Phyllis’s mouth tightened and she fell silent. Harry knew that she wanted to get back at him. She did not like to think of the world as a tentative place filled with uncertainty. It might have been the days she had spent in the orphanage that had made her long for something solid in her life. He would have felt superior to her had he not fallen foul of the same kind of behaviour. He was filled with loneliness at the realization but there was also a growing sense of exhilaration in him. The night and the smog vindicated his view that there was nothing solid in the world; he saw with clarity while the smog blinded everyone else.
THIRTEEN
Jean bundled Arthur and his mother onto a bus, handing Arthur the money wrapped up in brown paper and then made her way directly back to Charlie’s house. She was glad they were out of the way. It helped clear things in her head, leaving her free to work out what she had left to do. She needed to get to Phyllis before Charlie. She knew that much.
When she got back to Charlie’s street she walked up and down a few times and called out Jack’s name, but there was no answer. All the while she had been walking back from the bus stop she had been full of hope that she could find the boy and save him, but now she felt a violent sense of loss. There was a man dying somewhere in the streets and there was nothing she could do. It made her anger towards Charlie all the stronger. She had misjudged him greatly and Phyllis too.
She let herself into Charlie’s house with the key he had given her, making sure to lock it behind her. Charlie was already gone, presumably picked up by one of Newman’s cronies. She wondered how he had explained Jack’s absence and whether Vincent Moss would have believed him.
Jean went straight to the little room at the top of the stairs and opened the bag Charlie had packed for his escape with Phyllis. There were enough clothes for three or four days, a small leather wash bag containing a comb and toothbrush and two pairs of men’s shoes. Inside each shoe, pushed up against the toes, was a bundle of bank notes Charlie had taken from the package under the chair. She removed each bundle and put them into her handbag. She then repacked Charlie’s bag with some of Phyllis’s clothes from the trunk and returned downstairs.
According to her watch it was a little after five thirty in the evening. She found a packet of Charlie’s cigarettes on the fireplace, lit one, and pocketed the rest. She leant on the mantle and felt relief at being alone. Dressed now in a blue jacket and skirt, which fitted her surprisingly well, she was filled with excitement from what she was about to do. It crossed her mind that she could probably make Phyllis do whatever she wanted, but that rather than compel her she wanted to talk some sense into her. Jean also began to consider what she was going to say to Frank. With Charlie’s money in her purse she was suddenly reminded of how tight her husband had been. She would demand that he return her inheritance and then the divorce would give her enough to sustain an independent life in London. She could always find some kind of secretarial work to support herself in the meantime.
She went to her bag and removed the bundle of Harry’s letters. For a few minutes she read through them. They were a strange mix of awkward and touching and she would momentarily forget that they were the longings of one man to another but then she would remember and feel embarrassed for her brother, even a little scared. They would be enough to ruin him, and Phyllis had already used them against him. She took a match and lit one of the letters, watching it burn. It felt like the right thing to do and so she took the rest of them and set them alight, but the thickness of the paper made it difficult for the flame to catch, so she separated them into smaller piles and lit each one, throwing them into the fireplace.
There was a knock at the door. She froze. There was another knock and then a key in the door. She moved towards the hall, but realized she did not have time to make it up the stairs and so shifted back in the living room, pushing the door until it was almost closed. She looked around for a weapon, thinking it might be one of Newman’s men but then she thought about it and it didn’t make sense that they would have a key. Only Charlie would have a key, perhaps Arthur too, she thought, but then she heard a familiar voice.
‘Jean?’
Phyllis came into the living room, followed closely by Harry.
‘Well there you are. Brother and sister back together again,’ Phyllis said.
‘Are you all right Jean,’ Harry said, going over to her.
‘I’m fine. Don’t fuss so.’
‘Did those men hurt you?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, backing away from her brother.
Harry felt her coldness and retreated back towards the living room door.
‘How long has Charlie been gone?’
‘Not long.’
‘And Arthur and his mother?’
‘I’m surprised you care.’
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Well, the two of you running off and leaving them.’
‘Oh Jean, I am too tired to have any more fights.’
Harry moved forward between Phyllis and his sister.
‘Jean, Frank arrived.’
‘What?’
‘Let me finish. Something’s happened. A couple of those men came to my place and they attacked us. We phoned the police but we had to run.’
‘So where is he?’
Harry looked sheepish.
‘Harry?’
‘They pulled him back into the garden. We can go back now and find him. As far as I am concerned we can leave Phyllis and Charlie to get on with it. I want nothing more to do with them.’
Jean shot a furious look at Phyllis. She had not wanted to drag Frank into this mess, and she could not bear to contemplate that those horrid men had hurt him.
‘You see what your stupid games have done. You aren’t fit to be a mother.’
‘Well that isn’t any of your business. Is that the bag Charlie left?’ Phyllis said, pushing by Jean and picking it up. Phyllis opened the case and put a hand in one of the shoes. ‘Where is it?’
‘What?’ Harry said.
