by Mairi Chong
Cathy sighed. She was beginning to feel cold herself. Still looking carefully this way and that, in case she had missed something, then slowly made her way back in the direction of her car. In a way, she didn’t want to look out onto the railway lines themselves, but she cast her gaze across the pebbles, knowing that if she did not, she might potentially miss something important. Now in line with the tyre tracks again and where the body must surely have been found, she paused again, seeing some of the leaves had been disturbed. She crouched down and peeled back the damp vegetation. Beneath a fallen leaf, perhaps not more than a few drops, was unmistakably blood.
Cathy was well accustomed to trauma and death. Nevertheless, she could not repress the feeling of revulsion as she contemplated this discovery. Betty Scott, a woman already dying from cancer, but a person full of vigour, and with purpose in her charitable work, had been killed. Of that, she was sure. She had spoken to the old lady on more than one occasion and had admired her determined manner. Had she not known of Betty’s concerns; the doctor would have said that she was the last person on earth to be murdered. Why kill someone who was going to die in the next couple of months, anyway? Considering the desolate spot for the last time before getting into her car, Cathy exhaled. It was sickening to imagine the old woman being led or forced down to the railway line that evening, let alone, being thrown in front of an oncoming train. She felt sure that if it was so, there was someone in Glainkirk of such evil, that it was beyond her comprehension.
15
Holly got the impression that Marie felt embarrassed or guilty about what she had said about Betty. She became restless having divulged that the old woman was universally disliked, and it was so palpable that Holly felt she should leave. She wanted to ask her, there and then, all about Betty and exactly what Marie had meant. But she thought it better to wait. There would be other people who would talk, there had to be if, as Marie said, there had been gossip going around.
Thomas left with her. He completely omitted to express any thanks for the biscuits and appeared almost indifferent towards poor Marie, who seemed to dote on him all the same.
‘Keep out of bother,’ the old lady called after him, and he turned and grinned.
‘You mean away from him, don’t you? She knows about him,’ he said, pointing towards Holly.
Marie shook her head and smiled.
‘Who?’ Holly asked as they walked down the drive. ‘Who are you talking about now?’
‘You know. You know. Him. Carbolic. Trouble, but don’t you be telling him I said it. You’ll not, will you? He’d probably come at me and push me in front of a train, wouldn’t he? Do you think he might? What if he comes to my door tonight with a knife and makes me walk down there?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Holly said, but it put an idea in her mind all the same. ‘Where are you heading now?’ she asked as they continued up the cul-de-sac.
‘Nowhere. I’m following you, aren’t I?’
Holly shrugged. She felt rather shaken by Marie’s assumption that Betty had been murdered. In truth, she had suspected something as soon as the old woman had failed to arrive at work that previous morning, but things had escalated so rapidly since then. For the first time since arriving in Glainkirk, Holly felt quite out of her depth.
‘I’m heading back uptown again,’ she said definitely.
‘I’m coming,’ Thomas told her, and she was glad.
‘One, two, three, four. Carbolic, carbolic,’ Thomas chanted as they set off. ‘You’ll be thinking it’s him that’s done it, maybe. Carbolic. Imagine if it was him. I’d like it if he went to prison.’
Holly didn’t answer. She was imagining poor old Betty being frog-marched down to the railway line in the damp, cold of the evening, perhaps with a knife to her back. Being held until the lines began to sing and the train was almost upon them. The lights would have been blinding. Had she fought, or was she so afraid that she had stubbled backwards and into the path of the engine?
It seemed that the high street was still reasonably busy. The cars had their lights on dipped-beam, and the sound of their tyres as they passed, made a satisfying swish. Holly found herself having to hang back at times to wait for her peculiar companion, as he shouted exclamations if anyone passed by too close. This, it seemed, disconcerted him, and on two occasions he performed his bizarre manoeuvre, the one that she had seen on Marie’s lawn, leaping sideways suddenly and clutching at his jacket.
‘I wish you’d stop skipping around like that,’ she said, not unfairly. His unpredictability was making her jumpy too, and she was jittery enough as it was.
‘The people when they pass, keep making my ears itch,’ Thomas said as if this was a reasonable explanation.
They arrived, still together, despite Thomas’s attempts to get himself killed crossing the road by dodging in and out of the cars and then holding up his bag like some kind of a shield to protect himself. An oncoming red van was forced to brake suddenly and the driver threw his hands up in exaggerated despair.
She found herself sitting in Shirley’s, the café across the road from the charity shop, barely knowing how they had got there in one piece. Thomas sat down opposite and ordered his usual, whatever that meant, and Holly asked for a pot of tea and thought about her discoveries. Betty had been linked to Fernibanks. Was she the Elizabeth she was searching for? Perhaps she had been right all along.
‘What do you think then?’ Thomas asked after she had sat gazing despondently out of the window for some time.
‘About Betty? I don’t know Thomas. Honestly, I don’t know what to think anymore. I came here for something different and now I’m in the midst of all this.’
‘Eh? What do you mean something different? Did you want a scone or a buttery?’
