by Anna Jacobs
But he didn’t come back. And the sky was fully light now.
She threw away the cold coffee that half-filled her mug and made some more. He’d never stayed out so long before.
Something must have happened to him!
She felt a quick lurch of terror in her belly. He might be lying somewhere in pain, suffering from withdrawal symptoms like those described in her book, or he might have been driving carelessly and had a car accident. ‘Please let him be safe,’ she whispered. ‘Just let him be safe. Never mind the car, it’s Tim who matters.’
Time trickled past and the second mug of coffee grew cold. She considered making more, but couldn’t focus on such mundane things.
Where the hell was her son?
Chapter Seventeen
Liz was standing in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil when the phone rang. She picked it up listlessly. The early morning nausea wasn’t as bad today but she still felt pretty ghastly. It was a wonder that women ever had more than one baby, she decided, a triumph of instinct over common sense. ‘Yes?’
‘Hi there. How are things? Can you talk?’
She glanced quickly round, but Bill was still upstairs. ‘What do you want?’
‘Just to find out how you are. Have you – er – dealt with that little problem?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Need any money?’
‘No.’ She hesitated, then malice made her add, ‘I’m thinking of keeping it, actually.’
His voice grew hard and angry. ‘I’ll deny everything.’
She felt perverse, not wanting to make it easy for him. ‘But will people believe you? Ros, for instance? Plenty of hotel staff saw us together – that barman who made the beautiful cocktails. I can easily prove we were together if I have to – and then there’s DNA testing.’
His voice sounded incredulous. ‘You’re going to tell Ros? And you call yourself her friend?’
‘I’m a better friend to her than you are a husband, you rotten sod. I’ve betrayed her once. How many times have you betrayed her?’
A sound made her glance round and she saw Bill standing behind her, his face like stone.
He walked forward and took the phone from her hand, shouted ‘Go to hell, Stevenson!’, then slammed the receiver into its cradle. After breathing in and out deeply several times, he finally raised his eyes to look at Liz. ‘I’m disgusted by what you did. Utterly, totally disgusted.’
‘You’re a fine one to talk.’ But her protest sounded weak and unconvincing, even to herself.
He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I’ve broken my marriage vows, yes – several times. But I’ve never betrayed my best friend and, strange as this may seem, I’ve never stopped loving you. What’s more, I’ve dealt fairly with the other women. They all knew the score, knew I wasn’t about to break up my marriage.’ His voice grew thick with revulsion. ‘How could you do it to her, Liz? Rosalind Stevenson, of all people? The gentlest, kindest person I know. How could you even think of it?’
She was sobbing now, her whole body shaking with the violence of her feelings. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know, dammit! I think I went mad for a time. I was furious with you and so bloody bored up there in Hong Kong. I was even thinking of coming home, that’s how bored I was, only I wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction. Then Paul arrived and turned on the charm – and that bastard can be very charming when he wants, believe me. And I fell into his arms like a ripe cherry. Only you ripened me, you know you did.’
She looked up for long enough to hurl at him, ‘Don’t you think I’m sorry? Even without this,’ she gestured towards her belly. ‘Don’t you think I feel like the lowest kind of – of worm, doing that to my best friend?’ The minute the plane took off coming home from Hong Kong the guilt had started to nag at her, and she’d been amazed that she had even thought of having an affair with Rosalind’s husband.
When her husband didn’t speak, she asked, ‘You aren’t – going to tell her, Bill?’
‘Me? Of course I’m not. What do you think I am?’
She covered her face with her shaking hands. ‘Sorry. I know you won’t. I don’t know why I said that.’
‘Will he tell her?’
‘He’s managed to keep all the others from her,’ she said in a dull voice.
‘All the others?’
‘Yes. It appears he’s made quite a hobby of it, says he enjoys the variety.’
‘He was just making use of you, then.’
‘Yes.’ After a moment she stood up, wanting to escape, unable to stand his calm scrutiny and the scorn in his eyes, but she stumbled and would have fallen headlong had he not jerked forward to catch her. Then she started sobbing loudly, clutching at him, calling his name. ‘Bill, Bill, Bill!’ On and on. She couldn’t stop herself.
Bill sighed and closed his eyes, keeping hold of her, patting her shoulder occasionally. She was right. He had to take some share of the blame, he knew that, but could he take another man’s child along with it? She was still weeping helplessly against him, the whole of her small body shaking, her eyes drowned in tears. The only other time he’d ever seen her weep like that was when they’d told her she wasn’t likely to have children.
‘Shh, calm down, Liz. This isn’t good for you or the baby. We’ll work something out – together.’
She looked up, hope dawning in her eyes. ‘Bill?’ she said again, uncertainly this time.
‘Don’t – push things.’ His decision was made, really, but he didn’t want to say it out loud yet.
She stared at him, not daring to voice her hope in case she broke the fragile gossamer threads that were starting to draw them together. After a moment, she laid her head against his shoulder with a weary sigh and they stood there in silence.
Finally he muttered, ‘Oh, hell, I don’t want us to split up, Liz.’
‘Neither do I.’ She huddled against him, praying for a miracle.
