Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set

by Paul J. Teague

  I was looking forward to Alex’s arrival. She’d be a welcome distraction from the flat, an excuse to get out and have some fun. Although we hadn’t lived together for years, we’d managed to hang onto our easy relationship, even while I’d been married to Meg. I was pleased about that – Alex had always been good for me.

  I hadn’t enjoyed any female company since the deaths – the most recent deaths, I should say. I never thought I’d end up having to differentiate between the murders that I’d been involved with. Two sets of murders. Who has that happen to them?

  Steven Terry had warned me at our last meeting: ‘The women you choose to stay in your life are what determines your path, Peter.’ Well, he’d been right about that. It was sleeping with first Ellie and then Becky that had caused all of my troubles. Steven had warned me about it and I hadn’t listened. I was ready to listen now. I was feeling shut down as far as women were concerned. I was ready to experience the life of a monk, for a short time at least – maybe until Steven Terry had given me the all clear.

  I’d had the legal documents for the house sale in the post that day. The envelope had been opened before I got to it. The idiot on the third floor couldn’t get out of bed to get himself to a job in the morning, but he always seemed to be awake enough to rifle through everybody’s post in the hallway as soon as it arrived.

  ‘Sorry pal,’ he’d say, chirpy as anything. ‘I misread the address, thought it was my mail.’

  All I could think was: don’t call me pal. I’m not your pal.

  If he hadn’t looked so tough, I might have given him a piece of my mind. Instead, I reassured him that misreading addresses on envelopes can happen to anybody, and I slunk away like a dog that understood his place in the pack. If you could gain superiority through verbal sparring, I’d have been king of the world, but the fact was that I had to take shit from guys who were stronger and more violent than I could ever be.

  The house was ready to go. I’d lose ten thousand pounds on it in all. That was the difference between what I owed on it and what it was being bought for. It had been vandalised several times since the last murders. I’d had to get the doors and the windows boarded up. I was pleased to be rid of it.

  I’d long since given up hope of Meg picking up her share of the debt, although I’d need her signature to let the sale go through. I’d even considered forging it at one point. Would anybody even notice or care? I doubted it.

  I had the personal loan in place, and the money was all ready to move. The last time I had taken out a ten thousand pound loan was for a car. At least I’d been paying for something tangible, something that I could use. This was just debt, and I’d be paying it down for the next five years. What a depressing prospect.

  I felt as if I was on the starting line of the next stage of my life. I needed Meg to blow the whistle. I wanted to begin the race, to start afresh. However it turned out with Meg, I was ready for change. I could feel it coming, it had to be close. Steven Terry would help me – he’d always been right before. Surely things had to start getting better soon?

  I finished off my radio report and then locked up the office. It was some story about a guy who’d placed over thirty plastic windmills in his front garden and the neighbours were complaining. Real cutting-edge journalism, that’s what my life had come to.

  I was hungry after being out in the wind and rain all day, so pulled over at a chippy and bought a large tray of chips and gravy. Not great for my waistline, or my heart come to that, but I wanted to speak to the Methodist ladies on a full stomach.

  They’d been very useful last time we spoke. They’d helped me to locate Meg’s old family home, and given us some valuable information about the fire there, the one that had killed her parents. I’d thought of a hundred more questions that I wanted to ask them since.

  ‘Hello ladies!’ I smiled, walking up the aisle towards Deirdre and Janet. I couldn’t remember which was which, they seemed interchangeable to me.

  They recognised me immediately and stopped working on a flower display to greet me. They were removing flowers that were looking worse for wear. The church looked lovely because of their work. I wondered what else they did other than coordinate the church’s floral operations.

  Scott Road Methodist Church appeared to be the best source of information about the Yates family. Hannah and Meg’s mum and dad – their adoptive parents, Thomas and Mavis Yates – had attended the church, and Mavis had been particularly well known there.

  After exchanging far too many pleasantries, and dealing with the ladies’ disappointment over that ‘lovely young lady’ not being with me, we finally got down to the interesting stuff.