Holly looked back at his open, expectant face, but the girl brought over his usual, which appeared to be an all-day breakfast, and he was lost to anyone after that. She sat sipping her tea, trying to ignore the harrowing noises coming from across the table. Never before had she seen anyone eat with such a ferocious enjoyment.
‘Don’t you bother much with cutlery then?’ she asked at one point, and he opened his mouth wide, tipping his head back and laughed, displaying a semi-masticated piece of bread.
‘Aye, Aye, I’ll not bother then today,’ he said, spitting toasty crumbs across the table at her and clapping his sticky hands in gleeful delight.
‘Disgusting,’ she said, but part of her rather enjoyed his all-encompassing pleasure in such a simple thing as beans, sausages, eggs and toast.
The staff were used to this display and watched their table in amusement.
‘Wonder if she had a time too,’ Thomas said as he mopped up the tomatoey sauce on his plate with a bit of toast. ‘They all do, you know? I expect I’ll get one soon. I’m looking out all the time for my own time to die. It’s tricky though. Numbers everywhere.’ This sent him off into a fit of chuckling and coughing once more.
‘Does everyone know you in this town, Thomas?’ Holly asked after he had placed his napkin down on the plate at last, sitting back and sighing.
‘Aye. I expect they do.’ He laughed again. ‘Aye, they’ll probably all know me.’
‘Haven’t you got any family then?’
‘Nope. Mother died, or was ill when I was a baby.’
‘And your father?’
‘I didn’t have one of them,’ he said simply.
‘Well, you must’ve had a father, Thomas. Who brought you up?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Folks here and there.’
Holly nodded and suddenly felt a lump in her throat.
‘I need to go,’ she told him, hurriedly pushing back her chair and allowing its feet to screech in protest. He looked up; his lips still moist with tomato sauce. Although she hated to say it, his clear disappointment, tugged at her heart-strings.
‘I’ll come in again and see you at the shop,’ he said, but she wasn’t sure when they would next open.
Holly walked th
e dank street, thinking of her father; someone who had always been there, but who she hadn’t noticed until he was gone. The crematorium had been packed. A popular man. Well-known and well-liked. Simple and unassuming. What would he think of her choices if he was still here? Not a lot, she assumed. She should be at home consoling her grief-stricken mother, not here, on a self-seeking bender.
‘It’s understandable for you to be upset,’ her mother had said on the evening of the funeral. ‘The university won’t expect you back for a few weeks surely. I know your studies are important to you, but some time to get over things is what you need.’
Holly had been sitting at the kitchen table with a whisky glass held defiantly in her hand. Most of the extended family had returned home now and the silence was deafening.
‘It’ll only numb you for a few hours,’ her mother pleaded. ‘Why not have a cup of tea with me and your aunt instead before she heads home? What would Dad say about this?’ she said, half-laughing and pointed to the bottle on the table. ‘He’d give you a real telling off, wouldn’t he?’ Her voice wavered and Holly clenched her teeth, hating herself. But her mother had lied. They all had.
She swilled the liquid in the glass.
‘I wish you’d talk to me,’ her mother went on.
Without speaking, Holly reached into her back pocket and withdrew the papers she had found. Slowly, she unfolded them and laid them there flat.
She didn’t see her mother’s reaction. She couldn’t bear to look at her then. downing the glass-full of amber liquid in one swift movement, she got up. She’d always hated whisky and now it would remind her of that night forever.
God, what a mess. Her feet smacked on the wet pavement now, taking her back to the flat. She gazed down at her reflection in a muddy puddle, the wavering lights of the passing traffic highlighting her haunted features. Even unfortunate Thomas, for all of his strange mannerisms and ways, had found a place for himself.
She stopped at the off-licence. The brightly-lit sign, an almost neon-yellow, jaundiced the complexion of even the light drinker if they stood outside for long enough. Holly carried her bag of booty, the two bottles clinking together harmoniously as she went. She knew that the vodka would help. It always did. It not only numbed the past, but more recently, she had noticed it loosening the present and, if taken in the right measure, she hoped it might unwind her mind enough to think more clearly about the future.
In a moment of reckless impulse, Holly hovered at the end of her street wondering if she wanted to go back to the flat alone. It was now almost tea-time, and the commuters were winding their way home, preparing for cosy evenings in with loved ones, probably watching the second episode in a three-part drama together after the kids had gone off early to bed. Cuddling up on the sofa with a glass of wine and revolting companionable intimacy. Holly grimaced.
She knew where he lived. She knew where all of them lived, of course. There had been a recent change between her and Alex. She wondered if he had felt it also; the shared understanding almost, back in the charity shop when the police had been in. Why she had ignored the man up until then was beyond her. They were, after all, the only two of similar age. Well, perhaps he was a little under ten years her senior, at a guess, but compared to the rest of them, they were of the same generation at the very least. She had been too busy thinking of other things and hadn’t noticed his affable, quiet way, and his harmless manner. Besides, he reminded her a little of her old chemistry teacher and surely that meant something.
