Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set

by Paul J. Teague

  Gary had already taken his first swing at her after David’s death by putting her and Hannah in different rooms. She was now roommates with Debbie Simmonds, whom she detested. Debbie was a needy, overweight girl it was difficult to warm to. She was close to Gary, one of his favourites, and this made Meg’s situation even more unbearable. She missed her night-time chats with Hannah – she would have confided in her best friend, but there was no way that she could open up to Debbie.

  Gary had sought to punish Hannah and Meg for the boys’ deaths. They were close, they must have known that the boys were unhappy. They might also have heard them talk about ending their lives. Either way, their deaths had brought considerable heat for him. There were questions and investigations. The home was assessed and inspected, but Gary lived to fight another day.

  There was speculation that the problem had been swept under the carpet. Gary was visited frequently by Russell Black, the head of social services, and Tony Dodds, the chief constable. They’d greet Gary warmly, but with concerned looks, and he’d usher them into his office. The door would be closed and there would be intense conversations and sometimes raised voices.

  The older kids would make themselves scarce when these men were in the building. They’d retreat to their rooms like frightened animals. They knew these man, but not in their official roles. These were their monsters in the night.

  It was on the evening that the home got the all clear that Meg fainted. Gary had been completely exonerated. Woodlands Edge was deemed to be a safe, secure and happy place under his leadership. The boys who had killed themselves were troubled youngsters from broken homes, navigating their way through difficult teenage years. Both had been taking medication for depression. Russell Black and Tony Dodds appeared in interviews, explaining the root-and-branch extent of their investigations. They declared that they were completely happy with the leadership of the home.

  It would have been crass for the support workers to watch the TV reports in an environment that was shared with the children, but with jobs and careers in the firing line, they couldn’t wait until they got home at night to catch up with the latest news. The home was in the clear. Gary had passed scrutiny, and things would go on as they always had.

  Meg was already feeling weak when she entered the dining area; she’d heard the news and it made her feel nauseous. As she sat down on the bench with her tray in her hands, she became light-headed and fell to the ground. Her tray crashed to the floor, making the room fall into silence as everybody sought out the source of the noise.

  Gary, who had been working his way around the dining room, moved directly towards her, angry that he was being faced with a new situation so soon after being cleared of any wrongdoing after the death of the boys. He carried Meg to the sickroom himself and, along with another member of staff, ensured that she was made comfortable on the Z-bed that was in there. He noticed as he carried her that she had a womanly shape now.

  He was startled to hear the doctor’s diagnosis that she was pregnant. The first thing that he could think of was the attention that this would bring to the home. There would be more questions and closer scrutiny of the care regime which he operated there. As the doctor left the building, confirming that Meg would require ongoing medical attention and an urgent hospital visit for a full check-up and scan, Gary looked as concerned as a parent would be. With the doctor gone, he made straight for the sickroom where Meg had been left alone to rest.

  It was dark in there, but he turned on the lights without warning, rousing her from her sleep and leaving her blinking at him, trying to orientate herself in the unfamiliar room. He sat on the bed, right next to her, and leant on her stomach as he moved his face right up to hers. She flinched instinctively, aware now that there really was a baby inside her.

  ‘If you think you’re in for special treatment now, you’re very much mistaken, you silly little slut. How dare you do this to me! You will go to the hospital, you will speak to the doctors and you will say nothing. If you do, your friend Hannah will pay for it, you understand? And if you think you’re keeping the baby, think again. It’s getting adopted. Do you understand me?’

  There was the sound of a mop handle falling to the floor in the storage cupboard next door to the sickroom. Gary pushed into Meg’s stomach harder as he got up from the bed. He went to investigate the nearby sound. He’d thought he was alone while threatening the girl.

  It was the caretaker Thomas Yates messing around in the storage area. Although he tried to disguise the fact by screwing a mop head onto a new handle, Gary sensed from his expression that Tom had overheard his conversation with Meg in the opposite room, or, at the very least, he must have been aware that their conversation was a tense one.

