by Ann Purser
Mrs. Smith, hurrying down the street, saw only the back of the crowd and the approaching ambulance and police car. She pushed her way through, saw her son motionless on the ground, and let out the most blood-curdling cry that Horace had ever heard. It was as if she had been physically pierced to the heart.
Then there were ambulance men dealing with Darren, lifting him on to a stretcher and into the ambulance. They helped his mother in beside him, closed the door and drove off, the siren blaring. Horace watched dully. Everything had slowed down, and the moving figures seemed vague and unfamiliar. He was aware of someone speaking to him, and he blinked, trying to clear his vision. It was a policeman, who took his arm and escorted him back to the house.
Blanche stood swaying at the door, and next to her was Floss, dumb with shock and looking frighteningly pale. The policeman held both their arms, helped them into the drawing room and into chairs, and then went back for Horace. Floss got immediately to her feet again, and said shakily, “Shall I put the kettle on? Mum says hot sweet tea is best,” and then she burst into tears and ran from the room.
“Let her go,” said Hunter Cowgill, coming through the door. “She’ll recover better on her own. Now then, let’s all take a breath and try to sort out what has happened here.”
* * *
LOIS RECEIVED THE CALL WHEN SHE WAS IN THE shower. She had been gardening early in the morning, and after Gran came back from the shop she decided to clean up and go off to visit a new client.
Over the sound of spraying water, she heard Gran’s voice shouting to her and, wrapping herself in a towel, she emerged. She took the phone and retreated. It was Cowgill, and Lois began to joke, saying she was in the shower and thank God he didn’t have a video screen on his mobile. There was no response, and she knew at once that something serious had happened.
“Derek? Has something happened to Derek?” she said anxiously.
“No, Lois dear, not to Derek.” He paused.
Lois said again, “Has something happened?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. There’s been an accident at Waltonby. Young Darren . . . came off a horse.”
“But . . . What d’you mean? Is he badly hurt?”
“I’m afraid he hasn’t made it, Lois.”
There was such a long silence that Cowgill thought maybe they’d been cut off. “Lois?” he said. “Are you still there?”
“What kind of an accident?” Lois said quietly. “Tell me what happened. Exactly what happened.”
Cowgill reflected that he was the policeman and the one to ask the questions, but Lois was special. He knew she had been fond of Darren Smith, and had been the one who had found him, distressed and lost. She was entitled to know as many details as he had so far gleaned. And, more importantly, the whole thing seemed undeniably linked with the other hit-and-run accidents, and so with Lois herself.
He told her what he knew from questioning Blanche, who was apparently the only witness. Floss and Horace were in the house, but could not see the gateway from any of the windows. Blanche had collected Darren from the garden and was to take him for a walk on the leading rein around the quiet village. The intention was to give him confidence to ride again. He hadn’t been anywhere near a Battersby horse since his disappearance. They had reached the gate and were just hesitating to make sure it was safe to go, when the car came from nowhere, accelerating fast and aiming straight for them. At the last minute it had swerved violently, nearly overturning, and continued until it was out of sight.
“Did Blanche see anything of the car?”
“Unfortunately no,” Cowgill replied. “She was knocked to the ground by the rearing horse, and when she crawled across to Darren, the car had long gone. Her ankle is broken, apparently, but she managed to get to the house to phone Darren’s mother.”
“Brave woman,” muttered Lois. “And Horace?” she added, suddenly angry. “Where the hell was bloody Horace? He must have heard the row—a terrified horse screams, you know. He couldn’t miss it! Didn’t Floss hear something?”
“She was using the vacuum cleaner upstairs at the back of the house, and it’s a noisy old thing apparently. She didn’t know what had happened until Horace called her.”
“Where is she now? I must come over straight away.”
“I think she’s gone home, and I’m on the way back to the station. There’s a great deal to do, Lois, but I wanted you to know first. And I’m going to ask a favour of you . . . I wonder if you’re up to making a quick visit to Mrs. Smith some time? I’ll let you know when she’s back from the hospital. She thinks a lot of you. As do I. I must go now, but get in touch whenever you need to, day or night. Are you all right? Is Gran there?”
