by Ann Purser
He was relieved that this nice woman had taken the place of her rather stroppy young daughter. Hazel had done the work well, he had to admit. But her young, positive presence in the quiet vicarage was disturbing in its vitality, in the way she strode about from room to room, humming loudly and regaling him with items of local news she obviously thought would interest him. He could not accuse her of gossip. There was never anything personal in her conversation, but relayed with relish were such things as updates on the proposed new community hall; or the cat that got stuck up a tree and had to be rescued by the fire brigade.
“What a waste of their time, Vicar!” she’d carolled. The most recent was an unlikely story of a donkey that had escaped from old Mrs Brown’s paddock on Good Friday, and turned up at the church door, braying to be admitted. “Thought you’d be interested, Vicar, it being Easter an’ that,” she’d said with a perfectly straight face.
Now Bridie set about her work quietly. She didn’t say a word unless addressed, and at precisely eleven o’clock sat down at the kitchen table to drink her coffee as quickly as possible. This suited the vicar admirably, and he made a note to telephone Mrs Meade to say how happy he was with the new arrangement.
♦
“What are you doing home?” said Dick Reading to his daughter, who sat reading a magazine and drying her hair at the same time. “Not out skivvying like your mother?”
“I’ve finished,” Hazel said flatly, not taking her eyes off the magazine. “Til this afternoon.”
“You can get me some lunch, then,” her father said, washing his oily hands at the kitchen sink. “That bloody car isn’t right yet.”
“Why don’t you get a new one, then? That old thing has had it. Nobody I know has a car that old.”
“Money doesn’t grow on trees, young lady! Even now your mother’s earnin’ a mammoth wage from her millionaire pal, it don’t mean we can splash it about. And anyway, it’s a good car. Once I’ve got it sorted, it’ll do us.”
Hazel took no notice of him, and continued reading. Furious at being ignored, he cast about for something to annoy her into a reaction.
“As for you not knowin’ people with old cars, what about that bloke that’s cleanin’ for Lois? That’s the worst old crate I’ve ever seen. You’re not tellin’ me it’s passed an MOT lately. Very suspect, that one. And I don’t mean the car,” he added.
This had the effect he’d hoped for. Hazel switched off the drier and looked up at him. “You know nuthin’ about Gary Needham,” she said sharply. “And I’ll thank you to mind your own business. My job, my friends and my time are my own affair. You get on with your life, and I’ll get on with mine. And get your own lunch,” she added, stalking out and slamming the door behind her.
“Bloody kids,” muttered Dick Reading. “Give them everything you’ve got, and they turn against you just the same. Needs a good hiding, that one, and goin’ the right way to get it.”
By the time Bridie arrived home after her morning at the vicarage, Dick had worked himself up into an evil mood. The minute she walked into the kitchen, she knew things were bad. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in front of him, reading – or pretending to read – the paper. “Did you find the cheese sandwich I left for you?” she began tentatively. No answer. “It was in the fridge…oh, I see, you haven’t had it yet. Were you waiting for me?” she asked nervously. Still no answer. She took the sandwich out and put it on a plate, which she set down on the table. “There,” she said, “you eat that and I’ll cut another one for me.”
He looked up at her now, and very deliberately stood up. He walked over to the bin, and slowly tipped the cheese sandwich and plate into it.
“Dick! Don’t throw the plate away!” Bridie said. “I’ll eat the sandwich. That’s waste, that is!” He advanced towards her and she retreated, holding up her hands. “For goodness sake, Dick,” she pleaded. “What’s wrong? That cheese was really fresh…”
He had her by the arms now, his strong fingers digging into her flesh. He finally spoke. “I don’t care how bloody fresh it was,” he said, his voice horribly quiet. “I have been working on our bloody car all bloody morning, and find when I come in for a decent lunch that all my bloody wife has managed to produce is a bloody freezing cold cheese bloody sandwich!” His voice had risen to a crescendo, and Bridie began to whimper.
