‘It was almost like having our own children. I think Valentina would have adopted you if she could have.’ He pauses and brushes his forehead as if to erase an unpleasant thought. ‘So, what have you been up to? It’s been a long time. I won’t say how you’ve grown, but I’d still recognise you if you hadn’t said you were coming. Same hair, same solemn face.’
‘Was I solemn?’ I ask.
‘Oh yes, you always looked like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders.’
I’ve always thought being solemn was a result of losing my mother and twin. When I think of Gladstone Road I remember Mum singing and Edie and I getting up to mischief. I don’t remember being solemn. Perhaps my memory is as flawed as Mr Vickers’.
‘So, Tess, how exactly can I help you? If you’ve come to raid my fridge, I’m afraid there’s only half a pack of sausages and they’re out of date.’
I try to laugh at his little joke.
‘It’s a bit awkward, Martin.’
I stumble over his first name.
‘Is it about Valentina?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Why else would you be here?’
Edie is with me now. I hear her nervous giggle and nearly laugh myself. How silly it was to break in next door when we could have just asked him. It’s taken us twenty years to find the courage. Us, the word just comes to me.
‘You’ll think it’s odd but I wondered if you know where Valentina’s living now?’
Whatever response I expected, it isn’t this. Mr Vickers chuckles and shakes his head.
‘You come here and ask me that. I thought you could tell me.’
‘Me? No.’
He looks puzzled.
‘You really don’t know?’
‘How could I?’
He laughs again.
‘He’s sly. I’ll give him that.’
‘Who?’
‘Ray, your uncle.’
I must be slow today.
‘She left me for him. Valentina left me for Ray.’
What he’s saying makes no sense.
‘Ray’s still with Becca. They’ve been married over thirty years.’
‘Then she must be a very understanding woman, your aunt.’
He laughs then looks at me and stops.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have blurted it out. Only I was sure you knew.’
‘How can he be with her when he’s with Becca?’
‘I don’t know the arrangement, Tess.’
Is he lying? He has no reason to. How does it work? Does Ray divide his time between two houses? I think of Becca’s nervousness when Ray arrives late. Is she worried Ray won’t turn up? Is that why they move so frequently, so the neighbours don’t ask too many questions?
‘Ray can’t still be with Mrs Vickers or… I’m not sure what to call her.’
‘She’s still Mrs Vickers. We never got around to divorcing.’ I look down and notice the wedding ring still on his finger. ‘I’ve not met anyone else and I think your aunt would draw the line at bigamy, even if Ray wouldn’t.’
‘So you still speak to her, Mrs Vickers?’
‘Occasionally, over the phone, for legal reasons. We were left some money a while back, had to sort all that out.’
‘I can’t believe they’re still together.’
‘There’s something else you should know, Tess, perhaps why they’ve lasted so long. There’s a child. Apparently, Ray adores him.’ Mr Vickers glances at me. ‘You’re upset. Of course you must be. Valentina said you and Edie were close to Ray and his wife, they were your second parents.’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘I really thought you knew. That’s why I laughed. I thought you were up to something.’
‘Why were you so sure I knew?’
‘Something Valentina said once.’
‘What?’
‘I got the impression Edie knew, so I assumed you did, too.’
‘Did Mum know?’
‘Yes. She was very kind, often came to see me after Valentina left. She seemed as upset as me.’
‘It was around the same time,’ I say.
‘Val and your mum were good friends, but Gina had no idea about this Ray business until Val left. Thank God she never lived to hear about the baby. Gina and I talked a lot. She helped with sorting out bills and working the washing machine. Valentina used to do all of that. All I did was go to work and come home. I didn’t realise. Too late now.’
He speaks the words as if he doesn’t believe them. The wedding ring is still on his finger and the sofa is far too large for a man on his own, has he been waiting twenty years for her to come back? My childhood dread of Mr Vickers made me cautious about coming; I didn’t expect to end up feeling sorry for him. And Becca, all those years of lies and the permanent strain on her face. ‘Sour-faced’, Raquel called her once. She must love him more than she ever shows.
‘Do you remember when the police came to your house that time, after Valentina left? They handcuffed you.’
‘Not my finest hour,’ he says.
‘What happened?’
‘I went to Ray’s work and punched him. One of his workers recognised me. Of course Ray wanted it all brushed under the carpet and the police were happy to let me off with a caution. What made you remember that?’
I decide it’s not the best time to tell him that Edie and I thought he’d murdered Valentina and stashed her body in the freezer.
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Would you be able to give me Mrs Vickers’ address?’
‘I don’t have it.’
‘You said you spoke to her.’
‘Over the phone and no, I’m not going to give you her number. Let sleeping dogs lie. If your aunt accepts it and I’ve accepted it, there’s no point stirring things up.’
‘I don’t want to stir anything up. I just want to ask her something about Mum.’
Mr Vickers takes on the stern expression I remember from childhood.
‘The past is best left alone, Tess, trust me.’
