I opened the wine, poured two glasses and pulled out two chairs at the kitchen table.
‘I was in the army for eight years. Saw plenty of action in Northern Ireland, didn’t get freaked out, and rose to the rank of Sergeant. After that I joined the Strathclyde police. Met Alison. She was a nurse. We were a good couple. What they call young professionals. Bought a nice house, in a nice part of Glasgow, and had a daughter. She was beautiful. Called her Imogen. Ally worked part-time at a doctors surgery and I was an honest regular cop. Drove patrol cars. Sometimes with Doug, my shift partner, or sometimes on my own, depending on staffing levels and the workload at the time.
I think it must have been when Imogen started school that I began to think something wasn’t quite right. Not with my daughter – between Ally and me. Seven year itch, perhaps. The honeymoon finally over? Nothing I could put my finger on, but I didn’t dwell on it. Just thought I might be expecting too much. Then one night I was doing a solo night shift, and for once there wasn’t much doing, so I thought I’d go home and grab a quick cup of tea. But when I walked in through the back door and called out, ‘It’s only me, for a wee cup a’ tea,’ Ally wasn’t there. Well, not downstairs. I found her upstairs in bed, with Doug, my partner.
I went berserk. Not with her. Violence towards women isn’t my thing, but I could have cheerfully broken her neck. I just laid into Doug, and there’s Ally screaming, and Imogen standing half asleep on the landing crying, and I just couldn’t stop hitting him. When he fell on the floor, spitting out his teeth, I ran off. Can’t describe what state I was in, but I was more than out of it. I went to the nearest off-licence, bought a bottle of Scotch and roared off into the night. So there’s me with my walkie-talkie blaring out, and being told to get off somewhere to do my job, and I just couldn’t. I found a lay-by, and got completely rat-arsed. Some men get happy in drink, some go to sleep, but that night I was raving, and I drove off to find Doug again. To really finish him off properly. But about a half a mile from home, I took a corner and skidded. I turned the car over and I hit a man; a nice old pensioner out for a late walk with his little dog. He died. I killed him.’ Howie touched the small scar on his temple. ‘This is what I’ve got to show for it, and every day I look in the mirror I see it to remind me. They called it manslaughter, but it was murder.’
I took his hand and pressed it to my mouth. ‘It’s OK. It’s alright. Oh, Howie. I’m so sorry.’
‘I got twelve years and did eight for good behaviour. Eight years is a bloody long time, but I came out with two Open University degrees, alot of optimism, and a new name. You might have guessed that Sinclair’s not my real name, and neither is Howie. Both legally changed. I’m a hidden man. Noone will ever trace me, including my ex and my daughter, not that they’ll ever want to, but I’ll always be followed by myself.’
‘So how did you end up – you know – being found by Father Crowley.’
‘When I came out I decided I wanted to train for ...Oh, I don’t know. Teacher, or a social worker, or something worthwhile to pay back my hideous crime. I certainly couldn’t go back to the Glasgow area, so I chose Oxford. It was a long way away, and I thought it would be a good place to live if I was planning a new life. I had a few grand in the bank – the fag end share of the divorce settlement – and found a flat to rent. I put down a huge amount on the deposit, and looked for work. Just something simple, to tide me over until I could get on a training course. But I couldn’t find anything. Who wanted an old lag with prison pallor and no references? I got depression, ran out of money, couldn’t pay the rent, and got evicted. Then came what the dogooders call spiralling down. After six months of sleeping in cardboard boxes Father Crowley found me. And yes, the drink and drugs of street life came into it, but I wasn’t so far gone to be a hopeless case. I was just a quivering wreck of rubbish.’
He sniffed loudly and sat up with increasing strength. ‘And so here I am, Sarah. I’ve paid my so-called debt to society, and I’ll soon be let loose to make a new start. I’m just bitter that I’ve got what’s known as ‘a past’. A black shadow that’ll always be following my footsteps.’ He stood up and pushed his chair under the table. ‘I’ll away the now. Let you have time to take it all in, and decide that you’d rather forget me.’
