Calamity in Camberwell

by Alice Castle

  It was time. She’d prevaricated long enough. She had to ring 101, give all the details to the police, then she’d call York and get him to make good on his promise, set the wheels in motion. They’d find Jen, they would. They had to, for Jess’s sake.

  Half an hour later, Beth felt as though she’d got a load off her mind. It had taken forever, but the report was now in the system. At last.

  Which meant that Beth could now get on with some of her legitimate work, like her Christmas in Chains exhibition. She wasn’t officially going to call it that, not in a million years, but privately she did refer to it that way. Judging by the portrait displayed with great pomp in the School Hall, Sir Thomas’s outfits had been almost as spectacular as Queen Elizabeth I’s. The painted ruff he wore was so vast he would have had to go sideways through most doors, but his motto with his slaves might as well have been no frills. Life on the Wyatt plantations had been nasty, brutish and short. There were records, however, that showed that services were held each year to mark the festival. At least they would have been some sort of respite from the back-breaking, unpaid toil, thought Beth.

  Anyway, she hoped the exhibition would make the over-privileged, shortly to be over-fed denizens of Dulwich think for a moment about how delightfully cushy their own little world was. You never knew, possibly even some of the sniping among the more brattish kids about who’d got the best presents would be silenced, when they saw how children their age, a few centuries ago, would have been very lucky indeed to be allocated a meagre extra half-scoop of tasteless, stodgy breadfruit on Christmas Day. That had been the cheap, carbohydrate-heavy staple diet of the Caribbean, thanks to Captain Bligh, who’d brought it to the islands from Tahiti.

  On the plus side, Beth’s ledgers showed there was a temporary Christmas Day armistice throughout Wyatt’s holdings on the usual public floggings, designed to spread fear through the ranks and ensure iron discipline. But there would certainly have been no visit from Santa, no mince pies, and definitely not one single Brussel sprout to show for the Lord’s birthday.

  Though she worked away diligently enough, at the back of her mind Beth had a little plan forming. She couldn’t execute it until tomorrow morning, but she was sure it was going to work. Well, pretty sure. Ok, put it this way – it was worth a try. And she’d be in a public place, so there was very little risk. What could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Next morning, in order to put her scheme into operation, Beth had set her phone alarm ten minutes early, but for some reason Ben’s own personal clock was going in reverse. He couldn’t find any clean socks, though his drawers were exploding with them. Then he’d lost a crucial comic that he’d promised to discuss in depth with Charlie at break time. Once they’d turned the house upside down and found it at last, under Magpie’s fluffy behind, Beth was in despair. She was pretty sure she’d missed her chance.

  But as they ran towards the school gates, trailing scarves, gloves, Ben’s PE kit, and the all-important comic, Beth caught sight of her quarry just about to cross the road. She kissed the top of Ben’s head, much to his evident disgust, and pushed him through into the playground, turning round and running for the zebra crossing. Too late, the lights had changed, and she wasn’t brave enough to play chicken with the school run traffic.

  She pressed the button on the crossing without much hope in her heart, but to her surprise the lights changed to amber almost immediately. She could almost hear the cursing of the mothers in their people-carriers as they screeched to a halt on either side of the black and white markings in the road, and then remained poised with their tiptoes resting on the accelerator pedals, like sumo wrestlers gearing up for their first bout. All the expensive schools in the area would be ringing their bells for the first lesson in moments. For the stay-at-home mums, getting their children in on time was much more important than avoiding pedestrians who should know better.

  Nipping over the road with a cowardly wave of her hand to each mother, just in case she knew them and would have to face them later, she realised she’d managed to corner her quarry, as they’d just gone into the chemist’s.

  The door jingled when she opened it, and Tim Patterson looked round automatically then smiled vaguely as he recognised her. There was no-one else in the shop, apart from the white-coated assistant, trying to look like a proper pharmacist after two days in the job. The real pharmacist was in the back somewhere, girding her loins for another full day allaying the fears of mothers too lazy or busy to organise a doctor’s appointment.

  Beth stepped briskly towards Tim. He’d been lingering near the men’s hair loss solutions, but sidled away to the nit shampoos as she approached, before realising that was little better and coming to an awkward halt near family planning.

