The Tangled Web
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
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Copyright
The Tangled Web
Grace Thompson
1
‘Having a thief for a brother is a life sentence!’ Amanda Clifford told her friend Gillian angrily as they prepared her brother’s room for his imminent return from yet another prison sentence. ‘Being brought up in a Children’s Home is his excuse, his sob-story perfected over the years for the Probation Officers and anyone else prepared to listen. But it was the same for me, and I survived it and qualified as a teacher. So why was it so much harder for him?’
Amanda was enjoying her third year at Haversley Street Infants, where her friend Gillian Harris also worked, as a secretary. This Saturday morning, Gillian had come to empty the room of clutter and sort out the books into the abysmally inadequate shelves in the tiny flat. Beside a willingness to help her friend, Gillian was curious to meet Roy Clifford about whom she had heard so much.
‘Roy went to a different Children’s Home, perhaps it wasn’t so easy for him,’ Gillian suggested. ‘They might not have been so encouraging.’
‘It wasn’t easy for me. But you’re right, the regime might have been different for the boys – but it wasn’t harsh. This is 1953 not 1853! I visited him and found it only slightly different from where I lived. Besides, those days are well and truly gone, thank goodness. No, Roy just likes being a thief and taking from others what he’s too lazy to work for.’
Pulling the blue and white bed-cover straight, Amanda admitted she felt more like throwing it out of the window. ‘Why am I responsible for Roy Neville Clifford, recidivist, with eleven prison sentences behind him?’ she fumed. ‘He isn’t even clever enough to get away with it! Although that’s probably a misleading statement. How many other burglaries and housebreakings has he succeeded in compared to the eighty-three housebreakings and shoplifting offences he’s so far owned up to?’
‘At twenty-five he should be settling down and looking ahead,’ Gillian agreed.
‘Exactly! But what does he do? He plans “just one more” session of break-ins just to set him up, as he so urgently explains when I answer yet another knock at the door to the police. D’you know he’s done more than five in one night, while people sit goggle-eyed with their new televisions? He says he can’t resist it, it’s too easy.’
She set out Roy’s favourite soap and shaving cream and the new toothbrush and paste, all chosen with care to help disperse the stubborn miasma of prison. In spite of her angry words she loved him and wanted him to lead a normal life more than anything in the world. Her anger with her brother had been exacerbated by her quarrel with Edmond. They had been seeing each other for more than a year and he had been adamant she must not take her brother back when he was released.
Defying Edmond had been casually done. He couldn’t really expect her to ignore Roy when he needed somewhere safe to stay. She had been so certain Edmond would understand, she had hardly mentioned her brother’s imminent arrival until last night. After a frighteningly fierce row, Edmond had glared at her and left without their resolving their differences or making an arrangement to see each other today. She rang, but his mother had explained stiffly that he was unwilling to come to the phone. Not unable, she had noted angrily, but unwilling. She still hadn’t worried overmuch. He’d come round.
‘What are you going to do, Amanda?’ Gillian asked when they had finished the room and were staring out over the back gardens of the closely packed houses. ‘You can’t have him here indefinitely. This flat is too small for you and all these books,’ she smiled, ‘without a brother and his belongings!’
Amanda smiled back and shrugged.
The two young women were not unalike. Both were fair-haired, with Gillian’s helped by bleach, and although Amanda was smaller, slimmer, and Gillian bordered on the plump, the similarity was there in their colouring and the willingness to smile. They both had eyes the colour of a summer sky and cheeks that glowed rosy with health. Amanda’s hair was luxuriant and long, worn tucked back in a sort of loose bun. Gillian’s slightly wavy hair was kept short. The most noticeable difference between the friends was Gillian’s love of jewellery. Nothing of value, just strings of brightly coloured beads and sparkling brooches and hair ornaments. Amanda’s taste was restricted to a gold chain around her neck.
Amanda’s flat was situated on the outskirts of Cardiff. The school where she and Gillian worked was only fifteen minutes’ drive away and, as Gillian lived around the corner with her parents, they travelled together in Amanda’s car. The Austin had been Amanda’s first luxury. Having been taught to drive by a colleague, she bought his car from him when he changed it for something newer and had never regretted doing so. With local shops providing most of her needs she had been comfortable and contented in the flat, but with big brother Roy appearing every few months before being re-arrested and sent once more to prison, it was slowly losing its appeal.
‘This time I’ll make sure Roy knows it’s the last time I’ll help,’ she told her friend. ‘My own job might be lost if someone realises I’m supporting a criminal. And Edmond won’t put up with the situation much longer. He’s very annoyed at me for taking him in again, when he begged me to refuse.’ She shook her long fair hair loose from its bun, which had become untidy, and glared at the freshly-made bed. ‘From now on he makes his own bed. If necessary I’ll move out and rent a place even smaller than this, where there isn’t room for him.’
‘Is that what Edmond wants you to do?’
‘It was his suggestion, yes. But he’s right and this will definitely be the last time. Edmond will cool off, but he really won’t stand much more of my brother interrupting our lives.’
