Ward Zero: The dead ward

by Linda Huber

  Sarah frowned. ‘I know, but you’ve never done it with a bashed knee, have you?’

  ‘Are you expecting Frankie to run away? Because I’m not. Where is she, anyway?’

  ‘Still getting dressed. She had a bad night but she kept it to herself.’

  Sarah turned towards the door, realising Mim meant what she said. And of course it would be great to allow Jack to spoil her for an hour or two. She’d come home to Brockburn expecting to go on a fun trip with Mim, confide her frustration about breaking up with Andreas, and generally get her life together before taking the Geneva job in October – because that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Now she was living with an injured foster parent and a hurting child.

  The sound of tyres on gravel interrupted her thoughts, and Sarah made a face. ‘Help, here’s Jack already. Entertain him for me, would you?’

  She fled upstairs to dress as the doorbell shrilled behind her.

  Lilian Jennings pulled on an old blue windcheater and pushed her feet into mud-splattered wellingtons. The ground would be soft and wet after all the rain they’d had these past few days. She untangled the two dog leads hanging by the front door, then grabbed a couple of poo bags from the shelf, grinning as a hopeful face appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Hello, Boris! Come on, Tequila!’

  Two yellow-gold bundles of power raced along the front hall, panting to get outside. Lilian clicked on the leads. ‘Come on. And there’s no use trying to make me feel guilty about not going walkies earlier. Everyone deserves a lie-in on Sundays.’

  She zipped her phone into her pocket and left the house, the dogs pulling her down the path as soon as she’d locked the door. At the gate they both turned left. Okay, so this was to be a canal walk and back through the woods. A right turn at the gate led them to open countryside and a good run. It was warm today, the warmest day of the year so far, so the coolness of the woods was the best option in spite of the mud.

  As usual, after charging along like wild things for the first hundred yards, the dogs settled down and trotted at her heels, stopping frequently to investigate some interesting bush or lamp post. Lilian waited patiently while they sniffed around. She had all the time in the world today.

  They arrived at the canal bank and Lilian let Boris off the lead. At his age he could be trusted not to take a running jump into the cold and murky waters of the Brockburn-Witherton canal. The dogs sniffed their way along the canal path, Lilian following. Normally they would meet other dog walkers here, but today she was later than usual and the place was deserted.

  Lilian strolled along, Boris five yards behind her, Tequila straining ahead as far as the long lead allowed. Lilian sighed appreciatively. How lucky she was to be out in the fresh air – woods on the left, the canal and fields on the right, and today there wasn’t even the buzz of traffic from the bypass. Mind you, the canal was a bit pongy here. It must be the high temperature. The water wasn’t sluggish enough to smell on a cool day.

  All at once Tequila stopped, ears pricked, and gave a short bark before hurling herself towards the canal bank and into the water. Caught off balance, Lilian dropped the lead, yelling, ‘Tequila! Come here!’ But Tequila took no notice, and to Lilian’s surprise and dismay old Boris shot past her and took a flying leap into the water too. Seconds later, both dogs were splashing around the shallow waters of a narrow channel at the side of the main canal.

  ‘Boris! Tequila! Come back here!’ shouted Lilian, picking up the lead and pulling as hard as she could. It was no use. Tequila was stronger. Lilian set her teeth and jumped down to the edge of the water.

  What was that? Something large and ungainly was floating just below the surface, close to the bank. Lilian took a few steps forward, then stopped, horror swamping through her. Cold sweat broke out on her brow. A broken body was bobbing in the swirling water – a woman. Some kind of bag was hanging off the head… reddish hair was streaming into the water and the skin was a funny yellow-grey colour and the face – the face was... flat.

  Lilian retched. Saliva drenched her mouth and she spat, several times, into the weeds at the water’s edge. Dear Lord. This woman had been killed – and she and the dogs were all alone here.

  ‘He – elp!’ she shouted, twice, and listened as the woods swallowed her call. No answer came. Lilian swallowed painfully. No help would be in time for this poor creature in the water. There was no need to rush for ambulances or phone for doctors. The most important thing was to get the dogs away from the body and call the police.

