Although I was fit and well and Bean seemed quite happy, the doctor had recommended I attend the ante-natal clinic. With no mum to advise me and no friends who had recently had babies, the experience was a novelty for me and I was keen to do everything right. Greg was desperate to come to the clinic with me, but we’d been told it was strictly out of bounds for fathers. It was as though pregnancy and childbirth was a thing of secrecy and wonderment that only women should understand and, although men were needed to start the whole thing off, they certainly were not required at any stage after that.
Strangely, I was quite nervous when I turned up at the little side door, which opened into the maternity clinic. Briarsbank Maternity Home had recently opened, having been converted from an old chest hospital. The exterior of the maternity home was austere, but once inside it felt welcoming, with freshly painted walls and scrubbed linoleum floors. There were two wards, a delivery suite, and a large entrance area that was used for the ante-natal clinic. To avoid us mothers feeling too exposed they had divided the clinic area into curtained bays, which provided privacy during the all-important examinations.
Midwives ran the clinic, but there was always a doctor on hand should he be needed. Mothers-to-be were discouraged from having their baby at home, which was the way it had always been and how it was for my mum and I guess her mum before her. I’d already picked up a leaflet from the doctor’s surgery, detailing the new equipment that was available now, as well as improved pain relief, which in my opinion was the best thing about all the recent medical advances.
Briarsbank was about a fifteen-minute walk from our house, and although I set off from home in time, I ended up rushing the last few yards for fear of being late. As I walked in I was breathless and I suppose a little flushed, partly from the rushing and partly from nerves. There were six other women already there, all seated in a line on a row of wooden chairs that reminded me of schooldays. I had visions of a stern midwife telling me to stand up straight and stop slouching. I was also acutely aware my shoes needed a polish and smiled to myself when I thought of Greg telling me how ridiculous I was being. The smell of antiseptic was all-pervasive and didn’t help with my state of permanent queasiness.
Two of the women had toddlers who had no intention of being still or quiet. The children were chasing each other up and down past the row of chairs, until one of toddlers toppled over and started to cry. Then the other one let out a cry as well, perhaps coming out in sympathy with her new friend. The mothers appeared to be oblivious and just carried on chatting. Eventually, both children stopped crying and tottered back to their mothers. The thought of having to cope with a new baby, while still struggling to control a toddler, filled me with dread. I said a silent thank you to the heavens that there was just the one little Bean for me to consider.
None of the other mothers were familiar to me, so I sat down on one of the empty chairs and smiled at the freckle-faced girl sitting next to me.
‘Hello, I’m Nikki,’ she said. ‘There’s quite a wait. There doesn’t appear to be much of a system, I think they may be short staffed.’
‘Janie,’ I said and smiled again.
‘Your first?’ Nikki said, nodding her head in the direction of my midriff.
‘Yes. Yours?’
‘Yes. Scary, isn’t it? I’m fine with the idea of being pregnant and all that, but giving birth. The thought of a human being coming out of a hole the size of a milk bottle top fills me with dread. Sometimes I think I’d like to send it back, change my mind.’ Despite her freckles her complexion was pale.
‘The trickiest thing so far is that I have almost permanent hiccups,’ I said.
‘Really annoying, I bet?’
‘And embarrassing. They come on every time I’m nervous or excited and then I’m hiccuping away and it doesn’t matter how much water I drink they take forever to wear off. And drinking tea used to be one of my favourite things, but now just the smell of it makes me queasy. Have you gone off anything?’ I asked her.
‘Everything pretty much. I just look at toast now and I want to throw up. The only thing I can keep down without too much trouble is a plate of chips, with loads of salt and vinegar. Our house smells like a chip shop most of the time, but Frank doesn’t seem to mind.’
As we waited to be called through by the midwife we continued chatting. I discovered Nikki had moved into the area from East Anglia. She didn’t live far from me and we arranged to walk back home together once the clinic was over.
