by Daisy White
She laughs suddenly and shakes her head. “Mad, that’s what you are, Ruby Baker! Just try not to put yourself in any danger this time.”
We chat back and forth a bit more, until even my cousin is pretty enthusiastic about investigating Ella Collins’ disappearance. Victoria remains neutral, and adds that she reckons Beverly did actually kill her daughter, and if I prove otherwise she’ll pay for a night out. Eventually I drag my watch out of my bag and reluctantly start to think about going home.
“We’re going up to the Milk Bar now if you fancy a quick drink?” Victoria says, yawning and dragging on her dress.
Pearl and Kenny try hard to persuade me, but I’m thinking about Mary stuck on her own in our little bedsit. “I’d love to, but I really should get back. If we get a bad night again . . .” I’m also thinking of the evenings when Summer has screamed solidly for three or four hours before going to sleep, and how Mary gets increasingly worried before dissolving into tears herself. Perhaps the gripe water Eve so kindly brought will help a bit.
“Up to you, sweetheart, but make sure you ring me tomorrow and come out to play at the weekend.” Pearl kisses me, and I smile at her gratefully.
“And I’d like to come and see the baby if you’re sure, Ruby,” Ted says shyly. “Shall I come over one afternoon?”
Fully dressed now, we start to crunch slowly up the beach, before parting by the pier. Waving at the others I walk quickly back along the promenade to Ship Street. There is a crowd of kids holding balloons on the corner, and the odd car rumbles past, but the day-trippers have all gone home. The roar of motorbikes makes me turn, and a crowd of Rockers, leather and chrome gleaming in the sunset, drive down the road in a blast of exhaust fumes. The girls are riding on the back, crouched behind their boyfriends, long legs curled up away from the machinery.
Ship Street is quiet now apart from a tall man striding down towards the sea on my side of the road. His dark hair is blowing in the warm breeze, and his face is lit by the last flickering rays of sun. I carry on up the hill, until we’re level, and he moves politely to the side to let me pass. But as I do his hand reaches out and catches mine, pulling me into a side street. The shadows make me blink in a moment of blindness, but of course I know who he is, and I persuade myself that my heart isn’t racing with fear.
This is the man who followed me from Croydon; who frightened me, threatened me, and ultimately saved my life. This is the man who watched the first time I committed murder, and helped me the second time.
Chapter Eight
“You need to stop doing that! Anyone could have seen, and they would have thought I was in trouble,” I tell him sternly.
Will's eyes are amber in the half-light, and his grin makes him look younger than his twenty-six years. His bony, angular face, with its dusting of dark stubble, has become familiar in the last few months. “You're always in trouble and probably always will be, Ruby Baker,” he says, still laughing at me.
“Are you back working at the fish market this week?” Although Will is always friendly now, I can’t help but feel a bit jumpy around him. He still follows me around, and just appears out of nowhere, which is a bit creepy. Plus, he’s really intense.
He nods, and drags a battered packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his navy donkey jacket. “I’ve got another five weeks on that contract, then I’m joining as crew on a fishing boat for a couple of months.” We light up, and lean back against the cobbled wall of the little alleyway. Nobody disturbs us, hidden in the darkness, but the last slash of red from the dying sun fills the road to our left with what looks like a river of blood.
“I’ve got some news,” I tell him, slightly nervously. I really hope he’s going to go with me on this because I need all the help I can get. “Did you hear about Beverly Collins? Everyone said she killed her daughter and now she’s back in Brighton . . .”
He nods again, blowing out smoke. “Poor cow. She was in Holloway, wasn’t she? I read about it in the papers. What’s she doing back here then? People won’t forgive and forget easily, even the ones who think she is innocent.”
“She came into the salon yesterday and asked me to find her daughter.”
“Bloody hell’s teeth, Rubes! Why you?”
“Because of the whole Leon thing earlier this year. You know, and Ruby Baker’s Investigation Bureau.”
Silence. I try to see his face in the shadows, but his head is turned away. “I’m going to try and help her, Will. I believe she is innocent and I want her to find her daughter.”
