His car wasn’t in the drive. Apart from the light he always left on when he was out – a good clue to a would-be burglar, that! – his house was in darkness.
All the same …
My mobile told me the signal was good out here. I tried calling him again. I didn’t bother with voicemail. Home to Joy, then.
I’d always quietly sneered when women described themselves as homemakers, but seeing my place when Joy had spent a few hours in it made me understand that the role might have some value after all. It took me a while to work out what she’d done – subtle changes like moving around the table lamps in the living room. There was also a delicate, subtle perfume from thick candles. Dropping my bags in the small room I used as my study, I headed for the kitchen. There I was greeted by more smells, wholesome and quite strong: two casseroles occupied the oven, the controls of which I’d never quite mastered, and a fresh loaf sat on a rack. Yes, it was still warm. There was also a pile of biscuits.
The author of all these miracles? The sound of her careful footsteps on the stairs reminded me that for all her energy she wasn’t young, despite the jeans and cashmere top that showed her gym-using figure was as good as any fifty-year-old’s.
I put back the biscuit guiltily.
‘Now, a nice gin and tonic,’ she declared, opening a fridge that bulged with unaccustomed goodies. ‘And if you tell me what time you like to eat I’ll see to it that supper is ready. It looks as if you’ve had a bit of a day.’
‘Not as dramatic as yours, though, Joy.’
She smiled and shrugged. ‘Your building friends are angels, aren’t they, though it’s such a strange occupation for women. Paula and Caffy? So very different from each other. Like, like …’
‘Like ice cream and hot chocolate sauce?’
‘Exactly! Or Baked Alaska! Between ourselves, I’ve never dared cook that. Have you?’
Me? I shook my head. ‘But what have Paula and Caffy been up to?’ A great deal, most of it with kindness, judging from my own experience.
‘They just took over. I dropped in at one point to see what was going on, so I could report back to Ken. I told him to stay where he was until the roads were better, but he’ll set out first thing tomorrow. If you’re sure about my staying here tonight, of course. Ken’ll sort out a place for us both – and all our furniture, of course – when he gets home. Assuming Paula and her team have managed to stabilise it sufficiently. Oh, Jane – my pictures! All the photo albums.’ She tried hard not to let her voice crack, but the sip of gin became a veritable gulp.
I gave her a silent hug.
I’d had to learn to travel light. I’d never managed to keep all the domestic impedimenta that had graced Joy’s home. Furniture? Simon had smashed a lot. Photos? He’d stood over me and made me shred them. Now my life involved a very few books, some clothes and two teddy bears, Nosey, the larger, a very conventional teddy who reminded of one that Simon had torn apart, and a small floppy one left to look after me when I’d been ill last summer – Lavender, so-called because he was. One day, maybe, I’d fill my new home with treasures. Maybe. I didn’t want hostages to fortune. But Joy didn’t need to hear any of that, lest it imply a criticism. I’d better be careful when it came to asking any questions, too, because it was clear she was finding it hard to focus on anything specific – perhaps it was too painful.
Yes, I’d been there.
‘Have you been in touch with your insurance company?’ I asked, ashamed to sound so prosaic.
‘Ken always does that sort of thing,’ she said. ‘I don’t even know who we’re insured with.’
‘Why don’t you call him and ask while I have a quick shower? Or make sure he’s on to it,’ I added, as I headed off upstairs. It was only as I towelled myself off I realised what a bad host I was being. I was dressed and downstairs within three minutes.
She was staring despondently at her phone, but straightened and stowed it in her bag as soon as I appeared. ‘He says he’ll do it after dinner. But isn’t it urgent? I should have done it!’
I’d better avert her tears. ‘I forgot to show you how to use the washing machine,’ I declared contritely. It had taken me weeks to master.
‘Oh, I hope you don’t mind my using it,’ she added anxiously.
This was the strong, assertive woman who’d once tackled me head on when the state of my garden had annoyed her. But disorientation and grief could do that.
