The Overlooker

by Fay Sampson

  ‘Whatever,’ muttered Millie. She went upstairs to the bedroom she was sharing with Thelma.

  ‘Thelma’s putting Tom in Uncle Martin’s room tomorrow,’ Suzie said when she had gone. ‘I think he was going to have to sleep on the sofa otherwise. But it’s unlikely Uncle Martin will be out of hospital by then.’

  ‘Tom wouldn’t have minded. It will be great to see him again. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been missing him.’

  Suzie looked at him shrewdly. ‘That phone call? It wasn’t anything serious, was it?’

  ‘No! No, it was Inspector Heap. She said her team have come to the conclusion our first guess was right. It’s probably an illegal sweatshop. It’s plausible, isn’t it? There’s a blight on that area at present, with the downturn in the economy. No one’s in a hurry to finish the demolition and build anything new. If we hadn’t happened along, they could have carried on undisturbed for who knows how long. The police are not going in, even now. They’d like to catch the brains behind it, if they can. But the downside is that I’m afraid our inspector has lost interest. I gather vice rings and crimes against women are what she’s after. Breaking employment laws and health-and-safety regulations doesn’t quite cut it for her. She’s handed it over to someone else.’

  ‘But these women are still being exploited, even if not as prostitutes! It’s a modern form of slavery.’

  ‘I know, I know. But the long and the short of it is, she’s downgraded that threatening phone call. Doesn’t think the fines for running a sweatshop warrant a death threat – or not carrying it out, at least. She says it’s just harassment.’

  He knew there was a glaring gap in what he was telling her. He still hadn’t shared that frightening text message. BAD MOVE. It still chilled him to think about it. He would rather Suzie and Millie didn’t know.

  But then . . . perhaps Inspector Heap had been right. Perhaps whoever sent that message really didn’t know they’d been to the police. It could have been just a carry-over from yesterday and their unwelcome appearance in Hugh Street.

  He thought of the tearful woman arriving late to work and being turned away. His conscience troubled him. The Fewings’ arrival had cost her a shift’s pay, pitiful though that probably was. It might be worse than that. In a town with soaring unemployment rates, what else could she do if she lost her job?

  ‘I’m going upstairs to get ready,’ Suzie said, interrupting his thoughts.

  He followed her.

  NINE

  Nick was aware of a sense of gladness when he saw Millie coming down the stairs. She still looked unhappy about the prospect of hospital visiting, but at least she was there.

  Her thin shoulders were hunched inside her green wool jacket.

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘Cheer up,’ Suzie told her. ‘You visited Tamara when she was in hospital this summer.’

  ‘That was different. Tamara’s my best friend.’

  ‘Try thinking about Uncle Martin,’ Nick told her. ‘From what Thelma’s told us, he’s been looking forward to seeing all of us. You especially. He’s never met you. You’re the youngest of the Fewings now. The next generation.’

  Millie twirled the brass button on her jacket. ‘Did you say he actually knew that other Millie? The one who worked in the cotton mill when she was eight?’

  ‘The daughter of the herbalist,’ Suzie said. ‘That’s right. Millicent Bootle would have been in her sixties when Great-uncle Martin was born, but apparently he remembers her. She was a bit of a character, apparently.’

  ‘All right, then,’ Millie said grudgingly. ‘If I must.’

  Perhaps it will be better than she thinks, Nick thought, walking out to the car. The old millworker of ninety-three, the fourteen-year-old schoolgirl. Uncle Martin had no grandchildren of his own, and never would now. Nick could imagine the old man’s eyes lighting up at the sight of the slender blonde teenager who was the latest to carry the family name. He prayed that Millie would get over her sulks. She could be delightful when she chose.

  The hospital car park looked different in the sunshine of a bright autumn afternoon. Trees had been planted among the rows of cars and their leaves glowed russet and gold.

  Nick led the way. There was no need to stop at the reception desk in the foyer. He knew the way. He followed the signs to Crompton Ward.

  He paused in the doorway, letting other visitors sidle past him. His eyes moved down the line of beds. Uncle Martin had been on the left side of the ward, hadn’t he? About six beds down.