‘Will people stop saying that? I’m sick of it.’
‘Who else said it?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Ray, your Dad?’
I don’t reply.
‘When you’re my age, the past is hard to ignore. There’s more behind you than in front. You’re young. Move on.’
‘I can’t. I need to know. After all I’ve been through with Mum and now Edie…’
Her name acts as a code word. Mr Vickers sighs.
‘Very well then. I’ll tell you where she works. Just turn up; if you ring she’ll try to avoid you. And don’t tell her it was me who told you where she is.’
Chapter 40
Edie: March 1998
The blurred image on the microfiche held in the library looked nothing like Mum. She doubted Nathan Bexley’s resemblance was any more accurate. Edie moved to the next sheet.
She had imagined Mum’s death had made the national news. But it barely made the local papers. The front pages on the week it happened were dominated by a controversy about city councillors granting planning permission to a new shopping complex, in which they had a financial interest. On the week of the trial, a charity match at the local football club gained extensive coverage. Mum’s death was tucked away, several pages in, next to a dog returning to its owners after being lost on holiday hundreds of miles away, and another about confusion over school uniform policy.
Where Mum’s death was reported, the journalists noted that she had excess alcohol in her system. All hinted at suicide. A passing motorist had seen her running from the waste ground behind the road. Nathan Bexley claimed a man was running after her. Gina Piper had not run straight into the road. She had stopped, looked behind her, then walked calmly into the path of the lorry. At the last second, she looked back, to face where she’d run from.
Nathan Bexley admitted to being drunk in charge of a motor vehicle, he denied causing death by dangerous driving. The jury disagree
d, his argument that Gina had run into the road was dismissed. The speed and amount of alcohol were the overriding factors. Sober and within the speed limit, he would have been able to brake in time.
The judge had taken into account Gina’s presence on the dual carriageway as a mitigating factor. Bexley was not wholly responsible. The sentence was two years’ imprisonment, suspended for twelve months. Gina Piper was not a regular drinker, had no history of depression, no recent trauma and had written no note, but no one had come forward to explain why she was wandering along the dual carriageway on a Wednesday the week before Christmas.
Who knew she was so unhappy? Mrs McCann had asked. Well, someone must have known.
It had never occurred to Edie that Mum wasn’t happy. She was too young. What child thinks about its mother’s happiness? Mothers are there to feed, clothe and amuse you. Mum did all these things and more. She laughed, sang, danced and played with them. She organised barbecues and made them a tepee in the back garden out of an old blanket, painted with birds, animals and flowers. Mum was fun. That’s what everyone said when they mentioned her, wasn’t Gina fun?
If you’re fun, no one suspects you of being desperate and depressed, which she must have been. But looking back, Edie couldn’t point to anything. Mum cried when Grandpa Len died. The only other time she could remember her being sad was when Valentina Vickers left. She’d been quiet then, no fun. That silly story she and Tess made up about Valentina being murdered explained it at the time. Mum was sad because her friend had gone. Edie had found her. She should have been happy.
The papers didn’t know her. She would never have left Tess and her. Mrs McCann just loved a gossip. Hints in the newspapers became facts, repeated and embroidered. Mum wouldn’t kill herself. It was an accident. That it happened soon after Valentina left, a coincidence.
She printed out a copy of the Stourbridge News report on the inquest and put it in her bag.
*
At home, Edie lay on her bed and opened the scrapbook, ‘The Case of the Missing Cakemaker’, and read through the notes. The date Valentina left. The date Edie lost her nerve, trying to talk to Mr Vickers. The date they raided his house. Conclusions drawn: Valentina is dead, the body hidden. Childish games. But in amongst the wild superstitions and warped logic there was a death, their mother’s. Edie took the short, photocopied newspaper report on the inquest that showed Mum’s picture, wrote suicide? in the border in blue ink, folded it up and slipped it under the cover they’d made from a wallpaper scrap.
‘What are you looking at?’
She hadn’t heard Tess come in. How did she manage to do that?
‘Nothing,’ Edie said.
‘That’s our old scrapbook, the one we had for Valentina.’
‘So?’
‘What do you want it for?’
‘I just needed some spare paper.’
‘Well don’t use that.’
Tess walked over to the bed where Edie was sitting.
‘We don’t need it any more,’ Edie said.
‘We still don’t know what happened to her.’
‘Nothing happened to her. It was just a silly kids’ game.’
‘It’s not silly; she went missing. I suppose you want to get rid of it because Michaela wouldn’t think it’s cool.’
‘Don’t go on, Tess.’
Tess snatched the book and hugged it to her chest.
‘I’m sick of Michaela. This book is ours and if you don’t want it, I do.’
She marched off and slammed the door behind her, taking Edie’s precious photocopy with her.