‘Actually, I’d quite like a lesson. And on the oven, too. I’m a bit of a technophobe,’ I said, with some, if not complete, truth. After all, I could reheat or microwave precooked meals with the best of them. I’d soon learnt which washing programme creased clothes the least, and managed to set the tumble dryer quite competently, so long as I read the little pictures on the dial. But it gave her something to bustle about doing, and I was as happy to learn as when one of my year four pupils showed me how to master a new app. The downside was that it made me feel even more like a guest in my own temporary home.
‘There you are – I told you it was simple, didn’t I?’ she said triumphantly, as without prompting I found the setting best for cooking flans without soggy bottoms. Which I might do, one year. One decade.
‘You did. Thank you. Now – you’ve sorted the cooker and pointed out that the microwave is far cleverer than I’d imagined. Maybe you can fill me in on all the other things I don’t know. My neighbours, for instance. I might wave at one or two of them, but unless they’re parents or are involved with the church or the cricket club, I certainly don’t know them properly.’
‘Funny you should say that,’ she said, leaning against a work surface, ‘because something odd happened. Twice. So maybe that means it’s not odd. But I checked – the house numbering’s really easy to follow and once you’ve worked out that there are a few little cul-de-sacs off the main run, then it’s all straightforward. Like the edge of an oak leaf. Isn’t it nice, the way no house actually directly overlooks another? And that nice green space in the middle for children to play on? I went to a barbecue there once. You know they planned to build eighty properties but one of the local councillors wanted to live there himself and insisted they could only build forty-five? Anyway, when I was leaving the house I saw a white van going really slowly as if the driver was looking for somewhere. Then he saw me – no, maybe I’m imagining it … It just seemed as if he didn’t want anyone to see him. He accelerated away. Quite fast, actually.’
It took me every ounce of willpower not to show my terror. However, much I knew he was locked away in a far-distant part of the country, I was still afraid my ex-husband would find me and deal with me, as he would probably put it. As casually as I could, I asked, ‘And did you see anything of him?’
‘Young. Twenties or thirties. Very dark hair. Bit of a beard. Olive skin – a bit pockmarked as if he’d had bad acne as a boy. Put a cutlass between his teeth and he’d look like a pantomime pirate!’ It was good to share a laugh. But her face straightened. ‘The strange thing is, later on I was having a bit of a gossip with Marie – do you know her? Number 26? – and Tess from number 27. Ken’s Lodge’s Ladies’ Nights,’ she added. ‘And we saw another similar van, also driving slowly round. Definitely not the same driver – this one was older. It was as if he was looking for something too. Somewhere, I should say. Tess actually started to walk across to ask if she could help, but he went and drove off in a great rush. Tess said she thought he was casing the neighbourhood – seeing who was in and who was out and who left windows or gates open. She wrote down his number, actually, in case there were any burglaries in the next couple of days and she had evidence that might help.’ She registered my expression. ‘What?’
‘I’m just wondering if it might have been worth her calling 101 with the information. In case the number’s on file.’
‘I’ll phone her now!’ She bustled off.
There was only one hope in my selfish head – that these might be nice common criminals only interested in nicking garden furniture: t
here’d been an outbreak of that in the autumn, supplemented by a raid on planters, some complete with winter pansies. Even taking garden benches only constituted low-level crime, my friend PC Lloyd Davies insisted. No violence, no injury, nothing the police had time to tackle. Just call your insurance and wait for the hollow laughter.
A Neighbourhood Watch group had sprung up. No, I wasn’t involved, because it always met on staff meeting night. I stared down at my empty glass as Joy returned: I’d drained it without even noticing. Damn! It wasn’t often I got a G & T as good as this, and I daren’t have another, not with all I had to do.
And it seemed that Joy was expecting us to drink wine with our meal.
How did she stay so svelte?
Huge portions of baked potatoes and boeuf bourgignon. Cuisine neither nouvelle nor minceur. Classic. Filling. Heart-warming. Amazing with the Cahors black wine she served at just the right temperature.
It dawned on me: I needed a wife.
And now cheese. Her choice was Chaource just the right side of liquefying. A fresh baguette. Another glass of wine. Sod the preparation for tomorrow’s meeting. I’d have to wing it.
So why was Joy putting her coat on?
