by Penny Kline
‘Strip to the waist!’ She commanded and the harshness of her voice made Melanie look up, suppressing a giggle. ‘Do as you’re told, I said strip to the waist!’
For a fleeting moment the face in front of her merged with an image of her mother, years ago, when she was only eight or nine, before they came and took her away. People thought her mother had died, following her father to an early grave as they liked to call it. People thought all kinds of things but none of them knew the truth, that she was a hateful, repulsive, worthless nobody who had ended up exactly where she deserved to be.
Chapter Twelve
‘Charlie had a fight,’ said Eric.
‘When? Oh, you mean at school? What happened?’
We were sitting in Eric’s kitchen. I had come round to talk about what I was going to say to Barry Haig but he had brushed my queries aside, insisting it was up to me and in any case Barry would do most of the talking.
‘The other boy had a split lip.’ Eric was walking round, giving each surface a perfunctory wipe with a greasy looking sponge. ‘Neither of them would tell the head teacher how the fight started. When I threatened to switch off the television he said it was an argument about Chelsea and Spurs.’
‘But you didn’t believe him. He wasn’t hurt?’
‘Just a couple of bruises. Seems to have come off lightly. His teacher was quite apologetic, as if she thought it was her fault.’
‘Where’s Charlie now?’
‘Out with my mother. Maltby came round just after they left. I think he’d been watching the house.’
‘Why on earth would he want to do that?’
He shrugged, dropping a slice of bread in the toaster, then taking another out of the packet. ‘Want some?’
‘No, thanks. Yes, all right then.’ I was tired. After leaving the office I had called in at the maternity hospital to see an old client with fertility problems who had just given birth to a baby girl. It should have been an enjoyable occasion but while I was looking for somewhere to park I had caught a glimpse in my driving mirror of a large ungainly figure on a bike. When I turned left the bike turned too. When I stopped, the bike stopped fifty yards behind me. Cycling in the city centre was a hazardous occupation but because the traffic moved so slowly it was relatively easy to keep up with a car. Had Janice been following me ever since I left the office? If so, that meant she knew where I worked as well as where I lived. Later, coming out of the hospital I had seen her again, further up St Michael’s Hill, and my first impulse had been to go up to her and confront her, but what good would it have done? If I had suggested she was following me she would have asked if it was a free country or did she have to ask permission to cycle round Bristol. Alternatively I could have greeted her warmly, expressing surprise at the coincidence of us both being in the same place at the same time. In the end I had stayed my side of the road and pretended not to have noticed.
Eric was on his knees, searching in the fridge. ‘Butter or reduced fat vegetable spread?’
‘There’s a choice?’
‘Not much of either. By the way, has Peter Hedley been round with his petition?’
‘I’ve only been back fifteen minutes. Actually I think I did see him, lurking in that alleyway that goes through to Cornvale Road. Is it just me, or does everyone find him a bit creepy?’
‘You’d be creepy if you had a wife like that.’ Eric placed a pot of Marmite on the table, then added a jar with about half an inch of damson jam at the bottom. ‘Are you doing anything this evening?’
‘Why? What time?’ Did he want me to look after Charlie again or was he going to offer to buy me a drink? If we could talk to each other on neutral ground, away from the house and workshop, perhaps he would relax a little. But someone would have to stay with Charlie.
He had his back turned and his shoulders hunched. ‘Meeting that broadcaster bloke, are you?’
‘No, I told you, I’m going to see Barry Haig in an hour’s time.’
He frowned. ‘Today? I thought you said tomorrow. Anyway, it won’t take long.’
‘After I’ve seen Barry there’s a meeting I have to go to but it should be over by about eight-thirty. You want me to stay with Charlie?’
‘What meeting?’ He looked at me suspiciously, as if he thought I had hastily invented a previous engagement.
‘Local health workers, psychiatrists, GPs, community nurses. Pooling ideas, talking about referrals. It’ll be a waste of time, they always are, but there’s this guy who’s been on some course, likes to hold forth on networks, hierarchies, interpersonal dynamics, you know the kind of crap.’
