Beyond Angel Avenue

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  “I barely remember my mum’s,” I admit, “I blocked most of it out.”

  I swallow and he moves closer, pulling me into his surround, his arms, his body.

  “You look absolutely beautiful,” he says and kisses me.

  Before long, I’m up on the sideboard and he’s inside me, our union making us forget there was ever anything wrong.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jules

  Two Months Later

  It’s supply teacher season, which means I’m really busy. With lots of teachers invigilating exams or marking papers, I’m being offered jobs, and I keep accepting them. I don’t need the money but I just need to be busy.

  I have no idea how but Anna has been let off the hook over breaching her restraining order and she’s even back at work. I just don’t know how she keeps getting away with it all. She still follows me around (albeit from a distance) but I’m at breaking point and she must know it, the smug bint.

  “Alfred, put Reza down immediately,” I demand, sniping across the classroom. These kids just think they can do what the hell they like these days. Don’t they know how revered I used to be in this school? Obviously not.

  “But Miss, we was only messin’,” he says.

  “This is maths class, not acrobatics, so put her down. And it’s were, we were only messing, not was,” I correct him.

  Reza and Alfred both stick their tongues out at me and I go back to my Kindle, reading something mundane. I’m babysitting this lot when I could be just babysitting my own kids. What is wrong with me?

  I guess, I just don’t know where I belong. I’m a bit lost and between places and even though I love my children and Rick, something’s missing, and something’s not right. I can’t put my finger on it.

  The private care company my father employed to look after him refused to specify why Miranda was dismissed. They said the reason had nothing to do with my father; they said my dad was ill and it was confirmed he had a stroke; they said Miranda was given a reference, because she was dismissed over a small difference of opinion.

  It’s all left me feeling there’s still something I don’t know about. The truth is, this Miranda character could be anywhere. She could be in the area still, or be as far as Kathmandu by now, I don’t know. I feel she might be the only one who could tell me why Dad didn’t care to let me know he was dying.

  “Class dismissed,” I shout over the bell, and the kids leave, shouting, “Bye, Mrs Jones!” as they pass. I’m still staring at the words on my Kindle and nothing’s making sense to me. It all looks like gobbledegook and has done for quite some time. My mind’s incapable of absorbing anything at the moment.

  As I drive towards Kitty’s to pick up the kids, I wonder why I haven’t danced much since I got back home. I danced almost every day on my travels. True, getting pregnant was a big factor but while I stare out of the windscreen as I drive the mile to Kitty’s, I feel like I really need to dance and I’ve no idea why I’ve neglected it so badly. Then it hits me – I reach for dancing whenever I’m in pain. It’s there whenever I need to lose myself and the only times I dance are when I’m feeling sad, dancing is the only way I feel I can fight back.

  Lost, that’s what I am.

  “Hey, Jules,” Kitty exclaims when she opens the door.

  Her eyes are rimmed red and her happy act isn’t washing with me. I shut the door behind me and ask, “What the hell’s wrong?”

  We head straight for the kitchen and judging by the silence in the living room, the children are napping. Ducking my head around the corner, I find it just so. All three are tucked up together on the raised play mat.

  She shakes her head, fanning her face with a hand. “Nothing, nothing.”

  “Erm, well, it seems to me you’ve had a moment alone and now you’re spilling tears at the thought of something?”

  She begins to speak but can’t find her breath, almost hyperventilating. “I…” hiccup, “…got,” sniff, “a call.”

  I steer her to the circular kitchen table and she seats herself while I do the tea.

  “Start from the beginning. You got a call?”

  “Hmm-mmm. A call.” She bursts into tears and shakes so hard, I feel bad for her. I’m just not a ‘throw myself at someone and hug them’ type of person.

  “A call from whom?” I ask, pulling out a number of tissues from a box and handing them over. “Divide and conquer, divide and conquer, Kitty.”

