by Linda Huber
Frankie looked as if she didn’t know whether to be thrilled or upset. ‘The baby! Oh! Okay. S’pose.’
Sarah phoned Caitlyn from the checkout queue, in case she wasn’t able to help, though she couldn’t imagine who else she could ask to take Frankie. The thought that Mrs Chisholm would have loved to help did nothing to ease the little knot of stress tightening in Sarah’s gut.
‘Caitlyn – I’m leaving Leeside with Frankie. Mim and I are going to Rita – the baby’s coming and Phil’s away. Can you keep Frankie for a few hours? And tell Mim to get ready?’
‘Can do. See you soon.’
Mim was waiting on the pavement when they arrived home, and Sarah was pleased to see the old, excited-impetuous expression on her foster mother’s face. This was better for Mim than worrying about stolen money and murdered women. Mind you, it wasn’t so good for Frankie, being abandoned so abruptly. The girl’s face when Mim hugged her goodbye was sombre.
Her fingers tightening round the wheel, Sarah drove as fast as she could towards the motorway.
Mim was edgy too. ‘It might be better if Rita called an ambulance to take her to the hospital. We could meet her there.’
‘A neighbour’s with her. She’ll call an ambulance if it’s necessary. We’ll phone when we’re almost there and see what’s happening.’
Once on the motorway, Sarah put her foot down. Jack’s face swam in front of her eyes as Brockburn vanished behind the car. She hadn’t even had time to call him yet. The two of them weren’t having much luck with their dates. A brunch she’d had to run away from, one date when he’d had a migraine, and now another that wasn’t going to happen. Bad things did seem to come in threes. But oh, how great it would be if the two of them got together properly. He was intelligent, and humorous, and he was interested in her… Plus he was the best-looking bloke she’d ever been out with. Was that shallow? Well, yes – but who wouldn’t notice looks like his?
A lump rose in Sarah’s throat and she swallowed her tears. Rita’s baby was way more important than her dinner date. But oh, how very much she wanted a baby of her own, and here was her younger foster sister about to become a mother for the second time. Sarah pulled out to overtake a frozen food lorry, and shook herself – she was being stupid. But – she wanted something to go right for her too. A normal date, a few days’ holiday, a restful home. It didn’t sound like much to ask for, but none of it was happening. Tears brimming in her eyes, she drove towards Manchester.
Caitlyn helped Frankie unpack Sarah’s shopping, squinting at the girl as they filled the fridge and store cupboards. She wasn’t saying much. Caitlyn grimaced. Please God her own kids would never feel the anguish Frankie must be experiencing. But she couldn’t spend the day thinking like that – Sarah and Mim would be in Manchester until the baby arrived, and it was up to her to keep Frankie happy for as long as it took.
‘Let’s make smoothies,’ she said, leading the way to her own kitchen. ‘Are you hungry?’
Chopping and liquidising fruit kept Frankie occupied for quite a while, and Caitlyn congratulated herself. Eventually they sat down with tall glasses in front of them. Frankie stirred hers with the straw. ‘Sarah won’t be able to go for dinner with Jack tonight.’
‘I expect she’ll phone him from Manchester,’ said Caitlyn. ‘They’ll make another date, don’t worry.’ As if Jack was likely to let a little thing like a cancelled dinner put him off.
‘Is Jack Sarah’s boyfriend?’
Caitlyn sipped her smoothie. ‘They’ve only been out a couple of times. Maybe he will be soon.’
‘My mum had lots of boyfriends. She said it was important to have fun while you were still young.’
Caitlyn sipped her drink again to give herself time to think. Frankie was much more precocious than her Tina. ‘I guess she was right, up to a point.’
Frankie raised her hands in a pathetically old gesture for an eleven-year-old. ‘She might not have died, if she hadn’t always wanted to have fun.’ The girl’s voice trembled.
Caitlyn took a deep breath. ‘Frankie. Petra disappeared on the way to a meeting that was going to be no fun at all. I don’t think her lifestyle had anything to do with what happened to her. Don’t torture yourself thinking about it. Wait until we see what the police find out.’
