by Kitty Neale
‘An acoustic, you mean.’ Kenneth nodded, as if to say it was too much for her to understand. ‘Like Bob Dylan plays.’
‘Yes, an acoustic.’ Rhona wasn’t going to be put off. ‘Can you help? Don’t worry if you can’t, I’ll find a way to get one.’
Ken seemed offended at having his expertise doubted. ‘Of course I can help you, Rhonda.’ He smiled as if he’d made a joke. ‘In fact, you’re in luck. I know a couple of the musicians who are on tonight and I think one of them is trying to sell one of his old guitars. He’s doing well enough to get some better models.’ Ken puffed out his chest as if his friend’s success was something to do with him. ‘Shall I introduce you after the evening’s over?’
Rhona beamed. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete waste of time. ‘Yes please,’ she said.
Chapter Eighteen
Stan wandered along the seafront in the evening, savouring having fifteen minutes alone. He loved having his family down here but now and again it was a relief to get a break from them. Greg was overexcited all day every day now he had James with him, and the two of them were up with the lark demanding to be taken to the beach and then reluctant to go to bed. Jenny was having such a good time with Mavis that she let him get on with it. Stan had to admit his wife and her friend both looked stunning with tans and he felt himself lucky to be on holiday with two such gorgeous women, but the fact that Mavis had Grace with her added to his urge to get away for a short while. He was very fond of the child, and knew only too well what her first years had been like, but she never stopped asking questions. Pete and Lily were a help but Bobby was getting even livelier and often took all of Lily’s energy, and when Stan came to think about it, Pete seemed to be lost in his own world for much of the time.
So Stan was in no hurry as he sauntered along, watching the sunset. Red sky at night yet again – it would be a good day tomorrow, Monday. Plenty of people would be returning to work but he had another couple of days to go. He’d timed it all on the advice of Mrs Hawkins, who had warned him that Fridays and weekends would be the worst on which to travel. ‘Everyone goes then,’ she’d said when they were arranging the booking. ‘You want to avoid it if you can. If you’ve got the choice of travelling mid-week, you might as well take it.’
Stan had thought this very sensible and as both Pete and Tommy worked for themselves, it was no problem for them to arrange mid-week dates. He grinned, pleased with himself. This whole holiday was thanks to him, and he’d had the good fortune to meet Mrs Hawkins. She’d done them proud and was already suggesting that they come again next year. She’d taken to Greg and was spoiling him – spoiling all of them when it came to it. Well, he wasn’t going to say no. They deserved a bit of pampering.
Looking up he realised he was on the stretch of road where he’d walked with Jenny that first time he’d brought her down here. His heart swelled at the memory. What a good time they’d had. It had reinvigorated their love life, no doubt about it, and unless he was much mistaken Torquay was working the same magic for Tommy and Mavis. Good for them, taking their chance of a bit of pleasure.
There was that strange shop that he and Jenny had found so funny, with its fussy sign. He’d found out afterwards that this was the very place Mrs Hawkins had spoken about on his first trip, where women weren’t welcome. Good job they hadn’t tried to go in – then again, Jenny was quite capable of taking on anyone who tried to tell her what to do.
He could see a figure moving behind the glass, though the card in the window said ‘Closed’ and something about him – it must be a him after all they’d heard – made Stan pause. He couldn’t see very clearly, as the man was half-turning away, so the view was only of a partial profile, and the lettering on the window obscured much of the room inside. Yet Stan came to a standstill. Some instinct told him not to stare, so he pretended to be winding his watch and checking it, while out of the corner of his eye he observed the man in the shop.
The height was the same, the build was the same, and from what he could tell the hair was the same, though it was hard to decide the exact colour from where he stood. The man was a dead ringer for Stan’s old neighbour, and Mavis’s husband, Alec Pugh. Stan wondered if he should barge in to confront the man, but what if he was here on holiday too and disappeared again. Or what if it wasn’t him after all? Stan wasn’t usually a man to put off until tomorrow something he could do today, but he imagined what Jenny would say if she found out he’d messed this up.
