Father Unknown

by Fay Sampson

  It cast a long shadow. The wound under Lisa’s fringe had been more than a bruise.

  The librarian was at her elbow, with the books she had ordered. She found some paper in her handbag and settled down to make notes.

  Where to begin? The ancient geology of the hilltop village and the valley below? The Palaeolithic flints? No trace of the Iron Age or Romans here. The story picked up again with the Saxon settlement. Frustratingly, this was too early for common people to have surnames yet. Walter of Sheepdown might or might not be related to the Claysons. She made a few notes and moved swiftly on to later medieval times.

  Hole. Her eye was arrested by the name of the little farmstead in the valley. The name they had found on the lease, rented out to an older Adam Clayson in the early 1700s, and later to his son Robert. No proof that these were Johan’s direct forebears, but it was a reasonable presumption.

  Now here it was again. From the manorial court records, 1462. Robert of Hole was distrained to answer to the lord because on Tuesday, in the feast of St Katharine the Virgin, he broke and entered a close of Simon Marsdon lord of this manor called Corley and then and there killed and took away 12 gooseanders without the leave of the said lord to the prejudice of the said lord.

  The lord of the manor, sitting in judgement on a case in which he himself was the plaintiff. What chance did Robert of Hole stand?

  Was there a possibility that this Robert was related to the Robert Clayson who had been named in the lease of Hole in 1716? Did tenant farmers have that sort of continuity? She suspected not. But Prudence would like this story.

  She wished now they had made the time to visit Hole as well when they went to Corley.

  She looked at her watch and closed the book. She hadn’t even started on the typewritten manuscript. But she ought to go. Millie would be back from school soon, probably full of indignation.

  Her spirits lifted. Tom might be home.

  She was crossing the room towards the desk, to hand in her documents, when there was a light touch on her elbow. Alan Taylor had turned from his book as she passed his chair.

  ‘Hi, Suzie. Don’t tell me you’re a family history nut too?’

  She smiled. ‘I’m afraid so. Is that why you’re here?’

  He threw back his head and laughed uproariously, making other researchers turn to stare at them. ‘Some chance! Being a Methodist minister is a twenty-four seven job.’ He turned over his book to show her the cover. Methodism in a Cathedral City: 1757–1900. ‘Mugging up for next Sunday’s sermon, would you believe? But my wife’s been bitten by the bug. Who hasn’t, these days? Her problem is that most of her family are from round Barnsley, and I’ve dragged her down here to the rural south-west.’

  ‘I’m lucky,’ Suzie said. ‘Pretty well all my father’s family were born in this county. So I’ve got the resources on my doorstep.’

  ‘Good for you.’ He pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Look, Suzie, I’m glad I’ve got the chance to talk to you. Is it OK if we have a word?’

  ‘Yes.’ She raked her mind to think what he wanted to say to her. Was he going to ask her to get more deeply involved in church activities?

  ‘Maybe outside, so we don’t disturb these good people.’

  He steered her across the gardens behind the library to the Arts Centre café, bright with posters of shows. He set down a cup of tea in front of her and frowned thoughtfully over his. After a few moments, he raised his brown eyes to meet hers. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday.’

  ‘Why? I thought it was a great service. I meant to thank you afterwards.’

  ‘But you got waylaid. I saw.’

  Suzie felt a flutter of nervousness in her throat. He was treading on delicate ground. How much was it safe for her to say? ‘I was talking to Lisa Gamble . . . sorry, Dawson. Our daughters are friends.’