‘Has my father referred any of his patients to you?’
‘I’m not sure. As far as I can remember I’ve never had any dealings with a Dr Newsom myself but Martin or Nick might have done. Some GPs are quite keen to make referrals, others are a bit reluctant.’
‘And some are arrogant enough to think they can sort out all the psychological stuff themselves. That’s my father all over. Anyway, if you come across him I strongly advise you to stay well clear.’
‘Why did Maltby come round?’
‘What? I haven’t the faintest idea.’
‘Did you know his wife’s just about to have a baby?’
Eric’s head jerked round. ‘You’re joking. I see, so you and Maltby have been having lots of nice cosy little chats.’
‘I told you, I’ve only spoken to him once, after that man was stabbed to death in Fishponds Road.’
‘And you said you’d seen me leaving the house.’
‘No, but if he’d asked me … He showed me a photo of the murder victim. Did the picture mean anything to you?’
‘No.’ He handed me a piece of toast. ‘Nikki had dozens of friends, some from years back. The more she could collect the better. Having a notebook stuffed with addresses and phone numbers made her feel people must like her, think she was worth knowing. Living with me had the opposite effect. She’d have liked someone with a high-powered job, a BMW, and a wardrobe full of flash, designer suits.’
‘So she never mentioned this Cunliffe? Any idea who could’ve tipped off the police?’
‘No.’
His voice had a sharp edge. I decided to change the subject. ‘Oh, by the way, I met Deborah Bryant. I was in the shop, looking for something for Charlie.’
‘It’s not his birthday.’
I sighed. ‘No, I know, Barry told me, not till November the fifth. How long have your father and Deborah lived together?’
‘About a year, bit more. Why?’
‘And you say your father had never met her until he called in at the shop to see your rocking horse? He hadn’t been into the shop before? Not even with Charlie?’ Eric’s mouth was full of toast. ‘Look, if there’s something you want to know … I can’t stand it when people talk in riddles.’
I stood up to leave. ‘Just making conversation. It’s not important.’
‘D’you know something, Anna,’ he said, and as far as I could remember it was the first time he had ever used my name. ‘You may fool your patients with your unimportant questions but you don’t fool me.’
*
Barry Haig had been watching out for me. A slightly-built man with olive skin, dark brown eyes and receding hair, he was standing in front of his glass porch, when I was only halfway across the road.
‘Anna?’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m sorry, don’t mean to be rude, but I didn’t catch your other name.’
‘McColl. Look, it must seem a bit strange me coming to see you instead of Eric but —’
‘Not at all, makes sense to have a go-between, easier all round. He’s put you in the picture, I expect, not that there’s much to tell.’ He stood aside to let me pass. ‘We’re through the back, and don’t worry about Moira, there’s nothing she doesn’t know about me, I’m an open book.’
The house was narrow and rather dark. When I reached what estate agents usually refer to as ‘the breakfast room’ Moira was sitting near the window
with some pale blue knitting on her lap. A large woman with a round fat face and dark eyebrows that were almost as thick as her short greying hair, she looked more or less the same age as Barry, but she still managed to give the impression she was more like his mother than his wife.
‘All right, love?’ She was talking to Barry not me. Then, eyeing me a little warily, she inquired if the room was warm enough or would I like the gas switched on.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ I sat down in a basket chair, the only one that had been left vacant when Barry positioned himself close to his wife, and tried not to make too many creaks. The walls were covered in pictures, mostly landscapes, but the place of honour over the fireplace had been given to a white stallion rising out of the waves. Everything was spotlessly clean — the china and glass animals on the shelves looked as if they were dusted each day — and the scent of meadow flowers wafted up from the plug-in air freshener next to my chair.
