Chapter Eleven

The central heating ticked away, providing a bubble of warmth in what looked, from the window, to be an unfriendly world. Dull. Cold.

Ellie held back a shiver as she drew back her curtains. It probably wasn’t going to snow because it rarely did in London, but it looked as if it would like to. Wind was blustering around the garden. It looked as if the Argyranthemum by the sundial had died. They did last through the winter sometimes, but it was a bit of a gamble.

She found a woolly jerkin to put on over her jumper. That was better. Where was Midge? He’d need feeding, for sure. Her phone rang. The landline. Who would ring at this hour? It was only half past seven, and still not really light outside.

‘Ellie?’ A rough voice. Deep. He cleared his throat. ‘You wouldn’t by any chance . . . could I cadge breakfast?’

‘Thomas, is that you?’ He didn’t sound like himself.

‘Sorry. Forget it. I shouldn’t have bothered you.’ He rang off.

Puzzled, Ellie put the phone down and went into the kitchen to feed Midge, who wasn’t there. Instead, he was sitting on the window sill among her precious flowers in the conservatory, where he knew very well he wasn’t supposed to be. Midge was gazing raptly out on to the back garden at a man who was just leaving her garden by the gate into the alley. Thomas.

Ellie hastened to unlock the door. ‘Thomas?’

He halted, turned and plodded up the garden path. He still had his mobile in his hand. He looked even more sailor-like than usual, with a heavyweight short navy coat over his jeans. There were brown shadows under his eyes and the line between his eyebrows was very marked. Had he slept at all? It didn’t look like it.

Ellie held open the door, and he came in. His hand, brushing past hers, was icy. ‘Sorry,’ he said, not making eye contact. ‘Stupid of me to think . . . a hard day’s night.’ He attempted a smile.

Ellie could recognize exhaustion when she saw it. ‘When did you eat last?’

‘Eat?’ He didn’t seem to understand the word. It must have been a very hard day’s night.

She gave him a little push in the direction of the table and he sat, still buttoned into his coat.

‘Orange juice? Tea or coffee?’

He just looked at her.

A really truly grim night.

She had some orange juice in the fridge because Frank sometimes liked it. Would tea be better, or coffee? A big plate of cereal to start with; a pity she had no oats for porridge, which would probably do him more good, but there it was, she hadn’t got any and he’d have to make do with what she’d got.

She put the orange juice on the table, and he just looked at it. She picked up his right hand, inserted the glass in it and hoped he wouldn’t drop it. He seemed to get the idea, so she left him to pour some cereal into a dish and add milk. Better not give him a choice; he probably couldn’t cope with that. He’d drunk the juice by the time she had the cereal ready. She removed the glass from his fist, and started throwing things into the frying pan.

She’d give him scrambled, not fried eggs: better for his digestion. Bacon, a couple of sausages which she’d been saving for her lunch today, mushrooms . . . bother, there were no tomatoes. She could have some of the scrambled eggs herself.

Double quantity of sliced bread into the toaster. Butter, spreadable. Marmalade, homemade. Or would he prefer jam or honey? He could have marmalade and lump it. Tea or coffee, that was the question. Usually he drank strong dark tea with milk and sugar, but coffee might be better in view of the state that he was in. But she couldn’t find any good ground coffee, though she was sure she’d bought some a couple of days back. Tea would have to do.

He’d demolished the cereal by the time the toast was done. As she took in the rest of the meal, he stirred himself long enough to unbutton and throw back his jacket. Was that sort of jacket called a reefer? It was piped round the edges with leather. A durable coat for a durable man. A man who seemed to have lost the plot temporarily.

She wondered if any of his parishioners would have believed their eyes if they could have seen him at that moment. In Ellie Quicke’s house! At breakfast time!

Scandalous!

Midge arrived on the table top, looking for food. Ellie shooed him off, and then remembered he hadn’t been fed that morning and would have got up to give him something, if Thomas hadn’t taken a scrap of bacon from his plate, and held it out to the cat.

‘Thomas, you shouldn’t feed him at the table.’

He produced a faint copy of his usual grin. ‘Sorry.’ He’d probably do it again in a minute.

