William let the engine splutter to a stop and rocked on the bike. ‘Will you stay in Ashford until your next interview?’
‘Mum said I might as well … save on the train fare,’ But he felt he really should go home. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘If they say it’s okay …’
The pub door opened and three men in white overalls and fluorescent jackets strolled out. One of them, about Richard’s age, led the way. He was combing his black hair into a quiff. Swaggering towards them he rolled his sleeves up to show multi-coloured snake tattoos on both arms.
He stopped to admire the Triumph Trophy.
‘Nice bike,’ he said to William, ‘give us a spin?’ Lighting a cigarette, he spun the match towards Richard’s feet.
‘Sorry, mate.’ William barely looked at him.
‘Stuff you then!’ He kicked a stone towards the back wheel.
William put both feet on the ground and stood astride the bike, his jaw jutted.
The two other men, both middle-aged, gave the younger one a push. ‘Cause bother in an empty house, you sodding idiot.’ He looked towards Richard and William. ‘Sorry, lads.’
‘No problem.’ William lifted his chin in acknowledgment.
The men ambled down the side of the pub towards a patch of land where there was a white van parked.
William and Richard watched them for a moment as they got into the vehicle. The passenger window was wound down and immediately a stream of cigarette smoke wafted out. The van didn’t move.
An old double-decker bus trundled by, followed by a long line of cars. William touched Richard’s arm and waited until he’d got his attention. ‘If your mum and dad say it’s okay,’ he said, ‘why not stop up here?’
‘You’re right, I suppose,’ Richard said, ‘daft to waste money. Anyhow,’ he glanced up and down the road, not sure which direction Karen would appear from, ‘it’s cool. You get off now.’
‘You don’t want me to meet the lovely Karen?’
‘No I don’t, you randy old git.’ Richard grinned. He pulled at the knot of his blue skinny tie and took it off. Rolling it up and putting it in his pocket, he said, ‘Haven’t you got somewhere you need to be?’
‘Yep, I’m off to Susan’s.’
‘What’s all the mystery about this girlfriend of yours?’ Richard saw an opportunity to get his own back. ‘You’ve hardly said a word about her all week.’ He stopped laughing when he saw William set his mouth and turn away; he’d apparently hit a raw nerve somehow. ‘Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to stick my nose in. It’s just that I haven’t heard you talk about her in your house and I thought you were serious about her.’
‘I am. But I like to keep things separate. The way Mam is … you know.’
‘Yeah, I know. But that’s not your fault. Your dad’s cool. And Linda—’
‘Can you keep a secret?’ William turned back and searched Richard’s face, as though trying to make up his mind.
‘Sure.’
‘She’s married … separated … but married. And she has a child. A cracking little lad. Timothy.’ There was no missing the affection when he said the name.
‘Oh.’ It was the last thing Richard expected; William had always been a predictable sort. Nothing to do with him, though. He raised his shoulders. ‘No worries, Will. I won’t say anything.’
‘Thanks.’ When the road was clear, William turned the bike around and started it up. ‘It’ll all come out before long anyway. I’m moving in with them.’ He revved the bike, looking over his shoulder and waited for a bicycle to pass before he set off. ‘I’ll see you later, then.’ He gave a nod. ‘Looks like you were right. You haven’t been stood up.’
Richard looked in the direction William was indicating. In the distance Karen was running down the road. He raced towards her, a strange shiver running through him. How had he got so lucky?
When he turned back to shout goodbye to his cousin, he’d gone, the roar of the engine growing ever fainter.
‘I got through the interview,’ he said, when he reached Karen. He lifted her up and swung her round. ‘I’m in with a chance.’ She leant back in his arms, her dark hair swinging, and the rows of bells sewn onto the seams of her bell-bottom jeans tinkling. When they stopped, Karen held his face between her hands and kissed him.
