‘When? What time?’
‘I don’t know. She just said Sunday. Why, Geoff?’
‘We can follow them!’ There was triumph in his tone. ‘We’ll follow Rachel and Arthur to Crosby!’
‘Is that . . . is that a good idea?’
‘Of course it is. What a clever girl you are!’ Then he set about the business of repaying her for such cleverness.
They sat for three hours outside Arthur Bottomley’s shop and place of residence, Geoff cursing and shivering from lack of sleep, Chris doling out concern, sandwiches and cups of coffee from a giant Thermos. ‘Don’t fret, darling,’ she murmured. ‘We’ll find your poor little Melanie’s mum.’
Geoff ground his teeth noiselessly. Poor little Melanie? There’d have been no need for this charade if poor little Melanie had come up with the goods. But no. She might be living with her father, but Melanie’s real loyalties plainly resided in North Liverpool.
Of course, getting away had not been easy. They were going to look for a car, that was the official version. Chris needed to change her car and Geoff was going to help her choose. Could Melanie come? The girl’s face had worn a knowing look as this question dropped from her lips. No, Melanie could not come. Melanie had a riding lesson at three . . . Why were they setting out so early if they weren’t going to be back by three? This astute query from Dora, who had looked decidedly suspicious. Well, there were a lot of cars advertised this week and one of them was as far away as Bispham. Dora would enjoy a trip to Bispham, Dora wanted to come, would they wait while she found her pills. No, they could not wait. Geoff had promised his mother an outing some time next week, then, after bundling his mistress into the Rover, he had set off at speed down the driveway.
He looked at his watch. Twelve o’clock. ‘Are you sure she said this Sunday?’
‘Yes,’ replied Chris, her mouth full of sausage roll. ‘Isn’t it exciting?’ She brushed a few crumbs from her bosom. ‘It’s like one of those American gangster films where everybody follows everybody else.’
Geoff thought it was more like a Keystone Kops episode, but he didn’t air his view, simply because he knew his opinion would be stifled at birth by Christine’s slowness of uptake. ‘I’m going to need the bathroom,’ he mumbled.
‘Oh.’ She turned her head and surveyed the surrounding area. ‘You’d best go up that alley, then. There’s no toilet round here.’
He juggled with his thoughts. The idea of urinating in a public passage was revolting, but so was the concept of wetting himself and the Rover’s seat. Nature won in the end, and he arrived back at the car to find Chris in a state of wild excitement. ‘They’ve gone!’
‘When?’
‘Just now, a minute ago. They went up this road towards the school where Kate used to teach.’
Geoff reached into the back of the car and took some items from a bag. Swiftly, he donned a scarf that came up to his chin, a trilby hat and a pair of darkish glasses. It was then that Chris made her serious mistake – she laughed. Geoff liked a joke. He was often to be found having a good old giggle at the golf club or in the local pub. Why, his sense of humour was renowned, wasn’t it? But one of Geoff’s major flaws was that he could not stand to be the butt. ‘What’s so funny?’ he snapped.
‘The hat! It makes you look so . . . so old!’
‘Good.’ There was no alteration in tone. ‘I don’t want to be spotted, and this is no laughing matter, Chris. There’s already a chance that Rachel might recognize the car – though I haven’t had it long, and she wasn’t exactly a regular visitor. But we must keep cool. Sniggering like a teenager will get us nowhere.’
‘Oh.’ She was hurt, wounded to the quick. ‘We won’t get far if we sit here either, will we?’
With such simplistic logic, he could not argue. ‘It’s all right,’ he said with a slight note of apology. ‘I know where they’ll be heading for and it’s a fairly straight road. Now, I want you to keep your head down in case Rachel spots you. When we get a bit nearer, you can put your scarf on and hope for the best, because we might need two pairs of eyes.’
So Chris saw little of the journey up St Helens Road, through Leigh and Lowton and down towards the East Lancashire Road. It was then, as Geoff was about to turn on to this main Liverpool to Manchester trunk route, that he declared, ‘Found them. Keep down, please. I’ll try to make sure there are at least two cars between us and them.’
