Lois Meade 01: Murder on Monday (EN, 2002)

by Ann Purser

  On Sundays, none of them went to church. It was rare for anyone on the Churchill Estate to go to a church of any kind, though a big family at the end of Byron Way set off regular as clockwork, dressed in their best, to attend the Baptist Chapel in the town. If you happened to be passing during a service, Douglas had told Derek, you could hear them singing at the tops of their voices. “Talk about a row!” he’d said, but there’d been a wistful edge to his voice. There was joy in those voices and he wouldn’t have minded being a part of it. Derek had said no son of his was going to join the happy clappies, and that was that.

  Lois had occasional thoughts of her own childhood, when she’d gone to the local Sunday school under protest. Had any of it rubbed off on her permanently? She doubted it. Often enough she’d heard Rev White bemoaning the tiny congregation in Long Farnden. She had once or twice asked him why people didn’t go to church any more, but he’d never given her a satisfactory answer.

  Now, this Sunday, because this weekend was different and Lois was feeling restless, she took Josie into town to look at the sales. Most of the shops were open, and they bought several bargains. Then, after a good Sunday dinner, Derek went to sleep in his chair by the fire, and the boys went off to the playing fields. Josie went up to her room and Lois sat opposite Derek, trying to read the newspaper.

  ∗

  I wish it was the same as every other weekend, thought Lois, watching Derek out of the corner of her eye. I wish Gloria Hathaway had never existed. Derek was snoring with his mouth open and looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world. But he had told her nothing about his talk with the police and had refused to discuss anything to do with Farnden, saying they’d all heard quite enough of that place, thank you very much. Douglas and Jamie had raised a small cheer and Lois had felt squashed and humiliated, as if it was she who had something to explain, to apologise for. Last night, when Derek came back from the pub, he had climbed into bed and turned away from her. When she had tried to talk to him, desperate to know about the job he’d done for Gloria and why he had kept it secret from her, he had breathed deeply, feigning sleep. Today, she just couldn’t pluck up the courage to confront him and ruin another evening.

  ∗

  Now it was Monday morning, and Derek was out of the house early, saying that he wouldn’t be home at midday as he was working over at Fletcham and it was too far to come back. “See you at tea-time,” he called out, and was gone.

  “Everybody ready?” Lois’s mother appeared at the door. She was determined to say nothing more to Lois, knowing from experience that her daughter would tell her if anything was wrong in her own good time. No good asking questions. That made her clam up even more.

  Good old Mum, thought Lois. She knows there’s something up. I couldn’t tell her, though. I wouldn’t know where to begin.

  Lois drove thoughtfully to Farnden and found the Rixes both at home, the doctor in his surgery as usual, and Mary waiting in the kitchen.

  “Morning, Lois,” she said. “Ready for the big turn-out?” She smiled at Lois, who thought she’d never seen Mrs Rix looking so cheerful. But what was she talking about? Turn-out? It was hardly spring-cleaning weather yet, surely?

  “I’ve collected up lots of boxes and bought a roll of black bin-liners, so we shall have somewhere to put all the clobber.” Mary Rix laughed, delighted with herself for being able to speak like this about the contents of that sad room.

  Of course! Lois remembered. They were going to turn out the baby’s room, pack up all the little garments, the toys and books and pictures, give it a good clean, and set it up as Mary’s sewing room. Good! That was something positive to think about and Lois gradually fell in tune with Mary’s mood. The pair worked away with a will, Lois helping Mary over the occasional tearful moment, and by coffee time the boxes and bags were stacked in the hall ready to be taken away.

  “Now, you let me take them to the charity shop in Tresham,” said Lois firmly. She remembered only too well her mother’s distress when they took her father’s clothes to Oxfam after he had died. She’d watched helplessly as her mother hugged an old jacket, tears dropping on to the worn tweed. No, it would be far better for her to take away the last vestiges of Mary’s dream. She could say goodbye to it here and make a new start.

  “Time for a break,” said Mary Rix, setting off downstairs. “Coffee or tea, Lois?”

