Terms of Affection

by M K Turner

  “That’s not a plan.”

  “No, it’s not, wrong word. You have to make a decision. Once you’ve done that it might take the pressure off.”

  “Thanks. But that’s where I am already, isn’t it?”

  “Nope. At the moment, you’re just floundering about. Big time. Make a decision. Tell or not.”

  “Not. Absolutely not!”

  “Then there’s your decision. Get on with your life. This other woman, either will or won’t. You’ve got to get on with everything else. To wind yourself up into this state when you’re not prepared to do anything about it, it’s daft.”

  “Yes. You’re right, sorry, mate, I’m being a right old woman, aren’t I?”

  “No, bloody stupid, but that’s my opinion. Do me a favour.”

  “What?”

  “Blow your nose, it’s dripping.” Simmons wrinkled his own nose.

  Smiling, Henry got to his feet and headed to the bathroom.

  His nose blowing sounded like a trumpeter warming up. Then there was the sound of running water, Simmons guessed he was washing his face.

  As a rule, Simmons took little seriously, but he was worried about his friend, he’d never seen him anywhere near tears before, and hoped that whoever the woman was, she’d get the message and leave him in peace. A smile twitched at his lips, perhaps Henry could suggest she could use and abuse him in Henry’s place. He made it a full smile as Henry returned.

  “I’m going to make a move. I think I’ve embarrassed us both enough for one night.” Henry could see the worry in his friend’s eyes. “Appreciated though. Needed that.” He lifted his coat from the chair. “I know I don’t need to say this, but I’m going to anyway. This has to stay between us, too high a risk of Lorna hearing about it otherwise.”

  “I know. This will all work out for you, Henry. You deserve it too. On the other hand, if it was me . . .”

  “Don’t give me that, you’re just a big softie at heart.” Henry punched Simmons’ arm. “Now we’re doing it again. Night, mate, see you on the bus tomorrow.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  While Angie typed her grandmother’s words, Bridget played with Lily and discussed the Henry case with Ryan.

  “I need you to promise me that you’ll let me know immediately if this becomes dangerous,” Ryan looked worried. “I am now fully on board with all your witchypoo stuff, and I understand that you have to do it. That it’s not a choice, but both of the previous cases turned out to be dangerous, that lunatic took Angie at knife-point, and I can’t remember her name, held you hostage. You know, Bridget, the more I hear about Chelly Rogers the more worried I’m becoming.”

  “I can understand that. Chelly seems to be very gung-ho. But, and I believe this absolutely, I don’t think any harm will come to us. Not real harm. All the same, I wish we knew more about the vamp Mrs Chelly Rogers. If we manage to track her down, we need to tread carefully. Perhaps more will be revealed once we’ve spoken to Lorna. Do we know if her father is still alive?”

  “Um, I don’t know. Check with Angie, I might have missed something. He must be getting on bit though. Lorna was seventeen in nineteen-seventy-seven, let’s say he was forty, that puts him in his early eighties. Hopefully, like you, he has all his marbles.”

  “Thank you!” Bridget looked hurt. “He has a good ten years on me if that’s the case. My marbles are fine I’ll have you know.”

  “I know, I’m sorry, I wasn’t implying anything, promise.” He made a face and Bridget laughed. “Think we need to get this one some lunch, she has nursery this afternoon. I’m quite nervous, although I’m sure she’ll love it. It’s her first time without either me or Angie staying for a while.”

  “She’ll be absolutely fine. Pull me up.”

  Ryan helped Bridget to her feet. “I take it you’re staying for lunch?”

  As he asked the question, Angie appeared. “Mum has just called, she’s cried off this afternoon, feeling a bit poorly, but nothing serious.”

  “Rubbish. She must be really ill not to come in the middle of a case. Even if she wasn’t getting anywhere, she wouldn’t let you down, Angie. What did she say was wrong?”

  “A bit of a headache which she wasn’t convinced wouldn’t become full-blown migraine. Do you really think she’s lying?”

  “Lying is a harsh word, economical with the truth would be better.”