They drove through Bootle and down to the dock road, Chris raising her head occasionally to catch a glimpse of a ship as it sat waiting to load or to discharge its cargo. Then it was left for Litherland and Waterloo, up Liverpool Road and straight into the heart of Great Crosby. They passed Merchant Taylors’ and, when they reached St Mary’s College, Geoff saw Arthur’s car making a right turn into Endbutt Lane. This area was quite densely populated, and Geoff realized that they must be right on top of Kate’s house, because the avenues here were narrow. No-one would drive along these streets unless they were seeking a specific address.
He slowed as Arthur turned left off the lane, following at a snail’s pace till the Austin stopped on a corner of the Northern Road. With infinite care, the Rover was parked and its occupants watched furtively while Arthur and Rachel went into the end house.
‘There!’ exclaimed Geoff triumphantly. ‘Got her!’
Chris sniffed. ‘Right. What are you going to do about it?’
‘Nothing. Not just now.’ Then, almost to himself, he added, ‘But I’ll get that lady home one of these days, just you wait and see.’
His passenger sniffed again. ‘You want Kate back, then?’
‘Er . . . no. Of course not. But I’d like her to see the damage she’s done. Melanie hasn’t been herself for a long time, and my mother has been left to run a household simply because madam decided to walk out on a sudden whim.’
She hesitated momentarily. ‘It . . . it wasn’t a whim, Geoff.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It was for her sanitary’s sake. She thought she’d go mad in Edgeford. Something to do with being stifled, I think she said. You and your mother were getting on her nerves . . .’ She hung her head in shame and misery.
‘The word is sanity, Chris, sanity! A commodity that Kate showed a sad lack of. She had a psychiatrist for years . . .’
‘I know. She didn’t need . . .’
‘Didn’t need? Well, she is certainly unhinged now. All women are unhinged after abortion.’
‘What?’ Christine’s jaw fell. ‘You mean she . . . ? Oh no. I don’t believe that, Geoff. Not about Kate. Kate’s a good woman, she’s my friend. No! I must go and speak to her. This is terrible, terrible . . .’
He grabbed her sleeve. ‘Hang on! You can’t just march in there . . .’
‘I want the truth! I want to know why anyone would kill an innocent baby . . .’
Panic rose in his gorge. Chris might blow the whole thing if she walked into that house! There was the injunction for one thing, but his main worry was not a legal one – he did not wish to face the joint wrath of Kate and Rachel on this or any other day. He doubted that Kate would ever implement the injunction anyway, surely she could never be so nasty? But Rachel’s temper was something he would rather avoid at all costs. ‘Chris!’ he barked. ‘Stop this. The baby was probably not alive and it was killing Kate. It’s her diabetes. Remember? I told you all about that some time ago.’
Chris nodded mutely.
‘All the same, the operation will have left her weak, damaged her mind. It wasn’t an ordinary abortion, you see. It was to save her life. If you go banging on the door and shouting, that will only upset her more.’
‘Poor Kate.’ Chris began to rock back and forth in her seat. ‘My poor, poor friend. How she must have suffered. No wonder she ran away. Oh dear. Or deary me. Let’s go home, Geoff. I feel quite ill.’
He drove slowly past the house, sneering as he saw how far down in the world Kate had willingly come. It wasn’t a patch on Beech Gardens. For a start, it was a sem
i and no-one who was anyone lived in a semi. And it was at least thirty years old, with white-painted pebble-dash and splay bay windows that betrayed its geriatric status right away. ‘Bloody dump,’ he muttered.
‘I think it’s quite nice,’ said Chris. ‘It has . . . oh, what’s the word?’
‘Character,’ he snapped.
‘And a nice garden. I wonder if she rents it? I wonder if she lives alone?’
He turned right on to the Northern Road. ‘She’ll live alone. That’s what it was all about, wanting to be alone with her pathetic cartoons. Well, at least we know where Melanie’s mother is.’
Chris straightened in her seat once they were out of immediate danger. ‘I still need to talk to her,’ she insisted stubbornly. ‘She will have to be told about us.’
‘Pardon?’ He swerved to avoid a parked car.
‘Us. She’ll have to be told that we are in love.’
‘What?’ He slammed on the brakes and slewed to a halt outside a park gate. ‘You . . . can’t do that! That would ruin everything!’
‘Why?’
