The Overlooker

by Fay Sampson

  Millie was casting longing eyes at the sales in the shop windows all around her. She turned to greet him eagerly.

  ‘Dad, you couldn’t, like, advance me next month’s allowance, could you?’

  ‘That depends,’ Nick told her, ‘on just how ridiculous a purchase you’ve got your eye on.’ He grinned for her. In spite of the violence he had just been subjected to, he was surprised to discover a new buoyancy in his spirits. Something he had done had unsettled the mystery caller. He had no idea what it was, but it felt good to know that he too had the power to startle the other.

  But he knows, a chill voice whispered in his heart. He still knows what you’ve been doing. He’s tracking your movements.

  Did that mean that Nick’s suspicion about the blue Honda had not been paranoia? Innocent or not, the Reverend Harry Redfern had been following them, first to Belldale Mill and then to the hospital. But if he was not the caller, somebody else must be trailing them. How likely was that?

  Had the two men who had beaten and kicked him only been in Canal Street by coincidence?

  He looked around at the faces strung out all along the shopping mall. Elderly couples walking slowly, busy women with shopping bags, dispirited-looking teenagers, probably out of a job.

  He glanced round quickly, half expecting to surprise someone behind him. The few people between him and the car park had their backs to him.

  Suzie fell back behind Millie to join him. She kept her voice low. ‘Well? Was it anything important?’

  He switched the phone back to voicemail and handed it over to her.

  She listened and gave the mobile back. ‘I don’t understand what he’s talking about? Do you?’

  ‘Not a clue. But we’ve obviously done something he didn’t expect. And he’s not pleased about it. Somehow, we’ve wrong-footed him.’

  ‘He wasn’t pleased when we poked our noses into Hugh Street. Do you think this makes him more dangerous? Should we tell Inspector Heap?’

  Nick sighed. ‘We tried that last time. As long as she thought it was a brothel trafficking foreign women, she was keen as mustard. But now she seems to feel factory laws are someone else’s pigeon.’

  Suzie swivelled her toe thoughtfully on the cobbles. ‘She has a point. But there’s something that doesn’t feel quite right about all this. Are we missing something?’

  ‘If we are, I can’t think what.’

  She shrugged. ‘If we stick together, he can’t do anything, can he?’

  He looked ahead for Millie, and found her staring avidly into a shop window.

  Suzie glanced down at the map in her hand, and then at the shopping mall around her. Nick looked at what she was holding. It was not the modern street map he expected. It showed the town as it had been, what, 150 years ago? Suzie had drawn a circle round a little side road halfway along one of its central streets. He squinted to read the small print. Market Street Court.

  ‘You won’t find that. This whole area was demolished to build the new shopping centre.’ He cast his architect’s eye over the undistinguished buildings around them. ‘Well, I suppose they thought it was the latest thing about thirty years ago. It’s all looking a bit sad now.’

  ‘All the same . . . Market Street must have run more or less through here. This is where James Bootle had his herbalist’s shop in the trade directory for 1865.’

  Nick’s eyes went up. He found himself looking at a branch of Superdrug. In spite of himself, he laughed at the coincidence.

  He caught Suzie looking at him. He thought she had been making light of the attack on him in Tennyson Street, but he saw that she was not.

  ‘Are you really all right?’ she asked, too low for Millie to hear.

  ‘Just bruises. I’ll mend. Go on. It will do me good to think about something else.’

  ‘It must have been a good location for James Bootle to set up shop.’ Suzie raised her voice again, to reassure Millie. ‘Before we found that trade directory, I somehow imagined him selling homemade remedies from his back door. If it was really here, off Market Street, he must have had quite a successful business.’

  Millie turned. ‘Herbs and potions? It doesn’t quite fit with the Industrial Revolution, does it?’

  ‘You’d be surprised. Herbalism was quite the thing in the late nineteenth century. They brought in lots of ideas from Native American tradition. Recipes centuries old. But, of course, the medical establishment tried to stamp them out.’

