by Ann Purser
Pamela…It was the name in the address book on his desk, and she had been going to ring her up and pretend to be a wrong number. She’d decided against it because she couldn’t see anything to be gained from it. After all, the woman would hardly be likely to say anything of interest to a perfect stranger. Someone had phoned Pamela, though. It must have been Rachel. Perhaps she’d noticed the name just as Lois had done, and had suspicions. After all, she had every reason. Malcolm was an old letch and had just returned from some mysterious absence. Rachel was only human.
Lois stood up, brushing the back of her damp coat. People’ll think I’ve wet myself, she thought, and began to laugh. It was such a relief to know she would not be going back to the Barratts. There would be no problem about getting another job, she knew. Mary Rix was always asking if she had any free time to clean for other people in the village. “Good riddance, Professor Barratt!” she yelled to the silent wood. Lois set off back down the narrow path, looking down at her feet as she picked her way through puddles and heaps of fallen twigs. Suddenly there was a shadow in front of her and she looked up in terror.
“Morning Lois,” said Inspector Cowgill. “I hope I didn’t startle you.” But Lois was swaying and he had to reach out quickly to support her. “Here, steady!” he said and put an arm around her, furious with himself for being so insensitive. Simpson had telephoned him from his car and he’d come straight out to the woods, sure that something was up. Clearly Lois had had a shock of some kind.
She straightened up and shook off his arm, then leaned against a tree trunk, breathing hard. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m OK now. It was just that…” She frowned and looked at him fiercely. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway? I didn’t…” she said.
“Keith Simpson,” he said, and waited. “Sure you’re all right?” he said after a few seconds.
“Yep,” she said. “And the reason I’m here is that I wanted to be on my own.”
“Fine,” said Hunter Cowgill, turning round. He was getting used to Lois now.
She followed him slowly, but before they reached the wide track, she stopped again. “Listen,” she said, and he turned and faced her, eyebrows raised. “There was something. Malcolm Barratt. He had a go at me. At least, if I hadn’t passed out, I think he was going to. Something about one of his women. Anyway, I got out quick, and shan’t be going back. Told him so. Now, I just need to settle down for a minute and then go home. So you can go. I don’t want you doing anything about it.”
She could see now that he’d backed along the track into the wood so that his car would not be seen from the road. He thought of everything.
Now he said, “Fair enough, Lois. We’ll keep an eye on him. But I’d be glad if you’d think again about leaving the Barratts. Can’t influence you, of course. Just give it some more thought.” She said nothing and he walked away from her. She followed slowly and as he got into his car he turned back and raised his hand. “Take care,” he called, and drove off.
Lois’s car started without trouble this time and she felt calm enough to call in at the supermarket in Tresham for supplies. It was lunch time when she arrived back in Byron Way, her spirits restored. For the moment she saw no reason to question her mother’s presence, sitting there in her kitchen in the middle of the day…until she saw her face.
“Mum? What’s up?” Her mother looked at least ten years older and seemed on the verge of tears.
“It’s Josie,” she said. “She ran away from me.”
“What d’you mean?” said Lois. “She’s not a little kid. She wouldn’t run away?” She still felt soothed by Hunter Cowgill’s reassuring remarks, and wondered fleetingly if her mother was wandering a bit. After all, she was getting on.
“It was that lad,” said her mother and suddenly Lois’s composure evaporated. “Melvyn. He turned up in the centre. Came out of nowhere. And before I knew it, Josie was taking his hand and saying she was just going off to have a coffee with him and would meet me outside John Lewis in half an hour.” She stopped, and her eyes filled.
“And?” said Lois urgently. Her heart was pounding and she could hardly breathe. “For God’s sake, Mum, what happened! Where is she?”
“She didn’t turn up. I waited an hour, then went to the information office and they made an announcement…you know, like they do for lost kids. But Josie didn’t turn up and her mobile was switched off. In the end, they told me to go home and see if she’d gone back alone. After all, they said, she is fourteen.”
