Single Mother

by Samantha Hayes

  Mel doesn’t care. Yes, the passage appears to lead to the rear gardens of the terrace, a communal rat run, probably for dustbin access, but it gets them out of sight of whoever is coming down the lane. It was the cap that did it, Mel thinks, wishing she could have got a proper look at the man’s face. And his gait – hard to tell if it was a swagger or a stagger. Both would fit Billy’s manner. He was simply too far away, concealed within the shadows cast by the canopy of trees, to make out any defining features, let alone his age. But Mel wasn’t taking any chances.

  ‘That man,’ she whispers to Kate, pulling her further down the passageway. ‘He looked a bit… a bit odd. Like he might be drunk. So let’s just wait down here until he passes, OK?’

  Kate shrugs. ‘Sure, whatever,’ she says, kicking her heels against the wall of the cottage.

  Mel keeps her eyes fixed on the lane at the end of the passage, straining her ears as the sound of something gets closer. The sound of crying.

  ‘What’s that weird noise?’ Kate says, idly thumbing through her phone – her regular phone.

  ‘Sshh,’ Mel whispers. ‘It’s that man. He’ll be gone soon.’

  The footsteps get closer, and the choked sobs grow louder. Then suddenly the entrance to the passageway is blocked by the shape of a person – the man.

  Mel can’t help the squeal, dragging Kate further down the alley. To her dismay, around the corner at the end she’s met with a locked wooden gate. There is no other way out. She stands there shaking, forcing Kate to stand behind her.

  ‘It’s just some old man, Mum. Why are you being so weird?’

  Mel takes a deep breath as Kate’s words sink in. She forces herself to focus on the shadowy figure blocking the exit. A sweat breaks out on her face, her limbs shaking in the aftermath of the adrenaline surge. She breathes out slowly as the panic subsides.

  Kate is right. It’s an old man. Not Billy. Not even that nasty person who shoved into her in the shop.

  ‘Are… are you OK?’ she says to him, daring to take a step closer.

  ‘Is that you?’ the old man replies, sniffing as he tips back his tweed cap to expose squinting eyes. He reaches out his arms and shuffles towards them, zombie-like.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’ Mel asks, getting a sense that the man, likely in his late seventies, isn’t thinking clearly. For a start, he can’t be looking for either her or Kate.

  ‘Am I home?’ he goes on, his voice a brittle croak with undertones of what would once have been, Mel suspects, something commanding and deep.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Mel replies. ‘Is this where you live?’ She edges forward, hoping to usher him back out onto the lane. Even though he’s not Billy, she doesn’t like being trapped down the alley with no route out.

  ‘I… I want to go home,’ the man says, a slightly pathetic and resigned note to his words. Something inside Mel clicks, almost as if she’s back at The Cedars rounding up an elderly resident who can’t find their room, escorting them back.

  ‘OK, don’t worry. I can help you find your home. Let’s go out onto the lane, shall we?’

  The old man nods and turns, his sagging jaw wobbling a little, his gnarled hand reaching out for the side wall of the house as he steadies himself. Mel sees he’s wearing tartan slippers on his shuffling feet – the wrong way round – and underneath his heavy overcoat, far too thick for such a warm day, the lower half of a towelling bathrobe pokes out.

  ‘That’s right,’ Mel says, taking the man’s elbow to steady him as he wobbles and staggers onto the lane. ‘Do you know your address? Is this your house?’ she asks, pointing at the cottage.

  He looks at her through watery, pale blue eyes. She suspects that the wayward strands of grey hair protruding from beneath his cap were once blond, or a light brown. The skin on his face is wrinkled yet waxy and supple, with darker spots on his forehead and cheeks. Patchy grey stubble, barely there, frosts his chin.

  He shakes his head.

  ‘What about your name then? Can you tell me that?’

  ‘That’s Walter,’ a nearby voice pipes up. ‘He’s always getting lost.’

  Mel whips round and sees it’s the old woman perched on her stool talking to them.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Mel replies. ‘Do you know where he lives?’

  The old woman lifts her thumb and beckons down the hill. ‘Number thirty-four. It’s the one with the green front door,’ she adds, waving a hand before she hauls her wide hips up off the creaking stool. She heads inside, giving them a quick wave.