The white van passed them. The lad with the quiff was hanging out of the window, his arm raised in a crude gesture. ‘Go on, shag ’er,’ he shouted, through the cigarette between his lips. Then it dropped from his mouth. ‘Fuckin’ ’ell, it’s Karen,’ he yelled. He looked quickly over his shoulder to the driver. ‘Look, Bernie, it’s old Worth’s kid. Fuckin’ ’ell, she’s for it, now. Just wait,’ he bellowed as the van sped off, ‘just wait ’til I tell ’im what you’ve been up to, you dirty little slag.’
Karen gazed after the van, her arms by her sides.
‘Karen?’ When Richard turned her towards him, he saw her face was drained of colour. ‘Karen?’
‘They were George’s men,’ was all she said.
Richard knew then that, somehow, trouble was coming his way for the second time in a week.
Chapter 22: Jacqueline Howarth
Ashford: Monday, September 22nd
‘Have you told Richard?’ Jackie mouthed an apology to her sergeant at the same time as speaking to her aunt. ‘Yes, I’ll talk to him. Make sure he’s okay. Didn’t he have his interview today? Good.’ She twirled the cord of the telephone round her finger and turned towards the opaque glass partition in the corner of the charge-room.
Cupping her hand around the receiver, she whispered, ‘Auntie Mary, I can’t really talk now. Victoria’s not been gone a week yet. And she left a note. And she is eighteen.’ She listened for a moment before saying, ‘I’ll ring you back later. Let me make some enquiries.’ She nodded. ‘I know. It must be an awful worry. But if Uncle Peter has already contacted the local police I don’t know what else I can do.’ Jackie paused. Her aunt was crying. Her eyes smarted in sympathy. ‘Okay, I’ll try. Leave it with me.’
She tried three times to finish the conversation before she was finally able to put the phone down.
‘More trouble in the family, Constable Howarth?’ Sergeant Blackwood rocked up and down on his heels in front of the old-fashioned fireplace.
Jackie nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant.’ He was one of the old school, due to retire soon, and he stuck rigidly to the rules. She knew he was only too aware of some members of her family and wasn’t shy of letting her know, once telling her he was unable to believe she’d been accepted into the police force, given her relatives. But he wasn’t a malicious man, she thought: just totally behind the times.
‘Well who is it this time, Constable?’
‘That was my aunt in Wales.’
‘Ah, I remember that one – came in to accuse some bloke of killing her brother who was in an accident as far as I— ’
‘I know.’ Jackie cut him off. ‘She called … it was about my cousin, she’s missing.’
She saw the look of concern momentarily in his eyes, then he coughed and looked up to the ceiling. ‘Have they contacted the local station?’
‘Yes, but they thought we could help as well. With our family living in Ashford, I think they believe she might come up here.’
He rested his chin of his chest and then lifted his head to look at her. ‘A possibility,’ he nodded. ‘How old is your cousin?’
When she told him his shoulders relaxed. ‘One of those teenagers, eh? Probably turn up when she’s had her fun.’
‘She’s eighteen: still under age, Sergeant. Still a child.’ She waited a moment. ‘I wondered if I could ring around the stations in Manchester. Put them on alert, like?’
He cleared his throat. ‘It’s not something I’d usually allow, Constable Howarth. Still, I suppose it wouldn’t be a problem, seeing as we’re not busy just now.’
The typist opened the door from the telephone exchange and came into the charge-room with a sheaf o
f papers. Jackie heard the voices of the two women and caught sight of them sitting back from the switchboard and drinking tea.
So had Sergeant Blackwood. He pushed the door open again. ‘Nothing to do, ladies?’
They sat up straighter but the oldest protested. ‘What do you want us to do, Donald, pretend to take calls?’ She sat back patting her perm, which sat like a tight black hat on top of her head. ‘Anyway, we’re on our break.’
He backed out. Passing Jacqueline he said, ‘Find out which is the nearest station to your aunt and make those calls. Give them,’ he nodded towards the typists’ door, ‘something to do.’
‘Thanks, Sarge.’
He raised his eyebrows at that, but Jackie noticed the corners of his mouth twitching.
‘I’m going for a cuppa myself, Constable. Make sure you’ve finished with all this personal stuff by the time I get back.’
‘I will, Sergeant.’