  ‘Boris! Heel!’ She spoke quietly, but Boris realised she meant business and waded towards her. She seized his collar and hauled him up the bank, then reattached his lead and tied him to a tree. Now for Tequila. She grasped the dog’s collar and shook hard, shouting her name and yanking her towards Boris. Tequila was so surprised she allowed Lilian to pull her to Boris’s tree and tie her on.

  Lilian’s teeth were chattering as she scrabbled dog snacks from the pocket of her windcheater and dropped them on the ground beside the two dogs. A quick look behind her confirmed this wasn’t a nightmare. There was a body in the canal, and it hadn’t fallen in and drowned.

  With shaking fingers Lilian pulled out her mobile. It was the first time in her life she’d ever done this. She held the phone in her right hand and punched out 999.

  ‘This is brilliant! I’d no idea they did brunches here. Look at the cats!’

  Sarah banged the car door shut, gazing round in delight. The farmhouse was only a ten-minute drive from Brockburn, but it was right out in the countryside, surrounded by fields of grain. A little stream crossed a corner of the yard, tumbling downhill to join the River Brock. Grey sandstone farm buildings contrasted with the terracotta window boxes overflowing with pink geraniums, and cats of all colours were lazing around in the sunshine. Sarah counted seven before several chased after a piece of paper blowing across the yard, and she gave up, laughing.

  Jack took her elbow as they left the car park. ‘Thought you’d like it.’

  He led her towards a large wooden building behind the farmhouse. One wall was open to the orchard, where trees with still-tiny apples and pears gave shade to the tables beneath them.

  A rosy-cheeked woman showed them to their table, halfway up the barn. ‘The cold buffet’s self-service, and if you’re having anything cooked we’ll bring it over,’ she explained, indicating three laden trestle tables, one of which had gas hobs at one end.

  ‘I hope you’re hungry,’ said Jack.

  Sarah walked along the cold table. ‘I am, but way too much of this looks delicious. I’m going to have tiny portions of lots of things.’

  She poured them both orange juice and coffee, and went back to their table with a small bowl of muesli, having ordered scrambled egg and bacon. Jack joined her, a selection of cheese and cold meat on his plate.

  Sarah’s gaze wandered round the barn as she started to eat. All the tables were occupied, and chatter and laughter filled the air. Some people had dressed up, while others were wearing jeans and t-shirts. Everyone looked relaxed and happy.

  She turned back to Jack. ‘This would be a fun thing to do for a birthday, wouldn’t it – something a bit different.’

  ‘Glad you like it,’ said Jack, balancing a gherkin on a forkful of ham. ‘What do you usually do on your birthday?’

  ‘Mim and I always used to go out for lunch, but I haven’t been here the past couple of birthdays. My last job was in Zürich, and I have the chance of another in Geneva this autumn.’

  ‘Doing…?’

  ‘Teaching. I was at the International School in Zürich. Kids from all over the place, and great travel opportunities, too.’

  ‘Tell me more,’ he said, leaning forwards.

  Sarah didn’t miss the interest in his eyes, and it wasn’t for Zürich, either. Flattered, she began to talk. Jack asked a lot of questions, and she toured happily round Europe until she’d finished her muesli.

  Jack went for more coffee, and Sarah pulled ou
t her mobile. No calls. Should she text Mim and check that all was well? But Mim would only remind her that she was the foster parent, not Sarah. Mrs Jameson had completed the paperwork on Friday, and Frankie was back at Mim’s for an unspecified time. It was apparently correct that the child’s father lived in the States, though Mrs Jameson hadn’t located him yet.

  Sarah bit her lip. It was all very well saying Mim was the foster parent, but Sarah was the one Frankie turned to with questions about the police, and the one supplying comfort in the night, too. She sipped her juice, ignoring the dragging sensation of not having had enough sleep. Frankie’d had a restless night, but every time Sarah went through the little girl pretended to be asleep. It was horrible. Frankie was much too young to be worried sick all by herself.

  Stop fretting, Sarah told herself. Mim’s there; she and Frankie’ll manage without you for an hour or two. This is your treat, enjoy it.

  The barn was packed, brunchers of all ages milling round, choosing food and chatting to friends and families. Jack came back with the coffee, closely followed by the woman with Sarah’s eggs.

  Sarah lifted her fork. ‘What do you do, Jack? I think you said you were between jobs too?’

  ‘Yes. I did a degree in electronics, and I’ve worked all over the place, mostly in the north-west.’