Oh God! His mouth moved to frame the right words, but they would not come out at first. Christine’s honesty and childlike trust were suddenly a burden, yet these qualities had been so attractive only days earlier. She had too strong a sense of fair play, this one.
‘Geoff? What’s wrong? I can’t marry Kate’s ex-husband without telling her, can I now? It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Marry?’ The word was out before he could bite it back.
Her face fell. ‘We will be getting married, won’t we? I know it can’t be in church, especially mine, but we’re . . . sleeping together, Geoff. We have to get married if we sleep together.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Yes. Quite. But if you tell Kate, it will . . . er . . . damage my case. I’ll be the guilty party, so to speak. She left me, Chris. I didn’t leave her, I was quite prepared to put up with her sudden changes in behaviour. But if she sues me for adultery, I might lose my home,’ he finished, suddenly inspired.
‘Why?’
‘Because . . . because I’d have to pay her off. And Melanie and Mother would lose their home too. Could you do that to us?’
She thought for a long moment. ‘No. I suppose not. But we’ll have to stop, you and I. If I can’t tell her that we’re sleeping together, then we’ll just have to wait until we can get married.’
His lower lip protruded in an unattractive pout. ‘I’ll miss you,’ he moaned self-pityingly.
‘And I’ll miss you. But I don’t like telling lies, and not telling the truth is the same thing. We’ll have to give one another our keys back.’ She glanced at him sideways. ‘You won’t marry me anyway, will you?’
His cheeks were flushed. ‘Well I . . . It’s a bit early to tell, really.’
Chris looked down at her folded hands. ‘It’s just sex for you, isn’t it? Derek told me about people like you. I was safe with him, and I wish he was back to bash you! No. You won’t marry me.’
He coughed. ‘I might.’
She pulled back her shoulders as if forcing herself to wear a mantle of pride. ‘No you won’t, Geoff Saunders. Because I won’t marry you, see? You are not good enough for me, and you’re definitely not good enough for my friend Kate.’
‘Hey! No need for that, old girl.’
She turned and stared at him steadily. ‘I’m not the old one, you are. You’re worn out! You haven’t half Derek’s strength. Take me home.’
‘But . . .’
‘Take me home before I run back and tell Kate you’re spying.’
He took her home.
Santosh Mathur was in deep mourning. His young wife Hamida had died while giving birth to a little son, and this was his first time out since the funeral. He walked like an aged man towards Rachel’s stall, his hands outstretched to clasp her welcoming arms. ‘Oh San,’ she moaned. ‘It’s so good to see you. Did you want something?’
‘Yes.’ His usually coffee-coloured complexion was paler from lack of sleep. ‘Since Mr Carter kindly took me on in his office, I have scarcely been in to do my job. I am in need of your assistance.’
‘Anything, lad. Anything I can manage. See, get round the back of the counter and sit in this here chair. Ernie, take over. I’m in conference with me accountant.’
They sat among boxes and piles of pots, Santosh on a chair, Rachel perching on the edge of a stool. He sighed a deep shuddering breath before beginning, ‘I have no family here. Other people in my community will help me, but I am anxious for Robert to be Roman.’
‘Roman?’
He smiled sadly. ‘A saying of your husband’s. I gave my child an English name because he is born in your country. Also, it is a name of strength, a name I like. I wish for Robert to be fostered on weekdays. I cannot look after his needs myself. There are examinations to pass. Also, I have not much money. Do you know of a house that will take my boy?’
‘Well, I can ask round, like.’
‘I owe you much, Rachel. You are a good woman and your daughter is also good. On her word I was given the position of clerk with Mr Philip Carter. Your daughter got me this through my employer’s wife. To pay back, I must do very well. And I cannot do well if I stay at home to look after my son.’
Rachel thought for a moment. ‘That’s true. But listen, lad. Wouldn’t Robert be better with an Indian family? Traditions and all that?’
‘Tradition I shall teach him. I want him in an English-speaking household. Many of our children do not hear English at home. For his education, I want him to speak English with perfection.’
She sighed and shook her head. ‘Well, there is one woman, like. But I wouldn’t say her English is perfect. She’s good-hearted and has no children of her own, but she does a bit of minding while mothers work.’
‘Then Robert would have company!’
‘Aye, but she’s happen full up. I know she only takes a few at a time.’
