by Cathy Ace
Realizing he had everyone’s attention Willy straightened himself up as much as he could and added, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was bumping them all off, I wouldn’t. And I bet I’m not the only one thinking that. All for a bit of silver here, and a few quid there. Killin’ ’em for mess money. That’s what I say!’
Willy’s friend stood. ‘You’ve said quite enough, Willy Cooke, and the less you say when you’re in this state, the better. As we all know. Come on, boys, help me get him into a taxi; I’ll get ’im back safe. You can all follow along in the buses.’
A general hubbub ensued, which eventually resulted in all the old soldiers agreeing it was time they got back to the barracks. Annie watched with amusement as they generally seemed to further agree that they all needed to use the gents’ before they left; the entire process took quite some time. The slow-but-sure activity allowed Annie to enjoy her second glass of wine.
When all the veterans were safely boarded on their buses, Christine decided it was the right time to usher her mother to the dark, sleek car waiting to whisk them away.
Just before they left for their pile in an exclusive, leafy square in West London, Christine dashed back into the pub and sat down next to Annie, gushing, ‘Look, Annie, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you find out if it’s true – about all the really old boys dying off, and all that? Mummy’s horribly upset at the thought that maybe somebody did something to Granddad. I’m sure they didn’t; I mean he was very old and these things do happen when one least expects them, but . . . well, she’s right I suppose, he always seemed so healthy. They don’t know exactly what killed him; because he was over a hundred, Mummy made a fuss about them not cutting him up, so they didn’t. So I dare say something could have been amiss.’
Christine seemed so lost, Annie couldn’t help but reassure her she’d ‘sort it all out’ and it would ‘all be alright’. Christine left to join her mother while blowing kisses to Annie and Carol, and thanking them profusely.
Carol stared, open-mouthed at Annie. ‘So,’ she began, immediately they were alone, ‘what are you going to do now, then, Miss Annie Parker?’
Annie knew Carol’s natural Welsh accent always became more pronounced when she was cross; what Annie couldn’t work out was why her friend had any reason to feel that way. She was puzzled. ‘Well, as I understand it, there’s at least one bottle of Cab-Sav with my name on it behind the bar, plus a couple of curried chicken sandwiches; after that I’m going to treat meself to a taxi home, and have a lie-in in the morning. Having a funeral on a Friday’s very civilized. What about you, doll?’
‘No, I don’t mean that; I mean what about Tiny’s death? What are you planning to do? You can’t just waltz into the Battersea Barracks and start interrogating old soldiers. What on earth did you mean by telling Christine you’d sort it all out? Are you bonkers? You know she’ll hold you to it; City rules – your word is your bond, and all that.’
Annie quaffed nervously as she sorted it all out in her mind; she’d meant to offer Christine soothing platitudes, but Carol was right, she’d actually promised to do something, to find out something. And she was stuck with it; you couldn’t work in the City for thirty years without knowing your word really is your bond there, and it’s a bond you don’t break. There was nothing for it – she’d have to do what she’d promised, no matter how unpleasant.
Annie raised her empty glass toward Carol. ‘To Tiny Wilson, and finding out all about his death, then.’
‘You’re going to go through with it?’ Carol sounded amazed.
‘Of course. It can’t be that difficult,’ replied Annie with the courage that follows on the heels of a couple of glasses of wine. ‘I mean, they’re an honorable bunch of old men who’ve all served King, or Queen, and country; they might like to sing the odd dirty song, but they’re good men underneath it all, Car. They were all prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, so they must be prepared to help me find out if anything untoward is happening to their comrades, don’t you think?’
Carol didn’t sound at all convinced as she muttered, ‘Ridiculous,’ at her friend’s back as Annie wriggled her way toward the bar. Eventually Annie returned to the table with a fresh bottle of red, two glasses, and a plate of sandwiches.
‘You know I only drink white,’ sulked Carol.
‘Silly me,’ giggled Annie. Almost immediately a barmaid appeared and placed an ice bucket containing a bottle of Pinot Grigio onto the table in front of Carol.
‘That one’s for you, I suppose,’ said the server to Carol as she left the women.