  “Perhaps we can pop in and see her after.”

  “After what?” Ryan and Bridget spoke in unison.

  “Robin Cooksey also called, he was so nice. I think he’s hooked on what happened to his father now. Anyway, to the point, his mother Lorna is happy to speak to us, and I’ve arranged to go over at one o’clock once we’ve dropped Lily at nursery. Ryan, you’ll be able to collect her if we go and see Mum, won’t you?”

  “Am I not invited to meet Lorna?”

  “No. It would be a little over the top for three of us to turn up.”

  “True. And you don’t have the gift, Ryan. You wouldn’t be an awful lot of use. Better you keep working on the website and stuff.”

  “Ouch.” Clasping his heart, Ryan faked a stagger. “Is that because I mentioned your marbles?”

  “Her what?” laughed Angie. “Stop messing about, we haven’t got long. While I remember, I also tried to call Dan Simmons. His mother still lives in the same house, she gave me his mobile number, but I had to leave a message.”

  An hour later, and a little early, Angie parked opposite Lorna’s house. It was a substantial semi-detached, set in a large corner plot.

  “I don’t know why, but I expected her to live somewhere more compact, you know, being a single mother,” Bridget observed.

  “Gran, you know nothing about her except she had Robin at a young age. How can you possibly say that? She might have gone on to university and ended up with a good job, she might have inherited some money, she might even have married someone else.” Angie grimaced. “Which would be right and natural, but I do have this picture in my mind of her wondering what might have been as she goes about her single life.”

  “There you go. Exactly. Only one way to find out. Have you got the questions?”

  Bridget had never seen a picture of Lorna, and Angie had only seen the one taken at the rugby club shortly before Henry disappeared, and they were both shocked at the youthful-looking woman who opened the door to them. Lorna would be in her late fifties and looked a good twenty years younger.

  Angie stepped forward. “Hello, Lorna, thank you so much for seeing us at such short notice. I’m Angie, and this is Bridget.”

  “Hello, come in. You looked shocked, is everything okay?”

  “Honestly?” Bridget shook Lorna’s hand and stepped into the hall. “We have this picture of you as a seventeen-year-old, because that’s how old you were when Henry went missing. We knew you would now be a mature woman, so we braced ourselves for that, but you look so much younger than you should. I don’t know what your secret is, but I want some! Is it on tap?”

  Ice broken, Lorna laughed. “Thank you, I have good skin, apparently I take after my mother. And I do watch my diet. Let’s sit in the conservatory, it’s glorious in there at the moment. Can I get you a drink?”

  Leaving them to settle themselves, Lorna went to make tea.

  “It sounds like whatever teenage angst she had with her mother has been put behind her. She was relaxed when she mentioned her. Had she still had a problem, I doubt she’d have mentioned her at all,” Bridget whispered.

  “She must be dead.” Angie leaned in close. “The way she spoke, was as if she’d been told she got it from her mother. Hush, she’s coming back.”

  Setting the tray on the table, Lorna looked at Bridget. “We’ll let that brew. What were you whispering about? I saw you looked surprised, no secrets if we’re to find out what happened to Henry.”

  “Am I that easy to read? I must work on my deadpan.” Bridget returned Lorna’s smile. “I, that is we, already know that at the time Henry disapp
eared you weren’t getting on with your mother. As I said, we see you all in seventy-seven, so when you spoke almost affectionately about your—”

  “Oh, I see, Chelly wasn’t my mother, she was my stepmother. My own mother died when I was three. Breast cancer. I don’t remember her, but everyone tells me she was a wonderful woman with fabulous skin. I’m not sure how I can help you, I did tell the police everything I knew at the time. Annette tells me you have their file.”

  “We do and, as I explained to Annette, we don’t only deal in facts, we also take on board theories and hearsay to see if we can build a different picture that might throw some light on the subject. It’s worked for us in the past.” Angie hoped she’d explained it well enough not to draw further questions.

  “Okay, not sure I understand, but if it helps Annette, ask away.”

  “Would it not help you?”

