Different Genes

by Claire Baldry

  “This is not your fault, Lou. I should never have gone to the bungalow alone. I was trying to be a hero.”

  When they arrived home, Simon made them each a cup of hot chocolate. “I know it’s Christmas Day, but I’m going to turn in. I think I’ve had enough excitement today. Come up whenever you want.” He was yawning.

  Louise finished her drink and climbed the stairs. She couldn’t settle, but she needed to sleep. Simon was already in bed with his eyes closed. She changed into her nightwear quietly and crept into bed beside him. She could feel the rhythm of his breathing. She needed to feel him close and gently touched his back.

  “Happy Christmas, sweetheart,” he mumbled.

  She started to draw pictures on his back with her finger.

  “That feels good Are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Maybe,” giggled Louise.

  “Should I play ‘hard to get’?”

  “If you like.”

  “I don’t like.”

  Simon turned round and slipped both hands underneath her pyjamas. He brushed her ear and neck with his lips. He kissed her repeatedly with passion so that his fingers could travel with ease through her body. Louise responded and twisted her long legs to surround his hips. She stroked him with her mouth until his arousal was irrepressible. When their bodies finally reached a mutual climax, they felt the tension of the day drift away. They fell into an immediate and much needed sleep.

  On Boxing Day, they walked into Battle and watched the gathering of the hounds and horses. The Fox Hunting ban had not prevented the annual spectacle of red coats and hunting horns, with a small group of protesters holding placards at a distance.

  “You’ve lived in Sussex all your life. Do you approve of fox hunting?” asked Louise.

  “Of course not, it’s cruel,” Simon replied.

  Louise was relieved, and it suddenly occurred to her that she knew nothing about his political views. She doubted they would be extreme, but decided that particular conversation could wait for another occasion.

  Later that day, Simon sat on his sofa and turned on the TV. Louise came and sat beside him. She lay down on the sofa and rested her head on his lap. Her legs stuck out over the edge. “You need a longer sofa.”

  Simon loved the way Louise showed him so much spontaneous affection. It made him feel wanted. He rested his hand on her chest.

  “Lou? Can I ask you something?”

  “You know you can.”

  “You did say, didn’t you, that you only ever slept with Charlie up to your marriage. I just wondered were there others later on? I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

  “There was no one else, Simon. I’m sorry I’m so inexperienced.”

  “But that’s the point. You’re not… inexperienced, I mean. Sometimes I worry I’ll let you down. I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Look, Charlie was older than me, and he had loads of women before me. In the early days of our relationship, he, well you know, showed me things. Once the novelty wore off, he became very self-centred. I love the way you seem to understand my body. You know how to arouse me. I’m enjoying it. And I know we’re not getting any younger. Let’s just appreciate exploring each other while we can, but no pressure? You have nothing to prove, Simon.”

  Simon lay his hand on the bare flesh of her waist. He was surprised when she didn’t respond. He looked down and realised she was fast asleep.

  Three days later, the police phoned Louise to inform her that Bob had regained consciousness. They planned to interview him in the next few days. In the meantime, they wanted an appointment with Louise at her studio. They gave no reason why, but requested that Simon should be present.

  And so it was that in early January 2017, Louise and Simon found themselves nervously seated in her studio in the company of a plain-clothed officer and a female constable.

  “We have been into Robert Gresham’s’ house, and found some disturbing material. On the basis of this, we will be opposing bail. We will recommend that he is kept in custody until his trial. Have you ever been to his house?”

  “No, no-one was invited, not even my mum, who gave him lunch every week.”

  “He appears to have been obsessed with you, Mrs Watson. When did you first meet him?”

  “When I was three, I think.”

  “And did he ever try to… assault you… sexually, I mean?”

  “When I was eleven, he began to try and hug me a lot. It was not assault. Well, I didn’t see it that way, but I told my mum I didn’t want him round any more, when I was on my own.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Watson, but I have to ask. Did he ever ask you to remove clothing or touch you in intimate places?”

  “Certainly not. I wouldn’t have let him. As I grew older, when he tried to hug me, I didn’t like it and ran off.”

  “It sounds like you had a very sensible upbringing, and instinctively knew how to protect yourself. Nevertheless, we will need to arrange a specialist interview with a trained female officer. In the meantime, I have some photos to show you. I should warn you that they are distressing. This is a room in Robert Gresham’s house.”

  The officer produced several photos of a large pinboard on the wall in a room in Bob’s house. It was filled with photos of Louise taken ever since she split up with Charlie. Bob’s own photo was also on the wall next to Louise. More worrying was a very recent photo taken at a distance of Louise and Simon. Simon’s face was scribbled out with black felt pen.

  “We also found several scrap books full of photographs of you as a child, and as a young adult.”

  “This feels like a crime drama,” observed Louise.

  “It feels bloody perverted to me,” interjected Simon, “I hope you’re going to lock him up!”

  “Well, TV crimes are based on true cases, even if they are often exaggerated, Mrs Watson. The problem with stalking behaviour is that it can suddenly escalate. Robert Gresham appears to have become much more desperate recently.”