  His gaze scanned along the row of patients, most of them elderly. Some already had visitors. A few rested on their pillows, eyes closed. Most of them were connected to electronic monitors. None of them looked the way he had remembered Uncle Martin on Tuesday evening, sunk in sleep, with that grey cadaverous face.

  A cold hand closed round his heart. Was it possible that since Thelma had phoned the hospital this morning the old man had died? He tried to tell himself that there were no closed curtains in that part of the ward. No empty bed. Could they really have shuffled him off to the mortuary and filled his bed already? And surely there would have been a phone call to Thelma?

  ‘Can I help you?’ a passing nurse asked.

  ‘Martin Fewings. My great-uncle. We’ve come to visit him. But I can’t seem to see his bed.’

  She hurried across to the nurses’ station and consulted the papers.

  She came back smiling, ‘Sorry, we’ve moved him. We like to keep them in here for twenty-four hours after a stroke. That’s the most critical time. But there are always new arrivals wanting the beds. You’ll find him on Haworth today. Down the corridor and turn left.’

  He thanked her. In the corridor he shrugged at Suzie and Millie. ‘Sorry, I’ve led you astray. It’s round the corner.’

  As Millie fell behind, he whispered to Suzie, ‘Just for a moment, when I couldn’t find him where he was before, I thought he’d croaked. Imagine having to explain that to Millie.’

  Haworth Ward had a livelier feel. Most of the patients were sitting up, either chatting to their visitors or waiting expectantly. This time Nick went straight to the nurses’ station to ask.

  ‘Where will I find Martin Fewings? I gather they’ve moved him here from Crompton.’

  A plump young nurse scanned the names before her. ‘This way.’

  Another nurse put out her hand to stay her. She whispered in her ear.

  The nurse’s round face turned up to Nick and Suzie, apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. He’s had . . . a bit of a setback. The doctor’s with him now.’

  Nick’s eyes flew along the ward. Only one bed had curtains drawn around it.

  ‘Is he . . . Is it serious?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to say. You’d have to ask the doctor. Are you a relative?’

  ‘His great-nephew. We’ve come all the way from the south-west to visit him.’

  ‘I’m sorry. But there’s nothing I can do. Sister’s with the doctor. She may be able to tell you more when they’ve finished with him. Would you like to wait? The canteen’s on the next floor. You could go and have a cup of tea and come back in half an hour.’

  ‘Is he going to die?’ Millie’s voice came unexpectedly from behind them.

  The nurse looked flustered. ‘I hope not, love. We’re doing everything we can for him. Still, he’s an old man. We’ve all got to go one day, haven’t we?’

  Millie turned and almost ran out of the ward. Suzie hastened after her.

  ‘Sorry!’ Nick said hurriedly to the nurse.

  ‘Was it me? Did I put my foot in it?’

  ‘She’s just a bit sensitive about hospitals. It’s her age.’

  He strode after them. Suzie had caught up Millie at the head of the stairs.

  ‘It’s all right, love. These things happen, especially at his age. That’s why he’s in hospital. So that the doctors can see to him straight away if anything goes wrong. They’re looking after him now.’

  ‘You don’t know
that!’ Millie rounded on her. ‘They drew the curtains round his bed, didn’t they? For all you know, he could be lying there dead. And you made me come here!’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Nick put his arm around her shoulders. He could feel her trembling. ‘It’s probably like the nurse said. A bit of a setback. We can come again tomorrow. I expect he’ll be sitting up in bed, right as rain. How about that cup of tea? Or a latte? I don’t know what the hospital canteen runs to.’

  Millie shrugged him off. ‘Don’t patronize me. And I’m not going into any hospital canteen. It would make me puke.’

  ‘All right, then. City centre? A nice café? Possibly a cream doughnut? And a bit of window shopping?’

  She managed a shaky grin. ‘Now you’re talking.’

  Light drifts of clouds had blown across the sky in the short time they had been inside. The bright afternoon sun had been obscured. The red leaves on the trees between the cars looked darker.

