Faith

by Lesley Pearse

  Well, Lena was in a bit of a state. But wouldn’t anyone be if they’d just lost both their daughter and husband?’ Roger exclaimed with indignation. ‘I don’t think it warranted shipping her off to an old folks’ home though. A bit of TLC would have put her right in my view.’

  ‘You think Belle ought to have taken her up to Scotland to live with her?’

  Roger frowned. ‘I don’t think Lena would have wanted that, too many reminders of Jackie. But I think Belle should have come down and stayed with her for a while. She had no ties, she could even have got someone up there to run the guest house while she was gone. But then, Belle was always spoilt and self-centred. I dare say she told you I was a first-class ratbag, that’s what she usually does.’

  Stuart noted that Roger sounded jovial enough, but he thought he heard an undercurrent of bitterness.

  ‘She did say you’d got a more recent will than the one she found,’ Stuart said cautiously, hoping this might make Roger reveal his true feelings.

  ‘I bet she said I “claimed” to have one.’ Roger laughed humourlessly. ‘And I assure you it is no claim, it’s kosher. She likes to rubbish the idea that Jackie and I remained friends, but we did.’

  Stuart was dying to ask why Roger hadn’t actually produced this will if he really had it, but he thought he’d better leave that for later.

  ‘I can testify to that,’ he said. ‘Jackie always spoke of you in very affectionate terms to me. That must have made it so much harder for you when she was killed.’

  ‘I would say it was the worst day in my life when I got the news,’ Roger said simply, and for the first time that evening a shadow of sadness passed over his face. ‘I never really liked Laura; throughout our marriage I did my best to loosen her grip on Jackie, but I never succeeded. I wish I could feel smug that I was right about her all along, but there’s no satisfaction in that – all I feel is a terrible sense of loss.’

  Stuart didn’t know where to go from there for it was patently obvious that Roger had never had a moment’s doubt that Laura was responsible.

  ‘So how did you react when you heard who killed Jackie?’ Roger asked before Stuart could think of his next question. ‘I remember of course that you left Scotland because of her.’

  Stuart bristled, not liking the implication in Roger’s remark. ‘I left Scotland because there was no work for me there,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t believe she did it!’ Roger made a kind of chortling sound in his throat. ‘Oh, come on, Stu, she did you up like a kipper, you were broken when you came to London.’

  ‘Maybe, but I never saw anything in Laura to suggest she could kill someone. Certainly not Jackie, they were closer than sisters.’

  ‘Well, we’ve all heard how close Laura was to her sisters! She didn’t even admit she had any,’ Roger said spitefully, his eyes narrowing. ‘Her father was a criminal, the mother sells her sordid story to the press for a few bob. The two older brothers have been in and out of nick since they were kids.’

  It was only then that Stuart remembered how Roger had talked down to him when they first met. He took the view that all manual workers were beneath him, and that snobbish attitude only changed later because of Jackie’s influence.

  ‘Laura couldn’t help the family she was born into,’ Stuart said indignantly.

  ‘She cast them aside and latched on to Jackie and clung there like a bloody leech.’ Roger’s voice had leapt up a few octaves in agitation. ‘If she’d looked after her kid properly Jackie wouldn’t have needed to mind him that day. And my God, Laura made the most of that unfortunate accident. She made Jackie pay in more ways than one – a holiday in Italy, setting up that shop she opened when she returned, and heaven knows what else. Then finally when Jackie can’t and won’t give her anything more, she kills her.’

  Stuart’s blood came up and his diplomacy vanished. ‘What did Laura ever do to you?’ he snapped. ‘Were you jealous because Jackie gave her the time you thought should have gone to you? Or maybe it was because she had a child Jackie loved and you couldn’t give her one of her own?’

  Roger leapt out of his chair. ‘Get out of here,’ he said, pointing towards the door. ‘If I’d known you still held a torch for that bitch I’d never have let you in here. You know nothing about Jackie and me.’

