'Will I? There are times when I'm not so sure.'
'Well, you can't send it back, too late for that.'
'Phyllis, I'm in a quandary.'
'With your case?'
'Yes. I'm not sure who to believe.'
'What do your instincts tell you?'
I lay my hands on my midriff, enjoying the sensation of Bean's gentle movements.
'Your instincts are good,' she says, 'trust them.'
Chapter 12
Before going home, I call round to Hugh's lodgings. Mrs Summer invites me straight in.
'I am pleased you called,' she says. 'I am worried. I ring the hospital this morning and they say he is no better, no worse. They say, I am not family, they can't tell me.' She gestures to me to follow her through to the sitting room. 'Sit down please, would you like a drink?'
I'm still trying to work out her accent. 'No, I'm fine thanks. I was hoping there would be some improvement,' I say. 'I wonder how long they'll keep him in?'
'What about his family? Have you spoken to them?'
I shake my head. I'm not lying if I say no. After all, I don't even know if Hugh has any family still alive.
'I'll visit him again and let you know if there's any significant change.'
'Please tell him that, of course, I will keep his room for him.'
'Oh, I thought you said...'
'I was very harsh before. It was a shock, seeing him like that, the coughing, the breathing. It all came back.'
I raise an eyebrow and wait for her to explain.
'My husband. We weren't married long. They said it was the cigarettes, but I'm sure it was his job.'
'What did your husband do?'
'Labourer at the gas works. The money was good, but it was dangerous work. It got into his lungs. We had bought this house a little before he... I had to find a way to pay the bills. I don't like having lodgers, but...'
'We all do what we can to make ends meet.'
'You run the library?'
'The mobile library, yes.' I wonder what she might say if she knew what else I'm choosing to do to bring money in. 'Well, I'll be off then, but I'll keep in touch.'
The next opportunity I have to visit the hospital is Tuesday afternoon. The rain is thundering down and as I wait at the bus stop each car that passes seems determined to splash me. By the time the bus arrives I'm like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain. It's a short walk at the other end. I don't even bother opening my umbrella, as the wind would more than likely turn me into Mary Poppins. Two reminders in quick succession that it's time Greg and I went to the cinema.
By the time I walk into the hospital entrance, I'm dripping wet, so I stand for a while in the doorway to let the worst of the water drop off me. I can imagine Matron's disdain if I drip rain water all over her pristine lino.
Feeling a touch more presentable, I start to make my way to the ward and notice someone ahead of me in the corridor. He is walking with a purposeful stride, but he doesn't need to turn around for me to know who he is. I speed up so that I'm alongside him.
'Mr Elm,' I say, studying his expression to determine if it is one of surprise or annoyance.
'Mrs Juke.'
'Visiting someone?'
'Why else would I be here?'
'Perhaps for an appointment?'
'And you?' he says. 'All well with the baby, I hope?' He has a way of speaking that is clipped, emotionless. Maybe a technique to disguise his lisp.
'I think we both know why I'm here. And I'd hazard a guess you're here for the same reason. Hugh is very poorly you know. Any over excitement could bring on another attack.'
We have reached the entrance to the ward and we hesitate at the door.
'Only one visitor at a time at the bedside, I think,' I say, pivoting around and walking over to the two chairs that are positioned near to the ward entrance. 'Why don't you go in first, I'm happy to wait. But go easy on him, don't do anything you'll regret.'
'I think you are out of your league here, Mrs Juke. Go home, concentrate on your husband, your baby.'
Kenneth Elm can join the list of men who think they can tell me what to do; Greg, Frank Bright, even dad. Kenneth's patronising attitude makes me more determined to see the case through, even if my paying client is lying.
Ten minutes later, the ward door swings open and Kenneth strides out.
'He's all yours,' he says, with vehemence, the lisp no longer disguised.
There's no time for me to reply, as he sweeps past me and thumps down the corridor out of sight.
Hospitals are warm, often stuffy, places, with an all-pervasive odour of disinfectant. Not an environment conducive to a pregnant woman, with a queasy constitution. However, the perspiration now coating my body is likely to have nothing to do with the temperature. I push the ward door open tentatively and approach Hugh's bed. The curtains are drawn around him and I can hear voices, which though muffled, sound anxious.
