by Pam Weaver
‘Where are you going?’ cried Paul as he ran back down the road.
‘Just stay there!’
Billy charged back to the house. The old pram stood in the doorway. He could hear his mother in the kitchen talking to Aunt Peaches. Billy emptied out the bedding and backed it towards the door.
Christopher appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Where are you going, Billy?’
Billy put his finger to his lips and manoeuvred the pram out of the front door. As the door closed, he ran like the wind back to Myrtle Cottage.
The three boys set about loading up the pram, then Billy pushed it back while Paul and Dennis took it in turns to carry the big suitcase.
‘This thing is too heavy,’ Paul protested. ‘And we might drop the photo frames. They’ve got glass in them.’
‘We’re taking the lot,’ said Billy fiercely.
The overloaded pram kept shedding articles of clothing but Billy wouldn’t let anything stay in the road. He shouted at them tetchily to ‘pick ’em up,’ his face heavily flushed. His two friends couldn’t really understand why he was in such an odd mood.
‘I thought we were going carol singing,’ cried Dennis. ‘If my dad sees me with this lot, he’ll go mad.’
Billy glared at him. ‘We can’t leave it.’
‘What d’you want it for?’ asked Paul. ‘This is all rubbish. They chucked it out.’
Billy rounded on him. ‘All this stuff this belongs to Patsy.’
‘Patsy …’ Dennis pointed his finger at him and laughed. ‘He’s in love!’
‘You shut up, Dennis Long,’ shouted Billy, his eyes glistening with tears.
Paul pulled a woman’s cardigan from under the pile. ‘Well, this ain’t Patsy’s.’
‘It’s my Auntie Dottie’s and she’s coming home soon,’ said Billy snatching it back.
Paul and Dennis exchanged an anxious look. ‘Bet she don’t,’ said Dennis, ‘my dad says she’s a murderer. She tried to kill Patsy.’
‘That’s not true!’ cried Billy. He launched himself at Dennis, throwing him to the ground and wrong-footing Paul at the same time. In the scrap that followed, it seemed to Dennis and Paul that Billy had the strength of ten men. Although it was two against one, Billy won easily. Twenty minutes later, hot and sweaty, and struggling to control his emotions, Billy pushed the pram into his dad’s shed at the bottom of the garden. He cleared a space on the top of the workbench and began pulling at the untidy bundle. His shoulders shook as he folded each item carefully and placed them neatly on top of one another. It took him ages. That was because every now and then, he had to stop and wipe his nose on the cuff of his sleeve.
‘Sylvie, they’ve been found!’ Mary couldn’t contain her excitement.
On the other end of the telephone, Sylvie gasped. At first she was relieved that Dottie was alive but she listened with mounting horror as Mary told her what had happened.
‘The bad news is,’ Mary concluded. ‘Dottie has lost her baby.’
‘Baby?’ Sylvie gasped. ‘What baby?’
‘Oh!’ said Mary. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything. I thought you knew.’
‘She and Reg …?’
‘Yes,’ said Mary. ‘I tried to talk her out of it, but she was determined to keep it. Anyway, now she’s lost it.’
There was a slight pause.
‘In one way, I can’t say I’m sorry,’ said Sylvie. ‘That Reg is an absolute pig, but knowing how much Dottie wanted children, I should imagine she’s devastated.’
‘I’m sure she is.’
‘Haven’t you seen her then?’
‘She’s not allowed visitors. She’s been haemorrhaging badly and they’re giving her blood.’
‘How awful.’
The two women struggled to contain their emotions.
‘And Patsy?’
‘She’s still quite ill. Some sort of poisoning. They’ve got her in the children’s ward. No visitors.’
‘Let me know when we can go,’ said Sylvie. ‘And I’ll take you over to see Dottie.’
‘I bet that blinking Reg had something to do with this,’ said Mary, darkly. Sylvie wouldn’t be drawn but as she hung up she pondered Mary’s words. When she’d last seen him, Reg was so sure Dottie was dead, he was even looking over his life policies. She shook her head in disbelief. Reg was a nasty piece of work, all right. He was capable of terrible things – but stooping as far as attempted murder? That was a different league altogether.