‘And I definitely don’t want to kill a baby.’
Another silence. Much longer this time. She hardly dared breathe as it dragged on.
Then, ‘You’d better be a bloody good mother, though.’
The old Liz revived enough to ask, ‘Will you be a good father?’
He nodded, holding her at arm’s length and looking very solemn. ‘I like kids. I always have. I was wrong about not adopting. But you’re not to tell anyone it’s not mine. Ever. That’s my only condition.’
‘I won’t. Oh, Bill, I promise I won’t.’
Then she was weeping again, tears of joy this time, and they were kissing one another as they hadn’t kissed for years, hungrily, needily. Excitement flared between them and they started tearing at one another’s clothes as they sank down together onto the soft vinyl of the kitchen floor.
Flesh against flesh, stripped of all barriers, they started to grow together again.
Tim drove through the darkness and when it started to rain, he didn’t switch on the windscreen wipers, laughing as he nearly ran off the road. Maybe that was one way to end it? But something made him switch the wipers on and slow down just a little.
He came to Poole, eventually. Everything looked quiet, but when he got down to the docks area, there were signs of life, lights here and there, the odd person walking or stumbling along.
He stopped the car and got out, waiting till a man came along and asking bluntly, ‘Where’s the action?’
‘Piss off.’
The words were slurred and Tim could smell the beer on the other’s breath. He stepped back and watched the man stumble away. Patient now, because the end of his agony was in sight, he waited for someone else.
This man tried to avoid him, but when Tim repeated his question, ‘Where’s the action?’, the fellow stopped and stared at him suspiciously.
‘You want to score?’
‘Yes.’
After a careful scrutiny of both him and the surrounding area, the man nodded. ‘You’re in luck. I’ve got some. Cost you, though.’
When he got the stuff, he had to ask, ‘I’ve lost my equipment.’
The fellow laughed. ‘Cost you some more.’
Tim paid, then walked away, twitching now for a hit. The only question was where. He didn’t want anyone interrupting him.
He remembered the pub in the village. It was further than he really wanted to go, but still, it’d be deserted at this hour of the night and the car park was hidden from the road.
He got into the car and drove off again, this time switching the windscreen wipers on immediately and even humming along to the radio. Not long to wait. Just a hit now and then so that he could think straight, get his life in order. If you controlled the habit, it wasn’t so bad. It was when you let the need control you that it was dangerous, and he’d proved he could live without it most of the time.
Rosalind felt as if she’d been sitting in the kitchen for a very long time when Louise got up and joined her.
‘Ooh, Mum, you gave me a shock, sitting there so still!’ She was dressed for her run and had already begun the warming-up exercises. She finished and realised her mother hadn’t moved. ‘You all right?’
‘Tim hasn’t come back. He went out last night, took my car. He left about two o’clock and – he hasn’t returned.’
‘He might have stopped somewhere for breakfast.’
‘Where? This isn’t a large city, with cafés open all hours. This is a small village, with one olde worlde tea room that doesn’t open till ten.’
‘Perhaps he stopped off at a garage for a coffee or something.’
‘I can’t see that, somehow. He’s been avoiding other people ever since he got here.’
‘I’ll go and check his room.’
Louise ran upstairs, there was silence, then the sound of her coming down again slowly. ‘His loose change is lying on top of the chest of drawers, just as it was last night when we were talking. I kept staring at it, seeing the patterns of the coins while we talked. It hasn’t been moved. So he can’t have stopped anywhere for breakfast.’
Fear dug its claws right into Rosalind’s guts. ‘What if something’s happened to him?’ She gave a shamefaced laugh. ‘I expect I’m just getting worked up over nothing. He probably stopped the car somewhere and fell asleep. He’ll be back soon.’ Surely he would?
Jenny, who had been woken by Louise’s footsteps pounding up and down the attic stairs, came into the kitchen in her dressing gown. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Tim went out last night and took Mum’s car. He hasn’t come back.’
‘Oh.’
‘I should have taken him straight back to Australia,’ Rosalind worried. ‘Gone with him and made him seek proper treatment. I will when he gets back. In fact, we’ll all go home. I’m fed up of living here, with your Dad popping in for an odd day. And now, well, he’ll only rub Tim up the wrong way, he always does. I’ll book our fares as soon as Tim gets back.’
Jenny and Louise exchanged worried glances.
The words if he gets back might have been written in fire around the walls.
‘I don’t want to go home to Australia. Not now,’ Jenny said. ‘Ned and I have only just got engaged and – well, I’m not going back.’
Rosalind went across to hug her. ‘I’ve plenty of money. You can rent a flat in Dorchester or somewhere. I just – think Tim is in danger if he doesn’t kick his habit. I have to do something. Help him. I trust our doctor at home. He’s known us for years. He’ll help me save Tim.’
Louise didn’t go out for her run. Half an hour later she looked at the clock again. Nine o’clock. ‘Oh, Mum, where is he?’
Another hour passed, long, tedious minutes dragging by between short bursts of awkward conversation.
‘Should I ring the police, do you think?’ Rosalind asked suddenly.
It was Louise who spoke. ‘It wouldn’t hurt. They could tell you if there’d been any accidents, couldn’t they.’
