Blue Moon

by Weaver, Pam

  ‘Two pounds, seven shillings and fourpence,’ said Bea. ‘And he had an insurance policy, which will give us about five pounds.’

  ‘How much does a funeral cost?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Susan Marley says it cost twelve pounds eighteen shillings and sixpence to bury her old mum,’ said Bea, ‘so we need at least another five pounds.’

  ‘Where are we likely to get that kind of money?’ said Ruby gloomily, remembering the money she had once had in her Post Office book. She would have to tell her mother about the five-pound reward she had received from Dr Palmer, but there was less than three pounds left. If only she hadn’t been so eager to pay Isaac up front for all those German lessons.

  CHAPTER 9

  The next couple of days passed in a haze of work and keeping vigil over Nelson’s body. Everyone at Warnes was sympathetic, and nobody asked Ruby too many questions. It was as if they thought she wouldn’t be able to hold it together, if they probed too much. In fact she was numb.

  Ruby didn’t like the idea of sitting with a dead person, especially in the dead of night, but she soon got used to it. Susan Marley had organized a few of the neighbours to sit with Nelson during the day, and Winnie Moore offered to come one night; but in the main it was left to Ruby and Bea to take turns. Cousin Lily offered to sit, but had to be carried from the room in a dead faint after she claimed she saw his chest moving.

  Jim Searle had come back the following afternoon and promised to go with Bea and Ruby to the inquest, which was to be held in the old Town Hall on Monday, October 2nd. It would be held a week and a day after Nelson had died.

  ‘Albert Longman has already offered,’ said Bea, who was sat at the kitchen table.

  ‘I’d prefer to go with Jim,’ Ruby insisted and, to her great relief, her mother agreed. In the meantime, Albert called every day to see if there was anything they needed.

  Bea made small talk with Jim when he visited, asking him about his family.

  ‘I was an orphan,’ he smiled matter-of-factly. ‘I was brought up in a children’s home.’

  ‘How awful,’ cried Bea.

  ‘It wasn’t too bad,’ he said. ‘I got on all right and, when you don’t know any different, you think that’s the way it is. No one had any great expectations of us, so I suppose that’s what has given me a determination to prove myself.’

  ‘And you’ve done very well for yourself,’ Bea smiled.

  She got up from the table and went into the parlour room, where Aunt Vinny was sitting with the body. Ruby watched her mother go and sighed.

  ‘She’s taking it very well,’ said Jim.

  Ruby nodded. She wanted to say too well. Her mother was acting like a bird that had been set free – one that was still waiting inside the cage, until it was the right time to fly away. ‘So it would seem,’ she said. ‘I keep wondering if it hasn’t really hit her yet. I’m afraid she might collapse later on.’

  Jim nodded sagely. ‘How is May taking it?’

  ‘There’s another strange thing,’ said Ruby. ‘She and my father were very close, but May seems to have taken it all in her stride. She cried a bit the first night, but since then she’s been fine.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Susan Marley, next door, has been looking after her for us,’ said Ruby. ‘Quite frankly, I don’t know what I would have done without her.’

  Jim rose to his feet. ‘Well, if you are sure there is nothing more I can do,’ he smiled, ‘I’ll see you in time for the inquest. What time is it?’

  ‘Ten-thirty at the Town Hall,’ said Ruby. ‘Mrs Fosdyke is letting me go at nine-thirty, so Mother is going to wait for me, and then we can go from here.’

  Jim nodded and, picking up his hat, headed for the door. Ruby went with him and, as he left, he turned and brushed her cheek with his lips. ‘Bye then, Ruby,’ he said softly. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Ruby closed the door and, leaning her head against the wood, smiled dreamily. Despite all her worries at the moment, Jim was the one ray of sunshine in her life.

  Dr Rex Quinn called the dogs and they bounded out of the sea. He loved this time of day. It was early morning and the weather was crisp and fresh. The clouds had formed ripples in the sky – a kind of reflection of the ridges formed on the sand when the tide was out. It was quiet too. The only sound came from a lone gull standing on one of the groynes jutting out to sea. He called the dogs again and they trudged up the beach to the shore. A ten-minute brisk walk and he would be home again.

