by Penny Kline
A sudden noise made me jump. A side door had opened and two women were coming out, lit by a yellowish light that had been switched on above the entrance. Both had fluffy blond hair and wore light-coloured raincoats with the belts pulled very tight. The shorter of the two whispered something and they both burst out laughing, then slammed their hands over their mouths, almost losing their balance as their heels crunched into the gravel. When I stepped forward one of them let out a high-pitched squeal.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Close to, the taller woman looked older. She was heavily made-up and her mascara had smudged, leaving dark smeary patches under her eyes. The other one couldn’t have been more than seventeen.
‘I’m waiting for Deborah,’ I said.
They looked at each other and shook their heads.
‘You don’t know anyone called Deborah? Perhaps I’ve come to the wrong place.’
‘Depends what you wanted.’ The tall one gave me a hostile stare, then turned her head sharply as the side door came open again.
‘Somebody looking for someone called Deborah,’ she called. ‘You heard of a Deborah?’
A third woman came out of the building, flicking her dark fringe out of her eyes, pausing to take in what she had just been asked, then whipping her arm across her face as if to fend off a blow. It was Faye Tobin.
Chapter Nineteen
An expert in eating disorders was coming at one o’clock to show us a video, then lead a discussion. Lunch had been laid on and three clinical psychologists based at one of the psychiatric hospitals had been invited. Martin had been talking about it all week.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I think I’ve picked up a stomach bug or something.’
Martin laid the palm of his hand on my forehead. ‘Feels all right to me.’
‘What’s my temperature got to to do with it,’ I said irritably, having almost succeeded in convincing myself I really was ill.
‘All right then, you’d better give this afternoon a miss. I’ll make some notes, might even be able to borrow a copy of the video.’ He gave me one last suspicious look, then disappeared into Nick’s room where I could hear the two of them whispering together.
Faye would be expecting me. Would Deborah be in the shop? At the time I was planning to arrive I hoped she would be having her lunch break. As I climbed into the car a genuine pain gripped my intestines — at the thought of what lay ahead? Would it be better to stay away from the shop, pretend my encounter with Faye the previous evening had never happened? I couldn’t do it: there were too many loose ends, too many connections with Nikki Newsom.
First thing in the morning, when I left the annexe I had found Charlie standing outside my front door.
‘I feel sick.’ He had his hand pressed against his throat. ‘I couldn’t eat my breakfast.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry about that.’ The doctor had given him a complete check-up, there was nothing physically wrong, but Eric had decided to keep him off school until the following week. ‘I’m sure you’ll feel better in a day or two. That was a nasty fright you had, you’re bound to —’
‘No.’ He interrupted impatiently. ‘I wanted to tell you something.’
‘Now? I have to go to work.’
‘Oh.’ He turned away, his shoulder dropping.
I glanced at my watch, then put the key back in the door. ‘All right then, only it’ll have to be quick.’ Gayle Hedley was passing the house, with Laurence on his extending lead. She waved a cheery Good Morning and I waved back, wondering if Charlie would feel better if he had a dog, or at least a pet of some kind.
He had gone into the annexe ahead of me and I found him sitting bolt upright in the middle of the sofa, staring straight ahead with his hands on his knees.
‘I don’t feel sick,’ he said. ‘I’m perfectly all right really only —’
‘Only what, Charlie?’
He swallowed twice, then his words came out in a rush. ‘I stole money from your bag. And from Dad’s jacket and the tin in the kitchen drawer. Dad didn’t even notice, but you did.’
‘Was there some special reason you needed the money?’
‘For Mitchell and Karl, but if anyone tells Mrs Chambers I’ll never go to school again, not ever.’
‘They’re boys in your class, are they? Why did you have to give them money? Have they been bullying you?’
He nodded, looking down at his trainers, rubbing at a mark on one of the toes. ‘They took my Mum’s diary. They said if I didn’t give them money they wouldn’t give it back but I gave them the money and they still didn’t give it back.’
I sat beside him. ‘That’s awful, Charlie, you should have told someone, your Dad.’
‘Not Dad.’ He edged away. ‘He doesn’t know about the diary. Anyway when Mitchell was away I knew I’d be able to get it off Karl. I told him I was going to make up things. I said I’d write his name on the toilet wall, then tell Mrs Chambers I’d seen him blocking up the bogs with paper.’
‘Oh, Charlie, it would have been so much better to have told Mrs Chambers in the first place.’
He stood up, feeling in the pocket of his jeans. ‘No, you can’t do that! If you do that people hate you and I wanted to be in the team.’ The small blue diary he had produced had curled-up edges, and had come open at a well-thumbed page. ‘When Mitchell came back I thought he was going to beat me up, but he thought it was funny. He said Karl was a prick.’ He passed me the diary.
‘So that time you had a fight it was nothing to do with football, it was because —’
‘Read it.’ he ordered. ‘Read what it says.’
The diary had been written in pencil and the words had faded a little, or perhaps it was just the result of Charlie turning the pages so often.
