The Unbaited Trap

by Catherine Cookson

  Arnold too was laughing, and he too was saying to himself, Fancy old John telling a joke, and in the back of his mind he thought, he’s changed lately; he’s more relaxed, easier. And he recalled the two Saturday mornings when he phoned the house to have a word with him, and Ann had said he was in his office, and when he had phoned the office he had received no reply. He had made no comment on this, but the second time he had thought it odd.

  Michael Boyd was thinking, That was very funny, the way he told it. Now for the bloody bump! I must remember that one. Fancy the old man telling a yarn. He had always thought him very stiff and strait-laced, sort of old-school. Yet there was nothing in the story; it wasn’t one of those, it was the kind that could be adapted to any kind of telling. But fancy the old man telling a story at all. He didn’t seem that type.

  Laurie had laughed at his father’s joke. He had not wanted to laugh, but not to laugh would have seemed odd. His father had stood there in company and told a joke, and yesterday morning he had heard him whistle. There was something different about him lately. Was it a defiance? No, no, he couldn’t call it that. Yet he was changed. Nothing that happened would surprise him after this…his father telling a joke.

  The sound of the men’s laughter had penetrated the bedroom upstairs, and on hearing it Valerie, turning to Mrs Boyd, who was only a year or so older than herself, said, ‘I think we are missing something, come on.’ And looking over her shoulder she added, ‘We’re going down, Mother…Auntie Ann.’

  ‘All right, dear, we won’t be a minute.’ May Wilcox turned from the dressing-table seat and beamed on her daughter, but she made no attempt to rise.

  After the two young women had left the room, Ann stood looking down on her friend and she asked softly, ‘What do you mean, May, I’m not wearing it? You don’t expect me to wear a mink stole tonight, do you?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, dear.’ May slapped her arm. ‘I wasn’t meaning the stole, I was meaning the perfume…the Chanel.’

  ‘Did Laurie tell Val that he was going to buy me Chanel? He bought me these.’ She flicked a treble strap of pearls encircling her thin neck.

  May screwed up her face in a puzzled way. Then her eyes dropping to her hands, she turned round to the mirror and, patting her hair into place, said quietly, ‘It’s been some mistake. I’m sorry I spoke.’

  Ann looked at May in the mirror, but May would not meet her eyes. ‘What’s this about Chanel?’

  ‘Now look, I don’t want to cause any trouble, Ann.’ May looked up now.

  ‘Tell me what this is all about, please.’

  ‘Look, Ann, you’ve got a dinner facing you. There are people downstairs, not just James, Valerie and Laurie. We’ll talk about it after.’

  ‘We’ll do no such thing.’ With a quick movement Ann placed her hand on May’s shoulder, and said below her breath, ‘You’ll tell me now. What do you mean about this perfume?’

  ‘Oh my God!’ May shrugged herself from Ann’s hold and, rising to her feet, put her hand to her brow. Then turning on Ann she said, ‘Well if you must know, you must. It happened that Millie, Mrs Orchard you know, rooms with a Miss O’Neill, and this Miss O’Neill happened to be in Danes’ yesterday morning when John was there at the perfume counter, and he was buying a bottle of Chanel, a large bottle, nearly ten pounds she said it cost. Well naturally…’ She spread her hands wide. ‘I thought it was for you. I knew it wasn’t for Val, as he had bought her and Laurie the joint present of the chair, and you don’t go round buying ten-pound bottles of Chanel for…Oh what am I saying?’ She beat her forehead with the palm of her hand, then ended, ‘Aw, don’t look like that, Ann. Come on, pull yourself together.’

  Ann had her eyes fixed tightly on May’s face, and when she tried to speak her voice made a croaking sound. Then she gave a little cough to clear her throat and said, ‘May, you’re not to mention this to anyone, James, or Val, or anyone. Promise me?’

  ‘All right, all right.’

  ‘Don’t just say all right, all right. May, I want your solemn promise you won’t mention this to anyone.’

  ‘All right, Ann, I promise you. Now don’t get upset.’

  ‘Not to James?’

  ‘I won’t mention it to James.’