  His small cottage was perfect for his needs, and he was reasonably happy with his life. He’d become used to living here, and this uncomplicated existence was better than he had ever expected. He still had scars but, unlike a scar on the skin, they were hidden in his heart and only occasionally caused him pain. He had once thought he would never recover, but they say time is a great healer; in his case, time wasn’t the physician, but it did put distance between him and the rawness.

  Rex turned the hose on the dogs and, once they had shaken themselves, he towelled them down. The salt water irritated Harvey’s skin and, not to be outdone, Maisie wanted her share of the fun. Their tongues lolled and their eyes were bright as he rubbed their backs.

  Pulling the morning paper from the letter box, he and the dogs went inside. The light level was low in the kitchen, but he didn’t turn up the gas. Instead he cooked a couple of rashers of bacon for himself while he fed the dogs. They ate noisily and quickly, and had already flopped to the floor to doze by the time he was ready to eat.

  Rex took his meal into the lean-to, an all-glass room that he had erected on the side of the house, just off the sitting room. It wasn’t heated, but he liked the feeling of being out of doors and, under the glass roof, he had the best of both worlds: an open heaven, with protection from the elements. The dogs followed him and positioned themselves at either end of the room.

  He poured himself some tea and shook the paper open. In France the Cherbourg-to-Paris express had been derailed and had gone over a precipice. Among the thirty-seven dead was a local man, Christopher Jackson, a schoolteacher and a man who had been highly decorated in the Great War. His wife, Esme, was among the eighty or so injured.

  Herr Hitler was threatening to pull Germany out of the League of Nations, prompting several columns’ warning of the dire consequences; and, by contrast, a revolutionary concept in mass catering was announced, as the Lyons organization opened a new style of restaurant which they called the ‘London Corner House’.

  Rex was just about to turn the page when a short paragraph in the ‘Stop Press’ section caught his eye. A fisherman had drowned at Worthing. It only took a second to read it and, as he did so, he stopped eating, his fork halfway to his mouth. ‘The inquest will be held tomorrow on the death of Nelson Eldon Bateman …’ Harvey sensed something was wrong and sat up.

  Rex began to eat quickly. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. The day he had thought about for so long had come at last. There was so much to do. His mind raced ahead. Where was the railway timetable? And his suitcase? Luckily he was already on annual leave, but he’d have to find someone to look after the dogs. It was time to make the final move. He had to settle this thing once and for all.

  ‘My God, Bea,’ said Susan Marley, pushing a wisp of grey hair back into her bun, ‘it’s in the paper!’

  Bea turned her head away. Ruby got up and shut the front-room door when she heard Susan and May come in. When Nelson’s death happened, she and her mother had decided that, to save distress, they would simply tell May that Nelson had gone to see Jesus. May let her mother kiss her now, and then she ran to Ruby.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart. Are you being a good girl for Auntie Susan?’ Susan Marley was no relation, but every child in the street called grown-ups ‘Auntie this’ and ‘Uncle that’.

  May nodded. ‘I got all my spellings right at school.’

  ‘Good for you,’ said Ruby.

  Susan Marley was spreading a newspaper over the table and, sure enough, th
ere in column five on the front page was a short piece headed ‘Drowning at Worthing’:

  The inquest will be held tomorrow on the death of Nelson Eldon Bateman of Newlands Road, who drowned in the waters off Worthing and Littlehampton. Mr Bateman, 49, leaves a widow and three children.

  ‘I’ve never known anybody who had their name in the paper before,’ said Susan.

  ‘Neither have I,’ said Bea drily.

  Although, in May of that year, the new Town Hall had been opened by the stuttering Prince George, with a lavish ceremony including military processions and fireworks, some public meetings were still being held in the old Town Hall. The familiar building at the crossroads between Chapel Road and South Street stood facing the sea. It had stood guard over the town since Victorian times, and had been the place where people gathered spontaneously in times of trouble and to celebrate coronations and victories in battle. The new Town Hall might have won accolades and prizes, but to the people of Worthing the old Town Hall seemed like a trusted friend.

