Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set

by Paul J. Teague

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen Pat Green pack up a rig so quickly. We must have been off site within five minutes. I walked up to the gates alongside the satellite van and waved him off at the gates. My adrenalin was running high. I was used to tossing in grenades like that, but you never knew what the fallout was going to be.

  I was met at the gate to shouts of ‘Nice one, Pete!’ and ‘Well done for sticking it to her, Pete!’ My performance seemed to have met with general approval. They’d all get their headlines from that final question. Widow of Murdered Police Chief Refuses to Rule Out Involvement in Child Abuse Inquiry! That would help to keep the story alive. I could see that Charlie was waiting for me to stop chatting so he could find out how June had reacted to his question.

  ‘So?’ he asked, with that horrible snarl of his.

  ‘There’s no love lost between you and Mrs Dodds, is there?’ I teased.

  ‘What did she say? Spit it out.’

  ‘Fuck Charlie Lucas!’ I repeated her words. ‘That’s from her as well as me, by the way. You happy now? Got what you wanted?’

  He walked off, saying nothing. He would know June Dodds of old from the inquiry – maybe not directly, but he’d have had dealings with her husband. I wondered what he’d meant by those words. He’d used the word ‘black’. Was that a veiled reference to Russell Black? I hadn’t got a clue. It was between June and him, probably something that went way back to the original case.

  I needed to pick up my car and head back to town. I had an appointment with DCI Kate Summers to keep. It was chucking it down again – we’d been lucky to get some respite during the interview, but it was a dull, grey day, not nice at all. I climbed into the car and turned the key. No response. I tried again. I was getting used to the drill now. Twice. Three times. A fourth time. It was dead. I kept trying, but the engine sounded as if it had given up.

  Damn it. I was going to be pushed to get to DCI Summers in time. I opened the door and checked for parking restrictions. I was fine. I could leave the car for now. I wouldn’t get a ticket. I’d need to catch a bus. They pretty well all passed along the promenade. I’d be able to get to the town centre that way. I checked my wallet. No notes, just change. I’d been relying on Alex, and I’d let myself run short. I’d top up in town – if the machine would keep paying out, that is.

  I walked up the road looking for a bus stop. I hadn’t a clue what the routes were from Lytham. I waited for a few minutes before a single-decker bus drew up.

  ‘Do you go along the front?’ I asked.

  ‘You’re pointing the wrong way, mate. I terminate at Saltcotes and then come around again. You can jump on if you want to, but it’ll be a long wait. Use the stop across the road. They should be regular enough from there.’

  I walked across to the new stop, grateful for the shelter it was giving me. I had a ten-minute wait, and then an open-top bus drove up. The doors opened. I was thankful to step out of the rain.

  ‘How much to the town centre?’ I asked.

  It was more than I had in change.

  ‘How far can I get on £1.60?’

  ‘If you get off a couple of stops along the way, you’ll have a ten-minute walk. I’ll give you a shout to let you know when to get off, alright?’

  ‘Great, thanks.’ I counted out my coins into the tray.

  ‘Do these things get wet through when it rains?’ I asked. ‘They’re not very practical on a day like today.’

  ‘This one will stay in the depot when I get back if this doesn’t clear up. There are still a couple of people up there in rain macs looking at the view. I guess if you’re on holiday here, you want to make the best of it!’

  I moved towards the middle of the bus. It wasn’t packed, and I got a seat to myself. The windows were steamed up and I wiped my hand across the glass to clear an area so that I could see where we were. I was fine for time. It was tight, but I wouldn’t miss DCI Summers. I cursed my car. Another bill that I couldn’t afford. If I was lucky, it would just be a damp issue which would sort itself out when the weather improved.

  The bus seemed to take forever. It was quite handy as a journalist to travel along some of the back streets that I didn’t know very well, but it helped me get my bearings when I saw the tram depot up ahead and knew that we were getting close to my stop. As we stopped at the tram depot, I wiped my window again to get a better view. I loved the trams. They were a great feature for a seaside resort.