  ‘Oh, hello, Mr Maxwell, I didn’t hear you there. Is everything alright? Can I help with anything?’

  Gary knew that the girls got on well with Yates – he’d seen them chatting and laughing around the home, and he knew that the caretaker would have some sympathy with the girl.

  ‘How’s the adoption process going?’ he asked directly. ‘Any progress yet? You know I was discussing your case only last week with Russell Black. I shouldn’t tell you this, but it looks like things are getting close. Your wife must be excited.’

  Thomas Yates received the message loud and clear.

  ‘Yes, Mr Maxwell, we’re very hopeful. It could be any day now. We’re grateful to Mr Black, he seems to be moving things along nicely.’

  ‘Let’s hope things continue to progress well for you. I put in a good word for you to Russell – he’s a good friend of mine. I’ll do my best to get things sped along for you. We wouldn’t want any complications slowing things down, would we?’

  Thomas Yates knew exactly what he meant. He lowered his eyes and continued screwing the head on the mop handle.

  ‘By the way, Mr Maxwell, I can’t hear what’s going on down here. These walls are so thick. It’s difficult to know what’s going in the room right next to you sometimes.’

  Gary smiled.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ he replied. ‘It’s so easy to mishear things in this place. Good to see you, Thomas. I hope things continue to go well with the adoption.’

  He exited the storeroom and returned to Meg, where he said nothing. He looked at her and put his finger to his lips. She looked at him, terrified now, knowing that her life was about to become very difficult.

  She detested this man and she would be happy to see him dead.

  The problem with Steven Terry was that he was a bit of a cock tease. He’d take you almost all of the way then roll over and go to sleep. Alex and I had been whipped up into a frenzy by our visit to the boarded-up home, but what had he really told us? Sure, we’d got a hint of what might have gone on. I was shit scared about his warning, but there weren’t any names or specific information. Just a vague sense of what might, or might not, have happened.

  He said as much himself.

  ‘I don’t see details, Pete – it’s more a sense that I get, echoes of ghosts and glimpses of the past. I don’t know these people, I just feel their sadness or yearning, and sometimes it can be difficult to interpret. I know, though, that this was not a happy place.’

  We’d got the message. There was nothing else that he was able to tell us. As well as continuing my hunt for Meg, we needed to take a closer look at this home and the people who’d been in it.

  Steven Terry seemed chatty. He was probably lonely on his gruelling tour. I was anxious not to miss the library. They closed at five o’clock on a Friday, and I wanted to get my hands on the microfiche machines. I hurried Steven along once we’d squeezed out every bit of juice from him. Alex gave me a glare, letting me know how abrupt I was being, but I wanted to be on a train to Milton Keynes the next day.

  We wished Steven well with the rest of his tour, thanked him very much for his help, and dropped him off back at his hotel. His last words were exactly what you’d expect: ominous and downright scary.

  ‘This ends for
you soon, Pete. But the choices you make and the people you decide to trust will determine the outcome. It all moves around you. I wish you luck, my friend.’

  And off he went. I’d have settled for a ‘Cheerio!’

  ‘That man really knows how to spin a yarn,’ Alex said when he was out of earshot.

  ‘I’m not sure where it leaves us, but we’ve got to keep digging, I know that. I want to catch the library before it closes. We need to check out this story on the microfiche, and the fire too. I want to find out more about the fire before we drop in on Mavis. Are you up for it?’

  Of course Alex was. We were journalists through and through. We’d caught the faint whiff of a story and we were like hunting dogs following a scent.

  By the time we got to the central library, we were pushed for time. We were lucky that the local history buffs had buggered off for the weekend and left a couple of machines free. The librarian reminded us that they closed at five sharp on a Friday. Why? I wondered. What were they all going to do – rush home and read more books?

  Alex took one machine, and I headed for the other.

