Jane Hetherington's Adventures In Detection

by Nina Jon

  “The police divers are under the water, attaching them to the car,” a man sat beside them explained, rolling an empty crisp packet into a tight ball and throwing it into the undergrowth. Jack glanced to his left, where a nearby burger van was doing a brisk trade. More and more people were arriving to watch the police at work. Jack kicked an empty drink can away from him and asked his friends, “You got any food?”

  One of the boys nodded and removed a lunchbox from his rucksack. “Mum made us some ham and cheese sandwiches,” he said, handing them out to friends. “She said watching the detectives was hungry work.” They each took a sandwich and began to eat, while the police operation got underway.

  It took some time from the commencement of the police operation, until Mr Kim Moo-Hyun’s old Citroen was finally ready to be dredged from the bottom of the lake. By this time, the boys had finished the sandwiches and moved on to burgers from the burger bar, washed down with soft drinks.

  Jack watched the last of the police divers pull themselves up out of the water and onto the riverbank where one thumped the bonnet of the recovery truck. Jack thought he saw the driver of the recovery truck press a button on the dashboard. Minutes later the chains were wheeled in. The whole effect was dramatic. The chains made a great deal of noise, creaking and groaning under the strain. The audience gasped as water on the top of the lake began to swirl violently and spill over the bank in a succession of angrier and angrier waves, as the car was slowly dragged out of its muddy, wet grave. The car’s rear bumper was the first to appear through the water of the lake, to the roar of the crowd. Everyone to a man jumped to their feet. The chains continued to creak, and the water to swirl, as the car slowly emerged inch by inch from the bottom of the lake. Water gushed out of the car. The car’s windows cracked and broke under the pressure. The noise was deafening. When the car was finally pulled out of the water and up onto the recovery van, Jack discreetly slipped down from the embankment, slid under the police cordon, and hurried over to stare into it.

  III

  “No body was found?” Jane said to Jack’s detailed description of what had happened at the lake. On the way back he’d bought himself a polystyrene plate of chicken pie and mash, and now sat at Jane’s kitchen table cutting into the pie with the plastic cutlery it came with.

  “That’s what the police said. The car was found empty.”

  “Would you like real cutlery?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Plastic makes it taste better,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t have expected them to have dragged the car out of the lake with the body still inside it,” Jane said, “but I did think the police would find a body.”

  “Well, they didn’t,” he replied, lifting the top off the pie.

  “Good Lord!” Jane said.

  “So, either he drove the car into the lake and swam back to the shore, or someone else pushed the car into the lake to dispose of it, and the body is somewhere else. I love chicken pie,” he said, piling the contents of the chicken pie onto some mashed potato and mixing the two together, before spooning the sloppy mixture into his mouth.

  “How’s Charity?” Jane asked Jack, handing him a cup of tea.

  “Don’t ask,” he said, taking a slurp of the tea. “This whole thing with Johnny going to the Falklands is doing her head in.”

  “I’m going to go round and see her,” Jane said. “You all right here, Jack?”

  He nodded, ladling another spoonful of pie and mash into his mouth.

  IV

  Jane arrived to find Charity slumped along the window seat of her living room, the carpet strewn with paperbacks she’d obviously tried reading to distract her, only to throw them unread on the floor. Music (described on the CD cover as Music for the Broken-hearted) played in the background. Charity turned to face Jane.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked despairingly. Jane knew full well this was not the first time Charity had asked that question.

  “Shall I put the kettle on?” Jane asked.

  “Only if you fill it with whiskey.”

  Jane looked in the drinks cabinet. The only bottle of whiskey in it was empty. Despite it still being early afternoon, Jane poured them both a brandy instead. Charity rested hers on the window sill, while Jane held hers, taking a seat beside Charity. She took a sip from it and said, “You know full well there’s nothing wrong with you, Charity. You’re a beautiful young woman. The problem, my dear, lies with Johnny. I don’t want to sound like an agony-aunt, or the host of one of those TV confessionals, but I do believe this goes back to his dad abandoning him and his mum when he was a child. We both know that despite the show of bravado, he hasn’t got much self-confidence. He learnt long ago to be wary of giving affection.”