She poured tea into the largest mug she had, added milk and sugar and handed it to him. He closed his eyes, savouring it, as he drank. Then he tackled his plateful, which vanished before Ellie had finished her much smaller helping.

‘More?’ she asked, wondering if she had any more eggs. Or bacon.

He shook his head, reaching for the toast. She refilled his mug with tea, and this time he was able to add milk and sugar himself.

She fed Midge, and put more toast on. Then she found the bag of ground coffee exactly where she’d left it on the top shelf of the fridge.

‘Would you like some good coffee for afters?’

‘Thanks, no. I can never sleep on good coffee. This is hitting the spot nicely.’

Ellie reflected that some people seem born to provide for others. Since her husband had died she’d tried to lose that image, but first little Frank and now this great galumphing monster had pushed her back in time. Ah well. There were worse fates in life.

‘Sorry,’ said Thomas, when he’d eaten the last of the toast and drained the big teapot dry. ‘Awful thing to do to you. But I just couldn’t face going back to the flat. I knew I hadn’t any food in, and . . . no excuses. I shouldn’t have come.’

‘Mmm?’ said Ellie, pressing the right button. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

He sighed deeply. ‘An old friend went screaming into the night. Died, I mean. Cancer. He was in terrible pain, which they couldn’t seem to alleviate until the very end. Cursing and . . . blaspheming . . . and I couldn’t do anything to help. Nothing.’

‘Except to be there. And pray.’

He nodded. ‘For what it’s worth. I comfort myself by saying that he didn’t want me to leave. But . . . I can still hear . . . see.’

‘How did you get back here? Where’s your car?’

He washed his face with his hands. ‘I think . . . yes, I think I must have left it in the pub car park near the hospital. I couldn’t find a parking space at the hospital. You know what it’s like. It’ll probably get clamped or towed away. How ridiculous of me. After he died this morning, all I could think of was getting back home, so I called a cab and must have fallen asleep. Without thinking, I’d told him to take me to the vicarage. I got out and paid him, and that was when I realized that, of course, the old vicarage wasn’t there anymore and the new one isn’t habitable yet. Then I saw you draw the curtains and thought . . . sorry, Ellie. Sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped myself on you.’

‘It’s what I’m here for,’ said Ellie, not unhappy about it.

‘What?’ He wasn’t connecting very well, even now. He tried to stand up, and didn’t make it. Tried to laugh. ‘I’m bushed. Fit for nothing. I used to be able to keep going for forty-eight hours without sleep. Would you call me a cab? The sooner I’m back at the flat and can get some kip, the better.’

‘Can you get up the stairs here? I always keep a bed made up in the spare room.’

He shook his head. ‘What would the parish say? No, no, Ellie. I couldn’t do that to you.’

‘Everyone else does it.’

‘Men of the cloth are not supposed to, even if others do.’

‘Then take a nap in the big chair in the sitting room. When you wake up, I’ll get you some good coffee and you can toddle off under your own steam.’

He began to protest, but she steered him through the doors and into the biggest of the armchairs; the one which her husband used to regard as his own. She pushed a stool in his direction and he lifted his feet to rest them on it, as if he’d done it a thousand times before, which he hadn’t. By the time she fetched a light blanket to cover him, Midge had taken up his position on Thomas’ broad chest. Thomas hadn’t acquired the nickname of Tum-Tum without reason. Midge was purring. Correction; it wasn’t Midge who was purring. Thomas was snoring, gently, lightly. But snoring.

Mercy me, said Ellie to herself. What a turn-up for the books. Who’d believe we weren’t having serious nooky, if they saw him now?

Well, I don’t care. I like the fact that he came to me for help.

She went into the hall to mute the telephone bell. Let Thomas sleep it off. He deserved a bit of peace and quiet after all he’d been through.

The phone rang as she left it. She pushed the door of the sitting room closed, and answered it. It was Angie, Mrs Dawes’ daughter, ringing in response to Ellie’s call the previous evening. Full of excuses, lots of worry, had had to return home, one of her daughters had been in a car accident, nothing serious as it turned out, but Angie was glad she’d gone back, especially since she had to work today. And she had to work today because her husband was temporarily out of a job . . .

