by Pam Weaver
‘I’m sorry,’ he said feebly. ‘I never …’
‘Don’t keep saying that,’ she shouted. ‘You must have known you could never love me right from the start.’
He sat down and stared at the floor.
‘Get out,’ she said quietly.
‘What are you going to do?’ he said.
She didn’t answer. In truth she didn’t know what to do. She kept thinking about his bare bottom and the noises he’d been making seconds before she’d opened the door. Her stomach churned. She was going to be sick again. At least there was a bowl there now.
‘Just go,’ she said when she had recovered.
‘Please don’t go to the police,’ he said rising to his feet. ‘If you do they’ll send me back to that place.’
‘What place?’
‘Prison,’ he said quietly.
She frowned. ‘You were in prison?’ And then it finally dawned on her. All those weeks he was away and she wrote to him nearly every day, he wasn’t checking up on the fishing. He was in Lewis prison! What an idiot she had been. How could she ever lift her head in public again?
‘Get out,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t want to see you again as long as I live.’
He pulled his braces up over his shoulders and did up his flies. ‘I need my things.’ He came by her cautiously but she didn’t object as he went into the bedroom and pushed a few of his clothes into a bag. When he emerged a few minutes later, Rita was still standing exactly as he’d left her.
‘For what it’s worth,’ he said. ‘I am very fond of you, Rita.’
She remained ramrod stiff and said nothing. As soon as she heard his footsteps on the pavement outside, Rita threw herself into a chair and wept.
Major Freeman, chairman of the cricket club, walked into Norris’s den with his hand extended. ‘Sorry to barge in on you like this, Finley, but I need to know if you’ve given the matter of being on the council any more thought.’
‘As a matter of fact …’ Norris began.
‘Good, good,’ said the major. ‘Now what I propose is this.’ He threw himself into a chair and looked around for the drinks trolley. ‘Is that Scotch malt? Make mine a double, there’s a good man.’
Norris obliged. ‘Most of us are in the Freemasons,’ the major continued. ‘I’ll introduce you and once you’ve been vetted …’
‘Vetted?’ said Norris faintly.
‘Got to check up on you, old boy,’ said the major taking a gulp from his glass. ‘Just as you’ll be wanting to check up on us.’ He downed the rest of his drink and held out the glass for more. ‘If all is well, and I’m sure it will be … got no skeletons in your cupboard, eh, what? Then you’ll be invited to meet the committee members. We hold a secret ballot to admit new members.’
‘What sort of things do they want to know?’ said Norris, reluctantly handing over another glass of his best malt.
‘Family, business, any other organisations you belong to, that sort of thing,’ said the major. ‘Don’t want any strong political opinions, or any naughties going on that might bring the Lodge into disrepute.’ He snorted. ‘You know the sort of thing. Anyway, once you’ve joined, getting elected should be a peach. Cllr Norris Finley. Got a good ring to it, eh, what?’
He stood up again and downed the rest of his whisky. ‘I’ll get the bloodhounds onto you and once they’ve done their checks, I’ll be in touch. Goodnight, Finley. My regards to your wife.’
As soon as he’d swept out, Norris lowered himself into a chair. He’d have to tidy a few things up, and do it quickly. When he’d come down for the weekend, John had talked about spending time with friends, including the Rogers girl. It had to be the same one. Nobody else would have a daft name like Bonnie. He’d arranged for John to be followed in the hope it would lead him to Bonnie Rogers and that damned letter she’d taken from her mother. His only dread was that she might have already shown it to John. That would really put the cat among the pigeons.
And then there were all the little ‘perks’ he’d collected in the safe, like that gold watch he’d used to lever that Wilcox girl into bed and the bag Grace Follett was using when his men had taken the Thrift Club money. If anyone stumbled onto them it would be a disaster. Thank goodness there was nothing to connect him to Dolly Peterson. Her husband was still in prison for the beating Norris had given her but there was little likelihood of him getting out, and Dolly was incurable now. Norris had surprised even himself with the violence he’d used, but he’d learned from the experience. He’d turned over a new leaf. He’d controlled his temper ever since. Look at the restraint he’d used the last time he saw Grace Follett. He was sure Grace had taken the locket and he hoped to God she never found out who it really belonged to. It was a good thing the clasp was damaged. If she ever opened that … Well, she would never guess what the little pill inside was, but what if somebody swallowed it? He shuddered.
He reached for the telephone. Everything else would have to wait. If he was going to run for high office, now was the time to clean up his whole life and it wasn’t going to be easy.
Thirty-Three
It was decided that the older children from the nursery would have an outing once a year. After a lot of discussion, the staff picked Chessington Zoo and the date happened to coincide with Shirley’s birthday.
Bonnie was assigned two children, four-year-old Peter Churchill and five-year-old Vera Porter. They weren’t related in any way but they got on fairly well. The outing was the first experience of its kind that they had ever had. Peter had come to the nursery three years before in the dead of night. He had been brought by the police who’d had a tip-off that a child was alone in a flat. When they broke in, Peter was in his cot, covered in faeces, distressed and very hungry. The neighbour was in tears when she saw him.
