Terms of Affection
Page 14
Smiling, Margaret pulled open a drawer and gave her a folded carrier bag. “Take this. That has great sentimental value. I’d hate anything to happen to it.”
“One moment.” Bridget rapped the table. “Are we not going to discuss this? There are hundreds of questions that need answering. “Why the two names? Did he divorce her after she left? When was that encounter? And why does she drink so much? Something has caused that woman to act as she does. I know some women like sex more than others . . .” She grinned as Margaret rolled her eyes. “They do, darling, they really do, but that isn’t normal behaviour, as a wise man once said, you don’t poop on your own doorstep.”
“Why are you so coy with the word shit, when you are more than happy to spout your opinions on sex?”
Though amused, it was Angie’s turn to rap the table. “Please, let’s keep the bickering until another time. Yes, Gran, there is a lot to think about, but any discussion would be speculation and I have to get home to Lily. Shall we meet tomorrow at mine? Lily will be a distraction, I know, but better there where she has all her toys, and Ryan. I’ll get everything typed overnight, and get copies for all of us to discuss.” Winking at her mother, she held out Bridget’s handbag. “Are you ready, Gran? I’d leave you here, but your car is at mine.”
“Yes, but I need to spend a penny first. Two minutes.” As Bridget climbed the stairs, she called, “I suppose we might be further on tomorrow too. Who knows if any of us will be called upon to bear witness overnight?”
“Exactly.” Turning to her mother, Angie kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry about the interruption, Mum. Gran was worried about you, not that she’d admit it.”
“I know. I’m hoping for a good night’s sleep tonight. This . . .” she waved her finger in circles searching for the right word, “thing, is exhausting.”
“Bearing witness, apparently.” Grinning, Angie opened the door. “It is, I agree.”
Lowering her voice, Margaret leaned forward. “By the way, I think that one will tell you why Michelle, or Chelly perhaps, is as she is. Have a listen later, you’ll see how I knew the two cases were connected.” Stepping away, as a frown appeared, her hand flew to her mouth. “Are they connected? If they are, it seems to me that there are only two suspects.”
“Exactly what I’ve just realised.” Bridget appeared at the top of the stairs. “Lorna or her father. Both have been cheated on by those two. I know it’s not over until the fat lady sings, but it’s certainly food for thought.” Taking her handbag from Angie, she blew a kiss to Margaret. “See you tomorrow, darling. Great minds think alike.”
“Except you use more clichés. Shall we say ten thirty?” Margaret stood on the step as they made their way to the car.
“Sounds good,” Angie called. Waiting until her grandmother was seated, she hurried back up the path. “I’ve just had another thought. Something is missing from your file, either that or you’ve overlooked it.”
“I certainly haven’t, and I’ve already put a call in to Frank Tipper. Bye, bye, Angie. See you in the morning.”
“Smug doesn’t suit you.” Laughing, Angie returned to the car and her grandmother, who was already demanding to know why she wasn’t party to that conversation.
Starting the engine, Angie gave her mother a wave. “It wasn’t secret, I wanted to check something that had only just occurred to me.”
“Being what?” Bridget’s arms were folded across her chest.
“Why Mum didn’t get the connection immediately she read what I’d written on Henry. I don’t know what’s on that first tape, but just reading the file should have given her names.”
“Whose names?”
“Chris Rogers for starters. In all these files are the initial missing persons’ reports. Name, age, sex, when last seen, and most importantly in this case, who reported it and their connection to the missing person.”
“Of course. Silly us. Elementary stuff. Did your mother not realise it was missing?”
“I don’t think so. Not at the time, it begs the question what is actually on the file. I should have taken it, but probably best left until tomorrow now. I’m sure Inspector Tipper will shed some light on it.”
“She’s spoken to Frank? Why didn’t she say? What did he have to say?”
“Calm down, Gran. She left a message explaining. I’m sure he’ll sort it all out tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
Laughing, Angie shook her head. “Stop questioning everything I say. I’m telling you all I know.”
“I would have thought that given the subject matter, getting back to us today would have been more appropriate. I might give him a call myself.”
“Enough, Gran. One, he doesn’t know any detail as yet. Mum wouldn’t have left a chapter and verse message, and two, it’s not like it will change anything. They have been missing for over forty years, another day isn’t going to make much difference. Leave the poor man in peace. It might be that you need to work on your file. Perhaps your missing person holds the key.”
“I suspect Frank actually welcomes my calls, but you could be right. Perhaps those three files weren’t chosen at random, perhaps they were speaking to him. We’ll have to ask how he came to choose them.”
When they arrived at Angie’s house, Bridget made a brief visit to kiss Lily goodnight, and left, keen to get back to her file.
“I think that was a world record for a Bridget visit.” Ryan handed Lily to Angie. “She’s fed, bathed, and ready for a cuddle and a story before bed. Her bottle is on the coffee table. Your dinner is under wraps in the microwave, I’ve eaten as I’m going out for a pint with the boys tonight. But first I want to show you this.” Leading the way to the kitchen, he announced, “Angie Clark, be prepared to be amazed.”