  Jane felt desperately sorry for Charity. Charity had pinned all her hopes on the relationship working out for her this time. Charity loved Johnny and had imagined he loved her back. She’d made plans for her future which involved him. Charity’s responsibilities towards Jack merely compounded her problems. Jane wondered if Johnny, wherever he was, was in as much agony as Charity. She hoped he was, not out of maliciousness, but because it might mean he was finally growing up. Although she’d vowed to keep out of it, Jane couldn’t allow Charity to keep putting herself through this.

  “I haven’t told you this before, but many years ago when Adele was a bit older and I went back to work part-time, I worked with a young woman called Pixie. She’d had a very troubled upbringing. First her dad had left her, then her mother. She’d been raised by a female relative, who she called Aunty. Aunty did everything she could for her, but she could never fill the emptiness and sense of rejection Pixie felt. I know this, because she told me. When Aunty died, Pixie was left with no one. She was only sixteen. She met a young man, and seemed quite happy with him and took a job, which is where I met her. She was quite good at it and we all thought she’d stay there and make something of it, settle down with her boyfriend and have kids. But she didn’t. Instead she left him and her job at the same time. No one knew she was going to do it, not even the girls she was sharing a flat with. She just upped and left, out of the blue. Someone who knew her told me that whenever she grew attached to someone, or something, she’d reject them before they got the chance to reject her. She was clearly far more traumatised by her childhood than even she realised. I think the same is true of Johnny. I don’t think he realises how affected he has been by what happened to him. Unless he does, through counselling or whatever other means, and is able as a result to become more mindful of his responsibilities, there’s little anyone else can do. I really think this will just keep happening wherever he is, and whoever he’s with. I think you’re going to have to learn to live without him, Charity, as I’m having to learn to live without Hugh, and Mrs Kim may well have to learn to live without Mr Kim.”

  “I’ll never meet anyone else,” Charity said.

  “Yes, you will,” Jane said. “Of course you will. You’re still young and Jack is growing up fast. You met Johnny, didn’t you? You will meet someone else. The course of true love didn’t run smoothly for me either, you know?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  STANMAN

  I

  The young Jane Preston had had an inkling that Hugh Hetherington was going to propose marriage to her. Not only had they been dating for some eight months, but the day before, he’d unexpectedly asked her father to join him for a drink after work, but refused to tell her why. Only later was she provided with a blow by blow account of the evening, which began with two pints of stout at the Fat Dog, sipped before a roaring fi re, with Doug Preston’s pipe smoking in the ashtray and Hugh demolishing a bag of pork scratchings in record time, while trying to summon up the courage to speak. Doug Preston rarely smoked his pipe, preferring to keep it for effect. He was a loss adjustor, who had worked for the fi rm where he was now a partner, since he was seventeen. He was a quiet and thoughtful man, and uncannily sage when he wanted to be. Hugh was absolutely terrifi
ed of him. Pork scratchings fi nished, Hugh took a mouthful of ale, held it in his mouth for a few seconds, savouring its bitter, strong taste, before swallowing. Doug did likewise. Under the table Hugh could feel the pub’s elderly mongrel, Solomon, chewing on his shoelaces.

  “I’ll come straight to the point, Doug,” Hugh began, nervously fingering his pint. “I’d like to ask you for Jane’s hand in marriage.”

  On the other side of the table, Doug Preston looked rather uncomfortable. He took a sip of beer and then another, and then yet another, all without a word said. To Hugh’s horror, it looked as though Doug wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea. Hugh had thought that Jane’s father might gently tease him, or make him wait for an answer, but he had thought that his wish to marry Jane would be well received. Until that moment, Hugh had thought he wasn’t that bad a catch.

  “I think you’d better speak to my daughter,” Doug said, after some reflection.