‘Ask her,’ he pleaded. ‘You will please ask her?’
That same evening, Chris sat in her empty house and gazed unseeing at her colour television set. Life was awful. She couldn’t go next door when Geoff was about, and even when he wasn’t around things were difficult, because Melanie kept passing cryptic comments about lovers’ tiffs. Chris couldn’t even keep her promise to Kate now, keeping an eye on Melanie was almost out of the question. And, of course, when Kate had phoned in response to Chris’s message, that had been difficult too. She was suddenly ashamed, unable to tell Kate the truth about herself and Geoff, so she’d found herself wittering on about stupid things, things that didn’t really matter.
She’d gone back to church, of course. Father Flynn had been very understanding about the whole matter – all she’d had to do was a novena, and she’d done many of those in her time.
The phone rang. ‘Hello?’ Her voice must have betrayed her misery.
‘What’s up, girl?’
‘Oh, Mrs Bottomley.’ She swallowed hard. Did Mrs Bottomley know she’d been followed? And should Chris confess her part anyway? No. That would only cause more upset, and causing upset was probably some kind of sin. ‘I’m all right,’ she said quietly.
‘I want a favour. For a friend of mine.’ And Rachel told the tragic tale of Santosh and Hamida while Chris wept anew for Derek. ‘Oh, Mrs Bottomley! I know exactly how the poor man must feel.’
‘Will you take the child, though? To live with you five days a week?’
Chris gasped. ‘A baby? A baby living here? Ooh . . . ooh . . . yes! They’re gorgeous, those dark children. I’ve a room ready, and I’ve a cot and a carrycot . . .’
‘Slow down, lass,’ said Rachel. ‘Think what you’re taking on. Babies cry in the night . . .’
‘So do I!’ Especially since Geoff stopped coming . . .
‘They’re hard work, Christine. But I know you’ve done all them classes, so I told Mr Mathur about you.’
‘Send him round to see me.’
‘I’ll fetch him. Me
and Arthur will bring him round tomorrow night.’
Chris dried her eyes. ‘And the baby? Will you bring the baby?’
‘I’ll mention that to Santosh, it’s up to him.’
‘I must clean up!’ yelled Chris. ‘I must find a nice frock. I want to make a good impression, don’t I?’
‘Not for Santosh, love. Just be yourself. There’s no side to him and I know he doesn’t like side.’
‘Right.’ Chris slammed home the receiver and dashed to get the Hoover. Whether he liked side or not, Chris was out to make that good impression.
They sat around a coffee table that held all the best china. Chris had served just a few bits and pieces with a good strong pot of Indian tea to make him feel at home. But she was distracted by the baby, so beautiful he was, in his bright shawl and blue Babygro. ‘Can I hold him?’
Santosh smiled sadly. ‘Yes. He is missing a mother’s touch, I fear.’ And this was a real mother, Santosh recognized that. It was not necessary to give birth in order to be a mother.
Chris held the tiny bundle to her chest. ‘Hello, cheeky. Let’s show you round the house, eh? You don’t have to stay if you don’t like it, but I do hope you will decide to stay. I’m lonely without my Derek. Will you keep me company? Will you?’ And she left the room with the infant in her arms.
Arthur cleared his throat. This was heavy stuff for a man who had spent many years as a lonely widower. Rachel certainly brought a lot of problems into his life. Problems, energy and fun.
‘She is a good woman,’ pronounced Santosh. ‘Robert will do well here.’
Rachel leaned forward and patted his hand. ‘There’s just one problem, lad. She’ll not take money. She needs Robert more than he needs her, and she’s been left comfortable . . .’
‘I cannot take this service for no payment.’
‘You’ll have to, son. She’s a widow, so she feels for you.’
Santosh bowed his head. ‘Then my debt will be a moral one. This I cannot consider.’
Arthur coughed again. ‘Compromise,’ he said wisely. ‘Pay her back once you’re on a proper wage. Get her to take a bit each week, threaten to take the kiddy elsewhere if she won’t have a few bob off you. And if she still won’t take it, then pay her in kind. Fetch her a couple of tins of ham and a chicken now and then. She might not take cash, but she’ll likely accept gifts.’
Nest of Sorrows Page 31