  “Will you bring him back to me? No. I still want him, I still miss him.” Lorna flipped her hand. “Don’t worry, I have a life, a rewarding one, but he will always be the missing part that makes me whole. I expect you think that’s ridiculous after all these years, but I don’t prattle on about him all the time, I get on quite happily with what needs to be done, content that somewhere,” she waved her finger in circles, “he’s watching and waiting. So no, it won’t really help me, but I know Annette would like answers. Ha! Now you think I’m mad. Let’s crack on. First question.”

  “Not mad at all, my dear.” Bridget enthused, “Absolutely on the button. I feel exactly the same about my husband, have conversations with him all the time.” Stretching across the table, she patted Lorna’s hand. “Not mad, not odd. Henry will always love you, and I’m sure is watching this very minute.”

  Having opened her notebook to the required page, Angie gave her grandmother a warning glance. If this carried on, Bridget would be telling Lorna about her gift. Clearing her throat, she smiled at Lorna.

  “The other thing I should warn you about is that some of our questions might seem odd and totally unrelated. I promise you they are all for a reason if only to fill in some gaps. To give us a full picture of what was going on in Henry’s world leading up to his disappearance.”

  “Okay, that seems perfectly sensible. Where do you want to start?”

  “As we had some confusion over your mother, why don’t we start with Chelly, get that put to bed, and then move back to you and Henry.”

  Both Bridget and Angie felt Lorna’s limbs stiffen with tension.

  Angie ploughed on regardless. “Henry kept a diary of sorts, one-liners in amongst team selections and homework, from that we’ve gleaned that on the night of the rugby awards, Chelly was steaming drunk, and—”

  “That was her default position, I’m not getting what I want, so I’ll get drunk. Is this relevant?”

  “We don’t know, but she had warned Henry off. Told him not to see you on several occasions. On the night of the rugby do, she was drunk, and Henry overheard the argument with your father. He was hiding behind the stairs so as not to embarrass them. Your father basically told her he would give her money to leave, and an allowance, but only if she left the next day. Did you know that?”

  Lorna had her eyes closed, trying to remember the detail of that night. “I remember he took her home, but that happened a lot. When I got home they argued after I’d gone to bed, that also happened a lot, but no, I didn’t know he’d said that, or that Henry had heard. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it.”

  “But she didn’t leave the next day?”

  “No. Let me think a moment, something did happen that day, but she didn’t leave, that came weeks later. Dad had arranged a long weekend in Salcombe, all our bags were packed and she announced she wasn’t coming and went back to bed. Dad told me to wait in the car, but I hung around in the hall. They had a blazing row, not full-on shouting, that wasn’t Dad’s style, so I didn’t hear anything much. Then we left and went on our own. While we were away I told him about Robin. When we got back, she’d gone.”

  “Given the circumstances, probably for the best. How did your dad take it?” Bridget leaned forward.

  “What, the news of the baby or her leaving? Although one is sort of connected to the other, I think finding out I was pregnant made her leave.”

  “Both.”

  Sighing, Lorna settled back in her chair.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chris Rogers breathed in the sea air and put his arm around Lorna’s shoulder. “I love the smell of the sea. Where shall we eat?” He affected an American accent. “It’s just you and me kid, we can eat anywhere, at any time, in any part of this town.”

  “Pizza. I don’t want fish and chips again.”

  “Then pizza it will be. That doesn’t mean you can discard fish and chips out of hand, it’s a legal requirement when visiting the British seaside.”

  “But we have it at home on a Saturday.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t count. It’s different when there’s the taste of salt in the air. Have you noticed anywhere that does pizza?”

  “Around the corner from the kiosk where you book fishing trips. It looks lovely, it’s by the phone box.”

  “Let’s head that way, I could eat a dead horse, let alone a dead fish, a dead bit of . . . what? Dough? Anyway, I could eat it dead or alive. I can use the phone box while we’re there.”

  Lorna’s giggle died away. “Do you miss her? Because I don’t, you’re happy when she isn’t around, you’re fun.”