“Shut up!” Dick yelled. “You and your precious daughter ought to be chained up! Out all day skivvying in people’s houses, and no time to get your own husband a square meal. It’s got to stop!” he added, and when Bridie silently shook her head, he flung her away from him so hard that she caught her foot on a chair and went sprawling against the door.
“Get up!” Dick advanced towards her, fists clenched. She got up on to her hands and knees and crawled away from him, sobbing bitterly and trembling violently. He started towards her, his foot raised for a vicious kick, and suddenly the door flew open.
“Get out!” It was Hazel, her face dead white and her eyes burning. She held her mobile phone in one hand, and as he turned towards her, she began to dial. “I’m getting the police,” she said. “And if you come anywhere near me or Mum, ever again, you’ll never see either of us again. We’ve had enough. Now get out!” She finished dialling and held her phone to her ear.
Dick Reading stood still. Uncertain now what to do, he fell back on an emotional appeal. “Sorry, gel,” he said. “No, don’t do that – don’t ring the police. I never touched your mother – did I, Bridie?” He appealed to his wife, now sitting head in hands at the table. She silently shook her head. “Come on, now, Hazel,” he said. “Everybody loses their temper once in a while…”
Hazel stared at him. He could hear the tinny sound of the telephone ringing at the emergency number. “Hazel!” he repeated. “Please, love, for God’s sake, I’m your father!” Now he could hear the voice asking for details.
Hazel stared at him, then at her mother, and slowly disconnected the call. She sighed deeply, and went over to put her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “Go away, Dad,” she said. “Just go away and don’t come near us until teatime. Mum and me have got to talk.”
Desperately relieved, Dick Reading backed out of the kitchen, and they heard him start the car and drive off.
“What are we goin’ to do, Hazel?” said her mother. “He’ll never be any different…perhaps if I give up working for Lois…?”
“No!” said Hazel firmly. “What we’re going to do right now is have a cup of strong coffee and somethin’ to eat. Then we’ll talk. You put the kettle on, and I’ll make us some egg and bacon. Unless you want a bloody freezing bloody cheese bloody sandwich?”
When she saw a faint smile appear on her mother’s face, she wanted to cry.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Seventeen
Gary Needham’s old car was parked in a gateway entrance to a field outside Waltonby. He appeared to be asleep in the sun streaming through the car windows, raising the temperature to a soporific degree. His expression was serene, and when Joanne Murphy tapped on the window, first softly and then in sharp irritation, he did not move.
“Oh, Christ,” she said. “Not again.”
She walked round to the passenger side, and opened the door. Seating herself next to Gary, she opened her capacious bag and pulled out a small bottle of water. Without hesitating, she unscrewed the top and tipped the entire contents over his supine head. With a protesting splutter, he woke up, rubbed his eyes and seemed to have difficulty focussing.
“No need for that,” he said thickly. “Just having a snooze. Have to get up early to go to the surgery with Sheila, you know…”
“Of course I know, you fool,” Joanne said. “And for God’s sake get yourself together. We have some serious talking to do.” Gary sighed. Joanne’s idea of serious talking was not his, and he edged as far away from her as possible. Her cheap scent was making him feel sick.
“Need some air,” he said, and opened his door.
“Trouble from who?”
“Trouble from me,” snapped Joanne.
“You and who else?” said Gary, smiling in spite of himself at this relic of the playground.
To his surprise, Joanne Murphy subsided like a flat tyre. “Oh come on, Gary,” she’said. “You know as well as I do who else. We’re stuck with this now, and it has to work, else we’re all in the shit. You’ve bin around a long time, for God’s sake.” She sighed. “I wish I’d never seen that major bloke. But it’s too late now, so let’s try a bit harder, huh?”