As he turned he began to make strange little choking noises in his throat, but I shot to my feet, gathered him in my arms, and kissed him with the tenderness of a mother. ‘No shadows with me, my love, I promise. I won’t be pushing you away. Whatever I felt for you before, I still feel.’ I tightened my arms around him. ‘You’ve got me now. Really.’
He turned and buried his face in my hair. No eye contact. Just kissing, and sleepwalking over to the alcove under the stairs, to lean up against the soft pile of coats that hung on hooks, and to begin to make love.
February 1973
Fair Cross Green
As Ted and Peggy rose to their feet, Angela put on a stylish fur-lined leather coat, an extravagant fox-fur hat, and red kid gloves. Posing like a Russian intelligence agent, she stood waiting by the front door. ‘I said come on. Move yourselves.’
They travelled in silence, but as they approached Watlington she spoke with a demanding, icy tone. ‘I need the Ladies. It’s at the bottom of the High Street. Go straight ahead into Church Street, and drop me. Then turn round, go right into Gorwell and wait for me in The Royal Oak car park.’ She got out of the car and, without further comment, walked regally into the tiny brick-built public conveniences; her back straight, and the silky fur of her hat blowing high in the wind.
Obeying instructions, Ted manouvered a three-point-turn, drove into the pub car park, and pulled on the handbrake. ‘Look. We were right to do what we did,’ he pronounced. ‘That stiff upper lip pose is just her acting bravado. She’s scared stiff, and when she finds out we’re telling the truth she really will collapse.’
But their conversation was abruptly halted by the close sound of squealing brakes, a muffled thump, the sound of tinkling glass, a door slam, and a hideous scream.
Piers returned to college to find an official note from the college office in his pigeonhole.
To: Professor Penney
From: Susan Jenkins
Message timed: 11.30pm.
Prof – A Miss Zendalic rang to say she’s on her way to The King’s Arms with her aunt and uncle. There’s something very important they need to discuss with you.
He looked at his watch. 12.30. Good timing. A ham roll and a snifter would be most welcome. With his copy of The Guardian under his arm, he left college and walked across to the comfortable old pub where a coal fire burned brightly in the hearth. He bought a gin and tonic, secured a table for four, and opened his newspaper.
Ted and Peggy rushed from the car. An old Land Rover was slewed across the road, with its bonnet crunched into a stone wall. Angela was lying on the road, sprawled on her side like a rag doll, one arm thrust forward, one back, and her hat lying in a puddle like a road-killed cat. A stout elderly woman was standing over her, babbling incoherently. ‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ Ted yelled, ‘and alert the police as well.’ He sped back to the pub to use the phone.
Peggy, too shocked to scream or cry, knelt down to cradle Angela’s head, while the driver howled loudly and stuttered out her defence. ‘I wasn’t going fast. Really I wasn’t. I was slowing down at the junction. I saw her come out of the toilets but she just walked off the pavement straight out in front of me. I tried to avoid her by pulling to the left, but she seemed to be in a dream.’
A back up of cars had now stopped, and several residents came out of their houses. Someone, who was a nurse, ran indoors for a blanket and another sped off to the local doctor’s surgery to summon medical attention. ‘Ambulance is on its way,’ shouted Ted, running back to the scene. ‘We’ve not to move her.’
Ted stood by as Peggy stayed kneeling on the road, murmuring words of encouragement to the unconscious figure. ‘You’re going to be alright, darling. I know you can hear me.
You’ll wake up soon, and we’ll take you home to get you better.’
Within minutes an out-of-breath female GP arrived with a large black medical case, immediately bringing the relief of professional attendance. ‘Her name’s Angela Zendalic,’ said Ted. ‘She’s thirty-seven weeks pregnant. We stopped so she could use the Ladies ...’
‘Are you her father?’
‘No, no. Her Uncle,’ but before he could explain any further Peggy butted in.
‘I’m her mother.’
The doctor felt Angela’s pulse, listened to her heart with a stethoscope, and shone a pencil torch in her eyes. ‘She’s showing signs of severe shock. Her pupils are fixed and dilated, so she’s deeply unconscious. There’s a fairly deep wound to the back of her head so I guess she smacked it on the kerb when she hit the road. She may have broken some bones as well.’ A large crowd of gawpers had by now assembled and she shouted loudly at them. ‘Please could you all go away? Now. Right away. Dear God, this isn’t entertainment. I need to examine her baby and she deserves some dignity.’ The crowd reluctantly stepped back from the drama and began to shuffle off. She turned to Peggy, who was still whispering comforting words, though it was obvious Angela couldn’t hear her. ‘Will you hold up this blanket as a shield while I examine her abdomen with this funnel?’
