by Sheila Riley
Connie took a deep breath that snagged in her chest. All this, the fear and the caring brought back that familiar gnaw in the pit of her own stomach. But now was not the time to think of herself. Evie needed her to be strong. Because that was something she had been proficient in when nursing in war-torn Italy.
‘Kids don’t keep track of the time,’ Connie said, curtailing grave thoughts and bringing first-rate training to bear. ‘Something catches their eye and they can’t help being inquisitive.’
‘Lucy’s scared of her own shadow,’ Evie said. ‘Something’s happened. I know it.’
‘You know what kids are like.’ Connie prayed that any minute Bobby and Lucy would show their grubby faces, wondering what all the fuss was about like nothing had happened.
Evie strained her neck, frantic to get a better view of the canal. ‘She’s done nothing like this before.’
Mrs Harris saw her eldest son running down the steps towards the water with young Jack Kilgaren. Evie was doing a better job of looking after those kids than her mother, she supposed, although she would never dream of telling her so. And another thing, she thought, mollified when she saw the worry lines etch Evie’s pretty face – young Lucy could not persuade a whirlwind like their Bobby to get up to mischief. The little bugger could do that all by himself!
‘They’re here!’ Danny’s commanding military voice carried through the misty evening air as people jostled to get a better look over the soot covered sandstone wall. Evie watched Danny disappear below the bridge, followed by a crowd of onlookers. But before she had time to descend, Danny scrambled back up the muddy embankment. ‘I’ve got to get to the police box!’
‘Why? What’s happened?’ Evie’s heart pounded in her chest.
His determined expression told her this was not good news as she ran towards the steps leading down to the water, stumbling in her haste.
‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’ The crowd parted to let her through. Evie’s tongue stuck to the back of her throat, her heart hammering against her ribs.
‘Lucy!’ A voice inside her head screamed as tears filled her eyes. ‘Has she fallen in? Oh, dear God! No!’ Danny hurtled back to the bridge after finding a policeman, and Mrs Harris watched from the other side, her mouth slack.
‘It’s our Bobby! It’s our Bobby! Isn’t it?’ Her face was devoid of colour.
‘No, Ma, it’s not our Bobby.’ Danny’s voice was low and the look in his eyes told Evie he did not feel the same way his mother did. In that moment time stood still.
‘I didn’t mean nothing by it, Evie, love… It’s me nerves.’ Ada Harris, aware of her oldest son’s regard for the girl, knew she had to be cute where this one was concerned. Otherwise their Danny might do something daft, like fall headlong for the likes of Evie Kilgaren.
‘A body in the Cut!’ a voice cried, as Danny looked back over to where his young brother lying on his stomach, on the canal bank.
‘I’d better get down there quick, before our Bobby jumps in and get the body out himself.’
When Evie reached the canal, she saw Lucy outstretched on her stomach beside Bobby. She was trying to roll the huge floating object towards the bank with a plank of wood. Bobby was using his net trying to retrieve the distended torso, but to no avail.
‘I bet it’s a shop window dummy,’ Bobby called, pulling the belt of a herringbone coat open to reveal a black, pencil-slim skirt. Around the throat was a bright red scarf, which Evie recognised immediately. Because she knitted it last summer.
No! Please God… No!
23
A large crowd gathered on the bridge, some hanging over the sandstone wall to get a better view. Danny reached the two kids first, but they weren’t paying any attention to him. The bloated grey mass that was once a vibrant human was openly, ghoulishly, fascinating them.
With one hand, Danny hoisted Lucy away from the water’s edge by the belt of her black gaberdine mac. Struggling like a caught fish on the end of a line, she kicked out, punching the air, desperate to keep her front row view of the proceedings. Lucy did not intend to go quietly. But, as he held the wriggling child in his iron grip, Danny also caught hold of his young brother, Bobby.
‘We nearly got it, didn’t we, Luce?’ Bobby was breathless with excitement, his face flushed ‘but it kept rolling back an’ we couldn’t get a good hold! Could we, Luce?’
