For a long, stunned moment, Jimmy looked at the knife in his hand and then with sudden rage he threw it across the room.
‘Stupid, bloody bitch!’ he bellowed. ‘What d’you pick up the knife for? Stupid, stupid, bloody bitch!’
He heaved himself up onto his feet and looked down at her again, the familiar anger rising in him once more. Mavis was dead, there was no doubt about that, she lay on the floor like a discarded rag doll, and it was all her fault. If she hadn’t said no in the first place, he wouldn’t have lost his temper. She was his wife, for God’s sake, she had no right to say no. All he’d wanted was his right as a husband, and she’d been screeching at him. Any man would’ve lost it.
He felt a sudden burst of panic. She was dead, and they’d say he’d done it. That bitch Lily would never believe it was all Mavis’s fault.
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ he shouted to the kitchen. ‘Shit!’
What was he going to do? For several moments his mind seemed a blank, but staring down at Mavis, who returned his stare with sightless eyes, he tried to think. A plan. He needed a plan. Christ! He turned his back on her. Couldn’t think with her staring at him.
Get rid of her body somewhere? Somewhere she’d never be found. Then he’d say she’d run off and left him. If he could just get rid of her body and clean up the kitchen a bit… Then he looked at the blood all over his clothes, the blood pooled on the floor, the blood spattered on the wall, and knew that it would be impossible to clean up the mess that was Mavis’s death.
No, his brain was working now, no, his only chance was to get out, and get out fast. With luck she wouldn’t be found until tomorrow or even the next day, if that interfering cow Lily didn’t come poking round. Twelve hours, maybe more, for him to disappear into the melting pot of London.
Without looking again at the rag doll that lay at his feet, Jimmy staggered from the room. Had to get out of his blood-stained clothes. Had to clean himself up. He hauled himself upstairs and into the bathroom. There he shed his clothes and standing in the bath, scrubbed himself down. The water turned pink as Mavis’s blood was sluiced away, and when at last it ran clear, he towelled himself dry before going into the bedroom and dressing in clean clothes from the skin out. Quickly he packed a grip with another set of clean clothes, neatly ironed by Mavis, his demob suit, and adding his razor and toothbrush, he zipped up the bag and made his way to the front door. Gingerly, he removed his cash from the pocket of his bloody trousers. The trousers he left discarded with the rest of the blood-soaked clothes on the bathroom floor; with Mavis lying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor there seemed to Jimmy no point in trying to hide them.
He turned off all the lights before opening the front door and taking a quick look along the street. The night was cold, frost sparkling on the pavement, with a new moon and a sky bright with stars. The street was empty, and without a backwards glance, Jimmy stepped out and walked away into the night.
30
Lily had had a broken night with Richard. He had woken up several times, apparently crying for no reason. Each time she’d soothed his distress he’d sleep for a maximum of half an hour and then start to cry again.
If he’s been doing this ever since he was born, Lily thought, I’m not surprised that poor Mavis is like a limp rag, nor, she had grudgingly to admit, that Jimmy had found it difficult to cope with as well.
At six o’clock she gave up and made up another bottle that Richard guzzled down as if he were starving, after which he fell asleep. With immense relief Lily sunk back into bed and instantly fell into a deep sleep herself. Neither of them woke again until well after nine.
Lily took her time getting them both up and dressed for the day. By ten they were both ready, and she decided to walk back over to Ship Street. Mavis is probably enjoying a well-earned lie-in, Lily thought. Still, by the time we get there, she’ll be ready for a cuppa and some breakfast.
When she reached Mavis’s front door, there was no sign of life within the house, but the door was on the latch, and leaving the pram outside, Lily picked up Richard and carried him indoors.
‘Mavis! Mavis?’ she called, but there was no reply. The house seemed eerily still. Lily paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up to the landing, wondering if Mavis was still in bed. It was getting on for eleven, and even if she was having a lie-in, surely she’d be up by now. She called again. ‘Mavis? You awake, love?’ Maybe she’d already slipped out to the shops. With luck she’d had a good night’s sleep and was feeling better today.