  Nick felt the oppression on his own spirits. He had so looked forward to this. Rediscovering the land of his grandparents, bringing awake the fragmentary memories of childhood visits. A sense of rootedness that he had never quite managed in the rural south-west. That was Suzie’s country. Centuries of her ancestors, from farm labourers to lords of the manor. His own heritage was different. Industrial, non-conformist. Ingrained in his forebears like the grime in the millstone grit of the local houses.

  Instead, he had stumbled upon a different darkness. The yet-unfathomed crime that must be going on in Hugh Street. The venom in that voice on his phone, which made him constantly look over his shoulder. Great-uncle Martin, whom he had so much wanted to meet again. A treasure house of information about the past, his past, which he had never thought to ask about until now. And instead, a stroke-ridden old man in a hospital bed with the curtains drawn. There was a very real possibility that he had come too late.

  A little wind was kicking up the leaves on the car park as they hurried to their car. Nick was uneasy. There had been no further messages since that ominous text at lunchtime. But he could not shake off the feeling that they were being watched. Despite Inspector Heap’s reassurance, he felt a conviction that the words BAD MOVE were the result of his visit to the police station.

  It was too late to change that now. He had done what he thought was right. Suzie had backed him. They would have to live with the consequences.

  He only wished he knew what they were.

  With heightened caution he looked all around him as he snapped the car locks open. The large car park was full. Hundreds of friends and relatives hospital visiting. He was about to open the door when his heart constricted. A small blue car was backing out of a bay two rows away.

  ‘Look!’ he cried, hearing his voice rise an octave. ‘It’s that blue Honda again.’

  Suzie paused on the other side of the car. ‘Are you sure it’s the same one? Did you get the number plate?’

  ‘No, but it’s not going to be a coincidence. It was following us all the way down to Belldale. It was parked outside the mill, but not in the visitors’ car park where we would have seen it. And I’m almost sure I got a glimpse of it once behind us on the way back.’

  ‘So? It’s half term. Belldale’s a visitor attraction. We can’t be the only ones who would want to go and see it for perfectly innocent reasons.’

  Millie put her head out from the back seat. ‘What’s up with you two? Are we going to find this café or not?’

  Suzie shot a warning look at Nick. ‘Sorry, love. We’re coming.’

  She slid her legs into the passenger seat. Nick started the ignition and put the car into gear. As he checked over his shoulder before reversing out he saw the blue Honda pause, as though to let Nick out first. He had a glimpse of the driver. Male. Round-faced. Black hair slicked down. There was no one else in the car.

  A burst of anger shot through Nick. He was not going to drive out in front of the Honda and endure that feeling of being followed again. He waited.

  There were several seconds hesitation. Then the Honda drove past. He watched it turn towards the exit gates.

  On a sudden impulse he slammed the car into gear again and shot after it.

  He raced along the avenue of cars, praying he would not be too late to see where the blue car went. He dodged around cars already starting to back out.

  ‘Nick!’ Suzie exclaimed. ‘What’s the hurry?’

  ‘If he’s going to crash the car, I suppose a hospital car park is the best place to do it.’ Millie commented from behind them.

  ‘I want to see where he goes. Who he is,’ Nick muttered through gritted teeth.

  When they reached the main road, the blue car was already heading down the hill.

  Nick turned that way, ignoring the blasts of horns as he shot into the fast-moving traffic.

  ‘Nick! You cannot be serious! Just because it’s the same make of car as the one at Belldale. It’ll be some perfectly innocent citizen on his way home.’

  ‘Would somebody mind telling me what this is all about?’ came a voice from the back seat.

  Suzie turned round. ‘Your father’s got some mad idea that somebody’s been following us.’

  ‘Great! Like we’re some sort of celebrity? Can we expect the paparazzi outside Thelma’s house next?’

  Nick swallowed down the guilt that told him he should have explained the situation to Millie. How long could he protect her from the frightening facts?

  Nevertheless, he swept past the entrance to the shopping mall in the centre of the town, and the signs pointing to car parks. Some way in front of him he could still see the small blue car heading into the housing estates on the opposite side.