On the table the laptop was open, and he clicked the mouse, bringing the screen to life. Pulling out a chair he told her to take a seat.
“Wow. I love the colour. Let me have the mouse.”
Pulling the mouse from his hand, Angie clicked her way around the Bearing Witness website. Little murmurs of delight, and the odd question were thrown at a smug looking Ryan. Her mouth fell open as she clicked on the penultimate page. The tab was labelled books.
“Oh my God. These covers are brilliant. When is the site going live? This will make us get a move on and get them published. I love the cover for An Unexpected Gift, I think Teresa will too.”
“Ahem,” Ryan coughed, as he reclaimed the mouse and clicked to another webpage. “Done. You are live. You’ve sold four books by the way, admittedly to me and Rob, but it’s a start.”
Speechless for a moment, Angie was looking at an Amazon author page. Because the women wanted to remain anonymous, they had chosen the pen name A M Bridger. A M Bridger had published two eBooks both available to download.
“How did you do this? It’s fantastic.”
“Easy when you know how. I was shown, I researched, and voila! Now, while you admire the fruits of my labour, I’m going to jump in the shower.” Kissing first Lily and then Angie, Ryan disappeared.
Angie clicked onto the final tab of the Bearing Witness website. There was a contact form, together with various boxes requiring information on the missing person they were being asked to investigate. Angie particularly liked the warning that they only took a few cases a year, but all emails would receive a response within thirty days
Lily was becoming restless, so Angie took her into the sitting room, and snuggled up with a bottle and her mother, she was soon asleep. Yawning, Angie closed her eyes. It wasn’t long before she too drifted off.
When she woke, Lily had gone, the curtains were drawn and the table lamp on. Angie frowned, she couldn’t remember putting Lily to bed. As she swung her legs off the sofa, she saw the note Ryan had propped against the baby monitor on the coffee table.
I put Lily to bed. Didn’t want to wake you, I think a witchypoo moment was on the cards. I won’t be late. Don’t forget to eat. Kisses, Ryan.
Stretching, An
gie replaced the note and went in search of food. Her mind was replaying the dream she’d had, and wondering what help it could be. She needed to get it written down, but first she needed to eat. Checking the contents of the microwave, she hit the button to heat it up. As she turned to get a drink, she saw the bag containing the recorder on the table and smiled. Listening to her mother’s original recording could be done as she ate. The microwave pinged and collecting a tray, Angie carried everything she needed into the sitting room.
After a false start she got the recording to play. “Speak to me Michelle, or Chelly, whatever your name is. What are you trying to tell us?” Forking a mouthful of risotto into her mouth, she settled back to listen.
Chapter Twenty One
Chelly turned down the volume on the record player when the telephone rang. That cow next door had been moaning again. She smiled, she probably thought Chelly had given in. She’d know differently as soon as this call was done.
“Hello, are you there?”
“Of course, I was thinking about something else. What do you want?”
“Is that the best you can do? I was calling to see if you were okay? Don’t make this so hard, it’s like you are deliberately awkward.”
“I’m bored out of my skull. Life is boring. I think I might go out.”
“I’m having a lovely time, thank you.”
“I didn’t ask. Hang on.” Dropping the receiver, Chelly collected her drink and took a large swig before picking up the phone.
“I hope you’re not drinking too much.”
Chelly heard the sigh of irritation. “Like you care. You buggered off without a thought for me. This bottle, well several bottles, are all I have for company.”
“Please. I’m doing my best to make everything work.”
“Ha! You are priceless, do you know that? You tell me you love me, and want to marry me, get me to come and live this godforsaken life based on a lie. You kick me out, you take me back, then you bugger off with her and wonder why I drink.”
“You were the one who stopped the wedding. You. I didn’t lie. But on that point, I have—”
“You lied! I might not have asked the question, but how many women say, yes, I’ll marry you darling, by the way are you still able to produce children? None! That’s how many. So, no, I didn’t marry you, who knows, some fertile man might have come along who wanted to impregnate me. All I wanted was a family of my own, to show them all. Those doubters, those that didn’t think I was up to it. And what did I get? You. You with your dead sperm. I got myself an infertile liar.”
“I didn’t, I—”
“Shut up whining. It really does grate. I pretend for you and your precious job, don’t I? I let everyone think you are a good man. Not a liar and a keeper of secrets.” Her sigh was noisy, and she slurped her drink. “Did you actually want anything, or can I get on with my evening?”
His explanation was brief, her knuckles whitened as she gripped the receiver. He’d not finished before her glass hit the wall.
“Over my dead body!” Chelly screeched into the phone. “In fact, scratch that. Yes, that’s fine, but I won’t be around to change nappies. You’d better keep your word, I want my allowance, or you’ll be very, very sorry, you bastard.”
“What does that mean?”
“Cross me and find out.”
Slamming the receiver back in its cradle so hard it cracked the glass shelf of the table, Chelly stepped over the remains of her drink and went to find another. Snatching up a bottle, she went back to the record player and turned it to full volume. That was too loud even for her, so she stomped upstairs, bottle in hand. Throwing herself on the bed, she swigged straight from the bottle, her head spun, her stomach somersaulted, and gagging, she ran to the bathroom.