  ‘You take 1992, I’ll take 1993, and if we get enough time, let’s look at 1994 and 1991 too, just to be sure we mop everything up. I’m looking for the fire and the home. Anything. And those two guys too, Russell Black and Tony Dodds, they should be all over the papers, not only in connection with what we’re looking for.’

  Bloody microfiche. We both wasted precious minutes as we buggered around threading the roll of film and figuring out which way to turn it. It was like using a prehistoric version of the internet. I wished that some entrepreneur would come up with another way to do it and fast track it through Dragon’s Den as soon as possible. What a nonsense.

  Between us we scoured the local papers. It was a tornado of local galas, controversial planning applications and celebrity visits. Every now and then Tony Dodds or Russell Black would make an appearance, shaking hands with some councillor or politician. We found most of the stories that we’d already seen in the newspapers from the cellar; there was nothing new there.

  Alex moved back to 1991 and I took a look at 1994. I was aware of a librarian beginning to make his ‘we’re ready to close soon, fuck off please’ moves. He was throwing away discarded coffee cups and water bottles and collecting newspapers which hadn’t been put away. I had a bit of luck, finding a larger picture of Thomas Yates and Bob Taylor, but no more information. I took a picture of the photos with my smart phone – I couldn’t face trying to work out how to print them off. It probably involved diesel fuel, an elastic band and a cranking handle.

  The librarian was moving in closer now. Bollocks. We’d have to finish soon and we were leaving empty-handed.

  ‘Have you finished with this paper, sir? Do you mind if I take it? You know that we’re closing in a couple of minutes?’

  ‘Yes, yes, take the paper. We’re not using it, it’s fine. We’ll get cleared up here. Sorry, we were hoping to find something.’

  Normally a librarian wouldn’t be able to help himself with such an unanswered research question, but he resisted. It must have been reading group that night. He wouldn’t want to be late for that.

  ‘Woah, hang on a minute!’ Alex interrupted. ‘Can I hold onto that paper? Are you throwing it away?’

  ‘Here, fine, take it,’ the librarian answered, doing that thing where he was trying to place where he’d seen Alex before. ‘They go in the recycling bin at the end of the day – take it if it’s useful.’

  Alex took it from him and asked me to open up the pictures I’d just taken on my phone.

  ‘Not Thomas Yates, the other guy. Bob whatshisname.’

  I opened up the grainy photograph and handed my phone to Alex.

  ‘How fucking excellent am I?’ she smiled. ‘Look who this is!’

  I studied the photo of the retiring lollipop man on the front of that day’s local paper.

  ‘Well, bugger me, it’s only Bob Taylor! He became a lollipop man after he left social services. Look at that – twenty-five years’ service in the pot. Very impressive. And he still has a month before he officially finishes.’

  ‘What’s his school run?’ Alex asked. ‘We can drop in on him on Monday, ask him a few questions about the inquiry.’

  The reporter had kindly added the name of the school in the article. I knew it well. I’d been there on a news story myself. If only I’d known the importance of Bob Taylor then. I’d probably driven straight past him.

  Our time was up. The librarian was no longer dropping polite hints. The lights were being turned off, one by one. Our weekend was sorted. We were heading off to meet Meg’s mum down in Milton Keynes, and then Bob Taylor was getting an early morning visit on Monday. There was no way Meg would be able to evade me after that.

  A train journey to Milton Keynes isn’t most people’s idea of a great day out, but Alex and I were becoming consumed by Meg’s previous history. In fact, discovering the truth about her past had become almost more important to me than locating her.

  I was in two minds about it all. Part of me could understand why she might want to keep everything to herself. If it was a part of her life that she hated, why not reinvent herself and move on? However, if we were as in love as I’d felt we were when the relationship was good ... well, why not share that information? A trouble shared is a trouble halved and all that.