  Suzie was tense beside him. He suspected she disapproved of what he was doing. A saner part of himself told him she was probably right. But she was not going to argue in front of Millie.

  And Nick was not going to lose this chance of following his pursuer to his base and finding his identity.

  Did the driver know that he was the one now being followed?

  The car disappeared round the corner of a road in a modern estate. Nick slowed. Was it a ruse? Would the driver lurk there until he had driven past, and then slip out to follow him again?

  Cautiously he paused at the turning. There was no blue car in sight.

  It was Millie who leaned forward and pointed. ‘Up there, Dad. At the top of the drive, third house on the right.’

  TEN

  Nick eased the car around the corner and stopped.

  ‘Stay here,’ he ordered.

  ‘Nick! What do you think you’re going to do?’ Suzie exclaimed. ‘Just because some perfectly ordinary guy happens to drive a blue Honda, you can’t go storming up his garden path and bawl him out.’

  ‘I’ve had enough.’ Nick’s face felt stiff, though his limbs were unaccountably trembling. He felt fury that someone had cast him in the role of victim. He wanted to be in charge of events.

  He strode up the sloping drive. There was a child’s scooter propped against the wall beside the open garage. The offending car was parked outside.

  Nick pressed hard on the doorbell.

  The door opened more abruptly than he had expected. A thin, sharp-boned woman stood in front of him. A pink cardigan hung loosely from her shoulders. Her face looked angry.

  ‘It’s his day off,’ she snapped. ‘Can’t he have a single afternoon with his family? First he gets called out to the hospital, only it seems the woman’s not at death’s door after all. Then some nutter from the university comes barging round again. Now you . . .’ Her tone changed. ‘Unless someone really has died?’

  An expression of consternation was beginning to replace her indignation. Her face was colouring. She wrapped her cardigan round her thin body. ‘I’m sorry. It’s awful to talk like that. But you’ve no idea what it’s like being a Baptist minister. People just use him. All the time. Sucking the energy out of him. Like he doesn’t need a private life like ordinary people.’

  Nick f
ound himself staring at her. His jaw had dropped. He recognized this woman. She was part of the family of four who had followed the Fewings round the exhibition of spinning and fulling at Belldale Mill. Sure enough, through the open back door he could glimpse the boy and girl playing on the lawn.

  ‘It’s all right, Bethan.’

  The door into the sitting room had opened. The same round-faced man with the slicked down hair came out into the hall. He looked Nick up and down with a puzzled smile.

  ‘I’m sorry. Do I know you? I’ve usually got a good memory for faces, but I don’t think I’ve seen you in the congregation. How can I help you?’

  ‘Harry! I’ve explained that this is supposed to be your day off. And you’ve got Dominic again.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Dominic.’ The minister’s voice dropped low. He gave a weary smile and looked back over his shoulder at the sitting room.’

  Past his broad shoulder Nick could see a bespectacled young man on the sofa. He was sitting tensely upright, glaring at them.

  The minister held out his hand to Nick. ‘Harry Redfern?’ There was a hint of enquiry in the introduction.

  Nick tried to hold on to his anger. It was what had driven him here.

  ‘Nick Fewings. But you know that, don’t you? You’ve been following me.’

  He tried to match the minister’s rather deep sonorous voice with the threatening tone of that brief phone call. ‘Was it you who rang me to warn me off? Did you send that text message?’

  ‘Shall I ring the police?’ He heard the anxious whisper from Harry Redfern’s wife beside him. She was quietly backing off towards the kitchen.

  ‘No, love. I’ll handle it.’ The Reverend Redfern turned a tired smile on Nick. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Fewings. There seems to have been a misunderstanding. Whoever’s being making nuisance phone calls to you, I can assure you it wasn’t me. I’ve enough problems in my line of work to cope with, without creating new ones. And I’m afraid you’re a complete stranger to me . . .’ He stiffened suddenly. His round brown eyes creased. ‘Hang on a moment. I have seen you before. Got it! This morning. Weren’t you at Belldale Mill? Wonderful place. The kids loved it. As I remember, you had a lass of your own.’