‘Oh I couldn’t – not a whole bottle!’ Carol gasped. ‘I’ve got to get home and cook David’s dinner.’
‘Oh come off it, little miss goody two-shoes; you’ve drunk a whole bottle in an evening loads of times before,’ goaded Annie.
Carol grudgingly agreed, ‘Well yes, but when it’s a glass at a time it doesn’t seem as bad as having the whole thing sitting there in front of me. And David’s not expecting me to be too late.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, give me that bottle.’ Annie took charge and all but filled Carol’s glass. ‘Phone your wonderful husband, tell him you’re with me, you’ll be late, and when you do get home you’ll be incapable of boiling an egg. You can pick up kebabs on the way home, and lay the paracetamol on the bedside table ready for the morning. Dave won’t mind.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ replied Carol as she sipped her drink nervously. ‘I know he does mind it when I’m out with you, and he hates being called Dave. And, by the way, you know I hate being called Car; I am not a motor vehicle. Why do you always have to shorten everyone’s name?’
‘Gordon Bennet!’ snapped Annie. ‘What’s put your nose out of joint all of a sudden? Sorry, Carol. You know what I’m like; it’s a form of endearment. And anyway – changing the subject back to one that actually matters – how are you going to help me with this?’
Carol spluttered wine across the table. ‘What do you mean, help you? Why should I help? You’re the one making all the promises. And David wouldn’t like me to be messed up in any funny business.’
Annie smiled sweetly, one of her most dangerous facial expressions. ‘Do I have to remind you that you’re the one who’s really Chrissie’s friend? Like you said, I hardly know her really, so you must want to help your friend.’
Carol’s face told Annie she was regretting her comments that Annie and Christine weren’t close.
Annie was on a roll, so kept going. ‘You know, you’re like a human bridge between the upper classes and the hoi polloi; there’s crusty-yet-pretty Chrissie on one side, and amiable-but-common Annie on the other, with Carol the Constant Calmer in between. I’m not the one who’s become all pally with a girl who wears one of them signet rings on her little finger, has a house near H.A. Rod’s, and a father who seems to own half of Ireland. It’s taken me years to make a real woman of you, but I think I’ve done a pretty good job, and that David of yours should be gracious and give credit where it’s due. He’d never have married the girl I met all those years ago, hiding in a corner of a wine bar with a fizzy water, and frightened of her own shadow. Now you’re hiring men like him to work for you – if it weren’t for all that confidence I helped you build, you’d never have been given the top job at your place, so you probably wouldn’t have met Dave at all.’
‘Now hang on a minute, Annie—’ began Carol, but Annie wasn’t about to be interrupted.
‘No, you hang on, Carol, it’s my turn to talk. Remember when we first met? Someone’s birthday party in Balls Brothers as I recall. Me? Out with all the posh girls who swan about CFK looking busy all day, but getting me to do all the work. You? Sitting in a corner – literally in a corner – nursing a glass of water with a bit of lemon floating about in it. Come on, Car! You were acting like you were sixty-something, not in your twenties. I took you under my wing that night, and I’ve brought you on ever since. You can’t tell me I didn’t help y
ou overcome all those problems you faced coming to London from Wales – you know, like putting the fact you were raised on a sheep farm behind you – can you?’
Annie wondered if she’d pushed Carol a bit too far, as her friend’s eyes began to get glassy. ‘It all seems like such a long time ago,’ said Carol, wiping away a tear.
Annie buckled. ‘You alright, doll?’
Carol sipped her wine. ‘Yes. But I’m not pregnant.’
‘And that’s a problem, right?’ Annie wanted to check her facts before she reacted.
‘Yes. It is,’ replied her friend miserably.
Annie’d never had the slightest interest in having children, so wasn’t sure how to proceed. She decided to say exactly what she felt; she usually did. ‘Well, at least you can have a good old drink with me tonight then.’ She added a friendly nudge, so Carol would know she was trying to cheer her up.
Carol rolled her eyes and said flatly, ‘Not really the point, but you’re right, I can.’ She drained her glass.