  ‘Oh, hi Bess, how are you?’ he said ingratiatingly, no doubt thinking a bit more free childcare might be handy at some point.

  ‘Beth. I’m fine. I just thought I ought to tell you, I’ve reported Jen missing. Officially. To the police.’

  ‘Really?’ he said, the wind clearly taken out of his sails. ‘Is that necessary, do you think?’

  ‘Well, have you seen her recently?’

  ‘Um, no, but well, she’s been working very hard…’

  ‘On some amazing project, yes, I’ve heard the story. The thing is, she wasn’t working on any such thing when I last saw her, and she certainly didn’t mention it to me.’

  ‘Well, why would she? She doesn’t have to report to you, Bess, er, Beth, does she?’ said Tim, with a slightly baffled smile.

  ‘Aren’t you worried about her? Don’t you think it’s odd, the way she’s disappeared?’ Beth persisted, infuriated by his attitude.

  Tim seemed to think for a moment. ‘Nah. She’s always been a bit like that.’

  ‘She never has, not while I’ve known her, and that’s been years now,’ said Beth, trying to remember how long they had stood in the playground together, shoulder-to-shoulder as working women against the yummy mummies of Dulwich. Well, not exactly against, but with a joint solidarity which had been a really important bond for Beth.

  ‘Look, the thing is, Tim, I’m really worried about her. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t been around for weeks now, and it’s having quite an effect on Jessica.’

  ‘Is it?’ Tim looked surprised.

  Beth sighed. It always astonished her how oblivious even the best fathers could be to the ebbs and flows of life with their children. And she wasn’t including Tim in that category.

  ‘She’s been getting into trouble at school, she’s a bit of a handful at home… you must have noticed? She was always good as gold before. She’s missing her mum.’

  ‘Oh, she’s just going through a stage, that’s what Babs says,’ said Tim airily.

  ‘What would Babs know? Jess isn’t her child, and she’s told me she doesn’t know anything about bringing up kids. Look, Tim, take it from me, Jess is not enjoying this long absence of Jen’s. And anyway, as I say, I’ve reported it to the police. But if you and Babs want to discuss it, why don’t you meet me at Jen and Jeff’s in Camberwell, this afternoon? I’ve got to take Ben somewhere anyway, so I thought I’d arrange a meeting between all of us who care about Jen.’

  ‘Have you got hold of Jeff, then? I’ve tried a couple of times but it just goes to voicemail,’ said Tim.

  ‘And doesn’t that make you think? When did you last even speak to him, or Jen for that matter?’ Beth knew she shouldn’t let her frustration show, but she couldn’t help letting her voice rise in irritation. The pharmacy assistant had abandoned all pretence at tidying the shelves of Nurofen, and was openly hanging on every word.

  Tim just shrugged. ‘You don’t know what it’s like after a divorce. Not speaking to Jen all the time has been great, really. No hassle, just letting me and Babs get on with things our own way. We’re both busy working people, you know.’

  Beth looked at him in astonishment. His selfishness was extraordinary. Yes, he had a full-time job,
and so did Babs, but he also had a daughter who needed his time and attention. The sooner they found her other parent, the better for everyone.

  ‘Jessica needs her mum. It’s as simple as that. So, can you come this afternoon? Round about 4.30? It’s really important, Tim. You need to be there,’ said Beth.

  Tim twitched and shifted from foot to foot. Reluctance was written all over his weaselly face. What on earth was he trying to hide now? wondered Beth. Another assignation, maybe? They did say that when a man like Tim married his mistress, he created a vacancy.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ he said eventually. ‘Though I don’t see why I have to be there, or what good it’s going to do.’

  Beth thanked him and decided to leave the shop before he changed his mind. She did have a degree of sympathy with him; she, too, was unsure what effect the meeting was going to have. Would it, could it, get them any further on? Maybe the police route really was better. She knew York would say so. But it was bound to be much, much slower, and this situation had been dragging on long enough already.