So Rosalind found the number and dialled the nearest police station. To her surprise, they took her seriously. ‘Has there been an accident?’ she repeated.
‘No, ma’am. What sort of car did you say it was?’
She told them, impatient now to get off the phone in case Tim was trying to ring home. The car had probably broken down, that was all.
‘And the number of the car is?’ the voice pressed. ‘Thank you. And your address? If we hear anything we’ll get back to you.’
She put down the phone and turned to smile shamefacedly at her daughters. ‘He’s probably just broken down. If he didn’t take any money, he’ll not be able to ring us.’ She picked up her handbag from beside the phone. It felt too light. She peered inside. ‘Anyone seen my purse?’
There was dead silence.
She looked from Louise to Jenny and back again. ‘He wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t.’
They searched the house carefully, but there was no sign of her purse.
‘I probably left it in the car,’ she said uncertainly.
Louise shook her head. ‘You’re very careful with your purse, Mum. Ever since it got stolen that time.’
Tears filled her eyes. It seemed all too obvious Tim had taken it.
Louise put one arm round her mother, guiding her into the kitchen. ‘I’ll make us all some fresh coffee, shall I?’
At midday, still with no sign of Tim and no word from the police, Rosalind could stand it no longer. ‘I’m going to ring your father. Ask his advice about what to do.’ At that moment she’d completely forgotten about Paul’s affair with Liz, forgotten everything except her anxiety for her missing son.
‘Yeah,’ Louise nodded, ‘I’ll say that for him – Dad usually knows what to do in a crisis.’
The secretary was insistent that she couldn’t possibly disturb Mr Stevenson, whereupon Rosalind stopped being polite and yelled, ‘This is a matter of life and death, and if you don’t fetch my husband now, I’ll have to send the police to do it.’
There was a gasp from the other end, then, ‘I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you back.’
When the phone rang a few minutes later Rosalind snatched it up. It was Paul and he was furious. ‘What the hell do you mean by ringing me here, Ros? You know I’m working.’ Twice now this had happened. What would the chairman think?
‘It’s Tim. He turned up a few days ago. He’d got himself into trouble in the States. Drugs.’
‘What?’
‘He was trying to kick the habit, and I know he hasn’t taken anything since he’s been with me. Only,’ she had to gulp back the fear before she could put it in words, ‘now he’s taken my car and – and disappeared. My purse is gone too. Should I call in the police and tell them?’
‘What do you mean “disappeared”?’ Paul questioned her with the skill he usually brought to his work, drawing more details out of her. What he discovered made him splutter with rage. ‘The stupid young bastard! What did he think he was playing at? And why didn’t you let me know before?’
‘If you can only mouth off at me, I’ll put the phone down,’ said the new Rosalind. ‘For the last time, should I or should I not call in the police and tell them everything? I think – I feel sure he’s in trouble. Serious trouble.’
‘Not yet. I’ll come straight home. It’ll take me about two hours. Don’t do anything at all until I get there. Not a single thing. Is that clear?’
‘Yes.’
When a car turned into the drive a couple of hours later they thought it was Paul and all three of them went rushing to the front door. But it was a policeman. He had a woman with him, not in uniform, but she looked like some sort of official, too.
Rosalind took one look at their solemn faces and guessed what they were going to say. So when blackness rose around her, she let herself slip into it gratefully.
From a long way away she heard Louise’s voice. ‘She’s coming round. Don’t stand too close. Let her recover b
efore you say anything.’
A mutter of voices.
Rosalind didn’t want to open her eyes, but knew she had to. Had to face it. Had to.
She was surprised to find herself lying on a sofa in the living room. How had she got here? Louise was kneeling beside her, there was a wet cloth on her forehead and Jenny was standing behind the couch, gripping it with white-knuckled hands. Rosalind felt their anxiety and their support even before she looked across to the two strangers sitting stiffly on the other sofa.
‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Tim’s dead.’
They nodded.
‘Sorry,’ said the woman.
‘How?’
‘Overdose. He was sitting in your car behind the pub. You’d contacted the police earlier about it, if you remember, asking if there’d been any accidents.’
Rosalind tried to take it all in. It was the sort of thing you heard about on the television news. She always felt sorry for the families. And why wasn’t she crying? Shouldn’t she be crying? Only there were no tears, just a huge block of ice forming slowly inside her, layer upon chill layer.
After a while, she found she had to know one thing above all others. ‘Did he – feel any pain?’
The man shook his head. ‘Shouldn’t think so. I don’t think he’d even have realised what was happening. And it must have been very fast. The – er – needle was still in him.’
‘Probably the heroin was too pure,’ the woman said, ‘and he gave himself an overdose by mistake.’
Rosalind couldn’t speak or move, still trying to come to terms with the idea that her son was dead. They didn’t try to pester her with any more questions, thank goodness.
At last, she forced herself to sit up properly but couldn’t think what to do or say next.
Jenny slipped round to sit on the sofa beside her. Louise came and perched on the sofa arm at her other side.
Rosalind reached out to touch them, needing to make contact. Jenny was weeping. Louise looked frozen, stricken.
