by Anne Coates
She was aware that while no one looked directly at her, they inched away from her as though she were unclean and her poverty contagious.
With an immense feeling of relief she emerged from Waterloo station. At least her disguise seemed to be working. Meticulous as her preparations had been she still had plenty of time left before meeting Lucy so as the watery winter sun waned without any warmth she thought she’d go for a walk.
With a slight limp and hands stuffed in her pockets, she set off for St John’s. The church was closed which wasn’t unusual, she assumed, at this time of the afternoon and sat down on the steps. No one took any noticed of her. No one looked at her. She was invisible. In one way it was rather nice but she assumed that those who were really homeless would find that a further insult to their dignity.
She stood up – it really was too cold to loiter – and stamped her feet in a bid to activate her circulation. For want of something better to do she hummed to herself as she made her way down the road towards The Old Vic and crossed over the road to the right to Lower Marsh. The market stalls were long gone with only a few costers left packing away their wares.
She was at Greggs. “Hello Lucy,” she said tapping her on the arm.
“What the fuck ¬– ”
For a moment Hannah thought she’d been mistaken and it wasn’t her. But then she caught sight of her face which was now grinning broadly. “Bloody hell – you’ve done a good job on yourself.”
“I try to do as I’m told.” Hannah winked. “Are you waiting for someone else?” she asked as Lucy showed no signs of moving.
“Yes won’t be a mo’.”
A woman came out of the bakery wearing a blue nylon overall and carrying several largish bags. She was tiny with short hair styled in a tight perm and could have been aged anything from 45 to 65. “There you are Lucy love,” she said, her gravelly voice and subsequent cough suggesting a heavy cigarette consumption. “I kept back a couple of yer favourites as well.”
“Thanks Kit, you’re an angel.”
The woman from the shop coughed loudly acknowledging Hannah with a half-smile. “Aint seen you around here before.”
“Nah,” said Lucy. “She’s on ’er ’olidays. Usually resides at the Cross.”
The two women burst into cackles of laughter and then Lucy linked arms with Hannah and they ambled along to the Bull Ring.
“Nervous?” Lucy asked.
“I am a bit. I feel a fraud dressed like this as though I’m trying to deceive people.”
“You’ll be glad you did, my girl. You’ll be more or less accepted as you are. No one asks questions. We’ll just mingle a bit and see who we can see…”
Hannah drew confidence from the other woman. Lucy had been around long enough to know the ropes. But there was a tiny worry at the back of her mind that she might be being set up.
TWENTY-THREE
Sights and sounds but not smells were muted as they descended into the Bull Ring. With Lucy by her side, she was absorbing the atmosphere in a very different way. It took a while for Hannah’s eyes to adjust to the pale dimness. It occured to her that she’d never seen so many different shades of grey. Everything was grey apart from the yellowness from the lights at periodic intervals. Lucy led her to what appeared to be a cardboard tunnel which was in fact her home where she slept and stored her few possessions when there was someone she could trust to keep a watch on them. Hannah activated the recorder in her pocket unsure how much it would pick up.
“Thanks Ben.” Lucy handed the bag to the man whom Hannah hadn’t seen before. “Choose your poison.”
Ben picked out a filled roll. “Thanks Lucy me girl. That’ll go down a treat. I’ll push off for a while. See you later.”
The man at the next box looked across and Hannah had to stop herself staring at the real face of one of the polaroids in Liz’s box. “Anything for me in there Loos?”
“Play your cards right there is.”
The man moved nearer. There was something about him… “What the fuck are you playing at?” He spat the words into her ear as he reached for Lucy’s bag.
Hannah could feel her colour rising but managed to use her concealed camera before his hand gripped her wrist so tightly she thought she’d faint with the pain. “Let go of me!” Her voice was louder than she intended. As Lucy saw what was happening she gave him a deft kick in the shin.
“Paws off, you big tosser. This is a friend of mine. Leave her alone or you can piss off.”