‘I should have done something before,’ she wept, ‘but you don’t like to interfere, do you.’
There was a court case which took months to get underway and Peter’s mother was sent to prison for child neglect. Peter had been in care ever since.
Vera’s mother had been too ill to look after her and her father couldn’t deal with a young child. He remarried soon after Vera’s mother died but his new wife wasn’t keen to have Vera. The child was up for adoption but her chances of a new family were practically nil. Vera had a condition they called mongolism. Both children loved the idea of ‘helping’ Bonnie with Shirley and a trip on the Green Line bus was more excitement than they’d had in a longtime.
There were ten in the party, seven children and three adults. As Bonnie crossed the road, a black Lanchester Eleven slowed to let her and the children pass. They were at the bus stop in good time and Bonnie was in charge of the fares.
The zoo was quite large. For safety’s sake the girls stuck together. The children loved it. They saw lions and monkeys and even a camel. The highlight of the day was a ride on the back of an elephant. After climbing some steps, they were perched on a long bench-type seat which was strapped either side of the animal. There were no straps for the children but they could push their feet against a footrest to keep their balance. Bonnie held Shirley on her lap while Peter and Vera sat either side. It was a bit precarious as they set off but that only added to their sense of adventure.
The two girls with Bonnie were Doreen her roommate and a new girl called Monica. Monica had a Box Brownie camera and she took some pictures. They ate their sandwiches for lunch and drank hot tea from a flask. The children had orange juice in Bakelite mugs brought for the purpose.
After a while Monica said, ‘You keep looking round. What’s wrong?’
‘It’s probably nothing,’ said Bonnie, ‘but I get the feeling we’re being watched.’
‘I bet we are,’ laughed Doreen. ‘Look at us. We’ve got the whole United Nations here.’
Bonnie hadn’t really thought about it before but she was right. They had white children, mixed race children and one full-blooded African child. Peter was the only one with flaming red hair and of cour
se, there was little Vera.
The council had allocated five shillings for each child for the day. That meant everyone could have one ice cream and a few sweets. Peter and Vera chose an identical bar of Cadbury’s chocolate. As Bonnie held them out, she said, ‘Which one would you like?’
As quick as a flash, Peter said, ‘Vera’s.’
‘Tell you what,’ said Bonnie as Vera’s lip trembled, and the other girls giggled and walked on, ‘You have this one and I’ll give Vera that one.’
Peter was content with that and so was Vera.
By three thirty, everyone had had enough. The children were tired and Shirley was already sucking her thumb as they went through the exit and headed for the bus stop.
There weren’t many cars about but Bonnie noticed a black Lanchester Eleven parked near the exit. It looked awfully like the one she had seen at the start of the day, but it couldn’t be, could it? She kept her eye on it as they waited for the bus but she never saw the driver.
‘It occurs to me,’ she said to Doreen and Monica as the children dozed around them, ‘nobody keeps a record of what happens to these children. One day they will be all grown up with no real memories of their childhood.’
Monica pulled a face. ‘You’re probably right,’ she said, ‘but who is going to do it?’
‘Who’s got the time?’ laughed Doreen. ‘By the time we get this lot into bed, I shall be knackered.’
Bonnie knew she’d be very tired as well but it didn’t seem fair. These children had already had a rough start in life. Perhaps she should volunteer to do it herself ? Good idea – but that meant she would have to write it out seven times. Doreen was right. Who had the time?
As she stood to help Peter down from his seat when they reached their destination, Bonnie glanced up. They had all been sitting on the long seat at the back of the bus. A black Lanchester Eleven had just pulled into the side of the road behind them. She still couldn’t see the occupants but her blood chilled. There was no doubt in her mind now. It was exactly the same car. One of them was being followed.
When they got off the bus Bonnie grabbed Doreen’s arm. ‘Look after my children for a minute.’
‘Where are you going?’
Bonnie didn’t answer. They watched her go up to the car.
‘That’s the car she said was following us,’ said Doreen faintly.
The driver pretended not to see her coming. Bonnie rapped sharply on the window. He feigned surprise and wound it down.
‘You’ve been following us all day,’ she challenged.
He was a man with a swarthy complexion and small deep-set eyes. ‘I’ve got no idea what you are talking about,’ he said in a rasping voice.
‘Oh yes you have,’ Bonnie said stoutly, ‘and if you know what’s good for you …’
His eyes had narrowed and Bonnie’s sense of outrage evaporated as she saw his lip curl. ‘You’ve got something that belongs to Mr Finley and he wants it back. If you value your daughter’s life, you’ll see that he gets it.’
With that, the car drove off at speed. When Bonnie got back to the others, her face was white.
‘What did he want?’ asked Doreen.
‘Nothing,’ said Bonnie. ‘Just some stupid crank trying to scare us.’
Later, alone in her room, Bonnie opened her locked drawer and took out her treasured things. She examined them one by one.
What was so important that John should send someone to follow her all the way to Chessington? And why threaten Shirley? He could have asked her for whatever he wanted. Then it dawned on her. John loved Shirley. There was no way he would threaten her. He had also told her that he and his father didn’t get on. So it wasn’t John Finley who had sent someone to threaten her today. It must have been his father. That was scary. How did Norris Finley find out where she was and what did he want? She had pretended not to be upset when the driver gave her his message but she could still hear his rasping voice when she put the light out later that night.