  ‘After we’d spoken last time I realised that I never asked you, not properly. I just assumed that I knew the answer. What happened to Mavis Yates? Did she die in the fire? I assume she died with Thomas?’

  ‘It’s funny you should ask that,’ Janet replied. Or was it Deirdre?

  ‘She was alive when they finally broke into the house. Very badly burned though – we never saw her again. They took her to some burns unit down south. It was miles away. We lost contact when the girls went.’

  ‘Do you know if she survived?’ I asked. ‘Did anybody ever hear?’

  The two ladies looked ashamed for a moment. I’d hit a nerve.

  ‘You have to remember, things were more difficult then. We didn’t have the internet; we used to have to make phone calls from a phone box at the end of the road. We couldn’t afford a phone in the house. We had to use launderettes too, in those days. It’s easier now. We tried to stay in touch, but with no family living locally, what could we do? We never found out about Mavis. Poor woman, it was such a terrible affair.’

  ‘What about the funeral?’ I asked. ‘Did any of you attend Thomas’s funeral?’

  ‘Yes, of course we did. It was a very sad affair,’ said Deirdre, ‘the girls were there, and lots of people from the home and along our street – and some very important people too. The head of the police was there.’

  ‘You mean the chief constable? What was he doing at Thomas Yates’ funeral? Was Thomas in the police?’

  ‘No, no dear,’ said Janet. ‘Thomas worked at the home where the girls were looked after before they adopted them. He was a caretaker. That’s how they got the girls. Friends in high places, I think. It was the old place on Burridge Road. What did they call it, Deirdre?’

  Deirdre gave it some serious consideration, and then came up with her answer.

  ‘Woodlands Edge, wasn’t it? Woodlands Edge Children’s Home on Burridge Road. It closed down years ago. Some scandal or something ...’

  ‘It’s derelict now,’ Janet continued. ‘I never go out there these days, but it was in a sad state last time I saw it. It used to be a beautiful old building.’

  ‘So that’s where Meg was based as a child? Before Thomas and Mavis adopted her and Hannah?’

  ‘That’s right, dear,’ Deirdre confirmed.

  These ladies were a goldmine of useful information. I made a note of the road name in the notes app on my mobile phone. I also took care to make sure that I had the name of the children’s home written down correctly. As I was tapping away on my phone, another woman walked up to Janet and Deirdre. Her name appeared to be Phyllis. They exchanged a few bits of information about the flower-arranging rota and a bingo event taking place in the community centre later that week.

  ‘And who’s this young man?’ Phyllis asked, turning towards me.

  ‘Pete Bailey,’ I answered, shaking her hand. ‘I’m chatting to Janet and Deirdre about the Yates family. I don’t suppose you knew them, did you?’

  Her eyes widened immediately.

  ‘You could say that!’ she laughed. ‘How funny you should ask about the Yates family after all these years. What a coincidence! I haven’t thought about them for ages, and then all of a sudden ...’

  ‘Do you know what happened to Mavis?’ Janet asked. ‘We lost contact after the ... after the fire.’

>   ‘Yes,’ replied Phyllis. ‘I occasionally get a Christmas card from her, although I haven’t had one for some time. Don’t you?’

  Janet and Deirdre looked as if they’d been caught stealing a biscuit.

  ‘We didn’t think she’d survived the fire,’ Janet said. ‘So she’s still alive?’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ said Phyllis, ‘but she’s been very poorly ever since. She’s in care now, somewhere near Aylesbury. She had terrible problems with her skin after the accident – they never got it right. But yes, she’s still alive. I haven’t seen her since the fire, but I started getting Christmas cards from her about two years afterwards. I used to see the girls in the street. Lovely young ladies they were. That’s why it’s funny you should be here.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ I asked, keen to hear what she had to tell me. It was excellent news to hear that Meg still had family alive. It was also surprising. I’d thought all of her family were dead. That’s what she’d led me to believe. But there was better to come as Phyllis finally got to the point.

