by Pam Weaver
‘Just look at the state of her, Tom,’ cried Mary. ‘That Reg is a wicked, wicked man.’
Sylvie threw herself into a chair and tapped a cigarette on her holder. ‘She insisted on going in for her things,’ she said as if Dottie wasn’t there. ‘I told her it was all gone, but she would go.’
‘It’s all right, Sylvie,’ said Dottie, sitting up and blowing her nose. ‘It’s not your fault.’
Tom sat down and took her hands in his. ‘It’s good to see you, Dottie. We’ve been so worried.’
‘I’m so lucky to have friends like you,’ she said softly.
‘Couldn’t you find anything, hen?’
Dottie shook her head. ‘Oh, yes, I found something.’ They all looked up expectantly. ‘Reg’s fancy woman.’
Sylvie groaned.
‘You knew?’ Dottie said.
‘I knew he’d had a woman there,’ said Sylvie, ‘but I didn’t expect her to still be there.’
‘None of us have seen her,’ said Mary. ‘Not even Ann.’
‘Who would have thought …?’ Tom began.
‘I wouldn’t put anything past Reg,’ said Dottie. She gave her friends a wry smile. ‘The trouble is, I can’t prove a thing.’
‘Sylvie and Dr Landers have been really trying to help you,’ said Mary eagerly. ‘They both went back to Eastbourne again yesterday.’
‘I found the owner of the bungalow,’ said Sylvie. ‘It wasn’t for sale. It’ll be demolished.’
‘And the doctor found the car hire company,’ Mary interrupted. ‘And Patsy’s roller skates on the back seat.’
Dottie wiped a renegade tear from her cheek.
‘Ah, hen, don’t,’ soothed Mary.
‘I don’t deserve you,’ said Dottie.
‘Course you do,’ said Tom. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same for them if they were in trouble?’
‘Where are the children?’ Dottie asked.
‘All in bed, hen,’ said Mary. ‘It’s all arranged. You’ll be staying the night with us so you can see them in the morning.’
Dottie lifted her hand in protest as Sylvie said, ‘Then I’m taking you home with me.’
‘I’ll just nip down to the pub,’ said Tom all at once. ‘See if the doc is still here.’
When he’d gone, Mary leaned over the table and took Dottie’s hands. ‘He’s done it because he loves you, hen.’
‘Who?’
‘Dr Landers, of course.’
‘It’s no use now, Mary. It’s all gone wrong,’ Dottie sighed. ‘I had proof that the Reg Cox who was Patsy’s father wasn’t the same Reg Cox I married, but it’s gone. He got rid of it when he chucked out all my things.’
The kitchen door burst open and there stood Billy. He was in his pyjamas, his hair was tousled and his eyes puffy with sleep.
‘Go back to bed, Billy,’ said Mary.
‘Auntie Dottie!’ Ignoring his mother, Billy ran over to Dottie and gave her a hug. ‘I knew you’d come back.’
Dottie held him tight, aware that Billy wasn’t usually so free with his affections.
‘Are you coming to live here with us?’ asked Billy eventually.
‘I can’t, I’m afraid,’ said Dottie. ‘I have to go away. Have no choice. I’m in a spot of bother, Billy. I haven’t got a home any more.’ She laughed with irony. ‘I haven’t even got any clothes.’
Tom came back indoors. ‘No sign of the doc in the pub,’ he said. ‘He must be back at his mother’s.’
‘What am I thinking about?’ cried Mary. ‘Anyone want a cup of tea? Let’s put the kettle on, shall we?’
No one noticed Billy slipping outside. It took him only a minute or two to nip down to the shed. Tact told him to leave Patsy’s pile of things but he grabbed all of Dottie’s clothes and raced back up the garden path. His face shone like a belisha beacon as he leaned across the kitchen table and placed the neatly wrapped bundle in front of her. ‘There you are, Auntie Dottie,’ he said proudly. ‘Here are your clothes.’
Dottie gasped with pleasure. ‘But how …?’ she began.
‘I collected them when we were carol singing,’ he said.
‘What!’ Tom thundered. ‘You went into Myrtle Cottage and helped yourself?’