'Who allowed him in here?' says a female voice, with clipped tones.
'I'm sorry, Sister, I didn't realise...' A younger voice, this time.
'This is not the time or place for your apologies, come to my office when you finish your shift. For now, please stay with Mr Furness and no visitors. You understand?'
With that, the Ward Sister pulls the curtain aside and steps out. As she moves away from the bed, I catch a glimpse of Hugh, lying down, with eyes closed and an oxygen mask over his face.
'What are you doing here?' she says, glaring at me. I have visions of being asked to stay behind after class to write I will not eavesdrop fifty times.
'Er, I was here to visit Mr Furness,' I say, in my most soothing voice.
'No visitors,' she says, articulating clearly as though I was a foreigner, or hard of hearing.
'Can I come back later? To see how he is?'
'No visitors until further notice. Now, out, out.' She ushers me out of the ward as though I'm a naughty child, loitering somewhere I'm not supposed to be.
Before catching the bus home, I need to calm myself and make some notes. There's a café near to the bus stop. I push the door open, hoping they are not about to close up.
'Are you still serving?' I say.
'Come in love, take the weight off.'
My relief is palpable. A friendly voice, a smile and the smell of home baking.
'This is what we need, Bean,' I whisper and put my hand on my midriff.
'What'll it be?' the waitress asks, moving a strand of her hair back from her flushed face. 'Sit yourself down, I'll bring it over. You look like you could do with a bite to eat. How about a delicious piece of bread pudding? Just made it this morning.'
'Perfect, thank you. And coffee, please.'
There are no other customers, but I choose a corner table, as far away from the counter as possible, in case my arrival sparks a flurry of trade. The waitress brings over the coffee and a more than generous slice of warmed bread pudding. A waft of nutmeg and cinnamon makes my mouth water. I can see my appetite for supper diminishing rapidly; something else I'll need to explain to Greg.
I take my notebook out and leaf through the pages. Some of the sections are almost full, while others remain blank. I am certain Hugh is still hiding something from me. What's more, he has yet to explain the relevance of the left luggage ticket, which is nestling inside my lost property box in the library van. There are three distinct questions I need answers for: why does Hugh believe Dorothy is in danger; why does Kenneth believe Hugh is lying; and why doesn't Hugh want to involve the police?
Now that Hugh is too poorly to talk to me, I need to find another way of filling in the blanks. Kenneth is my only link with Dorothy and he has made it clear he is not keen to talk to me. Right now, I would say the feeling is mutual.
Over the next couple of days, I mull over events so far. I may not be a brilliant judge of character (my experiences with Zara proved that) but surely a man who cares for animals can't be all bad? There has to be a reason that Kenneth is trying to protect Dorothy by keeping
Hugh away. I just need to find out what it is.
Everything I've learned from Poirot has taught me that it's useful to dig around in someone's past. If I can piece together a clearer picture of the Elm family, I may unearth some clues.
At the next opportunity I call round to see Phyllis.
'How did you know I was hoping you'd call,' she says, as she welcomes me in.
'Baking day?' I ask, noticing the apron.
'Cleaning day, extremely boring, but it has to be done. However, I do have chocolate digestives.'
'I've come to tap your brains, well, actually to dig around in your memory.'
'Tap and dig away.'
'The Elms. What else do you remember about them?'
As we settle in Phyllis's lounge, in front of her coal fire, with coffee and biscuits, I am reminded that this is the experience I want for Bean. I may not be a traditional mother, at least as far as Greg and my mother-in-law are concerned, but my relationship with Phyllis proves to me that family doesn't only mean blood relatives. Shared memories, shared dreams, can bind us together just as tightly, maybe even more so.
'Since I tracked down that photo of Kenneth and his classmates, the memories have been flooding back,' Phyllis says. 'I even had a dream about him the other day. Most bizarre.'
'Was it a bad dream?'
