False Step

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Not on top of the wine,’ said Bea. ‘Go on.’

  ‘She told him I kept comparing him to my first husband who’d been so handsome and had such a brilliant job and came from a good family. Matthew’s family weren’t top drawer. He wasn’t particularly handsome and he was beginning to lose his hair, but he was really nice to look at and he was such a kind man. Women value kindness more than good looks, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes, they do,’ said Bea, who had married twice and placed an equally high value on kindness.

  ‘I stopped going to see him perform because … I had a dozen excuses; I was working hard, wanted to relax when I came home, which was when he was due to go out himself. Then he’d be away for a week or so at a time, working the clubs up in the north of England. He did a cruise once, and was asked to go again but said he preferred a home base. Damaris told him I was ashamed of what he did for a living, and perhaps he was right, perhaps I was a bit of a snob. When he taxed me with it, I shouted at him … stupid, stupid!

  ‘The crunch came when Damaris told me she’d caught him cuddling that silly creature Goldie. He said he’d been comforting her over some family drama or other, but I wouldn’t listen. I knew Goldie fancied him, and of course they had a lot in common. I lost the plot completely and stormed out.

  ‘I didn’t listen to Matthew when he begged me to return. He bought me this flat when we divorced. I didn’t want maintenance. I was deputy head of my school by then and within a couple of years, I made head. Damaris imagined she could stay on with him after I left, but I could have told her that Goldie wouldn’t hear of it, and of course she didn’t. So Damaris had to move into this flat with me, hating me even more for … everything. Matthew continued to see her at frequent intervals; she got him to pay for her to go to college; a media studies course, would you believe. She was the little daughter he’d never had, remember? She’s never been able to keep a job for long. Her temper always gets the better of her and she’ll say something, do something, shout and throw things … it’s tragic, really.

  ‘When she fell pregnant with that all-time loser, Derek Frasier, Matthew paid for the wedding, gave her away, helped them out with the deposit on the house. As a matter of fact, I doubt if my beloved son-in-law would have gone through with it and married Damaris if he hadn’t thought she was Matthew’s real daughter and therefore due to inherit … oh, what does it matter now!’

  ‘It matters,’ said Bea, ‘because Damaris seems to have willed Matthew’s house away to a friend of hers. Someone called Cunningham.’

  Gail clutched at the table with both hands and froze, her eyes blank. Then she made a dash for the toilet.

  ‘Is that Marsh and Parsons, the estate agents? I’ve inherited a house just up the road from you and need to put it on the market straight away. A very desirable property, consisting of studio-cum-basement, large living room and spacious kitchen with a patio off it. On the first floor there are two bedrooms and a bathroom, and above that another bedroom and shower room with access to a roof garden. When can you meet me to value the property? I am not free tomorrow, unfortunately, but you may obtain a set of keys at any time from the Abbot Agency. Let me give you the address.’

  Thirteen

  Wednesday p.m.

  Bea helped Gail out of the restaurant. ‘You’re ill. What’s your doctor’s telephone number?’

  Gail leaned against the window of a newsagent’s. ‘It’s a Wednesday, isn’t it? The surgery’s closed on Wednesday afternoons.’

  ‘You’ll get dehydrated if you go on like this. Suppose I take you to the Accident and Emergency department at the hospital?’

  ‘I’ve been like this before. It wears off eventually. I’ve just thought of something that will help.’ She went into the newsagent’s, came out with a plastic bag which seemed to weigh heavily. She was wobbling a bit, but set off for the flats with Bea in tow. In the lift she leaned against the side, but managed to get her key into the door of her flat at the second attempt.

  Bea hovered, not knowing what best to do.

  Gail went into the kitchen with her purchase and came out pouring a can of Coca-Cola into a glass. It fizzed. Gail said, ‘Works wonders on an upset stomach. Add a few more grains of sugar to kill off the bubbles. Goes down a treat, and stays down. Electrolytes? Something like that.’ When the drink had stopped fizzing, she drank a few mouthfuls.

  ‘I’m worried about you,’ said Bea. ‘Don’t you have any family you can call?’