‘I didn’t like her boyfriends.’
Caitlyn wished with all her heart that Sarah was here. Had anything happened with one of the ‘boyfriends’? Did Frankie know something that would help find Petra’s killer? Or was there a more sinister reason for the child’s dislike? Heaven forbid.
‘Did any of them hurt you?’ It sounded abrupt but it was the only thing Caitlyn could think of to ask.
Frankie shook her head. ‘No, but my mum was different when they were around.’ She pressed her lips together.
‘Oh dear. Poor sweetie.’ Caitlyn felt sweat break out on her brow. What the heck could she say to that? She was saved from saying anything more by the landline phone ringing on the worktop. ‘Look, it’s Sarah. You can take it.’
Frankie rushed for the phone, and Caitlyn sat listening to the girl’s side of the conversation.
‘Sarah… yes… today?... good… okay… yes, she’s here.’ She handed over the phone.
‘Sarah. How’s things?’
‘We made it. Mim’s in with Rita. The midwife said the baby’ll be about another hour, so Phil might get here on time. How are you getting on?’
Caitlyn made her voice upbeat. ‘Great. We made terrific strawberry smoothies.’ A thought struck her. ‘Sarah – shall I bring Frankie to visit Rita and the baby later this afternoon? Would that be any help, or is it a bad idea?’
No, it was a brilliant idea. It would give her and Frankie something to do, and while they were in Manchester, she could drop in on Glynis Brady. They’d be driving through her part of town. She and Frankie could ring the bell and ask if Glynis had remembered anything more about her money. The presence of a child might help the old woman feel at ease.
She could almost hear Sarah’s brain ticking over. ‘It would be great for Frankie if you came, of course, but Caitlyn, I can’t ask you to drive all the way here.’
‘Heavens, it’s not the end of the earth. We’ll see you later.’
She replaced the receiver and turned to Frankie, who was staring, a hopeful expression on her face. ‘Get your kit. We’re going to Manchester. We can race the baby to see who gets there first.’
Caitlyn pulled out to overtake a blue Ford Escort, and glanced at the child in the passenger seat. Frankie wasn’t saying much, but her face was excited. At least she’d stopped thinking about her mother’s murder and whatever had gone on with those boyfriends. Poor kiddy.
On the outskirts of Manchester, Caitlyn suggested phoning Sarah to see how things were progressing. ‘Say we’re ten minutes away, and ask when they want us. No point rushing to the hospital just to wait around. We could do something else in the meantime.’ Like visit Glynis Brady.
Frankie pulled out her mobile. She relayed the question, said ‘okay’ about four times and clicked off. ‘She said the baby’s still not here but it shouldn’t be long. We can go when we want.’
‘Excellent. There’s an old lady I’d like to visit for a few minutes, if she’s at home. Then we could grab a quick coffee somewhere, and go on to the hospital. Okay?’
‘Who’s the old lady?’
And what could she say to that? But if Frankie was coming to see Glynis Brady, all Caitlyn could tell her was the absolute truth. ‘Her name’s Glynis Brady. She had some money stolen while she was in hospital a few months ago. What happened to her was very similar to what happened with Wilma’s money, so Mrs Brady’s helping us by trying to work out who could have taken her cash. I want to see if she’s had any ideas.’
She parked outside Mrs Brady’s house and rang the bell. This time she didn’t have to wait so long before the door opened to the extent of the two chains.
Mrs Brady’s face peered out. ‘Oh, it’s yo
u again. And who’s your friend?’
‘This is Frankie. You remember we told you she’s staying with Sarah now?’
Caitlyn could tell that Mrs Brady realised exactly who Frankie was, but dear Lord – what the old woman still didn’t know was that Petra had been murdered. This might be difficult.
Mrs Brady undid the chains and stood aside, and Caitlyn followed Frankie inside. ‘We won’t stay long. We’re on our way to the hospital to visit a brand new baby,’ she said, smiling at Frankie, pleased when the girl smiled back. ‘I wanted to ask if you’d had any more thoughts about the theft of your money.’