She’d have gone on and on, excusing herself, but Ellie cut her short. ‘It’s all right. I understand. I’ll go into the hospital to see your mother today, if I can.’

‘The hospital said . . . oh, this is all such a worry, but my brother should be there still. He’d gone for a snack when I left, but he was due back.’

‘It seems he’s returned home, too.’

‘Oh.’ There wasn’t much to be said to that. Angie and her brother would no doubt continue their feud into old age. ‘So, what about young Neil?’

‘He assaulted a police officer, and he’ll be up in court today.’

‘What did he do that for?’

‘He was provoked, I expect.’

‘My brother promised me he’d sort Neil out.’

Silence. They both knew her brother hadn’t lifted a finger to help his son. Guilt was rolling backwards and forwards over the telephone.

Ellie said, ‘I’ve got hold of a solicitor who’s going to try to help Neil.’

‘Oh.’ Much relieved. ‘Well, that’s probably best, under the circumstances. You’ll get the bill sent to my brother?’ Not to her, she meant.

I’ll probably have to pay it myself, thought Ellie. She said, ‘Of course. And I’ll keep you informed.’

‘Oh, good.’ Angie’s name was being called by someone in the room with her. ‘Must go. I’m ringing from work. The news from the hospital seems good, doesn’t it? I’ll try to get back down next weekend.’

Ellie put the phone down, only for it to ring again. This time it was Mr Dawes. The conversation went much as it had with his sister, except that he blamed her for not staying with his mother and not seeing to Neil. He was not happy, though, about Ellie having contacted a solicitor to help Neil, because he couldn’t afford to fork out for that sort of thing himself, could he?

Ellie suppressed unkind thoughts about the Dawes family and said she’d pay the bill herself. Which she’d fully intended to do from the start. That is, until they’d made it clear they wouldn’t be paying. Oh, bother! Drat them both.

The door from the conservatory to the garden opened, and a bulky Kate negotiated the final step and let herself in. Ellie made sure the doors from the sitting room into the conservatory were closed, but couldn’t prevent Kate from seeing who was stretched out asleep in her big armchair.

Kate lowered herself on to one of the conservatory chairs. ‘Armand spotted Thomas arriving this morning. He said you hadn’t sent him away. I was supposed to be tackling some correspondence over at Felicity’s this morning but she rang to put me off, saying she has to make alternative arrangements for her mother or something. Armand and I decided he should take Catriona to the childminder’s as arranged, and I’ll sit with you till Thomas goes. And if anyone asks, I was here before he arrived. Right?’

Ellie got a tray and started clearing the table of breakfast dishes. ‘You’ve no need.’

‘Yes, I have. You’d think people wouldn’t think anything of it in this day and age, but it’s different for a man in his position. That sort of thing still makes headlines in the yuckier tabloids. The parish think you’re fairly eccentric as it is . . .’

‘Thank you.’

‘Granted. You’d survive the scandal because you’ve always had men hanging around you, and they don’t expect anything else. Your goings-on give the gossips considerable pleasure, something to talk about: ‘have you heard the latest about Ellie Quicke?’ sort of thing. But Thomas doesn’t need mud thrown at him.’

‘Let me tell you how he came to be here . . .’ Ellie filled Kate in. ‘I went into my Earth Mother mode, I suppose. I thought I’d grown out of it, but it seems I haven’t.’

Kate shifted in the chair. ‘My back’s giving me gyp, and the baby’s not due for another ten days. I’d help with the breakfast things, but . . . no, I won’t even offer.’

‘A restless night?’ Ellie took her tray through into the kitchen, and returned to clean down the table.

There was a scratching noise at the French windows leading into the sitting room, and both women froze. Thomas hadn’t stirred, but Midge had decided he didn’t like being shut in when the action was elsewhere. Ellie let him out into the conservatory, where he made a leap for the table top and sat there to give himself a good wash.

‘Divert me,’ said Kate, twisting in her chair. ‘What’s the latest?’

‘On Mrs Dawes?’ Ellie started to stack the dishwasher. ‘Some improvement. I’ll try to get up there later. Both her children have returned home. If you ask me, they care more about scoring points off one another than about looking out for their mother. No wonder Mrs Dawes doesn’t talk about them much.