  ‘Tamara, yes. Nice girl. She’s been coming to Young Church lately. She’s a real asset.’ His eyes crinkled with appreciation.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry. Millie stopped going when she was younger. Perhaps I ought to have . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry. She’s not the only one, by a long way. There are a lot of things competing for teenagers’ time and interest. But at least you’ve given her a good grounding. Something to hold on to when she’s older. No, that wasn’t what I was getting at. I was just sorry that you were on the receiving end of Leonard Dawson’s attentions. Look, he’s a great guy. He pretty much masterminds our finance committee at Springbrook. And they say he runs a tight ship at Briars Hill. They get great results. It’s not easy being a headmaster these days. So don’t get me wrong, I’m not running the guy down. But he’s under a lot of pressure. He can be a bit . . . forceful.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want that to put you off coming again.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ But she could visualize the trepidation she would feel, going there next time. She studied her saucer for a while. When she looked up, Alan Taylor still had those brown eyes fixed on her face.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it? If I’m putting my big foot in it, just tell me to shut up. But it was something about Tamara, wasn’t it? Is she all right? Since Len and Lisa married, he’s been making her come to church with them. She’s a joy to have, though I don’t think she was any more keen at first than your Millie. But she wasn’t there today. Is something wrong with her?’

  Suzie met his eyes. The friendly humour had died. It was replaced by a look that was deeper, more compelling. She felt something tug at her guts. He was a minister. Someone people turned to when they were in trouble. She could trust him, couldn’t she?

  As if he had read her thoughts he said quietly, ‘We don’t do confessions in the Methodist Church, but we understand about confidentiality.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was about Tamara. And no, she’s not all right. For days, Millie had no idea what had happened to her. Now Leonard Dawson says she’s been overworking and they’ve sent her away for a rest. He won’t say where. But her mother thinks she’s run away. And then this morning, Millie got a card. Tamara’s in hiding. She says he threatened to kill her.’

  Concern furrowed Alan’s face. Then he smiled. ‘Why? Look, Suzie, you’ve got teenage kids. You know the score. They say that sort of thing all the time: “He’ll kill me!” It’s not meant literally.’

  ‘Because – look, I don’t want this to go any further – she’s pregnant.’

  This time the look was consternation. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Poor old Tamara. That’s tough. But it’s still not the end of the world, is it? It isn’t a hanging offence, thank God.’

  ‘She’s fourteen.’

  He winced. ‘Point taken. Still, that happens oftener than it should, more’s the pity. I doubt if they’d send the boy to prison, even if is a criminal offence. But I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes when Leonard finds out.’

  ‘If it is a boy.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there? Go on.’

  ‘Do you think it could have been serious? The threat to Tamara? After all, Mr Dawson has his reputation to think of. He might think she’d made a fool of all his moral lectures to his pupils. But . . .’ She played nervously with her teaspoon. ‘What if it’s worse than that?’ He waited. She was unwilling to meet his eyes. ‘What if Leonard Dawson is the baby’s father?’

  She heard the intake of breath. There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘That really would throw us in the deep end, wouldn’t it? Have you any evidence of this?’

  ‘N–no. But it’s beginning to be the only answer that makes sense. Tamara practically implied it.’

  ‘You say she’s run away, but he hasn’t reported her missing? Well, no. Come to think of it, he was behaving normally in the vestry yesterday. Not a word about Tamara being ill, let alone missing. That does sound odd, on the face of it. I’m usually one of the first to hear if someone’s in trouble.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m bei
ng hysterical? Like Millie?’

  He swirled his teacup slowly between his hands. ‘I wish I did. In my line of business you learn a lot about what goes on under the surface. Even in a church like Springbrook. Salt of the earth, most of them. They’ll go the extra mile to help other people. But some of them have stories to tell of what they’ve suffered that would make your hair curl. It’s not all tea and jumble sales. You’d be surprised what goes on behind some very respectable doors.’

  ‘So you do believe me? You think Tamara really is in danger?’

  ‘Let’s say, there are some serious questions to be answered.’

  ‘We’re desperate to help Tamara. But we don’t know how. We’ve no idea where she is.’

  ‘You said there was a letter. Wasn’t there an address, a contact number?’

  ‘Nothing. She was too afraid to tell Millie where she is. And she’s thrown away her mobile, in case it’s traced.’

  ‘A postmark, then?’

  ‘She said she was getting someone to post it in London. It sounds as if she’s somewhere out in the country. She talked about “going into the village”. But it could be anywhere. And we’re afraid to go to the police, in case they find her, and Mr Dawson rubbishes her story and they bring her back.’