  Jim was waiting when Ruby dashed in from Warnes to change into a long-sleeved black dress, which ended just below her knee. On top she wore a dark-grey coat and a black hat with a tipped brim. Bea was in what would be her funeral outfit: a calf-length black pleated dress with a wide band across the hips. Jim helped her into her black coat with a fur collar and she put on a close-fitting hat with a long black veil. Jim wore a black tie with his only suit.

  When they walked up the steps of the Town Hall and in through the front door, they were shown into a room to the left. The chairs were set out in rows, facing a put-up table with a single chair behind it. The usher indicated that the two women should occupy the front-row seats. As she sat down, Bea took a handkerchief from her handbag and scrunched it into her hand in case she needed it, and then pulled the edge of her veil over her face. Ruby took the opportunity to look round every time the doors opened, to acknowledge the friends and neighbours who had turned out. Aunt Vinny had come along with Cousin Lily. The only notable absentee was Susan Marley, who was looking after May. Ruby recognized the faces, although she didn’t know all the names of the local fishermen from the area around the Steyne; and the coxswain of the lifeboat was there, as well as a couple of policemen. When Albert Longman came into the room he seemed slightly put out to see Ruby sitting with Jim. He glared at Ruby and didn’t respond to her apologetic smile.

  At ten-thirty the clock on the front of the old Town Hall struck the half-hour and the coroner walked into the room. He was a nondescript man in a grey suit with grey hair and a grey expression, and began the proceedings by explaining that his name was Dr Thomas Fox-Drayton.

  ‘A coroner’s court is held,’ he went on, ‘when a death is sudden, unnatural or violent. I shall be considering all the evidence concerning the death at a later date. We have met today for the death to be recorded and we shall reconvene at a later date to be decided, when all necessary investigations have been completed. Has the deceased been formally identified?’

  One of the policemen rose. ‘Yes, sir. The deceased has been formally identified as Nelson Eldon Bateman.’

  ‘In that case,’ said the coroner, ‘the death of Nelson Eldon Bateman is duly recorded, and permission is hereby given for the burial of the said Nelson Eldon Bateman.’ He looked directly at Bea before adding, ‘May I offer you my most sincere condolences, Mrs Bateman. This court is adjourned until Thursday November the twenty-third.’ And with that, he stood up, gathered his papers and left.

  There was a buzz of conversation as people stood up to leave, but they waited for Bea and Ruby to go first. Outside, Jim offered to take them to a tea room, but Bea was anxious to get back home, so they hurried off.

  Back home, Ruby put the kettle on. ‘I thought they were going to do it all there and then,’ she said, doing her best to hide her disappointment.

  ‘The police have to gather all the evidence,’ said Jim.

  ‘But we know how he died,’ said Bea. ‘He drowned.’

  ‘The coroner will want to know what he was doing,’ said Jim. ‘If anyone actually saw what happened; if he could have been saved, if a different course of action had been taken – all that sort of thing. It takes time to gather all that information.’

  ‘But we can go ahead and have the funeral,’ said Ruby, pulling off her hat.

  ‘That’s right,’ Jim nodded. ‘Do you know a funeral director?’

  ‘We’ve got a policy with the Co-op,’ said Bea. ‘I’ve already been to see them.’

  ‘It’s all set for Monday,’ said Ruby.

  ‘I should like to come, if I may,’ said Jim. ‘I didn’t know Mr Bateman too well, but I should like to pay my respects anyway.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bea. ‘The only person we haven’t told is Percy. I don’t suppose you know where he is?’

  Jim shook his head. ‘But I may be able to find out.’

  ‘Would you?’ said Bea. ‘It doesn’t seem right that he’s not here.’

  For a while, the people who had been at the inquest congregated on the Town Hall steps. Few of them talked about Nelson. They were more interested in the topics of the day: the disastrous fire on the pier; the bad weather and its effect on fishing; and Watkins, the bootmaker in Chesswood Road, who was no good at mending shoes any more, but still charged the earth to do it. Cousin Lily sashayed down the steps, trying to look every inch the film star, and was gratified to turn at least a couple of heads. She had already kissed her mother goodbye in the courtroom. Aunt Vinny was anxious to get back to the laundry where she worked.