‘Charlie was supposed to leave the money we’ve saved in here.’
‘Perhaps he isn’t to be trusted,’ Jean said.
‘Why don’t you shut up,’ Phyllis said, checking the rest of the bag. ‘He must have taken the rest with him.’
‘Jean, let’s just go, shall we?’ Harry said.
‘I want to speak to Phyllis first. Charlie asked me to pass on a message. And I’d like to speak to her privately, Harry.’
‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t stay and listen.’
Jean looked firmly at Harry and she tried to hide her distaste at what she knew about him, but as she stared at him she felt her jaw clamping so tightly that her teeth began to hurt. She could tell that Harry knew exactly what she was thinking. She managed the beginnings of a smile.
‘We have a lot to discuss Harry, but I need to speak with Phyllis alone. Please.’
Jean went to the door and opened it. She looked back at Phyllis and then walked upstairs to the little room at the top. Reluctantly Phyllis followed. Harry watched them for a moment from the bottom of the stairs and then returned into the living room. Jean shut the door.
‘Well,’ Phyllis said, ‘what do you want to say to me?’
‘Charlie has changed the rendezvous after the drop off at St Katherine’s Dock because Newman suspects.’
‘What did Newman say?’
‘Nothing specific but he changed the drop off time. Charlie asked me to tell you to meet him tomorrow afternoon at one at Victoria station. He’ll take you down to Portsmouth where you will both catch a boat.’
‘So you are helping us?’
Jean wondered whether Phyllis would trust her. She had won Charlie over easily enough, but Phyllis might not be so willing.
‘Yes, but only on one condition. If you refuse I will phone the police right now and tell them where they can find Charlie.’
‘Well, what is it?’
‘I don’
t want Charlie or Harry to have any involvement bringing up your child.’
‘What? You can’t tell me to do something like that,’ Phyllis said, turning back to the door.
‘Seven weeks,’ Jean said, quietly.
Phyllis stopped.
‘Seven weeks ago you met Charlie again. He told me. And yet Harry knew about the baby before that.’
Phyllis started to shake.
‘You’re mistaken.’
‘No. You are at least three months gone.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
The two women faced each other and now Jean could see how scared Phyllis really was.
‘Phyllis, it is no good trying to trick me. I know it all. Charlie told me your plans and I know that he thinks the baby is his.’
‘Charlie must not know the truth. He would leave me.’
‘He is not fit to be a father. Look at the way he behaves. He is abandoning his brother and mother. He beat a boy to pulp in front of our eyes. Do you really think leaving with him is a good idea?’
‘I suppose you want me to go back to Harry?’
‘No. I don’t.’
‘You can’t make me choose.’
‘Think about what you’re saying. You’re afraid that Charlie will leave you if he knows the baby isn’t his. Well, perhaps that tells you everything you need to know about him. My brother may be deficient but he is twice the man than Charlie is. Not that I am asking you to go back to him. I don’t think he would be a suitable father, either.’
‘I don’t have to listen to this.’
Phyllis put her hand on the door.
‘Wait. Before you go, I want the other letters from Freddie.’
‘But.’
‘Give them to me or I will tell Charlie everything. If you give them to me, I promise not to tell him or Harry about the child.’
Phyllis reached into her bag and pulled out the last few letters and handed them to Jean. Jean could see that her words had made some kind of impact on Phyllis.
‘If you don’t want to go with Charlie, I can help you. With money and things like that.’
Phyllis’s hands reached down to her belly. Her face was taut with worry and she was mumbling something to herself, but the mumbling grew until she exclaimed,
‘I wish to God I didn’t have this thing. I could get rid of it. I could. Is that what you want?’
She started to shake more violently and Jean came forward and took hold of her wrists and tried to hold her steady.
‘There’s no need to be silly about this.’
Jean pulled her down onto the bed. Here they both were in another cold, small comfortless room. Jean held Phyllis until she calmed.
‘I need to speak with Charlie,’ Phyllis said, finally.
‘Yes. Of course. You need time to think.’
‘What if he gets hurt? I should go down there. Newman is a terrible man.’
‘You mustn’t. It is too dangerous. Look, if it helps, I’ll go down with Harry and perhaps we can distract Newman. I’m sure Charlie has things under control. And Elma’s family are there, aren’t they?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Well then,’ Jean said, rubbing Phyllis’s shoulders with her hand. ‘You go to the station and wait for him. If there is any problem I will go straight there. Now we should leave, but I want you to have a serious think over what I’ve said.’
Jean became business-like. She wanted to rally Phyllis enough to get her out of the house. There was so much still to do and she couldn’t afford to let time slip. She gripped Phyllis and helped her to her feet and, opening the door, she helped her downstairs. Harry was sitting in a chair smoking and looking disdainfully at his surroundings.
‘This is what you left me for, was it Phyllis? This here promised land,’ he said.
‘Harry, let’s not start,’ Jean said. ‘Phyllis is going now. You should probably say goodbye.’
‘Going where?’