  ‘Nor to Val?’

  ‘I’ve told you, I’ve told you. Now come on, pull yourself together; we’ll talk about it after.’

  ‘I’m all right, I’m all right.’ Ann turned towards the mirror, but she couldn’t see herself, only the fuzzy outline of her face. But May was waiting, and her guests were waiting, so she walked with apparent calm out of the room and down the stairs. And just as she entered the lounge she heard young Boyd’s high voice exclaiming, ‘A Bull in the Argentine!’ Everybody was laughing. Her husband was laughing; for the first time in twenty-six years she heard the sound of his laughter. It stood out against all the other sounds in the room.

  Six: Pat

  Oh it was hot, more like a summer day than one towards the end of spring. Cissie dropped her shopping bag and handbag onto the landing floor while she took the key from under the mat and opened the door; then picking up her things again, she went inside.

  When she reached the room door she went to call Pat’s name but checked herself, her mouth half open. He wouldn’t be in with the key under the mat. But what had happened to him? He had never failed to turn up at the café before. Perhaps Mr Bolton had been busy and kept him on; even so he had been busy other Saturday mornings, but things had always slackened off before quarter past one, the time he was supposed to meet her.

  She put her shopping away, then went into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, she lifted the hair from her forehead. She was sweating, it had really been hot walking from the market, and it would be this morning that that little monkey hadn’t turned up. Wait till he came in. She washed her hands, applied a little fresh make-up, then returned to the kitchen again.

  Where could he have got to? Oh, stop worrying, she said to herself, and get on with the dinner. He’d likely come dashing in in a minute and not a thing ready …

  An hour later she was standing at the window looking down into the street. From this position she could see Albany Road and Cromwell Street. He would come down one or the other. Five minutes later she saw him, and her hand went to her throat and gripped it, for on one side of him was a policeman, and on the other a man in a fawn mackintosh.

  ‘Oh my god! Not again. No, no, Pat, not again.’ She found she was shouting her thoughts aloud.

  She was waiting for them when they reached the top landing, and it was she who spoke first. In a gabble she said, ‘What’s the matter? Where’ve you been?’ She put her hand out making to grab Pat and shake him, but he stood stiffly between the two men as if petrified. It was the man in the mackintosh who said, ‘Mrs Thorpe?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m Mrs Thorpe. You know I’m Mrs Thorpe.’ Her voice was rising.

  ‘Can we come in a minute?’

  ‘Yes, yes, come in.’ She stood aside until they were in the hall, then closed the door and said, ‘Go into the room.’

  In the room she stared at the plain-clothes man and asked, ‘What is it? What is it now?’

  ‘Now don’t get distressed, we’re only making some inquiries.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do anything, he wouldn’t. He promised. Anyway he didn’t do it before…Pat?’ She appealed to him, and of a sudden the boy flew to her, and, putting his arms round her waist and looking up into her face and fighting his terror for a moment, he gasped, ‘I didn’t, Mam, I didn’t do anything. I swear, I swear I didn’t. I’ve been at Mr Bolton’s all mornin’. I was just talkin’ when they came. I didn’t, I didn’t.’

  She held him tightly to her for a moment before pushing him aside. Looking from the policeman to the other man, she said, ‘What is it this time? He’s never been near Woolworth’s or Smith’s, I would swear on it.’

  ‘Sit down, missus.’ It was the policeman speaking again.

  ‘It’s a little
more serious than Smith’s or Woolworth’s this time I am afraid, Mrs Thorpe.’ The plain-clothes man’s voice was flat, and unemotional. ‘It’s to do with a little girl.’

  ‘A little girl?’ Cissie screwed her face up at the man.

  ‘Yes, a little girl was interfered with this morning in a shed round by the old dump, the car dump near the children’s playground.’

  ‘My Pat in-ter-fere…’ She looked from him down at her son as she said, ‘You’re mad…Pat’—her voice was a whimper—‘you didn’t?’ She was appealing to him now.

  ‘No, Mam, I swear; I swear I didn’t. I know nothin’ about it.’