The shop next door was a tobacconist and was still open. Stan had an idea, and before he could decide against it he went in, the door ringing a bell as he did so. A short, middle-aged man looked up from behind the counter.
‘Can I help you?’
Stan would normally have asked for what he wanted and been on his way again without any attempt at conversation, but now he drew upon all his experience as an insurance salesman and set out to charm the fellow. ‘Lovely evening,’ he began. ‘Should be good tomorrow, shouldn’t it?’
It worked, and the shopkeeper was soon regaling him with all his tips for how to forecast the weather and what to do when the wind blew from offshore or onshore. Stan nodded, not having a clue what all this meant, but bided his time before bringing up the subject he wanted to raise. ‘That place next door,’ he said. ‘It’s not something you expect to see in a resort like this, is it?’
‘Torquay prides itself on catering to all tastes,’ the shopkeeper informed him. ‘We have connoisseurs from all over the world beating a path to our door, you know. It’s not all sun and sea. Mr Collier has been very successful, he tells me.’
‘Oh, do you know him?’ Stan asked innocently. ‘Has he been here long?’
‘No, no. He only came down here about two years ago. I understand he was in a totally different line of work up in London. That’s what makes it even more remarkable that he’s done so well.’
‘I’m from London,’ Stan said. ‘Wouldn’t it be a coincidence if we came from the same area?’
The fellow seemed to like the idea. ‘I’ve been to London a few times, huge place, but let me see, what did he say … he doesn’t talk about it much, he puts all his energy into what he’s doing now, he’s very hard-working. Well, you can do that when you’re a youngster, he’s only about thirty. It was somewhere with a park … Belsize Park? No, near the river … Battersea. I believe it was Battersea.’
‘Now isn’t that funny,’ said Stan. ‘That’s where I come from too. But I don’t know any Colliers.’
‘He was a bit distant, reticent, when he first moved here, but nowadays we’ve become quite friendly and he did say that he didn’t have any family,’ said the old man. ‘He once mentioned his mother dying shortly before he moved and, reading between the lines, I think that’s why he left. He probably wanted to make a complete break after looking after his poor, sick mother.’
Blimey, thought Stan, they are chatty down here. He almost felt sad for deceiving the man and as another customer walked in he said, ‘Don’t let me keep you. I’ll have a packet of Embassy please and then be off.’
He paid up and left, pondering what best to do. The man looked like Alec, was about the right age, had left London at the right time, even came from Battersea and had lost his mother fairly recently. But he called himself Charles Collier so surely it could all be just a big coincidence. What should he do? Mavis was desperate to track down her husband in order to get a divorce. He knew just how much it would mean to her. But should he raise her hopes?
Rhona’s expectations had been pretty low, so she was surprised to find there were some good acts on that night. There had been a group of four lads who might still have been at school but they knew how to sing and did some decent cover versions of the latest chart hits. There was an older man who could really play the guitar, singing folk songs. Once she would have thought that boring, but now she could appreciate his skill, even if the lyrics weren’t to her taste. There was a duo in which the man played and the woman sang; she thought Gary wou
ld have approved of that. Then there were others who had friends in the crowd, including the people Kenneth knew. Privately Rhona thought they weren’t as good as the schoolboys or the folk singer but she didn’t say so. Kenneth had edged closer to her and even tried to put his arm around her at one point but she’d stepped away.
He hadn’t seemed offended, and now that everyone was packing up he leant down to make good on his promise. ‘There’s a corridor round the back where they keep their equipment,’ he said. ‘The man you want to see is my friend, Mike, in the green shirt if you remember him? He knows you’re interested in the guitar. I’d introduce you properly but I gotta go. Early start tomorrow.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Rhona. ‘I’m sure I can handle it myself. I can walk home from here anyway.’
‘I didn’t mean …’ Kenneth was embarrassed.
‘Joke, Kenneth,’ Rhona sighed. ‘I didn’t seriously expect you to see me home, bike or no bike. Thanks for telling Mike about me. I’ll see you around.’
