2009 – January – London
Louisa Canning was late. She had promised her mother to be home by six and it was gone half past. Not too bad considering that her last physiotherapy patient had arrived late, causing her to miss her usual Tube connection. Consoling herself that her mother could not have long been home herself, and the dinner not likely to be spoiled, she hurried away from Angel station, clutching a bunch of red roses. Her mother’s house was five minutes’ walk away.
Slightly out of breath, she put her key in the lock, calling out, ‘Mum, it’s me! Sorry I’m late but–’
She got no further as a figure hurtled down the hall, knocking her off her feet, before continuing down the path.
Shocked and wondering who the hell he was, Louisa picked herself up and, after brushing the dirt off her coat, stared briefly after the retreating figure, trying to recognise him. Realising she had never seen him before, panic set in. Her mother! Quickly collecting the bruised-looking roses, she headed for the kitchen, calling, ‘Mum! Where are you? Are you all right?’ Finding the kitchen empty, she felt fear clutch her heart and ran back down the hall to the sitting room. Pushing the door open she saw her mother collapsed on the sofa, clutching her chest.
‘Mum! What’s happened? Who was that man?’ She knelt down by her mother, frightened by how white she was. ‘Is it your heart? Shall I phone for an ambulance?’
Her mother could only nod and as Louisa pulled out her mobile she saw for the first time that the room had been ransacked. Oh, God, a burglar! After alerting the police as well as the ambulance service, she tried to help her mother.
‘It’s okay, Mum, help is on the way. Where are your tablets? I’ll get them for you.’
Her mother, Susan, managed to point in the direction of the kitchen and Louisa ran out and found her handbag. Fishing around she found the bottle of tablets and poured a glass of water before returning to her mother’s side.
‘Here you are. Just take it slowly.’ Louisa offered the glass and two tablets.
Susan propped herself up and swallowed the tablets before sinking back onto the cushions. After a couple of minutes her breathing seemed to ease and she grabbed Louisa’s arm.
‘That…man…forced his way in when I opened the door. He…pushed me in here…became nasty, said wanted know where…jewels are. I said don’t know what meant. He said…they’d seen a picture me wearing them. Then I knew what he wanted. Years ago, before you born your father let me wear jewels…charity ball.’ Susan took a ragged breath and Louisa, scared, hoped the ambulance would hurry up. ‘He asked where Malcolm was, wouldn’t…believe me, said not know. Not heard years. He…he pushed me…around, threatened me, started pulling out drawers…cupboards.’
‘It’s all right, Mum. Save your strength. You can tell the police later, when you feel better.’
‘No…no time, darling. Not sure…make…it. He said saw article about the business…last week. My picture…followed me home. Louisa, promise me…find Malcolm…your father, tell him…danger. He must look after…you.’ Her mother’s hand slipped from her arm and she lay still.
‘No! No! Mum, stay with me! Stay with me, please! I can’t lose you!’
Louisa sobbed over her mother’s body as the sound of the doorbell echoed down the hall.
By the time the police finally left Louisa felt as if she had been in a pile-up. Although they had been kind, the persistent questions had made her feel dizzy. It was only the intervention of a paramedic that had brought proceedings to a halt and she’d been able to crawl upstairs to her own attic flat. She had been allowed to go up there as it was separate from the rest of the house, which was now out of bounds behind police tape. The doctor gave her a gentle sedative and advised her to get straight to bed, something she was only too willing to do. Louisa had been asked if there was anyone who could stay with her, but there was no-one. At least not in London.
The image of her beloved mother being taken off in an ambulance lay seared into her brain. Although it was obvious Susan was dead, out of respect for Louisa’s feelings, the paramedics hadn’t zipped her in one of those horrible black body bags, but laid her on a stretcher, covered in blankets, her head uncovered. That image of her mother’s pale face accompanied Louisa up the stairs. Once in her own little space she undressed quickly and buried herself under the duvet, praying the sedative would give her the oblivion she craved. For the few moments before the drug kicked in, her head buzzed with questions – what was so important about the ‘jewels’ – who did they belong to – what had her mysterious father got to do with it – and, most importantly, who was the man who had killed her mother?
The next few days passed in a blur. Susan’s sister, Margaret, came down from Yorkshire to offer Louisa much needed support. She organised the funeral director, although until the results of the post-mortem were ready, no funeral could take place. Once the police were satisfied that they’d scoured the house for prints, DNA and other clues, they allowed Louisa and Margaret access. Initially reluctant to enter the sitting room, Louisa was gently encouraged by her aunt.
‘Come on, I’ve tidied up so it looks quite normal. Make yourself comfortable in the armchair and I’ll make you a hot drink. What would you like?’
‘Tea, please,’ she muttered, curling into the embrace of the chair. She knew she looked a mess but didn’t feel like washing her long, dirty-blonde hair which hung limply around her face. All she wanted was to sleep. With Margaret taking charge she had been free to spend most of the time in bed, but now her aunt seemed to feel that it was time to face the world. A world without her mother. As the memory took hold, Louisa struggled to hold back the tears. It was so unfair! Her mother never hurt anyone and went out of her way to help others with her charity work. Messages of condolence were pouring in but she couldn’t face reading them: Margaret whisked them away to be dealt with later. At that moment she returned with a tray bearing two mugs and a plate of biscuits.
‘Here you are. And how about a chocolate digestive? I remembered they’re your favourite,’ Margaret smiled warily as she held out the plate.
Louisa took a biscuit, nodding her thanks. She looked over the rim of the mug at her aunt. Mm, she looks as shattered as me. Poor Margaret! First she loses her husband and now her sister. No wonder she’s aged so much. Margaret, the younger sister, was sixty-two, but her white hair and pinched face made her look more like seventy. Louisa felt a stab of remorse that she’d let Margaret take on so much when she’d only buried Charles six months ago. She gave herself a shake. Perhaps I should do something…
‘I…I’m very grateful, Margaret, for your help. I’m not sure I could have survived the last few days if you hadn’t been here. But you’ve got your own problems. After all, it’s not long since Charles–’
Tears glistened in Margaret’s eyes.
‘It’s not been easy, I admit, but I had to be here with you. Your mother would have expected me to help. Not that I could have foreseen the circumstances…’ She wiped her eyes.
‘No, neither of us could. Although we knew Mum’s heart hadn’t been strong for years, she seemed so well. So I suppose it…it might have happened at any time. But without that man threatening her she could still be alive. If I could get my hands on him I’d kill him!’ Louisa cried, gripping her mug, anger bubbling to the surface and temporarily usurping the grief.
‘Yes, well, I understand your feelings, but that won’t bring your mother back will it? Let’s concentrate on what needs to be done, shall we?’ Margaret said briskly, forcing Louisa to focus on what she was saying. ‘The police expect to get the post-mortem results today and then…then we can arrange the funeral. I’ve checked Susan’s Filofax for her friends and colleagues so…’
Margaret made suggestions about the service and the necessary, but unwanted, get together at the house afterwards. Louisa began to switch off, not wanting to acknowledge the reality of a funeral. Until it happened she could pretend that her mother was away and due back any time soon. Perhaps Margaret sensed her detachment because she stood up, saying she needed to pop out to the shops before lunch and wouldn’t be long. Louisa heard the front door bang and curled up into a ball again. Oh Mum! Please come back! I miss you so much…