Mrs Brady led the way into the living room. ‘Sit down a moment. I’ve made a list of everyone I could remember speaking to. When you’d gone I thought I’d been a bit wishy-washy, saying it was impossible to remember everyone. I can’t guarantee it is everyone, of course, and I don’t have all the names, but I’ve remembered a lot more than I thought I would.’
She was rummaging in a drawer as she spoke, and pulled out a twice-folded sheet of paper with three handwritten columns on each side, and handed it to Caitlyn. ‘I was wondering if I should give it to the police – what do you think?’
‘I’ll do that for you, if you like.’ Caitlyn reached for her phone. ‘This is great, you’ve remembered a lot. I’ll take photos, and you can keep the original. You might think of more people to add on.’
Mrs Brady looked doubtful. ‘Maybe. One thing that did come to mind – I’m quite sure I didn’t talk about my family on the phone to anyone I didn’t know. So whoever it was must have been there with me. Whether that happened in the hospital, or before I was admitted, I don’t know.’
Caitlyn was impressed. Glynis Brady might have been fooled, but she wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t helpless, either. ‘Those are very good points. Look, I’ll leave you my number in case you remember anyone else, and I’ll call you in a day or two anyway. And now we’d better get on our way.’
Mrs Brady smiled at Frankie. ‘How exciting, going to see a new baby.’
Frankie looked at her shyly. ‘It’s my – my foster sister’s baby. It wasn’t born ten minutes ago but it might be now. I hope it’s a girl because she’s got a little boy already.’
‘Oh, you’ll be thrilled with whatever it is.’ Mrs Brady turned to Caitlyn. ‘Thank you for coming by, both times. You and your friend jolted me out of my depression over losing the money. I saw that I could do something to help, and that’s why I started the list.’
‘Good for you,’ said Caitlyn warmly.
This time it was Frankie who waved as they drove off, and Mrs Brady stood in her doorway and waved back. Caitlyn tooted her horn. Mrs B. did look a lot more confident today. At least their investigation had achieved that much.
‘Will the list help?’ said Frankie, as they sat at a sticky table eating iced buns.
Caitlyn shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The police already have a list of everyone who worked at both hospitals. But I’m sure making it helped Mrs Brady, and that’s important too. And hey – we won, didn’t we?’
‘Won what?’ said Frankie, her face blank.
‘The race to Manchester, of course. Come on. Let’s go and see this baby.’
Sarah stared up and down the maternity department, a long corridor with rooms on both sides. Chairs were placed every few metres, and she was sitting outside Rita’s room, wriggling on the hard plastic. Mim was in with Rita. Sarah knew she’d be no good when they got to the messy stage – much better to wait here until the baby was safely born. She watched as a group of young doctors gathered round an older woman outside one room, hanging on her every word. Medical students, maybe. This was a larger place than Brockburn General. More patients, more staff. Nurses, doctors, technicians, porters, and many others whose function wasn’t immediately obvious were striding about the place, even here in maternity where the patients weren’t actually ill. This was the hospital where Glynis Brady had lost her money – no wonder she hadn’t sounded hopeful about remembering everyone she’d spoken to. And talking about speaking to people, she should call Jack and tell him their dinner was off.
She hurried downstairs and went outside, taking a thankful breath of city air. Anything was better than hospital smells. For a moment self-pity almost overcame her. It seemed like every blessed thing she looked forward to nowadays ended in disaster. She gave herself a shake. A postponed dinner was hardly the end of the world. Maybe Jack could manage tomorrow, or the weekend. She made the connection.
‘He – llo.’ His voice was upbeat.
‘Oh, Jack, I’m glad I’ve caught you. I didn’t want to send a text.’
‘Is everything okay? All right for tonight?’
‘I’m afraid not. I’m so sorry. But my sister went into labour, and her husband’s in London so I had to take Mim to Manchester and that’s where we are now.’
There was a tiny pause before he spoke. Sarah could almost feel his disappointment, and in a way it was flattering, but oh, how she wished she was at home ironing her outfit right.
‘Gosh, that’s exciting! Is she all right?’
‘Doing well, apparently. They say the baby’ll be here soon. It’s such a pity about our meal out, though – I don’t like cancelling at the last minute.’