  “My father.” She blows her nose and shudders. “Mum… is… ill. She has to go… into care.” She shakes and shivers, her whole body trembling. “Care home. Full-time care. Dementia. She’s had it years but he didn’t take her to the doctor, thinking he could cope… not wanting her taken away! We knew she was forgetful, lingering on her early years, but Dad just never told us how much he was having to cope with. I can’t stand…” she takes a deep breath, “…he didn’t come and ask for help. He didn’t ask. She could have been getting the drugs to help, but he was terrified, he was afraid. Now she is deteriorating at such a rate… she’s going into one of those awful homes, and I hate myself! I hate myself! I should’ve been there but I’ve been wrapped up in Simon and getting pregnant and trying to keep my own sanity.”

  I sit down opposite her even though I’m not really one for talking about emotional issues. “You know my dad passed?”

  She takes a sip of tea, still shivering. I haven’t offered a hug but I think she knows that’s not my style. “Yeah?”

  “I didn’t tell you the half of it. Apparently, some care worker got dismissed the day after he died. A woman who looked after him.”

  Kitty gawps. “You what?”

  “The care company swore, and I mean SWORE, her sacking had nothing whatsoever to do with my father or his death, but she was there at the funeral along with a few other care workers who looked after him from time to time, and the other ladies sort of seemed to mistrust her. You could tell. Warrick said I should forget it, but I can’t.”

  I throw my head back and try to take comfort from the warm mug of tea in my hands.

  She touches my hand. “Don’t let it drop. You have to know, right? I’d want to know.”

  “But how will I find out?”

  “How does anyone find out anything?”

  I peer at her, noticing her mind has been distracted from this awful truth about her parents. “Buy information, or something, is that what you mean?” I ask.

  She nods. “Do whatever it takes. I can tell you… and I’m sure your hubby can… how much boils down to decisions made in the moment in these sorts of professions and at the end of the day, not everything is recorded on paper, but her colleagues might know stuff they’d be willing to divulge…”

  “…for the right price?”

  “Yeah.”

  “God, I don’t know. I mean, yeah, one of them was young. I think her name was Kerry. I could maybe… she might be gullible enough to confess what she knows, but I just don’t–”

  “Well thanks for taking my mind off it,” she says, “I just can’t bear the thought–”

  She stops herself again and I tell her, “Wendy, Terry’s girlfriend, she’s in care work and she’s not exactly the most charismatic of people, but I sense she’s like that for a reason, you know?”

  “My husband might pay for Mum to go private but I just don’t know, I don’t know… Dad might think we’re interfering. I don’t come from money, Jules, I married into it and my father’s very proud. He’s kept it to himself for so long. I still can’t believe it got so far down the line…”

  “You can only try,” I say, trying to comfort her.

  There’s a cry from next door and before I know it, Warrick’s texting me: Why aren’t you home yet?

  …and I’m dashing to catch up!

  ***

  It’s the next day and I’m dropping the kids off with Kitty as usual, but instead of going to work, I’ve rung and told them I’m sick and can’t substitute today. I’m going to find Kerry.

&n
bsp; Kitty takes the kids and I remind her, “Remember if the unexpected happens and someone tries to get hold of me, cover for me.”

  Holding her forehead, she smiles through gritted teeth. “I really hope this bears fruit for you.”

  “Me too, because if Warrick finds out I’m chasing this, he will go spare.”

  I wave as I leave, hoping Jack doesn’t call Warrick to check up on me, meaning Warrick calls me to find out why the hell I’m not at home laid up in bed – and more importantly, why the kids aren’t either.

  I set off through busy morning traffic and get stuck on the A63 heading out of the city.

  I find myself crossing the bridge after queuing in traffic for an hour and nerves start to kick in and I wonder what the hell I’m doing. I try to brush off my fears and push on. There’s something about that woman, Miranda, I know it. She seemed more than a care worker, I could tell. It was the way she dressed, carried herself, wore that sad face she wore at my father’s funeral. The other women – the other care workers – acted like funerals were the norm. Miranda, however, she was vacant and genuinely sad that day.