Regrouping, Annie said, ‘Look, doll, we go back a long way, you and me, and I know you’re up to helping me out with this. Besides, you’re the link between Chrissie and me – there’s no way she’d have anything to do with me without you in the picture. You’ve got to help me!’
Carol said nothing, but refilled her glass. ‘I agree when I first met you I was a complete wimp, and you helped me – no, hang on a minute – you bullied me into standing on my own two feet, and all but forced me to apply for the systems manager job at work. So, I suppose I have to accept there’s no way I’d have exactly the life I do now without your influence.’
Annie felt vindicated, but could tell her friend hadn’t finished.
Carol continued, ‘But I don’t know what I could possibly do to help, Annie; I’m no detective. Nor are you, for that matter. We’re just us.’
Annie was ready with her answer, ‘Well, for a start you can tell me all about Chrissie, her mum and her granddad, and what that Willy and his mate were talking about before I turned up at your table. Then we’ll come up with a plan. It’s exciting, in’t it?!’
Annie noted Carol didn’t look at all excited, but realized she rather liked the idea; the prospect of getting to stick her nose into peoples’ business because someone had asked her to do exactly that seemed very appealing.
Matron Mavis MacDonald glanced up from the papers on her desk to see an odd-looking couple of women walking along the corridor toward her office: one was tall, gangly, and black, with a fuzz of cropped hair hugging her shapely head; the other was short, almost round, and pasty white, with a mass of unruly blonde curls. The experienced army-nurse pegged the black woman in her early fifties; she had a sweaty glow about her that spoke volumes. The white one looked to be in her early thirties. She wondered which one of them was the woman who was now exactly twenty-three minutes late for an appointment; she stood to welcome them with an outstretched hand, and as open a mind as she could muster.
‘Hello, I’m Carol Hill, I believe we spoke earlier. This is my friend Annie Parker. We’re almost half an hour late for an appointment with the matron.’
‘I’m Matron MacDonald; good to meet you. At last. I’m sorry Corporal Wilson’s granddaughter didn’t feel up to coming herself. This is rather unusual, you know. Normally we only allow the family to remove possessions from the hospital. But Corporal Wilson’s daughter, the Viscountess Ballinclare, telephoned to alert me to the fact you would be acting on behalf of the family, so I suppose there’s no problem there.’
‘You work in beautiful surroundings,’ commented Annie. Mavis was a little amused to see Carol glare at her friend.
Thinking the friend-of-the-friend was seeking to curry favor, Mavis replied, ‘Aye, we’re fortunate that William III wanted to outdo Charles II. With his marvelous barracks buildings already sitting across the Thames in Chelsea, they had to push Wren hard to come up with something quite different here in Battersea to best it. I like to think he took the spirit of the Greenwich Hospital and the practicality of the Chelsea Hospital, and gave it all to us here. What do you think?’
Mavis was delighted when Annie answered with what she judged to be genuine enthusiasm, ‘The Battersea Barracks has always been one of my favorite buildings in London.’
‘Born here, were you dear?’ enquired Mavis, smiling politely. She noticed the woman’s shoulders sag a little, and wondered if she might have heard the question before.
Annie’s rote response suggested to Mavis she had. ‘Born in the East End, within the sound of Bow Bells, so a true Cockney through and through. Moved to Plaistow with my parents, who came here from St Lucia in the Fifties. I live in Wandsworth now. How about you?’
Mavis noted Annie smiled as she answered, then she stuck out her chin with defiance as she asked her question.
Mavis decided to trot out her own story in a similar fashion, to show she couldn’t be cowed. ‘Born just outside Glasgow, married a soldier, he got invalided out while I was raising our two boys, all grown now. I got my qualifications in Scotland later in life than many, then became an army nurse. I’ve been Matron here for five years now, and I intend to stay until they retire me. It’s the most fulfilling post I’ve ever had, though tragedies like Tiny Wilson’s passing are hard to bear and yet are, unfortunately, bound to happen given the average age around here.’
‘All old are they?’ asked Annie conversationally. Mavis noted she wasn’t letting Carol get a word in edgeways.