“Yes. I’m all right, Gran or no Gran. Bye. I’ll be in touch.” She ended the call, and slowly towelled herself dry. She knew she ought to be crying for Darren and his mum, but she couldn’t. Her anger was too great for tears. If she had had the strength, she would have gone straight to Waltonby and strangled Battersby, and laughed at his pleas for mercy. As it was, she dressed slowly, her thoughts churning, and went downstairs.
Gran took one look at her and asked, “What’s happened?”
Lois told her the bare details and then, asking politely for a strong coffee, went into her office and closed the door.
FIFTY-TWO
JOE HORSLEY WAS OUT ON THE FARM, ENJOYING HIMSELF on his quad bike. With no speed restrictions on bumpy field tracks, he roared joyfully as he took off into the air on an especially hard, dry rut in the set aside margin of a maize field. When he slowed down to open a gate, he heard his mobile ringing.
“Hello? What d’you want, Margaret? I’m really up against it to get this job done before it rains . . . What? Are you sure? Bloody hell, they’ve done something right for once . . . No, no, of course I don’t know who was in the car! Just listen for a minute, will you!”
But Margaret had signed off. When the mobile began to ring again, Joe had a good idea who it was. “Horsley! Have you heard?” Battersby said. There was then a tirade so loud that Joe held the mobile a couple of feet away to avoid ear damage. He had had just enough warning and thought quickly.
“Hang on a minute, Horace!” he said. “The boys did as they were told, as far as I can tell. Put the frighteners on. It can’t be helped that the ruddy horse went spare, can it? And the idiot boy shouldn’t have been riding if he couldn’t control the thing. What? Blanche holding it with a leading rein? That’s not nearly enough if a horse is in a panic. For God’s sake, calm down, man! The lads always get away at speed. It’s one of their eerie twin things—you don’t even see them go. Take it from me, Horace, we’re in the clear. What? Oh, don’t worry, she’ll get over it. A broken ankle soon mends. Must go. Bye.”
Joe opened the gate, drove through, and left it open as he revved up the engine as fast as it would go, taking off with a whoop along the grassy track of the next field.
* * *
IN A NOISY BAR IN THE SEAMIER QUARTER OF NOTTINGHAM, the twins were celebrating. “Did you see that bloody horse? Like something out of a wild west movie!” Jim was high on success and a lot of something more substantial.
Steven said nothing, but drank deeply to the bottom of the glass.
“Hey, steady! I don’t fancy carrying you home. What’s the matter with you, anyway? We done a good job, and Uncle Joe’ll stump up the cash and maybe a bonus for excellent performance. He wants that dope out of the way. He told us.”
“We killed ’im,” Steven said dully. “We killed that kid on the horse. I looked back. He was dead.”
“Shh! For Christ’s sake keep your voice down. So what? Anyway, he was probably knocked out from the fall. Why d’you always spoil things? You’d better go ’ome. Get a bus. Go on, bugger off. And don’t tell Mum anything, d’you hear?”
Steven looked at Jim blearily. “You wait,” he said. With his face very close to his brother’s, he stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked. Then he turned away and disappeared through the crowds. Ji
m shrugged his shoulders, and turned back to his mates at the bar.
* * *
MARGARET WAS WAITING FOR JOE WHEN HE FINALLY came back. His sense of triumph ebbed when he saw her face. It was streaked with tears, and her eyes were red. As he walked towards her, she slapped his face as hard as she could, first one side and then the other. Then she began to yell.
“You bastard! You bloody bastard!” She thumped his chest, and he stumbled backwards.
Grasping her fists, he forced her into a chair. “Shut up! Shut up and listen!” he shouted. She was shaking violently now, as if in a convulsion. Slowly she quietened down, and was limp, her head hanging down. He released her hands and sat down on a chair next to her.
“Margaret, just listen and try to answer some questions. I know you’re upset, but you’ve obviously got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Tell me what you’ve heard, and who from.”