“And if the daughter is dead? I’m sure you’ve already thought of it, but I don’t suppose her daughter is that kid you pulled off the beach the other day?”
“No, that would have just worked out too well. We still don’t know who she is or where she came from. I don’t know much about Beverly, but I know she isn’t stupid. It must have occurred to her that her daughter could be dead.”
There is a silence, then Will chucks his cigarette into the gutter, rubs his hands on his jacket, and pulls out his wallet. “Here, I got an extra tip this morning . . .”
“I told you before I can’t take your money, Will. Bloody hell, that’s five pounds!”
I know what’s going to come next: his eyes darken and his expression tightens, as though with annoyance or hurt. “Suit yourself.”
I put a hand on his arm. “It is really sweet of you, but I’m OK, honestly.”
He just shrugs me off, and we are both quiet for a moment. A lorry rumbles past out on the road, grinding gears as it struggles up the hill.
“I need to go.”
He moves towards the road, and for a second I think I’ve really offended him, but then he turns, amber eyes glinting. “I suppose I’ll have to stick around and make sure you don’t get yourself killed, won't I. Maybe I can even help. You just . . . be careful. People around here, they believe that woman is guilty. You nosing around will be like poking a stick in a wasp's nest.”
I run out into the road and up the hill to the salon. Part of me wishes I could introduce Will to my friends, to see him normally on a night out, and part of me wishes he would just leave town for good.
* * *
Will is my stepdad George’s son, and he’d never even seen him up until earlier this year, when his mum died and he decided to track him down. I know he’s had a strange couple of years, but he can still be a bit strange and intense at times . . . He is always trying to give me money, or once, a little silver necklace with a bunch of flowers. Still, he has become a sort of friend. I’m amazed Johnnie’s spy system hasn’t discovered us yet.
Will isn’t his real name, but he said it was better if I don’t know it. That’s the second reason I can’t introduce him to my friends. I’m not convinced, although he won’t talk about it, that all his work is legal, and somehow, I don’t want to know what else he does, who he works for at night, or why he turns up in a suit after a supposed shift at the market. When he talks about his past up north, and his dead mum, I always get the impression he leaves all the bad bits out. There are a lot of other things he won’t tell me, and he has an awful lot of money for someone working down the market. But it’s OK to have secrets, because I’m not perfect either, and there is still a lot I don’t tell him . . .
Letting myself quietly into our little bedsit, I’m expecting to find Mary and the baby fast asleep, but all I can hear as I creep through the outer door is the sound of sobbing. For a second I pause, puzzled. Then I realise it isn’t a baby crying, but an adult. I run upstairs as fast as I can, and yank open the second door.
Summer is fast asleep in her crib, apparently sleeping peacefully, but my best friend is huddled at the end of her bed, crying like she’ll never stop.
“Mary? Mary, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Is Summer OK?” The words pour out of my mouth in a frightened jumble. “Mary!”
Gradually Mary starts to sniff in between sobs, and take great gulping breaths between the floods of tears. I stay crouched next to her, one arm firm
ly around her shoulders, kissing her cheek and stroking her hair — comforting her as though she was still a child herself.
“Sorry Ruby, I’m such a stupid cow. I didn’t mean for you to come back and find . . .” Her voice trails off pathetically and the sentence ends in a whimper.
“It’s OK, I’m here now. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” I keep glancing over at the crib but the baby looks fine in the shadows, and the little chest is rising and falling. She makes a little snuffling noise and curls her fists tighter. Not the baby then . . .
“I’m so ashamed,” Mary whispers. “She was crying and crying. She wouldn’t stop screeching, and I tried everything. The gripe water, feeding her, changing her nappy . . . Then I just carried her around rocking her and singing. You know, like we do.”
I nod. “But she was still crying?”
“Yes, and I was crying myself by then. I didn’t know what to do. Why can’t I calm her down? I’m supposed to be her mother!” Mary’s voice rises again, ending in a high-pitched wail. Her tear-stained face is white in the shadowy room, and she is still hunched over her knees, picking at the sleeve of her nightdress.