‘Just a little evening ritual, Jane. When Ken and I had Toby we always had to take him out last thing in the evening, of course.’
Ah. They’d had a dog, as I once had – much loved, till Simon had killed him before my eyes. Ironically, it was the decision of the RSPCA to prosecute him for animal cruelty that alerted the police to his violence towards me, and probably saved my life.
‘And then, when he wasn’t there any more and we decided not to have another dog because we wanted to go on more holidays further afield, we still kept up the walk. Ken’s big on astronomy, of course. What he’ll say when he hears I left his telescope behind goodness knows.’
‘If he has any sense he’ll thank God you got out safely and let the insurance worry about the rest. In any case, I should imagine Paula and Caffy have got the site secured very efficiently, and everything will be safe and sound till it can be rescued. Give me a minute and I’ll come with you.’
We walked briskly, using torches. Most of the drives were occupied by cars, large and shiny under the intruder lights that clicked on as we passed. Some people had left their curtains open, living their lives for all to see.
Joy said, ‘Letting all that heat out!’
‘And showing passing strangers you’ve got a nice new shiny TV.’
She paused. ‘I noticed you gave the curtains an extra twitch when you came in – but while it’s a nice enough holiday let, and I know this makes me sound really ungrateful and I promise you I’m not, I’m just talking about your landlord, really, the furniture and equipment aren’t really state of the art, are they? The place needs a refurb, if you ask me.’
Which probably explained why I got it at a discount, of course. ‘To be honest with you, Joy, it’s not Brian’s knick-knacks that I’m worried about. It’s more my violent ex.’
‘Ah, of course. Someone in the village the other day was saying we must never tell any strangers where you live,’ she said, patting my arm.
So, I was the subject of village gossip, was I? But perhaps instead of being enraged, I should accept that it was nice that people were looking out for me.
One of the houses seemed to have blackout curtains in its front bedroom, but someone hadn’t drawn them very well: extraordinarily bright light spilt out. It didn’t flicker as if it was coming from a TV or even an overvivid computer game. Despite myself I stared at it, dawdling to a standstill. What on earth needed that intensity?
Joy grabbed my elbow. ‘Look, there’s another of those white vans now. Just parking by that house.’
‘But not staying very long!’ Lights out, it pulled away sharply and headed away from us.
‘Someone doesn’t know it’s a cul-de-sac,’ Joy said with satisfaction, producing her mobile. ‘You stay this side with your phone and I’ll cross and snap him from there. Oh, it’s just like something from an Angela Brazil book, isn’t it?’
‘Get out of sight!’ I yelled, retreating behind a convenient Leylandii before I took a photo.
‘That was all very cloak-and-dagger,’ she said, as she dusted off her puffer jacket and rearranged her rather fetching fur hat.
‘Someone who doesn’t want to be seen doesn’t want to be immortalised on camera,’ I said. ‘Just in case he comes for a second look, I don’t want to go straight back down the road. There’s that right of way to the main road down there, and one of the neighbours’ security lights makes it nice and safe for pedestrians. This way. After that wonderful meal we need to add a few more yards and work off at least one more calorie,’ I added, trying to sound less earnest.
‘It would have been nice to check the number of the house that man was parking by, all the same. I can just nip back—’
‘Or not. We can do it far less obviously. They’re all in numerical order. This one’s 29. One … two … three … four – there we are: 33.’ I laughed. ‘If I accidentally poke a wasps’ nest, Joy, I don’t go back until I’m sure they’ve forgotten all about me. Kent might be a nice respectable place, but remember it’s also close to London and the Continent: all sorts of undesirables rock up here and live lives of seeming respectability. People looking like bank managers get shot outside their des reses because they’ve been involved with criminal gangs.’ And only after that improving spiel did I recall she’d lived in the area far longer than I had.
‘You’re right! I’ve seen footage on TV.’ She didn’t sound deterred.
‘Did you notice the lighting in the bedroom, by the way? It must be costing in a night what the average householder would blench at if it was for a whole week.’
