I just hope he’s in because I don’t want to have to go through this again. There’s a people carrier parked in front of the house that I’m guessing is what he uses for his airport runs. Hopefully he’s in.
I can’t find a bell so rattle the letter flap, then rattle it a bit more in case he doesn’t hear it. The door is opened almost immediately and I wonder if he’s watched me walk up the drive. I don’t know what I was expecting but it’s not what opens the door. He’s huge, not huge fat but huge tall. At least six foot four with hands the size of coal shovels and a massive chest with a red T-shirt the size of a tablecloth stretched across it. God knows how he fits inside the taxi. I can see why Dad feels intimidated by him.
‘Hello.’ His voice is a shock; he’s softly spoken. Not the voice you’d expect from someone so big.
‘Hello. Sorry to bother you. I’m Louise, Tom’s daughter. From next door.’
‘Hello.’ He puts his hand out, ‘Brendan. Pleased to meet you.’ I shake his hand expecting him to pulverise my fingers but his handshake is surprisingly gentle.
‘I’ve come to apologise. For yesterday. On behalf of Tom. My Dad.’
‘Oh.’ He looks surprised.
‘Yes. I’m sorry if he was rude to you and maybe a bit, ah, aggressive. He’s not very well at the moment.’ I feel disloyal and traitorous talking about Dad. ‘He doesn’t mean it. I mean, he can’t help it. He’s not usually like it. He’s really very nice. And polite. The nicest man you could ever meet. Normally.’ I’m blathering.
‘Honestly, he wasn’t rude at all. There’s no need to apologise. He’s always been the perfect gentleman to me. I’m sorry to hear he’s not well.’
‘Oh.’ I’m surprised. ‘He told us he’s been round and well, he told us what he said and it wasn’t very nice.’
‘He did come round but, um, anyway, I’m glad you’ve called round, I often see your car there and was hoping to catch you.’ So he was watching through the window. ‘Without your Dad knowing,’ he adds. I wonder what he’s going to say.
‘Yesterday wasn’t the first time Tom came round. He’s been round five times in the last few weeks. I’m concerned for him, which is why I’ve been hoping to catch you.’
‘Oh.’ I don’t know what to say.
‘He asks the same question every time.’ He clears his throat looking uncomfortable.
‘What does he ask?’ But I don’t want to know really.
‘He asks me if I’ve seen his wife. Says he’s looked everywhere but he can’t find her.’
And then I do the stupidest thing.
I start to cry.
Chapter 6
Nick went back to London a week ago and Dad seems to have settled down; no more strange behaviour, no more M15 or intruders in the garden. But I feel unsettled, a calm before the storm feeling. Almost as if I’m waiting for something to happen.
Dad seems to have forgiven me and is speaking to me again although the visit to the doctors hasn’t been mentioned. He’s not the same though, it’s as if he’s playing a part, carefully acting how he used to be. There’s an awkwardness between us that never used to be there; the conversation is stilted, and it never used to be. I’ve taken Sprocket on my last couple of visits as a distraction and Dad didn’t seem to mind - which is unusual in itself. I’ve kept Nick informed and we speak most days, but I wish he was here. It’s much easier when there are two of us.
The test results all came back fine and I think I always knew that they would. No underlying illness, no water infection. I made another appointment to see Dr McPherson but I didn’t take Dad, I went on my own as I’m sure Dad wouldn’t have come even if I’d asked him.
Dr McPherson was reluctant to do anything and suggested we wait and just monitor Dad’s behaviour. He really frustrated me, and I got the feeling that he thought I was exaggerating. If it wasn’t for the fact that Nick has witnessed Dad’s strange behaviour, I’d doubt myself. In desperation I told him about the gun and that I feared what might happen. He then begrudgingly said that he’d refer Dad to the mental health team. They rang me the next day with an appointment for three weeks’ time to assess him. I asked if they could see him sooner but apparently, he’s not a priority as he isn’t in crisis. Whatever that means. I feel sorry for people who don’t have anyone to fight for them; if Dad was on his own he could quietly go mad. Or shoot someone. I’m not sure how I’m going to persuade Dad to go for the appointment, but I’ll worry about that when it happens.
