by DH Smith
And that left himself.
Of course, he could have left her at home, to the predations of Bert. But how could he? It was all such a tangle. He’d thought he was just burying a body to help Anne, simple, as if Frank could be just rubbed out and no one notice the space he’d been taking up. Except, sooner or later, Frank would have to be reported missing. And then there was Bert who was planning to take over Frank’s flat and his daughter. Sure, Jack could change the locks, but that wouldn’t keep him out. Besides which Bessie couldn’t simply lock herself in day and night.
He’d told Bessie she could bring a suitcase. But she’d brought a carrier bag, and what was in it, Alison would have torn up for rags. He said nothing; she was not to blame for her poor wardrobe. Obviously, though, she needed new clothes, but Jack was out of his depth in that department.
Thoughts for tomorrow. Not tonight.
They walked to his place. Lucky he was working not far away. Next week, he must get his van fixed. He had some roofing work on and might have to hire a vehicle temporarily. More expense. He’d hoped to be finished today, but there were still two posts to go in. It had been harder digging the holes for the posts than he’d anticipated. Getting the remnants of wall out had slowed him up. Another day then. His tools were in the garden shed for the weekend. It didn’t lock, but there was nothing valuable. Likely they’d be alright.
Finish Monday and head away.
‘Can I watch television?’ said Bessie.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Whatever you want.’
She’d washed up. She’d insisted. There wasn’t much with a takeaway. And she made them a cup of tea. He gave her his Daily Mirror and showed her the TV pages. And he read his Astronomy mag. There was a meteor shower next week. Be good if Mia were over, but he’d go out on his own otherwise…
His mobile rang.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Hello, Jack.’
It was Anne. He went into the kitchen to talk.
‘What do you want?’ he said.
‘I’d like to explain. Would you like to come over?’
‘No.’
‘Can I come over to your place?’
‘No.’
‘I need to explain, Jack. It’s not like it seemed. I’m sorry I was so horrible. But I can’t talk about it over the phone… Please let me come over.’
‘I don’t want to see you,’ he said.
‘Please, Jack. I had to do what I did. Let me come over.’
‘You don’t seem to be understanding me, Anne. Try listening. I don’t want to see you.’
‘Then how can I explain?’
‘Write me a letter.’
And he hung up.
The phone rang again a few minutes later. It was the same number. He cut it off. And again twice more. After that he switched off the ringtone.
And watched a romantic comedy with Bessie.
Chapter 55
It was a rainy morning, the sky charcoal grey, Nancy’s windows snaky with drips, steaming up on the inside. Bessie would not come today. She had gone off with that builder for the weekend. He seemed alright… Nancy hoped he was. It just wouldn’t be fair if he was to take advantage of her too.
First Bessie’s father and then when he was gone, barely a couple of days, along comes that horrible man Bert. It was as if we were still living in caves and there was no law. But what was Anne doing with him? She’d seen her leave the house with him a little while ago, and go off in his car. Surely he hadn’t stayed the night with her?
Some women are attracted to violent men. She could never understand it. Do they like their strength, being ordered what to do? Anne would learn soon enough when he hit her, like he’d already hit Bessie.
And then it would be too late.
She heard footsteps on the stairs, and hobbled across the room, to the window on her cane, in time to see Maggie and David going out. She watched them go down the path and out on the pavement to their car. And then drive away. She was the only one in the house.
No Bessie today, to have tea with and watch play with Tickles. She’d hardly seen Maggie for a couple of days. Everyone was so busy, except herself. She could write to Ted, she had a spare airmail letter. He said he enjoyed getting them, and had told her the last time he phoned that she was the only one he knew who still wrote letters. Perhaps she could phone him. Maybe later, there was a six hour time difference. They’d still be in bed.
She’d had her game of bingo at the church yesterday. That was quite pleasant. They came to collect her in a mini-van. Tea and biscuits. Actually, she found bingo quite boring, but she liked the company. Nearly all old women. Widows like herself who married older men, and then lived on and on.
It broke up the week.
Tickles was asleep on the rug by the gas fire. She had the central heating on, but also the gas fire on low, as the mornings were getting cold these days. And she could hardly move until she’d got some warmth into her bones. Like a lizard on a rock, Bessie had said.
The girl had done some shopping for her yesterday. Bought her a couple of magazines, The People’s Friend and a puzzle mag. She’d save them till later. It was going to be a television and reading day; she might not see anyone. Well, that was the way it was.
Days like this, she missed John. They might have argued from time to time, but he was there. Someone to cook for, to talk to. He could help her down the stairs and take her out to the park across the road. If he hadn’t smoked all those cigarettes, he’d probably still be alive. Though who was to say what state he’d be in.
It’s down, down, down as your body slowly gives up on you. No point complaining. That’s the way it is. Nature.
She mustn’t be miserable. There was no help for it; she was how she was. She was going to die one day, but it was no good moping and waiting for it to happen. Keep busy. She’d have a chat with Millie a bit later. First she needed to deal with the cat litter. No Bessie today.