  Alone in the now almost empty room, Lois looked around. There was only that chest of drawers in the corner. A nice little piece, it would be useful for Mary’s cottons and pins and things. She pulled open the top drawer and found a baby record book. Oh dear, she thought, and put it straight into a black sack. It opened as it hit the bottom, and something fell from between the pages. It looked like a piece of blank paper, and Lois was about to empty the next drawer, when on impulse she reached down to pull it out. It wasn’t blank both sides. It was a photograph, and peering closely she could see a tiny, new-born baby, wrapped in a shawl, fast asleep. But it couldn’t be! Mary said she’d miscarried! Lois heard footsteps coming up the stairs and swiftly slipped the photograph into her overall pocket. She was shaken and couldn’t concentrate on what Mary was saying. Luckily, Mary was so preoccupied with her plans for the room that she didn’t notice Lois’s monosyllabic replies to her endless excited comments.

  The morning was quickly over and Mary Rix helped load boxes and bags into Lois’s spacious car boot. “One good thing about this old banger,” said Lois. “Plenty of room, if not much speed.” She had recovered her equilibrium and, making sure everything was safely packed, she turned to say goodbye. The doctor stood in the doorway, looking at the two women. His face was stony, and Lois thought she had never seen anyone look so sad. “Well,” she said, “see you next week, then.”

  To her surprise, Mary leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Lois,” she said. “You’ve probably saved my life. Take care, now.” Lois started her car and drove slowly down the drive. She looked into her driving mirror, and saw Mary waving cheerfully. But the doctor had disappeared, and the doorway was empty.

  ∗

  The photograph lay on Lois’s kitchen table and now she had Douglas’s magnifying glass to look more closely. It was very much like any other baby of that age, she thought, and very like the one Cowgill had shown her in Gloria’s cottage. What was it doing here? Now she could swear it was the same shawl and the same dark little head. She needed to check, and realized she had no idea how to contact the inspector. That was one small thing he had overlooked, she thought sourly. Best thing would be to ring Keith Simpson for help. She quickly dialled the number and he told her to wait one moment. His voice was friendly, but cool. After a few seconds, Cowgill came on the line.

  “Yes?” he said. She explained quickly, and he said three words before putting down the telephone. “Jock’s Café. Three.”

  Luckily, Lois knew where the café was. It was behind Woolworths and some of the girls used to go there for a snack at lunch-time. Not a good place for me, she thought. She could see through the window that the café was empty of customers, except for Hunter Cowgill’s unmistakeably upright figure sitting at a table in the corner. But the waitress was still the same, hair greying now, and much stouter. Lois caught Cowgill’s eye through the glass and beckoned, then walked on very slowly, causing a log jam on the pavement.

  He caught her up, touched his hat and said, “Good morning, Mrs Meade. How are the boys today?” What the hell is he talking about, thought Lois. He had stopped walking, and was smiling at her as if they had just met unexpectedly in the street. “Are you on the way home?” he continued, and added, “My car’s just round the corner. I’d be happy to give you a lift.”

  “This is bloody daft,” said Lois, as she sat in the front of Cowgill’s car and they cruised slowly off towards the Churchill Estate. He didn’t answer her, but felt in his pocket and pulled out the small square photograph. She frowned and matched it up against the one in her bag. It was the same, without any doubt, though taken from
a slightly different angle. Even the shadow of a hand was the same.

  “Right?” he said.

  She nodded. “But there’s nothing bad about the Rixes,” she added defensively. “I’d stake my life on it.”

  “I hope that won’t be necessary,” said the Inspector, and gave her a brief smile. A crack in the concrete, thought Lois. “This is too dangerous,” she said, “being seen in your car.”

  He nodded. “Send me a message through Simpson, if you want to meet,” he said. “Then go to Alibone Woods near Farnden at the time I say. People walk their dogs, but not at this time of the year.”

