parents’ house the table was laid for tea, with a few thin slices of bread and butter, the ration being a Sunday treat, and dishes of jams, a fruit cake and some cheeses. Six years of war hadn’t altered her mother’s insistence on a properly set table. There were hand-crocheted doilies under the cakes and sandwiches, a napkin beside each plate, all a bit worn but neatly ironed. A second tablecloth was across a corner where Belle usually sat, with a tray set with tea cups and sugar and milk, awaiting only the filled teapot.
‘Will you and Violet stay?’ her mother asked. ‘I wish you would. I’m that worried about our Jennie. Up in her bedroom she is, crying.’
‘Because of the accident?’ Marie asked, surprised. ‘I didn’t think she was that fond of Emily Clarke. She complained about her most of the time.’
‘Different now she’s dead.’
‘You mean she suddenly realizes she liked her after all?’
Her sarcasm caused her mother to frown. ‘Don’t be so unkind, Marie. Jennie’s sensitive, you know that.’
Stifling a sigh, Marie asked, ‘What can I do?’
‘Talk to her, cheer her up. Get her to eat something. She hasn’t eaten a thing all day.’ Marie declined to tell her mother about the rounds of toast Jennie had enjoyed when she had come with the news. Instead she said, ‘I’ll try, Mam.’
She went upstairs to see Jennie and as she entered she mimicked her sister’s voice, saying, ‘Oh, Mummy, I haven’t eaten a thing all day, I’m so distressed about poor Miss Clarke.’
Jennie tried to look offended but the humour was too strong and the girls hugged each other and gave in to it.
*
Bill James sat staring at the photograph of Emily. How could she be dead? She was only thirty, the same as himself. Yesterday she was on her way back from holiday filled with stories about her visit to Tenby. A car driven by a mad man and in moments she was gone.
He had visited her while she was in Tenby. Working shifts on the railway it was easy to go there for half a day, using his father’s car, and spend time with her. They had talked about their wedding and planned their future.
Why had she died? The road was a quiet one and there had been nothing to cause the driver to run into her. He tried to convince himself it had been an accident, but remembered all too well the way the sound of the engine had increased, the vehicle speeding up, swerving towards her. Emily’s death had been deliberate.
The frightening thought, and one that was keeping him awake, was the similarity to the death of his previous love. Could there be a connection? Was there someone who hated him enough to ruin his life? He shook the fearsome thought away. What nonsense even to consider that for a moment. But he decided to talk to the police and see whether anything had been gleaned about the car or its driver.
He put down the photograph and wandered through the connecting door to the hairdressing shop. Nothing more than the front room of the house, but his mother and Emily had built up a successful business there. He smiled, remembering how she had tried to persuade customers to call it a salon, but it had never caught on. The hairdressing shop it had always been. What would happen to it now? His father could hardly sell the business and have a stranger running it, using a part of his home. He touched the pink overall hanging behind the door, the towels neatly stacked, all clean and ready for Monday. His mind drifted back to Emily. Trying to accept that she was gone was exhausting him. Trying to think of something else was impossible.
At one o’clock his father, Ernie, set the table for dinner, a scrappy meal which neither of them wanted. Cheese on toast was not the usual Sunday fare but Ernie’s housekeeper didn’t come on Sundays and they usually ate at an hotel. Today they were too stunned to think about it.
A knock at the back door startled them as they were about to eat, and Ernie stood to answer it. Barbara Lewis from next door was there, carrying a tray on which two dinners were steaming and sending out appetizing smells.
‘Thought you’d like a bit of a hand, just for today. Custard and apples for afters. I’ll send our Johnny round with it in a little while, right?’ Hardly giving them time to thank her she was gone. Appetites suddenly returned, they ate with gusto.
It was late afternoon when the front doorbell rang, the tenth time that awful day. Bill went to the door and invited their visitors in.
‘It’s Lucy and Jennie from the shop,’ he called.
‘So sorry we are, Mr James,’ Lucy said. ‘We called to tell you that, and to ask should we open the shop as usual once – once everything’s, you know, all over.’
Jennie said nothing. She smiled at Bill and wondered whether he could possibly become more than the son of her employer. She wasn’t really interested, she liked younger men with a stronger sense of fun, but couldn’t resist a bit of flirting, even at a time like this. After all, she was desperately looking for an escape from home. An excuse to get away from Mam, Dad and tedious domesticity. From the way Bill and Ernie lived, with a housekeeper and a cleaning lady, she might consider it one day. Tearing herself away to concentrate on Mr James, she listened to Lucy’s suggestion that they run the shop after the funeral, to give him time to make a decision.
‘Pity to let it all go, Mr James,’ Lucy was saying, ‘Nice little business it is. And valued by the local ladies. Miss it they would. We could manage, couldn’t we, Jennie?’
Jennie put on a brave smile and said, ‘It wouldn’t be the same, mind. Not without Miss Clarke, but we’d do our very best.’
As they left, it was Bill who showed them out and Jennie turned at the gate for a final wave, then winked at her friend. ‘Pity Bill’s so old, don’t you think, Lucy?’
‘Thirty he is, not much older than us!’
‘Hush!’
‘And don’t be so unfeeling, Jennie. Grieving he is. Terrible losing a fiancée like that.’
‘She was the third hairdresser he’d been courting, did you know that? There was a small, shy girl, can’t remember her name, but she vanished and no one’s heard of her since, then Gloria and then Emily, two who died on the road. Strange, eh?’ She gave a shiver of apprehension. ‘Ooer, thinking about it like that, perhaps I don’t want to be a fourth!’
‘Don’t frighten me, he asked me out once, remember.’
‘I like men younger than Bill. And so do you, which is why you refused his invitation.’
‘Thank goodness I did or I might have ended up under a car!’
‘Odd though, I’d forgotten about the one before
Gloria. What was her name? I wonder what happened to her.’
*
‘You can’t open until after the funeral, Dad,’ Bill said, later that evening. Ernie nodded.
‘I know that and customers will understand. Will you write a sign for the front window to tell people the shop is closed for a week? Then go and tell Jennie and Lucy to come in a week from Tuesday. We’ve always closed on Mondays for half day, hardly worth reopening for a few hours. They can let people know. And I’ll pay their wages as usual.’
‘If I hurry I’ll catch them up.’ Bill grabbed a coat and ran into the street.
Bill James was a big man like his father, under six feet tall but powerfully built so people thought he was taller than he actually was. His features were large, a nose spread and slightly flattened as though by a blow, rounded cheeks and full lips that in repose made him appear bad-tempered. It was the calm expression in the eyes that took away the impression of an aggressive man.
He stopped when he saw Jennie and Lucy and called to them. He waited until Jennie walked back and instead of giving her his father’s message, invited her to meet him to discuss what would happen to the shop. ‘Dad doesn’t know much about the business and I need you to clarify a few things. He left everything to…’ His voice faded away as he tried to say her name.
‘A date?’ Lucy asked with a grin when Jennie explained. ‘With an old man of thirty?’
‘It might be, if I decide to make it one.’
‘You’ve got no heart, Jennie Jones.’
‘Neither has Bill if the looks he’s giving me are anything to judge by!’
*
Marie was at their parents’ house when Jennie returned home.
The House by the Brook Page 5