  Then I saw her. It was Meg. She hadn’t changed a bit. Maybe her hair was longer. She was getting on a tram. A young guy was helping her with the pram. They were chatting and laughing. It was Meg. At last. I jumped up out of my seat. The bus driver had closed the doors and begun to drive off.

  ‘Stop the bus!’ I called.

  ‘This isn’t your stop yet, mate. You’ve a fair bit to go yet.’

  ‘I need you to stop the bus!’ I shouted at him.

  ‘Now steady on, sir. There’s another stop five minutes up the road. I can’t stop wherever you want me to.’

  ‘Stop the bus, please. It’s my wife!’

  ‘Look sir, please sit down and stop distracting me. We’ll pull up again in a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Damn you!’ I shouted. I considered my options. It was an open-top bus. It wasn’t too high. I couldn’t miss this chance. I was too close to her now. I had to speak to her.

  I ran up the stairs to the top deck. A retired couple were sitting up there in waterproofs, absolutely drenched. They seemed surprised to see me. I looked up the road to see Meg’s tram drawing away. Damn, I had to catch up with it. If I ran fast enough, I’d be able to follow it. The trams were slow. It would stop and start all along the promenade. I had to catch her.

  I looked over the edge of the bus. If I climbed over the side and hung on to the rail, I could let myself down to the pavement. I was going to do it. I think the old guy sensed what was happening.

  ‘Hang on a minute, mate ...’ he said, as I cocked my knee over the edge and lowered myself along the side of the bus, hanging onto the railings. I was on the path side. When the bus stopped, I’d drop to the ground. I worked out which way I’d have to run. I was already out of breath from the exertion of throwing myself over the side of the vehicle.

  I wasn’t sure what happened next. The bus driver must have seen me dangling there in his mirrors and stepped on the brake. Whatever happened, I remember an abrupt stop. It caught me off-guard and my grip loosened on the side railing. I wasn’t ready for the fall. It wasn’t too high, but I landed, then stumbled, careering across the pavement trying to find my balance. From nowhere some idiot on a bike smacked directly into me. He was cycling on the pavement. I went flying and my head made a horrible thud as it hit the paving slabs.

  The next thing I knew, Alex was sitting beside me and I was in a hospital bed.

  Chapter Eleven

  1993 Meg and Hannah walked home from the cemetery in silence. They didn’t know what to do. They had no way of defending themselves against these men. Their power seemed unassailable.

  The thought of returning to Woodlands Edge was unthinkable. They were safe with Tom and Mavis – they no longer needed to fear the night. Would they be believed? They thought it unlikely.

  As the girls approached their house, Meg spoke.

  ‘Should we tell Tom and Mavis? Will it make things worse?’

  ‘Who’s going to believe us? They’ll make us out to be two silly little sluts. There’s nothing we can do, Meg. We have to let it go, for now. We can’t risk going back there.’

  They never spoke about what had happened to them during the night-time visits. It was too painful, too shameful for them. But they knew. They understood what they were running from. They knew that they couldn’t go back.

  ‘I want to kill those bastards!’ said Meg, punching the front door of one of the terraces as she walked by. It drew blood, but it felt good. She had to let it out.

  ‘Me too. I know,’ Hannah replied. ‘But we can’t do anything now.
One day they’ll be old and we’ll be adults. There’s no sell-by date on revenge, Meg. We can get them later. For now we have to survive. We have to stay with Tom and Mavis. We must keep out of that home.’

  They reached their front door.

  ‘Say nothing,’ Hannah warned. ‘Don’t let Tom and Mavis know what happened. It’s our secret. Bob and Tom can still give evidence at the inquiry. They’ll be believed.’

  Although Hannah was much wiser than she should have been in the ways of the adult world, she was naive enough to believe that Tom and Bob would not be threatened. It didn’t even occur to her or Meg. They assumed that they’d been bullied in the cemetery in the same way that Gary Maxwell would humiliate and intimidate the young people at Woodlands Edge. It was how life was for them. They had no stake in it – their lives were defined by the will of adults.

  Tom was on a late shift that day, and Mavis looked unnerved when they walked through the door.