I haven’t told Dad that the results have come back okay, mostly because I’ve lied to him and told him that Dr McPherson says he can’t drive until he gets the all clear. I don’t want him getting in his car if he’s seeing things, what if he had an accident or knocked someone over?
Nick and I told Jean about Dad, she was shocked and disbelieving but said she would keep an eye on him. She said several times that she’s never noticed any odd behaviour from Dad and what a shock it was, how surprised she was. I didn’t like the way she looked at Nick and I. Almost accusing.
Brendan, the next-door neighbour, was really kind when I started blubbing on his doorstep. He asked me in for a cup of tea but I refused so he went off and came back with a giant piece of kitchen paper, so I could blow my nose. I don’t think he knew quite what to do with himself. He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder with a massive paw like hand and said ‘there, there.’ I’d have laughed if I hadn’t been feeling so miserable. I’d composed myself before I went back to Dad’s but Nick noticed straight away.
‘What’s the matter? Did he have a go at you, I’ll go and sort him out...’
‘No. No, he didn’t have a go at me at all, he was really nice. It’s just me. Being stupid.’
‘Come here.’ Nick wrapped me in a bear hug. ‘It’ll be alright Lou, it’ll get sorted.’
I let myself be hugged. ‘It won’t be alright though, will it? It’s just going to get worse and I can’t bear it.’ I told Nick what Brendan had said about Dad looking for Mum and that started me blubbing again.
‘Okay,’ Nick said, ‘one thing at a time. We just have to take it one step at a time. That’s all we can do. There must be some treatment for whatever’s wrong with Dad. There’s a pill for everything nowadays.’
‘What if it’s a brain tumour? What if there’s no treatment? I can’t bear it Nick, I just can’t bear it.’
‘C’mon now, let’s not jump ahead, we’ve just got to deal with what’s happening now. We’ll drive ourselves mad if we try and diagnose him ourselves. Let’s just wait and see.’ I think he’s saying this to convince himself as much as me.
‘Okay. One step at a time.’
‘I’m here for a couple more days so I’ll go next door and speak to Simon and Eileen, get them to keep an eye on him. In case he goes knocking on doors again. They’ve lived there for years and Dad always speaks quite fondly of Simon so I’m sure they won’t mind. I’ll give them my mobile, so they can hold of me if they need to.’
I have a sudden panicked thought, ‘What about the gun? What have you done with the gun?’
‘Don’t worry it’s sorted. I’ve left the gun where Dad put it, but I’ve taken the bullets out.’
‘What, you threw them out?’
‘No. Didn’t know what to do with them – I didn’t think I could just chuck them in the bin.’
‘So where are they?’
‘I put them in Mum’s sewing box, he’ll never look in there.’
He won’t. The sewing box has been in the back bedroom since Mum died and Dad would never think to look in there.
‘How did you get the bullets out? We only ever watched Dad do it. I wouldn’t have a clue how to do it.’
‘Easy. I used to get it out and play with it all the time when we were kids. I knew where Dad kept the key and I used to practise loading it and reloading it.’
‘You sly sod.’ I’m shocked.
Nick laughs. ‘Used to pretend I was Clint Eastwood.’ He narrows his eyes, pointing his finge
r at me. ‘Go ahead, punk, make my day.’
‘There’s another woman missing.’ Rupert announces to the office putting down the receiver. ‘They haven’t given any details yet, but we should get a name later on today.’
Even though Rupert hasn’t spoken loudly Ralph has come out of his office. Strangely, his hearing seems to have improved since he stopped smoking. He’s dispensed with the e-cigarette and moved onto boiled sweets now. He won’t have any teeth left if he carries on munching away on them at the current rate. He looks better though, not so grey.
‘Is that all you’ve got?’ he asks Rupert.
‘Yes. Details to follow later. Apparently, a woman was reported missing on Monday morning and they haven’t been able to locate her, so she’s now listed as missing.’