She raised her head and looked at him. He was nervous, she could tell. He was as nervous as hell. So it was true. Perhaps she should play along, and see what he said. While she had waited for him to come back from the fields, she had made a plan, a last-ditch plan that would end all her unhappiness one way or another.
“Your charming sister phoned,” she said in a quiet voice. “Wanted to know where the twins were. Urgent message, apparently. Seems she thought they were down in this part of the world. Something about a job they were doing for you?”
“Ah,” said Joe. “What did you say?”
“I said I hadn’t seen them and didn’t know anything about it. I was not anxious to prolong the conversation.”
“So what else?” Joe was chewing his fingernails now, and Margaret grimaced. They were already bitten down to the quick.
“Do you have to be so disgusting?” she said.
“Get on with it!” Joe put his hands in his pockets. He was losing patience.
“I thought I was supposed to be listening?”
“Answer the questions first, you stupid woman.”
“Take that back,” Margaret said, moving as if to stand up.
He reached out and pushed her back into the chair. “What else have you heard?” he shouted. “A call from my sister wouldn’t get you in this state . . .”
“I had another phone call. This time it was anonymous. Difficult to tell whether it was a man or woman. Disguised, I suppose. It told me a tragic story, Joe. About a horse and a young lad who fell off and was killed. There was a car, apparently, driven fast, straight at the horse, by two men. They did not stop and the car will never be found. That’s what the voice said. Then he warned me to take care, even with nearest and dearest, and then he rang off.”
She stopped there, and watched him closely. He was visibly shocked, and made a great effort to pull himself together.
Margaret continued. “So I’m listening, Joe. What did you want to tell me?”
“All rubbish,” he croaked. “Take no notice. You get calls like that from perverts, getting their kicks from putting the fear of God into women. Take no notice.”
“Right,” she said, meekly obedient now. “And what was it you wanted to tell me?”
“It’ll keep,” Joe said. “I need to go out now. Shan’t be long. I’ll tell you then. Now don’t you worry, Margaret. Put the whole thing out of your mind. Ring your dad and have a chat. He always cheers you up.”
She said nothing. How could he do it? After all these years of marriage, he still thought he could soothe the little woman with a few kind words, and all would be well. She watched him drive out of the yard, and then went upstairs to splash her face with cold water and bathe her sore wrists. After that, she would settle down in the sitting room and think out the sequence of moves in her plan.
The first thing she decided was that she couldn’t do it on her own. And the only ally who would be of any use was Blanche Battersby. This was going to be tricky, since Blanche was no friend. Although it was a long time ago, Margaret’s affair with Horace had caused Blanche a great deal of heartache. But was it because she was so in love with her Horace, or because of the humiliation she would suffer if the affair became public? Margaret knew perfectly well that, like her own, the Battersbys’ marriage was a bit of a dead duck.
How could she coax Blanche to help? Was there any common ground where they could meet and maybe mend the split? It came to Margaret like a blessing from above. Dot Nimmo. Dot was valued by both of them, and with any luck would soon be returning to work. That could be it. Blanche could be approached on the subject of Dot, and then it would be up to Margaret to work a diplomatic miracle.
What was it Joe said? Ring Dad. Well, maybe she would do just that. He always loved to hear from her, and she could sound him out on one or two things. She got up from the chair and walked to the window. Down towards the bottom of the lawn there was a small lake that Joe had made for her, years ago. She saw a flash of colour, and, holding her breath, watched a kingfisher alight, the first she had ever seen. She remembered how Joe had promised her that one day a kingfisher would come, and felt a pang of sadness at how he had changed. After a while, she went out into the hall and dialled her father’s number.
FIFTY-THREE
THE NEXT MORNING, COWGILL CALLED AGAIN, SAYING that Mrs. Smith was back home in Waltonby, and had said she would like to see Lois any time. The funeral would be on Friday, at two o’clock in Waltonby church. Mrs. Smith was calm, but Cowgill had the feeling she could collapse at any time and would need support. There were no relatives, and she had no idea where Darren’s father was, nor did she want to find out.