“She wasn’t at your house, then,” said Lois. “So you phoned the police, for Christ’s sake?”
Her mother nodded. “They told me not to worry, she’d be sure to turn up. Probably gone home, they said. Let us know if she doesn’t turn up by bedtime, they said. I expect they thought I was just a silly old woman.” Her mother was crying now, and Lois slumped down into a chair.
“So now what?” she said. Her immediate instinct was to telephone Derek. But he was working twenty miles away, the other side of Fletching. A big job, he’d said, and he was anxious to finish it today. With all the recent troubles, he’d got behind with his schedule, and was planning to work solidly until he caught up. He wouldn’t thank her for ringing now, when Josie might turn up at any moment.
“What time did you get to the centre, then?” she said handing her mother a tissue.
“Ten-ish. We went straight there after dropping the boys off at school. Lois…” she added. “I waited and waited. Where can she have gone?”
Lois shook her head. Her imagination had begun to work and, although she tried to subdue rising panic, she knew she’d have to ring Derek. He had to be told, angry or not, and might have something useful to suggest. After a conversation that began acrimoniously, then became accusatory when Derek said Lois shouldn’t have allowed Josie to go in the first place, and finally settled down to practicalities, he suggested they wait at home for a while, then ring round Josie’s friends. He’d be back as soon as he could.
Feeling a little reassured, Lois gave her mother a cup of strong coffee and went upstairs to look for clues in Josie’s room. From her mother’s account, it seemed to Lois pretty clear that Melvyn had arranged this meeting. That meant they probably fixed it up on that walk. Josie was sure to have known where he was staying in Tresham. Lois turned over school books, lurid teenage magazines full of stuff about how to get your man and piles of tapes littering Josie’s work table. Nothing. If she could only find Josie’s address book…
Think, Lois, she told herself. Put all your famous powers of detection to work. Telephone pad. If Josie had made a call to Melvyn, there was just a chance. She rushed downstairs and saw an unfamiliar Tresham number scribbled on the pad. She dialled, holding her breath, but the ringing tone seemed to go on for ever. Finally it was answered.
“Who’s that?” said a gruff voice.
“You won’t know me,” she said.
Before she could continue, the voice said, “Well, I don’ wanna talk to ya, then,” and the call was cut off.
She dialled again. “Who’s that!” said the same voice, more irritated now.
“I’m a friend of Melvyn’s,” said Lois quickly. “Can I speak to him?”
There was a silence, and then, “E’s not ‘ere. Gone. Get it? And don’ ring agen.” Once more the receiver was banged down.
But he had been there. And Josie had spoken to him and arranged to meet, and now they had disappeared together. Panic rose again in Lois, but this time she could not subdue it. She lifted the receiver once more and dialled Police Constable Keith Simpson.
Thirty-Two
“Are we nearly there?” said Josie. She was tired. They had been travelling for two hours and although Melvyn had stopped twice, buying her cans of drink and sandwiches, she felt weary and dispirited.
“Yep, only five more miles on the motorway, then about twenty minutes up the lane to my uncle’s farm.”
“What will he say?” said Josie.
“He’s nearly blind no
w,” said Melvyn. “He won’t think nothing of it. He’s Dad’s brother and we often go and stay with him. Help him on the farm in summer. He’s a bachelor and his house is a tip. But he’s nice. He’ll make us welcome.”
Josie didn’t fancy staying in a tip, but she looked across at Melvyn’s profile and felt proud that he had chosen her. He could have had any of the girls in his year, all seventeen and streetwise. She came from a sheltered home by comparison. The thought of home gave her a nasty jolt. She blinked hard and looked out of the window. It was growing dark and she couldn’t see much.
“I’ve got to phone my Mum and Dad,” she said.
“When we get there,” Melvyn replied. “You can tell them you’ve come away for a break. Some north country air in your lungs. Do you a power of good.” He reached for her hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the tips of her fingers. “You’ll be fine with me, Josie,” he said.