Strangely Hannah saw no animosity in his eyes. He let go of her wrist which she rubbed gingerly.
Lucy continued as though nothing had happened. “We were just remembering the lovely Liz. Such a bleeding shame. And why would any of us want to do her in? I tell you the pigs have got arses for brains.”
“Is that what they’re saying,” said a voice emanating from the shadows beyond. “Do they think it was one of us?”
“They do, Beano. Just another bloody cover up if you ask me.”
What Hannah had never noticed before as she had walked through here on her way to work was the level of noise. It was a constant barrage of sounds. A man playing a mouth organ, someone snoring, a heated argument, someone muttering to herself, a dog whining, someone sobbing, a tattoo being beaten with sticks on a tin. A cacaphony of sounds which was grating and reassuring at the same time.
“And what do you think, Sherlock?” Lucy was addressing the man who had grabbed her.
“I think we’re best off not getting involved.” The man concentrated on his sandwich.
“Oh really.” Lucy’s voice was cutting. “That’s why you’ve been nosing around asking questions is it?”
Hannah stared at him. Willing him to say something, anything which might make her time here worthwhile. She accepted a roll from Lucy’s bag feeling a complete fraud. But if she’d turn it down, she might have fuelled the suspicions of the man called Sherlock even more.
“You don’t want to pay attention to him. He’s full of shit, he is.”
“Piss off, Grady. Remember Jacob. He ended up in the fucking river for his pains.” This was Sherlock again.
Hannah was about to ask why Jacob had been asking questions when she saw Lucy’s slight shake of the head. From the recesses of her shelter, Lucy brought out some cans and handed them round. Hannah was about to decline but then thought that again would draw the wrong kind of attention.
“And Father Patrick. Who got at him? Bastards.”
“Anyone hear how he is?” This was Beano asking.
“Not good I hear.”
“Oh yeah and how d’you hear that, Sherlock?”
“I have my sources.” He looked straight at Hannah. “And there was someone sniffing around the church the day before Liz died. Asking questions. Being nosy.”
“What sort of someone?” Lucy asked.
Sherlock shrugged. “A suit. They all look the same.”
“So who did he speak to then?” Lucy was looking daggers at Sherlock.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Sherlock lit a roll-up and inhaled deeply. “Someone who likes some cash in their hand.”
“Don’t we all,” mumbled Eileen, the woman who’d confronted her on her previous sally into the Bull Ring but without her disguise.
By now they were all on their second can. Hannah had only sipped at her first one. She thought she’d got away with it until she realised Sherlock was staring straight at her again. This had been a foolish idea.
“Maybe some reporter ought to come down here and flash the cash,” he suggested.
“And what would you say then Sherlock you big fraud?” Lucy passed him another can.
“I’d say there’s more to this than meets the eye. Maybe Liz’s murderer had followed her from that Godforsaken place she was working in Africa.”
“Why would you say that?” Hannah was intrigued. She had slowly been coming to that conclusion herself.
“Stands to reason. Strange things happen when you’re away from hom
e.”
“And you’d know that, wouldn’t you,” said Beano more into his can than to Sherlock.
“What I’d like to know is what’s happened to Jacob. No funeral I suppose. Straight to the bloody incinerator.” This came from Eileen.
That question had occurred to Hannah as well and she made a mental note to ask Claudia Turner.
Sherlock grunted and concentrated on his beer but she sensed he was still watching her, scrutinising her.
Hannah was aware that there was and had been for some time an increase in the number of people passing by. Commuters making for the station to go home. It was like an inner circle of speed against the slow machinations of Cardboard City. Two parallel worlds. It had turned much darker and colder. A few of the rough sleepers had little camping stoves that threw off some warmth while they heated food most of which seemed to come out of tins. Convenient convenience foods.
Lucy got to her feet a triffle unsteadily. Ben had returned and was handed a can. “Right I’m off for me constitutional.” She touched Hannah’s arm. “Come on luv.”