Lily put Richard back in the pram, which she then manoeuvred into the tiny hallway. Mavis would see him there the minute she got in, and meanwhile, she’d pop the kettle on.
Lily pushed open the kitchen door and froze. Mavis was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, a pool of congealed blood about her head and neck. For a heart-stopping moment Lily stared down at her unable to believe her eyes. She took a step forward, and found herself gazing into Mavis’s glazed and staring eyes.
‘Mavis?’ she croaked. ‘Mavis? Oh my God, no!’ For a moment the room seemed to spin and closing her eyes, Lily clutched at the table to stop herself falling. She slumped onto a chair and put her head between her knees, feeling the blood pounding in her ears. Once the world stopped whirling, she raised her head again, and with a deliberate act of will made herself look again at Mavis’s broken body. Fighting down the nausea that threatened to overcome her, she got unsteadily to her feet and reached down to her daughter’s face, stone-cold to the touch. As she withdrew her hand, she felt the stickiness of Mavis’s blood on her fingers, and the full horror of what she had found flooded through her, stirring her to action.
The police. She must call the police. Jimmy had done this to Mavis, and must be on the run. They must get after him at once. The surge of hatred for Jimmy Randall that coursed through her brought her new strength, and she groped her way to the front door. As she passed the pram in the hallway she saw that Richard had fallen asleep again. No need to move him, he was safe enough there. Jimmy certainly wouldn’t be coming back. She had to get to a telephone and the nearest call box was at the far end of the road. She set off along the pavement, going as fast as she could with no stick to support her. Her legs were shaking, her breathing ragged and the tears were now streaming down her face. At that moment Carrie emerged from her house, almost colliding with Lily as she passed. She grasped Lily’s arm to stop her from falling and then saw her face.
‘Mrs Sharples?’ she cried. ‘Mrs Sharples? Are you all right? Oh my God, what’s happened?’
‘Mavis, it’s Mavis.’ Lily’s breath came in shuddering gasps. ‘That bastard’s done for her. She’s dead. On the kitchen floor. Got to call the police.’
‘Dead?’ Carrie stared at her, unbelieving. ‘Mavis is dead?’
‘On the floor. We must get the police. I got to get to the phone box.’
‘I’ll go,’ Carrie said. ‘You come into my house and wait, I’ll go and ring 999.’
‘No.’ Lily shook her head. ‘You ring 999, I’ll go back to Mavis. Ricky’s still there, in his pram.’
‘But you’re in shock.’ Carrie looked uncertain. ‘You sure, going back there? Being in the house with…’ Her voice tailed away.
‘With Mavis,’ Lily finished for her. ‘With my daughter. You get the police, Carrie, and I’ll wait for them… with Mavis.’ Without waiting for Carrie to agree, Lily turned back towards number 9. Carrie took one look at her stooped but determined figure and raced off down the road to the phone box.
Lily went back into the house and sat on the stairs, one hand on the handle of the pram, rocking it gently although Richard was still blissfully asleep. She couldn’t bring herself to go back into the kitchen, but she needed to be near her daughter. Now there was nothing further she could do, Lily’s strength drained away and she began to sob.
Constable Chapman found her five minutes later. On his beat, he was met by the distraught Carrie rushing to the phone box. Seeing him, tall and strong,
a visible police presence, she’d grabbed him by the arm and blurted out what had happened. He did his best to calm her.
‘You go on and dial 999,’ he said, ‘I’ll go and see to the lady. Mrs Sharples, you said?’
‘Yes, number 9. It’s her daughter, Mavis, what’s dead.’
‘Go on and ring,’ Constable Chapman said. ‘I’ll go and wait with her until help comes.’