‘As for the latest on Neil. He assaulted a police officer while he was being questioned so they’re holding him at the station . . . don’t ask! I reckon they yelled at him till he reacted. He was so upset about his gran that the very thought of anyone laying the assault at his door would be enough to make him see red.

‘I’ve got a solicitor involved — a real oddity, and I’m not sure I take to him — but he should be good because Aunt Drusilla recommended him. The problem, as I see it, is that if the police can prove Neil has a short fuse — and now they can — they can make out he must have been the one who assaulted his gran. And they’ll probably also try to make out he’s responsible for the body that I stumbled across as well.’

‘So what do we do next?’

‘Make a shopping list,’ said Ellie, scrabbling in her handbag for some scrap paper and a biro. ‘The last resort of those who’ve got too much to do and don’t know which job to tackle first. Routine is a wonderful thing. Routine means you don’t have to think what to do next, you just do it. Monday morning I hoover and dust downstairs, and then go shopping for food.’

With a surge of annoyance, she realized she couldn’t follow her routine today and that she almost regretted her impulse to let Thomas in. ‘Bother, I can’t get into the sitting room and I can’t leave him here asleep while I go shopping. I wish I’d never let him in.’

Kate was amused. ‘But you are fond of him?’

Ellie squiggled the pen to make the ink flow. ‘I like him very much indeed. This morning I felt all maternal and loving towards him. It even crossed my mind to drop a kiss on his fevered brow as he lay asleep. You know? And now I could willingly kick him out because he’s upset my routine. Isn’t that just like a woman?’

‘Hormones, dear,’ said Kate, shifting again.

Ellie snarled, ‘Hormones? At my age? I’m long past all that nonsense. This is Ellie being a frustrated housewife.’

‘But you do like him better than any of the other men who’ve been sniffing around you?’

‘I don’t see him through rose-coloured spectacles, if that’s what you mean. Shall I get you a cushion?’

Kate stood up, massaging her back. ‘Have you any of that herbal tea?’

Ellie put the kettle on, popping the bag of ground coffee back into the fridge. Kate hadn’t been able to face coffee for months.

The doorbell rang. Both women froze, but there was no movement from the sitting room. Ellie went to the door to find another parcel of Christmas goodies she’d been expecting. Also the postman was coming down the drive. She dumped the parcel in the hall and took the handful of bills and letters into the kitchen. She extracted two envelopes and groaned. ‘The first of the Christmas cards. Why will people send them in November?’

Kate limped around the kitchen, easing her back. ‘When I was a child, we never sent them out before the twelfth of December. I had two Christmas catalogues at the end of August this year.’

Ellie poured boiling water on Kate’s herbal tea bag. ‘What’s Felicity going to do about her mother?’

Kate shrugged. ‘She’s dithering between various alternatives. Put her in respite care? Bribe the home to keep her? What’s more to the point is, what are you going to do about Neil?’

‘Now don’t you start. Mark Hadley wants me to find another suspect, but what can I do about it? I don’t even know who the missing man — or woman — was. It wasn’t in the local paper, was it?’

‘They print on Thursday, come out on Friday, so it was discovered too late for that. You could ask around, see if anyone’s gone missing.’

‘Don’t be daft. The police will have done that. My only hope is that when Mrs Dawes wakes up, she’ll tell them it wasn’t Neil.’

Kate was silent. They both knew the effects of a head injury couldn’t be foretold. Mrs Dawes might never wake up. Or wake up and be in a vegetative state. Or not remember anything of the attack.

‘You could get Thomas to make some enquiries,’ said Kate. ‘Everyone talks to him.’

‘Yuk,’ said Ellie. ‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll make myself some good coffee and waft it in front of you and then you’ll be sorry.’

‘I take it all back. My lips are zipped.’

‘I need to replace eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms,’ Ellie murmured to herself as she made out her shopping list. ‘Butter, a half of mince, cheese, tomatoes. Veg. Teabags. Biscuits. Some bleach for the loo. Oh, and a pair of gloves. Except I might have to go to Ealing Broadway for those. I lost one the other day and the weather’s not going to improve, is it?’

They looked out at the wintry garden. The wind had dropped, and flakes of snow were drifting past the window.