  ‘Are you alright, Mavis ... Mum?’

  Meg was getting there, but she still didn’t quite believe that having someone to call mum was permanent.

  ‘Something happened while you were out, just before your dad left for his shift. We had a visit from Russell Black, the man from the social services. He had somebody waiting for him in the car. I don’t know who it was.’

  The girls looked at each other. They must have headed to the house immediately after threatening the girls in the cemetery. What were they up to?

  ‘What did he have to say?’ Hannah asked, aware that her face was reddening.

  ‘Nothing really. It was odd. He said that he’d run your dad to work. It would give them a chance to chat. Tom was surprised too. He went with them. It wasn’t that long ago.’

  ‘Did he mention us?’ asked Meg, daring to probe a little further.

  ‘He seemed very interested in how you were doing. He asked if you were behaving and how the adoption was suiting us. He mentioned that social services don’t just leave us to it. It was funny how he said it, though. Like he was warning us. “We can get involved in the welfare of the girls at any time,” he said. He was smiling when he said it. It was really odd.’

  The girls knew exactly what he meant. They wondered what Russell Black and Tony Dodds were saying to their father in the car. They’d kept Mavis out of it, but they would, no doubt, be leaning on Tom too.

  Tom was going on a slight detour on his way to work. Tony Dodds and Russell Black were about to give him some career advice.

  ‘Do you enjoy your work at Woodlands Edge, Tom?’

  Tom wasn’t certain which way the conversation was going. He knew that Russell Black could make life very uncomfortable for him.

  ‘I really like it there,’ he replied cautiously. ‘I love working alongside the kids. They’re a good bunch.’

  ‘And how is life with Megan and Hannah? Is life as a father suiting you?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Black, it’s wonderful. We’re so grateful for being able to adopt the girls. They’ve made our lives ... wonderful. That’s the only way I can describe it, really. Things are wonderful now.’

  Tony Dodds spoke up. They’d made Tom sit in the back, like a child.

  ‘In my line of work, it’s terrible how quickly life can change. I see it everyday. One moment you can happily be going about your life and the next – bang! Something terrible happens: an accident, a murder, an unprovoked attack. It can all be snuffed out in an instant.’

  ‘What’s your take on this inquiry, Tom?’ Russell Black picked up. ‘Anything in it?’

  Tom did not like the way this was going. He couldn’t put his finger on it. They were being very polite. Why did he feel so threatened?

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked, aware that they’d entered the motorway.

  ‘You’re going to be a little delayed this evening,’ Tony Dodds said, ‘but don’t worry. They know that you’re going to be late into work.’

  ‘Is that what this is about? The inquiry? Are you worried about what I’m going to say?’

  Tom couldn’t believe that he was talking to these men in this way.

  ‘What do you think it’s about, Tom?’ Russell asked. ‘You might think it’s about the inquiry. Perhaps it has more to do with those girls of yours and that wonderful new family that you have.’

  ‘Are you threat— What’s this about? Where are you taking me?’

  ‘Pull off at this exit,’ Tony Dodds said.

  Russell indicated and the car took the Kirkham turn-off. They pulled off the road into a secluded spot.

  ‘Get out of the car!’ Tony Dodds was shouting now. It shook Tom. He did as he was told.

  ‘Climb into the boot!’

  Tom looked between the two men. He was terrified. He’d never experienced anything like this.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  As if they were going to tell him. Tony motioned towards the boot. Tom climbed in and they closed the lid.

  The drive was forty minutes or so. Tom tried to work out where they were going. It was hopeless, he hadn’t a clue. There was no attempt to make it a comfortable ride. It felt as if Russell were throwing the vehicle around corners on purpose.

  Eventually they came to a stop. The boot opened. It was fully dark now. Both men carried torches.

  ‘This is Denham Quarry,’ said Russell Black. ‘You can see Blackpool Tower from here on a good day.’

  ‘It’s a bit too dark to see at the moment,’ Tony Dodds said, ‘but it’s a long way down there. People use this place for climbing now. Personally, I think it’s too dangerous. You could really hurt yourself if you fell.’