The sound of a frantic siren announced the arrival of the ambulance, and the two drivers, with speed and co-ordination, examined her again to compare vital signs with the doctor. ‘They’ve not dropped anymore,’ they said, ‘but she’s still deeply unconscious. The baby’s heartbeat is loud and clear but we must get her to casualty urgently.’ After carefully fitted a neck collar, she was put on a stretcher, and lifted inside.
‘Please may I come with my daughter,’ asked Peggy.
‘’Course you can, love, but you’ll have to squeeze up on the ledge and sit behind the driver.’
‘I’ll wait for the police to arrive,’ called Ted to Peggy. ‘Then I’ll meet you at The Radcliffe.’
The ambulance left with its blue light flashing, leaving Ted emotionally exhausted and with a heart stopping dread that she might die. Thinking, as one always does in horrifying circumstances, that it wasn’t somehow true, but the reality hit him straight between the eyes. The car smashed into the stone wall, Angela’s hat in the puddle, and a small group of remaining neighbours, still pointing and discussing. God had never been part of his life, but on this occasion he begged for his help. ‘Please, please don’t let her die.’
At 1.30pm Piers looked at his watch for the hundredth time, folded up his newspaper, and walked over to the barmaid. ‘I’ve been waiting for some friends, but it seems they’ve been delayed. If a heavily pregnant girl and a middle-aged couple arrive could you please send them over to Tavistock College office.’
The ambulance, with the wail of its siren rising and falling in fast scales of urgency, sped down the A40 through the villages of Aston Rowant and Postcombe. Peggy, in a blur of disbelief, could only stare through the mud-splattered side windows, watching a long seaweed-stream of sodden winter trees and bushes, the shadow of the flashing blue light reflected on the wet road, and the headlights of forward driving cars. She perched uncomfortably, daring not to speak or ask questions, while Angela was checked and monitored. ‘There’s no sign of her coming round,’ the ambulance driver said as they approached Tetsworth. ‘Look, why don’t you talk to her, right close up in her ear, just in case she can hear you. You’ll be the first person she’ll want to see when she wakes up.’
So Peggy held her hand and told her the story of her birth. ‘You’re going to be alright, darling, and the baby’s fine. You were my baby. Yes, that’s right. My baby. Your father’s name was Prince Joseph Ntozi of Ankanda, so you really are Princess Angela. I was very much in love with him, and we were going to get married, but he was forced to go back to his country, and couldn’t get out again. I’m sorry I was such a coward to give you up. You may understand, you may not. In those days I’d have been pariahed, and called dreadful names, so I was forced to hide myself away with shame. How cruel are so called Christians? But now your mum and dad have let you go you’re mine at last. We’ll bring your baby up together and Piers will become a name of the past. I suppose you’ll always be broken hearted, just like me. And I’m broken hearted again that he treated you so badly, but one day real love will come to you. I know it will. Life is so cruel, but we’ll have each other.’
Piers returned to college, but with no message of explanation waiting for him in his pigeonhole, he went to the office. ‘Mrs Jenkins, I got your memo to say I had visitors to meet in the King’s Arms. I’ve waited well over an hour and they haven’t arrived. I’ve got an important appointment in Beaumont Street now, so when they turn up can you let them into my rooms to wait for me. Then ring Sherriff, Cole and Burley with a message, and I’ll be here within minutes.’
He arrived back just before 3.00pm. ‘Sorry, Prof. No message and nothing to report.’ He went up to his rooms and rang home to Stable Cottage, but there was no answer. The anxious but controlled thoughts at the back of his mind now became a serious alarm, so he rang the Maternity Hospital.
‘Yes. Hello. I’m rather worried as I can’t get hold of my wife. Our baby’s due in three weeks and I need to check if she might have been admitted for some reason.’
‘Please hold, sir. I’ll transfer you to admissions.’