‘Snow?’ said Kate. ‘Catriona hasn’t seen snow. She’ll be delighted.’

Adults wouldn’t be delighted. Ellie thought of treacherous patches on the pavements, and car wheels spinning on icy roads. ‘I suppose I’d better take the bus to the Broadway and get everything there. I need some cash, anyway. Oh, why does everything go wrong all at once?’ She slammed the biro down, and her list wafted across the table towards Kate. Kate flicked it back. It skidded across the table and fell to the floor. Both women looked at it. Ellie sighed. There was no way Kate could pick it up with her bulge, so Ellie did, throwing it back on to the table. It landed upside down.

‘Who’s Mr Hurry? What a name!’ Kate exclaimed.

‘What? Oh, that’s the flier he gave me the other day when he gave me a lift back in his van. He’s a builder, working on the house where we found the body in the garden. Nice man. I wonder . . . Neil said he was halfway through painting a ceiling for a customer when he got called to the hospital. They must be furious that he’s left them in the lurch. I wonder if we can find out who it was.’

‘Would this Mr Hurry provide a distraction for the police? Did you tell the solicitor about him? Mr Hurry might have seen something, heard something. Try him!’ Kate liked to use her brain and unlike Ellie, fancied herself as a bit of a detective.

The doorbell rang, one long, loud peal. Kate spilled some of her tea. Ellie peered into the lounge through the French windows, but Thomas hadn’t moved.

‘It would take the last trump to wake him,’ said Ellie, getting crosser by the minute.

Kate was already on her feet. ‘I’ll go. I need the exercise.’

‘To the door and back?’

Kate laughed, and swayed along to the door. She opened it and said in a loud voice, ‘Why, Jean! What a pleasant surprise!’

Ellie went rigid with shock. Jean the bully? Jean who ran the church coffee roster with terrifying efficiency? What was she doing, calling on Ellie at this time on a Monday morning? Did she know that Thomas was here? Uh-oh . . . !

Ellie mentally reviewed her recent sins: she’d disrupted the wedding on Saturday, leaving the choir short of sopranos; she’d failed to attend church and sing in the choir on Sunday morning, and been absent from the coffee roster afterwards. All deadly sins in Jean’s book, probably equated with ‘sloth’. And now Jean was about to find Thomas asleep in Ellie’s sitting room, which she’d certainly regard as ‘lust’.

Kate was cheerily welcoming Jean in. ‘No, you haven’t come to the wrong house. I’m keeping Ellie company this morning. Do go through the kitchen into the conservatory at the back. Nasty old day, isn’t it? We were just wondering what to do about a rather knotty problem when you rang, and I really do think it was an answer to prayer, because if anyone can do something about it, it’s you.’

Jean was wafted into the conservatory, willy-nilly, on the wings of Kate’s chatter. She looked puzzled, but alert. She looked rather like a Yorkshire terrier with her fringe of gingerish hair, but a Yorkshire terrier quite prepared to take a bite out of someone’s ankles if they crossed her. She might be under five foot in height, but could make grown men quail when she fixed them with her eye.

‘Ellie,’ she said, as Ellie got to her feet, not knowing quite what Kate was up to. Then Jean spotted Thomas through the windows, and took a half-step back. ‘Oh!’

‘Exactly,’ said Kate, in a grim, meaningful tone. She drew out a chair. ‘Join the think tank. What exactly are we going to do about Thomas? I always thought he was perfectly capable of looking after himself, but I suppose even the strongest of men needs a spot of tender loving care occasionally.’

‘What . . . ?’ Jean looked to Ellie for enlightenment, but Ellie couldn’t think what to say, so merely shook her head sadly.

Kate was in full flow. ‘What I think is that the parish ought to find him a housekeeper. Someone to see he has food in the fridge if he has to stay up all night with a dying parishioner. He arrived back at the church more by good luck than judgement. The walking dead. Can you think of anyone, Jean? You’d know the right person, better than anyone else. I mean, this time Ellie and I were here to see that he ate something and had a nap when he arrived on our doorstep, but suppose we hadn’t been in? He might have collapsed in the Avenue.’

Ellie could see where this was leading. ‘I didn’t mind cooking for him, but it’s my day for turning out the sitting room and he is in the way, rather. Besides, I want to get to the hospital to see how Mrs Dawes is doing.’