  “I was going to,” Hugh blustered. “I’m going to ask her to marry me tomorrow. I mean I’m going to ask her tomorrow. I don’t want to marry her tomorrow. I understand women need time to prepare for these things. She is going to say yes, isn’t she? I don’t want to ask her if she’s going to say no,” Hugh stammered. He could feel himself blushing.

  “I think it’s best if I say no more,” Doug said, bending down to stroke Solomon, who wagged his tail.

  II

  Hugh took Jane to a small French restaurant to propose. The menu was simple: soup or prawns in garlic butter, followed by steak and chips with or without a brandy cream sauce, and tarte tartan for dessert. Hugh, who by now had lost all faith Jane would accept his proposal, was so nervous that he barely touched his own meal. This was not true of Jane, who, unconcerned by her boyfriend’s obvious unease, managed to devour both her soup and his prawns, her main course, as well as polishing off what Hugh had been unable to eat. After she’d swallowed the last mouthful of her tarte, she said, “Mum told me not to eat too much like I normally do, because men don’t like greedy women and you might go off me. You can see how much notice I pay to my parents.” Having finished her own dessert she stared greedily at the untouched dessert in front of Hugh. “Are you going to eat that?” she asked him.

  “No. I mean yes. I mean no you have it,” he said, loosening his collar, which seemed rather tight.

  She took his plate, put it in front of herself and began to eat, while Hugh put his hand into his jacket pocket and reached for the small box containing the engagement ring. He wondered if Doug had said anything to his daughter.

  “Jane?” he asked her, the box in his hand.

  “Yes?” she replied, putting her spoon down and looking straight at him.

  He opened the box and held it out to her. “Will you marry me?” he asked her.

  Just as her father had done the evening before, she hesitated before she replied.

  “Ah,” she said. “I was afraid this would happen.”

  With Hugh wondering what was wrong with him, Jane said, “I’d love to marry you, but I think it fair to tell you that I’m actually already married.”

  Of all the responses Hugh thought he might get to his proposal, this one he hadn’t anticipated.

  “You’re married?” he said, startled.

  “I did mention I’d had a boyfriend before you, who left me to join the Army,” Jane said, quite unabashed.

  “Yes, but you didn’t mention marrying him.”

  “But it’s a difficult thing to get around to telling someone you’re dating,” Jane said, innocently enough.

  Hugh stared at her in disbelief. Who was this man she was married to? Who was he? Where was he? Were they separated? Was she trying to decide between the two of them? If so, how was he doing compared to the other guy? Who else knew? Doug clearly did, but then he would. Other than her family, did anybody else know? Did everyone else know this? Was he the only one who didn’t? And why wasn’t she wearing a ring?

  “His name is Stanley. Stanley Marshman,” she said. “Although I’ve never taken his surname.”

  III

  Jane met Stanley Marshman when she was on the cusp of seventeen. Stanley, or Stanman as he liked to be known, was at eighteen, the older man. Jane was still at school, whereas Stanman had left the previous year and was working as a pump attendant at a local filling station. It was at this filling station that Stan’s sister, Merle, introduced Jane and Stanman. Merle had been the first girl at school to get a new car – a mini, and Jane was always very proud when her friend allowed her to ride in it. The two girls had been on their way to the cinema after school, when Merle decided to stop at the garage where her brother worked, to fill the car up.

  “You can meet my brother, Stan,” Merle said on the way to the garage. “I’d like you to meet him. I think you’d like him.”

  Jane got out of the car with Merle when they reached the garage. She stood next to her friend, while Stan filled the car up. Merle was right. Jane did like Stan. She liked him very much indeed. Stan was tall, slim and his dark hair was greased back into a fashionable DA. He was wearing an oily blue overall and to the seventeen-year-old Jane, he was absolutely gorgeous.

  “Your brother is absolutely gorgeous,” she said to Merle, once they’d reached the cinema and were standing in the queue for popcorn.

  “Is he?” Merle replied, while they took their seats. “Can’t see it myself, but then he is my brother. I think he quite likes you though. He seemed quite attentive.”