  ‘You see, you see. Don’t you believe him?’ She was confronting the men again.

  The plain-clothes man now looked at her coolly, and said, ‘We’ve got another two of the boys. There were four of them in this altogether, and after questioning they admitted that your boy was one of the gang.’

  ‘Who said that—Who said he was? Tim Brooks?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it was the boy Brooks.’

  ‘I knew it. I knew it. That boy hates Pat, he hates him. He got him into trouble before, he planted those things on him. He knew what he was doing.’ She was wringing her hands.

  ‘Listen a moment. Listen a moment. We have more than Tim Brooks’ word that your son was involved in this…You see the little girl has made a statement.’

  ‘She said she saw him then?’ She turned to Pat. ‘She couldn’t, oh you didn’t…’ Her voice cracked, and he whimpered back at her, ‘I didn’t. I tell you, Mam, I didn’t. Honest, honest I didn’t.’

  ‘She didn’t exactly see the boys’ faces, Missus,’ said the policeman now. ‘They were wearing stockings, gangster-like.’ He nodded slowly at her. ‘But she recognised Brooks by the clothes he was wearing and his unmistakable hair. She also recognised your son by the tie.’

  Before Cissie could repeat ‘The tie?’ the plain-clothes man put his hand in his pocket and drew out a blue and red striped school tie.

  ‘Is this your son’s?’ He handed it to her and she held it across her two hands, saying, ‘Yes it is. It was. That’s the one…’

  She again turned her eyes towards Pat and he cried, ‘It’s the one that was pinched, along with me pullover, a fortnight ago after gym. You remember? You made me go and report it, an’ I did. I did. I’ve never seen it since.’

  Cissie was turning up the corner of the tie and she pointed to some loose threads. She tapped at them quickly before she brought out, ‘Look. Look, his name’s been taken off. I put a name on everything because of the pinching. His name’s been taken off.’

  ‘Yes, the tag’s been taken off, but there’s a faint trace of his name in ink further up the tie.’

  She looked towards the middle of the tie where it narrowed and saw the faint outline of Patrick Thorpe. She had put that on ages ago, and then she had bought tags because she thought it looked better, and nicer, especially on his shirts. She had marked all his things. She said slowly, ‘It was planted; it was planted by Tim Brooks.’

  ‘I can understand you wanting to think that, Mrs Thorpe, but if that was his intention he was more likely to leave the tag on, don’t you think? However, the little girl happened to come by the tie when she was struggling with…one of the boys.’

  Cissie lowered herself into a chair, and she closed her eyes before saying, ‘Was she…?’ She didn’t finish the question, but with lowered head she said, ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘We would like you to come down to the station with us.’

  She looked slowly towards her son. His eyes were staring out of his white face as he stood gripping the back of a chair. His gaze held hers and screamed at her for protection, and she said to herself, ‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’ Aloud she said quietly, ‘Go and wash your face and hands.’

  It was some seconds before he released his grip on the chair; then he turned from them, and he staggered as he went towards the bathroom.

  She looked at the plain-clothes man again and said, ‘Was the child harmed?’

  ‘Yes, she had been interfered with.’

  She dropped her head deeply on her chest and groaned aloud; then quickly she raised her face to the two men and her voice was strong and firm again, even hard, as she said, ‘If Christ himself came down this minute and told me my Pat had anything to do with it I wouldn’t believe Him, and I’ll prove it to you. He couldn’t have done it, he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Well,’ said the plain-clothes man, noncommittally, ‘we’ll be very pleased for you to prove it.’

  It was five o’clock when Cissie returned home. For the second time that day she unlocked the door; but now, pushing Pat roughly into the hall, she said, ‘Now you stay there and don’t move until I come back.’

  ‘But Mam, Mam’—he was crying bitterly—‘where are you goin’?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Just you stay there.’ Turning from him she locked the door and ran down the stairs, to be met at the second-flight by Miss O’Neill.

  ‘Is there anything wrong, Cissie? Anything wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘No, nothing, nothing, Maggie.’ She didn’t stop, and Maggie called after her, ‘Are you sure? I’m only too willing to help. You know that, Cissie. Anything, anything.’