‘Did it in the back of the car,’ I read, ‘didn’t bother with a whatsit but who cares? If I’m up the spout he’s mug enough to go ahead with it. A doctor’s son! We are coming up in the world!’
‘What’s a whatsit?’ Charlie took the diary, turned to another page, and passed it back.
‘How long have you had it?’ I asked.
‘Since my Mum died, only I can’t read her writing very well. It was in a box at the back of her drawer. When I was ill she used to take it out and show me things.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Glass animals and a necklace and …’ He struggled to remember. ‘A cross on a chain and the badges she won at school. She could have been in the Olympic Games.’ He pointed to a page in the diary, urging me to read more.
‘Charlie arrived last Friday. He wasn’t what I was expecting. I’d said I wanted a girl. Still he’s quite cute really. I don’t know what you’re supposed to put on the certificate but I expect they’ll tell us down at the office.’
Charlie had his lips pressed together, trying not to cry. ‘If they’d told me I wouldn’t have minded, not really. Why didn’t they tell me?’
‘Tell you what, Charlie?”
‘About being adopted.’
‘Adopted? Of course you’re not adopted, whatever made you think that?’
He jabbed a finger at the entry in the diary. ‘She’d told them at the office she wanted a girl but I s’pose they hadn’t got any.’
‘No, Charlie.’ How could I convince him? ‘That’s not what it means. If only you’d told someone before. I’ve seen a photograph of your mother when she was pregnant, when you were in her tummy. Surely your Dad’s shown you pictures.’
‘I came from the office.’
‘No, she meant the office where you have to register your baby’s birth. It’s got nothing to do with adoption. “Charlie arrived” means you were born. Look, let’s go back to the house and talk to your Dad.’
Eric had been appalled, not so much that Charlie had thought he was adopted, but that he had been too frightened to say so. Using his usual defence he had raised his voice, hidden his real feelings behind anger, exasperation, then lifted Charlie off the ground and told him he could hardly believe he co
uld have been such an idiot. Charlie had understood what he was trying to say. When I left for work they were fixing up a game of football in the park where they could use the goal for a penalty shoot-out. Charlie had never looked so happy. Eric was probably wondering when Maltby would be coming back.
*
Deborah was on the phone. When she heard the shop door squeak, she swivelled round, took a moment to take in who I was, then raised a hand in greeting.
I waited by the soft toys, running my eyes along the rows of bears and rabbits and chimpanzees, then picking up an Old English sheepdog and examining the price tag.
‘Terrible, isn’t it,’ said Deborah, ‘nearly fifty pounds. Still, some people don’t seem to care how much they spend. The more it costs the better they think it must be.’
She gave me a questioning smile and I realised she was wondering if I wanted to buy something or had just dropped in to see Faye.
‘I’m looking for a game for Charlie,’ I said. ‘Probably something with a board and dice. He’s got one where ships move between islands but —’
‘What about this?’ She reached up and lifted down a box. ‘The theme’s horse racing. I believe it’s quite good fun.’
‘Fine, I’ll take it.’ The tension between us was increasing. Did Deborah know why I was there? ‘Is Faye about?’ I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.
‘Off sick, may not be in till next week. I’ve been ringing round for people who might be able to come in tomorrow. Obviously Saturday’s our busiest day.’
‘What’s the matter with her?’
‘Sorry? Oh, just a bad cold.’ She clasped her hands together in a theatrical gesture. ‘You don’t know any babies, do you, only there’s something I must show you — it only arrived the day before yesterday. Look, a mobile that shines in the dark. You hang it above the baby’s cot and she can watch all the tiny stars going round and round.’
‘Lovely,’ I said, wondering if Faye had stayed away from the shop precisely because she was afraid I might turn up? What did she think I was going to do?
‘Faye’s address,’ I said, ‘she told me where she lived, off Redland Road isn’t it, but I’ve left my address book at the office.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t go round there today, you’ll only pick up her germs.’
‘Perhaps I could ring then.’
Deborah hesitated. ‘Well, yes, there’s a phone by the bed only she might be asleep.’ She returned to the counter and wrote the address and phone number on a slip of paper. ‘Anyway, it’s up to you and I suppose she might be glad of the company, someone to make her a honey and lemon drink.’
I paid for Charlie’s game. It was expensive and he might not like it, but he could always swap it for something else.
‘There’s an entryphone,’ said Deborah, ‘Faye would have to get out of bed to answer it, but I daresay she won’t mind. I hadn’t realised the two of you were such good friends.’
No one answered the entryphone. I pressed three times, then started walking back towards the row of call boxes I had seen from the car. Was there any point in ringing? If Faye had failed to respond to the entryphone it was either because she wanted to be left alone or because she had gone out, unable to face a day in the shop, unable to face me. In the driveway of The Priory she had done as good a job as she could manage of pretending she had never set eyes on me before. Deborah, no, I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone called Deborah. Then she and the other two women had left together and a few minutes later I had seen them drive off in a car parked farther down the road.