I had been wondering how to begin but, just as Eric had said he would, Barry started talking straight away, hardly pausing to draw breath between questions. ‘Charlie’s all right then? And Eric? Still living in the same house are they? Oh, yes, that’s right, you’re staying in the annexe. Another lady lived there before, didn’t she? I’ve been wanting to get in touch, talked about it over and over, haven’t we, Moy, but — well, Eric and me — not that I ever had anything against him, quite the opposite as a matter of fact, always thought he was just the person Nikki needed only it would have taken a man with a —’
‘Barry was in hospital at the time of Nikki’s funeral,’ said Moira, patting Barry’s leg in a fruitless attempt to calm him.
‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘then we went on holiday, didn’t we love. I was in the clear last time they did the tests, you just have to keep your fingers crossed, that’s what we say, only you being a doctor you’d be well up on all that kind of business, know things the rest of us would prefer not to think about.’
Moira smiled at him reassuringly. ‘Prostate,’ she explained. ‘He should’ve been referred sooner but you don’t expect it at Barry’s age.’
‘Just one of those bits of bad luck.’ Barry was reaching to his right, trying to pull something from between a pile of newspapers then struggling to balance them when they threatened to fall. ‘Nikki used to bring Charlie here every week the first few months,’ he said. ‘She’d tell Eric she was visiting another woman with a baby, not that Eric would have minded, at least I could never see why he would. Be a bit dull for Charlie, coming here now. What d’you think? Take him out somewhere, shall I? Thought he might like that science place where you can touch the exhibits and that, or if the weather wasn’t too bad we could have a trip to Weston, he always loved the sea and they’ve a bouncy castle on the beach and a horse that pulls a carriage you can ride in, or would he be too old for that now?’
‘I’m sure he’d love it,’ I said, wondering if Moira would accompany them on the outing and, if so, if Charlie would resent her presence, wanting Barry to himself. ‘I was thinking, perhaps it might be a good idea if you wrote him a letter first, or sent a card, just as a way of getting in touch again before the two of you actually met up.’
Barry started nodding vigorously. ‘Good idea, very good idea, I’ll send one first thing tomorrow. Anything that would make it easier for the lad. Talks about his mother, does he?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I began, but there was something about Barry that made me want to tell him the truth. ‘Well, no, that’s one of the things Eric’s worried about.’
‘Can’t say I blame him. I was just the same — after Nikki’s Mum walked out.’ He glanced at Moira, then back at me. ‘It’s all right, like I said there’s nothing Moira hasn’t heard. I was married before, before Nikki’s mother, I mean. First wife lives in Swansea. I’ve a daughter, Suzanne, expecting her first baby after Christmas, not that I see much of her but at least we’re in touch again and that’s the main thing. After I left to live with Julie, Nikki’s Mum, she didn’t want nothing to do with me. Couldn’t blame her really, but time passes and in the end people stop feeling so bitter, then when Julie left, well, I suppose Suzanne saw it as some kind of justice, me walking out on her, then being walked out on myself. Anyway, I think it was the chance she’d been waiting for, forgive and forget. No good bearing grudges, life’s too short.’ He glanced at Moira who had resumed her knitting, but let the needles drop so she could give his hand a squeeze.
I had expected to be in the house less than half an hour. Now I could see the conversation continuing until it was time to go straight to the meeting.
‘Julie lives in Spain,’ said Barry, having another go at finding what he wanted under the newspapers. ‘The police must have informed her of Nikki’s death but I suppose she decided there wouldn’t be much point coming back, wasn’t anything she could do.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘I’d have liked a son,’ he said, ‘but after Charlie was born — well, I know he’s not related, not really, but seeing Nikki and I had looked after each other for nearly three years after Julie left …’
Was he telling me how resentful he felt that Eric had done nothing to arrange for Charlie to visit him before? Was that why Eric had asked me to phone? He felt guilty about Barry, disliked the idea of having to justify not getting in touch. Or was there something else?
‘How’s Eric’s business?’ said Barry. ‘No use with my hands myself, can’t even put up a shelf that stays on the wall, can I, Moy? I expect Eric’s told you how he and Nikki met at the County Athletics. Junior Country, quite an occasion. Eric came third in the long jump. Nikki ran in the hundred yards, should have won but someone jostled her at the finish. Beautiful physique she had, and she never lost her figure, not even after Charlie was born.’
