`She`s not bothered about age, if you`ve worked in a shop before. Have you?`
`Sort-of. I used to work in a charity-shop, so I`ve had experience in cash-handling.` At her age, her best chance of entering the world of work would be to apply for a job hardly anybody else wanted because of the early starts.
At the interview, Mrs. Marshall was refreshingly candid. `I would sooner have somebody your age, anyway. The young`uns cannot reckon up in their heads, like we had to learn to.`
The job as she described it appeared easy in one way – sell newspapers and magazines and give change. In another way, it might be complicated -- Sylvia had never realised that every single newspaper and magazine had to be counted before selling began, or how incredibly dirty her hands would get while doing it.
`The papers comes in blocks of twenty-five. When you`ve counted one block, turn it the opposite way round to the one underneath.` Seeing Sylvia`s puzzled expression, Mrs. Marshall chuckled. `Unless you want to start counting`em all again, from One, after some customer`s come in and interrupted you in the middle of it.` Advice it would certainly pay to heed, Sylvia thought.
Despite the dirty hands, her job proved to be more enjoyable than she had expected. Apart from daily papers, there were weekly and monthly magazines to be taken from the shelves and replaced with new ones, all such additions and returns logged in a book Mrs. Marshall kept for the purpose.
`That`s enough explaining for now, or you`ll never remember it all,` her employer decided, taking advantage of a lull in trade to put the kettle on. `I`ll show you how to do Box-Outs at the weekend.`
Although the early starts were a disadvantage, having a job brought Sylvia into contact with people she would otherwise never have met, and the money was welcome. Proud of her improved prospects, she decided the time had come to get her life in order, and sent details of her new address to bank, insurance company and the DVLA – though she no longer had the car, she was not yet ready to surrender her licence, in case she ever needed to drive a vehicle again -- You see, Tom? -- I can manage, even without you or your money.
Confidence restored by being back in touch with her old friend Jenny, she re-joined the painting-class they had attended together, forging another link of her new life. Tactfully, Jenny waited a few days before broaching a subject they had once discussed. `Did you ever find out why Tom...? No,` she broke off hastily. `It`s none of my business.`
`Why he killed himself, you mean? No, I didn`t.`
`Might it help if you went to see Mrs. Hillier again?`
`I`ll think about it.` Sylvia was not sure she wanted to renew that contact.
Now that she had become used to her new surroundings, her home was not so bad after all. From the windows there was always plenty to see: cars, traffic-lights, neon-signs, roadworks, even a flower-seller on the corner near the bank. Much of the noise that had once been so obtrusive no longer troubled her. Not that it had stopped – she had simply grown used to it.
Most of her furniture, retrieved from Paul`s garage, had gone to the salerooms. As planned, she gave the display-unit and freezer to Patty, the picture and china to Delia. For herself she kept the large rug from her former living-room, which successfully hid the alarming stain on the carpet. The amount raised from selling the remainder did not seem very large, but the modest rise in her bank balance was of more use than unwanted furniture mouldering away in storage indefinitely.
As soon as she felt comfortable in the flat, she invited Patty and Edgar to tea, partly as a Thank-You for their help on coping with moving-in, and partly to try out the appearance of her new home on eyes that would be less critical than those of Paul and Delia. Whether or not merely through politeness, they seemed impressed with what she had achieved. The children were intrigued, rummaging everywhere and exclaiming loudly at each interesting find.
`Mammy, look!` That was little Cathy, excited by her latest discovery. Sylvia glanced in her direction, and froze momentarily – it was the small bear from the desk-drawer in the museum office. `Can I have it, Nana?`
`No, pet, I`m sorry, you can`t. Could you put it back, please?` Since it had clearly meant something to Tom, Sylvia could not bring herself to part with it until sure of its significance, if any.
Patty was curious too. `Where`s that come from? It doesn`t look like one of ours.`
`It isn`t. It was in with the stuff from your dad`s office. I think it might be unclaimed Lost Property, so I need to keep it till I`ve asked at the museum to find out if anybody`s been looking for it.` The explanation she cobbled up to justify not giving it to Cathy might well be the truth. There was most likely nothing sinister about its presence in Tom`s desk.