Chapter 41
Tess: July 2018
I’m reminded of my first investigation as I wait, half hidden in the bushes, outside the insurance firm, where Valentina is an office administrator. That silly story of her murder, ‘The Case of the Missing Cakemaker’, filled the gap in our lives when she left. Edie and I were hurt that she never came back to see us. A substitute parent while Mum worked and Dad watched TV, she’d fuss over us and stuff cake down our throats. She and Mum were nearly the same age and both were different from the other women in the street, more chic and glamorous; though I wouldn’t have used those words at the time. If I’d have been asked, I’d have said they were nicer.
How exciting it used to be, sneaking around and making notes. I don’t think we really believed she was murdered, or it wouldn’t have been such fun.
I’m not excited now, though my hands are shaking and sweat trickles down my back. It’s hot, no cooler at five o’clock than midday.
Workers start to spill out from the office. Men in short-sleeved shirts and women in cotton print dresses. Some of them stop in the shade of the building and light cigarettes; they form a small group near the door. No one notices when I go over to join them and light up. I watch for Valentina to leave.
I needn’t have worried about recognising her. She sweeps out of the front entrance at ten past five, still slim, with her hair swept back into a neat chignon, large eyes, barely any make-up. She’s more formally dressed than her colleagues, in a beige suit and white blouse. Some of the male smokers look up as she passes; she doesn’t return their glances.
She walks straight past me then turns back on herself down a path at the side of the building. I drop my cigarette and follow her. When I reach the path, Valentina turns around.
‘People saw you outside the building, they’ll have seen you follow me here,’ she says.
‘Valentina it’s me. Tess. Tess Piper.’
‘I know who you are.’
I don’t understand her reaction. I expected a smile, a hug, talk of the old days, not this nervous hostility.
‘I just want to talk,’ I say.
She looks over her shoulder. No one’s there.
‘We’ll sit on the wall at the front.’
‘OK,’ I say.
‘You first.’
I walk in front of her, go back the way I came and sit on the wall facing the building, so all the smokers can see us. Valentina sits down, an arm’s length from me.
‘I don’t suppose this is a chance meeting?’ she says.
‘No.’
‘A social call?’
This is the woman who spent hours making me drop scones and Welsh cakes, who asked about my day at school and sewed on the odd button. Something’s wrong, more than a passing bad mood. Does she think I’m here to confront her about her affair with Ray?
‘In a way, it is a social call,’ I say.
‘In what way?’
She crosses her arms.
‘I wanted to ask about Mum.’
She makes no response.
‘I was so young when it happened. None of it makes sense.’
Valentina’s arms stay folded.
‘What are you trying to make sense of?’
Her voice is flat and hard.
‘I was told she killed herself.’
She shows no reaction. Another one who knew.
‘I’m not sure what I can tell you.’
‘You were friends,’ I say.
‘Neighbours. It’s not like we confided in each other.’
She sounds like Becca.
‘You’d spend hours talking together.’
‘You were a child. It may have seemed that way to you. We didn’t speak that much.’
‘Mr Vickers said you did. He said you were close. It’s not just my memory.’
‘What does he know? Pathetic little man.’ She spits the words out. ‘He was jealous of me talking to anyone, even you two. He told you where to find me, didn’t he?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t lie.’ She looks at the passing traffic. When she turns back to me she’s angry. ‘I really can’t help you and I have to go.’
‘I know about you and my uncle, I’m not here about that. It’s none of my business.’
She tilts her head to one side.
‘You’ve only just found out?’
‘Yes.’
She shakes he
r head.
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘I don’t know what you mean?’
‘What exactly did Martin tell you?’
‘That you’d left him for Ray.’
‘That’s all?’
‘And that you have a child.’
She’s on her feet.
‘So that’s why you’re really here.’
‘No.’
‘You’re not going anywhere near Thomas.’
‘I didn’t even know his name.’
‘And the home has strict security.’
‘What home?’
‘You stay away from me and you stay away from Thomas or there’ll be consequences. I’m going to my car now. I don’t want to see you again.’
‘Valentina,’ I call to her.
She doesn’t turn back. I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I stay seated on the wall. I don’t even want a cigarette. What did I say to frighten her so much?
Chapter 42
Edie: March 1998
Edie had to get out of the house. It didn’t matter that the day was wet and windy. She’d go to Irregular Records and do some browsing, anything to get away from Tess and her moods.
The two-mile walk into town let her save on bus fares and meant more money for buying vinyl. Wet squalls battered her and by the time she reached the coach station, her thin coat was wet through and her hair had blown and stuck across her face. The coach station wasn’t somewhere she’d come at night, but it was too cold and early on a Saturday morning for the drunks, druggies and prostitutes the area was famed for. An empty bus trundled past, spraying her with muddy droplets. Edie didn’t care. It was better than being at home, at least here she could breathe. Even if that breath was filled with mud, stale urine and diesel.
A man carrying a guitar case came out of a side street ahead. He walked with long, quick strides, not the slow trudge of a drunk. Edie looked ahead to her destination. The high towers of the town centre rose in front, a futuristic safe haven from the dirty streets surrounding her. She didn’t notice that the man ahead had stopped.
Someone You Know Page 21