“Oh sweetheart, you should have brought her down to the beach . . . At least we could have all helped, and you wouldn’t have been by yourself,” I tell her, almost in tears myself. Guilt settles hot and uncomfortable, deep in my stomach. While I was swimming, and laughing with the others, Mary was suffering.
Mary pulls slightly away from me, frowning. “You don’t understand. I couldn’t do that because then everyone would see what a bad mother I am.”
“You aren’t!”
“I am, and do you know what’s worse? When she wouldn’t settle I was angry with her. Angry that I was trying so hard to comfort her but she wouldn’t let me. So I . . . I shook her hard and slapped her leg. Then I put her in her cot and went outside onto the stairs. I shut the door, Ruby, and let her cry.”
“What happened then?” I whisper.
Mary shrugs. “Eventually she stopped, and went to sleep. I went to check and she was fine. But when I wasn’t angry any more I felt so ashamed. I hurt my own baby, Ruby.”
I stare at her, shocked that this person exists as part of my best friend. Has being a mum done this to her? Mary has always been the happiest person I know. . .
We sit side by side, perched on the end of the bed, neither of us speaking. It isn’t an easy silence. Eventually I get up and ask if Mary would like a cup of tea before we go to sleep.
“No thanks, Ruby, I think I’ll just go straight to sleep. Summer’s bound to be awake again in a few hours,” she says, curtly now.
She’s obviously regretting telling me everything, and I want to reassure her that I’ll help in any way I can, that we always get through everything that life throws at us. But just now, I can see all she needs is to sleep. We can talk properly in the morning.
I creep around making a hot drink for myself, before undressing and curling into bed. The baby stirs in her cot, and I tense, but she gives a little sigh and then starts snoring. Mary is huddled up in the sheet with her back to me. I’m sure she’s not asleep but I can’t think what to say. My mum used to scream at us all, and make us older kids look after the babies when they cried. She was always running around, red-faced, handing out bottles of milk, or dumping plates of food on the table. Of course when George moved in Mum was even busier. He made her give up work to look after him. It wasn’t long before he decided she wasn’t very good at it, and that was when he started to hit her.
But she did love us, I suppose. I mean I do remember her slapping the little ones around the legs if they were naughty, and whacking my backside when I ran across the road without looking, but that’s normal, isn’t it? I don’t remember her getting really cross with the babies . . . Finishing my drink, I set the empty mug onto the floor beside my bed and settle down for the night.
* * *
“Mary looks awful this morning. Did the gripe water not help?” Catherine asks me as we bustle around making tea and setting up for the morning.
“No. Not really. I went out for a swim, and I think Summer cried non-stop for a couple of hours and she just couldn’t settle her. Poor Mary,” I add, anxious not to criticise in any way. Despite my efforts, Mary has barely spoken to me this morning, and seems to be trying to forget that last night ever happened.
Johnnie takes his mug of tea, frowning down the list of appointments, “Nothing until half past nine. That’s unusual and not good for business.”
“Oh, the Clackett girls cancelled, Johnnie. I forgot to tell you. They rang at closing time to say they had a shift change at the cafe and couldn’t make it,” Eve says suddenly, tapping her forehead. “I swear I’m getting old before my time. I keep forgetting everything.”
“How annoying. Sorry, Eve darling, not your memory, but the cancellations.” My employer drums his fingers on the desk. “Still, I’m sure Ruby has some ideas on how we can fill in the time. Make sure everything is set up ready for the clients, and then I’ll let her fill you in.”
Uh-oh. Thanks, Johnnie. Catherine is going to hate me, and I’m not even sure I can count on Mary after last night. As well as maintaining a barely civil silence as we went through our usual morning routine, she also refused my offer of tea and toast. No, all things considered, now is really not a good time for discussing Beverly Collins.
I linger over my sweeping, and even start rearranging the nail polish cupboard, until Johnnie claps his hands theatrically. “Now ladies, we have a new case for Ruby Baker’s Investigation Bureau. Over to you, Rubes!”