‘If you value your daughter’s life, you’ll see that he gets it.’
If Mr and Mrs Matthews told Grace once, they told her a hundred times how much they appreciated her kindness. Now that their son George was decently buried in his own plot of ground, they said they could begin to plan a headstone as a memorial. Grace had taken the case to them the previous week, soon after Mrs Matthews had arrived in the country. Introductions had been slightly awkward but the Matthews had been polite. When they’d told her they were burying their son, she had asked if she could attend the funeral. The offer had touched them both deeply. Archie had promised to go with her.
Archie and Grace had walked to the church but they had gone in the funeral car with the Matthews to the churchyard at Offington Corner.
‘Could you come back here next week?’ said Oswald as they all shook hands back at their rented house in Goring. ‘I’ve tried to read the papers George left, but I’m afraid I can’t concentrate at the moment and Mrs Matthews is all done in. I’ve asked an old mate of mine, an ex-police officer, to take a look at everything, especially that photograph.’
‘Of course,’ said Grace.
They decided to walk back home in spite of Oswald’s offer of a taxi. It was a fair distance but it was a nice afternoon and Grace welcomed the opportunity to be alone with Archie again. They kept to the beach road until they reached Heene Road. Along Marine Parade, dog owners were striding along the empty beach below the high bank of stone and shingle. Gulls wheeled and turned overhead and at the water’s edge, little sandpipers ran in and out of the water looking for food.
Grace smiled. How she loved this place. Worthing had none of the brashness of Brighton but it did have a special quality of its own. How many times had she heard newcomers saying, ‘I never wanted to like this place but it has grown on me.’
Worthing did just that. It crept in uninvited and wrapped itself around your heart, until you became fond of it. The council had some fantastic plans for the future of the town. They wanted to do away with the old and create a brand new modern seaside town. Plenty of people were up in arms about it, especially the plan to bulldoze most of the lovely old houses in Station Approach, but Grace had the feeling that even if the powers that be mutilated the town, it would always remain dearly loved by its residents.
On the last stretch before home she was tired and looking forward to a rest and a cup of tea. They parted at the end of the road because Archie was anxious to get back to the shop. It was warm inside the cottage and Grace put the kettle on. Poor George, and poor Oswald and Mrs Matthews. What a dark deed had been done that day in the factory, but at least by putting George into his final resting place, they had gone some way to putting things right.
She heard a rustling sound on the stairs and spun round. ‘Who’s there?’
Her mouth went dry. Burglars? And then she relaxed. Who would steal from her? She had nothing left. Grace picked up the poker and moved cautiously towards the stair door. Yanking it open, she gasped as the light from the kitchen flooded the staircase.
Rita was sitting on the third step, her hair dishevelled and her face wet with tears.
‘Mum,’ she choked. ‘I’m sorry. Can I come home?’
Dropping the poker, Grace bounded up to meet her. Putting her arms around Rita’s shaking shoulders, she kissed her daughter’s lovely chestnut hair again and again as she held her tightly against her chest.
While the telegram boy waited for an answer, the maid took the yellow envelope to Norris. He was sitting in his den, with the radio on. She coughed and he turned to look at her. Pretty girl, he thought. A conquest for a future date perhaps?
‘Telegram, sir.’
He took it and tore it open. ‘No reply,’ he said gruffly and the girl left the room.
Norris smiled to himself and read the message one more time before striking a match and watching it burn. Two words, but they meant that he would be able to apply for the Lodge and a place on the council.
Girl found.
/> Thirty-Four
Bonnie was tired as she started work the next morning but it was worth it. Yesterday had been a lovely day. Today she was working from 7am until 7pm but she had 2pm until 4pm off duty so perhaps she could catch up with a little sleep then.
At the bottom of the stairs, she bumped into a man dressed in paint-splashed overalls.
‘Morning,’ Bonnie smiled.
‘Morning.’ The man was lining up his tins of paint by the door.
Oh good, she thought as she crossed the courtyard and went into the nursery, it’s about time the council had the place done up. A fresh coat of paint would brighten things up no end.
Grace and Rita had talked long into the night. It was wonderful to have her daughter back but Grace wished with all her heart that Rita hadn’t had to suffer this indignity. She couldn’t help feeling that she should shoulder some of the blame. She was careful not to say anything which might smack of ‘I told you so …’ but as they talked, Grace could see that much of this could have been avoided if she had done some plain speaking.
Emilio had been Rita’s first and only love and her daughter had based much of her knowledge of romance on Hollywood films. Considering that in the pictures men and women only kissed with their lips closed, and marriages on the silver screen were kept firmly behind the bedroom door, it had given Rita an unrealistic view of life.
‘I never really knew what a man does, Mum,’ she’d said tearfully. ‘I still don’t but I know enough to know something was very wrong with Emilio and me.’
‘He should never have put you in this position,’ said Grace. ‘But what’s done is done.’
‘I don’t want to stay married to him all my life,’ Rita wept.