“Where did you get this car?” Josie said. It was a small, newish Renault and had mopped up the miles with ease.
“Borrowed it from a friend,” said Melvyn casually. “He said I could have it for a few days. He owes me.”
“What for?” asked Josie, but it was an idle question. She did not really want to know. The wonderful, exciting feeling of being with Melvyn, alone in a car, miles from home, was wearing thin. Would they be worrying? She could imagine Dad having a go at Mum and probably Gran as well. She would phone as soon as they arrived.
The track up to the farm was bumpy and the small car, so brilliant on the motorway, now jerked Josie about until her chest hurt. Potholes threw them from side to side and she was nearly in tears when they finally stopped. It was pitch dark, with only a dim light showing the stone wall of an old house. Melvyn got out and walked round to her side of the car.
“Out you come,” he said kindly. He took her hand. “Come and meet Uncle Ned, then we’ll get the bags out.”
The farm kitchen was dimly lit, warm and very smelly. Two squirming spaniels greeted them with delight, but Josie pushed them away with growing panic. What had she done? Where on earth were they? The old man shuffling towards them, his eyes looking all over the place, everywhere but at her, terrified her.
“Melvyn!” she said. “I want to go home!”
“Don’t be silly!” he hissed at her. “You’ll annoy him. Just say hello and then we’ll find a room to sleep.”
Suddenly Josie was very frightened. “I want to phone home,” she said.
The old man cackled. “Got no phone, me duck,” he said. “Tomorrow, you can go down to the box on the corner. If it’s working, that is…”
He cackled again, and Josie began to shake. “I don’t feel well,” she said.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Melvyn. “Come on, I’ll take you to the phone box, if that’s what you want.” He turned and led her out of the door, back into the yard, and then, tripping and half-running, they made their way down the dark lane.
∗
Keith Simpson had been a tower of strength, suggesting that he would report Josie still missing, then get on down to the station to get things moving. “She’s probably gone to the pictures with him and will give you a ring. They’ll have a quick burger and then home, I shouldn’t wonder,” he said. “She’ll turn up, Lois. You said he wasn’t a bad lad. Try not to worry.” She hadn’t told him about the factory incident, and wondered if she should. There was still this nagging doubt about the truth of Josie’s account, and she was reluctant to blacken the lad’s name unless it was really necessary. She’d tell Keith later.
Now it was tea time and still no Josie. Derek had gone off into Tresham to the house where the Hallhouses used to live, to see if he could get their new address or telephone number and he hadn’t come back yet. Lois had lost count of how many cups of coffee she’d made and when Derek came through the kitchen door she realized her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
“Well?”
“I got the number,” he said, making straight for the telephone.
Lois subsided on a kitchen chair and clenched her fists to stop the shaking. She heard the ringing tone stop and the sound of a voice. Derek asked if Melvyn was there, and she heard a woman’s voice saying that he was staying in Tresham with a friend for a few days.
“Do you know where he’s staying?” said Derek.
“Not sure of the address,” said the woman. “But I’ve got a phone number.”
Derek wrote it down and then asked that the minute Melvyn got in touch to tell him to phone the Meades.
“Is there something wrong?” said the woman.
“I hope to God not,” said Derek. “He’s got my daughter with him…she’s only fourteen and if he does her any harm, I’ll have his guts for garters.” He banged down the receiver and checked the number with Lois. It matched the one on the pad, and he dialled again.
“Hello! What’ya want?…no, for Christ’s sake, bloody Melvyn’s not ‘ere. ‘E was, and ‘e’s gone.” The phone line went dead, just as it had with Lois and she realised they had got nowhere.
Derek sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. “It’s getting dark,” he said.
“The police have got all the details,” said Lois. “They’ll find her.”
“Wanna bet?” said Derek. “Fourteen-year-old kid from the Churchill Estate gone missing? Must be an everyday event for them.”