  Nick pictured the little medical botanist’s shop, in an alley off the main street. In spite of himself, he was warming to the idea.

  ‘James Bootle must have been a creative person. He grows up learning to weave by hand – well, by foot, too – at his father’s knee. Intricate patterns the early mills couldn’t turn out by mass production. Quality handwork. But it cost more. So the bottom falls out of his world. The mills take over, and it’s all cheap, mass-produced stuff he can’t compete with. But he can’t bear not to create something. So he seizes on another skill that’s been passed down in his family.’

  Is it that creative streak which made me an architect? he wondered.

  ‘It might have been his wife,’ Suzie suggested. ‘That happened a lot. It was the man’s name you put over the door, but she ran the business.’

  ‘More likely they did it together. Like that family scene at Belldale Mill. Even the children helping.’

  Nick went suddenly quiet. Belldale Mill brought back uncomfortable memories. Were Harry Redfern and his wife and children really just enjoying a day off?

  ‘Except that the kids weren’t helping,’ Millie put in unexpectedly. ‘While he was having fun running his herbalist’s shop, the children got sent to the mill.’

  Nick and Suzie looked at each other, absorbing the truth of this. Would they have sent Millie and Tom to work twelve hours a day in the noise and heat of the mill, doing the tiring and dangerous work young children were employed for?

  ‘Mum!’ Millie gave an exasperated groan. ‘You weren’t listening, were you? Can we have a look round this beauty shop? It’s great. They’re offering two for one on everything.’

  Suzie shook off the spell of the past. ‘Sorry, love! Didn’t I hear something about coffee and cake?’

  ‘We’ll come back tomorrow,’ Nick promised her. ‘We shan’t be able to stay too long with Uncle Martin, even when we do see him. He’s an old man, and it’s only three days since he had a major stroke. We won’t want to tire him.’

  ‘Dad!’ Millie spun round from the shop window in sudden alarm. ‘I don’t have to go back there, do I? I told you I didn’t want to go this afternoon. And look what happened.’

  ‘Millie!’ It was Nick’s turn to sound exasperated. ‘Don’t be so selfish. Uncle Martin’s been looking forward to seeing us all. And that includes you.’

  Millie thrust her hands in the pockets of her green wool jacket and stalked ahead. The almost-white of her dyed hair stood out in the crowd.

  Suzie slipped her hand through Nick’s arm. ‘Don’t be too hard on her. She’s really not as selfish as she seems. In a way, it’s because she cares too much. It really upset her this afternoon, seeing those curtains round Uncle Martin’s bed and imagining what might have happened.

  Nick passed his hand over his face. ‘I’m sorry. It’s getting to me. First those women in Hugh Street, then the phone call. Making a fool of myself over Harry Redfern following us – if he really does have nothing to do with it. Getting beaten up for talking to a witness. And now, on top of everything else, Uncle Martin at death’s door. This was meant to be a fun family holiday. Me discovering my roots.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘Look, the police are sorting it out. Let them deal with it.’

  Millie had stopped and was waiting for them.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ Nick said as they caught her up. ‘I didn’t mean to be crabby.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it crabby.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Weird! I don’t know what’s got into you.’

  Nick felt his
conscience troubling him again. He had not told Millie the full truth. Yes, it was certainly important that the whole family was there tomorrow to see Uncle Martin. But there was another, darker, reason why he did not want to let Millie out of his sight.

  His daughter was looking up at the first-floor window above a shop.

  ‘Will this do? You said something about cream doughnuts. Remember?’

  The entrance to the Banana Tree Café was up a staircase beside a shoe shop. Nick paused to study the menu in the side window.

  After a moment, he realized that it was not the list of drinks, sandwiches and cakes he was looking at. The glass acted as a mirror. Behind his own dark head, he could dimly see passers-by walking along the precinct. His senses sharpened. Was it his imagination, or had one of them paused longer than was necessary? He strained to make out who it was without turning round.

  A middle-aged woman in a raincoat. She was carrying an Asda shopping bag in one hand and a capacious handbag in the other.

