by BK Duncan
But then the water starts rushing in her ears, down her throat, up her nose. The wet is wrapping itself around her lungs and choking her. She wants to cough. She wants to scream. The river bottom is clawing at her. Fingers of weed entwining her ankles. If she cries hard enough maybe she can make herself light enough to float again. She is desperate to be back on the surface feeling the air on her face and gazing at the moon.
May jerked awake. The bedclothes were twisted around her, trapping her arms. Her nightgown was soaked with sweat, her cheeks wet with tears. She stayed conscious long enough to strip herself naked, throw the blankets off, and pull the sheet up to her chin.
She turns the key and is walking inside. She crosses the space between them; it isn’t so very far. Now the feel of the cotton under her fingertips as she runs her hand along one side of the outline. Taller than she remembers. She clutches at the sheet and pulls it down. His eyes are staring back. He is wearing the red scarf Sally bought her. It covers the tidemark of his dockers’ tan. A ripple goes through his muscles. He sits up.
‘Hello, Dad,’ she says.
‘You took your time.’
‘I came as soon as I could.’
‘As soon as you felt like it.’
‘As soon as I could.’
‘They tell me you’re allowed three questions.’
‘Who?’
‘That’s one of them.’
‘How?’
‘Did I get here? I was swimming over to France; I wanted you home.’
‘Why?’
‘To look after Alice. I knew I couldn’t do it much longer. She needed you. I needed you. And now you know what it’s like to be left holding the baby.’
‘But why did you have to show me that way?’
He mimes threading a needle. Then, stitch by stitch, sews up his lips.
‘You could speak to me again if you wanted - they can’t stop you. Just tell me why...’
He reaches with a bony hand and pulls away the scarf. A bloodless gash grins from ear to ear.
May fought against the hands. They were holding her shoulders. Pressing her down. Trying to suffocate her. To take her with him.
‘Wake up. Wake up. Please...’
Alice. The fear in her voice cutting through the last veils of unreality.
‘You were screaming. I was so scared. And then you wouldn’t wake up. I thought you were dead.’ She began to sob. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I thought you’d left me too...’
May jumped to her knees and hugged her so tight she heard her spine crack. When Alice had stopped shuddering she laid her down and covered them both up. The last thing she saw before she fell asleep again was her little sister sucking her thumb.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday morning found May jittery from emotional exhaustion and lack of sleep. Sunday night had hardly been much better than Saturday. Alice had followed her around all day like a puppy - even lending a hand to clean out the range; this sticking to her side like glue had culminated in her asking if she could share May’s bed. She wouldn’t talk about it but it was as if she was scared May would disappear the moment she lost sight of her. Alice’s snoring had been disturbing but at least the sleep May did get was nightmare free. She’d had variations on those dreams almost every night for the first few months after she’d come back from France but then it dwindled to just when she’d been overwrought or distressed by something that had happened at work. She assumed it was Clarice Gem’s suicide that had triggered it this time. The lack of answers. The absence of anyone asking the right questions.
But groggy though she was, she still had a job to do. There was Dr Swan’s invoice to chase up with the London County Council’s accounts department, and some papers to append to a report for the Registrar of Deaths. She knew Colonel Tindal wouldn’t be coming in today, a dentist’s appointment he’d said. Two letters had arrived in the post addressed to him and marked personal. May walked through to put them on his desk.
When she came back, she had a visitor. PC Collier. Obviously not here on official business because he was making no effort to rein in his schoolboy excitement at seeing her. His cheeks were the colour of blood-oranges.
‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’
He shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘I wondered... if you can spare the time... if it isn’t too much of a palaver... if you could see your way to...’
‘Spit it out, man.’
Her impersonation of the coroner was so accurate - down to the husky catch in the throat - that they dissolved into giggles. This young man’s company was just what she needed.
‘A cuppa and a rest of me feet what’s called for. They had me on point duty again. Corner of East India Dock Road. You ain’t seen nothing like it. Traffic all backed up. Reckon there must be a passenger steamer due in.’
He was properly relaxed now. Talking as he would do to a mate in the station instead of to the coroner’s officer. May realised she didn’t know his first name. But she wasn’t going to ask; she was pleased he had sought her out but it wouldn’t be fair to encourage him. He’d flicked the chinstrap off and laid his helmet on top of the filing cabinet.
‘Bring in a chair from the vestibule while I put a kettle on the gas.’
The amenities in the kitchenette consisted of a tap and a sink, one ring, and a small cupboard for crockery. May was always grateful that grieving relatives invariably came singly or in pairs. Any more and she’d be hard pushed to fulfil her offer of a soothing cup of tea.
‘Aching to take my boots off, truth be told, but even removing the helmet’s against regulations while on duty.’
She hated to admit it but it was nice to hear a male voice calling through to her; it made her feel secure. Where had that word come from? A hangover from the nightmare probably.
At last the tea was brewed and she carried the tray through. ‘The milk’s on the turn I’m afraid. I could pop out for some fresh.’