And with that the ordeal was almost over.
“Who’s the guy you called Sherlock, Lucy?”
“Dunno, really. He turned up a few months ago, I suppose. Full of himself, that one. Still live and let live.”
“Do you know anyone called Jonah?”
Lucy seemed lost in thought. A strange expression crossed her face in the changing light from the Bull Ring to the world above ground. “Jonah? He’s gone up in the world selling that Big Issue magazine over the water.”
Hannah smiled at Lucy calling the Thames the water.
“Thanks for today, Lucy. You’ve been a great help.” Hannah passed her an envelope containing cash The News, courtesy of Rory, had given her.
“I don’t want yer money. I didn’t do it for that.” Her mouth was set in a determined line.
“I know you didn’t but you might as well take it. It’s not my money, it’s the newspaper’s. Do what you like with it.” Hannah smiled her encouragement.
Lucy took the notes out of the envelope and stuffed them into various unseen pocket within her various layers of clothes. “Ta love. Look I’ll keep me eyes and ears open. I’ve got your card. I’ll phone if I hear anything. And you can always get to me through Kit at Greggs. I go there every day except Sundays at the same time to collect what they haven’t sold. She’ll take a message for me.”
She stopped walking abruptly. “Right I’ll love you and leave you now. ” She took Hannah’s hand. “Look after yourself love and be careful for gawd’s sake.”
Sam was waiting for her in the Anchor. He was drinking a pint and there was a brandy waiting for her. “Thought you might need that.”
“Thanks, Sam.” Hannah sipped her drink and looked round at the drinkers. It wasn’t a pub usually frequented by the IPC crowd and she was relieved not to recognise anyone.
“This has been so good of you.” She reached into her holdall and gave him an envelope.
“What’s this? I hope you’re not going to insult me by…”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I’d never do that, Sam. This is newspaper cash. Take it.” He hesitated, his conscience fighting a losing battle as he tucked the envelope into his inside coat pocket.
“Would you mind walking me outside to see if I can get a cab home?”
“Course not.” He finished his drink and stood up.
Sam held her elbow as they made their way through the mass of post work drinkers none of whom even glanced her way, out onto The Cut. He managed to get a cab straightaway and bundled her into it before the driver could get a look at her.
“Keep in touch, Sam. You have my card.” He nodded but his expression in the light of the streetlamp looked immeasurably sad.
The driver did a u-turn after she gave her address and she whipped off the itchy hat allowing her hair to cascade out. She also changed her boots and coat so that she looked somewhat more of her old self by the time she reached home.
Janet was just putting Elizabeth to bed but she didn’t want to be near her daughter before getting rid of the stink she’d aquired. Stripping off in the bathroom, she took a hot shower, scrubbing her skin and washing her hair twice. She wrapped herself in her bathrobe and her hair in a towel before gathering all her jumble clothes and thrusting them into a black bin liner. She hoped she wouldn’t need to wear them again but she couldn’t deny their discomfort had been worth it. She scrubbed her hands again and quickly applied some cream before creeping into Elizabeth’s room.
Janet was humming a lullaby and looked up and smiled. Hannah felt both reassured and jealous. Elizabeth’s eyes opened momentarily and locked on to her mother’s. The infant sighed with sleepy contentment and the two women left the room.
TWENTY-FOUR
The next morning Hannah sent the camera back to Rory by courier and while she was waiting for the prints listened to the recording she’d made. It was next to useless. It picked up all the background noise but none of the conversation which Hannah now jotted down from memory and played with a memory map and colours. Liz’s name was in the middle. The links coming out were Fr Patrick, Lord Rayman, Lady Rayman, the charity WelcAf, St John’s, baby’s father, Jacob Gurnstein, Jonah, Sherlock, police.
Hannah underlined WelcAf. What had taken Liz there and what had made her return in the way she did?