‘Frank and I have just moved into one of the new houses on the Goldhill Estate,’ she told me as we walked. ‘My husband got a transfer. He’s a detective sergeant up at Tidehaven Station. It was promotion for him, so worth the move. It’s been a lot of upheaval though, what with the baby on the way and all.’
It was difficult to imagine Nikki with Detective Sergeant Bright. He must have been at least ten years older than her, maybe on his second marriage? She was petite, birdlike almost, with a hopeful demeanour - bright in name and nature. DS Bright, on the other hand, was portly, with a jowly face and thinning hair and little that was hopeful about him. Perhaps detective work shattered your faith in people after a while, or it could be he was just a glass half-empty kind of person.
We chatted about our husbands, our babies and the traumas of house moves and while we spoke I started to formulate a plan.
‘Did you want to meet up after next week’s clinic?’ I asked her, as we reached the end of the street where we were due to part. One of the midwives told us that each week there would be a talk or a demonstration and we were all welcome to attend.
‘Yes, let’s. We won’t go anywhere for tea, though,’ she said, remembering what I’d told her.
‘Or toast,’ I said.
The following week I made certain I arrived at the clinic early. I saved Nikki a seat beside me and waved when I spotted her arriving. There weren’t as many mothers or children as on the previous occasion and one of the midwives was distributing leaflets about the benefits of bottle-feeding versus breast-feeding.
‘I can’t imagine why anyone would want to bottle-feed,’ Nikki said, as she looked through the leaflet. ‘It must be such a palaver with all the sterilising and what not. We’ve got all we need, right here,’ she said, pushing her chest out and laughing.
‘Do you reckon it hurts?’ I said. ‘It says in this leaflet that some people can get trouble with their ducts. Sounds nasty.’
‘It’s the natural thing to do, though. Our mums wouldn’t have dreamt of using bottles, I bet.’
According to dad, my mum had been delighted when infant formula was widely available after the war, but I guessed this was not the time to mention it. I stuffed the leaflet in my pocket, having already decided that bottle-feeding would suit Bean and me very well.
Once the clinic was over we bought a couple of cans of drink and sat in Tensing Gardens for a while. Summer had returned and we were grateful for the shade offered by the umbrella of trees, which overhung one of the benches. The gardens were peaceful, with few people around, bar a few dog walkers. We chatted about impending motherhood and how we both promised ourselves it wouldn’t change a thing.
‘I mentioned to Frank I might get a little job once the baby is a bit older, when it’s at school. He hit the roof. Sometimes I wonder if it’s the police force that makes him the way he is, but then his father is old fashioned like that, would never let his mother go out to work. A woman’s place is in the home and all that rot.’
‘I know what you mean. Greg has visions of us having a mini football team, likes the idea of me as an earth mother, but he can just dream on. He’s not the one having to go through the birth, is he? Or the pregnancy.’
‘And moods, I’m finding I’m so moody all the time. It’s driving Frank mad. We end up arguing about the silliest of things. He loves to talk about his work, although he’s not supposed to tell anyone a lot of it, not even me. I used to be interested, but now I just don’t want to hear. It’s all so depressi
ng.’
I shuffled my feet around and finished my drink. ‘Still it must be exciting when they get a breakthrough. I’ve always thought police work must be quite fun, well not fun exactly, but every day something new.’ I kept my voice as level as possible.
‘I should show a bit more interest, I know,’ Nikki said. ‘In fact, the other night I couldn’t stop him talking he was so fired up - you might know something about the case, a local girl went missing.’
My heart started jumping in my chest and I breathed deeply to keep the hiccups at bay. ‘Er, yes, I remember something about it. A while ago though, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, apparently she disappeared after her boyfriend had been killed in a hit and run. So sad. Frank told me the man who was originally in charge of the case reckoned she must have decided to end it all, with the grief. A shock like that - you can just imagine.’
‘Crikey,’ I said, busying myself by kicking around some leaves that had gathered under the bench.