‘Don’t you be putting yourself out none. I’ll take it as it comes.’
May poured them both a cup. There was a slightly awkward moment as she had to brush his knees to get past to her chair. A gentleman would have stood up and stepped away. But he was not much more than a boy really, and one that was hardly going to complain about her being in such close proximity. She squashed a spurt of irritation. This was why she chose to keep men at arms’ length as Sally put it; they always seemed set on imposing their needs on you: another undigested morsel from the world of her dreams. May watched as he plopped in five sugar lumps then took a sip.
‘Shouldn’t you be stirring that?’
‘I like to have it all standing at the bottom. As if having a toffee for afters.’
May smiled. He reminded her so much of Alice.
‘D’you remember the Pryer family used to live at the end of your street? Moved to Seymour Court.’
May vaguely recollected drunken rows, and bundles of men’s clothing being thrown from the top window for the milkman’s horse and cart to run over.
‘Well, we had him in the cells last week. Something and nothing really. He’d been caught relieving himself in someone’s doorway then threw a punch at the sergeant when he asked him to move along. I went to see his missus to tell her he’d be up in the police court and not to expect him with the wages. But she weren’t in and I was checking the nippers had something to eat when I found the larder fall of watches and wallets and other stuff that’d been nicked. Seems she came home with them of a Friday night. On the game she was. Put me in a bit of a pickle, I can tell you. I couldn’t see my way to arresting her and leaving four young’uns with no one to care for them.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Took the stuff and left a note saying as she’d be robbed again regular if she weren’t there to see that she wasn’t.’
>
The young man would never go far in the police force but his inherent compassion made him a remarkably decent human being. May hoped she brought even a little of the same to her own role.
‘Got to do a shift next on the beat down Canning Town. Reckon they’ll find me asleep at my post one day. Station’s light on bodies - some’s gone and got the influenza and some’s been called in by Scotland Yard on account of a Sinn Féin plot they’ve got wind of.’ He stood, retrieved his helmet and put it on. ‘Those few of us left ain’t hardly got the time to wipe our... shine our boots.’
After he’d gone, the room felt smaller instead of marginally less cramped. May wondered if that was because his visits were always peopled so much by the outside world.
***
May worked through until three-thirty and then tidied her desk. She was taking the rest of the afternoon off. She sometimes helped serve the refreshments at the tea dances in the Social Club and had been asked if she’d do the same for a benefit at the Town Hall. It had been organised by the National Federation of Discharged and Demobilised Sailors & Soldiers to raise funds for the Fatherless Children’s summer outing. She’d approached Colonel Tindal a month ago for permission. There weren’t many causes close to his heart but her request had resulted in him giving his assent in a gruff voice and with a pull of his side-whiskers. He’d covered this by adding that, as all the local dignitaries would be there, it was appropriate the Office of the Poplar Coroner should be represented - although that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be expected to make the time up. She didn’t mind about that: a couple of hours free from the tyranny of the typewriter now were worth an evening of paperwork any day.
She walked the short way to the Town Hall. The dance wasn’t due to start until seven o’clock but would be preceded by an official reception attended by members of the press. The room would need to be decorated with bunting, the tables and chairs arranged so as to make the space more inviting, the punch made, and the food laid out on trays. She hoped they weren’t relying on her to do it all.
May needn’t have worried. On the stairs she met Mrs Kessler and Mrs Zinzer on their way down to fetch supplies donated from the local pubs and shops; the Reverend Hislop was pinning up a sign above a wicker basket for donations; and through the swing doors a half a dozen women were dashing around correcting what each other was doing. May spotted Mrs Gibson and waved then went over to help Kitty Woodcroft who was struggling to put up a trestle table whilst keeping an eye on her toddler playing in the corner.
Before long it began to look as if something more exciting than a committee meeting might be taking place tonight. May took charge of the punchbowl and glasses as soon as they arrived. The crates of bottles were already stacked against the wall. Taking care not to splash the white tablecloth she made a weak concoction of red wine and lemonade, flavouring it with slices of orange and a handful of cloves.
She was just debating whether she had enough time to go home and change - the physical work had caused her to sweat more than she would’ve liked - when Jack Cahill waltzed in. She wondered if he was early for the dance in his drive to get the scoop on everything, or merely strategically too late to lend a hand with the setting up. He was wearing a paraffin-blue suit, the jacket sporting four patch pockets with box pleats and button flaps. To make things worse he had on a red bow tie. He looked as though he had mistaken the event for a fancy-dress party. He made a beeline for the musicians - the only other men in the room - and began talking with them, jotting a few things down on his notepad. A combination of Sally’s recent advice and PC Collier’s solicitous approach to his fellow man made May swallow the memory of their last social encounter and wave when he looked her way. He took his time in coming over.
‘Don’t tell me you’re wearing that as a favour to the Donegal sheep as well?’