  Alan Taylor thought about this. ‘As I said, Len can be a pretty forceful character. Her word against his? I see what you mean. Listen, what about the Salvation Army? They have a Family Tracing Service.’

  ‘We thought about that.’ Suzie sighed. ‘But they’re not going to take her case up on our say-so, are they? If her parents haven’t reported her missing? We’re not even related.’

  ‘I see your point. I suppose the same might apply to the Missing Persons Helpline.’ His grave face relaxed into a grin. ‘This might just be one time when a dog collar comes in handy. Leave it with me. I think I can sweet-talk the Sally Army into doing their stuff. They’re very good at it. They have an amazing success rate with finding runaway teenagers.’

  ‘And when they find her? If they do?’

  ‘Yes. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? How do we make sure what the truth is, and that it’s safe for her to come home?’

  The grin had gone. His eyes were troubled.

  SIXTEEN

  Suzie walked from the bus along the avenue towards home. There was a spring in her step which had been missing for days. She had not expected that talking to Alan Taylor would lift such a weight from her. It was probably something ministers were trained to do.

  It was, surely, only a small hope though. He might persuade the Salvation Army to search for Tamara, without her parents’ knowledge, but would they succeed? Yet he had seemed so confident.

  And then what? Suppose they found her. They’d preserve her confidentiality, wouldn’t they? If she was safe where she was, they would leave it to her to decide whether she wanted to get back in contact with family and friends. And, from her letter, Tamara certainly wouldn’t want to come home.

  Would she risk telling the Fewings where she was? When she had been so careful to keep this information even from Millie?

  Her spirits were sinking again, the nearer she got to home. Nothing had changed. Tamara was still on the run from an intolerable situation. Still afraid.

  There was a turning ahead. Maple Lane. The road where Tamara lived . . . had lived. Suzie’s gaze went along the first detached houses in their mature gardens. Tamara’s father’s royalties had made sure they could continue to live there after the marriage broke up.

  Where had Leonard Dawson been living before he moved in? Suzie hadn’t given much thought to that before. Was he divorced, a widower, a middle-age bachelor, when he married Lisa?

  If the police shared the Fewings’ suspicions about Tamara’s baby, they’d be interested in Leonard Dawson’s first family, wouldn’t they, if there was one? What other children might he have been preying on?

  She was crossing the junction now. From here, she could see Tamara’s house.

  Her heart quickened. There was someone walking up to the gate. A girl in a grey school uniform.

  For a crazy moment, she thought it must be Tamara.

  But the figure was too slight. The sunlight fell on a crop of white-blonde hair.

  Millie.

  Suzie halted in the middle of the road. Then she shook herself. The moment of panic subsided in a shiver. There was an obvious reason why Millie should call on her friend’s mother. In fact, that was just what she would do. Suzie scolded herself for not thinking of it herself. Millie must be going to tell Lisa Dawson the news that Tamara was safe. That she had had a letter from wherever she was hiding.

  Suzie could imagine what a weight that would be off a mother’s mind.

  Millie was through the garden gate, starting to walk up the path, when a large silver car swung round the junction behind Suzie. The brakes squealed. The horn blasted. Belatedly realizing where she was standing, Suzie sprang out of the way.

  As the car completed its turn, she saw the irate face of the driver turned to her through the side window.

  Leonard Dawson.

  Terror froze her.

  It was too far to call out to warn Millie. Too late, anyway. The car was sweeping along Maple Lane. She saw the brake lights snap red as it started to turn into the drive.

  The car stopped, its rear still half in the road. The door flew open and the burly figure of Mr Dawson leaped out. His roar rang down the road.

  ‘AND WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?’

  Caught on the garden path, Millie twisted her pale face towards him. He was covering the ground between them, still shouting. His forceful strides were shattering the flowers in the beds. Suzie was too far away to distinguish more words.