The implied threat in her voice jarred on Gary’s jangled nerves. “Don’t try that,” he said. “There’s nothing on me, and you know it. If anybody’s in the shit, it’s you. So just watch it, Mrs Murphy, and I’m warning you, if you tell any lies about me, you’ll regret it.”
Joanne got out of the car in a flurry, and then leaned back in. “Better move on,” she said. “You got some dustin’ and polishin’ to do this afternoon, no doubt. Get yer pinny on, pathetic little twit!” And then she was gone, stalking off down the road to where a car with darkened windows awaited her.
Derek, driving home from a swift half at the Waltonby pub, passed Joanne Murphy walking down the road, then noticed a familiar-looking old car parked in a field gateway. By the time he reached home, he had remembered whose it was. And when he told Lois, adding that he thought the tarty barmaid from the Tresham Arms had been talking to Gary, she was much more interested than he had expected. “Bit of a romance, gel?” he suggested. “No need to go over the top. You can’t get involved in your team’s private lives. Fatal. Everybody knows that.”
♦
There is only one thing to do, Lois told herself. Confront him with it. But how can I, when, as Derek says, what he does with his spare time is entirely his affair? But he lied to me, that’s certain, and that’s a different thing altogether.
The weekend passed with the usual family activities, disagreements and reconciliations. The boys went off with Derek on Saturday afternoon, and Josie spent hours trying out new make-up in front of her bedroom mirror. She was off to a party in the evening, being collected by an older sister of a friend from Tresham. Around seven o’clock, when the boys and Derek were back and tea was finished, Josie came down the wide staircase into the hall.
Lois was passing through, and looked up. “My goodness!” she said. “You look nice, Josie, really nice. That new stuff makes you look years older, girl. Just you be careful at this party…”
“Oh Mum, don’t nag!” Josie said. “It’s just kids from school…in my class…” She hoped her face did not reveal the lie. In fact, she had given in to persuasion to join a group of older girls who were going to the Cinderella Club in Tresham. “Just for an hour or two,” they’d said. “Nobody’d know you weren’t same age as us. It’ll give you a taste of it! One of us’ll run you home.”
Josie lurked about in the hall until the doorbell sounded, then quickly greeted the girl, yelled ‘Cheerio’ to her family, and was gone before either Lois or Derek could come out of the kitchen.
“Well,” said Lois suspiciously, “she got out quick!”
♦
The club was heaving. Josie stuck close to the other girls, but as one after another they peeled away to talk to others, she found herself standing alone in a corner, too nervous to join in. I’m the Cinderella all right, she thought. She felt conspicuous and vulnerable. Best thing would be to go to the loo and return when her friends came back. The women’s toilet was empty, and she leaned against the wall, fighting against tears. Then the door swung open and a woman came in.
“Hi,” she said, and disappeared into a cubicle. When she came out again, she glanced curiously at Josie. “You all right, sweetie?” she said.
Josie nodded. “Just the noise,” she said. “I’m like that.”
The woman nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “gives you a headache sometimes.” She fished in her handbag, and pulled out something small and white. “Here,” she said. “This’ll help. I’ll be around if you need anything.”
She disappeared quickly, and Josie looked down at the little white tablet in her hand. Blimey, that was quick. A sudden urge to get out and be home again overtook her, and as she heard voices approaching, she did what she always did when stuff was offered. It was easy enough to pretend and then get rid of it. She went quickly into a cubicle, flushed the pill away, and emerged with her head down. She didn’t know the laughing group of girls who came in, and none of them noticed her.
“Where’re you going, Josie?” It was one of her friends, seeing her on her way out. “Come and join us!” The girl’s pleasant, laughing face reassured Josie for a moment. Perhaps she should go back in. After all, nothing bad could happen to her now, now she knew the score.
♦
It was midnight when Josie came creeping back into the house.
“In here!” said Derek peremptorily, taking her by the arm and pushing her into the kitchen. “Shut the door, Lois,” he added, taking no notice of Josie’s protestations that she was tired and wanted to go to bed.