‘Admissions department. Can I help you?’
‘I’m anxious about my wife, Angela Zendalic. I was wondering if she’s been brought in with a problem.’
A short delay. ‘She’s not here yet, sir. She’s on her way up from the Radcliffe Infirmary.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘I’m not sure, sir. We’ve just heard from the casualty unit that she’s being transferred up to us very shortly. Can I put you through to them?’
‘Yes! Yes! Put me through.’ He drummed his fingers and beads of sweat appeared on his brow. ‘Come, on. Come, on.’
‘The Radcliffe Infirmary Casualty Department.’
‘I’m asking for news of my wife, Angela Zendalic.’
‘Yes, sir. She’s been admitted.’
‘Why? Why? What happened?’
‘She was brought in after a serious road traffic accident.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Piers dropped the phone, ran out of the door, down the staircase, across the quad, past the porter’s lodge, and out onto the cobbles of Holywell. A fast sprint to the Broad Street cross roads, up the long length of Parks Road, left down Keble Road, over St. Giles and into the scruffy alley-like entrance of Casualty. It had taken him eight minutes.
‘My wife,’ he shouted to the receptionist. ‘Angela Zendalic. Where is she?’ Stopping to pant heavily, he then noticed the small figure of Peggy, sitting in the waiting room, hunched over her handbag. Grabbing her, and pulling her to her feet, he shouted again. ‘What the hell’s happened? And more to the point why wasn’t I contacted straight away.’ She hung her head, muttering. He pushed her back down roughly, and turned to the glass wall of the reception window. ‘Take me to her. Take me to her.’ In response to the shouting a senior nurse arrived.
‘Come with me, Mr Zendalic.’
Angela was in a small ante-theatre attached to a complicated network of tubes and leads that led to a purring machine. A bag of blood transfusing into in her arm, an oxygen mask over her face, and a plastic tube in her mouth. A group of doctors and nurses stood over her, and as he entered one of the doctors approached him. ‘Tell me what happened,’ Piers howled out. ‘How long’s she been like this? I didn’t know. I didn’t know. What about the baby.’
‘She was knocked over by a car just before midday ...’
‘But that’s over three hours ago. No-one let me know.’
The doctor indicated a couple of plastic chairs. ‘Let’s sit down quietly and I’ll explain. It appears she was coming out of the Ladies lavatories in Watlington, and was hit by a car at fairly sl
ow speed. It’s likely that she struck her head on the kerb as she fell, and she’s been deeply unconscious ever since. We have something called a Glasgow coma score, and she’s showing a dangerously high reading. The baby’s fine, though. This machine is just a precaution, so we can get the baby delivered by caesarean section as a matter of urgency. Right now we’re preparing an ambulance to transport her up to the new maternity block in Headington. Afterwards we’ll bring her back here and assess the situation.’
‘Is she going to die?’
‘There are no signs at the moment that she’s deteriorating further, but she stands a much better chance of recovery if we can get the baby born. Her mother has already signed the consent form.’
For a few seconds Piers was confused. ‘Is her mother here, then?’
‘She’s sitting outside in the waiting room. Maybe you missed her.’
Piers raised his eyes, and shook his head with bewilderment. ‘That isn’t her mother. It’s her Godmother. Now let me have another consent form, and I’ll sign it as her fiancé and father of the child. And my name is Penney. Professor Piers Penney.’ The form was signed. ‘Will I be allowed to go with her?’
‘Of course, but there’ll be no room for the other lady.’
‘Too bad.’
As Angela was being prepared for transfer, Piers, his head tight with tension, walked out to the reception area to find Peggy again. He sat down beside her, quietly controlled. ‘Angela has been in this state for over three solid hours. Why wasn’t I told?’
She coughed nervously. ‘Because you’re a liar and a cheat, and we don’t want anything to do with you. Ted’ll be here soon, and you’ll get what you deserve.’
He stood up, shook his head, and gave her a look of pity. ‘Whatever you’re waffling on about I’ve got more on my mind to care. I’m off to accompany her to the maternity hospital, and you’re not welcome.’ But then he turned. ‘And what was this so-called urgent matter you all needed to speak to me about?’
Who Was Angela Zendalic Page 25
