by Ann Troup
Sophie hovered on the landing, she had been about to tap on the bathroom door when she heard the retching. ‘Edie? You OK?’ It was a stupid question, of course she wasn’t OK, who would be? ‘I’ve made some tea, are you coming down?’
There was silence from the bathroom. Instinct and good sense told Sophie to leave well alone and beat a retreat. Matt had gone out to the shop – spirit wise all they had found was a crusted bottle of syrupy crème de menthe and some rather dubious looking advocaat. Sophie figured that drinking either would cause more shock than it cured. When she got back to the kitchen he was back and sloshing cheap whisky into Edie’s tea. ‘How is she?’ he asked.
Sophie shrugged and pulled a face. ‘Dunno, she won’t answer me.’
They both raised their eyes to the ceiling at the noise of the bathroom door creaking open and Edie’s soft footsteps on the landing. A few seconds later she arrived in the kitchen wearing her old favourite jeans and T-shirt and carrying the dress, she looked pale and worn. She threw the balled up dress on the table and took the mug that Matt was holding out to her, she sipped the tea and winced. ‘Jesus! That’s bloody awful! What did you do, pee in it for good measure?’
Sophie stifled a laugh. ‘Whisky, for shock,’ she said, receiving a scathing look for her trouble.
Edie sat down on one of the rickety kitchen chairs, leaned back, folded her arms and looked at them, each in turn as if she was weighing up which planet they had both just beamed down from. ‘I think an explanation is in order, don’t you?’
Sophie looked at Matt, who returned her stare. ‘Well, go on, this is your baby, you tell her.’ Sophie said.
Chapter Twelve
Sam was angry. He didn’t know whether it was with his own stupidity and over-confidence, or with Edie and her good-as-gold obstinacy. All he knew was that he was livid, and someone would have to pay. It hadn’t helped when he’d slammed in to Number 15 only to be faced with his mother whelping on about Johnno getting too big for his boots and throwing his weight about, what did Sam care? Johnno was just hired muscle, as thick as two short planks. Sam rarely gave him a second thought, and cared even less what he did – as long as the man did his job, kept the girls in line and paid what he owed, Sam was happy. Whether the idiot was harassing young girls and upsetting Lena was none of his concern. Not today anyway. It bothered him that his mother was upset, of course it did – mainly because he had to listen to her litany of complaints and make sympathetic noises at her so that she would wind it in quicker. ‘All right Mum, point taken, I’ll have a word OK?’ he said finally, hoping that it would bring an end to the incessant tirade. ‘Johnno’s an idiot, we already knew that, he just needs reining in from time to time. Anyway, what’s it to you? Since when have you cared about the scumbags that litter the square? I thought you’d be happy that he was seeing off the rubbish?’
That seemed to shut her up, she just glared at him, lips set firm into a hard line. ‘I’ve just had enough, that’s all,’ she said. He could swear it had come through gritted teeth.
Sam watched her as she shuffled over to her chair, her gait stiff and proud, inserted herself between the soft cushions and reached for the remote control. She looked upset, as near to tears as he had ever seen her. Lena Campion rarely cried, so the look on her face came as a shock. When he thought about it, which he didn’t often he had to admit, she hadn’t been right since that old bat next door had popped her clogs. She hadn’t even been this rattled when his father had died – had seemed to consider it a blessed release, if anything. Sam couldn’t blame her; his old man had been an asshole of epic proportions, a drinker and a bully, all mouth and trousers. Not many had mourned him. Sam least of all.
His mother was now flicking through the channels of the TV, stabbing at the buttons of the remote control impatiently, as if pushing them harder would produce something on the screen more worthy of her attention. He’d never had time for TV himself, his mind went too fast for it, and the soaps just pissed him off. She loved them though. He didn’t know why, unless watching other people manufacture drama made her own life more interesting. It wasn’t as if she’d ever done anything with her life. Just put up with things, made endless pots of tea and sat watching the world go on around her. His mother was like one of the ravens at the tower of London, her dogged attachment to the square felt like she’d had her wings clipped to stop her flying away. Just like the ravens, if Lena Campion ever left the square, everything it had ever been would sink without trace. To Sam she was like the last bastion of respectability and old-fashioned values, and he’d exploited that and used her as a human shield for a very long time.