Gillian sat down and started to cut out some shapes which Amanda wanted for the children to use as part of a maths lesson. It was an excuse not to leave as she wanted to stay until Roy arrived. What would he be like, this criminal brother? Huge and menacing? Small and weasel-like? A greasy, sweaty, swarthy type? She was not prepared to meet someone like the man who arrived at lunchtime.
He called out and walked in, tall, confident, surprisingly well-dressed and startlingly handsome. His blonde hair was very short and his skin had a light tan: the prison’s attempt to disguise the pallor of several months inside, Gillian guessed. She accepted the cropped hair almost immediately. Roy’s devilish grin, with his greeny-grey eyes and the confident air, made the unusually short hair an addition to his attractiveness. That he was a criminal who used charm as one of the tools of his trade simply added to his appeal.
‘Hi yer, Mand. How’s tricks? And who’s this lovely young lady then?’ he asked, his Welsh accent more pronounced than Amanda’s. The different Childrens’ Homes had produced other differences besides moral ones.
Amanda introduced them and saw at once that Gillian was impressed with her handsome brother irrespective, or perhaps because, of him being a criminal. She saw the way they were looking at each other and sighed inwardly, resigning herself to losing yet another friend.
As it was a mild April day, and she knew she would have a busy morning preparing for Roy, Amanda had prepared a simple meal of egg salad. There was no welcome home cake. Her small butter and margarine ration made that impossible. 1953, eight years after the war ended and they still had to endure food shortages. ‘Where’s your ration book, Roy?’ she asked as she remembered it.
Gillian was easily persuaded to stay and after spending a
n hour being amused by Roy’s exaggerated account of life in one of His Maiesty’s Prisons, she stood reluctantly to leave. As if he were already in charge of the household, it was Roy who saw her to the door, and from the whispering and giggling, Amanda guessed they were arranging to meet. Gathering up the dishes, she began tidying her impossibly small kitchen, and found room for some of Roy’s possessions in the even tinier bathroom.
How long would he stay this time? Would it be a girlfriend or the police who would be the cause of his leaving? As she stacked the dishes in the cupboards she thought seriously of giving up the flat and finding a room instead. Perhaps he would be better able to cope if he didn’t have her to help him out during the first weeks? If he made the effort and found himself a place to live, and a job – with the assistance of the Probation Officer – he might stay on the straight and narrow and begin to build a life. She knew that if he didn’t, he could easily demolish her life as well as his own. But could she pretend to turn her back on him?
While he talked to the departing Gillian, she looked around her at the three rooms, carefully designed to look comfortable and friendly yet not too crowded. After the shortages of the war and in the years immediately following, the fifties had burst out with a wonderful choice of furniture, fabrics and accessories. Putting aside the heavy dark furniture, she had chosen to buy the new contemporary style.
Moulded and bent plywood produced comfortable chairs and tables, which, with their pin legs and bright colours, gave a completely new look to a room. China with abstract designs and angular shapes looked neat, and so different from what had been used before. With abstract designs on wallpaper and carpets, it all blended to give a lightness and a spacious look.
Amanda had chosen to paint her walls in bold slabs of colour and her one armchair was moulded in the shape of an egg. Together with its matching stool, it was her only concession to comfort. Edmond, a traditionalist, hated it.
It had taken her three years, ever since she had started at Haversley Street Infants, to get the flat as she wanted it. Now, with her dining table pushed in a corner, with two cupboards balanced precariously on top, her dining room was Roy’s bedroom. Chairs were placed wherever there was space and ornaments had been relegated to boxes at the side of her wardrobe.
She listened again to the voices by the half-closed door. Roy and Gillian were probably making plans to meet later. Anger swept over her. It wasn’t fair, she moaned silently. She had no other family and having a brother should be fun, not misery.
At school the next day, Gillian was excited. ‘Roy has offered to do some tidying up in the garden for Mam and Dad,’ she announced. ‘Just until he gets a job; he doesn’t like being idle. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Of course I don’t mind.’ Amanda smiled and hoped he wouldn’t be foolish enough to ‘lift’ anything left lying about. She couldn’t warn Gillian to be careful. Even after all his convictions she couldn’t tell people he wasn’t to be trusted. Even though that, and his attraction to young women, was why she lost so many of her friends.
She did warn Roy though. ‘You have to get a job, and fast,’ she told him sternly. ‘I don’t want you living here indefinitely. As soon as you can afford it you have to find yourself a room. Right?’
‘Right,’ he echoed and saluted formally. ‘Yes, boss. At once.’ And he winked to show he hadn’t taken offence. ‘No grumpin’ mind if I don’t get one first off. It isn’t easy, Mand.’
He came in the following evening and told her he had a job.
‘Not much of a job, Mand. Only labouring for a gardener, but plenty of back-aching work, and that’s what I need, eh? Make me too tired to go clambering about on roofs!’
She couldn’t hold back from laughter. There was something about Roy that immediately won you over.
Although she resented the intrusion into her life she soon relaxed and began to enjoy his company. He started work early and was often there when she returned from school, with a kettle boiling for a cup of tea. When his work allowed, he cooked for them both. He listened and comforted her when she told him that Edmond wouldn’t see her or even talk to her, and laughed her out of her regrets for a man without humour or compassion. She didn’t tell him he was the cause of their parting.