She stared out onto the winter garden. Everything was bare. A pot had been blown over. A brightly coloured ball looked like an artificial flower in the frost-hardened earth. Hannah detested the winter months and more so now that it was the season of Liz’s death. She still found it hard to believe that she would never be seeing her friend again. Sometimes it seemed as though she had just gone off to another charity somewhere and they would meet up again.
However at that moment for Hannah Liz’s absence was a physical pain. She tried not to think what Liz’s last moments had been like. She clutched at her grief and wrapped it round her so tightly that it threatened to engulf her entirely. Then she heard her daughter’s shriek of laughter when Janet said some silly nonsense to her as she strapped her into the buggy. It brought her back to the present, to life and love.
It seemed no sooner had they left the house than someone rang the doorbell. Hannah went downstairs and looked though the spy hole before she opened the door. James was standing there holding a bunch of snowdrops.
“Hi. I just thought I’d call by to see how you are. Sorry I should have rung first, I didn’t think. When I get some time off I assume everyone else is at my disposal.” He grinned sheepishly. “Bad timing?”
“No of course not, come in it’s freezing out there.”
James seemed to fill the narrow confines of the hall and Hannah stepped back. “Shall I take your coat?”
James handed her the flowers before shrugging off his duffle coat. He followed her into the kitchen as she went to find a vase. “Coffee?”
“Yes please. Where’s Elizabeth?”
“Janet’s taken her to the park. She won’t be long in this weather.” She arranged the snowdrops into a vase as the kettled boiled. “These are lovely, thank you. My favourite winter flower.”
James was quiet staring out into the garden. Hannah handed him a mug of coffee. “In here or the sitting room?” he asked.
“Sitting room is more comfortable.”
“So how are you,” James asked once they were ensconced on sofas.
“Getting there. It’s weird going through all Liz’s papers and things.”
“Why are you doing that?” James looked bemused.
“Lady Rayman asked me to. She’s… she’s paying me to look into the circumstances around Liz’s death.”
James made no comment. Unlike Tom she thought who had been loud in his criticsim of her – and indignant.
“I assume she thinks I’ll be more sensitive to anything I may discover. Especially concerning the media interest.”
“You still with th
at rag?”
“You know I am. I have a contract and they pay me a retainer. Not that I have to do much for that. Just turn up for the odd editorial meeting and write a piece when they ask me to.”
James stared at his coffee. There were no revelations but he looked as though he’d come to a decision when he looked up at her.
“Would you have dinner with me?”
Hannah stared at him for a moment. “I’d love to. D’you mean this evening?”
James nodded. “Bit short notice but –”
“No it’s a lovely idea but I’ve imposed on Janet quite a lot recently and she’s leaving early this afternoon. So may I suggest a takeaway here? Would you mind.”
“Not in the least.” He drained his coffee. “What time shall I come back?”
Hannah felt a buttlerfly colony had invaded her stomach as she changed her dress before James was due. They had known each other for such a long time and he had been so good to Caroline. But they never really spent time alone together. She wondered why. She also wondered why some woman hadn’t grabbed him by now. He was intelligent, fun when he wasn’t being too serious. Attractive. No not just attractive, he was gorgeous. Hannah paused mid application of blusher. She stared at herself in the mirror. Why had she never noticed that before? Paul probably. Then she was pregnant. Then Elizabeth. Then Tom. When all the time James had been there.
She laughed. “And what makes you think he has any romantic interest in you, Hannah Weybridge, huh?” she asked her mirror image.
Her reflection said nothing but replied with a wink.
Always one for punctuality, Hannah’s first thought when the doorbell rang at a quarter past eight, was, He’s late. She opened the door with a flourish and there stood James looking his beautiful self and carrying bags from one of the local Indian restaurants.
He smiled as he stepped into the hall. “Thought I’d get this en route. I have a selection which I hope will meet with your approval, ma’am.”