  ‘No family, except son-in-law and grandson. Can you see either of them looking after me?’

  ‘Friends? Someone to keep an eye on you for a bit?’

  ‘Loads of acquaintances, people I play bridge with, people in the Flower Arranging Club, the other volunteers at the Homeless Families Centre. I’m the strong one they take all their troubles to. The people in the flat opposite are away. I don’t know anyone else. I’ll be all right.’

  Bea shed her coat. ‘Then I’d better stay for a bit, till I can be sure you’re not going to be sick again. Because if you are, I’m taking you straight down to the hospital, understand?’

  ‘Promises, promises.’ But Gail managed half a smile. She sipped her drink, dropped into a chair, put her head back and closed her eyes. ‘You said something about the Cunningham girl.’ She gasped, sat upright, struggled with the urge to vomit, subdued it. Sank back again. ‘Sorry. Useless.’

  ‘Rest,’ said Bea. ‘Go to bed for a bit?’

  ‘Can’t sleep. Keep thinking.’

  ‘Suppose I find you a nurse through the agency, someone to move in here, look after you for a couple of days? Otherwise you’ll be featuring in a small paragraph in the local paper next week; retired teacher found dead in her flat.’

  Gail spurted into a laugh. ‘I’m not dying yet. I’ve got to change my will first. I left everything to Damaris, some idea of making it up to her because after all her high hopes, she ended up with such a miserable life.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her husband? Asthma, but what else?’

  ‘Chronic self-indulgence. Betting on anything that moves. Oh, and bad cheques. That’s what finally turned Matthew off them. The dear boy was stupid enough to forge Matthew’s signature on a couple of cheques. Matthew honoured the cheques – which were for a sizeable amount – but said that in future he’d be giving Damaris only small presents in kind, and that if it happened again, he’d prosecute. Next birthday he gave her the kitten, and no cash.’

  ‘Derek doesn’t work, I take it. What sort of job did Damaris have?’

  ‘Most recently she’s been working in a shop in Kensington selling expensive trivia for people who have everything. It wouldn’t have lasted. She’s already had one row with the manageress, and no doubt she’ll be asked to leave soon. I mean … would have been asked to … She took home the lolly and her menfolk spent it.’

  Bea remembered the brand new television and the game that Tom had been playing with. Had they the money to pay for them? Probably not. And if they weren’t going to get Matthew’s house and they’d lost the breadwinner of the family, they were in real trouble.

  Gail lay back with her eyes closed. ‘I have a guest bedroom always made up. Sometimes out-of-town friends stay over. Would you stay tonight? You, yourself? Not someone I don’t know. I can’t face anyone I don’t know. I’d feel safe with you. I can pay.’

  Bea grimaced, thinking of the chaos ruling back at home; the builders, the noise, the dust, the rubble … Maggie and her love troubles, Oliver and his birth certificate … Max and his two women. She ought to be back there, sorting everyone out, but Gail’s need of her was greater, wasn’t it?

  She’d have to ring the office and let them know what was happening, ask Miss Brook to stay on at least one more day, leave messages for Max and for Piers. Then Maggie would have to bring some things over for her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay.’

  Wednesday night

  Gail managed not to be sick again. She even ate a piece of dry toast at supper time and
kept it down. Bea microwaved herself something from Gail’s freezer, and thought wistfully of Maggie’s cooking.

  Speaking to Oliver on the phone, Bea learned that the plumber had finished and the electrician only had a bit more to do. The floorboards were being laid back down, though some had needed to be replaced. The plasterer had done the reception room and would do the kitchen the next day. The tiler had finished.

  Maggie was going out with a girl friend that evening, Max hadn’t been seen or heard of all day, and Miss Brook had delivered an ultimatum – either the dust was banished from the house, or she would give in her notice.

  ‘She doesn’t mean that,’ explained Oliver. ‘She’s enjoying being in charge, but it’s true that the dust has got everywhere upstairs. Even in our bathroom up at the top. Maggie says she’s going to get the Green Girls in to give us the once over every day till the dust’s gone.’