‘But they’ve never found a body or heard any more from her. I’m sure if I was her I’d want to move out of the area. Too many reminders. But Frank doesn’t want to hear my opinion. What do I know, I’m just a housewife.’
The picture that Nikki was painting of her husband made me feel uncomfortable.
‘Anyway, my Frank is looking after the case now. They said they needed some fresh eyes on it and what with him moving here and just being promoted. It’s quite a responsibility, but he was dead chuffed.’
I flinched slightly at her unfortunate choice of words, but continued to avert my gaze, to make sure my face didn’t give anything away.
‘Well, he’d read all the case notes, said he couldn’t come up with any new angles. Then out of the blue someone came into the police station. Turns out it’s that Mr Peters.’
‘Peters? I don’t think I know him.’
‘Well, I probably shouldn’t say, but he’s the chap who’s just taken over the newsagent’s on Waterstone Avenue.’
‘You mean the one that closed down when the previous couple ran out of money?’
‘I don’t know about that, it was before my time.’
‘Frank told you about it?’
‘No, it was a coincidence really. I’d called into the station to give Frank his lunch, he’d left his sandwich box behind and I wasn’t going to see all that food going to waste. There I was, waiting at the front desk, when a man walked in, stocky chap, in his fifties. Asked to speak to the detective in charge of the Zara Carpenter case. Then a week or so later I went into the paper shop to pay my bill and there he was, the same man. That’s how I knew. When Frank came home that night, all excited, I asked him. Turns out he’s given them some new information.’
‘Gosh, I wonder what he knows.’
‘Of course, Frank can’t tell me anything else. It would be more than his job’s worth.’
‘Absolutely,’ I said and changed the subject.
I had what I needed.
Chapter 11
‘Well, I think it is very unfair to keep back facts from me.’
‘I am not keeping back facts. Every fact that I know is in your possession. You can draw your own deductions from them. This time it is a question of ideas.’
The Mysterious Affair at Styles - Agatha Christie
The gods were on my side once more. Greg had agreed to try out for the local pub darts team. They’d been on at him for months to join them, but he kept coming up with excuses. It wasn’t until I pushed him on the subject he admitted he was rubbish at darts.
‘Just tell them then, they won’t want a no-hoper on the team.’
‘You don’t understand, I’m hardly likely to admit I’m no good at something so simple. Everyone can play darts, there’s not much to it.’
‘There must be something to it or you wouldn’t have a problem. And you’re wrong, not everyone can play, I can’t.’
‘I mean men. Ask any man and he’ll tell you.’
‘Well, you’ve got a choice. Either you come clean and tell them you’re rubbish, or you have a go and surprise yourself. Practise makes perfect and all that.’
When I heard the knock at the door, I thought it was him coming back early, but forgotten his key. I was all ready to commiserate with him. Instead, I opened the door and maintained an expressionless face when I found Owen standing there.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Janie, I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Good to see you, come on in. Greg’s down the pub. They’ve been nagging him for ages to join their darts team. I shouldn’t say, but I have a feeling they might be regretting it. Let’s just say, he’s unlikely to win them any trophies. He’ll have fun though, which is the most important thing. Tea? Coffee? Squash?’
All the time I was rambling Owen remained standing in the hallway, looking decidedly awkward.
‘Come through, have a seat. Will you have a drink?’
‘Tea, two sugars, if that’s okay.’
I guessed he had come to talk and wasn’t sure how to get started. There was no safe ground I could think of to break the silence, but then he did it for me.
‘I’ve come to apologise.’
‘Apologise? What for?’
‘I’ve haven’t been completely honest with you.’
I handed him his tea and could see his hand shaking slightly as he took it from me.
‘I told you it was two years since I’ve seen Zara, well that’s not entirely true.’