‘What are you staring at. The cat’s mother?’ she said, not even looking round at him but proving yet again that she had eyes in the back of her head.
‘Nothing, just thinking.’
Lena had settled on a film, some weepy old black and white thing that would drive Sam nuts if he had to sit and watch it.
‘Well, think more quietly, you’re putting me on edge with you moods.’
She hadn’t even looked at him. ‘My moods? Take a look at yourself Mother, you’ve been like a box of frogs lately. Ever since Edie turned up you’ve been all over the place. What’s wrong with you?’
Lena shrugged and turned up the volume.
Edie was reeling, her mind doing somersaults – the information that Matt was feeding her flipped and turned as it bounced off the trampoline of reason up into the clouds of surrealism. Much as everything he was telling her all came to roost on Number 17’s doorstep, she just couldn’t accept that the police would have missed it all and that when they had connected the dots they had come up with the wrong picture.
‘I just don’t get it. I accept what you’re telling me Matt, and yes if what you say is true, everything points towards this house, but why didn’t the police pick up on it, surely they weren’t that incompetent?’
Matt snorted. ‘You’d be surprised. For instance, as recently as the West case they were getting things wrong – They’d had several reports of attacks on women and allegations of child abuse levelled at the family, yet look what happened there? We’re talking about the fifties and sixties in this case, they got a lot wrong. They hung Timothy Evans for killing his wife and child, never once suspecting Christie; even when they found the bodies in the outhouse they were completely oblivious to the fact that the garden fence was being propped up with a human femur.’
Edie shuddered and closed her eyes. ‘OK, so let’s say they got this wrong too. Who are you pointing the finger at Matt? Beattie? Dolly? Dickie?’
It was Matt’s turn to look away, he was fumbling with the lid on the bottle of whisky, as if he was about to unscrew it and take a slug of Dutch courage. ‘No, not them, though I do think Beattie is the link.’
‘If not them, then who? And what do you mean, Beattie is the link?’
Matt hesitated, unscrewed the lid on the bottle and did take a swig, wincing as the heat of the spirit hit his gullet. ‘Your father.’
Edie laughed, she couldn’t help it; the idea was ludicrous. ‘My father? Are you serious? My father walked out on my pregnant mother never to be seen again, he was a weak, gutless coward.’
‘Exactly, he was never seen again. There is no trace of him Edie, and believe me I’ve looked.’
‘Well he was hardly likely to keep his own name, besides, I’ve always believed that he went abroad.’
‘Who told you that?’
Edie had to think about it, she didn’t know exactly, it was just something that she’d always believed and never questioned. ‘I don’t know, he just did.’
‘Well if he did, there’s no record of it. No passenger manifests, no ticket records, nothing. I’ve been looking into this for a lot of years Edie, if there was something to find I’d have found it, believe me.’
She did; by the sound of it he’d left no stone unturned in his mission to prove his own father’s innocence. ‘So was that the purpose of inveigling yourself in h
ere, so that you could root around and prove your theory?’
He had the good grace to look sheepish, but she got no satisfaction from his guilt. ‘Knock yourself out Matt, search away, if you can find a trace of my father here I’d be glad to know.’ She said, her tone sour and weary. ‘So, other than lockets and dresses, what else did you two find that was so compelling?’ she addressed this to Sophie, who had been sitting quietly, taking it all in whilst nursing a cold mug of tea.
Sophie glanced at Matt as if seeking his permission to speak, a gesture which Edie found irritating, as if the whole thing had become the Matthew Bastin show.
‘Well, there was the stuff in Beattie’s room, hidden under the floorboards. I threw it out at first, I didn’t know what it was, but I did some digging about her at the library and it turns out she went to prison for doing illegal abortions.’