  Lois knew the woods, though she’d never stopped there. “Bit cloak and dagger, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Nothing fictional about this murder, Lois,” he said, stopping at the entrance to the Churchill Estate. Nobody about, she noticed with relief, and made her way home. It was only while she was filling the kettle that she realized he’d called her ‘Lois’ and she hadn’t minded.

  ∗

  The day had been so full that Lois had been able to put the necessary confrontation with Derek to the back of her mind. When she reached home, her mother was there in the kitchen, smiling at her and unwrapping a chocolate sponge she had made for the family.

  “I know Derek likes chocolate best,” she said, as she had planned, to give Lois an opening if she needed one.

  “We all know Derek likes chocolate!” agreed Lois, and then, with a miserable shrug, “I’m beginning to wonder if I know anything else about him, though.” Her mother said nothing. “He’s a close one, you know, Mum,” Lois continued. “Doesn’t tell me everything…”

  “Like what?” said her mother simply.

  “Like he did a job in Long Farnden that he didn’t tell me anything about. Not a squeak. And he always lets me know where he is, in case there’s an emergency with the kids or anything.”

  “What kind of a job?” said her mother, frowning.

  “You may well ask,” said Lois, and then, as if deciding she’d said quite enough, went off into the garden, where she began taking in washing that was still as wet as when she had put it out. “Waste of time pegging it out,” she said on returning. “Put it in the drier for me, Mum.”

  ∗

  So, end of conversation about Derek, thought her mother. Still, it’s a start. She stayed for half an hour, drank a cup of tea and attacked the cake. There was not much left when the boys had had their fill and Lois put the rest in a tin, saying they must leave some for their father, since it was made specially for him. After her mother had gone, and only Josie was left in the kitchen, an uncomfortable silence fell.

  “What was that about, Mum?” Josie trod carefully, well aware that she was on thin ice.

  “What was what about?”

  “You know, that stuff about Dad and not telling you about a job in Farnden?”

  “Nothing to do with you,” said Lois briskly. “Now go on upstairs and get going on your homework.”

  “No, well, it’s just that Dad said something to me about it at the time,” said Josie.

  “What?”

  “I remember him saying something about that old spinster in Farnden and how she was a pain in the arse.”

  “Sounds about right,” said Lois bitterly.

  “Well, I expect he just forgot to mention it,” said Josie hopefully.

  Lois looked at her and felt so angry with Derek that it was a good thing he didn’t choose to come in at that moment. All this anxiety had spread to the kids and it was his stupid fault. “Expect you’re right,” she said to Josie. “We’re all so busy dashing here and there, there’s never time for a proper talk. Go on, love, get your books. Dad’ll help you if you get stuck.”

  The confrontation had to wait until the boys and Josie had finally gone to bed and were sure to be asleep. Derek was dozing in front of the television and Lois folded away the newspaper as she steeled herself to begin.

  “Derek! Wake up!”

  “Not asleep,” he mumbled. “Just thinking…”

  “Well, think with your eyes open then,” she said sharply.

  He opened them and looked at her. “What now, Lois?” he said wearily.

  “We have to talk.”

  “Do we? What about?”

  “You know very well. About Gloria Hathaway, and that mysterious job you did for her and didn’t tell me about.”

  “Oh God, it was ages ago…”

  “I want to know. Now.”

  Derek sat up straight in his chair. “Are you sure you want to know?” he said, and added, “Some things are better not spoken of.”

  Lois was really frightened now, but having come this far she had to pursue it to the end, however disastrous. “Yep,” she said, “I want to know.”

  It was a pathetic little tale. Derek had been looking for Nurse Surfleet to make a date for rewiring her cottage, and, unable to find her, he’d called in at Gloria’s, asking if she’d give her neighbour a message. “She said she might have some work for me and would I go in and have a quick look.”

  “Huh!” said Lois.

  Gloria had given him a cup of coffee and offered to dry his coat by her fire. “It was a dreadful day, tipping it down,” he said. They’d got talking, gone upstairs to look at a dodgy plug in her bedroom, and one thing had led to another.