He pecked her quickly on the cheek and went off in a hurry. Rhona smiled to herself. He probably had to catch a bus now, and they stopped running early on Sundays. He might have missed it already. Serve him right.
The crowd had thinned out while they had been talking and now there was hardly anyone left apart from the bored man at the bar, who had his back turned to her. She had never been backstage here before and wondered which door it was, as there were several. She wandered over to the nearest and went through. The corridor behind was dingy and dusty, which wasn’t promising. There was one low-watt light bulb dangling from a frayed flex and as the corridor turned a corner it barely threw any light as she made her way along. It led to a stairway downwards, and Rhona hesitated. Ken hadn’t said anything about that. Then again she’d got this far, and presumably as the place wasn’t that big, all the rooms connected to each other at the back.
There was hardly any light now as she slowly went down the stairs, feeling her way along the wall, cringing when her fingers made contact with dust, slime and God knows what. She was glad she hadn’t worn her trendiest clothes or they’d have got filthy. Then she found herself in what must be a cellar. She could make out the shapes of boxes and barrels. That made sense. So maybe they used one of the other cellars for the musicians’ equipment. She edged along and after passing the barrels could see what must be a doorway. Now she got closer, Rhona could hear dim voices coming from behind it. She found the door handle and tried it. It was stiff – evidently this wasn’t the right way in, but she turned it sharply, pushed, and the door suddenly opened.
She blinked at the bright light, unable to see at first. Then she took in what she’d burst in upon. This wasn’t the room where the musical instruments were left. It was an office, with filing cabinets, a desk and what looked like a safe, the door of which was hanging open. She gasped. There were bundles of banknotes inside, some of which were neatly stacked but others lay in a heap. That could mean only one thing. She’d walked in halfway through a robbery.
Then she screamed as an arm grabbed her around the neck from behind and she felt something heavy make contact with her head. Everything went dark.
‘Let’s leave the girls to it,’ Stan suggested to Tommy later that evening, as they all made their way back towards the B and B, having been out to stroll along by the harbour. ‘What do you say to a quick pint?’
Pete overheard him. ‘You can count me out, lads. I’m totally bushed.’
‘Righto,’ said Stan, thankful as he hadn’t meant to ask Pete anyway. It wasn’t an invitation to a boys’ night out – he wanted to have a private conversation with Tommy and he knew that would be impossible at the guesthouse.
‘Yeah, you go on,’ said Lily, coming up behind them with Bobby in his pushchair. He was too big for it really but they’d brought it along for moments like these, and now she was grateful they’d thought of it as he was getting to be quite a weight to carry around. ‘Let your hair down, it won’t be long before we’re back in the Big Smoke.’
Tommy gave Mavis a hug. ‘You don’t mind, do you? We won’t be long.’
Mavis smiled at him. ‘No of course I don’t.’
Tommy nodded, relieved that Mavis rarely made a fuss. His ex-wife Belinda would have complained bitterly, not because she wanted his company all the time but because she hated the idea of him enjoying himself when she wasn’t. He had a feeling that Stan had something on his mind and wondered what it was as they left the group at the B and B to continue to the nearest pub.
It was quiet inside and as Tommy went to the bar to order two pints, Stan headed for an unobtrusive table in the corner. Tommy carefully carried their drinks back to the highly polished table, finding that the seats were comfortable and well padded, unlike some of the pubs they sometimes met in at home. ‘OK, Stan, what’s up?’
Stan looked surprised. ‘What makes you think that something’s up? Why wouldn’t I just fancy a pint?’
Tommy looked him directly in the eye. ‘Come off it, Stan. This is me you’re talking to. I know you, remember?’
Stan shrugged and then gave in. ‘Yeah, well, it might be nothing. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the rest of them as I might have got it all wrong, but I saw something earlier this evening and wanted to talk to you about it.’
Tommy was intrigued now. He took a sip of his beer, covering his upper lip with froth. ‘Go on, then. Spit it out.’