  We were on our way to visit Mavis Yates at the Nightingale House care home. We had decided against warning anybody that we were coming. We’d agonised over this, but decided that the element of surprise might be best. Mavis was an adult, so she’d be more accessible than a child would be.

  We were travelling first class, courtesy of Alex. I didn’t like her paying for the tickets. I was supposed to be her host, after all, but she did a good job of selling it to me.

  ‘You’re paying for the food, accommodation and petrol, Pete. It seems only fair that I chip in.’

  Put like that, it felt okay to take her money. I was secretly delighted. I hadn’t told her yet about the visits I’d been getting from the car finance company. I’d started to juggle my payments, getting behind on a few key bills and then paying them off before I received too many warning letters. I didn’t have enough cash to go around, it was as simple as that. Most people would just flog their house, reshuffle the finances and move on, but I was shafted on two fronts: I needed Meg for the paperwork, and the house was worth a fraction of the price it would normally have sold for. I’d even begun to receive letters from the neighbours cursing me for screwing up their retirement plans or being single-handedly responsible for lowering the house prices in the neighbourhood.

  There had been an embarrassing ring of the doorbell before we caught the train. The finance guy, wise to the ways of people like me who were avoiding paying their bills, had caught me early. I was enjoying my first brew of the day and chatting to Alex about something trivial that I’d spotted on Facebook. Alex answered the intercom. She was too fast for me to beat her to it, and by that stage I was committed.

  ‘Some guy from Ready Solutions Finance to see you,’ Alex said. ‘Are you expecting him? Shall I tell him to push off?’

  I felt my face turning red. This is the guy who’d been on the doorstep when Alex and I were having our Skype call prior to her visit. He’d been a few times since, always leaving his business card and urging me to call. I tried to look nonchalant.

  ‘Oh yes, damn. I forgot he was coming today. I’ll nip down and see him at the front door.’

  I was still in my boxers and T-shirt so I pulled on a pair of jeans and put some plimsolls on my feet. Good job I did – the ground-floor dog had been out for its morning crap in the hallway. I missed it by a couple of centimetres. I had to get out of that dump.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Bailey. I’m sorry to trouble you so early, but you’re a difficult chap to catch.’

  He was only a young guy, beginning to make his way in the world, with a cheap suit and too much hair product.
He was nice enough – bright and friendly.

  ‘At six months in, we’ll have to take steps to repossess the vehicle. If you’re able to make some form of payment today, we’ll be able to postpone that process. Are you able to make a payment?’

  The chap with the charming attitude towards his girlfriend came into the hallway and smirked at me. He didn’t say anything, but walked past me, grinning and finding it highly amusing that I was having to discuss my financial troubles on the doorstep.

  I got my own back, though. He was so busy looking at me that he walked straight through the pile of dog crap on the floor. Revenge can be sweet, and in this case it wasn’t too long coming.

  If I wrote a cheque to this guy, it would probably bounce. I did the maths in my head. I had another mortgage payment due by the end of the next week, and my salary was due in the week after that. I daren’t miss the mortgage payment. I wondered if declaring bankruptcy at some point might solve my problems. At least I’d be able to walk away from things.

  Alex joined us. She’d been alerted by the cussing of my smirking pal in the hallway. He was banging on the door of Flat 1, shouting at the guy inside.

  ‘Why can’t you let your dog crap on the pavement like everybody else?’

  I think he’d rather missed the point, but still, if he made a breakthrough it would at least make walking through the hallway more pleasant.

  ‘How much will it take to clear the arrears?’ Alex asked.

  ‘No Alex, it’s alright, I’ve got this—’

  ‘Pete, I’m settling it. Pay me back later. You can’t go on like this. You need to pay your bills.’

  I felt small and humiliated. It was nothing to do with Alex. Part of me was grateful for her help. I certainly needed it. I’d been on a reasonable salary all of my working life, and I’d never been late with bills. I hated not being able to keep up with my expenses. It was grinding me down.