Dottie looked around the room, willing her mind to think about something less painful. She felt a bit woozy, probably from that stuff they had injected into her arm. The blood drip was gone. The room was stark, the walls bare. The locker beside her bed was empty apart from a jug and a glass of water. There were some screens in the corner and the material was faded. They must have left it in the sun. Her mind drifted back to that cold sunny day on Highdown Hill. In her head she could hear Minnie barking and Patsy was laughing and happy as she ran up to the chalk pits … Oh, Patsy …
John was there again. Neither of them spoke, but he held her hand and gently kissed her fingers.
‘Reg took us to see that bungalow in the car,’ Dottie said eventually. ‘He wanted me to buy it. It was horrible. So bleak and it was miles from anywhere. There were roses on the wall but inside it was old and smelly …’ She was beginning to gabble. ‘I didn’t like it at all but we had a picnic in one of the rooms. It wasn’t as much fun as the one we had on Highdown, but Reg was trying so hard and Patsy had egg sandwiches and …’
Something was beginning to niggle John, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Dottie turned her face away and began to cry again. John held onto her hand, stroking it with his thumb. Suddenly aware, she pulled her hand away.
‘John, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve tried writing but it seems cowardly. I want to tell you face to face. I’m having a baby.’
She could feel a tear running across the bridge of her nose. Every part of her body wanted to say yes but she thought too much of him to let him ruin his whole life and reputation for her and the baby. The gossips would put two and two together and make five in no time.
‘Listen, Dottie,’ he said lowering his eyes. ‘You need to know something –’
All at once, her eyes grew wide. ‘My baby? Is my baby all right? I had bad pains. I am still pregnant, aren’t I?’
John gripped her hand even more tightly. She couldn’t believe it when he started shaking his head slowly. ‘I’m terribly, terribly sorry. They did all they could but you’d been starved of oxygen for so long …’
‘No!’ Dottie stared at him helplessly. She’d lost the baby? She wasn’t going to be a mother? ‘No, no, you’ve got it all wrong.’ Her other hand flew to her stomach and she pressed the flesh. It still felt a bit round but then she felt the sanitary belt around her waist and the bunny between her legs. ‘My baby …’
John stroked her forehead. ‘There will be other babies,’ he said softly.
‘No,’ she moaned. ‘I want my baby.’ She turned her head away. First Patsy and then this … ‘I can’t bear it.’
John seemed to be fighting to control his own emotions.
‘And Reg?’
‘Reg knows.’
‘I hate him.’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper and her face crumpled as she searched in vain for a dry area of her handkerchief. ‘Have you seen poor Patsy yet?’
‘Not yet.’ He fished around in his pockets and found a clean handkerchief.
She took it gratefully and blew her nose. ‘I pushed her face by the gap under the door,’ Dottie went on. ‘I thought the air … fresh air …’ she paused, taking in a huge racking breath, ‘but I couldn’t stop the gas. I did try and save her …’ Her voice had risen to a squeak and now she was sobbing again.
He frowned. According to the sister, the police believed that Dottie had locked herself and Patsy into the bedroom and as soon as Patsy was asleep turned on the gas taps. At some point, Patsy
had crawled out of bed and collapsed by the door, her face by the gap in a desperate attempt to get some fresh air. Dottie was found lying on the floor halfway between the bed and the door.
‘I don’t think you should try and say any more,’ he said softly. ‘I’m going to tell the sister to call the police. You must tell them everything you know.’
‘No, no. I can’t, I can’t talk to the police.’
‘Dottie, you have to,’ he said. ‘Listen. You’re a strong woman and if you really care about Patsy, you must help them find out what happened to her.’
‘If I really care?’ she said bitterly. ‘Surely you of all people must know how much I love her.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that,’ said John. ‘But you need to persuade the police that you meant her no harm.’
‘You will stay with me, won’t you?’
He hesitated. How would that look for her case? Would it be such a good idea?