  Stuart got to his feet. ‘But I do,’ he said, squaring up to Roger. ‘I know she wanted to adopt a child, but you wouldn’t have it. And that’s the real reason she left you. Not because she couldn’t have her own way either, but because you wouldn’t unbend enough to take on board how much a child meant to her, or even go and have a few tests.’

  ‘Bugger off,’ Roger hissed at him and waved his arms like a windmill. ‘What made you an expert on marriage? You couldn’t stay with anyone longer than a month if you tried.’

  Stuart didn’t respond to that barb. He’d had enough and he knew he was likely to deck Roger if he stayed any longer. He picked up his jacket and left.

  Once back in his hotel, he pulled a miniature whisky from the mini bar and swallowed it down in one. He felt dejected and ashamed that he’d been unable to control his temper. What was he thinking of? He had gone there expecting Roger to be vicious about Laura – he knew there had never been any love lost between them. In fact he had fully expected the man to launch into a vitriolic rant as soon as he arrived.

  Roger had been warm and hospitable, so why on earth didn’t he play along at being his sympathetic best mate, make out he believed the absolute worst of Laura, and get some information out of him? He should have asked him what he was doing with this recent will he claimed to have, and where the rents on Jackie’s properties were going.

  Stuart couldn’t believe he’d been so bloody stupid. He could have got Roger to tell him about Jackie’s funeral, who was there, what was said. He hadn’t even asked him where he was and what he was doing on the day of the murder.

  Some detective he’d turned out to be! While talking to the prime suspect all he’d managed to do was put his back up, and have the door permanently slammed in his face.

  It was hot but peaceful in the library, and as Laura catalogued the new books which had been brought in that morning, she felt a surge of gratitude that the governor had given her the job of librarian. It was probably because she was better educated than most of the other women, and she had a real love of books, but she also had a feeling it had been noted she’d been more amenable of late. Perhaps he thought that if he gave her a plum job she might stay that way.

  She had always loved libraries. Right from childhood when she first learned to read she’d seen them as a kind of treasure trove. She could remember getting Nöel Streatfield books and plunging herself into the world of ballet. Black Beauty, Lorna Doone, Kidnapped and Tom Sawyer had also all given her further glimpses into a world far beyond grimy Shepherds Bush. She would often curl up in a corner of the library with a book, immersing herself so totally that the librarian had to tap her on the shoulder when it was closing time.

  Reading had helped her through all the most difficult times in her life: long, lonely evenings when she was in the bedsitter in Crouch End, during her marriage to Gregory, and particularly after Barney was killed. Maybe it was escapism, but a book was far better than anti-depressants, and since she’d been here in Cornton Vale books had been a lifeline.

  She could spend every day in the library now, and she could help and advise the women that came in, some of whom had never read a whole book in their lives before. She thought she might organize a kind of club to discuss books too. Even if she never got out of here, she believed she could find a narrow margin of happiness and serenity, as long as she kept this job.

  Yet her mind was not on books completely today, but on her sisters, for just yesterday she’d received a letter from Meggie.

  Seeing her spidery writing on the envelope had sent her spirits soaring, for Meggie had written only once since she was arrested, and she was clearly so freaked out then by the murder charge that Laura
had asked her not to write again.

  To find she was still loved, that Meggie and Ivy were well and happy, was like being given a drink of water when she was dying of thirst.

  The two closely written pages were full of explanation and remorse at letting Laura down. ‘I was too scared for myself to come up to Scotland for the trial,’ she said at one point in the letter, and that frank admission was all Laura needed.

  She of all people knew exactly how that felt. She had become an expert at avoiding anything and anyone who might expose her carefully maintained fabrications. In truth she would have been horrified if Meggie and Ivy had appeared at the prison even before the trial. She had wanted to see them of course, but she was afraid of what they might learn about her.

  It hadn’t actually occurred to her that Meggie had her own demons, but then she was so wrapped up in her own misery that she didn’t think to cast her mind back and consider what might have lain beneath her sister’s withdrawal from her.