  ‘I’d forgotten. Is Florrie back yet? How are they coping without her to manage the team?’

  ‘Florrie’s still missing, but they’re managing pretty well. There’s a niece helping them out. There’s nothing much in the post that Miss Brook or I can’t cope with, and the builders have put a cat flap into the kitchen door so that Winston can get down into the garden when he wants to. He’s a charmer, that one; the way he puts up one paw and blinks at you! Works a treat every time. Slept on my bed last night.’

  Bea had forgotten about the cat. ‘That’s good.’ It was good that Oliver had some comfort in his life. She feared that the information on the birth certificate had not been what he’d wanted to see, but she wouldn’t raise the subject unless he did.

  ‘Will you put Maggie on for a moment? I need her to bring one or two things over for me before she goes out for the evening. Tell her to take a taxi. I’ll pay. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Ring me on the mobile if you need me.’

  It was Gail who needed her in the night. The flat was quiet, being so high up and on a side road. The windows were double-glazed and central heating kept the rooms at a reasonable temperature. Gail said she didn’t want to talk about anything disturbing that night, and would Bea care to play Scrabble, or watch television? They did both. Maggie delivered Bea’s overnight bag before going out for the evening. Gail’s guest bedroom was prettily furnished, and had an en suite shower room and toilet.

  The two women went to bed early. Bea drifted off to sleep quickly enough, though it irritated her that she hadn’t thought to ask Maggie to bring her bible over. She’d grown accustomed to reading a chapter every night, and without it she felt restless, almost guilty. But she did sleep, lightly. Once or twice she woke and found herself listening for the sound of Gail moving around, but there was nothing … till at three she shot upright in bed, only half awake. Had the flush of the toilet woken her? Was Gail all right?

  No, of course Gail wasn’t. Bea blinked. Was that a streak of light she could see under her bedroom door? Yes. Gail must have left her bedroom and moved into the living room.

  Bea was feeling tired, draggingly tired. The last thing she wanted was to get out of bed, pull on her jacket – Maggie had forgotten her dressing gown but anyway it was probably covered with dust by now – and bedroom slippers, and try to comfort a grieving widow. Because that was how she’d come to think of Gail. Not as an ex-wife, but as a widow. Dear Lord, do I have to?

  Yes, you do. You know you do. You’ll be all right. Give her my love.

  That made Bea giggle. If she went out there and said to Gail, ‘God sends his love,’ whatever would Gail think?

  Bea stumbled out of bed, found her slippers and jacket, and went out to join her hostess. Only one small side lamp had been switched on. Gail had drawn back the curtains and was standing at the window looking out on to the night sky. The moon was up. Some stars. Not many. Light pollution rules in London town.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I haven’t been sick again, if that’s what you mean.’ Gail sipped something from a mug she was holding in both hands. ‘Hot lemon and honey. Want some? No? My brain is sluggish and I can’t concentrate. Perhaps that’s just as well because I keep getting such weird ideas. I know I’m not thinking straight. I tell myself I’ll make sense of it all in the morning. People are always doing stupid things; things out of character, I mean. Life isn’t neat. We can’t always understand why things happen the way they do.’

  She put the empty mug down. ‘I’d like to talk it all through with you tomorrow, if I may. Then perhaps I can draw a line under it.’

  Bea put her arm around Gail’s shoulders. ‘God sends his love.’

  Gail’s shoulders went rigid. She turned her head to Bea, her mouth working. ‘He loved that church, so why …?’ Tears came, at long last. She wept, clinging to Bea, who hugged her close, patting her on the back, saying, ‘There, there.’

  When at last her tears dried up, Bea urged Gail back to bed and tucked her in, ‘Sleep now. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

  Thursday morning

  Bea didn’t feel up to much next morning. Gail didn’t talk at breakfast, either, but switched on a big television to hear the news while she cleared away yesterday’s newspapers and topped up the water in the flower vases. Bea was standing at the big window, looking at the low clouds which foretold more rain, when a familiar word spoken by a newscaster caught her attention.