‘You’ll never guess who I think I saw,’ Stan said, then taking a gulp of his drink he poured out his story, relieved to have got it off his chest. He hadn’t been able to enjoy the walk earlier, nor the fish and chips they’d had as they went along, as the strange scene in the shop had kept replaying over and over in his mind.
When he finally finished, Tommy stared at him. ‘Are you having me on, Stan? Right here, along the seafront? That bastard Alec Pugh?’
‘Straight up,’ said Stan. ‘I wouldn’t joke about such a thing. Why would I? I think Mavis is a great girl, you know that, and she and Jenny are like sisters. I only want the best for her.’ He grew embarrassed. He hated talking about his feelings. ‘I know what she’s been through, so when I saw that slimy git through the window I didn’t know what to do. If it is Alec Pugh, I didn’t want him to see me or he might do a runner again. How do you think we should handle this, Tommy?’
Tommy took a swig of beer while his mind turned, then he carefully put the glass down in the centre of his beer mat. ‘OK, firstly, we have to find out for sure that we’ve got the right man. Until then, we say nothing to any of the others. We’ll go there and watch him. He has to come out of that place at some time during the day, doesn’t he? I’ll think of something to give us an excuse to hang around there tomorrow. If it’s not him, then there’s no harm done. If it is …’ He took another drink and realised all the beer was gone.
‘Fancy another?’ Stan was on his feet.
‘Yeah, why not.’ Tommy accepted gratefully, wanting a few minutes alone to work this through. While Stan queued at the bar behind a party of tourists who had come in and sounded as if they’d just arrived in town, his thoughts whirred.
Assuming this Collier bloke was really Alec Pugh, what would he say to him? Tommy’s instinct was to go in all guns blazing and have it out with him. He’d all but destroyed Mavis while she’d been married to him and was now ruining her chance of future happiness, not to mention the physical and emotional damage he’d done to his own children. Yet what good would that do? Tommy knew he had to go against his natural gut reaction to wreak revenge and concentrate on what would be best for all their futures. That meant getting the man to agree to give Mavis a divorce. That was the bottom line. Until she had that, none of them could move on.
Tommy knew he would have to approach the man rationally, and discuss it calmly. Losing his temper would achieve nothing. Alec was a coward, taking out his anger on those physically weaker than himself, but he was also manipulative. He wasn’t Larry Barnet, to be outwitted easily with
threats backed up with a show of brute force, but there was still the risk that when confronted, Alec Pugh would disappear again.
Stan was finally getting served, but it looked like he’d been drawn into conversation with the new arrivals, while Tommy quickly totted up how much he could offer Alec Pugh as a bribe. He knew the man wasn’t hard up; that he had sold a house and left with the proceeds, but he must have spent a fair whack of that money to buy his business. Money talked, Tommy knew that, and surely he could raise enough to get Alec out of their lives once and for all. His bank account wasn’t exactly large but since working on that pub refurbishment, word had got around and he had had plenty of expressions of interest recently. If even half of them turned into definite jobs then he would be able to put up a decent sum. If he could do it in two halves … one upfront to show willing and a second payment when a solicitor confirmed the divorce proceedings were underway …
‘Penny for them,’ said Stan, setting down the beers. ‘Blimey, that was harder work than I thought. Those people wanted tips for where to go when it rained, where to get the best ice creams, it was like I was the town tourist board or something. They wouldn’t take no for an answer.’ He paused, and took a gulp. ‘How are you getting on?’
Tommy looked up at him. ‘I think I’ve got it,’ he said.
Chapter Nineteen
There were lights dancing around her head, something was digging into her side, and her mouth tasted funny. Rhona was slowly coming round but couldn’t work out where she was. She could smell dust and mould and something else – acrid and unpleasant, like sweat. Her head hurt and she shut her eyes to keep away the lights but even so her vision swam in circles behind her eyelids. She wanted to groan but couldn’t.
As Rhona’s thoughts cleared it all began to come back to her. She must be on the floor of the cellar office in the pub, and she’d been gagged. There were footsteps near her face.