‘Ken certainly would. He’s forever switching lights off. Oh, Jane, d’you think we’ve seen a bit of gang warfare? How exciting! Actually, I remember Ken and me eating in a Chinese restaurant in Ashford and all the time a triad was holding a man prisoner in the cellar below. And once I was doing a big shop at Sainsbury’s, and someone was shot in the car park. Not far from where Ken was parked waiting for me! Nowadays, we always assume it’s one of those illegal immigrants.’ She did not sound sympathetic.
‘Quite – but don’t forget someone in Libya or wherever is making a packet getting them out.’ If not by drowning them. ‘And, of course, there are gangs in this country completing what they started.’ Then I buttoned my lip, lest I talked too vehemently about the people who ended Will’s life without having the decency to kill him outright.
We walked in the prickly sort of silence that tells you you’ve jumped in too hard. But I couldn’t end it.
She did. She touched my arm. ‘I’m sorry, Jane. I’d forgotten all you went through. Didn’t they say—’ The touch became a grab. ‘Oh, my God!’
A white van had pulled up right at the end of the right of way.
‘About turn!’ I said. ‘Walk fast. No, don’t run – it might attract attention, plus we can’t risk tripping. Don’t worry: we’ll be home before he manages to turn round.’
We were. With the curtains tightly drawn, and the front door double-locked. Yes, the back door too. We were safe and sound. And to my huge relief the intruder light didn’t come on for the next half-hour at least, when a glimpse through the peephole showed a fox strutting across the drive.
‘Did your friend let the police know about the van incident?’ I asked at last.
‘No. She was on her way to the Marlowe Theatre,’ she added, as if that explained something.
‘Could you text her and ask her to let you have the number as soon as she can? I’ve got a police officer friend who may be able to help – though he’s up to his ears in flu at the moment. I’ll send him the photos I took tonight – the number’s quite clear.’ I showed her, forwarding them as I did so to Lloyd Davies. ‘Now, I know it’s rude of me, Joy, but I’ve got to do a bit of work before I head for bed – and I’m afraid I shall leave for work b
efore you’re up and about. I’m really sorry. But if your friend doesn’t contact you, I’d be really grateful if you’d try her again tomorrow and if you’d text me the details. Just in case …’
‘Just in case it’s something to do with your ex,’ she finished for me, inaccurately, as it happened, but I let it pass.
Pitch-dark. The deepest of sleeps. And a woman’s scream. I was up and out of bed before I realised it, almost falling downstairs as I hurtled onto the landing.
Joy emerged too, ruffled but to my amazement laughing at me. ‘I can tell you’re not a country girl,’ she said.
I stared. ‘A woman was screaming!’
‘Put your phone away, dear. It was a fox. Or a vixen. Unearthly noise, isn’t it? Ghastly. But nothing to worry about. Probably calling for that fox we saw on your drive earlier. Come on, you need a hot chocolate …’
CHAPTER FOUR
Flu or not, Lloyd Davies responded first thing the next morning, just as I sat down at my Wrayford School desk: Keep head down, eyes and ears open, mouth shut. Avoid this bug. Sneeze!!!
So you do know something, I replied.
Enough to know info useful. See previous advice. Sneeze, sneeze. All of it. Cough, cough. Sad face.
Keep bug away from Jo. PLEASE. She can’t teach maths from her sickbed!!! Smiley face.
‘You’ve only got an invitation from His Nibs!’ Melanie Pugh declared, tapping the door as she entered and waving a piece of paper under my nose. ‘Actually, more of a summons, to be frank.’
It was always Melanie’s self-imposed rule never to betray any knowledge of the content of any message she’d just taken. If I chose to comment on – say – a particularly feeble excuse for a child’s absence, she’d join in the conversation, but she’d never initiate it. ‘Should I stand to attention while you read it to me?’ I asked.
‘At least you should sit up straight. If you slump like that your back’s going to kill you before you’re much older. Pilates, that’s what you need. If only you could create an extra hour in the day. Which reminds me, Mrs Taylor wants to talk to you about the twins. Now. Only I told her you were in a meeting, since you’d only just got here and hadn’t really sat down. So now she wants an appointment at nine tomorrow. I told her you’d be taking assembly.’
Head Wound Page 3