‘Please, John,’ she begged. ‘I need a friendly face with me when I talk to the police. It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.’
At last he understood. She wanted him there professionally. He was a doctor. She needed his moral support. If that was so, how could he refuse?
Forty-Two
‘May I remind you that you are here purely as an observer, Dr Landers,’ the sergeant said. ‘Any interruptions and I shall ask you to leave.’
Dottie had been in hospital five days but today was the first day she was deemed well enough to be questioned. John stood with his back to the window, grim-faced as two policemen, Sergeant Smart and PC Connelly, sat on either side of Dottie’s bed, their notebooks at the ready. Dottie, red-eyed and still very tearful, was telling them what had happened.
‘Reg wanted to buy a bungalow.’
‘On The Crumbles.’
‘Yes, but when we got there, it wasn’t very nice. It had been empty for ages. Apparently the owner had gone into a nursing home. Reg said he wanted us to run it as a guesthouse but there wasn’t much room. I mean, we couldn’t have many guests.’
‘So you didn’t like it,’ said the sergeant. ‘What happened next?’
‘Reg brought a picnic,’ Dottie went on. ‘He made it quite fun. We had Smith’s crisps, fig-roll biscuits and sandwiches. He put it all on a big sheet and we sat in the sitting room.’
‘You all ate the same thing?’
‘Yes. Patsy and I drank the tea from a flask. Reg had a beer but apart from that we all had the same.’
‘Go on.’
Dottie shrugged. ‘Then Patsy felt tired and Reg suggested she lie down on the bed for a while. I wasn’t feeling so bright myself, so I lay down beside her. It wasn’t very pleasant. I mean, the sheet smelled and the room was cold.’
‘You say you didn’t feel so bright?’
‘My head felt funny and my mouth was very dry,’ said Dottie. ‘Anyway, I must have drifted off to sleep, and when I woke up I could smell gas. I tried to turn the tap off but someone had smashed it up.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know! It was all right when I turned it on.’
‘You turned the tap on?’
‘Yes, of course I did,’ cried Dottie.
The sergeant looked at his constable who was desperately trying to sharpen his pencil and handed him his fountain pen. ‘Make a note of that, Constable. Mrs Cox turned on the gas tap.’
‘The electricity was off so I put the fire on,’ said Dottie. ‘The room was cold.’
‘When you woke up,’ said John, ‘was the fire still on?’
‘Dr Landers!’ said the sergeant reprovingly.
‘No!’ cried Dottie. ‘The fire was out but the gas was still on.’
There was some shifting of feet and then the sergeant said, ‘Go on.’
‘The window was all boarded up and the door was locked. We were trapped. I couldn’t get out … I couldn’t …’
Dottie blew her nose and wiped her eyes. John smiled encouragingly at her.
‘Did you shout for help?’
‘The gas made me feel so sick, I was trying not to breathe,’ she said. ‘I dragged Patsy over to the door and pressed her face by the gap. Then I tried to break the wood over the window.’ She held up her hands and showed them her broken nails. ‘And then the gas just stopped.’
‘Stopped?’
‘I don’t know why but it just stopped.’
‘The only thing that saved you, apart from the neighbours smelling the gas, was the fact that the gas meter had run out of money,’ said the Constable.
‘I think I must have fainted.’ Dottie blinked. ‘The next thing I knew someone was breaking down the door.’
She told them that she didn’t know where Reg was. He must have gone back to the hotel she supposed and, no, she couldn’t understand why he’d left them there. Everything was fine between them and that night she was going to tell him that she was having his baby.
The thought of her beautiful baby made her break down and the three men waited for a few minutes while she sobbed uncontrollably. When she recovered herself, John gave her a glass of water, and Dottie reached out with a trembling hand for his. ‘Thank you.’
John was acutely aware of the sergeant’s gaze as he sat back down.
‘Are you ready to continue, Mrs Cox?’
Dottie nodded.
‘Mr Cox says he waited for you to come down from your bedroom that morning,’ the sergeant continued, ‘but you and Patsy had gone off without him.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Dottie desperately. ‘He told us to go ahead of him so we walked along the seafront.’ She glanced at John. ‘We didn’t mind. Patsy wanted to try out her roller skates. When we got so far along, he met us with the car.’