Jean turned her head from one to the other, with the bemused stare of someone watching the conjurer. She suspected the worst of Ellie; she wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d found Ellie canoodling with Thomas — although naturally she’d have expressed horror and indignation at the sight of the vicar wrapped around one of his parishioners. On the other hand, she didn’t really want to think the worst of Thomas, and she respected Kate as everyone did. It was a dilemma. ‘How is Mrs Dawes? That was a terrible thing.’

‘Dreadful,’ said Ellie. ‘Would you like a coffee, Jean?’ Kate turned a peculiar shade of greyish-white and Ellie hastened to add, ‘Only instant, I’m afraid.’

‘Thank you, no. I came round to see if you were all right, since you missed church yesterday.’

‘I know. I was at the hospital all morning. I’m a bit of a bent reed, aren’t I? Letting you down like that.’

‘Well . . . yes, but now you’ve explained. What time did he . . . ?’

‘Breakfast time,’ said Ellie. ‘He told the cab driver to take him to the vicarage, being completely disoriented and forgetting that it was being rebuilt. Then he didn’t know what to do with himself, and couldn’t face trudging off to his cold flat which hasn’t any food in. He spotted me drawing the curtains . . .’

‘My husband saw him coming up the path from the church, looking dazed,’ said Kate. ‘So I came round to help.’

‘Not drunk?’ asked Jean, eyes gleaming with imagined horrors.

‘No, no,’ said Ellie. ‘Just worn out. How do you think the parish should handle this, Jean? Advertise for a housekeeper?’

‘Mmm, no. We don’t want everyone thinking . . . well, what they might think if they had that sort of mind. I might ask Maggie if she’d take him on, if her husband agrees. A couple of hours two days a week might do it. He’ll need someone to look after him when he moves into the new vicarage, anyway. Yes, I’ll do that. We don’t want a repetition of this, do we?’

Kate and Ellie both shook their heads.

Jean hesitated, then said, ‘I can rely on you two to keep your mouths shut?’

Kate and Ellie both nodded.

‘Good.’ Jean took one last look through the French windows at the recumbent Thomas, and sighed. ‘There’s men for you. Well, I must be off. Sorry you’ve been lumbered, Ellie. It’s lucky Kate was here to help.’

‘Glad to,’ said Kate, ushering Jean to the front door. Jean disappeared.

Ellie sank back into her chair. ‘Ooof! Thank you, Kate. I owe you one.’

‘A pleasure,’ said Kate. ‘Now I have you in my power for evermore. What shall I ask for?’

* * *

He was furious. Livid. Some time in the early hours he’d got himself up the stairs and put himself to bed after drinking several glasses of water. When he woke about eleven, he didn’t feel too bad. Almost hungry. Yes, for once he really felt hungry.

He’d counted out his small change — all he had left — before he left the house. There’d been enough for a small fish and chips and a can of Diet Pepsi. He’d dived down the sides of chairs, and gone through the pockets of every piece of Russell’s clothing to find enough money. He really fancied some fish and chips.

By the time he’d got to the Avenue, he’d remembered it was a Monday and the chippy didn’t open on a Monday. So he’d gone along to the kebab shop, and decided he’d make do with some of that and dived into his pocket for the money, only to find a good half had gone! That was when he’d found that hole in his pocket. In Russell’s pocket. He could shoot his little finger through the hole, and that’s how the change had gone.

He bought a couple of bread rolls from the baker and a lump of cheese from the supermarket, and that was all he had money for.

He was still hungry after he’d finished the last crumb. That did it. He was going to have to try out those pin numbers again, or starve. He’d go down to the Broadway this evening after dark, and see if he could beat the system. It would be a gamble. He knew that. There were five rows of numbers on the back of the calendar.

One was for a cash card. One for a deposit card. One for the building society machine. He didn’t know what the others were for. If he put in the wrong number, after a couple of tries the machine would eat up his card and he’d have lost his chance of ever getting money out that way. If he guessed right, he’d be in clover for life!

He’d have to wait till it was dark, and maybe wear a hat of some kind, in case there was a security camera pointed at the cash machine.