  Out in the street, Cissie hurried across the road and ran towards the bus that had stopped round the corner. Five minutes later she alighted almost opposite Mr Bolton’s greengrocer’s shop. This was her second visit here in the last hour.

  As she went into the shop Mr Bolton turned surprised eyes towards her, then moved his shoulders impatiently as he handed a customer her change. Not looking in Cissie’s direction he called across the shop to another customer, ‘What can I get you, missus?’ then went fussily on attending to the order.

  Cissie was standing near the potato bin when he came to fill the scoop, and he said to her under his breath, ‘Look, I don’t want to get mixed up in this.’

  ‘Well, you’re going to be whether you like it or not, Mr Bolton.’ She, too, was speaking under her breath.

  His words came hissing from the side of his mouth now. ‘Don’t you take that attitude with me.’

  ‘Then you speak the truth and there’ll be no need for attitudes.’

  The three customers in the shop were giving them their attention and Mr Bolton banged the scales and blew out bags and clashed the till with a minimum of talk, until there was no-one left in the shop but Cissie and himself. Then confronting her, he said, ‘Look. I told them all I’m goin’ to tell them, or you. Kids come round here lookin’ for jobs. I set them on when they’re fourteen and not under.’

  ‘You’re a liar and you know it.’

  ‘You prove it, missus. You prove it.’

  ‘You know what could happen to my boy just because you’re afraid of being pulled over the coals for employing children under age?’

  ‘Look.’ He turned his hands, palm upwards, towards her. ‘It’ll blow over. He was in this scrape. It isn’t the first time that kids have had a bit of a lark together, and it won’t be the last. And likely she asked for it. They all ask for it the day. If you saw what I see at times outside the back of this shop your hair would stand on end. And them still at school, I tell you it’s done all the time.’

  ‘It isn’t done, not by my son. I don’t care how many do it or who does it, but he didn’t do it. He wasn’t with them. He was in this shop at the time that child was attacked, and you know it.’

  ‘Look, I said I saw him out there knocking around among the boxes. There’s a back way around here. All the kids come the back way and mess around. “Can I weigh up your taties, Mr Bolton?” they say. “Do you want any rounds made, Mr Bolton?” they say. “I’ll do so-and-so for a bob,” they say.’

  ‘You gave my Pat three bob this morning. You don’t give lads three bob for nothing. He was out here early on; he left the house just after eight. Where was he from then until dinner time? He’s been coming here week after week.’

  ‘
They all come week after week. He’s just one of the rest.’

  ‘You’re a stinking liar. And, by God, I’ll make you prove it if it’s the last thing I do.’ Her teeth were clenched, her eyes black with anger.

  ‘You’ll have a job.’ He squinted at her and his mouth moved into a crooked smile. ‘As I said to the polis, when they were all here a while ago, he could have been here an’ he couldn’t have been here. They looked out the back for themselves and what did they see? Half-a-dozen kids among the boxes and the refuse out there.’

  ‘My Pat didn’t get as far as the boxes and the refuse, he was in there’—she pointed to a small room to the side of him—‘where you do the orders. I’m going to get a solicitor, Mr Bolton. And you know something? You might be sorry you didn’t just speak the simple truth and admit that Pat was here between nine this morning and one. If you’d said you saw him between twelve and one that would have been enough, but no, you wouldn’t say anything because they might start asking questions and you’d be out of a few bob. Well, Mr Bolton, lots of things come to light once people start using a rake. So remember that.’

  She turned from his grim face and walked out of the shop down the street and into the main thoroughfare. The sun was still shining, people were busy shopping, everybody seemed to be smiling and happy, and here was she on the point of losing her son, the only thing she had in life that she cared about. What could they do to him if they proved they were right? An approved school. And then? And then? She stood stockstill, unaware of the buffeting of the crowd. She must have help. She had told him, Mr Bolton, she’d get a solicitor, and she would, yes. Mr Emmerson. Yes, Mr Emmerson, he would help her. Without looking right or left she stepped onto the road, almost under the wheels of a car, and made her way to a phone box.