  He scolded himself for being foolishly alarmed. It had been a man’s voice on his mobile, hadn’t it? Was it possible a woman could produce that deep, harsh tone? Even as he turned, the woman moved on. She had simply been examining the display of shoes in the sale beneath the café.

  He let his gaze circle the shopping mall. There was another stationary figure looking his way. A cyclist who had been wheeling his bike through the precinct. He had a scruffy, student look. A fair-isle jumper, ragged at the elbows. Hair the colour of marmalade that flopped over his bespectacled face. Not exactly a crime boss, Nick comforted himself.

  His eyes moved on. And now he stiffened. There was a figure who stood out among shoppers and those simply filling time. A man, in his fifties Nick guessed, in a dark suit. He had paused under the canopy of the shop opposite. One shoulder was turned to Nick as he talked into his phone. Even as Nick watched, the man swivelled his head in the Fewings’ direction.

  Nick tried to still the excitement in his blood. There was money there. The formal suit, the carefully styled hair. They stood out amongst the window shoppers whose very faces spoke of hardship.

  Then a voice of common sense told him that such a man might very well head whatever criminal activity went on in Hugh Street, but he would be hardly be tailing the Fewings himself. He would pay henchmen to do that.

  All the same, Nick swept the family up the shelter of the café stairs.

  He chose a table in the corner, where he could get a sidelong view of the precinct below, but not be seen.

  Millie was studying the display of cakes on the counter. Then she rounded on Nick and Suzie.

  ‘Is Great-uncle Martin going to die?’

  Nick was jolted back into the different danger he had been pushing to the back of his mind.

  ‘He’s being well looked after,’ Suzie assured Millie. ‘He’s in the best place. It was probably nothing serious this afternoon. Just a little setback. I expect he’ll be as right as rain when we go tomorrow.’

  ‘You don’t know that. That nurse practically said he could pop his clogs any time. I told you I didn’t want to go.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Nick said more harshly than he intended. It’s not about what you, or any of us want. Think of him.’

  It was the one thing he had not been doing himself. Immediately he was overcome with remorse that he had not even thought to phone Thelma to tell her what had happened. Had the hospital contacted her? Surely they would have done if it had been anything serious?

  Suddenly the anonymous phone calls no longer seemed all important. Another crisis, this time certainly of life and death, was playing itself out.

  ‘Let’s get those coffees,’ he said. ‘Then we need to get back to Thelma. We ought to be there when she gets home from work.’

  Or from the hospital, he thought. If something worse has happened.

  ‘Can’t we do just a little bit of shopping?’ Millie pleaded.

  THIRTEEN

  The town fell away behind them as the car climbed the hill. Nick felt some of the burden of anxiety slip from his shoulders with it. It had been foolish to let himself get into such a stew over what was probably just a crude attempt at harassment. It was unsettling that whoever was doing this had found his mobile number, but that was all. Inspector Heap was right. It was just some petty criminal trying to bully him, pretending he could punish the Fewings.

  ‘She’s not here.’

  Suzie’s voice alerted him as he turned into the drive. Thelma’s red Nissan was not parked outside the house.

  Nick looked at his watch. They had given Millie a brief half hour in the shops. ‘Ten past five. She’s hardly had time to get home from work yet. And she may have looked in at the hospital.’

  But even as he spoke, the little car swung on to the gravel behind him. Suzie and Nick were swiftly out of their own car to meet Thelma.

  She came briskly towards them with a welcoming smile and her house key ready.

  ‘Did you have a good afternoon? How was Dad?’

  Nick felt an enormous relief. If anything really bad had happened, the hospital would have called her.

  Cautiously he said, ‘When we got there, the doctor was seeing him. We said we’d come back another time.’

  ‘What a shame! And after you’ve come all this way to see him.’

  He waited for some reaction of alarm. But she unlocked the door and ushered them inside.

  Nick hung back. Now that one crisis had passed, the other was reasserting itself.