“I’ll go this morning,” Lois said. “How’s Mrs. Battersby? I shall call on her, too, to arrange for someone to fill in for Floss. Poor girl is heartbroken. I’ve told her to have a day or two off.”
At this moment, the doorbell rang, and Lois put down the phone and went to answer it. It was Floss. “Can I come in, Mrs. M? I have to talk to someone, and Mum’s . . . well, she’s Mum. You know . . .”
“Come into the kitchen, Floss,” Lois said, taking her arm. “It’s warm in there, and there’s nothing secret from Gran, even if I try to keep it secret!”
Floss was shivering, though it was not particularly cold outside. “It’s a mackerel sky today,” Gran said by way of a greeting. “Means we shall have a change in the weather. Come and sit down and I’ll make us some coffee.”
“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Weedon. It was just that . . .” Floss burst into tears, and Lois put her arm around her. She was sniffing hard herself, and Gran pulled a tissue from her apron pocket and dabbed her own eyes. After a minute or two, Floss sighed deeply and turned to Lois. “He was a nice lad. Seemed to belong somewhere in another place where the rest of us couldn’t go. He was lost here. Never felt safe. Except in Battersby’s garden—provided the Colonel wasn’t about—or on the allotment.”
“How is your mare?” Lois asked. “Did you catch her?”
“Oh yes, after a while. She went into one of those meadows out towards Fletching, and I talked her into standing still. I rode her home, and she was trembling all the way. When I got her into the stable, old Battersby came down to see if she was all right. Couldn’t have cared less about me. He looked ten years older. Really shaken up. I heard Blanche shouting at him, and no wonder. He had apparently told her he would help with saddling up the mare and getting them on their way, but he was nowhere to be seen. I knew where he was, of course. He was in his study. It looks out down the drive, but he wasn’t that quick off the mark even after all the yelling and neighing. I didn’t hear it with that old vacuum cleaner going. Did you know Blanche has broken her ankle?”
“Yeah. I’m going over there in a while. I said I’d send somebody else in until you felt better.”
“I’d rather go to work, and I don’t mind going over there. I might be able to help more, knowing where everything is. Poor Blanche won’t be able to get about. I don’t want to stay at home, Mrs. M, just thinking about it. I’d be better doing something.”
After
she had gone, Lois telephoned the Battersbys and of course Horace answered. “How is Mrs. Battersby?” she asked, and the Colonel grunted that she would be fine in no time.
“Is Floss coming in this afternoon?” he said. “I can’t do it all on my own.” He sounded sorry for himself, and Lois bridled.
“I’m sure you’re very capable,” she said, “what with organizing armies, an’ that. Anyway, Floss will be with you as usual. I am sure you will respect the fact that she was and is very upset. Thank you.”
She rang off, and then dialled Mrs. Smith to tell her she would be with her in half an hour. The poor woman’s voice was weak, but she assured Lois she would be very pleased to see her.
“Give her my condolences,” Gran said. “He was a good lad. That time he came and had tea, d’you remember? He was very partial to my chocolate cake . . .” Then she reached for the tissues again, and Lois tactfully went out to her van.
* * *
IN THE SHOP, JOSIE FIELDED A NUMBER OF QUESTIONS about Darren. News between villages travels fast, and several of the older women had been full of sympathy and understanding for Mrs. Smith. Others had not been quite so understanding. “A blessing in disguise,” said one, and, oblivious of Josie’s frown, continued, “There was no future for him. Nothing but worry and disappointment for his mother. No, the Almighty knows when to take his own.” Josie fumed, but said nothing.
“Stupid old bag!” she burst out, as soon as the woman had left. But there were others with the same sentiments, and Josie felt like putting a bulletin on the door. “Darren Smith has died, and IT IS NOT A BLESSING IN DISGUISE!” Rob had not gone in to work today, and he calmed her down. “People always say stupid things at such times,” he said, “mostly because they’re embarrassed and don’t know what to say. They like a happy ending, and this is the only one they can think of.”