“Shut up, Derek!” Lois burst out. “We’ve got to trust them.” She thought of Keith Simpson, moving into action straight away, full of reassurance. He would have told Cowgill by now and Lois was glad of that.
Silence fell between them. Her mother had got Douglas and Jamie and had said she would keep them for the night. They had been excited about staying with Gran in the middle of a school week and had gone off cheerfully. Now there was nothing to say. The silence lengthened and when the telephone rang, both of them jumped up and rushed to answer it.
“Hello! Is that you, Josie?” Lois had got there first and Derek was holding her fast, his ear as close to the receiver as it would go.
“Mum?” The voice was faint, but it was unmistakeably Josie. “Mum, I’m all right.”
“Where are you, Josie? Tell me where you are and we’ll come and get you.” Derek nodded violently, clinging on to Lois in his anxiety to hear Josie’s voice.
“No, I’m all right. Melvyn’s looking after me…” Lois could hear his voice, but not the words.
“Josie, listen to me,” she said. “It’s not legal for him to take you away. He’ll be in big trouble if you don’t tell us where you are this minute.”
“I don’t know where I am,” said Josie, and Lois could hear tears in her voice.
Oh God, what could they do? “Don’t ring off,” she said. “Whatever you do, don’t ring off!”
“I’m a bit frightened, Mum…” Melvyn’s voice in the background again, but once more Lois couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“Put Melvyn on the phone,” she said, and then wished she hadn’t. She wanted to hold on to Josie, if only through the telephone line. It was her only hope.
“‘Lo, Mrs Meade. Don’t worry. I’m looking after her. Give her a few days of good Yorkshire air and she’ll be right as rain in no time.” His voice sounded firm and controlled, although not threatening.
“Where are you?” she said. “My Uncle Ned’s farm,” he said, with no apparent effort at concealment. “Near Skipton. Lovely country here. You can come up too, if you want.”
“He’s not right in the head,” muttered Derek. “Give us the phone. What’s the address?” he said.
“Stone House Farm, Easedale,” said Melvyn. “But she’ll be OK. I’ll look after her,” he repeated.
“You’d better,” Derek said.
They had another talk with Josie, tried to reassure her and without saying what they were going to do next, finally and reluctantly put down the telephone. Derek marched into the hall and got his coat.
“Come on,” he said. “Bring the map and we’l
l be up there in two hours. Hurry up, gel,” he added. “Sooner we get there the better. And don’t bother ringing your police pal. We can settle this without them.”
∗
Josie awoke to the sound of doves cooing loudly outside the window and for several moments had no idea where she was. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. The bed was iron-framed and somebody had some time ago painted it white and gold. The gold was chipped here and there, revealing black metal beneath, and the boss of roses in the centre of the headboard showed traces of a virulent salmon pink, also peeling. The mattress she sat on was lumpy and now as she looked around her she saw that everything in the tiny room was old, scratched and unsteady. But it was clean. Mum would notice that straight away.
Last night came back slowly to her as she shook the sleep out of her head. Melvyn had found sheets and blankets and together they had made up this narrow bed. He’d made sure she had everything she wanted (except her mother and that was what she wanted most) and had disappeared, saying he would see her in the morning, when they would go for a lovely long ramble over the moor. The last thing she remembered was thinking that she’d never get to sleep in this strange and lonely place.
She slipped out of bed and went over to the window. The sun was up, and everything glistened with hoar frost. It was like fairyland. The nearest thing to it Josie had seen was the Christmas display in the shopping centre. But this magic transformation stretched as far as her eye could see. The farmyard below was swept clean and, like an illustration in a children’s book, a horse’s head peered out over the top of a stable door. As she looked out, the horse whinnied and plumes of steam came from his flared nostrils into the frosty air. Beyond, she could see a grassy meadow and tall, bare trees. The grass sparkled, and every bare branch bore a miraculous coating of shining, glittering frost. She struggled with the window catch, and managed to open it, gasping at the inrush of sharp, cold air. When she got used to the icy clearness of it, she took deep breaths and found herself smiling.
