by Alice Castle
Jen’s house was semi-detached, with a narrow alleyway running alongside her house and into her back garden. The house on the other side was the same – another coach house tacked to its neighbour, and with an identical passageway running parallel to Jen’s. In Dulwich, these side returns had all but disappeared, their valuable square footage absorbed into extended kitchens, playrooms, and garden rooms, adding countless thousands to asking prices. In Camberwell, where budgets tended to be tighter, little places like Jen’s had their square kitchen and bathroom boxes tacked on at the back, yes, but the original design was intact in all other ways and the alleyways remained, useful for storing bicycles and bins but not good for much else.
Beth, suddenly feeling very naughty, wondered if she should pop through into Jen’s garden just to check if there really was a light on anywhere. Maybe both the doorbell and Jen’s phone were malfunctioning? Ok, she’d actually heard the doorbell reverberating in the hall, but say Jen had had earphones in for some reason? She might be listening to music while doing this ‘huge project’ that Tim had been banging on about. Beth sometimes did that when she was at home. She could be oblivious to everything when she did.
Beth remembered only last week she’d been concentrating really hard at the kitchen table, listening to some music, and Magpie had leapt up onto her lap and almost given her a heart attack. Definitely taken years off her life. Was Jen doing that right now? She could be in her kitchen, working away, none the wiser that her friend was getting seriously chilly out here.
It was worth a tiny peek, wasn’t it? And better than sitting in her car doing nothing.
Conscious that she was probably crossing a line, and half hoping that a sturdy lock on the garden gate would put paid to both her wanderings and her wonderings, Beth tiptoed forward. But, far from being securely fastened, the garden gate seemed to give at Beth’s first tentative touch. It couldn’t have been latched at all, which in itself was a bit odd round here, where burglaries were not exactly unknown. