The old woman slouched on a chair with her head resting on her favourite worn-out velvet cushion, her hands clasped on her lap, and her legs parted. Her mouth was agape, displaying her yellowed broken teeth, her eyes flickered beneath her eyelids, and her crumpled skin sagged as it rested upon her shrunken face. In the air, there was a faint smell, the smell of death, and Leanne shuddered and tightened her arms across her grief-stricken body.
Her heart was bulging and her breathing restricted, each intake of air more difficult than the last. A low-pitched moan escaped her lips. Another death was imminent, another loss of a loved one creeping ever closer. She eased herself onto the edge of the sofa, her hazy eyes resting on the old woman; yet she saw little, her mind too traumatised to take note.
Janet was her grandmother, but to Leanne, she was her mother. Their relationship was special; Janet guided, comforted, and shared. They had laughed and cried together, sharing joy and anxiety, from the birth of Leanne’s son to the sudden death of her husband several weeks before. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek.
Janet had to survive; Leanne did not believe she could not cope with another bereavement. Her gut twisted as panic crept up her body. She pressed her palm flat against her upper chest and felt the gentle rise and fall of her ribcage. She needed Janet now more than ever and prayed that her grandmother would find the energy and desire to fight for another day.
The sound of footsteps dragged Leanne away from her ponderings, and she turned her head and looked to the doorway. Tyler, her son, leaned against the frame, his slender physique, soft creamy pink skin, and vivid blue eyes contrasting with the sight of her aged grandmother. Yet they were both beautiful, each signifying something different.
‘How is she?’ he asked.
Leanne eased herself from the sofa, exited the room, and headed to the kitchen. ‘Asleep. I don’t think it’s going to be long.’
‘There’s no chance she’ll recover.’
‘No, I don’t think so. She didn’t eat again this morning. I think her body has given up.’
‘Can’t we do anything?’
She shook her head.
Distraught, he dropped his head and traced a tile on the floor with the edge of his trainer.
‘She’s had a good life,’ she said, ‘we have to stay strong. She won’t want to see us upset.’
His mouth clamped. Tearful, he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away.
‘I wish there was something I could do to make it better.’
He spun back to face her. ‘Why now? Why us? What have we done wrong?’
She edged closer to him, resting her arm on his back. ‘You mustn’t think like that. Her time has come, as it does to us all eventually.’
‘It’s not fair.’
‘No, it’s not. Death never is.’
There was silence and their mutual grieving entwined.
‘I still miss Dad.’
She swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘I do too.’
He stomped across the kitchen to the fridge and reached for the orange juice. ‘He was selfish. He should never have gone to France. Didn’t he care?’
‘You know he did. He couldn’t have predicted his accident.’
‘He wouldn’t have gone if he’d loved us.’
‘Of course, he loved us. But he loved paragliding too. I could never have stopped him.’
‘You should have tried. He knew it was dangerous, especially in mountainous regions. He put his own pleasures before us.’
‘Tyler, you mustn’t think like that.’
‘Why? It’s true. He used to talk about the thrill of flying, yet at the same time, he wouldn’t let me have ago, at least not until I was bigger and stronger. He said it wasn’t safe.’ His voice increased in volume, his anguish deepening. ‘I’m sixteen . . . nearly as strong as he was. If he thought I could die, he must have realised he could too.’ His lip trembled and his grip on the glass tightened, whitening his knuckles. ‘I want him back.’
Leanne reached across desperate to offer her sympathy, but her son pulled away, withdrawing from her touch. ‘I hurt too.’
He threw back the rest of his drink, thrust the glass onto the table, and stomped away, his scrawny youthful body, so beautiful and pure, yet disguising such sorrow within. His life had been shattered and she was helpless to assist, unable to feel her way through her own burning heart.
On the table were dirty mugs and dishes, a cereal container, a jar of jam, and the coffee jug. She glanced at the time: it was almost noon and time dragged. She wanted to sleep and unburden herself of her troubles and dream of happier times. Only six months ago, they had all celebrated her grandmother’s eighty-second birthday, and for one of the activities Janet had played golf on Tyler’s games console causing great hilarity. Phillip pushed her aside, insisting he could do better, but it wasn’t his thing; he was hopeless.
Those days had ended.
Her face contorted and she squeezed free the lingering tears in her eyes and then moved the dirty items into the dishwasher. She had little enthusiasm for cleaning, wanting only to be consoled during her moment of misery, but she had no one else. Phillip, Janet, and Tyler were her life and they had moulded her into the person she was. To lose one person was bad enough, but to lose two in succession was unbearable. How could she comfort Tyler when she couldn’t deal with her own pain? How had Janet ever managed it? She had always been there, through good times and bad, always finding the right words and gestures.
Her eyes misted with tears. She crept into the lounge.
The sun peeked through the edge of the window, brightening a strip of the room and resting on her grandmother’s pallid cheeks. She had aged much during the last couple of weeks, and looked grey and lifeless and not the energetic woman she was used to seeing. Her clothes - a black cardigan, a white top, and a heavy mottled grey skirt - reflected her demeanour. Exhausted of life, it had bubbled, faded and tattered. She wore thick brown tights and comfortable moccasin-style slippers, her ankles were swollen and her legs shapeless. She looked old, very old.
Janet’s wrinkled hand twitched. Leanne’s eyes darted to her face, waiting for her grandmother’s eyes to gain clarity, and then she forced a happy demeanour forward. ‘Had a nice nap?’
It took a few moments for the reply to come. ‘I need water.’
‘Would you prefer a tea?’
She shook her head and started to fidget, uncomfortable with her stagnant body. Leanne strode to her side, placed her arm under hers and lifted her upright, the strain showing on her face.
‘Are you warm enough?’ Leanne asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Just hang on, I’ll get you that water.’
She whizzed into the kitchen, waited for the tepid water to cool, and filled a glass. A tap of hope emerged. She was still alive, at least for now. She should make the most of it.
She passed her the half-filled glass. It shook in her hand, the water creeping towards the rim. Janet slurped at the side, and then still quivering, passed it back. Leanne rested it on the coffee table and then sat on the edge of the sofa, situated alongside the armchair.
‘You do a good job with that boy,’ Janet said.
Their eyes locked.
‘He’s a good lad,’ she continued, ‘he’s still upset with Phillip for dying.’
‘You heard?’
‘He’s young, he’ll come through.’
‘I thought he was dealing with it, but he’s still angry.’
‘It’ll take a while.’
‘I don’t know what else to do.’
Leanne waited for the response. Janet’s face glazed over and her eyes lacked focus. Had she heard? Pressing her for an answer was out of the question; she was far too frail for a deep conversation. Leanne had to learn to fend for herself. Soon she would have no choice.
Janet lifted her gaze. ‘Did you say something?’
‘No, it doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m a bit tired . . . don’t feel too good. Pass me the water.’
Leanne did just that. Her heart was pounding. She had so much to say and so little time. How long did she have left? Hours . . . days?
‘Tyler will look after you. He’s a good boy . . . takes after his dad.’ She gasped for air and her chest heaved. ‘Now about that, you know he wants more contact with his real father.’
Leanne pressed together her lips.
‘I hope you’re going to let him.’
‘I’ve never stopped him.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve never encouraged him either.’
She leapt from her chair, strode to the window, and folded her arms. ‘Darren has not shown any interest up until now. It’s a bit of a coincidence if you ask me.’
‘From what I’ve heard he seems genuinely interested in the lad.’
‘It’s going to end in tears.’
‘Not necessarily. It’s something Tyler’s going to do, whether you like it or not.’
Her heart slumped. She had heard through friends that Darren had transformed over the last sixteen years and was now a father and husband, abandoning his reckless attitude and free spirit. More than likely, Darren would shower Tyler in gifts, giving him what he wanted. He would lure him away, introducing him to his family, a real family with brothers and sisters, aunties and uncles.
Why would he want to return to her and her solitary existence?
‘You can’t stop him,’ Janet said, her voice croaky. ‘He’s the boy’s natural father. They should get to know each other.’
‘Phillip was his father. Tyler wants that gap filled. He’s doing it for all the wrong reasons.’
Janet coughed and saliva dribbled down her chin. She lifted her arm and wiped away the moisture with her sleeve.
‘I’ll get you a tissue,’ Leanne said.
Her grandmother’s laboured breathing pounded her ears as she hurried across the room to a box of tissues. Every second was valuable. Why couldn’t people live forever? How would she ever cope without her best friend, confidant, and mentor? Anguished, she scrunched her face, gasped for breath, and pain tightened her chest. She had to remain strong for both their sakes and passed her a quick glance.
Janet was gazing with glassy eyes through the window.
‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat?’ Leanne asked.
She frowned. ‘Now, what was I saying? Oh yes, about Tyler.’
Leanne perched on the edge of the sofa next to her.
‘He loves you, and he’ll respect you more if you let him find out for himself what Darren’s like.’
‘He knows what he’s like. They’ve had a couple of conversations over the phone.’
‘Come on, you know that’s not what I mean. Blood’s thicker than water, remember that.’
‘Darren will never replace Phillip in his eyes.’
‘No, but Darren is alive, Phillip isn’t.’
She folded her arms and scowled.
‘You were always stubborn,’ Janet said, ‘Tyler will never leave you, he loves you. It’s not a competition. Promise me you'll let him get to know him if that’s what he wants.’
A tear slipped down her face. Soon, she would only have Tyler.
‘Promise,’ Janet insisted.
‘I promise.’
Janet stretched out her hand and rested it on Leanne’s knee. Leanne took hold and squeezed, and her hand trembled.
‘No tears,’ Janet said, ‘we still have much to talk about.’
‘I don’t want to lose you.’
‘I’ll always be with you,’ she lifted her hand to her heart, ‘in here.’
Leanne focused, urging her breathing to regulate, urging calmness to descend.
‘You will be happy again,’ she continued, ‘I promise you that. Soon you’ll find a new man. Don’t push him away, but remember family first. Make sure he finds a way to get on with Tyler.’
‘I would never do anything Tyler wasn’t happy with.’
‘No . . . no of course not. Family first. Don’t make the mistakes I’ve made.’
‘What mistakes?’
Janet held a pensive gaze, staring into a space in the centre of the room.
‘Gran, what mistakes have you made?’
‘Mistakes?’ she shook her head. ‘Later. I need to rest . . . feel odd.’
‘But-’
‘Family first. Never forget.’
She crossed her ankles, folded her arms across her middle, and closed her eyes. Panic loomed. Would she awaken? She could sense it was important, but to what degree? Would she have a chance to explain what she meant?
The hours crawled and Leanne struggled to function, neither finding enthusiasm for her favourite pastimes nor being able to perform everyday household chores. The house was growing ever dirtier, with stains on the kitchen surface, dirty crockery scattered throughout the house, and bits and pieces in out-of-place locations.
She slumped onto a chair in the kitchen, her lethargy growing like a disease. She could sense her adrenaline pumping, encouraging occupation of a task, but the instance she started doing something her frustration surfaced and she flung down her tools and stomped away.
The waiting was the worst. She knew that she could do nothing to help her grandmother get better, yet she still searched her mind for new ways. She had offered her easy to digest food cut into bite-sized pieces, as well as her favourite cuisine, but nothing generated interest. She was apathetic and obstinate, and unwilling to place anything into her mouth. Even the doctor had failed and Janet vomited back the medication.
Damn it, Leanne thought as she rested her elbows on the table and placed her head in her hands. Her heart was constantly pounding and reverberating across her body and making her feel sick and tired. She wanted it to be over, one way or another.
If only Phillip were here, he would have known what to do. In the least, he would have placed a consoling arm around her body briefly removing her tension; instead, she was the one offering Tyler comfort, and it was sapping her of strength. Not that she minded, but it was draining, especially since he kept pushing aside her show of affection.
She eased her arms downward, rested her head on the table, and closed her eyes. She needed to sleep, yearning to drift off to some far off land away from her troubles, and thought of her late husband. As expected, Phillip appeared inside her head, his soft boyish looks and long dark lashes distinct in her mind. He was telling her everything would be okay. She clung to his words, reached towards him, and imagined herself sinking into his body.
Panicking, Leanne woke with a start and rushed into the lounge to see her grandmother: thankfully, she was gazing wistfully out of the window and into the small rear garden.
‘Gran?’
She turned her head. ‘Hello love.’
‘I’m sorry, I fell asleep.’
‘No matter.’
‘How are you feeling?’ Leanne asked.
‘Tired.’
‘Do you want me to get you anything?’
‘No, come sit down.’
She stepped across the room, trying not to focus on her greying complexion and tired eyes, and perched on the sofa and passed a warm glance.
Sadness overwhelmed her. Janet’s fingers were trembling and her mouth was agape. Her lips were paler than normal and there was a look of absolute exhaustion in her eyes, neither seeming able to focus nor even attempting to. Her heart quickened. The end was nigh.
‘I’ve made mistakes, everyone suffered,’ Janet said.
‘What mistakes?’
Silence
Leanne rested her hand on her grandmother’s thigh. ‘Gran, what mistakes?’
Janet lowered her head and her eyes flickered shut. Leanne’s pulse throbbed in her throat.
‘Gran?’
‘Family first, always.’
‘It is. We have been.’
Her head dropped onto the cushion. Her breathing was taut and gritty. She steadied herself, fighting for the last drop of energy. ‘Karen . . . she’s alive.’
Confusion mingled with panic. Leanne’s mother had died when she was young. Janet had told her so. How could it be?
‘Sorry . . . should have said.’
Leanne leaned forward and rested her elbow on the arm of the chair. I don’t understand. Where is she?’
‘Gone . . . sorry.’
Janet’s eyes rolled and then her lips moved, but no sound escaped. Her head flopped to the side.
Leanne shot up from her seat. ‘Gran!’
A surge of pain ripped through her. It was over; Janet had died.
Apprehensively, Leanne stepped into the chapel of rest with Tyler by her side and scanned the small group of people waiting in the lobby. Holding a sorrowful gaze, she nodded her appreciation at the others then waited near a double door clutching her handbag as though it provided her with strength.
The group mainly consisted of older folks, presumably Janet’s friends from the community centre, but no one was familiar. Periodically she peered through her fringe at the strangers, searching the faces for her mother. But, she was not brave enough to question their connection, and none seemed concerned by her presence. She assumed that her mother would appear uneasy, and twitch and shuffle, or make uncomfortable attempts at conversion. No one did either, and no one fitted the description Leanne held in her mind.
Once guided to the pews in the small room, she sat down, said a quiet prayer, and waited; her back was straight, her feet were together, and her hands grasping her black bag. At the front was the coffin. Burdened with grief, she stared, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
Her conscious mind faded in and out, as the proceedings continued. She drifted through moments of Janet’s life to Phillip’s, their funerals combining in her mind. Tears welled, her hands shook, and her chest tightened. Her husband should have been here; he was her future. It was a sad reflection of what her life had become.
Tyler reached for her hand and squeezed. She peered at him out of her eye corner, and at his young face that displayed immense composure, and her lips wobbled and her tears overflowed, streaming down her cheeks in waves. She reached into her pocket for a tissue, wiped her nose and urged her breathing to slow. Then she smiled. A concerned frown was all he could manage.
What must he be going through? He had also lost two of the three most important people in his life and he did not have the benefit of age and experience as an aid. Even so, he seemed to be coping admirably, more so than she. Gathering her strength, determined to provide Tyler with the support he should be receiving, Leanne blanketed her sorrow and listened to the eulogy.
The coffin disappeared from view and a little while later, the proceedings ended, the finale of her grandmother’s life now complete. Then, with Tyler in tow, Leanne headed out of the room where she received more condolences - the most common being Janet’s good age upon death - yet it provided her with little consolation, and bitterness crept into her heart. Just because her grandmother was in her eighties, it didn’t make her passing easier to accept. She had been her entire family. Did no one realise?
She turned to Tyler, ready to announce their departure, but she stopped and hesitated, unexpectedly saddened that he had richer family connections than she had. Fearing that he would want to strengthen those ties, her heart plummeted. But when she looked to his milky skin and silky blond hair and saw his maturity emerging, she realised there and then that she could not deny him a better future however hard it may be for her. He was her son and he deserved the best.
‘Ready to go?’ Leanne asked.
Tyler nodded
Outside, there was a drizzle of rain and a cooling wind, and a chill enveloped her, so she pressed her arms to her body and placed her hands into her pockets. The air whipped up and her hair danced, floating across her face and blocking her view. Brushing it aside, she increased her pace and climbed inside the car.
‘I hope it wasn’t too bad,’ she said.
‘It wasn’t as bad as Dad’s.’
‘No, it wasn’t.’
‘It was different . . . a different set of people, a different atmosphere.’
‘Phillip was young and in good health. It was a shock for everyone.’
She indicated left and turned onto the main highway, heading through the early afternoon traffic. ‘How are you coping?’
‘Okay, I guess.’
‘You handled yourself well in there. I’m proud of you.’
Tyler was gazing out of the side window.
‘You know you can always talk to me about how you feel, don’t you?’
He remained silent. She focused on driving, careful to stick to the speed limit as the clouds darkened and the rain increased, streaking across the windscreen. For some reason, she felt stronger now that the funeral was over, much better than she thought she would have felt days previous.
After Janet’s death, Leanne’s relief had been almost immediate and it had taken her by surprise. To justify her guilt she told herself that she had cried endlessly during the preceding days, and somehow must have already processed her passing. Yet she still felt shame and forced her heavy heart to rise and encouraged her newfound energy to subside.
It could have been that she was subconsciously comparing Janet’s demise to Phillip’s, yet they could never be the same. The love she had for her husband could not be surpassed; they had been devoted, and talked for hours at a time, sharing pastimes and points of view. There was rarely friction between them, and right now, as she drove closer to her home, she could not recall a single fault. He was a perfect man, husband, and father.
Her chest swelled. She fought her bubbling grief. Tyler was what mattered now. He needed to see her coping and happy.
‘We’ve been through a lot these last few months,’ she said, ‘I think we need to start enjoying ourselves a bit more.’
He looked at her, his expression blank.
‘How about a holiday at half-term?’
‘Could do.’
‘I thought you’d be a bit more enthusiastic. Are you too old to spend time with your poor old mum?’
‘Course not, it’s just . . . ’
His voice trailed. There was anxiety in his eyes. She kept glancing at him as she drove, urging him to speak.
‘Darren’s asked me to stay,’ he said.
She held her breath. ‘Okay.’
‘I’d like to get to know him.’
‘If that’s what you want.’
‘You don’t mind?’
Leanne’s heart hammered and her blood pounded through her veins. She would be alone and wanted nothing more than to tie him to her side and force him to find happiness with her and her alone. Yet Janet’s plea rang inside her head. She gathered her strength and forced the right words forward. ‘You should do it if it’s what you want.’
She turned along the road leading to her home, passing a few parked cars, a teenage girl with a dog, and an electricity van, and fought the loneliness in her mind. She had few friends to turn to and imagined long evenings and weekends alone. She would soon grow bored of reading and doing jigsaw puzzles, her usual hobbies, and would count the hours until she could return to work.
‘I won’t go if you don’t want me to,’ Tyler said.
She reversed the car into the drive, turned off the engine and turned to face her son. ‘I’ll miss you, but I know it’s important to you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course, I’m sure, but I’ll want daily reports, and don’t forget, if you're unhappy, even in the slightest, you ring and I’ll be straight there. Deal?’
‘Deal. Thanks, Mum.’
She watched him leave. The years had passed quickly, and it seemed only yesterday that she fulfilled his every whim as he toddled around the garden demanding her attention. He had needed her help with the most basic of tasks, as well as for guidance and discipline. Now he was grown up and needed for nothing.
Desolate and forlorn, Leanne trudged to the house, her body sinking and her mind tiring. Her decision to appear chirpy now seemed like a monumental task, and she could neither force a smile to her face nor banish the dark clouds that gathered inside her head.
‘Want a tea or coffee?’ she asked Tyler, as she stepped into the kitchen.
‘No thanks.’
She filled the kettle with what seemed like a meagre amount of water and slumped onto a chair, waiting for it to boil. Laughter and banter filled her ears as she glanced across the table to where Phillip and Janet’s figures once resided. Phillip would make witty remarks, often commenting on someone’s misfortune, and Janet would cackle. She thought him mischievous; she loved him as the son she never had.
The kettle switched itself off and then there was silence. Loneliness pressed into her, compounding her anguish and torment. She shuddered. She wanted a companion.
Was there any chance her mother could be alive? It seemed as though Janet had forced her to stay away, but why would she do such a thing? And why would she lie? Janet had deceived her in the most atrocious way, waiting until her last breath to detach herself from her guilt. She should have told her sooner and explained what had happened. What had she been thinking and would she ever learn the truth behind her silence?
As the days past, Leanne’s desire to search for her mother ebbed and flowed. She knew nothing about her except her name and did not have a clue where to start looking. And why should she? Her mother had never attempted to make contact with her, and so intentionally or otherwise, she had made her feelings clear. A relationship was never going to grow and develop.
Yet she could not help but wonder what had caused her mother and grandmother to fall out in such an unambiguous way, and she searched her mind for possibilities so appalling that she could not deny the outcome. It was a pointless task; she knew almost nothing about Janet’s younger days and nothing about her relationship with her daughter.
During Leanne’s youth, she had asked Janet about her mother, only to learn she had died in an accident when Leanne was five. It was evident now, as the memories started to form clear images in her mind that Janet had been guarded whenever the subject arose, ultimately causing her to push her concerns aside. She should have pursued it further. She should have realised Janet had been lying and should not have trusted her so implicitly.
Frustrated, she stomped upstairs to Janet’s room and sifted through her belongings for evidence. More than anything, she wanted to prove Janet’s confusion, and find a death certificate, a newspaper article, or anything to show that her mother had in fact died. The alternative, the lie, was too difficult to contemplate.
She opened drawers and found clothes, books, jewellery and perfumes. Realising that she should be bagging it, she returned downstairs, grabbed a couple of large bin liners from a kitchen drawer and returned to the room. With a heavy heart, she disposed of the underwear and then sifted through her selection of blouses; some were ragged and worn, others were almost new. She separated them into two bags, one for the tip and the other for the charity shop, and then continued to look through the skirts.
The bags filled within minutes. She stared at them, her grief mounting and aware that soon there would be nothing left of Janet’s life. She would fade into insignificance; her friends would forget her, her achievements forgotten. People would carry on as though she never mattered, as though her life was unimportant.
Leanne’s enthusiasm to continue her task was draining. She opened another wardrobe door, searching for more clothes to sort through, and fingered the piles of jumpers at the base. Then she hit something firm. It was a small wooden box.
Having retrieved it, Leanne sat on the edge of the bed with it on her lap and prised it open. Upon first glance were an assortment of documents and loose sheets of paper. The first piece out was one of her school reports. She placed it to one side and reached for a folded sheet of paper. It was a love letter to Roy, her grandmother’s husband, and it was dated 1949.
Leanne read it and experienced a surge of tenderness. Roy had died of heart failure almost ten years previous. She had loved him as a father and had many fond memories - the most prevalent were their conversations of the paranormal from psychic experiences to vampires and lake monsters. The subject fascinated her and it had been easy to trigger her curiosity. However, Janet wasn’t appreciative of the discussion, and ruthlessly ended every conversation with a harsh comment or a stony glare, reprimanding them both with regularity. Undeterred, they had held secret discussions, often passing knowing glances and chuckling under their breath.
Roy had been an easy-going man and candid about his likes and dislikes, his mistakes and his achievements. Janet, on the other hand, said little, and always seemed shielded. Yet they shared one decision; they had both disowned Karen, their daughter. Why did they never speak of her? The life before her so-called death was a subject off limits.
Leanne continued to sift through the papers, but there was little to indicate that Karen had ever existed, and most of the items in the box were her own, drawings and suchlike from her childhood. Then, at the bottom, she spotted an envelope, and with expectations rising, she removed a photograph.
Her heart leapt. Before her was a detached country house, and in front of it were a couple and three children. She flicked it over. It was dated 1942. It said nothing else. Who were they? Was one of the girls her grandmother?
Memories crept towards Leanne from the depth of her mind. It was a farm, they all worked the land, and once upon a time, she had lived there too. She could visualise herself running through the fields with the sunshine upon her skin and the light wind caressing her face. They were happy times.
Tyler appeared in the doorway.
She lifted her head. ‘Hello love.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Just a photo.’ She handed it across.
‘Who are these people?’
‘I think they must be gran’s family.’
‘Which one’s Gran?’
‘Maybe the one of the left, I’m not sure.’
He studied the photo.
‘I think it was a farmhouse,’ she continued. ‘I think I lived there too when I was young.’
‘Why did you all move to the city?’
She placed the photo back into the envelope and puffed out. ‘There’s such a lot I don’t know about my grandparents. I wish I’d asked more questions.’
‘I once asked her about her childhood . . . years ago. She was sharp with me.’
‘I’m sorry. Did it upset you?’
‘A bit,’ he replied.
‘She didn’t like to talk about it. I think it had something to do with her upbringing. People were much more private back in those days . . . although having said that they were things troubling her.’ She knotted her hands wondering what to say. ‘Before she died she told me my mother was still alive.’
‘Alive?’
‘That’s what she said . . . she was confused and it didn’t make much sense.’
‘How could she keep something like that from you?’
She hesitated. ‘It might not be true.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘She’s had her chance to contact me but never made the effort. It might not be worth the effort of tracking her down.’
Tyler stood with his legs apart and his hands in his pockets. He seemed to be scrutinising her, or maybe just pondering something.
‘What is it you wanted? I doubt you came in here for a chat,’ she said.
‘I’ve just spoken with Darren and confirmed I’ll be staying there. He’s going to pick me up on Saturday morning.’
‘Okay.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not sure if I should go.’
‘Have you changed your mind?’
‘No. It’s just that . . . well . . . will you be okay?’
She placed her hands on his upper arms. ‘What did I do to deserve such a wonderful son?’
‘Stop it, Mum, you’re embarrassing me.’
Cringing, he turned and left, heading back to his room.
Briefly, he turned his head. ‘You should look for your mum. It could be just what you need.’
‘Maybe.’
‘There could be all kinds of reasons why she hasn’t contacted you . . . maybe she’s been out of the country.’
He stepped into his room.
Was that what Darren had been telling him? Was he filling him with lies? She rushed along the landing, her anxieties ready to burst through her skin, but as she reached the doorway, she heard Janet’s voice. ‘Promise me you’ll let him go,’ she had said. Leanne shuffled back to her grandmother’s room and dropped onto the bed. Tyler was ready to start a new chapter in his life. Was she willing to do the same?
As the start of half term neared, her pounding heart seemed to get louder, dreading the moment when Tyler walked out of the house and into someone else’s life. It was selfish to want him all to herself and wrong to hold him back, but that was what she wanted to do. The promise to Janet, along with her fluctuating resolve to provide him with better opportunities than what she had maintained her silence.
Thoughts of loneliness scurried through her days and she wondered how she would cope with an empty house. With no one else to care for, she would find herself alone with her ponderings, dwelling on the loss of her grandmother and husband, along with the lies told. She would cry bitter tears and scrutinise the past, searching for more evidence of betrayal. She would wonder what could have been. It would be unhealthy. It could be unstoppable.
Janet should have told her about Karen years ago. What else had been withheld? What other untruths had she told? She didn’t want to be angry with her grandmother, but her world was falling apart and it was growing ever more difficult to maintain calmness and clarity. With no other family members to talk it through with, she feared the truth would remain hidden and her unrest would remain.
Saturday morning arrived, and she awoke after having had a restless night’s sleep, burdened with grief and with visions of solitude. She tried to appear happy, forcing a smile to her face and a chirpy tone to her voice, and disguised her sadness. Tyler became her focus.
Together, they went through the contents of this bag and checked he had enough clothes, money, and items to keep him amused during his stay. She sensed he was nervous, but he never spoke of his fears, only the days out they had planned. They were to visit various cities, the coast, and amusement parks, where he could get to know his new family in a more relaxed atmosphere. It sounded like he would enjoy himself, providing he could get on with everyone. He was young and had the innocence of youth on his side, and was without the qualms she would carry if she were in his position.
With her anxieties trapped beneath her skin, she said her goodbyes to Tyler, and clutching her heart, watched him vacate the house and greet Darren with a restrained enthusiasm. Tears dripped from her eyes, soaking her smooth rounded cheeks, and her chest heaved. Drawn to an image of Phillip on the wall, her sobbing evolved. The four of them had been happy. Now she was alone, and her world had shattered.
On Monday morning, having spent an entire weekend moping, a newfound strength motived Leanne and she was eager to get to work and occupy the dark void in her brain with something useful. However, when she arrived at the craft factory and shop and saw the sorrowful expression of her employer and friend, David Williams, she knew something was wrong and her heart sank.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I know this is bad timing, but I’m going to have to let you go. As you know business has been struggling, but over the weekend, I lost two more of our major customers. I just can’t afford to keep you on.’
His apologies were still rattling around her head hours later when she entered the solicitor’s office for the reading of Janet’s will. She cared little for the assets she was to acquire, and whilst she waited in the cluttered reception area, scanning the papers and binders on the desk and papers and magazines on a low table, she considered her future.
Jobs were scarce, but rather than the income concerning her, it was the extra time. She had no one to spend her evenings with, let alone her days, and could not cope with more time upon her hands. The outlook was bleak.
Almost in a daze, she listened to the solicitor as he talked through her assets. No one else was listed, and as expected, there was no mention of her mother. Even so, her disappointment swelled.
‘You have inherited a house,’ Mr Hill said, flicking through the sheets.
‘A house? She sold it a couple of years ago.’
‘In Norfolk.’
‘She doesn’t have a house in Norfolk.’
He peered over the rim of his glasses. ‘She inherited it from a Mr and Mrs Coombs.’
‘Who?’
‘She said she wanted nothing to do with it, nor their money. As far as I’m aware, it’s been empty for decades.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you anything more. Here are the key and the address.’
Bewildered, she stared at the items on the untidy desk.
‘The money she left you amounts to a little over two hundred thousand pounds, and that’s with the fees removed.’
Her jaw dropped and her minded drifted as Mr Hill continued to talk about the contents of the will. Minutes later, having signed the relevant documents, she left the office and stepped into the cool autumnal air. With her hands resting in her pockets, she hurried to her car a couple of blocks away, and once inside, away from the bustling pedestrians, she stared at the address on the sheet of paper.
Could it be that the house was the one that she had seen in the photograph? It seemed a possibility. But why, if Janet had lived there had she chosen to abandon it? It made no sense especially so since Leanne could recall running carefree through the fields. Then there were Mr and Mrs Coombs to consider. Somewhere, coming from the depths of her brain, she felt sure that Janet’s maiden name was not Coombs.
She ambled home, her mind racing with questions, and decided, as she had nothing else to do, she should pay her new property a visit. In the least, it would provide her with a focus, and maybe, if she were lucky, she may find someone who knew her mother. It was better than wallowing in her losses.
Upon Leanne’s arrival in the village, she spotted a cafe on the roadside. In need of sustenance, she slipped the car into second gear and turned into a car park. Although the driving had been tiring, she felt far less emotional than earlier, and concluded that whilst she was away from home, away from the constant reminders of what had been, she could deal with her grief easier. Even so, it had taken a huge amount of effort to leave the house and drive away.
Her mind drifted to her grandfather, Roy. He had been a positive man and had often told her that if you looked hard enough, no matter what devastation you faced there would always be something good in disguise. She loved his attitude, always preferring to seek out the pleasant and the enjoyable rather than the irritations and disagreements. Yet, as she strolled towards the café entrance, she could not help but wonder if her plummeting bad luck was set to continue.
The café had little natural light passing through the windows and inside it was dark and cool. There were stone slabs on the floor, a light coloured paint covered the brick walls, and the tables were of heavy wood that had notched edges and scratched surfaces. A group of men wearing leathers occupied one of the tables, and there was an elderly woman at the counter chatting to the assistant.
Leanne ordered a coffee and a small cake and headed to a table in the middle of the room. The elderly woman continued to prattle, much to the assistant’s dismay. The assistant looked as though she was trying to escape, edging closer to a back door and opening and shutting her mouth in rapid succession. Moments later, she did, in fact, manage to make a swift exit, and silence descended. Careful not to make eye contact, since she wasn’t in the mood for conversation, she gazed into her mug and pondered her future.
What else was there for Leanne to lose? Tyler was her one remaining relative, and he had gone, and now, as if life wasn’t bad enough, she found herself without a job. She may be wealthier than before, but as she contemplated her options, deciding if she should sell the house or have it renovated, she decided that the income from the sale would be no match for all that she was without.
‘What are you doing here? Visiting someone or passing through?’
Leanne raised her head and looked vacantly at the woman.
‘You’re a pretty little thing,’ she continued, ‘have just the right proportions I’d say. Girls, these days, are far too skinny. It’s unhealthy I tell you . . . no good for you.’
Her body tightened and she pressed her arms across her breasts, conscious of her extra weight.
‘I’ll bet you have the men queuing up. My girl was like that. Gorgeous she was, I’d have fancied her myself if she wasn’t my daughter.’ She cackled. ‘And, of course, if I was a man. I can’t do with those queers. It’s not natural you know. God made men and women for each other. All that other stuff . . .’ she pulled a face, ‘. . . should be banned. They can even marry now, did you know that?’
The woman did not wait for Leanne’s answer and continued to babble, unaware, it seemed, that her eyes were expressionless and her mind wondering. When the woman stopped speaking, Leanne jolted and looked up, straight into the woman’s drilling eyes. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘What you doing here?’ the woman asked.
‘I’m looking for Fen Lane.’
‘Fen Lane? It’s the other side of the village, just on the edge. It used to be quiet along there, but they’ve built an estate close by after farming land was sold. I curse that woman for selling! This village once had two hundred residents but now it has over two thousand. Did you know that?’
She shook her head.
‘When I was a lass, it was a beautiful place to live, now it’s filled with yobs. They hang around the pubs and at the youth centre in the village, and they frighten the life out of us old folks. I told the council there would be trouble. They didn’t listen you know. I told them, I did.’
Leanne rushed down her coffee and cake. The monotonous tone of the woman was grating and she was unable to maintain focus on the conversation for long. She didn’t want to appear rude, but she wanted to leave; her ears were starting to hurt and her head was pounding. She stood up. The woman continued to prattle, unwilling to take the hint.
Leanne waited. She opened her mouth to announce her departure. The woman spoke even faster. With her patience wearing thin, she spoke in a loud, clear voice, talking over her and telling her of her decision to go.
The woman stopped mid-sentence, her mouth agape.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Leanne said, and scampered away.
Smiling wryly to herself, she stepped outside and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The café assistant was depositing something in the bin at the rear. She caught her eye. ‘Sorry about Mrs Wilkinson,’ she said, ‘she’s a bit lonely . . . lives alone and has no family.’
She frowned. ‘So I’ve gathered. She can certainly talk.’
‘Don’t let it put you off. She’s only ever in on Tuesday mornings, as regular as clockwork, never any other day.
‘I’ll remember that.’
‘She drives some of my other customers away . . . at least the intolerant ones.’
Stepping away, she wondered about the elderly woman’s situation and her overwhelming loneliness. In addition to being without family, she may not have much to occupy her days and may spend her time watching television or staring into space. Her life was likely to be different to her grandmother’s; she had always had someone with her and never felt the need to seek out strangers. Was it due to chance or had Janet made more of an effort to acquire friends? Leanne turned the ignition key, released the handbrake, and pulled away. Her grandfather’s voice sounded in her head. ‘Life is what you make it,’ he had once said. He always had been positive.
Leanne drove steadily along Fen Lane in her car, passing cottages close to the village and glancing towards the isolated houses further along. Clouds were gathering, darkening the skies overhead and decreasing her visibility, and the wind whipped the branches overhanging the lane. She felt cold just looking outside, and shivered involuntarily.
The first house she passed had lights on in the downstairs rooms and two cars occupying the gravelled drive. She hoped it would be easy to determine which house was Honeysuckle Cottage, and ambled by, following the natural curve in the road and glancing at the scurrying rabbits. It narrowed and became a single track. She avoided a pothole and the ragged edge and pulled away from an encroaching hedge. Then the view opened out, and before her, set back from the road, stood a boarded-up house, dilapidated barns, and a row of tall trees. Her heart leapt; she had arrived.
She turned along a track overrun with weeds and tall grasses and arrived at the house. She turned off the engine, retrieved her three-quarter length woollen coat from the back seat and stepped outside. The sun peeked through a gap in the clouds, illuminating the house in a pleasing glow. It was a welcome sight.
Painted white, there were ten large windows, a stone porch, and at the rear almost out of sight, an adjoining building set at an angle. It was far bigger than she expected and appeared fantastically spacious. She could live in style and have a lounge, a dining room, a study, and a library. She would even have room for a piano and could have parties and put up any number of guests. Her lifestyle would be different to what she had now and it made her three-bedroom townhouse seem poky in comparison.
Dumbfounded, she continued to stare, searching for cracks, loose tiles, and sagging walls, but there didn’t seem to be anything in need of repair, forcing her to conclude that her grandparents must have maintained it. Why they would do such a thing and then leave it empty was beyond her reckoning.
Regretting her inappropriate footwear, she strode to the rear and trod through the long grasses and weeds in her ninety-millimetre heels. Rather than pondering her defence, she imagined Phillip’s mocking reprimand and a smile slipped to her face. He would have loved this house; he had always wanted a place in the country.
Her sadness fluttered. She fought to disregard it and willed herself to be grateful for her good fortune, but a pleasure had to be shared to be appreciated, and with Tyler away, she had no one. She dropped her hands into her pockets and watched two pigeons scuffle in a tree.
If only Phillip had not chosen to go paragliding in France. Then they would be stood together, their excitement mingling, the beauty more vivid. More than likely, they would be considering moving and she may even be thinking about setting up a handmade jewellery business, her true desire. She puffed out. It was not to be; her life had taken a different turn.
Living alone in a house so large would be a step in the wrong direction. It would overwhelm her and she would feel even more isolated than she already did. At least her existing home was part of a community, and if her loneliness intensified so much that it became unbearable, she could chat to passing folks. She turned around and glanced along the lane. Not even one car had passed since she had arrived. Her decision to sell was gathering strength.
She wandered around the perimeter of the house, her eyes drawn to what once would have been the garden, and her mind became cluttered with memories. Believing she must have once lived there, she pondered the vision in her mind: the colourful blooms, the herbs, and the vegetables. She could see herself running across a lawn to a swing, and then tripping and falling. A woman had loomed overhead, screaming at her for dirtying her dress before slapping her thigh. Recoiling, she had peered over her shoulder, searching for comfort. An older woman had stood by the door of the house, her face pensive. Had that been her grandmother?
Leanne had to find out more. This house was her heritage. It would be foolhardy to sell it immediately and she needed a reason to stay. She didn’t have to live in the house permanently but could stay for a few days at a time, reasoning that it may provide her with clues to finding her mother. Needing guidance and a friendly voice, she perched on the edge of a wall and removed her phone from her pocket
Tyler answered within seconds. ‘Hi Mum, I can’t talk long, we’re just about to go into the Imax at the National Media Museum. It looks fantastic . . . something to do with space.’
‘So you’re having a good time?’
‘Everyone’s great. We’ve just had the biggest lunch. I’m stuffed, I can’t move. Tomorrow I’m going to meet my uncle. He’s a son about my age. I can’t wait. It’s just what I needed.’
She held her breath, her words restricted.
‘What did you want?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. I just wanted a chat with my boy.’
‘I thought you’d be at work.’
‘I . . . I’m visiting a house, one that Gran owned. You’d like it, it’s massive, and in good condition.’
‘I didn’t know she had another house.’
‘Neither did I-’
‘Sorry Mum, but I’m going to have to go. Fill me in later?’
‘Okay. Love you.’
‘You too. Bye.’
The ring tone sounded in her ear. She slipped her phone into her pocket, pulled her collar tighter around her neck, and stood up. She missed him and her heart burned. He should be with her. She should, at least, be able to provide him with a family. What kind of mother was she? She continued around the side of the building.
She spun around, her subconscious informing her of another presence. There was an elderly man wearing big baggy trousers and a scruffy woollen jumper standing in the adjacent field and staring. Even after she made eye contact, he did not speak and continued to gawk. Feeling ill at ease, she approached him, treading with care as she progressed through the long withering grasses in heels.
‘You living here now?’ he asked.
‘I . . . I’m not sure.’
‘It’s been empty for years. All these fields,’ he pointed, ‘are mine.’
‘Did you know the owners?’
‘Might have done.’
‘Mr and Mrs Coombs?’
‘Aye lass.’
‘What do you know about them?’
‘You a journalist?’
‘No.’ She hesitated. It may not be a good idea to share her position with him. ‘Did you know Roy and Janet Jefferson too?’
A faint smile crossed his face and his eyes glazed. ‘I knew their daughter, Karen. She was a live wire. I don’t think there was a man around here that didn’t know her.’ He grinned, a wide toothless grin. ‘Who are you?’
She looked at her feet. ‘Is she still around?’
‘Has been, on and off.’
‘Do you know how I can contact her?’
He offered nothing more.
‘Please, it’s important. Have you seen her recently?’
‘You related?’
‘She’s my mum,’ Leanne blurted. ‘Can you tell me where she is? I have to find her.’
He turned and started walking away. ‘I know nothing.’
‘Please, it’s important.’
‘I’ve said enough already.’
‘But . . . do you know where she is?’
He made urgent steps away from her, walking along the edge of the field and ignoring her as though she did not exist. Her opportunity was fading and her panic rising.
‘Wait, please,’ she cried.
She stepped forward, but her shoes were ridiculously unsuitable and caused immense difficulties, and she had to retreat. Having returned to the house, she slumped onto a brick wall and pondered their conversation. Her mother was alive, at least that had been confirmed, so where was she and why hadn’t she attempted to make contact?
The reality of her situation gripped, weakening her body and overwhelming her mind. Her mother had abandoned her, and her grandmother, whom she trusted wholeheartedly, had lied to her for years. How could they, damn it? She sat in the chilling air, frown lines upon her forehead and with her lips pouting. She knew nothing of the circumstances surrounding her mother’s departure, and there was no one who could tell her, bar the woman herself. It was frustrating.
Her eyes wandered to one of the boards on the window at the far side of the house. It looked as though it was lifting away. She walked towards it, stepped over the shattered glass on the ground, and lifted the board. Inside the house, there was darkness.
Crouching to one side to allow as much light through as possible, she peered into the room. There was a carpet on the floor, light fittings hanging from the ceiling, and a large dresser at one side. In the centre was a rectangular table. She strained her ears, searching for noises, but only heard the whooshing of the wind and a whistling sound coming from overhead.
Scurrying to the door, Leanne fumbled in her pocket, feeling the soft woollen texture of the fabric in her fingers, and extracted the key. She had to throw herself against it before it opened, and then it swung in, causing her to stumble.
Feeling like a trespasser, she peered through the doors and into the downstairs rooms. It was difficult to see anything, as little light filtered from the doorway across the lobby, but she could tell that there was furniture within, increasing her bewilderment. It was puzzling that Janet would leave the property in such a manner. What kind of person would not want to live there?
‘Hello?’
The voice startled her. She spun around and looked towards the outer door. The man’s figure was shadowy and indistinct.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I saw the car and wondered if everything was okay.’
She stepped towards him. He backed away into the light and her body rippled with excitement. He was gorgeous with dazzling eyes, high cheekbones, and dishevelled hair. And he smelled sensational. Her eyes wandered down his frame, noting his wide shoulders and strong slender legs.
‘I’m Steven,’ he said, stretching out his arm.
‘Leanne.’
I’ve been keeping an eye on this place for years. We walk past every day.’ He looked down to his dog. ‘Don’t we Tansy?’
The dog, a scruffy mid-brown short-haired mongrel, looked to him, panting emphatically.
‘I’ve just inherited it.’
‘You knew Janet?’
‘She was my Gran. How did you know her?’
‘Just in passing. She kept the place in order. I only saw her a couple of times but she seemed a nice lady. Sorry for your loss.’
Suddenly, it didn’t seem that important. ‘Thanks.’
‘I never understood why she didn’t live here,’ he said. ‘I thought that maybe it was too big for her.’
‘It is rather grand. It’s all a bit of a mystery to me too. I thought I knew everything about her, but she never even mentioned this place. She never even told me that my mother . . .’ Leanne gulped. He was staring; he was holding onto her every word. But it was too soon to share the news that she still processed in her mind. ‘. . . never mind. How often did she come down?’
‘Not often. Roy used to keep the place in order. I take it he was your grandfather.’
Leanne nodded.
‘I assume he died.’
She nodded again.
‘I used to see him a couple of times a year, and then . . . well, that was it. He was a friendly guy.’ His eyes glazed. ‘It must have been about five years before Janet paid a visit. I once believed, a few years ago, that they were planning to move here. They had a heating system installed and the whole place was modernised.’
‘Really?’
‘You’ll love it inside. I guess you’ve already found out it’s furnished?’
‘Yes. Do you know anything about the original owners?’
‘No, afraid not. It wasn’t your grandparents’ house then?’
‘It was.’ She hesitated. ‘They did live here for a while, but they inherited from a Mr and Mrs Coombs. I’ve no idea who they were.’
Steven leaned against the wall and held her in his gaze. Her heart fluttered and she could sense her eyes widen, absorbing every flicker and every breath.
‘Well Leanne,’ he said, ‘I must say you have brought a bit of excitement to my day. Are you planning on staying?’
‘I . . . I think I might.’
She traced his muscular tone, studied his slender boyish fingers, and gazed adoringly at his rosy cheeks, and her blood surged, rising up through her collar to her face. She could barely breathe, besotted by his presence, and gawked.
‘Great. I’ll look forward to seeing you again. I’ve got to go, Andrea’s expecting me.’
Her heart sank. His wife? It had to be. He was far too nice to be single.
He spun around and passed her a twisted smile. ‘My ex.’
Steven ambled along the path, his gait loose; his left arm swung at his side, his feet pointed outwards, and his head bobbed. She visualised his smile, his beautifully symmetrical face and his dazzling eyes, and she imagined running her fingers across his body and through his hair.
He turned his head, caught her looking. Embarrassed, she looked away, but then, unable to resist, peered out of her eye corner. He had a glint in his eye and a hint of pink in his cheeks, and slowly and almost seductively, he smiled. Holding her breath, she felt her heat rise and her pulse vibrate across her body. She lifted her head, too wrapped up in her tingling emotions to maintain any aloofness, and smiled back. With one easy swing, he threw a ball for his spirited dog.
The teasing look in Steven’s eyes remained with Leanne as she watched him disappear from view. There was now no doubt in her mind that she would have to stay, in the least to assess the property and furnishings, and maybe, just maybe, they could form a friendship. Did he pass every day? Would he come in for a coffee? What did he think of her?
Subconsciously, she squeezed her arms across her front, hiding her podgy middle, and gazed down at her figure. Her loose jeans made her legs look fat, as did her extra layers beneath her jacket. Her hair was a mess, unkempt in the breeze, and she wore no makeup or perfume. Anxiously, she breathed in her scent, regretting her earlier sorrow and lack of desire to maintain a sense of worth. What must he think? Did he notice that she was fat and scruffy?
Drawn back to the moment, she strode to the car to retrieve a torch from the rear. Catching sight of a first aid kit of Phillip’s, her heart grew heavy and her recent losses surfaced. It was ridiculous to believe that Steven could ever come close to replacing her late husband; their relationship had been special and their love intense. She pushed him from her mind.
Once back inside the lobby, Leanne scanned the walls, ceiling, and floor, following the circle of light. It was clean and well maintained, yet needed an airing, the fustiness lingering within her nostrils. Displayed upon the walls were a large rectangular mirror set in a brass frame and two oil paintings of the countryside, and hanging in the centre of the ceiling was a light fitting with a glass floral shade. It was surreal and difficult to accept she owned such a beautiful house. She entered the rooms.
Each one was furnished, some more so than others, and from what she could see with the torchlight, the décor was neat although old fashioned. She opened a cabinet and gazed at the piles of crockery, glasses, and a vase, and then looked in an adjoining drawer. It contained an assortment of kitchen implements, from carving knives to skewers. It was surprising to see that so much had remained untouched and unused for decades.
Feeling like a burglar, she pushed open the door to a room that proved to be the kitchen. It was a large size, with windows on two sides, cupboards and units all around the edge, and a table in the centre. Upon the rustic surface were a newspaper, a polystyrene cup, and a scrunched up piece of paper. Driven by curiosity, she walked across, her heels clicking on the tiled floor, and shone the light onto the text. It was a short piece about the death of her grandmother. Her nerves danced.
The chair scraped on the floor as she pulled it away from the table and then sat down, her body heavy with bewilderment. Upon the next chair was a jacket, shiny black with glistening studs and padding. Someone had been prowling, and maybe they still were and hiding in the darkness. She held her breath and listened for any unwelcome noises. Only the faint whooshing sound of the wind was audible.
Feeling rather silly, she cried out, ‘hello?’
Silence.
She moved to the bottom of the staircase and gazed into perpetual darkness.
‘Anyone there?’
Tiptoeing, she headed upstairs, the light preceding her. She called out again, her voice quaking and lacking conviction as the words slipped from her tongue. There was no reply, no sounds to affirm her fear. She flung open each door, scanned each room, and then hurried back downstairs and outside. The light was welcoming, and the breath of wind refreshing upon her face.
Security was foremost in her mind. With no tools in her car, she was helpless, and could not board up the broken window. She folded her arms and scanned the trail Steven had taken, but she could not see him. She should have got his number, but he had appeared eager to depart and she had no time to consider her plans. Hoping to catch him to draw his attention, she wandered towards the barn at the rear of the garden. The air was chilling. She tightened the grip upon her jacket collar and glanced to the sky, seeking out the elusive blue gaps. A figure caught her attention. In the field, the man she had spoken to earlier was bent over and studying something in the ground.
‘Excuse me,’ she called.
He looked up.
‘Have you got a minute?’
His eyes flitted and he frowned. He seemed suspicious of her request, so she sauntered to the edge of the field and forced a light gait and a broad smile. More than anything, she wanted to ask about her mother, but given his continuing unease, she dismissed the idea of an interrogation, unwilling, just yet, to alienate him.
‘I need to find someone who can remove those boards from the window, do you know anyone?’
‘It’ll cost.’
‘Yes, I know. There’s also a broken window and the board has come away. I need that fixing too.’
‘I’ll sort it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘So long as you pay in cash.’
‘I’ll do that. I’m going to be gone for a couple of days, can it be done by then?’
‘Aye lass.’
‘I’m Leanne Stark by the way.’
He nodded. ‘Ted Moore.’
‘Please to meet you, Ted.’
‘Is that all?’
She nodded, biting back the questions about her mother, and after a brief exchange, she watched him stroll away. He seemed a reasonable sort, and she had no choice but to trust him. It wasn’t as if there was anything valuable in the house, and if there was she was unaware of it. The place had been vacant for decades; it could survive a bit longer.
She turned back to the house, ready to lock up and return home, when a noise at her rear, possibly coming from the barn, startled her. It sounded like metal crashing onto concrete and her heart leapt, but there seemed to be nothing there; Ted was back in the field and there was no sign of animals fleeing from the barn. Curious, she stepped towards the sound and trampled the tall weeds and grasses as best she could with her slim heels.
A shrub limited her view. She stepped closer, waiting for the full view of the brick building to emerge. When it did, her discovery daunted, and her legs wobbled and her head swam with nausea.
As a small child, Leanne had peered into the barn, hiding behind that bush. There were blood-curdling screams, a crashing sound, and voices, lots of them, shouting, panicking, and enriched in terror. Her body convulsed and she could not move. Someone grabbed hold of her arm, attempting to drag her away, but her legs were leaden, trapping her in an incomprehensible nightmare.
Fighting her quivering body, she edged forwards. Evidence of a fire remained, and the charred beams lay untouched since the incident. Magnetised by the haunting memories, she peered through the open door at the ruined hayloft, and the cobwebs and debris. Despite her best efforts, she could not remember anything else, as the actual event lay shrouded in mist. Trembling with icy cold skin, she leaned against the doorframe, gawking and desperate to remember something else, yet she was equally fearful of the truth. Whatever had happened had caused her grandmother to tell her the most atrocious lie. Perhaps she should forget it; perhaps she should return home and forget Honeysuckle Cottage ever existed.
The rain pounded the car, striking the windscreen and tapping the metal in a fast regular motion. Darkness had arrived, despite being mid-afternoon, and the air was chilling, aided by a cold northerly wind. Leanne searched the skies, peering through the streams of water on the glass. No end was in sight, and the menacing clouds rolled and sank. The café beckoned.
She trotted to the doorway, dashing through the persistent rain and into the warmth. It was busier than earlier and a few families gathered. Thankfully, though, the prattling woman had gone home, and she breathed a relieved sigh.
At the counter, Leanne looked at the selection of sandwiches and cakes, and then to a menu on the blackboard at the rear.
‘Back again!’ the café assistant said. ‘It looks a bit nasty out there.’
‘It is.’ She ordered a sandwich and coffee. ‘I see business has picked up.’
‘The weather has helped. Did you get done what you needed to?’
‘Yes, thanks. I went to see a house on Fen Lane. You might know the one. It’s boarded up.’
‘Yes, it’s been empty ever since I’ve lived here.’
‘Do you know anything about the family that lived there?’
‘No, afraid not.’
A hefty man appeared at Leanne’s side with a tray containing a large scone and a piece of lemon cake. Uncertainly, she glanced towards him. He paid little attention and gazed at the menu and then the counter.
‘What do you want to know?’ The assistant continued.
‘I’m trying to trace someone. I’ve been told she often stays around here. Her name is Karen Jefferson.’
‘I don’t know the name. What’s she look like?’
‘I don’t know. It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.’
Despondent, Leanne took her cheese and ham sandwich and coffee to a table in the centre of the room, perched on a chair, and feeling isolated and self-conscious, listened to the cacophony of sounds from the mumble of voices of the adults to the excited cries of the children. At the next table, there was an expectation in the air; the family were taking a trip somewhere, just as she and Phillip had done during Tyler’s younger days. They had been a family back then.
Leanne and Phillip had met at the library. She had been with Tyler, searching for a suitable children’s book, and he had been looking for a crime thriller to read. Tyler, exuberant as he was, grabbed a book and toddled across the library straight into Phillip’s legs. She apologised, but rather than receiving a stiff glare, he offered to buy her coffee, saying she looked as though she needed one. She knew she looked haggard and was conscious of the dark patches under her eyes, but wished it wasn’t so damned obvious to everyone. As she searched for an excuse, her mouth opened and shut; she was too tired to form new friendships, and her life as a single mum was far too complicated. Phillip smiled sweetly and spoke in a gentle, unassuming manner, and her concerns melted.
Over the coming weeks, it was as though all her problems had vanished, as Phillip eased his way into her life, sharing in her journey with Tyler. Almost every night, when she had lain in bed, she wondered what she had done to deserve such a caring and loving man. He had been her saviour, helping her through a difficult time, and within months, they had married.
Leanne munched on her sandwich and contemplated her loss. For a while, after his death, she had been inconsolable and could do nothing to try to discard her forlorn existence. Now, even though he still pulled at her heart, her sorrow was controllable and she even managed to smile at their shared memories. No matter what, she would not have been without those years, despite his sudden and tragic ending; he had provided Tyler with the father he needed, and he had given her, even though it sounded trite, the best years of her life.
The café assistant stepped from behind the counter with a tray and cloth and approached a nearby table. She placed the dirty cups and plates onto the tray and wiped the surface. ‘I’ve been having a think,’ she said, ‘about Karen Jefferson.’
‘Oh?’
‘I know someone who might know who she is, although I’m not sure it will be to your liking.’
Leanne’s eyes narrowed.
‘Mrs Wilkinson.’
‘Mrs Prattler!’ Leanne raised her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry.’
The woman chuckled. ‘She certainly is. I’m Emma by the way. Emma Moss.’
‘Leanne Stark.’
‘Mrs Wilkinson knows everything about everyone, so she’ll know if she lives locally. The only problem is, everyone else will know your business too.’
‘That’s what worries me.’
‘I can ask around if you like, discreetly of course. Are you related?’
Leanne nodded.
‘When did she last live in the village?’ Emma asked.
‘I don’t know. Something strange happened years ago, and until I know what it is, I would rather keep it quiet. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.’
She did not reply and strode away.
Had it been wise speaking out? She would feel terrible if she uncovered a dreadful family secret and then it became common knowledge. The gossiping, sniggering and pointed fingers would not be to her liking, and she would feel as though she was smearing her family name. Her grandmother would have been furious.
However, her grandmother was no longer alive, and her own desires were strong and innate, or so it seemed. Searching for an answer to her dilemma, she glanced at the young family on the next table and considered what she might miss if she chose to walk away. Karen might have a family of her own; Leanne may have brothers and sisters, or even nieces and nephews. Surely, it was worth a bit of effort.
She opened her handbag resting on the next chair, and pushing aside a notebook, keys, debit and credit cards, searched for a scrap of paper. With her apprehensions mingling with excitement, she tapped a number into her phone, held her breath and waited for Luke Adams, private investigator, to answer her call.
Luke walked towards the changing booth, clothes in hand. He could feel Imogen’s eyes press into his back as she watched and waited with either an amused glint in her eye or a hint of pride, he couldn’t be sure which. She was doing him a good turn, or so she had said, speaking in her usual self-assured animated tone.
He closed the door and placed the shirts on the hook on the right-hand side, his eyes everywhere except at the mirror. Standing in a bright cubicle, he caught a glimpse of his fine mousy hair and pallid skin tone. She had said he needed a makeover, needed to do something to attract women. Did he look that bad, really?
The first shirt he had agreed to try on was not to his taste. She had said it might arouse his more adventurous inner-self. It was a bizarre statement and he wasn’t sure where her strange ideas came from; it wasn’t from him. He was not adventurous, either inside or out, and he was proud of it. Nonetheless, he had promised to make an effort.
The shirt was a fluorescent blue in a crinkled fabric and far too gaudy for his liking. He placed his jacket onto another hook, removed his white cotton shirt and navy-blue tie, and reached for the coat hanger. The colour was eye-catching, for sure. Maybe it wouldn’t look too bad, presuming, that was, that he had the courage to wear it.
Imogen’s voice rang out. She was talking to the store assistant, demanding he let her through. Luke fastened the buttons, her voice preying on his mind.
‘He needs my help,’ she said.
‘Sorry miss, you have to wait here.’
‘He’s not got anything I’ve not seen before.’
‘I’m sure he’ll come out if he wants your opinion.’
‘He’s my boyfriend. He needs my opinion.’
Luke spun around, unlocked the door, and peered along the corridor to Imogen. She caught sight of him, weaved past the assistant, and grinned.
‘That’s fantastic darling!’ she said and winked. ‘That colour suits you.’
Colour rose to his cheeks. He felt ridiculous standing there letting her scrutinise his outfit and checking the fitting.
‘Turn around,’ she said.
He did so, although stiffly.
‘We’ll have that one. Go try the other one on.’
He stepped into the cubicle to change. Her odour, her delicious scent, only a breath away, stimulated his nostrils and stirred his pulse. He thought of her blue eyes and wavy fawn hair clipped away from her face, and he thought of her attire, so colourful, so crazy.
The second shirt was black with a multicoloured floral pattern. He gazed at it with suspicion, as though it may somehow influence his personality, but actually, once he had fastened the buttons, he did not think it looked as hideous as he’d first thought. He opened the door expecting her praise.
She collapsed into a fit of giggles. ‘That’s awful.’
‘I quite like it.’
‘Really Luke, that style is so not you!’
He stepped towards a full-length mirror and smoothed out his collar. ‘It looks smart.’
‘You’re having me on, right?’
His confidence slipped. Downcast, he stepped back into the cubicle to change, his skin hot and slippery with beads of perspiration dripping from his brow. He decided there and then, as he donned his work attire, that it was a bad idea to shop with Imogen. Their tastes were worlds apart; he should never have agreed. He was happy with his boring clothes and boring life.
He eased open the door and walked towards Imogen. She was making easy chatter with the store assistant and turned and smiled.
‘Come on then darling,’ she said, ‘must get on.’
She linked his arm.
He pulled it free. ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed.
She had a twinkle in her eye. ‘You’re so uptight.’
‘I don’t think your boyfriend would approve of all this flirting.’
‘Are you forgetting my Mark’s seen you? He knows you’re no competition!’
Luke gawked. ‘Gee, thanks.’
‘Not that you're not funny and intelligent . . . quite a catch for someone!’
‘I’m not funny.’
She giggled. ‘You so are.’
‘And like you’re perfect! You dress like you’re still in primary school.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘I can’t believe you just said that!’
Amused by her shocked expression, he joined the queue to purchase the shirt.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you must fancy the younger woman because I know you think I’m hot.’
His cheeks flushed. He turned away. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You’re blushing.’
Dismayed, he shook his head.
She edged closer. Her breath was hot on his ear, her voice a whisper. ‘I’ve seen you looking at my boobs.’
An electrifying ripple surged through his body. Silenced by her statement, he stared at the cashier, urging her to hurry up. Out of his eye corner, he could see her smiling. Her lips were wet and her tongue hovered on the tip of her mouth.
The customer in front of him departed. He handed his shirt to the cashier, watched her tap the keys, and then he offered his credit card. Imogen was still smirking, her eyes flitting between him and her fingernails.
He turned his head and whispered into her ear. ‘I look at all women’s boobs, yours are nothing special.’
‘I’ll remember that . . . next time we have a female client.’
She skipped away, bouncing across the store with an untainted innocence, and then, stopping suddenly, she turned her head. She was waiting for him. She had a teasing look in his eyes.
‘I wonder what Mrs Leanne Stark is like . . . a fine figure of a woman I should think.’
Colour rose to his cheeks. He looked to his feet and scuttled back to the office.
Leanne parked the car and switched off the engine. Across the street, next to a large stone-fronted building, was a sign. It said, ‘Luke Adams: Private Investigator’. Beneath the sign was a large window, and although a blind partially obscured the view inside, she could still see that it looked spacious and free of clutter.
Whilst waiting for her confidence to build and the clock to tick by, Leanne watched the movement further along the street. She was at the edge of the town centre, a little distance away from the enticing window displays, heaving crowds, and youngsters that skipped between the shops. Folks meandered across the road inattentive to the fact that cars passed by, and twice she held her breath as two different individuals dodged a vehicle by the narrowest of margins.
A crowd of teenage girls crossed the road, heading towards the main street and chatting enthusiastically. Her mind wandered. She had been that girl, full of expectation and energy, carefree and light-hearted. Every weekend, accompanied by friends, she would attend the bars and clubs, and more often than not, they would introduce themselves to a group of young men. Sometimes they would see them again, although mostly their companionship would end towards dawn. Through drunken eyes, the world was a never-ending party.
Tyler was a constant reminder of those heady days. Leanne thought she had loved his father, and even now, as she recalled his stream of pathetic excuses that absolved him of all participation in her pregnancy, her sorrow flickered. Darren told her that he didn’t love her, told her that he would be a bad influence on their child, and told her that he knew nothing about babies. It was a distressing time, never more so than when he suggested that the child might not be his.
Heartbroken, Leanne denied Darren contact. It proved to be a wise decision, and for years, they remained out of touch. When he finally decided he wanted to see his son, a couple of years after the birth of his own daughter, she received his request with displeasure. The hard work of raising a baby was over, and Phillip supported her emotional needs. She did everything she could to make him keep his distance, making excuses until the novelty of fatherhood passed, and it did, many times.
After sixteen years of remaining in obscurity, he finally decided to cement the relationship with his son, choosing a time when Tyler would be vulnerable and yearning for a father figure. He claimed it was coincidence and said he knew nothing about Phillip’s death. Leanne knew it was a lie; the paragliding accident was in the local papers as well as on the news.
Darren was manipulative, weak, unreliable and selfish, and he had her son. She looked to her handbag, to the place where her phone resided, and she thought of Tyler. He loved the gifts, the spending and the extravagance, and he loved every minute of the attention. His new family doted upon him and his sisters had a new big brother. Why shouldn’t he enjoy himself?
Soon, it would end in disaster. Darren would grow bored of his son’s teenage anxieties and he could discard Tyler as though he were a used toy. He would find himself a new pastime, one that fulfilled his masculine urges and satisfied his adrenaline rushes. Tyler would be an obstruction; he would cast him aside.
Leanne dared not consider the alternative.
Dispatching with her bitterness, she reached for her handbag, exited the car, and headed across the road to Luke Adams’ office. The chilling air tightened her skin, aided by the gentle breeze that tussled with her dark-brown hair. She flicked it aside and strode towards the door. Her pulse quickened and her apprehensions heightened.
She opened the door. A bell sounded and a tall woman appeared from a room on the left, introduced herself as Imogen, and they shook hands, the cool sophisticated feel of her palm contrasting with her own sticky hand. She looked to be in her early twenties and wore black tights, a short pleated skirt, and a tight fitting blouse emphasising her rounded breasts. Whilst she had a warm, approachable demeanour, Leanne still tensed, feeling fat, frumpy, and old in comparison.
Imogen talked her through the procedure, and then, whilst she was tapping something into the computer, Leanne’s eyes wandered. There was a man talking on the telephone in an office to one side. She presumed it was Luke Adams. She hoped it was, warming to his plain appearance, an untidy desk, and confident yet unpretentious manner.
After a few more moments of general chatter, she started to relax. There was a welcoming feel about the place, and as she absorbed the clean lines, a small stone sculpture, and a sketch of a vagabond on a city street, her decision to hire them gained strength.
‘Do you like the drawing?’ Imogen asked.
She spun around. ‘It’s good . . . life like.’
‘It was done by one of our previous clients. Megan Armstrong. She’s very talented.’
‘I heard about that case. It was quite extraordinary. In fact, it’s what drew me to you.’
‘That’s good to know.’
Luke stepped into the reception area, apologised for the delay, and welcomed her before guiding her into another room at the rear. A sensational lavender aroma filled the air, tickling her nostrils. She glanced at the table and the dried blooms and scanned the room, simple and unadorned, with swivel chairs, a sofa, and a bed partially hidden by a curtain.
‘Please sit down,’ he said.
She rested on a blue fabric sofa and placed her arms across her middle. For a few minutes, he made easy chatter, asking her about her journey and commenting on the cool autumnal weather. Then he progressed to the case and asked her what she expected.
‘It’s simple. I want to find my mother.’
‘You said on the phone your mother’s name is Karen Jefferson. Is that her maiden name?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know if she ever married?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have her last known address?’
She shook her head.
‘Okay, not to worry. When was the last time you had contact with Karen?’
‘I think I was about five.’ She looked to her lap. ‘My grandparents told me that she had died. They raised me. I’ve only just found out that . . . that she might be alive.’
‘Your grandparents’ were Karen’s parents?’
She gave him a questioning look.
‘In other words, not from your father’s side.’
‘Oh.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘I don’t know anything about my father, not even his name.’
He remained impassive. ‘What are your grandparents’ names?’
‘Roy and Janet. They’ve both died.’
‘Who told you that Karen may be alive?’
‘Gran . . . just a few weeks ago.’
Leanne raised her hand and fingered the soft tissues around her mouth. It sounded ridiculous, all her needs and desires resting on a dying woman’s admission of guilt. Why did she want to contact someone who had chosen to remain hidden for thirty years? He must think her stupid.
She held her breath as he made notes on a sheet of paper.
‘I’ve just inherited a house. It was Gran’s but I didn’t know anything about it. It’s all rather strange. They inherited it from a Mr and Mrs Coombs years ago. I think they all lived there, me too for a while, but it’s been empty ever since. In fact, I’m planning on staying there for a couple of weeks.’
‘Could I have the address?’
She gave him the details.
‘Who were Mrs and Mrs Coombs?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Your great-grandparents perhaps?’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t know much about my grandparents, and now . . . now it’s too late. Gran was a private woman, didn’t like talking about her feelings, her life, nothing.’
‘That’s not unusual.’
‘There’s much I should have asked her. I can’t believe I never suspected she had lied to me about Mum.’
‘People can have strange reasons for doing things. Maybe she also wanted contact with Karen, but if she couldn’t find her, she may have thought it pointless telling you about her.’
‘Are you saying you won’t be able to do it?’
‘No, not at all, but I can’t make promises. It can be easy to go into hiding if someone is so determined.’
Disheartened, she leaned back into the sofa.
‘Of course, we will do all that we can,’ he said. ‘Now, you said you think you lived in this house. Did you remember it?’
‘The layout of the house was familiar, but it was dark inside – there was no electricity and the windows were boarded. And it’s furnished, strangely enough. Why are you asking?’
‘I’m just looking for anything that may trigger memories. It could provide us with clues. Did you recognise anything, or have any unexpected memories?’
Leanne thought of the moment with the torch when she passed through the darkness, sweeping each room. ‘A bedroom was familiar. It must have been mine. I felt lonely. I think I missed my . . .’ she hesitated as her recollections relating to several people spread across her mind, ‘. . . my mum.’
‘Any ideas how old you were when you last lived there?’
She fiddled with her necklace. ‘I don’t think I was old. Up until I visited I only ever remembered living in the house I grew up in.’
He scribbled in his pad.
‘There was one more thing, when I was outside, I thought I heard a noise and headed to the barn. There was no one there, but I felt as though I could still hear screaming and shouting. I was dragged away . . . locked in a room.’
‘Any ideas what had happened?’
‘No, but I’m sure something awful happened. I think that’s why we left. As I said, my Gran told me that my Mum had died in an accident. I think that was the one she was referring to.’
‘But she hadn’t died.’
‘No. I think it was the last time they’d had contact.’
Luke was casting an eye over his notes. Leanne could see his thoughts whirring, and believed he was wondering how she could not have known what had happened. Why had she never asked questions, never tried to squeeze the truth out of her grandparents? She felt ridiculously incompetent and edged herself into a smaller space.
Little more was said, bar extracting addresses and names of family and friends. It all seemed a little pointless; Leanne was aware Roy had a nephew, but they had not had contact for at least fifteen years to her knowledge, and so he was unlikely to know anything about Karen. As for friends, there was no one close, no one who would be privy to the darkest of family secrets.
They wrapped up the interview. She left feeling despondent and more isolated than ever, and not at all excited by the prospects of what was before her. There may be little to discover and there could be a simple explanation for the lies; in the meantime, she would have to wait. Even the prospect of seeing Steven could not lighten her mood.
Nevertheless, as was her plan, she made her journey to Honeysuckle cottage, the vision of her childhood bedroom, and her feelings of intense loneliness remaining in the forefront of her mind.
Leanne’s mood brightened when she arrived at the house. The window boards had been removed, the broken glass replaced, and the services reconnected. She silently thanked Ted as she lifted the envelope from the mat, presumably the bill, and walked across the lobby and opened a door.
Greeted by a band of light, which was more uplifting than the darkness she had first experienced, she scanned the room with new eyes. The carpet was a dark green, the wallpaper had a yellow and green floral pattern, and there was a large sturdy table in the centre. Her hand rested upon the coarse gritty surface and her mind filled with images of family life.
A man wearing a grey suit and a collar and tie poured water into glasses, and a woman with gentle features, a warm smile, and a rounded figure leaned over and spoke to the children. There was fear in their faces, apprehension and disorientation in their eyes. The woman spoke with tenderness, urging the youngsters to feel safe and share in her love, and happiness prevailed.
It had been a family home and it should be again.
Curious as to where such thoughts had come from, she removed her jacket, placed it onto the coat stand, and thought of the photograph she had found in her grandmother’s closet. It may have provided her with clues of the occupants, or, if she were lucky, it may have given her a point of reference for seeking out relevant locals. Nevertheless, it was too late to do anything about it now. She would have to collect it the next time she returned home.
She passed into a room. The open space was luxuriating and her steps lightened. She ran her hand across the glossy shimmering wood of the piano and left a trail of finger marks on the cover. A delicate tinkle of sounds resounded in her head. She had strained her legs and stretched out her arms to reach to Janet. Her grandmother looked down, her familiar face so warm, so pure. Janet laughed, her chuckles echoing through the walls. Leanne laughed too, and then snuggled into the older woman’s breast and straddled her body.
How long had her grandmother lived here? Had she known the house intimately, its creaks and groans, its walls and recesses? Leanne’s own recollections were vague, experiencing only moments of familiarity, from trotting through the vast house to climbing onto an older woman’s lap. She could almost smell Janet’s fine figure, a comforting maternal aroma, safe and reliable. However, such memories relating to her mother seemed non-existent. Where had she been? Why was she absent from her memories? Had she erased her for some atrocious reason? It was also possible that she never had a relationship with her mother, and her disappointment rose and her decision to search for her seemed like a foolish and rash quest.
Unable to blank her wandering doubts, she considered her conversation with Luke and wondered if he acted with honesty and was as supportive as he had appeared. Had she seen derision hidden behind his eyes and dishonesty behind his words of support? Uncertain of her response, she thought of Imogen, her perfect figure, and beautiful mellow skin tone and lush eyelashes, and wondered about her opinion. Did they think her stupid and laugh at her expense?
Leanne headed into the kitchen, glimpsed at the newspaper and jacket left by the unidentified visitor, and strode to the sink. The water spluttered through the system, first grey, and then clearing. Her thoughts, the mystery surrounding her mother, were still in her mind, and she prayed to Janet, her questions innumerable. Had she carried the answers to her grave? Had her last words been an accidental mumble? Maybe there was wisdom in her intended silence; maybe she was better off in her ignorance.
There was a sharp knock at the door. Startled, Leanne hurried through the lobby, her longing directing her towards images of Steven.
She opened the door. Her heart sank. ‘Hello, Ted. Thanks for doing the work.’
‘You get my invoice?’
‘Yes. I can pay you now if you like.’
‘Thanks.’
She reached for her handbag, retrieved her wallet, and headed to the table.
He hovered beside her, his eyes wandering around the room. ‘Anything else you need doing?’
‘I don’t think so, but I haven’t been here long. How can I find you?’
‘You may see me in the fields, but failing that, my house is along Birch Lane.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Just off the main road . . . can’t miss it. Mine’s the one with farm buildings.’
‘Okay.’
She counted out the notes and then straightened her back. He was staring at the jacket.
‘Do you know who’s that is?’
He turned away and plodded to the outer door. ‘I know nothing.’
Questions regarding his acquaintance with her mother edged towards the tip of her tongue. She held back, her foolishness overriding her inquisitiveness, and followed on his trail.
A gust of air rushed into the house. There was a blanket of grey clouds overhead, and a gentle sway of branches nearby. Grasses were withering and leaves were turning brown as the dark winter days approached.
‘A man passed by the other day,’ she said, ‘his name is Steven. Do you know where I can find him?’
Ted stopped and turned. ‘Steven George?’
‘I don’t know his surname. He has a dog.’
‘Aye, that’ll be him. He lives on the edge of the village. He often passes this way . . . usually about this time.’
‘Have you seen him today?’
‘Not for a few days. I heard his missus is giving him grief.’
‘I thought he was separated.’
Ted grinned. ‘Is that what he said?’
‘So he’s not?’
‘Not for me to comment.’ He headed away, stepping through a weave of trampled grasses.
Forlorn, she returned to the kitchen to make a sandwich and reprimanded herself for putting her expectations on a man she hardly knew. She should never have had the boards removed, and should have taken the time to consider her actions. What an idiot! What would Ted think when she asked him to replace the boards, as she feared she must? She would be a laughing stock, and rightly so. Would Steven realise one of her primary motives for the stay had been to form a relationship with him? Would he tell his friends, the community? Would her mother hear of her stupidity?
Leanne dropped to a seat and held a hand close to her mouth, her foolishness grating. Even if a relationship with Steven were to blossom, which now seemed unlikely, it would take time, and that was not something she had. Her life was in the city; Tyler was in the city. She needed companionship and a job. She would not find what she was looking for in an isolated house in the country.
She leaned back into the chair. A little voice told her she must forget Steven and return her thoughts to her search for her mother. Yet no matter how she tried, she could not eliminate the visions from her mind - the teasing glint in his dazzling eyes, the seductive expression on his face, and the muscular tone of his slender legs. He was a wonderful man. Her chest swelled with sorrow.
She scanned the garden and the adjoining field, her eyes passing through the dusty glass. It was a lifeless vista. Wanting for the comforting sights and sounds of someone familiar, she thought of Tyler. With only a brief text and a promise he would call later, her loneliness was crushing. In her turmoil, she reached for her phone, dialled his number, and held her breath.
It rang and rang. He would be enjoying himself, as he should be; yet she still prayed he would answer. He didn’t. For a couple of minutes, she sat and waited, urging him to return her call, yet she knew, as hard as it was to admit, that his desires to speak would be far less than hers. Tyler had already told her that he was okay, but his written words were insufficient. She needed to listen to his voice and hear the proof, and she needed to feel his youthful exuberance, a trait unappreciated by the young.
Leanne plodded up the staircase, following the stream of light that passed through the landing window. She skimmed the fields, the small row of trees, the flat farmland, and she looked for Steven along the edges, her longing refusing to budge. The vastness of the landscape was intimidating, and she wondered how anyone could find it anything other than hostile. Wondering if that was how her grandmother felt, she left the room and moved to the next. Inside were two single beds, a wardrobe and a dresser. She headed to the window and perched on a padded stool, and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She was almost certain that his room had been hers, yet her memories were hazy.
A few days previous, she had recalled her childhood yearning to be with her mother. It seemed real, and it was quite understandable if this was the last place that they had last been together. But as she had scanned the darkness with the torch, her recollections had developed into something more. She had missed her father, and her sister and brothers too. Considering she was an only child, the thoughts were chilling.
She scanned the room, gazing at the beds and the old wooden wardrobe with curved edges and a brass handle, and searched for answers to a shrouded past.
Her phone rang. Startled, she sprang to her feet and plucked free her phone.
‘Tyler,’ she said, ‘how are you?’
‘I’m fine. Sorry, I haven’t called.’
‘What have you been doing? Is everyone being good to you?’
‘Yeah, everyone’s been great. Jake, my cousin is fantastic. He was telling me about all the concerts he’s been to. He’s had some pretty wild times.’
‘Like what?’
Tyler hesitated. ‘Oh. Just parties.’
‘I hope you’re behaving yourself.’
‘I always do.’
There was a hint of irritation in his voice, but he continued to chatter, telling her in detail about the closeness of the two families and the life they shared. Wandering towards the window, she struggled to find the right tone in her voice and grappled with her concerns. What kind of principles did these families have? Was he going to all-night parties, drink and drugs, as had been Darren’s way? Had she taught him well enough to know the difference between right and wrong? Was he experimenting with girls?
Her replies shortened as she fought with her dilemma. She had much to ask and so little time, and did not want to dampen his mood or his desire to speak with her again; yet despite her efforts, a concerned comment slipped through her defence. Her regret was as instant as his belligerent reply.
Finally, he asked her about the house.
‘I’m staying here while you’re off school, but don’t forget, if you need me, I can be there in a couple of hours.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘Impressive, you’ll like it. The house is in good shape, but the garden is nothing more than a bed of weeds.’
‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘I will be selling it.’
A flash of movement outside caught her attention. A woman was fleeing towards the barns, away from the house and with a jacket and newspaper in hand. Panic clutched Leanne’s throat, tightening her breath.
Tyler was saying something, but his words floated in the air. She was fixated on a podgy woman with short dark-brown hair, a thick blue jumper, and loose fitting jeans trotting through the clumps of grass. Then the woman disappeared out of view.
She ended the call, raced downstairs, and flung open the outer door. Passing through the cool gusts of wind, she scampered across the ground. Her heel caught and her foot slipped free. She stumbled. She rushed back for her shoe, her eyes glued to the trampled track.
‘Wait!
There was no reply.
She carried on, scurrying around the back of the barn. In the distance, heading towards the village was a fading figure. Leanne’s moment of opportunity had gone.
The charm of the house was fading and Leanne’s childhood memories were losing significance. She had explored every room, every drawer, and every cupboard, and it provided her with little more than a faint appreciation of her newly acquired assets. There were no further clues relating to the history of the place, nor of the strangers Mr and Mrs Coombs. Her grandparents had removed all personal possessions and documents.
The vast space, the silence, and the absence of happy vibes, caused her sorrow to swell. It was a house that should be shared and have children skipping along the corridors, adults relaxing in the music room, and visitors commenting on the beauty. Her loneliness had never been greater, and her memories of family life a distant dream.
To be alone in a tiny room was acceptable, but to be alone in a vast house was not. She sank her arms onto the kitchen table, clasped her hands and puffed out, and for a moment, she listened to the silence. There was nothing, no gusting wind, no passing cars, and no voices. A shiver travelled across her body, descending her spine. She held her breath, almost too intimidated to break the atmosphere, and felt the eeriness encompass her.
She yearned for Tyler, Phillip, and Janet: her son’s youthful exuberance, her deceased husband’s confidence and support, her late grandmother’s wisdom and friendship. Were Janet and Phillip side-by-side, watching over her? Not the religious type, although not an atheist, Leanne’s uncertainty lingered; yet she still hoped for a reassuring signal or gesture, something that would give her the power to pull herself away from her misery and search for something more.
With a heavy heart, she considered her options. She should return home, search for a job and give her life meaning, but deep within was an unsettling ache, a yearning for Steven. She fought to brush it aside, but as she did so, it appeared with more influence and clarity, and the butterflies danced in her stomach.
The teasing twinkle in Steven’s eye became more pronounced in her mind, yet so did Ted’s suggestion that he was married and her face scrunched. She told herself that he would not have lied, said he was not the type, and focused on his last words. ‘My ex,’ he had said. Definitely, ‘my ex.’
However, she hadn’t seen him since the start of the week, and she wondered if he had been avoiding her. Perhaps he was still with his wife and had realised his mistake, or perhaps she meant nothing to him and the perception she had of his feelings was nothing more than fabrication. Carrying the dirty plate and cutlery to the sink, she decided it was too soon to be involved with another man, especially since she wasn’t certain he was single. Her life was too cluttered with grief to make space in her heart for such a complication, and her desires too few. Steven was a friendly man. He probably had a flirtatious glint in his eye with everyone.
Concluding she had no reason to stay, at least not until she had a lead on her mother’s whereabouts, her departure seemed imminent. Deciding to search for any carelessly scattered possessions, she checked each of the downstairs rooms in turn, and in doing so closed the curtains, turned off the lights, and closed the doors. Then she progressed upstairs and entered a room overlooking the rear fields. Having proceeded to the window, she gazed outside.
Beyond the barns, at the other side of footpath and hedge, was a housing estate. It was a recent development, with the houses appearing to be ten to fifteen years old. The structure of each was simple and box-like, and the gardens small. Then, her gaze wandered along the adjacent track, and onto an adjoining cul-de-sac. A person wearing trousers and a jacket climbed a stile, exiting the estate, shortly followed by a child. Together they headed alongside the wall and out of view. Moments later, two more people emerged from the next street, both following the same track and with both women wearing long woollen jackets.
Leanne’s curiosity triggered and she thought about the intruder that had been in her house earlier in the week. Believing the woman may have lived in the estate, and with little to do apart from returning to her family home and the suffocating memories, she decided to take a walk.
Grabbing her three-quarter length coat and handbag, she left Honeysuckle Cottage and headed around the back of the barn and along the track. There had been a little rain in recent weeks and the ground was firm and the moisture sparse, meaning she was able to keep the bottom of her trousers free from splashes. Even her ankle boots still gleamed as she reached a gap in the wall.
She scanned the street. There were numerous parked cars in the distance and a gentle murmur of voices floating by. Up ahead, three energetic youngsters raced from somewhere out of view to a car and waited on the roadside, their excited babble too difficult to decipher. A man and a woman appeared moments later, and they all climbed into the car and headed away. With the gusts cooling her skin, she continued towards the vacated parking space. She hadn’t made the distance when two young women with pushchairs and engrossed in a conversation, crossed the street and turned into the same spot. Seconds later, she saw the village hall, set back and out of view of the rest of the street. Today, a fete was taking place.
Nervously, she followed them inside. The room was bustling with stalls, and through a door at the opposite side was a sign for a café and a games room. Heading in that direction, she weaved past the warm throng of bodies and stopped at a table containing lacework, from tea cosies to tablemats. After offering a polite glance, and with her face deliberately nondescript, she moved to the next table, but rather than looking to the assortment of cakes, she turned to the centre of the room and scanned the meandering folks.
Most people were fifty or older, with younger men, in particular, quite scarce. Disappointed that she could see neither Steven nor the female intruder, she looked towards the doorway at the far side. Three small children scooted towards a thirty-something woman on a stall, almost skidding on the shiny wooden floor as they crossed the middle of the room. Then, clutching something, and with the woman ordering them to walk and not run, they headed back, their steps quickening with each heartbeat.
Leanne decided to follow. Feeling a little lost without a companion, she kept her head low and her eyes averted. The corridor was heaving and personal space limited. The first room served teas, sandwiches and cakes, and the next room was the games room. There were a surprising number of youngsters in the far room, and she peered inside, noting how easily the teenagers controlled the animated youngsters.
Turning back around, she almost stepped straight into three teenage girls, all with wafer-thin bodies and wearing skimpy glittery tops and tight pants. They looked lovely - she could almost smell the hormones oozing from the nearby boys as they unashamedly inspected them up and down - yet she could not help feeling that they were a little skinny and nothing like she had been at that age. Darren had told her she had been nicely rounded with more than a handful to fondle; yet, she had felt fat and heavy-breasted and avoided anything tight or revealing. With hindsight, Leanne decided she had been shapely, and now craved that adolescent figure.
Holding her arms across her middle, she stepped into the café. An elderly couple blocked her view, yet she could still see numerous tables and chairs, tightly packed and mostly occupied. A burble of voices filled her ears as she breathed in a stale scent of air mingling with a slight aroma of coffee. She looked to a plate, and a jam and cream scone, and her mouth watered.
The couple shuffled forwards in the queue, enhancing her vista, and her eyes stopped dead. Steven was at a table at the far side of the room. Leanne’s heart hammered and her mouth loosened. He was talking, apparently quite intimately, to a woman. Was she his wife?
Their closeness was evident. There was adoration in his eyes and a pureness radiating from his heart. He swept back his golden-brown hair with his hand. He smiled. He rested his hand on hers.
Leanne dropped her gaze. Phillip had been her life-mate, her one chance at love. She wanted for no one else. Downcast, she waited as a young boy and his mother moved through the door and then followed them back into the main hall.
It had been a pointless exercise and she wanted to return home. Patiently, she squeezed through the groups of people striding to the outer door.
‘Leanne?’
She spun around. Steven was hurrying towards her. Her pulse surged. Her skin warmed.
‘I thought it was you,’ he said. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I needed to get out.’
‘Come with me. I’ll buy you a coffee. There’s someone I would like you to meet.’
Obediently and with her expectations heightening, she followed on behind.
Travelling in his musky scent, she focused upon his rear; his muscular buttocks pressed into his jeans, his fitted sweatshirt exaggerated the curve in his lower back, his lush strands of hair rested upon the edge of his neckline.
‘So you’ve moved into the house then?’ Steven asked, peering over his shoulder.
‘Yes a couple of days ago.’
‘How do you like it?’
‘It’s far bigger than I’m used to.’
They stopped in the corridor and waited for a group of boys to hurry by.
‘Any family with you?’
‘No. Just me. My son’s with his father.’
‘What about your husband?’
She held her breath. He was staring, waiting.
‘I noticed the ring.’
‘I’m widowed.’
‘I’m sorry. Was it recent?’
‘A few months ago.’
He nodded and then continued into the café, weaving past a young girl and a man in a wheelchair. Keen to see his expression, she peered out of her eye corner to the side of his face, noting a hint of stubble and a tired, almost exasperated look on his face.
‘It’s nice to see a friendly face,’ she said, ‘I was feeling a little lost.’
‘It must be a bit daunting. Everyone’s pleasant enough, though, it just takes a bit of effort. Coffee okay?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
They joined the queue. The woman he had been with caught his attention and told him from a distance that she was going to leave them alone. Then she disappeared around the back of a crowd and exited the room.
Moments later, and whilst pondering the possible conversation they would share, she reached for her mug, offered her thanks, and headed through the throng to an empty table. As she walked, she sensed his eyes pressing into her and her gait stiffened. She straightened her back and held her handbag over her stomach, and wondered about her appearance. Was her hair brushed? Did her clothes fit right? Did she offer a warm demeanour?
Her nervousness had not been apparent during her first meetings with Phillip, as Tyler’s antics had taken priority. On one occasion, having arranged for Janet to look after her son, she readied herself in her bedroom and selected her favourite blouse, a skirt that made her appear slimmer and her favourite black heels. Even though she rarely appreciated her appearance, that night she had. Having taken one last glance into the mirror, she headed to the living room to say goodbye. She never had time to stop her son’s final greeting, nor his painted fingers from daubing her clothes.
A smile slipped to her lips as she sat down. Steven was a friend, and his wife was in the next room. He would not care if her hair was untidy or the colour in her coat was fading. She was being foolish.
‘How old is your son?’ Steven asked.
‘Tyler’s sixteen. The last few months have been hard for him. He was close to Phillip . . . and Gran. I’m glad he’s having a chance to get away. It’s just what he needs. Although, I must say I can’t wait to see him again. We’ve not been apart for this long before.’
‘Is he staying for the duration of the school holidays?’
She nodded. ‘He’s not stayed with Darren before. They’ve not had much contact, except the odd phone call.’
‘That’s tough on you, especially so soon after losing Janet.’
The warmth from her mug spread to her hands. She watched the liquid and inhaled the aromatic vapours. ‘It is, but he’s my boy. I want what’s best for him.’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you have any children?’ she asked.
‘Jack’s 14, Lily’s 18.’
A vacant look crossed his face and his gaze dropped. The silence was awkward, and he was either shy and didn’t enjoy talking about himself, or something troubled him. For a moment, she watched and waited, but he remained quiet, offering nothing more. A change of subject was for the best.
‘I’m not sure what I’m going to do with Honeysuckle Cottage. I was only planning on staying until the end of next week.’
His head sprung up. ‘You could let it out.’
‘I’ve wondered about that. What do you think the tourism is like around here?’
‘Pretty good I would have thought. Are you thinking of letting it out as a holiday home?’
‘Possibly. It’s already furnished, but there would be the garden to spruce up. Some of the décor is old fashioned, so that would need doing too. It would give me the chance to enjoy it a couple of times a year as well.’
‘Sounds like a good idea.’
She was baffled. It sounded like a fantastic idea, but where had it come from? She had told Tyler she was selling it, and she had thought herself convinced. Her mind drifted and visions of the vast structure held her thoughts, from the layout of the rooms to the dated furnishings.
‘I’ve not seen you with Tansy for the last few days. Is she all right?
Hesitating, his eyes flickered from side to side. ‘She’s fine.’ He reached for his mug, his lips connecting with the rim. ‘Do you like dogs?’
‘I’ve never had one. They must be nice to cuddle.’
He grinned. She buried her face in her mug, obscuring the flush of warmth. Why had she said that? What a silly thing to say.
‘They are,’ he answered. ‘Have you ever had one wash your feet?’
‘No.’
‘You’d like it, it’s stimulating.’
She pulled a face.
‘Honestly. I’ll bring her around sometime. You must have a go.’
‘Are you implying I have smelly feet?’
He peered under the table and inhaled. ‘They are a bit.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘Cheeky!’
They laughed and their eyes locked, causing her pulse to race. Self-conscious, she turned away. After a couple of seconds, she was unable to resist another look and peeked from her eye corner. He was still looking, analysing her, and he had the most dazzling eyes. Heat spread to her cheeks.
She considered his wife and imagined the distasteful look on her face if she saw them flirting, and she gulped down her coffee, readying herself to leave.
‘I don’t want to hold you up,’ she said, ‘your wife must be waiting for you.’
‘My wife.’ He gave her a twisted smile. ‘Teresa’s not my wife.’
‘She’s not?’
‘No. She’s a friend. A good friend in fact. But nothing more.’
‘Oh . . . I thought . . . I was speaking with Ted Moore, the farmer. He said you were married.’
‘You were asking about me?’
Damn it! Why had she admitted to that? ‘I . . . I was looking for someone to help remove the boards from the windows.’
He grinned. There was disbelief in his eyes.
‘And as you knew Janet and Roy, I thought I could trust you.’
‘I assume you’ve managed to do it.’
‘Yes.’ She steadied her breathing. ‘So are you and your wife living apart?’
Smiling, he said they were. When he didn’t offer anything more, her brain froze. She wanted to ask him for a date, but she was treading unfamiliar territory. Why was it so much harder than it had been sixteen years previous? She could not recall having qualms about going out with a man back then, nor could she remember having a fear of rejection. Also, there was her connection with Phillip to consider. Was she ready for this? She needed a moment to think.
‘I’d love to meet Jack and Lily.’
‘Lily’s at university studying Physiotherapy, and Jack, well, I see him when I can.’ His face was solemn, his eyes darkening.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘That’s okay. I should talk about it. It’s still a bit difficult.’
‘How long have you been separated?’
‘A few months. Andrea came over with Jack earlier this week and said she wanted another go at making it work. It’s thrown me a bit.’
‘Are you going to?’
His head jerked up. ‘Hell, no. I may have said yes a few weeks ago, but no, I can’t, not now. I don’t think I could trust her after what she’s done.’
‘Breakups are always difficult. It was for Darren and me too. He was my first love.’
‘What happened?’
‘I thought we were in love and I got pregnant. Suddenly, he didn’t want to know me.’
‘That’s tough.’
‘It was, but I got through it. You will too. You’ve done the hard bit.’
He placed his hand upon hers. It felt as though an electric current had just ripped through her, leaving a warm glow to spread across her entire body.
‘Thanks for listening,’ he said, ‘but can we change the subject? I’m sure we have both had happier times.’
Her eyes danced. ‘I’m not sure I have.’
‘I don’t believe that. You seem a contented person.’
Contented? Had he said that? ‘I’ve had my moments.’
‘Tell me about Janet. Were you close?’
‘She raised me, along with Roy of course.’ She rotated the mug with her fingertips. ‘She told me that my mother died when I was young. I never knew my father. Only . . . only she’d lied. I’ve hired a private investigator, Luke Adams, to look for her.’
‘Any leads?’
‘No, although I only hired him a couple of days ago.’
He nodded. ‘I’m sure Janet had her reasons. She and Roy seemed like a nice couple . . . down to earth and not at all pretentious.’
‘Yes, you’re right. They knew the importance of money, but it didn’t rule their lives.’
‘I could tell. But why leave the house empty? In the least, they could have sold it and invested the money.’
‘My thoughts entirely.’
‘Any ideas why they did what they did?’
‘No. I think it might have had something to do with my mother.’
‘Are you thinking they were hoping she would return?’
She struggled to respond. ‘No, I wasn’t, but maybe you’re right.’ She scanned the compassion in his expression. ‘I can’t believe I never knew about her. All my life, they’ve lied to me. How could they do that?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sure it’s no reflection on you.’
‘I wish I had your confidence.’
She exhaled and edged backwards, freeing herself from the intimacy of the table. The room was still bustling, and the changeover between tables constant. She felt a little guilty occupying the space for as long as they had, and she considered leaving. However, when she turned back to Steven, she reconsidered. She didn’t want her time with him to end. He was a kind warm-hearted person, someone she could be herself with. It was a fantastic feeling, and for the first time in recent weeks, she was happy.
Teresa’s appearance at the table caused both Steven and Leanne to jump as their conversation had been deep and their senses directed towards each other. The first thing Leanne noticed was the burn scars extending down one side of Teresa’s face and through her neck and beyond. She tried to avert her gaze, but the hideous nature of the woman’s appearance drew her eye. However, it was evident that as she looked at her smooth creamy skin around her good eye that she would have been a beauty in her day.
‘Leanne, this is Teresa, my good friend I was telling you about.’
They acknowledged each other, and Teresa pulled up a chair and sat down. She was much older than Steven - late fifties to early sixties - and softly spoken with an amiable expression. It was easy to see why he liked her and had chosen her as a confidant.
Leanne joined in the chatter as far as she could, and for the rest of the time, she listened with an interested expression, keen to make a friendly impression. Eventually, the subject dried.
‘Leanne has inherited Honeysuckle Cottage,’ Steven said, ‘She’s Roy and Janet’s granddaughter.’
Teresa’s eyes narrowed and her lips tightened, her demeanour changing.
‘I’ve mentioned them before, remember?’
She nodded wordlessly.
Uncomfortable Leanne crossed her legs and folded her arms. Teresa’s unease was clear, but her reasoning was not and in her haste Leanne believed her to be envious of her good fortune. ‘I would rather have Janet than the house,’ she blurted.
Silence.
‘She . . . she’s all I had. Except for my son, Tyler, of course.’
‘Then you’re lucky. You don’t have to share the inheritance.’
‘That’s a horrid thing to say. I loved Janet.’
‘Sorry,’ she said in a reluctant tone, ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Was Janet ill?’
‘Not for long. Her body just seemed to give up.’
‘Losing someone is never easy, no matter whether they are nine or ninety. Are you selling it?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Houses around here don’t sell that well, especially ones outside the village.’
‘Are you into property?’
‘No, but my husband is. He’ll give you a good deal on the place if you’re interested.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Don’t get your hopes up, though - a lot of work will need doing to it.’
‘It’s not that bad. It’s been modernised.’
‘Really?’
Leanne looked to Steven for support.
‘Some work has been done,’ he said.
‘When? Recently?’
‘It was a few years ago.’
‘Still, it’s not been lived in for thirty years. It’s going to need a thorough checking over. I wouldn’t want to live there. Have you had the electricity and gas serviced?’
Leanne nodded timidly.
Teresa eased back into the plastic chair. ‘I’m not trying to worry you, but a house that size comes with a responsibility. It might not be worth as much as you think.’
She looked down to her hands clasped beneath the table. Her earlier happiness had faded, and she felt belittled and inferior.
‘I’m sure Leanne knows what she is doing,’ Steven said quietly.
‘Yes, I’m sure she does,’ she replied, looking straight at her.
She fumbled with her necklace. ‘It is all a bit daunting and I do feel to be out of my depth, but I am capable of seeking advice when I need it.’
Teresa’s mouth clamped tight. There was a growing satisfaction in her eyes.
Unable to tolerate any more of the strained conversation, Leanne rose to leave, pushed back the chair and announced her departure.
‘You don’t need to go,’ he said.
‘I have things to do.’ She paused. ‘Drop in sometime over the next few days. I enjoyed our chat.’ She stepped away.
‘Hang on a minute,’ he said, ‘I’ll catch up with you outside.’
She weaved through the thinning crowds and into the stuffiness of the main hall, passing by a man in a suit and tie who hovered by the door. Her energy had been sapped, the cool sunshine invigorating. She buttoned up her jacket and listened to the gentle mumble of voices. Moments later Steven appeared.
‘Don’t let Teresa bother you,’ he said. ‘She’s not usually abrupt, she’s usually quite timid.’
‘She seemed annoyed that I’d inherited the house.’
‘Give her a chance. She’s having a rough time. You’ll like her when you get to know her.’
They headed along the street, back towards the footpath leading to the rear of Leanne’s house.
‘I was wondering,’ Steven said, ‘would you accompany me to Teresa’s house tomorrow night. They’re having a bit of an informal do.’
Her heart pounded, her body tingled. ‘I . . . I’m not sure.’
‘If you’re worried about Teresa, don’t be. She said it would be okay.’
They stopped and faced each other. ‘Are you sure?’
He nodded. ‘So you’ll come?’
Her mouth was dry, her voice blocked with excitement. She stared at him, breathing in his musky scent and feeling his glow mingling with hers. But then out of her eye corner she caught sight of a movement. Further along the street was the woman who had been in her house, the one in the black shiny jacket.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, trotting away.
‘See you tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be at your place at seven.’
‘Okay.’
Breathless, and with her legs tightening with each step, she hurried towards the woman, but she had turned away, walking briskly into the field and up the track. Leanne urged herself on, regretting her extra weight and lack of fitness, and fought for air. At the wall, she stopped, bent double, and steadied her quivering legs. The woman had disappeared.
She gazed back along the street. Steven was watching, displaying a twisted smile. She straightened herself out, smoothed down her hair and waved. She had a date. Hell, she had a date!
Luke flicked on the lights in his office, removed his jacket and switched on the kettle. It was not usual for him to work Saturdays; on this occasion, he had felt a need to occupy himself and removing himself from his nagging doubts and the constant reminder that he was going on a blind date. Imogen’s persistence had paid off and her voice continued to rattle inside his head. ‘You need to get out more,’ she had said, ‘spread yourself about a bit.’ Reluctantly he had agreed. There was no point wallowing in lost loves; the past, a troubled long-term relationship, was over.
His date was with Susie Holmes, someone he’d never met. She had dark-brown hair, at times was sombre, and was studious. She was into the occult and her favourite programme was ‘Merlin’, a BBC television series. At least that was Imogen’s account of her. Luke had two impressions in his mind. In the first, she was tall, slim, gorgeous, and well educated, and in the second, she was short, spotty, miserable, and had little to say for herself. Either way, they would have nothing in common. She would be overly interested in his work and would be trying hard to please.
A gush of steam rose up to the ceiling. He waited for the kettle to switch off and then poured the boiling water into a mug. He could back out; it wasn’t too late. He looked to Imogen’s empty desk and searched for her beautiful scent and twinkling eyes, but then, as he imagined himself announcing his change of mind, he imagined her disappointment and the whining tone of her voice. Yesterday, her excitement had guided him through the day. He could not let her down.
He leaned into his swivel chair and placed the coffee on a stained mat on the desk, and tried to convince himself of the positives. When was the last time he had been out with anyone, bar his ex? It could be enjoyable, and Imogen and Mark would help lighten the mood. They might even get on, and if not he could make excuses to leave early. It was, after all, just one night. As Imogen had suggested, a bit of female company would do him good.
Having one-night-stands was not Luke’s scene, preferring instead to find a long-term companion and build up a lasting friendship. On occasions, when he had been younger and had been encouraged by his group of male friends, he had succumbed to one-night stands and had enjoyed the sexual experience. Afterward, his confidence had surged. Perhaps he could go there again, and remind himself he was a full-blooded male with needs and desires.
He opened the document on Leanne Stark, and his nervous ponderings started to evaporate. His meeting with Susie Holmes was hours away; there was plenty of time to consider what he would talk about and what questions he would ask. In the meantime, there was work to do.
He scanned the interview, reminding himself of the missing woman’s name, Karen Jefferson, and contemplated a starting point. A couple of days previous, Imogen had checked all the usual channels for such a person, but the trail dried and he wondered if she had either married or used another name to avoid being found. She definitely existed, though, as he’d managed to locate the birth certificate and there was no accompanying death certificate.
Leaning back into the chair and with his arms folded, Luke remembered how Leanne’s body language and expressions had been drenched with emotion. For her sake as much as for his own, he needed a satisfactory conclusion. He sensed her loss, and even though she had tried to come across as confident and self-assured, at times she had acted like a small child who had just lost her parents at a festival. Her voice, the giveaway, fluctuated between a forceful tone and plaintive squeak.
He scrolled down the document, scanning the notes searching for inspiration, and for a moment stared at the name, Janet Jefferson. His first task was to confirm her relationship with Mr and Mrs Coombs, whom he assumed had been her parents. He looked to the telephone, and remembering it was Saturday, he decided to call in a favour.
‘Hi Tony, it’s Luke Adams. How are you?’
‘Good. Nice to hear from you, it’s been a while.’
They chatted for a few minutes, reaffirming their friendship.
‘I need a favour,’ Luke said. ‘I need to know someone’s maiden name for a case I’m working on and the office is shut.’
‘Okay, since it’s you.’
‘Her name is Janet Jefferson. She was married to Roy and died recently. She was born around about 1930.’
‘Okay, hang on.’
Luke waited, absorbing the silence, his expectations aroused.
‘Right,’ Tony said, ‘I’ve found it. They married in 1948. Her maiden name was Smith.’
‘Smith?’
‘That’s right.’
‘It would be, wouldn’t it?’
Tony chuckled. ‘I assume you were hoping for something less common.’
‘I was.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No. Thanks. Cheers mate.’
‘Cheers.’
Luke puffed out. The case could prove to be tricky. He took a clean sheet of unlined paper and started drawing a family tree headed by Janet. Her childhood remained a mystery, and the link to Mr and Mrs Coombs equally so, and even though her past was unlikely to be relevant in the search for Karen, he felt that background information would provide a complete picture and assist in his quest. The more people he could name who had been connected with the two families back at the time when Karen disappeared, the more likely he was to be successful. He should start by searching for any Smiths in the villages surrounding Honeysuckle Cottage and make contact. He opted for scanning the telephone directory online.
As expected, the list was extensive. He printed if off, highlighted those within the village, and started to make calls. His exasperation mounted as the negative responses came. No one knew of a Janet Smith; it was going to be an endless task.
He searched his brain for possibilities: her male relatives could have moved away, her female relatives could have married, or Janet could have been adopted. Maybe she moved into Honeysuckle Cottage later in life, perhaps through Roy. Could he have introduced her to the Coombs family? Luke dismissed his idea; the will had named Janet specifically.
Was Roy’s family still around? How far should he extend his search? Should he be focusing more on his search for Karen? His questions were numerous and his brain was turning into mush. He leaned back, extended his arms above his head and stretched his muscles.
His mobile phone sounded. He lifted it from his pocket and saw it was Imogen.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Are you ready for tonight?’
‘It’s hours away yet.’
‘Susie’s looking forward to meeting you so make sure you spruce yourself up.’
‘Is that why you rang?’
‘Should I have another reason?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Don’t forget to blow dry your hair as I showed you, it’ll give it a bit of lift.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘No need for the sarcasm,’ Imogen said. ‘What you doing anyway?’
Luke hesitated, taking a quick breath. ‘I’m working.’
‘Working? It’s Saturday.’
‘I needed to make a start on Leanne Stark’s case. It’s been on my mind.’
‘Haven’t you got any hobbies?’
‘I’ve plenty. I just didn’t fancy doing them today.’
‘You are such a bad liar.’
‘I’d rather be working than be like you and spend all day worrying about my appearance.’
‘I have to make myself beautiful for you,’ she said.
‘Yes, right!’
‘Don’t forget to wear that shirt you bought, and add a bit of aftershave too.’
‘Do you treat Mark this way?’
‘No, just you. You’re such a challenge. Got to go. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
He cradled the phone in his hand and a smile slipped to his face. She was a strange woman and not at all his type, yet he could not help but feel lifted by her call. He was looking forward to the evening, or was it just Imogen he was looking forward to seeing? Would Susie be anything like her? Did he even hope she was? He wasn’t sure, and blanked his mind and stared at the name ‘Honeysuckle Cottage’ scribbled on a sheet of paper.
Having pressed a few keys, he accessed the Internet and uploaded a map of the area. The house and buildings were extensive, and there were other farms close by. He should make contact with the locals. Maybe the younger generations would be carrying on with the business. Someone must know something about its history and occupants, surely.
An idea leapt to the forefront of his mind, and after a little bit of investigating, he found a telephone number of a local historian. The man’s name was Mr Bernard Dixon. He made contact and introduced himself.
‘I’m trying to find out about Honeysuckle Cottage and its occupants. Can you help?’
‘It’s been empty for years. Well-maintained though.’
‘Do you know anything about Mr and Mrs Coombs? They lived there years ago.’
‘They farmed the land. People say they were a nice couple - couldn’t have kids. They took in evacuees.’
‘Evacuees?’
‘Yes, world war two evacuees. They were quite attached to one of the girls.’
‘Janet?’
Bernard hesitated. ‘Could have been. I’d have to check.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘They were shot. Killed outright.’
Luke’s jaw dropped. ‘Shot?’
‘Aye. It must be thirty years ago now. I can’t remember the name of the person. I think it was a man, but I could be wrong.’
‘Was he connected to them?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you remember what his motives were?’
‘No. I don’t know if I ever knew.’
Stunned, he remained motionless and silent.
‘I’ll get back to you,’ Bernard said, ‘see if I can find out anything more.’
‘Yes . . . yes please. And can you check if one of the evacuees was a Janet Smith? I’m trying to find out as much about her as I can. In fact, I’m trying to track down her daughter, Karen.’
‘Will do.’
‘Have you got my number?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thanks for your time.’
Blimey! Luke was buzzing with excitement. Janet was a world war two evacuee, and someone shot and killed her guardians. It was starting to make sense. Karen could have killed them, or maybe it was someone connected to her. It would explain her disappearance and her disassociation from the family. But what reason could she have for doing such a thing? Even though Luke sensed he was delving into a past best forgotten, the intrigue it created caused his juices to flow.
The door into the bar swung open and he stepped inside, his nerves jangling and his eyes darting. As soon as he realised that Mark, Imogen, and Susie had not arrived, relief swept through him, and he progressed to the bar, weaving past groups of men. The bartender, a young brunette woman with pleasant facial features and a slender figure took his order and passed him his drink before progressing to the next customer. He moved away and stood at the edge of the group.
Most of the clientele were under the age of forty, although there were a few exceptions: there was a middle-aged couple leaning into seats placed against a wall, and four older men surrounding a table in a corner. There was a modern feel about the place, with a glitter ball in the centre of the room and flashing lights around the edge. Each stool set alongside the round top tables had a chrome base with a footrest and a moulded plastic seat.
He glanced to the door, both urging and fearing Susie’s arrival and felt the throbbing beat of drums pound his body, matching the pounding rhythm of his heart. He could not recall feeling as nervous since his mid-teens and gulped down his beer seeking calmness.
Then she arrived. Imogen was the first to enter the room and she wore a short snug-fitting blouse and pink- cropped trousers, and her hair splashed with colour. She looked stunning, and his skin rippled and he held his breath as he waited for Susie to appear from her rear. She was slim, not quite as tall as Imogen or as curvaceous, but she had a pleasant face and even skin tone. Uncertainly, he wandered to greet them.
His tight breaths were drying his throat, and when he moved his mouth to speak, he was voiceless and little more than a grunt came out. Thankfully, a sudden surge in music prevented his embarrassment, and they all laughed at the timely interruption. Luke purchased the first round of drinks and joined them at a table near the centre of the room.
Susie was quietly spoken and since she appeared unable to make eye contact, he assumed her nervousness. Although agreeable, she clung to Imogen’s every word, drawing her on subjects and opinions. After a while, Luke realised she was doing it to avoid having to make conversation with him, and his self-confidence sank. He could make more of an effort but felt awkward in Imogen and Mark’s presence. He was the outsider, the stranger in the group, and he was the hopeless case. Irritated by the setup and feeling a need to assert his dominance, he made eye contact with a woman on the next table. She smiled at him and lifted her wine glass. He smiled back.
Imogen noticed and glared. Sheepishly, he looked to the centre of their table, avoiding her penetrating gaze, and willed her to join in the group conversation. When she did, he reaffirmed his gaze on the stranger. The woman, with short neat auburn hair, smiled again, and his blood rippled throughout his body and his skin flushed. He could still pull. It was a huge boost to his confidence.
Imogen leaned towards him. ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.
‘Nothing.’
‘You could at least look as though you are interested. Susie’s made a big effort for you.’
He looked to his date, whose chatter with Mark looked comfortable. ‘She’s not interested.’
‘You’ve not given her a chance!’
He hadn’t, she was right. He edged forward on the chair, leaned onto the table, and attempted to join in the conversation. It was one night, that was all. He should be pleased that she cared enough to consider his needs.
The chatter evolved from mindless reality shows on television, which were not his thing, to witchcraft and the paranormal. He had expected as much, but rather than grasping the opportunity to talk about his childhood passion, he tried to change the subject, fearing a mocking. His ex-girlfriend had often chastised him for talking about such nonsense, and the memories held a potent sting. Rarely did he introduce himself as an investigator who took on paranormal cases, preferring the guise of private investigator. However, he wasn’t going to be able to circumvent the subject with Imogen in command.
‘We’ve just worked on a fantastic case,’ she said, ‘you might have heard about it. A woman had memories relating to a dead person.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear about it,’ Luke said.
She gave him a fleeting glimpse. ‘Sure she does. The woman knew all sorts about people, things she shouldn’t know. It was so cool.’
‘So things just dropped into her head.’
‘Kind of.’
‘Weird.’
‘Weird but exciting. It was as though she was acting on behalf of the dead woman. Just think what it would be like if you could do that. You could correct your mistakes a second time around.’
‘Or get revenge.’
Imogen was pensive. ‘Talking of mistakes . . .’ Imogen looked to Mark and winked. ‘We’re moving in together.’
‘Really, that’s fantastic.’
Susie’s enthusiasm faded as Imogen’s announcement danced around in Luke’s head. His thoughts dominated; there was no sound in the room and no heated bodies shuffling past. After a few moments, Mark caught his eye, offering a curious stare.
‘Congratulations,’ Luke mumbled.
Mark nodded.
‘She’s quite a catch,’ he added.
Luke stood up, exhibited the most enthusiastic expression he could muster, and sauntered off to the bathroom. He needed to be away from the oppressive atmosphere, and Imogen’s jovial mood and Susie’s try-hard attitude, and stepped through the door and into the cooler air. There was a faint smell of disinfectant, and he scanned the floor and the urinals and progressed about his business.
The evening was not working, and the more he pondered the set-up, the more annoyed with Imogen he became. He should not have agreed to the blind date; he had already proven he wasn’t a helpless case. If it weren’t for Imogen and her daft ideas about what he needed and liked, he would have already pulled the auburn-haired woman. He did not need any assistance.
With a frown upon his face and his lips nearing a pout, he headed back to the table. The women were still chatting about Imogen’s news and the imminent move, and he yearned for a male companion, preferring instead to talk about something that had more of a male focus, such as football or jet aircraft. Not that he was into either, but it would be a start and might alleviate his sour mood.
However, his attempts to talk about the afternoon match on television did nothing to blank out Imogen and Susie. He kept his gaze fixed on Mark or else the other clientele, yet their scent still wafted towards him, distracting alongside their lively banter. His focus was lacking, his beer ever more engrossing. His moment of relief came with the vibration of his mobile phone. He glanced at the little screen. It was Bernard Dixon.
Luke pointed to his phone and rushed outside, stepping into the chilling damp air and hurried to a wall, away from the bustling individuals and spirited car drivers.
‘Mr Dixon,’
‘Hello. The man who killed Mr and Mrs Coombs was a Trevor Parry. It was a random attack. There was no apparent motive. He went to prison and died thirteen years ago.’
‘He didn’t have a connection with them then?’
‘Apparently not, but don’t quote me on that. Also, my father was a headmaster of a local school, and before he died, he gave me some essays that were written during the war years. I’ve had a look through – Janet Smith wrote a couple. I thought you might like to see them.’
‘That’s great news. So Janet was one of the evacuees.’
‘Yes. They are well-written, given her age. I’d say she was talented.’
‘I’ll be over in a couple of days to see them if that’s okay.’
‘It is.’
With a smile lingering, he was returning the phone to his pocket when Imogen appeared, irritation coating her face.
‘You’re in a mood tonight,’ she said, ‘what’s up?’
‘Nothing, I’ve just got a lead on a case.’
‘Can’t you forget about work for just one night?’
Grinning, he shadowed her back to the doorway. ‘Nope.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to. We’ve decided to go back to my Mark’s place to do some proper celebrating.’
‘Is Susie going?’
‘No, it’s going to be a threesome . . . of course she is.’
Swiftly, he headed inside, passing into the dimmed light to hide his blushes. ‘Pity.’
Imogen nudged him in the ribs. ‘Cheeky.’
Her legs were swinging and her pencil was rotating between her fingers, her focus lacking. She glanced around the classroom, looking at her friends and the other children; some had glazed expressions, others were keen to learn. Then she caught Alice’s eye and mouthed that the lesson was boring. Her best friend feigned a yawn.
Mathematics always struggled to generate interest in Janet, and she often bemoaned her concerns to her parents. They didn’t seem to care whether she learnt anything or not, and told her that so long as she could do the important task of totalling rationing coupons for purchases, everything else was superfluous.
Bacon, butter and sugar were the first food items rationed, and there was worse to come. She recalled her parents talking about it, complaining that it was unfair, and saying that the rich would get more. It puzzled Janet. Her teacher had told her that rationing would ensure that everyone received equal amounts of food, yet it seemed that that was not the case. Why would her teacher lie?
Her belly started to rumble as she copied the sums from the blackboard to her notebook. It was not as if they were even missing out. Food had always been scarce for them; they struggled to afford to buy all that had been set aside, let alone more. Fighting her hunger pangs, she yearned for a bar of chocolate, its fine taste melting in her mouth. It had always been a rare treat, an indulgence, and never more so than now.
The air raid siren sounded an undulating howl, and Janet jerked. It was a timely interruption, and whilst the teacher instructed the class to form a queue, she thrust her belongings into her bag, a well-practised response, and chatted in a high-pitched enthusiastic tone to Alice.
It was such a familiar routine that she knew where to go and what to do, and her eagerness reflected in her steps. Struggling to obey the command to walk, as was the case with the other children, her pace grew faster until there was a mad charge to the school shelter.
It was dark, smelly, and cold inside, and not a place to look forward to visiting, yet for some reason she did. It was a change from her routine, and a chance to talk to her friends, even if it was only until the teacher regained command and forced everyone to recite lessons or sing.
Having positioned herself on the cold concrete, she strained her ears to listen to the sound of planes and explosions. But it was difficult to hear anything above the racket, and in particular above the animated noises and impressions of aircraft coming from the boys. The girls, on the other hand, huddled in groups.
Alice nudged her in the ribs. ‘I heard on the wireless that children are going to be evacuated.’
‘Evacuated?’
‘Yes, sent away. We’ll leave our families behind and everything.’
Shock stilled Janet. ‘Who’ll look after us?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will we be able to go together?’
‘Mum says not. She said it’d be like a holiday, just until the bombing stops. They can’t keep us safe anymore.’
‘I don’t want to go.’
‘We won’t have a choice.’
‘But my dad’s not gone to war,’ Janet said, ‘he’ll keep me safe.’
Janet drew strength from the sorrow that slipped to Alice’s face and assumed that she would be able to stay with her family, her sister and brothers, her mother and father. Even so, life was different now. Due to her father’s weak back, he no longer worked for the council but as an air raid precaution warden, protecting civilians from harm. It was a commendable role, and for the first time in years, he seemed fulfilled.
Janet leaned back against the wall, pride enriching her face, and thought of him bravely patrolling the streets at night, searching for lights in the blackout that could guide the Germans to targets.
‘Is your mum going to work?’ Alice said.
‘She doesn’t want to, says she has enough to do in the house.’
‘My mum can’t wait. She’s loving the chance to do something else.’
‘Have you heard from your dad?’
‘No. Mum worries all the time. She won’t talk about it, though. You don’t know how lucky you are, having him around.’
Janet’s secreted smile faded as the teacher started talking again, but her words dissolved into insignificance as the screeching sound of aircraft flew overhead. The explosion nearby caused everyone to scream and jolt, their hands reaching out to their neighbours and griping with desperation.
In an attempt to maintain calm, the singing began, but it was difficult to acquire any enthusiasm. The teachers guided, and one by one, the small squeaky voices of the children broadened and the violent sounds coming from outside no longer held the same significance. Janet focused on the words of the familiar song, pleading with herself to stay calm and believe that she was safe inside the shelter. Images of her family sprung into her mind, from the lively banter of her brothers and sister to the concerned expressions of her parents. She prayed for their safety, fearing she could not cope if anything happened to them, and wondered about the evacuation.
Why could they not all leave together? There must be safe places somewhere nearby. They should do it immediately whilst they still had the chance. It was all too difficult to comprehend how her separation from the family would be a good thing. Without them, she was nothing; they were her life, her only desires.
Janet tapped Alice on her legs. ‘This evacuation . . . where are they sending us to?’
‘Somewhere far away I think.’
‘And it’s just the children?’
Alice nodded.
‘Why can’t everyone go?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m looking forward to it. This war scares me.’
‘Me too.’
Janet breathed in the fresh air as she stepped out of the shelter and into the playground, and scanned her surroundings for damage. The school was intact and the nearby houses also. With her school bag in one hand and her boxed gasmask flung over her shoulder, she trotted towards her home, late and hungry.
Farther down an adjacent street, there was smoke and a devastated building. Glass, bricks, and shrapnel littered the road and pavements, and cars had been destroyed, with windows shattered and bodywork dented. Stiffening with terror, her legs refused to move, and for a moment she stood, her mouth agape and her stomach tumbling. It was difficult for her to understand how the building could crumble; it had been there hours’ previous, standing tall and proud. Why were the Germans acting in such a horrendous manner? What had they done that was so wrong? Sickness gathered in her throat.
A rhythmical padding sound refocused her attention. She turned her head and looked to two women deep in conversation and nearing her rear. Much further behind were groups of children, their banter animated, their anxieties lacking. Unable to understand how they could disregard the mess, she scanned the piles of brick, broken concrete and ripped out windows and a vision of her own battered home appeared in her mind. She started to run.
Her street was as she left it. She scurried past a mother and a child, and a suited man with a bag, and trotted to the safety of her house. Breathless, she pressed on the handle. The door swung open.
At the end of the hallway was the kitchen. Her mother, who was standing beside a unit, turned her head, but rather than greeting her with a smile and a chirpy voice, she asked where the others were.
‘They’re coming. I wanted to get home.’
‘You should have stayed together.’
‘A building near the school was bombed, you should see it. There’s nothing left. It could have been the school.’
Betty fleetingly locked eyes.
‘They made us sing,’ Janet continued, ‘but we could still hear the planes. Some of the younger ones were crying.’
‘Go and change. I’ve food to prepare.’
‘I thought you’d be interested.’
‘I am, but not now.’
Janet’s head dropped. She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed upstairs, walking into the fading light and the bedroom. She was straining her eyes even before she closed the heavy blackout curtains but then had to travel blind, weaving past the two beds, hers and her sisters, and ambled downstairs.
The faint light of the candles crept across the small rectangular room, illuminating her mother in a shadowy glow. It was the only available light since the bombing had disrupted the gas supply a few days previous; it was a frustrating consequence of war.
Janet lingered at the doorway, observing her mother’s pensive demeanour. ‘Is it true that children are going to be evacuated?’
Betty turned her head and frowned. ‘Where have you heard that?’
‘Alice heard it on the wireless. Is it true?’
‘Maybe just for a short while, until the worst of the bombing is over.’
‘What if I don’t want to go?’
‘It’ll be fun, like a holiday.’
‘Can you come too?’
‘I’ll be staying here.’
‘If you can stay, why can’t I?’
‘You ask too many questions! Go put some candles on in the living room, and draw all the curtains. Your father will be back soon.’
She trudged away, her anxieties dancing in her stomach. She would be leaving her parents and going to live with a stranger. It was a terrifying thought and not something she would ever learn to enjoy.
Within minutes, the rest of her family arrived and the peace was broken. Doors slammed, feet pounded the stairs, and the wireless switched on. Her father immediately commanded it to be turned off, claiming he didn’t want to hear any more bad news. Janet was the nearest and so obliged, and then concentrated her courage.
‘What is it you don’t want us to hear?’
He gave her a curious stare before catching Betty’s eye.
‘She’s been asking about the evacuation,’ her mother said softly.
Eric looked at Janet, his eyes ablaze. ‘I don’t want you talking about it. Do you hear?’
She nodded.
‘You’ll scare the others . . . and it might never happen.’
She nodded again.
‘Now set the table.’
She did as per instruction and then when her mother announced food, the others raced to the table. It was a meagre ration, but no one complained, and it satisfied her ravenous appetite.
‘I missed English classes today,’ her sister said.
‘I missed maths,’ Janet added, ‘and English. I hate maths, so I was pleased, but I love English. I didn’t like missing it.’
‘You only need to be able to read and write,’ her father said, ‘you can do that already, can’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then missing a few classes is not going to be a problem.’
‘But I want to be an English teacher when I grew up.’
He puffed out. ‘You’ll be a wife and mother as you should be.’
‘Women can be teachers.’
‘Women should be at home. They don’t need much of an education.’
Janet could feel her anger tighten her face. He was wrong, but he was her father, and so she had to show him respect, regardless. She clamped shut her mouth and curled her fingers into a fist.
‘Look at your mother. She’s happy and she doesn’t work.’
Betty, wearing a stained patterned wrap-over dress and with a tired look in her eyes, did not display happiness or affection often. Her skin was a podgy grey, her lips pale and tight, and her chin jutting. Janet could not agree that her mother was content, and could not remember the last time she was anything other than a slave to their needs.
‘I was scared today,’ Janet’s sister announced. ‘I nearly cried, but my teacher told me we were safe.’
‘Then you were brave,’ Betty said.
‘Do I have to go to school? Can’t I stay with you?’
‘You have to go.’
‘I can already read and write and I don’t want to be a teacher.’
‘You still have to go.’
‘But I thought-’
Eric raised his hand. ‘If I had it my way you wouldn’t go, but it’s the law.’
Their exchange faded in Janet’s mind. Would she still go to school if she moved away? Did she care? It was preposterous to believe that the government were even considering parting families, and she could not imagine anything worse. She stomach swirled with thoughts of a horrifying loneliness. In the least brothers and sisters should stay as one unit. Aching with her apprehensions, she wished she had remained ignorant of her possible future.
It was official. An evacuation of the children was to take place. Janet’s teacher had talked about the procedure, which was a blessing since her parents refused to say much. Her mother was not chatty at the best of times and was particularly quiet whenever it was mentioned. When she did speak about it, she spoke with a positive slant, but Janet did not sense any real enthusiasm, and she wondered if she was wishing she were going too. It was a fantastic prospect, a holiday in the country and a time for new experiences.
When her teacher had spoken, excitement had buzzed through Janet’s veins and her first worries erased. Their destination seemed like another world, where vast open spaces dominated the land, vegetables grew in fields, and cows and sheep grazed. She had seen pictures of such places, but that was all, and she could only imagine what it would be like. ‘Grass as far as the eye can see,’ someone had said. Janet had looked along the road to a junction, a little distance away. ‘That far?’
However, now that her departure was imminent, Janet felt less sure of her feelings. Fighting the bubbles in her stomach, she nibbled at her breakfast, taking minute mouthfuls of porridge and feeling unable to digest it. She held the glutinous substance in her mouth and waited for it to slip down her throat before glancing to her parents. How many days would she be away? When would be the next time they all sat together to eat?
Eventually, she finished her food and was instructed to gather her belongings from upstairs and check she had everything packed: enough food for two days, a change of clothing, and washing items. Her teacher had also suggested taking a favourite book, but she had read everything she owned multiple times. Her disappointment lingered.
Janet perched on the edge of her bed and glanced around the room, and wondered what her holiday bedroom would be like. She had been told that she could be placed with other evacuees, and should make an effort to be amiable. She could do that. They would be able to share stories of their lives in the city. They could become firm friends.
The sound of a strained conversation, coming from her parents, caused her to step onto the landing.
‘I didn’t have kids to send them away,’ her mother said.
‘Just leave it. We’ll talk later.’
‘It’ll be too late then. When will I see them again?’
‘It won’t be long.’
‘But how long. I need to know.’
‘They’ll be safe. Is that not worth a small sacrifice?’
‘This isn’t a small sacrifice. How can we trust anyone else to bring them up proper?’
‘We have to.’
‘They’ll change,’ Betty said. ‘It’s different in the country, remember?’
‘Of course, I remember, and one day we will go back.’
‘Why not now?’
Eric was silent.
‘Well? It makes sense.’
‘We’ve talked about this,’ he said in an exasperated tone.
Something clattered to the floor causing Janet to jolt and then wonder if it was appropriate to spy.
‘I can’t believe you are okay with this,’ Betty said.
‘We have to be. It’s for the best.’
Janet waited, but they said nothing more. Moments later, her father called her back downstairs and told her to be good. Then her mother walked her to school. Her mother’s silence was draining. Janet wanted to share her excitement and chatter non-stop about what she was going to experience, but when she opened her mouth and looked at her mother, she saw tears in her eyes. Janet’s heart plummeted and her legs weakened and her niggles grew in strength. Every step was an effort; every step took her nearer to a massive change in her life.
The journey seemed to last forever. Her body ached with inaction and her stomach rumbled. Every now and again, she nibbled at her food, but upon recalling how her teachers had instructed her not to eat everything at once, she put it aside and remained resolute to make it last.
She drifted in and out of sleep, peered through the window and into the strange empty world, and glanced across the carriage at the other children. It was a lonely experience, and she forced herself to think only of what was ahead of her. Being homesick was futile. She had witnessed weeping and woeful comments, and she had heard the unsympathetic replies. No one could change their situation; they had to make the most of it.
The train eased into a station and they were commanded to disembark. Away from the unwelcoming platform, which was dark, smelly, and colourless, were crowds of people all waiting for the evacuees to arrive. The children were driven like cattle towards them, and then they all stood in a line. Janet looked to her feet, and one by one, the strangers made their choices and guided them away. Her pulse raced and her mind a blur. No one wanted her.
Finally, a man and woman, smartly dressed, approached her, pinched her cheek, and walked her out of the station and through a maze of streets, speaking selectively. Janet’s steps were mechanical, her brain overwhelmed with new sights and sounds. Yet rather than it being a vast open space with trees and cattle, it was similar to her hometown and her disappointment lingered. They turned left, walking through a small square front garden, and opened the door to the house.
Inside, it was dark, drab, and stank of smoke. The furniture was shabby, the wallpaper was peeling from the corners, and the linoleum floor littered with dust and debris. To Janet, it was comfortable and similar to her own house, and her anxieties quelled.
But not for long. The woman slung her coat onto the table and started to smoke near the window, and the man grasped her by her upper arms and glared. His breath was putrid, smelling of beer mingled with decaying food, and his teeth were broken and vivid yellow. Under her breath, she urged him to release her, his tight grip nipping her skin. She was helpless, frozen with fear.
‘You do exactly as I say,’ the man said, his tone gruff, ‘and obey me immediately. I have made up a list of chores.’
He gave her a sheet of paper. Her body was quivering, her eyes glued to the scrawl. She could not make sense of it; her brain refused to function.
‘Any deviations and you will be punished.’
Grinning, he stepped to the other side of the room and returned with a whip, and then tapped it onto his other hand, emphasising its use. His lips were curling, his eyes dark and feral.
‘Go now. Get on with it.’
He stepped away and muttered something to the woman.
Janet gripped the paper. The sheet quivered, rustling between her twitchy fingers. All she could think of was her home: her family, her friends, and her school. She was told her time away would be fun, a holiday. Here, or so she had been told, she was going to be safe.
Her eyes welled with tears and her stomach churned. She would rather be doing sums in an air raid shelter.
Her stinging legs jolted her from her ponderings.
The beatings occurred daily, sometimes once, sometimes several times. It did not seem to matter if Janet did as she instructed or not, as either way her guardian, Uncle Tom as he liked to be called, took sadistic pleasure in using the whip. Once, when she was lying in bed, she heard the same whooshing sound come from his bedroom causing her to wonder if he was using it on his wife. Her screams convinced her that he was until Auntie Irene chuckled with delight.
Janet buried herself in her chores, taking a comforting pleasure from her routine. Each day she made meals and cleaned the house, both before school and after, often doing the same chore twice to please Uncle Tom. She had no time for pleasure and no time for reading or looking through her English class work. It was an arduous existence and she fumbled through life in a daze.
One day, Uncle Tom had returned home drunk. His loud behaviour did not concern her as her father had often acted the same way. However, when he caught her dropping an egg and he exploded with anger, her fear enveloped her. He whipped her legs until she cowered to the floor, her arms protecting her head, and her legs pressing against her chest. When he stopped, her frantic breaths and squeals became more forceful, but he was only taking a brief pause, and grabbed her by her matted hair and pulled her into an open space. Her shoes scraped the ground and the whipping continued.
Her entire body was raw, and she convulsed uncontrollably as she groaned and whined. With no one to offer sympathy or a soothing hand, she lay there for hours until her pain eased and her courage grew. Uncle Tom was in her next room, slumped onto the sofa and sleeping. She crept to the door, headed outside into the cool damp air, and wandered aimlessly along the street. With weakened legs and a lack of hope, she dropped to the ground in a heap.
Her mind was in turmoil. She relived the beatings, and every so often thought of her home and the postcard she sent to her family after she had arrived. Together they had devised a code. One kiss at the end meant she wanted to go home, and two kisses meant she was happy. She had attached one kiss, so where were they? Abandoned and forlorn, she slipped into a fitful sleep.
The next few days were a blur. A kind and gentle police officer found Janet and took her to the station. Rather than contacting her parents’, he contacted the billeting officer who made the decision to rehome her in Norfolk. As the train eased into the station at the site of her destination, her anxieties grew; she fidgeted, she fiddled with the hem of her dress, she shuffled in her seat.
Unlike before, she had no expectations of a joyful atmosphere and a holiday-type accommodation and decided she would do her work complaint free. Soon she would be able to return home and be away from her life of hardship. She held the prospect close to her heart.
The train screeched to a standstill. She peered out of the window, searching for cruel-seeming folk, but saw no one that fit the description carved into her mind. Hesitantly, she stepped to the exit and then onto the platform to a woman standing alone, her smile broad and welcoming.
The woman crouched down and reached out her hand. ‘Oh, you poor little mite. You must be tired and hungry. My name is Ann Coombs, you can call me Auntie Ann if that is okay with you.’
Janet’s nod was imperceptible.
‘I hear you’ve had a bit of a hard time. No matter, it’s over now. We’ll soon get you cleaned up and fed and you’ll be as bright as a button.’ She stroked her cheek. ‘I can see a pretty little face somewhere in there, am I right?’
Her lips curled.
‘Come on then, we’ll get you home.’
Ann raised herself upright and led her out of the station.
‘Have you ever seen a chicken?’
She shook her head.
‘You’ll like them, they are sweet. We get fresh eggs every day. Would you like to name one?’
‘Yes please.’
‘What do you want to call it?’
She thought for a moment and then spoke in a squeak. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You have a think. I hope you are going to enjoy staying with us. We’re looking forward to having you with us.’
Her eyes were bright, her heart lightening. She was going to enjoy herself, she could already tell.
The car pulled into the drive on Fen Lane. Before her was a massive house, or perhaps several together, Janet could not be sure, and at the rear, beyond the barn and a row of towering trees, was a vast open space. Her jaw dropped.
There was nothing there. How could that be? Where were the other houses? Fearful of the sparseness of her surroundings, she clamped her arms across her front as the slight breeze tickled her skin. It was an incomprehensible scene, too different to London life to process. She shut her eyes for a couple of seconds, and then ripped them open, expecting to see houses, people, and rubble. Even the air was different, purer somehow and without the hint of smoke and fumes.
‘Do you like it?’ Ann asked.
Janet nodded eagerly and glanced to her kind eyes and soft skin. She was about her mother’s age, whatever that was, maybe a bit younger, but she was happier and didn’t carry a perpetual sullen look on her face.
‘We’ll get you settled in and then I’ll show you around.’
‘Can I see the chickens?’
‘Okay. Just drop your bag by the door and follow me.’
The border alongside the path contained a huge array of plants, some of them with bright, broad flower heads, others with exquisite leaf structures. At the other side was a trimmed and maintained lawn, and in the middle was a small tree with drooping branches and lush green leaves. There was too much to see, too much to absorb, and her senses overloaded.
They turned the corner. Some of the chickens were meandering along the edge of the field whilst others were resting in the midday sun. It was an unbelievable sight, quite extraordinary, and she could do nothing but gawp. After a word of encouragement from Ann, who had picked up one of the hens, she touched its feathers.
The bird was much softer than she had expected, and far more so than anything else she had ever had contact with. Carefully, Ann prised apart its plumage and exposed a downy basecoat.
‘It keeps it warm in winter,’ she said.
She was stunned. She had seen a picture at school, but it was quite different in real life. They were bigger than she imagined and had funnier faces too.
‘What are those wobbly bits under the chin?’
‘They are the wattles, and that on the top of the head is the comb. This one is Freda.’
‘How do you tell them apart?’
‘You learn. Look carefully. This one has more white in its feathers than the others. See?’
She placed it onto the ground and Freda walked away, its head moving back and forth.
‘Hello,’ a man said.
Startled, Janet looked up at the slender man wearing dungarees and a tweed jacket, and she shivered, her memories of Uncle Tom still fresh.
‘You must be Janet.’ He stepped towards her. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Gerry, Uncle Gerry if you please.’
She reflected the twinkle in his eye with one of her own and nervously reached for his hand. He towered above her, yet his ruddy complexion and vivid blue eyes exhibited compassion, and her uncertainties dissolved.
‘We’d better get you settled in,’ Ann said, turning to Janet.
After Ann and Gerry exchanged words, they turned back to the house.
‘Lizzie and Joe are at school, you’ll meet them later.’
‘Are they evacuees too?’
‘Yes sweetheart, they are. They’re sister and brother. You’ll be going to the same school next week.’
They were lucky to be together. Where were her sister and brothers?
She lifted her bag from the floor and followed Ann to the doorway.
‘Do you enjoy school?’
‘I don’t like maths but I love English.’
‘Do you enjoy reading?’
She nodded. ‘I want to be an English teacher, but my father . . . never mind.’
‘I’ve got a surprise for you then.’
Ann opened the door. They stepped into the vast lobby. It was clean with fancy wall lights, huge paintings, and a coat stand to one side. Janet felt like a princess walking into a palace and felt dirty and out-of-place alongside such splendour. Apprehensively, she looked to her feet, and feeling the sting of Uncle Tom’s whip upon her skin, she shuddered.
‘Everything okay?’ Ann asked.
She bent down, removed her shoes, and nodded.
‘Follow me.’
Ann entered a room. There was a piano at one side, a fireplace on another and a wall of books on a third. She stared like a gormless fool.
‘You’ll catch flies.’
She shut her mouth.
‘Can I have a look?’
‘Of course, you can. This is your home now.’
There were too many titles to absorb, and her eyes drifted.
‘This is a good book,’ Ann said retrieving one.
It said ‘White Fang by Jack London’. She flicked open the pages, noticing the small text and heavily laden pages.
‘It looks a bit hard.’
‘How about I help you then?’
‘Yes please.’
‘Good, that’s settled. Now, we shall go upstairs, and we’ll get you unpacked. You’ll be sharing a room with Lizzie. I hope you don’t mind the company.’
Janet followed Ann in a daze up to the first floor. It was beautiful, bewildering and breath-taking. It was also cleaner than anything she had ever witnessed.
‘Thank you,’ Janet said.
Ann turned her head. ‘What for?’
She lowered her head in embarrassment.
If only her parents could see the vastness of the place, and the tidy rooms, the clean windowsills and skirting boards, the decorations and possessions. She should write to them and tell them all about it. She should ask them to visit.
A lump lodged in her throat as she recalled the postcard and the deal they had made. They had agreed to collect her. They had promised.
It was almost a year before Janet made a trip back to London, and as she sat on the train, feeling braver and wiser than the day of evacuation, she pondered the last months. Having got over the thrill of living on the farm, her separation from her family remained as a gnawing ache. There were times, however, when her longing for her family swelled, deep and harsh as tears dripped down her rosy cheeks. Desperate to share her pleasures and maintain a connection, she wrote with regularity, sharing news relating to the chickens, telling of the vegetables growing on the land, and describing her developing schoolwork.
‘Carrots come out of the land dirty,’ she had said, ‘and eggs come out of a hen warm, like a boiled egg.’ Her statements were endless and whilst she wrote weekly, she rarely received any acknowledgment with the replies coming monthly at best. Each one was short and said little more than acknowledging their existence. Her disappointment mounted.
Did her parent’s understand how good life was and how kind Auntie Ann and Uncle Gerry were? Their lack of comments must be due to her poor writing and she assumed it lacked clarity; yet it was hard to believe, as she had spent hours and days at a desk cultivating her skills with Auntie Ann. She had assisted her with other subjects too, and Janet had developed a love of learning and spent her spare time looking into a book, factual or otherwise.
The train made swift headway, and she gazed out of the window, watching the sprawling townhouses speed passed. In her heart, she preferred the luxury of the open country spaces and loved the immense variety of the greens of the low-growing weeds and grasses, the delicate pink-white petals of the spring blossom and the pureness of the air. In the city, the scene made her feel trapped and claustrophobic. It was colourless. It was dark. It was gloomy.
Her heart pounded with excitement as the train eased into the familiar station. She peered through the window, searching the platform for her mother and father, and replayed forgotten memories: mealtimes, evenings by the wireless, singing in the air raid shelters. There was much catching up to do and so little time, her visit temporary.
The platform was bustling with people embarking and disembarking, and she struggled to see beyond the throng, but then a gap appeared and she saw her mother. Her appearance was drab, her dress tattered, her hair unkempt. At first, Betty did not smile, but scrutinised Janet up and down, her eyes disbelieving.
‘What’s happened to you?’ Betty said.
‘Why?’
‘You’re so grown up, and look at how pretty you are.’
Janet peered at her new dress and coat, and then her shoes. Auntie Ann insisted she looked nice; she had said she wanted her parents to know they were caring for her.
‘And look at your hair, it’s so long.’
Betty reached across and squeezed Janet, a faint smell of sweat and dirt wafting towards her.
‘I’ve so much to tell you.’ Janet said striding out of the station. ‘Did you read my letters?’
Betty nodded.
Janet’s words flooded out like an opened dam, and she rambled non-stop, describing everything in detail, from the size of the house to the folks in the village. She had noted nothing of the distance they had walked or of the once familiar city life and was surprised how soon they reached home
She stepped into the living area, greeted her father, and headed to a chair at the table. The room was poky, old-fashioned, and stained with smoke, and a ripple of unease rushed through her. It no longer felt like her home; she was the stranger and fought an overwhelming sense she didn’t belong. Even so, and more than anything, she wanted to be there. They were her parents. This was her home.
Despite her discomfort, Janet continued to tell them about the farm.
‘We can have as many eggs as we wish,’ she said, ‘and during the summer we grow our own fruit and vegetables. There’s never a shortage of food. Even in the winter months we eat things we’ve stored.’
Eric scowled. ‘It’s not like that here. Get used to it.’
‘I know, I-’
‘We get what we can, and we’re proud to make do. It’s all right for these country folk . . . don’t have a clue what’s it like for us Londoners.’
‘They have rationing too.’
‘It’s not the same.’
His resentment was perturbing and her stomach churned. It may not be quite the same, but was that not the reason for the evacuation, for a safer and better life? The life she had been dealt had not been of her choosing, and in an instant, she drifted back to her brief time with Uncle Tom, the beatings causing a deepening ache.
‘I wouldn’t even be there if you’d have come for me. I thought we had an agreement.’
‘What?’
‘The postcard . . . when I was first sent away. You said if I put on one kiss, you would come for me.’
‘You expect us to drop everything just because you’re afraid of hard work.’
She steadied her breathing and blinked away her tears. ‘I’m not afraid of hard work. He whipped me.’
‘If you had have done as you’re told, he wouldn’t have done it. I can see how much you’ve changed. You’re too big for your boots. You probably deserved it.’
The chair scraped on the floor and she leaped to her feet. ‘I did not deserve it! I did not!’
‘Just calm down,’ Betty said, resting a hand upon her back, ‘your father didn’t mean it.’
Janet was aware of the piercing glare her mother gave her father, but it did little to appease her turmoil. Uncle Gerry would never talk to her this way; his selflessness was incessant.
Her battle with her anger continued as they ate, her father’s comments occasional and cutting. He was different, somehow, and so was the house, and she could not help but relate the differences to the flaws in their characters. They could do so much more with themselves if they tried - Auntie Ann had taught her that - and in the least, they could clean themselves up a little and generate a small sense of self-worth.
‘Auntie Ann has taught me how to sew and alter old clothes to make them look newer. She also knows how to remove all types of stains.’
‘What are you saying?’ Eric asked.
Shrinking, Janet glimpsed at her mother. ‘I thought I could show you.’
‘You and your bloody fancy ways . . . think you’re so much better than the rest of us.’
‘No, I don’t. I . . .’ her voice stopped.
She knew she had not sounded convincing, and reprimanded herself for her behaviour, the truth burning. All she had wanted to do was offer her assistance and show them how they could get more by spending less. She hadn’t intended to be mean.
Yet Betty and Eric were uninterested in any explanation, and her stomach grew ever more nauseous, fearing that life would never be the same again. Every comment appeared to widen the gap in their relationship, and she longed for a comforting hug. Repeatedly and silently, she said that she was still their daughter, her eyes drifting and plaintive.
Eventually, seeking solitude, she headed up the stairs to her bedroom. The door to her parents’ room was ajar, and her eyes fell on a dresser at the far side. She stepped inside.
Her letters were stacked in a pile. She flicked through them. Many were sealed.
Her heart sank and her mouth dried.
‘What are you doing?’
Janet spun around. Her father was staring.
‘You’ve not read them.’
‘Get out!’
She fled to her room, slammed the door shut and flattened herself onto her bed, the pain contorting her face. In her mind, she felt the comforting touch of Auntie Ann and listened to her soothing words. She longed for home, her real home, and it could not come soon enough.
Janet’s disillusionment was so great that when she returned home, she stopped writing letters. Even so, every now and then, her longing would re-emerge, and her hand would hover over a sheet of blank paper. Sometimes she even wrote a few words, until she remembered the unopened letters. Despite the hurt, she often checked the postal delivery, hoping they might write to her. It proved futile.
Ann and Gerry offered as much sympathy as they could muster, suggesting that the evacuation could have been as hard on her parents as it was on her. The separation must have been unbearable; the difficulty of seeing a child grow up away from their control was something they struggled to empathise with. To try to assist, they suggested Janet tried to be as understanding as possible and pleaded with her to continue to write. However, much to Ann’s dismay, she refused to do so.
By the time the war had ended, she considered herself mature enough to deal with the situation better and decided to return to London. The long journey gave her plenty of time to ponder their reunion, and as the rhythmical beat of the train settled her mind, she rehearsed her speech.
She would apologise for her lack of understanding of the situation, telling how she was wrong not to have appreciated the difficulties they had to face. She would respect the choices they had made. She would praise their war efforts and thank them for allowing her to move to safety. Then, they would make a new start.
Janet turned along the street to her home, and her heart beat ever faster, her eyes drawn to the door a third of the way down. There was no movement, no sign that they were anticipating her arrival.
The knock on the door was firm; it seemed appropriate. She held her breath, forced her quivers to subside.
The handle turned. The door opened. A woman gawped.
‘I was expecting to see Eric and Betty Smith,’ she said.
‘They don’t live here.’
‘Since when?’
‘A few weeks ago.’
‘Did they say where they were going?’
‘No, sorry.’
Janet was dumbfounded. She spoke to neighbours and she visited friends. Everyone was equally as ignorant as she was.
Steven’s sweet seductive aroma danced around the car, arousing emotions in Leanne long laid to rest. Her racing pulse and tingling skin - a strange and welcoming phenomenon - caused the air to flood with hormones and her mind to fill with primitive hopes and desires. The moment was not predictable; it was not something Leanne ever wanted after Phillip’s passing, let alone desired.
The heavy feeling had remained with her for weeks, rarely lifting, rarely allowing her to see the world in anything other than darkness. She had felt sick, often carried a headache, and drifted through her days in a daze. Frequently, she thought back to his departure before the accident, searching for even the smallest of clue that could have warned her that her life was to change, but she found nothing. It made little sense. She had been happy, not weak and frail, not driven by despair. Why did everything have to change?
Now, as she recounted in her mind her sense of overwhelming loss, she could tell that the wounds were healing, and so long as she did not suffer any undue stress, the scars would lessen too. Leanne felt safe with Steven, mentally as well as physically, and she knew she was in a good place. It was to be a moment for enjoyment.
A warm and pleasant sensation enveloped her as she peeked at him and noted the relaxed way he held the steering wheel, his out-turned leg and foot and his lush strands of golden-brown hair framing the healthy glow in his cheeks. Days previous, this man had been a stranger. It was a bizarre turnaround.
They weaved along the lane, through the silent streets, and to the other side of the village before turning into a large drive. An outside light illuminated the garden. There was a shaped shrub in the centre of the lawn and pruned plants in the borders. Along the drive were three other cars.
Steven silenced the engine and turned towards her. ‘Ready?’
She nodded, yet the strained conversation she had had with Teresa replayed and her doubts emerged. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going to voice her concerns and followed him to the house trying to remove the stiffness from her gait and the anxieties from her mind.
She should be appreciating the opportunity given to her to acquire new friends. Tyler had managed it and had shown bravery by accepting a new challenge, and so she must do the same. Spurred on, Leanne stood by Steven’s side at the door with a newfound confidence. Within seconds of pressing the bell, it swung open. Teresa encouraged them inside, and then, making eye contact with Leanne, thanked them both for coming.
A room alongside the hallway was buzzing with people - about fifteen in total –and they spread into the large conservatory overlooking an extensive garden. Since it was dark outside it was difficult to see much; there were no lights coming from overlooking properties and no streetlights. Stepping deeper into the room, following in Steven’s shadow, heads turned. Leanne pressed her arm against her front and looked around the room, shrouding her nervousness.
Moments later, a man in his sixties with a carved complexion and a stout physique, approached them. His expression was deadpan. He introduced himself as Geoff, Teresa’s husband.
‘Come sit down, we won’t bite,’ he said.
‘Thanks for inviting me.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me.’
Geoff removed a bottle of wine from the cupboard, extracted the cork, and poured some into his glass.
‘You have a lovely house,’ she continued.
‘You haven’t seen much of it yet, so what makes you say that?’
Uncomfortable, she shuffled her feet.
‘I should imagine it’s no match for yours.’
She glimpsed at Steven and looked back to Geoff, before swallowing her fear. ‘I hear you’re into property. Are you an estate agent?’
‘Hell no. I buy properties to renovate and sell - either that or let out. You thinking of selling?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Do you think it would be a good idea to let it out as a holiday home?’ Steven asked.
Geoff took a sip of wine, his expression thoughtful. ‘It’s a bit big as it stands. It might be an idea getting permission to split it. Either that or open it as a bed and breakfast. You’ll need quite a bit of money, though.’ He glanced towards her.
She sensed he was searching for information and so she remained as poker-faced as possible, not willing to divulge her financial gains, and waited for him to continue.
‘I should imagine you’re not short of a bob or too,’ he added.
‘Money’s not everything. To me, family is more important. I have a wonderful son who makes me proud. The rest is irrelevant.’
Geoff’s eyes rolled. He walked away.
With her arms pressed tight across her body, she glanced at her feet, self-conscious and yearning for privacy and solitude. Her mind was too tense to absorb her surroundings, the gentle murmur of voices and the movement of people between the rooms, and she felt alone inside her head. When Steven’s arm landed around her middle, she almost leapt out of her skin.
‘You told him,’ he said in a quiet voice.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.’
‘You haven’t.’
She looked at him with doleful eyes.
‘Come on, let’s go next door and find a quiet space. I’d like to get to know you better.’
They moved away from the oppressive air and into a smaller lounge, and sat side by side on a two-seater sofa. There was adoration in his eyes, and bit-by-bit her anxieties melted and her body softened.
‘Geoff can be a bit odd,’ he whispered, ‘don’t let him bother you.’
‘You know, I don’t care about the money or the house. Family is what’s important . . . and friends.’
‘I agree.’
‘Do they have children?’
‘No, they couldn’t have any. Teresa doesn’t like to talk about it. From what I can gather it’s caused problems over the years.’
‘So they did want them?’
‘I think so.’
She reached for her glass. She had at least been blessed with motherhood. She could not imagine how she would have felt had she been infertile.
‘They’re having quite a few difficulties at the moment, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything.’
‘Of course. I wouldn’t.’
‘Now, tell me something about yourself.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. What are your hobbies, your favourite food and the places you visit to relax? I don’t care what you tell me. I just want to know more about Leanne Stark.’
She grinned. ‘Where do I start?’
She hardly noticed the steady stream of people that passed between the rooms, so absorbing was their conversation. He paid her maximum attention, despite on occasions speaking with the other guests, and her sense of worth soared. It was as though she had known him forever, a wonderful experience.
‘I’m a website designer,’ he said, ‘it sounds a bit dull, but I can work from home and it pays well.’
‘Don’t you get lonely?’
‘No. I started doing it years ago so I could be around for Jack and Lily. Andrea is a doctor in the city, and wasn’t at home much.’
‘It must be quiet now they’ve gone.’
‘I’m used to it. I have Tansy to keep me company. What about you? Do you work?’
‘I did. I was made redundant last week . . . lack of business. I worked at a small craft company. They made things to sell out of soldered copper. They sold other people’s handmade crafts too.’
‘Soldered copper? How does that work?’
‘It gets bent into shape and looks like a skeleton. We had items such as animals and boats that we’d make regularly, but we’d also make things to order.’
‘Did you make them?’
‘I did have a go once, but it wasn’t my area. I’d prepare the materials, help in the shop, and search for other outlets to increase sales.’
‘Sounds fascinating. Any chance that they might rehire you when business improves?’
‘I doubt it, but you never know. I rather fancy doing something similar on my own. I’ve always wanted to make handmade jewellery.’
‘It sounds like you have an opportunity.’
‘Yes.’ But not the motivation, she added silently.
‘What ideas do you have?’
‘Beads are often used, but I fancy doing something a bit different. Maybe using pieces of sheet metal or wire, like what we did in the factory.’
‘Have you any designs?’
‘I have some in my head but none on paper.’
‘That’s a pity. I’d love to have seen them.’
She settled back into the sofa. Perhaps now was the time to have a go. She had time on her hands and it would be a pity to waste it. She reached across for her glass and took a quenching sip of wine.
‘Hi, you two.’
She turned her head. Teresa was approaching them.
‘Enjoying yourselves?’ she asked.
‘It should be us asking you that,’ Steven said, ‘it’s your party.’
‘I’m having a fine time. I’m sorry I haven’t had much of a chance to chat. Have you helped yourselves to the food?’
‘Yes, we had something earlier.’
‘Good.’ She looked to Leanne. ‘I’m sorry I was a bit off with you yesterday. I didn’t mean anything by it. I hope we can be friends.’
‘Sure. I’d like that.’
‘How long are you planning on staying?’
She glanced to Steven. ‘Just another week. My son will be back from his father’s then.’
‘Will you be coming down on weekends?’
‘Maybe for a while. I’m trying to find out more about my family’s past.’ She hesitated, noting an anxious look in Teresa’s eyes. ‘I’m looking for my mother.’
Teresa averted her gaze, concentrating her attentions on the scuffle of bodies by the doorway.
‘How long have you lived in the village?’ Leanne asked.
‘On and off, for years.’
‘So you must know a lot of people.’
She looked at the wooden floor, polished and with a small rectangular Chinese rug near the fireplace. There were logs piled at one side and an ornate vase at the other. ‘Most of the people I know moved into the village only a few years ago, after the new housing estate was built. Like Steven.’
‘How did you two meet?’
‘He very kindly did the village website.’
‘Leanne’s thinking of designing and making jewellery,’ Steven said.
‘Now that sounds interesting. You must show me what you do some time. I’ve made a few pieces myself. I could do with some inspiration.’
The conversation flowed, and Leanne found herself warming to Teresa. She did not seem at all like she had done the previous day and was the quietly spoken woman Steve had inferred. She was more Leanne’s type than anticipated. Geoff, on the other hand, seemed deliberately obtuse, and as soon as he entered the room, her guard raised.
‘What’s going on in here?’ he asked.
There was a dark glare in his eyes, and she wondered if he was like that with everyone or specifically her. His entire demeanour was threatening, the piercing stare, the puffed out chest and the widening arms.
Teresa turned to him. ‘Leanne was telling me she’s thinking of setting up a handmade jewellery business.’
‘I can’t believe there’s much money in that.’
Teresa’s jaw tightened and her hand made a fist. ‘Does it always have to come down to money?’
‘You telling me, you don’t like what we have?’
‘Let’s not do this now.’
Geoff refocused his gaze. ‘Tell me, Leanne, it’s no fun being poor, is it?’
‘No.’
‘Have you had a comfortable life?’
‘I suppose I have.’
‘And have you been treated well?’
She nodded.
‘Roy and Janet never made you suffer?’
‘Of course not.’
Where was this going? Apprehensively, she looked to Steven. He seemed unperturbed by the line of questioning, as though he’d expected it.
‘Then you’re lucky. Not all of us have had it so good. Some of us have had to focus on money. If you know what you are doing, it’s a reliable way of remaining stress-free.’
‘Geoff-’ Teresa said.
He raised his hand. ‘I suspect Roy and Janet have had a good life too. Have you ever asked yourself if they deserved it, or ever considered why they inherited such a large house and never lived there?’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Wouldn’t you think if you kept your nose clean and treated everyone well that you’d get a reward?’ He paused, assessing her blank expression. ‘That’s not how it works. You see I was the man people shit on. I didn’t deserve it, no not at all, but I had to tolerate it. There are some bad people in this world. It’s in the blood. You won’t find out until it’s too late. So you make the first move or someone else will.’
‘Geoff!’ Teresa said. ‘You’ve said enough!’
‘Leanne understands me, don’t you Leanne?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good girl. So you’ll appreciate me saying that if someone you knew treated you like shit, you’d want revenge too.’
He strode away, a can of beer in hand. Leanne gawked, watching his frame stagger into someone at the doorway and then out of view.
‘I’m sorry,’ Teresa said, ‘he’s had too much to drink. Ignore him.’
Leanne looked to Steven, helpless, as Teresa trotted after Geoff.
‘He gets like that,’ he confirmed, ‘tends to ramble.’
‘He was implying something. Did he know my grandparents?’
‘Only vaguely so far as I know.’
‘So what was he on about? It sounded like he was threatening me.’
He laid his hand on her thigh. ‘You’re reading too much into it. I’ve known him a while and whilst I don’t particularly like him I know he’s not dangerous. Believe me, it’s just the drink talking.’
‘I still think he knows something.’
‘If he’s implying anything, it’s probably aimed at me. He doesn’t like my relationship with Teresa.’
She narrowed her eyes, questioning his comment.
‘Just forget it. It’s not worth it.’
She remained quiet and pensive and looked through the open doorway where she could just about see Teresa and Geoff talking in the opposite room. Their conversation was strained, and periodically they glanced towards her. Then it struck. Were Steven and Teresa having an affair? It made sense and explained why Teresa had taken an instant dislike to her. She looked to Steven, who was chatting with another man at his side and her hopes of a growing relationship dived.
Needing a moment to process her thoughts, she stood up and headed out of the room. People were starting to depart, and the earlier muggy air generated by too many bodies was starting to lessen. She glanced at the bouquet of flowers upon a small table, inhaled a fresh floral scent and headed to the washroom.
She felt weighed down by a persistent ache inside. Splashing her face, she called upon her memories of Janet and Phillip to provide her with strength, and in an instant saw her grandmother’s creased skin, loose around her arms and face, and Phillip’s encouraging smile. She longed for their support and craved a hug.
Geoff’s warning rang through her head. It was not her fault that she had led a reasonable life. It was clear he had suffered in some way, but she had had her fair share of that too. Puffing out, she thought about the comfort and serenity of her empty house.
After a few moments, Leanne decided it was too soon for new relationships and strained social interaction, and decided to leave. She opened the door, and whilst aware of a low mumble of voices coming from the hallway, one particular conversation caught her attention. She stood by the door, her pulse throbbing in her throat, and started to eavesdrop.
Geoff and Steven were talking.
‘Leanne’s not right for you. Have you heard the rumours about her mother? She was a bit of a goer in her day. Do you want that again?’
‘Where have you heard that?’
‘Ted Moore for a start. From what I hear, he knew her pretty well.’
‘That’s nothing to do with Leanne.’
‘Are you willing to take that chance?’
‘I wouldn’t want to . . .’
With her body sapped of strength, Leanne leaned against the wall and listened to the conversation die away. Their budding relationship wasn’t worth the effort, and anyhow, it seemed that Steven had already made a decision based on a woman neither of them had known. Having drawn strength, she darted across and grabbed her coat, and announced she was leaving.
‘Hang on a minute, I’ll take you.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll walk.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
She stepped away.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, rushing to her side.
‘No, I’m just tired.’
He scampered into the next room, said something to Teresa, and met her at the outer door.
‘Okay. Let’s go.’
Outside, the air was freezing and it bit at her exposed skin, causing her to huddle her body. The wind whistled through the hedges and trees, and the stars and slither of moon twinkled in the sky. Within minutes, they arrived at her house.
‘Thanks for tonight,’ she said.
‘Sorry, it was a bit strained with Geoff. It will get easier. Teresa likes you.’
She opened the car door and stepped outside.
‘See you soon?’
She passed him a sad stare, pressed closed the door and strode towards her house. After a few moments, he drove away.
Leanne settled herself onto her mattress and removed all notions of Steven from her head. The exchange she had eavesdropped was disappointing, but it wasn’t earth shattering. He was a friend, a very recent friend at that, and held little value in her life. She decided that if he was to be so judgemental as to decide who she was based on rumours about her mother, then he wasn’t worth pursuing.
Yet, it was frustrating. Others knew more about the woman who had given birth to her, than she. She should ask around and pretend local gossip was of interest. She should visit the café and talk to Mrs Prattler.
Did she care enough to do that? The stress of knowing so little was starting to be a burden, and she thought of her previous life and her home, her real home. She may not have her family, but at least she was away from prying eyes and disparaging comments.
Her breaths slowed and she willed herself to be at peace. She calmed her mind, removed everything extraneous from her head, and then, once she felt tranquil, she searched for the answers she needed. Geoff and Teresa knew something beyond their admissions - the sideways glances, the uncomfortable shuffles, and the nonsensical rambling, all clues.
She drifted. She floated. She searched.
Their fractious exchange was her guiding force.
The room was silent, yet the sound of voices flooded Teresa’s ears. The aroma was different too, not familiar and not her own. Unfamiliar perfumes and aftershaves lingered in the air, combining with smoke. It seemed like an altogether different place, and she longed to restore the equilibrium and make it feel like home.
She gathered the empty glasses onto a tray and carried them to the kitchen. There was barely a centimetre of space on the extensive worktops, with the remains of the finger food on separate plates and stacks of dirty crockery alongside. She started by placing the food waste into a bin-liner and putting the crockery into the dishwasher. Then she added the glasses. There were too many to go into one load, and she held some aside, lining them up on the marble surface.
Her birthday party had been a success, despite being on a Sunday, and her mind wandered through the numerous conversations. Everyone had wished her well, most had been generous with gifts, and it generated a warm glow inside. She still had her friends, despite everything.
Geoff staggered into the kitchen. The top part of his shirt was unbuttoned, his rounded stomach sagged over his jeans, and his hair, grey and wild, was in need of a cut. Her stomach churned. Where was the man she had fallen in love with, the man that cared about his appearance, the man that was kind and compassionate? Had her eyes deceived her? Had he always carried a disapproving, moody glint?
‘Can’t you leave this until the morning?’ he asked.
‘I want to do it now.’
‘What do you think will happen? Do you expect we’ll be infested with rats and mice?’
‘It won’t take me long. What do you care anyway?’
‘I don’t.’
He pulled out a chair, slumped onto the wooden surface and puffed out. A stench of alcohol and smoke wafted towards her. She crinkled her nose and clamped shut her mouth.
‘You didn’t make enough food,’ he said, ‘I did warn you.’
‘There was plenty. Look at what’s left.’
‘The soggy sausage rolls and the dry ham sandwiches. Where on earth did you get that bread? What you were thinking?’
‘There was nothing wrong with them!’
‘There’s something wrong with you if you didn’t notice. They were bloody awful . . . embarrassing.’
She turned away and started to place the food into a container for the fridge. ‘No one said anything to me.’
‘They were too bloody polite. That boyfriend of yours would have done if he wasn’t wrapped up in-’
‘Steven is not my boyfriend!’
‘No, he’s too good for you. Without me, you’d be nothing and on the streets where I found you. No one else would have you after what you did, you should be grateful.’
She slammed the fridge door to, felt the vibrations pass along her arm. ‘That’s right, keep on telling me. I’ve such a poor memory, if you miss a day, I might actually get over it and move on.’
‘Not likely. Have you forgotten how we suffered? How I suffered?’
She stomped across the room, reached for another container, and pushed more food inside. ‘Just let it go! Do you think I need telling, over and over again, what a bad person I was?’
‘It’s not made any difference, though, has it?’ he retorted.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘What the hell were you thinking by inviting her here?’
‘I had no choice. Steven asked me.’
‘Course you did! It’s your party, your house!’
‘Don’t you think it would look a little bit suspicious if I said no? And you didn’t help by having a go at her like that. She’s not stupid. It’s not going to take long for her to put two and two together.’
He was silent and rotated an empty glass between his fingers.
‘If I can tolerate seeing her, I don’t see why you can’t,’ Teresa said.
‘After what happened? Bloody hell Teresa, that family-’
‘Stop it! Just stop it!’
Silence.
‘I care,’ he said in a calmer voice, ‘remember, I was there. I saw what it did to you. The endless crying, the way you tortured yourself, the anorexia. Churning up the past is not a good idea.’
She noticed the deep compassion in his eyes and remembered his soothing and protecting demeanour. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘Unless . . .’
‘Unless what?’
‘You want something out of this, right?’
She nodded feebly.
‘Well if you think you can cope, maybe you should be friends with her. I have a plan.’
He strolled away, walking into the main lounge, leaving her to drop onto the chair and contemplate the situation. Her heart was aching, her head swirling with painful reminders. Instinctively, she reached to the burn scar on her face and stroked the lumpy surface, and her body tightened. Then, she shut her eyes and imagined squashing her small daughter against her breast and her emotions tumbled.
They were less vivid than they had once been, and no longer squeezed her of breath. Weeks after the event, as calm returned, she had had a conversation with Geoff, her beloved husband, and they had agreed to make a new start. Everything had to change, all reminders of whom she had been, had to go, and they left the area. It was a plan and one they thought would work. Regrettably, Geoff struggled to adhere to it, and he insisted they returned. Apparently, or so he said, work and friends called.
With sadness in her eyes, she looked along the corridor imagining the place her husband was resting. Could they survive more upset in their relationship? What if she said no to contact with Leanne? Would he insist? It was going to be a difficult few weeks. If only Janet had sold the Honeysuckle Cottage . . .
Leanne wiped away the condensation from the window with a cloth and pressed her head closer to the glass, straining to see across the field through the drizzly rain. The branches on the trees at the end of the garden were thrashing against each other, and the yellowing leaves were struggling to hang on.
Perhaps Steven would not pass by today. If he did, he was braver than she, or perhaps more foolhardy. Even Tansy would struggle to gain anything from the excursion. Battling the wind and bitter rain could not be delightful, not in anyone’s mind.
The path to the village, as far as she could see, was empty. She wiped the glass with a cloth, removing her condensed breaths from her view, and scanned further away. There were no lonely figures and no wandering dogs, and her disappointments swelled. She had been hasty in her decision to rush away from Steven, and she needed to apologise.
Days had passed since the party and Leanne regularly looked across the field, longing for a glimpse. He had told her he walked by at midday and that he always took a circuitous route incorporating her house. Rarely did he go elsewhere during the week; he was a man of routine. So where was he? Had Andrea returned and disrupted his plans? Was he ill?
Stepping away from the window, she reprimanded herself for her behaviour. She had made it clear she was not interested in Steven and pushed him aside with a moody silence. He had made his decision also, deciding to label her as cheap because of her mother’s apparent behaviour. His silence, his choosing not to defend her to Geoff, was the only answer she had needed. She should not be wasting her time on such a man. She turned away.
Moments later, unable to resist, Leanne looked back through the window across the field. There was a figure in the distance and there was a dog. She edged closer and held her breath so as not to mist the glass. It was definitely Steven, his loose gait and his strong slender body so familiar.
Her heart throbbed. She longed to draw his attention and even considered racing outside and jumping up and down. But then it dawned. Steven was walking a different path; he had chosen to avoid her.
A small voice inside her head told her to remove herself from the window, but it was as though something magnetised her to the spot. Her legs locked and her eyes unblinking. His head turned. Her pulse quickened. Had he seen her?
Ashamed of her behaviour, she stepped back. He continued until a tree obscured her view. She urged him to reappear, prayed for him to take a direct route towards her house. It was not to be. Steven disappeared out of sight.
Leanne returned to the kitchen and sat at the table, her senses alert, still hoping for his padded footsteps or dulcet tones to break the silence. She could not get him out of her head, could not stop herself from hoping, wishing.
As a diversion, she reached to the newspaper, a local freebie, and spread it across the table and scanned the adverts and reports. There was an article on a charity fundraiser, one on a spate of missing cats, and another on the continuing struggle of out-of-town shops and businesses. She flicked over the sheet, the dry texture removing moisture from her fingertips, and stared at a two-page spread on the local hospital.
The article spoke of the imminent renovation and refurbishment, and there were multiple photographs, both of the inside and the outside of the building. Mesmerised, Leanne stared at the hospital front. She had been there before, many times, visiting someone as a little girl. She had to visit.
There was a steady flow of traffic passing through the town centre but not enough to cause unnecessary disruption or frustration. With the radio set on a low volume and her eyes alert to any imminent danger, she ambled her way through traffic lights, around roundabouts and through a level crossing, following signs to the hospital.
The thrill of the sight of the entrance and the car park caused ripples to cross Leanne’s body. She eased the car into a vacant space, paid the parking fees, and stepped through the blustery air. Her hair danced and her skin tightened. She raised her collar, placed her left hand into her pocket, and headed to the entrance. There she paused.
Gazing back towards the block of cars, her memories dominated. She had trotted alongside her grandparents, Janet’s firm grip dragging her along. There had been strained conversations - bickering, deep anxieties and anguished cries – and she had dared not speak. Silence had been the preferred option, that and private tears.
Leanne entered the hospital and inhaled the sterile odour. The decor was clean but nondescript and plain; the walls were white, the floors a smooth grey, and the furniture basic. There was nothing pleasant to look at, no colours, no inspirational paintings, no comfortable chairs; everything was either scratched or marked. Through the intervening years, since her last visit, nothing had changed. It was unsurprising that there had been a decision to refurbish.
After weaving through the hospital, she found herself in a small waiting area near an intensive care ward and sat down on a plastic hard-backed chair, her back to a row of windows. There was no one else around, bar a nurse at the end of the corridor, and she re-familiarised herself with a place she believed she once knew well.
Before her was a closed door, and up above, stretching along the length near the ceiling was a narrow window. She had traced it many times with her mind, noted the fine crack in the frame and the lumpy wall surface to one side, and she drifted back through time.
As a little girl, she had looked to this door, focusing upon the handle, and strained her ears to listen to the sounds of her grandparents nearing the exit, her face tight and her body rigid. More than anything, she had wanted to feel the comfort of their touch, yet she had also feared their sorrowful faces from emerging. Why, she could not say.
The answers remained elusive, and after hanging around for several more minutes, she decided to leave and headed to the cafeteria, a vast rectangular structure crammed full of tables and chairs, many occupied, some littered with used crockery. She purchased a coffee and weaved around tables to what she believed had once been a familiar spot near a pillar.
Images of Roy and Janet continued to perturb her, their bodies tightening with fear, their expressions agonizing. She had dared not speak, and sat in the chair, her legs dangling and immobile, and her arms resting on the table. There, she sought out moments of comfort with strained glances. Her torment had gone unnoticed.
She had a vague a memory of Janet informing her of a death, or perhaps it was an instinct. Either way, she had a firm belief that the person in intensive care had passed away. She remembered her grandparents’ pallid cheeks, grief-stricken and washed out, and recalled their tears. Their bodies had been together, their shared agony thickening the air.
Had they mentioned Karen was the one that had died? She believed they had, a consideration causing her confusion to intensify.
It seemed real, but it could not be true, not since her mother had not died. Searching for answers, reflecting on what Luke had shared, she took tentative sips of the hot coffee and enjoyed the comfort of the warm vapours pass to her stomach. Janet had been an evacuee, choosing to stay with the Coombs’ rather than returning to London, and later married and continued to live in Honeysuckle Cottage. The Coombs, having had no children of their own, left all their assets to Janet, but their lives reached a tragic and sudden end, shot dead for no apparent reason.
Trevor Parry was not a name familiar to Leanne, and Luke had found it difficult to make a connection also. It seemed as though it had been a random attack, yet, as Luke pointed out, if that had been true, there would have been no reason for Janet to refuse the inheritance. Leanne’s mother, Karen Jefferson, must be the missing link.
As a child, Leanne had created a person in her mind that fit the role of mother. She had a rounded figure, dark brown flowing hair, a pleasant face with even skin tones, and an infectious smile. She would have been hard-working with a quiet personality. She would have always been there, whatever happened, whatever stress befell them.
Leanne was unsure if the description was fiction or if it had come from Janet and Roy, but she was sure of the tense atmosphere that always surrounded discussions about Karen. Usually, they brushed aside her questions, their excuse being it hurt to talk about such a tragic loss. So gradually, over the years, her interrogation stopped. It did not matter. Janet filled the gap - she was everything a mother should be – and she was happy to let it rest.
Where were the photos? Where was the evidence that Karen even existed? Leanne’s body and mind ached with disappointment, mostly aimed at herself for never asking questions and never pursuing the baffling and unfathomable, but also at Janet and Roy for keeping the truth a secret. It was acceptable if it had been to protect her during childhood, but they should have said something to her when she matured. To wait until the last moment was cowardly and disrespectful.
It pained to think badly of the dead, and she rested her head in her hands and felt the warm vapours reach her skin. Alone with her thoughts, she cried out to Janet, at first screaming at her for keeping such a secret, and then pleading with her for answers, her imaginary voice quivering and her eyes filling with tears.
The shrouded past was sapping her of strength. She finished her coffee and looked around the café at the sombre folks and noticed Roy and Janet’s agony similarly reflected in the eyes of two women nearby. Reprimanding herself for her self-indulgence, she stood up and strode out through the double doors and to the car. Her phone sounded. It was Tyler. Her face brightened.
‘Hello love,’ she said, ‘how are you?’
‘Fine Mum . . . having a great time. We’ve been ten-pin bowling in Manchester and then went on to a community farm. It’s something the girls wanted to do.’
‘I’m glad you’re keeping busy. Do you want some money? I think you should be paying your way.’
‘No, it’s okay. Darren said it was.’
‘Even so-’
‘No. How’s it going with you?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. Any closer to finding your mum?’
She hesitated. ‘No.’
‘Have you found anything else out?’
‘Not really.’
‘So what have you been doing? Do the locals know anything?’
‘Why the sudden interest?’
‘Can’t I be? She’s related to me too.’
‘I know, but . . .’
His behaviour was odd. All week she had to almost pin him down and force him to listen, and now, all of a sudden, he wanted to know everything.
‘. . . I’ve just visited the hospital. Gran and granddad visited someone when I was a little girl. I could remember sitting in a waiting area.’
‘Who were they visiting?’
‘Mum I think, but I thought whoever they visited had died. I can still see their faces when they walked out of the hospital room, stricken with grief.’
‘You would think it was your Mum since that’s what gran said.’
‘I suppose, but it seemed real.’
‘Who else could it have been?’
‘That’s just it. I don’t know of anyone else.’
‘Then you must have imagined she died. She could have been ill. Have you mentioned it to your private investigator?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Then you should. That’s why you’re paying him, isn’t it?’
She smiled. ‘What have you done with my little boy? You’ve grown up all of a sudden.’
‘No, I haven’t, you just haven’t noticed before.’
‘I’m so proud of you Tyler. You’ve been handling everything well . . . Phillip, Gran, Darren. I can’t wait to see you again.’
‘Mum . . .’
His voice quivered and then he exhaled. Filled with dread, she started to shake, the phone rocking in her hand. He was leaving her, just as she had predicted. He was going to a better life, a bigger family.
‘I want to stay on bit longer.’
Inside, she screamed. She wanted to hold him, force him to stay, tell him he could not abandon her, but she just could not do it. Her words, her appeal, were trapped somewhere within.
‘It’s just for a while,’ he said. ‘I’ll still see you. How about the weekend?’
Her voice was heavy with grief. ‘What about school?’
‘Darren will take me. It’ll give you an opportunity to stay on a bit longer. I’m sure, if you ask around, someone must know something. It’ll be good for you.’
Her search for her mother faded into insignificance. She would give it all up in a flash to have her son back. Damn it! Why now? Why was she being punished so?
‘Please Mum. It’s not forever.’
‘If it’s what you want.’
‘It is,’ he replied weakly.
The call ended and the phone rested in her palm. In a daze, she gazed out of the windscreen and into the car park, her senses dulled, her life in tatters and her self-pitying attitude returning. She had no energy to fight it, no will to do so, and thought about home. She wanted to slump onto the sofa with chocolates and cream cake; she wanted to eliminate the daylight and switch off the phone; she wanted to watch some meaningless programme on television. Then she would sleep.
Leanne discovered that keeping the ache of disappointment from overwhelming her was a perpetual challenge, and even though she busied herself as much as possible by visiting local attractions, tinkling on the piano, and reading books, she still could not keep her mind occupied.
Blanketed in the warm glow of the sun, she sat at the kitchen table and gazed at a photo album resting on the edge of the kitchen unit. It was difficult to resist and she traced the leather-look cover in her mind, her sorrows swelling. The pain was necessary and the self-torture slow and persistent. She wanted to feel her body contorting with grief, and she wanted to feel her tears swell and streak her cheeks. Nonetheless, as Leanne reached for the photo album and felt the burning ripple of memories spread through her body, a tiny voice of wisdom asked her to stop. It was an impossible request.
She flicked open the cover and looked at her son’s young face; his baby blue eyes, round and full of wonderment, his soft creamy-pink cheeks, his even white teeth and small tight lips. He was her baby, her pride and joy. He was the centre of her life.
She turned over the sheet, looking at image upon image of her boy, and her tightened chest rose and fell, her breathing squeezed. There were photos of his birthday, a school sports day, a swimming competition, and his first attempts on his bicycle. There were photographs of a camping trip and a zoo trip, and there were numerous images of Tyler with Phillip and Janet. She wanted to be there again, reverse time, and appreciate the moments in a way that she sensed she never had.
She had lost too much time to trivia, the stress of daily life once weighing her down so utterly. So often, Leanne had bundled Tyler to one side, keeping him occupied with computer games and the television. She had spent lazy days in bed, wasted hours having fractious exchanges with anyone within earshot, and she had moped over the most pointless of irregularities. Even after Phillip entered her life, she had not delighted in her son’s presence enough, and within the blink of an eye, Tyler had grown up.
Now he was gone and Leanne felt as though her life was not worth living. She could deal with life without Phillip and Janet, but not Tyler, not her son. He was her world; he was everything.
She shut her eyes and her face twisted in agony as she relived the torturous moment when Tyler told her he was not returning. He wanted to be away from her, preferring life with Darren. She had failed him completely.
Craving a soothing word, and unable to reach out to either Janet or Phillip, her frustration intensified. She could not release her agony with a soothing flood of tears, despite reliving each torturous moment of parting, and it stayed with her as a perpetual and persistent ache. Her previous heartaches, which had crippled her so intensely, now seemed insignificant, and she wondered if her suffering had been self-induced, a selfish need. In comparison, Tyler’s decision had resulted in a sense of absolute desolation, and her agony lay deep within her gut, irremovable.
Leanne had failed her duty as a mother and she had no other role. She was neither daughter, nor granddaughter, nor a wife. Not even someone’s colleague. Where was her future? Everything before her was bleak; there was no chink of light. She laid her head on the table and closed her eyes. She wanted to vanish.
Wallowing in self-pity was draining. Deciding it was time to do something constructive, Leanne thought back to her conversation with Steven and to his suggestion that she started her handmade jewellery business. Brushing aside a vision of his lopsided smile, which accompanied another flicker of regret, she reached into a drawer for a notepad and pencil and urged herself to design.
Her inspiration and motivation were lacking, and for a few moments, the pencil hovered millimetres above the sheet. Months previous, she had numerous designs within her head, bursting for release. Now, when she needed them the most, it was as though they had been erased or altered; her ideas seemed ugly and ridiculous and not the exquisite work of art intended. She battled with a small voice that doubted her abilities to create such pieces, and she questioned why anyone would want to purchase the unusual.
Phillip’s encouraging words became her focus. He would have suggested she calmed her mind, used meditation if necessary, and played some tranquil music. He would have told her of her talents, pointing to her earlier attempts. He would have talked through her design ideas.
Feigning enthusiasm, she lifted herself from the chair and headed across the hallway to the outer door. There was barely a breeze outside, and the loosening leaves on the trees hardly flickered. It was a beautiful autumnal day, warm and bright. Inhaling the fresh country air, pure and unpolluted, she strode towards the barn alongside a hedge.
The long strands of fading grass were wilting and damp and moistened her ankles, and the straggling branches invaded the trodden path. She stayed close to the hedge, the once distinct path vivid in her mind, aware that in her younger days, like Janet, she too had trotted to see the hens around the corner.
It would be good to resurrect the site and return it to the glorious place it once was, with livestock and vegetables, delicate and colourful floral displays, and the scent of homemade cookery wafting from the house. She imagined how her grandmother must have felt coming from London, leaving behind the smoky city, the overcrowded buildings, and the blitz. The peace and tranquillity must have been like entering another universe, another time, and she was beginning to see the attraction.
Her steps faltered as she approached the fire damaged barn. The brick walls were sound, but part of the roof had collapsed and the remaining charcoaled beams exposed. There was little left of the roof at the side with the hayloft; at the other side and scorched by flames was an old wooden chest. Stacked alongside were a couple of cardboard boxes.
She strode across, stepping on the concrete and into relative darkness and waited for her eyes to adjust. Then she pulled open a drawer and scanned the old rusty tools placed side by side across the bottom. There were chisels, hammers, and billhooks, but there was nothing small enough and suitable to use in a piece of jewellery.
The next drawer contained an assortment of bolts, washers, nails, and screws, and other small items. It was exactly what she was looking for, and so she rummaged through the disorder, searching for pieces with a good reflective surface. Feeling inspired, she gathered tiny brass keys, small metal plates, wire, and a sheet of copper, laying them on the top.
‘Leanne?’
Alerted by the faint cry of her name, she darted out of the barn and turned the corner to the house. It was Teresa. As she stepped through the grass and weaved around a straying branch, they shared greetings.
‘I’ve been gathering some odds and sods in the barn to make some jewellery,’ Leanne said. ‘Want to come and have a look?’
Hesitating, Teresa pulled each of her fingers in turn.
‘I’ve seen jewellery made out of junk, and it can be effective. Some is pretty awful too.’
‘How’s it done?’
‘I’ll show you.’
She took the lead, heading to the barn door, and then turned around to speak. Teresa was standing a few metres away, her arms wrapped around her middle, her expression fearful.
‘Everything okay?’ Leanne asked.
She nodded, anxious.
Ignoring Teresa’s qualms, Leanne stepped through the door and headed straight towards her assortment of items. Sensing Teresa’s absence, she turned around. Teresa was moving cautiously, and staring at the hayloft and the burnt beams.
‘Oh,’ Leanne said, looking to her burn scars, ‘I’m sorry.’
She gulped, voiceless.
‘It must have been terrifying.’
She returned her gaze. ‘Show me what you plan to do with this junk.’
Leanne was hesitant, and wondered if she should question Teresa further; instead, she bumbled along, explaining how she intended to clean and polish the objects and attach them to a chain. When she got no response, her confidence faded. She was about to give up on her explanation when Teresa made an encouraging remark.
She found the courage to continue. ‘You need objects that complement each other, say like these small keys and the washers and bolts. It might sound crummy, but I’ve seen it done, and when they are all cleaned up and coated in something to make them extra shiny they can look fantastic.’
‘I’d never have considered using old junk.’
‘Think of it as recycling.’ She leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of the chest. ‘Blimey, look at this, old piano keys. I’ve seen pieces done out of these. They were definitely my favourite.’
She fingered the small strips, her excitement rising, her ideas bouncing through her mind. When she looked up, Teresa was staring at something at the far side of the barn, near the hayloft.
‘What is it?’
Teresa walked across and then crouched to the floor. She was holding something in her hand. It was a chain with a pendant. She wiped away the dirt and a shimmering blue stone emerged.
‘I wonder who it belonged to,’ Leanne said.
She passed it across, her hand trembling.
‘It could be Gran’s . . . or Mum’s. It looks valuable. Did I tell you I’m trying to find her?’
Teresa nodded.
‘Fancy a drink, and I’ll tell you what I know?’
‘All right.’
‘Great,’ she said, clutching the necklace. ‘I could do with a bit of company. It gets a bit lonely out here.’
Proud to show off the house, Leanne fixed her gaze on Teresa as they entered the lobby. Whilst her companion didn’t give much away, Leanne knew she had to be impressed.
‘It’s not bad, is it?’ she said.
‘No, it’s not.’
‘It’s a bit dated, but given how long it’s been since anyone has lived here, I was surprised to find it in such good condition.’
‘It’s not been lived in at all then?’
‘No, I don’t think so. There’s a tragic story connected to it. Mr and Mrs Coombs were shot dead, and as Janet was like a daughter to them, she inherited the lot.’
Teresa sat down.
‘From what I can gather, they were a lovely couple. I can’t see why anyone would have wanted them dead.’
Teresa's hands were shaking, and her face, damp with moisture, had turned a pasty white. ‘Sorry, I need the toilet.’
She jumped to her feet and fled out of the room clutching her stomach. Leanne followed her, and just as Teresa faded out of view at the top of the staircase, she shouted it was the first door on the left. She had already found her way.
After a few minutes, Teresa returned and joined Leanne at the table. ‘Sorry about that, I’ve a bit of a stomach bug.’
‘You didn’t look too good. Are you okay now?’
‘I think so.’
With both hands clinging to the mug, she sipped her coffee. ‘W-was Janet adopted?’
‘No, she was an evacuee. She was placed here with two other children, a brother and sister. It wasn’t her first stay. She’d been with someone else for a while, and arrived full of bruises.’
‘Her guardians abused her?’
She nodded. ‘She had made an agreement with her parents to return home if it didn’t go well, but they let her down and never collected her. I don’t know whether she ever forgave them.’
‘That sounds a bit harsh.’
She scowled. ‘I don’t see why. If I make a promise to Tyler, I would always do what I could to keep it. Janet’s parents fobbed her off . . . they never intended to keep their word.’
‘It wouldn’t have been that easy in those days, dropping everything and travelling half way across the country on demand.’
‘Then they should never have agreed to it in the first place.’
Teresa was staring into the mug, her eyes narrow and her expression tense.
‘Anyhow,’ she continued, ‘worse was to come. Janet had been writing home, and when she returned, she found her letters unopened. She was devastated and stopped writing. The next time she returned to London, they’d moved away.’
‘That’s awful,’ she said in a half-hearted tone.
‘They can’t have cared much to do something so horrible.’
‘That’s a big assumption.’
‘No, it’s not. How can you say that?’
‘There are always two sides to every argument Leanne. I wouldn’t judge too hastily if I were you.’
‘But she was their daughter. There’s no excuse for not telling her where they’d moved to.’
‘No, but maybe they had had their reasons. It . . . it could be complicated.’
‘What do you know?’
‘I don’t know anything. I just like to be open-minded.’
Leanne leaned back into the chair and studied Teresa. She was enjoying being disagreeable; it was reminiscent of their first meeting in the village hall. What was her motive?
‘Did Janet ever have contact with her parents again?’ Teresa asked.
‘I don’t know. I’m still trying to find that out.’
‘Then don’t be so quick to judge.’
‘It’s difficult when I’ve so little to go on. I don’t have any other relatives, at least no one who knows anything about this.’
‘Some things are better off remaining hidden.’
‘My mother too?’
‘Perhaps. She hasn’t contacted you, has she? Otherwise, she would be here.’
‘What if she didn’t know how to find me? I have to give this a go.’
She held a self-assured pose. ‘It seems to me that Janet didn’t value family ties very much, breaking two relationships.’
‘No, that’s not true.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘She was a good person . . . she would have had her reasons. She was warm, caring and intelligent.’
‘And good at keeping secrets.’
Hesitating, Leanne pressed together her lips. ‘Maybe she was. She was a bit stubborn too, and she knew her mind. I think some people found her quite fierce but she was always nice to me . . . well nearly always. She was quite the disciplinarian, an English teacher, and a good one from what I’ve heard.’
‘It sounds like she must have had good reasons for keeping your mother from you.’
‘I’m not sure that was her choice to make.’
‘She may have thought she was protecting you. It could be best to let it drop.’
‘No.’ Leanne was pensive. ‘If she kept quiet and sold this place, I would never have been any the wiser. She wanted me to know something. This was her way of allowing me to find out.
‘If that were true, she’d have told you years ago.’
She stared at her lap.
‘I can understand you feel hurt,’ Teresa said.
‘Do you? I have a feeling people around here know more about my family than I do, yet no one seems to be willing to say anything.’
‘Like who?’
She picked up her empty mug, hurried to the sink, and turned her back. ‘Geoff for one. It seemed to me like he was implying something.’
‘He was drunk and didn’t know what he was saying.’
‘So Steven said.’
‘And it’s true. He’s having a bad time at the moment . . . we both are. A few things have happened that have stirred up some issues. You shouldn’t take too much notice of him.’
Avoiding her gaze, she rinsed the mug in warm water, added a touch of washing up liquid, and swirled it around. Instinctively, she could sense Teresa’s lack of honesty and it was perturbing. She had visited, full of smiles and claiming to be a friend, yet she was sure she had her own agenda, her discomfort and Geoff’s threatening comments too strong to ignore.
Leanne spun around, unwilling, just yet, to alienate her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep the mark. Geoff’s your husband, I respect that.’
‘He can be a bit full on. He admitted it the next day and said he shouldn’t have taken his mood out on you. He isn’t keen on having parties . . . finds them stressful.’
‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, I did. You seemed to be getting on well with Steven.’
‘He’s a nice man.’
‘Single too. Are you going to see him again?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You should. I think the two of you are well suited.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Mind?’
Embarrassed, she reached the two mugs, dried them, and placed them back into the cupboard. ‘Fancy moving to the next room?’
‘Sure.’
She led the way, switched on the light and looked around, scanning the room the way she imagined Teresa would be doing. There was a piano on one side, a large bookcase on the other, and comfortable seating in the middle. With the exception of the floral wallpaper and curtains, which were old-fashioned, it was a beautiful room, spacious and with a stunning brick fireplace.
‘Do you play?’ Teresa asked, glancing at the piano.
‘No.’
‘I’ll teach you if you like. Can I have a tinkle?’
‘Of course.’
She did just that, and the sound caused her to pull a face. ‘It needs a retune. If you’re interested, I know someone in the area who can do it.’
‘It sounds okay to me.’
She chuckled. ‘Really? I can see I have a lot to teach you.’
Nevertheless, Teresa had a go, and the sound, or so it seemed to Leanne, was quite beautiful.
‘It’s ages since I’ve played.’
‘You are good.’
‘I’m out of practice. I used to have lessons years ago, but we could never afford a piano so I had to use the one at school. It was one of the few things that kept me out of trouble.’
‘You don’t seem the type to get into trouble.’
She lowered her head, her shame visible. ‘I got in with the wrong crowd and played truant from school, and I drank too much and did drugs. Geoff pulled me away.’
‘I would never have thought that.’
‘Unfortunately, it’s true. I didn’t have much sense of self-worth back then. I . . .’
Leanne tilted her head, urging her on.
‘. . . I have a lot to thank him for, Leanne. I could never repay him for what he did for me. It’s just a pity it never worked out the way we intended.’ She averted her gaze. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.’
‘I don’t mind.’
Teresa was pensive. ‘If I’d have had a son or daughter and I was still that person and doing crappy things, I don’t think I should have been given a second chance.’
‘Are you talking about my mother?’ she said stiffly.
‘Do you think she deserves to have you back in her life after all these years?’
‘She might not have done anything wrong.’
‘But most likely, she did. I urge you to forget her.’ Her expression softened. ‘I like you, Leanne. I don’t want to see you hurt.’
‘Thanks.’ She paused, reflective. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Steven told me you couldn’t have children. I think you would have made a wonderful mother.’
There was a deep sadness in her eyes and a pained expression distorted her face. After a few moments, she thanked her for her compliment and rose to her feet.
‘I didn’t come here to make us both miserable,’ she continued. ‘How about we all go out for a meal? You, me, Geoff and Steven.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Please, as a favour to me. I need to spend more time with Geoff, and it’s less stressful with others around.’
‘Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?’
‘It was his idea.’
‘All right then, so long as Steven agrees.’
‘Good, that’s settled.’
Leanne followed Teresa to the kitchen and watched her companion slip her arms into her jacket, and all the time contemplated her date with Steven. Impatiently, she wanted to see him to confirm it, and decided, as her courage was still with her, that she should go to see him straight away.
‘Are you going back through the village?’ Leanne asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have a lift? I have a couple of things to do.’
‘Sure.’
They climbed into the car, reversed back onto the lane, and headed into the village in a comfortable silence. The car stopped opposite a general store.
‘I’ve enjoyed our chat,’ Leanne said. ‘See you soon.’
‘Will do.’
She levered herself to her feet, pressed closed the door, and stood for a moment as the car eased away. First, she would buy some basics from the shop, and then she would surprise Steven.
The sense of a piercing stare caused her to spin. The woman in the black shiny jacket was metres away. When their eyes made brief contact, she made a swift move to leave.
‘Wait.’ Leanne yelled, trotting towards her.
The woman stopped. She turned her head and held a disconcerted expression.
‘Who are you, and what were you doing in my house?’
The woman, with furrowed lines on her pallid skin, and dry, unmanaged hair, glared antagonistically, and for a second Leanne regretted her assertive comment, preferring a more coy approach. Nevertheless, she had spoken and had no choice but to watch and wait for her response.
The woman raised the cigarette to her mouth, and without removing her eyes from Leanne’s face, breathed in the noxious substance before exhaling the smoke to one side. Leanne sensed she was being analysed and her courage faded; her departure was imminent and her apology for disrupting her and asking such a direct question on the tip of her tongue.
‘Who are you?’ The woman asked.
‘Leanne Stark.’ She steadied her voice, removing the quiver, and tried to appear confident and in control. ‘I live in the house on Fen Lane. I saw you there. You left your jacket in my kitchen.’
The woman inhaled again. The wait was intolerable. ‘You inherited it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You related to Roy and Janet Jefferson?’
‘I’m their granddaughter. What do you know about them?’
She started to walk away, striding with purpose.
Energised by a trickle of panic, Leanne trotted on behind, following in her shadow and feeling like a lost puppy. ‘Who are you?’
The woman stopped and turned around so abruptly that Leanne almost stepped into her. ‘I knew them years ago.’ She guffawed. ‘Boy did I! They didn’t like me, took pleasure in making my life difficult. It turned into a competition, see, but I always got the better of them. I can still see their faces, so humiliated.’
Leanne’s colour drained. ‘Are you-’
‘I’m Queenie, an old friend of Karen’s.’
She extinguished the cigarette end with her foot, and sat on a bench, leaning back into the frame with her legs apart.
‘Do you know where Karen is?’
‘Not seen her.’
‘I was told she had died. She’s my mother.’
‘Is she now? You look nothing like her. I was there when you were born. You were an ugly baby, like a dried prune.’
Queenie laughed and then gazed around the square. There was a statue in the middle, a community notice board at one side, and a flower border at the other. Only the occasional car passed along the roads, and even though there were a number of vehicles parked on the streets, only some of the owners would be visiting the general store, the post office, or the takeaways. Most were likely to be residents of the nearby houses.
‘Did . . . did she want a baby?’
‘Suppose so, once she got used to the idea. Although it did tie her down more than she would have liked. We rented a flat in Northampton for a while, and we did most of our business from there.’
‘What business?’
Queenie raised her eyebrow. ‘You’re nothing like her, are you? Reckon Janet’s got to you. She was a prig, for sure.’
Leanne felt herself stiffen. ‘There’s nothing wrong with having morals.’
‘We all have morals love. She just thought hers were better. Did you know Janet cut off her family - her parents and brothers and sister?’
‘They left her! They never told her they were moving out of London.’
‘Really? Is that what you’ve been told? Once Janet moved here, she thought herself too good for her family. An education and money doesn’t make you a better person. It’s what’s in here.’ She touched her chest with her hand. ‘Karen had a big heart. No one knew her as I did. She was misunderstood and deserved better treatment.’
There was silence. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and the temperature dropped. Leanne shivered and raised her collar, and then edged herself onto the bench, Queenie’s smoky scent dominating.
‘Why did she leave me?’ Leanne asked.
‘Don’t sound so pathetic. You’ve done all right for yourself . . . your fancy clothes, high standards, and no doubt pots of money. She had nothing . . . disappeared without a penny to her name and no family who cared if she lived or died.’
‘She had you.’
Queenie reached into her pocket and retrieved a packet of Silk Cut. ‘She had no one.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Boy, you’re persistent. She went back to Northampton. We had friends there, worked the clubs and bars. I never saw her again. That’s why I’m here now. I heard about Janet’s death and thought Karen might have inherited the house. She should have had in my opinion, but Janet had no idea about blood being thicker than water.’
An aged man wearing a suit, and a collar and tie, hobbled past, guided by his terrier dog. He turned his head and nodded his greeting.
‘Janet was always a stubborn cow. She’d never change her mind once she’d made a decision. She was too proud.’
‘You don’t like her much, do you?’
‘Like stating the bloody obvious?’ Queenie looked to her feet and lowered her voice. ‘Just glad she wasn’t my mother.’
There was sadness in her voice and an obvious hesitation. The deep sorrow she had felt for her friend remained.
‘I’ve enough of my own problems,’ Queenie continued, ‘In fact, I’ve had a life full of them. My first partner threw me out when my baby girl was stillborn, and my second partner was banged up for theft. I’ve spent my life working several jobs just to make ends meet, and rarely get more than four hours sleep.’
‘Sounds like you’ve done it tough.’
‘You don’t know the half of it. I’ve no doubt you’ve lived in a fancy house somewhere . . . had everything you wanted.’
She did not respond, believing it was more of an accusation than an observation.
‘Well, I’m glad for you. Maybe there was some sense in what Janet did, after all.’
‘She wasn’t all that bad.’
‘Too strict for me. You know, Karen had to be in by nine-thirty, her boyfriends had to be vetted, and she wasn’t allowed friends in the house.’
It was difficult for Leanne to believe they were talking about the same person and disbelief etched onto her face.
‘Yes, it’s true. She wanted an automaton, not someone with an opinion. It’s no wonder Karen was rebellious.’
‘She was never like that with me.’
‘Did you always do as you were told - study hard, mix with the right types, say please and thank you?’
Leanne nodded.
‘Then that’s why. Karen was no goody-goody. She made her own mind up about things.’
Leanne’s nails became her focus, her self-righteous attitude seeming deplorable. She wanted to list everything she had done wrong, tell her about her wild times as a teenager when she got pregnant, but even that seemed tame. Janet rarely reprimanded her for such poor behaviour, and she surmised that her grandmother must have learned from her mistakes and the devastating consequences.
‘You’re painting a different picture of Janet,’ Leanne said, ‘it’s difficult for me to take in.’
Queenie’s expression hardened. ‘You calling me a liar?’
‘No, of course not.’
The comments rattled, and Leanne looked to the concrete before her, tracing the cracks and the scatterings of bird poop, and tried to comprehend what she had learned. It was difficult to hear such atrocious sounding comments, especially since there was no way Janet could defend herself. Could she have been that strict?
‘Is that your boyfriend?’
Her head jerked. Steven was standing outside the shop door, staring whilst placing something in his pocket. Her heart hammered. He smiled a wonderful lopsided smile.
‘That’s Steven George,’ she replied misty-eyed.
‘Look,’ Queenie said, ‘I have to go. If I find anything out, I’ll let you know. Can I have your number?’
‘Sure.’
She could not remove her gaze from Steven, and reached for her phone and showed Queenie the number. He was sauntering towards her, his arms relaxed, his feet pointing outwards. Her skin tingled and her pulse quickened. Suddenly, despite the cooling air, she felt very warm.
Grinning from ear-to-ear, Leanne wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in his arms, grateful for his sudden appearance. Instead, she straightened her back and pulled in her stomach, and stepped towards him, stopping close enough to breathe in his scent, but not so close to appear desperate.
His hands were loose by his side and his eyes held a teasing glint. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Queenie, a friend of Mums. I was just coming to see you.’
‘Were you?’
Her heart was fluttering. She edged a fraction closer. ‘Teresa came around. She suggested the four of us go out for a meal.’
‘Are you okay with that?’
‘If you are.’
‘I thought I’d put you off.’ He smiled. ‘I’m not used to this dating lark.’
‘Me neither.’
‘Fancy coming around to my place for a drink, that is if you’re not doing anything?’
‘That would be good.’
After popping into the shop for a few basics, Steven escorted Leanne to his car making general conversation then drove through the village streets to his home on the new estate. It was set in the middle of a row of identical detached dwellings and had a simple designed with a tidy paved front garden with potted plants and a red brick drive leading to a garage.
Tansy’s enthusiastic cries welcomed them. Her paws padded the floor, the efforts from her wagging tail sent ripples of excitement along her back, and squeals of glee escaped from her mouth. In an attempt to calm her down, Steven told her to sit. Her rear end hovered centimetres above the ground, her tail swishing, brushing the carpet in quick, short sweeps.
It was a delight to witness such unadulterated pleasure. Steven had only been away for twenty minutes, but it made no difference to Tansy, the greeting was always the same, energetic and warming, and for a short while, as he guided Leanne into the sitting room, the dog was engrossed in his every step, following like a shadow.
Steven left to make the drinks and Leanne perched on the edge of the soft fabric three-seater sofa and absorbed the scene. There were porcelain figurines of young women in elegant poses, set in a glass cabinet, and there were seascape paintings on the wall. There was no clutter, no out-of-place objects, but there was dog hair on the floor and a distinct doggy smell.
The dog wandered towards her, as though reading her mind, and stood, with her paws planted and her tail wagging. Unable to resist, Leanne reached out and touched her short, coarse fur. Tansy’s eyes widened. She started to pant, her lolling tongue dripping with saliva.
‘She likes you,’ Steven said.
She turned to face him. ‘Is she always this fussy?’
‘Yes. She doesn’t get to see people often. She likes the company.’ He placed the coffees onto coasters and slumped onto the armchair, his legs apart, his arms spread. ‘How are you coping in that massive house?’
‘Okay. I’m going to be staying on a bit longer. Tyler’s decided to stay with Darren for a while.’
‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Gutted, if I’m honest. I know I should be happy for him, but . . . well, I miss him.’
‘How long is it going to be for?’
Averting her gaze, she fiddled with a button on her blouse. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I know how you feel. More than anything you want them to be happy, but at the same time there’s this gnawing selfish ache inside.’ He caught her eye. ‘It must be even worse for you. At least I know what Andrea is like.’
‘That’s just it. I don’t know anything about Darren. Do you think I should have said no?’
‘Tyler’s old enough to make his own mind up about things. Is he a sensible lad?’
‘I would say so. He’s matured a lot during these last few months. I hardly recognise him at times, but, having said that, he is only sixteen and still a child.’
‘They can be wise at that age.’
‘That may be so, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying. When I was with Darren years ago, he had loose morals . . . didn’t give a toss about anyone but himself. I hope he’s changed.’
‘It’s been a while so he should have. I think you just have to trust Tyler. If there’s a problem, you have to believe he will come good and turn to you.’
She smiled. He was saying the right thing, and her perpetual ache lifted. She would always be Tyler’s mother. He was a sensible young man and he loved her. She should not worry.
He leaned back into the chair. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Leanne. I thought I’d messed up.’
‘Me too. I’m sorry I rushed off from Teresa’s. I . . . Geoff-’
‘Geoff can be annoying. Take no notice.’
‘Teresa told me he realised he had overstepped the mark. She said it was his idea to go out for a meal.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘He’s not known to backtrack.’
‘Do you think he’s up to something?’
‘No, I doubt it. Teresa would see through that.’
‘She doesn’t think it’s a good idea to search for Mum,’ she said, her voice weakening, ‘I have a feeling she knows more than she’s letting on.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so. If she did, I’m sure she’d tell you.’
‘I hope so. I’m just a bit on edge at the moment . . . probably a bit stressed and maybe even paranoid.’
‘Understandable given what you’ve been through. Who did you say that woman in the village was?’
‘Queenie. Do you know her?’
‘No, I’ve not seen her before.’
‘She didn’t have a high opinion of Janet. She said she was strict and not a nice woman to be around.’
‘She didn’t seem like that to me,’ he said.
‘No, me neither, but I suppose people change.’
For a moment, both were silent, and then Steven stood up and joined her on the sofa, sitting a breath away and wiping all thoughts of Queenie from her mind. His hand rested on the fabric next to her thigh. He was staring, analysing. She could not look and feared the intimacy.
Her pulse was racing and hands were trembling, and without thinking, she dropped her hand to his. He took it in his palm. It was firm and warm. She was safe, part of something again, and looked into his eyes, pools of blue, deep and reassuring.
Their lips met. He swept his hand across her back. Her body tingled, hypersensitive, her pleasure domes receptive and wanting more; yet, she dared not move, fearing an inability to control herself, and remained statuesque, soaking up his touch.
He pulled away, gazed at her with adoration and smiled. She smiled back.
A deepening niggle enveloped her and she reached for her mug and squeezed out the last sip of cold coffee. It should be Phillip holding her in his arms. It should be him comforting her. It should be him walking into the future by her side.
Recollections of his premature death crashed into her, dissolving all feeling for Steven. Upon learning of the accident, she had crumpled to the floor, still clutching the telephone in her hand. She could remember experiencing a feeling of utter emptiness, and it had crushed her of life, removing all desire to live. The voice had been faint in the earpiece, the condolences meaningless. She had been static, unable to function, unable to be hysterical. Phillip had gone, died in a tragic accident, crashing into a rock face. He had gone forever.
‘I . . . I can’t do this,’ she whimpered, turning to Steven. ‘I’m sorry.’
He waited, sorrow not quite hidden behind his impassive expression.
She moved to the edge of the sofa, searching for calmness, searching for the right words to explain her behaviour. She looked at him, her words inappropriate. She looked away.
A book on a nearby bookcase caught her eye. It was a book on microlighting. Ignited by further panic, she leapt to her feet.
‘I should go.’
‘You don’t have to. I do understand.’
As though magnetised, she reached to the book. Yet she was not quite able to touch it, not quite able to explain herself. Plaintively, she looked to Steven then started to the door.
He escorted her outside. His words, his offer of friendship, floated in the air.
Her eyes misted with tears, and her inability to love again squeezing her of breath.
The door slammed shut, echoing in Queenie’s ears as she advanced to the kitchen. Her anxieties were rising, her blood fizzing, and her mind swirling and incoherent. Needing a barricade, a subtle opt-out from her ponderings, she cracked open a can of lager, lit a cigarette, and sat at the kitchen table.
The refreshing liquid descended her throat, soothing both mentally and physically. It was a familiar place, an instant albeit temporary solution, and it dampened down her agitations and eased her tremors. Her life was a mess, her woes never ending and preventing her from moving forward, and she longed for an end.
A couple of weeks previous her son, Kyle, had pushed her aside. All she had wanted to do was to spend time with her young granddaughter and offer advice, but he had not been receptive to her suggestions and had told her to leave. His final words and the piercing screams from his stuck-up girlfriend reverberated through her ears. She called her an interfering bitch, snatched the baby from her arms, and criticised her efforts with Kyle, reminding her of the faults as a mother.
It was lies. Granted, Kyle's had not had the best childhood but it had not been her fault. His father abandoned her, she had been evicted from her flat, and she had no income. Then there was the incident when she drank too much and Kyle had wandered out of the house. He had come to no harm, so why was everyone in such a panic? Why had everyone made her feel sick to the stomach?
Her network of support had been lacking. She had no family to turn to, and her friends claimed to be too busy, their own lives taking priority. She had no choice but to take the occasional chance, but never, not ever, would she have deliberately put her child in danger.
Kyle and his stuck-up girlfriend should have been more appreciative of her offer of assistance; they did not have a clue as to how lucky they were. It was their first child, and Queenie could see they were struggling. They had no idea about feeding routines and sleeping patterns, and no idea when to let her play and when she should rest. Then there was the discipline; rushing to a crying child so instantaneously was asking for trouble in the long term. Why couldn’t they see that? They were pig-headed and ungrateful. She would have loved to be in their position; she had had no one willing to help her. No one at all.
She reached into her pocket for her phone and checked for messages, hoping for an apology. The screen was blank and her heart sank, and Kyle’s vindictive words tightened its stranglehold. Part of her wanted to withdraw some of her comments and behaviour and offer a silent show of support to the new parents; another part of her reminded her that she had spoken and acted out of love and that she had no need to do so. She had been trying to help and had not wanted them to suffer. She had no other motive.
Puffs of smoke extended towards the ceiling in rings. Was it too much to ask to be loved in return, just occasionally? Was she such a horrible person? She had been marked from day one, and the punishment, the life she had been given was slowly, insidiously erasing all hope. Her mind drifted back to Leanne.
She was in so many ways the spitting image of Janet. She was well educated, had a high moral standing, and a tidy, almost too perfect, appearance. She could hear Janet in her voice - the pronunciation of certain words and the shrill edge depicting her irritation – yet she was not nearly as assertive, and Queenie wondered how the two could ever get on.
As soon as the thought entered her head, she realised the answer. Leanne was the perfect granddaughter, the good girl, the second chance, and no doubt obedient and hardworking. She was nothing like Karen. There never could be a relationship there.
Janet had carved Leanne into shape, and in doing so had severed any link to Karen. She would have told her of her friend’s atrocious behaviour; she would have lied unashamedly; she would have painted the most heinous image.
Karen was better off out of it. She was not the evil person depicted. She was misunderstood, a soft-centre in a hard shell and she had been driven away.
Footsteps sounded. Queenie looked through the doorway and up the staircase and saw a fleeting glimpse of red hair moving towards her.
The chair scraped on the floor and Rusty sat down.
‘I’ve just been speaking to Leanne,’ Queenie said.
‘What does she know?’
‘Not a lot. I reckon she thought highly of Janet.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘Nothing. How could I?’
‘Maybe you should.’
‘It’s not the time, and anyhow, I reckon Janet’s brainwashed her. She has the same attitude and stinks of money.’
Rusty gazed vacantly.
‘It’s been thirty years,’ she continued, ‘it’s too late to make amends. If you think anything else you’re bloody naïve.’
She withdrew a cigarette from the packet and leaned across to Queenie to light it. Smoke filled the room, forming in a hanging cloud above their heads.
‘It brought it all back,’ Queenie said, ‘how that woman treated us all. She had it coming, the bloody hypocrite.’
‘But she didn’t suffer in the end, did she? Not really.’
The remnants in the lager slipped down Queenie’s throat, and for a moment, as she held the cool object in her hand images of the house, its massive structure and exquisite furniture, caused her envy to grow.
‘It’s not changed, still as beautiful.’
‘The house?’
She nodded. ‘I went last week. Leanne saw me.’ She dropped the empty can into a bin by the side of the table and removed a bottle of brandy and two glasses from the cupboard. ‘She’s gotten friendly with Teresa. I just saw them in the village.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘No.’
‘She’ll say something for sure.’
She held a determined gaze. ‘Then why hasn’t she already? She has her motives too, remember?’
‘I can hardly forget.’
‘I don’t like it. She’s up to something. We should keep them apart.’
‘What you thinking?’
‘I don’t know.’ She paused, pensive. ‘We should go see Leanne again, find out what’s going on.’
‘I’m not sure . . .’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it.’
‘I’m still not sure it’s a good idea. Maybe we should keep our heads down.’
Queenie flung her an irritated stare, and then swept back the brandy. ‘Unless . . .’
‘Go on.’
She rotated the glass between her fingers. ‘She’s been seeing a bloke called Steven George. Any idea who he is?’
‘I can find out.’
She grinned. ‘Good. Now, about Teresa.’
‘We should make sure she keeps her mouth shut.’
‘My thoughts exactly.’
Queenie carried the bottle and glass into the next room and sank into a chair. She should be happy having a sense of purpose and something to distract her from her troubles with her son. Yet she still reached into her pocket for her phone and gazed at the blank screen. Her ponderings were dark and she relived each moment of sorrow, from those in the distant past to the ones experienced recently. Everyone hated her, but more than that, she hated herself.
Her baby granddaughter had been a turning point. It had turned into another missed opportunity.
Thank goodness for the bottle.
A delicate clunking sound echoed through Luke’s ears as he watched Susie knock her glass against her plate. Her face was pleasing - unblemished and with a healthy pink glow - and her hair rested in a neat bob on her shoulders. He followed the curve of her chin and looked down to her neckline, tracing the freckles and the slight discolouration. She smelled delicious, just as she had when his hands had explored her form.
It had been a swift encounter, and he sensed, as was the case for him, that the joining fulfilled only lustful needs. Yet, the moment stayed with him. He visualised her naked body; her beautiful rounded breasts bobbing as she swayed, her slender hips making perfect handles, and her firm legs, long, soft and supple.
His body tingled and his chest tightened, the thoughts thrilling. She caught his eye. Hurriedly, he shut his mouth, stopping his gawping and averted his eyes.
‘Did you see that programme on wife-swapping last night?’ she asked.
He shook his head, his expression blank.
‘Would you ever be up for that?’
His irritations rose. Did he have to answer such a question? ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Me neither. I reckon they slept together, don’t you?’
He remained impassive.
‘Did you see the woman with the big red hair? She couldn’t have been more obvious with that mini skirt and plunging lace top.’
Susie gave her full analysis, describing personality traits, contestant integration, and appearances, and even though her voice was animated, he struggled to remain attentive. After what seemed like an age, she paused for breath.
‘I don’t find reality shows appealing,’ he said.
‘Then you’re missing out. It’s fascinating watching what people get up to behind closed doors.’
‘Live and let live, I say.’
‘You should try it. It’s hilarious viewing. Some of the people are so desperate to get noticed that they would do anything.’
‘Just for fifteen minutes of fame?’
She seemed to be scrutinising him, looking beyond his eyes searching for his thoughts.
‘I can think of better ways,’ he continued.
‘I hear you’re quite famous around these parts.’
‘It’s not the same. I’m just doing a job.’
‘Even so, it must have its perks.’
‘I can’t think of any.’
‘You must have been invited to places, met famous people.’
He leaned back into his chair. ‘Not that I recall.’
‘You’ve been on the television.’
‘I only met the presenters. They’re just normal people . . . like you and me.’
Susie was gazing out of the window, looking towards the shoppers and office workers sauntering by. She was easily impressed and not at all like Imogen . . . or was she?
Imogen cared about her appearance and she chattered about meaningless reality shows, but somehow it was different. For some reason he found her behaviour appealing rather than repelling. It showed her zest for life and displayed her innocence, a beautiful asset. It also made her seem more feminine; it was a wonderful contrast to her quick wit and sharp personality. The same behaviour made Susie appear dull.
‘I’m going to have to get back to work,’ he said, ‘Imogen will be wondering where I am.’
‘It’s fantastic that she’s moving in with Mark, don’t you think?’
‘It’s not for me to comment.’
‘They are great together. It’s been a long time coming.’
‘I’m not sure they are that well suited.’
When Susie’s head jerked, he regretted his comment and his shame surfaced.
‘Why do you say that?’ she urged.
‘It’s just a feeling.’
He made a swift decision to leave and weaved around the tables progressing to the exit. Imogen was not as bubbly with Mark as she was with him; there wasn’t the teasing or the lively banter. Something was missing and their relationship seemed strained. However, voicing his opinion would be unproductive and he bit back his words. He only wanted her to be happy and had no reason to wish her ill.
They stepped into the brisk autumn air, sauntering back through the town centre towards their respective workplaces when a plaintive cry caught their attention. A child had slipped into the fountain and lay face down in the water. He raced towards them, elbowing past distracted pedestrians, and reached over the edge for the youngster. The toddler was soaking and his face red and contorted.
He handed the child to a frantic woman.
‘What the hell were you doing?’ she screamed at the boy.
The woman gripped her son’s shoulders, searching for his explanation. It did nothing to ease the child’s fears, and his small body convulsed with sobs.
‘You should get him inside, keep him warm,’ Luke said, ‘I have an office just around the corner-’
‘No, thanks. I have somewhere to go.’
‘Are you sure? It’s no trouble.’
‘Yes, and thank you.’
The woman checked the boy’s state and continued to reprimand him.
Taking his opportunity, Luke crouched down and reached for his hand. As the boy started to focus, his wailing eased.
‘Are you going to put on a brave face until you can get out of these wet clothes?’
The boy nodded.
‘Good man. No more tears?’
Snivelling, he shook his head.
He reached out to the boy’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, my brave little warrior.’
A smile slipped to the child’s face.
Luke stood up, said goodbye to the woman and headed away with Susie.
‘You were fantastic,’ she said, ‘such a natural with kids!’
A feeling of discomfort swelled inside.
‘Someone’s going to be lucky having you.’
He chewed on his lip and stared at the ground, his mind attempting to focus on the rhythmical sound of his footsteps. He hadn’t wanted a reminder of his ex-girlfriend’s abortion. She had never confided in him, nor had she cared about his opinion.
He should have expected her to act as he had as their relationship had developed into one of convenience, at least for Sarah. He knew she did not love him – she had said as much – and she believed he felt the same. However, for him it was different. He was in love and not in the right mindset to decline the opportunity to share an intimate evening. He had also convinced himself that she might change her mind given time. It was a sad point of reflection.
He had spotted Sarah at the abortion clinic. She told him the baby was not his and ordered him to leave. Devastated, and without any other option, he did as requested. Days later, when Sarah relented to his plea for a meeting, she admitted that she had lied. The baby had been his, after all.
That was when the relationship ended. Despite his deep feelings of love, her actions proved she could never feel anything for him. Therefore, hoping for a change of heart was futile. The final meeting in the bar, and him telling her they could never see each other again, not even on a friendly basis, was one of the hardest moments in his life. Yet he knew it had been the right decision. Imogen had encouraged him and supported him. She had given him the impetus to make a new start in life.
‘Thanks for lunch,’ Susie said, reaching across and giving him a hug and kiss. ‘I hope we can do it again sometime.’
‘That would be nice.’
Watching her leave, he decided that she was not such bad company after all. She was also likely to treat him better than Sarah had done - a positive consideration all things considered. In addition, being with her was better than being single.
‘Wow! You’ve lipstick on your collar. You’ve been out with Susie.’ Imogen said.
Swiftly, Luke glanced down to his neckline and looked to the offending mark. Feeling his skin warm, he raised his hand to his neck and soothed his itchy skin, avoiding her broad smile and twinkling eyes. Her effervescence was infectious, his sense of achievement, growing.
‘Come on . . . details.’
‘We just had a light bite. Nothing special.’
‘Where at?’
‘Austin’s, on Patterson Road.’
‘Cool. What did you have?’
He frowned. ‘What’s it matter?’
‘Of course, it matters.’
He paused. She wasn’t going to let it drop, so he may as well relent. ‘Tuna sandwich.’
‘And Susie?’
‘I can’t remember.’
She leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk. Her cleavage was visible, her breasts pressing against the soft fabric. ‘Come on, you can do better than that.’
‘It was just lunch, nothing important.’
Her curves delighted and excited.
‘Do you like her?’ she asked.
‘She’s okay.’
‘Okay? That’s all you have to say.’
His eyes narrowed, his thoughts swirling.
‘She likes you . . . says you’re good in bed!’
‘What?’
She giggled. ‘You’ve gone red!’
He bolted to his feet and rushed to a cabinet at the far side of the room.
‘She’s my best friend,’ she continued, ‘we tell each other everything.’
Crouching down, he searched for a binder inside the hollow.
‘I don’t know why it bothers you so much. It’s not as though you’ve not told me about your sexual exploits before.’
‘This is different.’
‘So, you do like her.’
‘No, I . . .’
How could he tell her it was all about the sex when he even struggled to admit it to himself? He had changed. Sarah had made sure of that.
He forced a confident demeanour to surface. ‘I like her, but I can’t see it going anywhere. It’s too soon.’
‘Sarah?’
‘It’ll be a while before I feel able to trust anyone again.’
‘You can’t cocoon yourself forever.’
It was what he wanted. A long-term relationship was out of the question.
‘How’s it going with Mark?’ he asked, desperate to avert the attention.
Her expression melted and her eyes became dreamy. ‘It’s fantastic,’ she said in a virtual whisper, ‘better than I could imagine. It’s great not having to worry about going home at the end of the evening.’
‘I’m glad it’s going well.’
She raised an eyebrow and glimpsed at him out of her eye corner. It was a curious look and not one he could interpret and he feared he had sounded disingenuous. Forcing aside a moment of unease, he concluded that he must have misread her expression. He was happy for her – he had no reason not to be - so long as it was what she wanted.
Engrossing himself in his work was easy. Luke loved his job - the analysis, the interrogations, the pondering, the puzzle - and he had taken an instant like to Leanne too, feeling as though he could draw comparisons with her situation. His own family had dispersed making contact difficult, and whilst most of the time he was happy to lead an independent life, there were times when he yearned for those intimate family moments.
For Leanne, that isolation seemed unbearable and she craved contact with a relative. It was a huge motivation for Luke, and he hoped for a successful conclusion. Yet part of him wanted to tell her to abandon her dreams, fearing that her mother could be the catalyst to disaster and make her life hell. She could even blackmail Leanne into sharing her inheritance. Nevertheless, he would not voice his concerns. He had a job to do. That was all.
The case intrigued. Why would Janet disown her daughter? It was logical to assume something horrendous had happened. However, for his client’s sake, he preferred to believe that it was an enormous overreaction or an unfortunate and unwilling loss of contact. Janet had not had any contact details for Karen, so it was possible. Instincts told him otherwise.
Luke scanned his notes on the computer, reminding himself of various aspects of the case and reiterating the various conversations in his mind. No leads had presented themselves and the search for Karen Jefferson continued to prove difficult. His head ached, his focus blurred. Someone must know something; country villages were usually close-knit communities.
He decided they should speak with locals and so told Imogen his intentions and asked her to contact as many people as possible from within the village. She started immediately, delving into the telephone book for owners of family-run businesses in the area, and on her fifth call, she was successful.
‘I’ve just spoken to a farmer. His name is Ted Moore. His family have farmed the land near Leanne’s house for decades, and they knew them quite well. They expanded a few years ago and bought the land the Coombs used to manage.’
‘Are they willing to meet?’
‘Ted is. He was reluctant at first, but I managed to persuade him.’
‘Well done. When are we going over?’
‘He said this afternoon would be good.’
‘Let’s get to it.’
Luke closed the documents upon his computer, his energies rising, his hopes and expectations gaining strength. With any luck, by the end of the day, they would be a step closer to solving the case.
The car slowed as they reached the perimeter of the village, with both of them searching for street names to guide them to their destination. Luke’s satellite navigation had failed, and they were relying on old-fashioned means, him at the wheel, Imogen scrutinising a printed off map of the area.
‘So which way?’ he asked.
‘We’ll go through the village. It looks quicker than the main roads. Turn left up ahead by the fire station. It should be George Street.’
He caught sight of the red sign and indicated. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘What are you implying?’
‘Women and maps! Do I have to spell it out?’
I’ll have you know, I was in an orienteering club a few years ago . . . pretty good at it too.’
‘What! You? With a map and a compass, and muddy boots.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’
He glanced at her out of her eye corner, raising an eyebrow.
‘Turn right here,’ she said, ‘and then follow the road to the end. Then left.’
Doing as instructed, he manoeuvred past stationary cars, waited for a man to cross the road, and continued along the street. ‘It just doesn’t seem your thing. I can’t imagine you in practical clothes running around the countryside.’
‘Who said anything about practical clothes? I was out to impress.’
‘Yeah, that’ll be right. You probably wore high-heeled boots and slinky trousers.’
‘You have some tasty images of me inside your head, Luke Adams. I’ll have to watch out for you.’
‘Only in your dreams,’ he responded quickly.
They turned the bend. Up ahead, blocking the road was an ambulance. Luke stopped the car a little distance from its rear and watched as the paramedics rushed along a driveway. They could hear voices, but could only see the tops of their heads. It seemed that someone was on the ground, and had had an accident or had collapsed due to a pre-existing medical condition.
‘Ambulances always give me the jitters,’ Imogen said.
‘Me too.’
He glanced along the road at the gap. He could probably squeeze by but chose to wait rather than risk becoming stuck between the van and the parked car on the opposite side. They continued to watch proceedings.
A paramedic rushed to the rear of the ambulance and retrieved a stretcher, and moments later, they reappeared with a woman. Even from their partially obscured view, they could see she was deathly white and stock-still. A man followed on behind, anxious.
‘See the burn scars?’ she said. ‘Poor woman.’
‘I wonder what happened.’
After a few moments, the ambulance pulled away, and thinking no more of it, he was able to continue to their destination. Ted Moore’s farmhouse was easy to find, and they turned into the drive and parked in the yard. There were farm buildings around the perimeter, tractors and machinery along one edge, and hens and ducks sauntering by. A hunched man wearing tatty clothes and with grubby hands appeared from around a steel building and gave them a stern glance.
‘I’m looking for a Mr Moore?’ he asked.
‘That’s me. You the investigators?’
‘Yes. I’m Luke, this is Imogen.’
Ted looked between them, scrutinising each of them before turning and heading towards the house. They followed behind, walking through a small lobby and cluttered hallway - with boxes, piles of books and children’s games - and entered the kitchen. They sat at a rectangular wooden table at the side near a window.
‘So,’ Ted said, ‘what do you want to know?’
We’re trying to track down Karen Jefferson. Have you had any contact with her?’
‘Course I have . . . years ago. Not recently mind.’
‘Do you know where we can find her?’
‘Not a clue. Not that I’d tell you if I did, I don’t want trouble.’
‘There’s nothing for you to worry about.’
His expression hardened. ‘You know that for certain do you?’
‘Well, I-’
‘Thought not. The Jefferson’s should have sold that place. Lord knows why they didn’t. If they had none of this would be happening.’
‘Is something troubling going on?’
He pressed his lips together and puffed out his cheeks. ‘No, but there could be.’
‘Is it something to do with Karen?’
‘I don’t like interrogations, okay? They make me uncomfortable. So, if you don’t mind just get on with it. I’ve work to do.’
He glanced at his notepad. ‘How well did you know Karen?’
‘I knew her all right.’ He grinned lecherously. ‘Her and her sister, although mostly Karen.’
‘What was her sister’s name?
‘Fiona. Karen had another friend too, but I can’t remember her name. They were stuck together like glue.’
‘Can you try to remember her name? It will definitely help.’
‘No point. My memory’s not what it was.’
‘Okay. What was it like for Karen and Fiona at home? Did they get on with their parents?’
Ted leaned into his chair and folded his arms. ‘You’re joking, right?’
Luke was expressionless.
‘Suppose you’re not. They were opposites. Fiona wound Karen up. She was a little bit sanctimonious . . . had a holier than thou attitude . . . and I don’t think it was an act. Do you know why Janet and Roy lived in that house?’
‘I heard she was an evacuee.’
‘Aye, that she was. Apple of their eye, the daughter they could never have.’
Ted raised himself from his chair and moved towards the doorway. ‘Marlene!’ he shouted, ‘Marlene!’
They heard a faint reply.
‘They’re here. Come make the teas.’
Not wanting to inconvenience them, Luke told Ted they did not need a drink, but Ted appeared not to hear and returned to his seat.
‘I never liked the Coombs,’ he continued, ‘not my type at all. My mother, bless her soul, did. Believe me, it was her one failings. She couldn’t see the trouble they’d caused by taking Janet from her folks.’
‘I think you’d better start at the beginning.’
Marlene, a fat woman with curled black hair and round glasses, hobbled into the kitchen and headed to the kettle.
‘They’ve changed their mind,’ Ted said. ‘Don’t want one.’
Marlene looked at them and scowled.
‘I’m sorry,’ Luke said, but she had already vanished.
‘Now,’ Ted said, ‘you want to know what happened. There are two versions, maybe more, but mine’s the only one worth its salt. I knew Karen well if you know what I mean, and she told me everything. And then there’s the stuff I heard from my folks . . .’
‘Do you know what caused Janet to reject Karen?’
‘You think that’s what happened?’
Luke glimpsed at Imogen.
‘Strange assumption since you know nothing about them.’
‘Okay, so tell me.’
Ted leaned back, stretched out his legs and stared, his expression smug. ‘I’d better had.’
Inside the house, there was absolute silence, yet Leanne’s mind was far from tranquil and she could not find peace. Her sorrow was burdensome and oppressive, and her ache restricting. She reached for a cushion, pressed it on her abdomen and released an anguished moan. She wanted Tyler. She wanted Phillip. She wanted her grandmother. She wanted someone . . . anyone.
Steven became her focus. He was a wonderful man and her attraction had been instant, but she would not be with someone into dangerous sports. Their relationship failed before it had even started and was like another plunge of the dagger. Why oh why did he have to enjoy microlighting? Couldn’t he be into something safe like stamp collecting or gardening? It seemed unfair.
Leanne ran her fingers through her hair, wallowing in self-pity, and looked down at her frumpy top and loose fitting skirt disguising her larger than average figure. Images of slender, beautiful women appeared inside her head, and yearning for such a shape, she lifted her shoulders, pushed out her breasts, and held in her stomach. Yet, it did not improve her appearance in her mind; she was still fat.
Phillip had often told her she had a fantastic complexion, gleaming eyes, and a lovely facial structure, and it was true, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted a new identity, both inside and out, and she wanted a fresh start. The house could have given her such an opportunity, but it was not turning out as hoped. Even Teresa had been less than amiable.
Irritated by her unsupportive attitude regarding her mother, she pondered her reasoning. Teresa had admitted to making mistakes in her past, yet she had changed, so why did she believe the same could not apply to Karen? Everyone deserved a second chance, especially someone described as misunderstood.
Carried by the notion that her mother may be the link to future happiness, Leanne experienced a burst of energy, reached in her bag for her phone and called Luke Adams. The ringtone sounded. She waited. There was no reply.
Trying not to feel discouraged, she wandered to the kitchen and made a chamomile tea with honey, one of her favourites, and stared through the window to the rear of the property and to the knee-high weeds, overgrown shrubs and shuddering branches on the trees. It was a ridiculous idea to lay everything down for one new connection, yet she could not dissolve the idea that family was more important. Family first, Janet had said. For Janet, it was a hypocritical statement, but for Leanne, it was everything.
Her phone sounded. She snatched it from the table. It was Luke.
‘Hello. Have you any news on my mother?’ she asked.
‘Quite a bit. We’re on our way over. We’ve just been talking to someone in the village regarding the case.’
‘You’re close by?’
‘Yes, a few minutes away. See you shortly.’
She ended the call and excitement buzzed through her veins. At last, there was hope. At last, her solitude might be closer to its end.
Leanne watched him turn into the drive and exit the car. He was with Imogen and her heart sank, her perfection intimidating. The delectable woman strode around the vehicle, gazed along the length of the house and said something to Luke. Luke responded, and they both chortled.
Imogen was leggy, had full breasts, and a slim waist. She had beautiful fawn hair with delicate curls and was easy to talk with. She probably had a great boyfriend and large family too. Fighting her envy, Leanne headed to the rear outer door. Imogen must think her pathetic. It was unlikely that her grandmother would have ever lied to her.
Nonetheless, forcing a broad smile and warm demeanour, she opened the door and welcomed them inside. Imogen’s expression was wide with envy, and she gawked at the spacious surroundings, a wall painting, and glass light fitting.
‘This place is fantastic, Leanne,’ she said.
‘It is rather.’
‘I just said to Luke that it was in fantastic condition,’ she winked at him, ‘he thought I was talking about the garden.’
‘I haven’t decided what to do with it yet. I suppose I should consider hiring someone to clear the land.’
She tottered along the hallway towards a room. ‘Do you mind if I have a look?’
‘Not at all.’
She peered into a room, her jaw hanging
‘I must get rid of the flowery wallpaper,’ Leanne said.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Retro is fashionable. You can do so much with this place. You must be very excited.’
‘I suppose I am.’
‘What are your plans?’
‘I might let it as a holiday home. I think it’s too big to live here permanently.’
‘Great idea. You could keep some of the weeks’ free for yourself.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
Imogen was still peering into the rooms, agog. She was beautiful, and Leanne loved her tight-fitting, off-white pants and matching jacket, and yearned for such a figure. Luke was staring at her too, although expressionless and not appearing to be mesmerised by her stunning appearance and gorgeous scent. Leanne held her arm across her stomach, wishing she had dressed with more care, and felt dowdy in comparison. She also hoped her tears had not streaked her face and that her self-inflicted stress had not greyed her pallor.
After a few more minutes of showing them around, Leanne guided them into the kitchen. Luke and Imogen made such an unlikely couple that she wondered if their different approaches to their appearances caused friction in their working relationship. Whilst Luke was smart, he lacked something to give him the edge and almost appeared scruffy in his suit. She decided he might look better in casual clothes. Nonetheless, Leanne approved. He came across as down-to-earth and genuine, an asset to aid relaxation.
‘We’ve just been to see a farmer. Ted Moore,’ Luke said.
‘I spoke to him when I first came. He said he knew my mother.’
‘He did. In fact, he told us quite a bit.’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He leaned down to the floor and retrieved a clipboard from his brown leather bag. ‘You’ll have to forgive me if what I tell you is a bit disjointed. We’ll be writing up a report when we get back.’
‘Okay.’
He flicked back the sheets of paper to a sheet entitled Ted Moore. It was full of scrawl and virtually indecipherable, and her excitement grew.
‘Everything he said referred to Janet’s early life. It gives us a good background to their relationship.’
‘How did he know her?’
‘His parents were friends of the family.’ he glimpsed at Imogen. ‘From what we can gather, his mother was close to Janet. She died a few years ago.’
Leanne nodded encouragingly.
‘Ted claims everything he said is accurate. As yet, we have no reason to disbelieve him.’
‘How did he come across?’ she asked.
‘I think he can be trusted. He was a bit cagey . . . didn’t want to spread gossip, but he seemed genuine. I couldn’t detect anything to imply he liked to spin a yarn.’
‘So tell me, what did he say?’
He started to talk.
A multitude of coloured balloons was scattered across the floor, birthday banners hung from the ceiling, and glitzy strands of shaped paper bordered the wall paintings and standard lamp. It was Fiona’s first birthday, a celebration she was unlikely to appreciate, yet it remained a necessity in Janet’s mind. She hoped, in the least, that Fiona would appreciate or recognise the attention and love bestowed upon her.
Janet headed through the hallway and into the kitchen, and assisted Ann with the food preparations, quartering the sandwiches and placing the small bite-sized cakes onto plates. Then she checked the small pastries in the oven, and concluding that the colour was a delicious golden brown removed them and placed them onto cooling trays. The aroma was sensational and she longed for a bite, and slipped back through time to a day when she had assisted her mother with such preparations.
She would have been about seven or eight years old, and loved the sensation of flour and butter on her hands, and often offered to take on the task of mixing. Her nails filled with the sticky substance and her skin turned flaky and rough as though she had acquired a horrendous disease. Then, before she washed, she chased Patrick, her younger brother, with her hands outstretched. His feet pounded the floor, excited screams escaped his lips, and they collapsed in a heap on the sofa or rug. She mauled his small body, and bits of the pastry mix dropped onto the furniture. Her mother never seemed to mind, never worried about the rotting pieces of dough that lay undisturbed under the cushions for months.
Their low standards continued to bewilder Janet; the sight of mess, dirt, and the smell of smoke and damp often bringing about a surge of childhood memories and a gut-wrenching sickness to form in the pit of her stomach. More often than not, she relived the resentment experienced upon her first visit to London, along with her father’s constant reprimands. Why had they despised her choice of life? All she had done was better herself by acquiring additional knowledge, values and experience. She was still the same person, still cared for them as deeply.
Her mind drifted to the end of the war. After her visit to the then vacated family home, Janet had shed endless tears, crying herself to sleep and yearning a reunion with her parents and siblings. Repeatedly she had told herself the evacuation had not been of her choosing, likewise with the issues that followed. They were at fault for ignoring her letters and ultimately her. Her parents had hated her for reasons unknown, an unforgiveable act.
Karen trotted into the kitchen, her light patter of footsteps pulling Janet from her ponderings, and the gentle tug of her skirt drawing her eyes.
‘Can I play outside Mummy?’
‘Not today darling.’
‘Please,’ she said in a drawl.
‘I said no. I don’t want you getting dirty.’
‘But it’s not fair.’
‘It’s your sister’s birthday. It’s very fair.’
‘She doesn’t care. She’s asleep.’
‘She will be awake soon enough.’
‘I’ll make sure I stay clean,’ Karen said, wide-eyed.
‘I said no.’
Karen stomped to Ann, who was resting on a chair at the table. ‘Please Auntie Ann, tell her I’ll be good.’
‘It’s up to your mother.’
‘It’s not fair!’ Karen squealed, her posture blocky. ‘I hate her! I hate her, I hate her!’
She stormed towards the kitchen door, slamming it into its frame, and causing reverberations to pass along the walls and floor. Janet peered at Ann, expressing a mystifying concern.
‘I don’t know what to do with her,’ Janet said, ‘whenever I give Fiona attention she creates havoc.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much. A bit of jealousy is normal. She’ll get used to it.’
‘Do I treat them differently?’
‘You treat them according to their needs. Fiona is still a baby. She is bound to need more attention.’
Janet leaned against the kitchen unit. ‘But I could have let her play out. It’s still a couple of hours before anyone arrives, and she will be changing her clothes before then.’
Ann blew out. ‘She’s probably already doing something else . . . forgotten all about it.’
Janet busied herself by tidying the worktop, but her mind continued to tumble. She wanted to ask her mother if she had ever been jealous of her younger brother, but that link had been severed. She couldn’t ask Ann, since she hadn’t had children of her own, and it caused her to experience a sense of isolation.
An image of her mother appeared in her mind, yet the details were hazy and she appeared in a ghost-like fashion, unable to remember the shape of her nose, her jaw line, her lips, and her eyes. It was wrong; a major part of Janet’s entire life had been taken, removed without consideration, ripped away from her, severed without anaesthetic.
Janet turned to Ann. ‘I wish I knew why my family deserted me.’
The older woman averted her eyes, gazing at a newspaper resting on the table. ‘They must have had their reasons.’
‘But what? What did I do to deserve that?’
The chair grated on the floor as Ann stood up and then hurried to the sink. ‘You haven’t missed out. You’ve had a good life.’
‘But I still would like to know why they went. For years, I would check the post hoping for a new address.’
Ann stared into the sink as it filled with gushing water. She seemed flustered, her skin was a blotchy red and moisture crept from her pores.
‘Are you okay?’ she said.
She thrust a few dirty items into the sink. ‘The water’s making me hot. It’s stuffy in here. Go open the door.’
She did as instructed and listened to the sound of stomping feet and screeching exclamations. She peered up the staircase and focused on the sound.
‘Karen!’ she called.
The sounds continued. Janet hurried to the first floor and into a bedroom and saw Karen marking Fiona’s possessions with a black pen. Her face was beetroot red and scrunched, and her body taut.
‘You naughty girl!’ Janet grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her away from the ruined blanket, clothes and dolls.
Karen’s body became weighted; she dragged her heels and let loose a bellowing scream.
‘Stop it!’ Janet slapped her legs. ‘Stop it I said.’
She screamed again, louder and more forcefully, and thrashed out with her arms, pummelling Janet’s legs.
‘Naughty girl!’
In one swift action, Janet picked up the girl, forced still her thrashing body, and waited for her anger to dissipate. She could feel the heat radiate from her, the burning anger evaporating into the air.
‘I hate you! I hate you!’ Karen yelled.
Ignoring the emotional onslaught, Janet carried her daughter downstairs and forced her to sit on the bottom step. Moments later, having gained an element of control, she returned to the kitchen feeling emotionally drained and slumped onto the chair.
Today was a day of celebration, so why did she feel so unlike being joyous? Yet Janet already knew the answer. Her life without her mother, brothers and sister was wearing her down. She wanted them back with her and with great sadness reflected on the moment that she discovered they had left their London house.
The guests had vacated the house, the children were in bed, and Gerry and Ann were in the next room, leaving Janet alone with her husband. She edged closer to him, pressing herself into his slender frame, and gained comfort and strength from his presence. Her earlier moments of disillusionment now lacked significance; she lived in a beautiful house with caring and wonderful people, and had a fantastic husband and two beautiful daughters.
Janet turned her head and pressed her lips to Roy’s cheek. He smiled, his washed out complexion and tired eyes secreting his love.
‘You look done in,’ she said.
‘I am. It’s back-breaking work out on the fields.’
‘Why don’t you do something less demanding?’
‘Like what? We’d have to move to the city and it’s not what you want.’
‘I know, but I don’t like seeing you like this.’
Roy pulled away and leaned towards the table to pour out another drink. ‘So what are you saying? I should find an office job in the country.’
Clamping shut her mouth, she watched him gulp down the liquid before pouring a second. ‘Haven’t you had enough?’
He glared. ‘Don’t start.’
There was silence.
‘Your problem is,’ he continued, ‘you think having a labourer as a husband is beneath you.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘And if I have an occasional drink I’m turning into an alcoholic.’
‘Is it any wonder I feel that way after what that horrid man did?’
‘You still haven’t got over your first guardian?’
She rose to her feet. ‘I saw what it did to him . . . and to me.’
‘I’m not going to start beating you or the girls.’
‘You’d be straight out if you did.’
She stared into the fireplace. Those few months had changed her forever. Never before had she questioned her father’s drinking or loud behaviour. It was just what men did, their way of relaxing at the end of the day. However, having experienced Uncle Tom’s extreme reaction and then felt the tender hands of Gerry, her opinion changed. Gerry was kind and warm-hearted and rarely drank more than one glass of alcohol in one sitting. She had always felt safe in his presence, never needed to fear any unjustified explosions.
‘I’m sorry, but I just don’t like excessive drinking,’ she said.
‘That’s clear.’ He gulped down the liquid, rested the glass on his thigh, and stared into a space across the room. ‘I need it to relax.’
‘Can’t you get more workers?’
‘Gerry says we can’t afford it.’
‘He’s had others in the past. I wouldn’t have thought it a problem.’
‘I agree.’ He caught her eye and hesitated. ‘He turned a man away today. It was a bit strange. I thought I heard your name mentioned, but when I asked Gerry about it, he said I was mistaken.’
‘Why would anyone be talking about me?’
‘It could have been someone you went to school with. He looked about your age.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I don’t know . . . normal looking. His name was Patrick.’
Patrick? Her brother? Could it be?
She bolted to her feet, out of the room, and into the next room to Gerry and Ann. ‘Was my brother looking for me today?’
Panic flashed onto their faces.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘We were going to,’ Ann said, her voice little more than a squeak.
She slipped her fingers through her hair. ‘You sent him away. I can’t believe you’d do that.’
‘We didn’t send him away . . . not exactly. He-’
‘But he’s my brother!’
‘He never said he was your brother. It could have been anyone.’
‘But he was asking after me.’
‘He was also after a job,’ Gerry said.
‘Is he staying in the village?’
‘Seems so.’
‘I have to go see him. Where’s he living?’
Gerry strode to a small chest near the window and removed a small piece of paper from within. He held it in his hand, refusing to let go. Janet pleaded with her eyes.
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea,’ he said.
‘He’s my brother. I have to see him.’
‘You’ve not thought this through. It’s been a long time.’
‘Yes, it’s been too long.’
He appeared as though he wasn’t going to relent and it triggered her panic. Pleading for support and understanding, she looked between them, noticing their doubt and anxiety. After what seemed like an eternity, Gerry relented and passed her the paper. With her heart pounding in her throat and her hands shaking, she absorbed the details.
‘It appears he is not alone,’ he said.
She lifted her gaze and fought her quivering limbs.
‘He mentioned his father.’
Janet’s heart was pounding so hard she thought she might explode as she walked along the village centre street, counting the houses up ahead to determine which was number twenty-two. All thoughts were incoherent, crisscrossing her brain like snakes in a pit.
There were days in the air-raid shelters. There were family meals around candlelight. There were experiences shared with her sister and brothers. Then there was the evacuation and the introduction to her new family. There was the sting of the whip, the comforting touch of Auntie Ann, the soothing tones of Uncle Gerry. Next, she was twelve-years-old returning to London full of countryside tales, and for the first time whilst within the company of her family experienced an intense feeling of not belonging. Character differences had emerged. There were mismatched principles, arguments, and tears.
Her jumbled thoughts did not stop there. She wanted to share every moment of the intervening years, from her education to her personal life, her marriage to Roy and the birth of her daughters. There was much to tell, hours, days and weeks of catching up.
What would they look like? Patrick was not likely to be recognisable, and was still a boy in her mind, although her parents should look similar. He would be scrawny and with a complexion that told of his hardship, and she would have a grey podgy skin tone and jutting chin and she would still carry a solemn demeanour.
Her steps slowed as the house came into view, her breaths shorter and faster and her excitement wild and vivid. She would forgive them for leaving and enjoy the moment. She would look forward to a future of opportunities.
She rapped on the door and held her breath. A faint sound of voices came from within. The door opened. A pregnant woman a few years her junior stood before her.
Flustered, and fearing she had made an incorrect assumption regarding the occupancy, she did not speak.
‘Yes?’ The woman urged.
There was movement at her rear. A wrinkled man wearing an ill-fitting jacket and matching trousers approached the door. Their eyes met.
‘Dad?’ she asked.
The woman stepped out of the way allowing Eric through.
For a few moments, neither spoke. Janet decided against giving him a hug and welcomed his suggestion for her to go through to the living room. It was similar to her London home, possibly a little smaller, and there were newspapers scattered on the sofa, several ashtrays on the surfaces, and dirty marks on the wallpaper.
‘Sit down,’ he said.
Tentatively, she smoothed out her skirt and perched on the edge, keeping her legs together and her back straight.
‘I see you’ve not changed,’ he said.
There was a disapproving undertone in his voice and she became the little girl, returning after spending a year in the country. Her planned speech vanished, her mouth dried, her imaginary happy reunion a forgotten dream.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘I’ve come to see you.’
‘It’s a bit late for happy families don’t you think.’
‘I . . .’ Janet was stunned.
Her sickness swirled and her emotions scurried; the day she had discovered they had moved away from London seeming only days previous. She had knocked on the door. She had spoken to a stranger. She had slumped onto a wall, dazed and forlorn.
For years, she had told herself it was a misunderstanding. She convinced herself that they had made a mistake and in actuality wanted contact. She had even made up excuses for them and felt their desperation having discovered that they had lost her address. She had listened to their panic, envisaged their tears, and felt their burning hearts, an exact reflection of her own.
None of it was true and the reality was crushing.
There they were, living in her village, sharing her country life, just as she had dreamed of years previous, yet it was not for her.
‘I should go,’ she said.
She was about to raise herself to her feet when Patrick entered the room. He was tall and handsome, and not the slip of a boy that she remembered, but there was no doubt it was him, his long dark eyelashes, large round eyes and prominent cheekbones the giveaway.
‘Patrick,’ she said excitedly.
The expected outburst of joy was absent, and coolly, he nodded his head.
‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘Married . . . expecting my second child.’
‘That was your wife? What’s her name?’
‘Janice. It’s due in a few weeks.’
‘That’s fantastic. I have two girls, Karen and Fiona. You must come and see them.’ She glanced at her father. ‘All of you.’
Eric held a stony glare.
‘I . . .’ she knotted her hands. ‘I thought you’d be happy to see me.’
‘It’s a little too late for that. You’ve got your life, we’ve got ours.’
‘So why did you come? Why here?’
He raised a cigarette to his mouth and exhaled small circles of smoke, his eyes locked with hers. ‘We’ve met your fancy guardians. We heard they were after workers but he turned us down. It seems we’re not good enough. We would ruin their cosy life and fancy ideas.’
‘Gerry and Ann are not like that.’
‘You think? They always wanted us out of the picture. You know she’s barren . . . couldn’t wait to get their hands on you.’
‘That’s not how it was. I had no choice but to stay. You all left!’
Eric’s forehead crumpled and his eyes narrowed. ‘How do you think your mother felt when you turned your back on us? Do you think we’re ever going to forgive you for that? It broke her heart. She never wanted you to leave in the first place.’
‘It wasn’t my choice. I admit I enjoyed living here, but I wanted to return. I wanted us to all be together.’
‘Likely story.’
‘It’s true!’
Her eyes shifted between Eric and Patrick, both men at different ends of the room, both looking at her with disgust and contempt. They did not see her as the victim but the assailant, and she felt cornered and silently pleaded for their forgiveness. Yet Janet did not have a clue what she had done wrong; Patrick had been an evacuee and he had been able to return home. Why hadn’t she been able to do the same?
‘I returned to London after the war,’ Janet said, hoping for a reprieve, ‘but you’d left.’
A glance past between the two men.
‘We weren’t going to hang around forever,’ Eric said, ‘you’d made clear your decision.’
‘I did no such thing! I wrote to you. I sent you letters! You didn’t read them.’
‘If anyone should be throwing accusations it should be me. Your poor mother . . .’ Eric’s eyes became watery and his head dropped, searching his feet for privacy. ‘. . . I can’t forgive you for that.’
Focusing on his sorrowful figure became too difficult, and she turned to Patrick. He too displayed a deep regret.
‘W-where is she?’ Janet asked.
‘You should have come to see her. Her last words were for you.’
‘What?’
‘It wasn’t right . . . the funeral wasn’t the same. We all waited . . . expected to see you there.’
She raised her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide and her colour fading. Her gaze flitted to Eric, a desolate hunched figure on a worn-out fabric armchair, and then to her brother, hoping that one of them would admit to the cruel joke.
There was an oppressive silence and her chest tightened, and her legs shook. She tried to speak to offer her apologies, yet stared open-mouthed, unable to comprehend the crushing news. Her mother had gone, died during the intervening years. It was a devastating blow.
Craving freedom and privacy, Janet hurried out of the room and to the outer door. A burst of sunlight tightened her eyes. She shivered, cold to the bone, and started to run. Her mother was dead, gone forever. Tears dripped onto her cheeks.
After an indeterminable amount of time spent processing her thoughts, she felt a presence at her rear and turned her head. Patrick was walking towards her. He joined her on the bench.
‘I didn’t know,’ Janet said.
‘We sent letters.’
‘But I never got them.’
Silence.
‘Was it cancer?’
‘You know it was.’
She gave him a stern look. ‘It was a guess.’
His expression told her he didn’t believe her, but she felt too emotional to fight, and could not evacuate horrendous images of her sick mother dying slowly and painfully in her bed in a shabby London house.
‘How long was she ill?’
‘A couple of years. It was far spread when they discovered it.’
‘When did they find out?’
‘1942.’
‘After we were evacuated?’
He nodded, ‘About a year after.’
‘At least she didn’t have to worry about looking after us.’
Patrick gawked. ‘She was devastated that you never returned.’ His hands made a fist and his face coloured. ‘It’s all she talked about. “Where’s Janet?” she would say. We had to lie for you. Hell Janet. Why wouldn’t you come?’
Her body quivered, her voice lost. She shook her head, the image brutally relentless.
His stare was persistent.
‘I never knew,’ she said weakly.
‘You didn’t want to part from your cushy life more likely.’
‘That’s not true. I would have come if I had known. Of course, I would.’
He flung a dark, intense glare filled with hatred and pain, one that told her he did not believe her, not even for a second, and her nagging doubts emerged. Maybe she had been so livid with her parents for not reading her letters that in a moment’s fury, she had torn up one of theirs. She racked her brain for an answer.
It was difficult to accept, and in her defence, she formed an alternative. Her father may never have told her. He had hated her desire to learn and despised her for wanting to improve her lifestyle. Could it have been punishment? It seemed fitting although also a little unlikely. Nonetheless, she had never really known him, nor had she been aware of what he had been capable of, and so she had to accept it as a possibility.
She turned to her brother. ‘Do you have any idea how it felt to learn they never read my letters? When I returned home the first time, I found them in their bedroom. They were all unopened.’
‘Dad said you’d changed and had forgotten about your upbringing.’
‘I wanted to learn. I don’t know why he was so dead-set against it. He should have been proud.’
‘You always looked down your nose at him.’
‘I did not!’
‘You did so! You still do. I saw the look you gave us just now.’
‘I wanted an education and didn’t want to live my entire life in a hovel. What’s so terrible about that? I set myself a few standards, that’s all.’
‘So that’s how you see us. We’re nothing more than gutter rats!’
‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it!’
‘I might not be as clever as you, but I’m far from stupid, and at least we fend for ourselves.’
‘Roy works. We pay our way too. Nothing’s gifted to us.’
‘Do you pay rent too?’
Swallowing, she looked at her feet.
‘You’re nothing like us. I was willing to give you a second chance, but . . .’ he stood up.
‘But what?’
‘Dad’s right. We’re too different. It was a mistake coming here. I should have listened to him.’
He strode away.
‘Patrick?’
‘I think we should stay out of each other’s way.’
Ignoring her instincts that were telling her to grab him and force him to listen, she watched him leave, noticing his shapeless jacket, tatty shoes and the broken hem seam. Nevertheless, he was her brother and she loved him.
Her emptiness swelled.
Janet placed the scrunched up cleaning cloth by the sink, puffed out, and dropped her weary body onto a chair next to the table. Except for the throbbing beat of drums bellowing from Karen’s room coming from the room above, there was silence. Gerry and Ann had departed to their designated part of the house, Roy was across the hall watching television, and Fiona had wandered to another part of the house. Now it was Janet’s opportunity to relax, the week of teaching teenagers sapping her energies.
There had been a time when she took immense pleasure from her job, but as the years past, her attitude changed, and her earlier exuberance now seemed naïve and misplaced. Some of the kids were a delight to teach - always eager, always full of positive comment, always willing to learn. However, other pupils despised every moment and talked throughout the class, cracked jokes at every opportunity, and put in no effort whatsoever. She had tried a firm hand, gentle cajoling, and speaking in their language, yet it made no difference. Some pupils were there against their will and only wanted to pass time.
The thought of having a peaceful weekend with the family was her reward and she pondered her choice of activities. She could take a walk with Roy. She could potter in the garden. She could go to the shopping centre with Ann. Alternatively, she might choose to spend time with Fiona, whose preferred choice of activity was to visit museums and historical sites. It was a strange passion for someone of fourteen years, but she did not intend to discourage it, and it filled her with pride. She turned off the light and drifted along the hallway.
Fiona was alone in the room. Her legs were to her chest, her shoes on the floor and her eyes engrossed in the pages of a book. Smiling, Janet sauntered through the doorway and peered at the text. It looked as though it was a non-fiction, although she could not see what it was.
‘What are you reading?’
Fiona flipped over the cover. It was a local history book. ‘It’s for a geography assignment.’
‘You should take some time out for yourself. Relax a bit.’
Janet wandered across the room to Karen’s jacket laid skewed on a chair. As she lifted it, she sensed a slight lump from within the pocket and reached inside. Instinctively, she believed it was drugs, a realisation causing a surge of panic. With trembling hands, she scurried the packet into her skirt pocket and replaced the jacket onto the back of the chair.
She didn’t know what to do, and flopped onto a seat, clutching it through the fabric and stared blindly into space. Needing clarity to her thoughts, she considered a mounting list of questions crisscrossing her mind, although primarily, she tried to find the most suitable approach to talking it through with her daughter. Karen was hot headed at the best of times, meaning that an outright accusation would be unproductive.
Fiona broke the silence. ‘Oh, I forget to ask. There’s a show on next Wednesday at the theatre and a few of the girls are going. Can I go? It’ll be a late finish.’
Footsteps pounded the steps, causing a brief distraction. ‘Fine. Do you need a lift?’
Karen burst into the room. ‘You never let me go out!’
‘You go out all the time.’
‘I have to be back by nine-thirty.’
‘You never are.’
Karen held a determined pose; her legs were apart, her arms stiff by her side, and her head back. ‘Have you any idea how humiliating it is having you come looking for me?’
Janet tensed. ‘I wouldn’t have to if you came back at a reasonable hour.’
‘We can’t all be little-miss-perfect.’ She glanced at her sister. ‘I have a life . . . friends.’
‘If you came back when you should, we’d give you more leeway.’
‘If you respected me more, I would do as you say. I’m not a child.’
‘You certainly act like one.’
‘Why? Just because I like boys, music and sex. I’m normal. I’m doing what teenagers should do.’
‘Karen!’
‘What? You don’t like to hear that I sleep around? You’re such a prig. I bet I’ve seen more willys than you.’
‘Where are your morals you cheap little tart?’
‘You’re just jealous.’
She snatched her jacket and ran from the room, heading along the hallway to the outer door. Moments later she returned, her face red with anger.
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ Janet said, displaying the packet.
Karen raced towards her and their locked eyes. Janet placed her hand around her back, causing her daughter a moment of hesitation.
‘Suit yourself,’ Karen said, spinning around. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’
The door slammed.
Their conversation continued to batter her head, the silence offering no distraction. She looked to Fiona, who stared into a book, seemingly tense and waiting for tranquillity to prevail.
‘Do you know where she’s getting it?’ Janet asked eventually.
Fiona raised her head. She did not speak but her expression displayed her anxiety causing Janet to conclude that she knew the answer. Refusing to flinch, refusing to give her daughter an opt-out, she maintained a hardened stared. Fiona looked everywhere but at her. She shifted her legs from under her body and repositioned herself on the chair. She scratched her nose. She smoothed out her hair.
Maybe it was unfair to ask one daughter to tell on the other, and for a moment, Janet considered withdrawing her question. The bond between the two girls had never been that great, and she sensed that this could be perceived to be the ultimate betrayal. But what choice did she have? Karen was in real danger and she could not let it lie.
‘Please Fiona. If you know something you must tell me.’
Her mouth opened and shut. ‘But Mum . . .’
‘Do you understand how serious this is? This is dangerous stuff. Unchecked, it will do untold damage.’
‘I do know! I’m not stupid.’
But your sister might not be so wise, Janet thought. ‘I know you’re not, and I wasn’t accusing you of anything. However, I’m not sure Karen is aware. She needs our help. You have to work with me on this.’
Flustered and with her skin red, Fiona hurried to her feet, still clutching her book, and rushed to the door. ‘It was Uncle Patrick,’ she said, and then she ran.
It took a while for Janet’s mood to revert to a gentle simmer. Ever since her family had arrived in the village, their lives had been inundated with differences, yet none more so than what she faced now. No matter how she tried, she could not see any reason why her brother would want to do such a wicked thing. He had children of his own. He should be acting more responsibly.
This time, Patrick could not offer excuses. It was more serious than when he was encouraging alcohol and when he claimed he was teaching Karen to respect it. It was more serious than when he was encouraging her to have multiple boyfriends, saying it would help her stay faithful to a husband in future years. It was more serious than when he told her that a good education was overrated.
No matter what Janet and Roy had said to Karen, she had still refused to listen. She was enamoured with her uncle, loving his liberating values and exciting lifestyle, and was besotted with his every word. It was infuriating. Her daughter showed the Smith family far more respect than she ever showed them, and her personality and behaviour changed when in their presence. She was polite, easy to get on with and helpful, the exact opposite of how she was with her, Roy, Gerry and Ann.
Janet dropped her head into her hands, exasperated. She had to pull Karen into line and stop Patrick from influencing her, yet it seemed that their link would not be broken. Despite all the years that passed, she wasn’t certain where his affections lay, and wondered if he had ever forgiven her for failing to visit their mother when she was dying. Ever since his arrival in the village, and at every opportunity he had flung verbal abuse at the Coombs’, taunting them for their wealth, their position in the community, and their obvious good manners. They had all tried to rise above it, but so often, it proved difficult.
Once, a while ago, Patrick spread rumours about the poor quality of the produce on the farm, causing a massive drop in business. He stole from their property. He slaughtered some of the livestock. He ruined crops. Of course, he was too clever to be caught and they were all forced to suffer in silence.
Janet had tried to repair their tattered relationship, feeling justifiably guilty for the suffering she had caused to Gerry and Ann. Her attempts were futile. The mere sound of her voice, the mere glance at her clothes, caused Patrick’s skin to crawl. He had one aim in life and that was to cause her pain.
Patrick denied he was out to punish her, never more so than when Karen was around. Smiles replaced the hatred, and a tender understanding voice replaced a harsh and cruel tone. She was the perfect niece. He was the perfect uncle. They understood each other like no other.
Still clutching the drugs, Janet knew she had to take action and sauntered upstairs, visited the bathroom and peered into Fiona’s bedroom.
‘I’m off out for a while,’ Janet said.
Fiona jolted, fear written into her eyes. ‘What, now?’
‘Yes, don’t worry darling, I’ll be back soon.’
Her eyes darted to the corridor at Janet’s rear. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Downstairs, why?’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘I’m sorry but I have to do this alone. I won’t be long.’
Fiona scurried past Janet and rushed to the bathroom. The door slammed.
‘I’ll be back soon,’ she called, ignoring her daughter’s strange behaviour.
She rushed downstairs, informed Roy she was going to see her brother, and hurried out of the house, allowing no time for explanations or second thoughts. She had to confront him and win Karen back. She had to protect her from the possible dangers she may be about to face.
The walk was soothing. It was a starry night with a near-full moon, and there was a gentle breeze. She stepped along the path, enjoying the rhythmical sound of her footsteps, and immersed herself in the swooping antics of the bats. It was a wonderful sensation, and she wished she had time to sit alone in the darkness and absorb the serenity. It was what she needed, something to calm.
She made a fist and banged on Patrick’s door. After a few seconds, a light flickered on and Janice emerged.
‘I need to see Patrick.’
‘He’s not here, he’s out drinking.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not his keeper!’
Janet stormed along the road, heading to the nearest public house a few streets away. Up ahead, in a darkened alley was a crowd of raucous men, and Janet hesitated. She was considering whether to progress when a woman’s squealing voice forced her decision. Karen’s voice was recognisable.
Elbowing her way to a vantage point, ignoring the disapproving comments, she confirmed her worst fears. Karen was performing her own, very public, striptease, and was standing in a short skirt and with her blouse open. Swiftly, and to the pleasure of the wolf-whistling men with hanging jaws and loose tongues, she removed her top. Her bra was lacy, and her curves and nipples danced. Hands reached out and cries of encouragement filled the air. Then Karen locked eyes with a man in the crowd and asked if she should remove her skirt. The cheer was deafening.
Janet could not believe what she was seeing, and could not move, horrified that her daughter, her flesh and blood, would do such a thing. The men continued to enjoy her now near-naked body, yet for some reason, they all held a respectable distance. Karen twisted and turned, jiggled and bent over, tantalizing and encouraging.
The moment Karen caught sight of Janet, the action stopped and both stared in disbelief. Within seconds, Karen donned her clothes, avoiding Janet’s stony gaze, and glanced into the crowd. She was looking at one individual, a man who was hurrying along the street. His gait was familiar. It was Patrick.
Janet was speechless. Her own brother had been encouraging such a disgraceful act. She grabbed Karen’s arm.
Karen yanked it free. ‘Get off me!’
‘What the hell do you think you were doing?’
‘What’s it look like?’
‘Patrick condones this?’
‘So?’
‘Don’t you have any self-respect?’
‘It’s just a bit of fun.’
‘Anything could happen. You could get raped.’
‘I haven’t yet.’
‘You’ve done this before?’
She scowled and hurried away, disappearing into the darkness and leaving Janet motionless and bewildered and without the energy to make the chase. She decided she had been too soft and given her too much freedom, and it was time to take firm action. One way or another, she would win this battle. No daughter of hers was going to spend her life as a cheap little whore. It was degrading and humiliating and she would use whatever means necessary to achieve her aim. She felt a key inside her pocket and devised a plan to keep her under control. She may have lost the battle, but the war was far from over.
Keeping her back to Luke and Imogen, and her gaze away from the awkward glances, Leanne turned on the tap to little more than a trickle and filled a glass with refreshing liquid. Biding her time, she searched for composure. Her world had been shattered, Janet’s lies and the absent account of the facts burning her soul.
She aimed her anger at Janet, yet it was pointless. She could never steam off, never listen to excuses, and would have to live with what had happened forever. She wondered if it was a trust issue. Maybe Janet feared Leanne’s response or maybe she thought it would open old wounds. Yet, it wasn’t her place to keep so many family secrets. Leanne was family too; they shared a common past.
Imogen’s gentle tones interrupted Leanne’s simmering anger. ‘I’m sorry. It must be difficult to take in, but we felt as though we had to tell you everything.’
She leaned into the unit. ‘Yes, of course. I don’t want you keeping things from me.’
‘It could have just been a phase Karen was going through. I’m sure a lot of teenagers act the same way.’
Karen’s behaviour disappointed, but that was not news. She knew the rumours and had already heard about her mother’s occupation from Queenie. It was not as if she had been saintly during her younger years so she was in no place to judge.
‘Karen was probably misunderstood,’ Imogen continued. ‘And it does seem like their relationship had broken down.’
‘It was Gran’s fault. She was the adult.’
‘I can understand you feel angry, but-’
‘I’m more than angry, I’m furious. It’s made me even more determined to find my mother and get her side of the story. Gran had no right to do this to me, none at all.’
‘The decision may not have been hers.’
Leanne’s nostrils flared. ‘You shouldn’t defend her. She may have disrespected Karen’s life choice, and that’s fine, but she shouldn’t have made decisions on my behalf. I should not have been dragged into their arguments.’
She displayed sympathy.
‘I thought I knew her . . .’ she stopped speaking, shook her head and averted her gaze.
‘I’m sorry. It must be hard. We will do our best to find out what happened.’
It may be better to know the truth in the end, but at that moment, her feelings comprised of regret. Why had she started something that was going to end in distress? Her wisdom seemed as though it had been lacking.
She slumped onto a chair. ‘I’ve always had a high opinion of Gran. I thought of her as strong, understanding, caring and compassionate. We had a special bond that grew with every year. She was everything to me. A mother, a best friend . . .’ her chest heaved ‘. . . none of it was true. I didn’t know her at all.’
‘You’re wrong. Janet was still all those things. There could be a good reason for her actions. And even if it turns out that she hadn’t, it doesn’t change how she felt about you. She still loved you and may have thought she was protecting you.’
‘Her logic was twisted.’
Imogen sympathetically locked eyes. ‘Try not to think badly of her.’
Leanne’s tears bubbled. This woman was a stranger, yet she was offering her more understanding than she had received in weeks. Fighting for poise and tranquillity, she kept her eyes averted and her fist to her chin, and breathed slow steady breaths.
‘Janet could have been a little jealous of the relationship Karen had with Patrick,’ she said.
‘Karen and Patrick did seem to have a connection.’
‘Yes, and not only would Janet have seen how different Karen was with him, the opposite would have been true as well. Janet and Patrick obviously had a lot of unresolved issues.’
Leanne pressed her hand to her stomach, suppressing a growing nodule of unease. ‘She was a snob. She would often say there was no excuse for a poor presentation and insisted that cleanliness came down to hard work rather than money. I think Gerry and Ann must have instilled those values into her.’
‘They could have already been there.’
‘I’m not so sure. I think it started after her evacuation.’
‘Life would have been different in the countryside compared to London. It was bound to have some kind of an effect.’
‘No, but Patrick never changed.’
‘His circumstances could have been different to hers,’ Imogen said, ‘I’m not saying the Coombs’ didn’t influence Janet, it’s just the extent of it that I’m unsure of. Even if Janet had managed to return to London there could still have been friction. She had grown up during her time away, and had experiences that far outweighed her childhood expectations.’
Her expression tightened. The Coombs must have continuously influenced Janet. She struggled to label them as innocent bystanders and imagined Janet having a far more harmonious relationship with her family had she returned to London.
A thought struck her. ‘Do you think the Coombs’ played a part in making sure Janet never returned home?’
‘Janet was their daughter they could never have. Imagine if you’re looking after a child for four years, and then circumstance forces you to give them up, possibly never to see them again. It would be hard, especially since they had had no children of their own.’
‘I think they hid the letters addressed to Janet.’
‘Yes, we wondered that too. That’s something we’ll never know.’
Leanne leaned back into the chair and looked to the scratches and marks on the table. ‘It was a horrible thing to do. No wonder they tolerated so much from Patrick. They must have known it was as a result of their bitter and twisted action.’
‘We don’t know anything for certain.’
‘I do, I can feel it.’
‘Then it seems that Janet may have been as much of a victim as anyone.’
Leanne frowned. ‘I would love Gran to be innocent, but she’s not is she? Despite what the Coombs’ did, Gran still played her part. She was too strict with Karen and she lied to me over and over again. I’ll never be able to ask her why.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘But you don’t understand. She never mentioned Fiona to me, either. Not once.’
Imogen’s mouth loosened, her face expressing disbelief.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Luke interjected. ‘We found out about her a few days ago. I assumed you knew.’
‘Is she . . . is she still alive?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. She died in her twenties. She was in a mental institute and had an accident. They tried to save her, but it was too late.’
Leanne steadied her words. ‘Why was she there?’
‘She had suffered brain damage. We couldn’t find out the cause. There’s not a lot of documentation around.’
‘How long had she been there?’
‘Not long . . . a few months.’
Exasperated, she ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I remember being at the hospital with Gran and Granddad. We must have been visiting Fiona. I had assumed it was for Mum.’
‘They had a difficult few years, that’s for sure. Losing one daughter would be bad enough, but two . . .’
‘You’d think that losing Fiona would have made them make more of an effort with Karen.’
‘Let’s wait and hold judgement,’ Luke said and glimpsed at the time.
Wordlessly, she folded her arms.
‘I’ll just check I haven’t missed anything.’
Simmering, she mulled over the life Janet had had with her daughters. It was as though she was discovering a different person, someone whom she had never encountered. How could she keep something as important as the loss of her two daughters to herself? If she had been in such a position, she would have been talking about them all the time, forever grieving.
Her gaze drifted to Luke. He was fumbling in his bag for something, causing her to see a reference book on the paranormal. It triggered memories of curious conversations surrounding such an issue, that she had shared with her grandfather. Whilst she didn’t believe there was any relevance to the search for her mother, it was an intriguing consideration and worth pursuing.
‘You do paranormal cases too, don’t you?’ Leanne asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I think Gran’s parents’ were involved in something. She was dead set against all talk of the paranormal.’
He gave Imogen a swift glance.
‘You’re right,’ Imogen said, ‘they were ousted from the area for witchcraft. It wasn’t anything illegal it just offended a few people.’
‘What did they do?’
‘I managed to get hold of a parish article,’ she said. ‘People accused them of spying. They knew things they shouldn’t have.’
She swirled around the dregs of tea in her mug. ‘Like what?’
‘Private conversations. Molly, Betty’s mother once approached a family with a sick child and offered herbal drugs. At the time, no one else knew about the illness, only the immediate family. It frightened people.’
‘How did Molly know?’
‘She said she had psychic powers. No other explanation was offered.’
‘Do you think Janet had powers?’ Luke asked.
Leanne turned to face him. ‘I don’t know. She hated anything paranormal . . . had a real aversion to it.’
‘How so?’
‘She always stopped me talking about it, no matter what I said. In fact, Granddad and I used to joke that steam came out of her ears and she’d turn purple whenever it was mentioned.’
‘So it was an intense hatred?’
She nodded.
‘Was it normal for her to have such strong opinions?’
‘Oh yes. But . . . but I think there’s more to it.’ Her eyes flitted. ‘I think she had powers too.’
‘What kind of powers?’
Leanne shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Premonitions maybe. I think she saw something to do with Karen, something that caused their parting.’
‘Go on.’
She plucked at the skin around her neck. ‘We’d been talking about being a parent and how it was not always possible to protect your children from unknown dangers, and I made a glib remark. I suggested I tried using psychic powers, like developing telepathy, to monitor Tyler. It didn’t go down too well. The piercing stare she gave Granddad after he made an encouraging remark, made me extremely uncomfortable. He flushed and shot out of the room . . . almost panic-stricken. Nothing more was said.’
‘Did you ever find out what had happened?’ Luke asked.
‘No. I assumed it was to do with Karen.’ Leanne hesitated. ‘But of course I never knew about Fiona. Anyway, Granddad continued to joke with me, but always out of earshot of Janet. I never dared ask questions. She could be a very scary woman when she wanted to be.’
‘You say he was flushed and panic-stricken. Any ideas why he reacted like that?’
Uneasy, she wrapped her arms around her middle. ‘I don’t like to think badly of him. He was always wonderful to me.’
He waited for her to continue.
‘I used to think it was something to do with Karen, but . . . but it seems unlikely. I think he’d been seeing another woman. I prefer not to think about it to be honest.’
‘I can understand that,’ he said. ‘Do you have any abilities?’
‘I don’t think so. Sometimes I get a sense about things. For example, when I arrived in the house I went into a bedroom and felt a very deep sense of loneliness. I assumed it was memories from my childhood, but I felt as though I missed other members of my family, brothers and sisters. I wondered . . .’ pausing, she fidgeted with the skin around her neck. ‘Could I have been sensing Janet’s loneliness, as a little girl?’
‘It’s possible. Some people can touch things and get a sense of its history. Have you felt anything else?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I would love to be psychic. I’ve even tried meditating to develop it. Does that sound silly?’
‘No of course not. It takes a lot of practise developing the right state of mind.’
‘Do you think it actually works?’
‘Yes, I do. Psychics acquire information using Extrasensory perception, or ESP as it’s often known, rather than normal senses. I’ve heard it described as a strong sixth sense. There’s a lot of people, especially women, who claim to have that ability, even just in a mild form, so I think it makes sense that it could be developed with practise.’
‘Is it dangerous?’
‘If you’re careful about what you do, there’s nothing to fear. Your interpretations are what matters. You must not take everything you see as the absolute truth. Images can be deceiving . . . as can snippets of conversations.’
‘Could it help the case?’
He rotated the pen between his fingers. ‘It might do. Do you fancy having a go?’
‘I’m not sure. It terrified Janet.’
He nodded and started to gather his notes into his bag.
‘Are powers inherited?’
‘I have no idea.’ He stood up and glanced at Imogen. ‘I’m sorry, but we must go, it’s getting late.’
‘Yes, of course. Thanks for coming.’
‘That’s okay.’
The prospect of following in her great-grandmother's footsteps caused her to tingle with excitement as she watched Luke and Imogen leave. It was wonderful to talk to someone who didn’t think her yearning was bizarre. However, when she returned to the kitchen the newly acquired information regarding Janet, Karen and Fiona, crept back into her mind, and her ache intensified. What more secrets did Janet carry? The thoughts and possibilities were perturbing.
Leanne slowed the car to a virtual halt, turned the steering wheel to park in the makeshift drive, and turned to face Tyler. His mouth was ajar, his eyes wide with wonderment.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
He ran his slender fingers through his short, blond hair. ‘This is all ours?’
‘It is.’ She unbuckled her seatbelt. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around.’
She exited the car, and careful to stay on the trampled grass, escorted Tyler to the rear of the house. His bewilderment silenced him. She kept turning, checking he was still there, ensuring it was not just a dream, and noted his eyes scanning the land and the house.
‘I’m going to have to spend some money on the garden,’ she said.
‘Just a bit.’
‘It won’t take that long to sort out. Don’t look so overwhelmed.’
‘I didn’t think it would be this large.’
‘Wait until you see inside.’
Leanne lifted the key from her bag, unlocked the door and pushed it open. It was still sticking a bit, but nothing too severe.
‘Wow!’ he said, standing in the lobby. ‘This is almost as big as our living room.’
‘Have a wander around. This is your home too. I’ll go make a drink.’
‘Have you any fruit juice?’
‘Of course. I’ve bought in everything you like. Do you want a piece of flapjack too?’
‘Please.’
She flicked on the kettle, removed the juice from the fridge and extended her arm to reach for a glass from the top cupboard. Her smile was constant and her happiness bubbling.
‘There’s a piano,’ he called out.
She headed towards him. ‘Now’s your chance to learn.’
He smoothed his hand across the shiny surface then meandered around the room. ‘I don’t like the wallpaper.’
‘Me neither. It was fashionable once upon a time.’
‘No taste,’ he said.
She followed in his shadow as he moved between the rooms, occasionally commenting on the furniture and décor and peering into every corner, every alcove. His expression of delight was beautiful, and she secretly studied his slender frame, wanting to keep this moment forever carved into her mind.
They headed up the stairs and into the bedrooms, and remarked on the paintings, old pieces of furniture, and the view across the fields. She prayed that she was correctly analysing his expression and that he was as enamoured with the place as she was. However, a reminder of the fact his stay was for two days crushed any feelings of delight and triggered a sense of hopelessness. She wanted to tackle him for his brainless decision, persuade him to abandon Darren, even command him to stay with her. Was she being unreasonable? Dismissing her desperation, she told herself it was not forever. He would return next weekend. He would return every weekend. He would always be her son.
Determined to enjoy every moment, they headed back downstairs where she asked him about his time with Darren and the activities they had shared. As the conversation progressed, and Tyler described his father as funny, easy-going, and a man’s man, she sensed a lack of discipline and feared that Darren only saw his role as that of a friend. She envisaged them sharing beers over a late-night movie and making crude comments about women in bars, thoughts that turned her stomach. However, clutching at the immense pleasure that was his company, she maintained her silence and her upbeat mood.
There was a knock at the door. She bolted to her feet, glanced out of the window, and headed to the outer door. Steven had his hands huddled in his pockets and Tansy was panting by his side.
‘Hello,’ she said brightly.
Steven glanced over her shoulder. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.’
‘This is my son, Tyler. He’s staying for the weekend.’ She turned to her son. ‘And this is Steven, a friend.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ Steven said, ‘do you like the house?’
‘Yes, it’s bigger than I expected.’
‘That’s what your mum said. I can imagine you having a party or two here. What music are you into?’
‘Anything rocky. I like a few of the local groups. I doubt you’ve heard of them.’
‘Are you in a band?’
‘No. I’ve thought about it though. I can sing pretty well.’
Leanne caught Steven’s eye. ‘He’s very good. He’s always singing in the shower.’
‘Mum!’
‘You shouldn’t be ashamed, you have a beautiful voice.’ She turned to Steven. ‘He sang at Gran’s eightieth birthday party. Everyone loved it.’
Shaking his head, Tyler headed out of the lobby and into the room with the piano, leaving them alone.
‘I bet you shed a tear or two,’ Steven said.
She smiled. ‘Come into the kitchen. I’ve been wanting to see you.’
They sat opposite each other. Steven settled Tansy and then reached out for her hand. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you the other day.’
‘No . . . you didn’t. It’s just . . .’
‘A bit soon?’
‘I think so.’
He nodded. ‘I understand.’
He squeezed her hand, causing her skin to tingle and her pulse to race. The intensity was oppressive, and she could feel the warmth gather beneath her clothes, releasing in waves at her neckline. Resisting throwing herself into his arms was a monumental test; resisting ripping off his clothes was another. All her previous worries and disappointments seemed like a lifetime away.
‘I saw you looking at the book on microlighting,’ he said cautiously. ‘I know this sounds crazy, but did it . . . did it play a part?’
‘Things like that scare me. I . . .’ she rubbed her arms and gazed at the floor. ‘I can’t explain.’
‘Me too.’
She spun to face him. ‘What?’
‘Yes. That book is Andrea’s. She’s into adrenaline rushes.’
She grinned, her face splitting in two. ‘For real?’
‘Yes. Why?’
She pulled free her hand. ‘Phillip was killed in a paragliding accident.’
Shock stilled his face. ‘I’m so sorry! That’s terrible!’
She nodded. ‘It was in France. He was trying to avoid someone less experienced who had gone off course and crashed into the rocks. It was instant.’ She bit her lip and fought back her tears. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise. I’d be worried if you weren’t upset.’
She held her breath. She wrestled with the montage of Phillip’s life, but for once, she wanted it gone and yearned to move on from the pain that had so often overwhelmed her. ‘Let’s talk about something else. What are you doing here?’
Tyler strode into the kitchen and headed towards the fridge.
‘Teresa has had an accident. I’m going around there now. I had thought you might want to come.’ He glanced at her son. ‘Clearly not.’
‘What happened?’
‘She slipped on some grease outside the house. She suffered a concussion and has a broken arm, but she’s okay now. She’s back at home.’
Tyler was leaning against the unit, sipping his juice. ‘Who’s this?’
‘A friend of Steven’s. I’ve met her a couple of times.’
‘Don’t worry about me. If you want to go visit, just go.’
‘Absolutely not. I haven’t seen you for ages. I want to spend every minute with you.’
‘It’s only been a couple of weeks.’
‘Only? To me, that’s a lifetime.’
Tyler lowered his head. ‘I don’t need a minder.’
‘I haven’t brought you all this way to leave you alone. No,’ she looked to Steven, ‘you understand don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Then, it’s sorted.’
An awkward silence flooded the room, instigated by Tyler’s discomfort. After a few seconds, Steven left for the bathroom, leaving Tansy tied to the kitchen table, tugging and pulling, and desperate to trail after him. Then, she sank to the floor with her tail between her legs and squealed plaintively at the doorway.
‘I’d prefer it if you went out for a couple of hours,’ Tyler said.
Her heart sank.
‘We have all weekend to be together.’
‘I know, but-’
‘Please Mum. I can tell you like him. Are you seeing each other?’
‘We’re just friends.’
‘But you do like him, don’t you?’
‘There’s no need for you to worry.’
‘Who said I’m worried? He seems nice, and if he makes you happy, you should go for it.’
Perturbed, she raised her eyes.
‘It’s what Dad would have wanted. You can’t hide away forever.’
‘I thought you’d be upset.’
‘Dad’s gone. We both have to move on.’
‘You don’t think it’s too soon?’
‘It happens when it happens.’
Absorbing the features of his young face, she withheld her pride.
‘Being with Darren has taught me to live for the moment. What’s happened in the past is over, it’s history.’
‘Is that what he said?’
‘Yes. He wants me to forget Phillip.’
She leapt to her feet. ‘Forget him? You should never forget him.’
‘But he’s gone, Mum. He’s not going to walk through the door. He’s not going to take me to football matches. He’s dead.’
‘Even so.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Tyler rushed to the doorway and then glanced back. ‘Please Mum, go out for a bit. It’ll be fun to explore alone.’
Leanne dropped onto the chair and rested her head in her hand, and wondered what Darren had been teaching her son. It was a terrifying thought, never more so than when she realised she may not have much influence over him anymore. Was Darren brainwashing Tyler? Would he be telling untruths about her next? She looked up. Steven’s fine figure was heading towards her. Their eyes locked. She reached out for his hand, yearning his support and words of wisdom.
It was a sunny although somewhat chilly autumn day, and Leanne and Steven decided to walk Tansy back home and then continue their journey on foot to Teresa’s house. The loneliness and uncertainty she had so often felt as she vacated the house had been eradicated from her mind, entirely due to Tyler, and a curve slipped to her lips as she gazed back towards the kitchen window. She was part of something again and it was a wonderful feeling.
Maybe Tyler was having a rummage around, or simply imagining living in such magnificence. It was easy to envisage him as an older man wearing exquisite designer clothes and with wife and children, and commanding the gardener and cleaner. He would have a study in which to do his business. He would have a music room to explore his talents. It would be a happy place, as it should be.
Steven unhooked Tansy and she bolted, running along the path at the edge of the field with a sense of purpose. Then she stopped dead in her tracks, turned around, and looked at her master, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth and her legs blocky. Steven reached into his pocket, retrieved a ball attached to a piece of rope, and slung it into the distance, over Tansy’s head. Her feet pounded the hardened ground, her legs outstretched and her centre of gravity lowered. Within seconds, the dog returned with the ball and was ready for a repeat of the action.
It became routine, and whilst Leanne had been absorbed, she now found her thoughts wandering. She glanced at Steven, noticing the gentle, unassuming man that he was, and made automatic comparisons with Phillip. There had been a time when she never thought she could recover from his tragic accident, and imagined herself locked away in an enforced solitary confinement. It was amazing how time could heal, and whilst she still struggled to believe that she could ever be in love again, she could now at least imagine being happy in her own personal space.
Walking in step with Steven, sensing their growing bond, Leanne looked down his frame. His hand was a whisker away from hers. She searched for courage, yearning his touch. But the more she wanted to grab it, the more she felt an invisible barrier assert itself, like opposing forces on a magnet, and ultimately she withdrew. Nervously, she caught his eye. He smiled, a beautiful wide smile, and her fingers flickered. Then Tansy barked.
The dog was waiting for the ball to be thrown. Her feet pounded the track. Her tail wagged furiously. She sidestepped. She paused. She sidestepped again. It was a remarkable sight, her energy and commitment constant, her focus instinctual and concentrated.
Leanne’s moment for intimacy had gone, and a selfish ache developed. A dog had upstaged her. She wanted nothing more than to receive Steven’s sole attention, just as Tansy had. Her skin was prickling with her desires, and they were growing ever more urgent, ever more painful, yet Steven continued to be unaware. He made general chatter, rambling about his dog, their regular walks, and the villagers that shared their usual jaunts. Mesmerised, she listened to his deep, soft tones.
Steven’s house came into view. He locked Tansy inside, told her to be good and shut the door. The dog’s disapproving squeals and intermittent high-pitched barks lingered in the air, desperately attempting to impart her sadness and change their minds. Forcing aside images of Tansy’s doleful expression and puppy-like antics, which were visible through the glass, she followed Steven down the drive.
‘She’ll settle down,’ he said.
‘She’s rather demanding.’
‘You’ve noticed?’ he reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze. ‘Are you jealous?’
Her colour rose to her cheeks. He was looking. He had a teasing look of affection in his eyes. Now was her time. Now she could have him alone.
Teresa’s street was visible. The journey did not take as long as Leanne had predicted, partially due to the shortcuts that were only accessible on foot, but also because of the company, which she relished wholeheartedly.
Steven rang the doorbell, and Leanne opened her woollen coat and released a layer of trapped heat, the refreshing air creating a wonderful cooling sensation, which mingled with the floral scent of her body spray. She felt alive with happiness and confident in her own skin, and not self-conscious or mournful as was becoming the norm.
Teresa opened the door. She was washed of colour and more anxious than normal, and scanned the drive and the street as she guided them inside.
‘I thought it was just Steven coming.’
‘It’s not a problem, is it?’ he asked, perplexed.
‘No.’ Her gaze did not move from the street until she shut the door.
‘Oh Teresa,’ Steven said, ‘what happened?’
A determined look held on her face. ‘I fell.’
‘It must have been nasty. How are you feeling?’
‘I’m okay. A bit shaken.’
‘I’m not surprised. You must have taken quite a bash.’
She weaved past them, stepping into the lounge and motioning them to sit down. The room had a splendid décor, luxurious ornaments, and sumptuous furniture, so obviously top of the range and forcing Leanne to wonder why she had not noticed such detail before. Everything cried out their lavish lifestyle. Even the poker for the stove was intricately carved and looked pristine.
Leanne perched onto the sofa almost unwilling to crease the leather as Teresa guided the conversation away from the accident and to community affairs. Her change of demeanour was obvious, and her actions became less jerky; her eyes relaxed, and a sense of happiness prevailed. It was so obvious that as soon as Teresa averted her gaze, Leanne locked eyes with Steven. Moments later, Teresa left the room to make drinks.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Steven whispered.
Leanne nodded. ‘Why didn’t she want me here?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘I should go.’
‘No, don’t do that. You’re here now.’
Teresa returned and the tension remained. Throughout general conversations, Teresa locked eyes with Steven, excluding her, and she refused to talk about the accident or anything associated. Leanne tried to dismiss her awkwardness, but Teresa’s disapproval was so obvious that she felt herself stiffen. She assumed that she wanted to tell Steven something she didn’t want her to hear. Her thoughts compounded when a photograph of Teresa and Geoff caught Teresa’s eye, and she became enveloped in a desperate concern.
Leanne caught Steven’s eye. Whilst he didn’t react, she feared Teresa had noticed as she fled from the room. Steven also excused himself, causing her to wonder if they were having a private exchange. However, she soon realised that Teresa was in the kitchen and Steven in the bathroom. It allowed her moment for a private contemplation.
Waiting in the silence for their return, Leanne talked herself out of her impulsive notion that Geoff had inflicted the injuries. She did not know him at all and should not be making such radical assumptions. However, she still found herself pondering the possibility when Teresa returned moments later, followed by Steven.
Moments later, she seized the opportunity. ‘Where’s Geoff?
Teresa’s response was immediate. ‘He’s gone to a football match. It’s his regular Saturday activity.’
There was no evidence of nervousness or apprehension, but Leanne was not convinced. ‘Don’t you get sick of being a football widow?’
‘No. I enjoy the time alone.’
‘I thought he’d given up going to matches,’ Steven said.
‘I . . . I wanted him out of the way.’
Leanne gave Steven a disbelieving look.
Teresa stared at Leanne. ‘I hope you’re not thinking this was him,’ she said, pointing at her arm.
‘Of course not.’
‘Good, because he wouldn’t do that.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I wasn’t watching what I was doing.’
‘You said you slipped on grease. Where did it come from?’
She pressed a fist against her cheek. ‘It was in an old canister. I can’t remember anything more.’ She bolted to her feet. ‘Look I was clumsy and I slipped. End of story.’
‘Teresa, what’s wrong?’ Steven said.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ She turned away.
He moved towards her and placed his hand upon her back. ‘Who’s done this to you?’
‘Let it go.’
Steven glanced at Leanne and then turned back to Teresa. ‘I think we should go.’
‘Probably.’
‘You know where I am if you want a chat,’ he added.
‘Can you ring before you come next time?’
Bewilderment coated his face. ‘Okay.’
Teresa took a swift glance out of an adjacent window, straining to see beyond the hedge and bushes, and then ushered them out through the door. There was no one around, nothing to create such anxiety.
‘Please don’t hang around,’ she said.
Leanne and Steven looked to each other, baffled.
The door shut.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Steven said, walking away.
‘I’m sorry too. It was horrible.’
‘I don’t think you were the problem.’
‘So what was it?’
He did not respond.
‘I was wondering,’ she said. ‘Could Geoff have hurt her?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not? It’s the only thing that makes sense.’
‘I just don’t think he would do that. He might be many things, but I don’t think he’s violent. Look, I’ll give her a ring later and let you know.’
She nodded.
A warm glow spread across his face. He pulled her to his side and kissed her on the cheek. ‘In the meantime, I’d like to get to know you a bit better . . .’
Her pulse quickened. She held her breath.
‘. . . but I suppose I should take you back to Tyler.’
‘Another hour won’t harm.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
The intimate moment Leanne shared with Steven was a memory, and she spent the remainder of a wonderful weekend with her son. Now, as she was preparing for their parting, her tension caused her abdomen to swell and her mouth to release air, such was the agony of Tyler’s decision to return to Darren’s home. With words condemning his decision sticking in her dry throat, they gathered more of his belongings from their original home in a strained silence.
He was downloading music from his computer; his body was still, his eyes locked on the screen, and his fingers hovered above the keys. He was her beautiful son, handsome, wise and caring, and capable of making an adult decision. So why was it she believed Darren was coercing him, and that Darren’s motives were deeper rooted? Unable to disregard her instincts, she slipped downstairs, shut the door into the lounge, and reached for the telephone and dialled Darren’s number.
‘Hello, it’s Leanne.’
‘Yes.’
‘About Tyler . . . are you sure it’s not going to cause you any trouble having him stay with you?’
‘I thought we’d been through this.’
‘Yes, I know, but I’m not sure it’s the right decision.’
‘Has he said that?’
‘No . . . not exactly.’
‘Then what’s your problem?’
‘He needs discipline and structure. He’s going into an important phase at school. I don’t want you side-tracking him.’
‘You don’t trust me.’
She hesitated. ‘I know Tyler better than anyone. I know what makes him tick. He’s had a rough year and needs stability above all else.’
‘What do you think I’m going to do? Take him to all night parties and strip clubs.’
There was silence.
‘Give me some credit. I’m a responsible husband and father now.’
The hint of sarcasm in his voice caused her to falter. Over the last couple of days, she had been rehearsing what to say and what to ask, but all of a sudden, her words evaded her. She could not prove his behaviour was irresponsible, and could not find any direct fault in his approach to fatherhood. Darren and Tyler had developed a swift bond, and her son had no complaints.
‘Promise me,’ she said, ‘that if he’s unhappy or struggling in any way, you’ll let me know.’
‘I will.’
‘And you won’t make him do anything I would disapprove of.’
Darren puffed out. ‘Now come on Leanne. How am I supposed to know what you disapprove of? From what I remember, there was little.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t. We’re both adults now. You do things your way, I do things mine, and now it’s my turn. Tyler’s a big boy. You have to let go.’
‘Just don’t harass him, especially concerning his homework, he doesn’t respond well. But you will have to make him clean his room. If you don’t, it’ll have things growing in it in a week.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And he doesn’t like salad. Raw onions make him sick.’
‘Drop the instructions, Leanne. I’m not an idiot.’
‘Just look after him. He doesn’t always say what he thinks.’
‘He told me exactly what he thinks . . . made it clear he wanted to stay on. He said your place was too depressing.’
Silence.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ he reaffirmed. ‘So now you know.’
‘It’s not my fault-’
‘You don’t need to say it. I know your Gran died. Look, you’ve said your piece. I’m going.’
The call ended. Cradling the phone in her hand, his words rattled. Tyler had been unhappy, and hated the misery and the grief and wanted to get away. What had she done? She should have put Tyler first; instead, self-pity became her overriding emotion. Unwittingly, she had pushed him away, and in the end, she got what she deserved.
It was not a competition by any means, so why did she feel as though she had finished in last place? Why did Darren’s smugness cut so deep? He had always been confident, but over the intervening years seemed to have developed an ability to be manipulative too. He had gained a son, a young man to be proud of, and someone to share his male activities with. Would he be presenting Tyler to his friends as though he had won a prize? Leanne pressed a cushion into her abdomen, the image horrifying, and stared into space.
She toiled with her thoughts. One side argued that Tyler had shown incredible wisdom and would be fine, but the other side cried out that he was young and needed constant protection. Her gut twisted. She chewed on her lip. She prayed for a solution.
Tyler’s footsteps padded the staircase and hallway. He opened the door and peered into the room.
‘Are you ready to go?’
She looked up, still fretting.
‘You okay?’
She looked down at the phone. ‘Yes.’
‘Who were you speaking to?’
‘Darren. He told me you were miserable here. Is that true?’
Flushing, he looked away.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve been difficult to be around. You should have said something.’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘So tell me.’
He looked to his feet and folded his arms.
‘Please Tyler. I need you to be honest.’
His adrenaline leapt from his skin, his face filled with anger. ‘I never said I was unhappy.’
‘Did you say you wanted to get away?’
‘No, I . . .’
She studied him, searching for guidance. ‘He lied?’
‘Yes . . . I mean no.’
‘Which is it?’
‘He . . . he . . . why does it matter?’
‘Because it does. I don’t want him mistreating you.’
‘He’s not. He wouldn’t do that.’
‘So he’s not bullying you.’
‘No.’
She puffed out. ‘Please appreciate how difficult this is for me.’
‘You said it was okay for me to stay with him.’
‘Yes, because I thought it was what you wanted.’
‘And I still do.’
‘But for all the wrong reasons. If I’ve done something wrong, you have to tell me.’
Exasperated, he scurried away, first into the kitchen and then back upstairs. Her desperation to see even just a hint that Tyler had changed his opinion was driving her on; instead, the more she probed, the more she saw the opposite, and she felt herself slip further into a cavern of loneliness. She imagined the fun and laughter he would have with Darren’s family. She thought of her exclusion.
Leanne’s chest rose and fell as she exhaled. It was almost time to leave. She looked to the bags by the wall and told herself that it wouldn’t be forever. Soon, Tyler would realise his mistake and return to her, and in the meantime, she would have a chance to pursue her relationship with Steven. It was a win-win situation. What other choice did she have but to try to be positive?
Entering the village was like entering another world. It was a world that allowed her to be a different person, away from her duties of motherhood and the memories of Phillip. They had spent their entire life in that small townhouse and every piece of it, from the ornaments to the furnishings were reminders of a life lost. It was both comforting and distressing. She could relish the memories, vivid and heart-warming, yet they were also heart-breaking and had the ability to leave her in searing agony.
Honeysuckle Cottage had offered a new start. It was as though she could pretend she had never been married. Phillip had never existed there. She felt liberated and energised, and never more so than when she considered her previous meeting with Steven.
The tenderness of his fingers had tickled her skin, causing her body to convulse; his soft lips had danced over hers, connecting only when she felt sufficiently electrified; their bodies had converged, his firm chest not quite secreting his pounding heartbeat; their heat had escaped in waves, their adrenaline surging, their passion ignited.
Steven had pulled away. At the time, with her body quaking with lust, Leanne’s disappointment rose, but later and once her emotions had settled, she was appreciative of his gesture. It was too soon for anymore and she did not feel willing or able in her fragile state to seek comfort in their activity. Her heart still belonged to Phillip; their act would have felt like a betrayal. Had Steven felt the same? Was he still emotionally linked to Andrea? She ambled out of the car and sauntered into the store.
There was a middle-aged woman behind the counter and an elderly man with a small boy selecting a birthday card. She strolled by, heading to a refrigerator section for some milk. Meandering along the aisles, she filled her basket with biscuits, a cereal, and a loaf of sliced bread, and then, having paid for her selections, she exited the building and returned to the car across the street.
She slumped onto the seat, her body weary from the journey, and thought of Honeysuckle Cottage. Tonight she would listen to music and read a book, and tomorrow she would continue with her plans for her jewellery making business. Steven would pass about midday. She would offer him lunch.
Leanne glanced at the carrier bag on the adjacent seat and wondered if she should go back inside and buy some salad. Her legs were heavy and her eyes drooping. She could come back tomorrow if need be.
She turned the ignition and eased along the High Street to a t-junction where she indicated left and glanced up and down. Just as she started to pull away, two people, a little distance to her right and walking away from her, caught her eye. Leanne yanked her foot from the accelerator pedal and put it on the brake, causing the car to jolt. The man was Steven, every curve and every flat edge of his body carved into her mind, but who was the woman? She was facing away and her arm draped across his back. Was it Andrea? Steven was smiling and his eyes were alight; irritatingly, he was relishing in her company. Leanne’s stomach knotted.
They headed into The Fox Inn. He held open the door. His companion turned her head. It was Queenie.
She returned home in an awful mood. Seated on the sofa with her legs crossed and her arms folded she scowled, her plans for a relaxing evening with her lovesick memories nothing but fantasy. Steven had said he didn’t know Queenie. He had lied. They could not have formed a friendship so quickly. And even if they had, for what purpose?
She clenched her jaw and formed a fist. Had their intimacy meant nothing to him? He was prepared to seek solace with someone else, so obviously not. Was Queenie willing to give him the full extent of her body in a way that Leanne had been unable?
Her body tightened as she relived the moment of her parting with Steven. She had felt him withdraw and so had pulled back. He had suggested they waited. He had said it. Not her. So why did she feel that once again she had left him in the lurch?
She sucked her tongue as she tried to understand Steven’s motive to date Queenie. It may not be a deliberate punishment, and it could just be that he wanted to make full use of his freedom. But why Queenie? She was older than him, and not pretty even for her age. And her personality wasn’t appealing either. He could do so much better.
Pacing the room, her imagination was in free fall. Were they back at his house making out? Was Steven stroking her naked skin the way he had wanted to with her? Was she inhaling his fresh scent? Leanne needed answers. It was too late to go out, and anyhow, she didn’t want to go to the pub. If she had Janet’s so-called powers and those of her great-grandmother, then she would not have to imagine what was happening.
What had Janet been capable of? Had she acquired paranormal powers or practised witchcraft, or were her abilities a strong intuition? Her grandmother had never come across as a sensitive woman, rather headstrong and determined, so neither options seemed likely. Yet given the secrets that Janet kept close to her chest, she admitted that in some ways they were like strangers. She dared not even consider what else she might uncover beneath her grandmother’s hardened façade.
Janet’s absolute fear of the paranormal echoed in Leanne’s mind. Something had terrified her, stopped her from doing whatever it was she had done. Could she have practised remote viewing, a phenomenon using extrasensory perception to acquire impressions of a distant target? It intrigued Leanne, and whilst she knew little about it, she knew it had been used in the military. What if she could settle herself, follow the correct procedure, and get a feel for Steven’s behaviour? It was a fascinating prospect
Whatever had happened to Janet was probably nothing to do with the process she had used, but rather her interpretation of her discovery. More than likely, she had handled the situation incorrectly; her stubbornness had been renowned. Reminding herself of Luke’s reassurance of having nothing to fear, she concluded she could do no harm and headed up to her bedroom and lay flat on the bed. It was worth a try.
After an indeterminable amount of time, she had slowed her breathing to such a degree that it was as though she was floating, and she had silenced her mind, no longer aware of the natural creaks of the house. Determined to progress, she focused on an imaginary light.
Steven was in the centre, but the details were hazy and she fought to gain clarity. He was in a bar. There were people standing nearby holding glasses, chatting and laughing. There was someone by his side, a woman, Queenie.
The scene flickered in and out of focus as Leanne’s efforts faltered. She told herself to relax, breathe slower and focus deeper, and settled her mind on a vivid light. The image reformed.
They were in the corner. Queenie was leaning into Steven with her face closing in on his, and her hand was wandering up his thigh. She was laughing. She pressed her finger to his lips. She snuggled into him.
Their intimacy was unbearable, causing her to jolt and rip open her eyes. She stared at the ceiling, white with rippled wallpaper, and tried to calm her quickening pulse. It was too difficult. She sat up, eased her trembling legs over the edge, and wiped her heated brow. Steven was going to take Queenie home. She could sense it, smell it. She could read their thoughts and feel their lust. Shivering, she grabbed the duvet and wrapped it around her cold body.
The warmth was immediate, but it did not settle her agitated mindset. Despite sensing that the psychic vision had failed, and concluding what she saw was nothing more than her imagination, she still replayed the details as though they were real. It should not matter what Steven did and whom he saw. But it did, more than she dared admit.
Their next date, a meal out with Geoff and Teresa was imminent. She considered cancelling and her stomach knotted. Was she foolish for still wanting to see him?
Standing in front of a full-length mirror, Leanne gazed at her reflection. Her royal blue dress was loose around her middle disguising her extra weight, yet shaped to avoid her looking as though she was wearing a tent. She placed her feet into her silver sandals to gain an extra few centimetres in height and straightened out the shimmering fabric. Satisfied with her appearance, she perched upon a padded stool situated at a dressing table and reached to a hairbrush.
Having brushed her dark brown hair, she applied hairspray and a touch of perfume to her neck. Deciding she had done all she could, she turned off the light and headed downstairs and towards the gentle sounds of the radio. The music was from a west-end show. It was not to her taste, but it was company. The silence, the absence of family, was overbearing, even after a few weeks, and she did not think she would ever get used to being alone. It was one reason she was still going out, maybe the only one.
Despite continuous pondering, Leanne had not found the courage or motivation to withdraw from her date, and had flitted between her choices until her head and stomach ached. Twice, she had created a text to cancel, and twice she had failed to send it. She had phoned his landline at a time she knew he was out with Tansy, and she had walked past the house, both weak attempts to enforce a decision. She believed her inability to resolve her agony was because she wanted him to admit to his betrayal and cancel. It was not because she wanted to spend time with him.
Her niggles vexed. Steven did not appear to want to admit to his betrayal. Maybe he didn’t think it mattered how many women he saw at once. They were both too old to use the excuse of uncontrollable teenage hormones as had been Darren’s defence when she had once highlighted his unscrupulous behaviour. Steven’s behaviour was inappropriate and she deserved a modicum of respect.
The doorbell sounded. She hurried along the hallway, her irritations on the tip of her tongue, and opened the door with a stony silence. Upon seeing Steven, who looked more handsome than ever wearing navy blue trousers, a yellow cotton shirt and a patterned tie, a warm glow oozed from her body. Her displeasure was gone, and a grin stretched across her face.
He reached across to her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Where have you been all week? I’ve stopped by every day.’
She tightened. ‘I’ve had to pop out.’
‘I thought you must have been avoiding me.’
She turned away, reaching for her woollen coat and handbag. ‘No.’
‘I spoke to Teresa about the accident.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She acted strangely. I’m worried about her. She wouldn’t say what happened.’
‘Do you think it was Geoff?’
‘No, but I’m certain it was no accident. When I mentioned the grease, she lost her temper. I’ve never known her to be like that. She insisted that neither of us goes around there. When I asked her why she wouldn’t say. I . . .’ He folded his arms around his body. ‘I got the impression it was more you than me.’
‘So why are we going out tonight? I don’t need her doing any favours.’
‘I know that, in fact, I said as much.’ He reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze. ‘She said they wanted to. She said she likes you. They both do.’
‘They have a funny way of showing it.’
‘I know. It’s all very peculiar.’
‘Is she normally like this with strangers?’
He hesitated and his voice dropped. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘It’s going to make tonight awkward.’
‘It won’t. I’ll make sure.’
She looked up, caught the compassion in his eyes. ‘I wish you hadn’t told me.’
‘I wanted to be honest with you. I don’t want any secrets.’
Stiffening, she averted her gaze.
He eased aside her hair and nestled his face onto the back of her neck; his lips dropped like butterflies along her neckline and the tips of his hair fluttered across her skin. Fighting an overwhelming yearning, she pulled free.
He gave her a questioning glance. She was not ready to confront him regarding Queenie; at the same time, she could not remove the image of his body entwined with hers. It dominated her mind, stilled her voice. It grappled. It drained.
‘You look and smell gorgeous by the way . . . irresistible.’
As irresistible as Queenie? Leanne bit her lip and headed to the door. She was being childish, petty.
They sauntered to the car. Steven smiled sweetly. Half-heartedly, as she wondered how long she would be able to keep up the pretence she smiled back. With her body stiff, her gaze concentrated, she climbed in the vehicle. He started the car, reversed onto the lane, and headed back into the village. He turned into the new housing estate.
‘I thought we were going to meet at Teresa’s house,’ she said.
‘Change of plan. Teresa said she would pick us up.’
‘So you’re not driving?’
Grinning, he turned off the engine. ‘No. I might walk you home afterwards, unless . . .’ He leaned towards her, his warm breath moistening her face. ‘I feel like a teenager again.’
‘As randy as,’ she said, unbuckling her belt and hurrying out of the car.
He grinned.
‘Look, they’re here.’
He was sat in the car, dejected, and it reminded her of the movie Grease when Sandy walked out on Danny. For her, the power was satisfying, but her annoyance was greater. Was he the same with Queenie, and whomever else he dated? She would not be his latest trophy. She might be lonely, but she was not desperate.
The Green Dragon was once a sixteenth-century coach house with oak beams, flagstone floors, and log fires. At the rear of the property were fantastic views of a meandering river and woodland, both set in an undulating landscape. During daylight, the vista was visible through the restaurant windows; at night, the illuminated courtyard was the only view offered.
Leanne felt as though she was stepping back through time as she headed down some concrete steps, aided by a handrail, and into the restaurant. The room was small and elongated, with wooden tables along the length, a log fire set upon a plinth at the opposite side, and a drinks bar near the entrance. She removed her coat, inhaling the fresh scent of sandalwood, and hung it on the coat rack.
‘Your dress is stunning,’ Teresa said.
‘Thanks. I like it.’
She nudged Geoff. ‘Don’t you think?’
There was admiration in his eyes. ‘Yes. You look lovely.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Almost as gorgeous as you, my sweet.’
He leaned across and kissed her cheek. She turned her head, whispered something in his ear, and wrapped her arm around his middle.
Unwilling to be an observer in this intimate moment, Leanne averted her eyes and continued to absorb the relaxing ambience, but not for long. Within moments, they were guided to a table and encouraged to sit down.
Leanne sat opposite Steven and next to Teresa. After making casual conversation, the menus arrived. The food on offer was home-cooked English cuisine, from the more exotic such as guinea fowl, to chicken in a fine sauce. Each dish sounded delicious, and her mouth watered with expectation.
‘This is our treat Leanne,’ Geoff said, ‘make sure you have exactly what you want.’
Her eyes flickered between Geoff and Steven.
‘You too Steven,’ he added.
‘I . . . no one said,’ she replied.
‘No arguments. We haven’t given you a good impression. We’ve had our problems.’ He reached for Teresa’s hand. ‘But we’re getting there.’
He placed it to his mouth and kissed it. Teresa’s eyes glistened, their issues apparently forgotten.
Geoff turned back to Leanne. ‘When you’ve been married as long as us, you’ll have your problems too. It’s all part of the enjoyment. Life would be dull if it always ran smoothly. Don’t you agree?’
Reluctantly, as she knotted her hands, she agreed. It had never been dull with Phillip and they had rarely had issues. Her chest swelled. This time last year, she would have never envisaged living this life. How quickly things changed.
‘What do you like to do in your spare time Leanne?’ Geoff asked.
‘My time’s taken up with my son.’
‘I hear he was over at the weekend.’
‘Yes, it was great to see him. It’s strange being apart from him.’
‘Steven tells me he’s a fine young man and a credit to you.’
‘Thanks. He is a sensible sort and quite mature for his age.’
‘He’s sixteen, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Has he any idea what he wants to do when he leaves school?’
‘Not really. I have been pressing him about it. He enjoys geography and in particular cartography, so I think he might get into that. When he was little, he would often draw maps of the area.’
‘Interesting. Is he going to university?’
‘Yes. There are quite a few courses he could do - earth sciences, geology, surveying – it’ll take a bit of deciding.’
‘How is he going to find out about them?’
‘I’m hoping through the school. Otherwise, I will spend some time on the Internet researching the jobs and entry requirements.’
‘Good idea. At least you don’t have money worries. That must be a huge relief.’
Teresa glared at Geoff.
‘It’s okay,’ he said to his wife. ‘Leanne understands what I’m saying.’
‘Of course, and yes you're right. I don’t know what I would do if I had to find that amount of money. I wouldn’t want him getting a loan.’
‘Quite right.’ Geoff turned to Steven. ‘You’re in the same situation, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. It’s a worry, for sure.’
‘I admire you both,’ Geoff said, ‘having teenagers must be stressful. I doubt I would manage as well as you.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ Leanne said, ‘it comes naturally. You want to do the best for them in every way and sometimes that means dealing with your own emotions differently . . . or even hiding them altogether. I don’t think I could have coped with my recent losses anywhere near as well without Tyler. I would have wallowed far more.’
‘I like your honesty.’
Feeling shy, her eyes drifted across the menu as she pondered Geoff’s behaviour. He was different to their previous meeting, and she had to agree with Teresa and Steven that his rudeness was due to the drink. Covertly, she glanced towards him, noting his fingers interlocking with Teresa’s and his eyes exuding warmth and passion. They seemed happy, far more so than Teresa or Steven had suggested and far more than she believed possible.
They placed their orders and continued to make easy chatter, talking about the education system, job prospects and government policies, although nothing personal. When the subject did drift towards family values, Leanne moved the conversation on, still hurt by Teresa’s strong negative opinions regarding her search for her mother. No one appeared to notice.
With the main course completed, Teresa departed to visit the washroom, swiftly followed by Geoff.
Leanne turned to Steven. ‘They seem to be getting on well tonight.’
‘Yes. They do seem cosy.’
‘Is it an act?’
‘That’s cynical.’
‘It’s just that they are fondling each other like they’ve just met. How long have they been married?’
‘Thirty or so years.’
‘I thought as much.’ She paused, thoughtful. ‘It still bothers me that she doesn’t want me around at her house.’
‘You’re making too much of it. She likes to be organised and doesn’t like people dropping in unannounced.’
‘But she’s okay with you.’
‘Most of the time I warn her.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. I remember her being a bit odd with me when we first met. I think it’s just one of her eccentricities.’
‘So you think I’m being a bit paranoid.’
He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘A little. Give her a chance. She’s a nice woman when you get to know her.’
She pulled it free and reached for her near-empty glass of wine. He looked annoyed. She avoided his penetrating gaze and looked to the bar area.
Geoff exited the washroom, headed to the bar and ordered a drink. He was chatting to the bar attendant when Teresa appeared. After they had received drinks, they stepped away and paused to hold a conversation. Teresa seemed a little perturbed or irritated by something, and Geoff was trying to placate her.
‘What’s going on?’ Steven asked.
‘They have just stopped for a chat. It doesn’t seem too amicable.’
‘I meant with us.’
‘Nothing.’
He frowned. She looked away.
‘What do I have to do to make you pay me attention?’ he asked. ‘I feel as though you’re trying your best to avoid any kind of interaction with me.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘Every time I speak to you, you seem to start a conversation with Geoff or Teresa. What have I done wrong?’
‘I’m trying to get on with them. I thought that’s what you wanted.’
Steven harrumphed.
Finally, he had noticed something was wrong. It was a satisfying moment. Maybe soon he would admit to being out with Queenie.
His mouth opened then shut, as though he was about to speak. Not wanting to progress the conversation any further, she glanced across the room to Geoff and Teresa, who were striding back to the table. Upon their arrival, she passed them a warm smile.
‘Enjoying your meal?’ Geoff asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It’s a great little place.’
‘Now you understand why it’s one of our favourites.’
‘I’d love to come during the day. Didn’t you say there were some good walks out the back?’
‘You like walking?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘It’s far too strenuous for me. I’m more of a beer and TV man.’
‘There’s a man who’s here most weekends,’ Teresa said. ‘He does a lot of painting.’
‘What does he paint?’
‘Sometimes landscapes, sometimes fine work, like insects or tiny flowers. He’s talented.’
‘Does he sell them?
‘I don’t know.’ She paused, pensive. ‘It could be an opportunity for you. You could sell it in your craft business. If it’s any good that is.’
Geoff’s eyes widened and he leaned forward. ‘You have a craft business?’
Teresa spoke first. ‘I did tell you.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘I don’t have a business,’ Leanne replied, ‘but I’ve been involved with one before and I am thinking of starting one up.’
Intriguingly, he was buzzing with excitement. ‘I can’t believe this. I have something that could interest you. I’m buying into a craft business near Norfolk with a friend and we want someone to run the place. Would you be interested?’
‘Norfolk? I . . . I could be.’
‘Alternatively . . .’ he gazed vacantly for a couple of seconds and then reached for his phone. ‘Hang on a minute.’
He scurried to the bar area, and whilst he was chatting, she tried to get the idea straight in her head. Teresa and Steven both approved and told her it may be just what she needed. It was the new start she had been after, an exciting prospect.
He returned bubbling with enthusiasm and displaying a broad grin. ‘I have an even better proposal, and Tony agrees. We want a third partner. It would mean putting some money in, but it would guarantee you had a say in the business. The only problem is you would have to act quickly. We are about to sign the contracts. The woman wants the sale complete this week.’
‘How much money?’
‘How does forty sound?
‘Thousand?’
‘Yes. We are doing this as an investment, and don’t have a clue with crafts, so we’d hardly be involved. It would give you a free run. I have the details in the car – I forget to drop them home - but as I said, I’d need an answer by tomorrow.’
She glanced between Teresa and Steven. Their expressions told her they both considered it a fantastic opportunity. She was inclined to agree.
‘It’s all happening a bit quickly.’
‘If it helps,’ Steven said, ‘I can vouch for Geoff. We may not always see eye-to-eye, but I know he is a good businessman. He wouldn’t do something unless he believed it would make him money.’
‘Is it currently a craft shop?’
‘It is, and it’s doing well,’ Geoff said. ‘It has an excellent turnover. The woman wants to retire. It’s a private sale and she wants cash. Lord knows why, but it’s no problem. The contracts have all been verified. Everything is in order.’
She scrutinised their expectant gazes. ‘But you don’t know me.’
‘I can smell the right people,’ he said. ‘I can tell you are straightforward and meticulous, and probably - correct me if I’m wrong – a fast learner. You’re the ideal candidate.’
‘It’s a lot of money to part with.’
‘I know it is, but I promise you . . .’ he leaned forward and locked eyes. ‘It is an excellent investment. It is in the right location, and there are possibilities for expansion. We’ve already worked out that we should get our money back within the first year.’
‘I must say I am tempted, but I’m not sure where I’ll be living. I have Tyler to consider.’
‘Isn’t it about half way between here and your other home?’
Leanne nodded.
‘Then it’s ideal.’ His tone grew stern. ‘I don’t want to push you, but I’d say it was meant to be. Do you believe in fate?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I’d say you should. This has to be the reason you’ve been drawn here. Chances like this don’t come around often.’
‘Can I sleep on it?’
‘Of course, but I’ll need to know first thing, one way or another.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll leave the details with you. Make sure you remember to take them.’
The remainder of the evening past in a blur and it was difficult for Leanne to concentrate on the conversation. All she could think about was the business opportunity. It was what she had wanted to do, and with two other partners involved in the deal, she would share the risk. Yet her doubts still flirted with her excitement. She did not know Tony Lawrence at all and she hardly knew Geoff and felt as though she should decline the offer. Yet, for some bizarre reason, she trusted them. It was a fantastic opportunity, and it was the new start she needed.
The money was not an issue either. She had the inheritance and had no plans for it, and then there was Honeysuckle Cottage, a fantastically valuable asset. It would not be a massive loss if it went wrong. Should she be impulsive and say yes? She wanted to, she just wasn’t sure if she was brave enough.
Steven wrapped his arm around her waist as they gathered by the bar to leave. His aroma wafted towards her, his warmth projecting itself into her body. She looked at him, deadpan.
‘I can tell there’s a lot going on inside your head. Do you want me to come back to your place to help you check the details?’
Suddenly, she thought of him with Queenie and pulled herself free. Despite her high spirits, she still felt the hurt of his betrayal, and could not dissolve it in her mind. ‘No thanks.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t mind.’
‘I’m sure.’
His tone hardened. ‘I’m not trying to get an invitation to stop over, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘You wouldn’t get one even if you were.’
He frowned and headed to the stairs. It was obvious that he was unhappy with her, but she was in no mood to offer an explanation. She buttoned up her coat and followed him out of the building, maintaining a small gap. Mulling over her emotions, she concluded it was foolish to feel jealous of a woman old enough to be her mother, but it still wasn’t enough to eradicate her pain. Steven was not the man she thought she knew, and just because she was deliriously happy she wasn’t about to betray her instincts. Tonight, she would spend alone. Tonight she would dream about the business.
Such was Leanne’s excitement for the day ahead, the instant she awoke from a fitful sleep pimples extended across the length of her body. She had tossed and turned numerous times, exited her bed on three occasions, and stared at the ceiling and dreamed of her business. Yet, despite the poor quality of sleep, she did not feel at all tired and her energy pounded her veins.
She leapt free of the covers and headed to the papers on the dressing table and carried them back to bed. There was an image of the shop on the front cover and inside a description of the business. Further along were several sheets of figures, from stock to turnover. She flicked through the documents, reassured herself it was real and tried to calm her enthusiasm. Her ideas were flowing; she could integrate her jewellery-making ideas into the business and she could sell her previous employers work. She could attend fairs and exhibitions. She could network with like-minded people.
It felt like a dream. As she dressed, she imagined Janet and Phillip’s joy. They would have all celebrated her new start and told her it was meant to be. They would have gone to the premises together to explore her newly acquired asset. They would have displayed their pride, sharing in her elation.
It was not to be. Nevertheless, she still had Tyler to celebrate with, but rather than hurrying to the telephone, she decided to wait. Once she had signed the documents and was in a position to begin working, then she would tell him. His expression would be worth the wait.
She hurried her breakfast, a mug of coffee and a slice of toast, and dialled Geoff’s number.
‘Have you made a decision?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m in.’
‘That’s great news. You won’t regret it.’
‘About the money. You say you wanted cash?’
‘Yes, that was what Mrs Oakdale wanted. I think the best thing is that you withdraw it and we put it straight into my vault. The rest of the cash is already there.’
‘Okay. And what about the contracts?’
‘I’ll have them amended today. How about I meet you at the bank tomorrow? Say at about eleven o’clock. You’ll need to give notice to withdraw the cash. Who are you with?’
‘Lloyd’s.’
‘There’s one not far from here.’
He gave her the details and ended the call. She sat for a moment, cradling it in her palm, and her smile extended from ear to ear.
Leanne’s pulse was racing and her hands were shaking as she watched the bank manager count the money on the table. She could not speak, such were her tremors, and wanted the moment to be over. The sooner it was in Geoff’s vault the better.
He was waiting for her in the lobby.
‘Act normal,’ he said. ‘It’s a lot to be carrying around.’
‘Have you got the contracts?’
‘I have. Are you excited?’
‘I am. It’s everything I’ve always wanted to do. How soon will it be before I meet Tony?’
‘It should be this week. But you won’t have a lot to do with him. He wants to be a silent partner.’
She nodded and continued her awkward gait into the bank and down to the vault. It was dark and dingy. There were security guards, cameras, and alarms, and it gave the transaction a sense of authenticity. He walked across the room, opened a safe and she gave him the money. Inside there was a large red box. He opened it up and placed the money inside, alongside a large number of small packets that she assumed were more notes. He closed the door and nodded to the guard, and they headed back along the corridor.
‘When will it reach completion? I can’t wait to take a look.’
‘Soon I hope. Now, whilst we are here, I have the contracts, and I took the decision to open you a vault at Lloyds. I thought it would be the best place for the contract. If you sign it, you can take your copy straight there.’
‘Don’t I need to sign something to open one of them?’
‘I’ve done it under our new business name. You can change it when we get there, but I’ll have to be there the first time because I’ve authorised it. I thought it would be quicker that way. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Good, because I don’t want to get off on the wrong footing. I can see we will make fantastic business partners. You have all the talents we need. I couldn’t believe my luck when you said you were into crafts. We need someone sharp-minded like you.’
They headed back into the bank and sat on some soft chairs near the entrance. Just as Geoff retrieved the contract from his case, his phone rang. He handed her the document and pointed to the spaces for signatures. Whilst he was chatting, she stared at the text, her mind a haze.
‘I’m sorry about that, but there’s a bit of a problem at the office. It’s to do with another property I’m dealing with. I don’t want to rush you, but can we make this swift?’
She looked at the contract.
‘If you want to take it home, that’s fine. I’m not trying to rush you.’
‘No.’ She put pen to paper. ‘I’ll do it now. Like you said, the contract will be safer here.’
‘Excellent.’
Within minutes, they had placed the contract in the vault and were heading out of the bank. The gentle autumn breeze swept across her face, and she felt alive and energised. Whilst she had many questions regarding the business, she was also aware of his pressing behaviour and held back. It would all happen in good time. She needed to be patient.
‘I’m sorry, I’m going to have to dash.’ He reached for her hand and gave it a firm shake. ‘We’ll speak soon.’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Thank you, Leanne,’ he said and hurried away.
She stood for a moment, watching him hurry along the main street, and settled her excitement. Just as he disappeared from view, she remembered the vault and a momentary panic rose through her body: she had forgotten to change the ownership.
‘Leanne?’
She spun around. It was Steven.
‘What you doing here?’ she said.
‘I’ve just dropped Teresa off for some shopping.’
Creases formed on her forehead. ‘Her arm . . . of course, she can’t drive.’
‘She wanted to drop some bags off to a charity shop. What about you?’
She grinned. ‘I’ve just signed the contracts with Geoff.’
‘That’s fantastic news.’
‘I can’t believe it! I have my own craft business!’
‘You’ve made a wise decision. When is it all going to happen?’
‘Soon I hope. A few things need to be finalised.’
‘We should celebrate. Are you busy?’
Leanne clutched her handbag and looked at the floor. ‘I should make some business plans.’
‘Can’t it wait an hour?’
‘Not really.’
‘Okay.’ He puffed out. ‘Have it your way.’
He started to walk away, but then abruptly stopped and turned around. ‘Where do I stand Leanne?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t play the innocent. You’re forever running hot and cold.’
‘I thought you liked me,’ she said weakly.
He frowned. ‘I didn’t think my feelings were in doubt.’
‘But I saw you with someone else.’
‘What?’
‘A few days ago . . . Queenie.’
‘How do you know about that?’
She scowled. ‘You looked cosy.’
‘And you think . . .’ His face tightened and his eyes bulged. ‘I don’t believe this.’ He strode away, weaving past shoppers and workers, and headed along the street.
She followed in his shadow. He refused to stop. She grew breathless.
‘She had her arm around you,’ she said, ‘you can’t deny it.’
‘You were spying on us?’
‘No.’ She gulped. ‘I was passing by.’
‘You think I would do something like that.’ He waited. He stared. ‘Well, do you?’
‘I know what I saw.’
‘You know nothing. I thought you were different . . . wouldn’t jump to conclusions. But apparently not.’
‘I . . .’ she wiped her moist brow, retracting her plea of innocence. ‘So what were you doing?’
‘What’s it matter? If you don’t trust me now, you never will.’
He was walking away again, striding out and making such headway that caused Leanne to trot. ‘I do trust you.’
He stopped and glared. ‘It sounds like it. If you must know, she was asking about you.’
She caught her breath and narrowed her eyes.
‘She suggested we go out and I agreed. I thought it might give me a chance to interrogate her. I wanted to help you, Leanne.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She asked what you were like.’
She held her breath. ‘And?’
‘Never you mind!’
‘Does she know where Karen is?’
‘She said not. She asked me if I thought you were the forgiving kind.’
‘And?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you were.’
‘And I am.’
Gazing questioningly, he placed his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. The wait went on forever, with neither of them willing to speak.
Steven was the first to force out tormented words. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for a relationship. I’m sorry.’
Her world shattered and her panic surged. ‘I made an innocent mistake.’
‘Andrea was always accusing me of cheating. I would never . . .’ His voice trailed and his eyes became misty. ‘It turned out she was the one who had been having an affair . . . for years. She said it started because she saw me with another woman. Yet I never . . .’ he averted his gaze and shook his head. ‘There isn’t a relationship without trust. I’m sorry.’
Tongue-tied, she let him depart. He did not turn around and did not hesitate with his steps but strode with a sense of purpose and determination. Once he had disappeared from view, she turned around and dragged herself through the streets and back to her car. Her desire to plan her new business venture had faded; her motivation was lacking, her steps were heavy, and she no longer had a sense that the future was promising. What was the point of having money without having anyone to share it with? What was the point of anything?
Queenie staggered into the living room, slumped onto the sofa, and leaned over the edge to reach for her bottle. Her arm swayed, the floor blurry. Uncertainly, she edged towards it, knocked it with her knuckles, and fumbled for her grip. Uncoordinated, she tapped it against the sofa as she raised it to her lips. There, she took a pleasing swig.
Before her, set upon the low table, were newspaper cuttings. Queenie could just about make out the headlines. The first one that caught her eye was the death of a man. After a few moments of vague pondering, she remembered it was Leanne’s husband. It was a shocking accident, but Queenie had little sympathy. The article had depicted a perfect life. He had been a father, a husband, and a manager of a large furniture company, and was generous and popular with all who met him. It irritated and grated.
Mourners often described the dead as faultless, speaking of many endearing qualities. She longed for the honest and brave and considered a more appealing speech. ‘He was a liar and a cheat, intolerant, conceited, and belligerent. Very few liked him.’ She smiled. Now that would be refreshing.
Queenie took another swig of lager and nurtured the moment of beauty; the full flavour of the alcohol soaked her mouth, the effervescence bounced around the soft tissues, and her nose twitched with delight. She continued her solemn ponderings.
Who would be at her funeral? Who would tell the world of the loss? Would anyone receive condolences? It was more realistic that her passing would go unnoticed. Worse still, it might even be appreciated. Cards and flowers would not be left at her gravestone and family and friends would not shed tears. Burdened with the realisation, she reached for her phone and dialled Kyle’s number.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.
‘That’s no way to greet me. I wanted to speak to my darling boy.’
‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘Only the one.’
‘Likely story. You’ve probably been at it all day.’
She took a sip. ‘It’s my only pleasure.’
‘Then do something about it . . . quit.’
‘I tried, you kicked me out, remember?’
‘You didn’t try at all. You never do.’
‘Come on, that’s not fair.’
‘We’ve a baby to consider now. We don’t want you around her in that state.’
‘You’re too good for me now?’
‘Stop sounding so pathetic. You threw up on Madison.’
‘I couldn’t help it. It was something I had eaten.’
‘No, it wasn’t, and you know it.’
She absorbed his ferocity and considered a moment from the past. ‘You used to be sick on me. I’ve never held it against you.’
Kyle puffed out. ‘It’s hardly the same. I was a baby.’
‘It is the same. If you love someone, you forgive them.’
‘And we have, over and over again, but you never change. All we’ve asked is that you turn up sober and don’t drink when you’re with us.’
‘I did as you asked.’
‘I saw the bottle inside your jacket.’
‘I never-’
‘And you took some from our cabinet.’
‘Madison was crying.’
‘She’s a baby. Handle it.’
‘It was just a dribble, and it worked. She had a beautiful sleep.’
‘What?’
Queenie’s pride emerged. ‘I put it onto her gums.’
‘You gave it her?’
Silence.
‘I can’t believe you’d do something like that. Stay away from us. We don’t need your help. We don’t need you.’
‘Darling . . . you don’t mean that.’
‘Clean up your act Mum.’
The buzz reverberated through her ear. She flung the handset onto the sofa, gulped down the remainder of the drink, and staggered into the kitchen. The fridge door swung open. For a moment, with the coolness settling upon her skin, she stared at the four-pack, searching for willpower to avoid it. It was a big request, and one that she believed she could do in a flash if it solved the problem, but it wouldn’t. Kyle’s offer had been shallow. His stuck-up bitch of a girlfriend had turned him against her, and no matter what Queenie tried, it would never be sufficient. She reached for the four bottles, elbowed shut the door, and padded back to the living room.
The newspaper cuttings glared. She dropped the bottles onto the sofa and in one swift sweeping motion, scattered the papers onto the floor. Everyone was against her; no one listened, no one cared. Scowling, she chewed upon her lip and cracked open another bottle and inhaled the sweet scent.
A photograph upon the mantelpiece caught her eye. It was Rusty with her now deceased husband on their wedding day many years before. She was just the same as she had been; there was the red hair, the slender figure, and the mole on her neck. Life had aged her well and removed the harshness from her personality. She was no longer the belligerent teenager, wilful and obstinate, and she was no longer searching for the morally wrong. Rusty had grown up, guided by a man she had met during their years perusing the bars and nightclubs, and in spite of all predictions, she had remained forever faithful to him. In comparison, Queenie had failed in every respect. It was difficult to accept how they could have both started from the same spot yet finished up at opposite ends of the spectrum.
A tad of jealousy rumbled. How had Rusty managed it? During their younger days, their personalities were so similar they could have been mistaken as one person. It should have been her. Where was her loving husband, her beautiful house, and her caring family? Sorrowfully, she gazed at the liquid in the brown glass.
A nagging ache swelled and her turmoil pounded her veins. ‘Quit,’ her son had ordered. It was a familiar phrase, yet one that he did not understand.
Queenie gripped the bottle, held it closer to her chest, and fought to still her persistent and chilling inner screams. Quaking, she felt her blood drain and her skin turn cold as she imagined the agonizing separation. Kyle would reach for the bottle. There would be pity in his eyes and a complete lack of understanding projected from his heart. He would discard it down the sink. He was heartless, without compassion, and he was asking the impossible. Her body tightened and shuddered.
He did not understand. How could he? The drink numbed. The drink brought about calmness. The drink was her friend. The remaining drops lingered on her tongue. She shut her eyes and prayed for solitude.
A while later Queenie awoke from a fitful doze. First, she noticed the bottles on the sofa, and then she looked to the scattered newspaper cuttings on the floor. She staggered across the room, her movement unstable, and leaned over to pick them up. Her head was heavy and swirling, and her centre of gravity slipped. She stumbled. She fell.
It took a few moments to refocus. She gathered the articles, and then, still feeling queasy, raised herself to her feet and stepped to a nearby drawer. Her body swayed. She bashed her hand against the sharp edge as she dropped them inside, and then, with an unnecessary force, pushed it closed. Rocking in small circular motions, she reached to the corner to gain stability, and step by cautious step headed to the sofa.
For the next few hours, she drank, dozed, and moped. Then, having formulated a plan to distract her destructive mindset, she reached for her phone and dialled Leanne’s number. However, the instant the younger woman’s voice sounded her courage faded.
‘Who is this?’ Leanne asked.
Queenie’s head was swimming, her words wandering from her tongue.
‘Hello, who’s there?’
‘Queenie. I have news about your mother.’
There was excitement in Leanne’s voice. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘You should come around.’
‘Where are you?’
She gave Leanne her address and dropped the phone onto her lap.
Leanne snatched her bag from the kitchen, and whilst heading to the outer door, snapped open the clasp and fingered through the odds and sods for the house keys. The photograph of her grandmother as a little girl by the house with two other children caught her eye. She plucked it free and reached for her keys. The bag slipped and dropped to the floor, and the contents scattered.
Scrutinising the photo, she searched for similarities between Queenie and the children and wondered if there was a connection. Failing to see any likeness, she crouched down to gather the contents.
Upon the floor were old receipts, a delivery notice, business cards, and a bank statement; there was lipstick, moisturiser, face powder and eyeliner; there were medicines and spare underwear. She needed a clear out but instead crammed it inside, disregarded the clutter, and hurried to the car.
Her expectations were intense. Queenie knew something, and most probably had had recent contact with Karen. She may even be there, preparing for a reunion. Her pulse quickened and her breathing grew short and fast as she attempted to straighten out her muddled mind. What would she say? What was appropriate? She switched on the engine and eased out of the drive, and considered what Karen’s first impression would be.
She was wearing loose-fitting navy blue trousers, a short cream top, and a sloppy v-necked woollen jumper. Her hair was neat, her make-up sparse, and her scent subtle. She looked presentable, but then wondered if she should have changed into something more casual, remembering Queenie’s criticism of her behaviour and attitudes. Slowing down, she gave herself a moment to reconsider.
Leanne decided she did not want to appear too similar to Janet, and should not show any intolerance or snobbery whatsoever. However, it was too late to change her clothes, and it was a little pointless anyway; her body language and speech patterns would determine her upbringing and social standing, also. Karen, if she were in fact with Queenie, would have to accept her as she was.
Leanne edged into the new estate. Steven’s house was situated close by and her subconscious took control. She indicated right and headed down his street, her pulse quickening and her heart aching as she yearned for a glimpse. The house was still and silent; there was no movement from within, and no sign of Tansy in the garden.
Her disappointment did not last. She weaved through the houses, passing numerous identical dwellings with two small windows on each floor and a rectangular front garden and arrived at Queenie’s house. She stopped the car a little distance away and strode to the door.
Her heart was pounding so hard she felt sure it would be audible. She knocked. She waited. She held her breath. Inside were mumbled voices. She strained to listen. The door swung open.
A woman with short red hair, an aging skin tone, and long, dangling earrings pointed to a room on the left of the hallway, and weaved by, exiting the house and closing the door. It was cool inside. Leanne huddled her arms closer to her body and went into the living room.
Queenie was slouched in a chair. There were empty bottles on the floor, a brimming ashtray on a table, the carpet was gritty, and the sofa was dirty. Leanne forced still her eyes and closed her nostrils.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ Queenie said.
She sat and forced herself to relax. ‘Is Karen here?’
‘I never said she was here.’
‘Where is she then?’
Queenie stretched out and reached for a bottle. ‘Want one?’
She shook her head.
‘Probably best. It’s no good for you.’
‘You said you had news.’
Queenie lifted the bottle to her lips, yet she never removed her eyes from Leanne and stared, scrutinising, searching for something. ‘I like your new man.’
She tightened. ‘He’s not my new man.’
‘Aw, why not? He’s sweet.’
‘We’re just friends.’
‘He’s hot for you . . . told me so.’
Her heart flip-flopped. ‘What were you doing with him?’
‘No need to be feisty. I was just checking him out.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘It’s what Karen would want.’
‘Where can I find her?’
Queenie held the bottle into the light, gazed inside at the dregs, and swirled them around, biding time.
‘You know something, don’t you?’ Leanne persisted.
‘Might do.’
‘Where is she?’
‘I’m not sure she’d approve of you. You’re too much like Janet.’
‘I’m nothing like her.’
‘Spitting image I’d say. She’s got to you.’
‘I make my own decisions in life. Janet had nothing to do with it.’
‘Such a fool . . . she brought you up, made you into a replica of Fiona. That’s all she ever wanted. She didn’t care about . . . about Karen. Do you have any idea how hard she had it? How she could never compete with her sister?’
‘I’ve heard bits.’
‘Probably not even the half of it. Karen was desperate for attention but she couldn’t get Janet to listen. They were opposites, didn’t understand each other, so she went to her uncle’s house. He listened, he cared, and he understood. There, she felt as though she was part of something, and the more time she spent with them, the less she wanted to be at home. Her parents and the Coombs’ were such prigs. Admittedly, she did do some things to wind them up.’
‘Like what?’
‘Janet used to follow her. Karen knew, but Janet didn’t know she knew. She used to flaunt herself.’
‘Are you saying she . . . she stripped?’
Queenie gawked. ‘You know about that?’
She held a stiff gaze.
‘It was meant to wind her up – she knew somehow word would get back - but it backfired. Janet locked her in the house. Once she got out, she went straight to her uncles and they called the police. They got into all kinds of trouble.’ Queenie grinned. ‘Nothing could be proven, but it was worth it to see their faces.’
‘You were there?’
‘Yes. All that time. I virtually lived with Karen. We were forever having sleepovers. Sometimes we would sleep in the barn.’
Leanne stared vacantly, her mind in a spin. The fire was in the barn. There was shouting and blood-curdling screams. Something terrible had happened. ‘How did the fire start?’
Queenie folded her arms and closed her legs. ‘What fire?’
‘There was a fire. Karen wasn’t seen after that.’
‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘But surely-.’
‘Like I said, I don’t know anything.’
‘So you weren’t there?’
Queenie clamped shut her mouth and scowled.
Leanne refused to relent and reiterated her question.
‘I’d met someone,’ Queenie offered, ‘it must have happened after we’d gone our separate ways.’
‘Was that why Karen returned home?’
She gave a vague nod. ‘Everything that happened was because of Janet. If she hadn’t been so strict and set in her ways, Karen wouldn’t have had to run off in the first place.’
Leanne nodded, encouragingly.
‘Would you stay around if you were treated like scum?’
‘No, probably not.’
‘Karen never did half of what Janet imagined. I know, I was with her.’
‘She did drugs.’
‘Did she? You sure?’
‘I . . . that’s what was said.’
‘I’m sure it was. In the end, Karen did do stuff, but only because she had already been accused of being that way. Janet forced her hand. Karen wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone implied.’
‘So Karen proved Janet right?’
‘I suppose.’
‘That’s a bit childish.’
Queenie swung one of her legs over the arm of the chair and stared, causing Leanne to regret her comment. She had wanted to remain impartial, and not act like judge and jury. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.’
‘So what did you mean?’
‘I . . . I think I would have done the same.’
Queenie nodded, expressing satisfaction.
There was a moment’s silence. Queenie was holding her in an intimidating stare. Who was she and how did she meet Karen? Remembering the photo, Leanne reached into her bag and passed it to Queenie. ‘I think the girl on the left is Janet. Do you know who the other children are?’
‘No, why would I?’
‘I wondered if one of them was related to you. A mother or father perhaps.’
‘Never seen them.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course, I’m sure.’ She thrust it into her hand.
She placed it back into her bag. ‘So how did you meet Karen?’
‘At school. How else would we meet?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘Steven said you’re gentle person, and easy going. Is he right?’
She looked away. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know a lot, do you?’
She swallowed and looked at her lap.
‘Do you have children?’
‘A son, Tyler. He’s sixteen.’
Queenie smiled.
‘Do you have a good relationship with him?’
‘I like to think so.’
‘I have a son too. He’s just become a father. He has a gorgeous baby girl.’ Her eyes glazed. ‘Madison. She is sweet.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Only thing is, he doesn’t want to know me. I offer advice and he loses his temper. That’s not fair, is it?’ Their eyes locked. ‘What would you do Leanne?’
‘I’d give him a bit of space and hope he changed his mind.’
‘Wise words.’ She sipped her lager. ‘Then you’d forgive him?’
‘Of course. You should always forgive your children.’
‘Do you forgive easily?’
Leanne shuffled, wondering about the question and fearing a trap. ‘I don’t have much time for holding grudges.’
‘Will you forgive Karen?’
Her pulse quickened. ‘Where is she?’
‘Will you forgive her?’
‘Yes.’ She edged forward on her seat. ‘Of course I will. Please, tell me where she is.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you’ve heard from her?’
‘Not in years.’
Leanne tensed. ‘So why did you want to see me?’
‘If I find her, she’ll want a report.’
‘Is that all?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
Exasperated, she raised herself to her feet. ‘I’ve things to do.’
‘As you wish. Let yourself out.’
She picked up her bag and strode out of the room and towards the door. Just as she placed her hand on the handle, she caught site of a letter on a narrow unit. She leaned across and looked to the address label. It was addressed to Mrs J Taylor. Leanne peered back towards the living room door. She hesitated. She thought of Luke Adams.
Queenie dragged herself down the stairs wearing a long sloppy t-shirt she’d slept in, and made a coffee, lit a cigarette, and relaxed at the kitchen table. The smoke wafted towards the ceiling clouding the air.
Her thoughts were on the monotonous hours ahead. With little to do with the day, and her options to either head into town and wander around the shops or stay at home and watch television, she lacked motivation. What she wanted to do was to see her baby granddaughter. She reached for her mobile phone, yearning to see a message or missed call from Kyle, and was tempted to have one more try at apologising. The blank screen forced her hand. This time she would wait; she wasn’t that desperate.
The clarity in her mind was burdensome, her isolation from her family and the perpetual drudgery weighing her down. Drifting through time, she searched for happy moments in her life, and saw internal pain, misunderstandings, missed opportunities, and betrayals. More than anything, what disappointed were people. Some claimed to be friends and fled at the first signs of trouble, some wanted only to share their own woes and not listen to anyone else’s, and some always thought the worst. It seemed as though everyone jumped to erroneous conclusions. Queenie glanced up. Everyone except Rusty.
‘I saw Jenny last night,’ Rusty said, ‘remember her?’
‘From school?’
‘Yes. Those were the days. We were quite the group. No one would mess with us.’
‘Everyone always said we were non-achievers. I guess they were right.’
‘I don’t think we’ve done too badly. We’ve both had partners and kids. What else is there?’
Queenie rested her cigarette on the ashtray. ‘It would be nice if mine talked to me.’
‘Give him time.’
‘That’s what Leanne said.’
She caught her eye. ‘About that. What did you say?’
‘Nothing. I’m not stupid. I know when to keep my mouth shut.’ Queenie saw a look of disbelief in her friend’s eyes. ‘I promise you, I said nothing. As if I’m going to! I’m trying to stop this bloody mess from exploding. I just wanted to know what she’s like.’ She reached for the cigarette and inhaled. ‘You know, I often ask myself why I got involved back then. I should have just stayed out of it.’
‘We didn’t have a choice. She needed our help . . . and we did it for Leanne.’
Queenie exhaled. ‘She expected too much.’
‘But could we have said no, really?’
‘That day, I was so angry. I had my own problems to deal with, and . . . and I wanted my life back. I never meant . . .’ she held her breath, fought her tears, and enjoyed the warmth of Rusty’s hand resting upon hers. ‘How could I return after that?’ A lone tear trickled down her cheek. She brushed it aside and reached for the cigarette packet.
Rusty maintained her silence.
‘No one will believe me . . . no one will understand.’
‘You might be surprised.’
‘No. I’m not going to say anything. Look at me. Why would anyone believe this? I attract trouble.’
‘So why speak to Leanne?’
The chair scraped on the floor as Queenie leapt to her feet and headed to the window, where she stared into the small garden that was withering and dying in the cooling weather. ‘I was curious.’
‘The more contact you have, the more likely the truth will come out.’
‘I know!’ She spun around. ‘But the only person who could tell her is Teresa. We can stop that.’
‘I think they went out again . . . despite our warning.’
She was ablaze with fury. ‘What?’
‘I saw Teresa’s car heading to Steven’s. Four of them left in his car.’
‘And you think-’
‘Who else would he take on a double date?’
‘Leanne said they weren’t seeing each other.’
There was silence.
‘Look,’ Queenie continued, ‘Teresa’s easy to manipulate. We just have to be a bit more forceful.’
Rusty was pensive, and Queenie could sense her apprehensions. It may not be the right approach, but if she intended to stay in the village, she had no alternative. Where else could she go? Her partner had kicked her out, and her son wanted nothing to do with her. For the moment, she had to stay. Therefore, she had no choice but to dampen down the embers.
Placing on her black shiny jacket, Queenie crept out of the house and into the darkness. It was a cool starlit sky, and the frosty air pinched at her exposed skin. She lifted her collar, pulled up the zip, and nestled her hands into the soft-lined pockets.
A car ambled by. Lowering her gaze, she maintained a rhythmical hurried walk, stepping through the streets, away from the village hall and to a familiar desolate track. Her mind was swimming with her plan, but the waters were far from clear and her anxieties bubbled. She fought for anger and assertiveness. She craved the courage of youth.
Being unnecessarily violent was not in her nature, and she wondered if she would have the physical strength and the energy to proceed. Fearing an emerging weakness, she eliminated her doubts and crossed the street, avoiding a man with a dog. Then she turned left past a double-fronted detached dwelling with a large paved front garden. Fleetingly, she peered through the window, looking beyond an ornamental wrought-iron structure in the centre and to a woman. She was staring. Unnerved, Queenie lowered her head, scanned the concrete path, and increased her pace.
Her pulse quickened; she was too old for this. She thought of the Jefferson family, she focused on baby Leanne, she remembered the blood-curdling screams. Her blood pounded her veins.
Within minutes, she had arrived in a darkened alley, and leaned against the wall, hiding in the shadows. Grateful for the seclusion, she looked to the far end and reached for a cigarette. There, she breathed in the calming substance and waited.
Footsteps sounded, causing her adrenaline to surge. Glancing along the path, she saw it was Teresa, the arm in a sling the giveaway. Careful to maintain her element of surprise, she hovered out of the moonlight near the wall, dropped her cigarette and extinguished the smouldering butt. The gap between the two women closed.
Teresa was metres away, in a world of her own and gazing at the ground and paying no attention to the wafting scent of smoke. Biding her time, holding her breath and forcing still her itching muscles, Queenie waited two more steps and two more heartbeats. Then she pounced. Ignoring Teresa’s pained cries she forced her back to the wall and pushed her arm against her throat.
‘I told you to stay away from her,’ Queenie said.
Her face contorted, her agony visible.
Queenie thrust her elbow into her stomach. Once. Twice. Teresa gasped for air. She did it again and her colour drained. Then Teresa started to fight, raising her knee and pushing out with her arm, so she grabbed her by her shoulders and thrust her backwards. Her head crunched against the wall. She sank to the ground.
‘Stay away from her!’ Queenie said.
Eliminating the groan from her mind, she carried on walking. Her focus was steady, her body anything but.
Teresa could hear Queenie’s gentle pad of footsteps fade, but she could not raise her head to look and remained squatted to the ground, clutching her stomach in the darkness and with her head ringing. Her breathing was heavy, her groans intermittent. She was shaking and cold.
The night was silent. There were no passing cars, no people wandering, and no music sounding from the nearby houses. She was alone and tormented by the pummelling and lost in a terrifying world.
She sank to the cold, hard floor and lifted her arm to her face, sweeping it across the scarred surface. She twitched, unable to restrain her dancing nerves, unable to gain lucidity. Her eyes were wide, yet she saw nothing. She was cold, oh so cold, but she could not move, frozen to the spot and captured by a traumatic past.
Flames had leapt towards her, vivid and haunting, surrounding her like demons, bending, weaving and teasing. A little distance away was her beautiful young daughter, innocent and undeserving, screaming and terrified. Her young feral eyes entrenched in panic, and her round face, framed by her lush chestnut-coloured hair, glowed in the heat. The child cried out. Her helplessness was crisp and clear. It was crushing, restricting Teresa of life.
The image faded and a new sense of panic took hold. She scanned the alley, searching left and right, looking for her daughter so cruelly taken. Unfathomably it had seemed only moments ago, yet in truth, decades had passed. She wanted her baby back and wanted to change paths, wishing she had not taken the track that had led to a lifetime of unhappiness. Although no excuse, irrepressible emotions had been her driving force.
If only she had not been in the barn on that fateful day.
Afterwards, Teresa’s suffering had been extreme driving her to the precipice of human survival. Geoff had helped her cling to life, pulled her away from what had appeared to be imminent self-destruction. He had protected her, nurtured her, and removed her guilt, telling her repeatedly that she was innocent. For many years, she had nestled into his body, focusing only on his confidence and security, and listened to his reassuring words that reminded her that she had already suffered enough.
The gunshots resonated in her head. She moaned, she rocked back and forth, she twitched, and she pulled at her fingers. The haunting visions would not depart. She was spinning in an abyss, out of control, tormented and terrified.
‘You okay?’
The words floated in the turmoil. A hand reached down.
‘Teresa?’
A man whom she recognised from village functions was leaning over her. She gawked. His face disappeared into imaginary flames.
‘Are you all right?’
She did not answer.
‘Has someone hurt you?’
Silence.
He was crouching, searching for something, scrutinising her. He seemed concerned. She could not understand why. Then, he reached into his pocket, retrieved a phone, and dialled a number. Teresa watched, guided by curiosity, but could not focus on what he said or with whom he was speaking to. After he had ended the call, he continued to ramble, this time to her. She wanted him to stop, irritated by his nasal-sounding voice and craving solitude.
Moments later, a figure darted from the street and into the alley. He was recognisable and Teresa lifted herself to her feet. ‘Steven . . .’
He gave her a concerned look. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Have you come to take me home?’
Steven exchanged a few words with the man and the stranger headed away.
‘What happened?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘Who did this to you?’
Her eyes flitted, her head swirling. ‘I killed my girl! I killed her!’
‘What are you talking about?’
She stared wide-eyed and helpless.
Ignoring her desperation, he linked her arm and encouraged her out of the alley. ‘Come on, I’ll drive you home.’
She leaned into him, quaking and nauseous, searching for his warmth and stability. Together, they stepped into the artificial light and the open space. There, she jolted to a standstill.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
She scanned the streets, searching for Queenie.
Steven followed her line of sight and then looked back at her, his eyes narrowed and questioning. She wanted to tell him what had happened, but it was out of the question. She carried too many secrets, things she could never share.
He didn’t respond and guided her to his car parked a few metres away.
‘Is Leanne with you?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘We’re not seeing each other anymore.’
‘Perhaps that’s wise.’
Steven frowned and guided her into the car.
He was just about to shut the door when she forced it back and grabbed his arm. ‘She’s going to need you. Be ready.’
Steven had spent the entire evening questioning her. She pleaded with him to stop and asked him to leave, but he did neither, at least not for hours. It was exhausting and exasperating, and it resulted in her having a fitful sleep.
The past was private, her secret. She could not tell him what she knew. It wouldn’t be a wise decision. Nonetheless, she had to act and considered Queenie’s threat one more time. She was not going to back off from her friendship with Leanne, but neither was she going to tell her what she knew. Everyone involved in the incident decades previous had much to lose, and she was no exception.
Teresa’s hand slid across her bruised stomach and she pondered the attack. Rather than fearing Queenie, she should stand up to her, as they were on equal terms. In fact, the more she thought about it the more she realised she had more to lose than Queenie. It was only time before Queenie relented to her inner yearnings. Why she hadn’t done so already was baffling.
Teresa’s suffering would be relentless. She would have no life, no support and would have to pay for her crimes. Uneasy, and needing a solution to her dilemma, she wandered into the conservatory and relaxed on a reclining chair. Through the sparkling windows, she watched the birds at the feeders, both sparrows and blue tits, and on the table, a little further towards the hedge was a robin. It stood, glancing from side to side, keeping a careful watch on its territory.
Acting on automaton, she unlocked the patio door, stepped into the refreshing air, and headed to a shed by the side of the house. Once inside, she retrieved a tub of dried mealworms, poured some onto the bird table, and gazed around the garden, searching for the friendly bird. It was waiting high up on a branch at the rear of a wide border, its well-defined round eyes maintaining keen focus. As soon as she stepped away, the robin flew in, snatched its feed, and flew back to the large shrub. She returned to the shed.
At the rear, beyond the organised tools, plant pots, feeds, weed-killers and pesticides was a large box. Replacing the bird feed onto a shelf, she deliberated over the contents. Inside were gifts for her daughter. With her gut twisting in agony, she weaved across then stared at the inscription on the dusty lid.
She had bought a card and gift for each of her daughter’s birthdays for the first eighteen years of her life. Needing a reminder of the pain she had endured, she removed the lid and stared at the small packages and cards. ‘For you my darling girl,’ it said on a small card. She could not move, swamped with crushing memories, and pressed her arms to her stomach for comfort. The burning sensation persisted, the loss forever real.
All of it was Queenie’s fault.
Having grown ever more uncomfortable, she managed to return to the warmth of the conservatory where she perched on a chair, sitting stiffly and pulling at her fingers, craving each satisfying crack. Her facial muscles twitched, her skin itched, and she shuffled her feet. She didn’t think about her daughter but other elements of her dreadful past, and it culminated with images of Queenie’s face pressing against hers, her smoky breath crinkling her nose, and the warning intimidating.
Driven by a need to act, she grabbed her jacket, put on her flat shoes, and fled from the house and into the revitalizing air. Remaining on alert, she walked through the streets, headed past the village hall, and progressed to a stile leading to a field. By the wall, she paused and looked towards the new housing estate. Her heart beat ever faster, her nervousness increasing. She could see a hunched person with a dog, although not Queenie and not Steven. She continued on, following the path at the edge of the field, and trod the firm, dry ground.
A barn was ahead. She started to perspire and felt herself slow, remembering how the flames reached into the sky and the screams echoed across the landscape. A beautifully rounded face with lush brown hair appeared in the scene, and written in her young eyes were the horrifying consequences.
Haunted by the tormented visions, she held her hands to her face, moaned, and backed away. She was about to run home when she remembered Queenie’s threat. She had to act, and keeping her eyes and mind on her footfalls, she trotted past the barn to the rear of Leanne’s garden. Seconds later, she rapped on the door.
‘Hello,’ Leanne said, ‘Come in.’
She peered into the living room and up the stairs. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes. What’s wrong?’
She shook her head and wiped her brow, removing the trickles of sweat.
‘You seem flustered.’
‘Have you spoken with Steven today?’
Sadness spread across her face. ‘No. Why?’
‘You two need to get back together.’
‘No . . . I don’t think so.’
‘You should. You have to.’
Leanne leaned into the kitchen unit and looked at the floor. ‘He’s made up his mind about us. He doesn’t think I trust him.’
‘Oh.’ She pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘You’re going to need him.’ She clenched her hands, hiding her tremors. ‘I know you’ve been to see Queenie. I saw her last night. You . . . you must avoid her.’
‘I’ve no intention of becoming friends with her.’
‘Good.’
‘What do you know about her?’
‘I . . . I’ve heard things about her. She’s trouble.’
‘How so?’
‘Always drinking, violent. She’s bad news Leanne. You must stay away from her.’
‘And I will, but she knows my mother. If she has any news-’
‘Please listen to me.’ She leaned forward. ‘She’s not who you think. You have to stay away from her.’
‘Who is she?’
She averted her gaze away from Leanne’s baffled expression and cracked her fingers.
‘Please tell me what you know,’ she reiterated.
She stood up and grabbed Leanne’s wrist. ‘If I would, I could. Do you understand?’
Her nod was imperceptible.
‘I am your friend. You can trust me.’
‘I know, but-’
‘So you will stay away from her?’
‘What’s going on?’
Teresa rushed through the hallway to the outer door. ‘Just avoid her, please.’
Then she was gone.
Luke looked up, watched Imogen remove her jacket and place it on a peg, and tried to disguise an emerging smile. She was wearing a slinky brown skirt and a frilly, patchy-green top. A vision of a willow tree sprung into his mind. It was outrageous and peculiar, and definitely Imogen. There wasn’t just one layer of fabric, in places there were several, creating a three-dimensional effect. She was a walking advertisement for decoupage.
‘What’s tickling you?’ she asked.
He averted his eyes, looked down to the papers on his desk, and fought his chuckles.
‘Glad something is amusing,’ she said, flicking on the kettle.
He exploded into laughter. ‘Did you get lost in the forest?’
‘Very funny.’
‘Had a date with an elf?’
She turned away, removed the coffee and dried milk from the cupboard, and spooned some into a mug. ‘Ha ha.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’ve just never seen anything like it. It’s . . . unusual.’
‘I’m glad you’re amused.’
‘It’ll take a bit of getting used to.’
She walked to her desk and flicked on the computer.
‘Enough water for two?’
She nodded and reached for his mug. ‘You don’t drink out of this do you?’
‘Why?’
‘It’s revolting.’ She angled it towards him. ‘It’s meant to be white inside, not brown.’
‘It’s always been that colour.’
‘Really Luke, this is disgusting. You men are all the same. I bet you don’t change your underwear either.’
‘That’s rather personal.’
She puffed out. ‘You know what my Mark does? He sniffs his socks before he puts them on, just to check they’re okay.’
Luke was sheepish.
‘No! Not you too!’
‘I change my socks every day.’
‘Of course you do. I can see it in your eyes. You’re such a bad liar.’
‘You can’t tell me, you’ve never worn the same thing two days running.’
She spread her arms. ‘Do I look like I have?’
‘I doubt you’ll wear that outfit twice.’
‘And what’s wrong with it?’
He grinned. ‘Do I need to spell it out?’
She turned away, faced the steaming kettle and folded her arms. The vapours reached the ceiling; the bubbling water intensified. It clicked off.
‘My Mark mumbled about it too, although not for the reasons you’re stating.’
‘Do I sense a hint of trouble in the love nest?’ he asked.
She spun around. ‘I thought it would be fun, but it’s hard work. He . . . he’s hard work.’
‘How so?’
‘I suppose it’s just the usual. You lived with Sarah for a while, didn’t you?’
He stiffened. ‘Yes, although we still both had our own places.’
‘Did you get on each other’s nerves?’
‘I can’t say we did.’
He recalled the joviality, the discussions, and the mealtimes. He remembered returning from work and seeing her beautiful smiling face. She would lean into him as they watched television and often she would fall asleep.
Then, the darker side of their relationship formed in his mind, and his sorrow rose. She had carried his baby, his son or daughter, and soon he would have been a father. He would have held him or her, fed and played with him or her. He would have had a purpose in life, a responsibility. He would have been needed.
He returned his attention to Imogen. ‘Maybe our problems were minimal because we only lived together for a few days at a time. Are you having doubts?’
She looked at her desk.
‘Just be patient.’
‘Are you still seeing Susie?’
‘I haven’t for a few days.’
‘Maybe I should find you someone else. It’s not good for you being single.’
‘I’m happy as I am.’
She looked at him, forlorn, like a lost child. He sensed she was unhappier than she was admitting, and it triggered a need to hold her and comfort her and share in her anguish.
‘I’m sorry you’re struggling,’ he said. ‘If you ever need a shoulder . . .’
‘That’s so sweet. Thanks, Luke.’
He looked away, his heat rising. ‘I do like your outfit, by the way. It suits you.’
‘You’re blushing!’
He leapt to his feet and scurried away. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘You so are.’
Karen Jefferson. Her name rattled inside Luke’s head. Who was she, where was she, and what had happened years previously? He scanned the document that discussed Ted Moore’s account of Karen’s teenage years, and considered her rebellious behaviour and the obvious family tension it created. Her relationship with Fiona must have been strained; he could not imagine how two girls with opposing character traits could have been amicable for long.
Karen had been wild, undisciplined, and independently minded. Fiona, on the other hand, had been quiet, studious, and willing to please. Had they struggled to share even a civilised conversation?
He glanced up. ‘Do you think Fiona was ashamed of Karen?’
‘Not at all. Why would you think that?’
‘Because Karen was everything Fiona hated.’
‘We don’t know that for sure.’
‘Okay, but assuming she was. Fiona would have sided with Janet over Karen’s behaviour.’
‘I don’t agree. I think when you’re young, you feel closer to your brothers and sisters, even if they’re different to you. Your parents are the enemy. If anything, I think Fiona would have sided with Karen.’
He rotated his pen between his fingers. ‘But Karen did seem rebellious, and it caused a lot of friction.’
‘Fiona may not have liked all the upset Karen caused, but I can’t see that she would have blamed her. She would have wanted them both to stop. It would have been difficult being in the middle.’
‘Janet did seem to take a hard stance.’
‘And Fiona would have become wiser because of what she witnessed.’
‘Do you think that’s why she didn’t drink much or do drugs?’
‘No, that’s not what I mean at all. She could have still done those things. I just think she might have learned how to handle Janet and may have been more secretive in her actions.’
He frowned. ‘Ted did say Fiona was almost sanctimonious in her behaviour. I just can’t see-’
‘She never got caught, that’s all.’
‘You could be right, I suppose.’
‘Do you have an older brother or sister?’ she asked.
‘No, he’s younger than me.’
‘My brother is older than me and I learned from what he did. Once, he arrived home drunk and got into a huge amount of trouble. So when I drank, I kept my head down and my parents never found out.’
‘And you got away with it?’
‘For sure. I was determined to appear clear-headed and bubbly and act as normal as possible. It was a huge effort, but it was worth it to avoid the punishment.’
He leaned back and folded his arms. ‘I’d have never thought you the type.’
‘What to have a few too many drinks?’
‘To be so deceitful.’
‘You think too highly of me Luke Adams.’
He averted his gaze. ‘I think we need to find someone who knew Karen, perhaps a friend. Can you see if you can contact the school and get a list of names?’
‘That was a swift change of subject.’
‘And have a look online. You never know, there might be contacts on the social network sites.’
‘Cool. Don’t you so love all of this?’
He gave her a questioning look.
‘It’s fascinating peering into people’s lives. It’s such a cool job.’
‘I suppose it is.’
She looked away and her slender fingers reached up to her face, and very gently, she touched her small upturned nose, stroked her smooth, pale cheek, and eased away a floating strand of hair. She was beautiful and she smelled delicious.
For a moment, a heavy yearning twisted his gut. Then, he stared at the spot on his desk where an image of his ex-girlfriend had resided for years. Sarah was his heart’s desire, his only chance at love. There was unlikely to be anyone else.
It was a crippling acceptance. He thought of her working at her desk. She would be wearing a business suit and her long brown hair would rest upon her shoulders, and although exquisitely groomed, she was not fastidious and did not care for fussy behaviour. Sarah lived for what was in her mind. She was a fantastic lawyer and a wonderful woman and different in every way to Imogen.
He reached for his mobile phone and scanned the list of contacts, and wondered if he had been hasty in his decision to remove her from his life. Would it harm to speak to her just once? His finger hovered over the dial button, and his heart throbbed and his hands quivered.
Imogen caught his eye. She had disapproved of his relationship with Sarah, often telling him that she had used him and that he could do better. He remembered the abortion, the lies, and the admission that she would never love him, and it imparted a crushing blow. Should he reconsider calling her? Would it be harmful? It would just be the once, a brief call.
He scurried to the bathroom with his phone, turned his back to avoid gazing at his reflection in a mirror, and whilst he had the courage, made contact. The ring tone sounded in his ear, warbling, on and on. There was no answer and his disappointment mounted. Feeling foolish, he returned the phone to his pocket and blanked out Sarah’s mocking expression. If she had wanted a relationship with him, she would have already been in touch.
Regretting his weakness, he strode to his desk, passing through Imogen’s sensational floral scent, and sat down. She was studying something on the computer monitor, and her tongue rested on her lip. He smiled. She caught his eye and smiled back.
Luke knocked on the glass door, eagerly anticipating progress with the case, and waited for Maureen to answer. A figure appeared through the frosted glass and the door opened. It was a man of about seventy years old, wearing pressed trousers, a cream shirt and a blue tie. He projected a hostile expression.
‘Maureen Colchester is expecting me. I’m Luke Adams.’
The man nodded, yelled upstairs, and disappeared into a room, leaving them standing in the doorway. It was chilly outside, and the cool air gushed into the heated house. It was such a waste of energy, and Luke peered apprehensively at Imogen before glimpsing over his shoulder.
The house was situated on the main road. Cars were queuing at the traffic lights waiting to pass through a congested intersection, a bus screeched to a halt, and a cyclist mounted a pavement and weaved around pedestrians.
‘Sorry to keep you. Come on in.’
He shook the woman’s hand and followed her into the kitchen.
‘I’m not sure how I’ll be able to help you,’ she said. ‘It all happened a long time ago.’
‘Whatever you can remember will be useful.’
‘I’ve just been looking upstairs for photographs.’ She peered at a dusty cardboard box resting on the floor. ‘These are the old ones. I’m not sure I’ll have anything mind.’
‘Do you remember Karen Jefferson?’
‘That I do. There were a few of them and they all hung around together. Sally and I used to avoid them like the plague. They’d pick a fight with you for the slightest thing. How her poor sister put up with her, I don’t know.’
‘What do you remember about Fiona?’
‘She died didn’t she?’
He nodded.
‘It was horrid, just horrid. She was quite a bit younger than I was so I didn’t know her, but from what folks said, the two of them were chalk and cheese. It’s hard to believe they were sisters.’
‘Did she ever hang around with Karen?’
‘Blimey, no. If Karen ever saw her, she’d poke fun at her in front of everyone. Fiona was such a timid thing. Folks said she was afraid of her.’
‘Afraid of Karen?’
‘Aye, that’s right. Karen wasn’t violent . . . no . . . but she had a hard exterior. I’d say it was put on.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Once, I saw her in the park late at night.’ She turned to face him. ‘She didn’t see me . . . no . . . she was with someone else. I don’t know who it was. Karen was crying. Full-blown blubbering.’
‘Did you know why?’
‘I heard her say something about never being listened to. I think it was family stuff. That’s all I know. It was heart-breaking. I never looked at her in the same way after that.’
‘How old was she?’
‘Seventeen, maybe eighteen. I don’t remember.’
Before her disappearance, Luke thought. ‘Can you remember the names of her closest friends?’
‘Now, let me see. There were four of them.’ She scratched her chin. ‘No, I can’t remember.’
‘Could you look through the photos? It might help.’
‘Of course.’
She bent over, grabbed a pile of photos from within the box and scattered them across the table. The images were of young people, presumably herself and her friends, and they brought a smile to her face.
Luke was searching the images for familiar sights and faces when his phone sounded. Seeing it was Leanne, he declined the call and returned it to his pocket. Moments later, a warble indicated an incoming text message. In the message, she mentioned three people, Mrs J Taylor, Queenie and Rusty. Leanne said they were friends of Karen.
‘Do you remember a J Taylor?’ Luke asked while showing the message to Imogen.
Maureen raised her head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Could it be June or Joyce?’
‘Or Julie or Joanne,’ Imogen added.
‘There was a Joanne, she was Karen’s best friend, but it wasn’t Taylor.’
‘What about Queenie or Rusty?’
‘No.’
‘Do you think they were nicknames?’ Imogen asked.
‘They did have some daft ideas, and they did toy around with nicknames for a while, but I wouldn’t have a clue what they were. From what I heard, they thought their names weren’t cool enough.’
Luke and Imogen’s eyes locked, then Maureen turned away and continued flicking through the photos and piling them up at the edge of the table. Occasionally she paused, smiling and reminiscing. He wanted to hurry her up and fought for patience.
‘This is her,’ she said, eventually. ‘I’m afraid it’s not very good.’
She passed it across. It was a bit hazy.
‘Karen and her friends are on the back table.’
‘Which one’s Karen?’
Maureen hesitated. ‘The red-haired one. Definitely.’
‘I didn’t know she had red hair.’
‘She didn’t . . . always. They would forever change their hairstyles and appearances. I doubt they looked the same two weeks running.’
‘Can I borrow this for a while?’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks for your time. I’m sorry, but we have to dash. You’ve been most useful.’
‘Nice to have the company.’
They headed outside and to the car.
‘We should visit Mrs Taylor,’ Luke said. ‘I want to surprise her.’
‘Do you have her address?’
‘No, can you get it from Leanne?
Luke stopped the car and looked to the house. Inside, just visible through the window, was a woman with red hair, and his expectations danced. He retrieved the photograph from his pocket, studied the facial structure, and looked back to the house. There was no obvious connection between the two women. He looked at the other three women on the photo and back again. There was still no obvious resemblance.
‘Can I have a look?’ Imogen said.
He gave it to her.
‘It could be her.’
‘It’s not a great likeness.’
‘No, I agree.’
‘She’s looking. Come on, we should go in.’
Imogen pressed the doorbell. A podgy woman with short dark-brown hair, and with a cigarette in her hand, appeared, scowling.
‘I’m Luke Adams. I’m wondering if you can help. I’m looking for Karen Jefferson. I believe you might know her.’
‘She’s not here.’ Queenie started to push the door closed. His foot was in the way.
‘Can we come in? It won’t take long.’
A red-haired woman appeared from behind. ‘What you want?’
‘Is one of you a Mrs J Taylor?’
They looked at each other. Queenie spoke first. ‘We’re Queenie and Rusty. That’s all you need to know.’
‘Do you know Karen Jefferson?’
She puffed on her cigarette. ‘Might do.’
‘Where can we find her?’
‘Not seen her for years.’
‘We know you were friends.’
‘So, it’s not a crime.’
‘She’s not in any trouble.’ He reached for a card. ‘I’m a private investigator. Her daughter wants to find her.’
‘She’ll never find her mother.’
He narrowed his gaze and studied the two women. Both were equally guarded. ‘Are you Joanne?’
‘I told you, I’m Queenie.’
‘We’re only here to help,’ Imogen said.
‘I don’t have time for this.’ Queenie ushered them backwards and pressed her hand onto the door.
‘Please,’ Luke said, ‘where can I find Karen?’
‘Try Northampton.’
He eased his foot away from the door. ‘Why Northampton?’
‘That’s where I last saw her, thirty odd years ago.’
The door pushed to. A bolt engaged. Curtains were drawn.
Bewildered, he looked at Imogen.
‘They hiding something,’ she said.
‘Do you think one of them is Karen?’
‘Could be, although they look nothing like they do in this photo. Having said that, it was taken decades ago.’
‘Well, they’re not going to talk. Maybe we should try Northampton.’ He sank into the seat of his car.
‘They could be sending us on a wild goose chase.’
He started the car, looked back at the house, and pulled away. ‘Let’s visit Leanne, she might know something.’
Moments later, they arrived and knocked on the door. There was no reply, yet her car was there. Following his instinctive curiosity, he strode along a flattened track to the rear, turned a corner, and looked at a barn. The beams were corroded, the hayloft was devastated, and part of the roof absent.
‘Tansy!’ a voice called. ‘Tansy.’
He turned around. A dog was racing towards him and his body stiffened. Her tongue was lolling, her legs at full stretch, and her determination written into her eyes. He leapt to one side. Tansy carried on, racing down the track and to the house.
‘I thought she might do this,’ Steven said. ‘That’s why I’ve been avoiding walking this way. Are you looking for Leanne?’
‘Yes, there was no answer at the door. I thought she might be down here.’
‘Are you the investigator?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I’m Steven . . . a friend. Have you got anywhere?’
‘We’re piecing bits together. It all takes time.’
‘I’m sure it does.’
They walked towards the house. Imogen was chatting to Leanne, and the dog was next to them, wagging furiously. The instant they turned the corner, he noticed a plaintive glance pass between Leanne and Steven, and the closer they became, the more awkward the silence.
‘Tansy,’ Steven called.
The dog looked at him and then back at Leanne, but she would not move.
‘Tansy!’
She sat down at Leanne’s feet.
‘Damned dog,’ Steven mumbled and continued forward.
Imogen caught Luke’s eye and then turned to Leanne. ‘We’ve just visited Queenie and Rusty and they suggested we should try Northampton. Any ideas why?’
Leanne’s gaze was magnetised to Steven. ‘No.’
‘Have you ever lived there?’ Imogen asked.
‘I was born there.’
Imogen turned to Luke. ‘We could try the hospital?’
‘What did they say?’ Leanne asked.
‘They weren’t forthcoming I’m afraid,’ he said.
‘Did they say who Mrs J Taylor was?’
‘No. Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.’
Leanne was displaying a melancholy expression as she watched Steven hooking up the dog. She was more engrossed with him than the case. Luke saw it as his command to leave.
‘Thanks. It’s getting late and we should get back. We’ll be in touch.’ They headed away.
‘What’s with those two?’ Imogen whispered out of earshot.
‘No idea.’
‘I think they’ve had a lover’s tiff.’
Luke peered over his shoulder. Steven was dragging Tansy away. ‘I think you’re right.’
Leanne felt as though she should make a hasty retreat, but she was frozen to the spot and stared at Steven as he dragged Tansy along the trodden path, urging her away from a place he had never intended to visit. The dog persisted in looking backwards, slowing their progress and knotting her master’s legs, but it made little impact and caused her needless discomfort as the leash jarred. After a decisive telling off, Tansy continued forward, although still at a sluggish pace, and gave Leanne a last plaintive glance.
Yearning for Steven to turn and apologise, Leanne edged forward, her agony tightening her heart, her focus all-absorbing. She traced the muscular tone of his legs and the broadness of his shoulders and watched his strands of golden brown hair lift up in the breeze. There was sadness within her eyes and regret within her mind as their previous disagreement persisted with its haunting ritual.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted.
He stopped and turned. ‘I’m sorry too.’
Cautiously, she stepped towards him, noting how he avoided locking eyes. ‘Can we talk?’
‘There’s nothing to say.’
Her tongue stilled; she held her silence.
‘I thought you were different,’ he said, ‘I can’t believe you’d think I would see Queenie. She’s . . . she’s . . .’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll keep on saying it if it helps.’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘What we have is worth fighting for, is it not?’
He looked to the ground, his eyes wandering, his lips stirring. ‘I should go.’
‘Please don’t.’
He strode away, faster this time, and headed to the field and progressed around the perimeter. Not once did he turn; not once, did his steps falter.
Despondent, she returned indoors, slumped onto a chair, and gazed at her business plans strewn across a low table, unable to generate interest or enthusiasm. Her anger was simmering. Steven must have been searching for an excuse to end their budding relationship, but he should have been honest rather than putting the blame on her. It was inconceivable to think he would still be annoyed at her for her accusation. Queenie had had her arm draped over Steven. It was not as if she had lied.
Drifting, she relived their argument in the town centre. Ever since their first encounter, they had had problems, yet with Phillip, it had been trouble-free. Was it a sign? Her relationship with Steven had barely started and it was continually stumbling. Perhaps she should forget him.
She puffed out, the papers and plans catching her eye. She flicked through the various sheets, each a summary of the individual business areas, and scanned a list of the products to be sold. There were glass painting supplies, felt and foam, crepe and tissue paper, and much more. The list was endless, and the hope of including a range of exclusively designed finished products fading. Space would be limited and the room to support struggling artists probably not economical. Nevertheless, she looked to her partial list of ideas and decided that somehow, even if it were via photographic displays, she would exhibit some goods.
It was an exciting prospect, and her energies expanded. She drew images of the displays, she developed her list of expansion ideas, and she created a basic outline for an online site. Then she considered promotion ideas. She could run workshops, demonstrations and competitions, and she could get involved in the community. Her mind was buzzing and her ideas flowing from the pen.
After many hours of work, she slumped back into the chair and listened to the persistent cries from her aching body. Her head was thick, her arm like a lead weight, and her eyes blurring. Stretching, and taking a few moments to regain her focus, she reached to her telephone.
‘Hi Geoff, it’s Leanne. How’s it going?’
‘We have a little problem. There is a legal issue to sort out relating to Mrs Oakdale’s ex so we’ve had to put the brakes on, but it’s nothing to worry about.’
‘How long do you think it will delay us by?’
‘Not sure. Could be a few days . . . could be a couple of weeks.’
‘Okay.’
‘Don’t worry Leanne. These things happen all the time. Have you been making plans?
‘Yes. I’m working on it now. We must meet up some time to go through them . . . Tony too.’
‘Yes, sure, great idea. I’ll be in touch. I’m a bit busy at the moment.’
‘Before you go, we never changed the vault over into my name. When can we do it?’
‘I completely forgot about that! Now let me see. How does Friday sound? No, wait, I can’t. I’m likely to be in London. Tell you what, I’ll give you ring. It’s nothing for you to worry about, though. I hope you realise that.’
‘Yes, of course. I just like to be organised.’
‘I love your attitude. I can see we’ll make a fantastic team. This is all very exciting for me.’
‘Yes, me too. I can’t wait to get started.’
‘Great stuff. Look, I’m sorry to be rude, but someone’s waiting for me. I must go.’
‘Fine. Bye.’
She placed the phone onto the table, strode into the lounge, and slumped onto the sofa, happy but exhausted. Needing to relax her mind, she lifted her legs onto the soft fabric, placed a cushion under her head and shut her eyes.
Although she did not intend to meditate, Leanne followed the same routine and squeezed every muscle in her body in turn, releasing the tension, and breathing in a deep and slow manner. She inhaled, held her breath, and exhaled, each for five seconds. Then she increased the time to ten seconds, and soon the fuzziness inside her head started to fade.
After a while, dreamlike images appeared, rather like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and lacking the same cohesion. There was a digital clock displaying 15:37 hanging from a curved metal structure. There were a railway line and a bridge. There were mumbling voices. Leanne shuffled, her breathing laboured. There was a scream, screeching brakes, and a loud, crushing thud. She bolted upright, sweating profusely and with wild, frantic eyes, and searched the rapidly fading detail of the victim. The body was a silhouette, the blood an ever-growing pool.
Luke and Imogen strode through the double doors to the hospital, scanned the reception and waiting area, and followed the signs to the lifts and staircase. The air was odourless and the atmosphere subdued as hospital workers, patients, and visitors wandered the corridors.
Two nurses with grave expressions hurried by, conversing in low voices and carrying an assortment of clean linen and a bedpan. They disappeared into a room and closed the door. Next, a distressed teenage girl exited the lift and ran by. Tears streamed down her reddened face, swelling and streaking her eyes as she released gasping moans. Luke’s gut tightened. He could feel death in the air.
He arrived at the lift and waited, shuffling his feet and trying not to stare at a sick man in a wheelchair. He looked about forty, was gaunt and pale and had his head resting at an angle at the top of the wheelchair. His eyes were a sickly yellow colour, his lips were near-white, and saliva dripped from his mouth. He groaned and the nurse leaned over and cleaned his chin. She did it with ease and showed no expression of fear or disgust, an admirable quality.
Luke and Imogen travelled to the third floor in silence. Once they had departed from the small space, he felt his guard loosen and his breathing relax.
‘I’d hate working here,’ he said.
‘Did you see that poor girl? I wonder what happened.’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t see anyone chasing after her.’
‘Didn’t you? Just after you entered the lift, the other one arrived, and a man and a boy rushed out. I heard the boy saying, “Can you see her?” They were quite frantic.’
‘I wonder if you ever get used to dealing with stuff like this.’
‘I have a friend who’s a nurse and she said it was horrible the first time someone died. She said she learned to become emotionally detached.’
‘You know a nurse?’
‘Luke! She’s married.’
‘Pity.’
‘I thought you were happy being single.’
‘I am. I’m waiting for the right woman.’
She had a glint in her eye. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time. I can’t imagine anyone putting up with your dirty mind.’
‘I don’t have a dirty mind.’
‘Really? What was your first thought when I said I knew a nurse?’
‘I was surprised.’
‘You’re such a poor liar. No doubt you watch porno movies with nurses in.’
He feigned surprise. ‘There are porno movies with nurses?’
She gave him a bemused look.
‘I must hang around with you more. I learn all sorts.’
They reached the end of a corridor and paused, unsure of which way to go. After checking his notes on a scrap of paper, they continued to the right away from the wards and to rooms with either department names or individuals names on the doors. They turned left into another short corridor and rapped on the end door.
A scrawny woman in her late fifties with blonde streaked hair welcomed them inside. She introduced herself as Joyce Cunningham, now a senior administrator but once a nurse, and offered them drinks.
‘As I explained on the phone,’ he began, ‘we’re trying to trace the whereabouts of Karen Jefferson. Her daughter was born in this hospital. At least that was what the birth certificate says.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Ms Jefferson did come here. I didn’t need to check. I remembered it well. I was working on the maternity ward back then and was quite startled when I saw the name on the list of the day’s entries. See, I knew someone of that name and I hadn’t seen her for a few months. I thought it was her.’
Luke nodded, encouragingly.
‘We had been good friends, but then she married and we started to drift apart. It’s quite a sad story because she was desperate for a baby yet couldn’t get pregnant, so as you can imagine, when I saw the name on the list I was elated.’
‘But it wasn’t her.’
‘No.’ She gazed through the window. ‘Unfortunately not.’
‘Were you involved with the birth?’
‘Yes, I was there. I was a bit miffed because she repeatedly told me she didn’t want the baby. It seemed unfair. The Karen I knew was desperate for a child, and this woman wanted to be rid, so I had an idea . . .’
‘You wanted to unite the two.’
‘Yes. I felt it was meant to be. They had the same names. I saw it as a sign.’
‘What happened?’
‘Karen, the one you’re looking for, moaned endlessly. She said she could never face anyone with a baby in her arms. It was wrong, and she said she had let everyone down. I tried to convince her otherwise but she just kept saying it was sinful.’
Luke and Imogen’s eyes locked.
Joyce continued. ‘Times were different back then, but still, a baby was a wonderful gift. Karen didn’t see it that way.’
‘She definitely said that?’
‘Yes, as clear as though it was yesterday. I assumed she didn’t have a partner, and when I went out into the corridor I was proven right.’
‘She was alone?’
‘No, a woman was with her. We talked. I was still thinking about my friend, see? But she was sure she’d change Karen’s mind and get her to accept the baby.’
‘Do you remember her name?’ Luke asked.
She looked to the table. She gazed at the doorway. She scratched her cheek. ‘It was an unusual name.’
‘Joanne?’ Luke said.
‘No. It was something quite strange.’
‘Queenie or Rusty?’
Joyce’s face lit up. ‘Queenie! That’s it!’
Luke glimpsed at Imogen. ‘Do you have any idea where they lived or worked?’
‘They were renting a flat above a restaurant. I took the address so I could check on Karen. That baby had become a bit of an obsession, see?’
He nodded, urging her on.
‘I think it’s still there.’
‘The name?’
He had his pen poised. With any luck, she might still be there.
At the end of a row of townhouses, set at the corner was a restaurant. Luke pulled into a parking bay, turned off the engine, and looked to Imogen.
‘It’s worth a shot,’ he said.
‘You never know, she may at least have left a forwarding address. Are you feeling lucky?’
He gave her a baffled look.
‘You must have days when you feel everything’s going your way. I certainly do.’
‘And you think today is one of them?’
Imogen clicked open her bag, retrieved a small mirror and peered at her reflection. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
She touched up her lipstick. ‘You know what my Mark does? He is constantly fiddling with his phone and drives me mad. Last night, we were having a conversation and he didn’t look at me once. It’s so annoying.’
She returned it to her bag. Then, using the mirror scrutinised her eyebrows.
‘We all have faults,’ Luke said.
‘It’s an addiction, an obsession. He never stops.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Texts, Facebook, Twitter.’ She peered at him, eyeliner in hand. ‘He brags about how many hundreds of friends and followers he has. I’m just not interested.’
‘Tell him to stop.’
‘I’ve tried. I tell you, it’s like a drug. He seems to think the world will end if he doesn’t tell everyone what he’s doing. I wouldn’t care so much if he led an exciting life, but he doesn’t. He tells people what food he’s eating or what programmes he’s watching. There’s no privacy.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘He won’t accept that it involves me too. I don’t want my life scrutinised by the world.’
‘It might just be a phase.’
‘You think? Would you like it if your girlfriend was telling everyone what colour underpants you were wearing?’
‘He does that?’
‘He’s been known to.’ She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. ‘You know what, if you ever want to know my dress size or waist measurement go to my Mark’s twitter page.’
He exited the car and strode around to the pavement. ‘I might just do that.’
She nudged him in the ribs. ‘Cheeky.’
He smiled.
‘Sorry for whingeing.’
‘No worries.’
They strode a few doors away to the restaurant and peered up to the first floor flat. Given the lack of curtains and blinds it seemed as though it was unfurnished, Undeterred, they found a doorway around the back and rang a bell. After a few moments, they decided it was, in fact, empty. Imogen suggested they tried the restaurant. It was closed, but inside there was light and movement. They rapped on the door. An aging man strolled across.
‘I’m Luke Adams, a private investigator, and this is Imogen. We’re trying to trace someone who lived in the flat upstairs about thirty-five years ago.’
‘You’re expecting a lot. That place has rarely seen the same folks for more than a few months at a time. It causes me a headache.’
‘Are you the owner?’
‘Yes. ‘Greg Jenson. I’ve had the flat and restaurant for the best part of forty years.’
He peered at the orange and brown décor. ‘I like the colours, you’ve chosen . . . very effective.’
‘A lot of work has gone into it.’
‘I can tell,’ he said, ‘it’s smart.’
‘Who are you after?’
‘Her name is Karen Jefferson. I think she stayed with a friend, Queenie.’
Greg smiled and had a distant look in his eyes. ‘Karen Jefferson . . . well, well.’
‘That’s right.’
‘She was a live wire.’
‘You knew her?’
‘We saw each other for a while.’
A man appeared at Luke’s rear, wafting a piece of paper. They stepped inside the restaurant, moving out of the way.
‘Hang on,’ Greg said, weaving past.
Luke peered outside to a large van labelled ‘Parry Foodstuffs’. The name was familiar, but he could not determine how or from where. It rattled.
After a few moments, Greg returned and the man started to deposit his load near the kitchen door.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, ‘now, what were we saying?’
‘You had a relationship with Karen.’
‘Yes, she had a baby, but after that . . . well, it went pear-shaped and she left.’
‘The baby was yours?’
‘Yes, but it died. Karen flipped . . . couldn’t handle it, and left.’
‘When was this?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. 1973 or 1974. I can’t remember for certain.’
Luke looked to Imogen. ‘When was Leanne born?’
‘1975.’
Pensive, he glanced at the assortment of packages, each one emblazoned with Parry Foodstuffs. ‘Did Karen leave straight after the birth?’
‘No, she hung around for about six months. I saw her a few times after that, maybe over the next year or so. I haven’t seen her since. Is she in trouble?’
He returned his notebook and pen to his pocket. ‘No, her daughter is looking for her.’
‘Do you know anything about her friend?’ Imogen asked. ‘They lived together.’
‘It was her sister, wasn’t it?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I could be wrong. I didn’t see her much.’
‘Do you remember her name?’
‘No.’
‘Jo? Rusty? Fiona?’
Greg shook his head. ‘I doubt I’d remember. I didn’t pay much attention back then.’
The deliveryman deposited the last box near the kitchen door, strode across, and handed him a sheet of paper. Greg added his signature to the sheet and took his copy. ‘Cheers mate.’ The man left.
‘Do you have any photos?’ Luke asked.
‘No. If I did I’d have got rid when I married.’
‘Any ideas about her friends, her job, what her plans were?’
‘No sorry. I only cared about one thing in those days.’
He reached for a card. ‘If you remember anything else can you ring me?’
‘Sure.’
They left the building. It was starting to rain and cool droplets slithered from his face down his neck. The clouds were descending, the visibility was poor, and the road was already starting to congest. It was going to be a tedious journey home.
Leaves danced in the air, floating and dropping, coiling and weaving, as the almost naked branches displayed their flexibility in the whooshing wind. It was late morning, yet it felt more like late afternoon, and the dark turbulent skies tumbled towards the village, burdened and menacing.
Sensing the chill from the window, Leanne shivered, wrapped her arms around her middle and listened to the whispering cries of the wind. Evergreens tussled, battling to remain upright as a brave bird vacated the apparent safety of cover to fly to new ground. It was a desolate scene; there were no crisp and clear colours in the autumnal sunshine, no elongated shadows extending across the land, and no wildlife enjoying the bounty of berries and seeds.
Her ache for companionship intensified. Just a glimpse of a car or a person would ease her need and dissolve the ridiculous notion in her head that she was alone in the world. What if the roof blew off or if the tree a short distance from the house crashed into her? If she was injured in an accident, she could remain buried for days.
Returning to the kitchen table and her business plans, she willed herself to be at ease with her solitude, but focusing was difficult. Distracted by the blustery conditions outdoors she searched the footpath for Steven’s wind-beaten form. In her mind, he was smiling, a wonderful lopsided smile, and craving her attention; his eyes dazzled, he thrust aside floating strands of hair with his slender fingers, and he caressed his lips with his tongue.
Jolting herself back to reality, she chastised herself for her stupidity, urging her burning longing to subside as his rejection haunted. She recalled his final words and remembered his pained expression, but the comparisons he made to his ex-wife were what hurt the most. The two situations were not the same.
It was infuriating that he would link the two. Disappointed, she folded her arms and scowled, denying his accusations. Unlike Andrea, she had not used the situation to find another lover; she had merely told him what she had seen. It was true, damn it. Steven had been with Queenie.
Closing the door to the hopelessly circulating ponderings, Leanne tried to reconnect with her business plans and looked at the possibility of attending craft fairs and exhibitions. She flicked through magazines and copied the details into her notebook, and then chose the ones that were within about a hundred miles or had business potential. She dialled the first number and listened to the ring tone. A woman with a soft voice answered.
‘Hello,’ Leanne said, ‘I understand there is a craft exhibition in Garston Hall on the 21st January. Are there any slots left?’
‘I will have a look, just hang on a minute.’
There were the tapping of keys and a mumble of voices.
‘You’re in luck. We’ve just had a cancellation. What’s your business name?’
‘Can I make a provisional booking?’
‘We need the money to confirm. These are popular events.’
‘It’s just that my craft shop isn’t up and running yet and I’d like to participate.’
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t change anything.’
‘Okay. I will register in my own name. Can I pay be credit card?’
‘Sure.’
Leanne gave her the details and made a note to extract the money from the business. Satisfied that she had made her first booking, she returned her attention to her notebook and continued her attempt to acquire stalls. Some were fully booked, but others, further into next year, still had spaces. By the time she had reached the bottom of her list, she had managed to book four stalls over the summer, two at the start of the year, and one at the end. Feeling satisfied, she leaned back and admired her plans.
An anxious rapping on the door made her jolt. She jumped to her feet, peered out of the window, noting the rain streak the glass, and rushed to the outer door. Her heart skipped a beat. It was Steven. His hair flattened against his head and his clothes were sodden.
‘Is Tansy here?’
‘No.’
‘Have you seen her at all?’
‘No.’
‘Hell.’ He turned around, gazing into the horizontal rain. ‘She’s not run off before.’
‘She could have gone home.’
‘Yeah. I have to go.’
‘Let me help,’ she said.
She rushed for her hat and coat, changed into her sturdy boots and hurried outside. He was scanning the field at the end of her plot and calling out his dog’s name.
‘How long has she been gone?’
‘Nearly an hour. I’ve been around the streets . . . gone to her favourite spots. No one’s seen her. I was so sure she’d be here.’
‘Let me check the barns.’
‘I’ve already done that.’
Nevertheless, she trotted to the barn, stooping to avoid the rain from hitting her face and tussling with the wind and peered up to the hayloft. She scanned a chest in a dark corner and strained to listen for movement or whimpering cries. There was no sign of the dog.
Steven appeared in the doorway, ‘I’m going home. She might have found her way back.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Please, I want to help. Two sets of eyes are better than one.’
He did not decline her offer, so she followed him along the path to the small estate. Steven was frantic; his steps were hurried, his expression pained, his eyes searching. Repeatedly, he called out. Tansy did not appear.
Drenched and wind-blown, they arrived near his street. He strode out, looking into each garden and down each drive, still calling, still uptight. It was difficult keeping pace, and her legs quivered, her lungs tightened, and chilling drops of water trickled down her neck.
‘Tansy,’ he yelled.
Nothing.
‘Tansy.’
Tansy appeared on the pavement at the end of his drive, soaked and wagging her tail. She bounded towards him, leapt into the air, and barked and squealed. Her body twisted as her tail swung in an arch, and her paws padded the ground with none maintaining contact for more than a fraction of a second. Her eyes were shiny and her mouth curved. She was panting and happy.
Steven turned towards Leanne. ‘You’d better come in and dry off.’
Her eyes locked with Tansy’s. She offered the dog her silent appreciation.
Leanne was waiting for Steven to return wearing dry clothes when her phone sounded. It was Tyler.
‘Hello love, is everything all right?’
‘I . . . I just fancied a chat.’
‘Are you at school?’
‘Yes. It’s lunchtime.’
‘What’s wrong?’
He hesitated. ‘Nothing.’
‘Are you sure? You don’t often ring at this time.’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘How’s Darren treating you?’
There was silence.
‘Tyler?’
‘Fine. Everything’s fine.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘He hasn’t done anything. I just wanted to ring you. I didn’t expect the third degree.’
‘You don’t sound yourself,’ she said, ‘that’s all.’
‘I’ve had a hard morning . . . just had French.’
He hated French. ‘Okay.’
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Steven lost his dog. We’ve just been looking for her. We’re both drenched.’
There was silence.
‘Please talk to me. You clearly rang for a reason,’ she said.
‘There’s some stuff I need.’
‘You want some money?’
‘No, I need some things from home.’
‘Okay. I’ll be over tonight.’
No,’ he said quickly, ‘not tonight.’
There were voices in the background.
‘It’s no problem,’ she continued.
‘No. I’m busy. Look, I have to go. I’ll speak later.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am.’
The ring tone sounded in her ear. Leanne clung to the phone, baffled.
‘Is everything all right?’ Steven asked.
He was drying his hair with a towel and had changed into jogging pants and a clean white t-shirt. He looked sensational and a beautiful aromatic scent drifted towards her.
‘It was Tyler. Something’s wrong. He never rings during the day.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He wants something from home. It’s strange that he didn’t ring during the evening.’
‘It must have been on his mind.’
She frowned. ‘His voice was wrong. He seemed a bit depressed.’
‘You might be imagining it.’
‘No, I’m not. I know my son.’
‘I didn’t mean-’
She steadied her nerves. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t like him staying with Darren. It’s not right. He should be with me.’
‘Then tell him.’
‘It has to be his choice. I’ll only drive him further away.’
‘But maybe he needs you to make it clear you want him back.’
She gawped. ‘You don’t think he feels I’m pushing him away, do you?’
He withheld his reply.
‘Oh no!’ she said. ‘He went quiet when I mentioned you. Maybe he thinks I am choosing you over him.’
He turned away and laid the towel over the radiator. ‘Try not to worry.’
He avoided eye contact and looked a little unsettled, as though he didn’t want to be dragged into her problems. Not willing taking the risk, and deciding nothing could be done during school hours, she forced her turmoil aside and asked about Tansy. Steven shared numerous stories about her life from the first time she visited the coast to and the destruction of a padded stool. It proved positive and his mood brightened.
‘How is your business plan going?’ Steven asked.
‘Great. This morning I booked stalls at craft exhibitions. The first one is in January. I was lucky, I got the last spot.’
A smile accompanied his approval.
‘I’ve made plans to include crafted products in the shop, done by locals. I’m hoping to incorporate a small stand somewhere. I hope there’s enough space.’
‘You’ve not seen it?’
She hesitated. ‘No. I’ve seen the floor plans.’
‘Why don’t you drive over?’
‘I . . . I suppose I could.’
‘I’d have thought Geoff would have wanted you to see your investment.’
‘He’s been fantastic. There’s been a little delay with the contracts, but he has kept me informed all the way.’
‘Did you have the contract checked by a lawyer?’
Her eyes flitted. She rubbed her hands.
‘My brother’s a lawyer. I could ask him to look it over if you like.’
‘I’ve already signed it,’ she said quietly.
‘He could still point out any grey areas . . . make you aware of any possible problems.’
‘I . . .’ she stopped and withdrew her negative reply. ‘Thanks.’
‘Do I sense a problem?’
‘We put it in a bank vault.’
‘Okay. When you get it, pass me a copy. How about we check out the business online?’
‘I don’t think there’s a website. I’m not connected so I haven’t checked.’
He jumped to his feet. ‘Follow me.’
They headed into his office and started a search for the craft business. There were numerous references with the same name, but none with the same address.
Her anxieties deepened, her heart thumping. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s definitely that address?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a telephone number?’
‘I . . . I can’t remember it. Geoff was dealing with the paperwork.’
Steven was staring, pondering. She felt such a fool.
‘There’s something I have to do. Can you get the number for Lloyds Bank?’
Moments later, he was pointing to the number on the screen.
‘Hello,’ Leanne said, her voice quivering. ‘I need to access a company vault, but it has my partner’s name on it. Can you check if it’s been accessed?’
After reiterating the question numerous times, she was able to speak to someone at her branch. She waited whilst the assistant checked.
‘I’m sorry,’ the man said, ‘there was a vault in that name, but it was closed a few days ago.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who closed it?’
‘It can only be closed by the person who opened it.’
‘But it has my contract in it. It was mine.’
‘And you are?’
‘Leanne Stark, Geoff Shaw’s business partner. We were going to change the ownership of the vault into my name.’
‘I suggest you speak to him.’
‘Do you know what he did with the contract?’
Silence.
‘Sorry. Bye.’
She replaced the handset onto the charger and gawked at Steven. Her mind was swirling, her legs weakening.
‘There must be a reasonable explanation,’ he said.
She dialled Geoff’s number. It rang and rang. There was no answer.
Queenie stuffed her washing attire and other small accessories into a small bag, and zipped it up and placed it onto the bed. Then she flung open the wardrobe, a two-door beech effect with plastic handles, and stared at her clothes. There were jeans and trousers, an assortment of tops, a tight-fitting black dress and a navy skirt. It was not a lot, but at least it meant moving was easy.
She perched on the edge of the bed and considered her options. She was too old to roam the streets, money was in short supply and friends were scarce. She could go to Kyle’s house, although the prospect of more arguments and an endless character assassination was unappealing. Queenie exhaled and groaned. Staying with Rusty had given her the mental time out she had needed. If only Leanne had not contacted Luke Adams.
The door creaked open. Rusty was standing on the landing, her red hair illuminated by the light. ‘You’re not leaving,’ she said.
She yanked a garment from a coat hanger and thrust it into the small case. ‘I can’t stay.’
‘I assume this is because of Leanne.’
She held a pained stare.
‘Just be honest! They’ll understand why you acted as you did.’
‘It’s not just that. I was out of control and everyone knew it.’
Rusty heaved a sigh. ‘It was an accident.’
‘It didn’t feel like an accident at the time.’
‘It wasn’t deliberate or planned. It just happened.’
Queenie opened a drawer, removed piles of underwear, and slung them into the case. Then she thrust it shut.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re always running. You’re not guilty, yet you act like you are.’
She gazed at her fingernails and smoothed down a hangnail.
‘Please stay. I need you around.’
‘You’ll manage, you always do.’
Rusty leaned into the doorframe. ‘It’s more fun when you’re here. Remember London and the nightclubs, the men, the wild parties? We didn’t see daylight for weeks.’
‘Northampton was better. Almost every day for the last thirty-five years, I’ve wished we stayed. I don’t know what we were thinking. God, I was so selfish.’
‘Hardly. We were young and wanted freedom. Having a kid around was hard work.’
‘You always were more for returning than me. You were anti-children back then.’
Rusty’s eyes narrowed. ‘I wanted a kid with a decent man and not some no-hoper I’d met on the streets.’
‘Is there such a thing?’
‘You’re very cynical.’
‘And I’ve every right to be.’ She thrust out her hands. ‘Look at me. I’m not exactly popular.’
‘Maybe not, but you do have a home.’ The doorbell sounded. Rusty gazed down the stairs. ‘For once, see something through. It’s what you should have done with many of your relationships, including Kyle. You never seem to learn.’
With the words echoing, she hurried down the stairs.
Luke and Imogen stared at the door, feet poised to jam the door and ready to force one of them to speak. He surmised it wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary, and he had his hand flat against the surface and his eyes on the handle. It opened. He caught a glimpse of Rusty. The weight of the door was upon him.
‘I just need a few minutes,’ he said, ‘it’s important.’
‘We’ve nothing to say,’ Rusty said.
‘Please. We won’t bother you again.’
‘We’ve already told you what we know.’
‘Then you won’t mind me asking a few questions.’
There were footsteps pounding the stairs and a mumble of voices. The door eased open and a stench of smoke wafted into him.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘We’re not doing this for you,’ Queenie said, scowling.
Rusty departed into a nearby room and Queenie sat on the staircase, two steps up, her face carved with hostility.
‘We went to the hospital and spoke to a woman who helped Karen with her birth. She said you were waiting in the corridor,’ Luke said.
‘So?’
‘Is Rusty Karen?’
Queenie removed a cigarette from a packet, placed it between her lips, and reached for a lighter. She lit it, inhaled, and puffed out. ‘You have it all worked out.’
‘Am I right?’
‘No.’
Luke glanced at Imogen. ‘It would make it much easier if you just told me where Karen is.’
‘And what if I don’t know.’
‘I think you do.’
She rested her hand on her knee and the smoke billowed.
‘Did Karen want her baby?’ Luke asked.
‘Doesn’t every mother?’
‘No, I don’t believe they do.’
‘Well Luke Adams, you know more than me.’
He was exasperated. ‘You were Karen’s friend. You know full well that she didn’t want her baby.’
‘Is that what you learned?’
Silence.
‘Whoever told you must have a good memory.’
He glared. ‘She abandoned Leanne. It fits.’
‘Strange logic. I can assure you, Karen was desperate to be a mother.’
Queenie refused to remove her gaze from him, causing a twitching unease. His eyes wandered, following the billowing circles of smoke rising to the ceiling. Out of his eye corner, he could feel her penetrating stare.
‘How did she feel having a baby out of wedlock?’
‘As I said, Karen was desperate for a baby.’
Puzzled, he glimpsed at Imogen; the entire situation was baffling. He gathered his thoughts and proceeded with his line of questioning.
‘Then we went to see a Mr Jenson.’ He noted a flicker of recognition in her eyes. ‘Karen had had a relationship with him.’
‘So?’
‘He said the baby died.’
Queenie reached for an ashtray, her expression deadpan. ‘Your point?’
‘Was Leanne born before or after this baby?’
‘Should I do your job for you?’ Her eyes darted between Luke and Imogen. ‘If Leanne was born first, Greg would have mentioned the child.’
‘So you did know him?’
Anxiety ripped into Queenie’s face.
‘I never said that his name was Greg,’ he added.
‘And I never said I didn’t know him.’
‘What’s even more interesting is that he said Karen’s sister, Fiona, stayed with her.’
‘And why is that interesting?’
‘Because rumour has it, Karen and Fiona didn’t get on.’
She grinned. ‘You surprise me, Luke Adams, believing in rumours.’
‘Did they live together?’
‘She was Karen’s sister. It probably happened on occasions.’
‘How did you feel about that?’
‘How should I feel?’
‘Fiona was . . . put it this way . . . disciplined and studious.’
‘Really?’
‘Was she working?’
‘It depends on who you ask.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘I’m asking you.’
‘Then no she wasn’t.’
‘So it was a holiday?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was a holiday.’ She jumped up and encouraged them backward. ‘I’ve had enough, time to go.’
‘Why was she having a holiday?’
‘Why does anyone have a holiday?’
Queenie persisted in forcing them out and Luke and Imogen shuffled backward. The door thudded closed. Imogen mirrored Luke’s bewilderment and frustration.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. Shall we go for a coffee and see if we can work it out.’
‘Good idea.’
The café had a historic feel. There were paintings of horses and carriages on the otherwise white walls and there were stone slabs on the floor. In the air, drifting in the diffused light was the gentle aroma of baking food. Having purchased the coffees, Luke and Imogen advanced to a table near the small window.
A group of men gazed across at Imogen and Luke’s pride swelled. Projecting elegance and sophistication, she smoothed out the flimsy fabric of her skirt as she sat, and held a delightful self-assured pose. Her fawn hair framed her face, her lips gently pressed together, and her small upturned nose crinkled as she leaned towards her coffee. She was beautiful. Smugly, he glimpsed at the men.
‘How’s it going with Mark?’
Her face sank. ‘Oh, okay I guess. Although I must say it was more exciting when we lived apart.’
‘You should try doing what Sarah and I did, and do it for a few days at a time.’
‘Are you still hung up on her?’
He lowered his gaze and pondered his recent attempt at contact. ‘No.’
‘You’ve mentioned her a few times recently.’
‘I did the right thing.’
‘You so did! She should have consulted you about the pregnancy.’
His eyes drifted. ‘It doesn’t matter now . . . ending the relationship was the best thing I’ve done.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘I’m not saying I don’t wish things were different, but you can’t make someone love you, can you?’
‘You can’t.’
There was sadness in her eyes and a quiet understanding in her voice. Was she having more severe problems with Mark than she admitted? He tried to ignore the tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach, but it was difficult to do.
‘About this case . . .’
He jolted from his ponderings.
‘. . . we should go through what we know.’
‘Okay, you start.’
‘Right.’ She took a breath. ‘Karen had problems with Janet, and she had a sister a few years younger who was the apple of their mother’s eye. Because of this, Karen formed a relationship with Patrick, her uncle.’
‘That in itself would have wound Janet up.’
‘Yes, that could have been the only reason Karen did it, although I suspect not. The difficulties probably carried on well beyond Karen’s teenage years. Eventually, she left, presumably with Jo Taylor.’
He scratched the side of his face. ‘Who is . . .?’
‘Queenie?’
‘Why not Rusty?’
‘Because when Karen was giving birth, Queenie was in the corridor.’
‘Which means Rusty could be Karen.’
‘Although Queenie says not,’ Imogen said.
‘So Karen is someone else . . . another friend.’ He reached for his coffee, inhaled the aroma, and sipped.
‘What do you think about the hospital administrator’s account of Karen?’
‘You mean her attitude to her birth?’
She nodded.
‘I think she’s wrong. It sounded like she was so desperate for her friend to have the baby that she imagined that Karen didn’t want it.’
‘She heard what she wanted to hear.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But she was so sure.’
He leaned back into the chair and spread his legs. ‘We should be careful what we believe. It happened a long time ago. The mind can play tricks.’
Imogen was thoughtful. ‘Does Fiona play a part in this?’
Luke shook his head. ‘I think she stayed with Karen for a while, maybe as a support, or maybe even just for a break.’
‘And Jo?’
‘There’s a lot we still don’t know.’
‘I think there’s a clue here somewhere. We should interrogate Ted again. He did say he knew the family.’
‘Good idea.’
They parked the car on a track at the edge of the field and watched the tractor heading towards them, driving in a straight line a little distance to their right. It stopped at the perimeter and Ted climbed out. Luke exited the car and walked towards him. Imogen, wearing heels, opted to stay in the car.
‘Have you found her yet?’ Ted asked.
‘No. We’ve been following Karen’s last known movements. She lived in Northampton for a while, we think with Joanne.’
‘Aye, that’s it. They were best friends.’
‘Do you know if they had nicknames?’
Ted looked at the ground. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘We’ve been speaking to two women in the village, Queenie and Rusty. They are connected to Karen . . . good friends I think.’
‘Where do they live?’
‘In the new estate.’
He nodded.
‘I’m here because we also found out that Fiona stayed with them for a while. Do you know anything about that?’
‘When was this?’
‘Early to mid-nineteen-seventies.’
‘I didn’t see much of them by then. I’d met the wife.’
‘Any ideas what Fiona did when she left school?’
‘She worked for . . . now, let me see . . . that’s it, Parry Foodstuffs. They act as a go-between for the farmers and suppliers. They’re based a couple of miles up the road.’
‘Trevor Parry! He killed the Coombs.’
Ted was bemused.
‘Was Fiona having a relationship with Trevor?’
Ted’s jowls shook and saliva slid down his chin. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. She wasn’t his type. I tell you who did, though, although few people knew about it. It was a massive secret. See, I saw them together once, parked up on a dirt track.’ He grinned. ‘It was rocking like nobody’s business. I’ll never know how they saw me, but they did and next day Trevor threatened me. She was married, see.’
‘Who was?’
‘Teresa Shaw.’
Luke rapped on the door and strained to listen for movement. He glanced at the closed blinds obscuring his view into the adjacent rooms, he peered through the frosted glass into the hallway, and he stepped back and craned his neck to search for life upstairs. There was nothing, no sounds, and no passing shadows. He knocked again.
The drive was empty of vehicles, a small patch of fine grass was in need of a trim, and the wheelie bin, unlike the others, which were on the street, was by the garage. He followed a path around the side of the house.
It was a large dwelling of an irregular shape. There was an extension and a conservatory at the rear, and at the far side, almost out of view, a small rectangular brick building. He stood back, his hands resting on his hips, and scanned each window in turn.
A flicker of movement caught his eye.
Luke hurried to the window draped in a blind and knocked on the glass.
‘Hello, can I have a moment of your time. I’m Luke Adams, a private investigator. I’m looking for Karen Jefferson.’
There was a gap between two slats. Shadows moved. A nearby door opened.
Her eyes flitted up and down the road and into the garden. He peered over his shoulder, looking at the stillness and stepped inside to the warmth. Imogen followed on behind. Then the house telephone started to ring.
Teresa jolted and looked towards the sound. She appeared to have no intention of answering.
‘What do you want?’ she asked in a hurried voice.
‘Did you know Karen Jefferson?’
Her eyes darted. She did not reply.
‘I assume that’s a yes. Have you seen her recently?’
‘She left . . . abandoned her baby.’ She slumped onto a seat. ‘How could she do such a thing?’
‘Were you there when it happened?’
The telephone stopped ringing. Grateful to be freed of the distraction, he watched her, as one by one she extracted building bricks from a box on the floor and stacked them into four separate piles on the table.
‘Mrs Shaw?’
Vacant and ashen, she glanced up.
‘Were you there when Karen left without Leanne?’
She ran her fingers through her hair, her mouth was ajar, her face twisted in agony. ‘She abandoned her baby.’ Her eyes darted between Luke and Imogen. ‘Her little baby girl.’
Teresa straightened each pile of bricks and then reached into the box, this time extracting a small picture book. As she lifted it to the table, her arm caught and she knocked over the bricks. The book slipped free. Agony etched onto her face and she released a high-pitched moan.
‘I’m sorry, I can see this is difficult,’ he said. ‘But it is important that you share what you know. What is your connection to Karen?’
Teresa was frowning. ‘I was there. I saw it happen.’
‘What did you see?’
‘She left . . . abandoned her baby.’
‘Do you know why Karen left?’
‘She was selfish, said she was a free spirit. A child is a gift.’ Tears dampened her eyes. ‘She didn’t deserve her. She ranted on and on, said she didn’t want to be tied down. She was heartless. How could she do that?’
‘Did Karen return so she could leave Leanne with Janet?’
‘She said she didn’t love her. How’s that possible? Teresa rubbed her hands and cracked her fingers. ‘That poor little girl . . .’
‘So she just walked away?’
She reached for a teddy bear in the box, pressed it to her chest and released plaintive moans. ‘Poor baby. Poor, poor baby.’
‘Mrs Shaw, what happened when she left?’
‘There was screaming and shouting. She said, “I don’t love her, she’s not my responsibility”. She wanted rid.’
Teresa scrutinised the bear, extending each leg, tracing its button eyes and smoothing down the fur upon its back.
‘What did she do next?’
The phone rang and Luke jolted. Teresa was oblivious, and rocked back and forth, back and forth.
‘Mrs Shaw?’
She looked up, expressionless.
‘What happened next?’
‘She left.’
Luke was just about to speak, when Imogen rose to her feet, asked to use the bathroom, and slipped away, creeping into the room where the telephone was sounding.
‘When did you see her again?’ he asked.
She clenched her hair within her fingers and scrunched her face. ‘She was a coward and a heartless bitch. She didn’t deserve that baby girl.’
‘Did she ever return?’
‘If she had, he’d have shot her.’
‘Trevor Parry?’
Teresa was shaking, her gaze roaming. The memories were obviously painful and contorting her face in agony and causing him to regret his questions. Nonetheless, he had no choice. The truth was within grasping distance and he wasn’t going to let it go.
‘Why would he have done that?’
Silence.
‘You had an affair with him, didn’t you?’
‘I knew him,’ she said.
‘And he killed Mr and Mrs Coombs. Why did he do it?’
‘He was mental, wrong in the head. He’d flipped.’
Luke stared at Teresa’s burn scars. ‘Did he do it for you?’
She rubbed her hands, her eyes fixated on the picture book spread open at an image of a train.
‘Mrs Shaw, please, it’s important.’
‘He killed them. He had a temper. Everyone knew he had a temper.’
‘What had they done?’
‘It’s just how he was. He’d flipped . . . yanked the gun from my hand. It was Dad’s. I should have never . . .’ she pressed her hand to her mouth.
‘Were you going to use the gun?’
Jolting, her eyes ripped open. ‘No! No! He’d taken it. I was putting it back. It was him. He shot them. I had an alibi.’
‘What was his motive?’
Her face scrunched and her arms tightened. She made fists, then, either in frustration or fury scattered the building bricks across the table. Her eyes were dark and hollow and smouldering with haunting memories.
Frustrated, he looked at Imogen who entered the room. She mouthed something to him, and whilst it was indecipherable, she was clearly pleased with herself.
‘He did it. It was him,’ Teresa blurted. ‘She looked between them, panic-stricken with tears streaking her face. Her scarred skin was patchy red, her eyes puffy. ‘They deserved to die. All of them.’
‘Were you there when he shot them?’
She frowned, agonisingly harsh. She chewed her finger. She rocked and moaned.
Luke focused on her tear-streaked face, unable to reach beyond the anguish to within. He questioned her further, rephrasing and hoping for a trigger, but despite his persistence she did not respond and remained mute and tormented. He could feel her agony, see her strained muscles jerk, and sense the build-up of distress bubble beneath her skin and in her throat. She had never dealt with whatever happened and it was eating her soul. Despite his better judgement, he opted to leave.
Once outside, he spoke in a soft voice. ‘She’s a mess. It’s a pity because she knows more than she lets on.’
‘Yes. I think she saw everything. Let’s have a coffee and try to make sense of all this.’
‘Hello, back again,’ the café assistant said.
‘You serve a lovely coffee. It’s too good to resist,’ Luke said.
‘Thank you. We like to use the best.’
He glimpsed at the cold floor and harsh walls. ‘It’s an unusual setting. I assume it hasn’t always been a café.’
‘It was a pub, one of the best for miles. The last owners tried to keep it going, but people don’t drink out like they used to.’
‘How is custom for you?’
‘Steady. We get tourists on the weekends and we’re popular with the bikers. They’re good sorts.’
He reached into his pocket for some coins, paid the bill, and carried his coffee to a table at the far side, away from the counter. An elderly woman was staring. She had a curved chin and pointed nose, and sat with her legs apart a little distance from her table.
‘I think it’s a bit dark and dingy,’ Imogen said quietly, ‘I feel like I’m in a dungeon.’
‘It’s got character.’
‘It would do so much better with a makeover . . . bright lighting, aluminium seats, and colour.’
‘I don’t know. I quite like it.’
‘That would be right. It suits your personality, solemn and cheerless.’
He gawked. ‘I’m not solemn and cheerless.’
‘You don’t smile often.’
‘I do, just not at you.’
‘No, you ogle me.’
Flushing, he lowered his head.
‘Don’t worry, I rather like it.’
She raised herself from her seat. He peered out of his eye corner, caught her winking. ‘I’m off to the bathroom.’
Luke breathed a sigh of relief. His colour normalised and his breathing regulated.
‘Are you local?’
The voice caused him to jolt. It was the woman with the pointed chin.
‘Passing through.’
She nodded.
‘Nice girlfriend. Very pretty.’
He took a split second decision and decided to offer his thanks, believing it was better than explaining her true role. However, before he knew it he had admitted to being her partner for the last six months, a comment he regretted. Ashamed of his lies, he looked to his coffee, urging the conversation to end. She didn’t desist and asked him where they had been.
He stared at the bathroom door, grateful, at least, for the change of subject. ‘Nowhere special.’
‘Not much of a talker, are you?’
‘No, not much.’
The bathroom door opened and Imogen strode towards him. He scanned her long legs, looked to her nipped in waist, and glimpsed at her breasts.
‘You know what,’ she said taking her seat, ‘it was Leanne on the phone at Teresa Shaw’s. She had called several times.’
The woman was listening, her eyes fixated.
‘Did you speak to her?’
‘No, I checked the caller id.’
‘I wasn’t aware they knew each other. We should get back. We’ve got a lot of research to do.’
She frowned. ‘Let’s go to Leanne’s first. She’ll be able to tell us what she knows about Teresa.’
‘I wonder if Leanne knows they’re connected.’
‘Wouldn’t she have said?’
‘Probably.’
She smoothed a floating strand of hair from her face. ‘I don’t know how she copes with those scars. They’re hideous. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her.’
‘She was in the fire.’
‘Doh! Isn’t that obvious?’
‘I mean at Leanne’s. There was a fire in the barn. It’s never been rebuilt. I think the day Karen returned there was an incident – perhaps a dispute - and a fire started. Teresa was caught up in it. We know that she was having an affair with Trevor Parry. He couldn’t handle what had happened to her and took his gun to them.’
‘Maybe Mr or Mrs Coombs started it.’
‘Unlikely.’
‘Of course by accident.’
‘I still don’t think so.’
‘So why shoot them?’
‘Maybe they just happened to be there.’ Luke said.
‘I thought Teresa was a little too upset by Karen abandoning Leanne. I think there’s something there too.’
Their eyes connected then drifted, each sipping coffee and pondering the case.
Luke broke the silence. ‘We need the details of the fire. Do you think you could ring Adam or Jean, pull a favour?’
‘Cool.’ She reached into her pocket. ‘I’ll get straight onto it.’
The elderly woman caught his attention. Their eyes locked. She averted her gaze.
‘Let’s do this back in the car.’
Imogen reached for her bag. They headed to the door.
‘One way or another,’ he said stepping outside, ‘we’re going to find Karen Jefferson.’
Teresa pressed her hand to the familiar ripples of her skin and fought the haunting memories that persisted with their daily ritual. A gunshot sounded in her mind. She shuddered and pressed her hands against her ears, craving silence, and rocked, back and forth, back and forth. The image of her baby girl cradled in the maternal arm of the flames twisted her gut, her high-pitched screams unforgettable and spine chilling.
Her life had barely started. It was cruel. It was undeserved.
Sickness rose in Teresa’s throat. Doubling-over and with her hand to her mouth, she scampered to the downstairs bathroom, leaned over the toilet, inhaled the sulphurous aroma and retched. She sank to the floor, her skin burning and her eyes shut and pleaded with her demons to go.
The high-pitched screams were fading, but they remained in the background, hiding in the shadows, following her everywhere - never vanishing, never sleeping, never stopping their torturous ritual. She wanted them gone, but at the same time craved the satisfaction of their presence. It was her only link to her daughter, the only one left. It was a perverse desire, an innate need for punishment.
She scrambled to her feet, tears streaming down her face, and stepped into the hallway. There she caught sight of her hideous reflection, the lumpy surface - the scars, the reminders - and dropped to the floor and sobbed.
The memories were vivid. Ash had spilled from the cigarette, dropping to the desiccated bales, and in an instant, there was an upsurge of flames, the crisp sound of crackling straw and intense, formidable heat. In the midst and driving her towards the fire, was her screaming baby girl. Without consideration, not even a moment’s hesitation, she scrambled up a ladder and flung herself into the blaze. She could not reach her daughter.
Teresa curled up into foetal position. She had let her daughter die; her weakness had prevailed. She lay motionless on the carpeted floor. It was hard and unforgiving. It was all she deserved.
Leanne stared at the business plans that were in a pile on the coffee table. Several hours of work, wasted. And the money too. Would she ever see it again? She picked up her phone, her heart heavy and her hopes quashed and dialled Steven’s number.
‘Have you managed to contact Teresa?’ Leanne asked.
‘Still no answer. I popped around last night. It was dark and Geoff’s car wasn’t in the drive. They could have gone away.’
‘But why not answer their mobiles?’
‘Some people don’t like to.’
Leanne made a huffing sound.
‘Try not to worry,’ he replied, ‘I trust Teresa. I’ve known her a long time. There must be a simple explanation.’
‘I put a lot of money into this, but it’s not only that, I was excited Steven . . . for the first time in ages.’
‘I know. Look, I have to go, I’m in a traffic queue and it’s starting to move. I’ll pop over in a while.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
She had been such an idiot. How could she have handed Geoff forty thousand pounds and not got some kind of receipt? She had had initial reservations, yet because the idea of running a craft business appealed, she had ignored them. At last, something positive was going to happen in her life. She was moving away from her desolate life and fulfilling one of her last remaining dreams. She had the money and the time. Unfortunately, Geoff had realised that too.
She must have had desperate and gullible written on her face. She had clung to every positive opportunity, never pausing to think, not processing other options. She had been an absolute fool. Thank goodness, she hadn’t told Tyler. The shame would have been unbearable.
The woeful tone of her son’s voice replayed in her mind. Tyler was all that mattered, not the business, not the money, not even Steven, and something was wrong. Why had he remained tight-lipped? What was he hiding? She glanced at the time. As soon as school finished, she promised herself she would ring him and demand an explanation. No more excuses. If he wouldn’t speak, she would go see him in person.
She paced the downstairs rooms, stared into the barren expanse at the rear and wiped clean the dirty surfaces, her thoughts flitting. Time dragged. She glanced at her mobile, yearning to call Teresa and Geoff, and she headed to the front of the house to check the drive for vehicles. But they weren’t going to visit and tell her there had been a misunderstanding. Not now, not ever. She had been a gullible fool.
Searching her mind for an occupation, she reminded herself of her initial plans for a jewellery making business. Choosing to act more positively, she decided it was still something she could still do, regardless of what happened with Geoff. She even had the added advantage of already having formulated some ideas. She headed to the barn.
The small keys, bolts, and washers that were once central to her ideas were still in a pile on an old chest. They were grubbier than she remembered, and she fingered the roughened surface, coating her fingers in dust. Restoring them suddenly seemed an arduous task. Her motivation was lacking; her heart set on the craft shop. Her eyes drifted.
A couple of boxes near her feet caught her attention. Leaning over, she peeled back the lid and looked at the newspapers were wrapped around small objects and stacked to the brim. She lifted one from the top, unravelled the paper, and looked to the small ceramic doll. It was a young girl with a bonnet and delicate features. She put it onto the chest and opened another. This was a boy wearing short trousers and braces. Both were unblemished; there were no cracks, no scratches, and no marks on the paintwork. Deciding it was a set and that for the moment served no purpose, she returned them both to their respective packaging and opened the second box.
This one was nearly empty. At the bottom was a stack of photographs and a leather-bound journal. Just inside, it said ‘Fiona Jefferson’s. Keep Out.’ Leanne flicked through the pages and examined the meaningless scrawl. There were words and their meanings, references to books, and neatly written passages of text. She placed it on the chest and lifted a handful of photographs.
Her pulse quickened. They were family photos, but as she looked through, she realised that there was only one daughter present; all images of Karen had been removed. Grinding her teeth, she questioned her grandmother’s actions. How could Janet have acted in such a heartless manner and where were her motives?
The chilly air tightened her skin and she shivered involuntarily. She picked up the journal and the photographs and hurried back to the house. Her hand was on the door handle when a slow-moving vehicle caught her attention. Backtracking, she peered along the grassy drive and caught sight of Luke and Imogen’s car.
Feeling an urge to tidy herself up, she hurried inside the house leaving the door ajar, flung the photos and book onto the low lounge table, and scurried for a hairbrush. Then she added a dab of perfume and smoothed out her top. There was a knock at the door.
‘Come on in.’
They headed into the lounge.
‘I’ve just found some old photos, she said, ‘but unfortunately there aren’t any of Karen, only Fiona.’
They looked at the scattered images.
‘She was very slim and pretty,’ Imogen said, ‘it’s such a pity she died.’
Luke perched on the settee and scrutinised each photo. ‘They seem to cover her entire life. Any signs that she married?’
Imogen gave him a teasing look.
‘No, not that I’ve seen. I haven’t seen her with a man at all.’ Leanne paused. ‘You know, I’m so angry with Gran. She shouldn’t have removed the images of Karen. It’s wrong. Regardless of what happened, she was still their daughter.’
‘Understanding someone else’s motives can be difficult.’
‘You’re not wrong! My biggest regret is that she hadn’t been honest with me. If she had I could have forgiven her for everything else.’
Luke picked up a photo. Leanne glanced across and saw Fiona wearing a loose fitting dress. She was a little heavier than in the others but still as pretty and had well-defined brown eyes, lush brown hair, and an adorable smile. He turned it over. It was dated 1974.
‘Have you brought news?’ Leanne asked.
He returned the photo to the pile. ‘Yes, we’ve just been to Teresa’s.’
‘What! She’s there! I’ve been trying to contact her.’
‘How do you know her?’
‘Steven introduced us. I was setting up a business with Geoff, only . . . only it seems he was conning me.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘He was buying a craft shop with someone and they wanted me to run it. In the end, he decided I should buy into the business. I gave him the money and signed a contract. I . . . I put it into a vault only I forgot to change it into my name.’ She looked at her lap, her heat rising. ‘I’ve just found out that the contract has gone and the business we were buying never existed.’
He expressed sympathy.
‘I deserve what happened. I was such an idiot. I . . . I trusted them. They seemed genuine.’
‘They had motives. I’m just sorry we didn’t find out sooner.’
She looked between them.
‘Teresa is connected to Karen. They were friends,’ Luke said. ‘I’m sorry. In fact, I think that’s how she was burned . . . in the fire in your barn.’
‘I wondered about that. She acted oddly the first time she came over.’
‘I’m afraid it gets worse. She had a small daughter who regrettably died in the fire.’
She raised her hand to her mouth.
‘There was another accident too.’ He hesitated, his eyes drifting ‘Fiona suffered brain damage. I think she may have been trying to escape and fell.’
Her voice was small, her heart thumping. ‘How did it start?’
‘It was recorded as an accident.’
‘Did Karen start it?’
‘We don’t know. We think she must have been there, but as yet we don’t know what happened.’
Imogen spoke: ‘It would explain Teresa’s behaviour.’
Leanne looked up, drawn to the other woman’s elegance, her manicured nails, her shimmering top, and her expensive necklace dropping down her cleavage. She was perfect, not fat and frumpy, not gullible.
‘She should have told me who she was. I even told her I was looking for my mother.’
‘Don’t blame yourself. We couldn’t get much sense out of her either. She was very distressed. She was sifting through some child’s toys, presumably, her daughter’s things.’
‘But why punish me?’
‘Compensation? Assuming Karen was responsible then she was the one to blame for her daughter’s death. Since she couldn’t get to her then you were the next best thing.’
Leanne pressed her head into her hand. ‘I thought we were friends and all the time she was out for revenge.’
‘Don’t be too hard on her. The fire must have been a terrifying experience, and to lose a daughter would have been painful beyond comprehension.’
‘I suppose you’re right. I don’t think Karen would have done it deliberately.’
‘I hope not. People can do all sorts in a fit of temper – of course, we don’t know that she was in one, or that she did it. It’s still conjecture.’
‘It makes sense. It must have been why she left me behind. She was ashamed.’
‘I probably shouldn’t say this,’ he said and glimpsed at Imogen, ‘but we promised you the truth.’
Tensing, she folded her arms and urged him on.
‘Teresa said that Karen returned home to leave you behind. She didn’t want the responsibility of a child. I’m sorry, but it seems she’d made up her mind prior to the incident in the barn.’
Leanne’s gaze dropped, and her heart was laden with the knowledge that she wasn’t wanted. Karen had abandoned her, made a clear choice. Had Janet been right in keeping them apart? Why even attempt to return a child to someone who had said in front of witnesses that she didn’t want to be a mother?
Imogen’s phone sounded. She scurried into the hallway, listened, said ‘thank you’, and then returned. She looked to Luke. ‘That was Gary.’ Apprehensively, she looked to Leanne. ‘He’s found out Teresa’s maiden name. It was Smith. Teresa Smith.’
Leanne’s jaw was loose. There was a knock on the door.
‘She’s related to Gran?’
‘Patrick’s daughter . . . Janet’s brother.’
Luke slipped away to answer the door. He was talking in the hallway, filling Steven in. She strained to listen, but her ponderings distracted her. Was there anyone in her family that hadn’t lied to her?
Steven appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry Leanne. I had no idea what her maiden name was.’
‘You weren’t to know.’
‘You think you know someone.’
Steven stepped towards her and rested his hand on her shoulder. Bewildered and saddened, she willed him to her side. Upon his arrival, she remembered Teresa’s warning. She had said she would need him and implied there was worse to come. It was a terrifying thought.
Teresa sat at the table staring at the scattering of toys. The building bricks were at the far side, the picture book remained open at a train, and there were plastic toys, a small doll, and a jumping frog just beside her. She picked up the frog. It was set in two parts separated by a spring. She pressed it together, felt it stick, and waited. It held for three seconds and then ripped through the air and landed on the floor.
Her daughter’s laughter echoed in her mind.
‘Again,’ she had said.
Teresa had squished it together, held her fingers on the top, and looked at her child. ‘Ready?’
She nodded, her eyes wide and expectant.
Teresa eased away her hand. It flew into the air.
‘Again, again.’
It had generated laughter, a pure and innocent reaction to simplicity.
Teresa heaved a sigh. Her heart was heavy. She nestled the frog into her hand, pressed it to her middle, and craved a long lost past. Memories floated by, playtimes, mealtimes, bedtimes and special occasions, drifting incoherently like a swirling flock of birds. Amidst the confusion were Karen and Leanne.
‘We’re going to see my cousin today,’ Teresa had said. ‘She has a daughter, about your age.’
‘Is she nice?’
‘I would think so.’
‘Will she be my friend?’
‘Yes, of course.’
There were excitement and expectation on her daughter’s young face, exactly mirroring her own. It had been years since she had seen Karen, far too long to be comfortable, and a myriad of questions mounted. Would Karen be pleased to see her? Would they drift back into their carefree ways? How would Geoff react? Looking forward to a break from motherhood, she imagined evenings out, excessive drinking, laughter, and endless stories.
Regretting her decision to visit on that fateful day, Teresa flopped onto the table and rested her head on her arm. If she had waited for an invitation from Karen to meet, she would not have been caught up in her dismal behaviour and her daughter would be alive.
But, she had visited, and Karen had been out of control, burning with anger.
Why had she not returned home straight away and removed her daughter to safety? Why had she not tried harder to calm the situation? Her regrets were swallowing her up, eating her from the inside out. Nothing would change her past; nothing would bring back her baby daughter.
The conversation Teresa had had with Karen echoed as though only moments previous. Teresa had agreed with Karen that motherhood could be difficult, and added that it was part of the deal, the good with the bad. There could be no quick escape.
For Karen, there had been.
She had been a heartless, selfish bitch. And now, after years apart, and after all the atrocities committed, Karen may soon be reunited with Leanne. Where was the justice?
She released a desperate cry, her eyes drifting to the image of the train in the picture book and her mind tortured by the prospect of their reunion. Mother and daughter would be together; their tears of happiness would mingle, their hearts fulfilled. They would plan a joyful future and forgive the errors of the past. They would be together.
For her, there would be no reunion.
She stared at the train. She looked at the clock. She formulated an escape from her grief.
Teresa retrieved eight bottles of Grolsch lager from the fridge, swept aside the toys, and placed them upon the table. Then, she made a slight tear along one of the labels and removed the swing top. Her heart quickened and her skin warmed, the prospect of her actions satisfying. She reached into a drawer, removed a tablet from a packet and inserted it into the bottle. It descended slowly, dissolving into the liquid. Smiling, she replaced the top and put it into a small bag on the floor.
She tapped her fingers on the table, maintaining a rhythm and unable to suppress her growing satisfaction. Guided by imaginary words spoken by her daughter, her courage prevailed and she reached to the phone.
Luke and Imogen continued to fill Leanne in with their progress, telling her about their visit to Northampton. She was grateful, but her concentration was slipping. Steven was at her side, a breath away yet untouchable. His sensational aroma was punishing, intensifying her needs and causing the hairs on her back to stand on end. To her regret, he seemed oblivious.
She dropped her hand into the gap and accidentally touched his thigh. His eyes drifted sideways towards her. She held her breath, focused on Imogen, and tried to maintain an impression of nonchalance. She was anything but; Leanne was losing control, quivering merely because of his closeness.
Luke was staring at the photos again, fixated by the images. Something troubled him and until he had fathomed it, he seemed unwilling to leave. For once, she wanted him gone.
Secretive, she peered at Steven. He was focusing on the conversation.
Luke selected some photos and handed them to Imogen. ‘Notice anything?’
Imogen was perplexed.
‘Look at the dates.’
Imogen turned them over. A hint of excitement replaced her confusion.
Leanne was just about to ask what they had noticed when Steven’s hand dropped onto hers. She jolted. Her pulse quickened. She spun to face him.
He leaned towards her, moving his mouth to her ear. His breath was hot and moist. ‘What you doing later?’ he whispered.
She grinned. Her body throbbed.
He caressed her hand, making tiny circles with the tip of his finger before stroking her arm. She wanted more and told him she was free. His smile was warm and encouraging.
Her mobile phone beeped. In need of a pause from his teasing antics, she leapt to her feet, noticed his growing satisfaction, and reached for her phone on a rear unit.
‘It’s from Teresa,’ she said, ‘she wants to meet me at the station.’
‘That’s good.’
Leanne’s face dropped. She looked at the clock – 15:25 – she saw a bridge, she heard the screeching of brakes, she saw the pool of blood. ‘Oh no!’
‘What is it?’
She hurried out of the room, threw her arms into her coat, and flung aside her heels. They all stared, mystified, as she stuffed her feet into her boots.
‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we haven’t much time.’
‘What’s going on?’ Luke asked.
‘I had a dream . . . a premonition. There’s going to be an accident at the station at 15:37.’
Steven grabbed her arm. ‘It could be you.’
‘No . . . no, I don’t think so.’
‘But she wants you there. I don’t know what she’s capable of anymore.’
‘I can’t just ignore it.’
He glanced to Luke. ‘You stay, we’ll go.’
‘No. We’ll all go.’
She rushed to the outer door, urging them outside. Ignoring Steven’s hesitation and unease, she locked the door.
Maintaining rhythm and speed, Teresa turned the corner that led to the station and saw Queenie hovering near the entrance. Her pulse raced and her hands twitched, and systematically she reached for each finger. Queenie was staring, emotionless.
Gaining courage from a vision of her daughter, Teresa dropped her hand in her pocket, clutched the soft fabric, and stared at the podgy wrinkled woman that had become her enemy. She was puffing on her cigarette with a vile abandon. There was no sign of regret and no hint of shame or remorse.
Teresa unzipped her bag. ‘I’ve brought drinks. Let’s go to the bridge.’
‘What’s wrong with over there,’ she said, pointing to a bench.
‘It used to be our favourite spot.’
‘What are you after?’
‘We should be helping each other, not fighting. We always used to do things together.’
‘I thought we agreed,’ Queenie said, ‘you stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours.’
‘We’re both on the same side. We both know what happened.’
Queenie turned and walked away.
‘You agreed to listen.’
‘Just stay away from her.’
‘I’ve had some bloke onto me.’
Queenie stopped and stared. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing, but he’ll be back. We need to agree on a plan.’ She reached into her bag and offered her a bottle. ‘Come on, what harm will it do?’
She accepted the bottle and removed the swing top. Peering out of her eye corner, Teresa could see her companion’s shadowy steps and smiled to herself as she led the way around the perimeter of a small deserted building. Through the other side, they followed a familiar track that ran adjacent to the railway line, and climbed a small hill, walking alongside dense shrubbery and evergreens. The solitude was beautiful, the privacy perfect. Shuffling through crunchy leaves, she scanned the treetops and looked to the village. Only the rooftops were visible. She reminded herself of her daughter’s beautiful face, laughing with a natural innocence as she scattered her building blocks.
They reached the steps to the bridge and puffed a little as they climbed to the top, but rather than passing along the steel structure they weaved around the edge and climbed onto some rocks that overhung the line. Teresa gazed down to the track and to the old abandoned station and then peered out of her eye corner to Queenie. She was three-quarters through the bottle and her cheeks were red.
‘Remember when we brought Allan and Dave up here? Teresa said.
‘And Allan puked up on Dave.’
‘I wet myself. It was so funny.’
‘No one believed you. It was just an excuse to take your knickers off.’
‘The cool air was stimulating.’
‘Dave thought so too.’
‘It’s a pity it had to end . . . those were the days.’
She took another swig of lager. ‘And what about the time you came out in that long coat.’
Teresa grinned. ‘The long pink one.’
‘Have you still got it?’
‘Probably, somewhere.’
‘I can still see Dave’s face when he suggested you take it off. Did you have anything on?’
‘No. I must have been frozen. It was a cold night. In fact, when I got home, Dad was in a mood and he insisted I took it off. He hated the colour.’
Queenie chuckled. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘I told him that I hadn’t anything else on. He did his nut.’
‘He believed you?’
‘I don’t know. I lifted the fabric at the bottom. He screamed when he saw my bare legs.’
They sat in silence.
Teresa’s heart was beating faster and her skin was hot and itchy. She urged calmness and breathed slower. Queenie was almost touching her, standing by her side and gazing into the distance. They were near the edge and overlooking a drop. Her excitement surged.
Queenie swallowed the remains in the bottle. ‘You should have come with us all to Northampton. It was a hoot.’
‘I’d met Geoff.’
‘Yes . . . Geoff.’ She turned, gave her a suspicious look. ‘Why are we here?’
‘To forgive and forget.’
‘And you’ve no intention of speaking to Leanne.’
‘No, none at all. You?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Wise.’
‘I’ve seen you together,’ Queenie said.
‘Not recently. We have what we wanted.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A payment. Another bottle?’
Queenie nodded.
‘My legs are aching,’ Teresa said, ‘I’m going to sit down.’
‘Good idea.’
They crouched down, slipped onto the cold stone, and dangled their legs down the steep embankment. They clinked bottles.
‘Remember Stuart?’ Teresa said.
‘He was something else. I had him once, you know.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me. What was he like?’
‘Not that good. I’d had better. He liked it rough.’
‘And you didn’t?’
‘It was too much.’
‘Did you have your favourite spots?’
‘Not far from here. You?’
‘Anywhere and everywhere.’
‘You tart!
Teresa grinned.
‘This is good isn’t it,’ Queenie said, gazing down to the line. ‘I feel deliriously happy. We should have done this a long time ago.’
She turned away, hiding a lopsided smile. ‘You’re right, we should.’
Leanne was leaning forward in the rear of the car and staring out of the windscreen. The seat belt restricted, pressing against her breast and across her middle. She eased it forward.
‘How far is it?’
‘Turn left at the end,’ Steven said. ‘It’s at the bottom of the hill.’
Along each side were semi-detached houses of a uniform design with square bay windows, pebble-dashed fronts and small gardens. A car pulled out of a drive. They all surged forward.
15:29. They would never arrive in time.
The car in front, a silver Volkswagen, ambled along at a snail’s pace. Her impatience grew. ‘Can we go another way?’
‘No, it’ll take longer,’ Steven said, ‘we’re nearly there.’
The Volkswagen stopped. Something up ahead was preventing them moving forward.
‘What’s going on?’ Leanne asked.
Imogen turned her head. ‘A dog shot out of the garden. A little girl is trying to catch it.’
Leanne unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. ‘I’m going to walk, it’ll be quicker.’
Steven grabbed her arm. ‘No. Look, we’re moving.’
The small dog was in her arms, its legs kicking out. She dropped it over a short wall, encouraged it into the garden, and raced to the gate.
15:32. Leanne silently urged them forward.
The car in front arrived at the t-junction and turned right, and a weight lifted. Freed of the encumbrance, they surged down the hill and turned into a small car park surrounded by trees and dense shrubbery. A woman and three children were moving towards the building; the girls were skipping, and the boy, a little younger, was clutching the woman’s hand. They all expressed delight, chatting enthusiastically. The woman ushered them through the door.
The car stopped. Leanne flung open the door, banged it shut, and hurried down the slight hill. Just as she arrived at the doorway, it swung open and a group of people sauntered outside, heading away. There was a man in a suit, four teenage girls, and an aged woman wearing a long thin coat and carrying a large shopping bag. She stepped inside.
There was a counter for tickets, a guardsman on duty, and an electronic board displaying train times. Teresa was not there.
The door opened. She spun around. It was Steven.
‘She’s not here.’
Leanne peered around a partition and scampered to the door onto the platform. It was 15:34.
Her body tensed and her blood drained.
She rushed to the outer door. Luke and Imogen were talking to two elderly women. Scowling, she turned to Steven. ‘Where is she?’
He shook his head. ‘What exactly did she say?’
‘That I had to meet her at the station.’
Leanne clicked open her phone and accessed the message. ‘Oh no, it says: “meet me at the old station by the bridge”.’
‘The old station? That was abandoned years ago.’
‘Where is it?’
‘A few hundred metres that way.’ Steven pointed to a patch of woodland.
‘Is there a path?’
‘There used to be.’
She trotted to the car park. ‘There’s a stile.’
‘I’ll catch you up.’
Leanne peered over her shoulder at Steven who was striding towards Luke and Imogen. She started to jog, pounding the tarmac left and right, left and right, rhythmical and determined, and soon found herself fighting for air and urging her rapidly tiring limbs to carry her forward. Sweat gathered under her clothes and on her face, and she was slimy, cool and sticky. Her eyes were swimming and her chest taut, rising and falling at twice the speed of her steps.
The woodland was eerily still and silent and she had only her hammering heartbeat and heavy breaths for company. She stepped over the tussocks and weaved around the waist-high nettles. Her legs were giving way, weakening at her knees, and her lungs seemed to be shrinking. Gasping and with red-hot skin, she leaned over, resting her hand on a boulder for support, and felt the trickles of moisture slip from her nose.
‘Come on, we’re nearly there.’
Puffing, she peered at Steven’s legs, wiped the moisture from her face, and levered herself upright.
He grinned. He looked as though he had just stepped out of an ice-bath. ‘I’m sure she’ll wait for you.’
Leanne glanced back along the path. The absence of Luke and Imogen and their apparently casual attitude niggled, but she had too little energy to voice her irritations, and single-minded she hurried on. Steven kept in time, striding effortlessly.
The end of the path was in sight and her energies lifted. They marched along a pebbled track with a handrail, which veered off to her left, and stepped out of the woodland and onto a road riddled with cracks and potholes. To her left was the disused station and above the door was a digital clock, displaying 15:37.
Leanne’s steps faltered. ‘It’s too late.’
Steven gave her a curious glance.
‘That’s when it happened.’
He looked at his watch. ‘It’s stopped . . . probably been like that for months.’
Ignited by a new spark of energy, she scurried to the building. ‘Which way to the bridge?’
‘I don’t know.’
She gawked.
‘There must be a path by the railway line.’
Pacing back and forth, she scanned the dense foliage for a gap. Wide-eyed, she turned to Steven. ‘I can’t see one.’
A car rumbled down the hill. It was Luke and Imogen.
Finally, she thought and reached into her pocket for her phone. It hovered over Teresa’s number.
‘Found it,’ he yelled. He disappeared around the rear of the building. ‘I can see a bridge.’
She dropped her phone into her pocket. The slamming of a car door reverberated through her ears.
‘We think we know who Karen is.’ Luke called.
Leanne spun around.
‘It’s Queenie.’ He trotted towards her, breathless with excitement. ‘Those women told me. We’d met her earlier in the café. I knew she was listening in,’ he glimpsed at Imogen, ‘she said Karen changed her name to Queenie years ago.’
‘That can’t be right. She said they were friends.’
‘She was adamant. Her friend was too. I guess there’s only one way to find out.’
Leanne was dumbstruck. Queenie was her mother; her mother was a drunk.
‘She also said she saw her walking this way about half an hour ago.’
Her face scrunched. ‘She’s meeting Teresa?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘We have to hurry.’
He hesitated. ‘You go ahead. I have a quick call to make.’
She trotted around the back of the building and bumped straight into Steven. Her expression drifted between a smile and a grimace.
‘What it is?’ he asked.
‘Queenie is my mother. She’s Karen.’
A creeping bramble caught on her jeans. She tugged herself free, and then with the flat of her hands encouraged Steven to continue along the path.
He looked to her, sheepish. ‘That day she met me for a drink she talked endlessly about Karen . . . knew everything about her, her innermost feelings, everywhere she’d been, all her jobs. I should have realised.’
They followed the narrow track, treading wilting weeds and trampling decaying leaves.
‘I believed her when she told me they were friends,’ Leanne said, ‘it was a reasonable thing to say. Do you think she would have told me eventually?’
‘Maybe. Don’t be too harsh on her.’
‘Why not?’
‘You should let her explain first.’
She pulled back a stray branch, dipped underneath the tree, and released it. It swung back and forth. ‘I don’t know what I’ll say to her anyway. Should I be blunt?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe Teresa is planning on reintroducing you?’
The premonition rushed into her mind with such an overwhelming urgency that she jerked forward. There was not going to be a happy reunion, at all. She started to trot. ‘Come on, we should hurry.’
They reached a junction where the path split; the one that headed slightly left was uphill, the other one descended.
‘Which way?’ Leanne asked.
‘Straight on. It stays closer to the line.’
Breathless and panting, she took his suggested route.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s the bridge.’
‘Can you see them?’
‘No.’
‘They must be here somewhere.’
The path was almost adjacent to the line and there was a bridge a few metres overhead.
Leanne’s tone filled with panic. ‘Where are they?’
They stopped. They scanned the railway line and looked across at the grasses, shrubbery, and the yellowing leaves on the trees. Cackling laughter filled the air. Up above, perched on overhanging rocks were Teresa and Queenie.
Leanne could not help but look at Queenie through new eyes. The woman was a helpless drunk and now was no exception. Even a short distance away, she could see her eyes drooping and her cheeks a shiny red. Her makeup, too, was more pronounced. She looked terrible, far older than her sixty or so years.
‘Leanne,’ Teresa called. ‘Come up and join the party.’
‘What are you doing up there?’
‘Reminiscing. I have a surprise for you.’
Leanne was stony-faced. ‘We know who you are, both of you.’
‘Do you, do you really?’
She held her tongue.
‘Aw well, that was only part of the surprise. Leanne, meet Karen.’
Queenie was leaning into the trunk of a tree. She looked to Teresa. ‘Am I Karen?’
‘Say hello to your daughter,’ Teresa said.
She lifted her arm, giving a feeble wave, and reached in a bag for another bottle.
‘Please come down,’ Leanne called. ‘We should talk.’
‘All in good time,’ Teresa said. ‘You should come up here. The view is fantastic and the vibrations from the train send shivers up your spine.’
‘What is it you want?’
‘I want to see you happy.’
‘So why rip me off. I want my money back.’
‘Money? What money?’
‘You know what money. The forty thousand I gave Geoff.’
‘You poor thing. You never gave him any money. You backed out first, remember?’
She clenched her jaw. ‘Why are you doing this?’
Teresa grinned. ‘Like I said, I want to see you happy.’
‘Taking my money is not making me happy.’
‘Aw, you’re confused. You don’t know what’s good for you, but I do. I know what’s good for both of you.’ She turned to Queenie. ‘We’ve voted for a happy future, remember?’
Queenie chortled and thrust out her bottle. ‘To a happy future.’
Teresa sneered. ‘Remember how happy we were? When we both had little girls?’
‘I had a little girl? Only . . . only . . .’
Her tone hardened. ‘Go on, say it.’
Queenie was silent.
‘You wanted rid, remember?’
‘I did?’ Queenie frowned. ‘No, that’s not right.’
‘Tell her what you did.’
‘No, that was Karen.’
‘You are Karen.’
‘No, I’m Queenie.’
‘Say you’re sorry.’
Their eyes locked and Teresa’s determination remained.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said weakly.
Leanne gulped. This was getting bad. Panicking, she turned to Steven and spoke in a whisper. ‘I don’t like it. She’s going to push her.’
‘I’ll go up there. She might listen to me.’
‘Be careful.’
He pecked her on the lips. ‘I will.’
Having watched him race back to the track, she returned her attention back to Teresa and Queenie. They were together and tranquillity seemed to prevail; Queenie was humming to herself, and Teresa was staring across to the other side of the line, cracking her fingers.
‘Are we going to do this again?’ Queenie said.
‘All the time.’
‘And we’ll be like proper cousins.’
‘Proper cousins.’
A faint rumble broke the silence. Panicking, Leanne looked for the train and then to the ledge. Teresa was smiling.
‘Please don’t do this,’ Leanne said.
‘I want you to be happy.’
‘And I will if you stop.’
‘No!’
The tone, the hatred, made Leanne shudder. She held her arms to her body and searched the higher path for signs of Steven. Her skin was moist, her body throbbing and tense. She made a fist.
Queenie had a bottle to her lips and Teresa was looking along the line displaying satisfaction. Her expressions were changing on a whim.
The rumble was deepening, the train approaching.
‘Please,’ Leanne said, ‘let’s talk about this.’
The vibrations grew louder. A train came into view. She glanced up. Teresa had shuffled backward, her arm and shoulder inches from Queenie’s back. There was movement in the trees.
Leanne’s mouth dried, her heart throbbed in her throat. She glimpsed back at the train, and out of her eye corner saw a tangle of bodies. One came free. She screamed desperate and plaintive.
The stickiness of Steven’s palm transferred to Leanne’s as they stared at Teresa in the hospital bed, strapped to a unit and in a coma. His distress was immense, so obvious in the way he dragged his legs, dipped his head and shoulders, and spoke breathy words. She could not provide comfort. It was, although a cliché, a waiting game.
Every minute he could spare he spent at her bedside, reading books and magazines and sharing the day’s events. Whilst he forced a perky tone, determined to project a positive attitude, she could tell it was a huge effort.
He pecked Teresa on her cheek, told her he would return and shuffled past Leanne and out of the ward.
‘It’s my fault,’ he muttered.
‘No, it’s not.’
‘I should have got there sooner.’
‘We acted as soon as we knew what was going on. We did our best Steven.’
‘If I hadn’t grabbed Queenie’s arm, Teresa wouldn’t have slipped. I . . . I . . .’
‘Look at me. It wasn’t your fault.’
He averted his gaze. In her gut, she knew he would have preferred to grab Teresa, but he was too good-hearted to say it aloud. Silently, she thanked him for his respect and prayed for a full and swift recovery.
‘How is she?’ Luke asked.
They were in Leanne’s house; Luke and Imogen were side by side on the sofa, Steven was in one armchair, she was in another. Luke’s cheery expression was the opposite of Steven’s ashen skin tone and lacklustre movements, and it was a welcome change of mood.
‘No change,’ she said, ‘the doctors say it could be a while, if at all.’
He nodded and started to speak, but an incoming call on his phone caused a brief interruption. As she offered Steven supportive words, Luke retrieved his phone, looked at the screen, and rejected the call. He turned to Imogen.
‘It was Sarah.’
‘What’s she want?’
He looked sheepish. ‘I called her a few days ago. I thought we could catch up.’
‘Are you going to ring her back?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Too right. She used you. Forget her.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ He laid the phone on his leg. It beeped. It was a message. ‘She wants to meet up . . . says it’s important.’
Imogen glared. ‘I hope you’re going to say no.’
He tapped in his answer, put it on the arm of the sofa, and smiled at Imogen. ‘I told her I’d made a mistake contacting her.’
‘Good for you.’
There was a faint knock at the door. Leanne leaped to her feet and scurried through the hallway, and with her pulse racing thrust it open. The cool, damp air rushed towards her. She searched for eye contact. Queenie’s gaze never settled.
‘We’ve just been to see Teresa,’ Leanne said, guiding her into the room, ‘she’s still the same.’
‘I don’t remember much of what happened. I don’t understand why I was so out of it. Alcohol hasn’t affected me like that for years . . . if ever.’
She bit her tongue. It sounded a weak excuse.
‘Why did you change your name to Queenie?’ Luke asked.
‘It was just a nickname. I didn’t change it officially or anything. I never felt like a Karen.’
Queenie elaborated, explaining how they all chose their names based on personality or likes and dislikes. She said she had wanted something that symbolized a worshipped female. She had also wanted a new identity after some of the difficulties she had experienced at home, saying it would help her make a clean start.
Not once, did Queenie look to Leanne. Whilst it wasn’t the reunion she had imagined, she wasn’t going to appear churlish and maintained an interested gaze.
‘We had an old photo of you,’ Luke said, ‘we thought you had red hair.’
‘I did once upon a time but I didn’t like it. It suited Rusty better. That’s where she got her name from. Most people knew her as Joanne or Jo. For me, she’ll always be Rusty.’
‘Why did you want rid of me,’ Leanne blurted.
‘It didn’t happen the way I intended.’
‘What did you intend?’
She strode to an armchair, sat down, hands clenched, and carrying a pained expression glimpsed at Leanne. ‘You were four at the time . . .’
There was a handwritten letter resting on the doormat. The writing was large and loopy with emphasised first characters, a recognisable style. It was from Fiona, and her blood rushed through her body and her hands moistened. Fearing its content, Queenie picked it up and glimpsed into the living room. Leanne was cross-legged on the floor absorbed in the television, her eyes like gobstoppers and her thumb in her mouth. She ripped open the envelope and scanned the text.
Footsteps sounded. She folded it in two and slipped it into her pocket.
‘What’s that?’ Rusty said.
‘It’s from Fiona.’
‘So why the secrecy?’
Queenie glimpsed at Leanne, who remained oblivious. ‘No secrecy.’
‘What’s she want?’
‘She’s found a bloke. He has two kids. She’s wondering how to tell Mum and Dad.’
‘She’s old enough to work that out for herself.’ Rusty looked at the cross-legged child. ‘On the other hand, maybe you should return.’
‘You’re not suggesting-’
‘Having a child around can be stifling. You have said so yourself.’
Queenie hesitated, touched the letter with her finger and thought of her sister’s plight. Fiona was anxious, and willed her for advice, but also told her to stay away. ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea to return. It’ll be too difficult facing everyone.’
‘Well, I think you should. Is Fiona asking you to stay away?’
‘Kind of.’
‘She’s no right. You should start thinking about yourself for a change. You’ve often said you could do with a change . . . and I was thinking of going back for a while anyway. Maybe it’s about time you tried to repair a few relationships.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You should stand up to Fiona.’
‘I don’t let her walk over me. If it appears that way, it’s because I have my own hidden agenda. Remember that.’
Rusty raised the cigarette to her mouth. The smoke rose. ‘I thought you wanted to travel. How are you going to do that with a kid in tow?’
Queenie was impassive.
‘And how many blokes have you had in the last four years? You could do so much more with yourself.’
‘I know I haven’t achieved a lot, but I do love her . . .’
‘It’ll be easier now than later. If your sister settles with this bloke, she’ll be happy to take Leanne in. It’s not as if you’re dumping her with a stranger.’
‘Do you think she’d do that?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘So you returned,’ Luke said.
‘Yes. Rusty too. She was out of work and had no other commitments. We were inseparable back then.’
‘But you didn’t seem too keen. Did Rusty persuade you?’
‘Maybe a little.’
‘And you planned on giving Leanne to Fiona.’
Silence.
‘Being a parent is bound to have difficult times.’
Queenie gave Luke a look that said she didn’t believe he understood. She was right too. How could anyone understand her motive? Being a parent wasn’t a choice. Once the responsibility was there, it remained. Leanne held back her tongue.
‘I felt tied down and wanted to live a bit. I’d had a run of bad luck. I’d been involved in a few skirmishes in the city with some women and I’d had a bust up with my boyfriend. It was all getting on top of me . . .’
She stared. How could she even consider it an option?
‘. . . but I’m not sure I ever wanted to give you up,’ Queenie added.
‘Wasn’t that why you returned?’ Luke asked.
‘That’s what I’d said, but I don’t think I could have ever done it. Back then, my mouth would say things that my brain disagreed with. It’s not something I can explain.’
‘What happened when you arrived?’
‘I had hoped to be welcomed home but it turned out that Janet had caught wind of Fiona writing to me. I never told them where I was and Fiona hadn’t either. When I left, I’d been so pissed off with the continuous criticism, that I’d asked her not to say anything. I’d also been in regular contact with Patrick. When Janet found out, she was fuming. She was such a hypocrite. It was no different to what she’d done by walking out on her parents.’ Queenie searched for reassuring glances. ‘I told her as much.’
Despite feeling vehemently defensive for Janet, Leanne held an impassive expression.
‘We argued for hours. In the end, I went one way and she went another. It was easy to avoid each other in a house that size. Later, I caught her privately studying something.’
Janet was standing beside a chest and clutching a newspaper cutting. There were disappointment and dread in her eyes. Tiptoeing through the door, Queenie edged forwards and peered over her shoulder at the headline. A baby had been stolen from a hospital close to where she had been living. Janet spun around.
‘How could you?’ Janet asked.
‘You think I did that?’
‘I know you did. You lost your baby, didn’t you?’
Queenie stomped out of the room.
Janet followed. ‘For goodness sake, do you ever tell the truth?’ She thrust the cutting under Queenie’s nose. ‘It’s when Leanne was born and it’s the same hospital. I’m not stupid.’
Her face swelled with anger. ‘How could you think such a thing?’
‘Because I know it’s true. I’ve seen it for myself.’
‘I would never do that!’
‘Just stop it! No more lies!’
Queenie held a fracturing stare. Janet had been spying on her again, using her stupid physic powers. Why couldn’t she see it was a whole load of crap, just her imagination searching for a fitting image? Maybe one day she would learn that not all she saw was an accurate account of facts; maybe then, she would stop jumping to erroneous conclusions.
‘Why can’t you be more like Fiona?’
‘If I was, you still wouldn’t like me! It doesn’t matter what I do, it’s always wrong!’
‘Fiona is a decent human being, more than I can say for you.’ She paused, waited for a reaction. ‘I know what you did. You had a stillborn and so . . .’ Janet gasped for breath, ‘. . . and so you stole a baby.’
Queenie clenched her jaw, held back the fury buzzing through her body. Fiona had told her about her baby’s death. How could she? After everything she had done for her.
‘Tell me, damn it! Tell me the truth!’
Enraged, Queenie fled the house, tears burning the back of her eyes and her jaw clenching, and ran to the hayloft in the barn. Fiona was lying in the straw and reading, and Rusty was sat smoking, legs apart. Queenie climbed the ladder and kicked her sister. Her book hurled across the straw.
‘You told her about Lydia.’
‘So?’
‘She accused me of stealing Leanne!’
Fiona looked up, self-satisfied. ‘Interesting.’
‘It’s not bloody interesting. I always get it in the neck for you. You bloody pious bitch.’
‘I have a reputation to uphold.’
‘I’m not doing this any longer!’
‘Tell them then, tell them everything. Who do you think they’ll believe?’
Queenie glared, her adrenaline surging. She thrust out her leg and kicked Fiona in her side. Fiona yelped, raised herself to her feet and weaved around Queenie, looking for the ladder. She was standing near the edge and short distance from a drop to the concrete floor.
‘They will believe me! I’ll make them.’
‘They never have. Why should they change?’
Regrettably, her sister was right, a realisation adding to her fury.
‘Do you think they’ll believe you if you say I took drugs. Or what about when I turned home drunk and you said I had a stomach bug.’ A smug look rose to Fiona’s face. ‘Oh, and don’t forget the times you went to the library and I was humping some bloke.’
‘You bloody callous bitch!’ Queenie thrust her arms into her.
Fiona stumbled backward, regained control, and looked nervously down the drop. They tussled. There was a flurry of accusations, hair pulling, punching, and kicking.
Amidst the squabble, Teresa arrived with a little girl, and Queenie and Fiona paused for breath. The moment the child saw the hayloft she ran to the ladder, climbed onto the straw, and bounced gleefully. Almost instantly, the bickering restarted.
‘Tell them the truth!’ Queenie screamed.
‘Why should I when I have you to take the flack?’
‘You bloody coward!’
‘I’m not a coward,’ she said smugly, ‘I think I’m clever.’
Queenie thrust her arms into her. ‘Take Leanne!’
Silence.
‘I need space. I don’t love her and you owe me!’
Fiona’s tone was stiff. ‘I owe you nothing! Anyway, you shouldn’t have come. I told you to stay away.’
‘You wanted me here. You’re forever asking my advice. It’s all you ever do. You can’t last two seconds without me!’
‘And I asked you to stay away. Just leave and take her with you, and don’t ever come back!’
‘You selfish bitch!’ Queenie surged forward, her eyes bulging, her muscles pounding with blood, craving a fight. Yet all the while Fiona remained motionless and calm, as though nothing could harm her. It compounded Queenie’s relentless rage.
Luke, Imogen, Leanne and Steven, all stared at Queenie, waiting for her to continue. She sat in silence, searching her lap with watery eyes. Her lips quivered, her face drowned in sorrow.
‘Please go on,’ Leanne said.
Queenie looked up and for a second they connected. The pain, the years of grieving, the perpetual self-punishment was carved into her aging skin.
‘I pushed her . . . she fell to the concrete floor.’
Silence.
She jumped to her feet. ‘There, I’ve said it.’
Leanne forced forward her compassion. Her mother may have admitted she didn’t love her, but it was small in comparison to what had happened, and not a time for childish comments. ‘It was an accident.’
‘I knew what I was doing.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt her.’
‘You don’t have a clue. Janet said she saw me do it. She said I was evil . . . had seen it in my eyes since the day I was born.’
‘I can see you’ve never forgiven yourself.’
Queenie tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not a saint. I refused to accept what I’d done and told myself it was Rusty’s fault. She was there, right between us. It was easy. She knew how I’d always covered for Fiona, so she had been just as angry as I had. However, when I accused her a few days later, she was livid. I didn’t see her for years.’
Leanne offered her a sympathetic and understanding glance.
‘But not everything was my fault.’ Queenie’s eyes flitted. ‘She was the one smoking, not me. It went up in seconds, just seconds. That poor little girl . . .’
Leanne reached out her hand, resting it on her back. ‘Please come and sit back down.’
Queenie trailed behind, dropped onto the armchair, and her chest rose and fell. Leanne tried not to look, but the pain and self-torture she emitted were too strong to dismiss, and a swelling ache developed within.
For a while, everyone sat in a painful silence. Then Queenie gathered her strength. ‘I couldn’t face anyone after the fire so I ran, but I stayed close by, desperate for news on Fiona, Teresa, and her little girl.’ She turned to Leanne. ‘Do you understand?’
‘I think so.’
‘It was just too difficult. Anyway, after a few weeks, I saw Trevor Parry. Did you know he shot the Coombs’?’
Leanne nodded.
‘Do you also know that Teresa’s daughter was his?’
‘Luke worked it out.’
‘Well, I didn’t. I knew him, although not well. He’d been away for a few weeks working and didn’t know about the fire or that she had been his kid. I told him what happened and that Teresa was due out of the hospital. His face went funny and he started to walk away. I called after him, but it was as if he’d lost all his senses and couldn’t hear me. I didn’t think anything of it until late one night I was wandering through the village and I heard voices. He was walking with Teresa. He had a gun. I started to panic. They were heading out of the village.’
‘They were coming here?’
Queenie nodded and looked to Leanne. ‘My main concern was for you. I couldn’t bare it if . . . anyway, I ran as fast as I could, but I had to go a different way to them if I was going to overtake them. When I arrived, I saw Ann through the window. I was going to knock, let her know what was happening, but I arrived a fraction late.’ She brushed her hands across her face. ‘I can still hear the gunshots.’
‘That must have been awful.’
Queenie was quiet.
‘Why didn’t he shoot me or Gran?’ Leanne asked.
‘You must have been away for the weekend. I was never more grateful. Anyway, I called the police. They arrested Trevor later.’ Her eyes flitted. She looked to her lap. ‘I gave Teresa an alibi, said I’d seen her in the fields, running after him.’
Leanne gawked.
‘Trevor was there,’ Queenie continued, ‘but the gun was in Teresa’s hand. I saw it as clear as day.’
Leanne’s jaw dropped. If a woman ever had the motive to shoot anyone, it was a grieving mother. ‘Surely, it was you they were after.’
‘It was. Teresa told me later that she’d heard I was still around. She assumed I was still living with them. I didn’t think anyone had seen me.’
‘But why kill them?’
‘She was unstable. I think she would have killed anyone in her path.’
‘Why give her an alibi?’
Queenie raised an eyebrow, puzzled. ‘It was the least I could do. Even so, I still thought she might come after me, despite what I’d done, so I left. I’m sorry.’
‘Why didn’t you ever come back for me?’
‘I figured Janet would do a better job.’
‘But you hated her.’
‘I know, but she was right. I was everything she said - drunk, doing drugs, sleeping around – and in effect, I’d just killed a child and seriously injured Fiona and Teresa. I was better off out of the way. Trouble followed me around.’
‘Gran should have tracked you down.’
Queenie shrugged. ‘I doubt she would have found me. I didn’t keep in touch with anyone.’
‘Why return? Why now?’
‘I heard about Janet’s death, and as the house had never been sold, I wondered if you’d return. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you. As crazy as it sounds, I still imagined you as a little girl. You . . . you are so beautiful.’
Flushing, Leanne lowered her head and covered her stomach with her hand.
‘My plan was to get to know you as a friend. I had no intention of telling you who I was.’
‘Why not?’
‘Would you? You’d want to know all the details – why I parted from Janet, what had happened to Fiona, etcetera, etcetera – and I wasn’t ready for that.’
Leanne was thoughtful.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘Teresa spotted me straight away, and although she didn’t threaten me she hadn’t forgiven me. I decided my only option was to try to get the upper hand. I . . . I couldn’t risk it all coming out.’ She passed a nervous glance. ‘And it seemed to be working.’
‘I really wish you’d come back for me.’
Queenie looked away. ‘I’m sorry. I did love you, very much. I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Isn’t there something you’re missing?’ Luke asked.
Leanne spun to face him, and then caught sight of the anxiety on Queenie’s face.
‘Leanne is not your daughter.’
‘I didn’t steal her!’
‘No, I know.’ He turned to Leanne. ‘We contacted the hospital again and this time the administrator checked the records properly. Karen, or Queenie as she likes to be known, had registered in the maternity wing twice within eight months. We thought it was a little unlikely considering both babies went to full-term.’
‘I was devastated when I lost Lydia.’
Leanne gawked. ‘So you did take me from someone else.’
‘I was doing her a favour. She pretended to be me – said something about not wanting to leave a trail.’ She glanced up and caught her eye. ‘She wasn’t perfect, but she was no way as bad as I was. She was a saint in comparison and couldn’t cope with being an unmarried mother.’
‘W-who are you talking about?’
‘Fiona! I was doing Fiona a favour, and more than anything, I feared that one day she’d want you back. I thought it better to hand you over on my terms than wait for her to snatch you.’
‘Fiona was . . . was my mother?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I wanted to come clean and tell everyone whose child you were, but she wouldn’t let me. I thought it could help repair my relationship with Janet and Roy. Unfortunately, Fiona was prepared to go to the ends of the earth to keep her secret.’
‘I can’t believe this. Did Gran know?’
Queenie shrugged.
‘So she still thought I was stolen.’
Her eyes drifted and a look of nervousness gathered in her face. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
Leanne snuggled into Steven, his warm, soft body and musky scent reassuringly uplifting. She leaned her head onto his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his stomach, and focused on the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
‘Queenie’s right, you know,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘You are beautiful.’
Her skin warmed. She lowered her head. ‘I’m not.’
‘You’re perfect.’
‘I’m fat.’
‘Fat?’
He pulled away, raised her chin with his fingers, and forced her to look. ‘You are not fat.’
‘I’m not slim.’
‘You’re definitely not fat. You’re curvy, all woman. I don’t like these scrawny women that are flesh and bone. There’s nothing sexy about them. You have all the curves in the right places.’
‘Can we talk about something else?’
He grinned. ‘You’re blushing.’
Leanne nestled into him. There was silence - no sound of a ticking clock, not the gentle pattering of rain on the windows, and not the buzzing of her thoughts in her head. It was a wonderful feeling.
‘Do you think Queenie was telling the truth about Fiona?’ Steven asked.
She raised herself upright. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I don’t know, but after everything we’ve learned about her, it’s difficult accepting she has a compassionate side. To look after her sister’s baby is huge.’
‘I agree. She sounded like a free spirit. Why would she give everything for me? I’m not sure it makes sense.’
He curled his fingers around her hand. ‘We could try asking her again, although I don’t think she’ll tell us anything more.’
‘I think you’re right.’ She reached for a photo of Fiona resting on the table. ‘Do you think she looks pregnant?’
‘Not really.’
‘Luke and Imogen thought so. She is a bit chunkier around her middle.’
‘You do look a bit like her,’ he said. ‘You have the same eyes and nose.’
‘Do we?’
He leaned towards her and dropped a big sloppy kiss on her cheek. She pulled a face and wiped away the moisture with the side of her hand.
‘I’m glad you’re feeling a bit happier.’
‘No point being miserable,’ he said, ‘Teresa is in good hands.’
‘She could still come out of the coma.’
‘I hope so.’ He stroked her leg. ‘I wish she’d shared her troubles. Geoff hadn’t been much comfort. It makes sense now why there was so much friction.’
‘There’s no way I’m defending him,’ she said, ‘but I’m amazed he covered for her the way he did after she had a child by another man.’
‘It was probably his only chance to be a father.’
Silence.
‘Have you seen him at the hospital?’ she asked.
‘No, I haven’t. I hope he’s not left her.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Try not to worry.’
She reached for Fiona’s journal resting on the table and flicked through the pages.
‘Are you still angry with Janet?’ he asked.
‘Not so much, but I do still wonder why she couldn’t have told me something. She could have just said she’d lost contact with Karen. Why claim she was dead?’
‘The lies may have started early on. It would have been difficult admitting it later, especially when she would have been expecting you to have been asking lots of questions.’
‘I like to think I’m a reasonable person. I would have understood. Maybe I could have persuaded her to live in Honeysuckle Cottage again, or at least sell it. I wonder how much of her life was spent feeling tortured by the turn of events.’
‘The fire and the accidents must have changed her. She had a lot to thank Ann and Gerry for, and discovering them dead, a consequence, in part, due to her daughter’s action’s, must have been hard to deal with - hence, her decision to refuse the inheritance.’
Leanne dared not say it, but she wondered how much of what happened had been her grandmother’s fault. If she hadn’t treated her two daughters differently, then Queenie would not have fled and Fiona would not have had to hide her pregnancy. It seemed as though Janet and Roy had struggled so much with their first daughter that they overcompensated with their second. For their third opportunity, that was, for her, they somehow got it right.
‘I do feel a bit sorry for Gran. What a burden. I wish I could have helped her release her pain.’
‘You probably did without knowing.’
‘Do you think she died believing I’d been stolen?’
‘I think she must have realised she’d made a mistake. I think Queenie did too. Did you notice the nervousness in her expression when she was asked if she knew about Fiona being my mother?’
He nodded.
‘I suppose it’s not important, although it is infuriating.’
‘There’s no point in worrying about it.’
‘No. Although I suspect she might have been aware she got her baby-stealing theory wrong. Queenie said she used her powers to gain the truth. Assuming she had, she jumped to an erroneous conclusion. It could be what put her off anything paranormal.’
‘Why do you say that?’
She turned to face him. ‘Think about it . . . if she hadn’t accused Queenie of stealing the baby, Queenie wouldn’t have started an argument with Fiona, etcetera, etcetera.’
He did not respond.
‘Luke did warn me that the interpretations are what are dangerous.’
He reached for her hand and made small circles on her palm. ‘It’s a pity nothing good came out of it.’
‘I do miss her . . . and Phillip.’
His expression turned serious. ‘I’m sorry I overreacted when you saw me with Queenie. It reminded me of what Andrea did and how she treated me. I felt suffocated.’
‘I’m sorry too. I should have trusted you.’
The telephone sounded. Leanne skipped across the room.
‘Tyler, about time! Where have you been?’
‘I’ve been studying at the library.’
She glanced at Steven. He was flicking through Fiona’s journal. ‘Why aren’t you doing it at home?’
‘It’s too noisy.’
‘Are you sure you’re happy living with Darren?’
Tyler hesitated and then mumbled a positive reply.
Her heart quickened and she held her breath. ‘I’d like you to return home to me.’
‘Okay.’
She was stunned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘If it’s what you want.’
A smile broadened her face. ‘It is. That’s fantastic. I’ll come over for you tomorrow night.’
‘Leave it until the weekend.’
‘And you won’t change your mind?’
‘No. Thanks, Mum.’
They chatted for a little while longer and then she ended the call.
‘He’s coming home,’ she cried.
Steven grinned.
‘I think he was waiting for me to ask him. He sounded happy. Oh, Steven, my baby’s returning.’
‘I’m glad you’re happy.’
‘We had a chat and he told me he’d been struggling to deal with losing Phillip and Gran. Apparently, it was easier to deal with at Darren’s house.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘Yes, to me too. I preferred being here for the same reasons. I should have realised what his problem was.’
Steven’s expression grew serious. ‘Where are you going to stay?’
‘Oh.’ Her smile slipped. ‘I don’t know. We can work something out, can’t we?’
‘Of course we can.’ His eyes darkened as he glimpsed at the journal. ‘There’s something here you should see.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s an entry from Fiona.’
Leanne scampered across and read the short piece of writing.
He wanted me again tonight and despite my usual persistence, telling him no, forcing him back, and kneeing him in the groin, he was relentless. It sickens me that I am so helpless, physically unable to overpower him and entirely inept. I am an adult, a grown woman, and I should have a voice. I should be able to enjoy my pregnancy yet I cannot even admit to it and certainly not to those closest to me.
He paints a picture of me in his mind. It is a beautiful image, angelic, but one that I can barely adhere to, despite my trying. Every time I step out of line, word gets back and I am punished. He is everywhere, yet he is nowhere, creeping out of the darkness, watching my every move, every breath. His obsession, which has continued for years, repulses me. I vomit. I curl up in the darkness. I cry solitary tears.
I obey his every whim. He terrifies me. I have no choice.
I have decided to go to see my ever-faithful sister. I cannot tell her the truth about him, but I can ask one massive favour, if only to protect my unborn baby. I treat her despicably, forever taking advantage and continuously lying, and although a feeble excuse, I know it is a reaction to him and one I cannot control.
Tonight, at least, I shall sleep peacefully. My baby will soon be safe.
The old woman slouched on a chair with her head resting on her favourite worn-out velvet cushion, her hands clasped on her lap, and her legs parted. Her mouth was agape, displaying her yellowed broken teeth, her eyes flickered beneath her eyelids, and her crumpled skin sagged as it rested upon her shrunken face. In the air, there was a faint smell, the smell of death, and Leanne shuddered and tightened her arms across her grief-stricken body.
Her heart was bulging and her breathing restricted, each intake of air more difficult than the last. A low-pitched moan escaped her lips. Another death was imminent, another loss of a loved one creeping ever closer. She eased herself onto the edge of the sofa, her hazy eyes resting on the old woman; yet she saw little, her mind too traumatised to take note.
Janet was her grandmother, but to Leanne, she was her mother. Their relationship was special; Janet guided, comforted, and shared. They had laughed and cried together, sharing joy and anxiety, from the birth of Leanne’s son to the sudden death of her husband several weeks before. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek.
Janet had to survive; Leanne did not believe she could not cope with another bereavement. Her gut twisted as panic crept up her body. She pressed her palm flat against her upper chest and felt the gentle rise and fall of her ribcage. She needed Janet now more than ever and prayed that her grandmother would find the energy and desire to fight for another day.
The sound of footsteps dragged Leanne away from her ponderings, and she turned her head and looked to the doorway. Tyler, her son, leaned against the frame, his slender physique, soft creamy pink skin, and vivid blue eyes contrasting with the sight of her aged grandmother. Yet they were both beautiful, each signifying something different.
‘How is she?’ he asked.
Leanne eased herself from the sofa, exited the room, and headed to the kitchen. ‘Asleep. I don’t think it’s going to be long.’
‘There’s no chance she’ll recover.’
‘No, I don’t think so. She didn’t eat again this morning. I think her body has given up.’
‘Can’t we do anything?’
She shook her head.
Distraught, he dropped his head and traced a tile on the floor with the edge of his trainer.
‘She’s had a good life,’ she said, ‘we have to stay strong. She won’t want to see us upset.’
His mouth clamped. Tearful, he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away.
‘I wish there was something I could do to make it better.’
He spun back to face her. ‘Why now? Why us? What have we done wrong?’
She edged closer to him, resting her arm on his back. ‘You mustn’t think like that. Her time has come, as it does to us all eventually.’
‘It’s not fair.’
‘No, it’s not. Death never is.’
There was silence and their mutual grieving entwined.
‘I still miss Dad.’
She swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘I do too.’
He stomped across the kitchen to the fridge and reached for the orange juice. ‘He was selfish. He should never have gone to France. Didn’t he care?’
‘You know he did. He couldn’t have predicted his accident.’
‘He wouldn’t have gone if he’d loved us.’
‘Of course, he loved us. But he loved paragliding too. I could never have stopped him.’
‘You should have tried. He knew it was dangerous, especially in mountainous regions. He put his own pleasures before us.’
‘Tyler, you mustn’t think like that.’
‘Why? It’s true. He used to talk about the thrill of flying, yet at the same time, he wouldn’t let me have ago, at least not until I was bigger and stronger. He said it wasn’t safe.’ His voice increased in volume, his anguish deepening. ‘I’m sixteen . . . nearly as strong as he was. If he thought I could die, he must have realised he could too.’ His lip trembled and his grip on the glass tightened, whitening his knuckles. ‘I want him back.’
Leanne reached across desperate to offer her sympathy, but her son pulled away, withdrawing from her touch. ‘I hurt too.’
He threw back the rest of his drink, thrust the glass onto the table, and stomped away, his scrawny youthful body, so beautiful and pure, yet disguising such sorrow within. His life had been shattered and she was helpless to assist, unable to feel her way through her own burning heart.
On the table were dirty mugs and dishes, a cereal container, a jar of jam, and the coffee jug. She glanced at the time: it was almost noon and time dragged. She wanted to sleep and unburden herself of her troubles and dream of happier times. Only six months ago, they had all celebrated her grandmother’s eighty-second birthday, and for one of the activities Janet had played golf on Tyler’s games console causing great hilarity. Phillip pushed her aside, insisting he could do better, but it wasn’t his thing; he was hopeless.
Those days had ended.
Her face contorted and she squeezed free the lingering tears in her eyes and then moved the dirty items into the dishwasher. She had little enthusiasm for cleaning, wanting only to be consoled during her moment of misery, but she had no one else. Phillip, Janet, and Tyler were her life and they had moulded her into the person she was. To lose one person was bad enough, but to lose two in succession was unbearable. How could she comfort Tyler when she couldn’t deal with her own pain? How had Janet ever managed it? She had always been there, through good times and bad, always finding the right words and gestures.
Her eyes misted with tears. She crept into the lounge.
The sun peeked through the edge of the window, brightening a strip of the room and resting on her grandmother’s pallid cheeks. She had aged much during the last couple of weeks, and looked grey and lifeless and not the energetic woman she was used to seeing. Her clothes - a black cardigan, a white top, and a heavy mottled grey skirt - reflected her demeanour. Exhausted of life, it had bubbled, faded and tattered. She wore thick brown tights and comfortable moccasin-style slippers, her ankles were swollen and her legs shapeless. She looked old, very old.
Janet’s wrinkled hand twitched. Leanne’s eyes darted to her face, waiting for her grandmother’s eyes to gain clarity, and then she forced a happy demeanour forward. ‘Had a nice nap?’
It took a few moments for the reply to come. ‘I need water.’
‘Would you prefer a tea?’
She shook her head and started to fidget, uncomfortable with her stagnant body. Leanne strode to her side, placed her arm under hers and lifted her upright, the strain showing on her face.
‘Are you warm enough?’ Leanne asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Just hang on, I’ll get you that water.’
She whizzed into the kitchen, waited for the tepid water to cool, and filled a glass. A tap of hope emerged. She was still alive, at least for now. She should make the most of it.
She passed her the half-filled glass. It shook in her hand, the water creeping towards the rim. Janet slurped at the side, and then still quivering, passed it back. Leanne rested it on the coffee table and then sat on the edge of the sofa, situated alongside the armchair.
‘You do a good job with that boy,’ Janet said.
Their eyes locked.
‘He’s a good lad,’ she continued, ‘he’s still upset with Phillip for dying.’
‘You heard?’
‘He’s young, he’ll come through.’
‘I thought he was dealing with it, but he’s still angry.’
‘It’ll take a while.’
‘I don’t know what else to do.’
Leanne waited for the response. Janet’s face glazed over and her eyes lacked focus. Had she heard? Pressing her for an answer was out of the question; she was far too frail for a deep conversation. Leanne had to learn to fend for herself. Soon she would have no choice.
Janet lifted her gaze. ‘Did you say something?’
‘No, it doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m a bit tired . . . don’t feel too good. Pass me the water.’
Leanne did just that. Her heart was pounding. She had so much to say and so little time. How long did she have left? Hours . . . days?
‘Tyler will look after you. He’s a good boy . . . takes after his dad.’ She gasped for air and her chest heaved. ‘Now about that, you know he wants more contact with his real father.’
Leanne pressed together her lips.
‘I hope you’re going to let him.’
‘I’ve never stopped him.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve never encouraged him either.’
She leapt from her chair, strode to the window, and folded her arms. ‘Darren has not shown any interest up until now. It’s a bit of a coincidence if you ask me.’
‘From what I’ve heard he seems genuinely interested in the lad.’
‘It’s going to end in tears.’
‘Not necessarily. It’s something Tyler’s going to do, whether you like it or not.’
Her heart slumped. She had heard through friends that Darren had transformed over the last sixteen years and was now a father and husband, abandoning his reckless attitude and free spirit. More than likely, Darren would shower Tyler in gifts, giving him what he wanted. He would lure him away, introducing him to his family, a real family with brothers and sisters, aunties and uncles.
Why would he want to return to her and her solitary existence?
‘You can’t stop him,’ Janet said, her voice croaky. ‘He’s the boy’s natural father. They should get to know each other.’
‘Phillip was his father. Tyler wants that gap filled. He’s doing it for all the wrong reasons.’
Janet coughed and saliva dribbled down her chin. She lifted her arm and wiped away the moisture with her sleeve.
‘I’ll get you a tissue,’ Leanne said.
Her grandmother’s laboured breathing pounded her ears as she hurried across the room to a box of tissues. Every second was valuable. Why couldn’t people live forever? How would she ever cope without her best friend, confidant, and mentor? Anguished, she scrunched her face, gasped for breath, and pain tightened her chest. She had to remain strong for both their sakes and passed her a quick glance.
Janet was gazing with glassy eyes through the window.
‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat?’ Leanne asked.
She frowned. ‘Now, what was I saying? Oh yes, about Tyler.’
Leanne perched on the edge of the sofa next to her.
‘He loves you, and he’ll respect you more if you let him find out for himself what Darren’s like.’
‘He knows what he’s like. They’ve had a couple of conversations over the phone.’
‘Come on, you know that’s not what I mean. Blood’s thicker than water, remember that.’
‘Darren will never replace Phillip in his eyes.’
‘No, but Darren is alive, Phillip isn’t.’
She folded her arms and scowled.
‘You were always stubborn,’ Janet said, ‘Tyler will never leave you, he loves you. It’s not a competition. Promise me you'll let him get to know him if that’s what he wants.’
A tear slipped down her face. Soon, she would only have Tyler.
‘Promise,’ Janet insisted.
‘I promise.’
Janet stretched out her hand and rested it on Leanne’s knee. Leanne took hold and squeezed, and her hand trembled.
‘No tears,’ Janet said, ‘we still have much to talk about.’
‘I don’t want to lose you.’
‘I’ll always be with you,’ she lifted her hand to her heart, ‘in here.’
Leanne focused, urging her breathing to regulate, urging calmness to descend.
‘You will be happy again,’ she continued, ‘I promise you that. Soon you’ll find a new man. Don’t push him away, but remember family first. Make sure he finds a way to get on with Tyler.’
‘I would never do anything Tyler wasn’t happy with.’
‘No . . . no of course not. Family first. Don’t make the mistakes I’ve made.’
‘What mistakes?’
Janet held a pensive gaze, staring into a space in the centre of the room.
‘Gran, what mistakes have you made?’
‘Mistakes?’ she shook her head. ‘Later. I need to rest . . . feel odd.’
‘But-’
‘Family first. Never forget.’
She crossed her ankles, folded her arms across her middle, and closed her eyes. Panic loomed. Would she awaken? She could sense it was important, but to what degree? Would she have a chance to explain what she meant?
The hours crawled and Leanne struggled to function, neither finding enthusiasm for her favourite pastimes nor being able to perform everyday household chores. The house was growing ever dirtier, with stains on the kitchen surface, dirty crockery scattered throughout the house, and bits and pieces in out-of-place locations.
She slumped onto a chair in the kitchen, her lethargy growing like a disease. She could sense her adrenaline pumping, encouraging occupation of a task, but the instance she started doing something her frustration surfaced and she flung down her tools and stomped away.
The waiting was the worst. She knew that she could do nothing to help her grandmother get better, yet she still searched her mind for new ways. She had offered her easy to digest food cut into bite-sized pieces, as well as her favourite cuisine, but nothing generated interest. She was apathetic and obstinate, and unwilling to place anything into her mouth. Even the doctor had failed and Janet vomited back the medication.
Damn it, Leanne thought as she rested her elbows on the table and placed her head in her hands. Her heart was constantly pounding and reverberating across her body and making her feel sick and tired. She wanted it to be over, one way or another.
If only Phillip were here, he would have known what to do. In the least, he would have placed a consoling arm around her body briefly removing her tension; instead, she was the one offering Tyler comfort, and it was sapping her of strength. Not that she minded, but it was draining, especially since he kept pushing aside her show of affection.
She eased her arms downward, rested her head on the table, and closed her eyes. She needed to sleep, yearning to drift off to some far off land away from her troubles, and thought of her late husband. As expected, Phillip appeared inside her head, his soft boyish looks and long dark lashes distinct in her mind. He was telling her everything would be okay. She clung to his words, reached towards him, and imagined herself sinking into his body.
Panicking, Leanne woke with a start and rushed into the lounge to see her grandmother: thankfully, she was gazing wistfully out of the window and into the small rear garden.
‘Gran?’
She turned her head. ‘Hello love.’
‘I’m sorry, I fell asleep.’
‘No matter.’
‘How are you feeling?’ Leanne asked.
‘Tired.’
‘Do you want me to get you anything?’
‘No, come sit down.’
She stepped across the room, trying not to focus on her greying complexion and tired eyes, and perched on the sofa and passed a warm glance.
Sadness overwhelmed her. Janet’s fingers were trembling and her mouth was agape. Her lips were paler than normal and there was a look of absolute exhaustion in her eyes, neither seeming able to focus nor even attempting to. Her heart quickened. The end was nigh.
‘I’ve made mistakes, everyone suffered,’ Janet said.
‘What mistakes?’
Silence
Leanne rested her hand on her grandmother’s thigh. ‘Gran, what mistakes?’
Janet lowered her head and her eyes flickered shut. Leanne’s pulse throbbed in her throat.
‘Gran?’
‘Family first, always.’
‘It is. We have been.’
Her head dropped onto the cushion. Her breathing was taut and gritty. She steadied herself, fighting for the last drop of energy. ‘Karen . . . she’s alive.’
Confusion mingled with panic. Leanne’s mother had died when she was young. Janet had told her so. How could it be?
‘Sorry . . . should have said.’
Leanne leaned forward and rested her elbow on the arm of the chair. I don’t understand. Where is she?’
‘Gone . . . sorry.’
Janet’s eyes rolled and then her lips moved, but no sound escaped. Her head flopped to the side.
Leanne shot up from her seat. ‘Gran!’
A surge of pain ripped through her. It was over; Janet had died.
Apprehensively, Leanne stepped into the chapel of rest with Tyler by her side and scanned the small group of people waiting in the lobby. Holding a sorrowful gaze, she nodded her appreciation at the others then waited near a double door clutching her handbag as though it provided her with strength.
The group mainly consisted of older folks, presumably Janet’s friends from the community centre, but no one was familiar. Periodically she peered through her fringe at the strangers, searching the faces for her mother. But, she was not brave enough to question their connection, and none seemed concerned by her presence. She assumed that her mother would appear uneasy, and twitch and shuffle, or make uncomfortable attempts at conversion. No one did either, and no one fitted the description Leanne held in her mind.
Once guided to the pews in the small room, she sat down, said a quiet prayer, and waited; her back was straight, her feet were together, and her hands grasping her black bag. At the front was the coffin. Burdened with grief, she stared, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
Her conscious mind faded in and out, as the proceedings continued. She drifted through moments of Janet’s life to Phillip’s, their funerals combining in her mind. Tears welled, her hands shook, and her chest tightened. Her husband should have been here; he was her future. It was a sad reflection of what her life had become.
Tyler reached for her hand and squeezed. She peered at him out of her eye corner, and at his young face that displayed immense composure, and her lips wobbled and her tears overflowed, streaming down her cheeks in waves. She reached into her pocket for a tissue, wiped her nose and urged her breathing to slow. Then she smiled. A concerned frown was all he could manage.
What must he be going through? He had also lost two of the three most important people in his life and he did not have the benefit of age and experience as an aid. Even so, he seemed to be coping admirably, more so than she. Gathering her strength, determined to provide Tyler with the support he should be receiving, Leanne blanketed her sorrow and listened to the eulogy.
The coffin disappeared from view and a little while later, the proceedings ended, the finale of her grandmother’s life now complete. Then, with Tyler in tow, Leanne headed out of the room where she received more condolences - the most common being Janet’s good age upon death - yet it provided her with little consolation, and bitterness crept into her heart. Just because her grandmother was in her eighties, it didn’t make her passing easier to accept. She had been her entire family. Did no one realise?
She turned to Tyler, ready to announce their departure, but she stopped and hesitated, unexpectedly saddened that he had richer family connections than she had. Fearing that he would want to strengthen those ties, her heart plummeted. But when she looked to his milky skin and silky blond hair and saw his maturity emerging, she realised there and then that she could not deny him a better future however hard it may be for her. He was her son and he deserved the best.
‘Ready to go?’ Leanne asked.
Tyler nodded
Outside, there was a drizzle of rain and a cooling wind, and a chill enveloped her, so she pressed her arms to her body and placed her hands into her pockets. The air whipped up and her hair danced, floating across her face and blocking her view. Brushing it aside, she increased her pace and climbed inside the car.
‘I hope it wasn’t too bad,’ she said.
‘It wasn’t as bad as Dad’s.’
‘No, it wasn’t.’
‘It was different . . . a different set of people, a different atmosphere.’
‘Phillip was young and in good health. It was a shock for everyone.’
She indicated left and turned onto the main highway, heading through the early afternoon traffic. ‘How are you coping?’
‘Okay, I guess.’
‘You handled yourself well in there. I’m proud of you.’
Tyler was gazing out of the side window.
‘You know you can always talk to me about how you feel, don’t you?’
He remained silent. She focused on driving, careful to stick to the speed limit as the clouds darkened and the rain increased, streaking across the windscreen. For some reason, she felt stronger now that the funeral was over, much better than she thought she would have felt days previous.
After Janet’s death, Leanne’s relief had been almost immediate and it had taken her by surprise. To justify her guilt she told herself that she had cried endlessly during the preceding days, and somehow must have already processed her passing. Yet she still felt shame and forced her heavy heart to rise and encouraged her newfound energy to subside.
It could have been that she was subconsciously comparing Janet’s demise to Phillip’s, yet they could never be the same. The love she had for her husband could not be surpassed; they had been devoted, and talked for hours at a time, sharing pastimes and points of view. There was rarely friction between them, and right now, as she drove closer to her home, she could not recall a single fault. He was a perfect man, husband, and father.
Her chest swelled. She fought her bubbling grief. Tyler was what mattered now. He needed to see her coping and happy.
‘We’ve been through a lot these last few months,’ she said, ‘I think we need to start enjoying ourselves a bit more.’
He looked at her, his expression blank.
‘How about a holiday at half-term?’
‘Could do.’
‘I thought you’d be a bit more enthusiastic. Are you too old to spend time with your poor old mum?’
‘Course not, it’s just . . . ’
His voice trailed. There was anxiety in his eyes. She kept glancing at him as she drove, urging him to speak.
‘Darren’s asked me to stay,’ he said.
She held her breath. ‘Okay.’
‘I’d like to get to know him.’
‘If that’s what you want.’
‘You don’t mind?’
Leanne’s heart hammered and her blood pounded through her veins. She would be alone and wanted nothing more than to tie him to her side and force him to find happiness with her and her alone. Yet Janet’s plea rang inside her head. She gathered her strength and forced the right words forward. ‘You should do it if it’s what you want.’
She turned along the road leading to her home, passing a few parked cars, a teenage girl with a dog, and an electricity van, and fought the loneliness in her mind. She had few friends to turn to and imagined long evenings and weekends alone. She would soon grow bored of reading and doing jigsaw puzzles, her usual hobbies, and would count the hours until she could return to work.
‘I won’t go if you don’t want me to,’ Tyler said.
She reversed the car into the drive, turned off the engine and turned to face her son. ‘I’ll miss you, but I know it’s important to you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course, I’m sure, but I’ll want daily reports, and don’t forget, if you're unhappy, even in the slightest, you ring and I’ll be straight there. Deal?’
‘Deal. Thanks, Mum.’
She watched him leave. The years had passed quickly, and it seemed only yesterday that she fulfilled his every whim as he toddled around the garden demanding her attention. He had needed her help with the most basic of tasks, as well as for guidance and discipline. Now he was grown up and needed for nothing.
Desolate and forlorn, Leanne trudged to the house, her body sinking and her mind tiring. Her decision to appear chirpy now seemed like a monumental task, and she could neither force a smile to her face nor banish the dark clouds that gathered inside her head.
‘Want a tea or coffee?’ she asked Tyler, as she stepped into the kitchen.
‘No thanks.’
She filled the kettle with what seemed like a meagre amount of water and slumped onto a chair, waiting for it to boil. Laughter and banter filled her ears as she glanced across the table to where Phillip and Janet’s figures once resided. Phillip would make witty remarks, often commenting on someone’s misfortune, and Janet would cackle. She thought him mischievous; she loved him as the son she never had.
The kettle switched itself off and then there was silence. Loneliness pressed into her, compounding her anguish and torment. She shuddered. She wanted a companion.
Was there any chance her mother could be alive? It seemed as though Janet had forced her to stay away, but why would she do such a thing? And why would she lie? Janet had deceived her in the most atrocious way, waiting until her last breath to detach herself from her guilt. She should have told her sooner and explained what had happened. What had she been thinking and would she ever learn the truth behind her silence?
As the days past, Leanne’s desire to search for her mother ebbed and flowed. She knew nothing about her except her name and did not have a clue where to start looking. And why should she? Her mother had never attempted to make contact with her, and so intentionally or otherwise, she had made her feelings clear. A relationship was never going to grow and develop.
Yet she could not help but wonder what had caused her mother and grandmother to fall out in such an unambiguous way, and she searched her mind for possibilities so appalling that she could not deny the outcome. It was a pointless task; she knew almost nothing about Janet’s younger days and nothing about her relationship with her daughter.
During Leanne’s youth, she had asked Janet about her mother, only to learn she had died in an accident when Leanne was five. It was evident now, as the memories started to form clear images in her mind that Janet had been guarded whenever the subject arose, ultimately causing her to push her concerns aside. She should have pursued it further. She should have realised Janet had been lying and should not have trusted her so implicitly.
Frustrated, she stomped upstairs to Janet’s room and sifted through her belongings for evidence. More than anything, she wanted to prove Janet’s confusion, and find a death certificate, a newspaper article, or anything to show that her mother had in fact died. The alternative, the lie, was too difficult to contemplate.
She opened drawers and found clothes, books, jewellery and perfumes. Realising that she should be bagging it, she returned downstairs, grabbed a couple of large bin liners from a kitchen drawer and returned to the room. With a heavy heart, she disposed of the underwear and then sifted through her selection of blouses; some were ragged and worn, others were almost new. She separated them into two bags, one for the tip and the other for the charity shop, and then continued to look through the skirts.
The bags filled within minutes. She stared at them, her grief mounting and aware that soon there would be nothing left of Janet’s life. She would fade into insignificance; her friends would forget her, her achievements forgotten. People would carry on as though she never mattered, as though her life was unimportant.
Leanne’s enthusiasm to continue her task was draining. She opened another wardrobe door, searching for more clothes to sort through, and fingered the piles of jumpers at the base. Then she hit something firm. It was a small wooden box.
Having retrieved it, Leanne sat on the edge of the bed with it on her lap and prised it open. Upon first glance were an assortment of documents and loose sheets of paper. The first piece out was one of her school reports. She placed it to one side and reached for a folded sheet of paper. It was a love letter to Roy, her grandmother’s husband, and it was dated 1949.
Leanne read it and experienced a surge of tenderness. Roy had died of heart failure almost ten years previous. She had loved him as a father and had many fond memories - the most prevalent were their conversations of the paranormal from psychic experiences to vampires and lake monsters. The subject fascinated her and it had been easy to trigger her curiosity. However, Janet wasn’t appreciative of the discussion, and ruthlessly ended every conversation with a harsh comment or a stony glare, reprimanding them both with regularity. Undeterred, they had held secret discussions, often passing knowing glances and chuckling under their breath.
Roy had been an easy-going man and candid about his likes and dislikes, his mistakes and his achievements. Janet, on the other hand, said little, and always seemed shielded. Yet they shared one decision; they had both disowned Karen, their daughter. Why did they never speak of her? The life before her so-called death was a subject off limits.
Leanne continued to sift through the papers, but there was little to indicate that Karen had ever existed, and most of the items in the box were her own, drawings and suchlike from her childhood. Then, at the bottom, she spotted an envelope, and with expectations rising, she removed a photograph.
Her heart leapt. Before her was a detached country house, and in front of it were a couple and three children. She flicked it over. It was dated 1942. It said nothing else. Who were they? Was one of the girls her grandmother?
Memories crept towards Leanne from the depth of her mind. It was a farm, they all worked the land, and once upon a time, she had lived there too. She could visualise herself running through the fields with the sunshine upon her skin and the light wind caressing her face. They were happy times.
Tyler appeared in the doorway.
She lifted her head. ‘Hello love.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Just a photo.’ She handed it across.
‘Who are these people?’
‘I think they must be gran’s family.’
‘Which one’s Gran?’
‘Maybe the one of the left, I’m not sure.’
He studied the photo.
‘I think it was a farmhouse,’ she continued. ‘I think I lived there too when I was young.’
‘Why did you all move to the city?’
She placed the photo back into the envelope and puffed out. ‘There’s such a lot I don’t know about my grandparents. I wish I’d asked more questions.’
‘I once asked her about her childhood . . . years ago. She was sharp with me.’
‘I’m sorry. Did it upset you?’
‘A bit,’ he replied.
‘She didn’t like to talk about it. I think it had something to do with her upbringing. People were much more private back in those days . . . although having said that they were things troubling her.’ She knotted her hands wondering what to say. ‘Before she died she told me my mother was still alive.’
‘Alive?’
‘That’s what she said . . . she was confused and it didn’t make much sense.’
‘How could she keep something like that from you?’
She hesitated. ‘It might not be true.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘She’s had her chance to contact me but never made the effort. It might not be worth the effort of tracking her down.’
Tyler stood with his legs apart and his hands in his pockets. He seemed to be scrutinising her, or maybe just pondering something.
‘What is it you wanted? I doubt you came in here for a chat,’ she said.
‘I’ve just spoken with Darren and confirmed I’ll be staying there. He’s going to pick me up on Saturday morning.’
‘Okay.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not sure if I should go.’
‘Have you changed your mind?’
‘No. It’s just that . . . well . . . will you be okay?’
She placed her hands on his upper arms. ‘What did I do to deserve such a wonderful son?’
‘Stop it, Mum, you’re embarrassing me.’
Cringing, he turned and left, heading back to his room.
Briefly, he turned his head. ‘You should look for your mum. It could be just what you need.’
‘Maybe.’
‘There could be all kinds of reasons why she hasn’t contacted you . . . maybe she’s been out of the country.’
He stepped into his room.
Was that what Darren had been telling him? Was he filling him with lies? She rushed along the landing, her anxieties ready to burst through her skin, but as she reached the doorway, she heard Janet’s voice. ‘Promise me you’ll let him go,’ she had said. Leanne shuffled back to her grandmother’s room and dropped onto the bed. Tyler was ready to start a new chapter in his life. Was she willing to do the same?
As the start of half term neared, her pounding heart seemed to get louder, dreading the moment when Tyler walked out of the house and into someone else’s life. It was selfish to want him all to herself and wrong to hold him back, but that was what she wanted to do. The promise to Janet, along with her fluctuating resolve to provide him with better opportunities than what she had maintained her silence.
Thoughts of loneliness scurried through her days and she wondered how she would cope with an empty house. With no one else to care for, she would find herself alone with her ponderings, dwelling on the loss of her grandmother and husband, along with the lies told. She would cry bitter tears and scrutinise the past, searching for more evidence of betrayal. She would wonder what could have been. It would be unhealthy. It could be unstoppable.
Janet should have told her about Karen years ago. What else had been withheld? What other untruths had she told? She didn’t want to be angry with her grandmother, but her world was falling apart and it was growing ever more difficult to maintain calmness and clarity. With no other family members to talk it through with, she feared the truth would remain hidden and her unrest would remain.
Saturday morning arrived, and she awoke after having had a restless night’s sleep, burdened with grief and with visions of solitude. She tried to appear happy, forcing a smile to her face and a chirpy tone to her voice, and disguised her sadness. Tyler became her focus.
Together, they went through the contents of this bag and checked he had enough clothes, money, and items to keep him amused during his stay. She sensed he was nervous, but he never spoke of his fears, only the days out they had planned. They were to visit various cities, the coast, and amusement parks, where he could get to know his new family in a more relaxed atmosphere. It sounded like he would enjoy himself, providing he could get on with everyone. He was young and had the innocence of youth on his side, and was without the qualms she would carry if she were in his position.
With her anxieties trapped beneath her skin, she said her goodbyes to Tyler, and clutching her heart, watched him vacate the house and greet Darren with a restrained enthusiasm. Tears dripped from her eyes, soaking her smooth rounded cheeks, and her chest heaved. Drawn to an image of Phillip on the wall, her sobbing evolved. The four of them had been happy. Now she was alone, and her world had shattered.
On Monday morning, having spent an entire weekend moping, a newfound strength motived Leanne and she was eager to get to work and occupy the dark void in her brain with something useful. However, when she arrived at the craft factory and shop and saw the sorrowful expression of her employer and friend, David Williams, she knew something was wrong and her heart sank.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I know this is bad timing, but I’m going to have to let you go. As you know business has been struggling, but over the weekend, I lost two more of our major customers. I just can’t afford to keep you on.’
His apologies were still rattling around her head hours later when she entered the solicitor’s office for the reading of Janet’s will. She cared little for the assets she was to acquire, and whilst she waited in the cluttered reception area, scanning the papers and binders on the desk and papers and magazines on a low table, she considered her future.
Jobs were scarce, but rather than the income concerning her, it was the extra time. She had no one to spend her evenings with, let alone her days, and could not cope with more time upon her hands. The outlook was bleak.
Almost in a daze, she listened to the solicitor as he talked through her assets. No one else was listed, and as expected, there was no mention of her mother. Even so, her disappointment swelled.
‘You have inherited a house,’ Mr Hill said, flicking through the sheets.
‘A house? She sold it a couple of years ago.’
‘In Norfolk.’
‘She doesn’t have a house in Norfolk.’
He peered over the rim of his glasses. ‘She inherited it from a Mr and Mrs Coombs.’
‘Who?’
‘She said she wanted nothing to do with it, nor their money. As far as I’m aware, it’s been empty for decades.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you anything more. Here are the key and the address.’
Bewildered, she stared at the items on the untidy desk.
‘The money she left you amounts to a little over two hundred thousand pounds, and that’s with the fees removed.’
Her jaw dropped and her minded drifted as Mr Hill continued to talk about the contents of the will. Minutes later, having signed the relevant documents, she left the office and stepped into the cool autumnal air. With her hands resting in her pockets, she hurried to her car a couple of blocks away, and once inside, away from the bustling pedestrians, she stared at the address on the sheet of paper.
Could it be that the house was the one that she had seen in the photograph? It seemed a possibility. But why, if Janet had lived there had she chosen to abandon it? It made no sense especially so since Leanne could recall running carefree through the fields. Then there were Mr and Mrs Coombs to consider. Somewhere, coming from the depths of her brain, she felt sure that Janet’s maiden name was not Coombs.
She ambled home, her mind racing with questions, and decided, as she had nothing else to do, she should pay her new property a visit. In the least, it would provide her with a focus, and maybe, if she were lucky, she may find someone who knew her mother. It was better than wallowing in her losses.
Upon Leanne’s arrival in the village, she spotted a cafe on the roadside. In need of sustenance, she slipped the car into second gear and turned into a car park. Although the driving had been tiring, she felt far less emotional than earlier, and concluded that whilst she was away from home, away from the constant reminders of what had been, she could deal with her grief easier. Even so, it had taken a huge amount of effort to leave the house and drive away.
Her mind drifted to her grandfather, Roy. He had been a positive man and had often told her that if you looked hard enough, no matter what devastation you faced there would always be something good in disguise. She loved his attitude, always preferring to seek out the pleasant and the enjoyable rather than the irritations and disagreements. Yet, as she strolled towards the café entrance, she could not help but wonder if her plummeting bad luck was set to continue.
The café had little natural light passing through the windows and inside it was dark and cool. There were stone slabs on the floor, a light coloured paint covered the brick walls, and the tables were of heavy wood that had notched edges and scratched surfaces. A group of men wearing leathers occupied one of the tables, and there was an elderly woman at the counter chatting to the assistant.
Leanne ordered a coffee and a small cake and headed to a table in the middle of the room. The elderly woman continued to prattle, much to the assistant’s dismay. The assistant looked as though she was trying to escape, edging closer to a back door and opening and shutting her mouth in rapid succession. Moments later, she did, in fact, manage to make a swift exit, and silence descended. Careful not to make eye contact, since she wasn’t in the mood for conversation, she gazed into her mug and pondered her future.
What else was there for Leanne to lose? Tyler was her one remaining relative, and he had gone, and now, as if life wasn’t bad enough, she found herself without a job. She may be wealthier than before, but as she contemplated her options, deciding if she should sell the house or have it renovated, she decided that the income from the sale would be no match for all that she was without.
‘What are you doing here? Visiting someone or passing through?’
Leanne raised her head and looked vacantly at the woman.
‘You’re a pretty little thing,’ she continued, ‘have just the right proportions I’d say. Girls, these days, are far too skinny. It’s unhealthy I tell you . . . no good for you.’
Her body tightened and she pressed her arms across her breasts, conscious of her extra weight.
‘I’ll bet you have the men queuing up. My girl was like that. Gorgeous she was, I’d have fancied her myself if she wasn’t my daughter.’ She cackled. ‘And, of course, if I was a man. I can’t do with those queers. It’s not natural you know. God made men and women for each other. All that other stuff . . .’ she pulled a face, ‘. . . should be banned. They can even marry now, did you know that?’
The woman did not wait for Leanne’s answer and continued to babble, unaware, it seemed, that her eyes were expressionless and her mind wondering. When the woman stopped speaking, Leanne jolted and looked up, straight into the woman’s drilling eyes. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘What you doing here?’ the woman asked.
‘I’m looking for Fen Lane.’
‘Fen Lane? It’s the other side of the village, just on the edge. It used to be quiet along there, but they’ve built an estate close by after farming land was sold. I curse that woman for selling! This village once had two hundred residents but now it has over two thousand. Did you know that?’
She shook her head.
‘When I was a lass, it was a beautiful place to live, now it’s filled with yobs. They hang around the pubs and at the youth centre in the village, and they frighten the life out of us old folks. I told the council there would be trouble. They didn’t listen you know. I told them, I did.’
Leanne rushed down her coffee and cake. The monotonous tone of the woman was grating and she was unable to maintain focus on the conversation for long. She didn’t want to appear rude, but she wanted to leave; her ears were starting to hurt and her head was pounding. She stood up. The woman continued to prattle, unwilling to take the hint.
Leanne waited. She opened her mouth to announce her departure. The woman spoke even faster. With her patience wearing thin, she spoke in a loud, clear voice, talking over her and telling her of her decision to go.
The woman stopped mid-sentence, her mouth agape.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Leanne said, and scampered away.
Smiling wryly to herself, she stepped outside and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The café assistant was depositing something in the bin at the rear. She caught her eye. ‘Sorry about Mrs Wilkinson,’ she said, ‘she’s a bit lonely . . . lives alone and has no family.’
She frowned. ‘So I’ve gathered. She can certainly talk.’
‘Don’t let it put you off. She’s only ever in on Tuesday mornings, as regular as clockwork, never any other day.
‘I’ll remember that.’
‘She drives some of my other customers away . . . at least the intolerant ones.’
Stepping away, she wondered about the elderly woman’s situation and her overwhelming loneliness. In addition to being without family, she may not have much to occupy her days and may spend her time watching television or staring into space. Her life was likely to be different to her grandmother’s; she had always had someone with her and never felt the need to seek out strangers. Was it due to chance or had Janet made more of an effort to acquire friends? Leanne turned the ignition key, released the handbrake, and pulled away. Her grandfather’s voice sounded in her head. ‘Life is what you make it,’ he had once said. He always had been positive.
Leanne drove steadily along Fen Lane in her car, passing cottages close to the village and glancing towards the isolated houses further along. Clouds were gathering, darkening the skies overhead and decreasing her visibility, and the wind whipped the branches overhanging the lane. She felt cold just looking outside, and shivered involuntarily.
The first house she passed had lights on in the downstairs rooms and two cars occupying the gravelled drive. She hoped it would be easy to determine which house was Honeysuckle Cottage, and ambled by, following the natural curve in the road and glancing at the scurrying rabbits. It narrowed and became a single track. She avoided a pothole and the ragged edge and pulled away from an encroaching hedge. Then the view opened out, and before her, set back from the road, stood a boarded-up house, dilapidated barns, and a row of tall trees. Her heart leapt; she had arrived.
She turned along a track overrun with weeds and tall grasses and arrived at the house. She turned off the engine, retrieved her three-quarter length woollen coat from the back seat and stepped outside. The sun peeked through a gap in the clouds, illuminating the house in a pleasing glow. It was a welcome sight.
Painted white, there were ten large windows, a stone porch, and at the rear almost out of sight, an adjoining building set at an angle. It was far bigger than she expected and appeared fantastically spacious. She could live in style and have a lounge, a dining room, a study, and a library. She would even have room for a piano and could have parties and put up any number of guests. Her lifestyle would be different to what she had now and it made her three-bedroom townhouse seem poky in comparison.
Dumbfounded, she continued to stare, searching for cracks, loose tiles, and sagging walls, but there didn’t seem to be anything in need of repair, forcing her to conclude that her grandparents must have maintained it. Why they would do such a thing and then leave it empty was beyond her reckoning.
Regretting her inappropriate footwear, she strode to the rear and trod through the long grasses and weeds in her ninety-millimetre heels. Rather than pondering her defence, she imagined Phillip’s mocking reprimand and a smile slipped to her face. He would have loved this house; he had always wanted a place in the country.
Her sadness fluttered. She fought to disregard it and willed herself to be grateful for her good fortune, but a pleasure had to be shared to be appreciated, and with Tyler away, she had no one. She dropped her hands into her pockets and watched two pigeons scuffle in a tree.
If only Phillip had not chosen to go paragliding in France. Then they would be stood together, their excitement mingling, the beauty more vivid. More than likely, they would be considering moving and she may even be thinking about setting up a handmade jewellery business, her true desire. She puffed out. It was not to be; her life had taken a different turn.
Living alone in a house so large would be a step in the wrong direction. It would overwhelm her and she would feel even more isolated than she already did. At least her existing home was part of a community, and if her loneliness intensified so much that it became unbearable, she could chat to passing folks. She turned around and glanced along the lane. Not even one car had passed since she had arrived. Her decision to sell was gathering strength.
She wandered around the perimeter of the house, her eyes drawn to what once would have been the garden, and her mind became cluttered with memories. Believing she must have once lived there, she pondered the vision in her mind: the colourful blooms, the herbs, and the vegetables. She could see herself running across a lawn to a swing, and then tripping and falling. A woman had loomed overhead, screaming at her for dirtying her dress before slapping her thigh. Recoiling, she had peered over her shoulder, searching for comfort. An older woman had stood by the door of the house, her face pensive. Had that been her grandmother?
Leanne had to find out more. This house was her heritage. It would be foolhardy to sell it immediately and she needed a reason to stay. She didn’t have to live in the house permanently but could stay for a few days at a time, reasoning that it may provide her with clues to finding her mother. Needing guidance and a friendly voice, she perched on the edge of a wall and removed her phone from her pocket
Tyler answered within seconds. ‘Hi Mum, I can’t talk long, we’re just about to go into the Imax at the National Media Museum. It looks fantastic . . . something to do with space.’
‘So you’re having a good time?’
‘Everyone’s great. We’ve just had the biggest lunch. I’m stuffed, I can’t move. Tomorrow I’m going to meet my uncle. He’s a son about my age. I can’t wait. It’s just what I needed.’
She held her breath, her words restricted.
‘What did you want?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. I just wanted a chat with my boy.’
‘I thought you’d be at work.’
‘I . . . I’m visiting a house, one that Gran owned. You’d like it, it’s massive, and in good condition.’
‘I didn’t know she had another house.’
‘Neither did I-’
‘Sorry Mum, but I’m going to have to go. Fill me in later?’
‘Okay. Love you.’
‘You too. Bye.’
The ring tone sounded in her ear. She slipped her phone into her pocket, pulled her collar tighter around her neck, and stood up. She missed him and her heart burned. He should be with her. She should, at least, be able to provide him with a family. What kind of mother was she? She continued around the side of the building.
She spun around, her subconscious informing her of another presence. There was an elderly man wearing big baggy trousers and a scruffy woollen jumper standing in the adjacent field and staring. Even after she made eye contact, he did not speak and continued to gawk. Feeling ill at ease, she approached him, treading with care as she progressed through the long withering grasses in heels.
‘You living here now?’ he asked.
‘I . . . I’m not sure.’
‘It’s been empty for years. All these fields,’ he pointed, ‘are mine.’
‘Did you know the owners?’
‘Might have done.’
‘Mr and Mrs Coombs?’
‘Aye lass.’
‘What do you know about them?’
‘You a journalist?’
‘No.’ She hesitated. It may not be a good idea to share her position with him. ‘Did you know Roy and Janet Jefferson too?’
A faint smile crossed his face and his eyes glazed. ‘I knew their daughter, Karen. She was a live wire. I don’t think there was a man around here that didn’t know her.’ He grinned, a wide toothless grin. ‘Who are you?’
She looked at her feet. ‘Is she still around?’
‘Has been, on and off.’
‘Do you know how I can contact her?’
He offered nothing more.
‘Please, it’s important. Have you seen her recently?’
‘You related?’
‘She’s my mum,’ Leanne blurted. ‘Can you tell me where she is? I have to find her.’
He turned and started walking away. ‘I know nothing.’
‘Please, it’s important.’
‘I’ve said enough already.’
‘But . . . do you know where she is?’
He made urgent steps away from her, walking along the edge of the field and ignoring her as though she did not exist. Her opportunity was fading and her panic rising.
‘Wait, please,’ she cried.
She stepped forward, but her shoes were ridiculously unsuitable and caused immense difficulties, and she had to retreat. Having returned to the house, she slumped onto a brick wall and pondered their conversation. Her mother was alive, at least that had been confirmed, so where was she and why hadn’t she attempted to make contact?
The reality of her situation gripped, weakening her body and overwhelming her mind. Her mother had abandoned her, and her grandmother, whom she trusted wholeheartedly, had lied to her for years. How could they, damn it? She sat in the chilling air, frown lines upon her forehead and with her lips pouting. She knew nothing of the circumstances surrounding her mother’s departure, and there was no one who could tell her, bar the woman herself. It was frustrating.
Her eyes wandered to one of the boards on the window at the far side of the house. It looked as though it was lifting away. She walked towards it, stepped over the shattered glass on the ground, and lifted the board. Inside the house, there was darkness.
Crouching to one side to allow as much light through as possible, she peered into the room. There was a carpet on the floor, light fittings hanging from the ceiling, and a large dresser at one side. In the centre was a rectangular table. She strained her ears, searching for noises, but only heard the whooshing of the wind and a whistling sound coming from overhead.
Scurrying to the door, Leanne fumbled in her pocket, feeling the soft woollen texture of the fabric in her fingers, and extracted the key. She had to throw herself against it before it opened, and then it swung in, causing her to stumble.
Feeling like a trespasser, she peered through the doors and into the downstairs rooms. It was difficult to see anything, as little light filtered from the doorway across the lobby, but she could tell that there was furniture within, increasing her bewilderment. It was puzzling that Janet would leave the property in such a manner. What kind of person would not want to live there?
‘Hello?’
The voice startled her. She spun around and looked towards the outer door. The man’s figure was shadowy and indistinct.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I saw the car and wondered if everything was okay.’
She stepped towards him. He backed away into the light and her body rippled with excitement. He was gorgeous with dazzling eyes, high cheekbones, and dishevelled hair. And he smelled sensational. Her eyes wandered down his frame, noting his wide shoulders and strong slender legs.
‘I’m Steven,’ he said, stretching out his arm.
‘Leanne.’
I’ve been keeping an eye on this place for years. We walk past every day.’ He looked down to his dog. ‘Don’t we Tansy?’
The dog, a scruffy mid-brown short-haired mongrel, looked to him, panting emphatically.
‘I’ve just inherited it.’
‘You knew Janet?’
‘She was my Gran. How did you know her?’
‘Just in passing. She kept the place in order. I only saw her a couple of times but she seemed a nice lady. Sorry for your loss.’
Suddenly, it didn’t seem that important. ‘Thanks.’
‘I never understood why she didn’t live here,’ he said. ‘I thought that maybe it was too big for her.’
‘It is rather grand. It’s all a bit of a mystery to me too. I thought I knew everything about her, but she never even mentioned this place. She never even told me that my mother . . .’ Leanne gulped. He was staring; he was holding onto her every word. But it was too soon to share the news that she still processed in her mind. ‘. . . never mind. How often did she come down?’
‘Not often. Roy used to keep the place in order. I take it he was your grandfather.’
Leanne nodded.
‘I assume he died.’
She nodded again.
‘I used to see him a couple of times a year, and then . . . well, that was it. He was a friendly guy.’ His eyes glazed. ‘It must have been about five years before Janet paid a visit. I once believed, a few years ago, that they were planning to move here. They had a heating system installed and the whole place was modernised.’
‘Really?’
‘You’ll love it inside. I guess you’ve already found out it’s furnished?’
‘Yes. Do you know anything about the original owners?’
‘No, afraid not. It wasn’t your grandparents’ house then?’
‘It was.’ She hesitated. ‘They did live here for a while, but they inherited from a Mr and Mrs Coombs. I’ve no idea who they were.’
Steven leaned against the wall and held her in his gaze. Her heart fluttered and she could sense her eyes widen, absorbing every flicker and every breath.
‘Well Leanne,’ he said, ‘I must say you have brought a bit of excitement to my day. Are you planning on staying?’
‘I . . . I think I might.’
She traced his muscular tone, studied his slender boyish fingers, and gazed adoringly at his rosy cheeks, and her blood surged, rising up through her collar to her face. She could barely breathe, besotted by his presence, and gawked.
‘Great. I’ll look forward to seeing you again. I’ve got to go, Andrea’s expecting me.’
Her heart sank. His wife? It had to be. He was far too nice to be single.
He spun around and passed her a twisted smile. ‘My ex.’
Steven ambled along the path, his gait loose; his left arm swung at his side, his feet pointed outwards, and his head bobbed. She visualised his smile, his beautifully symmetrical face and his dazzling eyes, and she imagined running her fingers across his body and through his hair.
He turned his head, caught her looking. Embarrassed, she looked away, but then, unable to resist, peered out of her eye corner. He had a glint in his eye and a hint of pink in his cheeks, and slowly and almost seductively, he smiled. Holding her breath, she felt her heat rise and her pulse vibrate across her body. She lifted her head, too wrapped up in her tingling emotions to maintain any aloofness, and smiled back. With one easy swing, he threw a ball for his spirited dog.
The teasing look in Steven’s eyes remained with Leanne as she watched him disappear from view. There was now no doubt in her mind that she would have to stay, in the least to assess the property and furnishings, and maybe, just maybe, they could form a friendship. Did he pass every day? Would he come in for a coffee? What did he think of her?
Subconsciously, she squeezed her arms across her front, hiding her podgy middle, and gazed down at her figure. Her loose jeans made her legs look fat, as did her extra layers beneath her jacket. Her hair was a mess, unkempt in the breeze, and she wore no makeup or perfume. Anxiously, she breathed in her scent, regretting her earlier sorrow and lack of desire to maintain a sense of worth. What must he think? Did he notice that she was fat and scruffy?
Drawn back to the moment, she strode to the car to retrieve a torch from the rear. Catching sight of a first aid kit of Phillip’s, her heart grew heavy and her recent losses surfaced. It was ridiculous to believe that Steven could ever come close to replacing her late husband; their relationship had been special and their love intense. She pushed him from her mind.
Once back inside the lobby, Leanne scanned the walls, ceiling, and floor, following the circle of light. It was clean and well maintained, yet needed an airing, the fustiness lingering within her nostrils. Displayed upon the walls were a large rectangular mirror set in a brass frame and two oil paintings of the countryside, and hanging in the centre of the ceiling was a light fitting with a glass floral shade. It was surreal and difficult to accept she owned such a beautiful house. She entered the rooms.
Each one was furnished, some more so than others, and from what she could see with the torchlight, the décor was neat although old fashioned. She opened a cabinet and gazed at the piles of crockery, glasses, and a vase, and then looked in an adjoining drawer. It contained an assortment of kitchen implements, from carving knives to skewers. It was surprising to see that so much had remained untouched and unused for decades.
Feeling like a burglar, she pushed open the door to a room that proved to be the kitchen. It was a large size, with windows on two sides, cupboards and units all around the edge, and a table in the centre. Upon the rustic surface were a newspaper, a polystyrene cup, and a scrunched up piece of paper. Driven by curiosity, she walked across, her heels clicking on the tiled floor, and shone the light onto the text. It was a short piece about the death of her grandmother. Her nerves danced.
The chair scraped on the floor as she pulled it away from the table and then sat down, her body heavy with bewilderment. Upon the next chair was a jacket, shiny black with glistening studs and padding. Someone had been prowling, and maybe they still were and hiding in the darkness. She held her breath and listened for any unwelcome noises. Only the faint whooshing sound of the wind was audible.
Feeling rather silly, she cried out, ‘hello?’
Silence.
She moved to the bottom of the staircase and gazed into perpetual darkness.
‘Anyone there?’
Tiptoeing, she headed upstairs, the light preceding her. She called out again, her voice quaking and lacking conviction as the words slipped from her tongue. There was no reply, no sounds to affirm her fear. She flung open each door, scanned each room, and then hurried back downstairs and outside. The light was welcoming, and the breath of wind refreshing upon her face.
Security was foremost in her mind. With no tools in her car, she was helpless, and could not board up the broken window. She folded her arms and scanned the trail Steven had taken, but she could not see him. She should have got his number, but he had appeared eager to depart and she had no time to consider her plans. Hoping to catch him to draw his attention, she wandered towards the barn at the rear of the garden. The air was chilling. She tightened the grip upon her jacket collar and glanced to the sky, seeking out the elusive blue gaps. A figure caught her attention. In the field, the man she had spoken to earlier was bent over and studying something in the ground.
‘Excuse me,’ she called.
He looked up.
‘Have you got a minute?’
His eyes flitted and he frowned. He seemed suspicious of her request, so she sauntered to the edge of the field and forced a light gait and a broad smile. More than anything, she wanted to ask about her mother, but given his continuing unease, she dismissed the idea of an interrogation, unwilling, just yet, to alienate him.
‘I need to find someone who can remove those boards from the window, do you know anyone?’
‘It’ll cost.’
‘Yes, I know. There’s also a broken window and the board has come away. I need that fixing too.’
‘I’ll sort it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘So long as you pay in cash.’
‘I’ll do that. I’m going to be gone for a couple of days, can it be done by then?’
‘Aye lass.’
‘I’m Leanne Stark by the way.’
He nodded. ‘Ted Moore.’
‘Please to meet you, Ted.’
‘Is that all?’
She nodded, biting back the questions about her mother, and after a brief exchange, she watched him stroll away. He seemed a reasonable sort, and she had no choice but to trust him. It wasn’t as if there was anything valuable in the house, and if there was she was unaware of it. The place had been vacant for decades; it could survive a bit longer.
She turned back to the house, ready to lock up and return home, when a noise at her rear, possibly coming from the barn, startled her. It sounded like metal crashing onto concrete and her heart leapt, but there seemed to be nothing there; Ted was back in the field and there was no sign of animals fleeing from the barn. Curious, she stepped towards the sound and trampled the tall weeds and grasses as best she could with her slim heels.
A shrub limited her view. She stepped closer, waiting for the full view of the brick building to emerge. When it did, her discovery daunted, and her legs wobbled and her head swam with nausea.
As a small child, Leanne had peered into the barn, hiding behind that bush. There were blood-curdling screams, a crashing sound, and voices, lots of them, shouting, panicking, and enriched in terror. Her body convulsed and she could not move. Someone grabbed hold of her arm, attempting to drag her away, but her legs were leaden, trapping her in an incomprehensible nightmare.
Fighting her quivering body, she edged forwards. Evidence of a fire remained, and the charred beams lay untouched since the incident. Magnetised by the haunting memories, she peered through the open door at the ruined hayloft, and the cobwebs and debris. Despite her best efforts, she could not remember anything else, as the actual event lay shrouded in mist. Trembling with icy cold skin, she leaned against the doorframe, gawking and desperate to remember something else, yet she was equally fearful of the truth. Whatever had happened had caused her grandmother to tell her the most atrocious lie. Perhaps she should forget it; perhaps she should return home and forget Honeysuckle Cottage ever existed.
The rain pounded the car, striking the windscreen and tapping the metal in a fast regular motion. Darkness had arrived, despite being mid-afternoon, and the air was chilling, aided by a cold northerly wind. Leanne searched the skies, peering through the streams of water on the glass. No end was in sight, and the menacing clouds rolled and sank. The café beckoned.
She trotted to the doorway, dashing through the persistent rain and into the warmth. It was busier than earlier and a few families gathered. Thankfully, though, the prattling woman had gone home, and she breathed a relieved sigh.
At the counter, Leanne looked at the selection of sandwiches and cakes, and then to a menu on the blackboard at the rear.
‘Back again!’ the café assistant said. ‘It looks a bit nasty out there.’
‘It is.’ She ordered a sandwich and coffee. ‘I see business has picked up.’
‘The weather has helped. Did you get done what you needed to?’
‘Yes, thanks. I went to see a house on Fen Lane. You might know the one. It’s boarded up.’
‘Yes, it’s been empty ever since I’ve lived here.’
‘Do you know anything about the family that lived there?’
‘No, afraid not.’
A hefty man appeared at Leanne’s side with a tray containing a large scone and a piece of lemon cake. Uncertainly, she glanced towards him. He paid little attention and gazed at the menu and then the counter.
‘What do you want to know?’ The assistant continued.
‘I’m trying to trace someone. I’ve been told she often stays around here. Her name is Karen Jefferson.’
‘I don’t know the name. What’s she look like?’
‘I don’t know. It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.’
Despondent, Leanne took her cheese and ham sandwich and coffee to a table in the centre of the room, perched on a chair, and feeling isolated and self-conscious, listened to the cacophony of sounds from the mumble of voices of the adults to the excited cries of the children. At the next table, there was an expectation in the air; the family were taking a trip somewhere, just as she and Phillip had done during Tyler’s younger days. They had been a family back then.
Leanne and Phillip had met at the library. She had been with Tyler, searching for a suitable children’s book, and he had been looking for a crime thriller to read. Tyler, exuberant as he was, grabbed a book and toddled across the library straight into Phillip’s legs. She apologised, but rather than receiving a stiff glare, he offered to buy her coffee, saying she looked as though she needed one. She knew she looked haggard and was conscious of the dark patches under her eyes, but wished it wasn’t so damned obvious to everyone. As she searched for an excuse, her mouth opened and shut; she was too tired to form new friendships, and her life as a single mum was far too complicated. Phillip smiled sweetly and spoke in a gentle, unassuming manner, and her concerns melted.
Over the coming weeks, it was as though all her problems had vanished, as Phillip eased his way into her life, sharing in her journey with Tyler. Almost every night, when she had lain in bed, she wondered what she had done to deserve such a caring and loving man. He had been her saviour, helping her through a difficult time, and within months, they had married.
Leanne munched on her sandwich and contemplated her loss. For a while, after his death, she had been inconsolable and could do nothing to try to discard her forlorn existence. Now, even though he still pulled at her heart, her sorrow was controllable and she even managed to smile at their shared memories. No matter what, she would not have been without those years, despite his sudden and tragic ending; he had provided Tyler with the father he needed, and he had given her, even though it sounded trite, the best years of her life.
The café assistant stepped from behind the counter with a tray and cloth and approached a nearby table. She placed the dirty cups and plates onto the tray and wiped the surface. ‘I’ve been having a think,’ she said, ‘about Karen Jefferson.’
‘Oh?’
‘I know someone who might know who she is, although I’m not sure it will be to your liking.’
Leanne’s eyes narrowed.
‘Mrs Wilkinson.’
‘Mrs Prattler!’ Leanne raised her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry.’
The woman chuckled. ‘She certainly is. I’m Emma by the way. Emma Moss.’
‘Leanne Stark.’
‘Mrs Wilkinson knows everything about everyone, so she’ll know if she lives locally. The only problem is, everyone else will know your business too.’
‘That’s what worries me.’
‘I can ask around if you like, discreetly of course. Are you related?’
Leanne nodded.
‘When did she last live in the village?’ Emma asked.
‘I don’t know. Something strange happened years ago, and until I know what it is, I would rather keep it quiet. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.’
She did not reply and strode away.
Had it been wise speaking out? She would feel terrible if she uncovered a dreadful family secret and then it became common knowledge. The gossiping, sniggering and pointed fingers would not be to her liking, and she would feel as though she was smearing her family name. Her grandmother would have been furious.
However, her grandmother was no longer alive, and her own desires were strong and innate, or so it seemed. Searching for an answer to her dilemma, she glanced at the young family on the next table and considered what she might miss if she chose to walk away. Karen might have a family of her own; Leanne may have brothers and sisters, or even nieces and nephews. Surely, it was worth a bit of effort.
She opened her handbag resting on the next chair, and pushing aside a notebook, keys, debit and credit cards, searched for a scrap of paper. With her apprehensions mingling with excitement, she tapped a number into her phone, held her breath and waited for Luke Adams, private investigator, to answer her call.
Luke walked towards the changing booth, clothes in hand. He could feel Imogen’s eyes press into his back as she watched and waited with either an amused glint in her eye or a hint of pride, he couldn’t be sure which. She was doing him a good turn, or so she had said, speaking in her usual self-assured animated tone.
He closed the door and placed the shirts on the hook on the right-hand side, his eyes everywhere except at the mirror. Standing in a bright cubicle, he caught a glimpse of his fine mousy hair and pallid skin tone. She had said he needed a makeover, needed to do something to attract women. Did he look that bad, really?
The first shirt he had agreed to try on was not to his taste. She had said it might arouse his more adventurous inner-self. It was a bizarre statement and he wasn’t sure where her strange ideas came from; it wasn’t from him. He was not adventurous, either inside or out, and he was proud of it. Nonetheless, he had promised to make an effort.
The shirt was a fluorescent blue in a crinkled fabric and far too gaudy for his liking. He placed his jacket onto another hook, removed his white cotton shirt and navy-blue tie, and reached for the coat hanger. The colour was eye-catching, for sure. Maybe it wouldn’t look too bad, presuming, that was, that he had the courage to wear it.
Imogen’s voice rang out. She was talking to the store assistant, demanding he let her through. Luke fastened the buttons, her voice preying on his mind.
‘He needs my help,’ she said.
‘Sorry miss, you have to wait here.’
‘He’s not got anything I’ve not seen before.’
‘I’m sure he’ll come out if he wants your opinion.’
‘He’s my boyfriend. He needs my opinion.’
Luke spun around, unlocked the door, and peered along the corridor to Imogen. She caught sight of him, weaved past the assistant, and grinned.
‘That’s fantastic darling!’ she said and winked. ‘That colour suits you.’
Colour rose to his cheeks. He felt ridiculous standing there letting her scrutinise his outfit and checking the fitting.
‘Turn around,’ she said.
He did so, although stiffly.
‘We’ll have that one. Go try the other one on.’
He stepped into the cubicle to change. Her odour, her delicious scent, only a breath away, stimulated his nostrils and stirred his pulse. He thought of her blue eyes and wavy fawn hair clipped away from her face, and he thought of her attire, so colourful, so crazy.
The second shirt was black with a multicoloured floral pattern. He gazed at it with suspicion, as though it may somehow influence his personality, but actually, once he had fastened the buttons, he did not think it looked as hideous as he’d first thought. He opened the door expecting her praise.
She collapsed into a fit of giggles. ‘That’s awful.’
‘I quite like it.’
‘Really Luke, that style is so not you!’
He stepped towards a full-length mirror and smoothed out his collar. ‘It looks smart.’
‘You’re having me on, right?’
His confidence slipped. Downcast, he stepped back into the cubicle to change, his skin hot and slippery with beads of perspiration dripping from his brow. He decided there and then, as he donned his work attire, that it was a bad idea to shop with Imogen. Their tastes were worlds apart; he should never have agreed. He was happy with his boring clothes and boring life.
He eased open the door and walked towards Imogen. She was making easy chatter with the store assistant and turned and smiled.
‘Come on then darling,’ she said, ‘must get on.’
She linked his arm.
He pulled it free. ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed.
She had a twinkle in her eye. ‘You’re so uptight.’
‘I don’t think your boyfriend would approve of all this flirting.’
‘Are you forgetting my Mark’s seen you? He knows you’re no competition!’
Luke gawked. ‘Gee, thanks.’
‘Not that you're not funny and intelligent . . . quite a catch for someone!’
‘I’m not funny.’
She giggled. ‘You so are.’
‘And like you’re perfect! You dress like you’re still in primary school.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘I can’t believe you just said that!’
Amused by her shocked expression, he joined the queue to purchase the shirt.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you must fancy the younger woman because I know you think I’m hot.’
His cheeks flushed. He turned away. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You’re blushing.’
Dismayed, he shook his head.
She edged closer. Her breath was hot on his ear, her voice a whisper. ‘I’ve seen you looking at my boobs.’
An electrifying ripple surged through his body. Silenced by her statement, he stared at the cashier, urging her to hurry up. Out of his eye corner, he could see her smiling. Her lips were wet and her tongue hovered on the tip of her mouth.
The customer in front of him departed. He handed his shirt to the cashier, watched her tap the keys, and then he offered his credit card. Imogen was still smirking, her eyes flitting between him and her fingernails.
He turned his head and whispered into her ear. ‘I look at all women’s boobs, yours are nothing special.’
‘I’ll remember that . . . next time we have a female client.’
She skipped away, bouncing across the store with an untainted innocence, and then, stopping suddenly, she turned her head. She was waiting for him. She had a teasing look in his eyes.
‘I wonder what Mrs Leanne Stark is like . . . a fine figure of a woman I should think.’
Colour rose to his cheeks. He looked to his feet and scuttled back to the office.
Leanne parked the car and switched off the engine. Across the street, next to a large stone-fronted building, was a sign. It said, ‘Luke Adams: Private Investigator’. Beneath the sign was a large window, and although a blind partially obscured the view inside, she could still see that it looked spacious and free of clutter.
Whilst waiting for her confidence to build and the clock to tick by, Leanne watched the movement further along the street. She was at the edge of the town centre, a little distance away from the enticing window displays, heaving crowds, and youngsters that skipped between the shops. Folks meandered across the road inattentive to the fact that cars passed by, and twice she held her breath as two different individuals dodged a vehicle by the narrowest of margins.
A crowd of teenage girls crossed the road, heading towards the main street and chatting enthusiastically. Her mind wandered. She had been that girl, full of expectation and energy, carefree and light-hearted. Every weekend, accompanied by friends, she would attend the bars and clubs, and more often than not, they would introduce themselves to a group of young men. Sometimes they would see them again, although mostly their companionship would end towards dawn. Through drunken eyes, the world was a never-ending party.
Tyler was a constant reminder of those heady days. Leanne thought she had loved his father, and even now, as she recalled his stream of pathetic excuses that absolved him of all participation in her pregnancy, her sorrow flickered. Darren told her that he didn’t love her, told her that he would be a bad influence on their child, and told her that he knew nothing about babies. It was a distressing time, never more so than when he suggested that the child might not be his.
Heartbroken, Leanne denied Darren contact. It proved to be a wise decision, and for years, they remained out of touch. When he finally decided he wanted to see his son, a couple of years after the birth of his own daughter, she received his request with displeasure. The hard work of raising a baby was over, and Phillip supported her emotional needs. She did everything she could to make him keep his distance, making excuses until the novelty of fatherhood passed, and it did, many times.
After sixteen years of remaining in obscurity, he finally decided to cement the relationship with his son, choosing a time when Tyler would be vulnerable and yearning for a father figure. He claimed it was coincidence and said he knew nothing about Phillip’s death. Leanne knew it was a lie; the paragliding accident was in the local papers as well as on the news.
Darren was manipulative, weak, unreliable and selfish, and he had her son. She looked to her handbag, to the place where her phone resided, and she thought of Tyler. He loved the gifts, the spending and the extravagance, and he loved every minute of the attention. His new family doted upon him and his sisters had a new big brother. Why shouldn’t he enjoy himself?
Soon, it would end in disaster. Darren would grow bored of his son’s teenage anxieties and he could discard Tyler as though he were a used toy. He would find himself a new pastime, one that fulfilled his masculine urges and satisfied his adrenaline rushes. Tyler would be an obstruction; he would cast him aside.
Leanne dared not consider the alternative.
Dispatching with her bitterness, she reached for her handbag, exited the car, and headed across the road to Luke Adams’ office. The chilling air tightened her skin, aided by the gentle breeze that tussled with her dark-brown hair. She flicked it aside and strode towards the door. Her pulse quickened and her apprehensions heightened.
She opened the door. A bell sounded and a tall woman appeared from a room on the left, introduced herself as Imogen, and they shook hands, the cool sophisticated feel of her palm contrasting with her own sticky hand. She looked to be in her early twenties and wore black tights, a short pleated skirt, and a tight fitting blouse emphasising her rounded breasts. Whilst she had a warm, approachable demeanour, Leanne still tensed, feeling fat, frumpy, and old in comparison.
Imogen talked her through the procedure, and then, whilst she was tapping something into the computer, Leanne’s eyes wandered. There was a man talking on the telephone in an office to one side. She presumed it was Luke Adams. She hoped it was, warming to his plain appearance, an untidy desk, and confident yet unpretentious manner.
After a few more moments of general chatter, she started to relax. There was a welcoming feel about the place, and as she absorbed the clean lines, a small stone sculpture, and a sketch of a vagabond on a city street, her decision to hire them gained strength.
‘Do you like the drawing?’ Imogen asked.
She spun around. ‘It’s good . . . life like.’
‘It was done by one of our previous clients. Megan Armstrong. She’s very talented.’
‘I heard about that case. It was quite extraordinary. In fact, it’s what drew me to you.’
‘That’s good to know.’
Luke stepped into the reception area, apologised for the delay, and welcomed her before guiding her into another room at the rear. A sensational lavender aroma filled the air, tickling her nostrils. She glanced at the table and the dried blooms and scanned the room, simple and unadorned, with swivel chairs, a sofa, and a bed partially hidden by a curtain.
‘Please sit down,’ he said.
She rested on a blue fabric sofa and placed her arms across her middle. For a few minutes, he made easy chatter, asking her about her journey and commenting on the cool autumnal weather. Then he progressed to the case and asked her what she expected.
‘It’s simple. I want to find my mother.’
‘You said on the phone your mother’s name is Karen Jefferson. Is that her maiden name?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know if she ever married?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have her last known address?’
She shook her head.
‘Okay, not to worry. When was the last time you had contact with Karen?’
‘I think I was about five.’ She looked to her lap. ‘My grandparents told me that she had died. They raised me. I’ve only just found out that . . . that she might be alive.’
‘Your grandparents’ were Karen’s parents?’
She gave him a questioning look.
‘In other words, not from your father’s side.’
‘Oh.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘I don’t know anything about my father, not even his name.’
He remained impassive. ‘What are your grandparents’ names?’
‘Roy and Janet. They’ve both died.’
‘Who told you that Karen may be alive?’
‘Gran . . . just a few weeks ago.’
Leanne raised her hand and fingered the soft tissues around her mouth. It sounded ridiculous, all her needs and desires resting on a dying woman’s admission of guilt. Why did she want to contact someone who had chosen to remain hidden for thirty years? He must think her stupid.
She held her breath as he made notes on a sheet of paper.
‘I’ve just inherited a house. It was Gran’s but I didn’t know anything about it. It’s all rather strange. They inherited it from a Mr and Mrs Coombs years ago. I think they all lived there, me too for a while, but it’s been empty ever since. In fact, I’m planning on staying there for a couple of weeks.’
‘Could I have the address?’
She gave him the details.
‘Who were Mrs and Mrs Coombs?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Your great-grandparents perhaps?’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t know much about my grandparents, and now . . . now it’s too late. Gran was a private woman, didn’t like talking about her feelings, her life, nothing.’
‘That’s not unusual.’
‘There’s much I should have asked her. I can’t believe I never suspected she had lied to me about Mum.’
‘People can have strange reasons for doing things. Maybe she also wanted contact with Karen, but if she couldn’t find her, she may have thought it pointless telling you about her.’
‘Are you saying you won’t be able to do it?’
‘No, not at all, but I can’t make promises. It can be easy to go into hiding if someone is so determined.’
Disheartened, she leaned back into the sofa.
‘Of course, we will do all that we can,’ he said. ‘Now, you said you think you lived in this house. Did you remember it?’
‘The layout of the house was familiar, but it was dark inside – there was no electricity and the windows were boarded. And it’s furnished, strangely enough. Why are you asking?’
‘I’m just looking for anything that may trigger memories. It could provide us with clues. Did you recognise anything, or have any unexpected memories?’
Leanne thought of the moment with the torch when she passed through the darkness, sweeping each room. ‘A bedroom was familiar. It must have been mine. I felt lonely. I think I missed my . . .’ she hesitated as her recollections relating to several people spread across her mind, ‘. . . my mum.’
‘Any ideas how old you were when you last lived there?’
She fiddled with her necklace. ‘I don’t think I was old. Up until I visited I only ever remembered living in the house I grew up in.’
He scribbled in his pad.
‘There was one more thing, when I was outside, I thought I heard a noise and headed to the barn. There was no one there, but I felt as though I could still hear screaming and shouting. I was dragged away . . . locked in a room.’
‘Any ideas what had happened?’
‘No, but I’m sure something awful happened. I think that’s why we left. As I said, my Gran told me that my Mum had died in an accident. I think that was the one she was referring to.’
‘But she hadn’t died.’
‘No. I think it was the last time they’d had contact.’
Luke was casting an eye over his notes. Leanne could see his thoughts whirring, and believed he was wondering how she could not have known what had happened. Why had she never asked questions, never tried to squeeze the truth out of her grandparents? She felt ridiculously incompetent and edged herself into a smaller space.
Little more was said, bar extracting addresses and names of family and friends. It all seemed a little pointless; Leanne was aware Roy had a nephew, but they had not had contact for at least fifteen years to her knowledge, and so he was unlikely to know anything about Karen. As for friends, there was no one close, no one who would be privy to the darkest of family secrets.
They wrapped up the interview. She left feeling despondent and more isolated than ever, and not at all excited by the prospects of what was before her. There may be little to discover and there could be a simple explanation for the lies; in the meantime, she would have to wait. Even the prospect of seeing Steven could not lighten her mood.
Nevertheless, as was her plan, she made her journey to Honeysuckle cottage, the vision of her childhood bedroom, and her feelings of intense loneliness remaining in the forefront of her mind.
Leanne’s mood brightened when she arrived at the house. The window boards had been removed, the broken glass replaced, and the services reconnected. She silently thanked Ted as she lifted the envelope from the mat, presumably the bill, and walked across the lobby and opened a door.
Greeted by a band of light, which was more uplifting than the darkness she had first experienced, she scanned the room with new eyes. The carpet was a dark green, the wallpaper had a yellow and green floral pattern, and there was a large sturdy table in the centre. Her hand rested upon the coarse gritty surface and her mind filled with images of family life.
A man wearing a grey suit and a collar and tie poured water into glasses, and a woman with gentle features, a warm smile, and a rounded figure leaned over and spoke to the children. There was fear in their faces, apprehension and disorientation in their eyes. The woman spoke with tenderness, urging the youngsters to feel safe and share in her love, and happiness prevailed.
It had been a family home and it should be again.
Curious as to where such thoughts had come from, she removed her jacket, placed it onto the coat stand, and thought of the photograph she had found in her grandmother’s closet. It may have provided her with clues of the occupants, or, if she were lucky, it may have given her a point of reference for seeking out relevant locals. Nevertheless, it was too late to do anything about it now. She would have to collect it the next time she returned home.
She passed into a room. The open space was luxuriating and her steps lightened. She ran her hand across the glossy shimmering wood of the piano and left a trail of finger marks on the cover. A delicate tinkle of sounds resounded in her head. She had strained her legs and stretched out her arms to reach to Janet. Her grandmother looked down, her familiar face so warm, so pure. Janet laughed, her chuckles echoing through the walls. Leanne laughed too, and then snuggled into the older woman’s breast and straddled her body.
How long had her grandmother lived here? Had she known the house intimately, its creaks and groans, its walls and recesses? Leanne’s own recollections were vague, experiencing only moments of familiarity, from trotting through the vast house to climbing onto an older woman’s lap. She could almost smell Janet’s fine figure, a comforting maternal aroma, safe and reliable. However, such memories relating to her mother seemed non-existent. Where had she been? Why was she absent from her memories? Had she erased her for some atrocious reason? It was also possible that she never had a relationship with her mother, and her disappointment rose and her decision to search for her seemed like a foolish and rash quest.
Unable to blank her wandering doubts, she considered her conversation with Luke and wondered if he acted with honesty and was as supportive as he had appeared. Had she seen derision hidden behind his eyes and dishonesty behind his words of support? Uncertain of her response, she thought of Imogen, her perfect figure, and beautiful mellow skin tone and lush eyelashes, and wondered about her opinion. Did they think her stupid and laugh at her expense?
Leanne headed into the kitchen, glimpsed at the newspaper and jacket left by the unidentified visitor, and strode to the sink. The water spluttered through the system, first grey, and then clearing. Her thoughts, the mystery surrounding her mother, were still in her mind, and she prayed to Janet, her questions innumerable. Had she carried the answers to her grave? Had her last words been an accidental mumble? Maybe there was wisdom in her intended silence; maybe she was better off in her ignorance.
There was a sharp knock at the door. Startled, Leanne hurried through the lobby, her longing directing her towards images of Steven.
She opened the door. Her heart sank. ‘Hello, Ted. Thanks for doing the work.’
‘You get my invoice?’
‘Yes. I can pay you now if you like.’
‘Thanks.’
She reached for her handbag, retrieved her wallet, and headed to the table.
He hovered beside her, his eyes wandering around the room. ‘Anything else you need doing?’
‘I don’t think so, but I haven’t been here long. How can I find you?’
‘You may see me in the fields, but failing that, my house is along Birch Lane.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Just off the main road . . . can’t miss it. Mine’s the one with farm buildings.’
‘Okay.’
She counted out the notes and then straightened her back. He was staring at the jacket.
‘Do you know who’s that is?’
He turned away and plodded to the outer door. ‘I know nothing.’
Questions regarding his acquaintance with her mother edged towards the tip of her tongue. She held back, her foolishness overriding her inquisitiveness, and followed on his trail.
A gust of air rushed into the house. There was a blanket of grey clouds overhead, and a gentle sway of branches nearby. Grasses were withering and leaves were turning brown as the dark winter days approached.
‘A man passed by the other day,’ she said, ‘his name is Steven. Do you know where I can find him?’
Ted stopped and turned. ‘Steven George?’
‘I don’t know his surname. He has a dog.’
‘Aye, that’ll be him. He lives on the edge of the village. He often passes this way . . . usually about this time.’
‘Have you seen him today?’
‘Not for a few days. I heard his missus is giving him grief.’
‘I thought he was separated.’
Ted grinned. ‘Is that what he said?’
‘So he’s not?’
‘Not for me to comment.’ He headed away, stepping through a weave of trampled grasses.
Forlorn, she returned to the kitchen to make a sandwich and reprimanded herself for putting her expectations on a man she hardly knew. She should never have had the boards removed, and should have taken the time to consider her actions. What an idiot! What would Ted think when she asked him to replace the boards, as she feared she must? She would be a laughing stock, and rightly so. Would Steven realise one of her primary motives for the stay had been to form a relationship with him? Would he tell his friends, the community? Would her mother hear of her stupidity?
Leanne dropped to a seat and held a hand close to her mouth, her foolishness grating. Even if a relationship with Steven were to blossom, which now seemed unlikely, it would take time, and that was not something she had. Her life was in the city; Tyler was in the city. She needed companionship and a job. She would not find what she was looking for in an isolated house in the country.
She leaned back into the chair. A little voice told her she must forget Steven and return her thoughts to her search for her mother. Yet no matter how she tried, she could not eliminate the visions from her mind - the teasing glint in his dazzling eyes, the seductive expression on his face, and the muscular tone of his slender legs. He was a wonderful man. Her chest swelled with sorrow.
She scanned the garden and the adjoining field, her eyes passing through the dusty glass. It was a lifeless vista. Wanting for the comforting sights and sounds of someone familiar, she thought of Tyler. With only a brief text and a promise he would call later, her loneliness was crushing. In her turmoil, she reached for her phone, dialled his number, and held her breath.
It rang and rang. He would be enjoying himself, as he should be; yet she still prayed he would answer. He didn’t. For a couple of minutes, she sat and waited, urging him to return her call, yet she knew, as hard as it was to admit, that his desires to speak would be far less than hers. Tyler had already told her that he was okay, but his written words were insufficient. She needed to listen to his voice and hear the proof, and she needed to feel his youthful exuberance, a trait unappreciated by the young.
Leanne plodded up the staircase, following the stream of light that passed through the landing window. She skimmed the fields, the small row of trees, the flat farmland, and she looked for Steven along the edges, her longing refusing to budge. The vastness of the landscape was intimidating, and she wondered how anyone could find it anything other than hostile. Wondering if that was how her grandmother felt, she left the room and moved to the next. Inside were two single beds, a wardrobe and a dresser. She headed to the window and perched on a padded stool, and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She was almost certain that his room had been hers, yet her memories were hazy.
A few days previous, she had recalled her childhood yearning to be with her mother. It seemed real, and it was quite understandable if this was the last place that they had last been together. But as she had scanned the darkness with the torch, her recollections had developed into something more. She had missed her father, and her sister and brothers too. Considering she was an only child, the thoughts were chilling.
She scanned the room, gazing at the beds and the old wooden wardrobe with curved edges and a brass handle, and searched for answers to a shrouded past.
Her phone rang. Startled, she sprang to her feet and plucked free her phone.
‘Tyler,’ she said, ‘how are you?’
‘I’m fine. Sorry, I haven’t called.’
‘What have you been doing? Is everyone being good to you?’
‘Yeah, everyone’s been great. Jake, my cousin is fantastic. He was telling me about all the concerts he’s been to. He’s had some pretty wild times.’
‘Like what?’
Tyler hesitated. ‘Oh. Just parties.’
‘I hope you’re behaving yourself.’
‘I always do.’
There was a hint of irritation in his voice, but he continued to chatter, telling her in detail about the closeness of the two families and the life they shared. Wandering towards the window, she struggled to find the right tone in her voice and grappled with her concerns. What kind of principles did these families have? Was he going to all-night parties, drink and drugs, as had been Darren’s way? Had she taught him well enough to know the difference between right and wrong? Was he experimenting with girls?
Her replies shortened as she fought with her dilemma. She had much to ask and so little time, and did not want to dampen his mood or his desire to speak with her again; yet despite her efforts, a concerned comment slipped through her defence. Her regret was as instant as his belligerent reply.
Finally, he asked her about the house.
‘I’m staying here while you’re off school, but don’t forget, if you need me, I can be there in a couple of hours.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘Impressive, you’ll like it. The house is in good shape, but the garden is nothing more than a bed of weeds.’
‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘I will be selling it.’
A flash of movement outside caught her attention. A woman was fleeing towards the barns, away from the house and with a jacket and newspaper in hand. Panic clutched Leanne’s throat, tightening her breath.
Tyler was saying something, but his words floated in the air. She was fixated on a podgy woman with short dark-brown hair, a thick blue jumper, and loose fitting jeans trotting through the clumps of grass. Then the woman disappeared out of view.
She ended the call, raced downstairs, and flung open the outer door. Passing through the cool gusts of wind, she scampered across the ground. Her heel caught and her foot slipped free. She stumbled. She rushed back for her shoe, her eyes glued to the trampled track.
‘Wait!
There was no reply.
She carried on, scurrying around the back of the barn. In the distance, heading towards the village was a fading figure. Leanne’s moment of opportunity had gone.
The charm of the house was fading and Leanne’s childhood memories were losing significance. She had explored every room, every drawer, and every cupboard, and it provided her with little more than a faint appreciation of her newly acquired assets. There were no further clues relating to the history of the place, nor of the strangers Mr and Mrs Coombs. Her grandparents had removed all personal possessions and documents.
The vast space, the silence, and the absence of happy vibes, caused her sorrow to swell. It was a house that should be shared and have children skipping along the corridors, adults relaxing in the music room, and visitors commenting on the beauty. Her loneliness had never been greater, and her memories of family life a distant dream.
To be alone in a tiny room was acceptable, but to be alone in a vast house was not. She sank her arms onto the kitchen table, clasped her hands and puffed out, and for a moment, she listened to the silence. There was nothing, no gusting wind, no passing cars, and no voices. A shiver travelled across her body, descending her spine. She held her breath, almost too intimidated to break the atmosphere, and felt the eeriness encompass her.
She yearned for Tyler, Phillip, and Janet: her son’s youthful exuberance, her deceased husband’s confidence and support, her late grandmother’s wisdom and friendship. Were Janet and Phillip side-by-side, watching over her? Not the religious type, although not an atheist, Leanne’s uncertainty lingered; yet she still hoped for a reassuring signal or gesture, something that would give her the power to pull herself away from her misery and search for something more.
With a heavy heart, she considered her options. She should return home, search for a job and give her life meaning, but deep within was an unsettling ache, a yearning for Steven. She fought to brush it aside, but as she did so, it appeared with more influence and clarity, and the butterflies danced in her stomach.
The teasing twinkle in Steven’s eye became more pronounced in her mind, yet so did Ted’s suggestion that he was married and her face scrunched. She told herself that he would not have lied, said he was not the type, and focused on his last words. ‘My ex,’ he had said. Definitely, ‘my ex.’
However, she hadn’t seen him since the start of the week, and she wondered if he had been avoiding her. Perhaps he was still with his wife and had realised his mistake, or perhaps she meant nothing to him and the perception she had of his feelings was nothing more than fabrication. Carrying the dirty plate and cutlery to the sink, she decided it was too soon to be involved with another man, especially since she wasn’t certain he was single. Her life was too cluttered with grief to make space in her heart for such a complication, and her desires too few. Steven was a friendly man. He probably had a flirtatious glint in his eye with everyone.
Concluding she had no reason to stay, at least not until she had a lead on her mother’s whereabouts, her departure seemed imminent. Deciding to search for any carelessly scattered possessions, she checked each of the downstairs rooms in turn, and in doing so closed the curtains, turned off the lights, and closed the doors. Then she progressed upstairs and entered a room overlooking the rear fields. Having proceeded to the window, she gazed outside.
Beyond the barns, at the other side of footpath and hedge, was a housing estate. It was a recent development, with the houses appearing to be ten to fifteen years old. The structure of each was simple and box-like, and the gardens small. Then, her gaze wandered along the adjacent track, and onto an adjoining cul-de-sac. A person wearing trousers and a jacket climbed a stile, exiting the estate, shortly followed by a child. Together they headed alongside the wall and out of view. Moments later, two more people emerged from the next street, both following the same track and with both women wearing long woollen jackets.
Leanne’s curiosity triggered and she thought about the intruder that had been in her house earlier in the week. Believing the woman may have lived in the estate, and with little to do apart from returning to her family home and the suffocating memories, she decided to take a walk.
Grabbing her three-quarter length coat and handbag, she left Honeysuckle Cottage and headed around the back of the barn and along the track. There had been a little rain in recent weeks and the ground was firm and the moisture sparse, meaning she was able to keep the bottom of her trousers free from splashes. Even her ankle boots still gleamed as she reached a gap in the wall.
She scanned the street. There were numerous parked cars in the distance and a gentle murmur of voices floating by. Up ahead, three energetic youngsters raced from somewhere out of view to a car and waited on the roadside, their excited babble too difficult to decipher. A man and a woman appeared moments later, and they all climbed into the car and headed away. With the gusts cooling her skin, she continued towards the vacated parking space. She hadn’t made the distance when two young women with pushchairs and engrossed in a conversation, crossed the street and turned into the same spot. Seconds later, she saw the village hall, set back and out of view of the rest of the street. Today, a fete was taking place.
Nervously, she followed them inside. The room was bustling with stalls, and through a door at the opposite side was a sign for a café and a games room. Heading in that direction, she weaved past the warm throng of bodies and stopped at a table containing lacework, from tea cosies to tablemats. After offering a polite glance, and with her face deliberately nondescript, she moved to the next table, but rather than looking to the assortment of cakes, she turned to the centre of the room and scanned the meandering folks.
Most people were fifty or older, with younger men, in particular, quite scarce. Disappointed that she could see neither Steven nor the female intruder, she looked towards the doorway at the far side. Three small children scooted towards a thirty-something woman on a stall, almost skidding on the shiny wooden floor as they crossed the middle of the room. Then, clutching something, and with the woman ordering them to walk and not run, they headed back, their steps quickening with each heartbeat.
Leanne decided to follow. Feeling a little lost without a companion, she kept her head low and her eyes averted. The corridor was heaving and personal space limited. The first room served teas, sandwiches and cakes, and the next room was the games room. There were a surprising number of youngsters in the far room, and she peered inside, noting how easily the teenagers controlled the animated youngsters.
Turning back around, she almost stepped straight into three teenage girls, all with wafer-thin bodies and wearing skimpy glittery tops and tight pants. They looked lovely - she could almost smell the hormones oozing from the nearby boys as they unashamedly inspected them up and down - yet she could not help feeling that they were a little skinny and nothing like she had been at that age. Darren had told her she had been nicely rounded with more than a handful to fondle; yet, she had felt fat and heavy-breasted and avoided anything tight or revealing. With hindsight, Leanne decided she had been shapely, and now craved that adolescent figure.
Holding her arms across her middle, she stepped into the café. An elderly couple blocked her view, yet she could still see numerous tables and chairs, tightly packed and mostly occupied. A burble of voices filled her ears as she breathed in a stale scent of air mingling with a slight aroma of coffee. She looked to a plate, and a jam and cream scone, and her mouth watered.
The couple shuffled forwards in the queue, enhancing her vista, and her eyes stopped dead. Steven was at a table at the far side of the room. Leanne’s heart hammered and her mouth loosened. He was talking, apparently quite intimately, to a woman. Was she his wife?
Their closeness was evident. There was adoration in his eyes and a pureness radiating from his heart. He swept back his golden-brown hair with his hand. He smiled. He rested his hand on hers.
Leanne dropped her gaze. Phillip had been her life-mate, her one chance at love. She wanted for no one else. Downcast, she waited as a young boy and his mother moved through the door and then followed them back into the main hall.
It had been a pointless exercise and she wanted to return home. Patiently, she squeezed through the groups of people striding to the outer door.
‘Leanne?’
She spun around. Steven was hurrying towards her. Her pulse surged. Her skin warmed.
‘I thought it was you,’ he said. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I needed to get out.’
‘Come with me. I’ll buy you a coffee. There’s someone I would like you to meet.’
Obediently and with her expectations heightening, she followed on behind.
Travelling in his musky scent, she focused upon his rear; his muscular buttocks pressed into his jeans, his fitted sweatshirt exaggerated the curve in his lower back, his lush strands of hair rested upon the edge of his neckline.
‘So you’ve moved into the house then?’ Steven asked, peering over his shoulder.
‘Yes a couple of days ago.’
‘How do you like it?’
‘It’s far bigger than I’m used to.’
They stopped in the corridor and waited for a group of boys to hurry by.
‘Any family with you?’
‘No. Just me. My son’s with his father.’
‘What about your husband?’
She held her breath. He was staring, waiting.
‘I noticed the ring.’
‘I’m widowed.’
‘I’m sorry. Was it recent?’
‘A few months ago.’
He nodded and then continued into the café, weaving past a young girl and a man in a wheelchair. Keen to see his expression, she peered out of her eye corner to the side of his face, noting a hint of stubble and a tired, almost exasperated look on his face.
‘It’s nice to see a friendly face,’ she said, ‘I was feeling a little lost.’
‘It must be a bit daunting. Everyone’s pleasant enough, though, it just takes a bit of effort. Coffee okay?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
They joined the queue. The woman he had been with caught his attention and told him from a distance that she was going to leave them alone. Then she disappeared around the back of a crowd and exited the room.
Moments later, and whilst pondering the possible conversation they would share, she reached for her mug, offered her thanks, and headed through the throng to an empty table. As she walked, she sensed his eyes pressing into her and her gait stiffened. She straightened her back and held her handbag over her stomach, and wondered about her appearance. Was her hair brushed? Did her clothes fit right? Did she offer a warm demeanour?
Her nervousness had not been apparent during her first meetings with Phillip, as Tyler’s antics had taken priority. On one occasion, having arranged for Janet to look after her son, she readied herself in her bedroom and selected her favourite blouse, a skirt that made her appear slimmer and her favourite black heels. Even though she rarely appreciated her appearance, that night she had. Having taken one last glance into the mirror, she headed to the living room to say goodbye. She never had time to stop her son’s final greeting, nor his painted fingers from daubing her clothes.
A smile slipped to her lips as she sat down. Steven was a friend, and his wife was in the next room. He would not care if her hair was untidy or the colour in her coat was fading. She was being foolish.
‘How old is your son?’ Steven asked.
‘Tyler’s sixteen. The last few months have been hard for him. He was close to Phillip . . . and Gran. I’m glad he’s having a chance to get away. It’s just what he needs. Although, I must say I can’t wait to see him again. We’ve not been apart for this long before.’
‘Is he staying for the duration of the school holidays?’
She nodded. ‘He’s not stayed with Darren before. They’ve not had much contact, except the odd phone call.’
‘That’s tough on you, especially so soon after losing Janet.’
The warmth from her mug spread to her hands. She watched the liquid and inhaled the aromatic vapours. ‘It is, but he’s my boy. I want what’s best for him.’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you have any children?’ she asked.
‘Jack’s 14, Lily’s 18.’
A vacant look crossed his face and his gaze dropped. The silence was awkward, and he was either shy and didn’t enjoy talking about himself, or something troubled him. For a moment, she watched and waited, but he remained quiet, offering nothing more. A change of subject was for the best.
‘I’m not sure what I’m going to do with Honeysuckle Cottage. I was only planning on staying until the end of next week.’
His head sprung up. ‘You could let it out.’
‘I’ve wondered about that. What do you think the tourism is like around here?’
‘Pretty good I would have thought. Are you thinking of letting it out as a holiday home?’
‘Possibly. It’s already furnished, but there would be the garden to spruce up. Some of the décor is old fashioned, so that would need doing too. It would give me the chance to enjoy it a couple of times a year as well.’
‘Sounds like a good idea.’
She was baffled. It sounded like a fantastic idea, but where had it come from? She had told Tyler she was selling it, and she had thought herself convinced. Her mind drifted and visions of the vast structure held her thoughts, from the layout of the rooms to the dated furnishings.
‘I’ve not seen you with Tansy for the last few days. Is she all right?
Hesitating, his eyes flickered from side to side. ‘She’s fine.’ He reached for his mug, his lips connecting with the rim. ‘Do you like dogs?’
‘I’ve never had one. They must be nice to cuddle.’
He grinned. She buried her face in her mug, obscuring the flush of warmth. Why had she said that? What a silly thing to say.
‘They are,’ he answered. ‘Have you ever had one wash your feet?’
‘No.’
‘You’d like it, it’s stimulating.’
She pulled a face.
‘Honestly. I’ll bring her around sometime. You must have a go.’
‘Are you implying I have smelly feet?’
He peered under the table and inhaled. ‘They are a bit.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘Cheeky!’
They laughed and their eyes locked, causing her pulse to race. Self-conscious, she turned away. After a couple of seconds, she was unable to resist another look and peeked from her eye corner. He was still looking, analysing her, and he had the most dazzling eyes. Heat spread to her cheeks.
She considered his wife and imagined the distasteful look on her face if she saw them flirting, and she gulped down her coffee, readying herself to leave.
‘I don’t want to hold you up,’ she said, ‘your wife must be waiting for you.’
‘My wife.’ He gave her a twisted smile. ‘Teresa’s not my wife.’
‘She’s not?’
‘No. She’s a friend. A good friend in fact. But nothing more.’
‘Oh . . . I thought . . . I was speaking with Ted Moore, the farmer. He said you were married.’
‘You were asking about me?’
Damn it! Why had she admitted to that? ‘I . . . I was looking for someone to help remove the boards from the windows.’
He grinned. There was disbelief in his eyes.
‘And as you knew Janet and Roy, I thought I could trust you.’
‘I assume you’ve managed to do it.’
‘Yes.’ She steadied her breathing. ‘So are you and your wife living apart?’
Smiling, he said they were. When he didn’t offer anything more, her brain froze. She wanted to ask him for a date, but she was treading unfamiliar territory. Why was it so much harder than it had been sixteen years previous? She could not recall having qualms about going out with a man back then, nor could she remember having a fear of rejection. Also, there was her connection with Phillip to consider. Was she ready for this? She needed a moment to think.
‘I’d love to meet Jack and Lily.’
‘Lily’s at university studying Physiotherapy, and Jack, well, I see him when I can.’ His face was solemn, his eyes darkening.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘That’s okay. I should talk about it. It’s still a bit difficult.’
‘How long have you been separated?’
‘A few months. Andrea came over with Jack earlier this week and said she wanted another go at making it work. It’s thrown me a bit.’
‘Are you going to?’
His head jerked up. ‘Hell, no. I may have said yes a few weeks ago, but no, I can’t, not now. I don’t think I could trust her after what she’s done.’
‘Breakups are always difficult. It was for Darren and me too. He was my first love.’
‘What happened?’
‘I thought we were in love and I got pregnant. Suddenly, he didn’t want to know me.’
‘That’s tough.’
‘It was, but I got through it. You will too. You’ve done the hard bit.’
He placed his hand upon hers. It felt as though an electric current had just ripped through her, leaving a warm glow to spread across her entire body.
‘Thanks for listening,’ he said, ‘but can we change the subject? I’m sure we have both had happier times.’
Her eyes danced. ‘I’m not sure I have.’
‘I don’t believe that. You seem a contented person.’
Contented? Had he said that? ‘I’ve had my moments.’
‘Tell me about Janet. Were you close?’
‘She raised me, along with Roy of course.’ She rotated the mug with her fingertips. ‘She told me that my mother died when I was young. I never knew my father. Only . . . only she’d lied. I’ve hired a private investigator, Luke Adams, to look for her.’
‘Any leads?’
‘No, although I only hired him a couple of days ago.’
He nodded. ‘I’m sure Janet had her reasons. She and Roy seemed like a nice couple . . . down to earth and not at all pretentious.’
‘Yes, you’re right. They knew the importance of money, but it didn’t rule their lives.’
‘I could tell. But why leave the house empty? In the least, they could have sold it and invested the money.’
‘My thoughts entirely.’
‘Any ideas why they did what they did?’
‘No. I think it might have had something to do with my mother.’
‘Are you thinking they were hoping she would return?’
She struggled to respond. ‘No, I wasn’t, but maybe you’re right.’ She scanned the compassion in his expression. ‘I can’t believe I never knew about her. All my life, they’ve lied to me. How could they do that?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sure it’s no reflection on you.’
‘I wish I had your confidence.’
She exhaled and edged backwards, freeing herself from the intimacy of the table. The room was still bustling, and the changeover between tables constant. She felt a little guilty occupying the space for as long as they had, and she considered leaving. However, when she turned back to Steven, she reconsidered. She didn’t want her time with him to end. He was a kind warm-hearted person, someone she could be herself with. It was a fantastic feeling, and for the first time in recent weeks, she was happy.
Teresa’s appearance at the table caused both Steven and Leanne to jump as their conversation had been deep and their senses directed towards each other. The first thing Leanne noticed was the burn scars extending down one side of Teresa’s face and through her neck and beyond. She tried to avert her gaze, but the hideous nature of the woman’s appearance drew her eye. However, it was evident that as she looked at her smooth creamy skin around her good eye that she would have been a beauty in her day.
‘Leanne, this is Teresa, my good friend I was telling you about.’
They acknowledged each other, and Teresa pulled up a chair and sat down. She was much older than Steven - late fifties to early sixties - and softly spoken with an amiable expression. It was easy to see why he liked her and had chosen her as a confidant.
Leanne joined in the chatter as far as she could, and for the rest of the time, she listened with an interested expression, keen to make a friendly impression. Eventually, the subject dried.
‘Leanne has inherited Honeysuckle Cottage,’ Steven said, ‘She’s Roy and Janet’s granddaughter.’
Teresa’s eyes narrowed and her lips tightened, her demeanour changing.
‘I’ve mentioned them before, remember?’
She nodded wordlessly.
Uncomfortable Leanne crossed her legs and folded her arms. Teresa’s unease was clear, but her reasoning was not and in her haste Leanne believed her to be envious of her good fortune. ‘I would rather have Janet than the house,’ she blurted.
Silence.
‘She . . . she’s all I had. Except for my son, Tyler, of course.’
‘Then you’re lucky. You don’t have to share the inheritance.’
‘That’s a horrid thing to say. I loved Janet.’
‘Sorry,’ she said in a reluctant tone, ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Was Janet ill?’
‘Not for long. Her body just seemed to give up.’
‘Losing someone is never easy, no matter whether they are nine or ninety. Are you selling it?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Houses around here don’t sell that well, especially ones outside the village.’
‘Are you into property?’
‘No, but my husband is. He’ll give you a good deal on the place if you’re interested.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Don’t get your hopes up, though - a lot of work will need doing to it.’
‘It’s not that bad. It’s been modernised.’
‘Really?’
Leanne looked to Steven for support.
‘Some work has been done,’ he said.
‘When? Recently?’
‘It was a few years ago.’
‘Still, it’s not been lived in for thirty years. It’s going to need a thorough checking over. I wouldn’t want to live there. Have you had the electricity and gas serviced?’
Leanne nodded timidly.
Teresa eased back into the plastic chair. ‘I’m not trying to worry you, but a house that size comes with a responsibility. It might not be worth as much as you think.’
She looked down to her hands clasped beneath the table. Her earlier happiness had faded, and she felt belittled and inferior.
‘I’m sure Leanne knows what she is doing,’ Steven said quietly.
‘Yes, I’m sure she does,’ she replied, looking straight at her.
She fumbled with her necklace. ‘It is all a bit daunting and I do feel to be out of my depth, but I am capable of seeking advice when I need it.’
Teresa’s mouth clamped tight. There was a growing satisfaction in her eyes.
Unable to tolerate any more of the strained conversation, Leanne rose to leave, pushed back the chair and announced her departure.
‘You don’t need to go,’ he said.
‘I have things to do.’ She paused. ‘Drop in sometime over the next few days. I enjoyed our chat.’ She stepped away.
‘Hang on a minute,’ he said, ‘I’ll catch up with you outside.’
She weaved through the thinning crowds and into the stuffiness of the main hall, passing by a man in a suit and tie who hovered by the door. Her energy had been sapped, the cool sunshine invigorating. She buttoned up her jacket and listened to the gentle mumble of voices. Moments later Steven appeared.
‘Don’t let Teresa bother you,’ he said. ‘She’s not usually abrupt, she’s usually quite timid.’
‘She seemed annoyed that I’d inherited the house.’
‘Give her a chance. She’s having a rough time. You’ll like her when you get to know her.’
They headed along the street, back towards the footpath leading to the rear of Leanne’s house.
‘I was wondering,’ Steven said, ‘would you accompany me to Teresa’s house tomorrow night. They’re having a bit of an informal do.’
Her heart pounded, her body tingled. ‘I . . . I’m not sure.’
‘If you’re worried about Teresa, don’t be. She said it would be okay.’
They stopped and faced each other. ‘Are you sure?’
He nodded. ‘So you’ll come?’
Her mouth was dry, her voice blocked with excitement. She stared at him, breathing in his musky scent and feeling his glow mingling with hers. But then out of her eye corner she caught sight of a movement. Further along the street was the woman who had been in her house, the one in the black shiny jacket.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, trotting away.
‘See you tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be at your place at seven.’
‘Okay.’
Breathless, and with her legs tightening with each step, she hurried towards the woman, but she had turned away, walking briskly into the field and up the track. Leanne urged herself on, regretting her extra weight and lack of fitness, and fought for air. At the wall, she stopped, bent double, and steadied her quivering legs. The woman had disappeared.
She gazed back along the street. Steven was watching, displaying a twisted smile. She straightened herself out, smoothed down her hair and waved. She had a date. Hell, she had a date!
Luke flicked on the lights in his office, removed his jacket and switched on the kettle. It was not usual for him to work Saturdays; on this occasion, he had felt a need to occupy himself and removing himself from his nagging doubts and the constant reminder that he was going on a blind date. Imogen’s persistence had paid off and her voice continued to rattle inside his head. ‘You need to get out more,’ she had said, ‘spread yourself about a bit.’ Reluctantly he had agreed. There was no point wallowing in lost loves; the past, a troubled long-term relationship, was over.
His date was with Susie Holmes, someone he’d never met. She had dark-brown hair, at times was sombre, and was studious. She was into the occult and her favourite programme was ‘Merlin’, a BBC television series. At least that was Imogen’s account of her. Luke had two impressions in his mind. In the first, she was tall, slim, gorgeous, and well educated, and in the second, she was short, spotty, miserable, and had little to say for herself. Either way, they would have nothing in common. She would be overly interested in his work and would be trying hard to please.
A gush of steam rose up to the ceiling. He waited for the kettle to switch off and then poured the boiling water into a mug. He could back out; it wasn’t too late. He looked to Imogen’s empty desk and searched for her beautiful scent and twinkling eyes, but then, as he imagined himself announcing his change of mind, he imagined her disappointment and the whining tone of her voice. Yesterday, her excitement had guided him through the day. He could not let her down.
He leaned into his swivel chair and placed the coffee on a stained mat on the desk, and tried to convince himself of the positives. When was the last time he had been out with anyone, bar his ex? It could be enjoyable, and Imogen and Mark would help lighten the mood. They might even get on, and if not he could make excuses to leave early. It was, after all, just one night. As Imogen had suggested, a bit of female company would do him good.
Having one-night-stands was not Luke’s scene, preferring instead to find a long-term companion and build up a lasting friendship. On occasions, when he had been younger and had been encouraged by his group of male friends, he had succumbed to one-night stands and had enjoyed the sexual experience. Afterward, his confidence had surged. Perhaps he could go there again, and remind himself he was a full-blooded male with needs and desires.
He opened the document on Leanne Stark, and his nervous ponderings started to evaporate. His meeting with Susie Holmes was hours away; there was plenty of time to consider what he would talk about and what questions he would ask. In the meantime, there was work to do.
He scanned the interview, reminding himself of the missing woman’s name, Karen Jefferson, and contemplated a starting point. A couple of days previous, Imogen had checked all the usual channels for such a person, but the trail dried and he wondered if she had either married or used another name to avoid being found. She definitely existed, though, as he’d managed to locate the birth certificate and there was no accompanying death certificate.
Leaning back into the chair and with his arms folded, Luke remembered how Leanne’s body language and expressions had been drenched with emotion. For her sake as much as for his own, he needed a satisfactory conclusion. He sensed her loss, and even though she had tried to come across as confident and self-assured, at times she had acted like a small child who had just lost her parents at a festival. Her voice, the giveaway, fluctuated between a forceful tone and plaintive squeak.
He scrolled down the document, scanning the notes searching for inspiration, and for a moment stared at the name, Janet Jefferson. His first task was to confirm her relationship with Mr and Mrs Coombs, whom he assumed had been her parents. He looked to the telephone, and remembering it was Saturday, he decided to call in a favour.
‘Hi Tony, it’s Luke Adams. How are you?’
‘Good. Nice to hear from you, it’s been a while.’
They chatted for a few minutes, reaffirming their friendship.
‘I need a favour,’ Luke said. ‘I need to know someone’s maiden name for a case I’m working on and the office is shut.’
‘Okay, since it’s you.’
‘Her name is Janet Jefferson. She was married to Roy and died recently. She was born around about 1930.’
‘Okay, hang on.’
Luke waited, absorbing the silence, his expectations aroused.
‘Right,’ Tony said, ‘I’ve found it. They married in 1948. Her maiden name was Smith.’
‘Smith?’
‘That’s right.’
‘It would be, wouldn’t it?’
Tony chuckled. ‘I assume you were hoping for something less common.’
‘I was.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No. Thanks. Cheers mate.’
‘Cheers.’
Luke puffed out. The case could prove to be tricky. He took a clean sheet of unlined paper and started drawing a family tree headed by Janet. Her childhood remained a mystery, and the link to Mr and Mrs Coombs equally so, and even though her past was unlikely to be relevant in the search for Karen, he felt that background information would provide a complete picture and assist in his quest. The more people he could name who had been connected with the two families back at the time when Karen disappeared, the more likely he was to be successful. He should start by searching for any Smiths in the villages surrounding Honeysuckle Cottage and make contact. He opted for scanning the telephone directory online.
As expected, the list was extensive. He printed if off, highlighted those within the village, and started to make calls. His exasperation mounted as the negative responses came. No one knew of a Janet Smith; it was going to be an endless task.
He searched his brain for possibilities: her male relatives could have moved away, her female relatives could have married, or Janet could have been adopted. Maybe she moved into Honeysuckle Cottage later in life, perhaps through Roy. Could he have introduced her to the Coombs family? Luke dismissed his idea; the will had named Janet specifically.
Was Roy’s family still around? How far should he extend his search? Should he be focusing more on his search for Karen? His questions were numerous and his brain was turning into mush. He leaned back, extended his arms above his head and stretched his muscles.
His mobile phone sounded. He lifted it from his pocket and saw it was Imogen.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Are you ready for tonight?’
‘It’s hours away yet.’
‘Susie’s looking forward to meeting you so make sure you spruce yourself up.’
‘Is that why you rang?’
‘Should I have another reason?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Don’t forget to blow dry your hair as I showed you, it’ll give it a bit of lift.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘No need for the sarcasm,’ Imogen said. ‘What you doing anyway?’
Luke hesitated, taking a quick breath. ‘I’m working.’
‘Working? It’s Saturday.’
‘I needed to make a start on Leanne Stark’s case. It’s been on my mind.’
‘Haven’t you got any hobbies?’
‘I’ve plenty. I just didn’t fancy doing them today.’
‘You are such a bad liar.’
‘I’d rather be working than be like you and spend all day worrying about my appearance.’
‘I have to make myself beautiful for you,’ she said.
‘Yes, right!’
‘Don’t forget to wear that shirt you bought, and add a bit of aftershave too.’
‘Do you treat Mark this way?’
‘No, just you. You’re such a challenge. Got to go. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
He cradled the phone in his hand and a smile slipped to his face. She was a strange woman and not at all his type, yet he could not help but feel lifted by her call. He was looking forward to the evening, or was it just Imogen he was looking forward to seeing? Would Susie be anything like her? Did he even hope she was? He wasn’t sure, and blanked his mind and stared at the name ‘Honeysuckle Cottage’ scribbled on a sheet of paper.
Having pressed a few keys, he accessed the Internet and uploaded a map of the area. The house and buildings were extensive, and there were other farms close by. He should make contact with the locals. Maybe the younger generations would be carrying on with the business. Someone must know something about its history and occupants, surely.
An idea leapt to the forefront of his mind, and after a little bit of investigating, he found a telephone number of a local historian. The man’s name was Mr Bernard Dixon. He made contact and introduced himself.
‘I’m trying to find out about Honeysuckle Cottage and its occupants. Can you help?’
‘It’s been empty for years. Well-maintained though.’
‘Do you know anything about Mr and Mrs Coombs? They lived there years ago.’
‘They farmed the land. People say they were a nice couple - couldn’t have kids. They took in evacuees.’
‘Evacuees?’
‘Yes, world war two evacuees. They were quite attached to one of the girls.’
‘Janet?’
Bernard hesitated. ‘Could have been. I’d have to check.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘They were shot. Killed outright.’
Luke’s jaw dropped. ‘Shot?’
‘Aye. It must be thirty years ago now. I can’t remember the name of the person. I think it was a man, but I could be wrong.’
‘Was he connected to them?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you remember what his motives were?’
‘No. I don’t know if I ever knew.’
Stunned, he remained motionless and silent.
‘I’ll get back to you,’ Bernard said, ‘see if I can find out anything more.’
‘Yes . . . yes please. And can you check if one of the evacuees was a Janet Smith? I’m trying to find out as much about her as I can. In fact, I’m trying to track down her daughter, Karen.’
‘Will do.’
‘Have you got my number?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thanks for your time.’
Blimey! Luke was buzzing with excitement. Janet was a world war two evacuee, and someone shot and killed her guardians. It was starting to make sense. Karen could have killed them, or maybe it was someone connected to her. It would explain her disappearance and her disassociation from the family. But what reason could she have for doing such a thing? Even though Luke sensed he was delving into a past best forgotten, the intrigue it created caused his juices to flow.
The door into the bar swung open and he stepped inside, his nerves jangling and his eyes darting. As soon as he realised that Mark, Imogen, and Susie had not arrived, relief swept through him, and he progressed to the bar, weaving past groups of men. The bartender, a young brunette woman with pleasant facial features and a slender figure took his order and passed him his drink before progressing to the next customer. He moved away and stood at the edge of the group.
Most of the clientele were under the age of forty, although there were a few exceptions: there was a middle-aged couple leaning into seats placed against a wall, and four older men surrounding a table in a corner. There was a modern feel about the place, with a glitter ball in the centre of the room and flashing lights around the edge. Each stool set alongside the round top tables had a chrome base with a footrest and a moulded plastic seat.
He glanced to the door, both urging and fearing Susie’s arrival and felt the throbbing beat of drums pound his body, matching the pounding rhythm of his heart. He could not recall feeling as nervous since his mid-teens and gulped down his beer seeking calmness.
Then she arrived. Imogen was the first to enter the room and she wore a short snug-fitting blouse and pink- cropped trousers, and her hair splashed with colour. She looked stunning, and his skin rippled and he held his breath as he waited for Susie to appear from her rear. She was slim, not quite as tall as Imogen or as curvaceous, but she had a pleasant face and even skin tone. Uncertainly, he wandered to greet them.
His tight breaths were drying his throat, and when he moved his mouth to speak, he was voiceless and little more than a grunt came out. Thankfully, a sudden surge in music prevented his embarrassment, and they all laughed at the timely interruption. Luke purchased the first round of drinks and joined them at a table near the centre of the room.
Susie was quietly spoken and since she appeared unable to make eye contact, he assumed her nervousness. Although agreeable, she clung to Imogen’s every word, drawing her on subjects and opinions. After a while, Luke realised she was doing it to avoid having to make conversation with him, and his self-confidence sank. He could make more of an effort but felt awkward in Imogen and Mark’s presence. He was the outsider, the stranger in the group, and he was the hopeless case. Irritated by the setup and feeling a need to assert his dominance, he made eye contact with a woman on the next table. She smiled at him and lifted her wine glass. He smiled back.
Imogen noticed and glared. Sheepishly, he looked to the centre of their table, avoiding her penetrating gaze, and willed her to join in the group conversation. When she did, he reaffirmed his gaze on the stranger. The woman, with short neat auburn hair, smiled again, and his blood rippled throughout his body and his skin flushed. He could still pull. It was a huge boost to his confidence.
Imogen leaned towards him. ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.
‘Nothing.’
‘You could at least look as though you are interested. Susie’s made a big effort for you.’
He looked to his date, whose chatter with Mark looked comfortable. ‘She’s not interested.’
‘You’ve not given her a chance!’
He hadn’t, she was right. He edged forward on the chair, leaned onto the table, and attempted to join in the conversation. It was one night, that was all. He should be pleased that she cared enough to consider his needs.
The chatter evolved from mindless reality shows on television, which were not his thing, to witchcraft and the paranormal. He had expected as much, but rather than grasping the opportunity to talk about his childhood passion, he tried to change the subject, fearing a mocking. His ex-girlfriend had often chastised him for talking about such nonsense, and the memories held a potent sting. Rarely did he introduce himself as an investigator who took on paranormal cases, preferring the guise of private investigator. However, he wasn’t going to be able to circumvent the subject with Imogen in command.
‘We’ve just worked on a fantastic case,’ she said, ‘you might have heard about it. A woman had memories relating to a dead person.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear about it,’ Luke said.
She gave him a fleeting glimpse. ‘Sure she does. The woman knew all sorts about people, things she shouldn’t know. It was so cool.’
‘So things just dropped into her head.’
‘Kind of.’
‘Weird.’
‘Weird but exciting. It was as though she was acting on behalf of the dead woman. Just think what it would be like if you could do that. You could correct your mistakes a second time around.’
‘Or get revenge.’
Imogen was pensive. ‘Talking of mistakes . . .’ Imogen looked to Mark and winked. ‘We’re moving in together.’
‘Really, that’s fantastic.’
Susie’s enthusiasm faded as Imogen’s announcement danced around in Luke’s head. His thoughts dominated; there was no sound in the room and no heated bodies shuffling past. After a few moments, Mark caught his eye, offering a curious stare.
‘Congratulations,’ Luke mumbled.
Mark nodded.
‘She’s quite a catch,’ he added.
Luke stood up, exhibited the most enthusiastic expression he could muster, and sauntered off to the bathroom. He needed to be away from the oppressive atmosphere, and Imogen’s jovial mood and Susie’s try-hard attitude, and stepped through the door and into the cooler air. There was a faint smell of disinfectant, and he scanned the floor and the urinals and progressed about his business.
The evening was not working, and the more he pondered the set-up, the more annoyed with Imogen he became. He should not have agreed to the blind date; he had already proven he wasn’t a helpless case. If it weren’t for Imogen and her daft ideas about what he needed and liked, he would have already pulled the auburn-haired woman. He did not need any assistance.
With a frown upon his face and his lips nearing a pout, he headed back to the table. The women were still chatting about Imogen’s news and the imminent move, and he yearned for a male companion, preferring instead to talk about something that had more of a male focus, such as football or jet aircraft. Not that he was into either, but it would be a start and might alleviate his sour mood.
However, his attempts to talk about the afternoon match on television did nothing to blank out Imogen and Susie. He kept his gaze fixed on Mark or else the other clientele, yet their scent still wafted towards him, distracting alongside their lively banter. His focus was lacking, his beer ever more engrossing. His moment of relief came with the vibration of his mobile phone. He glanced at the little screen. It was Bernard Dixon.
Luke pointed to his phone and rushed outside, stepping into the chilling damp air and hurried to a wall, away from the bustling individuals and spirited car drivers.
‘Mr Dixon,’
‘Hello. The man who killed Mr and Mrs Coombs was a Trevor Parry. It was a random attack. There was no apparent motive. He went to prison and died thirteen years ago.’
‘He didn’t have a connection with them then?’
‘Apparently not, but don’t quote me on that. Also, my father was a headmaster of a local school, and before he died, he gave me some essays that were written during the war years. I’ve had a look through – Janet Smith wrote a couple. I thought you might like to see them.’
‘That’s great news. So Janet was one of the evacuees.’
‘Yes. They are well-written, given her age. I’d say she was talented.’
‘I’ll be over in a couple of days to see them if that’s okay.’
‘It is.’
With a smile lingering, he was returning the phone to his pocket when Imogen appeared, irritation coating her face.
‘You’re in a mood tonight,’ she said, ‘what’s up?’
‘Nothing, I’ve just got a lead on a case.’
‘Can’t you forget about work for just one night?’
Grinning, he shadowed her back to the doorway. ‘Nope.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to. We’ve decided to go back to my Mark’s place to do some proper celebrating.’
‘Is Susie going?’
‘No, it’s going to be a threesome . . . of course she is.’
Swiftly, he headed inside, passing into the dimmed light to hide his blushes. ‘Pity.’
Imogen nudged him in the ribs. ‘Cheeky.’
Her legs were swinging and her pencil was rotating between her fingers, her focus lacking. She glanced around the classroom, looking at her friends and the other children; some had glazed expressions, others were keen to learn. Then she caught Alice’s eye and mouthed that the lesson was boring. Her best friend feigned a yawn.
Mathematics always struggled to generate interest in Janet, and she often bemoaned her concerns to her parents. They didn’t seem to care whether she learnt anything or not, and told her that so long as she could do the important task of totalling rationing coupons for purchases, everything else was superfluous.
Bacon, butter and sugar were the first food items rationed, and there was worse to come. She recalled her parents talking about it, complaining that it was unfair, and saying that the rich would get more. It puzzled Janet. Her teacher had told her that rationing would ensure that everyone received equal amounts of food, yet it seemed that that was not the case. Why would her teacher lie?
Her belly started to rumble as she copied the sums from the blackboard to her notebook. It was not as if they were even missing out. Food had always been scarce for them; they struggled to afford to buy all that had been set aside, let alone more. Fighting her hunger pangs, she yearned for a bar of chocolate, its fine taste melting in her mouth. It had always been a rare treat, an indulgence, and never more so than now.
The air raid siren sounded an undulating howl, and Janet jerked. It was a timely interruption, and whilst the teacher instructed the class to form a queue, she thrust her belongings into her bag, a well-practised response, and chatted in a high-pitched enthusiastic tone to Alice.
It was such a familiar routine that she knew where to go and what to do, and her eagerness reflected in her steps. Struggling to obey the command to walk, as was the case with the other children, her pace grew faster until there was a mad charge to the school shelter.
It was dark, smelly, and cold inside, and not a place to look forward to visiting, yet for some reason she did. It was a change from her routine, and a chance to talk to her friends, even if it was only until the teacher regained command and forced everyone to recite lessons or sing.
Having positioned herself on the cold concrete, she strained her ears to listen to the sound of planes and explosions. But it was difficult to hear anything above the racket, and in particular above the animated noises and impressions of aircraft coming from the boys. The girls, on the other hand, huddled in groups.
Alice nudged her in the ribs. ‘I heard on the wireless that children are going to be evacuated.’
‘Evacuated?’
‘Yes, sent away. We’ll leave our families behind and everything.’
Shock stilled Janet. ‘Who’ll look after us?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will we be able to go together?’
‘Mum says not. She said it’d be like a holiday, just until the bombing stops. They can’t keep us safe anymore.’
‘I don’t want to go.’
‘We won’t have a choice.’
‘But my dad’s not gone to war,’ Janet said, ‘he’ll keep me safe.’
Janet drew strength from the sorrow that slipped to Alice’s face and assumed that she would be able to stay with her family, her sister and brothers, her mother and father. Even so, life was different now. Due to her father’s weak back, he no longer worked for the council but as an air raid precaution warden, protecting civilians from harm. It was a commendable role, and for the first time in years, he seemed fulfilled.
Janet leaned back against the wall, pride enriching her face, and thought of him bravely patrolling the streets at night, searching for lights in the blackout that could guide the Germans to targets.
‘Is your mum going to work?’ Alice said.
‘She doesn’t want to, says she has enough to do in the house.’
‘My mum can’t wait. She’s loving the chance to do something else.’
‘Have you heard from your dad?’
‘No. Mum worries all the time. She won’t talk about it, though. You don’t know how lucky you are, having him around.’
Janet’s secreted smile faded as the teacher started talking again, but her words dissolved into insignificance as the screeching sound of aircraft flew overhead. The explosion nearby caused everyone to scream and jolt, their hands reaching out to their neighbours and griping with desperation.
In an attempt to maintain calm, the singing began, but it was difficult to acquire any enthusiasm. The teachers guided, and one by one, the small squeaky voices of the children broadened and the violent sounds coming from outside no longer held the same significance. Janet focused on the words of the familiar song, pleading with herself to stay calm and believe that she was safe inside the shelter. Images of her family sprung into her mind, from the lively banter of her brothers and sister to the concerned expressions of her parents. She prayed for their safety, fearing she could not cope if anything happened to them, and wondered about the evacuation.
Why could they not all leave together? There must be safe places somewhere nearby. They should do it immediately whilst they still had the chance. It was all too difficult to comprehend how her separation from the family would be a good thing. Without them, she was nothing; they were her life, her only desires.
Janet tapped Alice on her legs. ‘This evacuation . . . where are they sending us to?’
‘Somewhere far away I think.’
‘And it’s just the children?’
Alice nodded.
‘Why can’t everyone go?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m looking forward to it. This war scares me.’
‘Me too.’
Janet breathed in the fresh air as she stepped out of the shelter and into the playground, and scanned her surroundings for damage. The school was intact and the nearby houses also. With her school bag in one hand and her boxed gasmask flung over her shoulder, she trotted towards her home, late and hungry.
Farther down an adjacent street, there was smoke and a devastated building. Glass, bricks, and shrapnel littered the road and pavements, and cars had been destroyed, with windows shattered and bodywork dented. Stiffening with terror, her legs refused to move, and for a moment she stood, her mouth agape and her stomach tumbling. It was difficult for her to understand how the building could crumble; it had been there hours’ previous, standing tall and proud. Why were the Germans acting in such a horrendous manner? What had they done that was so wrong? Sickness gathered in her throat.
A rhythmical padding sound refocused her attention. She turned her head and looked to two women deep in conversation and nearing her rear. Much further behind were groups of children, their banter animated, their anxieties lacking. Unable to understand how they could disregard the mess, she scanned the piles of brick, broken concrete and ripped out windows and a vision of her own battered home appeared in her mind. She started to run.
Her street was as she left it. She scurried past a mother and a child, and a suited man with a bag, and trotted to the safety of her house. Breathless, she pressed on the handle. The door swung open.
At the end of the hallway was the kitchen. Her mother, who was standing beside a unit, turned her head, but rather than greeting her with a smile and a chirpy voice, she asked where the others were.
‘They’re coming. I wanted to get home.’
‘You should have stayed together.’
‘A building near the school was bombed, you should see it. There’s nothing left. It could have been the school.’
Betty fleetingly locked eyes.
‘They made us sing,’ Janet continued, ‘but we could still hear the planes. Some of the younger ones were crying.’
‘Go and change. I’ve food to prepare.’
‘I thought you’d be interested.’
‘I am, but not now.’
Janet’s head dropped. She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed upstairs, walking into the fading light and the bedroom. She was straining her eyes even before she closed the heavy blackout curtains but then had to travel blind, weaving past the two beds, hers and her sisters, and ambled downstairs.
The faint light of the candles crept across the small rectangular room, illuminating her mother in a shadowy glow. It was the only available light since the bombing had disrupted the gas supply a few days previous; it was a frustrating consequence of war.
Janet lingered at the doorway, observing her mother’s pensive demeanour. ‘Is it true that children are going to be evacuated?’
Betty turned her head and frowned. ‘Where have you heard that?’
‘Alice heard it on the wireless. Is it true?’
‘Maybe just for a short while, until the worst of the bombing is over.’
‘What if I don’t want to go?’
‘It’ll be fun, like a holiday.’
‘Can you come too?’
‘I’ll be staying here.’
‘If you can stay, why can’t I?’
‘You ask too many questions! Go put some candles on in the living room, and draw all the curtains. Your father will be back soon.’
She trudged away, her anxieties dancing in her stomach. She would be leaving her parents and going to live with a stranger. It was a terrifying thought and not something she would ever learn to enjoy.
Within minutes, the rest of her family arrived and the peace was broken. Doors slammed, feet pounded the stairs, and the wireless switched on. Her father immediately commanded it to be turned off, claiming he didn’t want to hear any more bad news. Janet was the nearest and so obliged, and then concentrated her courage.
‘What is it you don’t want us to hear?’
He gave her a curious stare before catching Betty’s eye.
‘She’s been asking about the evacuation,’ her mother said softly.
Eric looked at Janet, his eyes ablaze. ‘I don’t want you talking about it. Do you hear?’
She nodded.
‘You’ll scare the others . . . and it might never happen.’
She nodded again.
‘Now set the table.’
She did as per instruction and then when her mother announced food, the others raced to the table. It was a meagre ration, but no one complained, and it satisfied her ravenous appetite.
‘I missed English classes today,’ her sister said.
‘I missed maths,’ Janet added, ‘and English. I hate maths, so I was pleased, but I love English. I didn’t like missing it.’
‘You only need to be able to read and write,’ her father said, ‘you can do that already, can’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then missing a few classes is not going to be a problem.’
‘But I want to be an English teacher when I grew up.’
He puffed out. ‘You’ll be a wife and mother as you should be.’
‘Women can be teachers.’
‘Women should be at home. They don’t need much of an education.’
Janet could feel her anger tighten her face. He was wrong, but he was her father, and so she had to show him respect, regardless. She clamped shut her mouth and curled her fingers into a fist.
‘Look at your mother. She’s happy and she doesn’t work.’
Betty, wearing a stained patterned wrap-over dress and with a tired look in her eyes, did not display happiness or affection often. Her skin was a podgy grey, her lips pale and tight, and her chin jutting. Janet could not agree that her mother was content, and could not remember the last time she was anything other than a slave to their needs.
‘I was scared today,’ Janet’s sister announced. ‘I nearly cried, but my teacher told me we were safe.’
‘Then you were brave,’ Betty said.
‘Do I have to go to school? Can’t I stay with you?’
‘You have to go.’
‘I can already read and write and I don’t want to be a teacher.’
‘You still have to go.’
‘But I thought-’
Eric raised his hand. ‘If I had it my way you wouldn’t go, but it’s the law.’
Their exchange faded in Janet’s mind. Would she still go to school if she moved away? Did she care? It was preposterous to believe that the government were even considering parting families, and she could not imagine anything worse. She stomach swirled with thoughts of a horrifying loneliness. In the least brothers and sisters should stay as one unit. Aching with her apprehensions, she wished she had remained ignorant of her possible future.
It was official. An evacuation of the children was to take place. Janet’s teacher had talked about the procedure, which was a blessing since her parents refused to say much. Her mother was not chatty at the best of times and was particularly quiet whenever it was mentioned. When she did speak about it, she spoke with a positive slant, but Janet did not sense any real enthusiasm, and she wondered if she was wishing she were going too. It was a fantastic prospect, a holiday in the country and a time for new experiences.
When her teacher had spoken, excitement had buzzed through Janet’s veins and her first worries erased. Their destination seemed like another world, where vast open spaces dominated the land, vegetables grew in fields, and cows and sheep grazed. She had seen pictures of such places, but that was all, and she could only imagine what it would be like. ‘Grass as far as the eye can see,’ someone had said. Janet had looked along the road to a junction, a little distance away. ‘That far?’
However, now that her departure was imminent, Janet felt less sure of her feelings. Fighting the bubbles in her stomach, she nibbled at her breakfast, taking minute mouthfuls of porridge and feeling unable to digest it. She held the glutinous substance in her mouth and waited for it to slip down her throat before glancing to her parents. How many days would she be away? When would be the next time they all sat together to eat?
Eventually, she finished her food and was instructed to gather her belongings from upstairs and check she had everything packed: enough food for two days, a change of clothing, and washing items. Her teacher had also suggested taking a favourite book, but she had read everything she owned multiple times. Her disappointment lingered.
Janet perched on the edge of her bed and glanced around the room, and wondered what her holiday bedroom would be like. She had been told that she could be placed with other evacuees, and should make an effort to be amiable. She could do that. They would be able to share stories of their lives in the city. They could become firm friends.
The sound of a strained conversation, coming from her parents, caused her to step onto the landing.
‘I didn’t have kids to send them away,’ her mother said.
‘Just leave it. We’ll talk later.’
‘It’ll be too late then. When will I see them again?’
‘It won’t be long.’
‘But how long. I need to know.’
‘They’ll be safe. Is that not worth a small sacrifice?’
‘This isn’t a small sacrifice. How can we trust anyone else to bring them up proper?’
‘We have to.’
‘They’ll change,’ Betty said. ‘It’s different in the country, remember?’
‘Of course, I remember, and one day we will go back.’
‘Why not now?’
Eric was silent.
‘Well? It makes sense.’
‘We’ve talked about this,’ he said in an exasperated tone.
Something clattered to the floor causing Janet to jolt and then wonder if it was appropriate to spy.
‘I can’t believe you are okay with this,’ Betty said.
‘We have to be. It’s for the best.’
Janet waited, but they said nothing more. Moments later, her father called her back downstairs and told her to be good. Then her mother walked her to school. Her mother’s silence was draining. Janet wanted to share her excitement and chatter non-stop about what she was going to experience, but when she opened her mouth and looked at her mother, she saw tears in her eyes. Janet’s heart plummeted and her legs weakened and her niggles grew in strength. Every step was an effort; every step took her nearer to a massive change in her life.
The journey seemed to last forever. Her body ached with inaction and her stomach rumbled. Every now and again, she nibbled at her food, but upon recalling how her teachers had instructed her not to eat everything at once, she put it aside and remained resolute to make it last.
She drifted in and out of sleep, peered through the window and into the strange empty world, and glanced across the carriage at the other children. It was a lonely experience, and she forced herself to think only of what was ahead of her. Being homesick was futile. She had witnessed weeping and woeful comments, and she had heard the unsympathetic replies. No one could change their situation; they had to make the most of it.
The train eased into a station and they were commanded to disembark. Away from the unwelcoming platform, which was dark, smelly, and colourless, were crowds of people all waiting for the evacuees to arrive. The children were driven like cattle towards them, and then they all stood in a line. Janet looked to her feet, and one by one, the strangers made their choices and guided them away. Her pulse raced and her mind a blur. No one wanted her.
Finally, a man and woman, smartly dressed, approached her, pinched her cheek, and walked her out of the station and through a maze of streets, speaking selectively. Janet’s steps were mechanical, her brain overwhelmed with new sights and sounds. Yet rather than it being a vast open space with trees and cattle, it was similar to her hometown and her disappointment lingered. They turned left, walking through a small square front garden, and opened the door to the house.
Inside, it was dark, drab, and stank of smoke. The furniture was shabby, the wallpaper was peeling from the corners, and the linoleum floor littered with dust and debris. To Janet, it was comfortable and similar to her own house, and her anxieties quelled.
But not for long. The woman slung her coat onto the table and started to smoke near the window, and the man grasped her by her upper arms and glared. His breath was putrid, smelling of beer mingled with decaying food, and his teeth were broken and vivid yellow. Under her breath, she urged him to release her, his tight grip nipping her skin. She was helpless, frozen with fear.
‘You do exactly as I say,’ the man said, his tone gruff, ‘and obey me immediately. I have made up a list of chores.’
He gave her a sheet of paper. Her body was quivering, her eyes glued to the scrawl. She could not make sense of it; her brain refused to function.
‘Any deviations and you will be punished.’
Grinning, he stepped to the other side of the room and returned with a whip, and then tapped it onto his other hand, emphasising its use. His lips were curling, his eyes dark and feral.
‘Go now. Get on with it.’
He stepped away and muttered something to the woman.
Janet gripped the paper. The sheet quivered, rustling between her twitchy fingers. All she could think of was her home: her family, her friends, and her school. She was told her time away would be fun, a holiday. Here, or so she had been told, she was going to be safe.
Her eyes welled with tears and her stomach churned. She would rather be doing sums in an air raid shelter.
Her stinging legs jolted her from her ponderings.
The beatings occurred daily, sometimes once, sometimes several times. It did not seem to matter if Janet did as she instructed or not, as either way her guardian, Uncle Tom as he liked to be called, took sadistic pleasure in using the whip. Once, when she was lying in bed, she heard the same whooshing sound come from his bedroom causing her to wonder if he was using it on his wife. Her screams convinced her that he was until Auntie Irene chuckled with delight.
Janet buried herself in her chores, taking a comforting pleasure from her routine. Each day she made meals and cleaned the house, both before school and after, often doing the same chore twice to please Uncle Tom. She had no time for pleasure and no time for reading or looking through her English class work. It was an arduous existence and she fumbled through life in a daze.
One day, Uncle Tom had returned home drunk. His loud behaviour did not concern her as her father had often acted the same way. However, when he caught her dropping an egg and he exploded with anger, her fear enveloped her. He whipped her legs until she cowered to the floor, her arms protecting her head, and her legs pressing against her chest. When he stopped, her frantic breaths and squeals became more forceful, but he was only taking a brief pause, and grabbed her by her matted hair and pulled her into an open space. Her shoes scraped the ground and the whipping continued.
Her entire body was raw, and she convulsed uncontrollably as she groaned and whined. With no one to offer sympathy or a soothing hand, she lay there for hours until her pain eased and her courage grew. Uncle Tom was in her next room, slumped onto the sofa and sleeping. She crept to the door, headed outside into the cool damp air, and wandered aimlessly along the street. With weakened legs and a lack of hope, she dropped to the ground in a heap.
Her mind was in turmoil. She relived the beatings, and every so often thought of her home and the postcard she sent to her family after she had arrived. Together they had devised a code. One kiss at the end meant she wanted to go home, and two kisses meant she was happy. She had attached one kiss, so where were they? Abandoned and forlorn, she slipped into a fitful sleep.
The next few days were a blur. A kind and gentle police officer found Janet and took her to the station. Rather than contacting her parents’, he contacted the billeting officer who made the decision to rehome her in Norfolk. As the train eased into the station at the site of her destination, her anxieties grew; she fidgeted, she fiddled with the hem of her dress, she shuffled in her seat.
Unlike before, she had no expectations of a joyful atmosphere and a holiday-type accommodation and decided she would do her work complaint free. Soon she would be able to return home and be away from her life of hardship. She held the prospect close to her heart.
The train screeched to a standstill. She peered out of the window, searching for cruel-seeming folk, but saw no one that fit the description carved into her mind. Hesitantly, she stepped to the exit and then onto the platform to a woman standing alone, her smile broad and welcoming.
The woman crouched down and reached out her hand. ‘Oh, you poor little mite. You must be tired and hungry. My name is Ann Coombs, you can call me Auntie Ann if that is okay with you.’
Janet’s nod was imperceptible.
‘I hear you’ve had a bit of a hard time. No matter, it’s over now. We’ll soon get you cleaned up and fed and you’ll be as bright as a button.’ She stroked her cheek. ‘I can see a pretty little face somewhere in there, am I right?’
Her lips curled.
‘Come on then, we’ll get you home.’
Ann raised herself upright and led her out of the station.
‘Have you ever seen a chicken?’
She shook her head.
‘You’ll like them, they are sweet. We get fresh eggs every day. Would you like to name one?’
‘Yes please.’
‘What do you want to call it?’
She thought for a moment and then spoke in a squeak. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You have a think. I hope you are going to enjoy staying with us. We’re looking forward to having you with us.’
Her eyes were bright, her heart lightening. She was going to enjoy herself, she could already tell.
The car pulled into the drive on Fen Lane. Before her was a massive house, or perhaps several together, Janet could not be sure, and at the rear, beyond the barn and a row of towering trees, was a vast open space. Her jaw dropped.
There was nothing there. How could that be? Where were the other houses? Fearful of the sparseness of her surroundings, she clamped her arms across her front as the slight breeze tickled her skin. It was an incomprehensible scene, too different to London life to process. She shut her eyes for a couple of seconds, and then ripped them open, expecting to see houses, people, and rubble. Even the air was different, purer somehow and without the hint of smoke and fumes.
‘Do you like it?’ Ann asked.
Janet nodded eagerly and glanced to her kind eyes and soft skin. She was about her mother’s age, whatever that was, maybe a bit younger, but she was happier and didn’t carry a perpetual sullen look on her face.
‘We’ll get you settled in and then I’ll show you around.’
‘Can I see the chickens?’
‘Okay. Just drop your bag by the door and follow me.’
The border alongside the path contained a huge array of plants, some of them with bright, broad flower heads, others with exquisite leaf structures. At the other side was a trimmed and maintained lawn, and in the middle was a small tree with drooping branches and lush green leaves. There was too much to see, too much to absorb, and her senses overloaded.
They turned the corner. Some of the chickens were meandering along the edge of the field whilst others were resting in the midday sun. It was an unbelievable sight, quite extraordinary, and she could do nothing but gawp. After a word of encouragement from Ann, who had picked up one of the hens, she touched its feathers.
The bird was much softer than she had expected, and far more so than anything else she had ever had contact with. Carefully, Ann prised apart its plumage and exposed a downy basecoat.
‘It keeps it warm in winter,’ she said.
She was stunned. She had seen a picture at school, but it was quite different in real life. They were bigger than she imagined and had funnier faces too.
‘What are those wobbly bits under the chin?’
‘They are the wattles, and that on the top of the head is the comb. This one is Freda.’
‘How do you tell them apart?’
‘You learn. Look carefully. This one has more white in its feathers than the others. See?’
She placed it onto the ground and Freda walked away, its head moving back and forth.
‘Hello,’ a man said.
Startled, Janet looked up at the slender man wearing dungarees and a tweed jacket, and she shivered, her memories of Uncle Tom still fresh.
‘You must be Janet.’ He stepped towards her. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Gerry, Uncle Gerry if you please.’
She reflected the twinkle in his eye with one of her own and nervously reached for his hand. He towered above her, yet his ruddy complexion and vivid blue eyes exhibited compassion, and her uncertainties dissolved.
‘We’d better get you settled in,’ Ann said, turning to Janet.
After Ann and Gerry exchanged words, they turned back to the house.
‘Lizzie and Joe are at school, you’ll meet them later.’
‘Are they evacuees too?’
‘Yes sweetheart, they are. They’re sister and brother. You’ll be going to the same school next week.’
They were lucky to be together. Where were her sister and brothers?
She lifted her bag from the floor and followed Ann to the doorway.
‘Do you enjoy school?’
‘I don’t like maths but I love English.’
‘Do you enjoy reading?’
She nodded. ‘I want to be an English teacher, but my father . . . never mind.’
‘I’ve got a surprise for you then.’
Ann opened the door. They stepped into the vast lobby. It was clean with fancy wall lights, huge paintings, and a coat stand to one side. Janet felt like a princess walking into a palace and felt dirty and out-of-place alongside such splendour. Apprehensively, she looked to her feet, and feeling the sting of Uncle Tom’s whip upon her skin, she shuddered.
‘Everything okay?’ Ann asked.
She bent down, removed her shoes, and nodded.
‘Follow me.’
Ann entered a room. There was a piano at one side, a fireplace on another and a wall of books on a third. She stared like a gormless fool.
‘You’ll catch flies.’
She shut her mouth.
‘Can I have a look?’
‘Of course, you can. This is your home now.’
There were too many titles to absorb, and her eyes drifted.
‘This is a good book,’ Ann said retrieving one.
It said ‘White Fang by Jack London’. She flicked open the pages, noticing the small text and heavily laden pages.
‘It looks a bit hard.’
‘How about I help you then?’
‘Yes please.’
‘Good, that’s settled. Now, we shall go upstairs, and we’ll get you unpacked. You’ll be sharing a room with Lizzie. I hope you don’t mind the company.’
Janet followed Ann in a daze up to the first floor. It was beautiful, bewildering and breath-taking. It was also cleaner than anything she had ever witnessed.
‘Thank you,’ Janet said.
Ann turned her head. ‘What for?’
She lowered her head in embarrassment.
If only her parents could see the vastness of the place, and the tidy rooms, the clean windowsills and skirting boards, the decorations and possessions. She should write to them and tell them all about it. She should ask them to visit.
A lump lodged in her throat as she recalled the postcard and the deal they had made. They had agreed to collect her. They had promised.
It was almost a year before Janet made a trip back to London, and as she sat on the train, feeling braver and wiser than the day of evacuation, she pondered the last months. Having got over the thrill of living on the farm, her separation from her family remained as a gnawing ache. There were times, however, when her longing for her family swelled, deep and harsh as tears dripped down her rosy cheeks. Desperate to share her pleasures and maintain a connection, she wrote with regularity, sharing news relating to the chickens, telling of the vegetables growing on the land, and describing her developing schoolwork.
‘Carrots come out of the land dirty,’ she had said, ‘and eggs come out of a hen warm, like a boiled egg.’ Her statements were endless and whilst she wrote weekly, she rarely received any acknowledgment with the replies coming monthly at best. Each one was short and said little more than acknowledging their existence. Her disappointment mounted.
Did her parent’s understand how good life was and how kind Auntie Ann and Uncle Gerry were? Their lack of comments must be due to her poor writing and she assumed it lacked clarity; yet it was hard to believe, as she had spent hours and days at a desk cultivating her skills with Auntie Ann. She had assisted her with other subjects too, and Janet had developed a love of learning and spent her spare time looking into a book, factual or otherwise.
The train made swift headway, and she gazed out of the window, watching the sprawling townhouses speed passed. In her heart, she preferred the luxury of the open country spaces and loved the immense variety of the greens of the low-growing weeds and grasses, the delicate pink-white petals of the spring blossom and the pureness of the air. In the city, the scene made her feel trapped and claustrophobic. It was colourless. It was dark. It was gloomy.
Her heart pounded with excitement as the train eased into the familiar station. She peered through the window, searching the platform for her mother and father, and replayed forgotten memories: mealtimes, evenings by the wireless, singing in the air raid shelters. There was much catching up to do and so little time, her visit temporary.
The platform was bustling with people embarking and disembarking, and she struggled to see beyond the throng, but then a gap appeared and she saw her mother. Her appearance was drab, her dress tattered, her hair unkempt. At first, Betty did not smile, but scrutinised Janet up and down, her eyes disbelieving.
‘What’s happened to you?’ Betty said.
‘Why?’
‘You’re so grown up, and look at how pretty you are.’
Janet peered at her new dress and coat, and then her shoes. Auntie Ann insisted she looked nice; she had said she wanted her parents to know they were caring for her.
‘And look at your hair, it’s so long.’
Betty reached across and squeezed Janet, a faint smell of sweat and dirt wafting towards her.
‘I’ve so much to tell you.’ Janet said striding out of the station. ‘Did you read my letters?’
Betty nodded.
Janet’s words flooded out like an opened dam, and she rambled non-stop, describing everything in detail, from the size of the house to the folks in the village. She had noted nothing of the distance they had walked or of the once familiar city life and was surprised how soon they reached home
She stepped into the living area, greeted her father, and headed to a chair at the table. The room was poky, old-fashioned, and stained with smoke, and a ripple of unease rushed through her. It no longer felt like her home; she was the stranger and fought an overwhelming sense she didn’t belong. Even so, and more than anything, she wanted to be there. They were her parents. This was her home.
Despite her discomfort, Janet continued to tell them about the farm.
‘We can have as many eggs as we wish,’ she said, ‘and during the summer we grow our own fruit and vegetables. There’s never a shortage of food. Even in the winter months we eat things we’ve stored.’
Eric scowled. ‘It’s not like that here. Get used to it.’
‘I know, I-’
‘We get what we can, and we’re proud to make do. It’s all right for these country folk . . . don’t have a clue what’s it like for us Londoners.’
‘They have rationing too.’
‘It’s not the same.’
His resentment was perturbing and her stomach churned. It may not be quite the same, but was that not the reason for the evacuation, for a safer and better life? The life she had been dealt had not been of her choosing, and in an instant, she drifted back to her brief time with Uncle Tom, the beatings causing a deepening ache.
‘I wouldn’t even be there if you’d have come for me. I thought we had an agreement.’
‘What?’
‘The postcard . . . when I was first sent away. You said if I put on one kiss, you would come for me.’
‘You expect us to drop everything just because you’re afraid of hard work.’
She steadied her breathing and blinked away her tears. ‘I’m not afraid of hard work. He whipped me.’
‘If you had have done as you’re told, he wouldn’t have done it. I can see how much you’ve changed. You’re too big for your boots. You probably deserved it.’
The chair scraped on the floor and she leaped to her feet. ‘I did not deserve it! I did not!’
‘Just calm down,’ Betty said, resting a hand upon her back, ‘your father didn’t mean it.’
Janet was aware of the piercing glare her mother gave her father, but it did little to appease her turmoil. Uncle Gerry would never talk to her this way; his selflessness was incessant.
Her battle with her anger continued as they ate, her father’s comments occasional and cutting. He was different, somehow, and so was the house, and she could not help but relate the differences to the flaws in their characters. They could do so much more with themselves if they tried - Auntie Ann had taught her that - and in the least, they could clean themselves up a little and generate a small sense of self-worth.
‘Auntie Ann has taught me how to sew and alter old clothes to make them look newer. She also knows how to remove all types of stains.’
‘What are you saying?’ Eric asked.
Shrinking, Janet glimpsed at her mother. ‘I thought I could show you.’
‘You and your bloody fancy ways . . . think you’re so much better than the rest of us.’
‘No, I don’t. I . . .’ her voice stopped.
She knew she had not sounded convincing, and reprimanded herself for her behaviour, the truth burning. All she had wanted to do was offer her assistance and show them how they could get more by spending less. She hadn’t intended to be mean.
Yet Betty and Eric were uninterested in any explanation, and her stomach grew ever more nauseous, fearing that life would never be the same again. Every comment appeared to widen the gap in their relationship, and she longed for a comforting hug. Repeatedly and silently, she said that she was still their daughter, her eyes drifting and plaintive.
Eventually, seeking solitude, she headed up the stairs to her bedroom. The door to her parents’ room was ajar, and her eyes fell on a dresser at the far side. She stepped inside.
Her letters were stacked in a pile. She flicked through them. Many were sealed.
Her heart sank and her mouth dried.
‘What are you doing?’
Janet spun around. Her father was staring.
‘You’ve not read them.’
‘Get out!’
She fled to her room, slammed the door shut and flattened herself onto her bed, the pain contorting her face. In her mind, she felt the comforting touch of Auntie Ann and listened to her soothing words. She longed for home, her real home, and it could not come soon enough.
Janet’s disillusionment was so great that when she returned home, she stopped writing letters. Even so, every now and then, her longing would re-emerge, and her hand would hover over a sheet of blank paper. Sometimes she even wrote a few words, until she remembered the unopened letters. Despite the hurt, she often checked the postal delivery, hoping they might write to her. It proved futile.
Ann and Gerry offered as much sympathy as they could muster, suggesting that the evacuation could have been as hard on her parents as it was on her. The separation must have been unbearable; the difficulty of seeing a child grow up away from their control was something they struggled to empathise with. To try to assist, they suggested Janet tried to be as understanding as possible and pleaded with her to continue to write. However, much to Ann’s dismay, she refused to do so.
By the time the war had ended, she considered herself mature enough to deal with the situation better and decided to return to London. The long journey gave her plenty of time to ponder their reunion, and as the rhythmical beat of the train settled her mind, she rehearsed her speech.
She would apologise for her lack of understanding of the situation, telling how she was wrong not to have appreciated the difficulties they had to face. She would respect the choices they had made. She would praise their war efforts and thank them for allowing her to move to safety. Then, they would make a new start.
Janet turned along the street to her home, and her heart beat ever faster, her eyes drawn to the door a third of the way down. There was no movement, no sign that they were anticipating her arrival.
The knock on the door was firm; it seemed appropriate. She held her breath, forced her quivers to subside.
The handle turned. The door opened. A woman gawped.
‘I was expecting to see Eric and Betty Smith,’ she said.
‘They don’t live here.’
‘Since when?’
‘A few weeks ago.’
‘Did they say where they were going?’
‘No, sorry.’
Janet was dumbfounded. She spoke to neighbours and she visited friends. Everyone was equally as ignorant as she was.
Steven’s sweet seductive aroma danced around the car, arousing emotions in Leanne long laid to rest. Her racing pulse and tingling skin - a strange and welcoming phenomenon - caused the air to flood with hormones and her mind to fill with primitive hopes and desires. The moment was not predictable; it was not something Leanne ever wanted after Phillip’s passing, let alone desired.
The heavy feeling had remained with her for weeks, rarely lifting, rarely allowing her to see the world in anything other than darkness. She had felt sick, often carried a headache, and drifted through her days in a daze. Frequently, she thought back to his departure before the accident, searching for even the smallest of clue that could have warned her that her life was to change, but she found nothing. It made little sense. She had been happy, not weak and frail, not driven by despair. Why did everything have to change?
Now, as she recounted in her mind her sense of overwhelming loss, she could tell that the wounds were healing, and so long as she did not suffer any undue stress, the scars would lessen too. Leanne felt safe with Steven, mentally as well as physically, and she knew she was in a good place. It was to be a moment for enjoyment.
A warm and pleasant sensation enveloped her as she peeked at him and noted the relaxed way he held the steering wheel, his out-turned leg and foot and his lush strands of golden-brown hair framing the healthy glow in his cheeks. Days previous, this man had been a stranger. It was a bizarre turnaround.
They weaved along the lane, through the silent streets, and to the other side of the village before turning into a large drive. An outside light illuminated the garden. There was a shaped shrub in the centre of the lawn and pruned plants in the borders. Along the drive were three other cars.
Steven silenced the engine and turned towards her. ‘Ready?’
She nodded, yet the strained conversation she had had with Teresa replayed and her doubts emerged. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going to voice her concerns and followed him to the house trying to remove the stiffness from her gait and the anxieties from her mind.
She should be appreciating the opportunity given to her to acquire new friends. Tyler had managed it and had shown bravery by accepting a new challenge, and so she must do the same. Spurred on, Leanne stood by Steven’s side at the door with a newfound confidence. Within seconds of pressing the bell, it swung open. Teresa encouraged them inside, and then, making eye contact with Leanne, thanked them both for coming.
A room alongside the hallway was buzzing with people - about fifteen in total –and they spread into the large conservatory overlooking an extensive garden. Since it was dark outside it was difficult to see much; there were no lights coming from overlooking properties and no streetlights. Stepping deeper into the room, following in Steven’s shadow, heads turned. Leanne pressed her arm against her front and looked around the room, shrouding her nervousness.
Moments later, a man in his sixties with a carved complexion and a stout physique, approached them. His expression was deadpan. He introduced himself as Geoff, Teresa’s husband.
‘Come sit down, we won’t bite,’ he said.
‘Thanks for inviting me.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me.’
Geoff removed a bottle of wine from the cupboard, extracted the cork, and poured some into his glass.
‘You have a lovely house,’ she continued.
‘You haven’t seen much of it yet, so what makes you say that?’
Uncomfortable, she shuffled her feet.
‘I should imagine it’s no match for yours.’
She glimpsed at Steven and looked back to Geoff, before swallowing her fear. ‘I hear you’re into property. Are you an estate agent?’
‘Hell no. I buy properties to renovate and sell - either that or let out. You thinking of selling?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Do you think it would be a good idea to let it out as a holiday home?’ Steven asked.
Geoff took a sip of wine, his expression thoughtful. ‘It’s a bit big as it stands. It might be an idea getting permission to split it. Either that or open it as a bed and breakfast. You’ll need quite a bit of money, though.’ He glanced towards her.
She sensed he was searching for information and so she remained as poker-faced as possible, not willing to divulge her financial gains, and waited for him to continue.
‘I should imagine you’re not short of a bob or too,’ he added.
‘Money’s not everything. To me, family is more important. I have a wonderful son who makes me proud. The rest is irrelevant.’
Geoff’s eyes rolled. He walked away.
With her arms pressed tight across her body, she glanced at her feet, self-conscious and yearning for privacy and solitude. Her mind was too tense to absorb her surroundings, the gentle murmur of voices and the movement of people between the rooms, and she felt alone inside her head. When Steven’s arm landed around her middle, she almost leapt out of her skin.
‘You told him,’ he said in a quiet voice.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.’
‘You haven’t.’
She looked at him with doleful eyes.
‘Come on, let’s go next door and find a quiet space. I’d like to get to know you better.’
They moved away from the oppressive air and into a smaller lounge, and sat side by side on a two-seater sofa. There was adoration in his eyes, and bit-by-bit her anxieties melted and her body softened.
‘Geoff can be a bit odd,’ he whispered, ‘don’t let him bother you.’
‘You know, I don’t care about the money or the house. Family is what’s important . . . and friends.’
‘I agree.’
‘Do they have children?’
‘No, they couldn’t have any. Teresa doesn’t like to talk about it. From what I can gather it’s caused problems over the years.’
‘So they did want them?’
‘I think so.’
She reached for her glass. She had at least been blessed with motherhood. She could not imagine how she would have felt had she been infertile.
‘They’re having quite a few difficulties at the moment, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything.’
‘Of course. I wouldn’t.’
‘Now, tell me something about yourself.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. What are your hobbies, your favourite food and the places you visit to relax? I don’t care what you tell me. I just want to know more about Leanne Stark.’
She grinned. ‘Where do I start?’
She hardly noticed the steady stream of people that passed between the rooms, so absorbing was their conversation. He paid her maximum attention, despite on occasions speaking with the other guests, and her sense of worth soared. It was as though she had known him forever, a wonderful experience.
‘I’m a website designer,’ he said, ‘it sounds a bit dull, but I can work from home and it pays well.’
‘Don’t you get lonely?’
‘No. I started doing it years ago so I could be around for Jack and Lily. Andrea is a doctor in the city, and wasn’t at home much.’
‘It must be quiet now they’ve gone.’
‘I’m used to it. I have Tansy to keep me company. What about you? Do you work?’
‘I did. I was made redundant last week . . . lack of business. I worked at a small craft company. They made things to sell out of soldered copper. They sold other people’s handmade crafts too.’
‘Soldered copper? How does that work?’
‘It gets bent into shape and looks like a skeleton. We had items such as animals and boats that we’d make regularly, but we’d also make things to order.’
‘Did you make them?’
‘I did have a go once, but it wasn’t my area. I’d prepare the materials, help in the shop, and search for other outlets to increase sales.’
‘Sounds fascinating. Any chance that they might rehire you when business improves?’
‘I doubt it, but you never know. I rather fancy doing something similar on my own. I’ve always wanted to make handmade jewellery.’
‘It sounds like you have an opportunity.’
‘Yes.’ But not the motivation, she added silently.
‘What ideas do you have?’
‘Beads are often used, but I fancy doing something a bit different. Maybe using pieces of sheet metal or wire, like what we did in the factory.’
‘Have you any designs?’
‘I have some in my head but none on paper.’
‘That’s a pity. I’d love to have seen them.’
She settled back into the sofa. Perhaps now was the time to have a go. She had time on her hands and it would be a pity to waste it. She reached across for her glass and took a quenching sip of wine.
‘Hi, you two.’
She turned her head. Teresa was approaching them.
‘Enjoying yourselves?’ she asked.
‘It should be us asking you that,’ Steven said, ‘it’s your party.’
‘I’m having a fine time. I’m sorry I haven’t had much of a chance to chat. Have you helped yourselves to the food?’
‘Yes, we had something earlier.’
‘Good.’ She looked to Leanne. ‘I’m sorry I was a bit off with you yesterday. I didn’t mean anything by it. I hope we can be friends.’
‘Sure. I’d like that.’
‘How long are you planning on staying?’
She glanced to Steven. ‘Just another week. My son will be back from his father’s then.’
‘Will you be coming down on weekends?’
‘Maybe for a while. I’m trying to find out more about my family’s past.’ She hesitated, noting an anxious look in Teresa’s eyes. ‘I’m looking for my mother.’
Teresa averted her gaze, concentrating her attentions on the scuffle of bodies by the doorway.
‘How long have you lived in the village?’ Leanne asked.
‘On and off, for years.’
‘So you must know a lot of people.’
She looked at the wooden floor, polished and with a small rectangular Chinese rug near the fireplace. There were logs piled at one side and an ornate vase at the other. ‘Most of the people I know moved into the village only a few years ago, after the new housing estate was built. Like Steven.’
‘How did you two meet?’
‘He very kindly did the village website.’
‘Leanne’s thinking of designing and making jewellery,’ Steven said.
‘Now that sounds interesting. You must show me what you do some time. I’ve made a few pieces myself. I could do with some inspiration.’
The conversation flowed, and Leanne found herself warming to Teresa. She did not seem at all like she had done the previous day and was the quietly spoken woman Steve had inferred. She was more Leanne’s type than anticipated. Geoff, on the other hand, seemed deliberately obtuse, and as soon as he entered the room, her guard raised.
‘What’s going on in here?’ he asked.
There was a dark glare in his eyes, and she wondered if he was like that with everyone or specifically her. His entire demeanour was threatening, the piercing stare, the puffed out chest and the widening arms.
Teresa turned to him. ‘Leanne was telling me she’s thinking of setting up a handmade jewellery business.’
‘I can’t believe there’s much money in that.’
Teresa’s jaw tightened and her hand made a fist. ‘Does it always have to come down to money?’
‘You telling me, you don’t like what we have?’
‘Let’s not do this now.’
Geoff refocused his gaze. ‘Tell me, Leanne, it’s no fun being poor, is it?’
‘No.’
‘Have you had a comfortable life?’
‘I suppose I have.’
‘And have you been treated well?’
She nodded.
‘Roy and Janet never made you suffer?’
‘Of course not.’
Where was this going? Apprehensively, she looked to Steven. He seemed unperturbed by the line of questioning, as though he’d expected it.
‘Then you’re lucky. Not all of us have had it so good. Some of us have had to focus on money. If you know what you are doing, it’s a reliable way of remaining stress-free.’
‘Geoff-’ Teresa said.
He raised his hand. ‘I suspect Roy and Janet have had a good life too. Have you ever asked yourself if they deserved it, or ever considered why they inherited such a large house and never lived there?’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Wouldn’t you think if you kept your nose clean and treated everyone well that you’d get a reward?’ He paused, assessing her blank expression. ‘That’s not how it works. You see I was the man people shit on. I didn’t deserve it, no not at all, but I had to tolerate it. There are some bad people in this world. It’s in the blood. You won’t find out until it’s too late. So you make the first move or someone else will.’
‘Geoff!’ Teresa said. ‘You’ve said enough!’
‘Leanne understands me, don’t you Leanne?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good girl. So you’ll appreciate me saying that if someone you knew treated you like shit, you’d want revenge too.’
He strode away, a can of beer in hand. Leanne gawked, watching his frame stagger into someone at the doorway and then out of view.
‘I’m sorry,’ Teresa said, ‘he’s had too much to drink. Ignore him.’
Leanne looked to Steven, helpless, as Teresa trotted after Geoff.
‘He gets like that,’ he confirmed, ‘tends to ramble.’
‘He was implying something. Did he know my grandparents?’
‘Only vaguely so far as I know.’
‘So what was he on about? It sounded like he was threatening me.’
He laid his hand on her thigh. ‘You’re reading too much into it. I’ve known him a while and whilst I don’t particularly like him I know he’s not dangerous. Believe me, it’s just the drink talking.’
‘I still think he knows something.’
‘If he’s implying anything, it’s probably aimed at me. He doesn’t like my relationship with Teresa.’
She narrowed her eyes, questioning his comment.
‘Just forget it. It’s not worth it.’
She remained quiet and pensive and looked through the open doorway where she could just about see Teresa and Geoff talking in the opposite room. Their conversation was strained, and periodically they glanced towards her. Then it struck. Were Steven and Teresa having an affair? It made sense and explained why Teresa had taken an instant dislike to her. She looked to Steven, who was chatting with another man at his side and her hopes of a growing relationship dived.
Needing a moment to process her thoughts, she stood up and headed out of the room. People were starting to depart, and the earlier muggy air generated by too many bodies was starting to lessen. She glanced at the bouquet of flowers upon a small table, inhaled a fresh floral scent and headed to the washroom.
She felt weighed down by a persistent ache inside. Splashing her face, she called upon her memories of Janet and Phillip to provide her with strength, and in an instant saw her grandmother’s creased skin, loose around her arms and face, and Phillip’s encouraging smile. She longed for their support and craved a hug.
Geoff’s warning rang through her head. It was not her fault that she had led a reasonable life. It was clear he had suffered in some way, but she had had her fair share of that too. Puffing out, she thought about the comfort and serenity of her empty house.
After a few moments, Leanne decided it was too soon for new relationships and strained social interaction, and decided to leave. She opened the door, and whilst aware of a low mumble of voices coming from the hallway, one particular conversation caught her attention. She stood by the door, her pulse throbbing in her throat, and started to eavesdrop.
Geoff and Steven were talking.
‘Leanne’s not right for you. Have you heard the rumours about her mother? She was a bit of a goer in her day. Do you want that again?’
‘Where have you heard that?’
‘Ted Moore for a start. From what I hear, he knew her pretty well.’
‘That’s nothing to do with Leanne.’
‘Are you willing to take that chance?’
‘I wouldn’t want to . . .’
With her body sapped of strength, Leanne leaned against the wall and listened to the conversation die away. Their budding relationship wasn’t worth the effort, and anyhow, it seemed that Steven had already made a decision based on a woman neither of them had known. Having drawn strength, she darted across and grabbed her coat, and announced she was leaving.
‘Hang on a minute, I’ll take you.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll walk.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
She stepped away.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, rushing to her side.
‘No, I’m just tired.’
He scampered into the next room, said something to Teresa, and met her at the outer door.
‘Okay. Let’s go.’
Outside, the air was freezing and it bit at her exposed skin, causing her to huddle her body. The wind whistled through the hedges and trees, and the stars and slither of moon twinkled in the sky. Within minutes, they arrived at her house.
‘Thanks for tonight,’ she said.
‘Sorry, it was a bit strained with Geoff. It will get easier. Teresa likes you.’
She opened the car door and stepped outside.
‘See you soon?’
She passed him a sad stare, pressed closed the door and strode towards her house. After a few moments, he drove away.
Leanne settled herself onto her mattress and removed all notions of Steven from her head. The exchange she had eavesdropped was disappointing, but it wasn’t earth shattering. He was a friend, a very recent friend at that, and held little value in her life. She decided that if he was to be so judgemental as to decide who she was based on rumours about her mother, then he wasn’t worth pursuing.
Yet, it was frustrating. Others knew more about the woman who had given birth to her, than she. She should ask around and pretend local gossip was of interest. She should visit the café and talk to Mrs Prattler.
Did she care enough to do that? The stress of knowing so little was starting to be a burden, and she thought of her previous life and her home, her real home. She may not have her family, but at least she was away from prying eyes and disparaging comments.
Her breaths slowed and she willed herself to be at peace. She calmed her mind, removed everything extraneous from her head, and then, once she felt tranquil, she searched for the answers she needed. Geoff and Teresa knew something beyond their admissions - the sideways glances, the uncomfortable shuffles, and the nonsensical rambling, all clues.
She drifted. She floated. She searched.
Their fractious exchange was her guiding force.
The room was silent, yet the sound of voices flooded Teresa’s ears. The aroma was different too, not familiar and not her own. Unfamiliar perfumes and aftershaves lingered in the air, combining with smoke. It seemed like an altogether different place, and she longed to restore the equilibrium and make it feel like home.
She gathered the empty glasses onto a tray and carried them to the kitchen. There was barely a centimetre of space on the extensive worktops, with the remains of the finger food on separate plates and stacks of dirty crockery alongside. She started by placing the food waste into a bin-liner and putting the crockery into the dishwasher. Then she added the glasses. There were too many to go into one load, and she held some aside, lining them up on the marble surface.
Her birthday party had been a success, despite being on a Sunday, and her mind wandered through the numerous conversations. Everyone had wished her well, most had been generous with gifts, and it generated a warm glow inside. She still had her friends, despite everything.
Geoff staggered into the kitchen. The top part of his shirt was unbuttoned, his rounded stomach sagged over his jeans, and his hair, grey and wild, was in need of a cut. Her stomach churned. Where was the man she had fallen in love with, the man that cared about his appearance, the man that was kind and compassionate? Had her eyes deceived her? Had he always carried a disapproving, moody glint?
‘Can’t you leave this until the morning?’ he asked.
‘I want to do it now.’
‘What do you think will happen? Do you expect we’ll be infested with rats and mice?’
‘It won’t take me long. What do you care anyway?’
‘I don’t.’
He pulled out a chair, slumped onto the wooden surface and puffed out. A stench of alcohol and smoke wafted towards her. She crinkled her nose and clamped shut her mouth.
‘You didn’t make enough food,’ he said, ‘I did warn you.’
‘There was plenty. Look at what’s left.’
‘The soggy sausage rolls and the dry ham sandwiches. Where on earth did you get that bread? What you were thinking?’
‘There was nothing wrong with them!’
‘There’s something wrong with you if you didn’t notice. They were bloody awful . . . embarrassing.’
She turned away and started to place the food into a container for the fridge. ‘No one said anything to me.’
‘They were too bloody polite. That boyfriend of yours would have done if he wasn’t wrapped up in-’
‘Steven is not my boyfriend!’
‘No, he’s too good for you. Without me, you’d be nothing and on the streets where I found you. No one else would have you after what you did, you should be grateful.’
She slammed the fridge door to, felt the vibrations pass along her arm. ‘That’s right, keep on telling me. I’ve such a poor memory, if you miss a day, I might actually get over it and move on.’
‘Not likely. Have you forgotten how we suffered? How I suffered?’
She stomped across the room, reached for another container, and pushed more food inside. ‘Just let it go! Do you think I need telling, over and over again, what a bad person I was?’
‘It’s not made any difference, though, has it?’ he retorted.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘What the hell were you thinking by inviting her here?’
‘I had no choice. Steven asked me.’
‘Course you did! It’s your party, your house!’
‘Don’t you think it would look a little bit suspicious if I said no? And you didn’t help by having a go at her like that. She’s not stupid. It’s not going to take long for her to put two and two together.’
He was silent and rotated an empty glass between his fingers.
‘If I can tolerate seeing her, I don’t see why you can’t,’ Teresa said.
‘After what happened? Bloody hell Teresa, that family-’
‘Stop it! Just stop it!’
Silence.
‘I care,’ he said in a calmer voice, ‘remember, I was there. I saw what it did to you. The endless crying, the way you tortured yourself, the anorexia. Churning up the past is not a good idea.’
She noticed the deep compassion in his eyes and remembered his soothing and protecting demeanour. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘Unless . . .’
‘Unless what?’
‘You want something out of this, right?’
She nodded feebly.
‘Well if you think you can cope, maybe you should be friends with her. I have a plan.’
He strolled away, walking into the main lounge, leaving her to drop onto the chair and contemplate the situation. Her heart was aching, her head swirling with painful reminders. Instinctively, she reached to the burn scar on her face and stroked the lumpy surface, and her body tightened. Then, she shut her eyes and imagined squashing her small daughter against her breast and her emotions tumbled.
They were less vivid than they had once been, and no longer squeezed her of breath. Weeks after the event, as calm returned, she had had a conversation with Geoff, her beloved husband, and they had agreed to make a new start. Everything had to change, all reminders of whom she had been, had to go, and they left the area. It was a plan and one they thought would work. Regrettably, Geoff struggled to adhere to it, and he insisted they returned. Apparently, or so he said, work and friends called.
With sadness in her eyes, she looked along the corridor imagining the place her husband was resting. Could they survive more upset in their relationship? What if she said no to contact with Leanne? Would he insist? It was going to be a difficult few weeks. If only Janet had sold the Honeysuckle Cottage . . .
Leanne wiped away the condensation from the window with a cloth and pressed her head closer to the glass, straining to see across the field through the drizzly rain. The branches on the trees at the end of the garden were thrashing against each other, and the yellowing leaves were struggling to hang on.
Perhaps Steven would not pass by today. If he did, he was braver than she, or perhaps more foolhardy. Even Tansy would struggle to gain anything from the excursion. Battling the wind and bitter rain could not be delightful, not in anyone’s mind.
The path to the village, as far as she could see, was empty. She wiped the glass with a cloth, removing her condensed breaths from her view, and scanned further away. There were no lonely figures and no wandering dogs, and her disappointments swelled. She had been hasty in her decision to rush away from Steven, and she needed to apologise.
Days had passed since the party and Leanne regularly looked across the field, longing for a glimpse. He had told her he walked by at midday and that he always took a circuitous route incorporating her house. Rarely did he go elsewhere during the week; he was a man of routine. So where was he? Had Andrea returned and disrupted his plans? Was he ill?
Stepping away from the window, she reprimanded herself for her behaviour. She had made it clear she was not interested in Steven and pushed him aside with a moody silence. He had made his decision also, deciding to label her as cheap because of her mother’s apparent behaviour. His silence, his choosing not to defend her to Geoff, was the only answer she had needed. She should not be wasting her time on such a man. She turned away.
Moments later, unable to resist, Leanne looked back through the window across the field. There was a figure in the distance and there was a dog. She edged closer and held her breath so as not to mist the glass. It was definitely Steven, his loose gait and his strong slender body so familiar.
Her heart throbbed. She longed to draw his attention and even considered racing outside and jumping up and down. But then it dawned. Steven was walking a different path; he had chosen to avoid her.
A small voice inside her head told her to remove herself from the window, but it was as though something magnetised her to the spot. Her legs locked and her eyes unblinking. His head turned. Her pulse quickened. Had he seen her?
Ashamed of her behaviour, she stepped back. He continued until a tree obscured her view. She urged him to reappear, prayed for him to take a direct route towards her house. It was not to be. Steven disappeared out of sight.
Leanne returned to the kitchen and sat at the table, her senses alert, still hoping for his padded footsteps or dulcet tones to break the silence. She could not get him out of her head, could not stop herself from hoping, wishing.
As a diversion, she reached to the newspaper, a local freebie, and spread it across the table and scanned the adverts and reports. There was an article on a charity fundraiser, one on a spate of missing cats, and another on the continuing struggle of out-of-town shops and businesses. She flicked over the sheet, the dry texture removing moisture from her fingertips, and stared at a two-page spread on the local hospital.
The article spoke of the imminent renovation and refurbishment, and there were multiple photographs, both of the inside and the outside of the building. Mesmerised, Leanne stared at the hospital front. She had been there before, many times, visiting someone as a little girl. She had to visit.
There was a steady flow of traffic passing through the town centre but not enough to cause unnecessary disruption or frustration. With the radio set on a low volume and her eyes alert to any imminent danger, she ambled her way through traffic lights, around roundabouts and through a level crossing, following signs to the hospital.
The thrill of the sight of the entrance and the car park caused ripples to cross Leanne’s body. She eased the car into a vacant space, paid the parking fees, and stepped through the blustery air. Her hair danced and her skin tightened. She raised her collar, placed her left hand into her pocket, and headed to the entrance. There she paused.
Gazing back towards the block of cars, her memories dominated. She had trotted alongside her grandparents, Janet’s firm grip dragging her along. There had been strained conversations - bickering, deep anxieties and anguished cries – and she had dared not speak. Silence had been the preferred option, that and private tears.
Leanne entered the hospital and inhaled the sterile odour. The decor was clean but nondescript and plain; the walls were white, the floors a smooth grey, and the furniture basic. There was nothing pleasant to look at, no colours, no inspirational paintings, no comfortable chairs; everything was either scratched or marked. Through the intervening years, since her last visit, nothing had changed. It was unsurprising that there had been a decision to refurbish.
After weaving through the hospital, she found herself in a small waiting area near an intensive care ward and sat down on a plastic hard-backed chair, her back to a row of windows. There was no one else around, bar a nurse at the end of the corridor, and she re-familiarised herself with a place she believed she once knew well.
Before her was a closed door, and up above, stretching along the length near the ceiling was a narrow window. She had traced it many times with her mind, noted the fine crack in the frame and the lumpy wall surface to one side, and she drifted back through time.
As a little girl, she had looked to this door, focusing upon the handle, and strained her ears to listen to the sounds of her grandparents nearing the exit, her face tight and her body rigid. More than anything, she had wanted to feel the comfort of their touch, yet she had also feared their sorrowful faces from emerging. Why, she could not say.
The answers remained elusive, and after hanging around for several more minutes, she decided to leave and headed to the cafeteria, a vast rectangular structure crammed full of tables and chairs, many occupied, some littered with used crockery. She purchased a coffee and weaved around tables to what she believed had once been a familiar spot near a pillar.
Images of Roy and Janet continued to perturb her, their bodies tightening with fear, their expressions agonizing. She had dared not speak, and sat in the chair, her legs dangling and immobile, and her arms resting on the table. There, she sought out moments of comfort with strained glances. Her torment had gone unnoticed.
She had a vague a memory of Janet informing her of a death, or perhaps it was an instinct. Either way, she had a firm belief that the person in intensive care had passed away. She remembered her grandparents’ pallid cheeks, grief-stricken and washed out, and recalled their tears. Their bodies had been together, their shared agony thickening the air.
Had they mentioned Karen was the one that had died? She believed they had, a consideration causing her confusion to intensify.
It seemed real, but it could not be true, not since her mother had not died. Searching for answers, reflecting on what Luke had shared, she took tentative sips of the hot coffee and enjoyed the comfort of the warm vapours pass to her stomach. Janet had been an evacuee, choosing to stay with the Coombs’ rather than returning to London, and later married and continued to live in Honeysuckle Cottage. The Coombs, having had no children of their own, left all their assets to Janet, but their lives reached a tragic and sudden end, shot dead for no apparent reason.
Trevor Parry was not a name familiar to Leanne, and Luke had found it difficult to make a connection also. It seemed as though it had been a random attack, yet, as Luke pointed out, if that had been true, there would have been no reason for Janet to refuse the inheritance. Leanne’s mother, Karen Jefferson, must be the missing link.
As a child, Leanne had created a person in her mind that fit the role of mother. She had a rounded figure, dark brown flowing hair, a pleasant face with even skin tones, and an infectious smile. She would have been hard-working with a quiet personality. She would have always been there, whatever happened, whatever stress befell them.
Leanne was unsure if the description was fiction or if it had come from Janet and Roy, but she was sure of the tense atmosphere that always surrounded discussions about Karen. Usually, they brushed aside her questions, their excuse being it hurt to talk about such a tragic loss. So gradually, over the years, her interrogation stopped. It did not matter. Janet filled the gap - she was everything a mother should be – and she was happy to let it rest.
Where were the photos? Where was the evidence that Karen even existed? Leanne’s body and mind ached with disappointment, mostly aimed at herself for never asking questions and never pursuing the baffling and unfathomable, but also at Janet and Roy for keeping the truth a secret. It was acceptable if it had been to protect her during childhood, but they should have said something to her when she matured. To wait until the last moment was cowardly and disrespectful.
It pained to think badly of the dead, and she rested her head in her hands and felt the warm vapours reach her skin. Alone with her thoughts, she cried out to Janet, at first screaming at her for keeping such a secret, and then pleading with her for answers, her imaginary voice quivering and her eyes filling with tears.
The shrouded past was sapping her of strength. She finished her coffee and looked around the café at the sombre folks and noticed Roy and Janet’s agony similarly reflected in the eyes of two women nearby. Reprimanding herself for her self-indulgence, she stood up and strode out through the double doors and to the car. Her phone sounded. It was Tyler. Her face brightened.
‘Hello love,’ she said, ‘how are you?’
‘Fine Mum . . . having a great time. We’ve been ten-pin bowling in Manchester and then went on to a community farm. It’s something the girls wanted to do.’
‘I’m glad you’re keeping busy. Do you want some money? I think you should be paying your way.’
‘No, it’s okay. Darren said it was.’
‘Even so-’
‘No. How’s it going with you?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. Any closer to finding your mum?’
She hesitated. ‘No.’
‘Have you found anything else out?’
‘Not really.’
‘So what have you been doing? Do the locals know anything?’
‘Why the sudden interest?’
‘Can’t I be? She’s related to me too.’
‘I know, but . . .’
His behaviour was odd. All week she had to almost pin him down and force him to listen, and now, all of a sudden, he wanted to know everything.
‘. . . I’ve just visited the hospital. Gran and granddad visited someone when I was a little girl. I could remember sitting in a waiting area.’
‘Who were they visiting?’
‘Mum I think, but I thought whoever they visited had died. I can still see their faces when they walked out of the hospital room, stricken with grief.’
‘You would think it was your Mum since that’s what gran said.’
‘I suppose, but it seemed real.’
‘Who else could it have been?’
‘That’s just it. I don’t know of anyone else.’
‘Then you must have imagined she died. She could have been ill. Have you mentioned it to your private investigator?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Then you should. That’s why you’re paying him, isn’t it?’
She smiled. ‘What have you done with my little boy? You’ve grown up all of a sudden.’
‘No, I haven’t, you just haven’t noticed before.’
‘I’m so proud of you Tyler. You’ve been handling everything well . . . Phillip, Gran, Darren. I can’t wait to see you again.’
‘Mum . . .’
His voice quivered and then he exhaled. Filled with dread, she started to shake, the phone rocking in her hand. He was leaving her, just as she had predicted. He was going to a better life, a bigger family.
‘I want to stay on bit longer.’
Inside, she screamed. She wanted to hold him, force him to stay, tell him he could not abandon her, but she just could not do it. Her words, her appeal, were trapped somewhere within.
‘It’s just for a while,’ he said. ‘I’ll still see you. How about the weekend?’
Her voice was heavy with grief. ‘What about school?’
‘Darren will take me. It’ll give you an opportunity to stay on a bit longer. I’m sure, if you ask around, someone must know something. It’ll be good for you.’
Her search for her mother faded into insignificance. She would give it all up in a flash to have her son back. Damn it! Why now? Why was she being punished so?
‘Please Mum. It’s not forever.’
‘If it’s what you want.’
‘It is,’ he replied weakly.
The call ended and the phone rested in her palm. In a daze, she gazed out of the windscreen and into the car park, her senses dulled, her life in tatters and her self-pitying attitude returning. She had no energy to fight it, no will to do so, and thought about home. She wanted to slump onto the sofa with chocolates and cream cake; she wanted to eliminate the daylight and switch off the phone; she wanted to watch some meaningless programme on television. Then she would sleep.
Leanne discovered that keeping the ache of disappointment from overwhelming her was a perpetual challenge, and even though she busied herself as much as possible by visiting local attractions, tinkling on the piano, and reading books, she still could not keep her mind occupied.
Blanketed in the warm glow of the sun, she sat at the kitchen table and gazed at a photo album resting on the edge of the kitchen unit. It was difficult to resist and she traced the leather-look cover in her mind, her sorrows swelling. The pain was necessary and the self-torture slow and persistent. She wanted to feel her body contorting with grief, and she wanted to feel her tears swell and streak her cheeks. Nonetheless, as Leanne reached for the photo album and felt the burning ripple of memories spread through her body, a tiny voice of wisdom asked her to stop. It was an impossible request.
She flicked open the cover and looked at her son’s young face; his baby blue eyes, round and full of wonderment, his soft creamy-pink cheeks, his even white teeth and small tight lips. He was her baby, her pride and joy. He was the centre of her life.
She turned over the sheet, looking at image upon image of her boy, and her tightened chest rose and fell, her breathing squeezed. There were photos of his birthday, a school sports day, a swimming competition, and his first attempts on his bicycle. There were photographs of a camping trip and a zoo trip, and there were numerous images of Tyler with Phillip and Janet. She wanted to be there again, reverse time, and appreciate the moments in a way that she sensed she never had.
She had lost too much time to trivia, the stress of daily life once weighing her down so utterly. So often, Leanne had bundled Tyler to one side, keeping him occupied with computer games and the television. She had spent lazy days in bed, wasted hours having fractious exchanges with anyone within earshot, and she had moped over the most pointless of irregularities. Even after Phillip entered her life, she had not delighted in her son’s presence enough, and within the blink of an eye, Tyler had grown up.
Now he was gone and Leanne felt as though her life was not worth living. She could deal with life without Phillip and Janet, but not Tyler, not her son. He was her world; he was everything.
She shut her eyes and her face twisted in agony as she relived the torturous moment when Tyler told her he was not returning. He wanted to be away from her, preferring life with Darren. She had failed him completely.
Craving a soothing word, and unable to reach out to either Janet or Phillip, her frustration intensified. She could not release her agony with a soothing flood of tears, despite reliving each torturous moment of parting, and it stayed with her as a perpetual and persistent ache. Her previous heartaches, which had crippled her so intensely, now seemed insignificant, and she wondered if her suffering had been self-induced, a selfish need. In comparison, Tyler’s decision had resulted in a sense of absolute desolation, and her agony lay deep within her gut, irremovable.
Leanne had failed her duty as a mother and she had no other role. She was neither daughter, nor granddaughter, nor a wife. Not even someone’s colleague. Where was her future? Everything before her was bleak; there was no chink of light. She laid her head on the table and closed her eyes. She wanted to vanish.
Wallowing in self-pity was draining. Deciding it was time to do something constructive, Leanne thought back to her conversation with Steven and to his suggestion that she started her handmade jewellery business. Brushing aside a vision of his lopsided smile, which accompanied another flicker of regret, she reached into a drawer for a notepad and pencil and urged herself to design.
Her inspiration and motivation were lacking, and for a few moments, the pencil hovered millimetres above the sheet. Months previous, she had numerous designs within her head, bursting for release. Now, when she needed them the most, it was as though they had been erased or altered; her ideas seemed ugly and ridiculous and not the exquisite work of art intended. She battled with a small voice that doubted her abilities to create such pieces, and she questioned why anyone would want to purchase the unusual.
Phillip’s encouraging words became her focus. He would have suggested she calmed her mind, used meditation if necessary, and played some tranquil music. He would have told her of her talents, pointing to her earlier attempts. He would have talked through her design ideas.
Feigning enthusiasm, she lifted herself from the chair and headed across the hallway to the outer door. There was barely a breeze outside, and the loosening leaves on the trees hardly flickered. It was a beautiful autumnal day, warm and bright. Inhaling the fresh country air, pure and unpolluted, she strode towards the barn alongside a hedge.
The long strands of fading grass were wilting and damp and moistened her ankles, and the straggling branches invaded the trodden path. She stayed close to the hedge, the once distinct path vivid in her mind, aware that in her younger days, like Janet, she too had trotted to see the hens around the corner.
It would be good to resurrect the site and return it to the glorious place it once was, with livestock and vegetables, delicate and colourful floral displays, and the scent of homemade cookery wafting from the house. She imagined how her grandmother must have felt coming from London, leaving behind the smoky city, the overcrowded buildings, and the blitz. The peace and tranquillity must have been like entering another universe, another time, and she was beginning to see the attraction.
Her steps faltered as she approached the fire damaged barn. The brick walls were sound, but part of the roof had collapsed and the remaining charcoaled beams exposed. There was little left of the roof at the side with the hayloft; at the other side and scorched by flames was an old wooden chest. Stacked alongside were a couple of cardboard boxes.
She strode across, stepping on the concrete and into relative darkness and waited for her eyes to adjust. Then she pulled open a drawer and scanned the old rusty tools placed side by side across the bottom. There were chisels, hammers, and billhooks, but there was nothing small enough and suitable to use in a piece of jewellery.
The next drawer contained an assortment of bolts, washers, nails, and screws, and other small items. It was exactly what she was looking for, and so she rummaged through the disorder, searching for pieces with a good reflective surface. Feeling inspired, she gathered tiny brass keys, small metal plates, wire, and a sheet of copper, laying them on the top.
‘Leanne?’
Alerted by the faint cry of her name, she darted out of the barn and turned the corner to the house. It was Teresa. As she stepped through the grass and weaved around a straying branch, they shared greetings.
‘I’ve been gathering some odds and sods in the barn to make some jewellery,’ Leanne said. ‘Want to come and have a look?’
Hesitating, Teresa pulled each of her fingers in turn.
‘I’ve seen jewellery made out of junk, and it can be effective. Some is pretty awful too.’
‘How’s it done?’
‘I’ll show you.’
She took the lead, heading to the barn door, and then turned around to speak. Teresa was standing a few metres away, her arms wrapped around her middle, her expression fearful.
‘Everything okay?’ Leanne asked.
She nodded, anxious.
Ignoring Teresa’s qualms, Leanne stepped through the door and headed straight towards her assortment of items. Sensing Teresa’s absence, she turned around. Teresa was moving cautiously, and staring at the hayloft and the burnt beams.
‘Oh,’ Leanne said, looking to her burn scars, ‘I’m sorry.’
She gulped, voiceless.
‘It must have been terrifying.’
She returned her gaze. ‘Show me what you plan to do with this junk.’
Leanne was hesitant, and wondered if she should question Teresa further; instead, she bumbled along, explaining how she intended to clean and polish the objects and attach them to a chain. When she got no response, her confidence faded. She was about to give up on her explanation when Teresa made an encouraging remark.
She found the courage to continue. ‘You need objects that complement each other, say like these small keys and the washers and bolts. It might sound crummy, but I’ve seen it done, and when they are all cleaned up and coated in something to make them extra shiny they can look fantastic.’
‘I’d never have considered using old junk.’
‘Think of it as recycling.’ She leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of the chest. ‘Blimey, look at this, old piano keys. I’ve seen pieces done out of these. They were definitely my favourite.’
She fingered the small strips, her excitement rising, her ideas bouncing through her mind. When she looked up, Teresa was staring at something at the far side of the barn, near the hayloft.
‘What is it?’
Teresa walked across and then crouched to the floor. She was holding something in her hand. It was a chain with a pendant. She wiped away the dirt and a shimmering blue stone emerged.
‘I wonder who it belonged to,’ Leanne said.
She passed it across, her hand trembling.
‘It could be Gran’s . . . or Mum’s. It looks valuable. Did I tell you I’m trying to find her?’
Teresa nodded.
‘Fancy a drink, and I’ll tell you what I know?’
‘All right.’
‘Great,’ she said, clutching the necklace. ‘I could do with a bit of company. It gets a bit lonely out here.’
Proud to show off the house, Leanne fixed her gaze on Teresa as they entered the lobby. Whilst her companion didn’t give much away, Leanne knew she had to be impressed.
‘It’s not bad, is it?’ she said.
‘No, it’s not.’
‘It’s a bit dated, but given how long it’s been since anyone has lived here, I was surprised to find it in such good condition.’
‘It’s not been lived in at all then?’
‘No, I don’t think so. There’s a tragic story connected to it. Mr and Mrs Coombs were shot dead, and as Janet was like a daughter to them, she inherited the lot.’
Teresa sat down.
‘From what I can gather, they were a lovely couple. I can’t see why anyone would have wanted them dead.’
Teresa's hands were shaking, and her face, damp with moisture, had turned a pasty white. ‘Sorry, I need the toilet.’
She jumped to her feet and fled out of the room clutching her stomach. Leanne followed her, and just as Teresa faded out of view at the top of the staircase, she shouted it was the first door on the left. She had already found her way.
After a few minutes, Teresa returned and joined Leanne at the table. ‘Sorry about that, I’ve a bit of a stomach bug.’
‘You didn’t look too good. Are you okay now?’
‘I think so.’
With both hands clinging to the mug, she sipped her coffee. ‘W-was Janet adopted?’
‘No, she was an evacuee. She was placed here with two other children, a brother and sister. It wasn’t her first stay. She’d been with someone else for a while, and arrived full of bruises.’
‘Her guardians abused her?’
She nodded. ‘She had made an agreement with her parents to return home if it didn’t go well, but they let her down and never collected her. I don’t know whether she ever forgave them.’
‘That sounds a bit harsh.’
She scowled. ‘I don’t see why. If I make a promise to Tyler, I would always do what I could to keep it. Janet’s parents fobbed her off . . . they never intended to keep their word.’
‘It wouldn’t have been that easy in those days, dropping everything and travelling half way across the country on demand.’
‘Then they should never have agreed to it in the first place.’
Teresa was staring into the mug, her eyes narrow and her expression tense.
‘Anyhow,’ she continued, ‘worse was to come. Janet had been writing home, and when she returned, she found her letters unopened. She was devastated and stopped writing. The next time she returned to London, they’d moved away.’
‘That’s awful,’ she said in a half-hearted tone.
‘They can’t have cared much to do something so horrible.’
‘That’s a big assumption.’
‘No, it’s not. How can you say that?’
‘There are always two sides to every argument Leanne. I wouldn’t judge too hastily if I were you.’
‘But she was their daughter. There’s no excuse for not telling her where they’d moved to.’
‘No, but maybe they had had their reasons. It . . . it could be complicated.’
‘What do you know?’
‘I don’t know anything. I just like to be open-minded.’
Leanne leaned back into the chair and studied Teresa. She was enjoying being disagreeable; it was reminiscent of their first meeting in the village hall. What was her motive?
‘Did Janet ever have contact with her parents again?’ Teresa asked.
‘I don’t know. I’m still trying to find that out.’
‘Then don’t be so quick to judge.’
‘It’s difficult when I’ve so little to go on. I don’t have any other relatives, at least no one who knows anything about this.’
‘Some things are better off remaining hidden.’
‘My mother too?’
‘Perhaps. She hasn’t contacted you, has she? Otherwise, she would be here.’
‘What if she didn’t know how to find me? I have to give this a go.’
She held a self-assured pose. ‘It seems to me that Janet didn’t value family ties very much, breaking two relationships.’
‘No, that’s not true.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘She was a good person . . . she would have had her reasons. She was warm, caring and intelligent.’
‘And good at keeping secrets.’
Hesitating, Leanne pressed together her lips. ‘Maybe she was. She was a bit stubborn too, and she knew her mind. I think some people found her quite fierce but she was always nice to me . . . well nearly always. She was quite the disciplinarian, an English teacher, and a good one from what I’ve heard.’
‘It sounds like she must have had good reasons for keeping your mother from you.’
‘I’m not sure that was her choice to make.’
‘She may have thought she was protecting you. It could be best to let it drop.’
‘No.’ Leanne was pensive. ‘If she kept quiet and sold this place, I would never have been any the wiser. She wanted me to know something. This was her way of allowing me to find out.
‘If that were true, she’d have told you years ago.’
She stared at her lap.
‘I can understand you feel hurt,’ Teresa said.
‘Do you? I have a feeling people around here know more about my family than I do, yet no one seems to be willing to say anything.’
‘Like who?’
She picked up her empty mug, hurried to the sink, and turned her back. ‘Geoff for one. It seemed to me like he was implying something.’
‘He was drunk and didn’t know what he was saying.’
‘So Steven said.’
‘And it’s true. He’s having a bad time at the moment . . . we both are. A few things have happened that have stirred up some issues. You shouldn’t take too much notice of him.’
Avoiding her gaze, she rinsed the mug in warm water, added a touch of washing up liquid, and swirled it around. Instinctively, she could sense Teresa’s lack of honesty and it was perturbing. She had visited, full of smiles and claiming to be a friend, yet she was sure she had her own agenda, her discomfort and Geoff’s threatening comments too strong to ignore.
Leanne spun around, unwilling, just yet, to alienate her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep the mark. Geoff’s your husband, I respect that.’
‘He can be a bit full on. He admitted it the next day and said he shouldn’t have taken his mood out on you. He isn’t keen on having parties . . . finds them stressful.’
‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, I did. You seemed to be getting on well with Steven.’
‘He’s a nice man.’
‘Single too. Are you going to see him again?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You should. I think the two of you are well suited.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Mind?’
Embarrassed, she reached the two mugs, dried them, and placed them back into the cupboard. ‘Fancy moving to the next room?’
‘Sure.’
She led the way, switched on the light and looked around, scanning the room the way she imagined Teresa would be doing. There was a piano on one side, a large bookcase on the other, and comfortable seating in the middle. With the exception of the floral wallpaper and curtains, which were old-fashioned, it was a beautiful room, spacious and with a stunning brick fireplace.
‘Do you play?’ Teresa asked, glancing at the piano.
‘No.’
‘I’ll teach you if you like. Can I have a tinkle?’
‘Of course.’
She did just that, and the sound caused her to pull a face. ‘It needs a retune. If you’re interested, I know someone in the area who can do it.’
‘It sounds okay to me.’
She chuckled. ‘Really? I can see I have a lot to teach you.’
Nevertheless, Teresa had a go, and the sound, or so it seemed to Leanne, was quite beautiful.
‘It’s ages since I’ve played.’
‘You are good.’
‘I’m out of practice. I used to have lessons years ago, but we could never afford a piano so I had to use the one at school. It was one of the few things that kept me out of trouble.’
‘You don’t seem the type to get into trouble.’
She lowered her head, her shame visible. ‘I got in with the wrong crowd and played truant from school, and I drank too much and did drugs. Geoff pulled me away.’
‘I would never have thought that.’
‘Unfortunately, it’s true. I didn’t have much sense of self-worth back then. I . . .’
Leanne tilted her head, urging her on.
‘. . . I have a lot to thank him for, Leanne. I could never repay him for what he did for me. It’s just a pity it never worked out the way we intended.’ She averted her gaze. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.’
‘I don’t mind.’
Teresa was pensive. ‘If I’d have had a son or daughter and I was still that person and doing crappy things, I don’t think I should have been given a second chance.’
‘Are you talking about my mother?’ she said stiffly.
‘Do you think she deserves to have you back in her life after all these years?’
‘She might not have done anything wrong.’
‘But most likely, she did. I urge you to forget her.’ Her expression softened. ‘I like you, Leanne. I don’t want to see you hurt.’
‘Thanks.’ She paused, reflective. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Steven told me you couldn’t have children. I think you would have made a wonderful mother.’
There was a deep sadness in her eyes and a pained expression distorted her face. After a few moments, she thanked her for her compliment and rose to her feet.
‘I didn’t come here to make us both miserable,’ she continued. ‘How about we all go out for a meal? You, me, Geoff and Steven.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Please, as a favour to me. I need to spend more time with Geoff, and it’s less stressful with others around.’
‘Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?’
‘It was his idea.’
‘All right then, so long as Steven agrees.’
‘Good, that’s settled.’
Leanne followed Teresa to the kitchen and watched her companion slip her arms into her jacket, and all the time contemplated her date with Steven. Impatiently, she wanted to see him to confirm it, and decided, as her courage was still with her, that she should go to see him straight away.
‘Are you going back through the village?’ Leanne asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have a lift? I have a couple of things to do.’
‘Sure.’
They climbed into the car, reversed back onto the lane, and headed into the village in a comfortable silence. The car stopped opposite a general store.
‘I’ve enjoyed our chat,’ Leanne said. ‘See you soon.’
‘Will do.’
She levered herself to her feet, pressed closed the door, and stood for a moment as the car eased away. First, she would buy some basics from the shop, and then she would surprise Steven.
The sense of a piercing stare caused her to spin. The woman in the black shiny jacket was metres away. When their eyes made brief contact, she made a swift move to leave.
‘Wait.’ Leanne yelled, trotting towards her.
The woman stopped. She turned her head and held a disconcerted expression.
‘Who are you, and what were you doing in my house?’
The woman, with furrowed lines on her pallid skin, and dry, unmanaged hair, glared antagonistically, and for a second Leanne regretted her assertive comment, preferring a more coy approach. Nevertheless, she had spoken and had no choice but to watch and wait for her response.
The woman raised the cigarette to her mouth, and without removing her eyes from Leanne’s face, breathed in the noxious substance before exhaling the smoke to one side. Leanne sensed she was being analysed and her courage faded; her departure was imminent and her apology for disrupting her and asking such a direct question on the tip of her tongue.
‘Who are you?’ The woman asked.
‘Leanne Stark.’ She steadied her voice, removing the quiver, and tried to appear confident and in control. ‘I live in the house on Fen Lane. I saw you there. You left your jacket in my kitchen.’
The woman inhaled again. The wait was intolerable. ‘You inherited it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You related to Roy and Janet Jefferson?’
‘I’m their granddaughter. What do you know about them?’
She started to walk away, striding with purpose.
Energised by a trickle of panic, Leanne trotted on behind, following in her shadow and feeling like a lost puppy. ‘Who are you?’
The woman stopped and turned around so abruptly that Leanne almost stepped into her. ‘I knew them years ago.’ She guffawed. ‘Boy did I! They didn’t like me, took pleasure in making my life difficult. It turned into a competition, see, but I always got the better of them. I can still see their faces, so humiliated.’
Leanne’s colour drained. ‘Are you-’
‘I’m Queenie, an old friend of Karen’s.’
She extinguished the cigarette end with her foot, and sat on a bench, leaning back into the frame with her legs apart.
‘Do you know where Karen is?’
‘Not seen her.’
‘I was told she had died. She’s my mother.’
‘Is she now? You look nothing like her. I was there when you were born. You were an ugly baby, like a dried prune.’
Queenie laughed and then gazed around the square. There was a statue in the middle, a community notice board at one side, and a flower border at the other. Only the occasional car passed along the roads, and even though there were a number of vehicles parked on the streets, only some of the owners would be visiting the general store, the post office, or the takeaways. Most were likely to be residents of the nearby houses.
‘Did . . . did she want a baby?’
‘Suppose so, once she got used to the idea. Although it did tie her down more than she would have liked. We rented a flat in Northampton for a while, and we did most of our business from there.’
‘What business?’
Queenie raised her eyebrow. ‘You’re nothing like her, are you? Reckon Janet’s got to you. She was a prig, for sure.’
Leanne felt herself stiffen. ‘There’s nothing wrong with having morals.’
‘We all have morals love. She just thought hers were better. Did you know Janet cut off her family - her parents and brothers and sister?’
‘They left her! They never told her they were moving out of London.’
‘Really? Is that what you’ve been told? Once Janet moved here, she thought herself too good for her family. An education and money doesn’t make you a better person. It’s what’s in here.’ She touched her chest with her hand. ‘Karen had a big heart. No one knew her as I did. She was misunderstood and deserved better treatment.’
There was silence. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and the temperature dropped. Leanne shivered and raised her collar, and then edged herself onto the bench, Queenie’s smoky scent dominating.
‘Why did she leave me?’ Leanne asked.
‘Don’t sound so pathetic. You’ve done all right for yourself . . . your fancy clothes, high standards, and no doubt pots of money. She had nothing . . . disappeared without a penny to her name and no family who cared if she lived or died.’
‘She had you.’
Queenie reached into her pocket and retrieved a packet of Silk Cut. ‘She had no one.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Boy, you’re persistent. She went back to Northampton. We had friends there, worked the clubs and bars. I never saw her again. That’s why I’m here now. I heard about Janet’s death and thought Karen might have inherited the house. She should have had in my opinion, but Janet had no idea about blood being thicker than water.’
An aged man wearing a suit, and a collar and tie, hobbled past, guided by his terrier dog. He turned his head and nodded his greeting.
‘Janet was always a stubborn cow. She’d never change her mind once she’d made a decision. She was too proud.’
‘You don’t like her much, do you?’
‘Like stating the bloody obvious?’ Queenie looked to her feet and lowered her voice. ‘Just glad she wasn’t my mother.’
There was sadness in her voice and an obvious hesitation. The deep sorrow she had felt for her friend remained.
‘I’ve enough of my own problems,’ Queenie continued, ‘In fact, I’ve had a life full of them. My first partner threw me out when my baby girl was stillborn, and my second partner was banged up for theft. I’ve spent my life working several jobs just to make ends meet, and rarely get more than four hours sleep.’
‘Sounds like you’ve done it tough.’
‘You don’t know the half of it. I’ve no doubt you’ve lived in a fancy house somewhere . . . had everything you wanted.’
She did not respond, believing it was more of an accusation than an observation.
‘Well, I’m glad for you. Maybe there was some sense in what Janet did, after all.’
‘She wasn’t all that bad.’
‘Too strict for me. You know, Karen had to be in by nine-thirty, her boyfriends had to be vetted, and she wasn’t allowed friends in the house.’
It was difficult for Leanne to believe they were talking about the same person and disbelief etched onto her face.
‘Yes, it’s true. She wanted an automaton, not someone with an opinion. It’s no wonder Karen was rebellious.’
‘She was never like that with me.’
‘Did you always do as you were told - study hard, mix with the right types, say please and thank you?’
Leanne nodded.
‘Then that’s why. Karen was no goody-goody. She made her own mind up about things.’
Leanne’s nails became her focus, her self-righteous attitude seeming deplorable. She wanted to list everything she had done wrong, tell her about her wild times as a teenager when she got pregnant, but even that seemed tame. Janet rarely reprimanded her for such poor behaviour, and she surmised that her grandmother must have learned from her mistakes and the devastating consequences.
‘You’re painting a different picture of Janet,’ Leanne said, ‘it’s difficult for me to take in.’
Queenie’s expression hardened. ‘You calling me a liar?’
‘No, of course not.’
The comments rattled, and Leanne looked to the concrete before her, tracing the cracks and the scatterings of bird poop, and tried to comprehend what she had learned. It was difficult to hear such atrocious sounding comments, especially since there was no way Janet could defend herself. Could she have been that strict?
‘Is that your boyfriend?’
Her head jerked. Steven was standing outside the shop door, staring whilst placing something in his pocket. Her heart hammered. He smiled a wonderful lopsided smile.
‘That’s Steven George,’ she replied misty-eyed.
‘Look,’ Queenie said, ‘I have to go. If I find anything out, I’ll let you know. Can I have your number?’
‘Sure.’
She could not remove her gaze from Steven, and reached for her phone and showed Queenie the number. He was sauntering towards her, his arms relaxed, his feet pointing outwards. Her skin tingled and her pulse quickened. Suddenly, despite the cooling air, she felt very warm.
Grinning from ear-to-ear, Leanne wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in his arms, grateful for his sudden appearance. Instead, she straightened her back and pulled in her stomach, and stepped towards him, stopping close enough to breathe in his scent, but not so close to appear desperate.
His hands were loose by his side and his eyes held a teasing glint. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Queenie, a friend of Mums. I was just coming to see you.’
‘Were you?’
Her heart was fluttering. She edged a fraction closer. ‘Teresa came around. She suggested the four of us go out for a meal.’
‘Are you okay with that?’
‘If you are.’
‘I thought I’d put you off.’ He smiled. ‘I’m not used to this dating lark.’
‘Me neither.’
‘Fancy coming around to my place for a drink, that is if you’re not doing anything?’
‘That would be good.’
After popping into the shop for a few basics, Steven escorted Leanne to his car making general conversation then drove through the village streets to his home on the new estate. It was set in the middle of a row of identical detached dwellings and had a simple designed with a tidy paved front garden with potted plants and a red brick drive leading to a garage.
Tansy’s enthusiastic cries welcomed them. Her paws padded the floor, the efforts from her wagging tail sent ripples of excitement along her back, and squeals of glee escaped from her mouth. In an attempt to calm her down, Steven told her to sit. Her rear end hovered centimetres above the ground, her tail swishing, brushing the carpet in quick, short sweeps.
It was a delight to witness such unadulterated pleasure. Steven had only been away for twenty minutes, but it made no difference to Tansy, the greeting was always the same, energetic and warming, and for a short while, as he guided Leanne into the sitting room, the dog was engrossed in his every step, following like a shadow.
Steven left to make the drinks and Leanne perched on the edge of the soft fabric three-seater sofa and absorbed the scene. There were porcelain figurines of young women in elegant poses, set in a glass cabinet, and there were seascape paintings on the wall. There was no clutter, no out-of-place objects, but there was dog hair on the floor and a distinct doggy smell.
The dog wandered towards her, as though reading her mind, and stood, with her paws planted and her tail wagging. Unable to resist, Leanne reached out and touched her short, coarse fur. Tansy’s eyes widened. She started to pant, her lolling tongue dripping with saliva.
‘She likes you,’ Steven said.
She turned to face him. ‘Is she always this fussy?’
‘Yes. She doesn’t get to see people often. She likes the company.’ He placed the coffees onto coasters and slumped onto the armchair, his legs apart, his arms spread. ‘How are you coping in that massive house?’
‘Okay. I’m going to be staying on a bit longer. Tyler’s decided to stay with Darren for a while.’
‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Gutted, if I’m honest. I know I should be happy for him, but . . . well, I miss him.’
‘How long is it going to be for?’
Averting her gaze, she fiddled with a button on her blouse. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I know how you feel. More than anything you want them to be happy, but at the same time there’s this gnawing selfish ache inside.’ He caught her eye. ‘It must be even worse for you. At least I know what Andrea is like.’
‘That’s just it. I don’t know anything about Darren. Do you think I should have said no?’
‘Tyler’s old enough to make his own mind up about things. Is he a sensible lad?’
‘I would say so. He’s matured a lot during these last few months. I hardly recognise him at times, but, having said that, he is only sixteen and still a child.’
‘They can be wise at that age.’
‘That may be so, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying. When I was with Darren years ago, he had loose morals . . . didn’t give a toss about anyone but himself. I hope he’s changed.’
‘It’s been a while so he should have. I think you just have to trust Tyler. If there’s a problem, you have to believe he will come good and turn to you.’
She smiled. He was saying the right thing, and her perpetual ache lifted. She would always be Tyler’s mother. He was a sensible young man and he loved her. She should not worry.
He leaned back into the chair. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Leanne. I thought I’d messed up.’
‘Me too. I’m sorry I rushed off from Teresa’s. I . . . Geoff-’
‘Geoff can be annoying. Take no notice.’
‘Teresa told me he realised he had overstepped the mark. She said it was his idea to go out for a meal.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘He’s not known to backtrack.’
‘Do you think he’s up to something?’
‘No, I doubt it. Teresa would see through that.’
‘She doesn’t think it’s a good idea to search for Mum,’ she said, her voice weakening, ‘I have a feeling she knows more than she’s letting on.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so. If she did, I’m sure she’d tell you.’
‘I hope so. I’m just a bit on edge at the moment . . . probably a bit stressed and maybe even paranoid.’
‘Understandable given what you’ve been through. Who did you say that woman in the village was?’
‘Queenie. Do you know her?’
‘No, I’ve not seen her before.’
‘She didn’t have a high opinion of Janet. She said she was strict and not a nice woman to be around.’
‘She didn’t seem like that to me,’ he said.
‘No, me neither, but I suppose people change.’
For a moment, both were silent, and then Steven stood up and joined her on the sofa, sitting a breath away and wiping all thoughts of Queenie from her mind. His hand rested on the fabric next to her thigh. He was staring, analysing. She could not look and feared the intimacy.
Her pulse was racing and hands were trembling, and without thinking, she dropped her hand to his. He took it in his palm. It was firm and warm. She was safe, part of something again, and looked into his eyes, pools of blue, deep and reassuring.
Their lips met. He swept his hand across her back. Her body tingled, hypersensitive, her pleasure domes receptive and wanting more; yet, she dared not move, fearing an inability to control herself, and remained statuesque, soaking up his touch.
He pulled away, gazed at her with adoration and smiled. She smiled back.
A deepening niggle enveloped her and she reached for her mug and squeezed out the last sip of cold coffee. It should be Phillip holding her in his arms. It should be him comforting her. It should be him walking into the future by her side.
Recollections of his premature death crashed into her, dissolving all feeling for Steven. Upon learning of the accident, she had crumpled to the floor, still clutching the telephone in her hand. She could remember experiencing a feeling of utter emptiness, and it had crushed her of life, removing all desire to live. The voice had been faint in the earpiece, the condolences meaningless. She had been static, unable to function, unable to be hysterical. Phillip had gone, died in a tragic accident, crashing into a rock face. He had gone forever.
‘I . . . I can’t do this,’ she whimpered, turning to Steven. ‘I’m sorry.’
He waited, sorrow not quite hidden behind his impassive expression.
She moved to the edge of the sofa, searching for calmness, searching for the right words to explain her behaviour. She looked at him, her words inappropriate. She looked away.
A book on a nearby bookcase caught her eye. It was a book on microlighting. Ignited by further panic, she leapt to her feet.
‘I should go.’
‘You don’t have to. I do understand.’
As though magnetised, she reached to the book. Yet she was not quite able to touch it, not quite able to explain herself. Plaintively, she looked to Steven then started to the door.
He escorted her outside. His words, his offer of friendship, floated in the air.
Her eyes misted with tears, and her inability to love again squeezing her of breath.
The door slammed shut, echoing in Queenie’s ears as she advanced to the kitchen. Her anxieties were rising, her blood fizzing, and her mind swirling and incoherent. Needing a barricade, a subtle opt-out from her ponderings, she cracked open a can of lager, lit a cigarette, and sat at the kitchen table.
The refreshing liquid descended her throat, soothing both mentally and physically. It was a familiar place, an instant albeit temporary solution, and it dampened down her agitations and eased her tremors. Her life was a mess, her woes never ending and preventing her from moving forward, and she longed for an end.
A couple of weeks previous her son, Kyle, had pushed her aside. All she had wanted to do was to spend time with her young granddaughter and offer advice, but he had not been receptive to her suggestions and had told her to leave. His final words and the piercing screams from his stuck-up girlfriend reverberated through her ears. She called her an interfering bitch, snatched the baby from her arms, and criticised her efforts with Kyle, reminding her of the faults as a mother.
It was lies. Granted, Kyle's had not had the best childhood but it had not been her fault. His father abandoned her, she had been evicted from her flat, and she had no income. Then there was the incident when she drank too much and Kyle had wandered out of the house. He had come to no harm, so why was everyone in such a panic? Why had everyone made her feel sick to the stomach?
Her network of support had been lacking. She had no family to turn to, and her friends claimed to be too busy, their own lives taking priority. She had no choice but to take the occasional chance, but never, not ever, would she have deliberately put her child in danger.
Kyle and his stuck-up girlfriend should have been more appreciative of her offer of assistance; they did not have a clue as to how lucky they were. It was their first child, and Queenie could see they were struggling. They had no idea about feeding routines and sleeping patterns, and no idea when to let her play and when she should rest. Then there was the discipline; rushing to a crying child so instantaneously was asking for trouble in the long term. Why couldn’t they see that? They were pig-headed and ungrateful. She would have loved to be in their position; she had had no one willing to help her. No one at all.
She reached into her pocket for her phone and checked for messages, hoping for an apology. The screen was blank and her heart sank, and Kyle’s vindictive words tightened its stranglehold. Part of her wanted to withdraw some of her comments and behaviour and offer a silent show of support to the new parents; another part of her reminded her that she had spoken and acted out of love and that she had no need to do so. She had been trying to help and had not wanted them to suffer. She had no other motive.
Puffs of smoke extended towards the ceiling in rings. Was it too much to ask to be loved in return, just occasionally? Was she such a horrible person? She had been marked from day one, and the punishment, the life she had been given was slowly, insidiously erasing all hope. Her mind drifted back to Leanne.
She was in so many ways the spitting image of Janet. She was well educated, had a high moral standing, and a tidy, almost too perfect, appearance. She could hear Janet in her voice - the pronunciation of certain words and the shrill edge depicting her irritation – yet she was not nearly as assertive, and Queenie wondered how the two could ever get on.
As soon as the thought entered her head, she realised the answer. Leanne was the perfect granddaughter, the good girl, the second chance, and no doubt obedient and hardworking. She was nothing like Karen. There never could be a relationship there.
Janet had carved Leanne into shape, and in doing so had severed any link to Karen. She would have told her of her friend’s atrocious behaviour; she would have lied unashamedly; she would have painted the most heinous image.
Karen was better off out of it. She was not the evil person depicted. She was misunderstood, a soft-centre in a hard shell and she had been driven away.
Footsteps sounded. Queenie looked through the doorway and up the staircase and saw a fleeting glimpse of red hair moving towards her.
The chair scraped on the floor and Rusty sat down.
‘I’ve just been speaking to Leanne,’ Queenie said.
‘What does she know?’
‘Not a lot. I reckon she thought highly of Janet.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘Nothing. How could I?’
‘Maybe you should.’
‘It’s not the time, and anyhow, I reckon Janet’s brainwashed her. She has the same attitude and stinks of money.’
Rusty gazed vacantly.
‘It’s been thirty years,’ she continued, ‘it’s too late to make amends. If you think anything else you’re bloody naïve.’
She withdrew a cigarette from the packet and leaned across to Queenie to light it. Smoke filled the room, forming in a hanging cloud above their heads.
‘It brought it all back,’ Queenie said, ‘how that woman treated us all. She had it coming, the bloody hypocrite.’
‘But she didn’t suffer in the end, did she? Not really.’
The remnants in the lager slipped down Queenie’s throat, and for a moment, as she held the cool object in her hand images of the house, its massive structure and exquisite furniture, caused her envy to grow.
‘It’s not changed, still as beautiful.’
‘The house?’
She nodded. ‘I went last week. Leanne saw me.’ She dropped the empty can into a bin by the side of the table and removed a bottle of brandy and two glasses from the cupboard. ‘She’s gotten friendly with Teresa. I just saw them in the village.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘No.’
‘She’ll say something for sure.’
She held a determined gaze. ‘Then why hasn’t she already? She has her motives too, remember?’
‘I can hardly forget.’
‘I don’t like it. She’s up to something. We should keep them apart.’
‘What you thinking?’
‘I don’t know.’ She paused, pensive. ‘We should go see Leanne again, find out what’s going on.’
‘I’m not sure . . .’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it.’
‘I’m still not sure it’s a good idea. Maybe we should keep our heads down.’
Queenie flung her an irritated stare, and then swept back the brandy. ‘Unless . . .’
‘Go on.’
She rotated the glass between her fingers. ‘She’s been seeing a bloke called Steven George. Any idea who he is?’
‘I can find out.’
She grinned. ‘Good. Now, about Teresa.’
‘We should make sure she keeps her mouth shut.’
‘My thoughts exactly.’
Queenie carried the bottle and glass into the next room and sank into a chair. She should be happy having a sense of purpose and something to distract her from her troubles with her son. Yet she still reached into her pocket for her phone and gazed at the blank screen. Her ponderings were dark and she relived each moment of sorrow, from those in the distant past to the ones experienced recently. Everyone hated her, but more than that, she hated herself.
Her baby granddaughter had been a turning point. It had turned into another missed opportunity.
Thank goodness for the bottle.
A delicate clunking sound echoed through Luke’s ears as he watched Susie knock her glass against her plate. Her face was pleasing - unblemished and with a healthy pink glow - and her hair rested in a neat bob on her shoulders. He followed the curve of her chin and looked down to her neckline, tracing the freckles and the slight discolouration. She smelled delicious, just as she had when his hands had explored her form.
It had been a swift encounter, and he sensed, as was the case for him, that the joining fulfilled only lustful needs. Yet, the moment stayed with him. He visualised her naked body; her beautiful rounded breasts bobbing as she swayed, her slender hips making perfect handles, and her firm legs, long, soft and supple.
His body tingled and his chest tightened, the thoughts thrilling. She caught his eye. Hurriedly, he shut his mouth, stopping his gawping and averted his eyes.
‘Did you see that programme on wife-swapping last night?’ she asked.
He shook his head, his expression blank.
‘Would you ever be up for that?’
His irritations rose. Did he have to answer such a question? ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Me neither. I reckon they slept together, don’t you?’
He remained impassive.
‘Did you see the woman with the big red hair? She couldn’t have been more obvious with that mini skirt and plunging lace top.’
Susie gave her full analysis, describing personality traits, contestant integration, and appearances, and even though her voice was animated, he struggled to remain attentive. After what seemed like an age, she paused for breath.
‘I don’t find reality shows appealing,’ he said.
‘Then you’re missing out. It’s fascinating watching what people get up to behind closed doors.’
‘Live and let live, I say.’
‘You should try it. It’s hilarious viewing. Some of the people are so desperate to get noticed that they would do anything.’
‘Just for fifteen minutes of fame?’
She seemed to be scrutinising him, looking beyond his eyes searching for his thoughts.
‘I can think of better ways,’ he continued.
‘I hear you’re quite famous around these parts.’
‘It’s not the same. I’m just doing a job.’
‘Even so, it must have its perks.’
‘I can’t think of any.’
‘You must have been invited to places, met famous people.’
He leaned back into his chair. ‘Not that I recall.’
‘You’ve been on the television.’
‘I only met the presenters. They’re just normal people . . . like you and me.’
Susie was gazing out of the window, looking towards the shoppers and office workers sauntering by. She was easily impressed and not at all like Imogen . . . or was she?
Imogen cared about her appearance and she chattered about meaningless reality shows, but somehow it was different. For some reason he found her behaviour appealing rather than repelling. It showed her zest for life and displayed her innocence, a beautiful asset. It also made her seem more feminine; it was a wonderful contrast to her quick wit and sharp personality. The same behaviour made Susie appear dull.
‘I’m going to have to get back to work,’ he said, ‘Imogen will be wondering where I am.’
‘It’s fantastic that she’s moving in with Mark, don’t you think?’
‘It’s not for me to comment.’
‘They are great together. It’s been a long time coming.’
‘I’m not sure they are that well suited.’
When Susie’s head jerked, he regretted his comment and his shame surfaced.
‘Why do you say that?’ she urged.
‘It’s just a feeling.’
He made a swift decision to leave and weaved around the tables progressing to the exit. Imogen was not as bubbly with Mark as she was with him; there wasn’t the teasing or the lively banter. Something was missing and their relationship seemed strained. However, voicing his opinion would be unproductive and he bit back his words. He only wanted her to be happy and had no reason to wish her ill.
They stepped into the brisk autumn air, sauntering back through the town centre towards their respective workplaces when a plaintive cry caught their attention. A child had slipped into the fountain and lay face down in the water. He raced towards them, elbowing past distracted pedestrians, and reached over the edge for the youngster. The toddler was soaking and his face red and contorted.
He handed the child to a frantic woman.
‘What the hell were you doing?’ she screamed at the boy.
The woman gripped her son’s shoulders, searching for his explanation. It did nothing to ease the child’s fears, and his small body convulsed with sobs.
‘You should get him inside, keep him warm,’ Luke said, ‘I have an office just around the corner-’
‘No, thanks. I have somewhere to go.’
‘Are you sure? It’s no trouble.’
‘Yes, and thank you.’
The woman checked the boy’s state and continued to reprimand him.
Taking his opportunity, Luke crouched down and reached for his hand. As the boy started to focus, his wailing eased.
‘Are you going to put on a brave face until you can get out of these wet clothes?’
The boy nodded.
‘Good man. No more tears?’
Snivelling, he shook his head.
He reached out to the boy’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, my brave little warrior.’
A smile slipped to the child’s face.
Luke stood up, said goodbye to the woman and headed away with Susie.
‘You were fantastic,’ she said, ‘such a natural with kids!’
A feeling of discomfort swelled inside.
‘Someone’s going to be lucky having you.’
He chewed on his lip and stared at the ground, his mind attempting to focus on the rhythmical sound of his footsteps. He hadn’t wanted a reminder of his ex-girlfriend’s abortion. She had never confided in him, nor had she cared about his opinion.
He should have expected her to act as he had as their relationship had developed into one of convenience, at least for Sarah. He knew she did not love him – she had said as much – and she believed he felt the same. However, for him it was different. He was in love and not in the right mindset to decline the opportunity to share an intimate evening. He had also convinced himself that she might change her mind given time. It was a sad point of reflection.
He had spotted Sarah at the abortion clinic. She told him the baby was not his and ordered him to leave. Devastated, and without any other option, he did as requested. Days later, when Sarah relented to his plea for a meeting, she admitted that she had lied. The baby had been his, after all.
That was when the relationship ended. Despite his deep feelings of love, her actions proved she could never feel anything for him. Therefore, hoping for a change of heart was futile. The final meeting in the bar, and him telling her they could never see each other again, not even on a friendly basis, was one of the hardest moments in his life. Yet he knew it had been the right decision. Imogen had encouraged him and supported him. She had given him the impetus to make a new start in life.
‘Thanks for lunch,’ Susie said, reaching across and giving him a hug and kiss. ‘I hope we can do it again sometime.’
‘That would be nice.’
Watching her leave, he decided that she was not such bad company after all. She was also likely to treat him better than Sarah had done - a positive consideration all things considered. In addition, being with her was better than being single.
‘Wow! You’ve lipstick on your collar. You’ve been out with Susie.’ Imogen said.
Swiftly, Luke glanced down to his neckline and looked to the offending mark. Feeling his skin warm, he raised his hand to his neck and soothed his itchy skin, avoiding her broad smile and twinkling eyes. Her effervescence was infectious, his sense of achievement, growing.
‘Come on . . . details.’
‘We just had a light bite. Nothing special.’
‘Where at?’
‘Austin’s, on Patterson Road.’
‘Cool. What did you have?’
He frowned. ‘What’s it matter?’
‘Of course, it matters.’
He paused. She wasn’t going to let it drop, so he may as well relent. ‘Tuna sandwich.’
‘And Susie?’
‘I can’t remember.’
She leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk. Her cleavage was visible, her breasts pressing against the soft fabric. ‘Come on, you can do better than that.’
‘It was just lunch, nothing important.’
Her curves delighted and excited.
‘Do you like her?’ she asked.
‘She’s okay.’
‘Okay? That’s all you have to say.’
His eyes narrowed, his thoughts swirling.
‘She likes you . . . says you’re good in bed!’
‘What?’
She giggled. ‘You’ve gone red!’
He bolted to his feet and rushed to a cabinet at the far side of the room.
‘She’s my best friend,’ she continued, ‘we tell each other everything.’
Crouching down, he searched for a binder inside the hollow.
‘I don’t know why it bothers you so much. It’s not as though you’ve not told me about your sexual exploits before.’
‘This is different.’
‘So, you do like her.’
‘No, I . . .’
How could he tell her it was all about the sex when he even struggled to admit it to himself? He had changed. Sarah had made sure of that.
He forced a confident demeanour to surface. ‘I like her, but I can’t see it going anywhere. It’s too soon.’
‘Sarah?’
‘It’ll be a while before I feel able to trust anyone again.’
‘You can’t cocoon yourself forever.’
It was what he wanted. A long-term relationship was out of the question.
‘How’s it going with Mark?’ he asked, desperate to avert the attention.
Her expression melted and her eyes became dreamy. ‘It’s fantastic,’ she said in a virtual whisper, ‘better than I could imagine. It’s great not having to worry about going home at the end of the evening.’
‘I’m glad it’s going well.’
She raised an eyebrow and glimpsed at him out of her eye corner. It was a curious look and not one he could interpret and he feared he had sounded disingenuous. Forcing aside a moment of unease, he concluded that he must have misread her expression. He was happy for her – he had no reason not to be - so long as it was what she wanted.
Engrossing himself in his work was easy. Luke loved his job - the analysis, the interrogations, the pondering, the puzzle - and he had taken an instant like to Leanne too, feeling as though he could draw comparisons with her situation. His own family had dispersed making contact difficult, and whilst most of the time he was happy to lead an independent life, there were times when he yearned for those intimate family moments.
For Leanne, that isolation seemed unbearable and she craved contact with a relative. It was a huge motivation for Luke, and he hoped for a successful conclusion. Yet part of him wanted to tell her to abandon her dreams, fearing that her mother could be the catalyst to disaster and make her life hell. She could even blackmail Leanne into sharing her inheritance. Nevertheless, he would not voice his concerns. He had a job to do. That was all.
The case intrigued. Why would Janet disown her daughter? It was logical to assume something horrendous had happened. However, for his client’s sake, he preferred to believe that it was an enormous overreaction or an unfortunate and unwilling loss of contact. Janet had not had any contact details for Karen, so it was possible. Instincts told him otherwise.
Luke scanned his notes on the computer, reminding himself of various aspects of the case and reiterating the various conversations in his mind. No leads had presented themselves and the search for Karen Jefferson continued to prove difficult. His head ached, his focus blurred. Someone must know something; country villages were usually close-knit communities.
He decided they should speak with locals and so told Imogen his intentions and asked her to contact as many people as possible from within the village. She started immediately, delving into the telephone book for owners of family-run businesses in the area, and on her fifth call, she was successful.
‘I’ve just spoken to a farmer. His name is Ted Moore. His family have farmed the land near Leanne’s house for decades, and they knew them quite well. They expanded a few years ago and bought the land the Coombs used to manage.’
‘Are they willing to meet?’
‘Ted is. He was reluctant at first, but I managed to persuade him.’
‘Well done. When are we going over?’
‘He said this afternoon would be good.’
‘Let’s get to it.’
Luke closed the documents upon his computer, his energies rising, his hopes and expectations gaining strength. With any luck, by the end of the day, they would be a step closer to solving the case.
The car slowed as they reached the perimeter of the village, with both of them searching for street names to guide them to their destination. Luke’s satellite navigation had failed, and they were relying on old-fashioned means, him at the wheel, Imogen scrutinising a printed off map of the area.
‘So which way?’ he asked.
‘We’ll go through the village. It looks quicker than the main roads. Turn left up ahead by the fire station. It should be George Street.’
He caught sight of the red sign and indicated. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘What are you implying?’
‘Women and maps! Do I have to spell it out?’
I’ll have you know, I was in an orienteering club a few years ago . . . pretty good at it too.’
‘What! You? With a map and a compass, and muddy boots.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’
He glanced at her out of her eye corner, raising an eyebrow.
‘Turn right here,’ she said, ‘and then follow the road to the end. Then left.’
Doing as instructed, he manoeuvred past stationary cars, waited for a man to cross the road, and continued along the street. ‘It just doesn’t seem your thing. I can’t imagine you in practical clothes running around the countryside.’
‘Who said anything about practical clothes? I was out to impress.’
‘Yeah, that’ll be right. You probably wore high-heeled boots and slinky trousers.’
‘You have some tasty images of me inside your head, Luke Adams. I’ll have to watch out for you.’
‘Only in your dreams,’ he responded quickly.
They turned the bend. Up ahead, blocking the road was an ambulance. Luke stopped the car a little distance from its rear and watched as the paramedics rushed along a driveway. They could hear voices, but could only see the tops of their heads. It seemed that someone was on the ground, and had had an accident or had collapsed due to a pre-existing medical condition.
‘Ambulances always give me the jitters,’ Imogen said.
‘Me too.’
He glanced along the road at the gap. He could probably squeeze by but chose to wait rather than risk becoming stuck between the van and the parked car on the opposite side. They continued to watch proceedings.
A paramedic rushed to the rear of the ambulance and retrieved a stretcher, and moments later, they reappeared with a woman. Even from their partially obscured view, they could see she was deathly white and stock-still. A man followed on behind, anxious.
‘See the burn scars?’ she said. ‘Poor woman.’
‘I wonder what happened.’
After a few moments, the ambulance pulled away, and thinking no more of it, he was able to continue to their destination. Ted Moore’s farmhouse was easy to find, and they turned into the drive and parked in the yard. There were farm buildings around the perimeter, tractors and machinery along one edge, and hens and ducks sauntering by. A hunched man wearing tatty clothes and with grubby hands appeared from around a steel building and gave them a stern glance.
‘I’m looking for a Mr Moore?’ he asked.
‘That’s me. You the investigators?’
‘Yes. I’m Luke, this is Imogen.’
Ted looked between them, scrutinising each of them before turning and heading towards the house. They followed behind, walking through a small lobby and cluttered hallway - with boxes, piles of books and children’s games - and entered the kitchen. They sat at a rectangular wooden table at the side near a window.
‘So,’ Ted said, ‘what do you want to know?’
We’re trying to track down Karen Jefferson. Have you had any contact with her?’
‘Course I have . . . years ago. Not recently mind.’
‘Do you know where we can find her?’
‘Not a clue. Not that I’d tell you if I did, I don’t want trouble.’
‘There’s nothing for you to worry about.’
His expression hardened. ‘You know that for certain do you?’
‘Well, I-’
‘Thought not. The Jefferson’s should have sold that place. Lord knows why they didn’t. If they had none of this would be happening.’
‘Is something troubling going on?’
He pressed his lips together and puffed out his cheeks. ‘No, but there could be.’
‘Is it something to do with Karen?’
‘I don’t like interrogations, okay? They make me uncomfortable. So, if you don’t mind just get on with it. I’ve work to do.’
He glanced at his notepad. ‘How well did you know Karen?’
‘I knew her all right.’ He grinned lecherously. ‘Her and her sister, although mostly Karen.’
‘What was her sister’s name?
‘Fiona. Karen had another friend too, but I can’t remember her name. They were stuck together like glue.’
‘Can you try to remember her name? It will definitely help.’
‘No point. My memory’s not what it was.’
‘Okay. What was it like for Karen and Fiona at home? Did they get on with their parents?’
Ted leaned into his chair and folded his arms. ‘You’re joking, right?’
Luke was expressionless.
‘Suppose you’re not. They were opposites. Fiona wound Karen up. She was a little bit sanctimonious . . . had a holier than thou attitude . . . and I don’t think it was an act. Do you know why Janet and Roy lived in that house?’
‘I heard she was an evacuee.’
‘Aye, that she was. Apple of their eye, the daughter they could never have.’
Ted raised himself from his chair and moved towards the doorway. ‘Marlene!’ he shouted, ‘Marlene!’
They heard a faint reply.
‘They’re here. Come make the teas.’
Not wanting to inconvenience them, Luke told Ted they did not need a drink, but Ted appeared not to hear and returned to his seat.
‘I never liked the Coombs,’ he continued, ‘not my type at all. My mother, bless her soul, did. Believe me, it was her one failings. She couldn’t see the trouble they’d caused by taking Janet from her folks.’
‘I think you’d better start at the beginning.’
Marlene, a fat woman with curled black hair and round glasses, hobbled into the kitchen and headed to the kettle.
‘They’ve changed their mind,’ Ted said. ‘Don’t want one.’
Marlene looked at them and scowled.
‘I’m sorry,’ Luke said, but she had already vanished.
‘Now,’ Ted said, ‘you want to know what happened. There are two versions, maybe more, but mine’s the only one worth its salt. I knew Karen well if you know what I mean, and she told me everything. And then there’s the stuff I heard from my folks . . .’
‘Do you know what caused Janet to reject Karen?’
‘You think that’s what happened?’
Luke glimpsed at Imogen.
‘Strange assumption since you know nothing about them.’
‘Okay, so tell me.’
Ted leaned back, stretched out his legs and stared, his expression smug. ‘I’d better had.’
Inside the house, there was absolute silence, yet Leanne’s mind was far from tranquil and she could not find peace. Her sorrow was burdensome and oppressive, and her ache restricting. She reached for a cushion, pressed it on her abdomen and released an anguished moan. She wanted Tyler. She wanted Phillip. She wanted her grandmother. She wanted someone . . . anyone.
Steven became her focus. He was a wonderful man and her attraction had been instant, but she would not be with someone into dangerous sports. Their relationship failed before it had even started and was like another plunge of the dagger. Why oh why did he have to enjoy microlighting? Couldn’t he be into something safe like stamp collecting or gardening? It seemed unfair.
Leanne ran her fingers through her hair, wallowing in self-pity, and looked down at her frumpy top and loose fitting skirt disguising her larger than average figure. Images of slender, beautiful women appeared inside her head, and yearning for such a shape, she lifted her shoulders, pushed out her breasts, and held in her stomach. Yet, it did not improve her appearance in her mind; she was still fat.
Phillip had often told her she had a fantastic complexion, gleaming eyes, and a lovely facial structure, and it was true, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted a new identity, both inside and out, and she wanted a fresh start. The house could have given her such an opportunity, but it was not turning out as hoped. Even Teresa had been less than amiable.
Irritated by her unsupportive attitude regarding her mother, she pondered her reasoning. Teresa had admitted to making mistakes in her past, yet she had changed, so why did she believe the same could not apply to Karen? Everyone deserved a second chance, especially someone described as misunderstood.
Carried by the notion that her mother may be the link to future happiness, Leanne experienced a burst of energy, reached in her bag for her phone and called Luke Adams. The ringtone sounded. She waited. There was no reply.
Trying not to feel discouraged, she wandered to the kitchen and made a chamomile tea with honey, one of her favourites, and stared through the window to the rear of the property and to the knee-high weeds, overgrown shrubs and shuddering branches on the trees. It was a ridiculous idea to lay everything down for one new connection, yet she could not dissolve the idea that family was more important. Family first, Janet had said. For Janet, it was a hypocritical statement, but for Leanne, it was everything.
Her phone sounded. She snatched it from the table. It was Luke.
‘Hello. Have you any news on my mother?’ she asked.
‘Quite a bit. We’re on our way over. We’ve just been talking to someone in the village regarding the case.’
‘You’re close by?’
‘Yes, a few minutes away. See you shortly.’
She ended the call and excitement buzzed through her veins. At last, there was hope. At last, her solitude might be closer to its end.
Leanne watched him turn into the drive and exit the car. He was with Imogen and her heart sank, her perfection intimidating. The delectable woman strode around the vehicle, gazed along the length of the house and said something to Luke. Luke responded, and they both chortled.
Imogen was leggy, had full breasts, and a slim waist. She had beautiful fawn hair with delicate curls and was easy to talk with. She probably had a great boyfriend and large family too. Fighting her envy, Leanne headed to the rear outer door. Imogen must think her pathetic. It was unlikely that her grandmother would have ever lied to her.
Nonetheless, forcing a broad smile and warm demeanour, she opened the door and welcomed them inside. Imogen’s expression was wide with envy, and she gawked at the spacious surroundings, a wall painting, and glass light fitting.
‘This place is fantastic, Leanne,’ she said.
‘It is rather.’
‘I just said to Luke that it was in fantastic condition,’ she winked at him, ‘he thought I was talking about the garden.’
‘I haven’t decided what to do with it yet. I suppose I should consider hiring someone to clear the land.’
She tottered along the hallway towards a room. ‘Do you mind if I have a look?’
‘Not at all.’
She peered into a room, her jaw hanging
‘I must get rid of the flowery wallpaper,’ Leanne said.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Retro is fashionable. You can do so much with this place. You must be very excited.’
‘I suppose I am.’
‘What are your plans?’
‘I might let it as a holiday home. I think it’s too big to live here permanently.’
‘Great idea. You could keep some of the weeks’ free for yourself.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
Imogen was still peering into the rooms, agog. She was beautiful, and Leanne loved her tight-fitting, off-white pants and matching jacket, and yearned for such a figure. Luke was staring at her too, although expressionless and not appearing to be mesmerised by her stunning appearance and gorgeous scent. Leanne held her arm across her stomach, wishing she had dressed with more care, and felt dowdy in comparison. She also hoped her tears had not streaked her face and that her self-inflicted stress had not greyed her pallor.
After a few more minutes of showing them around, Leanne guided them into the kitchen. Luke and Imogen made such an unlikely couple that she wondered if their different approaches to their appearances caused friction in their working relationship. Whilst Luke was smart, he lacked something to give him the edge and almost appeared scruffy in his suit. She decided he might look better in casual clothes. Nonetheless, Leanne approved. He came across as down-to-earth and genuine, an asset to aid relaxation.
‘We’ve just been to see a farmer. Ted Moore,’ Luke said.
‘I spoke to him when I first came. He said he knew my mother.’
‘He did. In fact, he told us quite a bit.’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He leaned down to the floor and retrieved a clipboard from his brown leather bag. ‘You’ll have to forgive me if what I tell you is a bit disjointed. We’ll be writing up a report when we get back.’
‘Okay.’
He flicked back the sheets of paper to a sheet entitled Ted Moore. It was full of scrawl and virtually indecipherable, and her excitement grew.
‘Everything he said referred to Janet’s early life. It gives us a good background to their relationship.’
‘How did he know her?’
‘His parents were friends of the family.’ he glimpsed at Imogen. ‘From what we can gather, his mother was close to Janet. She died a few years ago.’
Leanne nodded encouragingly.
‘Ted claims everything he said is accurate. As yet, we have no reason to disbelieve him.’
‘How did he come across?’ she asked.
‘I think he can be trusted. He was a bit cagey . . . didn’t want to spread gossip, but he seemed genuine. I couldn’t detect anything to imply he liked to spin a yarn.’
‘So tell me, what did he say?’
He started to talk.
A multitude of coloured balloons was scattered across the floor, birthday banners hung from the ceiling, and glitzy strands of shaped paper bordered the wall paintings and standard lamp. It was Fiona’s first birthday, a celebration she was unlikely to appreciate, yet it remained a necessity in Janet’s mind. She hoped, in the least, that Fiona would appreciate or recognise the attention and love bestowed upon her.
Janet headed through the hallway and into the kitchen, and assisted Ann with the food preparations, quartering the sandwiches and placing the small bite-sized cakes onto plates. Then she checked the small pastries in the oven, and concluding that the colour was a delicious golden brown removed them and placed them onto cooling trays. The aroma was sensational and she longed for a bite, and slipped back through time to a day when she had assisted her mother with such preparations.
She would have been about seven or eight years old, and loved the sensation of flour and butter on her hands, and often offered to take on the task of mixing. Her nails filled with the sticky substance and her skin turned flaky and rough as though she had acquired a horrendous disease. Then, before she washed, she chased Patrick, her younger brother, with her hands outstretched. His feet pounded the floor, excited screams escaped his lips, and they collapsed in a heap on the sofa or rug. She mauled his small body, and bits of the pastry mix dropped onto the furniture. Her mother never seemed to mind, never worried about the rotting pieces of dough that lay undisturbed under the cushions for months.
Their low standards continued to bewilder Janet; the sight of mess, dirt, and the smell of smoke and damp often bringing about a surge of childhood memories and a gut-wrenching sickness to form in the pit of her stomach. More often than not, she relived the resentment experienced upon her first visit to London, along with her father’s constant reprimands. Why had they despised her choice of life? All she had done was better herself by acquiring additional knowledge, values and experience. She was still the same person, still cared for them as deeply.
Her mind drifted to the end of the war. After her visit to the then vacated family home, Janet had shed endless tears, crying herself to sleep and yearning a reunion with her parents and siblings. Repeatedly she had told herself the evacuation had not been of her choosing, likewise with the issues that followed. They were at fault for ignoring her letters and ultimately her. Her parents had hated her for reasons unknown, an unforgiveable act.
Karen trotted into the kitchen, her light patter of footsteps pulling Janet from her ponderings, and the gentle tug of her skirt drawing her eyes.
‘Can I play outside Mummy?’
‘Not today darling.’
‘Please,’ she said in a drawl.
‘I said no. I don’t want you getting dirty.’
‘But it’s not fair.’
‘It’s your sister’s birthday. It’s very fair.’
‘She doesn’t care. She’s asleep.’
‘She will be awake soon enough.’
‘I’ll make sure I stay clean,’ Karen said, wide-eyed.
‘I said no.’
Karen stomped to Ann, who was resting on a chair at the table. ‘Please Auntie Ann, tell her I’ll be good.’
‘It’s up to your mother.’
‘It’s not fair!’ Karen squealed, her posture blocky. ‘I hate her! I hate her, I hate her!’
She stormed towards the kitchen door, slamming it into its frame, and causing reverberations to pass along the walls and floor. Janet peered at Ann, expressing a mystifying concern.
‘I don’t know what to do with her,’ Janet said, ‘whenever I give Fiona attention she creates havoc.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much. A bit of jealousy is normal. She’ll get used to it.’
‘Do I treat them differently?’
‘You treat them according to their needs. Fiona is still a baby. She is bound to need more attention.’
Janet leaned against the kitchen unit. ‘But I could have let her play out. It’s still a couple of hours before anyone arrives, and she will be changing her clothes before then.’
Ann blew out. ‘She’s probably already doing something else . . . forgotten all about it.’
Janet busied herself by tidying the worktop, but her mind continued to tumble. She wanted to ask her mother if she had ever been jealous of her younger brother, but that link had been severed. She couldn’t ask Ann, since she hadn’t had children of her own, and it caused her to experience a sense of isolation.
An image of her mother appeared in her mind, yet the details were hazy and she appeared in a ghost-like fashion, unable to remember the shape of her nose, her jaw line, her lips, and her eyes. It was wrong; a major part of Janet’s entire life had been taken, removed without consideration, ripped away from her, severed without anaesthetic.
Janet turned to Ann. ‘I wish I knew why my family deserted me.’
The older woman averted her eyes, gazing at a newspaper resting on the table. ‘They must have had their reasons.’
‘But what? What did I do to deserve that?’
The chair grated on the floor as Ann stood up and then hurried to the sink. ‘You haven’t missed out. You’ve had a good life.’
‘But I still would like to know why they went. For years, I would check the post hoping for a new address.’
Ann stared into the sink as it filled with gushing water. She seemed flustered, her skin was a blotchy red and moisture crept from her pores.
‘Are you okay?’ she said.
She thrust a few dirty items into the sink. ‘The water’s making me hot. It’s stuffy in here. Go open the door.’
She did as instructed and listened to the sound of stomping feet and screeching exclamations. She peered up the staircase and focused on the sound.
‘Karen!’ she called.
The sounds continued. Janet hurried to the first floor and into a bedroom and saw Karen marking Fiona’s possessions with a black pen. Her face was beetroot red and scrunched, and her body taut.
‘You naughty girl!’ Janet grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her away from the ruined blanket, clothes and dolls.
Karen’s body became weighted; she dragged her heels and let loose a bellowing scream.
‘Stop it!’ Janet slapped her legs. ‘Stop it I said.’
She screamed again, louder and more forcefully, and thrashed out with her arms, pummelling Janet’s legs.
‘Naughty girl!’
In one swift action, Janet picked up the girl, forced still her thrashing body, and waited for her anger to dissipate. She could feel the heat radiate from her, the burning anger evaporating into the air.
‘I hate you! I hate you!’ Karen yelled.
Ignoring the emotional onslaught, Janet carried her daughter downstairs and forced her to sit on the bottom step. Moments later, having gained an element of control, she returned to the kitchen feeling emotionally drained and slumped onto the chair.
Today was a day of celebration, so why did she feel so unlike being joyous? Yet Janet already knew the answer. Her life without her mother, brothers and sister was wearing her down. She wanted them back with her and with great sadness reflected on the moment that she discovered they had left their London house.
The guests had vacated the house, the children were in bed, and Gerry and Ann were in the next room, leaving Janet alone with her husband. She edged closer to him, pressing herself into his slender frame, and gained comfort and strength from his presence. Her earlier moments of disillusionment now lacked significance; she lived in a beautiful house with caring and wonderful people, and had a fantastic husband and two beautiful daughters.
Janet turned her head and pressed her lips to Roy’s cheek. He smiled, his washed out complexion and tired eyes secreting his love.
‘You look done in,’ she said.
‘I am. It’s back-breaking work out on the fields.’
‘Why don’t you do something less demanding?’
‘Like what? We’d have to move to the city and it’s not what you want.’
‘I know, but I don’t like seeing you like this.’
Roy pulled away and leaned towards the table to pour out another drink. ‘So what are you saying? I should find an office job in the country.’
Clamping shut her mouth, she watched him gulp down the liquid before pouring a second. ‘Haven’t you had enough?’
He glared. ‘Don’t start.’
There was silence.
‘Your problem is,’ he continued, ‘you think having a labourer as a husband is beneath you.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘And if I have an occasional drink I’m turning into an alcoholic.’
‘Is it any wonder I feel that way after what that horrid man did?’
‘You still haven’t got over your first guardian?’
She rose to her feet. ‘I saw what it did to him . . . and to me.’
‘I’m not going to start beating you or the girls.’
‘You’d be straight out if you did.’
She stared into the fireplace. Those few months had changed her forever. Never before had she questioned her father’s drinking or loud behaviour. It was just what men did, their way of relaxing at the end of the day. However, having experienced Uncle Tom’s extreme reaction and then felt the tender hands of Gerry, her opinion changed. Gerry was kind and warm-hearted and rarely drank more than one glass of alcohol in one sitting. She had always felt safe in his presence, never needed to fear any unjustified explosions.
‘I’m sorry, but I just don’t like excessive drinking,’ she said.
‘That’s clear.’ He gulped down the liquid, rested the glass on his thigh, and stared into a space across the room. ‘I need it to relax.’
‘Can’t you get more workers?’
‘Gerry says we can’t afford it.’
‘He’s had others in the past. I wouldn’t have thought it a problem.’
‘I agree.’ He caught her eye and hesitated. ‘He turned a man away today. It was a bit strange. I thought I heard your name mentioned, but when I asked Gerry about it, he said I was mistaken.’
‘Why would anyone be talking about me?’
‘It could have been someone you went to school with. He looked about your age.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I don’t know . . . normal looking. His name was Patrick.’
Patrick? Her brother? Could it be?
She bolted to her feet, out of the room, and into the next room to Gerry and Ann. ‘Was my brother looking for me today?’
Panic flashed onto their faces.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘We were going to,’ Ann said, her voice little more than a squeak.
She slipped her fingers through her hair. ‘You sent him away. I can’t believe you’d do that.’
‘We didn’t send him away . . . not exactly. He-’
‘But he’s my brother!’
‘He never said he was your brother. It could have been anyone.’
‘But he was asking after me.’
‘He was also after a job,’ Gerry said.
‘Is he staying in the village?’
‘Seems so.’
‘I have to go see him. Where’s he living?’
Gerry strode to a small chest near the window and removed a small piece of paper from within. He held it in his hand, refusing to let go. Janet pleaded with her eyes.
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea,’ he said.
‘He’s my brother. I have to see him.’
‘You’ve not thought this through. It’s been a long time.’
‘Yes, it’s been too long.’
He appeared as though he wasn’t going to relent and it triggered her panic. Pleading for support and understanding, she looked between them, noticing their doubt and anxiety. After what seemed like an eternity, Gerry relented and passed her the paper. With her heart pounding in her throat and her hands shaking, she absorbed the details.
‘It appears he is not alone,’ he said.
She lifted her gaze and fought her quivering limbs.
‘He mentioned his father.’
Janet’s heart was pounding so hard she thought she might explode as she walked along the village centre street, counting the houses up ahead to determine which was number twenty-two. All thoughts were incoherent, crisscrossing her brain like snakes in a pit.
There were days in the air-raid shelters. There were family meals around candlelight. There were experiences shared with her sister and brothers. Then there was the evacuation and the introduction to her new family. There was the sting of the whip, the comforting touch of Auntie Ann, the soothing tones of Uncle Gerry. Next, she was twelve-years-old returning to London full of countryside tales, and for the first time whilst within the company of her family experienced an intense feeling of not belonging. Character differences had emerged. There were mismatched principles, arguments, and tears.
Her jumbled thoughts did not stop there. She wanted to share every moment of the intervening years, from her education to her personal life, her marriage to Roy and the birth of her daughters. There was much to tell, hours, days and weeks of catching up.
What would they look like? Patrick was not likely to be recognisable, and was still a boy in her mind, although her parents should look similar. He would be scrawny and with a complexion that told of his hardship, and she would have a grey podgy skin tone and jutting chin and she would still carry a solemn demeanour.
Her steps slowed as the house came into view, her breaths shorter and faster and her excitement wild and vivid. She would forgive them for leaving and enjoy the moment. She would look forward to a future of opportunities.
She rapped on the door and held her breath. A faint sound of voices came from within. The door opened. A pregnant woman a few years her junior stood before her.
Flustered, and fearing she had made an incorrect assumption regarding the occupancy, she did not speak.
‘Yes?’ The woman urged.
There was movement at her rear. A wrinkled man wearing an ill-fitting jacket and matching trousers approached the door. Their eyes met.
‘Dad?’ she asked.
The woman stepped out of the way allowing Eric through.
For a few moments, neither spoke. Janet decided against giving him a hug and welcomed his suggestion for her to go through to the living room. It was similar to her London home, possibly a little smaller, and there were newspapers scattered on the sofa, several ashtrays on the surfaces, and dirty marks on the wallpaper.
‘Sit down,’ he said.
Tentatively, she smoothed out her skirt and perched on the edge, keeping her legs together and her back straight.
‘I see you’ve not changed,’ he said.
There was a disapproving undertone in his voice and she became the little girl, returning after spending a year in the country. Her planned speech vanished, her mouth dried, her imaginary happy reunion a forgotten dream.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘I’ve come to see you.’
‘It’s a bit late for happy families don’t you think.’
‘I . . .’ Janet was stunned.
Her sickness swirled and her emotions scurried; the day she had discovered they had moved away from London seeming only days previous. She had knocked on the door. She had spoken to a stranger. She had slumped onto a wall, dazed and forlorn.
For years, she had told herself it was a misunderstanding. She convinced herself that they had made a mistake and in actuality wanted contact. She had even made up excuses for them and felt their desperation having discovered that they had lost her address. She had listened to their panic, envisaged their tears, and felt their burning hearts, an exact reflection of her own.
None of it was true and the reality was crushing.
There they were, living in her village, sharing her country life, just as she had dreamed of years previous, yet it was not for her.
‘I should go,’ she said.
She was about to raise herself to her feet when Patrick entered the room. He was tall and handsome, and not the slip of a boy that she remembered, but there was no doubt it was him, his long dark eyelashes, large round eyes and prominent cheekbones the giveaway.
‘Patrick,’ she said excitedly.
The expected outburst of joy was absent, and coolly, he nodded his head.
‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘Married . . . expecting my second child.’
‘That was your wife? What’s her name?’
‘Janice. It’s due in a few weeks.’
‘That’s fantastic. I have two girls, Karen and Fiona. You must come and see them.’ She glanced at her father. ‘All of you.’
Eric held a stony glare.
‘I . . .’ she knotted her hands. ‘I thought you’d be happy to see me.’
‘It’s a little too late for that. You’ve got your life, we’ve got ours.’
‘So why did you come? Why here?’
He raised a cigarette to his mouth and exhaled small circles of smoke, his eyes locked with hers. ‘We’ve met your fancy guardians. We heard they were after workers but he turned us down. It seems we’re not good enough. We would ruin their cosy life and fancy ideas.’
‘Gerry and Ann are not like that.’
‘You think? They always wanted us out of the picture. You know she’s barren . . . couldn’t wait to get their hands on you.’
‘That’s not how it was. I had no choice but to stay. You all left!’
Eric’s forehead crumpled and his eyes narrowed. ‘How do you think your mother felt when you turned your back on us? Do you think we’re ever going to forgive you for that? It broke her heart. She never wanted you to leave in the first place.’
‘It wasn’t my choice. I admit I enjoyed living here, but I wanted to return. I wanted us to all be together.’
‘Likely story.’
‘It’s true!’
Her eyes shifted between Eric and Patrick, both men at different ends of the room, both looking at her with disgust and contempt. They did not see her as the victim but the assailant, and she felt cornered and silently pleaded for their forgiveness. Yet Janet did not have a clue what she had done wrong; Patrick had been an evacuee and he had been able to return home. Why hadn’t she been able to do the same?
‘I returned to London after the war,’ Janet said, hoping for a reprieve, ‘but you’d left.’
A glance past between the two men.
‘We weren’t going to hang around forever,’ Eric said, ‘you’d made clear your decision.’
‘I did no such thing! I wrote to you. I sent you letters! You didn’t read them.’
‘If anyone should be throwing accusations it should be me. Your poor mother . . .’ Eric’s eyes became watery and his head dropped, searching his feet for privacy. ‘. . . I can’t forgive you for that.’
Focusing on his sorrowful figure became too difficult, and she turned to Patrick. He too displayed a deep regret.
‘W-where is she?’ Janet asked.
‘You should have come to see her. Her last words were for you.’
‘What?’
‘It wasn’t right . . . the funeral wasn’t the same. We all waited . . . expected to see you there.’
She raised her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide and her colour fading. Her gaze flitted to Eric, a desolate hunched figure on a worn-out fabric armchair, and then to her brother, hoping that one of them would admit to the cruel joke.
There was an oppressive silence and her chest tightened, and her legs shook. She tried to speak to offer her apologies, yet stared open-mouthed, unable to comprehend the crushing news. Her mother had gone, died during the intervening years. It was a devastating blow.
Craving freedom and privacy, Janet hurried out of the room and to the outer door. A burst of sunlight tightened her eyes. She shivered, cold to the bone, and started to run. Her mother was dead, gone forever. Tears dripped onto her cheeks.
After an indeterminable amount of time spent processing her thoughts, she felt a presence at her rear and turned her head. Patrick was walking towards her. He joined her on the bench.
‘I didn’t know,’ Janet said.
‘We sent letters.’
‘But I never got them.’
Silence.
‘Was it cancer?’
‘You know it was.’
She gave him a stern look. ‘It was a guess.’
His expression told her he didn’t believe her, but she felt too emotional to fight, and could not evacuate horrendous images of her sick mother dying slowly and painfully in her bed in a shabby London house.
‘How long was she ill?’
‘A couple of years. It was far spread when they discovered it.’
‘When did they find out?’
‘1942.’
‘After we were evacuated?’
He nodded, ‘About a year after.’
‘At least she didn’t have to worry about looking after us.’
Patrick gawked. ‘She was devastated that you never returned.’ His hands made a fist and his face coloured. ‘It’s all she talked about. “Where’s Janet?” she would say. We had to lie for you. Hell Janet. Why wouldn’t you come?’
Her body quivered, her voice lost. She shook her head, the image brutally relentless.
His stare was persistent.
‘I never knew,’ she said weakly.
‘You didn’t want to part from your cushy life more likely.’
‘That’s not true. I would have come if I had known. Of course, I would.’
He flung a dark, intense glare filled with hatred and pain, one that told her he did not believe her, not even for a second, and her nagging doubts emerged. Maybe she had been so livid with her parents for not reading her letters that in a moment’s fury, she had torn up one of theirs. She racked her brain for an answer.
It was difficult to accept, and in her defence, she formed an alternative. Her father may never have told her. He had hated her desire to learn and despised her for wanting to improve her lifestyle. Could it have been punishment? It seemed fitting although also a little unlikely. Nonetheless, she had never really known him, nor had she been aware of what he had been capable of, and so she had to accept it as a possibility.
She turned to her brother. ‘Do you have any idea how it felt to learn they never read my letters? When I returned home the first time, I found them in their bedroom. They were all unopened.’
‘Dad said you’d changed and had forgotten about your upbringing.’
‘I wanted to learn. I don’t know why he was so dead-set against it. He should have been proud.’
‘You always looked down your nose at him.’
‘I did not!’
‘You did so! You still do. I saw the look you gave us just now.’
‘I wanted an education and didn’t want to live my entire life in a hovel. What’s so terrible about that? I set myself a few standards, that’s all.’
‘So that’s how you see us. We’re nothing more than gutter rats!’
‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it!’
‘I might not be as clever as you, but I’m far from stupid, and at least we fend for ourselves.’
‘Roy works. We pay our way too. Nothing’s gifted to us.’
‘Do you pay rent too?’
Swallowing, she looked at her feet.
‘You’re nothing like us. I was willing to give you a second chance, but . . .’ he stood up.
‘But what?’
‘Dad’s right. We’re too different. It was a mistake coming here. I should have listened to him.’
He strode away.
‘Patrick?’
‘I think we should stay out of each other’s way.’
Ignoring her instincts that were telling her to grab him and force him to listen, she watched him leave, noticing his shapeless jacket, tatty shoes and the broken hem seam. Nevertheless, he was her brother and she loved him.
Her emptiness swelled.
Janet placed the scrunched up cleaning cloth by the sink, puffed out, and dropped her weary body onto a chair next to the table. Except for the throbbing beat of drums bellowing from Karen’s room coming from the room above, there was silence. Gerry and Ann had departed to their designated part of the house, Roy was across the hall watching television, and Fiona had wandered to another part of the house. Now it was Janet’s opportunity to relax, the week of teaching teenagers sapping her energies.
There had been a time when she took immense pleasure from her job, but as the years past, her attitude changed, and her earlier exuberance now seemed naïve and misplaced. Some of the kids were a delight to teach - always eager, always full of positive comment, always willing to learn. However, other pupils despised every moment and talked throughout the class, cracked jokes at every opportunity, and put in no effort whatsoever. She had tried a firm hand, gentle cajoling, and speaking in their language, yet it made no difference. Some pupils were there against their will and only wanted to pass time.
The thought of having a peaceful weekend with the family was her reward and she pondered her choice of activities. She could take a walk with Roy. She could potter in the garden. She could go to the shopping centre with Ann. Alternatively, she might choose to spend time with Fiona, whose preferred choice of activity was to visit museums and historical sites. It was a strange passion for someone of fourteen years, but she did not intend to discourage it, and it filled her with pride. She turned off the light and drifted along the hallway.
Fiona was alone in the room. Her legs were to her chest, her shoes on the floor and her eyes engrossed in the pages of a book. Smiling, Janet sauntered through the doorway and peered at the text. It looked as though it was a non-fiction, although she could not see what it was.
‘What are you reading?’
Fiona flipped over the cover. It was a local history book. ‘It’s for a geography assignment.’
‘You should take some time out for yourself. Relax a bit.’
Janet wandered across the room to Karen’s jacket laid skewed on a chair. As she lifted it, she sensed a slight lump from within the pocket and reached inside. Instinctively, she believed it was drugs, a realisation causing a surge of panic. With trembling hands, she scurried the packet into her skirt pocket and replaced the jacket onto the back of the chair.
She didn’t know what to do, and flopped onto a seat, clutching it through the fabric and stared blindly into space. Needing clarity to her thoughts, she considered a mounting list of questions crisscrossing her mind, although primarily, she tried to find the most suitable approach to talking it through with her daughter. Karen was hot headed at the best of times, meaning that an outright accusation would be unproductive.
Fiona broke the silence. ‘Oh, I forget to ask. There’s a show on next Wednesday at the theatre and a few of the girls are going. Can I go? It’ll be a late finish.’
Footsteps pounded the steps, causing a brief distraction. ‘Fine. Do you need a lift?’
Karen burst into the room. ‘You never let me go out!’
‘You go out all the time.’
‘I have to be back by nine-thirty.’
‘You never are.’
Karen held a determined pose; her legs were apart, her arms stiff by her side, and her head back. ‘Have you any idea how humiliating it is having you come looking for me?’
Janet tensed. ‘I wouldn’t have to if you came back at a reasonable hour.’
‘We can’t all be little-miss-perfect.’ She glanced at her sister. ‘I have a life . . . friends.’
‘If you came back when you should, we’d give you more leeway.’
‘If you respected me more, I would do as you say. I’m not a child.’
‘You certainly act like one.’
‘Why? Just because I like boys, music and sex. I’m normal. I’m doing what teenagers should do.’
‘Karen!’
‘What? You don’t like to hear that I sleep around? You’re such a prig. I bet I’ve seen more willys than you.’
‘Where are your morals you cheap little tart?’
‘You’re just jealous.’
She snatched her jacket and ran from the room, heading along the hallway to the outer door. Moments later she returned, her face red with anger.
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ Janet said, displaying the packet.
Karen raced towards her and their locked eyes. Janet placed her hand around her back, causing her daughter a moment of hesitation.
‘Suit yourself,’ Karen said, spinning around. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’
The door slammed.
Their conversation continued to batter her head, the silence offering no distraction. She looked to Fiona, who stared into a book, seemingly tense and waiting for tranquillity to prevail.
‘Do you know where she’s getting it?’ Janet asked eventually.
Fiona raised her head. She did not speak but her expression displayed her anxiety causing Janet to conclude that she knew the answer. Refusing to flinch, refusing to give her daughter an opt-out, she maintained a hardened stared. Fiona looked everywhere but at her. She shifted her legs from under her body and repositioned herself on the chair. She scratched her nose. She smoothed out her hair.
Maybe it was unfair to ask one daughter to tell on the other, and for a moment, Janet considered withdrawing her question. The bond between the two girls had never been that great, and she sensed that this could be perceived to be the ultimate betrayal. But what choice did she have? Karen was in real danger and she could not let it lie.
‘Please Fiona. If you know something you must tell me.’
Her mouth opened and shut. ‘But Mum . . .’
‘Do you understand how serious this is? This is dangerous stuff. Unchecked, it will do untold damage.’
‘I do know! I’m not stupid.’
But your sister might not be so wise, Janet thought. ‘I know you’re not, and I wasn’t accusing you of anything. However, I’m not sure Karen is aware. She needs our help. You have to work with me on this.’
Flustered and with her skin red, Fiona hurried to her feet, still clutching her book, and rushed to the door. ‘It was Uncle Patrick,’ she said, and then she ran.
It took a while for Janet’s mood to revert to a gentle simmer. Ever since her family had arrived in the village, their lives had been inundated with differences, yet none more so than what she faced now. No matter how she tried, she could not see any reason why her brother would want to do such a wicked thing. He had children of his own. He should be acting more responsibly.
This time, Patrick could not offer excuses. It was more serious than when he was encouraging alcohol and when he claimed he was teaching Karen to respect it. It was more serious than when he was encouraging her to have multiple boyfriends, saying it would help her stay faithful to a husband in future years. It was more serious than when he told her that a good education was overrated.
No matter what Janet and Roy had said to Karen, she had still refused to listen. She was enamoured with her uncle, loving his liberating values and exciting lifestyle, and was besotted with his every word. It was infuriating. Her daughter showed the Smith family far more respect than she ever showed them, and her personality and behaviour changed when in their presence. She was polite, easy to get on with and helpful, the exact opposite of how she was with her, Roy, Gerry and Ann.
Janet dropped her head into her hands, exasperated. She had to pull Karen into line and stop Patrick from influencing her, yet it seemed that their link would not be broken. Despite all the years that passed, she wasn’t certain where his affections lay, and wondered if he had ever forgiven her for failing to visit their mother when she was dying. Ever since his arrival in the village, and at every opportunity he had flung verbal abuse at the Coombs’, taunting them for their wealth, their position in the community, and their obvious good manners. They had all tried to rise above it, but so often, it proved difficult.
Once, a while ago, Patrick spread rumours about the poor quality of the produce on the farm, causing a massive drop in business. He stole from their property. He slaughtered some of the livestock. He ruined crops. Of course, he was too clever to be caught and they were all forced to suffer in silence.
Janet had tried to repair their tattered relationship, feeling justifiably guilty for the suffering she had caused to Gerry and Ann. Her attempts were futile. The mere sound of her voice, the mere glance at her clothes, caused Patrick’s skin to crawl. He had one aim in life and that was to cause her pain.
Patrick denied he was out to punish her, never more so than when Karen was around. Smiles replaced the hatred, and a tender understanding voice replaced a harsh and cruel tone. She was the perfect niece. He was the perfect uncle. They understood each other like no other.
Still clutching the drugs, Janet knew she had to take action and sauntered upstairs, visited the bathroom and peered into Fiona’s bedroom.
‘I’m off out for a while,’ Janet said.
Fiona jolted, fear written into her eyes. ‘What, now?’
‘Yes, don’t worry darling, I’ll be back soon.’
Her eyes darted to the corridor at Janet’s rear. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Downstairs, why?’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘I’m sorry but I have to do this alone. I won’t be long.’
Fiona scurried past Janet and rushed to the bathroom. The door slammed.
‘I’ll be back soon,’ she called, ignoring her daughter’s strange behaviour.
She rushed downstairs, informed Roy she was going to see her brother, and hurried out of the house, allowing no time for explanations or second thoughts. She had to confront him and win Karen back. She had to protect her from the possible dangers she may be about to face.
The walk was soothing. It was a starry night with a near-full moon, and there was a gentle breeze. She stepped along the path, enjoying the rhythmical sound of her footsteps, and immersed herself in the swooping antics of the bats. It was a wonderful sensation, and she wished she had time to sit alone in the darkness and absorb the serenity. It was what she needed, something to calm.
She made a fist and banged on Patrick’s door. After a few seconds, a light flickered on and Janice emerged.
‘I need to see Patrick.’
‘He’s not here, he’s out drinking.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not his keeper!’
Janet stormed along the road, heading to the nearest public house a few streets away. Up ahead, in a darkened alley was a crowd of raucous men, and Janet hesitated. She was considering whether to progress when a woman’s squealing voice forced her decision. Karen’s voice was recognisable.
Elbowing her way to a vantage point, ignoring the disapproving comments, she confirmed her worst fears. Karen was performing her own, very public, striptease, and was standing in a short skirt and with her blouse open. Swiftly, and to the pleasure of the wolf-whistling men with hanging jaws and loose tongues, she removed her top. Her bra was lacy, and her curves and nipples danced. Hands reached out and cries of encouragement filled the air. Then Karen locked eyes with a man in the crowd and asked if she should remove her skirt. The cheer was deafening.
Janet could not believe what she was seeing, and could not move, horrified that her daughter, her flesh and blood, would do such a thing. The men continued to enjoy her now near-naked body, yet for some reason, they all held a respectable distance. Karen twisted and turned, jiggled and bent over, tantalizing and encouraging.
The moment Karen caught sight of Janet, the action stopped and both stared in disbelief. Within seconds, Karen donned her clothes, avoiding Janet’s stony gaze, and glanced into the crowd. She was looking at one individual, a man who was hurrying along the street. His gait was familiar. It was Patrick.
Janet was speechless. Her own brother had been encouraging such a disgraceful act. She grabbed Karen’s arm.
Karen yanked it free. ‘Get off me!’
‘What the hell do you think you were doing?’
‘What’s it look like?’
‘Patrick condones this?’
‘So?’
‘Don’t you have any self-respect?’
‘It’s just a bit of fun.’
‘Anything could happen. You could get raped.’
‘I haven’t yet.’
‘You’ve done this before?’
She scowled and hurried away, disappearing into the darkness and leaving Janet motionless and bewildered and without the energy to make the chase. She decided she had been too soft and given her too much freedom, and it was time to take firm action. One way or another, she would win this battle. No daughter of hers was going to spend her life as a cheap little whore. It was degrading and humiliating and she would use whatever means necessary to achieve her aim. She felt a key inside her pocket and devised a plan to keep her under control. She may have lost the battle, but the war was far from over.
Keeping her back to Luke and Imogen, and her gaze away from the awkward glances, Leanne turned on the tap to little more than a trickle and filled a glass with refreshing liquid. Biding her time, she searched for composure. Her world had been shattered, Janet’s lies and the absent account of the facts burning her soul.
She aimed her anger at Janet, yet it was pointless. She could never steam off, never listen to excuses, and would have to live with what had happened forever. She wondered if it was a trust issue. Maybe Janet feared Leanne’s response or maybe she thought it would open old wounds. Yet, it wasn’t her place to keep so many family secrets. Leanne was family too; they shared a common past.
Imogen’s gentle tones interrupted Leanne’s simmering anger. ‘I’m sorry. It must be difficult to take in, but we felt as though we had to tell you everything.’
She leaned into the unit. ‘Yes, of course. I don’t want you keeping things from me.’
‘It could have just been a phase Karen was going through. I’m sure a lot of teenagers act the same way.’
Karen’s behaviour disappointed, but that was not news. She knew the rumours and had already heard about her mother’s occupation from Queenie. It was not as if she had been saintly during her younger years so she was in no place to judge.
‘Karen was probably misunderstood,’ Imogen continued. ‘And it does seem like their relationship had broken down.’
‘It was Gran’s fault. She was the adult.’
‘I can understand you feel angry, but-’
‘I’m more than angry, I’m furious. It’s made me even more determined to find my mother and get her side of the story. Gran had no right to do this to me, none at all.’
‘The decision may not have been hers.’
Leanne’s nostrils flared. ‘You shouldn’t defend her. She may have disrespected Karen’s life choice, and that’s fine, but she shouldn’t have made decisions on my behalf. I should not have been dragged into their arguments.’
She displayed sympathy.
‘I thought I knew her . . .’ she stopped speaking, shook her head and averted her gaze.
‘I’m sorry. It must be hard. We will do our best to find out what happened.’
It may be better to know the truth in the end, but at that moment, her feelings comprised of regret. Why had she started something that was going to end in distress? Her wisdom seemed as though it had been lacking.
She slumped onto a chair. ‘I’ve always had a high opinion of Gran. I thought of her as strong, understanding, caring and compassionate. We had a special bond that grew with every year. She was everything to me. A mother, a best friend . . .’ her chest heaved ‘. . . none of it was true. I didn’t know her at all.’
‘You’re wrong. Janet was still all those things. There could be a good reason for her actions. And even if it turns out that she hadn’t, it doesn’t change how she felt about you. She still loved you and may have thought she was protecting you.’
‘Her logic was twisted.’
Imogen sympathetically locked eyes. ‘Try not to think badly of her.’
Leanne’s tears bubbled. This woman was a stranger, yet she was offering her more understanding than she had received in weeks. Fighting for poise and tranquillity, she kept her eyes averted and her fist to her chin, and breathed slow steady breaths.
‘Janet could have been a little jealous of the relationship Karen had with Patrick,’ she said.
‘Karen and Patrick did seem to have a connection.’
‘Yes, and not only would Janet have seen how different Karen was with him, the opposite would have been true as well. Janet and Patrick obviously had a lot of unresolved issues.’
Leanne pressed her hand to her stomach, suppressing a growing nodule of unease. ‘She was a snob. She would often say there was no excuse for a poor presentation and insisted that cleanliness came down to hard work rather than money. I think Gerry and Ann must have instilled those values into her.’
‘They could have already been there.’
‘I’m not so sure. I think it started after her evacuation.’
‘Life would have been different in the countryside compared to London. It was bound to have some kind of an effect.’
‘No, but Patrick never changed.’
‘His circumstances could have been different to hers,’ Imogen said, ‘I’m not saying the Coombs’ didn’t influence Janet, it’s just the extent of it that I’m unsure of. Even if Janet had managed to return to London there could still have been friction. She had grown up during her time away, and had experiences that far outweighed her childhood expectations.’
Her expression tightened. The Coombs must have continuously influenced Janet. She struggled to label them as innocent bystanders and imagined Janet having a far more harmonious relationship with her family had she returned to London.
A thought struck her. ‘Do you think the Coombs’ played a part in making sure Janet never returned home?’
‘Janet was their daughter they could never have. Imagine if you’re looking after a child for four years, and then circumstance forces you to give them up, possibly never to see them again. It would be hard, especially since they had had no children of their own.’
‘I think they hid the letters addressed to Janet.’
‘Yes, we wondered that too. That’s something we’ll never know.’
Leanne leaned back into the chair and looked to the scratches and marks on the table. ‘It was a horrible thing to do. No wonder they tolerated so much from Patrick. They must have known it was as a result of their bitter and twisted action.’
‘We don’t know anything for certain.’
‘I do, I can feel it.’
‘Then it seems that Janet may have been as much of a victim as anyone.’
Leanne frowned. ‘I would love Gran to be innocent, but she’s not is she? Despite what the Coombs’ did, Gran still played her part. She was too strict with Karen and she lied to me over and over again. I’ll never be able to ask her why.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘But you don’t understand. She never mentioned Fiona to me, either. Not once.’
Imogen’s mouth loosened, her face expressing disbelief.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Luke interjected. ‘We found out about her a few days ago. I assumed you knew.’
‘Is she . . . is she still alive?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. She died in her twenties. She was in a mental institute and had an accident. They tried to save her, but it was too late.’
Leanne steadied her words. ‘Why was she there?’
‘She had suffered brain damage. We couldn’t find out the cause. There’s not a lot of documentation around.’
‘How long had she been there?’
‘Not long . . . a few months.’
Exasperated, she ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I remember being at the hospital with Gran and Granddad. We must have been visiting Fiona. I had assumed it was for Mum.’
‘They had a difficult few years, that’s for sure. Losing one daughter would be bad enough, but two . . .’
‘You’d think that losing Fiona would have made them make more of an effort with Karen.’
‘Let’s wait and hold judgement,’ Luke said and glimpsed at the time.
Wordlessly, she folded her arms.
‘I’ll just check I haven’t missed anything.’
Simmering, she mulled over the life Janet had had with her daughters. It was as though she was discovering a different person, someone whom she had never encountered. How could she keep something as important as the loss of her two daughters to herself? If she had been in such a position, she would have been talking about them all the time, forever grieving.
Her gaze drifted to Luke. He was fumbling in his bag for something, causing her to see a reference book on the paranormal. It triggered memories of curious conversations surrounding such an issue, that she had shared with her grandfather. Whilst she didn’t believe there was any relevance to the search for her mother, it was an intriguing consideration and worth pursuing.
‘You do paranormal cases too, don’t you?’ Leanne asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I think Gran’s parents’ were involved in something. She was dead set against all talk of the paranormal.’
He gave Imogen a swift glance.
‘You’re right,’ Imogen said, ‘they were ousted from the area for witchcraft. It wasn’t anything illegal it just offended a few people.’
‘What did they do?’
‘I managed to get hold of a parish article,’ she said. ‘People accused them of spying. They knew things they shouldn’t have.’
She swirled around the dregs of tea in her mug. ‘Like what?’
‘Private conversations. Molly, Betty’s mother once approached a family with a sick child and offered herbal drugs. At the time, no one else knew about the illness, only the immediate family. It frightened people.’
‘How did Molly know?’
‘She said she had psychic powers. No other explanation was offered.’
‘Do you think Janet had powers?’ Luke asked.
Leanne turned to face him. ‘I don’t know. She hated anything paranormal . . . had a real aversion to it.’
‘How so?’
‘She always stopped me talking about it, no matter what I said. In fact, Granddad and I used to joke that steam came out of her ears and she’d turn purple whenever it was mentioned.’
‘So it was an intense hatred?’
She nodded.
‘Was it normal for her to have such strong opinions?’
‘Oh yes. But . . . but I think there’s more to it.’ Her eyes flitted. ‘I think she had powers too.’
‘What kind of powers?’
Leanne shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Premonitions maybe. I think she saw something to do with Karen, something that caused their parting.’
‘Go on.’
She plucked at the skin around her neck. ‘We’d been talking about being a parent and how it was not always possible to protect your children from unknown dangers, and I made a glib remark. I suggested I tried using psychic powers, like developing telepathy, to monitor Tyler. It didn’t go down too well. The piercing stare she gave Granddad after he made an encouraging remark, made me extremely uncomfortable. He flushed and shot out of the room . . . almost panic-stricken. Nothing more was said.’
‘Did you ever find out what had happened?’ Luke asked.
‘No. I assumed it was to do with Karen.’ Leanne hesitated. ‘But of course I never knew about Fiona. Anyway, Granddad continued to joke with me, but always out of earshot of Janet. I never dared ask questions. She could be a very scary woman when she wanted to be.’
‘You say he was flushed and panic-stricken. Any ideas why he reacted like that?’
Uneasy, she wrapped her arms around her middle. ‘I don’t like to think badly of him. He was always wonderful to me.’
He waited for her to continue.
‘I used to think it was something to do with Karen, but . . . but it seems unlikely. I think he’d been seeing another woman. I prefer not to think about it to be honest.’
‘I can understand that,’ he said. ‘Do you have any abilities?’
‘I don’t think so. Sometimes I get a sense about things. For example, when I arrived in the house I went into a bedroom and felt a very deep sense of loneliness. I assumed it was memories from my childhood, but I felt as though I missed other members of my family, brothers and sisters. I wondered . . .’ pausing, she fidgeted with the skin around her neck. ‘Could I have been sensing Janet’s loneliness, as a little girl?’
‘It’s possible. Some people can touch things and get a sense of its history. Have you felt anything else?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I would love to be psychic. I’ve even tried meditating to develop it. Does that sound silly?’
‘No of course not. It takes a lot of practise developing the right state of mind.’
‘Do you think it actually works?’
‘Yes, I do. Psychics acquire information using Extrasensory perception, or ESP as it’s often known, rather than normal senses. I’ve heard it described as a strong sixth sense. There’s a lot of people, especially women, who claim to have that ability, even just in a mild form, so I think it makes sense that it could be developed with practise.’
‘Is it dangerous?’
‘If you’re careful about what you do, there’s nothing to fear. Your interpretations are what matters. You must not take everything you see as the absolute truth. Images can be deceiving . . . as can snippets of conversations.’
‘Could it help the case?’
He rotated the pen between his fingers. ‘It might do. Do you fancy having a go?’
‘I’m not sure. It terrified Janet.’
He nodded and started to gather his notes into his bag.
‘Are powers inherited?’
‘I have no idea.’ He stood up and glanced at Imogen. ‘I’m sorry, but we must go, it’s getting late.’
‘Yes, of course. Thanks for coming.’
‘That’s okay.’
The prospect of following in her great-grandmother's footsteps caused her to tingle with excitement as she watched Luke and Imogen leave. It was wonderful to talk to someone who didn’t think her yearning was bizarre. However, when she returned to the kitchen the newly acquired information regarding Janet, Karen and Fiona, crept back into her mind, and her ache intensified. What more secrets did Janet carry? The thoughts and possibilities were perturbing.
Leanne slowed the car to a virtual halt, turned the steering wheel to park in the makeshift drive, and turned to face Tyler. His mouth was ajar, his eyes wide with wonderment.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
He ran his slender fingers through his short, blond hair. ‘This is all ours?’
‘It is.’ She unbuckled her seatbelt. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around.’
She exited the car, and careful to stay on the trampled grass, escorted Tyler to the rear of the house. His bewilderment silenced him. She kept turning, checking he was still there, ensuring it was not just a dream, and noted his eyes scanning the land and the house.
‘I’m going to have to spend some money on the garden,’ she said.
‘Just a bit.’
‘It won’t take that long to sort out. Don’t look so overwhelmed.’
‘I didn’t think it would be this large.’
‘Wait until you see inside.’
Leanne lifted the key from her bag, unlocked the door and pushed it open. It was still sticking a bit, but nothing too severe.
‘Wow!’ he said, standing in the lobby. ‘This is almost as big as our living room.’
‘Have a wander around. This is your home too. I’ll go make a drink.’
‘Have you any fruit juice?’
‘Of course. I’ve bought in everything you like. Do you want a piece of flapjack too?’
‘Please.’
She flicked on the kettle, removed the juice from the fridge and extended her arm to reach for a glass from the top cupboard. Her smile was constant and her happiness bubbling.
‘There’s a piano,’ he called out.
She headed towards him. ‘Now’s your chance to learn.’
He smoothed his hand across the shiny surface then meandered around the room. ‘I don’t like the wallpaper.’
‘Me neither. It was fashionable once upon a time.’
‘No taste,’ he said.
She followed in his shadow as he moved between the rooms, occasionally commenting on the furniture and décor and peering into every corner, every alcove. His expression of delight was beautiful, and she secretly studied his slender frame, wanting to keep this moment forever carved into her mind.
They headed up the stairs and into the bedrooms, and remarked on the paintings, old pieces of furniture, and the view across the fields. She prayed that she was correctly analysing his expression and that he was as enamoured with the place as she was. However, a reminder of the fact his stay was for two days crushed any feelings of delight and triggered a sense of hopelessness. She wanted to tackle him for his brainless decision, persuade him to abandon Darren, even command him to stay with her. Was she being unreasonable? Dismissing her desperation, she told herself it was not forever. He would return next weekend. He would return every weekend. He would always be her son.
Determined to enjoy every moment, they headed back downstairs where she asked him about his time with Darren and the activities they had shared. As the conversation progressed, and Tyler described his father as funny, easy-going, and a man’s man, she sensed a lack of discipline and feared that Darren only saw his role as that of a friend. She envisaged them sharing beers over a late-night movie and making crude comments about women in bars, thoughts that turned her stomach. However, clutching at the immense pleasure that was his company, she maintained her silence and her upbeat mood.
There was a knock at the door. She bolted to her feet, glanced out of the window, and headed to the outer door. Steven had his hands huddled in his pockets and Tansy was panting by his side.
‘Hello,’ she said brightly.
Steven glanced over her shoulder. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.’
‘This is my son, Tyler. He’s staying for the weekend.’ She turned to her son. ‘And this is Steven, a friend.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ Steven said, ‘do you like the house?’
‘Yes, it’s bigger than I expected.’
‘That’s what your mum said. I can imagine you having a party or two here. What music are you into?’
‘Anything rocky. I like a few of the local groups. I doubt you’ve heard of them.’
‘Are you in a band?’
‘No. I’ve thought about it though. I can sing pretty well.’
Leanne caught Steven’s eye. ‘He’s very good. He’s always singing in the shower.’
‘Mum!’
‘You shouldn’t be ashamed, you have a beautiful voice.’ She turned to Steven. ‘He sang at Gran’s eightieth birthday party. Everyone loved it.’
Shaking his head, Tyler headed out of the lobby and into the room with the piano, leaving them alone.
‘I bet you shed a tear or two,’ Steven said.
She smiled. ‘Come into the kitchen. I’ve been wanting to see you.’
They sat opposite each other. Steven settled Tansy and then reached out for her hand. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you the other day.’
‘No . . . you didn’t. It’s just . . .’
‘A bit soon?’
‘I think so.’
He nodded. ‘I understand.’
He squeezed her hand, causing her skin to tingle and her pulse to race. The intensity was oppressive, and she could feel the warmth gather beneath her clothes, releasing in waves at her neckline. Resisting throwing herself into his arms was a monumental test; resisting ripping off his clothes was another. All her previous worries and disappointments seemed like a lifetime away.
‘I saw you looking at the book on microlighting,’ he said cautiously. ‘I know this sounds crazy, but did it . . . did it play a part?’
‘Things like that scare me. I . . .’ she rubbed her arms and gazed at the floor. ‘I can’t explain.’
‘Me too.’
She spun to face him. ‘What?’
‘Yes. That book is Andrea’s. She’s into adrenaline rushes.’
She grinned, her face splitting in two. ‘For real?’
‘Yes. Why?’
She pulled free her hand. ‘Phillip was killed in a paragliding accident.’
Shock stilled his face. ‘I’m so sorry! That’s terrible!’
She nodded. ‘It was in France. He was trying to avoid someone less experienced who had gone off course and crashed into the rocks. It was instant.’ She bit her lip and fought back her tears. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise. I’d be worried if you weren’t upset.’
She held her breath. She wrestled with the montage of Phillip’s life, but for once, she wanted it gone and yearned to move on from the pain that had so often overwhelmed her. ‘Let’s talk about something else. What are you doing here?’
Tyler strode into the kitchen and headed towards the fridge.
‘Teresa has had an accident. I’m going around there now. I had thought you might want to come.’ He glanced at her son. ‘Clearly not.’
‘What happened?’
‘She slipped on some grease outside the house. She suffered a concussion and has a broken arm, but she’s okay now. She’s back at home.’
Tyler was leaning against the unit, sipping his juice. ‘Who’s this?’
‘A friend of Steven’s. I’ve met her a couple of times.’
‘Don’t worry about me. If you want to go visit, just go.’
‘Absolutely not. I haven’t seen you for ages. I want to spend every minute with you.’
‘It’s only been a couple of weeks.’
‘Only? To me, that’s a lifetime.’
Tyler lowered his head. ‘I don’t need a minder.’
‘I haven’t brought you all this way to leave you alone. No,’ she looked to Steven, ‘you understand don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Then, it’s sorted.’
An awkward silence flooded the room, instigated by Tyler’s discomfort. After a few seconds, Steven left for the bathroom, leaving Tansy tied to the kitchen table, tugging and pulling, and desperate to trail after him. Then, she sank to the floor with her tail between her legs and squealed plaintively at the doorway.
‘I’d prefer it if you went out for a couple of hours,’ Tyler said.
Her heart sank.
‘We have all weekend to be together.’
‘I know, but-’
‘Please Mum. I can tell you like him. Are you seeing each other?’
‘We’re just friends.’
‘But you do like him, don’t you?’
‘There’s no need for you to worry.’
‘Who said I’m worried? He seems nice, and if he makes you happy, you should go for it.’
Perturbed, she raised her eyes.
‘It’s what Dad would have wanted. You can’t hide away forever.’
‘I thought you’d be upset.’
‘Dad’s gone. We both have to move on.’
‘You don’t think it’s too soon?’
‘It happens when it happens.’
Absorbing the features of his young face, she withheld her pride.
‘Being with Darren has taught me to live for the moment. What’s happened in the past is over, it’s history.’
‘Is that what he said?’
‘Yes. He wants me to forget Phillip.’
She leapt to her feet. ‘Forget him? You should never forget him.’
‘But he’s gone, Mum. He’s not going to walk through the door. He’s not going to take me to football matches. He’s dead.’
‘Even so.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Tyler rushed to the doorway and then glanced back. ‘Please Mum, go out for a bit. It’ll be fun to explore alone.’
Leanne dropped onto the chair and rested her head in her hand, and wondered what Darren had been teaching her son. It was a terrifying thought, never more so than when she realised she may not have much influence over him anymore. Was Darren brainwashing Tyler? Would he be telling untruths about her next? She looked up. Steven’s fine figure was heading towards her. Their eyes locked. She reached out for his hand, yearning his support and words of wisdom.
It was a sunny although somewhat chilly autumn day, and Leanne and Steven decided to walk Tansy back home and then continue their journey on foot to Teresa’s house. The loneliness and uncertainty she had so often felt as she vacated the house had been eradicated from her mind, entirely due to Tyler, and a curve slipped to her lips as she gazed back towards the kitchen window. She was part of something again and it was a wonderful feeling.
Maybe Tyler was having a rummage around, or simply imagining living in such magnificence. It was easy to envisage him as an older man wearing exquisite designer clothes and with wife and children, and commanding the gardener and cleaner. He would have a study in which to do his business. He would have a music room to explore his talents. It would be a happy place, as it should be.
Steven unhooked Tansy and she bolted, running along the path at the edge of the field with a sense of purpose. Then she stopped dead in her tracks, turned around, and looked at her master, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth and her legs blocky. Steven reached into his pocket, retrieved a ball attached to a piece of rope, and slung it into the distance, over Tansy’s head. Her feet pounded the hardened ground, her legs outstretched and her centre of gravity lowered. Within seconds, the dog returned with the ball and was ready for a repeat of the action.
It became routine, and whilst Leanne had been absorbed, she now found her thoughts wandering. She glanced at Steven, noticing the gentle, unassuming man that he was, and made automatic comparisons with Phillip. There had been a time when she never thought she could recover from his tragic accident, and imagined herself locked away in an enforced solitary confinement. It was amazing how time could heal, and whilst she still struggled to believe that she could ever be in love again, she could now at least imagine being happy in her own personal space.
Walking in step with Steven, sensing their growing bond, Leanne looked down his frame. His hand was a whisker away from hers. She searched for courage, yearning his touch. But the more she wanted to grab it, the more she felt an invisible barrier assert itself, like opposing forces on a magnet, and ultimately she withdrew. Nervously, she caught his eye. He smiled, a beautiful wide smile, and her fingers flickered. Then Tansy barked.
The dog was waiting for the ball to be thrown. Her feet pounded the track. Her tail wagged furiously. She sidestepped. She paused. She sidestepped again. It was a remarkable sight, her energy and commitment constant, her focus instinctual and concentrated.
Leanne’s moment for intimacy had gone, and a selfish ache developed. A dog had upstaged her. She wanted nothing more than to receive Steven’s sole attention, just as Tansy had. Her skin was prickling with her desires, and they were growing ever more urgent, ever more painful, yet Steven continued to be unaware. He made general chatter, rambling about his dog, their regular walks, and the villagers that shared their usual jaunts. Mesmerised, she listened to his deep, soft tones.
Steven’s house came into view. He locked Tansy inside, told her to be good and shut the door. The dog’s disapproving squeals and intermittent high-pitched barks lingered in the air, desperately attempting to impart her sadness and change their minds. Forcing aside images of Tansy’s doleful expression and puppy-like antics, which were visible through the glass, she followed Steven down the drive.
‘She’ll settle down,’ he said.
‘She’s rather demanding.’
‘You’ve noticed?’ he reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze. ‘Are you jealous?’
Her colour rose to her cheeks. He was looking. He had a teasing look of affection in his eyes. Now was her time. Now she could have him alone.
Teresa’s street was visible. The journey did not take as long as Leanne had predicted, partially due to the shortcuts that were only accessible on foot, but also because of the company, which she relished wholeheartedly.
Steven rang the doorbell, and Leanne opened her woollen coat and released a layer of trapped heat, the refreshing air creating a wonderful cooling sensation, which mingled with the floral scent of her body spray. She felt alive with happiness and confident in her own skin, and not self-conscious or mournful as was becoming the norm.
Teresa opened the door. She was washed of colour and more anxious than normal, and scanned the drive and the street as she guided them inside.
‘I thought it was just Steven coming.’
‘It’s not a problem, is it?’ he asked, perplexed.
‘No.’ Her gaze did not move from the street until she shut the door.
‘Oh Teresa,’ Steven said, ‘what happened?’
A determined look held on her face. ‘I fell.’
‘It must have been nasty. How are you feeling?’
‘I’m okay. A bit shaken.’
‘I’m not surprised. You must have taken quite a bash.’
She weaved past them, stepping into the lounge and motioning them to sit down. The room had a splendid décor, luxurious ornaments, and sumptuous furniture, so obviously top of the range and forcing Leanne to wonder why she had not noticed such detail before. Everything cried out their lavish lifestyle. Even the poker for the stove was intricately carved and looked pristine.
Leanne perched onto the sofa almost unwilling to crease the leather as Teresa guided the conversation away from the accident and to community affairs. Her change of demeanour was obvious, and her actions became less jerky; her eyes relaxed, and a sense of happiness prevailed. It was so obvious that as soon as Teresa averted her gaze, Leanne locked eyes with Steven. Moments later, Teresa left the room to make drinks.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Steven whispered.
Leanne nodded. ‘Why didn’t she want me here?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘I should go.’
‘No, don’t do that. You’re here now.’
Teresa returned and the tension remained. Throughout general conversations, Teresa locked eyes with Steven, excluding her, and she refused to talk about the accident or anything associated. Leanne tried to dismiss her awkwardness, but Teresa’s disapproval was so obvious that she felt herself stiffen. She assumed that she wanted to tell Steven something she didn’t want her to hear. Her thoughts compounded when a photograph of Teresa and Geoff caught Teresa’s eye, and she became enveloped in a desperate concern.
Leanne caught Steven’s eye. Whilst he didn’t react, she feared Teresa had noticed as she fled from the room. Steven also excused himself, causing her to wonder if they were having a private exchange. However, she soon realised that Teresa was in the kitchen and Steven in the bathroom. It allowed her moment for a private contemplation.
Waiting in the silence for their return, Leanne talked herself out of her impulsive notion that Geoff had inflicted the injuries. She did not know him at all and should not be making such radical assumptions. However, she still found herself pondering the possibility when Teresa returned moments later, followed by Steven.
Moments later, she seized the opportunity. ‘Where’s Geoff?
Teresa’s response was immediate. ‘He’s gone to a football match. It’s his regular Saturday activity.’
There was no evidence of nervousness or apprehension, but Leanne was not convinced. ‘Don’t you get sick of being a football widow?’
‘No. I enjoy the time alone.’
‘I thought he’d given up going to matches,’ Steven said.
‘I . . . I wanted him out of the way.’
Leanne gave Steven a disbelieving look.
Teresa stared at Leanne. ‘I hope you’re not thinking this was him,’ she said, pointing at her arm.
‘Of course not.’
‘Good, because he wouldn’t do that.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I wasn’t watching what I was doing.’
‘You said you slipped on grease. Where did it come from?’
She pressed a fist against her cheek. ‘It was in an old canister. I can’t remember anything more.’ She bolted to her feet. ‘Look I was clumsy and I slipped. End of story.’
‘Teresa, what’s wrong?’ Steven said.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ She turned away.
He moved towards her and placed his hand upon her back. ‘Who’s done this to you?’
‘Let it go.’
Steven glanced at Leanne and then turned back to Teresa. ‘I think we should go.’
‘Probably.’
‘You know where I am if you want a chat,’ he added.
‘Can you ring before you come next time?’
Bewilderment coated his face. ‘Okay.’
Teresa took a swift glance out of an adjacent window, straining to see beyond the hedge and bushes, and then ushered them out through the door. There was no one around, nothing to create such anxiety.
‘Please don’t hang around,’ she said.
Leanne and Steven looked to each other, baffled.
The door shut.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Steven said, walking away.
‘I’m sorry too. It was horrible.’
‘I don’t think you were the problem.’
‘So what was it?’
He did not respond.
‘I was wondering,’ she said. ‘Could Geoff have hurt her?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not? It’s the only thing that makes sense.’
‘I just don’t think he would do that. He might be many things, but I don’t think he’s violent. Look, I’ll give her a ring later and let you know.’
She nodded.
A warm glow spread across his face. He pulled her to his side and kissed her on the cheek. ‘In the meantime, I’d like to get to know you a bit better . . .’
Her pulse quickened. She held her breath.
‘. . . but I suppose I should take you back to Tyler.’
‘Another hour won’t harm.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
The intimate moment Leanne shared with Steven was a memory, and she spent the remainder of a wonderful weekend with her son. Now, as she was preparing for their parting, her tension caused her abdomen to swell and her mouth to release air, such was the agony of Tyler’s decision to return to Darren’s home. With words condemning his decision sticking in her dry throat, they gathered more of his belongings from their original home in a strained silence.
He was downloading music from his computer; his body was still, his eyes locked on the screen, and his fingers hovered above the keys. He was her beautiful son, handsome, wise and caring, and capable of making an adult decision. So why was it she believed Darren was coercing him, and that Darren’s motives were deeper rooted? Unable to disregard her instincts, she slipped downstairs, shut the door into the lounge, and reached for the telephone and dialled Darren’s number.
‘Hello, it’s Leanne.’
‘Yes.’
‘About Tyler . . . are you sure it’s not going to cause you any trouble having him stay with you?’
‘I thought we’d been through this.’
‘Yes, I know, but I’m not sure it’s the right decision.’
‘Has he said that?’
‘No . . . not exactly.’
‘Then what’s your problem?’
‘He needs discipline and structure. He’s going into an important phase at school. I don’t want you side-tracking him.’
‘You don’t trust me.’
She hesitated. ‘I know Tyler better than anyone. I know what makes him tick. He’s had a rough year and needs stability above all else.’
‘What do you think I’m going to do? Take him to all night parties and strip clubs.’
There was silence.
‘Give me some credit. I’m a responsible husband and father now.’
The hint of sarcasm in his voice caused her to falter. Over the last couple of days, she had been rehearsing what to say and what to ask, but all of a sudden, her words evaded her. She could not prove his behaviour was irresponsible, and could not find any direct fault in his approach to fatherhood. Darren and Tyler had developed a swift bond, and her son had no complaints.
‘Promise me,’ she said, ‘that if he’s unhappy or struggling in any way, you’ll let me know.’
‘I will.’
‘And you won’t make him do anything I would disapprove of.’
Darren puffed out. ‘Now come on Leanne. How am I supposed to know what you disapprove of? From what I remember, there was little.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t. We’re both adults now. You do things your way, I do things mine, and now it’s my turn. Tyler’s a big boy. You have to let go.’
‘Just don’t harass him, especially concerning his homework, he doesn’t respond well. But you will have to make him clean his room. If you don’t, it’ll have things growing in it in a week.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And he doesn’t like salad. Raw onions make him sick.’
‘Drop the instructions, Leanne. I’m not an idiot.’
‘Just look after him. He doesn’t always say what he thinks.’
‘He told me exactly what he thinks . . . made it clear he wanted to stay on. He said your place was too depressing.’
Silence.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ he reaffirmed. ‘So now you know.’
‘It’s not my fault-’
‘You don’t need to say it. I know your Gran died. Look, you’ve said your piece. I’m going.’
The call ended. Cradling the phone in her hand, his words rattled. Tyler had been unhappy, and hated the misery and the grief and wanted to get away. What had she done? She should have put Tyler first; instead, self-pity became her overriding emotion. Unwittingly, she had pushed him away, and in the end, she got what she deserved.
It was not a competition by any means, so why did she feel as though she had finished in last place? Why did Darren’s smugness cut so deep? He had always been confident, but over the intervening years seemed to have developed an ability to be manipulative too. He had gained a son, a young man to be proud of, and someone to share his male activities with. Would he be presenting Tyler to his friends as though he had won a prize? Leanne pressed a cushion into her abdomen, the image horrifying, and stared into space.
She toiled with her thoughts. One side argued that Tyler had shown incredible wisdom and would be fine, but the other side cried out that he was young and needed constant protection. Her gut twisted. She chewed on her lip. She prayed for a solution.
Tyler’s footsteps padded the staircase and hallway. He opened the door and peered into the room.
‘Are you ready to go?’
She looked up, still fretting.
‘You okay?’
She looked down at the phone. ‘Yes.’
‘Who were you speaking to?’
‘Darren. He told me you were miserable here. Is that true?’
Flushing, he looked away.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve been difficult to be around. You should have said something.’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘So tell me.’
He looked to his feet and folded his arms.
‘Please Tyler. I need you to be honest.’
His adrenaline leapt from his skin, his face filled with anger. ‘I never said I was unhappy.’
‘Did you say you wanted to get away?’
‘No, I . . .’
She studied him, searching for guidance. ‘He lied?’
‘Yes . . . I mean no.’
‘Which is it?’
‘He . . . he . . . why does it matter?’
‘Because it does. I don’t want him mistreating you.’
‘He’s not. He wouldn’t do that.’
‘So he’s not bullying you.’
‘No.’
She puffed out. ‘Please appreciate how difficult this is for me.’
‘You said it was okay for me to stay with him.’
‘Yes, because I thought it was what you wanted.’
‘And I still do.’
‘But for all the wrong reasons. If I’ve done something wrong, you have to tell me.’
Exasperated, he scurried away, first into the kitchen and then back upstairs. Her desperation to see even just a hint that Tyler had changed his opinion was driving her on; instead, the more she probed, the more she saw the opposite, and she felt herself slip further into a cavern of loneliness. She imagined the fun and laughter he would have with Darren’s family. She thought of her exclusion.
Leanne’s chest rose and fell as she exhaled. It was almost time to leave. She looked to the bags by the wall and told herself that it wouldn’t be forever. Soon, Tyler would realise his mistake and return to her, and in the meantime, she would have a chance to pursue her relationship with Steven. It was a win-win situation. What other choice did she have but to try to be positive?
Entering the village was like entering another world. It was a world that allowed her to be a different person, away from her duties of motherhood and the memories of Phillip. They had spent their entire life in that small townhouse and every piece of it, from the ornaments to the furnishings were reminders of a life lost. It was both comforting and distressing. She could relish the memories, vivid and heart-warming, yet they were also heart-breaking and had the ability to leave her in searing agony.
Honeysuckle Cottage had offered a new start. It was as though she could pretend she had never been married. Phillip had never existed there. She felt liberated and energised, and never more so than when she considered her previous meeting with Steven.
The tenderness of his fingers had tickled her skin, causing her body to convulse; his soft lips had danced over hers, connecting only when she felt sufficiently electrified; their bodies had converged, his firm chest not quite secreting his pounding heartbeat; their heat had escaped in waves, their adrenaline surging, their passion ignited.
Steven had pulled away. At the time, with her body quaking with lust, Leanne’s disappointment rose, but later and once her emotions had settled, she was appreciative of his gesture. It was too soon for anymore and she did not feel willing or able in her fragile state to seek comfort in their activity. Her heart still belonged to Phillip; their act would have felt like a betrayal. Had Steven felt the same? Was he still emotionally linked to Andrea? She ambled out of the car and sauntered into the store.
There was a middle-aged woman behind the counter and an elderly man with a small boy selecting a birthday card. She strolled by, heading to a refrigerator section for some milk. Meandering along the aisles, she filled her basket with biscuits, a cereal, and a loaf of sliced bread, and then, having paid for her selections, she exited the building and returned to the car across the street.
She slumped onto the seat, her body weary from the journey, and thought of Honeysuckle Cottage. Tonight she would listen to music and read a book, and tomorrow she would continue with her plans for her jewellery making business. Steven would pass about midday. She would offer him lunch.
Leanne glanced at the carrier bag on the adjacent seat and wondered if she should go back inside and buy some salad. Her legs were heavy and her eyes drooping. She could come back tomorrow if need be.
She turned the ignition and eased along the High Street to a t-junction where she indicated left and glanced up and down. Just as she started to pull away, two people, a little distance to her right and walking away from her, caught her eye. Leanne yanked her foot from the accelerator pedal and put it on the brake, causing the car to jolt. The man was Steven, every curve and every flat edge of his body carved into her mind, but who was the woman? She was facing away and her arm draped across his back. Was it Andrea? Steven was smiling and his eyes were alight; irritatingly, he was relishing in her company. Leanne’s stomach knotted.
They headed into The Fox Inn. He held open the door. His companion turned her head. It was Queenie.
She returned home in an awful mood. Seated on the sofa with her legs crossed and her arms folded she scowled, her plans for a relaxing evening with her lovesick memories nothing but fantasy. Steven had said he didn’t know Queenie. He had lied. They could not have formed a friendship so quickly. And even if they had, for what purpose?
She clenched her jaw and formed a fist. Had their intimacy meant nothing to him? He was prepared to seek solace with someone else, so obviously not. Was Queenie willing to give him the full extent of her body in a way that Leanne had been unable?
Her body tightened as she relived the moment of her parting with Steven. She had felt him withdraw and so had pulled back. He had suggested they waited. He had said it. Not her. So why did she feel that once again she had left him in the lurch?
She sucked her tongue as she tried to understand Steven’s motive to date Queenie. It may not be a deliberate punishment, and it could just be that he wanted to make full use of his freedom. But why Queenie? She was older than him, and not pretty even for her age. And her personality wasn’t appealing either. He could do so much better.
Pacing the room, her imagination was in free fall. Were they back at his house making out? Was Steven stroking her naked skin the way he had wanted to with her? Was she inhaling his fresh scent? Leanne needed answers. It was too late to go out, and anyhow, she didn’t want to go to the pub. If she had Janet’s so-called powers and those of her great-grandmother, then she would not have to imagine what was happening.
What had Janet been capable of? Had she acquired paranormal powers or practised witchcraft, or were her abilities a strong intuition? Her grandmother had never come across as a sensitive woman, rather headstrong and determined, so neither options seemed likely. Yet given the secrets that Janet kept close to her chest, she admitted that in some ways they were like strangers. She dared not even consider what else she might uncover beneath her grandmother’s hardened façade.
Janet’s absolute fear of the paranormal echoed in Leanne’s mind. Something had terrified her, stopped her from doing whatever it was she had done. Could she have practised remote viewing, a phenomenon using extrasensory perception to acquire impressions of a distant target? It intrigued Leanne, and whilst she knew little about it, she knew it had been used in the military. What if she could settle herself, follow the correct procedure, and get a feel for Steven’s behaviour? It was a fascinating prospect
Whatever had happened to Janet was probably nothing to do with the process she had used, but rather her interpretation of her discovery. More than likely, she had handled the situation incorrectly; her stubbornness had been renowned. Reminding herself of Luke’s reassurance of having nothing to fear, she concluded she could do no harm and headed up to her bedroom and lay flat on the bed. It was worth a try.
After an indeterminable amount of time, she had slowed her breathing to such a degree that it was as though she was floating, and she had silenced her mind, no longer aware of the natural creaks of the house. Determined to progress, she focused on an imaginary light.
Steven was in the centre, but the details were hazy and she fought to gain clarity. He was in a bar. There were people standing nearby holding glasses, chatting and laughing. There was someone by his side, a woman, Queenie.
The scene flickered in and out of focus as Leanne’s efforts faltered. She told herself to relax, breathe slower and focus deeper, and settled her mind on a vivid light. The image reformed.
They were in the corner. Queenie was leaning into Steven with her face closing in on his, and her hand was wandering up his thigh. She was laughing. She pressed her finger to his lips. She snuggled into him.
Their intimacy was unbearable, causing her to jolt and rip open her eyes. She stared at the ceiling, white with rippled wallpaper, and tried to calm her quickening pulse. It was too difficult. She sat up, eased her trembling legs over the edge, and wiped her heated brow. Steven was going to take Queenie home. She could sense it, smell it. She could read their thoughts and feel their lust. Shivering, she grabbed the duvet and wrapped it around her cold body.
The warmth was immediate, but it did not settle her agitated mindset. Despite sensing that the psychic vision had failed, and concluding what she saw was nothing more than her imagination, she still replayed the details as though they were real. It should not matter what Steven did and whom he saw. But it did, more than she dared admit.
Their next date, a meal out with Geoff and Teresa was imminent. She considered cancelling and her stomach knotted. Was she foolish for still wanting to see him?
Standing in front of a full-length mirror, Leanne gazed at her reflection. Her royal blue dress was loose around her middle disguising her extra weight, yet shaped to avoid her looking as though she was wearing a tent. She placed her feet into her silver sandals to gain an extra few centimetres in height and straightened out the shimmering fabric. Satisfied with her appearance, she perched upon a padded stool situated at a dressing table and reached to a hairbrush.
Having brushed her dark brown hair, she applied hairspray and a touch of perfume to her neck. Deciding she had done all she could, she turned off the light and headed downstairs and towards the gentle sounds of the radio. The music was from a west-end show. It was not to her taste, but it was company. The silence, the absence of family, was overbearing, even after a few weeks, and she did not think she would ever get used to being alone. It was one reason she was still going out, maybe the only one.
Despite continuous pondering, Leanne had not found the courage or motivation to withdraw from her date, and had flitted between her choices until her head and stomach ached. Twice, she had created a text to cancel, and twice she had failed to send it. She had phoned his landline at a time she knew he was out with Tansy, and she had walked past the house, both weak attempts to enforce a decision. She believed her inability to resolve her agony was because she wanted him to admit to his betrayal and cancel. It was not because she wanted to spend time with him.
Her niggles vexed. Steven did not appear to want to admit to his betrayal. Maybe he didn’t think it mattered how many women he saw at once. They were both too old to use the excuse of uncontrollable teenage hormones as had been Darren’s defence when she had once highlighted his unscrupulous behaviour. Steven’s behaviour was inappropriate and she deserved a modicum of respect.
The doorbell sounded. She hurried along the hallway, her irritations on the tip of her tongue, and opened the door with a stony silence. Upon seeing Steven, who looked more handsome than ever wearing navy blue trousers, a yellow cotton shirt and a patterned tie, a warm glow oozed from her body. Her displeasure was gone, and a grin stretched across her face.
He reached across to her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Where have you been all week? I’ve stopped by every day.’
She tightened. ‘I’ve had to pop out.’
‘I thought you must have been avoiding me.’
She turned away, reaching for her woollen coat and handbag. ‘No.’
‘I spoke to Teresa about the accident.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She acted strangely. I’m worried about her. She wouldn’t say what happened.’
‘Do you think it was Geoff?’
‘No, but I’m certain it was no accident. When I mentioned the grease, she lost her temper. I’ve never known her to be like that. She insisted that neither of us goes around there. When I asked her why she wouldn’t say. I . . .’ He folded his arms around his body. ‘I got the impression it was more you than me.’
‘So why are we going out tonight? I don’t need her doing any favours.’
‘I know that, in fact, I said as much.’ He reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze. ‘She said they wanted to. She said she likes you. They both do.’
‘They have a funny way of showing it.’
‘I know. It’s all very peculiar.’
‘Is she normally like this with strangers?’
He hesitated and his voice dropped. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘It’s going to make tonight awkward.’
‘It won’t. I’ll make sure.’
She looked up, caught the compassion in his eyes. ‘I wish you hadn’t told me.’
‘I wanted to be honest with you. I don’t want any secrets.’
Stiffening, she averted her gaze.
He eased aside her hair and nestled his face onto the back of her neck; his lips dropped like butterflies along her neckline and the tips of his hair fluttered across her skin. Fighting an overwhelming yearning, she pulled free.
He gave her a questioning glance. She was not ready to confront him regarding Queenie; at the same time, she could not remove the image of his body entwined with hers. It dominated her mind, stilled her voice. It grappled. It drained.
‘You look and smell gorgeous by the way . . . irresistible.’
As irresistible as Queenie? Leanne bit her lip and headed to the door. She was being childish, petty.
They sauntered to the car. Steven smiled sweetly. Half-heartedly, as she wondered how long she would be able to keep up the pretence she smiled back. With her body stiff, her gaze concentrated, she climbed in the vehicle. He started the car, reversed onto the lane, and headed back into the village. He turned into the new housing estate.
‘I thought we were going to meet at Teresa’s house,’ she said.
‘Change of plan. Teresa said she would pick us up.’
‘So you’re not driving?’
Grinning, he turned off the engine. ‘No. I might walk you home afterwards, unless . . .’ He leaned towards her, his warm breath moistening her face. ‘I feel like a teenager again.’
‘As randy as,’ she said, unbuckling her belt and hurrying out of the car.
He grinned.
‘Look, they’re here.’
He was sat in the car, dejected, and it reminded her of the movie Grease when Sandy walked out on Danny. For her, the power was satisfying, but her annoyance was greater. Was he the same with Queenie, and whomever else he dated? She would not be his latest trophy. She might be lonely, but she was not desperate.
The Green Dragon was once a sixteenth-century coach house with oak beams, flagstone floors, and log fires. At the rear of the property were fantastic views of a meandering river and woodland, both set in an undulating landscape. During daylight, the vista was visible through the restaurant windows; at night, the illuminated courtyard was the only view offered.
Leanne felt as though she was stepping back through time as she headed down some concrete steps, aided by a handrail, and into the restaurant. The room was small and elongated, with wooden tables along the length, a log fire set upon a plinth at the opposite side, and a drinks bar near the entrance. She removed her coat, inhaling the fresh scent of sandalwood, and hung it on the coat rack.
‘Your dress is stunning,’ Teresa said.
‘Thanks. I like it.’
She nudged Geoff. ‘Don’t you think?’
There was admiration in his eyes. ‘Yes. You look lovely.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Almost as gorgeous as you, my sweet.’
He leaned across and kissed her cheek. She turned her head, whispered something in his ear, and wrapped her arm around his middle.
Unwilling to be an observer in this intimate moment, Leanne averted her eyes and continued to absorb the relaxing ambience, but not for long. Within moments, they were guided to a table and encouraged to sit down.
Leanne sat opposite Steven and next to Teresa. After making casual conversation, the menus arrived. The food on offer was home-cooked English cuisine, from the more exotic such as guinea fowl, to chicken in a fine sauce. Each dish sounded delicious, and her mouth watered with expectation.
‘This is our treat Leanne,’ Geoff said, ‘make sure you have exactly what you want.’
Her eyes flickered between Geoff and Steven.
‘You too Steven,’ he added.
‘I . . . no one said,’ she replied.
‘No arguments. We haven’t given you a good impression. We’ve had our problems.’ He reached for Teresa’s hand. ‘But we’re getting there.’
He placed it to his mouth and kissed it. Teresa’s eyes glistened, their issues apparently forgotten.
Geoff turned back to Leanne. ‘When you’ve been married as long as us, you’ll have your problems too. It’s all part of the enjoyment. Life would be dull if it always ran smoothly. Don’t you agree?’
Reluctantly, as she knotted her hands, she agreed. It had never been dull with Phillip and they had rarely had issues. Her chest swelled. This time last year, she would have never envisaged living this life. How quickly things changed.
‘What do you like to do in your spare time Leanne?’ Geoff asked.
‘My time’s taken up with my son.’
‘I hear he was over at the weekend.’
‘Yes, it was great to see him. It’s strange being apart from him.’
‘Steven tells me he’s a fine young man and a credit to you.’
‘Thanks. He is a sensible sort and quite mature for his age.’
‘He’s sixteen, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Has he any idea what he wants to do when he leaves school?’
‘Not really. I have been pressing him about it. He enjoys geography and in particular cartography, so I think he might get into that. When he was little, he would often draw maps of the area.’
‘Interesting. Is he going to university?’
‘Yes. There are quite a few courses he could do - earth sciences, geology, surveying – it’ll take a bit of deciding.’
‘How is he going to find out about them?’
‘I’m hoping through the school. Otherwise, I will spend some time on the Internet researching the jobs and entry requirements.’
‘Good idea. At least you don’t have money worries. That must be a huge relief.’
Teresa glared at Geoff.
‘It’s okay,’ he said to his wife. ‘Leanne understands what I’m saying.’
‘Of course, and yes you're right. I don’t know what I would do if I had to find that amount of money. I wouldn’t want him getting a loan.’
‘Quite right.’ Geoff turned to Steven. ‘You’re in the same situation, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. It’s a worry, for sure.’
‘I admire you both,’ Geoff said, ‘having teenagers must be stressful. I doubt I would manage as well as you.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ Leanne said, ‘it comes naturally. You want to do the best for them in every way and sometimes that means dealing with your own emotions differently . . . or even hiding them altogether. I don’t think I could have coped with my recent losses anywhere near as well without Tyler. I would have wallowed far more.’
‘I like your honesty.’
Feeling shy, her eyes drifted across the menu as she pondered Geoff’s behaviour. He was different to their previous meeting, and she had to agree with Teresa and Steven that his rudeness was due to the drink. Covertly, she glanced towards him, noting his fingers interlocking with Teresa’s and his eyes exuding warmth and passion. They seemed happy, far more so than Teresa or Steven had suggested and far more than she believed possible.
They placed their orders and continued to make easy chatter, talking about the education system, job prospects and government policies, although nothing personal. When the subject did drift towards family values, Leanne moved the conversation on, still hurt by Teresa’s strong negative opinions regarding her search for her mother. No one appeared to notice.
With the main course completed, Teresa departed to visit the washroom, swiftly followed by Geoff.
Leanne turned to Steven. ‘They seem to be getting on well tonight.’
‘Yes. They do seem cosy.’
‘Is it an act?’
‘That’s cynical.’
‘It’s just that they are fondling each other like they’ve just met. How long have they been married?’
‘Thirty or so years.’
‘I thought as much.’ She paused, thoughtful. ‘It still bothers me that she doesn’t want me around at her house.’
‘You’re making too much of it. She likes to be organised and doesn’t like people dropping in unannounced.’
‘But she’s okay with you.’
‘Most of the time I warn her.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. I remember her being a bit odd with me when we first met. I think it’s just one of her eccentricities.’
‘So you think I’m being a bit paranoid.’
He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘A little. Give her a chance. She’s a nice woman when you get to know her.’
She pulled it free and reached for her near-empty glass of wine. He looked annoyed. She avoided his penetrating gaze and looked to the bar area.
Geoff exited the washroom, headed to the bar and ordered a drink. He was chatting to the bar attendant when Teresa appeared. After they had received drinks, they stepped away and paused to hold a conversation. Teresa seemed a little perturbed or irritated by something, and Geoff was trying to placate her.
‘What’s going on?’ Steven asked.
‘They have just stopped for a chat. It doesn’t seem too amicable.’
‘I meant with us.’
‘Nothing.’
He frowned. She looked away.
‘What do I have to do to make you pay me attention?’ he asked. ‘I feel as though you’re trying your best to avoid any kind of interaction with me.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘Every time I speak to you, you seem to start a conversation with Geoff or Teresa. What have I done wrong?’
‘I’m trying to get on with them. I thought that’s what you wanted.’
Steven harrumphed.
Finally, he had noticed something was wrong. It was a satisfying moment. Maybe soon he would admit to being out with Queenie.
His mouth opened then shut, as though he was about to speak. Not wanting to progress the conversation any further, she glanced across the room to Geoff and Teresa, who were striding back to the table. Upon their arrival, she passed them a warm smile.
‘Enjoying your meal?’ Geoff asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It’s a great little place.’
‘Now you understand why it’s one of our favourites.’
‘I’d love to come during the day. Didn’t you say there were some good walks out the back?’
‘You like walking?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘It’s far too strenuous for me. I’m more of a beer and TV man.’
‘There’s a man who’s here most weekends,’ Teresa said. ‘He does a lot of painting.’
‘What does he paint?’
‘Sometimes landscapes, sometimes fine work, like insects or tiny flowers. He’s talented.’
‘Does he sell them?
‘I don’t know.’ She paused, pensive. ‘It could be an opportunity for you. You could sell it in your craft business. If it’s any good that is.’
Geoff’s eyes widened and he leaned forward. ‘You have a craft business?’
Teresa spoke first. ‘I did tell you.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘I don’t have a business,’ Leanne replied, ‘but I’ve been involved with one before and I am thinking of starting one up.’
Intriguingly, he was buzzing with excitement. ‘I can’t believe this. I have something that could interest you. I’m buying into a craft business near Norfolk with a friend and we want someone to run the place. Would you be interested?’
‘Norfolk? I . . . I could be.’
‘Alternatively . . .’ he gazed vacantly for a couple of seconds and then reached for his phone. ‘Hang on a minute.’
He scurried to the bar area, and whilst he was chatting, she tried to get the idea straight in her head. Teresa and Steven both approved and told her it may be just what she needed. It was the new start she had been after, an exciting prospect.
He returned bubbling with enthusiasm and displaying a broad grin. ‘I have an even better proposal, and Tony agrees. We want a third partner. It would mean putting some money in, but it would guarantee you had a say in the business. The only problem is you would have to act quickly. We are about to sign the contracts. The woman wants the sale complete this week.’
‘How much money?’
‘How does forty sound?
‘Thousand?’
‘Yes. We are doing this as an investment, and don’t have a clue with crafts, so we’d hardly be involved. It would give you a free run. I have the details in the car – I forget to drop them home - but as I said, I’d need an answer by tomorrow.’
She glanced between Teresa and Steven. Their expressions told her they both considered it a fantastic opportunity. She was inclined to agree.
‘It’s all happening a bit quickly.’
‘If it helps,’ Steven said, ‘I can vouch for Geoff. We may not always see eye-to-eye, but I know he is a good businessman. He wouldn’t do something unless he believed it would make him money.’
‘Is it currently a craft shop?’
‘It is, and it’s doing well,’ Geoff said. ‘It has an excellent turnover. The woman wants to retire. It’s a private sale and she wants cash. Lord knows why, but it’s no problem. The contracts have all been verified. Everything is in order.’
She scrutinised their expectant gazes. ‘But you don’t know me.’
‘I can smell the right people,’ he said. ‘I can tell you are straightforward and meticulous, and probably - correct me if I’m wrong – a fast learner. You’re the ideal candidate.’
‘It’s a lot of money to part with.’
‘I know it is, but I promise you . . .’ he leaned forward and locked eyes. ‘It is an excellent investment. It is in the right location, and there are possibilities for expansion. We’ve already worked out that we should get our money back within the first year.’
‘I must say I am tempted, but I’m not sure where I’ll be living. I have Tyler to consider.’
‘Isn’t it about half way between here and your other home?’
Leanne nodded.
‘Then it’s ideal.’ His tone grew stern. ‘I don’t want to push you, but I’d say it was meant to be. Do you believe in fate?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I’d say you should. This has to be the reason you’ve been drawn here. Chances like this don’t come around often.’
‘Can I sleep on it?’
‘Of course, but I’ll need to know first thing, one way or another.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll leave the details with you. Make sure you remember to take them.’
The remainder of the evening past in a blur and it was difficult for Leanne to concentrate on the conversation. All she could think about was the business opportunity. It was what she had wanted to do, and with two other partners involved in the deal, she would share the risk. Yet her doubts still flirted with her excitement. She did not know Tony Lawrence at all and she hardly knew Geoff and felt as though she should decline the offer. Yet, for some bizarre reason, she trusted them. It was a fantastic opportunity, and it was the new start she needed.
The money was not an issue either. She had the inheritance and had no plans for it, and then there was Honeysuckle Cottage, a fantastically valuable asset. It would not be a massive loss if it went wrong. Should she be impulsive and say yes? She wanted to, she just wasn’t sure if she was brave enough.
Steven wrapped his arm around her waist as they gathered by the bar to leave. His aroma wafted towards her, his warmth projecting itself into her body. She looked at him, deadpan.
‘I can tell there’s a lot going on inside your head. Do you want me to come back to your place to help you check the details?’
Suddenly, she thought of him with Queenie and pulled herself free. Despite her high spirits, she still felt the hurt of his betrayal, and could not dissolve it in her mind. ‘No thanks.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t mind.’
‘I’m sure.’
His tone hardened. ‘I’m not trying to get an invitation to stop over, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘You wouldn’t get one even if you were.’
He frowned and headed to the stairs. It was obvious that he was unhappy with her, but she was in no mood to offer an explanation. She buttoned up her coat and followed him out of the building, maintaining a small gap. Mulling over her emotions, she concluded it was foolish to feel jealous of a woman old enough to be her mother, but it still wasn’t enough to eradicate her pain. Steven was not the man she thought she knew, and just because she was deliriously happy she wasn’t about to betray her instincts. Tonight, she would spend alone. Tonight she would dream about the business.
Such was Leanne’s excitement for the day ahead, the instant she awoke from a fitful sleep pimples extended across the length of her body. She had tossed and turned numerous times, exited her bed on three occasions, and stared at the ceiling and dreamed of her business. Yet, despite the poor quality of sleep, she did not feel at all tired and her energy pounded her veins.
She leapt free of the covers and headed to the papers on the dressing table and carried them back to bed. There was an image of the shop on the front cover and inside a description of the business. Further along were several sheets of figures, from stock to turnover. She flicked through the documents, reassured herself it was real and tried to calm her enthusiasm. Her ideas were flowing; she could integrate her jewellery-making ideas into the business and she could sell her previous employers work. She could attend fairs and exhibitions. She could network with like-minded people.
It felt like a dream. As she dressed, she imagined Janet and Phillip’s joy. They would have all celebrated her new start and told her it was meant to be. They would have gone to the premises together to explore her newly acquired asset. They would have displayed their pride, sharing in her elation.
It was not to be. Nevertheless, she still had Tyler to celebrate with, but rather than hurrying to the telephone, she decided to wait. Once she had signed the documents and was in a position to begin working, then she would tell him. His expression would be worth the wait.
She hurried her breakfast, a mug of coffee and a slice of toast, and dialled Geoff’s number.
‘Have you made a decision?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m in.’
‘That’s great news. You won’t regret it.’
‘About the money. You say you wanted cash?’
‘Yes, that was what Mrs Oakdale wanted. I think the best thing is that you withdraw it and we put it straight into my vault. The rest of the cash is already there.’
‘Okay. And what about the contracts?’
‘I’ll have them amended today. How about I meet you at the bank tomorrow? Say at about eleven o’clock. You’ll need to give notice to withdraw the cash. Who are you with?’
‘Lloyd’s.’
‘There’s one not far from here.’
He gave her the details and ended the call. She sat for a moment, cradling it in her palm, and her smile extended from ear to ear.
Leanne’s pulse was racing and her hands were shaking as she watched the bank manager count the money on the table. She could not speak, such were her tremors, and wanted the moment to be over. The sooner it was in Geoff’s vault the better.
He was waiting for her in the lobby.
‘Act normal,’ he said. ‘It’s a lot to be carrying around.’
‘Have you got the contracts?’
‘I have. Are you excited?’
‘I am. It’s everything I’ve always wanted to do. How soon will it be before I meet Tony?’
‘It should be this week. But you won’t have a lot to do with him. He wants to be a silent partner.’
She nodded and continued her awkward gait into the bank and down to the vault. It was dark and dingy. There were security guards, cameras, and alarms, and it gave the transaction a sense of authenticity. He walked across the room, opened a safe and she gave him the money. Inside there was a large red box. He opened it up and placed the money inside, alongside a large number of small packets that she assumed were more notes. He closed the door and nodded to the guard, and they headed back along the corridor.
‘When will it reach completion? I can’t wait to take a look.’
‘Soon I hope. Now, whilst we are here, I have the contracts, and I took the decision to open you a vault at Lloyds. I thought it would be the best place for the contract. If you sign it, you can take your copy straight there.’
‘Don’t I need to sign something to open one of them?’
‘I’ve done it under our new business name. You can change it when we get there, but I’ll have to be there the first time because I’ve authorised it. I thought it would be quicker that way. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Good, because I don’t want to get off on the wrong footing. I can see we will make fantastic business partners. You have all the talents we need. I couldn’t believe my luck when you said you were into crafts. We need someone sharp-minded like you.’
They headed back into the bank and sat on some soft chairs near the entrance. Just as Geoff retrieved the contract from his case, his phone rang. He handed her the document and pointed to the spaces for signatures. Whilst he was chatting, she stared at the text, her mind a haze.
‘I’m sorry about that, but there’s a bit of a problem at the office. It’s to do with another property I’m dealing with. I don’t want to rush you, but can we make this swift?’
She looked at the contract.
‘If you want to take it home, that’s fine. I’m not trying to rush you.’
‘No.’ She put pen to paper. ‘I’ll do it now. Like you said, the contract will be safer here.’
‘Excellent.’
Within minutes, they had placed the contract in the vault and were heading out of the bank. The gentle autumn breeze swept across her face, and she felt alive and energised. Whilst she had many questions regarding the business, she was also aware of his pressing behaviour and held back. It would all happen in good time. She needed to be patient.
‘I’m sorry, I’m going to have to dash.’ He reached for her hand and gave it a firm shake. ‘We’ll speak soon.’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Thank you, Leanne,’ he said and hurried away.
She stood for a moment, watching him hurry along the main street, and settled her excitement. Just as he disappeared from view, she remembered the vault and a momentary panic rose through her body: she had forgotten to change the ownership.
‘Leanne?’
She spun around. It was Steven.
‘What you doing here?’ she said.
‘I’ve just dropped Teresa off for some shopping.’
Creases formed on her forehead. ‘Her arm . . . of course, she can’t drive.’
‘She wanted to drop some bags off to a charity shop. What about you?’
She grinned. ‘I’ve just signed the contracts with Geoff.’
‘That’s fantastic news.’
‘I can’t believe it! I have my own craft business!’
‘You’ve made a wise decision. When is it all going to happen?’
‘Soon I hope. A few things need to be finalised.’
‘We should celebrate. Are you busy?’
Leanne clutched her handbag and looked at the floor. ‘I should make some business plans.’
‘Can’t it wait an hour?’
‘Not really.’
‘Okay.’ He puffed out. ‘Have it your way.’
He started to walk away, but then abruptly stopped and turned around. ‘Where do I stand Leanne?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t play the innocent. You’re forever running hot and cold.’
‘I thought you liked me,’ she said weakly.
He frowned. ‘I didn’t think my feelings were in doubt.’
‘But I saw you with someone else.’
‘What?’
‘A few days ago . . . Queenie.’
‘How do you know about that?’
She scowled. ‘You looked cosy.’
‘And you think . . .’ His face tightened and his eyes bulged. ‘I don’t believe this.’ He strode away, weaving past shoppers and workers, and headed along the street.
She followed in his shadow. He refused to stop. She grew breathless.
‘She had her arm around you,’ she said, ‘you can’t deny it.’
‘You were spying on us?’
‘No.’ She gulped. ‘I was passing by.’
‘You think I would do something like that.’ He waited. He stared. ‘Well, do you?’
‘I know what I saw.’
‘You know nothing. I thought you were different . . . wouldn’t jump to conclusions. But apparently not.’
‘I . . .’ she wiped her moist brow, retracting her plea of innocence. ‘So what were you doing?’
‘What’s it matter? If you don’t trust me now, you never will.’
He was walking away again, striding out and making such headway that caused Leanne to trot. ‘I do trust you.’
He stopped and glared. ‘It sounds like it. If you must know, she was asking about you.’
She caught her breath and narrowed her eyes.
‘She suggested we go out and I agreed. I thought it might give me a chance to interrogate her. I wanted to help you, Leanne.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She asked what you were like.’
She held her breath. ‘And?’
‘Never you mind!’
‘Does she know where Karen is?’
‘She said not. She asked me if I thought you were the forgiving kind.’
‘And?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you were.’
‘And I am.’
Gazing questioningly, he placed his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. The wait went on forever, with neither of them willing to speak.
Steven was the first to force out tormented words. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for a relationship. I’m sorry.’
Her world shattered and her panic surged. ‘I made an innocent mistake.’
‘Andrea was always accusing me of cheating. I would never . . .’ His voice trailed and his eyes became misty. ‘It turned out she was the one who had been having an affair . . . for years. She said it started because she saw me with another woman. Yet I never . . .’ he averted his gaze and shook his head. ‘There isn’t a relationship without trust. I’m sorry.’
Tongue-tied, she let him depart. He did not turn around and did not hesitate with his steps but strode with a sense of purpose and determination. Once he had disappeared from view, she turned around and dragged herself through the streets and back to her car. Her desire to plan her new business venture had faded; her motivation was lacking, her steps were heavy, and she no longer had a sense that the future was promising. What was the point of having money without having anyone to share it with? What was the point of anything?
Queenie staggered into the living room, slumped onto the sofa, and leaned over the edge to reach for her bottle. Her arm swayed, the floor blurry. Uncertainly, she edged towards it, knocked it with her knuckles, and fumbled for her grip. Uncoordinated, she tapped it against the sofa as she raised it to her lips. There, she took a pleasing swig.
Before her, set upon the low table, were newspaper cuttings. Queenie could just about make out the headlines. The first one that caught her eye was the death of a man. After a few moments of vague pondering, she remembered it was Leanne’s husband. It was a shocking accident, but Queenie had little sympathy. The article had depicted a perfect life. He had been a father, a husband, and a manager of a large furniture company, and was generous and popular with all who met him. It irritated and grated.
Mourners often described the dead as faultless, speaking of many endearing qualities. She longed for the honest and brave and considered a more appealing speech. ‘He was a liar and a cheat, intolerant, conceited, and belligerent. Very few liked him.’ She smiled. Now that would be refreshing.
Queenie took another swig of lager and nurtured the moment of beauty; the full flavour of the alcohol soaked her mouth, the effervescence bounced around the soft tissues, and her nose twitched with delight. She continued her solemn ponderings.
Who would be at her funeral? Who would tell the world of the loss? Would anyone receive condolences? It was more realistic that her passing would go unnoticed. Worse still, it might even be appreciated. Cards and flowers would not be left at her gravestone and family and friends would not shed tears. Burdened with the realisation, she reached for her phone and dialled Kyle’s number.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.
‘That’s no way to greet me. I wanted to speak to my darling boy.’
‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘Only the one.’
‘Likely story. You’ve probably been at it all day.’
She took a sip. ‘It’s my only pleasure.’
‘Then do something about it . . . quit.’
‘I tried, you kicked me out, remember?’
‘You didn’t try at all. You never do.’
‘Come on, that’s not fair.’
‘We’ve a baby to consider now. We don’t want you around her in that state.’
‘You’re too good for me now?’
‘Stop sounding so pathetic. You threw up on Madison.’
‘I couldn’t help it. It was something I had eaten.’
‘No, it wasn’t, and you know it.’
She absorbed his ferocity and considered a moment from the past. ‘You used to be sick on me. I’ve never held it against you.’
Kyle puffed out. ‘It’s hardly the same. I was a baby.’
‘It is the same. If you love someone, you forgive them.’
‘And we have, over and over again, but you never change. All we’ve asked is that you turn up sober and don’t drink when you’re with us.’
‘I did as you asked.’
‘I saw the bottle inside your jacket.’
‘I never-’
‘And you took some from our cabinet.’
‘Madison was crying.’
‘She’s a baby. Handle it.’
‘It was just a dribble, and it worked. She had a beautiful sleep.’
‘What?’
Queenie’s pride emerged. ‘I put it onto her gums.’
‘You gave it her?’
Silence.
‘I can’t believe you’d do something like that. Stay away from us. We don’t need your help. We don’t need you.’
‘Darling . . . you don’t mean that.’
‘Clean up your act Mum.’
The buzz reverberated through her ear. She flung the handset onto the sofa, gulped down the remainder of the drink, and staggered into the kitchen. The fridge door swung open. For a moment, with the coolness settling upon her skin, she stared at the four-pack, searching for willpower to avoid it. It was a big request, and one that she believed she could do in a flash if it solved the problem, but it wouldn’t. Kyle’s offer had been shallow. His stuck-up bitch of a girlfriend had turned him against her, and no matter what Queenie tried, it would never be sufficient. She reached for the four bottles, elbowed shut the door, and padded back to the living room.
The newspaper cuttings glared. She dropped the bottles onto the sofa and in one swift sweeping motion, scattered the papers onto the floor. Everyone was against her; no one listened, no one cared. Scowling, she chewed upon her lip and cracked open another bottle and inhaled the sweet scent.
A photograph upon the mantelpiece caught her eye. It was Rusty with her now deceased husband on their wedding day many years before. She was just the same as she had been; there was the red hair, the slender figure, and the mole on her neck. Life had aged her well and removed the harshness from her personality. She was no longer the belligerent teenager, wilful and obstinate, and she was no longer searching for the morally wrong. Rusty had grown up, guided by a man she had met during their years perusing the bars and nightclubs, and in spite of all predictions, she had remained forever faithful to him. In comparison, Queenie had failed in every respect. It was difficult to accept how they could have both started from the same spot yet finished up at opposite ends of the spectrum.
A tad of jealousy rumbled. How had Rusty managed it? During their younger days, their personalities were so similar they could have been mistaken as one person. It should have been her. Where was her loving husband, her beautiful house, and her caring family? Sorrowfully, she gazed at the liquid in the brown glass.
A nagging ache swelled and her turmoil pounded her veins. ‘Quit,’ her son had ordered. It was a familiar phrase, yet one that he did not understand.
Queenie gripped the bottle, held it closer to her chest, and fought to still her persistent and chilling inner screams. Quaking, she felt her blood drain and her skin turn cold as she imagined the agonizing separation. Kyle would reach for the bottle. There would be pity in his eyes and a complete lack of understanding projected from his heart. He would discard it down the sink. He was heartless, without compassion, and he was asking the impossible. Her body tightened and shuddered.
He did not understand. How could he? The drink numbed. The drink brought about calmness. The drink was her friend. The remaining drops lingered on her tongue. She shut her eyes and prayed for solitude.
A while later Queenie awoke from a fitful doze. First, she noticed the bottles on the sofa, and then she looked to the scattered newspaper cuttings on the floor. She staggered across the room, her movement unstable, and leaned over to pick them up. Her head was heavy and swirling, and her centre of gravity slipped. She stumbled. She fell.
It took a few moments to refocus. She gathered the articles, and then, still feeling queasy, raised herself to her feet and stepped to a nearby drawer. Her body swayed. She bashed her hand against the sharp edge as she dropped them inside, and then, with an unnecessary force, pushed it closed. Rocking in small circular motions, she reached to the corner to gain stability, and step by cautious step headed to the sofa.
For the next few hours, she drank, dozed, and moped. Then, having formulated a plan to distract her destructive mindset, she reached for her phone and dialled Leanne’s number. However, the instant the younger woman’s voice sounded her courage faded.
‘Who is this?’ Leanne asked.
Queenie’s head was swimming, her words wandering from her tongue.
‘Hello, who’s there?’
‘Queenie. I have news about your mother.’
There was excitement in Leanne’s voice. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘You should come around.’
‘Where are you?’
She gave Leanne her address and dropped the phone onto her lap.
Leanne snatched her bag from the kitchen, and whilst heading to the outer door, snapped open the clasp and fingered through the odds and sods for the house keys. The photograph of her grandmother as a little girl by the house with two other children caught her eye. She plucked it free and reached for her keys. The bag slipped and dropped to the floor, and the contents scattered.
Scrutinising the photo, she searched for similarities between Queenie and the children and wondered if there was a connection. Failing to see any likeness, she crouched down to gather the contents.
Upon the floor were old receipts, a delivery notice, business cards, and a bank statement; there was lipstick, moisturiser, face powder and eyeliner; there were medicines and spare underwear. She needed a clear out but instead crammed it inside, disregarded the clutter, and hurried to the car.
Her expectations were intense. Queenie knew something, and most probably had had recent contact with Karen. She may even be there, preparing for a reunion. Her pulse quickened and her breathing grew short and fast as she attempted to straighten out her muddled mind. What would she say? What was appropriate? She switched on the engine and eased out of the drive, and considered what Karen’s first impression would be.
She was wearing loose-fitting navy blue trousers, a short cream top, and a sloppy v-necked woollen jumper. Her hair was neat, her make-up sparse, and her scent subtle. She looked presentable, but then wondered if she should have changed into something more casual, remembering Queenie’s criticism of her behaviour and attitudes. Slowing down, she gave herself a moment to reconsider.
Leanne decided she did not want to appear too similar to Janet, and should not show any intolerance or snobbery whatsoever. However, it was too late to change her clothes, and it was a little pointless anyway; her body language and speech patterns would determine her upbringing and social standing, also. Karen, if she were in fact with Queenie, would have to accept her as she was.
Leanne edged into the new estate. Steven’s house was situated close by and her subconscious took control. She indicated right and headed down his street, her pulse quickening and her heart aching as she yearned for a glimpse. The house was still and silent; there was no movement from within, and no sign of Tansy in the garden.
Her disappointment did not last. She weaved through the houses, passing numerous identical dwellings with two small windows on each floor and a rectangular front garden and arrived at Queenie’s house. She stopped the car a little distance away and strode to the door.
Her heart was pounding so hard she felt sure it would be audible. She knocked. She waited. She held her breath. Inside were mumbled voices. She strained to listen. The door swung open.
A woman with short red hair, an aging skin tone, and long, dangling earrings pointed to a room on the left of the hallway, and weaved by, exiting the house and closing the door. It was cool inside. Leanne huddled her arms closer to her body and went into the living room.
Queenie was slouched in a chair. There were empty bottles on the floor, a brimming ashtray on a table, the carpet was gritty, and the sofa was dirty. Leanne forced still her eyes and closed her nostrils.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ Queenie said.
She sat and forced herself to relax. ‘Is Karen here?’
‘I never said she was here.’
‘Where is she then?’
Queenie stretched out and reached for a bottle. ‘Want one?’
She shook her head.
‘Probably best. It’s no good for you.’
‘You said you had news.’
Queenie lifted the bottle to her lips, yet she never removed her eyes from Leanne and stared, scrutinising, searching for something. ‘I like your new man.’
She tightened. ‘He’s not my new man.’
‘Aw, why not? He’s sweet.’
‘We’re just friends.’
‘He’s hot for you . . . told me so.’
Her heart flip-flopped. ‘What were you doing with him?’
‘No need to be feisty. I was just checking him out.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘It’s what Karen would want.’
‘Where can I find her?’
Queenie held the bottle into the light, gazed inside at the dregs, and swirled them around, biding time.
‘You know something, don’t you?’ Leanne persisted.
‘Might do.’
‘Where is she?’
‘I’m not sure she’d approve of you. You’re too much like Janet.’
‘I’m nothing like her.’
‘Spitting image I’d say. She’s got to you.’
‘I make my own decisions in life. Janet had nothing to do with it.’
‘Such a fool . . . she brought you up, made you into a replica of Fiona. That’s all she ever wanted. She didn’t care about . . . about Karen. Do you have any idea how hard she had it? How she could never compete with her sister?’
‘I’ve heard bits.’
‘Probably not even the half of it. Karen was desperate for attention but she couldn’t get Janet to listen. They were opposites, didn’t understand each other, so she went to her uncle’s house. He listened, he cared, and he understood. There, she felt as though she was part of something, and the more time she spent with them, the less she wanted to be at home. Her parents and the Coombs’ were such prigs. Admittedly, she did do some things to wind them up.’
‘Like what?’
‘Janet used to follow her. Karen knew, but Janet didn’t know she knew. She used to flaunt herself.’
‘Are you saying she . . . she stripped?’
Queenie gawked. ‘You know about that?’
She held a stiff gaze.
‘It was meant to wind her up – she knew somehow word would get back - but it backfired. Janet locked her in the house. Once she got out, she went straight to her uncles and they called the police. They got into all kinds of trouble.’ Queenie grinned. ‘Nothing could be proven, but it was worth it to see their faces.’
‘You were there?’
‘Yes. All that time. I virtually lived with Karen. We were forever having sleepovers. Sometimes we would sleep in the barn.’
Leanne stared vacantly, her mind in a spin. The fire was in the barn. There was shouting and blood-curdling screams. Something terrible had happened. ‘How did the fire start?’
Queenie folded her arms and closed her legs. ‘What fire?’
‘There was a fire. Karen wasn’t seen after that.’
‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘But surely-.’
‘Like I said, I don’t know anything.’
‘So you weren’t there?’
Queenie clamped shut her mouth and scowled.
Leanne refused to relent and reiterated her question.
‘I’d met someone,’ Queenie offered, ‘it must have happened after we’d gone our separate ways.’
‘Was that why Karen returned home?’
She gave a vague nod. ‘Everything that happened was because of Janet. If she hadn’t been so strict and set in her ways, Karen wouldn’t have had to run off in the first place.’
Leanne nodded, encouragingly.
‘Would you stay around if you were treated like scum?’
‘No, probably not.’
‘Karen never did half of what Janet imagined. I know, I was with her.’
‘She did drugs.’
‘Did she? You sure?’
‘I . . . that’s what was said.’
‘I’m sure it was. In the end, Karen did do stuff, but only because she had already been accused of being that way. Janet forced her hand. Karen wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone implied.’
‘So Karen proved Janet right?’
‘I suppose.’
‘That’s a bit childish.’
Queenie swung one of her legs over the arm of the chair and stared, causing Leanne to regret her comment. She had wanted to remain impartial, and not act like judge and jury. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.’
‘So what did you mean?’
‘I . . . I think I would have done the same.’
Queenie nodded, expressing satisfaction.
There was a moment’s silence. Queenie was holding her in an intimidating stare. Who was she and how did she meet Karen? Remembering the photo, Leanne reached into her bag and passed it to Queenie. ‘I think the girl on the left is Janet. Do you know who the other children are?’
‘No, why would I?’
‘I wondered if one of them was related to you. A mother or father perhaps.’
‘Never seen them.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course, I’m sure.’ She thrust it into her hand.
She placed it back into her bag. ‘So how did you meet Karen?’
‘At school. How else would we meet?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘Steven said you’re gentle person, and easy going. Is he right?’
She looked away. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know a lot, do you?’
She swallowed and looked at her lap.
‘Do you have children?’
‘A son, Tyler. He’s sixteen.’
Queenie smiled.
‘Do you have a good relationship with him?’
‘I like to think so.’
‘I have a son too. He’s just become a father. He has a gorgeous baby girl.’ Her eyes glazed. ‘Madison. She is sweet.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Only thing is, he doesn’t want to know me. I offer advice and he loses his temper. That’s not fair, is it?’ Their eyes locked. ‘What would you do Leanne?’
‘I’d give him a bit of space and hope he changed his mind.’
‘Wise words.’ She sipped her lager. ‘Then you’d forgive him?’
‘Of course. You should always forgive your children.’
‘Do you forgive easily?’
Leanne shuffled, wondering about the question and fearing a trap. ‘I don’t have much time for holding grudges.’
‘Will you forgive Karen?’
Her pulse quickened. ‘Where is she?’
‘Will you forgive her?’
‘Yes.’ She edged forward on her seat. ‘Of course I will. Please, tell me where she is.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you’ve heard from her?’
‘Not in years.’
Leanne tensed. ‘So why did you want to see me?’
‘If I find her, she’ll want a report.’
‘Is that all?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
Exasperated, she raised herself to her feet. ‘I’ve things to do.’
‘As you wish. Let yourself out.’
She picked up her bag and strode out of the room and towards the door. Just as she placed her hand on the handle, she caught site of a letter on a narrow unit. She leaned across and looked to the address label. It was addressed to Mrs J Taylor. Leanne peered back towards the living room door. She hesitated. She thought of Luke Adams.
Queenie dragged herself down the stairs wearing a long sloppy t-shirt she’d slept in, and made a coffee, lit a cigarette, and relaxed at the kitchen table. The smoke wafted towards the ceiling clouding the air.
Her thoughts were on the monotonous hours ahead. With little to do with the day, and her options to either head into town and wander around the shops or stay at home and watch television, she lacked motivation. What she wanted to do was to see her baby granddaughter. She reached for her mobile phone, yearning to see a message or missed call from Kyle, and was tempted to have one more try at apologising. The blank screen forced her hand. This time she would wait; she wasn’t that desperate.
The clarity in her mind was burdensome, her isolation from her family and the perpetual drudgery weighing her down. Drifting through time, she searched for happy moments in her life, and saw internal pain, misunderstandings, missed opportunities, and betrayals. More than anything, what disappointed were people. Some claimed to be friends and fled at the first signs of trouble, some wanted only to share their own woes and not listen to anyone else’s, and some always thought the worst. It seemed as though everyone jumped to erroneous conclusions. Queenie glanced up. Everyone except Rusty.
‘I saw Jenny last night,’ Rusty said, ‘remember her?’
‘From school?’
‘Yes. Those were the days. We were quite the group. No one would mess with us.’
‘Everyone always said we were non-achievers. I guess they were right.’
‘I don’t think we’ve done too badly. We’ve both had partners and kids. What else is there?’
Queenie rested her cigarette on the ashtray. ‘It would be nice if mine talked to me.’
‘Give him time.’
‘That’s what Leanne said.’
She caught her eye. ‘About that. What did you say?’
‘Nothing. I’m not stupid. I know when to keep my mouth shut.’ Queenie saw a look of disbelief in her friend’s eyes. ‘I promise you, I said nothing. As if I’m going to! I’m trying to stop this bloody mess from exploding. I just wanted to know what she’s like.’ She reached for the cigarette and inhaled. ‘You know, I often ask myself why I got involved back then. I should have just stayed out of it.’
‘We didn’t have a choice. She needed our help . . . and we did it for Leanne.’
Queenie exhaled. ‘She expected too much.’
‘But could we have said no, really?’
‘That day, I was so angry. I had my own problems to deal with, and . . . and I wanted my life back. I never meant . . .’ she held her breath, fought her tears, and enjoyed the warmth of Rusty’s hand resting upon hers. ‘How could I return after that?’ A lone tear trickled down her cheek. She brushed it aside and reached for the cigarette packet.
Rusty maintained her silence.
‘No one will believe me . . . no one will understand.’
‘You might be surprised.’
‘No. I’m not going to say anything. Look at me. Why would anyone believe this? I attract trouble.’
‘So why speak to Leanne?’
The chair scraped on the floor as Queenie leapt to her feet and headed to the window, where she stared into the small garden that was withering and dying in the cooling weather. ‘I was curious.’
‘The more contact you have, the more likely the truth will come out.’
‘I know!’ She spun around. ‘But the only person who could tell her is Teresa. We can stop that.’
‘I think they went out again . . . despite our warning.’
She was ablaze with fury. ‘What?’
‘I saw Teresa’s car heading to Steven’s. Four of them left in his car.’
‘And you think-’
‘Who else would he take on a double date?’
‘Leanne said they weren’t seeing each other.’
There was silence.
‘Look,’ Queenie continued, ‘Teresa’s easy to manipulate. We just have to be a bit more forceful.’
Rusty was pensive, and Queenie could sense her apprehensions. It may not be the right approach, but if she intended to stay in the village, she had no alternative. Where else could she go? Her partner had kicked her out, and her son wanted nothing to do with her. For the moment, she had to stay. Therefore, she had no choice but to dampen down the embers.
Placing on her black shiny jacket, Queenie crept out of the house and into the darkness. It was a cool starlit sky, and the frosty air pinched at her exposed skin. She lifted her collar, pulled up the zip, and nestled her hands into the soft-lined pockets.
A car ambled by. Lowering her gaze, she maintained a rhythmical hurried walk, stepping through the streets, away from the village hall and to a familiar desolate track. Her mind was swimming with her plan, but the waters were far from clear and her anxieties bubbled. She fought for anger and assertiveness. She craved the courage of youth.
Being unnecessarily violent was not in her nature, and she wondered if she would have the physical strength and the energy to proceed. Fearing an emerging weakness, she eliminated her doubts and crossed the street, avoiding a man with a dog. Then she turned left past a double-fronted detached dwelling with a large paved front garden. Fleetingly, she peered through the window, looking beyond an ornamental wrought-iron structure in the centre and to a woman. She was staring. Unnerved, Queenie lowered her head, scanned the concrete path, and increased her pace.
Her pulse quickened; she was too old for this. She thought of the Jefferson family, she focused on baby Leanne, she remembered the blood-curdling screams. Her blood pounded her veins.
Within minutes, she had arrived in a darkened alley, and leaned against the wall, hiding in the shadows. Grateful for the seclusion, she looked to the far end and reached for a cigarette. There, she breathed in the calming substance and waited.
Footsteps sounded, causing her adrenaline to surge. Glancing along the path, she saw it was Teresa, the arm in a sling the giveaway. Careful to maintain her element of surprise, she hovered out of the moonlight near the wall, dropped her cigarette and extinguished the smouldering butt. The gap between the two women closed.
Teresa was metres away, in a world of her own and gazing at the ground and paying no attention to the wafting scent of smoke. Biding her time, holding her breath and forcing still her itching muscles, Queenie waited two more steps and two more heartbeats. Then she pounced. Ignoring Teresa’s pained cries she forced her back to the wall and pushed her arm against her throat.
‘I told you to stay away from her,’ Queenie said.
Her face contorted, her agony visible.
Queenie thrust her elbow into her stomach. Once. Twice. Teresa gasped for air. She did it again and her colour drained. Then Teresa started to fight, raising her knee and pushing out with her arm, so she grabbed her by her shoulders and thrust her backwards. Her head crunched against the wall. She sank to the ground.
‘Stay away from her!’ Queenie said.
Eliminating the groan from her mind, she carried on walking. Her focus was steady, her body anything but.
Teresa could hear Queenie’s gentle pad of footsteps fade, but she could not raise her head to look and remained squatted to the ground, clutching her stomach in the darkness and with her head ringing. Her breathing was heavy, her groans intermittent. She was shaking and cold.
The night was silent. There were no passing cars, no people wandering, and no music sounding from the nearby houses. She was alone and tormented by the pummelling and lost in a terrifying world.
She sank to the cold, hard floor and lifted her arm to her face, sweeping it across the scarred surface. She twitched, unable to restrain her dancing nerves, unable to gain lucidity. Her eyes were wide, yet she saw nothing. She was cold, oh so cold, but she could not move, frozen to the spot and captured by a traumatic past.
Flames had leapt towards her, vivid and haunting, surrounding her like demons, bending, weaving and teasing. A little distance away was her beautiful young daughter, innocent and undeserving, screaming and terrified. Her young feral eyes entrenched in panic, and her round face, framed by her lush chestnut-coloured hair, glowed in the heat. The child cried out. Her helplessness was crisp and clear. It was crushing, restricting Teresa of life.
The image faded and a new sense of panic took hold. She scanned the alley, searching left and right, looking for her daughter so cruelly taken. Unfathomably it had seemed only moments ago, yet in truth, decades had passed. She wanted her baby back and wanted to change paths, wishing she had not taken the track that had led to a lifetime of unhappiness. Although no excuse, irrepressible emotions had been her driving force.
If only she had not been in the barn on that fateful day.
Afterwards, Teresa’s suffering had been extreme driving her to the precipice of human survival. Geoff had helped her cling to life, pulled her away from what had appeared to be imminent self-destruction. He had protected her, nurtured her, and removed her guilt, telling her repeatedly that she was innocent. For many years, she had nestled into his body, focusing only on his confidence and security, and listened to his reassuring words that reminded her that she had already suffered enough.
The gunshots resonated in her head. She moaned, she rocked back and forth, she twitched, and she pulled at her fingers. The haunting visions would not depart. She was spinning in an abyss, out of control, tormented and terrified.
‘You okay?’
The words floated in the turmoil. A hand reached down.
‘Teresa?’
A man whom she recognised from village functions was leaning over her. She gawked. His face disappeared into imaginary flames.
‘Are you all right?’
She did not answer.
‘Has someone hurt you?’
Silence.
He was crouching, searching for something, scrutinising her. He seemed concerned. She could not understand why. Then, he reached into his pocket, retrieved a phone, and dialled a number. Teresa watched, guided by curiosity, but could not focus on what he said or with whom he was speaking to. After he had ended the call, he continued to ramble, this time to her. She wanted him to stop, irritated by his nasal-sounding voice and craving solitude.
Moments later, a figure darted from the street and into the alley. He was recognisable and Teresa lifted herself to her feet. ‘Steven . . .’
He gave her a concerned look. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Have you come to take me home?’
Steven exchanged a few words with the man and the stranger headed away.
‘What happened?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘Who did this to you?’
Her eyes flitted, her head swirling. ‘I killed my girl! I killed her!’
‘What are you talking about?’
She stared wide-eyed and helpless.
Ignoring her desperation, he linked her arm and encouraged her out of the alley. ‘Come on, I’ll drive you home.’
She leaned into him, quaking and nauseous, searching for his warmth and stability. Together, they stepped into the artificial light and the open space. There, she jolted to a standstill.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
She scanned the streets, searching for Queenie.
Steven followed her line of sight and then looked back at her, his eyes narrowed and questioning. She wanted to tell him what had happened, but it was out of the question. She carried too many secrets, things she could never share.
He didn’t respond and guided her to his car parked a few metres away.
‘Is Leanne with you?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘We’re not seeing each other anymore.’
‘Perhaps that’s wise.’
Steven frowned and guided her into the car.
He was just about to shut the door when she forced it back and grabbed his arm. ‘She’s going to need you. Be ready.’
Steven had spent the entire evening questioning her. She pleaded with him to stop and asked him to leave, but he did neither, at least not for hours. It was exhausting and exasperating, and it resulted in her having a fitful sleep.
The past was private, her secret. She could not tell him what she knew. It wouldn’t be a wise decision. Nonetheless, she had to act and considered Queenie’s threat one more time. She was not going to back off from her friendship with Leanne, but neither was she going to tell her what she knew. Everyone involved in the incident decades previous had much to lose, and she was no exception.
Teresa’s hand slid across her bruised stomach and she pondered the attack. Rather than fearing Queenie, she should stand up to her, as they were on equal terms. In fact, the more she thought about it the more she realised she had more to lose than Queenie. It was only time before Queenie relented to her inner yearnings. Why she hadn’t done so already was baffling.
Teresa’s suffering would be relentless. She would have no life, no support and would have to pay for her crimes. Uneasy, and needing a solution to her dilemma, she wandered into the conservatory and relaxed on a reclining chair. Through the sparkling windows, she watched the birds at the feeders, both sparrows and blue tits, and on the table, a little further towards the hedge was a robin. It stood, glancing from side to side, keeping a careful watch on its territory.
Acting on automaton, she unlocked the patio door, stepped into the refreshing air, and headed to a shed by the side of the house. Once inside, she retrieved a tub of dried mealworms, poured some onto the bird table, and gazed around the garden, searching for the friendly bird. It was waiting high up on a branch at the rear of a wide border, its well-defined round eyes maintaining keen focus. As soon as she stepped away, the robin flew in, snatched its feed, and flew back to the large shrub. She returned to the shed.
At the rear, beyond the organised tools, plant pots, feeds, weed-killers and pesticides was a large box. Replacing the bird feed onto a shelf, she deliberated over the contents. Inside were gifts for her daughter. With her gut twisting in agony, she weaved across then stared at the inscription on the dusty lid.
She had bought a card and gift for each of her daughter’s birthdays for the first eighteen years of her life. Needing a reminder of the pain she had endured, she removed the lid and stared at the small packages and cards. ‘For you my darling girl,’ it said on a small card. She could not move, swamped with crushing memories, and pressed her arms to her stomach for comfort. The burning sensation persisted, the loss forever real.
All of it was Queenie’s fault.
Having grown ever more uncomfortable, she managed to return to the warmth of the conservatory where she perched on a chair, sitting stiffly and pulling at her fingers, craving each satisfying crack. Her facial muscles twitched, her skin itched, and she shuffled her feet. She didn’t think about her daughter but other elements of her dreadful past, and it culminated with images of Queenie’s face pressing against hers, her smoky breath crinkling her nose, and the warning intimidating.
Driven by a need to act, she grabbed her jacket, put on her flat shoes, and fled from the house and into the revitalizing air. Remaining on alert, she walked through the streets, headed past the village hall, and progressed to a stile leading to a field. By the wall, she paused and looked towards the new housing estate. Her heart beat ever faster, her nervousness increasing. She could see a hunched person with a dog, although not Queenie and not Steven. She continued on, following the path at the edge of the field, and trod the firm, dry ground.
A barn was ahead. She started to perspire and felt herself slow, remembering how the flames reached into the sky and the screams echoed across the landscape. A beautifully rounded face with lush brown hair appeared in the scene, and written in her young eyes were the horrifying consequences.
Haunted by the tormented visions, she held her hands to her face, moaned, and backed away. She was about to run home when she remembered Queenie’s threat. She had to act, and keeping her eyes and mind on her footfalls, she trotted past the barn to the rear of Leanne’s garden. Seconds later, she rapped on the door.
‘Hello,’ Leanne said, ‘Come in.’
She peered into the living room and up the stairs. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes. What’s wrong?’
She shook her head and wiped her brow, removing the trickles of sweat.
‘You seem flustered.’
‘Have you spoken with Steven today?’
Sadness spread across her face. ‘No. Why?’
‘You two need to get back together.’
‘No . . . I don’t think so.’
‘You should. You have to.’
Leanne leaned into the kitchen unit and looked at the floor. ‘He’s made up his mind about us. He doesn’t think I trust him.’
‘Oh.’ She pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘You’re going to need him.’ She clenched her hands, hiding her tremors. ‘I know you’ve been to see Queenie. I saw her last night. You . . . you must avoid her.’
‘I’ve no intention of becoming friends with her.’
‘Good.’
‘What do you know about her?’
‘I . . . I’ve heard things about her. She’s trouble.’
‘How so?’
‘Always drinking, violent. She’s bad news Leanne. You must stay away from her.’
‘And I will, but she knows my mother. If she has any news-’
‘Please listen to me.’ She leaned forward. ‘She’s not who you think. You have to stay away from her.’
‘Who is she?’
She averted her gaze away from Leanne’s baffled expression and cracked her fingers.
‘Please tell me what you know,’ she reiterated.
She stood up and grabbed Leanne’s wrist. ‘If I would, I could. Do you understand?’
Her nod was imperceptible.
‘I am your friend. You can trust me.’
‘I know, but-’
‘So you will stay away from her?’
‘What’s going on?’
Teresa rushed through the hallway to the outer door. ‘Just avoid her, please.’
Then she was gone.
Luke looked up, watched Imogen remove her jacket and place it on a peg, and tried to disguise an emerging smile. She was wearing a slinky brown skirt and a frilly, patchy-green top. A vision of a willow tree sprung into his mind. It was outrageous and peculiar, and definitely Imogen. There wasn’t just one layer of fabric, in places there were several, creating a three-dimensional effect. She was a walking advertisement for decoupage.
‘What’s tickling you?’ she asked.
He averted his eyes, looked down to the papers on his desk, and fought his chuckles.
‘Glad something is amusing,’ she said, flicking on the kettle.
He exploded into laughter. ‘Did you get lost in the forest?’
‘Very funny.’
‘Had a date with an elf?’
She turned away, removed the coffee and dried milk from the cupboard, and spooned some into a mug. ‘Ha ha.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’ve just never seen anything like it. It’s . . . unusual.’
‘I’m glad you’re amused.’
‘It’ll take a bit of getting used to.’
She walked to her desk and flicked on the computer.
‘Enough water for two?’
She nodded and reached for his mug. ‘You don’t drink out of this do you?’
‘Why?’
‘It’s revolting.’ She angled it towards him. ‘It’s meant to be white inside, not brown.’
‘It’s always been that colour.’
‘Really Luke, this is disgusting. You men are all the same. I bet you don’t change your underwear either.’
‘That’s rather personal.’
She puffed out. ‘You know what my Mark does? He sniffs his socks before he puts them on, just to check they’re okay.’
Luke was sheepish.
‘No! Not you too!’
‘I change my socks every day.’
‘Of course you do. I can see it in your eyes. You’re such a bad liar.’
‘You can’t tell me, you’ve never worn the same thing two days running.’
She spread her arms. ‘Do I look like I have?’
‘I doubt you’ll wear that outfit twice.’
‘And what’s wrong with it?’
He grinned. ‘Do I need to spell it out?’
She turned away, faced the steaming kettle and folded her arms. The vapours reached the ceiling; the bubbling water intensified. It clicked off.
‘My Mark mumbled about it too, although not for the reasons you’re stating.’
‘Do I sense a hint of trouble in the love nest?’ he asked.
She spun around. ‘I thought it would be fun, but it’s hard work. He . . . he’s hard work.’
‘How so?’
‘I suppose it’s just the usual. You lived with Sarah for a while, didn’t you?’
He stiffened. ‘Yes, although we still both had our own places.’
‘Did you get on each other’s nerves?’
‘I can’t say we did.’
He recalled the joviality, the discussions, and the mealtimes. He remembered returning from work and seeing her beautiful smiling face. She would lean into him as they watched television and often she would fall asleep.
Then, the darker side of their relationship formed in his mind, and his sorrow rose. She had carried his baby, his son or daughter, and soon he would have been a father. He would have held him or her, fed and played with him or her. He would have had a purpose in life, a responsibility. He would have been needed.
He returned his attention to Imogen. ‘Maybe our problems were minimal because we only lived together for a few days at a time. Are you having doubts?’
She looked at her desk.
‘Just be patient.’
‘Are you still seeing Susie?’
‘I haven’t for a few days.’
‘Maybe I should find you someone else. It’s not good for you being single.’
‘I’m happy as I am.’
She looked at him, forlorn, like a lost child. He sensed she was unhappier than she was admitting, and it triggered a need to hold her and comfort her and share in her anguish.
‘I’m sorry you’re struggling,’ he said. ‘If you ever need a shoulder . . .’
‘That’s so sweet. Thanks, Luke.’
He looked away, his heat rising. ‘I do like your outfit, by the way. It suits you.’
‘You’re blushing!’
He leapt to his feet and scurried away. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘You so are.’
Karen Jefferson. Her name rattled inside Luke’s head. Who was she, where was she, and what had happened years previously? He scanned the document that discussed Ted Moore’s account of Karen’s teenage years, and considered her rebellious behaviour and the obvious family tension it created. Her relationship with Fiona must have been strained; he could not imagine how two girls with opposing character traits could have been amicable for long.
Karen had been wild, undisciplined, and independently minded. Fiona, on the other hand, had been quiet, studious, and willing to please. Had they struggled to share even a civilised conversation?
He glanced up. ‘Do you think Fiona was ashamed of Karen?’
‘Not at all. Why would you think that?’
‘Because Karen was everything Fiona hated.’
‘We don’t know that for sure.’
‘Okay, but assuming she was. Fiona would have sided with Janet over Karen’s behaviour.’
‘I don’t agree. I think when you’re young, you feel closer to your brothers and sisters, even if they’re different to you. Your parents are the enemy. If anything, I think Fiona would have sided with Karen.’
He rotated his pen between his fingers. ‘But Karen did seem rebellious, and it caused a lot of friction.’
‘Fiona may not have liked all the upset Karen caused, but I can’t see that she would have blamed her. She would have wanted them both to stop. It would have been difficult being in the middle.’
‘Janet did seem to take a hard stance.’
‘And Fiona would have become wiser because of what she witnessed.’
‘Do you think that’s why she didn’t drink much or do drugs?’
‘No, that’s not what I mean at all. She could have still done those things. I just think she might have learned how to handle Janet and may have been more secretive in her actions.’
He frowned. ‘Ted did say Fiona was almost sanctimonious in her behaviour. I just can’t see-’
‘She never got caught, that’s all.’
‘You could be right, I suppose.’
‘Do you have an older brother or sister?’ she asked.
‘No, he’s younger than me.’
‘My brother is older than me and I learned from what he did. Once, he arrived home drunk and got into a huge amount of trouble. So when I drank, I kept my head down and my parents never found out.’
‘And you got away with it?’
‘For sure. I was determined to appear clear-headed and bubbly and act as normal as possible. It was a huge effort, but it was worth it to avoid the punishment.’
He leaned back and folded his arms. ‘I’d have never thought you the type.’
‘What to have a few too many drinks?’
‘To be so deceitful.’
‘You think too highly of me Luke Adams.’
He averted his gaze. ‘I think we need to find someone who knew Karen, perhaps a friend. Can you see if you can contact the school and get a list of names?’
‘That was a swift change of subject.’
‘And have a look online. You never know, there might be contacts on the social network sites.’
‘Cool. Don’t you so love all of this?’
He gave her a questioning look.
‘It’s fascinating peering into people’s lives. It’s such a cool job.’
‘I suppose it is.’
She looked away and her slender fingers reached up to her face, and very gently, she touched her small upturned nose, stroked her smooth, pale cheek, and eased away a floating strand of hair. She was beautiful and she smelled delicious.
For a moment, a heavy yearning twisted his gut. Then, he stared at the spot on his desk where an image of his ex-girlfriend had resided for years. Sarah was his heart’s desire, his only chance at love. There was unlikely to be anyone else.
It was a crippling acceptance. He thought of her working at her desk. She would be wearing a business suit and her long brown hair would rest upon her shoulders, and although exquisitely groomed, she was not fastidious and did not care for fussy behaviour. Sarah lived for what was in her mind. She was a fantastic lawyer and a wonderful woman and different in every way to Imogen.
He reached for his mobile phone and scanned the list of contacts, and wondered if he had been hasty in his decision to remove her from his life. Would it harm to speak to her just once? His finger hovered over the dial button, and his heart throbbed and his hands quivered.
Imogen caught his eye. She had disapproved of his relationship with Sarah, often telling him that she had used him and that he could do better. He remembered the abortion, the lies, and the admission that she would never love him, and it imparted a crushing blow. Should he reconsider calling her? Would it be harmful? It would just be the once, a brief call.
He scurried to the bathroom with his phone, turned his back to avoid gazing at his reflection in a mirror, and whilst he had the courage, made contact. The ring tone sounded in his ear, warbling, on and on. There was no answer and his disappointment mounted. Feeling foolish, he returned the phone to his pocket and blanked out Sarah’s mocking expression. If she had wanted a relationship with him, she would have already been in touch.
Regretting his weakness, he strode to his desk, passing through Imogen’s sensational floral scent, and sat down. She was studying something on the computer monitor, and her tongue rested on her lip. He smiled. She caught his eye and smiled back.
Luke knocked on the glass door, eagerly anticipating progress with the case, and waited for Maureen to answer. A figure appeared through the frosted glass and the door opened. It was a man of about seventy years old, wearing pressed trousers, a cream shirt and a blue tie. He projected a hostile expression.
‘Maureen Colchester is expecting me. I’m Luke Adams.’
The man nodded, yelled upstairs, and disappeared into a room, leaving them standing in the doorway. It was chilly outside, and the cool air gushed into the heated house. It was such a waste of energy, and Luke peered apprehensively at Imogen before glimpsing over his shoulder.
The house was situated on the main road. Cars were queuing at the traffic lights waiting to pass through a congested intersection, a bus screeched to a halt, and a cyclist mounted a pavement and weaved around pedestrians.
‘Sorry to keep you. Come on in.’
He shook the woman’s hand and followed her into the kitchen.
‘I’m not sure how I’ll be able to help you,’ she said. ‘It all happened a long time ago.’
‘Whatever you can remember will be useful.’
‘I’ve just been looking upstairs for photographs.’ She peered at a dusty cardboard box resting on the floor. ‘These are the old ones. I’m not sure I’ll have anything mind.’
‘Do you remember Karen Jefferson?’
‘That I do. There were a few of them and they all hung around together. Sally and I used to avoid them like the plague. They’d pick a fight with you for the slightest thing. How her poor sister put up with her, I don’t know.’
‘What do you remember about Fiona?’
‘She died didn’t she?’
He nodded.
‘It was horrid, just horrid. She was quite a bit younger than I was so I didn’t know her, but from what folks said, the two of them were chalk and cheese. It’s hard to believe they were sisters.’
‘Did she ever hang around with Karen?’
‘Blimey, no. If Karen ever saw her, she’d poke fun at her in front of everyone. Fiona was such a timid thing. Folks said she was afraid of her.’
‘Afraid of Karen?’
‘Aye, that’s right. Karen wasn’t violent . . . no . . . but she had a hard exterior. I’d say it was put on.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Once, I saw her in the park late at night.’ She turned to face him. ‘She didn’t see me . . . no . . . she was with someone else. I don’t know who it was. Karen was crying. Full-blown blubbering.’
‘Did you know why?’
‘I heard her say something about never being listened to. I think it was family stuff. That’s all I know. It was heart-breaking. I never looked at her in the same way after that.’
‘How old was she?’
‘Seventeen, maybe eighteen. I don’t remember.’
Before her disappearance, Luke thought. ‘Can you remember the names of her closest friends?’
‘Now, let me see. There were four of them.’ She scratched her chin. ‘No, I can’t remember.’
‘Could you look through the photos? It might help.’
‘Of course.’
She bent over, grabbed a pile of photos from within the box and scattered them across the table. The images were of young people, presumably herself and her friends, and they brought a smile to her face.
Luke was searching the images for familiar sights and faces when his phone sounded. Seeing it was Leanne, he declined the call and returned it to his pocket. Moments later, a warble indicated an incoming text message. In the message, she mentioned three people, Mrs J Taylor, Queenie and Rusty. Leanne said they were friends of Karen.
‘Do you remember a J Taylor?’ Luke asked while showing the message to Imogen.
Maureen raised her head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Could it be June or Joyce?’
‘Or Julie or Joanne,’ Imogen added.
‘There was a Joanne, she was Karen’s best friend, but it wasn’t Taylor.’
‘What about Queenie or Rusty?’
‘No.’
‘Do you think they were nicknames?’ Imogen asked.
‘They did have some daft ideas, and they did toy around with nicknames for a while, but I wouldn’t have a clue what they were. From what I heard, they thought their names weren’t cool enough.’
Luke and Imogen’s eyes locked, then Maureen turned away and continued flicking through the photos and piling them up at the edge of the table. Occasionally she paused, smiling and reminiscing. He wanted to hurry her up and fought for patience.
‘This is her,’ she said, eventually. ‘I’m afraid it’s not very good.’
She passed it across. It was a bit hazy.
‘Karen and her friends are on the back table.’
‘Which one’s Karen?’
Maureen hesitated. ‘The red-haired one. Definitely.’
‘I didn’t know she had red hair.’
‘She didn’t . . . always. They would forever change their hairstyles and appearances. I doubt they looked the same two weeks running.’
‘Can I borrow this for a while?’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks for your time. I’m sorry, but we have to dash. You’ve been most useful.’
‘Nice to have the company.’
They headed outside and to the car.
‘We should visit Mrs Taylor,’ Luke said. ‘I want to surprise her.’
‘Do you have her address?’
‘No, can you get it from Leanne?
Luke stopped the car and looked to the house. Inside, just visible through the window, was a woman with red hair, and his expectations danced. He retrieved the photograph from his pocket, studied the facial structure, and looked back to the house. There was no obvious connection between the two women. He looked at the other three women on the photo and back again. There was still no obvious resemblance.
‘Can I have a look?’ Imogen said.
He gave it to her.
‘It could be her.’
‘It’s not a great likeness.’
‘No, I agree.’
‘She’s looking. Come on, we should go in.’
Imogen pressed the doorbell. A podgy woman with short dark-brown hair, and with a cigarette in her hand, appeared, scowling.
‘I’m Luke Adams. I’m wondering if you can help. I’m looking for Karen Jefferson. I believe you might know her.’
‘She’s not here.’ Queenie started to push the door closed. His foot was in the way.
‘Can we come in? It won’t take long.’
A red-haired woman appeared from behind. ‘What you want?’
‘Is one of you a Mrs J Taylor?’
They looked at each other. Queenie spoke first. ‘We’re Queenie and Rusty. That’s all you need to know.’
‘Do you know Karen Jefferson?’
She puffed on her cigarette. ‘Might do.’
‘Where can we find her?’
‘Not seen her for years.’
‘We know you were friends.’
‘So, it’s not a crime.’
‘She’s not in any trouble.’ He reached for a card. ‘I’m a private investigator. Her daughter wants to find her.’
‘She’ll never find her mother.’
He narrowed his gaze and studied the two women. Both were equally guarded. ‘Are you Joanne?’
‘I told you, I’m Queenie.’
‘We’re only here to help,’ Imogen said.
‘I don’t have time for this.’ Queenie ushered them backwards and pressed her hand onto the door.
‘Please,’ Luke said, ‘where can I find Karen?’
‘Try Northampton.’
He eased his foot away from the door. ‘Why Northampton?’
‘That’s where I last saw her, thirty odd years ago.’
The door pushed to. A bolt engaged. Curtains were drawn.
Bewildered, he looked at Imogen.
‘They hiding something,’ she said.
‘Do you think one of them is Karen?’
‘Could be, although they look nothing like they do in this photo. Having said that, it was taken decades ago.’
‘Well, they’re not going to talk. Maybe we should try Northampton.’ He sank into the seat of his car.
‘They could be sending us on a wild goose chase.’
He started the car, looked back at the house, and pulled away. ‘Let’s visit Leanne, she might know something.’
Moments later, they arrived and knocked on the door. There was no reply, yet her car was there. Following his instinctive curiosity, he strode along a flattened track to the rear, turned a corner, and looked at a barn. The beams were corroded, the hayloft was devastated, and part of the roof absent.
‘Tansy!’ a voice called. ‘Tansy.’
He turned around. A dog was racing towards him and his body stiffened. Her tongue was lolling, her legs at full stretch, and her determination written into her eyes. He leapt to one side. Tansy carried on, racing down the track and to the house.
‘I thought she might do this,’ Steven said. ‘That’s why I’ve been avoiding walking this way. Are you looking for Leanne?’
‘Yes, there was no answer at the door. I thought she might be down here.’
‘Are you the investigator?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I’m Steven . . . a friend. Have you got anywhere?’
‘We’re piecing bits together. It all takes time.’
‘I’m sure it does.’
They walked towards the house. Imogen was chatting to Leanne, and the dog was next to them, wagging furiously. The instant they turned the corner, he noticed a plaintive glance pass between Leanne and Steven, and the closer they became, the more awkward the silence.
‘Tansy,’ Steven called.
The dog looked at him and then back at Leanne, but she would not move.
‘Tansy!’
She sat down at Leanne’s feet.
‘Damned dog,’ Steven mumbled and continued forward.
Imogen caught Luke’s eye and then turned to Leanne. ‘We’ve just visited Queenie and Rusty and they suggested we should try Northampton. Any ideas why?’
Leanne’s gaze was magnetised to Steven. ‘No.’
‘Have you ever lived there?’ Imogen asked.
‘I was born there.’
Imogen turned to Luke. ‘We could try the hospital?’
‘What did they say?’ Leanne asked.
‘They weren’t forthcoming I’m afraid,’ he said.
‘Did they say who Mrs J Taylor was?’
‘No. Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.’
Leanne was displaying a melancholy expression as she watched Steven hooking up the dog. She was more engrossed with him than the case. Luke saw it as his command to leave.
‘Thanks. It’s getting late and we should get back. We’ll be in touch.’ They headed away.
‘What’s with those two?’ Imogen whispered out of earshot.
‘No idea.’
‘I think they’ve had a lover’s tiff.’
Luke peered over his shoulder. Steven was dragging Tansy away. ‘I think you’re right.’
Leanne felt as though she should make a hasty retreat, but she was frozen to the spot and stared at Steven as he dragged Tansy along the trodden path, urging her away from a place he had never intended to visit. The dog persisted in looking backwards, slowing their progress and knotting her master’s legs, but it made little impact and caused her needless discomfort as the leash jarred. After a decisive telling off, Tansy continued forward, although still at a sluggish pace, and gave Leanne a last plaintive glance.
Yearning for Steven to turn and apologise, Leanne edged forward, her agony tightening her heart, her focus all-absorbing. She traced the muscular tone of his legs and the broadness of his shoulders and watched his strands of golden brown hair lift up in the breeze. There was sadness within her eyes and regret within her mind as their previous disagreement persisted with its haunting ritual.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted.
He stopped and turned. ‘I’m sorry too.’
Cautiously, she stepped towards him, noting how he avoided locking eyes. ‘Can we talk?’
‘There’s nothing to say.’
Her tongue stilled; she held her silence.
‘I thought you were different,’ he said, ‘I can’t believe you’d think I would see Queenie. She’s . . . she’s . . .’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll keep on saying it if it helps.’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘What we have is worth fighting for, is it not?’
He looked to the ground, his eyes wandering, his lips stirring. ‘I should go.’
‘Please don’t.’
He strode away, faster this time, and headed to the field and progressed around the perimeter. Not once did he turn; not once, did his steps falter.
Despondent, she returned indoors, slumped onto a chair, and gazed at her business plans strewn across a low table, unable to generate interest or enthusiasm. Her anger was simmering. Steven must have been searching for an excuse to end their budding relationship, but he should have been honest rather than putting the blame on her. It was inconceivable to think he would still be annoyed at her for her accusation. Queenie had had her arm draped over Steven. It was not as if she had lied.
Drifting, she relived their argument in the town centre. Ever since their first encounter, they had had problems, yet with Phillip, it had been trouble-free. Was it a sign? Her relationship with Steven had barely started and it was continually stumbling. Perhaps she should forget him.
She puffed out, the papers and plans catching her eye. She flicked through the various sheets, each a summary of the individual business areas, and scanned a list of the products to be sold. There were glass painting supplies, felt and foam, crepe and tissue paper, and much more. The list was endless, and the hope of including a range of exclusively designed finished products fading. Space would be limited and the room to support struggling artists probably not economical. Nevertheless, she looked to her partial list of ideas and decided that somehow, even if it were via photographic displays, she would exhibit some goods.
It was an exciting prospect, and her energies expanded. She drew images of the displays, she developed her list of expansion ideas, and she created a basic outline for an online site. Then she considered promotion ideas. She could run workshops, demonstrations and competitions, and she could get involved in the community. Her mind was buzzing and her ideas flowing from the pen.
After many hours of work, she slumped back into the chair and listened to the persistent cries from her aching body. Her head was thick, her arm like a lead weight, and her eyes blurring. Stretching, and taking a few moments to regain her focus, she reached to her telephone.
‘Hi Geoff, it’s Leanne. How’s it going?’
‘We have a little problem. There is a legal issue to sort out relating to Mrs Oakdale’s ex so we’ve had to put the brakes on, but it’s nothing to worry about.’
‘How long do you think it will delay us by?’
‘Not sure. Could be a few days . . . could be a couple of weeks.’
‘Okay.’
‘Don’t worry Leanne. These things happen all the time. Have you been making plans?
‘Yes. I’m working on it now. We must meet up some time to go through them . . . Tony too.’
‘Yes, sure, great idea. I’ll be in touch. I’m a bit busy at the moment.’
‘Before you go, we never changed the vault over into my name. When can we do it?’
‘I completely forgot about that! Now let me see. How does Friday sound? No, wait, I can’t. I’m likely to be in London. Tell you what, I’ll give you ring. It’s nothing for you to worry about, though. I hope you realise that.’
‘Yes, of course. I just like to be organised.’
‘I love your attitude. I can see we’ll make a fantastic team. This is all very exciting for me.’
‘Yes, me too. I can’t wait to get started.’
‘Great stuff. Look, I’m sorry to be rude, but someone’s waiting for me. I must go.’
‘Fine. Bye.’
She placed the phone onto the table, strode into the lounge, and slumped onto the sofa, happy but exhausted. Needing to relax her mind, she lifted her legs onto the soft fabric, placed a cushion under her head and shut her eyes.
Although she did not intend to meditate, Leanne followed the same routine and squeezed every muscle in her body in turn, releasing the tension, and breathing in a deep and slow manner. She inhaled, held her breath, and exhaled, each for five seconds. Then she increased the time to ten seconds, and soon the fuzziness inside her head started to fade.
After a while, dreamlike images appeared, rather like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and lacking the same cohesion. There was a digital clock displaying 15:37 hanging from a curved metal structure. There were a railway line and a bridge. There were mumbling voices. Leanne shuffled, her breathing laboured. There was a scream, screeching brakes, and a loud, crushing thud. She bolted upright, sweating profusely and with wild, frantic eyes, and searched the rapidly fading detail of the victim. The body was a silhouette, the blood an ever-growing pool.
Luke and Imogen strode through the double doors to the hospital, scanned the reception and waiting area, and followed the signs to the lifts and staircase. The air was odourless and the atmosphere subdued as hospital workers, patients, and visitors wandered the corridors.
Two nurses with grave expressions hurried by, conversing in low voices and carrying an assortment of clean linen and a bedpan. They disappeared into a room and closed the door. Next, a distressed teenage girl exited the lift and ran by. Tears streamed down her reddened face, swelling and streaking her eyes as she released gasping moans. Luke’s gut tightened. He could feel death in the air.
He arrived at the lift and waited, shuffling his feet and trying not to stare at a sick man in a wheelchair. He looked about forty, was gaunt and pale and had his head resting at an angle at the top of the wheelchair. His eyes were a sickly yellow colour, his lips were near-white, and saliva dripped from his mouth. He groaned and the nurse leaned over and cleaned his chin. She did it with ease and showed no expression of fear or disgust, an admirable quality.
Luke and Imogen travelled to the third floor in silence. Once they had departed from the small space, he felt his guard loosen and his breathing relax.
‘I’d hate working here,’ he said.
‘Did you see that poor girl? I wonder what happened.’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t see anyone chasing after her.’
‘Didn’t you? Just after you entered the lift, the other one arrived, and a man and a boy rushed out. I heard the boy saying, “Can you see her?” They were quite frantic.’
‘I wonder if you ever get used to dealing with stuff like this.’
‘I have a friend who’s a nurse and she said it was horrible the first time someone died. She said she learned to become emotionally detached.’
‘You know a nurse?’
‘Luke! She’s married.’
‘Pity.’
‘I thought you were happy being single.’
‘I am. I’m waiting for the right woman.’
She had a glint in her eye. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time. I can’t imagine anyone putting up with your dirty mind.’
‘I don’t have a dirty mind.’
‘Really? What was your first thought when I said I knew a nurse?’
‘I was surprised.’
‘You’re such a poor liar. No doubt you watch porno movies with nurses in.’
He feigned surprise. ‘There are porno movies with nurses?’
She gave him a bemused look.
‘I must hang around with you more. I learn all sorts.’
They reached the end of a corridor and paused, unsure of which way to go. After checking his notes on a scrap of paper, they continued to the right away from the wards and to rooms with either department names or individuals names on the doors. They turned left into another short corridor and rapped on the end door.
A scrawny woman in her late fifties with blonde streaked hair welcomed them inside. She introduced herself as Joyce Cunningham, now a senior administrator but once a nurse, and offered them drinks.
‘As I explained on the phone,’ he began, ‘we’re trying to trace the whereabouts of Karen Jefferson. Her daughter was born in this hospital. At least that was what the birth certificate says.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Ms Jefferson did come here. I didn’t need to check. I remembered it well. I was working on the maternity ward back then and was quite startled when I saw the name on the list of the day’s entries. See, I knew someone of that name and I hadn’t seen her for a few months. I thought it was her.’
Luke nodded, encouragingly.
‘We had been good friends, but then she married and we started to drift apart. It’s quite a sad story because she was desperate for a baby yet couldn’t get pregnant, so as you can imagine, when I saw the name on the list I was elated.’
‘But it wasn’t her.’
‘No.’ She gazed through the window. ‘Unfortunately not.’
‘Were you involved with the birth?’
‘Yes, I was there. I was a bit miffed because she repeatedly told me she didn’t want the baby. It seemed unfair. The Karen I knew was desperate for a child, and this woman wanted to be rid, so I had an idea . . .’
‘You wanted to unite the two.’
‘Yes. I felt it was meant to be. They had the same names. I saw it as a sign.’
‘What happened?’
‘Karen, the one you’re looking for, moaned endlessly. She said she could never face anyone with a baby in her arms. It was wrong, and she said she had let everyone down. I tried to convince her otherwise but she just kept saying it was sinful.’
Luke and Imogen’s eyes locked.
Joyce continued. ‘Times were different back then, but still, a baby was a wonderful gift. Karen didn’t see it that way.’
‘She definitely said that?’
‘Yes, as clear as though it was yesterday. I assumed she didn’t have a partner, and when I went out into the corridor I was proven right.’
‘She was alone?’
‘No, a woman was with her. We talked. I was still thinking about my friend, see? But she was sure she’d change Karen’s mind and get her to accept the baby.’
‘Do you remember her name?’ Luke asked.
She looked to the table. She gazed at the doorway. She scratched her cheek. ‘It was an unusual name.’
‘Joanne?’ Luke said.
‘No. It was something quite strange.’
‘Queenie or Rusty?’
Joyce’s face lit up. ‘Queenie! That’s it!’
Luke glimpsed at Imogen. ‘Do you have any idea where they lived or worked?’
‘They were renting a flat above a restaurant. I took the address so I could check on Karen. That baby had become a bit of an obsession, see?’
He nodded, urging her on.
‘I think it’s still there.’
‘The name?’
He had his pen poised. With any luck, she might still be there.
At the end of a row of townhouses, set at the corner was a restaurant. Luke pulled into a parking bay, turned off the engine, and looked to Imogen.
‘It’s worth a shot,’ he said.
‘You never know, she may at least have left a forwarding address. Are you feeling lucky?’
He gave her a baffled look.
‘You must have days when you feel everything’s going your way. I certainly do.’
‘And you think today is one of them?’
Imogen clicked open her bag, retrieved a small mirror and peered at her reflection. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
She touched up her lipstick. ‘You know what my Mark does? He is constantly fiddling with his phone and drives me mad. Last night, we were having a conversation and he didn’t look at me once. It’s so annoying.’
She returned it to her bag. Then, using the mirror scrutinised her eyebrows.
‘We all have faults,’ Luke said.
‘It’s an addiction, an obsession. He never stops.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Texts, Facebook, Twitter.’ She peered at him, eyeliner in hand. ‘He brags about how many hundreds of friends and followers he has. I’m just not interested.’
‘Tell him to stop.’
‘I’ve tried. I tell you, it’s like a drug. He seems to think the world will end if he doesn’t tell everyone what he’s doing. I wouldn’t care so much if he led an exciting life, but he doesn’t. He tells people what food he’s eating or what programmes he’s watching. There’s no privacy.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘He won’t accept that it involves me too. I don’t want my life scrutinised by the world.’
‘It might just be a phase.’
‘You think? Would you like it if your girlfriend was telling everyone what colour underpants you were wearing?’
‘He does that?’
‘He’s been known to.’ She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. ‘You know what, if you ever want to know my dress size or waist measurement go to my Mark’s twitter page.’
He exited the car and strode around to the pavement. ‘I might just do that.’
She nudged him in the ribs. ‘Cheeky.’
He smiled.
‘Sorry for whingeing.’
‘No worries.’
They strode a few doors away to the restaurant and peered up to the first floor flat. Given the lack of curtains and blinds it seemed as though it was unfurnished, Undeterred, they found a doorway around the back and rang a bell. After a few moments, they decided it was, in fact, empty. Imogen suggested they tried the restaurant. It was closed, but inside there was light and movement. They rapped on the door. An aging man strolled across.
‘I’m Luke Adams, a private investigator, and this is Imogen. We’re trying to trace someone who lived in the flat upstairs about thirty-five years ago.’
‘You’re expecting a lot. That place has rarely seen the same folks for more than a few months at a time. It causes me a headache.’
‘Are you the owner?’
‘Yes. ‘Greg Jenson. I’ve had the flat and restaurant for the best part of forty years.’
He peered at the orange and brown décor. ‘I like the colours, you’ve chosen . . . very effective.’
‘A lot of work has gone into it.’
‘I can tell,’ he said, ‘it’s smart.’
‘Who are you after?’
‘Her name is Karen Jefferson. I think she stayed with a friend, Queenie.’
Greg smiled and had a distant look in his eyes. ‘Karen Jefferson . . . well, well.’
‘That’s right.’
‘She was a live wire.’
‘You knew her?’
‘We saw each other for a while.’
A man appeared at Luke’s rear, wafting a piece of paper. They stepped inside the restaurant, moving out of the way.
‘Hang on,’ Greg said, weaving past.
Luke peered outside to a large van labelled ‘Parry Foodstuffs’. The name was familiar, but he could not determine how or from where. It rattled.
After a few moments, Greg returned and the man started to deposit his load near the kitchen door.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, ‘now, what were we saying?’
‘You had a relationship with Karen.’
‘Yes, she had a baby, but after that . . . well, it went pear-shaped and she left.’
‘The baby was yours?’
‘Yes, but it died. Karen flipped . . . couldn’t handle it, and left.’
‘When was this?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. 1973 or 1974. I can’t remember for certain.’
Luke looked to Imogen. ‘When was Leanne born?’
‘1975.’
Pensive, he glanced at the assortment of packages, each one emblazoned with Parry Foodstuffs. ‘Did Karen leave straight after the birth?’
‘No, she hung around for about six months. I saw her a few times after that, maybe over the next year or so. I haven’t seen her since. Is she in trouble?’
He returned his notebook and pen to his pocket. ‘No, her daughter is looking for her.’
‘Do you know anything about her friend?’ Imogen asked. ‘They lived together.’
‘It was her sister, wasn’t it?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I could be wrong. I didn’t see her much.’
‘Do you remember her name?’
‘No.’
‘Jo? Rusty? Fiona?’
Greg shook his head. ‘I doubt I’d remember. I didn’t pay much attention back then.’
The deliveryman deposited the last box near the kitchen door, strode across, and handed him a sheet of paper. Greg added his signature to the sheet and took his copy. ‘Cheers mate.’ The man left.
‘Do you have any photos?’ Luke asked.
‘No. If I did I’d have got rid when I married.’
‘Any ideas about her friends, her job, what her plans were?’
‘No sorry. I only cared about one thing in those days.’
He reached for a card. ‘If you remember anything else can you ring me?’
‘Sure.’
They left the building. It was starting to rain and cool droplets slithered from his face down his neck. The clouds were descending, the visibility was poor, and the road was already starting to congest. It was going to be a tedious journey home.
Leaves danced in the air, floating and dropping, coiling and weaving, as the almost naked branches displayed their flexibility in the whooshing wind. It was late morning, yet it felt more like late afternoon, and the dark turbulent skies tumbled towards the village, burdened and menacing.
Sensing the chill from the window, Leanne shivered, wrapped her arms around her middle and listened to the whispering cries of the wind. Evergreens tussled, battling to remain upright as a brave bird vacated the apparent safety of cover to fly to new ground. It was a desolate scene; there were no crisp and clear colours in the autumnal sunshine, no elongated shadows extending across the land, and no wildlife enjoying the bounty of berries and seeds.
Her ache for companionship intensified. Just a glimpse of a car or a person would ease her need and dissolve the ridiculous notion in her head that she was alone in the world. What if the roof blew off or if the tree a short distance from the house crashed into her? If she was injured in an accident, she could remain buried for days.
Returning to the kitchen table and her business plans, she willed herself to be at ease with her solitude, but focusing was difficult. Distracted by the blustery conditions outdoors she searched the footpath for Steven’s wind-beaten form. In her mind, he was smiling, a wonderful lopsided smile, and craving her attention; his eyes dazzled, he thrust aside floating strands of hair with his slender fingers, and he caressed his lips with his tongue.
Jolting herself back to reality, she chastised herself for her stupidity, urging her burning longing to subside as his rejection haunted. She recalled his final words and remembered his pained expression, but the comparisons he made to his ex-wife were what hurt the most. The two situations were not the same.
It was infuriating that he would link the two. Disappointed, she folded her arms and scowled, denying his accusations. Unlike Andrea, she had not used the situation to find another lover; she had merely told him what she had seen. It was true, damn it. Steven had been with Queenie.
Closing the door to the hopelessly circulating ponderings, Leanne tried to reconnect with her business plans and looked at the possibility of attending craft fairs and exhibitions. She flicked through magazines and copied the details into her notebook, and then chose the ones that were within about a hundred miles or had business potential. She dialled the first number and listened to the ring tone. A woman with a soft voice answered.
‘Hello,’ Leanne said, ‘I understand there is a craft exhibition in Garston Hall on the 21st January. Are there any slots left?’
‘I will have a look, just hang on a minute.’
There were the tapping of keys and a mumble of voices.
‘You’re in luck. We’ve just had a cancellation. What’s your business name?’
‘Can I make a provisional booking?’
‘We need the money to confirm. These are popular events.’
‘It’s just that my craft shop isn’t up and running yet and I’d like to participate.’
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t change anything.’
‘Okay. I will register in my own name. Can I pay be credit card?’
‘Sure.’
Leanne gave her the details and made a note to extract the money from the business. Satisfied that she had made her first booking, she returned her attention to her notebook and continued her attempt to acquire stalls. Some were fully booked, but others, further into next year, still had spaces. By the time she had reached the bottom of her list, she had managed to book four stalls over the summer, two at the start of the year, and one at the end. Feeling satisfied, she leaned back and admired her plans.
An anxious rapping on the door made her jolt. She jumped to her feet, peered out of the window, noting the rain streak the glass, and rushed to the outer door. Her heart skipped a beat. It was Steven. His hair flattened against his head and his clothes were sodden.
‘Is Tansy here?’
‘No.’
‘Have you seen her at all?’
‘No.’
‘Hell.’ He turned around, gazing into the horizontal rain. ‘She’s not run off before.’
‘She could have gone home.’
‘Yeah. I have to go.’
‘Let me help,’ she said.
She rushed for her hat and coat, changed into her sturdy boots and hurried outside. He was scanning the field at the end of her plot and calling out his dog’s name.
‘How long has she been gone?’
‘Nearly an hour. I’ve been around the streets . . . gone to her favourite spots. No one’s seen her. I was so sure she’d be here.’
‘Let me check the barns.’
‘I’ve already done that.’
Nevertheless, she trotted to the barn, stooping to avoid the rain from hitting her face and tussling with the wind and peered up to the hayloft. She scanned a chest in a dark corner and strained to listen for movement or whimpering cries. There was no sign of the dog.
Steven appeared in the doorway, ‘I’m going home. She might have found her way back.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Please, I want to help. Two sets of eyes are better than one.’
He did not decline her offer, so she followed him along the path to the small estate. Steven was frantic; his steps were hurried, his expression pained, his eyes searching. Repeatedly, he called out. Tansy did not appear.
Drenched and wind-blown, they arrived near his street. He strode out, looking into each garden and down each drive, still calling, still uptight. It was difficult keeping pace, and her legs quivered, her lungs tightened, and chilling drops of water trickled down her neck.
‘Tansy,’ he yelled.
Nothing.
‘Tansy.’
Tansy appeared on the pavement at the end of his drive, soaked and wagging her tail. She bounded towards him, leapt into the air, and barked and squealed. Her body twisted as her tail swung in an arch, and her paws padded the ground with none maintaining contact for more than a fraction of a second. Her eyes were shiny and her mouth curved. She was panting and happy.
Steven turned towards Leanne. ‘You’d better come in and dry off.’
Her eyes locked with Tansy’s. She offered the dog her silent appreciation.
Leanne was waiting for Steven to return wearing dry clothes when her phone sounded. It was Tyler.
‘Hello love, is everything all right?’
‘I . . . I just fancied a chat.’
‘Are you at school?’
‘Yes. It’s lunchtime.’
‘What’s wrong?’
He hesitated. ‘Nothing.’
‘Are you sure? You don’t often ring at this time.’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘How’s Darren treating you?’
There was silence.
‘Tyler?’
‘Fine. Everything’s fine.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘He hasn’t done anything. I just wanted to ring you. I didn’t expect the third degree.’
‘You don’t sound yourself,’ she said, ‘that’s all.’
‘I’ve had a hard morning . . . just had French.’
He hated French. ‘Okay.’
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Steven lost his dog. We’ve just been looking for her. We’re both drenched.’
There was silence.
‘Please talk to me. You clearly rang for a reason,’ she said.
‘There’s some stuff I need.’
‘You want some money?’
‘No, I need some things from home.’
‘Okay. I’ll be over tonight.’
No,’ he said quickly, ‘not tonight.’
There were voices in the background.
‘It’s no problem,’ she continued.
‘No. I’m busy. Look, I have to go. I’ll speak later.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am.’
The ring tone sounded in her ear. Leanne clung to the phone, baffled.
‘Is everything all right?’ Steven asked.
He was drying his hair with a towel and had changed into jogging pants and a clean white t-shirt. He looked sensational and a beautiful aromatic scent drifted towards her.
‘It was Tyler. Something’s wrong. He never rings during the day.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He wants something from home. It’s strange that he didn’t ring during the evening.’
‘It must have been on his mind.’
She frowned. ‘His voice was wrong. He seemed a bit depressed.’
‘You might be imagining it.’
‘No, I’m not. I know my son.’
‘I didn’t mean-’
She steadied her nerves. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t like him staying with Darren. It’s not right. He should be with me.’
‘Then tell him.’
‘It has to be his choice. I’ll only drive him further away.’
‘But maybe he needs you to make it clear you want him back.’
She gawped. ‘You don’t think he feels I’m pushing him away, do you?’
He withheld his reply.
‘Oh no!’ she said. ‘He went quiet when I mentioned you. Maybe he thinks I am choosing you over him.’
He turned away and laid the towel over the radiator. ‘Try not to worry.’
He avoided eye contact and looked a little unsettled, as though he didn’t want to be dragged into her problems. Not willing taking the risk, and deciding nothing could be done during school hours, she forced her turmoil aside and asked about Tansy. Steven shared numerous stories about her life from the first time she visited the coast to and the destruction of a padded stool. It proved positive and his mood brightened.
‘How is your business plan going?’ Steven asked.
‘Great. This morning I booked stalls at craft exhibitions. The first one is in January. I was lucky, I got the last spot.’
A smile accompanied his approval.
‘I’ve made plans to include crafted products in the shop, done by locals. I’m hoping to incorporate a small stand somewhere. I hope there’s enough space.’
‘You’ve not seen it?’
She hesitated. ‘No. I’ve seen the floor plans.’
‘Why don’t you drive over?’
‘I . . . I suppose I could.’
‘I’d have thought Geoff would have wanted you to see your investment.’
‘He’s been fantastic. There’s been a little delay with the contracts, but he has kept me informed all the way.’
‘Did you have the contract checked by a lawyer?’
Her eyes flitted. She rubbed her hands.
‘My brother’s a lawyer. I could ask him to look it over if you like.’
‘I’ve already signed it,’ she said quietly.
‘He could still point out any grey areas . . . make you aware of any possible problems.’
‘I . . .’ she stopped and withdrew her negative reply. ‘Thanks.’
‘Do I sense a problem?’
‘We put it in a bank vault.’
‘Okay. When you get it, pass me a copy. How about we check out the business online?’
‘I don’t think there’s a website. I’m not connected so I haven’t checked.’
He jumped to his feet. ‘Follow me.’
They headed into his office and started a search for the craft business. There were numerous references with the same name, but none with the same address.
Her anxieties deepened, her heart thumping. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s definitely that address?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a telephone number?’
‘I . . . I can’t remember it. Geoff was dealing with the paperwork.’
Steven was staring, pondering. She felt such a fool.
‘There’s something I have to do. Can you get the number for Lloyds Bank?’
Moments later, he was pointing to the number on the screen.
‘Hello,’ Leanne said, her voice quivering. ‘I need to access a company vault, but it has my partner’s name on it. Can you check if it’s been accessed?’
After reiterating the question numerous times, she was able to speak to someone at her branch. She waited whilst the assistant checked.
‘I’m sorry,’ the man said, ‘there was a vault in that name, but it was closed a few days ago.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who closed it?’
‘It can only be closed by the person who opened it.’
‘But it has my contract in it. It was mine.’
‘And you are?’
‘Leanne Stark, Geoff Shaw’s business partner. We were going to change the ownership of the vault into my name.’
‘I suggest you speak to him.’
‘Do you know what he did with the contract?’
Silence.
‘Sorry. Bye.’
She replaced the handset onto the charger and gawked at Steven. Her mind was swirling, her legs weakening.
‘There must be a reasonable explanation,’ he said.
She dialled Geoff’s number. It rang and rang. There was no answer.
Queenie stuffed her washing attire and other small accessories into a small bag, and zipped it up and placed it onto the bed. Then she flung open the wardrobe, a two-door beech effect with plastic handles, and stared at her clothes. There were jeans and trousers, an assortment of tops, a tight-fitting black dress and a navy skirt. It was not a lot, but at least it meant moving was easy.
She perched on the edge of the bed and considered her options. She was too old to roam the streets, money was in short supply and friends were scarce. She could go to Kyle’s house, although the prospect of more arguments and an endless character assassination was unappealing. Queenie exhaled and groaned. Staying with Rusty had given her the mental time out she had needed. If only Leanne had not contacted Luke Adams.
The door creaked open. Rusty was standing on the landing, her red hair illuminated by the light. ‘You’re not leaving,’ she said.
She yanked a garment from a coat hanger and thrust it into the small case. ‘I can’t stay.’
‘I assume this is because of Leanne.’
She held a pained stare.
‘Just be honest! They’ll understand why you acted as you did.’
‘It’s not just that. I was out of control and everyone knew it.’
Rusty heaved a sigh. ‘It was an accident.’
‘It didn’t feel like an accident at the time.’
‘It wasn’t deliberate or planned. It just happened.’
Queenie opened a drawer, removed piles of underwear, and slung them into the case. Then she thrust it shut.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re always running. You’re not guilty, yet you act like you are.’
She gazed at her fingernails and smoothed down a hangnail.
‘Please stay. I need you around.’
‘You’ll manage, you always do.’
Rusty leaned into the doorframe. ‘It’s more fun when you’re here. Remember London and the nightclubs, the men, the wild parties? We didn’t see daylight for weeks.’
‘Northampton was better. Almost every day for the last thirty-five years, I’ve wished we stayed. I don’t know what we were thinking. God, I was so selfish.’
‘Hardly. We were young and wanted freedom. Having a kid around was hard work.’
‘You always were more for returning than me. You were anti-children back then.’
Rusty’s eyes narrowed. ‘I wanted a kid with a decent man and not some no-hoper I’d met on the streets.’
‘Is there such a thing?’
‘You’re very cynical.’
‘And I’ve every right to be.’ She thrust out her hands. ‘Look at me. I’m not exactly popular.’
‘Maybe not, but you do have a home.’ The doorbell sounded. Rusty gazed down the stairs. ‘For once, see something through. It’s what you should have done with many of your relationships, including Kyle. You never seem to learn.’
With the words echoing, she hurried down the stairs.
Luke and Imogen stared at the door, feet poised to jam the door and ready to force one of them to speak. He surmised it wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary, and he had his hand flat against the surface and his eyes on the handle. It opened. He caught a glimpse of Rusty. The weight of the door was upon him.
‘I just need a few minutes,’ he said, ‘it’s important.’
‘We’ve nothing to say,’ Rusty said.
‘Please. We won’t bother you again.’
‘We’ve already told you what we know.’
‘Then you won’t mind me asking a few questions.’
There were footsteps pounding the stairs and a mumble of voices. The door eased open and a stench of smoke wafted into him.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘We’re not doing this for you,’ Queenie said, scowling.
Rusty departed into a nearby room and Queenie sat on the staircase, two steps up, her face carved with hostility.
‘We went to the hospital and spoke to a woman who helped Karen with her birth. She said you were waiting in the corridor,’ Luke said.
‘So?’
‘Is Rusty Karen?’
Queenie removed a cigarette from a packet, placed it between her lips, and reached for a lighter. She lit it, inhaled, and puffed out. ‘You have it all worked out.’
‘Am I right?’
‘No.’
Luke glanced at Imogen. ‘It would make it much easier if you just told me where Karen is.’
‘And what if I don’t know.’
‘I think you do.’
She rested her hand on her knee and the smoke billowed.
‘Did Karen want her baby?’ Luke asked.
‘Doesn’t every mother?’
‘No, I don’t believe they do.’
‘Well Luke Adams, you know more than me.’
He was exasperated. ‘You were Karen’s friend. You know full well that she didn’t want her baby.’
‘Is that what you learned?’
Silence.
‘Whoever told you must have a good memory.’
He glared. ‘She abandoned Leanne. It fits.’
‘Strange logic. I can assure you, Karen was desperate to be a mother.’
Queenie refused to remove her gaze from him, causing a twitching unease. His eyes wandered, following the billowing circles of smoke rising to the ceiling. Out of his eye corner, he could feel her penetrating stare.
‘How did she feel having a baby out of wedlock?’
‘As I said, Karen was desperate for a baby.’
Puzzled, he glimpsed at Imogen; the entire situation was baffling. He gathered his thoughts and proceeded with his line of questioning.
‘Then we went to see a Mr Jenson.’ He noted a flicker of recognition in her eyes. ‘Karen had had a relationship with him.’
‘So?’
‘He said the baby died.’
Queenie reached for an ashtray, her expression deadpan. ‘Your point?’
‘Was Leanne born before or after this baby?’
‘Should I do your job for you?’ Her eyes darted between Luke and Imogen. ‘If Leanne was born first, Greg would have mentioned the child.’
‘So you did know him?’
Anxiety ripped into Queenie’s face.
‘I never said that his name was Greg,’ he added.
‘And I never said I didn’t know him.’
‘What’s even more interesting is that he said Karen’s sister, Fiona, stayed with her.’
‘And why is that interesting?’
‘Because rumour has it, Karen and Fiona didn’t get on.’
She grinned. ‘You surprise me, Luke Adams, believing in rumours.’
‘Did they live together?’
‘She was Karen’s sister. It probably happened on occasions.’
‘How did you feel about that?’
‘How should I feel?’
‘Fiona was . . . put it this way . . . disciplined and studious.’
‘Really?’
‘Was she working?’
‘It depends on who you ask.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘I’m asking you.’
‘Then no she wasn’t.’
‘So it was a holiday?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was a holiday.’ She jumped up and encouraged them backward. ‘I’ve had enough, time to go.’
‘Why was she having a holiday?’
‘Why does anyone have a holiday?’
Queenie persisted in forcing them out and Luke and Imogen shuffled backward. The door thudded closed. Imogen mirrored Luke’s bewilderment and frustration.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. Shall we go for a coffee and see if we can work it out.’
‘Good idea.’
The café had a historic feel. There were paintings of horses and carriages on the otherwise white walls and there were stone slabs on the floor. In the air, drifting in the diffused light was the gentle aroma of baking food. Having purchased the coffees, Luke and Imogen advanced to a table near the small window.
A group of men gazed across at Imogen and Luke’s pride swelled. Projecting elegance and sophistication, she smoothed out the flimsy fabric of her skirt as she sat, and held a delightful self-assured pose. Her fawn hair framed her face, her lips gently pressed together, and her small upturned nose crinkled as she leaned towards her coffee. She was beautiful. Smugly, he glimpsed at the men.
‘How’s it going with Mark?’
Her face sank. ‘Oh, okay I guess. Although I must say it was more exciting when we lived apart.’
‘You should try doing what Sarah and I did, and do it for a few days at a time.’
‘Are you still hung up on her?’
He lowered his gaze and pondered his recent attempt at contact. ‘No.’
‘You’ve mentioned her a few times recently.’
‘I did the right thing.’
‘You so did! She should have consulted you about the pregnancy.’
His eyes drifted. ‘It doesn’t matter now . . . ending the relationship was the best thing I’ve done.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘I’m not saying I don’t wish things were different, but you can’t make someone love you, can you?’
‘You can’t.’
There was sadness in her eyes and a quiet understanding in her voice. Was she having more severe problems with Mark than she admitted? He tried to ignore the tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach, but it was difficult to do.
‘About this case . . .’
He jolted from his ponderings.
‘. . . we should go through what we know.’
‘Okay, you start.’
‘Right.’ She took a breath. ‘Karen had problems with Janet, and she had a sister a few years younger who was the apple of their mother’s eye. Because of this, Karen formed a relationship with Patrick, her uncle.’
‘That in itself would have wound Janet up.’
‘Yes, that could have been the only reason Karen did it, although I suspect not. The difficulties probably carried on well beyond Karen’s teenage years. Eventually, she left, presumably with Jo Taylor.’
He scratched the side of his face. ‘Who is . . .?’
‘Queenie?’
‘Why not Rusty?’
‘Because when Karen was giving birth, Queenie was in the corridor.’
‘Which means Rusty could be Karen.’
‘Although Queenie says not,’ Imogen said.
‘So Karen is someone else . . . another friend.’ He reached for his coffee, inhaled the aroma, and sipped.
‘What do you think about the hospital administrator’s account of Karen?’
‘You mean her attitude to her birth?’
She nodded.
‘I think she’s wrong. It sounded like she was so desperate for her friend to have the baby that she imagined that Karen didn’t want it.’
‘She heard what she wanted to hear.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But she was so sure.’
He leaned back into the chair and spread his legs. ‘We should be careful what we believe. It happened a long time ago. The mind can play tricks.’
Imogen was thoughtful. ‘Does Fiona play a part in this?’
Luke shook his head. ‘I think she stayed with Karen for a while, maybe as a support, or maybe even just for a break.’
‘And Jo?’
‘There’s a lot we still don’t know.’
‘I think there’s a clue here somewhere. We should interrogate Ted again. He did say he knew the family.’
‘Good idea.’
They parked the car on a track at the edge of the field and watched the tractor heading towards them, driving in a straight line a little distance to their right. It stopped at the perimeter and Ted climbed out. Luke exited the car and walked towards him. Imogen, wearing heels, opted to stay in the car.
‘Have you found her yet?’ Ted asked.
‘No. We’ve been following Karen’s last known movements. She lived in Northampton for a while, we think with Joanne.’
‘Aye, that’s it. They were best friends.’
‘Do you know if they had nicknames?’
Ted looked at the ground. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘We’ve been speaking to two women in the village, Queenie and Rusty. They are connected to Karen . . . good friends I think.’
‘Where do they live?’
‘In the new estate.’
He nodded.
‘I’m here because we also found out that Fiona stayed with them for a while. Do you know anything about that?’
‘When was this?’
‘Early to mid-nineteen-seventies.’
‘I didn’t see much of them by then. I’d met the wife.’
‘Any ideas what Fiona did when she left school?’
‘She worked for . . . now, let me see . . . that’s it, Parry Foodstuffs. They act as a go-between for the farmers and suppliers. They’re based a couple of miles up the road.’
‘Trevor Parry! He killed the Coombs.’
Ted was bemused.
‘Was Fiona having a relationship with Trevor?’
Ted’s jowls shook and saliva slid down his chin. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. She wasn’t his type. I tell you who did, though, although few people knew about it. It was a massive secret. See, I saw them together once, parked up on a dirt track.’ He grinned. ‘It was rocking like nobody’s business. I’ll never know how they saw me, but they did and next day Trevor threatened me. She was married, see.’
‘Who was?’
‘Teresa Shaw.’
Luke rapped on the door and strained to listen for movement. He glanced at the closed blinds obscuring his view into the adjacent rooms, he peered through the frosted glass into the hallway, and he stepped back and craned his neck to search for life upstairs. There was nothing, no sounds, and no passing shadows. He knocked again.
The drive was empty of vehicles, a small patch of fine grass was in need of a trim, and the wheelie bin, unlike the others, which were on the street, was by the garage. He followed a path around the side of the house.
It was a large dwelling of an irregular shape. There was an extension and a conservatory at the rear, and at the far side, almost out of view, a small rectangular brick building. He stood back, his hands resting on his hips, and scanned each window in turn.
A flicker of movement caught his eye.
Luke hurried to the window draped in a blind and knocked on the glass.
‘Hello, can I have a moment of your time. I’m Luke Adams, a private investigator. I’m looking for Karen Jefferson.’
There was a gap between two slats. Shadows moved. A nearby door opened.
Her eyes flitted up and down the road and into the garden. He peered over his shoulder, looking at the stillness and stepped inside to the warmth. Imogen followed on behind. Then the house telephone started to ring.
Teresa jolted and looked towards the sound. She appeared to have no intention of answering.
‘What do you want?’ she asked in a hurried voice.
‘Did you know Karen Jefferson?’
Her eyes darted. She did not reply.
‘I assume that’s a yes. Have you seen her recently?’
‘She left . . . abandoned her baby.’ She slumped onto a seat. ‘How could she do such a thing?’
‘Were you there when it happened?’
The telephone stopped ringing. Grateful to be freed of the distraction, he watched her, as one by one she extracted building bricks from a box on the floor and stacked them into four separate piles on the table.
‘Mrs Shaw?’
Vacant and ashen, she glanced up.
‘Were you there when Karen left without Leanne?’
She ran her fingers through her hair, her mouth was ajar, her face twisted in agony. ‘She abandoned her baby.’ Her eyes darted between Luke and Imogen. ‘Her little baby girl.’
Teresa straightened each pile of bricks and then reached into the box, this time extracting a small picture book. As she lifted it to the table, her arm caught and she knocked over the bricks. The book slipped free. Agony etched onto her face and she released a high-pitched moan.
‘I’m sorry, I can see this is difficult,’ he said. ‘But it is important that you share what you know. What is your connection to Karen?’
Teresa was frowning. ‘I was there. I saw it happen.’
‘What did you see?’
‘She left . . . abandoned her baby.’
‘Do you know why Karen left?’
‘She was selfish, said she was a free spirit. A child is a gift.’ Tears dampened her eyes. ‘She didn’t deserve her. She ranted on and on, said she didn’t want to be tied down. She was heartless. How could she do that?’
‘Did Karen return so she could leave Leanne with Janet?’
‘She said she didn’t love her. How’s that possible? Teresa rubbed her hands and cracked her fingers. ‘That poor little girl . . .’
‘So she just walked away?’
She reached for a teddy bear in the box, pressed it to her chest and released plaintive moans. ‘Poor baby. Poor, poor baby.’
‘Mrs Shaw, what happened when she left?’
‘There was screaming and shouting. She said, “I don’t love her, she’s not my responsibility”. She wanted rid.’
Teresa scrutinised the bear, extending each leg, tracing its button eyes and smoothing down the fur upon its back.
‘What did she do next?’
The phone rang and Luke jolted. Teresa was oblivious, and rocked back and forth, back and forth.
‘Mrs Shaw?’
She looked up, expressionless.
‘What happened next?’
‘She left.’
Luke was just about to speak, when Imogen rose to her feet, asked to use the bathroom, and slipped away, creeping into the room where the telephone was sounding.
‘When did you see her again?’ he asked.
She clenched her hair within her fingers and scrunched her face. ‘She was a coward and a heartless bitch. She didn’t deserve that baby girl.’
‘Did she ever return?’
‘If she had, he’d have shot her.’
‘Trevor Parry?’
Teresa was shaking, her gaze roaming. The memories were obviously painful and contorting her face in agony and causing him to regret his questions. Nonetheless, he had no choice. The truth was within grasping distance and he wasn’t going to let it go.
‘Why would he have done that?’
Silence.
‘You had an affair with him, didn’t you?’
‘I knew him,’ she said.
‘And he killed Mr and Mrs Coombs. Why did he do it?’
‘He was mental, wrong in the head. He’d flipped.’
Luke stared at Teresa’s burn scars. ‘Did he do it for you?’
She rubbed her hands, her eyes fixated on the picture book spread open at an image of a train.
‘Mrs Shaw, please, it’s important.’
‘He killed them. He had a temper. Everyone knew he had a temper.’
‘What had they done?’
‘It’s just how he was. He’d flipped . . . yanked the gun from my hand. It was Dad’s. I should have never . . .’ she pressed her hand to her mouth.
‘Were you going to use the gun?’
Jolting, her eyes ripped open. ‘No! No! He’d taken it. I was putting it back. It was him. He shot them. I had an alibi.’
‘What was his motive?’
Her face scrunched and her arms tightened. She made fists, then, either in frustration or fury scattered the building bricks across the table. Her eyes were dark and hollow and smouldering with haunting memories.
Frustrated, he looked at Imogen who entered the room. She mouthed something to him, and whilst it was indecipherable, she was clearly pleased with herself.
‘He did it. It was him,’ Teresa blurted. ‘She looked between them, panic-stricken with tears streaking her face. Her scarred skin was patchy red, her eyes puffy. ‘They deserved to die. All of them.’
‘Were you there when he shot them?’
She frowned, agonisingly harsh. She chewed her finger. She rocked and moaned.
Luke focused on her tear-streaked face, unable to reach beyond the anguish to within. He questioned her further, rephrasing and hoping for a trigger, but despite his persistence she did not respond and remained mute and tormented. He could feel her agony, see her strained muscles jerk, and sense the build-up of distress bubble beneath her skin and in her throat. She had never dealt with whatever happened and it was eating her soul. Despite his better judgement, he opted to leave.
Once outside, he spoke in a soft voice. ‘She’s a mess. It’s a pity because she knows more than she lets on.’
‘Yes. I think she saw everything. Let’s have a coffee and try to make sense of all this.’
‘Hello, back again,’ the café assistant said.
‘You serve a lovely coffee. It’s too good to resist,’ Luke said.
‘Thank you. We like to use the best.’
He glimpsed at the cold floor and harsh walls. ‘It’s an unusual setting. I assume it hasn’t always been a café.’
‘It was a pub, one of the best for miles. The last owners tried to keep it going, but people don’t drink out like they used to.’
‘How is custom for you?’
‘Steady. We get tourists on the weekends and we’re popular with the bikers. They’re good sorts.’
He reached into his pocket for some coins, paid the bill, and carried his coffee to a table at the far side, away from the counter. An elderly woman was staring. She had a curved chin and pointed nose, and sat with her legs apart a little distance from her table.
‘I think it’s a bit dark and dingy,’ Imogen said quietly, ‘I feel like I’m in a dungeon.’
‘It’s got character.’
‘It would do so much better with a makeover . . . bright lighting, aluminium seats, and colour.’
‘I don’t know. I quite like it.’
‘That would be right. It suits your personality, solemn and cheerless.’
He gawked. ‘I’m not solemn and cheerless.’
‘You don’t smile often.’
‘I do, just not at you.’
‘No, you ogle me.’
Flushing, he lowered his head.
‘Don’t worry, I rather like it.’
She raised herself from her seat. He peered out of his eye corner, caught her winking. ‘I’m off to the bathroom.’
Luke breathed a sigh of relief. His colour normalised and his breathing regulated.
‘Are you local?’
The voice caused him to jolt. It was the woman with the pointed chin.
‘Passing through.’
She nodded.
‘Nice girlfriend. Very pretty.’
He took a split second decision and decided to offer his thanks, believing it was better than explaining her true role. However, before he knew it he had admitted to being her partner for the last six months, a comment he regretted. Ashamed of his lies, he looked to his coffee, urging the conversation to end. She didn’t desist and asked him where they had been.
He stared at the bathroom door, grateful, at least, for the change of subject. ‘Nowhere special.’
‘Not much of a talker, are you?’
‘No, not much.’
The bathroom door opened and Imogen strode towards him. He scanned her long legs, looked to her nipped in waist, and glimpsed at her breasts.
‘You know what,’ she said taking her seat, ‘it was Leanne on the phone at Teresa Shaw’s. She had called several times.’
The woman was listening, her eyes fixated.
‘Did you speak to her?’
‘No, I checked the caller id.’
‘I wasn’t aware they knew each other. We should get back. We’ve got a lot of research to do.’
She frowned. ‘Let’s go to Leanne’s first. She’ll be able to tell us what she knows about Teresa.’
‘I wonder if Leanne knows they’re connected.’
‘Wouldn’t she have said?’
‘Probably.’
She smoothed a floating strand of hair from her face. ‘I don’t know how she copes with those scars. They’re hideous. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her.’
‘She was in the fire.’
‘Doh! Isn’t that obvious?’
‘I mean at Leanne’s. There was a fire in the barn. It’s never been rebuilt. I think the day Karen returned there was an incident – perhaps a dispute - and a fire started. Teresa was caught up in it. We know that she was having an affair with Trevor Parry. He couldn’t handle what had happened to her and took his gun to them.’
‘Maybe Mr or Mrs Coombs started it.’
‘Unlikely.’
‘Of course by accident.’
‘I still don’t think so.’
‘So why shoot them?’
‘Maybe they just happened to be there.’ Luke said.
‘I thought Teresa was a little too upset by Karen abandoning Leanne. I think there’s something there too.’
Their eyes connected then drifted, each sipping coffee and pondering the case.
Luke broke the silence. ‘We need the details of the fire. Do you think you could ring Adam or Jean, pull a favour?’
‘Cool.’ She reached into her pocket. ‘I’ll get straight onto it.’
The elderly woman caught his attention. Their eyes locked. She averted her gaze.
‘Let’s do this back in the car.’
Imogen reached for her bag. They headed to the door.
‘One way or another,’ he said stepping outside, ‘we’re going to find Karen Jefferson.’
Teresa pressed her hand to the familiar ripples of her skin and fought the haunting memories that persisted with their daily ritual. A gunshot sounded in her mind. She shuddered and pressed her hands against her ears, craving silence, and rocked, back and forth, back and forth. The image of her baby girl cradled in the maternal arm of the flames twisted her gut, her high-pitched screams unforgettable and spine chilling.
Her life had barely started. It was cruel. It was undeserved.
Sickness rose in Teresa’s throat. Doubling-over and with her hand to her mouth, she scampered to the downstairs bathroom, leaned over the toilet, inhaled the sulphurous aroma and retched. She sank to the floor, her skin burning and her eyes shut and pleaded with her demons to go.
The high-pitched screams were fading, but they remained in the background, hiding in the shadows, following her everywhere - never vanishing, never sleeping, never stopping their torturous ritual. She wanted them gone, but at the same time craved the satisfaction of their presence. It was her only link to her daughter, the only one left. It was a perverse desire, an innate need for punishment.
She scrambled to her feet, tears streaming down her face, and stepped into the hallway. There she caught sight of her hideous reflection, the lumpy surface - the scars, the reminders - and dropped to the floor and sobbed.
The memories were vivid. Ash had spilled from the cigarette, dropping to the desiccated bales, and in an instant, there was an upsurge of flames, the crisp sound of crackling straw and intense, formidable heat. In the midst and driving her towards the fire, was her screaming baby girl. Without consideration, not even a moment’s hesitation, she scrambled up a ladder and flung herself into the blaze. She could not reach her daughter.
Teresa curled up into foetal position. She had let her daughter die; her weakness had prevailed. She lay motionless on the carpeted floor. It was hard and unforgiving. It was all she deserved.
Leanne stared at the business plans that were in a pile on the coffee table. Several hours of work, wasted. And the money too. Would she ever see it again? She picked up her phone, her heart heavy and her hopes quashed and dialled Steven’s number.
‘Have you managed to contact Teresa?’ Leanne asked.
‘Still no answer. I popped around last night. It was dark and Geoff’s car wasn’t in the drive. They could have gone away.’
‘But why not answer their mobiles?’
‘Some people don’t like to.’
Leanne made a huffing sound.
‘Try not to worry,’ he replied, ‘I trust Teresa. I’ve known her a long time. There must be a simple explanation.’
‘I put a lot of money into this, but it’s not only that, I was excited Steven . . . for the first time in ages.’
‘I know. Look, I have to go, I’m in a traffic queue and it’s starting to move. I’ll pop over in a while.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
She had been such an idiot. How could she have handed Geoff forty thousand pounds and not got some kind of receipt? She had had initial reservations, yet because the idea of running a craft business appealed, she had ignored them. At last, something positive was going to happen in her life. She was moving away from her desolate life and fulfilling one of her last remaining dreams. She had the money and the time. Unfortunately, Geoff had realised that too.
She must have had desperate and gullible written on her face. She had clung to every positive opportunity, never pausing to think, not processing other options. She had been an absolute fool. Thank goodness, she hadn’t told Tyler. The shame would have been unbearable.
The woeful tone of her son’s voice replayed in her mind. Tyler was all that mattered, not the business, not the money, not even Steven, and something was wrong. Why had he remained tight-lipped? What was he hiding? She glanced at the time. As soon as school finished, she promised herself she would ring him and demand an explanation. No more excuses. If he wouldn’t speak, she would go see him in person.
She paced the downstairs rooms, stared into the barren expanse at the rear and wiped clean the dirty surfaces, her thoughts flitting. Time dragged. She glanced at her mobile, yearning to call Teresa and Geoff, and she headed to the front of the house to check the drive for vehicles. But they weren’t going to visit and tell her there had been a misunderstanding. Not now, not ever. She had been a gullible fool.
Searching her mind for an occupation, she reminded herself of her initial plans for a jewellery making business. Choosing to act more positively, she decided it was still something she could still do, regardless of what happened with Geoff. She even had the added advantage of already having formulated some ideas. She headed to the barn.
The small keys, bolts, and washers that were once central to her ideas were still in a pile on an old chest. They were grubbier than she remembered, and she fingered the roughened surface, coating her fingers in dust. Restoring them suddenly seemed an arduous task. Her motivation was lacking; her heart set on the craft shop. Her eyes drifted.
A couple of boxes near her feet caught her attention. Leaning over, she peeled back the lid and looked at the newspapers were wrapped around small objects and stacked to the brim. She lifted one from the top, unravelled the paper, and looked to the small ceramic doll. It was a young girl with a bonnet and delicate features. She put it onto the chest and opened another. This was a boy wearing short trousers and braces. Both were unblemished; there were no cracks, no scratches, and no marks on the paintwork. Deciding it was a set and that for the moment served no purpose, she returned them both to their respective packaging and opened the second box.
This one was nearly empty. At the bottom was a stack of photographs and a leather-bound journal. Just inside, it said ‘Fiona Jefferson’s. Keep Out.’ Leanne flicked through the pages and examined the meaningless scrawl. There were words and their meanings, references to books, and neatly written passages of text. She placed it on the chest and lifted a handful of photographs.
Her pulse quickened. They were family photos, but as she looked through, she realised that there was only one daughter present; all images of Karen had been removed. Grinding her teeth, she questioned her grandmother’s actions. How could Janet have acted in such a heartless manner and where were her motives?
The chilly air tightened her skin and she shivered involuntarily. She picked up the journal and the photographs and hurried back to the house. Her hand was on the door handle when a slow-moving vehicle caught her attention. Backtracking, she peered along the grassy drive and caught sight of Luke and Imogen’s car.
Feeling an urge to tidy herself up, she hurried inside the house leaving the door ajar, flung the photos and book onto the low lounge table, and scurried for a hairbrush. Then she added a dab of perfume and smoothed out her top. There was a knock at the door.
‘Come on in.’
They headed into the lounge.
‘I’ve just found some old photos, she said, ‘but unfortunately there aren’t any of Karen, only Fiona.’
They looked at the scattered images.
‘She was very slim and pretty,’ Imogen said, ‘it’s such a pity she died.’
Luke perched on the settee and scrutinised each photo. ‘They seem to cover her entire life. Any signs that she married?’
Imogen gave him a teasing look.
‘No, not that I’ve seen. I haven’t seen her with a man at all.’ Leanne paused. ‘You know, I’m so angry with Gran. She shouldn’t have removed the images of Karen. It’s wrong. Regardless of what happened, she was still their daughter.’
‘Understanding someone else’s motives can be difficult.’
‘You’re not wrong! My biggest regret is that she hadn’t been honest with me. If she had I could have forgiven her for everything else.’
Luke picked up a photo. Leanne glanced across and saw Fiona wearing a loose fitting dress. She was a little heavier than in the others but still as pretty and had well-defined brown eyes, lush brown hair, and an adorable smile. He turned it over. It was dated 1974.
‘Have you brought news?’ Leanne asked.
He returned the photo to the pile. ‘Yes, we’ve just been to Teresa’s.’
‘What! She’s there! I’ve been trying to contact her.’
‘How do you know her?’
‘Steven introduced us. I was setting up a business with Geoff, only . . . only it seems he was conning me.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘He was buying a craft shop with someone and they wanted me to run it. In the end, he decided I should buy into the business. I gave him the money and signed a contract. I . . . I put it into a vault only I forgot to change it into my name.’ She looked at her lap, her heat rising. ‘I’ve just found out that the contract has gone and the business we were buying never existed.’
He expressed sympathy.
‘I deserve what happened. I was such an idiot. I . . . I trusted them. They seemed genuine.’
‘They had motives. I’m just sorry we didn’t find out sooner.’
She looked between them.
‘Teresa is connected to Karen. They were friends,’ Luke said. ‘I’m sorry. In fact, I think that’s how she was burned . . . in the fire in your barn.’
‘I wondered about that. She acted oddly the first time she came over.’
‘I’m afraid it gets worse. She had a small daughter who regrettably died in the fire.’
She raised her hand to her mouth.
‘There was another accident too.’ He hesitated, his eyes drifting ‘Fiona suffered brain damage. I think she may have been trying to escape and fell.’
Her voice was small, her heart thumping. ‘How did it start?’
‘It was recorded as an accident.’
‘Did Karen start it?’
‘We don’t know. We think she must have been there, but as yet we don’t know what happened.’
Imogen spoke: ‘It would explain Teresa’s behaviour.’
Leanne looked up, drawn to the other woman’s elegance, her manicured nails, her shimmering top, and her expensive necklace dropping down her cleavage. She was perfect, not fat and frumpy, not gullible.
‘She should have told me who she was. I even told her I was looking for my mother.’
‘Don’t blame yourself. We couldn’t get much sense out of her either. She was very distressed. She was sifting through some child’s toys, presumably, her daughter’s things.’
‘But why punish me?’
‘Compensation? Assuming Karen was responsible then she was the one to blame for her daughter’s death. Since she couldn’t get to her then you were the next best thing.’
Leanne pressed her head into her hand. ‘I thought we were friends and all the time she was out for revenge.’
‘Don’t be too hard on her. The fire must have been a terrifying experience, and to lose a daughter would have been painful beyond comprehension.’
‘I suppose you’re right. I don’t think Karen would have done it deliberately.’
‘I hope not. People can do all sorts in a fit of temper – of course, we don’t know that she was in one, or that she did it. It’s still conjecture.’
‘It makes sense. It must have been why she left me behind. She was ashamed.’
‘I probably shouldn’t say this,’ he said and glimpsed at Imogen, ‘but we promised you the truth.’
Tensing, she folded her arms and urged him on.
‘Teresa said that Karen returned home to leave you behind. She didn’t want the responsibility of a child. I’m sorry, but it seems she’d made up her mind prior to the incident in the barn.’
Leanne’s gaze dropped, and her heart was laden with the knowledge that she wasn’t wanted. Karen had abandoned her, made a clear choice. Had Janet been right in keeping them apart? Why even attempt to return a child to someone who had said in front of witnesses that she didn’t want to be a mother?
Imogen’s phone sounded. She scurried into the hallway, listened, said ‘thank you’, and then returned. She looked to Luke. ‘That was Gary.’ Apprehensively, she looked to Leanne. ‘He’s found out Teresa’s maiden name. It was Smith. Teresa Smith.’
Leanne’s jaw was loose. There was a knock on the door.
‘She’s related to Gran?’
‘Patrick’s daughter . . . Janet’s brother.’
Luke slipped away to answer the door. He was talking in the hallway, filling Steven in. She strained to listen, but her ponderings distracted her. Was there anyone in her family that hadn’t lied to her?
Steven appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry Leanne. I had no idea what her maiden name was.’
‘You weren’t to know.’
‘You think you know someone.’
Steven stepped towards her and rested his hand on her shoulder. Bewildered and saddened, she willed him to her side. Upon his arrival, she remembered Teresa’s warning. She had said she would need him and implied there was worse to come. It was a terrifying thought.
Teresa sat at the table staring at the scattering of toys. The building bricks were at the far side, the picture book remained open at a train, and there were plastic toys, a small doll, and a jumping frog just beside her. She picked up the frog. It was set in two parts separated by a spring. She pressed it together, felt it stick, and waited. It held for three seconds and then ripped through the air and landed on the floor.
Her daughter’s laughter echoed in her mind.
‘Again,’ she had said.
Teresa had squished it together, held her fingers on the top, and looked at her child. ‘Ready?’
She nodded, her eyes wide and expectant.
Teresa eased away her hand. It flew into the air.
‘Again, again.’
It had generated laughter, a pure and innocent reaction to simplicity.
Teresa heaved a sigh. Her heart was heavy. She nestled the frog into her hand, pressed it to her middle, and craved a long lost past. Memories floated by, playtimes, mealtimes, bedtimes and special occasions, drifting incoherently like a swirling flock of birds. Amidst the confusion were Karen and Leanne.
‘We’re going to see my cousin today,’ Teresa had said. ‘She has a daughter, about your age.’
‘Is she nice?’
‘I would think so.’
‘Will she be my friend?’
‘Yes, of course.’
There were excitement and expectation on her daughter’s young face, exactly mirroring her own. It had been years since she had seen Karen, far too long to be comfortable, and a myriad of questions mounted. Would Karen be pleased to see her? Would they drift back into their carefree ways? How would Geoff react? Looking forward to a break from motherhood, she imagined evenings out, excessive drinking, laughter, and endless stories.
Regretting her decision to visit on that fateful day, Teresa flopped onto the table and rested her head on her arm. If she had waited for an invitation from Karen to meet, she would not have been caught up in her dismal behaviour and her daughter would be alive.
But, she had visited, and Karen had been out of control, burning with anger.
Why had she not returned home straight away and removed her daughter to safety? Why had she not tried harder to calm the situation? Her regrets were swallowing her up, eating her from the inside out. Nothing would change her past; nothing would bring back her baby daughter.
The conversation Teresa had had with Karen echoed as though only moments previous. Teresa had agreed with Karen that motherhood could be difficult, and added that it was part of the deal, the good with the bad. There could be no quick escape.
For Karen, there had been.
She had been a heartless, selfish bitch. And now, after years apart, and after all the atrocities committed, Karen may soon be reunited with Leanne. Where was the justice?
She released a desperate cry, her eyes drifting to the image of the train in the picture book and her mind tortured by the prospect of their reunion. Mother and daughter would be together; their tears of happiness would mingle, their hearts fulfilled. They would plan a joyful future and forgive the errors of the past. They would be together.
For her, there would be no reunion.
She stared at the train. She looked at the clock. She formulated an escape from her grief.
Teresa retrieved eight bottles of Grolsch lager from the fridge, swept aside the toys, and placed them upon the table. Then, she made a slight tear along one of the labels and removed the swing top. Her heart quickened and her skin warmed, the prospect of her actions satisfying. She reached into a drawer, removed a tablet from a packet and inserted it into the bottle. It descended slowly, dissolving into the liquid. Smiling, she replaced the top and put it into a small bag on the floor.
She tapped her fingers on the table, maintaining a rhythm and unable to suppress her growing satisfaction. Guided by imaginary words spoken by her daughter, her courage prevailed and she reached to the phone.
Luke and Imogen continued to fill Leanne in with their progress, telling her about their visit to Northampton. She was grateful, but her concentration was slipping. Steven was at her side, a breath away yet untouchable. His sensational aroma was punishing, intensifying her needs and causing the hairs on her back to stand on end. To her regret, he seemed oblivious.
She dropped her hand into the gap and accidentally touched his thigh. His eyes drifted sideways towards her. She held her breath, focused on Imogen, and tried to maintain an impression of nonchalance. She was anything but; Leanne was losing control, quivering merely because of his closeness.
Luke was staring at the photos again, fixated by the images. Something troubled him and until he had fathomed it, he seemed unwilling to leave. For once, she wanted him gone.
Secretive, she peered at Steven. He was focusing on the conversation.
Luke selected some photos and handed them to Imogen. ‘Notice anything?’
Imogen was perplexed.
‘Look at the dates.’
Imogen turned them over. A hint of excitement replaced her confusion.
Leanne was just about to ask what they had noticed when Steven’s hand dropped onto hers. She jolted. Her pulse quickened. She spun to face him.
He leaned towards her, moving his mouth to her ear. His breath was hot and moist. ‘What you doing later?’ he whispered.
She grinned. Her body throbbed.
He caressed her hand, making tiny circles with the tip of his finger before stroking her arm. She wanted more and told him she was free. His smile was warm and encouraging.
Her mobile phone beeped. In need of a pause from his teasing antics, she leapt to her feet, noticed his growing satisfaction, and reached for her phone on a rear unit.
‘It’s from Teresa,’ she said, ‘she wants to meet me at the station.’
‘That’s good.’
Leanne’s face dropped. She looked at the clock – 15:25 – she saw a bridge, she heard the screeching of brakes, she saw the pool of blood. ‘Oh no!’
‘What is it?’
She hurried out of the room, threw her arms into her coat, and flung aside her heels. They all stared, mystified, as she stuffed her feet into her boots.
‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we haven’t much time.’
‘What’s going on?’ Luke asked.
‘I had a dream . . . a premonition. There’s going to be an accident at the station at 15:37.’
Steven grabbed her arm. ‘It could be you.’
‘No . . . no, I don’t think so.’
‘But she wants you there. I don’t know what she’s capable of anymore.’
‘I can’t just ignore it.’
He glanced to Luke. ‘You stay, we’ll go.’
‘No. We’ll all go.’
She rushed to the outer door, urging them outside. Ignoring Steven’s hesitation and unease, she locked the door.
Maintaining rhythm and speed, Teresa turned the corner that led to the station and saw Queenie hovering near the entrance. Her pulse raced and her hands twitched, and systematically she reached for each finger. Queenie was staring, emotionless.
Gaining courage from a vision of her daughter, Teresa dropped her hand in her pocket, clutched the soft fabric, and stared at the podgy wrinkled woman that had become her enemy. She was puffing on her cigarette with a vile abandon. There was no sign of regret and no hint of shame or remorse.
Teresa unzipped her bag. ‘I’ve brought drinks. Let’s go to the bridge.’
‘What’s wrong with over there,’ she said, pointing to a bench.
‘It used to be our favourite spot.’
‘What are you after?’
‘We should be helping each other, not fighting. We always used to do things together.’
‘I thought we agreed,’ Queenie said, ‘you stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours.’
‘We’re both on the same side. We both know what happened.’
Queenie turned and walked away.
‘You agreed to listen.’
‘Just stay away from her.’
‘I’ve had some bloke onto me.’
Queenie stopped and stared. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing, but he’ll be back. We need to agree on a plan.’ She reached into her bag and offered her a bottle. ‘Come on, what harm will it do?’
She accepted the bottle and removed the swing top. Peering out of her eye corner, Teresa could see her companion’s shadowy steps and smiled to herself as she led the way around the perimeter of a small deserted building. Through the other side, they followed a familiar track that ran adjacent to the railway line, and climbed a small hill, walking alongside dense shrubbery and evergreens. The solitude was beautiful, the privacy perfect. Shuffling through crunchy leaves, she scanned the treetops and looked to the village. Only the rooftops were visible. She reminded herself of her daughter’s beautiful face, laughing with a natural innocence as she scattered her building blocks.
They reached the steps to the bridge and puffed a little as they climbed to the top, but rather than passing along the steel structure they weaved around the edge and climbed onto some rocks that overhung the line. Teresa gazed down to the track and to the old abandoned station and then peered out of her eye corner to Queenie. She was three-quarters through the bottle and her cheeks were red.
‘Remember when we brought Allan and Dave up here? Teresa said.
‘And Allan puked up on Dave.’
‘I wet myself. It was so funny.’
‘No one believed you. It was just an excuse to take your knickers off.’
‘The cool air was stimulating.’
‘Dave thought so too.’
‘It’s a pity it had to end . . . those were the days.’
She took another swig of lager. ‘And what about the time you came out in that long coat.’
Teresa grinned. ‘The long pink one.’
‘Have you still got it?’
‘Probably, somewhere.’
‘I can still see Dave’s face when he suggested you take it off. Did you have anything on?’
‘No. I must have been frozen. It was a cold night. In fact, when I got home, Dad was in a mood and he insisted I took it off. He hated the colour.’
Queenie chuckled. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘I told him that I hadn’t anything else on. He did his nut.’
‘He believed you?’
‘I don’t know. I lifted the fabric at the bottom. He screamed when he saw my bare legs.’
They sat in silence.
Teresa’s heart was beating faster and her skin was hot and itchy. She urged calmness and breathed slower. Queenie was almost touching her, standing by her side and gazing into the distance. They were near the edge and overlooking a drop. Her excitement surged.
Queenie swallowed the remains in the bottle. ‘You should have come with us all to Northampton. It was a hoot.’
‘I’d met Geoff.’
‘Yes . . . Geoff.’ She turned, gave her a suspicious look. ‘Why are we here?’
‘To forgive and forget.’
‘And you’ve no intention of speaking to Leanne.’
‘No, none at all. You?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Wise.’
‘I’ve seen you together,’ Queenie said.
‘Not recently. We have what we wanted.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A payment. Another bottle?’
Queenie nodded.
‘My legs are aching,’ Teresa said, ‘I’m going to sit down.’
‘Good idea.’
They crouched down, slipped onto the cold stone, and dangled their legs down the steep embankment. They clinked bottles.
‘Remember Stuart?’ Teresa said.
‘He was something else. I had him once, you know.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me. What was he like?’
‘Not that good. I’d had better. He liked it rough.’
‘And you didn’t?’
‘It was too much.’
‘Did you have your favourite spots?’
‘Not far from here. You?’
‘Anywhere and everywhere.’
‘You tart!
Teresa grinned.
‘This is good isn’t it,’ Queenie said, gazing down to the line. ‘I feel deliriously happy. We should have done this a long time ago.’
She turned away, hiding a lopsided smile. ‘You’re right, we should.’
Leanne was leaning forward in the rear of the car and staring out of the windscreen. The seat belt restricted, pressing against her breast and across her middle. She eased it forward.
‘How far is it?’
‘Turn left at the end,’ Steven said. ‘It’s at the bottom of the hill.’
Along each side were semi-detached houses of a uniform design with square bay windows, pebble-dashed fronts and small gardens. A car pulled out of a drive. They all surged forward.
15:29. They would never arrive in time.
The car in front, a silver Volkswagen, ambled along at a snail’s pace. Her impatience grew. ‘Can we go another way?’
‘No, it’ll take longer,’ Steven said, ‘we’re nearly there.’
The Volkswagen stopped. Something up ahead was preventing them moving forward.
‘What’s going on?’ Leanne asked.
Imogen turned her head. ‘A dog shot out of the garden. A little girl is trying to catch it.’
Leanne unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. ‘I’m going to walk, it’ll be quicker.’
Steven grabbed her arm. ‘No. Look, we’re moving.’
The small dog was in her arms, its legs kicking out. She dropped it over a short wall, encouraged it into the garden, and raced to the gate.
15:32. Leanne silently urged them forward.
The car in front arrived at the t-junction and turned right, and a weight lifted. Freed of the encumbrance, they surged down the hill and turned into a small car park surrounded by trees and dense shrubbery. A woman and three children were moving towards the building; the girls were skipping, and the boy, a little younger, was clutching the woman’s hand. They all expressed delight, chatting enthusiastically. The woman ushered them through the door.
The car stopped. Leanne flung open the door, banged it shut, and hurried down the slight hill. Just as she arrived at the doorway, it swung open and a group of people sauntered outside, heading away. There was a man in a suit, four teenage girls, and an aged woman wearing a long thin coat and carrying a large shopping bag. She stepped inside.
There was a counter for tickets, a guardsman on duty, and an electronic board displaying train times. Teresa was not there.
The door opened. She spun around. It was Steven.
‘She’s not here.’
Leanne peered around a partition and scampered to the door onto the platform. It was 15:34.
Her body tensed and her blood drained.
She rushed to the outer door. Luke and Imogen were talking to two elderly women. Scowling, she turned to Steven. ‘Where is she?’
He shook his head. ‘What exactly did she say?’
‘That I had to meet her at the station.’
Leanne clicked open her phone and accessed the message. ‘Oh no, it says: “meet me at the old station by the bridge”.’
‘The old station? That was abandoned years ago.’
‘Where is it?’
‘A few hundred metres that way.’ Steven pointed to a patch of woodland.
‘Is there a path?’
‘There used to be.’
She trotted to the car park. ‘There’s a stile.’
‘I’ll catch you up.’
Leanne peered over her shoulder at Steven who was striding towards Luke and Imogen. She started to jog, pounding the tarmac left and right, left and right, rhythmical and determined, and soon found herself fighting for air and urging her rapidly tiring limbs to carry her forward. Sweat gathered under her clothes and on her face, and she was slimy, cool and sticky. Her eyes were swimming and her chest taut, rising and falling at twice the speed of her steps.
The woodland was eerily still and silent and she had only her hammering heartbeat and heavy breaths for company. She stepped over the tussocks and weaved around the waist-high nettles. Her legs were giving way, weakening at her knees, and her lungs seemed to be shrinking. Gasping and with red-hot skin, she leaned over, resting her hand on a boulder for support, and felt the trickles of moisture slip from her nose.
‘Come on, we’re nearly there.’
Puffing, she peered at Steven’s legs, wiped the moisture from her face, and levered herself upright.
He grinned. He looked as though he had just stepped out of an ice-bath. ‘I’m sure she’ll wait for you.’
Leanne glanced back along the path. The absence of Luke and Imogen and their apparently casual attitude niggled, but she had too little energy to voice her irritations, and single-minded she hurried on. Steven kept in time, striding effortlessly.
The end of the path was in sight and her energies lifted. They marched along a pebbled track with a handrail, which veered off to her left, and stepped out of the woodland and onto a road riddled with cracks and potholes. To her left was the disused station and above the door was a digital clock, displaying 15:37.
Leanne’s steps faltered. ‘It’s too late.’
Steven gave her a curious glance.
‘That’s when it happened.’
He looked at his watch. ‘It’s stopped . . . probably been like that for months.’
Ignited by a new spark of energy, she scurried to the building. ‘Which way to the bridge?’
‘I don’t know.’
She gawked.
‘There must be a path by the railway line.’
Pacing back and forth, she scanned the dense foliage for a gap. Wide-eyed, she turned to Steven. ‘I can’t see one.’
A car rumbled down the hill. It was Luke and Imogen.
Finally, she thought and reached into her pocket for her phone. It hovered over Teresa’s number.
‘Found it,’ he yelled. He disappeared around the rear of the building. ‘I can see a bridge.’
She dropped her phone into her pocket. The slamming of a car door reverberated through her ears.
‘We think we know who Karen is.’ Luke called.
Leanne spun around.
‘It’s Queenie.’ He trotted towards her, breathless with excitement. ‘Those women told me. We’d met her earlier in the café. I knew she was listening in,’ he glimpsed at Imogen, ‘she said Karen changed her name to Queenie years ago.’
‘That can’t be right. She said they were friends.’
‘She was adamant. Her friend was too. I guess there’s only one way to find out.’
Leanne was dumbstruck. Queenie was her mother; her mother was a drunk.
‘She also said she saw her walking this way about half an hour ago.’
Her face scrunched. ‘She’s meeting Teresa?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘We have to hurry.’
He hesitated. ‘You go ahead. I have a quick call to make.’
She trotted around the back of the building and bumped straight into Steven. Her expression drifted between a smile and a grimace.
‘What it is?’ he asked.
‘Queenie is my mother. She’s Karen.’
A creeping bramble caught on her jeans. She tugged herself free, and then with the flat of her hands encouraged Steven to continue along the path.
He looked to her, sheepish. ‘That day she met me for a drink she talked endlessly about Karen . . . knew everything about her, her innermost feelings, everywhere she’d been, all her jobs. I should have realised.’
They followed the narrow track, treading wilting weeds and trampling decaying leaves.
‘I believed her when she told me they were friends,’ Leanne said, ‘it was a reasonable thing to say. Do you think she would have told me eventually?’
‘Maybe. Don’t be too harsh on her.’
‘Why not?’
‘You should let her explain first.’
She pulled back a stray branch, dipped underneath the tree, and released it. It swung back and forth. ‘I don’t know what I’ll say to her anyway. Should I be blunt?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe Teresa is planning on reintroducing you?’
The premonition rushed into her mind with such an overwhelming urgency that she jerked forward. There was not going to be a happy reunion, at all. She started to trot. ‘Come on, we should hurry.’
They reached a junction where the path split; the one that headed slightly left was uphill, the other one descended.
‘Which way?’ Leanne asked.
‘Straight on. It stays closer to the line.’
Breathless and panting, she took his suggested route.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s the bridge.’
‘Can you see them?’
‘No.’
‘They must be here somewhere.’
The path was almost adjacent to the line and there was a bridge a few metres overhead.
Leanne’s tone filled with panic. ‘Where are they?’
They stopped. They scanned the railway line and looked across at the grasses, shrubbery, and the yellowing leaves on the trees. Cackling laughter filled the air. Up above, perched on overhanging rocks were Teresa and Queenie.
Leanne could not help but look at Queenie through new eyes. The woman was a helpless drunk and now was no exception. Even a short distance away, she could see her eyes drooping and her cheeks a shiny red. Her makeup, too, was more pronounced. She looked terrible, far older than her sixty or so years.
‘Leanne,’ Teresa called. ‘Come up and join the party.’
‘What are you doing up there?’
‘Reminiscing. I have a surprise for you.’
Leanne was stony-faced. ‘We know who you are, both of you.’
‘Do you, do you really?’
She held her tongue.
‘Aw well, that was only part of the surprise. Leanne, meet Karen.’
Queenie was leaning into the trunk of a tree. She looked to Teresa. ‘Am I Karen?’
‘Say hello to your daughter,’ Teresa said.
She lifted her arm, giving a feeble wave, and reached in a bag for another bottle.
‘Please come down,’ Leanne called. ‘We should talk.’
‘All in good time,’ Teresa said. ‘You should come up here. The view is fantastic and the vibrations from the train send shivers up your spine.’
‘What is it you want?’
‘I want to see you happy.’
‘So why rip me off. I want my money back.’
‘Money? What money?’
‘You know what money. The forty thousand I gave Geoff.’
‘You poor thing. You never gave him any money. You backed out first, remember?’
She clenched her jaw. ‘Why are you doing this?’
Teresa grinned. ‘Like I said, I want to see you happy.’
‘Taking my money is not making me happy.’
‘Aw, you’re confused. You don’t know what’s good for you, but I do. I know what’s good for both of you.’ She turned to Queenie. ‘We’ve voted for a happy future, remember?’
Queenie chortled and thrust out her bottle. ‘To a happy future.’
Teresa sneered. ‘Remember how happy we were? When we both had little girls?’
‘I had a little girl? Only . . . only . . .’
Her tone hardened. ‘Go on, say it.’
Queenie was silent.
‘You wanted rid, remember?’
‘I did?’ Queenie frowned. ‘No, that’s not right.’
‘Tell her what you did.’
‘No, that was Karen.’
‘You are Karen.’
‘No, I’m Queenie.’
‘Say you’re sorry.’
Their eyes locked and Teresa’s determination remained.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said weakly.
Leanne gulped. This was getting bad. Panicking, she turned to Steven and spoke in a whisper. ‘I don’t like it. She’s going to push her.’
‘I’ll go up there. She might listen to me.’
‘Be careful.’
He pecked her on the lips. ‘I will.’
Having watched him race back to the track, she returned her attention back to Teresa and Queenie. They were together and tranquillity seemed to prevail; Queenie was humming to herself, and Teresa was staring across to the other side of the line, cracking her fingers.
‘Are we going to do this again?’ Queenie said.
‘All the time.’
‘And we’ll be like proper cousins.’
‘Proper cousins.’
A faint rumble broke the silence. Panicking, Leanne looked for the train and then to the ledge. Teresa was smiling.
‘Please don’t do this,’ Leanne said.
‘I want you to be happy.’
‘And I will if you stop.’
‘No!’
The tone, the hatred, made Leanne shudder. She held her arms to her body and searched the higher path for signs of Steven. Her skin was moist, her body throbbing and tense. She made a fist.
Queenie had a bottle to her lips and Teresa was looking along the line displaying satisfaction. Her expressions were changing on a whim.
The rumble was deepening, the train approaching.
‘Please,’ Leanne said, ‘let’s talk about this.’
The vibrations grew louder. A train came into view. She glanced up. Teresa had shuffled backward, her arm and shoulder inches from Queenie’s back. There was movement in the trees.
Leanne’s mouth dried, her heart throbbed in her throat. She glimpsed back at the train, and out of her eye corner saw a tangle of bodies. One came free. She screamed desperate and plaintive.
The stickiness of Steven’s palm transferred to Leanne’s as they stared at Teresa in the hospital bed, strapped to a unit and in a coma. His distress was immense, so obvious in the way he dragged his legs, dipped his head and shoulders, and spoke breathy words. She could not provide comfort. It was, although a cliché, a waiting game.
Every minute he could spare he spent at her bedside, reading books and magazines and sharing the day’s events. Whilst he forced a perky tone, determined to project a positive attitude, she could tell it was a huge effort.
He pecked Teresa on her cheek, told her he would return and shuffled past Leanne and out of the ward.
‘It’s my fault,’ he muttered.
‘No, it’s not.’
‘I should have got there sooner.’
‘We acted as soon as we knew what was going on. We did our best Steven.’
‘If I hadn’t grabbed Queenie’s arm, Teresa wouldn’t have slipped. I . . . I . . .’
‘Look at me. It wasn’t your fault.’
He averted his gaze. In her gut, she knew he would have preferred to grab Teresa, but he was too good-hearted to say it aloud. Silently, she thanked him for his respect and prayed for a full and swift recovery.
‘How is she?’ Luke asked.
They were in Leanne’s house; Luke and Imogen were side by side on the sofa, Steven was in one armchair, she was in another. Luke’s cheery expression was the opposite of Steven’s ashen skin tone and lacklustre movements, and it was a welcome change of mood.
‘No change,’ she said, ‘the doctors say it could be a while, if at all.’
He nodded and started to speak, but an incoming call on his phone caused a brief interruption. As she offered Steven supportive words, Luke retrieved his phone, looked at the screen, and rejected the call. He turned to Imogen.
‘It was Sarah.’
‘What’s she want?’
He looked sheepish. ‘I called her a few days ago. I thought we could catch up.’
‘Are you going to ring her back?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Too right. She used you. Forget her.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ He laid the phone on his leg. It beeped. It was a message. ‘She wants to meet up . . . says it’s important.’
Imogen glared. ‘I hope you’re going to say no.’
He tapped in his answer, put it on the arm of the sofa, and smiled at Imogen. ‘I told her I’d made a mistake contacting her.’
‘Good for you.’
There was a faint knock at the door. Leanne leaped to her feet and scurried through the hallway, and with her pulse racing thrust it open. The cool, damp air rushed towards her. She searched for eye contact. Queenie’s gaze never settled.
‘We’ve just been to see Teresa,’ Leanne said, guiding her into the room, ‘she’s still the same.’
‘I don’t remember much of what happened. I don’t understand why I was so out of it. Alcohol hasn’t affected me like that for years . . . if ever.’
She bit her tongue. It sounded a weak excuse.
‘Why did you change your name to Queenie?’ Luke asked.
‘It was just a nickname. I didn’t change it officially or anything. I never felt like a Karen.’
Queenie elaborated, explaining how they all chose their names based on personality or likes and dislikes. She said she had wanted something that symbolized a worshipped female. She had also wanted a new identity after some of the difficulties she had experienced at home, saying it would help her make a clean start.
Not once, did Queenie look to Leanne. Whilst it wasn’t the reunion she had imagined, she wasn’t going to appear churlish and maintained an interested gaze.
‘We had an old photo of you,’ Luke said, ‘we thought you had red hair.’
‘I did once upon a time but I didn’t like it. It suited Rusty better. That’s where she got her name from. Most people knew her as Joanne or Jo. For me, she’ll always be Rusty.’
‘Why did you want rid of me,’ Leanne blurted.
‘It didn’t happen the way I intended.’
‘What did you intend?’
She strode to an armchair, sat down, hands clenched, and carrying a pained expression glimpsed at Leanne. ‘You were four at the time . . .’
There was a handwritten letter resting on the doormat. The writing was large and loopy with emphasised first characters, a recognisable style. It was from Fiona, and her blood rushed through her body and her hands moistened. Fearing its content, Queenie picked it up and glimpsed into the living room. Leanne was cross-legged on the floor absorbed in the television, her eyes like gobstoppers and her thumb in her mouth. She ripped open the envelope and scanned the text.
Footsteps sounded. She folded it in two and slipped it into her pocket.
‘What’s that?’ Rusty said.
‘It’s from Fiona.’
‘So why the secrecy?’
Queenie glimpsed at Leanne, who remained oblivious. ‘No secrecy.’
‘What’s she want?’
‘She’s found a bloke. He has two kids. She’s wondering how to tell Mum and Dad.’
‘She’s old enough to work that out for herself.’ Rusty looked at the cross-legged child. ‘On the other hand, maybe you should return.’
‘You’re not suggesting-’
‘Having a child around can be stifling. You have said so yourself.’
Queenie hesitated, touched the letter with her finger and thought of her sister’s plight. Fiona was anxious, and willed her for advice, but also told her to stay away. ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea to return. It’ll be too difficult facing everyone.’
‘Well, I think you should. Is Fiona asking you to stay away?’
‘Kind of.’
‘She’s no right. You should start thinking about yourself for a change. You’ve often said you could do with a change . . . and I was thinking of going back for a while anyway. Maybe it’s about time you tried to repair a few relationships.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You should stand up to Fiona.’
‘I don’t let her walk over me. If it appears that way, it’s because I have my own hidden agenda. Remember that.’
Rusty raised the cigarette to her mouth. The smoke rose. ‘I thought you wanted to travel. How are you going to do that with a kid in tow?’
Queenie was impassive.
‘And how many blokes have you had in the last four years? You could do so much more with yourself.’
‘I know I haven’t achieved a lot, but I do love her . . .’
‘It’ll be easier now than later. If your sister settles with this bloke, she’ll be happy to take Leanne in. It’s not as if you’re dumping her with a stranger.’
‘Do you think she’d do that?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘So you returned,’ Luke said.
‘Yes. Rusty too. She was out of work and had no other commitments. We were inseparable back then.’
‘But you didn’t seem too keen. Did Rusty persuade you?’
‘Maybe a little.’
‘And you planned on giving Leanne to Fiona.’
Silence.
‘Being a parent is bound to have difficult times.’
Queenie gave Luke a look that said she didn’t believe he understood. She was right too. How could anyone understand her motive? Being a parent wasn’t a choice. Once the responsibility was there, it remained. Leanne held back her tongue.
‘I felt tied down and wanted to live a bit. I’d had a run of bad luck. I’d been involved in a few skirmishes in the city with some women and I’d had a bust up with my boyfriend. It was all getting on top of me . . .’
She stared. How could she even consider it an option?
‘. . . but I’m not sure I ever wanted to give you up,’ Queenie added.
‘Wasn’t that why you returned?’ Luke asked.
‘That’s what I’d said, but I don’t think I could have ever done it. Back then, my mouth would say things that my brain disagreed with. It’s not something I can explain.’
‘What happened when you arrived?’
‘I had hoped to be welcomed home but it turned out that Janet had caught wind of Fiona writing to me. I never told them where I was and Fiona hadn’t either. When I left, I’d been so pissed off with the continuous criticism, that I’d asked her not to say anything. I’d also been in regular contact with Patrick. When Janet found out, she was fuming. She was such a hypocrite. It was no different to what she’d done by walking out on her parents.’ Queenie searched for reassuring glances. ‘I told her as much.’
Despite feeling vehemently defensive for Janet, Leanne held an impassive expression.
‘We argued for hours. In the end, I went one way and she went another. It was easy to avoid each other in a house that size. Later, I caught her privately studying something.’
Janet was standing beside a chest and clutching a newspaper cutting. There were disappointment and dread in her eyes. Tiptoeing through the door, Queenie edged forwards and peered over her shoulder at the headline. A baby had been stolen from a hospital close to where she had been living. Janet spun around.
‘How could you?’ Janet asked.
‘You think I did that?’
‘I know you did. You lost your baby, didn’t you?’
Queenie stomped out of the room.
Janet followed. ‘For goodness sake, do you ever tell the truth?’ She thrust the cutting under Queenie’s nose. ‘It’s when Leanne was born and it’s the same hospital. I’m not stupid.’
Her face swelled with anger. ‘How could you think such a thing?’
‘Because I know it’s true. I’ve seen it for myself.’
‘I would never do that!’
‘Just stop it! No more lies!’
Queenie held a fracturing stare. Janet had been spying on her again, using her stupid physic powers. Why couldn’t she see it was a whole load of crap, just her imagination searching for a fitting image? Maybe one day she would learn that not all she saw was an accurate account of facts; maybe then, she would stop jumping to erroneous conclusions.
‘Why can’t you be more like Fiona?’
‘If I was, you still wouldn’t like me! It doesn’t matter what I do, it’s always wrong!’
‘Fiona is a decent human being, more than I can say for you.’ She paused, waited for a reaction. ‘I know what you did. You had a stillborn and so . . .’ Janet gasped for breath, ‘. . . and so you stole a baby.’
Queenie clenched her jaw, held back the fury buzzing through her body. Fiona had told her about her baby’s death. How could she? After everything she had done for her.
‘Tell me, damn it! Tell me the truth!’
Enraged, Queenie fled the house, tears burning the back of her eyes and her jaw clenching, and ran to the hayloft in the barn. Fiona was lying in the straw and reading, and Rusty was sat smoking, legs apart. Queenie climbed the ladder and kicked her sister. Her book hurled across the straw.
‘You told her about Lydia.’
‘So?’
‘She accused me of stealing Leanne!’
Fiona looked up, self-satisfied. ‘Interesting.’
‘It’s not bloody interesting. I always get it in the neck for you. You bloody pious bitch.’
‘I have a reputation to uphold.’
‘I’m not doing this any longer!’
‘Tell them then, tell them everything. Who do you think they’ll believe?’
Queenie glared, her adrenaline surging. She thrust out her leg and kicked Fiona in her side. Fiona yelped, raised herself to her feet and weaved around Queenie, looking for the ladder. She was standing near the edge and short distance from a drop to the concrete floor.
‘They will believe me! I’ll make them.’
‘They never have. Why should they change?’
Regrettably, her sister was right, a realisation adding to her fury.
‘Do you think they’ll believe you if you say I took drugs. Or what about when I turned home drunk and you said I had a stomach bug.’ A smug look rose to Fiona’s face. ‘Oh, and don’t forget the times you went to the library and I was humping some bloke.’
‘You bloody callous bitch!’ Queenie thrust her arms into her.
Fiona stumbled backward, regained control, and looked nervously down the drop. They tussled. There was a flurry of accusations, hair pulling, punching, and kicking.
Amidst the squabble, Teresa arrived with a little girl, and Queenie and Fiona paused for breath. The moment the child saw the hayloft she ran to the ladder, climbed onto the straw, and bounced gleefully. Almost instantly, the bickering restarted.
‘Tell them the truth!’ Queenie screamed.
‘Why should I when I have you to take the flack?’
‘You bloody coward!’
‘I’m not a coward,’ she said smugly, ‘I think I’m clever.’
Queenie thrust her arms into her. ‘Take Leanne!’
Silence.
‘I need space. I don’t love her and you owe me!’
Fiona’s tone was stiff. ‘I owe you nothing! Anyway, you shouldn’t have come. I told you to stay away.’
‘You wanted me here. You’re forever asking my advice. It’s all you ever do. You can’t last two seconds without me!’
‘And I asked you to stay away. Just leave and take her with you, and don’t ever come back!’
‘You selfish bitch!’ Queenie surged forward, her eyes bulging, her muscles pounding with blood, craving a fight. Yet all the while Fiona remained motionless and calm, as though nothing could harm her. It compounded Queenie’s relentless rage.
Luke, Imogen, Leanne and Steven, all stared at Queenie, waiting for her to continue. She sat in silence, searching her lap with watery eyes. Her lips quivered, her face drowned in sorrow.
‘Please go on,’ Leanne said.
Queenie looked up and for a second they connected. The pain, the years of grieving, the perpetual self-punishment was carved into her aging skin.
‘I pushed her . . . she fell to the concrete floor.’
Silence.
She jumped to her feet. ‘There, I’ve said it.’
Leanne forced forward her compassion. Her mother may have admitted she didn’t love her, but it was small in comparison to what had happened, and not a time for childish comments. ‘It was an accident.’
‘I knew what I was doing.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt her.’
‘You don’t have a clue. Janet said she saw me do it. She said I was evil . . . had seen it in my eyes since the day I was born.’
‘I can see you’ve never forgiven yourself.’
Queenie tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not a saint. I refused to accept what I’d done and told myself it was Rusty’s fault. She was there, right between us. It was easy. She knew how I’d always covered for Fiona, so she had been just as angry as I had. However, when I accused her a few days later, she was livid. I didn’t see her for years.’
Leanne offered her a sympathetic and understanding glance.
‘But not everything was my fault.’ Queenie’s eyes flitted. ‘She was the one smoking, not me. It went up in seconds, just seconds. That poor little girl . . .’
Leanne reached out her hand, resting it on her back. ‘Please come and sit back down.’
Queenie trailed behind, dropped onto the armchair, and her chest rose and fell. Leanne tried not to look, but the pain and self-torture she emitted were too strong to dismiss, and a swelling ache developed within.
For a while, everyone sat in a painful silence. Then Queenie gathered her strength. ‘I couldn’t face anyone after the fire so I ran, but I stayed close by, desperate for news on Fiona, Teresa, and her little girl.’ She turned to Leanne. ‘Do you understand?’
‘I think so.’
‘It was just too difficult. Anyway, after a few weeks, I saw Trevor Parry. Did you know he shot the Coombs’?’
Leanne nodded.
‘Do you also know that Teresa’s daughter was his?’
‘Luke worked it out.’
‘Well, I didn’t. I knew him, although not well. He’d been away for a few weeks working and didn’t know about the fire or that she had been his kid. I told him what happened and that Teresa was due out of the hospital. His face went funny and he started to walk away. I called after him, but it was as if he’d lost all his senses and couldn’t hear me. I didn’t think anything of it until late one night I was wandering through the village and I heard voices. He was walking with Teresa. He had a gun. I started to panic. They were heading out of the village.’
‘They were coming here?’
Queenie nodded and looked to Leanne. ‘My main concern was for you. I couldn’t bare it if . . . anyway, I ran as fast as I could, but I had to go a different way to them if I was going to overtake them. When I arrived, I saw Ann through the window. I was going to knock, let her know what was happening, but I arrived a fraction late.’ She brushed her hands across her face. ‘I can still hear the gunshots.’
‘That must have been awful.’
Queenie was quiet.
‘Why didn’t he shoot me or Gran?’ Leanne asked.
‘You must have been away for the weekend. I was never more grateful. Anyway, I called the police. They arrested Trevor later.’ Her eyes flitted. She looked to her lap. ‘I gave Teresa an alibi, said I’d seen her in the fields, running after him.’
Leanne gawked.
‘Trevor was there,’ Queenie continued, ‘but the gun was in Teresa’s hand. I saw it as clear as day.’
Leanne’s jaw dropped. If a woman ever had the motive to shoot anyone, it was a grieving mother. ‘Surely, it was you they were after.’
‘It was. Teresa told me later that she’d heard I was still around. She assumed I was still living with them. I didn’t think anyone had seen me.’
‘But why kill them?’
‘She was unstable. I think she would have killed anyone in her path.’
‘Why give her an alibi?’
Queenie raised an eyebrow, puzzled. ‘It was the least I could do. Even so, I still thought she might come after me, despite what I’d done, so I left. I’m sorry.’
‘Why didn’t you ever come back for me?’
‘I figured Janet would do a better job.’
‘But you hated her.’
‘I know, but she was right. I was everything she said - drunk, doing drugs, sleeping around – and in effect, I’d just killed a child and seriously injured Fiona and Teresa. I was better off out of the way. Trouble followed me around.’
‘Gran should have tracked you down.’
Queenie shrugged. ‘I doubt she would have found me. I didn’t keep in touch with anyone.’
‘Why return? Why now?’
‘I heard about Janet’s death, and as the house had never been sold, I wondered if you’d return. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you. As crazy as it sounds, I still imagined you as a little girl. You . . . you are so beautiful.’
Flushing, Leanne lowered her head and covered her stomach with her hand.
‘My plan was to get to know you as a friend. I had no intention of telling you who I was.’
‘Why not?’
‘Would you? You’d want to know all the details – why I parted from Janet, what had happened to Fiona, etcetera, etcetera – and I wasn’t ready for that.’
Leanne was thoughtful.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘Teresa spotted me straight away, and although she didn’t threaten me she hadn’t forgiven me. I decided my only option was to try to get the upper hand. I . . . I couldn’t risk it all coming out.’ She passed a nervous glance. ‘And it seemed to be working.’
‘I really wish you’d come back for me.’
Queenie looked away. ‘I’m sorry. I did love you, very much. I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Isn’t there something you’re missing?’ Luke asked.
Leanne spun to face him, and then caught sight of the anxiety on Queenie’s face.
‘Leanne is not your daughter.’
‘I didn’t steal her!’
‘No, I know.’ He turned to Leanne. ‘We contacted the hospital again and this time the administrator checked the records properly. Karen, or Queenie as she likes to be known, had registered in the maternity wing twice within eight months. We thought it was a little unlikely considering both babies went to full-term.’
‘I was devastated when I lost Lydia.’
Leanne gawked. ‘So you did take me from someone else.’
‘I was doing her a favour. She pretended to be me – said something about not wanting to leave a trail.’ She glanced up and caught her eye. ‘She wasn’t perfect, but she was no way as bad as I was. She was a saint in comparison and couldn’t cope with being an unmarried mother.’
‘W-who are you talking about?’
‘Fiona! I was doing Fiona a favour, and more than anything, I feared that one day she’d want you back. I thought it better to hand you over on my terms than wait for her to snatch you.’
‘Fiona was . . . was my mother?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I wanted to come clean and tell everyone whose child you were, but she wouldn’t let me. I thought it could help repair my relationship with Janet and Roy. Unfortunately, Fiona was prepared to go to the ends of the earth to keep her secret.’
‘I can’t believe this. Did Gran know?’
Queenie shrugged.
‘So she still thought I was stolen.’
Her eyes drifted and a look of nervousness gathered in her face. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
Leanne snuggled into Steven, his warm, soft body and musky scent reassuringly uplifting. She leaned her head onto his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his stomach, and focused on the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
‘Queenie’s right, you know,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘You are beautiful.’
Her skin warmed. She lowered her head. ‘I’m not.’
‘You’re perfect.’
‘I’m fat.’
‘Fat?’
He pulled away, raised her chin with his fingers, and forced her to look. ‘You are not fat.’
‘I’m not slim.’
‘You’re definitely not fat. You’re curvy, all woman. I don’t like these scrawny women that are flesh and bone. There’s nothing sexy about them. You have all the curves in the right places.’
‘Can we talk about something else?’
He grinned. ‘You’re blushing.’
Leanne nestled into him. There was silence - no sound of a ticking clock, not the gentle pattering of rain on the windows, and not the buzzing of her thoughts in her head. It was a wonderful feeling.
‘Do you think Queenie was telling the truth about Fiona?’ Steven asked.
She raised herself upright. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I don’t know, but after everything we’ve learned about her, it’s difficult accepting she has a compassionate side. To look after her sister’s baby is huge.’
‘I agree. She sounded like a free spirit. Why would she give everything for me? I’m not sure it makes sense.’
He curled his fingers around her hand. ‘We could try asking her again, although I don’t think she’ll tell us anything more.’
‘I think you’re right.’ She reached for a photo of Fiona resting on the table. ‘Do you think she looks pregnant?’
‘Not really.’
‘Luke and Imogen thought so. She is a bit chunkier around her middle.’
‘You do look a bit like her,’ he said. ‘You have the same eyes and nose.’
‘Do we?’
He leaned towards her and dropped a big sloppy kiss on her cheek. She pulled a face and wiped away the moisture with the side of her hand.
‘I’m glad you’re feeling a bit happier.’
‘No point being miserable,’ he said, ‘Teresa is in good hands.’
‘She could still come out of the coma.’
‘I hope so.’ He stroked her leg. ‘I wish she’d shared her troubles. Geoff hadn’t been much comfort. It makes sense now why there was so much friction.’
‘There’s no way I’m defending him,’ she said, ‘but I’m amazed he covered for her the way he did after she had a child by another man.’
‘It was probably his only chance to be a father.’
Silence.
‘Have you seen him at the hospital?’ she asked.
‘No, I haven’t. I hope he’s not left her.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Try not to worry.’
She reached for Fiona’s journal resting on the table and flicked through the pages.
‘Are you still angry with Janet?’ he asked.
‘Not so much, but I do still wonder why she couldn’t have told me something. She could have just said she’d lost contact with Karen. Why claim she was dead?’
‘The lies may have started early on. It would have been difficult admitting it later, especially when she would have been expecting you to have been asking lots of questions.’
‘I like to think I’m a reasonable person. I would have understood. Maybe I could have persuaded her to live in Honeysuckle Cottage again, or at least sell it. I wonder how much of her life was spent feeling tortured by the turn of events.’
‘The fire and the accidents must have changed her. She had a lot to thank Ann and Gerry for, and discovering them dead, a consequence, in part, due to her daughter’s action’s, must have been hard to deal with - hence, her decision to refuse the inheritance.’
Leanne dared not say it, but she wondered how much of what happened had been her grandmother’s fault. If she hadn’t treated her two daughters differently, then Queenie would not have fled and Fiona would not have had to hide her pregnancy. It seemed as though Janet and Roy had struggled so much with their first daughter that they overcompensated with their second. For their third opportunity, that was, for her, they somehow got it right.
‘I do feel a bit sorry for Gran. What a burden. I wish I could have helped her release her pain.’
‘You probably did without knowing.’
‘Do you think she died believing I’d been stolen?’
‘I think she must have realised she’d made a mistake. I think Queenie did too. Did you notice the nervousness in her expression when she was asked if she knew about Fiona being my mother?’
He nodded.
‘I suppose it’s not important, although it is infuriating.’
‘There’s no point in worrying about it.’
‘No. Although I suspect she might have been aware she got her baby-stealing theory wrong. Queenie said she used her powers to gain the truth. Assuming she had, she jumped to an erroneous conclusion. It could be what put her off anything paranormal.’
‘Why do you say that?’
She turned to face him. ‘Think about it . . . if she hadn’t accused Queenie of stealing the baby, Queenie wouldn’t have started an argument with Fiona, etcetera, etcetera.’
He did not respond.
‘Luke did warn me that the interpretations are what are dangerous.’
He reached for her hand and made small circles on her palm. ‘It’s a pity nothing good came out of it.’
‘I do miss her . . . and Phillip.’
His expression turned serious. ‘I’m sorry I overreacted when you saw me with Queenie. It reminded me of what Andrea did and how she treated me. I felt suffocated.’
‘I’m sorry too. I should have trusted you.’
The telephone sounded. Leanne skipped across the room.
‘Tyler, about time! Where have you been?’
‘I’ve been studying at the library.’
She glanced at Steven. He was flicking through Fiona’s journal. ‘Why aren’t you doing it at home?’
‘It’s too noisy.’
‘Are you sure you’re happy living with Darren?’
Tyler hesitated and then mumbled a positive reply.
Her heart quickened and she held her breath. ‘I’d like you to return home to me.’
‘Okay.’
She was stunned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘If it’s what you want.’
A smile broadened her face. ‘It is. That’s fantastic. I’ll come over for you tomorrow night.’
‘Leave it until the weekend.’
‘And you won’t change your mind?’
‘No. Thanks, Mum.’
They chatted for a little while longer and then she ended the call.
‘He’s coming home,’ she cried.
Steven grinned.
‘I think he was waiting for me to ask him. He sounded happy. Oh, Steven, my baby’s returning.’
‘I’m glad you’re happy.’
‘We had a chat and he told me he’d been struggling to deal with losing Phillip and Gran. Apparently, it was easier to deal with at Darren’s house.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘Yes, to me too. I preferred being here for the same reasons. I should have realised what his problem was.’
Steven’s expression grew serious. ‘Where are you going to stay?’
‘Oh.’ Her smile slipped. ‘I don’t know. We can work something out, can’t we?’
‘Of course we can.’ His eyes darkened as he glimpsed at the journal. ‘There’s something here you should see.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s an entry from Fiona.’
Leanne scampered across and read the short piece of writing.
He wanted me again tonight and despite my usual persistence, telling him no, forcing him back, and kneeing him in the groin, he was relentless. It sickens me that I am so helpless, physically unable to overpower him and entirely inept. I am an adult, a grown woman, and I should have a voice. I should be able to enjoy my pregnancy yet I cannot even admit to it and certainly not to those closest to me.
He paints a picture of me in his mind. It is a beautiful image, angelic, but one that I can barely adhere to, despite my trying. Every time I step out of line, word gets back and I am punished. He is everywhere, yet he is nowhere, creeping out of the darkness, watching my every move, every breath. His obsession, which has continued for years, repulses me. I vomit. I curl up in the darkness. I cry solitary tears.
I obey his every whim. He terrifies me. I have no choice.
I have decided to go to see my ever-faithful sister. I cannot tell her the truth about him, but I can ask one massive favour, if only to protect my unborn baby. I treat her despicably, forever taking advantage and continuously lying, and although a feeble excuse, I know it is a reaction to him and one I cannot control.
Tonight, at least, I shall sleep peacefully. My baby will soon be safe.