  ‘… waiting for you on your return, Mr Abbot?’

  What was that? Bea turned to look at the screen. Not her son, surely!

  Gail exclaimed, ‘Abbot? Any relation?’

  Bea held up her hand to stop Gail speaking, while on the screen appeared the front door of her own house, with Max standing on the doorstep. He had a bandage rather becomingly arranged around his head, and a black eye. Max? Whatever …?

  ‘… I was visiting my mother and I’m afraid he got me just as I was pulling out my keys to get in. Hit me from behind, so I didn’t see him. The next thing I knew, I was lying on my back in the garden, my coat open, my keys, mobile and wallet gone. Also my laptop.’

  ‘Let’s get this clear? You lost your laptop with important Government information on it?’

  ‘Everything’s password protected, naturally. As a Member of Parliament, I’m always very careful about what I put on my laptop. I don’t suppose he had any idea who I was. It was an opportunist burglar, waiting for anyone with a laptop to come back to his house in the dark. I shall offer a reward for its return.’

  ‘He took your keys to get into the house. Did he steal any official paperwork from there?’

  ‘No, no.’ A grimace for a smile. ‘It seems he tripped over the carpet when he got into the hall – we’ve got the builders in and the house is at sixes and sevens. When he fell, he dropped my keys, which was fortunate. A couple of my mother’s guests were just returning from an evening out, saw what was happening, had the wits to phone the police straight away. So the man only had the chance to poke around the ground floor before the police car arrived. Unfortunately he eluded them by getting out of the back door and making his getaway across the garden wall.’

  The picture switched back to the interviewer, who said something sharp about yet another laptop going missing with government secrets on it and then the picture changed to that of the newsreaders, talking about the prospects for a big sporting event that weekend.

  Gail used the remote to kill the picture. ‘They should have rung you.’

  Bea was scrabbling in her handbag. ‘He doesn’t look badly hurt. I’m an idiot. I must have switched my mobile off after I’d talked to Maggie last night. They should have rung you, though. They knew where I was.’ She punched her home number in, held the phone to her ear.

  Gail said, ‘You’ll want to get back as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Yes, but … are you going to be all right now?’ Bea ran to the bedroom, bundling her overnight things together. Why didn’t someone pick up the phone?

  Gail said, ‘Of course I’ll be all right.’

  Bea wasn’t so sure. Why didn’t someo
ne pick up? She killed the call, listened to two voicemail messages, one from Oliver and the other from Max, saying there’d been an incident at the house but not to worry, Max hadn’t been badly hurt. Bea tried Maggie’s mobile.

  Maggie answered with a cautious, ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s me. I’m on my way back. Are you all right? What did the police say?’

  ‘Thank goodness. We were trying to reach you, but your phone must have been switched off. The police were here till ever so late but they’ve gone now, only there’s reporters on the doorstep and they’re ringing us all the time wanting to talk to Mr Max about losing government papers because there’s been a couple of cases recently where they have gone missing and—’

  ‘Yes, I know all about that. Is Max all right?’

  Oliver took over the phone. ‘Is that you, Mrs Abbot? Mr Max is fine. He’s in the living room, giving an interview to some journalist or other. Mrs Max called to ask if he were all right, but he was on the other phone and missed her. That Lettice woman rang, too – at least, we think it was her, but he’s said we’re to field all his calls and so we just took her phone number and I don’t know if he rang her back or not. It’s a nuisance about him losing the laptop but at least he’s still got all his credit cards.’

  ‘Didn’t the thief take his wallet?’

  ‘He took the money out and abandoned it by the front door, leaving all the cards. Not a professional, one assumes. Oops, that’s the doorbell again. We have to answer it in case it’s the builders …’

  His voice faded, and Maggie came back on. ‘The builders are enjoying it no end, there’s seven of them here today, would you believe! Falling over one another they are. Plus the Green Girls, who are rolling up the dust like nobody’s business.’

  ‘Maggie, stop! Nobody’s mentioned the alarm. Wasn’t it switched on?’