‘That doesn’t matter.’
Harry got up from the chair and went over to Phyllis.
‘Well, I suppose I will hear from you soon enough,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Phyllis replied, blankly.
There was a long silence before he said, in as neutral a tone as he could manage: ‘Goodbye then.’
Phyllis nodded, glanced at him briefly and then taking her bag and Charlie’s too, she turned to Jean. A look passed between the two women and it expressed a shared understanding of everything that was at stake. They both tried to speak, hoping that some word of comfort would come to their lips but there was nothing to do but go their ways. Phyllis cast her eyes around the dank room and there was a look of relief in knowing that she would never have to come back. And then she was gone, leaving Harry and Jean standing in the glowering dark of a cold and empty home.
FOURTEEN
‘I burnt them,’ Jean said, flatly.
Brother and sister stood around the fireplace in Charlie’s living room.
‘These are the last two. I got them back from Phyllis,’ Jean continued, handing Harry the letters. ‘I would do the same with those if I were you.’
‘Right.’
Jean had a look of calm patience on her face and it upset Harry because he felt that she was being callous.
‘Is there anything you want to say?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘I think Phyllis may have said some things that weren’t true. About me.’
‘Those letters are pretty clear from what I have read of them.’
‘Yes. But what I am saying is that I loved Phyllis, do love her and that she hasn’t told you the whole story.’
He kept his eyes fixed on the fireplace and waited for her to ask him to explain, but Jean was unable to. She did not want to discuss it. Not at this moment at any rate.
‘We need to go Harry. I have some things to sort out before this business is finished.’
‘Right.’
‘So are you going to burn them?’
‘Yes. I suppose I should,’ said Harry, feeling himself shrinking as he spoke.
Jean handed him the box of matches and watched as he withdrew a match and lit it. He held the letters together and placed the flame under one corner. The paper curled and browned in his fingers and he almost burnt his hand before he threw them into the fireplace, where they twisted into ash. He felt his throat tightening, closing up, and he moved away to the door.
‘What is it you need to do?’
‘I need to make a phone call and then we are going to find Charlie and stop him.’
‘From doing what?’
‘Killing Newman. That’s if Newman doesn’t kill him first.’
‘Christ.’
They left Charlie’s house and walked side by side, stumbling through the empty streets like Hansel and Gretel retracing their steps, only half believing the events of the last two days. A devastating silence fell upon them and they only spoke to confirm the name of the road and the direction in which they were headed. On one street, the sound of My One and Only Love drifted through the smog and the melody of the saxophone was so sombre it sounded like the last music the world would ever hear. Jean stopped to listen.
‘Have you got a smoke?’ she asked and Harry obliged, taking one for himself.
They stood beneath the smudgy light of a street lamp and smoked, listening to the music, which had a warming almost soporific effect on them both. Harry stood staring into the mist, frowning. He was trying to find something solid to latch himself onto but he only had a sense of everything that had been lost. It felt like the worst days of the war when it had seemed quite possible that the world would dissolve.
‘It was the right thing to do,’ he said. ‘To let them make a go of it.’
‘You don’t think you gave up too easily?’ Jean replied.
She wanted to know if he had any desire to chase them.
‘Well you couldn’t make her stay. Anyway, perhaps it’ll be easier this way.’
‘You want her gone, don’t you?’
‘I want to be able to get on with my life.’
‘Me too, Harry.’
They stood smoking.
‘I am sorry I made you run round the city on my behalf. Frank told me off for it. He said you weren’t fully recovered and I was selfish not to think about that.’
‘You know he never let me say goodbye to him.’
‘To whom?’
‘My child.’
There was a pause.
‘Frank asked them to dispose of her while I was still asleep. I think he believed he was helping me but I keep having dreams that I’m holding her, but I can’t quite see her face. I don’t know what she looked like.’
‘Oh Jean.’
She looked up at the street lamp and the still dust hanging in the light and then she dropped her head, feeling the weight of her body and the roaring pain. It was as though she had imagined the entire thing. For the ten days following the birth she had wandered half mad while Frank went back to the office, switching on all the lights in the house because she hated the dark, turning up the volume on the wireless so as not to feel alone. Her mother visited for several days and tried to tell her that there was always hope of another child, as though that was the only answer, but she knew her mother had to say as much because she had gone along with father in his choice of Frank. She was as guilty as the rest of them, perhaps more so.
‘Your calling saved my life. If I hadn’t have come down here to help you I would have gone mad by now.’
She looked at her brother once again and understood that she had no right to tell him what to do. It was hard for her to imagine the things he had done, but she realized that she of all people could not demand that he should live a certain kind of life. The idea that he had been with a man did not seem to horrify her as it had done when Phyllis first told her. The reality of her brother before her and of everything she felt for him, all the shared past, made her anger soften.
Harry squeezed her hand.
‘I felt terrible when I found out that Phyllis and you were to have a baby,’ she said.
The Smog (A Jean Clarke Mystery Book 1) Page 21