‘Car?’
‘A hired car.’
‘What sort of car?’
‘I don’t know. One looks much the same as the other to me. A black one.’
PC Connelly’s fountain pen scribbled away.
‘And you say you had no intention of killing yourself and the child?’
‘No,’ she cried, horrified. ‘Of course I didn’t.’
John couldn’t get Reg out of his mind. He’d looked as if he was going to pass out when PC Kipling told him Dottie was still alive, but John couldn’t work out why he might want to do his wife and Patsy harm. Why not simply walk away from them? Plenty of men did. Smart and Connelly probed into every part of Dottie’s marriage and her relationship with Reg. Were they worried about money? Could they pay the rent each week?
‘We don’t have to pay rent,’ she said. ‘The house belonged to my aunt and she left it to me.’
Now at last, John began to understand what Reg was up to. Dottie had just given him the motive he was looking for. He put his hand up and took in his breath to say as much but one look from the sergeant silenced him immediately.
The questioning went on and on. Did she regret having Patsy? How did Reg feel about having his own baby on the way? Was it Reg’s child?
Dottie was beginning to look exhausted. The circles under her eyes were growing darker than ever. John was just about to demand that they stop questioning her when the sergeant stood up.
‘Thank you for your co-operation, Mrs Cox,’ he said formally. ‘We shall be in touch.’
Dottie was gazing somewhere into space. ‘There was someone else.’
Connelly stopped by the door and turned around. ‘Someone else you say? Where?’
‘In the bungalow.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know, but now I think about it, I feel sure Reg was talking to someone.’
‘A neighbour, perhaps?’
‘No, it wasn’t him.’
They waited a moment or two, but Dottie shook her head. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘We’ll speak to you again as soon as we’ve spoken to the little girl,’ said PC Smart.
Dottie sat bolt upright. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded.
‘We have t
o verify your story,’ said the sergeant.
‘No, no,’ cried Dottie. ‘What do you mean, talk to the little girl? What little girl?’ Dottie’s heart was beginning to pound.
‘Patsy, of course,’ said PC Connelly.
‘You mean, she’s alive?’ cried Dottie. ‘She’s really alive? But that’s wonderful.’ She looked wildly from John back to the policeman. ‘But why didn’t you tell me? How is she? Is she going to be all right?’
John’s mouth gaped. ‘But I thought you knew. The sister said …’
‘The sister wouldn’t tell me anything,’ Dottie cried.
‘She’s been very ill,’ the constable said, his voice a little softer, ‘but she is improving all the time.’
Dottie smiled and burst into tears. Oh wonderful, wonderful day … Patsy was alive. Alive and getting well. ‘Is she asking after me?’ she went on eagerly. ‘When can I see her?’
‘No, Mrs Cox, I’m afraid you can’t,’ said the sergeant coldly.
Dottie took in her breath. ‘But why not?’
‘Because I have given instructions that she’s to have no visitors – not even you, Doctor.’ The sergeant frowned. ‘All that can wait until Connelly and I have spoken to her.’
Dottie relaxed back onto the pillows and began to laugh softly. ‘But she’s alive. I can’t believe it. She’s alive.’
‘If you remember anything else, Mrs Cox,’ the sergeant said as he headed for the door, ‘let us know.’
‘Give her my love, won’t you?’ Dottie called after them.
The door closed and John moved back to the bed. ‘I am so sorry you didn’t know.’
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Dottie sighed. ‘Oh, isn’t it wonderful? She’s alive.’
‘I think you’d better rest now.’
‘They don’t believe me about someone else being there, do they?’
John chewed his bottom lip. ‘Perhaps if you could have been a little more specific …’
She looked up, willing him to touch her, hold her hand, stroke her hair, anything … but instead he picked up her chart from the foot of the bed and studied it.
‘John …’
‘Anyway, you’re getting better all the time,’ he said, glancing up. The coolness in his voice hurt.