‘It’s not?’ For a moment I wished Greg was there to witness this, so I didn’t have to say, I told you so. Although, depending on Owen’s revelations there was a strong chance I wouldn’t be saying a word to Greg, not about Owen’s unexpected visit, or the confession I was now eagerly awaiting.
‘You’re her friend and I feel like I owe you the truth,’ he said.
‘You do?’
I settled down on the settee, while Owen fidgeted on the chair in front of me. As he spoke he looked down at his hands, which were clasped tightly together.
‘Zara and I were more than friends. We dated for a while. More than a while, actually, five months and six days.’
‘Oh, right, I see.’ It was clear from Owen’s demeanour this was no casual relationship, at least for him.
‘I met her at an anti-nuclear protest meeting. The speaker was brilliant, he got a standing ovation and Zara and I pushed our way to the front to try to catch a moment with him at the end of the meeting. We both started talking at the same time and ended up laughing about it. By the time we’d apologised to each other the speaker had been ushered out of a side door and we lost our chance. We got chatting and well…’
‘You went out for a while, but it didn’t work out?’
‘We were perfect for each other, it wasn’t just our political opinions we had in common. We liked the same books, the same music. We used to talk for hours. She was passionate about justice and equality.’ As he spoke about her his expression was intense, his jaw clenched and his eyes bright.
‘It must have been wonderful to find you had so much in common. What happened? Did you just drift apart?’
He stopped talking and sipped his tea. Then he stood and walked to the window. It was clear he was struggling to choose his words and I was wondering what he was going to say next.
‘I don’t know what she ever saw in Joel.’
I thought back to a conversation I’d had with Zara, one summer’s evening. We’d stopped for a while and went down on the beach, taking it in turns to throw pebbles into the gently lapping waves.
‘Joel is so talented, Janie,’ she said. ‘He could easily get work in London, there are people there who would pay a fortune for what he does.’
‘London, crikey. Would you go too then? If he moved to London, would you move with him?’
She just smiled and bent her head.
‘His ambition is to open his own photographic gallery,’ she said. ‘He’ll do it one day, I’m sure.’
‘Portrai
ts?’
‘This is just a start for him, the weddings and all that. His real passion is telling a story with photos. He could make such a difference, you know. Making people see the world through his lens. It’s exciting.’
I turned my attention back to Owen.
‘Joel? You knew Joel?’ I asked him.
‘Yes, well, I knew of him. I never spoke to him, but I could see how Zara changed once he was on the scene.’
‘She finished with you to go out with Joel?’
He hadn’t sat down again, but was now pacing around the room, looking increasingly agitated. I sensed he was reliving his moments with Zara, wondering how much to tell me. He looked past me, with no real focus and then he said, ‘I made a big mistake. I asked her to choose, I thought she’d come to her senses and tell him to back off, instead…’
‘It must have been a difficult time for you.’
‘I loved her, you see, I still do. When Zara broke it off with me my life fell apart. I’d rented a bigger house in Brighton, I wanted her to move in with me. She’d have none of it. She told me to forget about her, said she was moving in with Joel. It was all so sudden, so I came back to Tamarisk Bay. I needed to see her, to persuade her not to do it. He wasn’t right for her, you must have seen that. You spent time with them both, didn’t you? You and Greg?’
I was struggling to get my head around all that Owen was telling me. Zara had been living in Brighton until she moved in with Joel, but she hadn’t mentioned Owen in all our conversations. I thought back to the day I packed Zara’s tapestry bag, putting her diary in at the top. Perhaps there were clues inside that diary, but it was too late now, the diary disappeared the same day that Zara did.
‘The end of a relationship is never easy,’ I said. An image of Marjorie Proops’ agony aunt column came into my head and I had to bite my lip to stop myself smiling. ‘What happened?’
‘I only saw her the once. I came for a weekend, stayed with my parents and hung around outside Joel’s place, hoping to catch Zara on her own.’
The Tapestry Bag: A gripping mystery, full of twists and turns (A Janie Juke mystery Book 1) Page 7