Investigating the cupboard further, Cathy had come across something far more exciting. `Look, Mammy, `nother one! Big one!`
Knowing at once what she had found, Sylvia laughed at the spectacle of the little girl trying to drag out a toy almost as big as herself. `That`s Thomas. I bought him while I was away.`
`What for, Nana?`
What indeed, Sylvia thought, aware that the real reason would sound certifiably insane. `I thought he might do for some of you to play with when I got home again.`
`I play with him now?` Cathy persisted, hugging the bear`s head so closely that only his silly grin was visible from beneath her hair.
`Yes. In fact you can have him, if you want.` Safely back among other people, Sylvia had no need of Thomas`s doubtful protection. At least he was going to a loving home – why am I still thinking about him as if he was real, Sylvia scolded herself.
Miranda, taking up a return-invitation for coffee, was impressed by Sylvia`s efforts to improve her surroundings. `By! You`re right-comfortable in here. It doesn`t-half make a difference, turning the place round. I might try it with mine, if I can be bothered.` Despite making encouraging noises, Sylvia doubted if the transformation would ever take place.
One chore only remained, to make her new home perfect. All Tom`s remaining papers stored under the table in the corner must be gone through before disposal. For the dull task she chose a quiet evening when there was nothing worthwhile on TV, no company was expected, and Miranda had left for work at the Miracasa Club.
Her first discovery proved to be a setback. The photograph of Tom`s ex-workmates had suffered an accident while in transit. The frame had broken, and the glass was cracked in several places, small pieces falling into the bottom of the box to form a hazard for unwary fingers. Tipping the shards into a waste-bin by the fireside, Sylvia released the picture which fell at once to the floor. As she knelt down to pick it up, she noticed a few lines of writing on the back of the photograph, and turned it to the light for a better view. The words proved to be names, presumably relating to the faces. From the smiling group of museum-employees, one name leapt shatteringly at her: "Eleanor Franks."
There had certainly been an Eleanor at the museum, though Sylvia had never known her well-enough to find out her surname. Eleanor Franks? Daniel Franks? Was it possible? The surname was not common, suggesting a connection between the two. But what did they have to do with Tom? Could it be that . . . No! Sylvia would not allow herself to think the unthinkable. Whoever Daniel Franks was, he couldn`t possibly be Tom`s son - no way - never.
Yet how could she be so certain of that? Occasions when Tom and Eleanor had worked late together – explained at the time as cataloguing exhibits – became suddenly sinister. The long talks they had had - Eleanor was struggling with a bad marriage, and needed a listening ear, Tom had said. It had been a relief when finally the woman left her husband – a bare fortnight before quitting her job at the museum, and apparently vanishing from the face of the earth.
At such a time, she would have needed a job more than ever before. Resigning so abruptly had made no sense then – perhaps this discovery put things in a different light. Eleanor Franks must have been pregnant when she left work – what if the child was not her husband`s? Could that have been why the marriage broke down? If Tom was responsible, he could have b
een using some of the missing money to support this secret family, besides contributing to the Harland Venture -- nearly eighteen years, and I never guessed, Sylvia thought -- he made a good job of keeping the secret.
The more she considered the possibility, the more sensible it sounded. Between Eleanor Franks and the Harland Venture, Tom must`ve spent practically all he should`ve been saving from his wages. The truth would have come out when eventually he retired and the money wasn`t in the bank as it should have been. How would he have explained that away? Could Delia`s surmise possibly be right? Had he killed himself because he could neither admit the truth, nor concoct any other explanation that Sylvia would believe?
When asked by the Council, who needed to forward Eleanor`s P45 and money owing to her, Tom had said he had no idea where she had moved to. And yet, the bequest to Daniel Franks . . . yes, the unbelievable must be true. Daniel was in all probability Tom`s son. Most likely the mysterious teddy-bear had been his in childhood – he would be almost a man by now.