Having emptied her stomach, she crossed her arms across the toilet seat and wept. Why did nothing in her life work out properly? Why was it she who always came off the worst in these crappy relationships she found herself in? After a few minutes the sobs subsided and she pushed herself to her feet. Her head still spinning she went to the cabinet in search of aspirin.
Screaming in frustration as she caught sight of her reflection in the narrow mirror between the two doors, she resisted the urge to punch her reflection. She looked haggard. Bloodshot eyes, red nose and her skin was flat and dull. That was his fault. Whatever faults she’d had in the past, she’d never hit the bottle. And now this. If she didn’t do something positive, she’d be dead in a year. It was hard enough living with a man who forgot to mention that he’d had a vasectomy to protect his fragile former wife. Well that didn’t help him much, she’d died anyway, just like Chelly’s dreams of being a mother had died. Now she was expected to, what? Play at being grandma? No, no, no. She was getting out of here, and the sooner the better.
Looking away from the reflection, she found the aspirin and took three for good measure. A shower, to rouse herself, and she’d pack her things. Tomorrow she’d be gone. She had enough to cope with until she sorted out the financial element with him. He was too much of a wimp to renege on the deal. Starting to undress she changed her mind. First, she would pack, then shower, then sleep, and then finally, finally she would escape. She had been right not to marry him, no messy divorce, no change of name, and she still got an allowance which would be more generous than any court would have given her in a divorce settlement.
Chapter Twenty Two
Placing her plate in the dishwasher, Angie grabbed a glass of wine and opened the laptop. She needed to get so much typed up, but none of it was really helping move the case forward. She would call Lorna the next morning and arrange a meeting with her father, perhaps he could give that vital missing clue.
Rewinding the tape, she placed her fingers on the keyboard. A little over an hour later, she’d transcribed all the various recordings, printed off what she’d typed, and inserted it into the existing manuscript where she thought the various parts fitted the story so far. Reading through it quickly, she still couldn’t see how her latest contact had helped. Perhaps she was missing something. If she got it typed up, the others might see what she was missing, there was always something, however small.
Opening a blank page, she had a change of heart. First, she would make a list. What was missing, apart from the obvious? And who might shed some light on that?
Missing information: Who was driving the car Henry had got into? What had they said to him to make him change his mind? Why did Chelly/Michelle dislike Lorna? Was it because she was Chris Roger’s child, a child he would never have with her? Why had Chris not told Chelly about his vasectomy before asking her to marry him? Why had she not left the morning after the rugby club awards as they had agreed? Did that even matter?
Concluding that most of the questions could only be answered by Chris Rogers, Angie decided that nine-thirty wasn’t too late to call Lorna, and dialled her number. It rang only once, before the answer machine cut in.
“Hi, Lorna, sorry to call so late in the evening, but I don’t think we can get much further without speaking to your father. Don’t worry about calling back tonight, I’ll ring again in the morning.” Sighing as she hung up, Angie read the questions again, and typed a new question.
Did the same person kill Henry and Chelly?
Angie kept typing.
Suspect: Chris Rogers. Motives: Henry was sleeping with his daughter and she was pregnant. Henry was sleeping with Chelly.
Suspect: Lorna Rogers. Motives: She was pregnant, and Henry was sleeping with Chelly.
Same motive. But surely neither Chris Rogers nor Lorna could have taken Henry from the bus stop in that car. They were together immediately prior to his disappearance. Another question joined the list.
Were they in it together?
Angie considered this, and with too many reasons both for and against this theory, she decided to type the latest instalment in the hope that one of the others might be able to see what she was missing.
Chapter Twenty Three
“If I didn’t know better, Henry, I’d say you were avoiding me.”
Spinning to face Chelly, Henry shook his finger at her. “No more. Not here, not anywhere. Of course I’m avoiding you.” Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he headed for the front of the building.
“Henry, don’t you want to know what I have to say?”
“Not really, no. Go home to your husband.”
“What, the one you forgot about when you were having sex with me?” Shouting as he had disappeared around the corner, Chelly pulled cigarettes from her pocket and lit one. She smiled as Henry came flying back around the building and jabbed his finger at her.
“Keep your voice down. Do you want everyone to hear you?”
“I don’t care. Makes no difference to me.”
“Yes it does, what about your family?”
“They don’t matter, what is more interesting is why you’re ashamed? Why don’t you want anyone to know? I thought you rugby types liked boasting about your conquests.”
“You were not a conquest, you . . . you . . . seduced me.”
“The first time perhaps, but not the second, you loved being with me, Henry, you can’t deny that.”
The sound of laughter reached them as someone entered the clubhouse.
“Keep your bloody voice down!”
“And, I ask again why are you ashamed? I know I’m attractive to men, I’ve had lots of offers, and a young lad like you wouldn’t normally be ashamed, even though you might be gentlemanly enough not to boast about it. I don’t care, why do you?”
The tone of her voice made it perfectly clear she already knew the answer to the question, and Henry refused to give her the satisfaction.
“Why are you doing this? When I told you it wasn’t going to happen again, you accepted it. You said it was a shame, but it had been fun while it lasted. What changed that?”