by Rosie Harris
Betty washed up their cups, then went down to the garden to see if there was any way she could repair the damage he’d done. The plants seemed to be all right; the soil was quite moist so she replanted them to the best of her ability and hoped that no one would notice that they’d been uprooted. If they did, then she hoped they would think that it had been caused by a stray animal.
Several days passed and no one made any comment about the garden or seeing Peter out there messing around in the flower border. They had several sharp showers and she hoped that the moisture would help the border settle.
Surreptitiously, Betty watched the strip of border to see if the daffodils and other things she had replanted had died after being pulled out of the ground. To her relief, she saw that they were still alive and blooming.
That, she hoped, was the end of the incident although it did mean that she was going to have to be vigilant and make sure Peter never had the opportunity to do anything like that ever again.
Peter had forgotten the whole thing and Betty didn’t mention it but encouraged him to start taking short walks, using his walker. Once the old routine was re-established, Peter lost all interest in going into the garden. It wasn’t yet quite warm enough to sit out there and after his daily walk he seemed content to sit in his chair.
Tim came to see them once or twice a week, Mary phoned occasionally and Sally was a regular visitor. Shirley dropped in spasmodically, usually with some tasty dish she had made for them. If she was very busy then she sent Graham along with it. Neither of them ever stayed for more than a few minutes, but Betty was grateful that they came at all.
She tried to extend their daily walks but Peter had still not yet managed to walk as far as the park and so she set that as a target for their Easter weekend, which was less than a week away.
Thirty-Six
Betty and Peter agreed that they would try and walk to the park next day, so they were both disappointed when they woke up in the morning and found that the sky was overcast and there was a light drizzle falling.
‘Never mind,’ Betty said optimistically, ‘you know what they say, if it rains before breakfast then it will be fine in the afternoon.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Peter told her, as he helped her to carry their breakfast dishes through to the kitchen. ‘I was looking forward to going out and the chance to buy a newspaper.’
‘We need some milk so I’ll go across to the supermarket and buy you a newspaper,’ Betty offered.
‘You’ll get wet,’ he argued. ‘I’ll wait until this afternoon.’
‘They may all be sold out by then,’ she told him. ‘It won’t take me a minute.’
Peter was still arguing and saying that it wasn’t necessary as Betty put on her raincoat, covered her head with a rain hood and wheeled the scooter out into the corridor.
‘I won’t be long,’ she called as she headed for the lift.
‘You are good to me, Betty,’ he said appreciatively, as he closed the door behind her.
The supermarket was busy and it took her longer to get served than she had expected. This was partly because she stopped to buy two cream doughnuts for them to have with their morning coffee, as she knew how much Peter liked them and she hoped that it would cheer him up.
Outside, as she was starting for home she gaped in surprise. Surely it couldn’t be Peter, she told herself, staring across the road where there were two men: one young, one old and using a walker, hurrying as fast as he could to keep up with the younger well-dressed man who looked to be in his late thirties. They seemed to be going in the direction of the high street.
Yet the older man did look like Peter and he was wearing a brown cardigan the same as Peter had put on that morning. It couldn’t be him, Betty told herself, not out in the rain without a hat or coat.
She was so sure she must be mistaken, that she dismissed the idea from her mind as she went home.
She called out his name as she wheeled the scooter into the flat. There was no reply. The flat was empty.
She stood there wondering what to do next. It really had been Peter she had seen. But who was the man? The only man about that age that they knew was her grandson, Graham, and it was unlikely to be him at this time in the morning. He wouldn’t have taken Peter out into the drizzle wearing only a cardigan; in fact, it was most unlikely that he would have taken Peter out at all, or that Peter would have gone anywhere without letting her know. They would have waited until she came home and then explained why they had to go out together.
No, she told herself, it didn’t make sense.
She made another tour of the flat, to be sure she hadn’t made a mistake about him not being here, and then she turned the scooter round and made her way back to the lift.
Peter obviously hadn’t been looking for her because they had been going towards the high street. Was it someone from Tim’s office, she wondered as she turned the scooter in that direction.
At the top of the high street she found Peter by the post office. He was standing there in the rain looking utterly bemused and when she got closer she was sure that there were tears, as well as rain, on his face but he was so wet and bedraggled that it was difficult to tell.
‘Peter, where are you going?’ she called.
As she touched his arm he looked startled and the expression on his face was a mixture of relief and guilt.
‘Oh Betty …’ He seemed to choke on the next words and stood there abjectly shaking his head as if unable to explain what he was doing.
‘Come on, let’s go home and have a hot coffee,’ she said as calmly as she could.
She was about to take off her raincoat and wrap it round his shoulders, to protect him from the rain that was still falling, when she saw how wet he was already. She decided that would be useless, and the best thing to do was to get him home as quickly as possible so that he could take off his wet clothes and put on something dry, rather than get them both soaked.
As he walked alongside her she was more concerned than she would admit even to herself. Something had happened but what it was he obviously couldn’t explain.