Robbed of all inclination to go on investigating the contents of the box, Sylvia made a cup of coffee and, while drinking it, struggled to come to terms with her discovery. It can`t be true, it`s madness, even thinking it --Tom wouldn`t have betrayed me with Eleanor Franks, I just know he wouldn`t -- but then again, what makes me so sure? -- I used to think I understood Tom completely – every thought, every word, every gesture, but nothing makes sense any more. At least she would now be able to get rid of the little teddy-bear with a clear conscience -- if Tom only kept it because it belonged to this secret son of his, there`s no reason why I should get sentimental about it, Sylvia resolved. Next time little Cathy asked for the toy, she could have it.
As Sylvia washed up, it struck her that Christmas would soon be here, and her first New Year alone in over thirty years. She would be spending Christmas Day at Patty`s, as she and Tom had regularly done, and doubtless Boxing Day with Paul and Delia, but December 31st was another matter. Welcoming the long seasonal break from business, Paul and Delia would – as usual – see in the New Year with skiing friends in Austria. And Edgar made it a rule that he and Patty, who hardly ever managed a night out together, should always do so on New Year`s Eve. In previous years his aunt had baby-sat, and could hardly be elbowed aside in favour of Sylvia who – for once – had nothing better to occupy her time.
She could always give in to Miranda`s pressing invitation to come and watch her dance at the night-club. However, the idea of going there to sit alone among a horde of drunken men was not appealing. Something better might come along, but for the moment she could not bear to dwell on it, her mind full of her latest alarming discovery - I`ve got to try and find Eleanor Franks - she`s the only one who can tell me one way or the other if Tom is Daniel`s father, or if there`s some other reason for that huge legacy.
Perhaps, by now, the staff at the museum might have an address for her. Although they claimed not to know Daniel – and were most likely speaking the truth – they might have some information on file about his mother who had once been employed there. I`ll go and see them in the morning, Sylvia decided.
As it happened, she did not visit the museum as she had intended. By first-post that day, a long manila envelope arrived, franked with the words "Lord Chancellor`s Office". What could such an exalted person want with her? Sylvia tore open the missive, gasping at the contents – a summons to attend Court in Penrith in three weeks` time. Notifying her change of residence to the DVLA had enabled one of the caravan-site owners on whose late-arrival grounds she had fly-parked to trace her whereabouts. Unknown to her at the time, the owners had taken her car-number, and were now demanding payment of the night`s site-fee.
Panic overcoming her customary reserve, she took her troubles to the streetwise Miranda. `What am I going to do about this?`
Probably used to such contretemps, the girl shrugged. `Hoy it away, man.`
`But the police`ll come looking for me.`
`As if! It`s hardly the Great Train Robbery, is it?`
`But supposing they do?`
Miranda could see no problem. `Give`em a false name and say you don`t live here no more. It`s not even as if you still got the car – if you had, they could prove you`re You. Without it, they cannot.`
Not daring to adopt Miranda`s casual attitude to the summons, Sylvia went to the offices of Holmes, Hardy, Herbert and Bell, the only legal-advisors she had ever had contact with. `This`s just come, and I don`t know what to do about it.`
Mr. Holmes perused the document thoughtfully. `What do you want to do?`
Not understanding, Sylvia sought clarification. `What do you mean? I`m not allowed to just ignore it, am I?`
Amused by her inexperience, he took the matter step by step. `Let`s start at the beginning, then – did you actually do this?`
`I`m afraid so, but I wasn`t thinking straight at the time. Tom hadn`t-long died, and I was worried about my money lasting-out after I ran away.`
Evidently remembering Tom`s peculiar Will, the solicitor nodded. `It`s not an excuse in Law, but it could be offered in mitigation. Are you intending to plead Guilty?`
`I`ll have to. I am guilty.`
`Fortunately, then, it`s not a police-matter. Since it`s only a case of the site-owner suing you for the unpaid money, you don`t need to appear in Court at all unless you want to. You can plead Guilty by letter – just fill in this form they`ve sent you, and post it back to them. They`ll write and let you know what the verdict is.`
The process seemed peculiarly lacking in formality, Sylvia thought. `What do you think they`ll say? Will I get fined?`
`They`ll make an order for the amount you owe, plus the cost of the Court hearing.` More unwelcome expense, but at least her conscience would be clear. Out of debt and out of danger, her mother used to say. Ignoring the summons might have repercussions far worse than mere loss of money.