Ralph crunches on a humbug, ‘Do they think she’s linked to the other missing one? She still hasn’t turned up.’
‘Well, obviously they’re not saying, but that’s the assumption everyone will jump to.’
This is big news for the Frogham Herald; we’ve run the missing woman story a couple of times a week since the Crimewatch appeal, but it’s basically been a rehash of the first article as there haven’t been any sightings of her. The recording equipment on my telephone has never been used as the Scottish lady has never rung back. We’ve all pretty much written her off as a crank.
‘Maybe we’ve got a serial killer in Frogham,’ says Ralph. ‘Imagine the papers we could sell. I can see the headlines now – the Frogham Ripper strikes again or Killer strikes fear in the heart of Frogham.’
‘Steady on Ralph. We’re still hoping Suzanne Jenkins will be found safe and well,’ Rupert says disapprovingly. Unusually for a reporter Rupert has moral standards. Probably why he’s working for the Frogham Herald and not Fleet Street anymore.
‘Na, don’t mean to wish her ill or anything.’ Ralph looks slightly uncomfortable. ‘I just meant it would make good copy – you know what I mean Rupert, being a journalist and all. Doesn’t mean I want anything bad to happen.’
‘Hey, look at this,’ calls Ian who’s hanging out of the open window. ‘Looks like we’re really in the news.’
We all crowd around the window and look down into the precinct. A white van with a West Today logo on the side is attempting to park on the pavement in front of Superdrug.
‘Bloody cheek!’ says Ralph. ‘That’s not even a road, they shouldn’t be parking there.’ He sniffs the air and turns to Ian and says in an accusing tone, ‘You been smoking out of the window?’
He has; I can see ash all over the floor.
‘No, of course not.’ Ian is indignant, blushing scarlet. ‘I knew this would happen when you gave up, you’re turning into one of those sanctimonious ex-smokers.’
‘No, I’m not,’ says Ralph. ‘But there is a smoking ban you know. You can’t smoke indoors – you should know that. You want to give it up. Filthy habit.’
Ian looks at him with disbelief. ‘Never stopped you though did it? You needed a knife to cut through the smoke in your office.’
‘I’ve seen the light my boy. Seen the light.’ Ralph sniffs. ‘It is actually an offence you know. If I reported you, you could get an eighty quid fine.’
Ian opens his mouth to reply and Lucy buts in. ‘Look. They’re getting out.’ Lucy points her finger at the van in an attempt to distract them. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen her on the news.’
We watch as a man and a woman get out of the vehicle. The man walks to the back of the van and inspects the large satellite dish attached to the back.
‘They must think there’s a story – how did they find out so quickly?’ asks Lucy.
‘Same way I did – the police report. No doubt the precinct will be full of TV vans by tonight.’ Rupert tuts.
The woman is now standing in front of the bakers and the man is holding a pole with a furry microphone hanging in front of her.
As if on cue another van turns into the precinct and attempts to park in front of Fine Foods. The suited figure of the manager appears from the supermarket and strides over to the van and what looks like a heated discussion between the manager and driver follows.
After a lot of arm waving and pointing the van slowly moves away from the supermarket and down to where the precinct meets the road. The van then parks half on and half off the pavement whilst the supermarket manager stands watching from the pavement, arms folded.
‘I hope we get a name soon,’ Ralph says. ‘We need to get it in tonight’s paper. Bloody TV. Don’t want them beating us to it.’
‘But they will, won’t they?’ says Ian. ‘They always do.’
‘Not the same as reading my boy, not the same. People like to digest the facts, that’s why newspapers will never die.’
‘Hope you’re right Ralph otherwise we’ll all be out of a job.’
We drift back to our desks and it sets me thinking. The missing woman is just a news story to all but those closest to her; a real-life soap opera with the media eagerly awaiting the next instalment. I click on the news link and ponder Suzanne Jenkins’ photograph. She has one of those familiar faces, or maybe I’ve just studied this picture too much.
At lunchtime I pop down to Fine Foods to buy my lunch. The TV vans have now grown to three; West Today, BBC West and Wales Central. You’d think they could just send one and share it.