  My first stop after parking up in a supermarket car park is Amy’s shop.

  “Whoa, Mumma,” I exclaim as I walk through the door. She’s only seven months pregnant but she’s huge.

  “DON’T!” she cries, “my back. My piles. My acid reflux. My back, did I mention my back?”

  I snicker and touch her arm, which is about the most affectionate I feel like being today.

  “Got a minute? Just need to pick your brains.”

  “Sure, let me shut up,” she says.

  I can see moving will take her centuries so I offer, “Wait, I’ll get it! Just turn the sign round, right?”

  “Yep, and deadbolt the door,” she whinnies as she heaves her swollen body off the stool, from behind her cash desk. I don’t know why she just doesn’t employ an assistant. She seems to know what I’m thinking because she says, “I know I should be resting, you don’t have to tell me, but I can’t afford to employ someone, Jules. Besides the last girl I had on minimum wage thieved half my stock from under my nose.”

  “Ooh, sorry,” I apologise and take her arm as we head upstairs, steadying her as we climb. In the kitchen she sits and I play mum. “God, you really are big. I carried twins but they were only four and a half pounds each. I think because I yakked, like all the way through, it just never stopped. I don’t know how I grew them to that size to be honest.”

  “Any recent pics?” she asks, wincing as she rubs her back.

  “Yeah, here.”

  I pass her my phone and she ooohs and aaawws at pics of my gorgeous boys.

  I place a pot of tea, some scones and plates, knives and forks down, and ask her, “Do you remember the funeral?”

  “Yeah, sad wonnit?” Her eyes glaze just thinking of it. How could anyone be sad about that useless git upping and dying? I don’t know!

  “Well, can you remember one of the care workers there? Her name was Kerry.”

  Amy’s brown eyes look around the room as she tries to take her mind back. Nothing seems to be jogging her memory, so I add, “I spoke to her afterwards. She was young, maybe twenty-five. She was with another care worker, Janice, but she was older… maybe in her sixties.”

  “I know Janice,” Amy says, “she used to work in the bakery over the road until it shut down.”

  “You don’t know Kerry though?”

  “Nah.”

  It’ll have to be Janice then. “Where’s Janice live?”

  Amy looks at me, fiddling with her dress.

  “What do you wanna know for?” Amy asks, concerned, her eyebrows arching. “Your fella, has he got beef with her? Are the boys in blue after her?”

  “No,” I shake my head and mash the tea, “nothing like that. Warrick doesn’t even know I’m here and he would kill me if he found out. He hates me going off and doing stuff without him.”

  “Why?” She laughs nervously. “Is he a control freak?”

  “No, I still have a restraining order out on his wife that’s all.”

  Amy covers her eyes with her hands and laughs.

  “Yeah, lap it up!”

  “Sorry,” she says, “sorry. Well. I suppose I could give you J’s address. In fact, it’s just round the corner. Her daughter comes in here, Lacey’s her name. Apparently her mum works mostly nights, better pay or something. She might be asleep, or you might catch her before she goes to bed.”

  I immediately stand, like my life depends on me getting there before she’s asleep. “Tell me the address then. I have to try, Amy.”

  “What the hell is this all about, Jules? You look weird, like you’re on a mission or something.”

  “I can’t explain right now,” I tell her, “but you can’t tell anyone I asked about this, okay? Not a soul. This has to do with my dad and his death. It’s serious. I mean it, tell nobody I was here, or that you gave me her address. Don’t even tell your old man, okay?”

  She nods, licking her dry lips. “Promise me you know what you’re doing?”

  I stare into her eyes. “You know I’m the one person in the world you could always trust?”

  She sighs. “I know. So, her address is…” and I leave her, dashing off to Janice’s.

  Rapping my knuckle on the front door of a terraced house round the corner from the High Street, I wait nervously for her to open up. When she does, she’s in her dressing gown and slippers. I hear a kettle whistling in the background and she steps right up to the front door and looks out on the street, trying to see if anyone’s watching. There’s nobody about.