With that contretemps safely dealt with, Sylvia felt able to return to the matter of Eleanor Franks. At the entrance to the building where Tom had died, she felt again the chill that invariably ran through her -- I wish I`d just rung them instead of coming to the office. But the communal phone at the flats was no place for transacting private business.
Dave seemed pleased to see her. `Sylv? How are you?`
`Coping, I think.` Nowadays that was not entirely a lie.
`We heard you had gone away. Did the break do you good?`
`Yes.` Of that she was certain. She might not have Found Herself, but at least she had found a kind of peace.
On hearing the purpose of her visit, he looked surprised. `Eleanor Franks – now there`s a blast from the past. I can only-just-about remember her. Packed her job in all of a sudden, didn`t she?`
`I believe so.` Struggling with yet another unpalatable hot drink, Sylvia wished somebody would teach the secretary to make coffee properly. `I know it must be donkeys` years since Eleanor left, but I wondered if you had any forwarding-address for her, because it`s the only way I can think of to find Daniel Franks – with such an uncommon name, they must be related, surely?.`
`I`ll look on the Guest List – she should be on that,` the secretary Marie suggested. The names of ex-employees were kept on file, to be contacted whenever special exhibitions or improvements to the museum were unveiled. In this case, however, the system had failed them. `She`s been marked Gone Away. She must`ve moved and not let us know her new address.`
`Thanks for trying, anyway,` Sylvia said, reflecting on how typical it was that nothing would go smoothly for her -- will I ever get to the bottom of this?
The unfinished business surrounding Daniel Franks was still on her mind as she walked home from work the following morning. Preoccupied, she was not at first aware anything was wrong as she approached the stairway to her flat. Attention caught by a movement above her, she looked up in shocked surprise. Near the foot of the stairs, two teenage youths struggled to carry what she instantly recognised as her TV. `Hey!` she shouted, breaking into a run. `What do you think you`re doin
g? Put that down! It`s mine!`
ELEVEN
Momentarily startled, the youths looked towards her, then leapt down the last few steps to the pavement with the TV. One of them took the set into his arms and both lads broke into a run, with Sylvia in furious pursuit. `Come back here!` Despite their awkward burden, they were well capable of outrunning a woman in her fifties. As they glanced back, she could see them laughing at her, knowing she would never catch them up.
But unexpected help was at hand. A passing car screeched to a halt, and a man leapt out, his long legs devouring the distance between him and the two louts. By now aware that they were not destined to get away with their booty, they dropped the set. As it shattered on the ground, Sylvia screamed with shock and fury. One of the lads glanced back, and made the sign of two-fingers as he and his partner-in-crime fled down a narrow alley between the shops.
Above her a window flew open, and Miranda, awakened by all the noise, leaned out. `What`s the matter, Sylv?`
`I think I`ve been burgled.`
The man who had tried to help returned to commiserate. `Is that your TV?`
Sylvia surveyed the remains gloomily. `It used to be. I doubt if it`s any good to anybody now.`
He tutted under his breath. `Young buggers! I`d lynch the lot of them, if I had my way.`
The adrenalin-surge that had kept Sylvia going drained away abruptly, leaving her exhausted and tearful. `Well, that`s that. I`m going to have to find some other way of amusing myself from now on, aren`t I?`
`Did you use it a lot?` the man enquired.
`All the time. I don`t go out much at nights, so it`s company as well as entertainment.`
A Long Road Through The Night Page 13