‘No, Dad,’ Billy protested. ‘Uncle Reg put them out by the gate and me and Paul Dore and Dennis Long found them.’
‘And they’re wrapped in Edna’s new curtains,’ said Dottie.
‘How on earth did you get them back here?’ asked Sylvie.
‘The pram,’ said Billy.
‘The pram!’ exclaimed his parents.
‘Oh Billy, you are amazing!’ cried Dottie, giving him a quick hug.
Tom ruffled Billy’s hair. ‘Well done, son.’
It was wonderful to see her powder-blue twinset, her Prince of Wales check skirt, her pink and white check sundress with the bolero once more – but even more amazingly, on the top of her clothes, sat a photo frame. Sylvie and her much younger self smiled up at her with Aunt Bessie, wearing her silly … wonderful cowboy hat, sitting between them.
Dottie beamed from ear to ear. Lovingly, she wiped her hand across the glass.
‘Tom,’ she said quietly. ‘Would you do one more thing for me? Would you get Kipper for me? Tell him to call head office. Tell him, I’ve got the blighter at last.’ She turned the nails on the back of the frame and something fell out. ‘I’ve got all the proof I need to expose Reg for the liar and cheat he is.’
Mary leaned over her shoulder. ‘What is it, hen?’
‘A love letter,’ said Dottie. ‘The one Reg wrote to Sandy all those years ago.’ She spread it out in front of them.
“My own true love’,’ Mary quoted. ‘Ah, Dottie, that’s beautiful.’
Sylvie snorted in disgust.
‘Listen to this. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you, my darling. I have to see you again’,’ said Dottie. ‘And this bit: ‘I shall never feel about anyone else the way I feel about you’.’
Sylvie laid her hand on Dottie’s shoulder. ‘Dottie, don’t do this to yourself.’
Dottie looked up, her eyes sparkling. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind at all. Look at it carefully, Sylvie … do you think my Reg wrote this?’
There was a moment’s silence while everyone crowded around.
‘Reg couldn’t have written that,’ Tom suddenly declared. ‘It’s not even his bloody handwriting.’
Dottie gave them all a satisfied smile. ‘Precisely.’
Forty-Five
John opened the car door.
‘The woman confessed she was at the bungalow as soon as the police went round.’
‘You know I once found some dirty pictures of her in his shed?’
‘What!’
‘I didn’t know who she was of course, but as soon as I saw her on the stairs, I recognised her.’
John had just picked Dottie up from the magistrates’ court where, at a hastily convened sitting, Patsy had been placed, temporarily, in her care. The welfare people needed more time to go over the facts of the case for themselves, but they were satisfied that Dottie was completely exonerated of any wrong-doing in the bungalow. Now she and John were on their way to fetch Patsy from hospital.
He started the engine. ‘Why don’t you and Patsy come and stay with me at my mother’s place?’
‘I just want to get back home,’ said Dottie. ‘Now that there’s a warrant out for Reg’s arrest, and that woman has been locked up, there’s no reason why we can’t go back to the village.’
He nodded in a resigned sort of a way and the car made its way along the Brighton Road.
‘I still don’t like the idea of you being there on your own,’ John protested.
‘Why ever not?’ said Dottie innocently. ‘I have all my friends around me. I can shout for help if I need it … which I won’t. The whole village knows what happened now, John. Myrtle Cottage is perfectly safe.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ John sighed. He leaned over and squee
zed her hand. ‘I just want to be there for you.’
Dottie gently took her hand away. ‘Can I ask you something? Do you think Reg killed Aunt Bessie?’
‘I guess we’ll never really know if he intended to kill her,’ said John, changing gear. ‘Since PC Kipling acted on what poor Ernest Franks told him, there can be little doubt that Reg was there the day she died. Marney has confessed that he was lying when he told the police Reg was at work all that day.’
‘Marney lied for Reg?’ Dottie gasped. ‘You’re joking!’
‘Don’t think too badly of him,’ said John. ‘Reg had spun him some yarn and he genuinely thought he was just helping a mate out.’
‘Did she fall or was she pushed?’ Dottie mused.
‘I guess we’ll never know.’
‘One thing is for sure,’ said Dottie quietly. ‘He fully intended to kill Patsy and me.’