“Right,” said Derek. “Now let’s have the truth.” His voice was harsh, and Josie cringed.
“Dad – ” she began, but her mother interrupted.
“Just a minute, Derek,” she said. “Let’s have her side of the story first. Give the girl a chance.”
“Chance!” said Derek. “She’s lied to us, come back here with God knows who, and looks like somethin’ the cat brought in! She’ll be lucky to get the chance of a bed to sleep in!”
Lois gently pushed Josie into a chair, and sat down with her, taking her hand. “Now then, love,” she said. “Where’ve you been? Dad phoned that friend, and they said there was no party. You’d better tell us straight…it’s easiest in the long run.”
The last two hours had been hell for Lois. She couldn’t forget Josie’s disastrous entanglement with Melvyn Hallhouse, a lad who’d been much too old for her and turned out badly. She thought she’d forgotten that particular nightmare, but it had re-emerged in full force as she watched the clock and heard Derek’s shocked voice telling her there was no party. They had given themselves until midnight before they phoned around other friends, and then Josie had come in, like Cinderella, on the last stroke of the clock.
Josie had reckoned that contrition and tears would be her best defence, and so sobbed out the whole story, including the woman with the tablet. This was not a great surprise to Lois. Her kids were part of the drug generation, though not, she was reasonably sure, an active part.
“What did she look like?” said Lois urgently, and Josie’s description was clear enough. Then, sniffing back her tears, she repeated a desperate apology for lying, for causing them so much worry…again.
“I hate bein’ fifteen!” she blurted out finally. “Why is everything so bloody horrible? I just wish I was dead!”
“Like that girl in the paper?” said Derek, pushing across the picture of a lovely girl who had been found dead by her friends after an evening clubbing. “Is that what you want?”
Lois shook her head at him and took the paper away. “No, Derek,” she said. “She doesn’t mean it. Best thing now is to go to bed and get some sleep. We can talk some more in the morning – after all, it’s Sunday, the day of rest.”
Rest! That was a laugh. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, and tomorrow would be a dismal day, with Derek stamping round in a temper, Josie refusing to get up, and the boys retreating to the sanctuary of their rooms.
She followed Josie upstairs and peered into the total darkness of her daught
er’s bedroom. “Night, love,” she said.
A small voice answered her, and then added, “Oh, and Mum, you might like to know that bloke was in the club, that Gary who works for you. Right little raver, he is.” Lois did not reply, but shut the door quietly and went along to her own bedroom.
“Gary Needham was there,” she said to Derek, who was undressing slowly.
“Wonderful,” said Derek. “That’s all you wanted to know, isn’t it, me duck. I dunno, Lois,” he said, “we seem to be gettin’ into another bloody mess. You’d better get us out of it quick, else I shall do it for you.” He climbed into bed, turned his back on her and put out the light. It was some time before Lois could get Josie’s description of Joanne Murphy out of her head.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Eighteen
A couple of weeks went by, and the Josie drama faded. Derek had threatened her with fire and brimstone if she lied to them again, and family life returned to normal. New Brooms settled into its routine, and Lois began to enjoy the feeling of being in control. There was no shortage of work, and she knew that once their reputation was established she would have to think about further recruiting. But for the moment she made sure each job was done satisfactorily, and that the team was happy with the way things were going.
On another front, she had failed to ask Gary Needham once again about Joanne Murphy. He must have been talking to her that day when Derek had passed by, and she felt increasingly uneasy about him. He, on the other hand, had continued to be charming, helpful and seemed to be loving the job. She knew she should tell Cowgill what she suspected, but did she want to put him on Gary’s tail? Give it a bit longer, and there might be something more definite to tell.
Monday morning, and Lois was up early. She had just put on the kettle for Derek’s early cup of tea when the telephone rang. Blimey, who was that at this hour?
“Lois? This is Sheila.” Her voice was thick and indistinct.