Edie stared at the girl, mouth open. Sophie looked like a young deer, her eyes wide with apprehension as if she had just realised she was caught in the sights of a marksman’s rifle. Edie had no idea what the girl was so scared of – this whole thing was a massive joke, it had to be. She laughed, it bubbled up like a little spring, but erupted like a waterfall, causing both Matt and Sophie to startle and shift back a little in their respective chairs. Edie was laughing so much she found herself choking for breath and flapping a hand at them while she fought for control. Eventually, tears staining her now flushed cheeks, she spoke. ‘So long lost Papa is a latter day Ripper and Grandmamma turns out to be Winfield’s very own Vera Drake?’ The incongruity of it made her bellow with laughter once again, and she stood up, flapped her hand again and walked out of the room. She needed space from those two for a minute, and a few moments to gather her thoughts and figure out what to make of all this. She wandered into the front room, the one she and Sam had cleared on the first day, and perched herself on the end of the faded couch. From the kitchen she could hear Sophie’s bemused voice ask ‘Who the fuck is Vera Drake?’
Edie needed answers, and from people who weren’t so invested in conspiracy theories and whodunnits that they couldn’t think straight. She walked into the hallway, grabbed her jacket from the coat stand and called out, ‘I’m going out, feel free to poke around Sherlock, if you find Lord Lucan hiding in the cupboard be sure to let me know.’ With that she opened the front door and slammed it behind her.
Lena sat mindlessly staring at the screen, paying no attention whatsoever to the moving figures or what drama might be unfolding. Sam had gone, thank God, she had no time for the boy when he was in that kind of mood. Lord knows what was wrong with him, he hadn’t been right since Edie had arrived and that could spell nothing but trouble. She was going to have to do something and fast, before things got out of hand there. Since Dolly had gone it was all getting out of hand. People needn’t think she hadn’t noticed Matthew Bastin hanging around, she’d had her eye on him since he’d arrived back in the square, not that she’d realised who he was then, but she always kept her eye on strangers. She’d often wondered what had happened to him, but now he was back she had some nostalgia for the question. While he was away the comfort of wondering had been far better than the worry of what he might find out now that he was prowling around poking his nose in.
Number 17’s door slamming snapped her out of her musings, the almost immediate knock on her own made her frown and lurch to her feet, the remote control tumbling from her lap as she stood, losing its battery cover in the process. ‘Sod it!’ Lena muttered, she bent to pick it up, yelling ‘All right, all right, I’m coming!’ to whoever was banging on the door.
She had been expecting Edie. She had been expecting Edie for some time, pretty much since the first box of junk had made its way through the front door and onto the pavement. She already had her answers square in her mind, and they hinged on the fact that in the past times had been hard, people had done what they needed to do to get by. Everyone had, and though it wasn’t an excuse, it was a reason. As she made her way to the front door, she hoped she’d be able to make Edie understand that.
The wall of flesh that met her on the step was not Edie, neither was the effete looking man that stood beside the man mountain. The effete man stepped through the doorway without invitation, gesturing for the giant to follow. ‘Mrs Campion, how lovely to meet you at last. I’m looking for your son, is he in?’
Lena heard the words and looked at the mouth with its row of tiny, perfectly whitened teeth. She knew who the man was. Everyone knew who he was and even though she had never met him before and might have walked past him in the street without giving him a first glance, let alone a second, the fact that he was accompanied by six foot seven of solid muscle and bone all rolled up into something that resembled a man, acted like a calling card. Alan Pascoe had arrived.
Lena knew the type. They never did their own dirty work and the fact that Pascoe had left his ivory tower to come in search of Sam spelled trouble. As if Lena didn’t have enough of that to deal with already. The hired muscle was glowering at her, trying his best to maximise his intimidation tactics. It didn’t wash with Lena and she scowled back. ‘Sam left about half an hour ago, I assume he went home, I’m his mother not his keeper.’ It was time for a bit of levelling, she needed to let Pascoe know that he didn’t intimidate her. ‘Speaking of mothers, I remember yours – bit of a tart as I recall, never did let on who your father was. Always claimed she was attacked and that you were the result.’ She said it with a sneer designed to cut him to the quick.