  “I’m fine when she’s around, we have a few issues I’ll admit, and I know you must hear us arguing sometimes, that’s just the way grown-ups are sometimes.”

  “Dad, I’m almost eighteen. Will reaching that magic number make me an adult, like the law suggests? I was old enough to have sex at sixteen, could have got married with your permission, but to be a grown-up I have to be eighteen. It’s ridiculous, because I am a grown-up now.”

  Pulling her closer, Chris kissed the top of her head. “I know. You are the most beautiful, sensible, well-balanced girl of seventeen I have ever met, and although Henry disappearing threw you off-kilter for a while, you seem to be getting back to normal. That, my darling adult child, is why I’m happy. My little Lorna is back. You will always be my baby girl, even when you’re fifty.” He slowed as they approached the phone box. “You go and see if they have a table, I’ll make that call.”

  “Don’t. Do it after. Just in case. Anyway, I need to talk to you.”

  “In case what? We have a row?”

  “Yes. Come on, please.” Lorna pulled her father away from the phone box.

  “Okay, I’m coming.”

  Once settled and orders placed, he tapped the table. “What did you want to talk to me about? Have you decided which university you want to go to?”

  “Sort of, but you won’t like it. Let’s eat first.”

  The waiter placed enormous pizzas in front of them, and offered more cheese. Both refused.

  “Blimey. It’s lucky they let you take away what you can’t manage. We could live on this for a week.” Studiously ignoring the fact Lorna had as good as told him she didn’t want to go to university, he bit into a slice of pizza. It was a ridiculous notion, and one he would have to talk her out of, although possibly not until they got home. “Good choice, baby girl, this is delicious.”

  Her mouth full, Lorna nodded, and managed four slices before she had to concede.

  “About university. I won’t be going, at least not next year, you’re not going to like this, and I’m sorry, but—”

  “Oh, I see, you want to take a gap year. Well, that might be sensible, what with the upset over Henry.”

  “Years. Gap years I think.”

  “Oh.” Taken aback and slightly confused, Chris also decided the pizza had won. “Have you something in mind?” His question was delivered calmly, but his brain was whirring, mainly with the message to play it cool but talk her out of it.

  “Yes. You won’t like it, you’ll probably hate me, but I
’m delighted.” Lorna’s bottom lip quivered as she smiled. “Please don’t shout until we get outside.”

  Not prone to shouting as well Lorna knew, Chris’s heart pounded in his chest, what on earth could it be? “Explain why I would shout at you when I’ve never done so before.”

  “Because I’m pregnant. Too late for an abortion, that’s why I’m telling you now. I want this baby, it’s Henry’s and that means I’ll always have a part of him.”

  Her father’s hand shook as he lifted it and rubbed at his forehead as though there were a dirty mark there. His eyes never left hers, but he found it impossible to speak.

  Lorna took his other hand in hers. “Dad, I know it’s a shock, I know it will be tough, I know you will be embarrassed by this, but I’ve thought everything through over and over again, and none of it matters because it’s our baby. I have no choice.”

  Snatching his hand away, Chris got to his feet. “Stay here. I need air and nicotine. I’ll be back.”

  Lorna thought she might cry once she’d seen his reaction, and although she was concerned as she watched him pace around outside the restaurant, smoking two if not three cigarettes, she didn’t. All she felt was a sense of relief that he knew, and hopefully would help her make some plans. The waiter came and asked if they wanted their leftovers boxed, and she confirmed they did and asked for the bill, hoping she’d have enough to pay. She was counting her money as her father returned.

  “No pudding?” He joked, although she could see the stress in his face.

  “Never ate all of my main course. Apparently that’s a law too. Eat it all up, or you don’t get pudding.”

  “By jove, you’re right. Put that money away, you’ll need that for nappies and bibs and things.” He managed a smile. “Well that was a bit of a shock, but we’ll muddle through, me and my girl, and . . .” his smile was now genuine, “my grandchild.”

  Leaping to her feet, Lorna threw her arms around his neck. “I love you. You are the best dad in the world. Ever. Ever. I love you.”