  Tom could barely see their faces. He knew that he was alone and miles from home. They were the only people there. They could push him over the top and nobody would have a clue who’d done it, except his wife, who’d do her best to blame the two men. And what then? Would she join him?

  ‘We want to have a little chat about the evidence you intend to give at the inquiry,’ Russell Black began.

  ‘And I’d like to offer you a little legal guidance,’ Tony Dodds continued. They worked together like a double act. Only this was more like the Krays than Morecambe and Wise.

  It took half an hour of threats and intimidation before Thomas Yates finally acquiesced to the demands of the men and agreed to withdraw from the inquiry. In return, he was promised the safety of his precious new daughters. At least Meg and Hannah were safe with him; he could protect them if he did what the men had commanded. He’d finally made that decision as they’d pushed him right to the edge of the quarry and Tony Dodds was about to boot him over to take his chances on the rocks below.

  That same night, hanging from the top of Blackpool Tower, as he was held by the ankles by two hired hands, Bob Taylor had made exactly the same decision.

  It took me a few minutes to figure out what was going on. My head felt heavy, as if it had been filled with concrete. It was sore too, really painful. The room was bright. I had to wait for my eyes to adjust. I opened them, just a little at first, and saw Alex sitting in a high-backed chair next to me. There was some old bloke in a bed a few feet away. Hospital.

  I shuffled, trying to get up, but wasn’t ready yet.

  ‘Woah, steady!’ Alex said, jumping to her feet and encouraging me to lie down again.

  ‘You’ve had a nasty knock. How are you feeling?’

  I did a swift body assessment.

  ‘Like crap,’ I replied. ‘What happened?’

  As I said the words, I recalled the events that had led to my waking up in this place.

  ‘Meg,’ I began. ‘I saw Meg!’

  ‘Pete, take it easy for a moment. Don’t move. I’ll get a nurse and tell her you’re with us again.’

  I don’t know where she thought I might be going. My body felt as if it was pinned to the bed. While Alex was out in the corridor, I did a pain audit. My head was sore and uncomfortable. That seemed to be the centre of the problem. My right leg had plasters stuck at various points along it
and I felt a bandage and cotton-wool dressing on my left knee. I also appeared to have damaged my elbow, as that too was dressed.

  Nothing was missing or broken. I thought back to what had happened. I shuddered as I recalled the bang to the head. No wonder things were feeling fuzzy.

  The old man opposite me was in a bad way. He was wheezing loudly and unsettled in his bed. I looked around. It was a small ward, National Health, five men in there, one bed empty. It was visiting time as far as I could see. The old man had nobody with him. There was a younger guy there, who was being visited by a lovely-looking wife or girlfriend and a wriggling baby. The other chaps were middle-aged. One was on his own, the other being visited by a wife and two children. I was grateful for Alex being there. I would not have wanted to wake up alone in that place.

  Alex was back, followed soon afterwards by a nurse and a doctor who shone a torch in my eyes, asked me to look up, down, left and right, asked a few questions, checked my dressings, and scribbled a few notes on the clipboard at the side of my bed.

  ‘All fine, Mr Bailey. A mild concussion, nothing worse than that. No broken bones. You’ll be able to leave tomorrow morning. We’ll monitor you for the night.’

  With that, she was away. The nurse told me that they’d be round with the meds after visiting time and that I should tell them if I experienced blurred vision, a feeling of sickness, or difficulty speaking. She moved over to the old guy to try to make him more comfortable.

  ‘I’ve got one of those bloody gowns on, haven’t I?’ I attempted to smile at Alex.

  ‘I didn’t want to mention it, but your arse has been poking out all afternoon. It’s why the guy in the next bed is so disturbed.’

  I tried for a second smile. My face wasn’t working yet. The family across from us were trying to take selfies with Alex in them. They were doing a poor job of concealing that they’d spotted the TV celebrity in the room. Alex was either ignoring it or hadn’t noticed.

  ‘What happened, you idiot? It sounded like you’d done some James Bond manoeuvre from the top of a bus, or more like Johnny English by the look of it.’