Mavis replied, ‘I’d say the average age is about eighty. However, a few months ago we had four Barrackers over 100, all gone now I’m afraid, so the average has fallen a little.’
Annie jumped in again. ‘At Tiny’s funeral, one of the other blokes who lives here, Willy something, was saying that – going on about how all the “old ones” were dying off.’ Annie leaned toward Mavis, who caught a whiff of Lily of the Valley scent, and added, ‘Mind you, he’d had a few, and seemed to be a bit confused about things.’
Mavis had a sense the woman had baited a hook, and wondered if she should bite. Curious to discover where Annie might take the conversation, she decided to allow it to appear as though she’d done just that. ‘Willy Cooke can’t hold his drink, and if he was with Jimmy Taylor – which I’ll wager he was, those two being as tight as ticks – then they’ll have goaded each other into a near-riot, no doubt. But confused? Willy? Not usually; he’s got one of the sharpest minds around here. So sharp I’m surprised he doesnae cut himself on occasion. What was he saying, exactly?’
Annie and Carol exchanged what Mavis judged to be a significant look, and she sensed Carol Hill was about to do more than introduce herself. She was right, but wasn’t ready for the near-stream-of-consciousness that ensued.
‘Annie’s not wrong,’ said Carol quietly. ‘Willy got a bit hot under the collar and his friend tried to shut him up, but then they got into a bit of name-calling and I suppose you’re right that they goaded each other on – so eventually Willy mentioned that stuff’s been going missing from the rooms of the recently departed, and went so far as to suggest someone’s bumping off all the old blokes here to get beer money – or some such. Anyway, his friend finally managed to shut him up and no one seemed to pay him much attention really, but it did give us cause for concern, and then Christine’s mother got very upset at the idea her father’s death might not have been quite as natural as we all thought it had been. Does Willy go off on one like that very often? I mean does he run around shouting “murder” here? Or is that just when he’s out and about in the pub – ’cos it was a bit unsettling.’
By the time Carol finally drew breath her sing-song Welsh accent had thickened considerably, and Mavis was wondering if she was anything more than an empty-headed chatterbox. Mavis noticed that Annie looked horror-stricken, and wondered if Carol’s behavior was normal for the woman. Her friend’s expression seemed to suggest not. She wondered what was going on.
Mavis assessed how to resp
ond. ‘Let me assure you, Mrs Hill, Ms Parker, that Corporal William Cooke has never mentioned the word “murder” under any circumstances of which I am aware. As I have already mentioned, he is possessed of a very particular mental acuity. I cannae imagine what would have given him the idea that people are being murdered. True, we have lost more Barrackers than usual over the past few weeks, but September and October can be difficult months for the elderly and frail. All our deaths have involved men over one hundred years of age; an age when we must expect the body to be more prone to little infections and illnesses.’
‘So we’re safe ’ere then, eh? They all died of natural causes? And it’s Miss Parker, or Annie, by the way, ta very much.’ Annie almost snapped at Mavis.
‘Of course you’re safe, Miss Parker. You can take my word for it; all the cases were quite unconnected with each other, and all above board. Sadly, such things are to be expected within such an elderly group, as I have said.’
‘Well,’ continued Annie, ‘at least it’s not that ’orrible flesh-eating thingy they get in ’ospitals these days.’
Mavis wasn’t going to stand for that. ‘Miss Parker, I cannot be held responsible for the sanitary conditions at other establishments, but I can assure you my staff maintains the highest level of cleanliness at our infirmary. Besides, all the conditions that led to the Barrackers’ deaths were contracted outside the infirmary, not inside.’
Mavis wondered just how stupid Carol might be when she said, ‘But the whole place is a hospital, isn’t it?’
Mavis sighed inwardly, and wondered about the quality of schools in Wales. ‘My dear Mrs Hill, the Battersea Barracks Hospital is not a “hospital” in the sense of the word as it is used today. Back in the 1600s when it was built, and in the early 1700s when it was opened, the word “hospital” was used in a much broader sense; it simply referred to a place where men who had served their country lived in a caring and common community. Our infirmary is our “hospital” if you like, the hospital being the whole barracks.’