Roy didn’t discuss Gillian but Amanda knew they were meeting. She was anxious about where he was getting the money for entertainment, as his wages were extremely low, and she eventually voiced her concerns to Gillian.
‘He doesn’t have much money,’ Gillian assured her. ‘That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’
‘So how does he manage to go out several times a week? He pays me for food and I don’t think there’s that much left.’
‘He hates this, but I treat us to a meal out and a matinee at the pictures on Saturdays. Mam and Dad like him and they cook him a good meal on Sundays, or as good as they can with the rationing. I mean, he needs encouragement if he’s to give up his previous ways.’
‘The love of a good woman?’ Amanda couldn’t hide the sarcasm, and quickly apologised. ‘Sorry. I hope you don’t get hurt, that’s all.’
‘Roy wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I think he really cares.’ Gillian spoke confidently. Amanda agreed, but silently wondered if Gillian were about to become another of Roy’s victims.
* * *
Roy was very nimble and very experienced at moving with practically no sound. Twice each week he slipped out of the bedroom window, moved like a shadow across the gardens then worked his way around to Amanda’s car. He made sure he was well away from the area where they lived before parking and making a reconnaissance of a small vil1age. Working in a different village each night, he would choose three houses and, after gaining entry, pick up small items he could readily sell plus any money he found. Then he would hide the proceeds of one before going on to the next house.
One night towards the end of April, he entered a pretty thatched cottage, one of a pair, intending to steal from both. He had no idea of the name of the place, which was about eight miles from Amanda’s flat. It was one he had noticed on his nightly wanderings and noted for future attention. He climbed in through a low window which had been left open, after making sure that the bed was unoccupied.
Three bedrooms provided three pounds ten shillings and sixpence, and some jewellery. The place was apparently unoccupied – all three bedrooms were empty. In that case it was worth trying downstairs. Testing every step just in case he was wrong, he went down the curving staircase and found himself in a narrow hallway. Opening the door of what he presumed was the kitchen a light came on and he saw two old women standing in front of a Welsh settle. One held a shotgun steadily and with unnerving accuracy towards his chest.
Gesturing him to raise his hands, she stretched out a hand towards the telephone, the mouthpiece of which was already resting on her shoulder.
‘Who are you?’ she surprised him by asking. ‘Before I dial nine nine nine, I want to know who you are and why a strong healthy young man like you should chose to rob rather than work.’
His heart was racing but he smiled and said, ‘Get on with you, I don’t want to tell you a thing. Call the police if you want to or let me go, whichever,’ he said casually. The gun moved infinitesimally and his heart rate increased even more. ‘All right, I do work, but because I’ve been in prison, the work is poorly paid and I want to be wealthy.’
‘What about your family?’ the old woman demanded, still holding the gun steadily pointed towards him, her gnarled finger on the trigger. ‘Don’t they help? Families should help each other.’
‘There’s only my sister, and we were brought up in Children’s Homes, see.’
He took a breath to begin his sob-story but the old woman demanded, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Clifford. Roy Neville Clifford.’ He saw the old woman frown as if the name meant something.
‘You have a sister, you say?’
‘Now look here, call the police if you have to but don’t involve my sister.’
The finger tightened almost imperceptibly and he answered quickly. ‘Amanda Clifford. Teacher she is and she knows nothin’ about this, right?’
She seemed startled by his words, her dark brown eyes staring at him disconcertingly. ‘Amanda Clifford? Amanda Clifford? How old is she?’
Roy relaxed slightly but stayed perfectly still out of respect for the gun. The poor old woman was lonely, she just wanted to talk. What unbelievable luck! He was going to get away with it! She’ll be offering tea next!
He told her everything she wanted to know, including Amanda’s occupation and the names of the Homes where she, and he, were brought up. The woman stared at him for a long time, then the gun was lowered and he was told to leave.
‘But first you can return what you stole from me.’
‘I never took nothin’. Too quick for me you were, you an’ that gun!’ He was barely holding back laughter as he opened the front door to make his formal leave, but was disconcerted when the old woman, still holding the gun, said:
‘Twenty-five you say you are? Amanda isn’t your sister, you stupid boy! Amanda Clifford hasn’t got a brother and certainly not one that’s older than her.’
It wasn’t until he was in the car that he relaxed enough to think about the old woman’s words. Could it be true? He and Amanda had been adopted, he knew that, but they were left in care at the same time and, since they had come from the same address, were both given the name of Clifford. Was it possible that although they were brought up together for those few months, they had been separately adopted and were no blood relation at all? With a strong respect for self preservation he decided not to mention the conversation to Amanda. Even by inventing the situation in which he had met the old woman, to make it acceptable. She’d have no reason to help him if she found out they weren’t brother and sister.
Before he drove home at a careful speed to avoid being stopped by an over-zealous policeman, he checked on the name of the village. Tri-nant. Three streams. He was curious, but decided it best forgotten. Cheerful and with confidence restored and even enlarged by his narrow escape, he drove back and slid in through the window.
The Tangled Web Page 1