  “In, now,” she demands.

  Stepping from the street, I enter directly. The door to her house sits right on the street and the lack of privacy – living like this – reminds me why I left such a tiny town behind in the first place.

  She shuts the door and beckons me to follow her, a woman of few words it seems.

  “Amy, I’m betting?”

  “What?”

  “Gave me up, didn’t she? Your mate.”

  “Oh, err, yeah.”

  “Sit,” she says, pointing at the kitchen table. I struggle to get my knees under it, the table covered in one of those awful wax cloths with a wipe-down surface. “I know everything that goes on in this town. I know everyone. Someone’s gotta keep a check on people round here.”

  She waits for me to say something but I’m sort of shocked I’ve made it this far, after less than one hour’s investigation. Not that I’m vying for a job as a PI, but, you know.

  I wonder if Janice knows what my father used to be like before he allegedly won the lottery and found God…

  “You’re lucky. Five minutes later and I’d be upstairs in bed with this cup of tea and an audiobook.”

  I nod. “Thanks for letting me in. I just want to know a bit more about Miranda. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  Janice leans back against the counter and I stare at her. She’s not a slim woman but she’s strong, you can tell, and fit. I bet she has to be in her line of work.

  While she lets two cups of tea stew, she tells me, “What about her? What is it you can’t forget?”

  I clear my throat. “Well, it wasn’t just what you said. It was her. I noticed her at the funeral that day, even before you told me who she was. It was something about the look in her eyes. Beyond sadness.”

  “Hmm.” Janice splashes milk in my tea and adds two sugars too, all without asking. Placing it down in front of me, she winks. How does she know how I take my tea? Sitting nearby, she puts her hands around the mug and says, “I work mostly nights. I make sure the ones who need to take medication in the middle of the night take it, I do the three a.m. diabetes checks, change bedpans, walk them to their commodes. It’s a shitty job, but someone has to do it. A lot of care companies don’t offer a night service but we do. There’s a lotta folk round here whose families all moved away and they don’t have anyone to take care of ’em.”

 
“I get it. So, how does Miranda come into this?”

  She shrugs, open to interrogation it seems, nothing to lose. “I watched her when we were partnered up for the more difficult jobs, you know, the heavy clients who need hoisting? The people who need cleaning up and feeding. Sometimes you need a double-up. When you have twenty minutes per client, it’s not enough time if there’s just one of you, not with certain people.”

  “Twenty minutes?” I sip my tea and gawp at her. God, she makes good tea…

  “Yep. This is the reality, Julianne. I’ve seen and done it all, nowt shocks me. So what I’m telling you is,” she cocks her head, all-knowing, “her, Miranda, she seemed too good for the job and it wasn’t just me who knew that. Lots of the others knew, too. She seemed intelligent enough to be a nurse. Some of her ways suggested she might have even been a nurse in a past life, I didn’t know.”

  “I thought she looked, I don’t know, regal, or sophisticated. It was the way she dressed and carried herself.”

  Janice points at me, agreeing, “Yes, exactly my girl. You saw that, too, like everybody else did. So, we kind of all wondered about her and then when we realised she hardly ever took any holidays and seemed to be fond of spending time at your father’s farm, we wondered what the bleeding hell was going on.”

  I take another sip of tea. “She was giving him special treatment?”

  “Well, we thought that, but when I snuck in the office to check the rotas she was getting, it was like your dad Julian had asked for more time with Miranda and was paying for it. It’s rare that happens. People don’t want to pay for more time than they have to, even though the clients like to keep you for as long as they can, but most of them don’t get away with it. Sometimes we have fifteen to deal with in one run.”

  I sense Janice wants me to congratulate her on surviving such a profession. I’m just humouring her, hoping she’ll eventually get to the point.

  “Okay, so my father paid for longer slots of time?”

  “Yep, and she didn’t seem keen on taking holidays.”