Once they were safely indoors she switched on the kettle and, while she waited for it to boil, helped him out of his wet clothes and into warm dry ones.
He was still shivering with cold so she fetched a blanket and wrapped it round him, before helping him into his armchair. Then she made the coffee and added a tot of whisky to his in the hope of warding off any chill he might be feeling.
She was halfway through her own cup of coffee before he spoke.
‘It’s dreadful,’ he said in a shaky voice. ‘So dreadful that I don’t know how to tell you what has happened.’
It took almost an hour for Peter to reveal what had taken place.
A salesman had called within minutes of Betty leaving to go across to the supermarket and when he heard the door buzzer, Peter had thought that it was Betty and that she had forgotten her keys and had locked herself out of the building, so he let her in.
‘I was standing at the door expecting it to be you but it wasn’t. It was this young man,’ Peter explained. ‘He was a salesman, I think. Anyway, he had a case full of jewellery and I thought that it would be a wonderful opportunity to buy you a present. You do so much for me, Betty, that I was pleased at the idea of being able to buy something and surprise you.’
Betty squeezed his hand understandingly. ‘So what happened?’
‘I didn’t have enough money,’ he said pathetically. ‘The necklace I wanted to buy you was thirty pounds.’
‘Never mind, it’s the thought that counts,’ she told him.
‘That’s not the end of it though. The man said he would come with me to a cash machine to get some more money if I had a card, you know a debit card. Well, I knew where you kept yours and I knew what the number is so I thought that was a wonderful idea.’
‘You went to the cash point with this man?’ Betty said in alarm.
‘That’s right. My hand was shakin
g so much that I couldn’t put the card in the slot so he said he’d do it and that he’d get the money out for me if I told him the number.’
‘So, you let him draw the money out for you?’ Betty said, trying to keep her voice calm although inwardly her thoughts were in turmoil.
‘Well, yes, but the trouble is he didn’t give me the money or the card back, or give me the necklace I had chosen for you. He just made off and he was walking so fast I couldn’t catch him up. Then a car drew up and it must have been someone he knew because he jumped into that and they were gone.’
Betty stared at him in horror. ‘Never mind the necklace, you say he took my debit card and that he knows the number,’ she exclaimed.
‘I’m afraid so.’
Betty tried to think what they ought to do but her brain was numb. It was the sort of thing you read about in the newspaper. It was something that happened to other people, not to her. She was always so careful about keeping her card in a safe place, especially after her previous experience. She never carried it with her unless she was going to draw out money or they were going on what she called ‘a big shop’. It was bad enough that he had already taken money from their account, but if he had the car he could draw out all she had, all her savings, unless there was a way of stopping him. Previously, when fraudsters had known her card details she had been lucky to not lose any money with the bank recompensing her. Betty had a feeling she wouldn’t be so lucky a second time.
She couldn’t think which was the best thing to do first, phone the police or phone the bank.
In desperation, she phoned Tim and tried to explain to him what had happened.
‘Have you told the bank?’
‘No, not yet, shall I do that now?’
‘Of course! They can put a stop on your card. I’ll come round and help you do it,’ he told her.
The procedure took almost half an hour and Betty felt a wave of relief when it was completed.
‘So I have nothing to worry about now,’ she said to Tim.
‘No, but the bad news is that when he first used the card, when he was with Peter, he drew out two hundred and fifty pounds, the maximum you can get from the machine.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ Betty went white. ‘He can’t withdraw any more can he?’
‘He probably intended doing the same thing tomorrow, and the day after, until your account was empty. I’ve told you before,’ Tim said, ‘you shouldn’t keep that much money in your current account, you leave yourself open to losing it.’
‘I know, I know,’ Betty said, ‘but I find that it is so difficult to make transfers from my savings account to my current account. You see, there are all sorts of standing orders to be paid out each month that I have to make sure the balance is enough to cover them.’
‘Well, let me do it for you. You have only to ask,’ Tim told her. ‘Or you can add up exactly what the standing orders come to and ask the bank to transfer that amount from your savings account to your current account each month. That way you won’t have a surplus lying dormant in your current account.’
‘Oh dear, I find it all so difficult,’ Betty muttered unhappily.
‘Well, it doesn’t have to be. I’ll come to the bank with you and tell them exactly what you want to do, if you wish.’
‘I would be grateful, Tim, if you would,’ Betty told him.
‘Very well, we’ll do it tomorrow morning, and at the same time we can check if that rogue has tried to draw any more out.’
‘Thank you. I feel I can put it all behind me now,’ Betty told him.
‘Not quite, Mother. We need to report what has happened to the police and give them details of the man and his accomplice and the car they were using. I don’t suppose you managed make a note of the number plate?’
Betty shook her head.
‘Or of the make of car?’
Again, Betty shook her head. ‘It was a dark colour, that’s all I can tell you. The man who took my card was in his thirties and smartly dressed, he was wearing a trench coat style, cream raincoat. Peter might be able to give you a better description.’