When he reached the house, he knocked on the open door and walking in found Lily sitting on the stairs, sobbing.
‘Mrs Sharples?’ he said gently. ‘Mrs Sharples, I’m Constable Chapman.’
Lily looked up at him and gestured towards the kitchen door, whispering, ‘In there.’
The constable pushed open the door, and what he saw made him recoil. Mavis Randall was on the floor, and clearly she’d been stabbed, though from where he stood he could see no sign of the murder weapon. There was no need to check to see if she were dead, the staring eyes and the blood loss confirmed that. Nevertheless he went over to her and touched her cheek, alabaster pale and icy cold. Clearly she’d been dead for several hours. No doubt the police doctor would be able to estimate time of death.
For a long moment he stared down at her. She looked familiar. Where had he seen her before? Then he remembered. It was the house to which he’d brought two lost little girls, and this pale woman had been sitting at the table, nursing a baby. He remembered the misery of both mother and children when they’d been dragged screaming from the house, taken away by some social worker. The memory of that night flooded through him, the anger, the despair, the misery that had filled the little house… and the fear. The mother and the girls had all been terrified of the husband. He remembered standing outside in the street when the girls had been driven away, watching the husband slamming out of the house, headed for the pub. He’d known then that there was no love in that house, but there had been more, a brewing violence which had finally boiled over into murder.
Jumping to conclusions, he reminded himself. We don’t know if it’s the husband who’s killed this woman so brutally, but, he thought as he closed the door again, it seems the most likely explanation.
Lily was still sitting in a huddle on the stairs. Her sobs had subsided, but she was still shaking. The big policeman sat down beside her and took her hand.
‘Can you tell me anything about what’s happened here?’ he asked gently.
‘He’s killed her, that’s what’s happened,’ Lily replied. ‘That bastard Jimmy Randall’s been and killed her, my lovely Mavis.’
‘How can you be so sure it’s him?’ asked Chapman.
‘’Cos he was always knocking her about,’ Lily said. ‘Often saw her with a black eye, or other bruises. I told her he was a violent bastard, even before they was married, but she wouldn’t admit it, not to me, not to no one.’
Chapman looked at the baby in the pram. It must be the one he’d seen Mavis nursing. ‘And what about him, or is it a her?’
‘Him. Richard. He was with me for the night. I took him home ’cos Mavis weren’t getting no sleep. He had her up at all hours, and that Jimmy, all he could do was threaten her and shout at the baby when he cried. Thought I’d give her a break.’
‘You don’t live here, then, in this house?’
‘No, I got my own place. I should have taken the both of them,’ she cried. ‘If Mavis had come to me last night, he’d still have his mother.’
As she spoke, Richard stirred in the pram, waking up with a whimper. At once Lily scooped him up into her arms, holding him close, burying her face in the soft fluff of his hair, comforted a little by his warm softness.
‘Are there any other children?’ Chapman asked, wondering about the girls.
Lily raised bleak eyes to his. ‘Yes, two little girls, but they’ve been took to Australia.’
‘Australia!’ Chapman repeated, startled.
‘It’s a long story.’ Lily was too drained by the events of the morning to say more. In her heart she knew that this was the reason Mavis was dead. She must have confronted Jimmy with the news about Australia and they’d had a fight. ‘She loved them,’ Lily said softly. ‘She wanted them back.’
The insistent clanging of bells announced the arrival of two police cars sweeping into the street. At the same time Carrie reappeared hovering on the pavement outside.
‘Wait here,’ Chapman said to Lily, and went outside to greet his plain-clothes colleagues. Detective Inspector Marshall listened for a moment and then, with a brief nod, came into the house. Lily was still standing in the narrow hallway with the baby in her arms. She held him closer as the policeman came through the front door, as if afraid he might take him away, but the detective merely nodded towards the kitchen and said, ‘In there?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Lily, averting her eyes. The man paused before opening the door and said, ‘Perhaps you’d like to wait outside, madam. We’ll need to search the whole house.’ Adding in a surprisingly gentle voice, ‘And I expect that little chap will be needing a feed soon. Is there a neighbour you could go to?’