  He could no longer resist the uneasy temptation. He switched his phone back on.

  There were no new messages. He stared down at the little screen, unable to decide whether he felt relieved or frustrated.

  He had not realized how tense he had been until he walked into the house to join the others. The knowledge brought a spurt of anger. He had allowed whoever was making these calls to gain power over him. He was a puppet, jerked about and manipulated. He needed to regain control of his life. But when he had tried to do so, and stormed up to the Reverend Harry Redfern’s house, he had made a fool of himself. The attempt to pin down the Asian woman as a witness had backfired, too.

  All the same, in the last voice message, the caller had sounded unexpectedly angry. Something Nick had done had unsettled him. But what? Still, Nick allowed himself a little grin of triumph.

  Thelma was just putting down the phone. She gave him a broad smile.

  ‘I’ve rung the hospital, after what you said. They say it’s true he was a little bit poorly this afternoon but he’s doing well now.’

  ‘I’m so glad! I have to confess, when we saw the curtains round his bed we were worried.’

  ‘Cheer up. We’re a tough lot, we Fewings. We’ll have Dad back on his feet by the weekend. They’ve already had him out of bed to go to the toilet.’

  Nick spirits lifted. Uncle Martin was on the mend. They really would be able to see him before they left. Tom was joining them for the weekend. They would climb Skygill together.

  All he wanted now was news that the police had moved in on Hugh Street, and that whoever was responsible for what went on there was safely locked up. He needed to be able to switch on his phone without that sense of dread.

  He might even be able to turn his interest back to family history before they left.

  He had a feeling of inevitability when he heard the doorbell ring. The door opened even as Thelma hurried to answer it. Geoffrey Banks, the cousin from next door, walked into the house as though he owned it. His pale blue eyes were hungry for information.

  ‘Any news?’

  ‘He’s doing all right. I’ll be down to see him this evening, as soon as I’ve got these people a meal . . . Nick’s driving me,’ she added.

  The out-of-work chemist’s face fell. He looked past Thelma at Nick with a stare that was almost hostile.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure? You’ve only got to ask, you know. And you won’t always have your fine southern friends around.’

  �
�They’re family.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘Sorry, Geoff. I’d ask you in, but I really ought to be in the kitchen if I’m going to make it for visiting time.’

  ‘I can tell when I’m not wanted. He weakened my strength in the way; he shortened my days.’

  ‘Get along with you!’

  As Geoffrey turned to go, Nick was aware of Suzie standing in the doorway to the kitchen staring at the odd man’s face.

  ‘There’s a police car outside!’ Millie came bounding down the stairs.

  Thelma looked uncertainly at Nick and Suzie. ‘That’ll be for you, I suppose?’

  As he strode towards the front door, Nick felt a rush of hope. Something positive had happened. The police must have made a breakthrough in Hugh Street. They’d made arrests. He felt a weight lifting from him.

  He had the door open before the burly police officer had time to ring the bell.

  ‘Mr Nicholas Fewings?’

  ‘That’s me. Have you caught them? The guys behind the racket in Hugh Street?’

  ‘If we could have a word in private, sir.’

  Nick led the way into Thelma’s sitting room. The officer seemed to fill the small space.

  ‘Inspector Harland.’ He did not smile.

  ‘Won’t you sit down?’

  The inspector took a seat on the edge of the settee, holding his cap in his hand. The usually stiff cushions buckled under his bulk.

  ‘Have you caught them? Did you find out what’s going on in that house? Who’s been making those phone calls?’

  The inspector ignored him. ‘It has come to my attention that you have accosted a key witness in a police investigation . . .’

  ‘Accosted!’

  Nick’s hand flew instinctively to the bruise on his jaw.

  ‘It is my duty to inform you that if there is a repetition of this behaviour you may find yourself charged with obstructing the police.’

  ‘But we were the only ones who could identify her. I was trying to help.’

  Inspector Harland rose. ‘I am not at liberty to discuss the matter further.’

  Nick watched with disbelief as the burly officer strode to the front door.