By the time Holly had allowed her feet to take her to his door, she realised that she knew so little about Alex. She couldn’t even be sure that he wasn’t married. She started to get edgy and had half-decided to turn back for home, but in hovering by the porch, she had activated a movement-sensitive spotlight. Almost immediately, there was a twitch of one of the downstairs curtains.
Holly wasn’t sure how he would react. She must look like some kind of a weirdo turning up at his door uninvited, clutching two, full, litre bottles of clear oblivion. But if he was surprised or shocked to see her, he didn’t show it, and when he came to the door in his usual jeans and collared tee-shirt, there was no question about whether she would be invited in.
‘Is it raining?’ he asked, probably finding comfort in this safe topic. ‘Here, let me take that.’
He hung up her jacket on the bannister after she had made a meal of removing it whilst still clutching the clinking parcel. This, she finally placed on the floor in the hallway, feeling too embarrassed to offer a bottle as a gift.
‘Big night planned then?’ he asked, grinning. He led her through to a comfortable sitting-room. The fire was lit and it burned a welcoming glow. The wood cracked and spat a cascade of luminous embers. Holly jumped at the noise and Alex laughed.
‘I suppose we’re all a bit like that just now,’ he said.
‘Alex,’ she started, but wasn’t quite sure what she was going to say. After all, how do you bring up the fact that you suspect a colleague of being murdered? But Alex was more comfortable at home than at work, and he had already brought through two glasses.
‘Oh,’ Holly said hesitantly. ‘I didn’t mean to stay Alex. I was just wanting to ask you something.’
She took the wine all the same, not that she liked the stuff very much. It would have been rude not to though, and together, rather awkwardly, they sipped.
It turned out that he was a bloody ex-police officer, didn’t it? She could hardly believe it when he said, and after the first glass, he told her that he had been given early retirement due to ill-health. He rubbed his knee. ‘Work-related,’ he said, ‘hence why they paid me off and why I can afford to bum around here and offer my time at the charity shop. Just to keep busy really. What about you?’
Holly got a little fidgety when he asked this, even though her speech was lubricated with the alcohol. ‘Do you mind if I don’t?’ she asked, and he laughed and refilled her glass. In many ways, she marvelled at the transformation from mild-mannered, shy Alex to the man in front of her now.
‘What do you think then?’ she asked. The conversation had led them back to Betty as of course, it must. ‘I just can’t work it out, Alex. I have a strong suspicion that she was very ill indeed. Did you notice how thin she had become? I wondered about cancer. I’ve been trying to get my head around it. Even if she was unwell, I can’t see suicide as being an option. I don’t think the police believe that either. Why would an old woman choose that way to end it? An accident is just as bizarre. Why go down to the railway line in the evening at all and then inadvertently fall in front of a train? No. it has to have been murder. But who would care whether the old woman lived or died? It’s not as if anyone benefited from her death, did they?’
Alex placed his glass on the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘That’s what you say, but you know it’s not true. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I haven’t a clue about her financial situation. There might be a motive in that as well, for all we know. I’m only talking about the charity shop, but there are probably countless others too. She wasn’t the nicest of people, in many ways. The way she spoke to Carol sometimes was outrageous. Even Neil and her were frosty. I only caught the tail-end of one conversation between them, but it had something to do with his old business, God knows what. He had a face like thunder when I walked in though.’
‘How do you mean?’ Holly asked, taking another swig of the wine. ‘I suppose you’ll be an expert in all this having been a policeman anyway.’
‘Hardly.’
‘Do you keep in touch with the people you worked with?’ she asked.
‘God no. I didn’t want to leave in the first place, and what would I say to them now? Tell them I’m doing odd jobs for a few neighbours and working in a charity shop? No. That’s a lifetime ago for me.’
She knew what he meant. It seemed that he too had a past that troubled him, perhaps they all had, in a way.
‘I’ll open another,’ he said getting up. It appeared tha
t between them they had worked their way through an entire bottle of wine. ‘And you’ll stay for tea? It’s just pasta or we could push the boat out and order in.’
Holly got up, feeling surprisingly dizzy given that the actual units of alcohol she had consumed must have been reasonably low for her. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I think I’d better go. Otherwise, I might never leave.’
Alex raised his eyebrows, so she grabbed her jacket and bolted for the door with still so many questions unanswered.
‘Does Neil know you were in the police?’ Holly asked before staggering her way down the greasy front path and winding her way home.
‘I should walk you,’ he said, making as if to get his jacket, but she was insistent and he eventually relented. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’ve not told anyone in the charity shop about my past. It’s none of their business really.’ And then, reaching out to her as she wobbled; ‘you’re sure you’ll be alright?’
Holly threw him a carefree wave over her shoulder as she left. It wouldn’t do to make two friends in the space of a day.
16
‘They’ve made an arrest,’ came Carol’s breathless voice. ‘I’m letting everyone know in case you hear it in the street. I didn’t think that was fair on anyone. I had enough of a shock when I heard it myself. The postmortem showed that she was dead before the train hit her. She was murdered! She’d been hit on the head by someone first. I suppose it’s a blessing in some ways but still …’