‘He’s a surly old sod; always yakking on about something.’ The typist barely waited until he’d left the charge-room. She kept her head over the filing cabinet. ‘Don’t know how you put up with him, Jackie.’
‘Trisha … shut up, he’ll hear you. Sergeant Blackwood is okay – just old-fashioned in his ways.’
The girl slammed the drawer shut, trapping a leaf of the large spider-plant on top of the cabinet. ‘Huh.’ She held out her hand, admiring the bright red of her fingernails. ‘I’m just glad I’m in there with them two. Even if they do drive me mad with all their nattering.’ She wobbled back to her office on her red stilettoes.
When she’d gone, Jackie freed the leaf but the tip of it was damaged. She broke it off and threw it in the bin. Then she walked over to the phone. The sergeant was right; there was always some sort of bother in her family.
Chapter 23: Mary & Peter Schormann
Llamroth, afternoon: Monday, September 22nd
‘So, Richard is through the first interview and is happy. And you have spoken to Jacqueline.’ Peter knew Mary had hardly slept since Victoria left. It worried him; there were dark shadows under her eyes and her skin sagged with weariness. ‘Do you feel better now?’
‘Perhaps. I’m not sure.’ Mary stood up, the action making her slightly light-headed. Even though it was mid-afternoon she was still not dressed. Her dressing-gown was tied tight around her waist. She clutched the collar of it close to her neck with one hand. ‘He did sound happy, didn’t he?’ He hadn’t mentioned Victoria at all. Did he really not know where she’d gone? She dismissed the thought. Richard had always been an honest lad, even when it got him into trouble. She bit her lip. ‘Jacqueline said she’d ring later.’
‘Did you tell her I have talked to the police in Pont-y-Haven? That they are looking for her here?’
‘Yes.’ There was desperation in Mary’s eyes. ‘You heard me … I said that. But I do think Victoria might be making her way to Ashford for some reason. Where else does she know except around here and Ashford, Peter? She’s been nowhere else without us, has she? That’s why I wanted to speak to Jacqueline.’ Mary twisted her fingers together. ‘I can’t think of anything else to do.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She wasn’t able to talk; I think there was someone there.’ Mary moved to be close to him, trying to take strength from his warmth. He folded her in his arms, resting his cheek on her head nestled against him. Mary could hear the ectopic beat of his heart and silently counted in the pauses between the rapid flutterings and the stronger single beats. She increased her grip, aware how much she still needed, depended on him. Loved him. He didn’t deserve all this extra worry.
‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ she whispered. ‘We’ve tried everything … everywhere – her college, the friends we know about.’
‘We can only hope, Liebling.’ Peter looked over her shoulder to the window. The sky was a steely grey. ‘Would you like to go out for fresh air?’
‘In this?’ Mary shivered. ‘Where’s the summer gone all at once?’ She’d listened to the unusually strong wind develop overnight and there was still no sign of it subsiding. Across the road the branches of the trees whipped against each other.
‘You haven’t been outside for almost a week.’
‘I need to be here, in case Victoria telephones.’
‘A short walk along the sea-front?’ Peter said. ‘Before the evening surgery? Gelert needs the exercise.’
At the sound of his name the dog came out of his basket.
‘See…? He is ready.’ Peter went into the porch and took Mary’s coat and scarf from the stand. ‘Run, get dressed. If you are wrapped up, you will be warm.’
When she came back downstairs he helped her into her coat and waited until she fastened her scarf before taking the lead from the hook on the back door. ‘We will be only a little while.’
‘Ten minutes?’
‘Ten minutes,’ he promised.
The tide was in; waves rose high, roaring fast towards the shore, dragging and churning the pebbles, rolling small boulders. Further over, they crashed against the cliffs where seabirds huddled in the crevices and ledges.
‘This is ridiculous, Peter.’ They were following the curve of the road leaning into the wind. The cold spray stung Mary’s face. ‘Let’s go back.’ She worried they might be missing a call from Victoria. ‘I can’t tell where the sea ends and the sky begins.’ They stopped. Mary peered past him to stare towards the horizon.