‘I didn’t know they’d met at school,’ I said. ‘Actually I haven’t known Eric all that long.’
‘Oh, no, they weren’t at the same school.’ Barry looked worried in case he had inadvertently given the wrong impression. ‘Nikki went to the local comprehensive. I believe Eric had passed some kind of scholarship exam to the place he attended. If it hadn’t been for the athletics they’d never have met.’
Moira had retrieved an envelope from under the pile of newspapers. ‘Photographs,’ she said. ‘That what you were looking for, Bar?’ She held one out for me inspect. ‘Such a pretty girl, it’s hard to believe she’s gone, hard to take it in.’
The first picture must have been taken by Barry during one of Nikki’s visits. Charlie, I assumed it was Charlie, was wrapped in a pale blue blanket and Nikki was holding him, with his head resting on her arm, and a silly expression on her face as if she found being a mother slightly embarrassing.
Barry leaned over my shoulder. ‘Only be three or four weeks old. With Nikki being so young I expected the baby to be small. Shows how much I know about it — turned out to be a whopper. Used to come on the bus, she did, had to change at Broadmead.’
‘Be a big boy now,’ said Moira, and I realised I should have brought a photo of Charlie to show them. ‘Think you’ll recognise him, Bar?’
Most of the photos were of Charlie, but there was one of Nikki and Barry at the seaside. Nikki’s hair had blown across her face and she had her head thrown back, smiling at the camera like a teenage fashion model. She looked about six months pregnant.
‘How soon will I be able to see him?’ Barry searched in his pockets, then accepted a tissue from Moira and held it against his mouth and nose. ‘Been such a time, must be getting on for two years. Nikki took it hard when me and Moy got together. But you haven’t forgotten me, Charlie, you haven’t forgotten.’
*
The meeting was held at a large purpose-built health centre that had only been opened the previous month. Martin had been going to attend it himself, then he remembered one of his children was having a birthday party and decided to send me instead.
I arrived a little late but was still one of the first and there was no one
there I recognised, apart from a social worker called Judith who had once complained, totally unreasonably, that I had turned one of her clients against her. She saw me but pretended to be busy looking for something in her rucksack, then to my relief an old doctor from a practice in Clifton appeared and I moved across to reintroduce myself.
‘Of course I remember you, Anna, we talked on the phone only a few weeks ago.’
‘Oh yes, that’s right.’ It had been at least nine months before. ‘But we haven’t actually met for nearly three years.’
‘Really? That long is it? How are you? Not over-working, I hope. You look a little tired, but don’t we all.’ And he was off on his usual criticisms of the health service, followed by his dislike of the garbled accounts of medical research reported in the newspapers and on TV. Eventually he paused long enough for me to ask if he knew a Dr Newsom.
‘Ted, you mean old Ted? I saw him outside, just a minute ago, parking his car, talking to that psychiatrist, I forget his name, the one with his beer gut hanging over his trousers. Should be here any time. Want an introduction?’
‘No, but if you could point him out when he comes in.’
‘Curioser and curioser. What’s he done, trodden on somebody’s toes? I’ve never thought of Ted as one of your insensitive high-handed medics. Hang on, speak of the devil, he’s coming through the door.’ The photograph Isabel had shown me must have been an old one — Ted Newsom’s hair was shorter than I remembered and his untidy moustache had been neatly clipped. He was much broader than Eric, not physically attractive, at least not to me, but with the aura of authority doctors tend to carry round with them. I had a sudden image of him in bed with tall elegant Deborah, and wanted to smile. Then I thought about Isabel and her attachment to the man, who was still her legal husband, that compelled her to follow his car each Monday evening in the hope of … In the hope of what?
The old doctor had drifted away. I found a chair and skimmed through the handout that had been provided by the man who had organised the meeting. Conflicting Loyalties in Primary Health Care. Loyalties to clients, loyalties to other so-called health workers? There was something about patient records and how much should be recorded on computers, followed by an item about receptionists and whether they had a right to press patients to say why they wanted a home visit.