The first pay phone was out of order and the other two only took cards. I drove back in the direction of the shop, stopping near the cathedral, and trying from one of the boxes near the entrance to the car park. There was no reply. If she was asleep and the entryphone was near her front door she might not have heard it, but the ordinary one ringing a few inches from her ear would be bound to rouse her. My anxiety was increasing by the minute. I should have ignored what Janice had told me and stayed away from the club. So many questions remained unanswered but for now all that mattered was making sure Faye was all right. She had phoned Deborah in the morning, to tell her she was unwell, but that was four or five hours ago.
When I returned to the shop Deborah was serving a customer. I waited as patiently as I could, aware that she had seen me and wanted to know what was going on, but was slightly fed up that I was back so soon. The customer, a man dressed in a fringed jacket and cowboy boots, had a basket, piled high with the kind of novelties children bring home from birthday parties. Jumping frogs, wind-up false teeth, bouncing eyeballs, and purses covered in sequins were dumped in a pile on the counter, then he asked Deborah to hang on while he fetched more balloons.
I took my chance. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Deborah, but I can’t get any answer from Faye’s flat. I’m afraid she may need a doctor.’
‘A doctor? I told you, it’s just a cold.’
‘Yes, I know, but if that was all wouldn’t she have answered the entryphone?’
Deborah gave me a cold, hard stare. ‘Is there something I don’t know about? If there is, I think you’d better stop playing games and say it straight out.’
The man was back with his balloons, and several other customers were coming through the door. Deborah stepped into an alcove behind the counter and took her shoulder bag off a hook. When she turned to face me her manner had relaxed a little.
‘Here, you’d better have these. Faye will kill me. I’ve no idea why you’re so worried but you’ve got me going now so I suppose someone had better check.’
I took the keys, told her I would return them later in the day, and ring sooner if there was any problem, then raced back to my car and drove off, ignoring the abuse of the van driver whose exit I had temporarily blocked.
As I let myself into the house I felt like a criminal. I should have tried the entryphone again. Faye might have answered — explaining how the first time I called she had just slipped out to buy throat sweets or a pint of milk — but by now I was desperate to reach the flat.
The stairs grew narrower and steeper as I reached the second floor, then the third. Faye’s flat seemed to be at the top in what had once been the attic, the servants’ quarters. Through a window on the landing I could see the gardens at the back of the terrace, long thin strips of grass, divided by wooden fences, a child’s swing, a sandpit.
Flat four had its number screwed to the door. I knocked then, when nobody answered, pushed the key into the lock and turned it slowly, cautiously, jumping back and nearly losing my balance as the door suddenly came open and Faye stood there, dressed in an old grey tracksuit and a pair of thick white socks.
Her face was expressionless as she moved aside to let me in. ‘I thought it would be you. Well, come in if you’re coming. I presume it was you who phoned earlier.’
‘Deborah told me you were ill,’ I said. ‘I was worried.’
The flat was very small. Four doors led off from a tiny space with just enough room for an antique chest and an umbrella plant in a shiny blue pot. Faye led me into the living room and sat down heavily with her legs stretched out in front of her.
‘So your curiosity got the better of you,’ she said. ‘You wanted an explanation.’
‘No, I just want to make sure you’re all right. Now I’ve seen you I’ll go if you like.’
‘Don’t be silly. Deborah gave you the keys, did she?’ Her voice had a dreamy quality, as if she was fighting off the effect of too many sleeping tablets. ‘Now, what is it you wanted to know, and who told you about The Priory?’
‘One of my students was a friend of Shaun Cunliffe.’
She frowned. ‘Should I know the name?’
‘He was found stabbed to death near Fishponds Road.’
‘Yes, I see. When was this? Quite recently?’ The look she gave me could have meant a dozen different things. ‘Anyway, to get back to the reason for your visit, you’ve come to hear about the club, except there’s really
nothing to tell. You see, I needed the cash — without it the shop would have had to close.’
‘I thought it was doing well.’
‘Barely breaks even.’
I wanted to say there must be other ways of earning money, that surely even losing the shop was better than performing at a sex club. How much did they pay her? Janice had said she took part in some sado-masochistic performance. It was hard to believe they paid her enough to make much difference to the shop.
She was watching me. There was no embarrassment in her face, no shame. ‘I got used to it,’ she said, ‘it suited me. When I saw the ad I thought it was going to be a tele-sales job, persuading people to allow reps to call at their houses offering replacement windows or conservatories. I forget how it was worded exactly but I went for the interview in a grubby little office near the Hippodrome.’
‘But when you found out what they wanted …’
She gave me a pitying smile. ‘I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, Anna, but I’d have thought my motivation was obvious. If your self-esteem is zero then what could be better than humiliating yourself in front of an audience of dirty old men. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t you say it’s more or less the psychological equivalent of mutilating yourself with a razor blade. I’ve heard that’s what some people do but I’ve always thought it sounded rather messy. The funny thing is, my mother was convinced my father was molesting me.’
‘Was he?’