Pascoe didn’t flinch. ‘Yes, she knew you too. I’m a bastard by name and bastard by nature Mrs Campion, much like your son. Do let him know I’m looking out for him, won’t you? There’s a matter of mutual interest which we need to discuss.’
Lena folded her arms over her chest and spread her feet wide in a gesture of both defiance and defence, she’d be damned if she was going to let this little man know that his words had stung. ‘Mutual interest? Hmmmm, that’s an interesting way of putting things. I’ll tell him when I see him.’
Pascoe smiled at her, his mouth pleasant and benign, his eyes gun metal grey and calculating. ‘Make sure you do Mrs Campion, time is running out and we do want to avoid any discord. We don’t relish discord, do we Stefan?’ he directed the question to his monolithic sidekick, who, like the walking cliché that he was, stared at Lena and said:
‘No Mr Pascoe, we do not.’
Lena would have laughed in the old days, told him to do his worst, but the air of quiet menace wasn’t lost on her and she didn’t have the energy to argue with this silly yet dangerous little man and his personal giant. ‘Then I’ll do my utmost to make sure there isn’t any, now if you don’t mind, I was about to lock up for the night.’
‘Of course Mrs Campion, don’t let us hold you up, and you can’t be too careful in a place like this. Make sure you double check those locks won’t you, I’d hate to get news that something untoward had happened…’
Pascoe’s insinuations had reached the boundary of Lena’s tolerance. ‘Oh I will, don’t you worry about me, I’ve been looking after myself and what’s mine for a very long time, most likely since before you were in short trousers young man.’
Pascoe raised his neat, thin eyebrows and with a twist of his mouth accepted her touché. ‘Indeed. I shall bear that in mind, but things change Mrs Campion – life isn’t what it once was, I’m afraid. Let’s take that girl of your niece’s, Georgia isn’t it? Runs around the square without a care in the world, I’d hate to see her fall in with the wrong crowd and find herself in trouble, it would be such a terrible shame.’
Lena grit her teeth and ground them before replying. ‘Your point had been taken Mr Pascoe, no need to repeat yourself. I may be old, but I’m not stupid.’
‘Glad to hear it Mrs Campion’ he said slowly, a smile of satisfaction sliding across his effeminate little mouth. ‘Stefan, the door? I have the impression that Mrs Campion would like to be left in peace.’
Lena looked away from him, he’d got that r
ight, but peace seemed to be in short supply these days. Pascoe might think he had the upper hand, but she’d pull the plug on the lot of them if they kept pushing. As she saw it, she was of an age where there wasn’t much to lose, well, not for her anyway.
She stood in the open doorway, arms still folded across her chest, a look of stoic resignation tinged with resentment set on her face. She watched them get into their car and drive away, and she stayed watching until they were long gone. The square was always quiet when Pascoe turned up, all the vermin scuttled back to their boltholes when he was around – the man was like a human curfew. He traded on fear and intimidation as if they were social niceties and relished his little bit of power with the gleeful ebullience of a child. Lena resented it, you had to earn that kind of influence – not create it with bully boy tactics and revenge. She had spent a lifetime earning that kind of deference, when all she’d needed to do was pay a thug and demand it. Perhaps she’d got it wrong all these years, or maybe Pascoe had? He clearly had no idea of the lengths that she had been prepared to go to or the things that she’d done to secure her position. He had no idea at all.
Chapter Thirteen
Edie recognised the huge man at once, he was the same creature she had spied talking to Sam that day, but she had no idea who the skinny little guy was, or why they were paying Lena a visit at this time of night. She’d been about to do the same – knock on the old lady’s door and demand answers – but when she had slammed out of Number 17 the sound had broken her mood and made her stop in her tracks. If Lena knew anything the truth would have been common knowledge, Matt wouldn’t be skulking around playing sniffer dogs because there would have been no need. Lena Campion was a bastion of respectability, if she had ever suspected her neighbours of anything nefarious, she would have spoken out. Edie was sure of it.