  Jane and Stanman’s first date was also to the cinema, where they watched The Servant.

  “But how did he exert such control over him?” Jane asked, on the bus journey home.

  “Don’t you see, Jane?” Stan explained, taking her hand in his. “It’s all to do with psychological dominance of the mentally stronger man over the weaker, compounded by physical control he exerted over him through the use of drugs.”

  “Oh,” she replied.

  The young couple were inseparable for the next year. Jane lost her virginity to Stan one summer afternoon in the back bedroom of her parents’ home, when they were out. Although she was still at school, she spoke to him every evening on the phone and spent every weekend with him. When apart, she pined for him, ate little, and felt sick with the anticipation of seeing him again, and quite giddy with expectation that one day soon they would marry and make a life together.

  One afternoon, in late June the couple went to the beach. Stanman had been subdued on the journey there and while Jane unpacked the picnic, he hardly spoke.

  “You all right, Stanman?” she asked, coming over to sit on his knee.

  “I’ve had my call-up papers,” he told her nervously. “I’m leaving in six weeks.”

  “What call-up papers? I don’t understand? You applied to join up without mentioning it to me?” she managed to ask before bursting into tears. “I thought we were going to get engaged on my eighteenth birthday,” she wailed.

  Stan looked at her with growing panic. He hated crying females. They made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

  “We can do better than that,” he said hastily. “We can get hitched before I go.”

  IV

  “He must have thought it would stop me crying,” she explained to Hugh in the car. “I was old enough to get married with my parents’ consent, but I knew they’d never give it, so believe it or not, we eloped to Gretna Green. We travelled up by the night train, and were married there and then in a registry office. It was a strange place. We had to walk through this alleyway to get to it. When we got there, there was just this one small dark room. It must have been done for effect, to add to the whole illicit, hurried, slightly naughty Gretna Green eloping thing. There was only the person who officiated at the ceremony, and a couple of witnesses there. I didn’t know who the witnesses were, but Stan seemed to get on okay with them. He invited all three of them to come with us to the pub next door, where we celebrated by eating fish and chips, washed down by stout. That’s where our wedding night
was spent,” she said. This was not something Hugh wanted to hear and he wrinkled his nose. She continued. “In the morning he had to go and join his platoon, or whatever they’re called. We promised to write every day and we did, for a while, but then he stopped writing and I was heartbroken, for a bit at least. I really thought he was the one, but that was before I met you,” she reminded Hugh.

  “Do you still love him?”

  She shook her head vigorously.

  “I don’t think I ever did,” she admitted. “Not like I do you. Problem is, as we haven’t got around to divorcing, I think we must still be married. I sort of hoped he would do the gentlemanly thing and serve me with divorce papers, taking the blame for the marriage breakdown. But it looks as though he’s not going to, and I’m not quite sure how to go about divorcing him, to be honest. I’m sure it’s going to cost a bomb. I don’t even know where he is. I know where his sister, Merle lives. I was going to speak to her about it, it’s been niggling at me since I met you, but I haven’t because I’ve decided I’m never speaking to Merle again. She hasn’t invited me to her wedding! It’s in a few weeks! Out of all her friends, I’m the only one not to get an invitation!” she said, a little piqued.

  “That might be something to do with there being some awkwardness between you and her brother.”

  “The wedding would have been a perfect opportunity for Stan and me to have cleared the air,” Jane said indignantly, adding, “Maybe I should drop hostilities and pay her a visit?”

  “Maybe you should,” Hugh said, still smarting from the turn of events. “There’s still time for her to invite you.”

  “There is. Is JB around this weekend?” she asked, nestling up to him.

  JB was Hugh’s flatmate. The two shared a two-bedroom flat on the ground floor of a house on the King’s Road. “He’s away,” Hugh said.

  In the flat, the couple discovered a note on the table left by JB. It read:

  ‘There’s a bottle of champagne in the fridge if she says yes, and a bottle of vodka in the kitchen cupboard if she turned you down flat.