  She started to run towards them. She cursed the fact that she had worn heels today, instead of her usual flat pumps.

  When she reached the gate, Leonard Dawson was berating Millie. His face was the same ugly red she remembered from yesterday, its usual baby pink verging towards purple.

  ‘Get off my land, you two-faced little slut! Do you not understand plain English? I made it abundantly clear that I will not have you poking your nose into my affairs and upsetting Tamara. Do you want to make her more ill than she is already? And I won’t have you badgering my wife. Do you hear?’

  Suzie saw the fear in Millie’s face. It was not that there was anything in Mr Dawson’s words which was explicitly threatening. It was the venom with which he said them. He loomed over her. The overbearing force of his personality and physique, crashing down on a fourteen-year-old.

  The pressure Tamara must have felt on her. Daily.

  ‘Mr Dawson!’ It was hard not to let her own voice sound like an inadequate squeak.

  He swung round, fresh fury in his eyes.

  Suzie made herself look past him and speak directly to Millie. ‘Oh, there you are! I think you should come home now. It’s obviously not a convenient time to call on Tamara’s mum.’

  Her eyes called her daughter, willing her not to argue. To her relief, Millie accepted the summons gratefully. She edged her way back down the path. She had to step aside on to the wrecked flower bed to avoid Mr Dawson’s implacable bulk. She scuttled along the pavement to Suzie.

  He was shouting after both of them now, though the volume was lowering. Suzie blotted out the words. She took hold of Millie’s arm and turned her away. With what dignity they could manage, they headed back to the avenue and turned the corner towards home.

  Millie was shaking. ‘That man! I thought it would be safe. Tamara said he never came straight home from school. He always had meetings or something. It was her best time, with her mum. How could she live with him?’

  ‘She couldn’t,’ Suzie pointed out. ‘Not for more than a couple of months.’

  ‘Long enough, though.’ Millie scowled. ‘Long enough for him to ruin her life. I could kill him.’

  ‘What did you think you were playing at, going round there without telling us?’

>   Suzie’s knife halted over the cucumber she was slicing for a salad. Tom was out with friends. Nick was standing over Millie, his voice loud with anger. Suzie winced. She knew he was only giving voice to his fears for Millie, what might have happened to her. But the hectoring tone was too like Leonard Dawson’s for comfort.

  Millie was hidden from view, hunched up on the conservatory sofa. She had just finished an indignant account of their encounter outside Tamara’s house. Clearly, she had been expecting sympathy.

  ‘But he’s a headmaster. He has meetings. He’s never home straight after school. And I know Tamara’s mum gets in from work around five. I had to tell her, didn’t I? I mean, wouldn’t you be worried stiff if it was me? She’d love to know I’ve heard from Tamara. That she’s . . . well, sort of all right.’

  ‘You could have asked one of us to go with you. You knew what he was like yesterday. Waving that racquet about, as if for tuppence he’d have knocked my brains out. Stay away from that house in future. One girl in danger’s enough. I don’t want you caught up in it too.’

  ‘But she’s my friend, Dad. I can’t not be.’

  Nick turned away and walked swiftly out into the garden. Watching him through the kitchen window, Suzie felt how he was wrestling with protective anger.

  She called softly to Millie. ‘Don’t take it to heart. He’s only cross because he’s worried about you. What might have happened.’

  ‘I know that.’

  Suzie was just setting the meal on the table when Nick came in. He took his usual chair, but sat staring down at his plate, as though he was not really seeing the food.

  Then he raised his head. ‘It doesn’t fit. It’s too obvious.’

  ‘What is?’ Suzie encouraged him.

  ‘Leonard Dawson. The big bad bully. Shouting at everyone who questions where Tamara is. Drawing attention to himself. At church, at the tennis club. Don’t you think if he really had a guilty conscience about Tamara, he’d keep quiet? Play the suave, everything-under-control stepfather?’

  ‘Surely that’s what he meant to do, with that story that Tamara was unwell and they’d sent her away for a bit? Cover it up until people had stopped asking questions.’