  “What about the £25,000?” asked Simon “Have you found out anything about that?”

  “When Robert Gresham is fit enough for a longer interview, we will pursue the matter further. In the meantime, we do have a theory about the money, but need more evidence. Ring me in a couple of weeks, can you?” The police officer passed Simon a card.

  Thirty-One

  Making Plans

  Simon and Louise spent all of January sorting out Joan’s bungalow. The earlier buyer had refused to wait for the repairs to the lounge ceiling and pulled out. Philip suspected that they had been put off by the police involvement. However, a new buyer came forward quickly, and Simon accompanied Louise to Philip’s office in Hastings. She signed the contract, which had been faxed through from the buyer’s solicitor.

  It was the first time that Simon had met Philip, and the estate agent made a point of telling Simon he had supervised the sale personally.

  “I’m sure Louise is very grateful,” responded Simon, trying to avoid sarcasm.

  “Yes, you’ve been very helpful, thank you, Philip,” added Louise.

  Contracts were exchanged a week later, and Louise arranged for the removal of the final items of furniture. When the sale was completed, Louise called Simon to look at her online bank statement on her laptop.

  “I don’t believe I have all this money.”

  Simon kissed her, “I love you even more now.”

  “I feel as if we have finally achieved something,” confessed Louise. She had also secretly asked an estate agent in Robertsbridge to look round the studio, and had been surprised at the high valuation. Until now the pressure to make a joint purchase with Simon had all come from Simon, but Louise was beginning to feel ready to make the commitment. Although far more imaginative than Simon, Louise still struggled to envisage what their shared home might look l
ike, but she was ready to begin the conversation.

  They were both staying in Battle when she broached the subject. It was a cold mid-February morning, and Simon was sitting at his kitchen table opening his post. Louise touched his hand and he looked up.

  “Are you very attached to this house?”

  Simon set aside the letters and gave her a quizzical look.

  “Why the question?”

  “I just wondered whether we should consider buying somewhere together?”

  “Would you sell the studio?”

  “I had it valued last week.”

  “That was sneaky. Did you use Philip?”

  “No, a local agent in Robertsbridge.”

  Simon stood up and beckoned Louise into his arms.

  “I wasn’t sure whether you would be able to separate yourself from the past.”

  “I need to move on, Simon. That is, if it’s what you want.”

  “It is exactly what I want.”

  They cooked some breakfast together, as if needing to consolidate their decision with routine. Even in moments of extreme tension, they had rarely argued over domestic arrangements. Louise pointed this out to Simon.

  “That’s because I’m so easy going,” Simon smiled.

  Louise rolled her eyes, “Where would we live?”

  “I’d rather not move too far from Joe… and Oliver of course, though he won’t stay in Ninfield forever. Is that a problem?”

  “It’s fine. I don’t really have ties to any location. I will miss the studio though. I’d like a room where I can paint.”

  “You can have a freezing cold shed in the garden,” Simon grinned. “Actually, Lou, one of the things I really like about your studio, is the way your painting merges into the living space. It makes me feel involved. I don’t like the idea of losing you to a workshop or an outhouse.”

  “I never thought about it that way, but you’re right. I moved half my kitchen into the studio. I very rarely used the lower floor. Mind you, it was partly because of the view. There’s so much to think about, Simon.”

  “It’ll be fun looking around, planning our future together.” Simon absent-mindedly picked up the post as he spoke. He opened one of the envelopes, and read the contents, “And now we have something else to think about.” He looked up at Louise, “The agency have traced Ruby.”

  Thirty-Two

  Martha

  Martha Willis had always been poor. She had received a poor education, was brought up in poor quality housing, and was loved by poor parents with a poor income. Consequently, she had poor expectations for herself. She left school at fourteen and found a job in a clothing factory, where the women earned even less than the men. Dissatisfaction with the monotony of her work as a machinist led her to apply for a post in a residential home. By the time she was twenty, she had changed her career from manufacturing to caring. She developed into a poorly paid, but experienced and well respected care assistant, working in a home for adults with severe learning needs, including those suffering from early onset dementia.

  Martha had an absent husband, two grown up children, and three grandchildren, all of whom relied on her from time to time to subsidise their need for shoes or payment for school trips. The family view that Martha had very little purpose for her own money disregarded Martha’s need to pay her own rent and purchase food. Nevertheless, Martha regularly helped out her family financially and took pleasure in doing so.

  As well as being a care assistant, Martha was later asked to take the role of ‘Activities Co-ordinator’ within the home. She organised gardening clubs, entertainment and craft sessions for the residents. She was always surprised by the skills of people who could barely remember their own name. The residents loved Martha and wanted to please her. She was not allowed to accept financial gifts, but did occasionally accept a present of an activity-club-grown plant or a painting. Most were then discarded privately, but Martha had kept her very first gift, a watercolour, which she had framed and hung on her living room wall. It was a remarkable portrayal of an adult and young child walking hand in hand in a park. Cathy had asked Martha to write the words ‘Lou Lou’ on the back of the painting. Martha often peered deeply into the depths of the picture and wondered how much of her past Cathy had remembered when she painted the scene.