‘It is a stronger wind than I thought it was.’ Peter pulled the collar of his raincoat higher and clamped his hand down on his trilby, taking short wheezing gasps of breath that hurt his throat and jaw. ‘This was not so good an idea. We should turn back.’ He coughed and wiped his hand over his eyes.
In that moment the wind took his hat. Mary snatched at it but it scudded along the wall in a kind of dance before whirling high in the air until, squinting against the torrent of rain, she couldn’t see it any more. ‘Damn!’
Peter coughed again.
‘Peter? Are you all right?’ Mary searched his face. He was grey, a thin line of white around his mouth.
It began to rain, long heavy spurts of water.
‘Peter?’
Peter staggered, the wind battering him. Then then he bent forward and vomited, falling to his knees, palms flat on the floor.
‘Lie down.’ Mary supported him as he rolled onto his side. She took off her scarf and pushed it under his head, then loosened his collar. His eyes were closed, he was moaning. ‘You’ll be all right, love. Look at me.’ He didn’t. She pulled her coat off, covered him with it. ‘Peter?’
‘Es ist Zeit?’
‘Time for what, sweetheart?’ She couldn’t make out his next words. ‘Bleib ruhig, Peter,’ she said. ‘Stay still.’ Holding on to him, she looked around; there was no one in sight. She cursed their stupidity in being out in such atrocious weather. Why had she agreed to it?
For the first time in years, she prayed.
Chapter 24: Jacqueline Howarth
Ashford: Tuesday, September 23rd
The windscreen wipers clunked to a halt as Jackie switched off the engine. Rain pelted noisily on the roof of the Austin 1300 and the four occupants peered reluctantly out at the greyness of the afternoon.
‘I appreciate this, Sarge … Sergeant,’ Jackie corrected herself when she saw his frown of disapproval. She knew, with the two cadets huddled in the back of the car, he expected formality.
‘We need to follow up on missing children enquiries, Constable,’ he said, staring through the smeared glass of the side window at the dark ruins of buildings on the other side of the rusty fence. ‘Though we could have picked a better day.’ He blew out his cheeks in exaggerated resignation. ‘Well, better get on. Out, you two,’ He jerked his head backwards. The two cadets opened their doors, letting in a flurry of rain.
‘Hurry up,’ he barked. ‘You’re getting the seats bloody wet. Dozy buggers.’
Jackie got out and moved round to the front passenger seat and ope
ned the door for him. She had some sympathy with them; she could still remember her early days and the time she was frightened of the sergeant. ‘He’s all right really,’ she mimed.
The male cadet raised his eyebrows in doubt of Jackie’s words. The young girl looked close to tears. Rain bounced on the top of their caps and dripped off the peaks.
Jackie shivered, glad of her cape. ‘Come on, then.’ They splashed their way through puddles to the large gates. They were padlocked. The sergeant looked them up and down. ‘How do you suggest we approach this, Constable? How are we supposed to get into the place?’
‘Sorry, forgot to tell you.’ Jackie grinned and produced a key from under her cape. ‘The squatters were given permission to stay by the Council until it’s decided what’s happening with the place. The chap in the Planning Department said it was providing the Council could inspect whenever they wanted to,’ she said. ‘Of course, knowing them, that hasn’t happened yet.’
The sergeant harrumphed, hiding a smile behind his hand before coughing and saying, ‘Well done, Constable. But hurry up – this isn’t the weather to be hanging around.’
He wasn’t a bad old stick, Jackie thought, struggling with the lock. He could quite easily have refused to let her do this. She peered through the rusted criss-cross rails of the gate at the broken concrete of the short road leading to the old mill. ‘The chap who gave me the key asked if we’d let them know if there was any damage.’ Opening the gate and letting them through she shrugged. ‘Though how we’re supposed to know that, heaven only knows, looking at the state of this place.’
The four of them squinted through the slanting rain at the derelict site. Tall weeds fluttered from piles of rubble and stone. Bronzed rusting fencing lay in a haphazard line around a crumpled concrete square. Broken slates everywhere.
Living in the Shadows Page 10