  Besides, Beth was a firm believer in direct action. No-one seemed to care as much about Jen’s whereabouts as she and Jess did. And Jess, bless her, was only a child and could do nothing on her own. No, Beth had to try and take charge of this business, get the grown ups to take some responsibility. And she had a feeling that gathering all the interested parties together was going to shake some secrets out into the light, and finally drive them towards some sort of resolution.

  But as the morning and the afternoon trickled on, Beth realised she was dreading the rendezvous in Camberwell. Though she had left copious messages for Jeff, he hadn’t returned a single one, yet he’d definitely been busy yesterday, sorting out Janice’s IT distress call.

  So there was no guarantee he would show up. As for Tim, if anyone could wriggle out of a commitment, it was him. And Babs? She might well appear, but what on earth could she do to shed any light on the matter? No, this was another of Beth’s hare-brained ideas, and if York knew about it, he would doubtless insist she cancel it and just plod through the orthodox missing persons circuit, probably getting nowhere but at least reaching this destination in an orderly fashion.

  Just the thought of sitting back and letting the creaking police bureaucracy take on her burden was enough to show Beth that she had to go ahead, much though she hated the idea. And she had to be in Camberwell anyway, as it was tutoring night. Like all good multi-tasking mothers, she was killing two birds with one stone.

  By the time she finally set off, Beth’s stomach was as full of knots as Ben’s shoelaces. As a precaution, she texted York before she got in the car, just giving him the bare bones of her plan, then set off to join the snail of red brake lights that marked the route to Camberwell. Eventually, she pulled up in Camberwell Grove, just round the corner from Jen’s.

  The little house, she could see from here, was in darkness. Either she was the first to arrive, or the others had simply wimped out. She wasn’t sure if she’d even be sad if it was the latter. It was pitch dark already, and there was a cold wind blowing, ruffling the few leaves still in the gutters, strong enough to make the tall street lights sway a little in its wake. Pale yellow light and big dark shadows chased each other over the facades of the white houses. She reluctantly got out of the cosy little Fiat, and wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck, trying to minimise any gaps that the wind could worm its way into.

  Her boots rang out on the pavement, still shiny from drizzle earlier in the day – probably when she’d been cooped up in her office, she thought. God, it was freezing. She wished she’d put on her gloves. They were somewhere in the car. She decided she’d go back, then saw a dark shadow walking towards her from the other end of Jen’s little road. Uh-oh. Too late now.

  She walked forward a little reluctantly, then realised by the size of the shadow that the figure was Babs. She speeded up and met her outside Jen’s house.

  ‘Hi, thanks for coming. I just thought we all needed to talk, see if we can make sense of what’s going on,’ she said.

  ‘Hi Beth,’ said Babs, leaning in for the obligatory Dulwich kiss. ‘Good to see you. Yes, I agree, it’s worrying. Tim told me you wanted to meet and I think it’s a great idea. Did you manage to get hold of Jeff?’

  ‘I left him loads of messages. Well, I’ve been leaving them for weeks now. No response. I don’t know whether he’s getting them or not.’

  ‘It’s so hard to say, isn’t it? Have you seen him around at all?’

  ‘I haven’t, but then I only come to Camberwell once a week, and he hasn’t been going to the school since you’ve had Jess. I know he was doing a job for Wyatt’s yesterday, but I suppose he could have been doing that remotely from anywhere. Have you seen him around?’

  ‘Nope, not for ages. I don’t know whether Tim’s been in touch with him, though. They might have discussed arrangements for Jess, I have no idea.’

  ‘Wouldn’t Tim normally just talk to Jen about stuff like that?’

  ‘Well, yes, Beth, he would. But of course, she hasn’t been around.’

  ‘Is that what you think? That’s she’s gone away? Tim still seems convinced she’s doing some sort of work project…’

  ‘Oh, you know Tim. He’ll think anything that’s convenient for him.’

  ‘But it’s not really convenient, is it? Not for you two to be taking all the childcare on?’

  ‘It’s certainly not convenient for me, that’s for sure. But as you’ve probably noticed, Tim isn’t doing a lot, is he? All right, he walks her to school in the mornings. But that’s not a big detour for him really, he’s got to get the train from somewhere. Other than that, he’s pretty much on the same schedule as usual.’