‘Not to worry, babies take precedence. How about if we make another date for Thursday? I’ll phone you around midday to confirm?’
The world was suddenly a much brighter place. ‘Perfect. See you soon!’
Sarah clicked her mobile off and ran back upstairs. The corridor was still busy, and the door of Rita’s room was still closed. She sank down on her chair again.
Jack had been very understanding about cancelling – no, postponing their meal, but still, it was too bad. And what a cow she was to even think that. Get a grip, Sarah. The meal out would happen next time. The thought of sitting opposite Jack again made her shiver with anticipation.
Her mind turned to Frankie. The best way for the girl to make a fresh start was to know that her mother’s killer had been found and imprisoned. A chill of a different kind passed through Sarah in spite of the warmth in the hospital. She felt a peculiar urgency, and a stomach-churning sense of impending doom. Golly, someone had just walked over her grave and no mistake. The police had been definite that Frankie was in no danger, but the murderer was still out there and Sarah’s gut instinct was shouting that he couldn’t be far away.
Footsteps running along the corridor broke into her thoughts, and she jumped up to see Phil charging towards her.
‘Is it – where –?’ he panted.
Sarah pulled him over to Rita’s room. She knocked, then put her head round the door. Rita was huddled up on the bed, Mim on a chair beside her.
‘Visitor for you!’ Sarah pushed Phil into the room.
‘And none too soon!’ said the midwife. ‘Go and wash your hands, Daddy. Baby’ll be here any minute!’
Sarah left them to it.
He opened the fridge and stared at the contents. A bottle of white wine he’d picked up last week was waiting, green glass glinting invitingly. A nice glass of wine with… he could make an omelette. Or no – he could spoil himself a little. He would go round the corner to the Indian takeaway and get some dal and a couple of chapattis.
It was a beautiful evening and in spite of his aching shoulders his spirits rose as he strolled along to the corner, lifting his face to the sun as he turned into George Street. Work had been tiring today. He’d been on his feet nonstop, and then he’d been stuck in a traffic jam for nearly half an hour on the way home.
But home was worth the wait now. It was so great to see Mum and Dad’s disaster of a place develop into somewhere he could feel happy and secure. Stupid Wilma, getting in the way of his plan. Petra Walker’s body as it sunk into the canal flashed into his mind and he shuddered. Nothing like that must ever happen again. It might be better to stop his renovations for a bit… but it would be silly to stop so close to the finishing line. He only needed one more
cash injection for the house, and then he’d wait until next year with the garden.
Decision made, he strode along the road, his stomach rumbling. Maybe he could invite lovely Sarah to his home for an Indian meal. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought. But tonight he was alone, so he’d have his meal in front of the television, then he’d have a hot bath in the terrible avocado tub – probably the last bath he’d have in it; the new suite was coming next week – and an early night.
The takeaway was busy. He put in his order and sat on a bamboo chair to wait.
‘Hot in here, isn’t it?’ A woman sat down beside him, fanning herself with a flyer from the rack by the window.
She was about his age or a little older, and she was looking at him with ill-concealed interest. He closed his eyes briefly. The last thing he needed was some sad hopeful chatting him up. He smiled without speaking, but the woman wasn’t put off. She was obviously a talker and he resigned himself to listening for the duration.
‘I’m in for something to have with my mum. I was all ready to do chops when she said she’d prefer Indian. I only visit once a week, on a Tuesday, so the least I can do is get her what she wants.’
A thought shimmered in his head, and he gave the woman his full attention. ‘That’s very kind of you. Does she live alone?’
‘Yes. She’s seventy and very fit, but she’s been lonely since Dad left. He went off with one of the neighbours, would you believe. I don’t know what he was thinking of, at his age.’
He pricked his ears even further. This wasn’t his usual scenario, but maybe he could still use it. ‘Bet she appreciates you! That wouldn’t be Alec Davies, would it – I heard a bit of gossip about him a while back. I’m John Murray, by the way.’
She fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Sheena Cameron. No, he’s Tom Bruce – do you know him?’