  ‘Sounds like you change jobs every five minutes,’ said Sarah, laughing.

  ‘Oh – no – well, not very often,’ he said, stumbling over the words and scrunching his napkin under one hand. His eyes slid away from hers and he wiped his face with the napkin.

  For a moment Sarah was lost for words. It seemed an odd reaction to a humorous remark. Had he been sacked at some point, perhaps? Time to change the subject. But Jack got there first.

  ‘Have you been to that revolving restaurant in Switzerland where they filmed one of the James Bond films?’

  She had, and told him about it while she ate her eggs. Like her, he was a James Bond fan, and they had a lively conversation about who’d made the best 007.

  ‘Definitely Roger Moore – he brought a bit of humour with him,’ said Jack. ‘The way he raises an eyebrow is classic.’

  ‘Daniel Craig made Bond look like a real person,’ said Sarah. ‘But maybe that’s more of a girl thing, huh?’

  Jack was laughing now, the brief awkward moment seemingly forgotten.

  Mim’s back door slammed, and Caitlyn frowned. She’d watched earlier as Sarah and her handsome date drove off, so Mim was home alone with Frankie now. If the girl went off in a strop Mim wouldn’t be able to chase her. Time to be a good neighbour and pay them a visit. Caitlyn slid her feet into flip flops.

  Mim’s front door was unlocked, and Caitlyn rang the bell and stuck her head in. ‘Anyone home?’

  Mim’s voice answered from the kitchen, where she was arranging roses in a vase. She waved Caitlyn to the table. ‘Aren’t these lovely? They’re from Jack, an old friend of Sarah’s. He’s taken her for a farmyard brunch.’

  Caitlyn watched as Mim finished the roses and put the cut-off stems into the bin. ‘Sounds fab.’ She gazed outside where Frankie was throwing ping-pong balls for Thomas. ‘He won’t be Fat Cat much longer if she has anything to do with it.’

  Mim snorted. ‘Poor old Tom-puss. But I’m glad she has the distraction. Coffee?’

  ‘Please. But let me make it.’

  Mim sat down and stared out at Frankie. The older woman’s eyes were bleak, and Caitlyn could see why. Frankie’s face was closed-in even when she was playing with the cat. It was plain the girl was miserable.

  ‘I’ve never had a child of this age who’s had to worry if her mother has deliberately abandoned her,’ said Mim. ‘Oh, we’ve had difficult cases – remember that little family whose parents were jailed in Morocco? And we’ve had children anxious because their mother was in hospital – but this is a different kind of anguish…’ Her voice trailed off.

  Caitlyn put two mugs of coffee on the table and sat down. ‘Sounds to me as if something’s happened to her mother.’

  Mim heaved a sigh. ‘It’s dreadful. The best the poor child can hope for is that Petra has cold-bloodedly left her to fend for herself. We’ve tried to be upbeat without giving her false hope, but all we can do is tell her that she isn’t alone, and try to take her mind off what’s going on. I’ll get her to help me with my stair exercises in a moment, but really – it isn’t much of a distraction, is it?’

  Caitlyn sipped her coffee. She could help Mim here, even if there was little comfort in it for Frankie.

  The back door opened and Frankie came in, glancing at Caitlyn with the same non-expression.

  ‘The very person,’ said Caitlyn, smiling at the child, who gave her a blank look. ‘Mim was saying she hasn’t done enough stair practice. You and I can help her.’

  ‘Huh?’ Frankie didn’t look convinced.

  ‘I want to try without my crutches,’ said Mim quickly. ‘If you and Caitlyn are in front and behind, you can catch me if I take a sudden nosedive. If you don’t mind, lovey.’

  Frankie’s face was apprehensive as Mim solemnly ascended and descended the stairs, and Caitlyn almost laughed. She cheered when they were back at the bottom, and this time Frankie smiled too. Caitlyn and Mim exchanged glances.

  ‘Thank you so much, Frankie,’ said Mim. ‘I hope I can get rid of the crutches officially soon. We’ll see what they say at physio tomorrow.’

  Frankie nodded dumbly, and Caitlyn saw tears gather in the girl’s eyes at the mention of the hospital.

  Mim evidently saw them too. ‘Would you like to come with me tomorrow? You could watch me do my exercises, then we could visit your gran before lunch.’