‘It was down there, under the bridge, just bobbing along.’ Lucy’s excited Celtic twang speeded up when Danny placed her on the muddy canal bank. ‘So, we got a big stick, huge it was, because Bobby’s fishing net broke, you see and—’
‘Then a dog jumped in…’ Bobby interrupted. ‘I didn’t know it was a body at that point—’
‘Not until the dog pushed it against the bank and I tried to grab it.’ Lucy took over the conversation.
‘But you couldn’t get hold,’ Bobby interrupted. ‘So, I got the stick—’
‘Enough!’ Evie put her hand up to stop the animated commentary of events so far. ‘What the hell were you doing on the canal bank?’ Evie’s insides were turning. She felt sick with relief and revulsion. ‘I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.’
‘Me an’ Bobby thought we’d be ’eroes!’ Lucy’s eyes were anticipation-bright, while Evie straightened her back, feeling ashamed for her sister’s obvious lack of understanding for the enormity of the situation.
‘Turn on the waterworks, Luce,’ Bobby whispered, arranging his face into a more sympathetic appearance as the bank filled with uniforms. Fire brigade. Ambulance men. Police and even men with cameras. ‘We’ll get our picture in the paper.’
‘We are heroes, even if our Evie doesn’t think so,’ Lucy added. But Bobby rolled his eyes heavenwards when moments later, absorbed in the excitement by the water, Lucy forgot to cry.
‘How much trouble are we in?’ Bobby lost all hope of receiving any reward money and would count himself lucky if he got away with only a telling-off.
‘Enough,’ Danny answered, ‘you mark my words.’
‘You know about the dangers of the canal, don’t you?’ Evie shook Lucy’s shoulders, her relief turning to annoyance.
‘I’m so sorry, Evie,’ Lucy said as the waterworks starting for real and relief finally flooded through Evie’s body. Her sister was safe, and she wanted to hug the living daylights out of her.
‘But that’s not the end of the matter.’ The child had been warned to stay away from here and had defied her. ‘When we get you home, you will feel the weight of my hand across your arse and you won’t sit down for a week!’ Evie knew she would never lay a hand on her sister, but it wouldn’t do her any harm to worry for a little while.
‘Will she come for me, too, Danny?’ Bobby asked, slipping behind his older brother.
‘I doubt it,’ Danny said, admiring Evie’s pluck, ‘but she’s fierce when she’s got a cob on.’ Even though her marine-coloured eyes narrowed in annoyance and Evie fixed her lips in a hard line, she still looked beautiful.
‘Stand back!’ a police constable ordered, as events had been few since the war, this was causing quite a stir. Two ambulance men brought a wooden stretcher. The firemen hauled the body from the water a while later and everybody including the children surged forward, and Evie shot out a restraining hand, pulling her curious sister close and covering Lucy’s eyes with her coat, dreading the nightmares she would have after seeing this. Bobby wrinkled his nose in disgust, while Danny and Jack didn’t take their eyes from the gruesome haul.
‘What would make a woman throw herself in the canal?’ Evie asked, casting only a quick glance at the body, which must have been underwater for weeks, given the length of time the canal had been frozen.
‘Who said she threw herself in?’ Jack answered, engrossed in the careless conversation between two policemen…
‘It looks like her scarf got caught on an old pram wheel at the bottom of the canal, dragged her down, I’d say.’ A large crowd had gathered – men going home from the nearby docks, shop workers f
inished for the day. Even the traffic on the bridge had come to a standstill. Evie looked to Jack, who seemed transfixed. The gruesome incident had drained his complexion of all colour.
‘It might not be her, Jack,’ Evie said, moving Lucy to one side out of earshot.
‘Mam wore a coat like that one, on the night she left,’ he said as Evie pressed her fingers to her lips, determined not to cry out in front of the child.
‘Lots of women own a coat like that.’ Evie said, refusing to accept the inevitable, but she could not stop the dreadful thoughts filling her head. ‘If there’s anything we should know, Jack, I’m sure they’ll tell us soon enough.’ She put her arm around his waist and her other arm around Lucy’s shoulders. She suddenly felt helpless.
Imagining the task of becoming a mother to her siblings seemed insurmountable. She wanted a career. She wanted to travel. Do things that women from around here didn’t do… She didn’t feel grown-up enough to look after a ready-made family. She felt like a lost child.