'Oh, it was something and nothing. Probably more to do with my having a chunk of cheese after supper. Anyway, I've remembered more about Kenneth's parents. I'm not sure if it will help you much.'
'All information is useful. Did Poirot say that? If not, he should have.'
'You'll be writing your own crime novels next. A thinly disguised memoir - The Janie Juke Crime Mysteries.'
'Fifty years from now, maybe. You need to be old to write a memoir, don't you?'
'You're not suggesting I attempt one, are you?'
'I keep telling you, you will never be old, not in my eyes.'
She smiles and shakes her head. 'Well, Kenneth's parents. As you know, his father had chronic bronchitis. He'd worked in a factory near Peterborough. He was semi-skilled, I think. Whatever his trade was, he wasn't able to transfer easily when they moved. The doctor had advised him to move south, to live near the sea, if he wanted to live past sixty.'
'What age was he when he came to Tamarisk Bay?'
'He would have been late forties or early fifties maybe. Perhaps he fought in the Great War, but he would have been too old for the Second World War, even if his health had improved. As I recall, when they first moved down he worked for a removal firm, Pickford's probably. But he had so many days off sick they sacked him. It wasn't like it is now, people didn't have any employment protection and there was no National Health Service. So, if you couldn't afford the doctor, or the medicine, you had to suffer.'
'We take it for granted, free healthcare. I hate to think what it must have been like.'
'Life was desperate for families without money and there were plenty of them. Kenneth's mother had no choice but to find work, wherever she could. She got a cleaning job and took in laundry. Folk who had money were more than happy to pay others to do their chores.'
'I don't blame them, I wouldn't mind a cleaner. And someone to do the ironing.'
'Wouldn't we all?' Phyllis says and smiles. 'The work would have been physically hard, long hours, seven days a week. I remember Mrs Elm was never able to get along to parents' evenings, or school plays. That photo I showed you of Kenneth in the play. Well, she never saw him perform.'
'It must have been difficult for the children.'
'Kenneth was ashamed of his parents.'
'But his mother was doing all she could to keep the family fed and cared for.'
'Children can be very cruel. He had a bad lisp and they teased him for it. Then one day his father turned up at school, ranting and raving. He spoke to the headmaster, told him that if the bullying continued, he'd remove Kenneth from school.'
'He'd been drinking?'
She nods. 'It transpired that Kenneth's father had taken solace in alcohol. It would have been hard for him, knowing he couldn't support his own family, that his wife was the only breadwinner.'
'He would have been indignant, being a kept man. It's not much better now. Mr Elm wasn't helping though, spending his wife's earnings on beer. Did he take Kenneth out of school?'
'No, it was all bluster. But I'm fairly certain that soon after Kenneth left school, his mother died. His father didn't last long either. So, it would have been just the two of them, Kenneth and his sister.'
'I wonder how they managed for money. And then Kenneth studied to be a vet. That can't have been easy, financially.'
Phyllis nods. 'More questions than answers, but that shouldn't deter a clever investigator.'
'Mm,' I say, filing away this next batch of information in my mind. If this case is a jigsaw, I am just managing to connect the outside edges, with an awful lot of blanks remaining.
Chapter 13
The next time I visit the hospital, I approach with trepidation, expecting Matron to swoop down on me and forbid me entrance. Instead, I arrive at the ward to find the curtains around Hugh's bed pulled back, with no nursing staff immediately in evidence. Hugh is partly upright, supported from behind with several pillows. He has the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and his eyes are closed.
Assuming he's sleeping, I pull up a chair as quietly as I can and sit beside the bed, waiting for him to wake up. Watching him lying there, his face pale, the collar of his striped pyjamas appearing above the sheet, I struggle to imagine him as he was when he met Dorothy. The years have been hard on Hugh, his face is lined and there are dark shadows under his eyes; he looks much older than dad, when there can only be a few years between them. Suddenly, I can feel my nose twitching and before I can grab my handkerchief I emit a loud sneeze. As a result, Hugh opens his eyes.
'I'm so sorry, you were sleeping. I was trying not to disturb you, but I must be allergic to hospitals,' I say and smile. 'Are you feeling a bit better?'