  ‘OK, Walter,’ Mel says, getting a firmer grip on the old man’s arm, ‘let’s get you back home, shall we?’

  But he stops, his bottom jaw quivering and his breath raspy and loud. He stares directly at Mel.

  ‘Is that you, Joycie?’ he says softly, his watery eyes lighting up. A smile spreads across his face as he takes both Mel’s hands in his, cupping them between shaking, papery palms. ‘You look so happy, Joycie. That’s all I ever wanted for you, you know.’ He chuckles, his expression telling Mel he’s lost in a memory. ‘You were always so sad.’ He squeezes her hands, glancing over at Kate. ‘And is this your little girl? I’ve been trying to find you for so long,’ he adds, gripping her hands even tighter. ‘I thought he’d finally killed you.’

  Twenty-One

  ‘Freaky,’ Kate says as they go in through the front door of the hotel, heading into the restaurant and bar.

  ‘It was a bit, can’t lie,’ Mel says. For the rest of the walk home, they’d pondered why Walter had thought she was called Joyce, and if he was indeed referring to the Joyce who used to run Moreton Inn, or another person entirely. It was clear the old man was confused, but Mel couldn’t deny the coincidence was strange. But what was stranger still was that he’d thought someone had killed her.

  ‘Remind me to rip this carpet out,’ Mel says. ‘It’s too dark and really worn,’ she adds, deciding to put the odd encounter from her mind – both odd encounters. But she quickly silences herself when she sees two customers perched on stools at the bar. They’ve each got a pint of Guinness, and Nikki seems to know them as she leans with one hand on a beer tap, chatting and laughing.

  ‘Can I go to the kitchen to get some food, Mum? I’m starving.’

  ‘Sure, love. I’ll join you in a moment.’

  She watches Kate trot off to the kitchen where Rose will no doubt have something bubbling on the stove.

  ‘Everything OK, Nikki?’ she asks, nodding a greeting at the customers.

  ‘All fine,’ she replies. ‘Though you look worn out.’

  ‘You could say that,’ Mel replies, rubbing her shoulder. When she lifts her T-shirt sleeve, there’s a blue-grey bruise blooming.

  ‘Ouch,’ Nikki says. ‘That looks painful.’

  ‘Some horrid old man shoved into me in the newsagent.’

  One of the customers at the bar, a man in his mid-fifties, salt-and-pepper hair, turns to Mel. ‘What did he look like, love? Was he an ugly tall bloke that stank of pig shit?’

  ‘About sums him up,’ Mel says slowly. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he replies, glancing at Nikki. Mel doesn’t fail to notice the glare Nikki gives him, the slight shake of her head as if to shut him up.

  ‘Who is he?’ Mel asks, but the man is busy draining his pint.

  ‘Right, best be off or the missus’ll string me up.’ He puts his glass on the bar and slides off his stool, giving a pitying look in Mel’s direction as he says his goodbyes.

  ‘Do you know who the old man is, Nikki?’ Mel asks when the customer has left.

  ‘Sorry,’ Nikki says with a brisk shake of her head, tight-lipped as she turns to load the glass washer.

  ‘The lady in the shop said he was known as Dirty Don. Was he Joyce’s partner?’

  ‘I said I don’t know, right?’ Nikki snaps back, her eyebrows raised.

  ‘Sure, yes. Sorry,’ Mel says quietly, retreating to the kitchen to find Kate.

  ‘Love,’ Mel s
ays once Kate has finished eating, ‘you said your dad gave you a phone…’ She clasps her hands together, thinking of what to say next.

  Kate shrugs. ‘Yeah,’ she says quietly, staring at the floor of the back hallway where Mel has ushered her.

  ‘How…?’ Mel asks. ‘I mean, did he have it delivered to our old flat? Did he leave it with the secretary at school? What?’ She shudders at the thought of Billy setting foot on school premises without her knowledge. He could so easily have snatched her. The authorities should have told her he’d been released.

  ‘Not sure,’ Kate says, her voice on the brink of something. Mel isn’t sure if it’s defiance or tears.

  ‘Can you tell me when you got it then?’ she says.

  ‘I… I dunno,’ Kate says, shrugging again. She’s staring at the ceiling now, her arms folded across her chest.