‘This is the latest fashion in Dublin, I’ll have you know. Okay, I’ll admit it took some time getting to us from America. But at least I’ve made an effort; don’t you ever let your hair down just a little? A wisp of lace here and there perhaps? Every time I see you in your skirt and blouse I think you’re going to shove a summons in my hand.’ He peered over his glasses at her. ‘You’re not, are you?’
He’d said it all with a smile and May had to admit that she’d deserved the ribbing. Don’t dish out what you can’t take Albert had always told her when she’d run away from him and his friends in tears.
‘Not that I’d be surprised if you did; everyone seems to have it in for me these days. I reckon Andy Taylor didn’t just pick my name at random when this riveting assignment came up. Good job there’s no such thing as garden parties in Poplar or he’d have me covering those as well.’
‘We do have an annual allotment competition. The council have turned one of the bombsites from the Zeppelin raids over. Stick around long enough and it could be your lot to judge the carrots.’
Jack pulled a face. It was clear he wasn’t exactly local newspaper material.
‘He gave me a long list of who to speak to and what angle to take - cheek of it; as if I’ve never put pencil to pad before - but he didn’t tell me it was against the rules to mix a little pleasure with business. So... Miss Keaps,’ he performed a stiffly formal bow, ‘will you do me the very great honour of being my partner for the first dance when this all kicks off?’
‘Not on your life.’
‘Don’t sugar-coat it now; tell me what you really think.’
‘I come to these things to help out, that’s all - do my civic duty you might say - I don’t join in.’
‘Well maybe you should. Make tonight the first in your letting your hair down campaign.’
She dropped the empty bottle she was holding into the crate and picked up a full one.
‘I’m going to tell you something and if your face so much as cracks, so help me, I’ll whack you over the head with this... I can’t dance.’
‘You’ve got two left feet you mean?’
To give him his due, he didn’t even have a glint of amusement in his eyes.
‘No. I just don’t know how to. I never got around to learning and now I feel a little long in the tooth to be staggering around a dance floor like a child who’s just moved up from standing on her father’s shoes.’
Jack dipped a glass into the punchbowl and took a sip. ‘I think even I’d need something a little stronger than this inside me to get going - despite the fact we Irish are ready to dance a jig at the drop of a hat.’
‘How’s life at Mrs Loader’s?’
‘Now you’re treading on my toes. It doesn’t look like I’m going to be there for much longer.’
‘I hope you weren’t just messing her around by taking the room, she might’ve lost a better tenant because of it.’
‘It won’t be by choice, I can assure you, but my career hardly seems to be taking off in the way I expected.’
May harboured the evil thought that it was no more than he deserved after his blatant highjacking of her identification of Brilliant Chang. She’d read the piece in the paper; her name hadn’t been mentioned once. Perhaps Andy Taylor had seen through Jack’s unsubtle self-promotion and had sent him here to clip his wings a little. But taking pleasure in someone else’s disappointments and failures wasn’t kind so she forced a look of sympathy.
‘Give it a little more time, you’ve only just started.’
‘You don’t get many chances to make a big splash in the newspaper game and it looks like the one I was pinning all my hopes on is dead in the water. I’ve let everything else slip to make it come good and if I can’t produce something like a story then I’m going to be accused of not pulling my weight and probably get the sack.’
He looked so despondent May began to feel genuinely sorry for him.
‘What went wrong with all your grand plans?’
‘It began with the police mou
nting a series of drugs raids on that nightclub. The touts for the gambling dens stopped coming in. Then things got a whole lot worse because the club closed - doors just locked for good with no warning. So there’s me, on the street with no contacts and no way of finding them. All those wasted hours drinking overpriced watery spirits and ruining my eardrums with singers whose only talent lies in making it impossible to mistake them for a man.’
May shifted the crate of empty bottles to the floor so she could smile without offending him. Her plan to scupper Brilliant Chang’s cocaine sideline was working. Maybe he had even been arrested; she’d ask PC Collier to make some enquiries. She straightened up again.
‘Somehow it doesn’t sound like you to give up so easily.’
‘Funny you should say that because suddenly I’m having second thoughts about that myself. It’s seeing you again that’s done it; you’re quite an inspiration to me, Miss Keaps. I’ve realised I’m here staring an alternative source of information right in her pretty face.’
‘You won’t get anything out of me that isn’t public knowledge; everything else is the property of the coroner.’
It was as if he couldn’t stop from being annoying for long. His willingness to exploit her yet again in the service of his ambition was nothing short of insulting.
‘I don’t expect any spilling of state secrets, just proposing you keep your ear to the ground and let me know if you hear who’s doing the inviting to the gambling dens. After all, you may well need my help one day and, to a reporter, an obligation is almost as sacred as his word.’
She doubted that. On both counts.
‘I don’t know how the coroners operate in Ireland but over here if I need your assistance in investigations then you are legally compelled to give it. So, as there’ll be no back-scratching going on I suggest you go and interview the mayor, who’s just arrived, and start worming your way into your editor’s good books. But I will give you one piece of insider information...’