‘I know the way, Mr North,’ Angus told the morgue keeper, covering the chequered floor tiles in a few long strides as he approached the mortuary. He could see movement on the other side of the door and rapped on the opaque glass.
‘Ahh, Angus!’ said Alfred ‘Birdy’ Finch, the coroner, who, in Angus’ estimation, was far too cheerful for this time of night. Dressed in a white post-mortem gown, a rubber apron, gloves, and galoshes, Birdy waved a gigantic knife.
The mortuary was large and in the centre was a gleaming white porcelain examination table upon which the bloated head of the drowned woman was propped up on a small wooden block. Along the far wall a wooden table displayed weighing scales, microscopes and various sized glass jars containing small body parts in clear fluid.
North pulled an overhead light closer to the body, so he could get a better view while the wireless played an energetic swing-band tune, reminding Angus of the night before, when he’d taken Connie to see Snake-Hips Johnson at the Palais.
Birdy suddenly switched off the wireless and Angus concentrated on the matter in hand. ‘So, what have you got for me tonight, Birdy?’ His voice echoed off the white tiled walls as the mortuary keeper took photographs of the body. ‘Time of death, at least?’
‘You’re always so bloody impatient, Angus,’ Birdy said, preparing his tools. ‘Did you listen to the football on the wireless last night?’
‘Lindy-hopping.’ Angus answered, causing Birdy to explode in a rumbling crescendo of laughter.
‘You? With those great platters on the end of your legs?’
Angus shrugged. He and Doctor Birdy Finch had served the police force before, during and after the war in their own expert capacities and knew each other like brothers.
North, getting closer to the corpse, took photographs while Angus covered his nose with his hand, convinced Birdy must lack any kind of olfactory awareness. That body was putrid.
‘I can only give an estimate of the time of death,’ Birdy said after examining the naked body. ‘Six weeks, at least, I’d say, given that was when the canal froze over.’
After bagging and tagging samples of blood stains, semen, powder, dirt under the nails, photographed various small scars and a tiny butterfly tattoo on the victim’s right shoulder, he could inform Angus of a few things.
‘Caucasian. Female. Late thirties, early forties. Brunette. Green eyes.’ Birdy said dissecting the body. ‘Has given birth. Death was not caused by drowning.’
‘Really?’ Angus was sure this was a case of suicide, or even accidental death.
‘See this…’ Leo beckoned Angus over and lifted the eyelids. ‘There is evidence of petechiae in the conjunctiva – the mucus membrane.’ Angus nodded. He had seen plenty of post-mortems.
‘So, you know these dark red specks inside the eyelid and on the forepart of the eyeball are caused by increased pressure in the head caused by…’
‘Strangulation?’ Angus felt a dip in his stomach when Birdy nodded. ‘So someone murdered her.’ Do we know who she is?’ he asked, and Birdy pointed him to the long table on the far side of the room. ‘She had one of those leather bags that cross over the body – like a bus conductor’s – the contents are drying out over there.’ Angus went over to where each item was laid out.
A stub of pillar-box-red lipstick. A gold-coloured compact, containing traces of damp face powder. A small leather concertina purse. Empty. A ration book, last date stamped 21st February 1947. The soggy identity card stated she was Mrs Rene Kilgaren. Widow. Lived at number two Reckoner’s Row. Angus felt a cold shiver run through his body.
Jesus wept.
24
‘Who could afford to leave us all this?’ Lucy asked the next morning when her curious eyes spied the box that had been left on the step yesterday, and her innocent remark made Evie’s stomach lurch. Yes, Evie thought, who could afford to gift something like this? The man from the school board had been yesterday. He’d told her that Jack hadn’t attended school even though he was on the register. Please, God, keep him away from Leo Darnel.
‘I don’t know.’ Jack heaved the box from the back kitchen to the next room, plonking it on the table under the sash window. ‘Whoever it was must have strength, it weighs a ton.’ They all stood looking at the box as if waiting for something to happen.
‘Let’s see, now,’ Jack said. He was trying to keep everything normal for Lucy’s sake. ‘Bloody hell,’ he gasped emptying the box, ‘would you look at all this!’