  It was all there in the letter, a confession about her prostitution.

  The saddest thing to Laura was that she had known all along, and she could have saved Meggie so much anguish by admitting it.

  When Meggie told her all those years ago that she was the assistant manager of a night club, she had been suspicious because her sister was so young. She went to the club one evening and met the real assistant manager, a man in his fifties. She also saw what else went on there. Young, pretty women calling themselves hostesses were in reality just whores looking to pick up a client. The club made their money from overpriced drinks and got a percentage from the girls’ takings.

  Had Meggie only just started it, Laura would have reacted differently, but by then Meggie had been doing it for six months or even more, and it wasn’t as if she was doing it for herself. She took care of Ivy, got her through secretarial school, and made a real home for her, all when she was so young herself.

  Laura weighed up all the pros and cons and decided to ignore it. She didn’t feel she could take the moral high ground, not when she had supplemented her own income by shoplifting for years.

  How else could Meggie have bought that little house in Islington? Laura was only able to give her the deposit, and the repayments would have been impossible to meet on a shop or office worker’s salary. She watched as Meggie turned into a ball of fire to do that place up; it meant everything to her. And so what if the money came from selling herself? Her motive was of the very best, creating a decent home for her younger sister.

  The important thing was that Meggie stopped the moment she was able to. She didn’t languish feeling sorry for herself, she just got out there, sold that house and bought two more just like it. Laura could remember her knocking old plaster off walls, digging up the gardens, painting, papering, and tiling the bathrooms. She even went to night school to learn basic building work and had her nose in DIY books night after night.

  Laura was proud of both her sisters for using their limited talents and their gritty determination to make something of their lives. Yet Meggie had an extra special place in her heart, as she had been a rock, a confidante, and the one person she always knew she could turn to for support.

  It shamed her to think how she had hidden her sisters away for all those years, and yet they had never been angry or bitter about it. They hadn’t been able to come to her wedding, parties, or visit her in hospital when she had Barney. There’d been no holidays in Scotland with her, nor had they been able to come to Barney’s funeral. So many clandestine meetings, and phone conversations that were stilted because Greg, Jackie or Stuart was within earshot. She had to buy birthday cards and presents in secret, and anything they wanted to give her she had to pretend came from a mere friend.

  Freddy had refused to be party to any of that. Laura had met him only once when he was home on leave from the Navy and staying with her sisters. He was seventeen then, a skinny lad with a severe haircut and a crop of acne, but a very adult manner.

  ‘If you aren’t honest enough to admit to your husband and friends that you have brothers and sisters, then I don’t want to know you,’ he’d said with undisguised scorn. ‘I understand why you lied in the first place. I’ve avoided talking about our parents and Mark and Paul too. But I wouldn’t pretend they don’t exist.’

  He had never changed his mind. He would be thirty-eight now, married, and when she last spoke to Meggie back in ’93, he had three sons, and was living in Plymouth and still in the Navy. Meggie and Ivy spoke with pride of him becoming an officer and adored his boys. Laura assumed that when he heard about her conviction he was very glad that he’d never allowed her anywhere near his wife and family.

  Laura didn’t feel much more than a twinge of sadness about Freddy, but then he was only three at the time she left Barnes and apart from that one meeting all those years ago, she hadn’t seen him since. But her sisters were different; she had so many memories of them and she had always cared what they thought of her.

  Meggie had described in her letter how Stuart had tracked her down, and how good he’d been to her, letting her get things off her chest and mending her summer house too. That made Laura smile, for she remembered how when they visited his friends, he often mended things for them. Good listener as he was, he was a great believer in doing something practical too.

  She wondered what Meggie had said to him about her. She was bound to have told the story about Greg poisoning her – it was something she often brought up because she wished she’d taken Laura seriously the first time and removed the remainder of those pills to get them tested. Maybe she’d told Stuart about Greg hitting her, and refusing to give her any money too. But Meggie couldn’t have told him what finally made her leave the louse, because she didn’t know. Laura had kept that to herself.