  “You didn’t…” Lois could hardly speak.

  “Yes, I did. And after that I went back a couple of times to complete the job.”

  “Huh!” said Lois.

  Derek frowned, and rubbed his hand across his eyes. “She was good at it, Lois,” he said in a low voice. “Though you’d never have thought it. And it was that time when you’d gone off it, didn’t want to know…after Jamie was born…God knows I’ve regretted it since and hoped you’d never need to know, so’s not to be hurt. She was a real tart, y’know. Got all the tricks.”

  Lois shook her head unbelievingly. Not her Derek, no, it couldn’t be true. “And you did it more than once, you said?” Somehow, that made it very much worse. The pounding in her ears was horrible and the room was hazy. “I’ll kill you,” she said in a pinched voice, and took up the poker.

  “Don’t be so bloody daft,” said Derek, getting up quickly and advancing on her.

  “I’ll kill you like somebody killed her,” said Lois, shouting now.

  “What?” said Derek, and then, grabbing Lois’s wrists he began to laugh. “Have you forgotten I was here, in this bloody room that night she was done in? For God’s sake, Lois, sit down.” He took the poker from her, made her sit on the sofa, and then sat beside her. “Now you listen to me, young woman,” he said. “That Gloria Hathaway had been around. She knew exactly what she was doing and I was just one on her list. She chatted me up, knew how I was feeling. It was three times at the most, and then I got out. I was ashamed of myself, yes, and I’m very sorry now that I’ve hurt you. But that wasn’t the only thing. She was trouble, real trouble. If you want to solve your murder mystery, Lois, I can tell you more than a thing or two about Gloria Hathaway. Now, are you going to listen, or would you rather hit me over the head with a poker?”

  Lois subsided into a muttering heap and Derek got up to open a medicinal bottle of brandy. “Here, drink this,” he said, and poured another one for himself. The minutes ticked by and it was so quiet they could hear Douglas snoring.

  Then Lois downed the last of the brandy and turned to look Derek straight in the face. “You sod,” she said. “You stupid, silly sod.” He said nothing, waiting for her to go on. “I never thought you…of all people…not you, Derek. But there it is.” She took a deep breath, glared at him and said, “Right, since you know so bloody much about Gloria Hathaway, you can answer a few questions…”

  Twenty-Nine

  Tuesday at the Barratts’ was a dull and unproductive morning for Lois, who could have done with some enlivening new scrap of information to take her mind off last night. Although she and Derek had come to a kind of truce, and he’d certainly given
her some very interesting stuff about Gloria Hathaway, she still felt sick at such betrayal. She felt like talking to someone, but the Barratts were cemented together in an embarrassing reconciliation and had no time for gossip with their cleaner. She had a solitary lunch and sat staring at her notebook most of the afternoon. After a while, she began to write notes on what Derek had told her and slowly her spirits began to rise. By the time her mother came in with Jamie and Douglas trailing behind, she had gained enough confidence to answer her tactful questions as best she could.

  With the boys safely in front of the television and Josie not yet home, she gave a more or less complete account.

  “So that’s it,” said her mother. “No wonder you look so low. But it won’t do, Lois.”

  “What d’you mean, ‘it won’t do’?” said Lois angrily. “Haven’t I got a perfect right to feel low?”

  Her mother nodded. “But it’s not the end of the world, you know.” And then she smiled broadly. “I like him a bit better for it, to tell you the truth. He’s always been so perfect…your Dad and I used to call him Mr Smug in the early days.”

  “Wonderful!” said Lois. “First my husband confesses to having it off several times with some scraggy old spinster and now my mother says she approves!”

  “I didn’t say that, Lois. I just don’t judge, that’s all. So he’s had one small fling…it’s quite likely you’ll do the same one day. When you get to my age – ”

  “Oh, spare me that,” said Lois rudely. “So what do you suggest I do? Congratulate him on his success with lonely old women?” She knew she was being unfair. Gloria had not been old and in her way not unattractive. But Lois was a woman scorned, and they are never fair.