  ‘Why did your dad give you a phone, love? You’ve already got one.’

  Kate suddenly glares at her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me he was out of prison, Mum?’

  Mel feels herself go cold – the blood draining from her head, hands and feet. Her heart races and her stomach churns.

  ‘I… I didn’t know myself until recently. It… it was a bit of a shock, if I’m honest.’

  ‘And you didn’t think of how I’d feel?’ Kate’s eyes fill with tears. ‘You know how much I’ve missed him. How much I love him.’

  ‘Look, darling, your dad did some bad things, and he had to pay for that. You were young, and I’ve explained the reasons why I didn’t tell you at the time.’

  ‘He went to prison because of you, didn’t he? You told them he’d done horrid things to you, that he was bad, and they locked him up!’ Kate’s voice is suddenly bitter. ‘It’s your fault!’

  ‘No… no, love, no. It’s not like that at all. I was a witness to some other crimes and had to tell the truth to the judge. I had no choice, and—’

  ‘He said he wanted to make it up to me,’ Kate says, sniffing back tears. ‘Said he wanted to be able to do nice things for me, be a proper dad, and that’s why he gave me the phone. So I could get in touch with him whenever I wanted.’

  Tears stream down Kate’s flushed cheeks. She wipes them with the back of her hand. ‘He’s… he’s not a bad person, Mum. He told me it was all a mistake, him going to prison. That people had it in for him. That he didn’t do anything wrong.’

  Mel closes her eyes for a moment. ‘Oh, Katie,’ she says, pulling her daughter close and fighting every instinct to scream and rage. She’s shaking inside. Filled with anger. The bastard has got to her. ‘I understand, really I do, love. It’s very hard for you. I know how much you love your dad.’

  Kate presses her face against Mel’s chest, sniffing back the tears. ‘I miss him,’ she says. ‘When I saw him, he did that high five thing we used to do, do you remember? And just for a few minutes, it was as though he’d never been away.’

  Mel stifles a gasp. ‘You saw him?’

  Kate gives a tentative nod. ‘After school. That time you were late. I can’t lie to you, Mum. You know I love you, too.’

  Mel thinks back. It was the day Josette had hauled her into her office to give her a grilling about the money.

  ‘Come outside and let’s sit down,’ Mel says, leading Kate out into the garden by the hand. They perch on a low brick wall, near where the end of the new extension will fall. ‘Can you tell me what happened when you saw your dad?’

  ‘Like what?’ Kate asks, resting her chin in her hand, her elbow propped on her knee.

  ‘How did he arrange to meet you? How did he get in contact? What did he say? How—’

  ‘Mum, stop,’ Kate says, scowling. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Well, what was it like then?’ Mel replies, fighting her frustration.

  ‘I was waiting outside school for you and you were late. Then Dad showed up. He said to get in his van, so I did and we just drove round the corner and talked a bit. I was so happy to see him. That’s when he gave me the phone. He said it was a present and that I could use it to call him any time I wanted. He gave me some money too.’

  ‘You got into his van? That’s… that’s nice,’ she manages to get out. ‘How did he know which school you were at?’

  Kate shrugs. ‘I dunno. Dads know things, I guess. And I only sat in his van for a few minutes, and then you texted and I thought I’d better go. It was nice to see him, Mum.’

  Mel remembers how Kate had sauntered round the corner, waving at a van. Yes, that was it… an old red van. Mel wishes she’d taken more notice of it now, got the registration number at least. But never for one minute did she think it would be Billy. She’d not been able to get a look at the driver.

  ‘OK,’ Mel says, trying to stay calm. ‘Have you spoken to him since? Have you called him? Have you told him where we are?’

  Kate hangs her head, giving it a little shake, her shoulders slouching forward. ‘No, he doesn’t know where we are. But that’s the thing. Apart from a call I missed before we left Birmingham, he’s not been in touch at all since. He promised I could call him any time and he even put his number into my new phone. But when I dial it, it doesn’t connect.’

  Some small mercy, Mel thinks, glancing up at the back of the old, thatched building, her line of sight falling on a top-floor window. She takes a deep breath, feeling light-headed all of a sudden, and she’s not sure if it’s because of Billy finding Kate, or because Miss Sarah’s face suddenly ducks away behind the curtains.