  It was February ’72 when she was admitted to hospital with poisoning for the second time. She could still remember in vivid detail the agonizing cramps, and the certainty that she was going to die. But she had recovered, and when she got home Greg was so nice to her, convincing her that not only was she mistaken in believing he had a hand in it, but that his affair was over and he wanted to start again and make their marriage a good one.

  She could see him and the Chelsea house so clearly on the bitterly cold day when he brought her home from hospital. She had to lean on him for support because she was still so weak.

  ‘I thought you’d rather lie down on the sofa in the sitting room than be upstairs alone,’ he said as he helped her in. ‘Look, I’ve brought down an eiderdown and pillows for you, so you can be cosy and watch television. Mum’s going to keep Barney for a few days until you feel up to looking after him. We’ve all been so worried about you.’

  Laura had never liked the decor or furniture in their house. Greg had bought the place a few years before she met him, and it was all his taste. It wasn’t hideous, just dull. Almost everything was cream, with teak wall units fitted with lights to illuminate his various sporting trophies. His pictures were equally dull, sombre landscapes and one with a depressing old crone sitting in a doorway.

  In the first few days at home when she still felt so ill, lying there looking at the room which held nothing of her personality, she came to the conclusion that it was her own fault Greg had become so controlling. Before they were married she should have asserted her opinion about his house, and made it clear that she wanted more than to be a stay-at-home wife. That way they would have started out on an equal footing.

  But the unpalatable truth was that when she met Greg she was in fact a gold-digger. She only ever went out with wealthy men. If a man couldn’t afford to take her to swish places and buy her expensive presents, they got nowhere with her.

  When Jackie met up with Roger again and said she was going to marry him, Laura panicked. Roger didn’t like her, he’d never got over what she did to his friend Steven, and she was afraid that Jackie would bow to his opinion and abandon her. So she cold-bloodedly looked for someone to marry her.

  She didn’t
have to look very far, for Greg was her boss. Unlike most of the men in her life he wasn’t married, he was very successful, he had a house in Chelsea and an expensive car, and he could give her the sort of glamorous life she wanted.

  There was also the fact that he was out of the top drawer. He’d gone to a good public school and to Cambridge, and his family, who lived in Essex, were rather grand. Marrying him was a way of casting off the last of her real origins, and any children they might have would never suffer the indignities she had. For that she was prepared to overlook Greg’s minor faults: that his nose was too big, his lips too thin. He was after all over six foot, slim and fit because he played a lot of squash and golf. He wore beautiful hand-tailored suits and Italian shoes and his dark hair was impeccably cut. He was also an exceptional lover, and generous, so she decided to ignore the one trait she really didn’t like, that he was very stubborn and too controlling.

  Much, much later, after they were married, she came to see that he’d been equally cold-blooded in choosing her as his wife. He once told her he’d watched her from a distance in Harrods while she was demonstrating some of his toys, and he said her smile, her sleek appearance and the graceful way she moved made him realize she was the perfect wife for him.

  Unfortunately for Greg, he had selected her as if she were a car in a showroom, bought without a test drive. She might have looked like quality, but in fact she was bargain-basement with a great many faults, and when they were revealed Greg wanted to trade her in.

  But that February day when she was weak and sad, and he was being so kind and loving, she really wanted to put all that aside, for they had Barney to think of and she was anxious for him to have the kind of happy home she’d never had.

  Greg had taken Barney to his mother’s because he didn’t think it was good for him to see Laura while she was so poorly, and in the subsequent days he waited on her hand and foot, only nipping out to his office for a couple of hours now and then.

  She had been home a week when she asked for Barney to be brought home. She felt very much better, she was up and about and perfectly capable of making meals, vacuuming and washing up, and she saw no reason for Barney to stay away any longer as she was missing him badly.