  ‘That’s so unfair on you, Babs,’ said Beth, before she could stop herself. She really shouldn’t criticise someone else’s partner. Whatever the resentments playing out in a relationship, a direct snipe at someone’s other half rarely went down well. But Babs seemed to take it very lightly.

  ‘Oh, he is what he is, you know. I lost my illusions about him some time ago,’ she said flatly. ‘Listen, I don’t feel that comfortable discussing all this in the middle of the street. Shall we maybe go round the back?’

  ‘The back of Jen’s house?’ said Beth, startled. There was no-one else in sight, the street was deserted, and so was the much larger Camberwell Grove. But their voices did carry, and she supposed it wasn’t the best place to have a frank chat. And the wind was still blowing up a storm.

  They could adjourn to the high street, see if there was anywhere at all they could pop into for a coffee, but Beth knew the options were limited. And they were still waiting for the others. Perhaps Jen’s garden made sense. But her memories of being attacked there, not so long ago, were a very powerful disincentive. She hesitated.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Beth, that’s where you had that awful accident, didn’t you? Of course you don’t want to go round there,’ said Babs in concerned tones. She’d accidentally lit on exactly Beth’s dilemma.

  ‘Oh, well, it’s not that,’ said Beth heartily, though of course it was. ‘It’s just that the others won’t see us…’

  ‘I’ll just text Tim and tell him where we’ll be,’ said Babs brightly, fishing out her phone and tapping away quickly. ‘There. All done.’

  ‘It’s trespassing…’ said Beth, a little reluctantly.

  ‘That didn’t stop you before,’ said Babs, pushing with her shoulder at the side door, which gave with a creak straight out of a horror film. ‘Here we go,’ she said, smiling over her shoulder.

  Feeling a bit foolish left on the pavement alone, Beth looked up and down the street, wondering where on earth the men had got to. She pulled out her phone, but there was no winking icon from her texts, WhatsApp, or voicemail. Reluctantly, she followed Babs and pushed at the door, smelling again the musty, disused odour of the pathway where she had lain unconscious for hours.

  ***

  York, looking up and down the very sim
ilar, though slightly less grand, Grove Lane, running parallel to Camberwell Grove, was fed up. His feet were really feeling the cold, right through the ridiculously thick socks his mother had given him last Christmas, which at the time he thought he’d never need to wear outside the Arctic Circle. But Camberwell could do a pretty sterling impression of a frozen waste when it wanted to. He’d been out and about all day, trudging streets which, even if they weren’t quite mean in the Raymond Chandler sense, certainly seemed full of spite on days like this.

  First, it had been a credit card fraud down at the Morrisons. It had turned out to be just a rather confused old gentleman, who seemed to be in the first stages of Alzheimer’s, trying to buy his shopping with his late wife’s Visa and insisting, when questioned, that his name really was Violet Ferguson. Well, it took all sorts, but if the man was a late-stage transitioner, he really needed to make a bit more of an effort with his outfits. An ancient tweedy jacket and trousers hitched up to his armpits were not the sort of thing that would ever pass muster as women’s clothing, even on a decidedly dress-down day. It had all taken an age to sort out, and was distinctly below his pay grade, but when he’d seen the unsympathetic reception the poor old geezer was getting – particularly, he was ashamed to say, from the PCs who’d been called to the supermarket – he’d felt he had little choice but to stay on.

  Then there’d been another G5. He could hardly believe it when the call came in. He hadn’t had one for months, until the case of the little old lady and her ghoulishly overfed cat. This time it was even sadder, in a way. A young man, only in his mid-twenties, who’d overdosed alone in his flat. What a terrible waste of life. The lad seemed to have been doing quite well for himself, with a really good job at a local accountancy firm. A small company, but they’d seemed to genuinely value him and, luckily for York and the team at the scene, they’d noticed his absence first thing on Monday morning, when he hadn’t shown up for client meetings. That meant, when York authorised the stoving-in of the lad’s front door today with the ‘big key’, as the red metal ram was known, there was nothing like the dreadful scene that had confronted them at the old lady’s house. The boy was relatively fresh.