  Cathy was admitted to ‘Three Trees’ Residential Care Home in the Summer of 1958. It was an unenlightened time for mental health patients. They were locked up and often sedated. Anxiety was regularly confused with aggression. Cathy had made many escape attempts in her first year, sometimes successfully. She was twice found watching the playground at a local infant school. In an attempt to keep her in the home, the staff often tethered her arms to her chair. When twenty-year-old Martha arrived in 1960, she took an interest in Martha and started to chat with her.

  “How are you today, Cathy?”

  “I am fine, I am waiting for Lou Lou. When I go home, we will make cakes and decorate them with pink icing.”

  “Do you like making cakes, Cathy?”

  “I like decorating them with icing.”

  “Shall we make some cakes together?”

  And Martha started a cooking session for two of the residents. It was an unusual move, but the nurse in charge noticed that it calmed down the participants. They needed less sedation.

  “Your icing is beautiful, Cathy. Do you like art?”

  “I have a paintbrush and paper and I make pictures for Lou Lou.”

  So Martha used her own money to buy a set of brushes and a small watercolour pallet for Cathy. The staff were astounded at the artwork which Cathy produced. Her paintings were framed and hung on the care home walls.

  When Cathy’s condition deteriorated, she was no longer able to control a paintbrush. She grew restless and kept trying to grab the other residents and move their possessions. In desperation Martha purchased a baby doll and gave it to Cathy to hold. The transformation was instant. Cathy hugged the doll and silently rocked in her chair.

  “We are together now, Lou Lou. No one will take you from me. I will protect you always.”

  When Cathy died in 1970, no family could be found to attend the funeral. Cathy’s admission records had indicated a connection with the Sisters of Mercy in Chatham, so Cathy’s body was passed into their care. Martha represented the care home at the short convent funeral. At Martha’s request, the baby doll was put inside the coffin and laid to rest with Cathy.

  “I hope that baby Lou Lou will comfort you always,” Martha wept the silent words, as the coffin was lowered in to the grave.

  Thirty-Three

  Finding Ruby

  Heritage Adoption Investigation Services,

  Kingsgate,

  Crawley,

  RH10 1EN

  10th February 2017

  Dear Mr Ellis,

  I am writing to inform you that we have located a Ruby Eldridge (nee Makepiece) with a date of birth within your specified range. She is a resident of a care home in the Midlands. Our initial enquiries indicate that she is of sound mind and does have some information which is relevant to Mrs Watson’s search. If you wish to meet her, we will request permission from the care home, and send you contact details. The lady concerned is quite frail, so we would advise you not to delay your visit unduly.

  We enclose our final account.

  Kind regards,

  A Miller

  Senior Investigator

  Louise went pale, “I suppose we have to do this.”

  “It’s your choice, Louise.”

  “I hear the Midlands are very nice in February.”

  “And my car could do with a long run. Do you want me to reply?”

  “Please, Simon. Let’s get this over as soon as possible.”

  Simon paid the bill by bank transfer and telephoned th
e investigation agency to ask them to proceed. The agency contacted him two hours later to say they had permission from the care home. They gave him the name of the home and contact details. The home responded quickly to his call, and said that Louise and Simon could turn up any afternoon the following week. Louise booked a room for herself and Simon in a nearby hotel for two nights.

  The following Monday, Louise and Simon set off in Simon’s Mercedes heading through the Dartford Tunnel to Northampton. They passed the time by describing their ideal home to each other. As the journey progressed, their conversation began to get silly. By the time they reached the hotel, they had settled on an open plan art studio/living area with two lifts, close to Joe’s, with remote integral night lights, magnificent sea views and no loft.

  The hotel room was on the fourth floor.

  “Sorry, it isn’t a suite. I thought we should save our pennies for the house move.”

  “As long as it has a very large duvet, and extra blankets, I won’t complain,” joked Simon.

  They rang the care home to say they would be there at 2 pm the following day.

  “This lady,” said Louise to Simon at the hotel, “Eighty-two-year-old Ruby, used to have my grandma’s surname, so she might be a blood relative.“

  “Or just as likely, she could be the offspring of someone who married a blood relative with the surname Makepiece. It’s very complicated. I sincerely hope she is ‘with it’ enough to help us.”

  They drove to the home, parked in the car park and rang the doorbell of the impressive entrance. They were asked to sign in at a well-appointed reception area. The entire establishment was immaculately clean, but every now and then a faint smell of toilets wafted through the air. Louise looked nervously at Simon.

  “Ruby is waiting for you in the visitor’s day room. I think you’ll like her. She is very chatty. She has been talking about you all morning.” The uniformed carer led the way.

  “A small, smartly-dressed, grey-haired lady was sitting in a lightly-upholstered upright chair. She watched Louise and Simon enter the room.