John glanced across at her. ‘Yes, I’m afraid he did.’
‘I guess he wanted me out of the way so that he could get his hands on the house,’ Dottie went on. ‘But why kill Patsy? Why poor Patsy?’
‘She was simply in the way,’ said John quietly. ‘My problem is trying to understand why, when it was so obvious she wasn’t his child, he kept up the pretence that he was her father.’
‘Knowing Reg,’ said Dottie bitterly. ‘He thought there was money in it somewhere.’
John reached out and gripped her hand for a second time.
‘She was so happy that day we went along the seafront, John,’ said Dottie. ‘She roller skated the whole way. And you should have heard her giggle while we ate that silly picnic on the floor.’
‘There will be other happy times,’ he said, pulling up at a crossroads.
‘I should have tried harder. I should have saved her.’
‘How could you? You were both drugged. Those sleeping pills were quite powerful, you know. Thankfully, you’d pushed her by the door. Enabling her to breathe sweet air while unconscious undoubtedly saved her life.’
The road cleared and he pushed the car into gear. Dottie’s mind drifted over the most recent events. Mary had told her that the friends were planning a surprise party for Patsy.
‘Did you know about the party?’
‘I didn’t think they were going to tell you about it,’ said John.
‘I don’t think they had much choice,’ Dottie laughed. ‘People kept turning up on the doorstep with food!’
‘The last time I went to see Patsy,’ John said, ‘she asked me about it. She was scared she’d missed it.’
‘Then it wasn’t much of a surprise,’ Dottie observed. ‘Anyway, we’ll do it another time. Too much excitement for Patsy may not be good for her so soon after being in hospital.’
They drove on in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. John was thinking about his new post. He had spent some time looking for a practice in need of a GP and had been delighted to find one in nearby Littlehampton, badly in need of a third partner. Drs Green and Noble seemed amiable enough and their practice was growing. The location couldn’t have been better: Littlehampton was close to both Worthing and Yapton.
No, he had told them, he had no family commitments, but he had been nursing an aged mother who had been ill, but was now recovering. Yes, he thought he would settle in the area. Every third weekend off sounded reasonable, and he wouldn’t mind being on call a little more often than the others. And yes, he could start at once. He was due to start the following Monday and after all this time, he couldn’t wait to get back into the swing of things. Apart from being called upon a few times to help out as a locum and writing an article for The Lancet, he hadn’t done very much since he came back from Australia.
He glanced over at Dottie again. He still had to tell her something else. Was she up to hearing more bad news? In the end, he decided it would be better to tell her now, while they were still alone. Mary’s house was chock-a-block full with children and visitors, and once Patsy was with them it would be impossible to have an adult conversation.
Dottie was thinking about the future. She’d wondered whether to go back to work for Mariah Fitzgerald, and Janet Cooper. The thought wasn’t very appealing, but she’d have to do something if she was going to support Patsy by herself. She knew what she’d like to do – her furnishings – but was she right to take a gamble at such a time as this? And what about John? Once this was all over, would she ever see him again?
‘Dottie,’ John interrupted. ‘I found out something else. I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it, but I think it’s important that you should know.’
She turned her head.
‘I’ve discovered that Reg Cox wasn’t even his real name. He stole it from a dead man. The real Reg Cox was killed at the end of 1942. Ernest Franks, your tramp, told Kipper.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Dottie. ‘When Patsy came, you gave us a case full of papers, remember? That first night, I went through it and I came across a beautiful love letter from Reg to Sandy. I knew straight away that my Reg hadn’t written it. Apart from anything else, the handwriting was a dead giveaway.’
‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I didn’t want to upset Patsy. She’d come all this way and I thought it would hurt her deeply if she realised from the outset that Reg wasn’t her father. I kept hoping he’d come round.’
‘I can’t imagine your Reg writing a love letter.’
Dottie gave a hollow laugh. ‘Neither can I.’
‘Oh, Dottie, I’m sorry,’ he said quickly, kicking himself for being so thoughtless.
‘Don’t be,’ she smiled. ‘At least we’ve still got it, that and a picture of Sandy with Patsy in her arms. Reg burned almost everything else.’
‘A picture of Sandy with Patsy in her arms?’