He nods and goes to remove the oxygen mask.
'No, don't,' I say, anticipating the Ward Sister's wrath if my presence should exacerbate his condition. 'I'll sit and keep you company for a while.'
He closes his eyes again and I take the opportunity to do the same. The ward is even stuffier than usual and I can feel myself drifting off. Suddenly, I'm being shaken awake by a hand on my shoulder. It's the young nurse who was given a verbal battering by the Ward Sister during my last visit.
'Are you okay?' she says. 'Would you like some water?'
'I can't believe I was dozing off. I've never been able to sleep sitting up, give me my bed and blankets every time.'
'Pregnancy can make you more tired than usual. How far along are you?'
'Six months, come Christmas I expect a good night's sleep will be a distant memory.'
She smiles and moves over to Hugh's bed, straightening the covers and refilling the glass of water that is on his bedside locker.
'How is he doing? He seems a little brighter than the last time I was in,' I say. 'A bit more colour in his face, but I see he's still on the oxygen.'
'Yes, it's helping a little. Are you family?'
'A friend of the family. Do you think he'll be in for much longer?'
'Oh, I'm only the nurse. It'll be up to the doctor.'
We hear the ward door open and she turns towards it. 'I must move on now. If you could try not to tire him.'
'Of course, but before you go, can I ask you about the man who was in last time, when Mr Furness took a turn for the worse?'
She looks timidly around the ward, perhaps aware that the Ward Sister could appear at any moment. 'I can't really say, patient confidentiality, you see.'
'I don't want you to tell me anything about your patient, just his visitor. Did you overhear their conversation? Were they having a row?'
She turns her back to Hugh and faces me, then she bends down and drops her voice to a whisper.
'He kept say
ing "They'll never believe you", over and over. Shouting at poor Mr Furness.'
'Was that it? Was that all he said?'
'"You'll be the one to suffer in the end." That's what he said, just before he stormed off. It was terrible, he caused such a scene, upset the other patients and poor Mr Furness, well, we thought we were going to lose him.'
She looks so distressed I feel like suggesting she takes a seat while she recovers.
'It was all my fault,' she continues. Her face is flushed and her bottom lip is trembling.
I put my hand on her arm. 'Don't blame yourself. How could you have known what he was going to say or do. And there's no real harm done. Mr Furness looks as though he's perking up a bit.'
She turns around just as Hugh opens his eyes.
'Hello there, good sleep?' I say. 'I nearly dozed off myself and this kind nurse almost offered me a bed.' I smile at the nurse before she moves away to see to other patients.
Hugh beckons to me, so I stand and move closer to him.
'What is it? Did you want a drink? You're not in pain, are you?'
He shakes his head and points at the drawer in his bedside locker.
'Something in the drawer I can get for you?'
He nods and I pull open the drawer to find a small Bible (hospital property, I guess) and a pocketbook.
'Is it the book you want, Hugh?'
I remove the book and hand it to him. He opens the front cover, takes out a slip of paper and passes it to me. It's a handwritten note.
Take the left luggage ticket to Tidehaven Railway Station left luggage office. What you find there will help you understand.
'Understand what, Hugh? Will it explain why you are searching for Dorothy?'
He nods and then gives the book back to me. I return it to the drawer and when I glance up at him again he has his eyes closed and seems to have drifted off. The bell goes to signify the end of visiting hours and I leave the ward, clutching Hugh's handwritten note in my hand.
I put the left luggage ticket in my purse for safekeeping and on my next day with dad, I leave at lunchtime and catch the bus to Tidehaven. The bus is full and I manage to get the last seat downstairs, which is an enormous relief on two fronts. Sitting upstairs is like sitting in an ashtray, with all the smokers puffing away, plus I'm convinced that if the bus set off while I am climbing the stairs it would result in disaster. There are times when I look down at my bump and struggle to believe there is only one Bean in there. What's even more of a worry is that there are still nearly three months to go, by which time I am certain I will be the size an elephant. Not a pretty thought.
Lost Property: A shocking tale of wartime secrets and romance (A Janie Juke mystery Book 2) Page 9