Nancy couldn’t get down to lift the tray, but she had a pair of tongs which she clipped to either side and lifted the tray onto a stool. She removed the tongs and poured the mucky litter into a carrier bag. Then put fresh litter in and with the tongs put it down on the ground again.
She was pleased with that. Clean litter for Tickles. The trick was not to rush things. She could do quite a few things if she took her time.
Now she had to take it out to the bin. No rush. She put the carrier bag over her arm, took her stick and set off. She opened the flat door, left it open and began the journey down the stairs.
Take it slow. She could stop anytime she wanted.
At the ground floor she rested, sitting on the step. And thought it would be nice to have a chair down here, so she could sit down for a few minutes. She’d had one in her spare room; she’d get Bessie to bring it down on Monday.
Then she had a horrible thought. Suppose Bessie didn’t come back. Suppose Social Services or whoever it was decided that this wasn’t a safe place for Bessie? They might, they did things like that.
Maybe it was time for her to give up her flat too. Go into sheltered housing. There’d be people there to talk to, every day. But what a hullabaloo it was moving, packing everything. The very thought made her shiver.
But she could see it coming.
She opened the front door. It was teeming down, rain dripping off the roof of the portico, and she was only wearing slippers, hadn’t bothered to put a coat on. Well, it wasn’t far to the bin. A little wet wouldn’t kill her. She came out of the portico into the rain. It was like having a shower, dripping onto her hair and down her neck. That quite tickled.
Off the steps and onto the ceramic tiles of the path. Careful here, they were slippery. No rush. Step by small step, hand on her stick, she made her way. Tickles had come out and was rubbing against her legs. He didn’t seem to mind the rain either.
It was nice to be out, even to be a little cold and to have wet feet. Fresh air. She took a deep breath and then another. Her room could get
quite stuffy with her keeping the windows shut.
She put the litter in the bin. That wasn’t too bad. And turned about for the journey back.
Nancy had got to the bottom of the steps, when a gust of wind caught the front door and slammed it shut.
She knew she should’ve brought her keys out. Or for that matter put her shoes on, maybe her coat. Especially with no one in the house.
She climbed up the stairs, one by one, to the portico, one hand on the brickwork, the other on her stick. There, she tried pushing the front door. It was locked, of course. She rang the bells, although she was sure no one was in.
She was cold and wet. And frightened. She couldn’t keep standing up, but she couldn’t get down to the ground. Nancy went down a few steps, and then with some difficulty was able to sit on the wet steps. Her hands were going blue, she was breathless. She rested a minute, then worked her way backwards and up on her bum, step by step back to the portico. And there, seated, pulled herself out of the rain and against the side wall.
Her teeth were chattering. If she’d had a blanket, she’d have been alright waiting until someone came back. How long would they be?
Chapter 56
They parked in the forest car park where they’d left Frank’s car. It was raining heavily as they left their own vehicle, wearing boots, putting their anorak hoods over their heads. Maggie had a cloth, and crossed to Frank’s car. There, she put on gloves and began wiping the windows of the abandoned vehicle. David, also wearing gloves, had a small brush to remove the leaves and detritus that the bonnet, top, and rear had gathered in the few days that it had been left.
‘We should take the number plates off and burn it,’ said David.
‘Not in this weather, dear.’
Both had backpacks. Maggie’s was a day bag but David’s a full rucksack out of which poked the handle of a spade.
‘We can’t come here every day or two to keep it clean,’ he said.
She looked over her handiwork, the clean windows and handles. They would do. The car could have been newly parked by someone taking a forest walk in the pouring rain. A family row perhaps, or a sado-masochist.
‘No, we can’t leave it here,’ she admitted. ‘But one thing at a time.’
‘Are you sure Anne can get him there?’ he said.
‘She said so.’ She shrugged. ‘She’s a resourceful woman.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about.’
‘We have to trust her.’
‘No choice,’ said David, squirming in his collar. ‘Damned weather.’
‘At least it keeps everyone else at home,’ said Maggie.
David turned to his wife. ‘We don’t have to do this, you know.’
‘I don’t see any other way,’ she said.
‘Neither do I.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Till death do us part.’
And they headed into the forest.
Chapter 57
Nancy was unconscious when they picked her up, splayed out in the portico. A passer-by in the street had spotted her lying there, and had come up to check. And then phoned the emergency services. They arrived in about fifteen minutes; two green clad paramedics who quickly assessed the situation. They wrapped Nancy in a blanket and stretchered her to the ambulance. And, with sirens blaring, were off to Newham General.
Once there, nursing staff took over. Her wet clothes were removed and she was wiped down before being put in hospital pyjamas. Nancy was still comatose and there was some concern about the level of her hypothermia. But, after an hour or so in the warmth, she began to wake. And it was quickly ascertained that although weak, she was in no danger.
They found her a bed. When told she would be staying for a few days, Nancy became agitated.
‘My flat door is wide open. My cat will starve.’ She wasn’t sure which worried her most. ‘The gas fire is on,’ she exclaimed, giving her a third worry.
The nurse assured her someone would go round.