‘The one of her in the nurse’s uniform,’ said Dottie.
John frowned. ‘I’ve seen that. Kipper showed me, but that’s not Sandy. That’s Brenda.’
‘Brenda!’
‘She brought Patsy into the world,’ said John. ‘That’s how they met, Brenda and Sandy, on the maternity ward.’
For a moment, Dottie was completely dumbstruck. ‘But Reg told me it was Sandy.’ She paused. ‘That proves beyond a shade of a doubt that he never knew her, doesn’t it?’
‘Absolutely,’ John agreed.
‘The real Reg must have loved Sandy very much.’
‘I think he did,’ said John, ‘but she knew her family would never accept him. He’d lived in this country much of his life, but Reg Cox was half-caste. Ernest thought he was Jamaican but his parents came from East Africa, a place called Zanzibar. His father, Almas Jaffer, was the skipper of the Al Said, which used to be called the SS Drake and was bought for the Zanzibar Protectorate back in 1934. I found a whole article about him in The People.’
Dottie was intrigued. ‘Really?’
‘It was unusual to see a black man in those days,’ John went on, ‘let alone a whole shipload of them. The press invited the crew to Croydon airport and they watched West Ham play against Plymouth at Upton Park.’
‘And you say this Almuck …’
‘Almas Jaffer.’
‘… was Reg Cox’s father?’
‘So it would seem,’ said John. ‘According to The People, he had two fat wives back home, one a native, the other a white missionary’s daughter. Almas Jaffer brought Reg, who was about twelve at the time, back to this country to be educated. I suppose the family must have changed his name to spare their blushes.’
‘And when he grew up, Sandy fell in love with him.’
‘She had his child and kept it a secret because of her family, but as it turns out, he was killed in an air raid. I guess poor Sandy never knew that.’
‘How sad,’ said Dottie.
‘It gets worse,’ said John. ‘I looked up the newspaper reports at the time. Apparently, as he lay on the ground, he was robbed. He was still alive when the medics got to him, but died some time later.’
&
nbsp; Dottie gasped. ‘You mean, you think Reg took his ID and left him for dead?’
John nodded. ‘Looks like it.’
Dottie felt the shame. ‘I can’t believe the brass neck of the man!’
‘Did you keep the love letter?’
‘Of course. I hid it where I knew Reg would never look for it, behind the picture of Aunt Bessie. I knew, given half the chance, Reg would get rid of the picture as soon as he could, which was why I had to get it as soon as possible. Thank God for little Billy.’
‘Indeed,’ John agreed.
‘Between us,’ Dottie went on, ‘Ernest Franks and I have given Kipper the cast-iron evidence he needs to prove that Reg was a fraud.’
‘Oh, Dottie,’ said John quietly, ‘there’s one more thing you don’t know.’
‘What?’
‘Ernest Franks is dead.’
For a few moments Dottie was silent. ‘Poor man. He suffered so much.’ She sighed. ‘Rest in peace, dear Ernest.’
‘He’s with his beloved Eileen and Bobbie now.’ John waited a second or two then asked. ‘Do you think Reg attacked Ernest?’
‘He did,’ Dottie nodded, ‘with a hammer. I found it all wrapped up in a piece of cloth in Reg’s shed. Of course, I didn’t know then but something made me hide it in the henhouse. Mary and Ann told me it was in the well, so when Reg went back to the house that morning, he must have thrown it there.’
‘I guess he thought the weight of the hammer would take the whole lot, chickens and all, to the bottom,’ said John. ‘He couldn’t have known the well was collapsing.’
‘None of us expected that,’ said Dottie. ‘But Kipper had the hammer checked: Ernest’s blood was on it. In actual fact, Ernest came to the house twice.’
‘Twice?’
‘The first time Ernest came back, the time he left the note on the windowsill, he had no idea Aunt Bessie was dead,’ Dottie said. ‘He told Kipper he’d come back to tell her he’d made a new life for himself. That’s why he left a note saying ‘I did it!’
John nodded sagely.’ And the second time?’
‘It was because he’d seen a newspaper cutting, and he knew that Reg was lying when he told the police he wasn’t there on the day Aunt Bessie died.’