  Twenty-Two

  The mini digger judders up the slope of the car park, its caterpillar tracks making light work of the crumbling tarmac as Tom guides it around to the site where the footings will go. It hadn’t taken much for Mel to be convinced over the last couple of weeks that building works should start sooner rather than later.

  ‘Breaking ground is what you need to do,’ Tom had told her when he’d stopped off for a pint in the bar one evening. There were two other customers passing through who’d come in for something to eat, making the place seem busy for a change. Though Mel knew it was far from that. ‘By making a start on the foundations, getting the drainage in place, it’ll mean you won’t need to renew planning with the council.’

  ‘I see,’ Mel had replied. It had only come to light several days before that the approved plans would soon expire – something Mel had missed in her many hours of poring over the works she had planned for the hotel. Plus, for the last twenty-four hours, she’d been blindsided by the news that the full funds had just been released from the solicitor and the title of the property secured in her name. Everything was finally official. There was no going back now. Melanie Douglas was the new owner of Moreton Inn and all the problems that came with it.

  ‘Kate,’ Mel had said yesterday when she’d arrived home from her new school, a big grin on her face. So far, she’d loved every minute of it and had already made several friends. ‘Come here, love.’

  They were standing in the kitchen, Mel clutching her phone in her shaking hands, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide.

  ‘What is it, Mum?’ Kate said, dumping her school bag on the floor. ‘Is everything OK?’

  Mel had given a little nod. She’d just got off the phone to Robert Hedge, who had told her the good news.

  ‘I’ve got something to show you. Ready?’

  ‘Er, yeah…’ Kate replied, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl and peeling it before coming up to her mum. She peered at the screen when Mel held it out. ‘What’s that?’ she said, barely batting an eyelid.

  ‘That, my darling girl, is my banking app. Click on this link.’

  Kate bit into her banana and tapped the screen, staring at what she saw. She’d stopped chewing then, her mouth dropping open as she took it all in.

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ she said slowly in a whisper. She glanced up at Mel, who was wide-eyed and grinning. ‘Is that…?’

  ‘Ours? Yes, love. All £378,542.’

  ‘And twenty-eight pence,’ Kate added, checking the sav
ings account balance again.

  They were silent for a moment, both staring at the screen in disbelief, before grabbing each other, squealing and jumping up and down. They only stopped when Rose arrived for her shift.

  Later, lying in bed, Mel had checked her banking app at least another dozen times, just to make sure the money was still there, that there hadn’t been some terrible mistake. And when she woke in the morning, she logged in again, and there was the same huge sum in her account.

  ‘Thank you, whoever you are,’ she whispered to her phone. ‘Or were. I’ll use it wisely,’ she added, knowing that rushing out to buy a flash car or a whole new wardrobe simply wasn’t her style. This was a chance to make her and Kate’s future secure.

  Mel watches as Tom gets the mini digger into position. Since she’d made the decision to go ahead with the build, he’d been very helpful. Too helpful, at times, she wondered, but then she remembered what Kate had teased her about.

  ‘I can organise equipment hire, get a team of lads together,’ Tom had said. ‘Manage the whole build, if you like.’

  Over the last couple of weeks, they’d chatted about lots of things, including his line of work – how he’d started off as a builder’s mate, gradually learning the trade, eventually taking on clients of his own, taking on staff, buying land, developing it. He’d explained to Mel how he missed getting his hands dirty these days, especially since he’d come back to Halebury to take care of his father.

  ‘In fact, it’d do me good to get down and dirty,’ he’d said. ‘I’m going a bit stir-crazy looking after Dad all the time. He has a carer come in now, so it gives me a chance to get out. All he does is watch TV these days. It’s sad. He was once such a powerhouse of a man. So much a part of the community.’ Then he’d explained how he’d lost his mum when he was eight, how his dad had never really got over her death. ‘The only other woman Dad ever had eyes for was Joyce. But she was besotted with that monster, Donald Bray.’

  ‘Camera at the ready?’ Tom shouts above the noise of the digger, his hands on the levers in the cab. The yellow machine sits at an angle on the slope, the clawed bucket pulled back and ready to eat into the weedy paving.