  ‘It’s funny how these things happen. Here we are talking about Mavis Yates after all these years – and those girls. Yes, I used to know them well, that’s why Mavis sent me the cards. Now here you are asking about the Yates family, and who should I see only last Tuesday, walking through the town centre?’

  She waited a while, knowing that she had dramatic news to share with the small group of people, all hanging onto her every word.

  ‘It was only Meg Yates! You can’t mistake her, even after all these years. I was sitting in the window of the tearoom near Wilko’s, and who should walk right by? I recognised her immediately. It was Meg Yates. She had a baby with her. And the pram was being pushed by some young man. Very handsome he was too. Very handsome.’

  Alex and I were sitting at the end of a row of seats on the balcony overlooking the large stage in the Winter Gardens. I was impressed with Steven Terry. He’d started life as a pub-and-club clairvoyant and had moved up to three nights in this place. Not bad. Most of it was the result of his best-selling book. That’s how we’d first met – I’d been sorting out the studio for him at the radio station. It was a national tour too. The TV programme had helped to sell the seats, but I had to admire a man who’d spun so much gold out of a handful of straw.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and get ready to watch clairvoyant to the stars, Steven Terry! The show will be starting in ten minutes.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to this,’ I said as I turned to Alex. ‘I thought it was a load of nonsense when I met him for the first time, but I’m becoming intrigued. I know he’s all showbiz and sparkle, but I do think he’s onto something.’

  Alex had grown her hair longer. It had also faded a little in the Spanish sun. And she was wearing glasses now – I think she’d decided to ditch the contacts. She looked good. Different. And more importantly, it was sufficient disguise for nobody to notice her. We were as anonymous as any other couple in the audience.

  Alex’s phone buzzed and she hurriedly took it out of her pocket.

  ‘Shit, I’d better mute that before the show. That’s all I need: Steven Terry asking, “Is there anybody there?” and my Homer Simpson ringtone going Doh!’

  She dwelt a moment on the phone screen, and then handed it over to me.

  ‘That’s my police contact in Buckinghamshire. Mavis Yates is in Nightingale House Care Home on the outskirts of Milton Keynes. Are we going to see her?’

  ‘You bet we are!’ I replied. My hunt for Meg had taken on a new impetus since speaking to the ladies at Scott Road Methodist Church. It was astonishing to learn that Meg had a mother who was still alive. Why hadn’t she told me? Why did she never share any of this?

  Surely she’d have visited her mum? I thought back. It’s easy to hide things when you’re embroiled in corporate life. Both Meg and I were always being summoned to training courses. If it wasn’t Health and Safety, it was Negotiating in the Workplace, Handling Staff Better or Being a Better Team Member. Usually it was London, and sometimes it was a slightly more glamorous location. Like Newcastle. It was my weekend work trip to Newcastle that had started this chain of unhappy events.

  Where had Meg been for training? Sheffield, Portsmouth and Leicester were the main locations that I could think of. But I never checked. When I thought about it, she could have been having an affair for all I knew. It was possible that she might have visited her mother without me knowing.

  ‘How about we travel down on Saturday? It’ll have to be the train again, I’m afraid. Milton Keynes is a bit of a stretch in my current vehicle.’

  ‘It’s no problem. I don’t mind the train. I used to hate it before tablets, but nowadays I usually get so engrossed in a film that I have to be careful not to miss my stop. It’s much better than when we were students. Trains were really crappy back then.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and get ready to watch clairvoyant to the stars, Steven Terry! The show will be starting in five minutes.’

  People were beginning to make their way to their seats. I began to regret booking seats at the end of a row. It was easier to sneak out for a pee if you needed one, but it was a pain getting up and down so that the late arrivals could get seated.

  ‘We can get a taxi from Milton Keynes station, or maybe they’ve got Uber.’ I looked at Alex. ‘I like your hair like that. It suits you.’

  I didn’t usually notice things like that, but she looked great. The Spanish sun had done her the world of good. She seemed relaxed and more at ease than when I’d seen her last. That was understandable – we’d both almost lost our lives. It tends to put you on edge that.