  Frankie shrugged, and Caitlyn saw Mim’s shoulders droop. Another chance to be neighbourly. ‘If you ever need a lift, Mim, I can take you.’

  Mim gave her a ‘thank you’ look. ‘Excellent. And talking about lunch, let’s see what there is in the fridge. You’ll stay, won’t you, Caitlyn?’

  During the meal they chatted about Mim’s plans for the house. Frankie was silent throughout, and Caitlyn could see Mim was glad to have someone to keep the conversation going.

  When they’d finished their salad Mim touched the child’s head. ‘I know it’s hard, but you’re not alone in all this, Frankie love. Sarah and I’ll both help as much as we can. And soon you’ll see Rita and her family too, remember them? No matter how it feels, you’re not alone.’

  Frankie didn’t answer. After a moment she stood up and began to stack the dishwasher.

  ‘Mim – sofa – now. I’ll help Frankie clear up,’ said Caitlyn.

  The exhausted look was back on the older woman’s face. Mim nodded, and crutched her way towards the living room, the phone in the hallway ringing while she was approaching it. Caitlyn watched as Mim lifted the receiver, her right crutch hanging on her elbow.

  ‘Hello?’ The appalled expression that came over her neighbour’s face told Caitlyn everything.

  She closed the kitchen door and lifted the salt and pepper from the table. ‘Where do these go, Frankie?’

  ‘In there.’ The girl’s voice was tranquil; it didn’t seem to have entered her head that the phone call might be about her mother. Caitlyn swallowed. Of course lots of people would be calling to ask how Mim was. Frankie would be used to people ringing up.

  A few minutes later Caitlyn heard Mim replace the handset, and went to join her in the living room, dismayed when Frankie followed on.

  Mim was on the sofa, her face pale. ‘Frankie, could you fetch me the packet of paracetamol from the bathroom cabinet, please?’

  The child ran upstairs, and Mim gazed up at Caitlyn, her voice a mere whisper. ‘They’ve found a body in the canal, and it matches Petra’s description. Someone from the police will be round in an hour to tell us more.’

  Caitlyn’s hands flew to her face. So it had happened. The worst possible outcome; the nightmare ending. ‘Was she – murdered? It can’t be suicide, surely?’

  ‘He ta
lked about a head injury. Oh, Caitlyn.’

  Caitlyn bent down, her hand on Mim’s shoulder. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Mim’s hands were shaking, and she clasped them together. ‘I’ll have to tell Frankie something. But I need Sarah here. Could you phone her for me?’

  Caitlyn pulled out her phone while Mim leaned back into the sofa, looking ten years older. What a horrible thing to have to do, tell a child her mother was dead. What had happened – who had done this to Petra?

  Frankie walked back into the room, an apprehensive, silent question forming in her eyes as she glanced from Caitlyn to Mim. Caitlyn put a hand on her shoulder. The child wasn’t stupid; she could see something was badly wrong. Explanations couldn’t wait until Sarah was here.

  ‘Oh, Frankie,’ said Mim, tears dripping off her chin. ‘It was the police on the phone, lovey. They –’

  Frankie’s face went chalk white. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ It was little more than a whisper.

  Mim held out her arms, but Frankie flung herself into the opposite corner of the sofa and buried her head in a cushion. Loud sobs shook her body. Mim inched along until she was sitting beside the girl. Caitlyn bit her lip. There was nothing she could say or do to help, so she crept back to the kitchen to ruin Sarah’s date.

  Sarah finished her croissant and honey and sat back, patting her tummy. ‘I’m full! I should jog home after all this. Where do you live, Jack?’

  ‘Ceres Road. It’s near the bypass –’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ Sarah’s mobile was buzzing and she fished it out.

  Caitlyn’s number was on the screen and Sarah drew her breath in. Was everything okay at home? She accepted the call with shaking fingers. ‘Caitlyn?’

  ‘Sarah, it’s bad news, I’m afraid. They’ve found a body in the canal and it looks like it’s Petra. Mim asked me to call you – you’re needed here. Do you want me to come and get you?’

  ‘Hell – hang on a second, Caitlyn.’

  Jack was staring at her, his eyes wide. Forcing back tears, Sarah whispered what was going on.