Lily nodded. She could go to Carrie, for a while, anyway. Holding Richard tightly in her arms she went outside. A crowd was gathering now, attracted by the police cars, and Constable Chapman was holding them back. More plain-clothes men hurried into number 9, and another car arrived from which a doctor emerged, carrying his black bag. A murmur ran through the crowd as they watched, so far unaware of what had actually happened. The speculation was rife, and several of those at the front of the crowd tried to pump Constable Chapman. He remained solidly silent, his expression blank, giving nothing away. When Lily appeared, one or two recognized her.
‘Hey, Lil,’ cried someone, ‘what’s going on, then?’
‘Yeah,’ called someone else, ‘anybody hurt?’
Lily ignored the questions, and turning her back on the crowd joined Carrie and asked, ‘Can we wait at your house? Ricky needs a feed and a change.’
‘Course you can, Mrs S,’ responded Carrie immediately.
‘I’ll need the pram,’ Lily said. ‘It’s got my bag and Ricky’s stuff in it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Carrie said, ‘I’ll fetch it.’
Lily paused by Constable Chapman to tell him where she was going.
‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘We’ll know where to find you when we need you. I’m sure one of the detectives’ll be in to see you shortly.
It was an hour or so before there was a knock on Carrie’s door and a young man with dark hair and a neat moustache came in.
‘Mrs Sharples?’ he asked.
‘In here,’ replied Carrie, and led him into the front room. She’d already put a match to the fire, and the room was warm and comforting. Carrie didn’t know what John would say about having a daytime fire, but she felt this was an emergency. Lily was in shock and needed to be kept warm. She had refused anything to eat, but Carrie had made sure she drank some tea, adding a generous spoonful of her own sugar ration.
Lily had told Carrie that she’d shown Mavis Rita’s letter.
‘What did she say?’ asked Carrie.
‘She was very upset, course she was,’ said Lily. ‘She was going to have it out with Jimmy…’ her voice broke on a sob, ‘…and I suppose she did. I shouldn’t have told her.’
‘You had to tell her, Mrs Sharples,’ said Carrie. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
Lily had dealt with Richard’s needs and he was sitting on the floor, propped up with a cushion, happily playing with some toys belonging to Carrie’s children. Lily herself sat in a chair by the fire, but despite the warmth from the leaping flames, she felt cold, chilled to the bone.
‘Mrs Sharples,’ said the detective, ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Stanton. I am so sorry for your loss.’ He hesitated before going on awkwardly, ‘I know it’s a difficult time, but I do need to ask you some questions. Do you feel up to answering them now?’
‘If it’ll help you catch that bastard, Jimmy Randall, you ask me anything you like,’ replied Lily
vehemently.
‘Thank you,’ said DS Stanton and drawing up a chair, he sat down opposite her. ‘Well, we do suspect that your daughter was probably stabbed by her husband, but of course we aren’t sure yet.’
‘Aren’t you? I am,’ snapped Lily. ‘He was always knocking her about, weren’t he, Carrie?’
Carrie, who was still standing by the door, nodded in agreement.
‘Thank you, Mrs…?’
‘Maunder.’
‘Mrs Maunder. We’ll be needing a statement from you in due course.’ Stanton turned back to Lily. ‘Can you give me some background information about your daughter and son-in-law? It sounds as if their marriage wasn’t a happy one.’
‘Happy!’ snorted Lily. ‘It was a disaster from the start and before.’ Stanton made a quick note, but he asked nothing more and Lily went on, ‘They only got married ’cos he’d got her in the family way.’ Her eyes strayed to Richard, sitting between them on the floor. ‘And everything went from bad to worse when he got rid of her daughters.’
The Throwaway Children Page 36