I take a deep breath. “You all know that Beverly Collins is back in Brighton, and you know why. Now whatever anyone feels about Beverly, if she didn’t kill her daughter, there is still a missing girl to find. I’ve decided to use the investigation bureau we set up to find Mary, to find out what happened to Ella Collins. Of course it all happened ten years ago, so it will be difficult . . .”
Catherine sighs. “I admire you wanting to help, Ruby love, but that woman is guilty. She murdered her daughter and lied about it. There was no question that she didn’t do it. I think one of the other kids out playing with Ella even said she took the child back inside with her that day. Beverly told everyone she left her daughter in the road.”
I knew Catherine would be hard to win round, but the whole point of the investigation bureau was that everyone pitched in to help. People who would never speak to the police spoke to us, or knew someone who had their hair cut in the salon and passed on information via our clients. As Beverly said, someone must know something.
Mary nods, which could mean anything. She still has that blank, exhausted look, and although her hair is pinned up, it is lank and greasy. She may have fixed a smile on her face, but her eyes look sore and red from exhaustion and crying. She makes no further contribution to the conversation.
Eve is leaning against the wall, drinking tea, head tilted to one side like a curious bird. “I reckon it was that boyfriend of hers, Barry Green I think he was called, might have been involved somehow. I’m not saying Beverly didn’t do it, and I won’t until you get some hard evidence that shows she’s innocent, but did Barry really go abroad? The police never found him, you know, and anyone can say they’re going off to America, can’t they? It’s another thing to actually arrive. He was a right piece of work, too. His parents owned a fairground ride — the dodgems if I remember rightly — and he got Beverly pregnant at sixteen. Her parents kicked her out, of course, but some relative, an aunt if I remember rightly, lent them a house on White Oak. Probably a step up because I think she was brought up in Carlton Hill. Then of course she had Ella and a year or so later he’d scarpered.”
Johnnie is glowing with excitement. “I suppose he may have returned, snatched Ella and taken her back to America. It would explain why no trace of her has ever been found. If Barry had a row with Beverly about taking Ella, he might have wanted revenge when she said no. Perhaps he wanted to take them all to Americ
a, and she didn’t want to go.”
“Or you can explain it by saying that Beverly murdered her daughter and be done with it,” Catherine says tartly. “Look, customers are on their way. Rubes love, if you want to do this then you go right ahead, but a lot of people will feel the same as me. Beverly should have swung for murder.”
Chapter Nine
Johnnie follows me into the back room for a cigarette break at twelve, and continues the conversation about Beverly as though we had never been interrupted. “How are you going to investigate this one, Ruby?”
I shrug. “Well, everyone keeps telling me it’s going to be hard, and I do get that. Kenny and James got me a list of names and a few addresses of people who were around at the time of Ella’s disappearance, so I’ll start with those. There’s also a child who testified to seeing Beverly take Ella inside that afternoon, who now admits she lied. She must be a good person to start with.”
My employer raises sceptical eyebrows. “Yes, suddenly after ten years she decides to come forward. How convenient. And if Beverly had gone to the gallows? A bit late to be admitting something like that. You know this whole set-up is slightly odd. Devastating as any missing child case is, of course. But odd, too. You watch out on this, Ruby Baker.”
I stub my cigarette out and turn to wash up the dirty bowl of mugs ready for the afternoon rush. “I thought it was strange too, but then I wondered if this child, Laura, who was a key witness, had been bribed or threatened into lying. If she had been then it all still points towards someone setting Beverly up for the murder. The fact that she's come forward now suggests that maybe the person doing the threatening might not be around any longer. Perhaps Barry Green or whoever died?”
Johnnie looks doubtful. “You know, much as I like the idea, it's going to be very hard to convince everyone that Beverly was set up. It sounds a bit like a Hollywood film. That would be a lot of people to bribe and keep under control for all these years. White Oak might look like a big, sprawling estate, but the residents look out for each other like a big family. You hurt one of them, you hurt all of them. Of course I wasn’t here ten years ago, but I imagine it was much the same then. Let me have a look at your list, though, and I’ll set my Brighton spy system onto the names.” He laughs suddenly. “This is so much fun, Ruby, and do you know what will happen when the police find out we are investigating, too?”