‘More potatoes, carrots, a cauliflower…’ Lucy’s eyes were wide in amazement when she squealed.
‘Fruit!’ Jack had a Christmas morning expression on his face. ‘Apples and bananas!’
‘What’s a banana?’ Lucy asked, peeking over his shoulder, but Evie didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her thoughts were jumbled and her reactions slow. Mechanical. She didn’t know what to do. She must get some breakfast ready. Light the fire. Act normal on a day when nothing seemed normal anymore. She hadn’t slept a wink all night. What if that… that body was her mother?
No. It couldn’t be. Someone would have told them.
‘We haven’t had grub like this since…’ Jack was obviously not having the same concerns as his older sister when faced with food they hadn’t seen since before the war. All Evie could think was: why would someone give away all this good food, buckshee?
‘Five on Kirrin Island Again.’ Lucy squealed with excitement when she spied the Enid Blyton novel. ‘And an embroidery set – look at the little bobbins of coloured cotton! This must be for you, Evie.’ Evie raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Her sister certainly knew her own priorities when she said; ‘I haven’t read this one, I love The Famous Five. Evie, can we have a dog like Timmy?’
Evie was glad the child did not dwell on yesterday’s terrible drama, thankful for her resilience. Reaching into the box Jack took out a box of charcoals and a drawing pad. Taking a sharp breath, he gave a low whistle. ‘Well, would you look at that. Now aren’t they a sight for aching eyes?’
‘Do you still draw, Jack?’ Evie smiled when he nodded, his eyes glowing. She must act normal, for all their sakes. Because no matter what the future held, she was the one who had to keep this little family together. ‘Remember when you changed the pattern of the wallpaper in the parlour with a crayon?’
Jack thought for a moment and grimaced.
‘I remember not being able to sit down for a good while.’ His voice was taut, and Evie knew it was not the time for reminiscing.
‘Here, you have them,’ she said. Jack could draw anything he set his mind on. ‘I was thinking a while back we should have pictures on the wall.’
‘Aye,’ Jack replied as Evie left the box and went to set the table for breakfast, ‘we should have some pictures. Lucy, would you like me to draw something for you?’
‘Timmy!’ Lucy replied. ‘A dog like Timmy.’
Listening to her siblings chattering in the kitchen, Evie put porridge oats into a pan and added cold water. It woul
dn’t take long to get breakfast ready. What if the body in the canal was her mother? Evie’s heart hammered against her ribs. What if Mam was never coming back? The situation had never occurred to her before now.
Mam always came back. In her heart Evie knew the answer, but her thoughts refused to take in the enormity of her situation.
A dark cloud seemed to hover at her shoulders, and she had a sinking feeling that this time would be very different. However, for Lucy’s sake she would keep her fears to herself. She didn’t want her sister having any more nightmares.
‘This fella is the spitting image of…’ Jack stopped talking and put Lucy’s novel, which she had just handed him, on the table as Evie brought the breakfast to the table. He realised that if he told his sisters that Timmy reminded him of Mr Skinner’s dog, he would also have to explain where he was every day – instead of studying at school.
‘Who does he remind you of, Jack?’ Evie asked, pausing as she placed the breakfast tray beside the ‘gift box’.
‘Let’s hope these weren’t delivered by mistake,’ Jack said, quickly, so as not to alert Evie. ‘We’ll be in a fine mess if somebody knocks claiming the box belonged to them.’
‘No,’ Evie said examining the box as she put it on the sideboard. ‘It says Kilgaren. 2 Reckoner’s Row.’
‘We can’t let good food go to waste,’ Jack said. And Evie knew, in his world, everything was black or white. Nothing in between. Please Lord, don’t let Leo Darnel come and demand his payment
‘You’ve got to eat something, Evie,’ Jack said through a thick slice of buttered toast from the loaf of bread that had been part of the ‘gift box’. Evie shook her head, knowing nothing put her brother off his food, thank goodness, and who could blame him. Food was more scarce now than it was during the war, and Jack had a lot of filling out to do. But she couldn’t stomach food just now.