  ‘What about Meg?’ Alex asked. ‘Any progress?’

  ‘No. I popped into the tearooms near the seafront before you arrived, and took a snoop around. There’s a post office nearby and some banks, also a baby shop – plenty of reasons for her to be in that area.’

  ‘You know Mavis is likely to be in a bit of a state, don’t you? She was badly burned in the fire. It’s not going to be an easy meeting. Do you think we should ring ahead to let them know we’re coming?’

  ‘Who knows?’ I replied. ‘We’re damned if we do, damned if we don’t. They might ask us not to travel down if we ask for permission. I daren’t risk that. But they could turn us away if we arrive unannounced. I don’t know. I say we travel down, turn up and tell some white lies. I need to speak to her, that’s for sure.’

  Alex nodded. It was a tricky one. Out of nowhere we’d discovered that a person we’d thought to be dead was still alive. Mavis should be able to fill in some of the gaps about Meg’s life, and if we got lucky she’d lead us to her. I was desperate to know about the child too. Was it mine? And who was this man she was with? Maybe she’d created a new life for herself in Blackpool. I was now closer to getting the answers than I’d ever been. And the next day, first thing, Alex and I were going to that children’s home. I wanted to take a look at it for myself, get a feel for the place my wife had lived as a child.

  A family of five shuffled in front of us as the lights went down. Dramatic music began to blare from the speaker system. Steven Terry entered the stage to thunderous applause.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Winter Gardens in Blackpool. It’s wonderful to see you here tonight!’

  There was a massive cheer when he mentioned Blackpool. I wondered if there was a place where the audience didn’t cheer. Cleethorpes perhaps. He was good, I’d give him that. The minute he walked onto that stage, he commanded the audience. His voice quietened, almost to a whisper. It was as if he were turning the volume down. They listened attentively.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re here for a very special reason tonight. As you know, I have second sight. I have the gift of precognition. I see things others cannot. This can be both a gift and a curse. This is more than mere clairvoyance, ladies and gentlemen, because not only can I receive messages from loved ones who are longer among us, I also see glimpses
of the future. Sometimes they are weak, but many times they are strong.’

  I had to resist my natural urge to cynicism. I’d seen it for myself. My instinct told me it was a load of old bollocks, but my personal experience of speaking to Steven indicated that he did, indeed, possess some unique gift.

  The audience was spellbound. He was speaking quietly in a room packed with a couple of thousand people, yet you could hear nothing else but his voice. No coughs, no snuffles, no rustling papers and no fidgeting. He had us exactly where he wanted.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, some of you will go on an amazing journey tonight. You may leave in tears after speaking once again with a loved one now departed and sharing the thoughts that you wish you’d passed on when they were alive. You may be fortunate enough to glimpse your future ... but let me warn you, it’s possible that you might not like what you hear. And somebody in this audience tonight is going to hear a message which will rock their life to its very core. I can feel it, ladies and gentleman. There is somebody in this audience tonight who is surrounded by demons. This ability of mine is as much a curse as it is a gift, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight I must pass on difficult news to one member of this audience. I don’t know who it is yet, but by the end of this evening the truth must out!’

  The audience applauded, the dramatic music returned and Steven Terry sat on a single stool, floodlit in the middle of the stage. At the time I thought that he was just building dramatic tension. How could he single out an individual in an audience that size? But later I would understand the truth of the matter. That person in the audience was me.

  Chapter Three

  1991 It didn’t take Meg and Hannah long to form a friendship. There was a shorthand that Meg learned fast, the sort of code which helped the new children to survive at the Woodlands Edge children’s home. It involved steering clear of Gary Maxwell. The other support workers in the home were generally okay; it was Gary you had to watch. The culture he’d created was one of fear and control. You seldom heard any shouting in the corridors. Gary was more dangerous when he was speaking quietly to you. It’s when you couldn’t hear his voice that there was usually some trouble going on.