A blonde with thick orange foundation is practising her piece to camera, standing in front of the Fine Foods doorway despite the manager shooing the van away earlier. I’m a bit disappointed to see her reading the script from her phone. I thought it’d be a bit more glamorous than that, more lights, camera, action! I squeeze by her saying ‘excuse me’ so I can get inside to buy my cheese and pickle sandwich and she tuts loudly and gives me a filthy look.
As I’m paying for my sandwich at the self-service till a bearded man in a bobble hat starts shouting at the till.
‘SHUT UP. Just SHUT UP.’ He yells it every time it tells him to insert his credit card. When he starts to kick the machine the security guard ambles over from his usual perch by the door and, with a bored look on his face, propels him to the exit. He goes quietly, and I have the feeling that it’s a regular occurrence. An assistant appears and removes his unpaid for bottle of cider from the basket and takes it away. They should really have had the cameras inside, there’s more going on.
When I get back to the office Ralph is still prowling around like a caged animal. He’s been like this since Rupert got the news of the missing woman this morning. He keeps looking over at Rupert as if he can will the name to come through.
‘I’ve got a name!’ shouts Rupert suddenly, ‘And they’re sending over a photo now to go in tonight’s paper.’
‘About bloody time,’ yells Ralph.
‘Her name is Glenda Harris, age 42, lives in Vilett Gate.’
What? Who? Glenda? Surely not. There are lots of people called Glenda. Aren’t there?
‘That’s not her that owns the salons is it? Sure I know the name, was at some business do I went to.’ Ralph wanders over to read over Rupert’s shoulder.
‘Not sure. They’re releasing more information with the photo.’
‘Isn’t Vilett Gate near where the other one lived? Lives,’ says Lucy.
‘Don’t know. Let’s Google it.’ Rupert opens Streetview. ‘It is. The next street more or less, although the first one lives in a flat and these are posh houses. Very close though.’
‘They could know each other. Lev lives around there doesn’t he?’ Ian chips in.
‘Yeah, he does.’
Ian smirks.
‘So what are you implying Ian?’ Ralph raises his eyebrows in question; he looks annoyed.
Lucy and I exchange raised eyebrow glances too.
‘Nothing,’ says Ian, ‘Just making an observation.’
‘Lots of people live there, houses full of people.’
‘I know. Just saying.’
Rupert interrupts. ‘They’ve just sent the photo over.’
We all gather round Rupert’s PC.
I recognise the glossy hair, the slightly petulant expression.
It is her. It’s Glenda, Linda’s old school friend.
‘Have you heard?’ I ask Linda as I struggle with an excited Sprocket and fight to get his harness on him while he tries to lick my face.
‘Heard what?’ I can tell she hasn’t.
‘About Glenda.’
‘What about Glenda?’ She looks at me with her eyebrows raised. ‘Don’t tell me she tried to befriend you on Facebook. Take my advice and ignore her.’ She laughs.
‘Um, no.’
‘What?’
‘She’s gone missing, has been missing since Monday. The police are putting out an appeal to see if anyone’s seen her.’
‘Shit. No, I didn’t know, had no idea but then I haven’t seen the news. What do you mean by missing?’
‘Apparently, she’s been reported as missing since Monday, she didn’t turn up for a business meeting and no-one has seen her. Might be nothing but everyone is linking her to the other missing woman.’
‘God. I don’t like her but wouldn’t wish anything bad on her. We only saw her what . . . less than a couple of weeks ago.’
‘I know, it’s unbelievable. Doesn’t seem real.’
‘I thought she’d been quiet on Facebook. She’d messaged me loads and then she didn’t bother after the barbeque. Thought I’d offended her, and she wasn’t going to bother with me anymore. Felt relieved to be honest. Feel really bad now.’
‘You should tell the police about Facebook – might help them pinpoint exactly when she went missing.’
‘I will.’ Linda’s on her phone Googling the appeal number already. ‘Poor Glenda, I hope they find her and it’s all been a misunderstanding.’
A Confusion of Murders: There's murder on his mind... Page 7