‘But there’s no one in!’ she said, sitting up in bed as if about to leave, but then remembering she had only wet clothes and no key for the front door. Or any money or anything.
‘We’ll drop a note in,’ said the nurse. ‘And ask them to phone us to make sure everything is OK.’
Nancy sank back on the pillow. She couldn’t do anything. Nothing had worked.
‘I only went to take the cat litter out,’ she said feebly.
Over the afternoon, she kept asking passing staff whether anyone had closed her flat door and turned off the gas fire. She got variations on the same reply:
‘We’ll tell you as soon as we hear, Mrs Home.’
It wasn’t until the evening that Maggie phoned the hospital. She’d seen the message dropped through the letter box with Nancy’s concerns and with the hospital phone number. She told them she had switched off the fire, brought the cat in and closed the flat door. And had borrowed Nancy’s keys to feed Tickles in the morning. She and David would visit Nancy in hospital tomorrow.
Nancy’s relief was enormous. She knew in its way it was trivial. But it was all she had, her flat and her cat. The thought of the door open and the fire on had kept her in panic. It was such a weight off her mind that the fire was now off and the door closed. And Tickles would be fed. She trusted Maggie absolutely. Well, a teacher, and she’d fed Tickles before when she went on holiday with Millie in the summer. Or rather Maggie and Bessie had, but Bessie she couldn’t quite trust then because her father took priority. And now there was Anne and that horrible Bert.
She must buy Maggie and David a present. Something for the baby perhaps.
Nancy ate most of her dinner, her first proper meal of the day. She drank a cup of tea too. And slept.
Chapter 58
Anne and Bert kept to the forest path, trying to avoid the deeper puddles and the growing muddy patches. There was no let up of the rain, striking the remaining leaves and painting the tree trunks. After a few minutes, they were barely aware of the background beat on the canopy and soggy undergrowth.
She wore her bright red Wellington boots and a smart blue raincoat over jeans. On her head she had a green and orange woolly hat. She’d brought her umbrella, and wondered whether it was worth the trouble, as it kept catching in the lower branches. Bert was hatless, his brown jacket open to the rain, and on his back a small rucksack. The cold hardly affected him. He worked often enough in the cold store behind the shop, he said, and just got used to it.
Though he was concerned for her. Was it a good idea, her coming too?
‘You didn’t have to come,’ he said, dropping back. ‘Not that I’m not pleased you’re here.’
‘I want to know where they buried him,’ she said. ‘He deserves more respect.’
Bert understood that. He was one for family funerals, always bringing flowers. And was a regular visitor to the local cemetery where his grandparents were buried, making sure the grave was kept up. On every visit he would weed and water the plants.
‘We could’ve done it tomorrow,’ he said, ‘just as easily.’
She smiled at him. ‘We’re here now.’
‘Nice coat you got there. Sorry it has to get so wet.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s a raincoat, Bert. That’s what it’s for.’
He liked her colours, the brightness of her. He was conventional when it came to clothes. A couple of snappy suits but the rest of his wardrobe was functional. But she obviously chose her clothing, had fashion sense. All of which kept him somewhat in awe of her, and he was surprised that she’d let him stay the night. Though not at first, earlier she’d sent him off, saying when she knew him better – which was fair enough. But then he’d phoned quite late, just to confirm today really, and she’d invited him over.
And was she something! The classiest he’d ever had. Sometimes when a woman took her clothes off, his first thought was she was better off dressed. Not Anne, she had the body, clothed or naked.
He was somewhat pissed when he first arrived, which showed in his
performance, but he’d made up for it in the morning. She was a real goer. And they had a lot in common. She’d agreed to come along to England First in the week. Quite a trophy to enter the hall with on his arm. He was looking forward to that. They’d all be agog. Have to make sure they keep their hands off. Respect his woman.
He stopped, turned and stared about him through the mist of rain, as if daring the wet tree trunks to challenge them.
‘What’s up?’ she said.
‘Just checking,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to be seen. But there’s no one about. Who would be, this weather?’
He touched her face and wiped a drip down her cheek.
‘We should go out for a meal this evening, Bert,’ she said. ‘A steak house.’
‘Sounds great. Get this business done with. Celebrate.’
They continued, but now off the path. Bert led, she was his squaw, three paces behind. His ginger hair a mass of bejewelled droplets, pale hands by his side, a bluish tinge. On through wet bramble which soaked their leggings, over fallen trees. He was leader of the gang. On a promise.
In a clearing, he stopped.
‘This is it,’ he said.
‘Where?’
He took a few steps to the side and pointed out an area. ‘Under there. That’s Frank’s grave.’
She bowed her head and held her hands together against her chest. ‘Rest in peace, Frank.’
‘Amen.’
They stood a short while in silent prayer. He appreciated this in her, her seriousness. The way she made him aware who they were doing this for.
A mate had to be a mate.
Bert took off his backpack and put on a thin pair of gloves. Back to business. From his pack he took out the smart phone. And looked about the area, biting his lip thoughtfully.
‘Just here,’ he said, having decided on his stage management.
And pressed the phone a little way into the earth.