  As Lily turned the corner to get back to her employer’s in Richmond Road, she was accosted by a man she’d never seen before. ‘Excuse me, Miss.’

  He was ordinary-looking, wearing a smart brown suit, and he carried a trilby hat, which he lifted as he spoke. Lily looked him up and down. He was old – at least forty-five – but he was clean-shaven and smelled vaguely of some sort of toilet water. He might have been a perfect stranger, but she wasn’t afraid or concerned. He seemed a respectable person.

  ‘Am I right in thinking you are a relative of Mrs Bateman?’

  ‘She’s my auntie,’ said Lily, lowering her eyes and reaching for her handkerchief. ‘It’s so awful what’s happened. I can hardly believe it.’

  The man nodded. ‘I am very sorry for your loss.’ He hesitated. ‘I wonder,’ he began again, ‘would you do me the great kindness of delivering a letter to the widow?’

  ‘A letter?’ said Lily, suddenly curious.

  ‘I would go myself,’ he said, ‘but I have no wish to intrude.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Lily. ‘I have to go back to my work right now. My employer only gave me an hour off, but I can take it around this evening, if you like.’

  ‘That would be perfect,’ said the man. He reached into his breast pocket and drew out an envelope. It was fairly flat except for one corner and, when she took it, Lily could feel something slightly bulky inside. She looked up curiously.

  ‘I hope I can trust you,’ said the man.

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ said Lily with a smile. ‘Aunt Bea shall have it tonight.’

  He nodded and tipped his hat again. ‘Much obliged,’ he said, making as if to leave, but then he turned back. ‘Tell me, who was that young woman with Bea?’

  ‘Her daughter,’ said Lily. ‘My cousin Ruby.’

  ‘Her daughter,’ the man repeated. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Same age as me,’ said Lily. ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘I see,’ he smiled

  ‘When I see Aunt Bea, who shall I say gave me this letter?’

  ‘She’ll know,’ he smiled.

  CHAPTER 10

  The headquarters of the British Union of Fascists was in Warwick Street. Jim had no desire to go there, but he had a sneaky feeling that someone in this place might know Percy’s whereabouts. Percy wasn’t a political person, but following Nelson’s undisguised disapproval of the movement, Jim knew that he harboured desires to join up, just
to spite his father.

  Jim climbed the steps and opened the door. The receptionist, a rather severe-looking woman with a tight bun, greeted him warmly. At first she obviously thought he wanted to become a member, but when he explained why he had come, he was asked to take a seat. A picture of Sir Oswald Mosley dressed in a military-style uniform dominated the wall opposite. The office was a hive of activity. While he waited, several young men came in, asking to be recruited. Each one was sent down a corridor and Jim didn’t see them again.

  Presently an older man came to see him. Dressed entirely in black, with a shirt that buttoned on the shoulder rather than at the neck, the man shook his hand.

  ‘Drayton,’ he said stiffly. ‘Lemuel Drayton. What can I do for you?’

  ‘James Searle,’ said Jim. ‘I’m trying to trace a friend of mine, Percy Bateman.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ When Jim said Percy’s name there wasn’t even a flicker of recognition on Drayton’s face.

  ‘I think he may have joined the BUF,’ Jim ploughed on. ‘He certainly talked about it.’

  Drayton drew in his breath noisily. ‘Anyone coming to us comes of his own free will,’ he said stiffly. ‘This is a free country, and a man can make his own choices.’ He moved his head slightly, and Jim noticed two thickset men coming towards him.

  ‘I haven’t come here to complain,’ said Jim.

  ‘Then what have you come for?’ said Drayton in a prickly tone. The heavies stood either side of him now. They said nothing, but their presence was threatening enough.

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard about the fisherman who drowned a few days ago?’ said Jim, eyeing the other two men nervously.

  ‘What of it?’ said Drayton. ‘It has nothing to do with us.’

  ‘The man was Percy’s father,’ said Jim. ‘If Percy is here, he needs to be informed.’

  The three men deflated. Drayton frowned. ‘A rum do,’ he said, jerking his head again. The other two men stepped back and stood to attention by the wall, their hands clasped together in front of them, staring somewhere in the middle distance.