When he questioned Peter, Tim found he wasn’t as helpful as Betty.
‘I don’t think we will take him along to the police station,’ Tim told her. ‘The state he is in, they are not very likely to take his evidence seriously. I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock. Is that all right?’
‘I’ll be ready,’ Betty promised.
The desk sergeant took what they told him very seriously and asked them to wait while he consulted with someone higher. They were taken along to another room, where a plain clothes detective was waiting to interrogate them.
‘Is it possible to speak to the man who was taken to the cash point?’ he asked.
Betty shook her head and Tim explained, ‘Mr Brown is very upset by the whole matter. He feels that he is responsible and, at the moment, we have persuaded him to rest. Perhaps you could leave it for a day or two.’
The detective frowned. ‘We would like to have a full description of the man who came to your door and it would seem that Mr Brown had a better opportunity to notice his face and what he was wearing than anyone else did.’
‘I really don’t feel that he is fit enough to come to the station,’ Betty protested. ‘Anyway, he feels guilty about what happened as it is, and to have to come here would only make that worse.’
The detective nodded. ‘I understand. What about if I came to the house? Perhaps if I walked back with you now he might regard me as a friend, and simply talk about the incident. My name is Bill Forest, by the way. Call me Bill.’
Tim and Betty exchanged glances. ‘Very well,’ Betty said.
She was still unsure about what the effect was going to be on Peter, but she could see that Bill Forest was very persistent so she thought the sooner they got it over with the better.
Peter was as cooperative as he could be and, by the time Bill left, he had a pretty accurate description of the man who had been involved and promised that his description would be circulated.
‘Is there any hope that I will get my money back?’ Betty asked.
Bill Forest looked dubious. ‘I hardly think so,’ he said. ‘However, the good news is that your prompt action ensures that he can’t draw any more money out of your account.’
Thirty-Seven
Betty found that Peter being interviewed by the police had left him in a very confused state.
He seemed to think that they believed him to be guilty of something and jumped nervously every time there was a knock on the door saying, ‘Have they come for me?’
She tried to explain why they had interviewed him and to reassure him that he was in no way guilty of any misdemeanour, but her efforts had very little effect so she decided the best thing to do was completely ignore his signs of alarm. He would forget the incident in time, she told herself.
He did forget about it eventually, but it took him far longer to do so than it did to forget things he should remember. His memory was certainly playing tricks on him, Betty thought with a sigh. Sometimes what he said or did made her laugh, but more and more it left her annoyed or frustrated.
He had also taken to doing some most peculiar things. She found him one day, armed with the bread knife, filling away furiously at the railings on the balcony.
‘Whatever are you trying to do?’ she asked him as she tried to take the bread knife from his hand.
‘I’m trying to get rid of the bars on this cage so that I can get out,’ he told her.
‘They’re not prison bars, they are railings that have been put there to protect you, to save you from falling,’ she told him, in disbelief.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, they’re there to keep me a prisoner. I want to go out into the garden,’ he protested. ‘And if I can’t remove them I’ll have to climb over them.’
Betty was startled. If Peter attempted to climb over the railings then, without doubt, he’d have a very nasty fall and end up breaking his legs or his arm, or e
ven both, as there was a drop of over twenty feet. Right below the balcony was a rockery which, though it might help to break his fall, would also cause additional injuries.
She could see he was in aggressive mood, so she tried to think of a way of mollifying him and distracting his mind from what he was doing.
‘Let me have the bread knife to cut some bread for our meal,’ she said holding out her hand but not attempting to take it from him.
He studied it for a minute then quietly handed it over. ‘You have it, it’s not much good anyway. I’ll have to find something stronger.’
‘Leave it until after you’ve had your lunch and then I will take you into the garden if that is where you want to go.’
He nodded as he walked past her, then sat down in his armchair and closed his eyes.
There was no mention of the garden when he woke up. He ate his lunch and then agreed that they should go for a walk. Betty wondered if they could get as far as the park, but decided that it might only disturb him if she mentioned it, so she merely turned in that direction and let him walk where he chose. To her delight, they managed to make it to the park.
They sat there for a while, enjoying the light breeze, and admiring the flower beds now ablaze with polyanthuses and daffodils. When school ended and the park began to fill up with children, their shouts and noisy screams seemed to upset him so she said it was time to go home for a cup of tea.
For several days this pattern was repeated. Peter seemed calm and quite content. He was eating well and sleeping soundly, and Betty thought that perhaps he had managed to put all the earlier worries behind him and hoped that from now on life was going to be reasonably normal.
As the days became warmer, they spent more and more time sitting out in the garden. Betty kept a watchful eye on Peter to make sure that he didn’t tamper with any of the flower beds, but he seemed to show no inclination to do so.
Sometimes she took the newspaper down with her and read out to him any items she thought might interest him but, as he never commented on them or showed the slightest interest, she stopped doing so and simply enjoyed reading them to herself.