Barnes Street didn’t look much different from the last time she’d been there. The houses still had that air of prosperity long since departed. One or two of the small walled gardens now sported a shrub or two, some of the old bay windows had been replaced by sash ones that looked out of place against the faded red brick, but the street was still as quiet as she remembered. Unlike Henshaw Street, no children played football on the road, no neighbours gossiped on the doorsteps. Further along a black Ford car was parked outside one of the houses and a man and a young boy, wielding buckets and sponges, were cleaning it despite the cold drizzle of rain.
There was no van outside Nelly’s house. Mary breathed a sigh of relief but still hesitated. She hadn’t prepared what she wanted to ask and she was nervous. If Nelly wouldn’t help she didn’t know what else to do.
The corroded metal number four was missing now, only the imprint remained on the door. Red paint barely concealed the burst bubbles and flakes of the black paint that Mary remembered used to be there. She grasped the dull brass knocker and banged it down.
She heard the soft shuffle of feet and then the door shifted slightly in the frame. A woman’s voice cursed. ‘Bloody thing.’ The door was tugged again. And then, ‘Can you give it a shove?’
Despite her anxiety Mary grinned and put her shoulder to the door. It opened with a screech.
Nelly’s blue turban flopped, as usual, over one eye. She squinted at Mary, pushing out her large lips in concentration. The recognition came all at once. ‘Mary, pet,’ she exclaimed. ‘Well, I’m blowed. Mary.’ She brushed floury hands on her apron and engulfed her in large soft arms. ‘Come in, come in.’ She peeped out of the doorway at the overcast sky. ‘Another storm, I shouldn’t wonder. Let’s get in. I’m just doin’ a bit of baking.’
‘I can see that.’ Mary smiled, closing the door and surreptitiously wiping the white marks from her sleeves.
The grey strands of hair that had escaped from the turban were covered in flour and she had a streak across her nose. She waddled along the hall, her bare feet spread at angles. ‘’Scuse, the old trotters,’ she said, over her shoulder, ‘bunions playing up.’ Her backside bounced from side to side with each step. ‘I was sorry to hear about your brother, Mary. You got my letter?’
‘I did, Nelly, and thank you, it meant a lot.’ Now was the time to tell her why she was here. But Nelly was talking again.
‘Sorry it was a bit crumpled. It got screwed up by mistake and I had to iron it flat again. It’d taken me that long to write it I hadn’t the heart to copy it out again.’
‘No, don’t worry, it was a lovely thought. It meant a lot to me,’ Mary said again.
‘And I was sorry to hear about your Mam, she was a good woman,’ Nelly carried on. She took a tray of unbaked scones from the kitchen table and, opening the oven door, pushed them carelessly onto a shelf. ‘I liked what I saw of her.’
‘Thanks, Nelly.’ Mary left it at that. The feelings hadn’t been reciprocated. Winifred couldn’t stand Nelly, mainly because Frank was her son.
‘And loyal to her family.’ Nelly sounded breathless from bending forward. ‘Loyal to you, pet. I respected that.’
Her words made Mary uncomfortable. ‘How are you keeping?’
‘Fair to middling.’ Nelly clapped her hands together and a puff of flour rose around her. She turned and studied Mary for a few moments. Then she sighed and gave a guarded smile. ‘Hope you don’t mind me coming right out with it, pet.’ She put her fists on her hips. ‘This isn’t a social call, is it?’
Straight to the point, Mary thought, deciding to give the old woman the same courtesy. ‘No, Nelly, not totally. Is your George in?’
‘George?’ Nelly put her head to one side. ‘No, there’s no need to worry, pet, he’s out. I would have warned you at the door if he was here, knowing what he’s like about you.’
‘Yes, of course. I just wanted to make sure. I want to talk to you.’ This was going to be worse than Mary had expected.
‘About?’
‘It’s awkward, Nelly.’
‘About what, Mary?’ Her tone was wary. She folded her arms and leant against the table.
‘Can I sit down?’
The woman nodded but when Mary sat at the table she didn’t follow suit.
‘We’ve been friends for a long time.’ Mary put her palms flat on the worn surface, rubbing them back and forth, covering her fingers with a dusting of flour that she barely noticed. ‘And what I want to ask you isn’t easy. I …’ She stopped.
‘Go on.’
Her words came out in a rush. ‘The night Tom was killed, I saw the van.’
‘And?’
‘I’ve seen the van again, here, in Ashford. It’s white with orange markings on the side. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘I’m not thick. But I still don’t know where you’re going with this.’
It was obvious to Mary. Nelly knew exactly what she was saying. ‘Please don’t be like this.’ Mary’s eyes prickled with hot tears. ‘This is as awful for me.’
‘Just spit it out.’ The words were harsh but the fear was unmistakeable.
‘You gave him an alibi. You know it was George…’
‘One son.’ Nelly pleaded. ‘That’s all I have now.’
The two women stared at each other. Nelly was the first to blink.
‘What do you want me to do, Mary?’
‘You know what I want you to do. Tell the truth.’ The agony in Nelly’s eyes was painful to see but still Mary urged, ‘Please Nelly. I just want you to tell the police the truth.’
‘I can’t help you, pet.’ Nelly’s voice was weary. ‘You know I would if I could … but I can’t.’
Mary caught her lower lip between her teeth. She had one thing she could bargain with, but Ellen would be furious with her if – when she found out. ‘I need to tell you something else, Nelly.’ She rushed on before she could change her mind. ‘But you must promise to keep it a secret, for now anyway.’
‘What is it?’ There was relief in Nelly’s voice, as though she thought Mary was changing the subject.
‘Please, promise me.’
Nelly closed her eyes slowly in agreement.
‘We, you and me, are more than friends. In a way we’re related.’ Mary waited. Nelly looked baffled. ‘My sister, Ellen, has a little girl, she’s beautiful.’ She spoke quickly. ‘She’s Frank’s child too – your granddaughter.’
‘Frank’s?’ Nelly’s ruddy face drained of colour. ‘How?’ She flopped down on the chair nearest Mary.
‘They were together … once. It was a mistake on Ellen’s part. No.’ She saw Nelly close her eyes in despair. She held up her hand. ‘Please, don’t fret. It wasn’t like what happened to me.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Ellen was as much to blame as Frank. I’ll tell you all about it some other time. For now I just want you to know.’ Mary reached over and took Nelly’s hand. ‘I wanted you to know because I’m frightened what George will do next. I want to protect my family, my niece, your granddaughter.’
Nelly pulled her hand away. ‘I don’t understand why you haven’t told me this before? Frank’s? What’s she called? How old?’ She moved from side to side in bewilderment, tears brimmed. ‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered.
‘She’s called Linda. She’ll be six next May.’ Mary could hear her voice tremble. It was a big risk she was taking, one she wasn’t entitled to, but she carried on. ‘If you stop George, if you tell the police the truth, I’ll try to persuade Ellen to let you see Linda, get to know her. Eventually.’
She waited. The only sound was Nelly laboured breathing.
‘Nelly?’
The older woman lifted her hand. ‘I can’t.’ She looked at Mary, despair in her eyes. ‘I can’t.’
‘But…’
‘I need you to go now. Please.’
The door slammed behind Mary almost before she left the step. Aware that the net curtain shifted to one side in the sash window, she lifted her chin and walked purposefully towards the gate and along the street. She’d just made things worse.
Nelly watched her walk away. Her hand trembled as she let go of the curtain. ‘Linda.’ She tested the name on her tongue. ‘Linda.’ There was a strange feeling inside her. She put her hands to her throat. ‘I’ve got a granddaughter,’ she breathed.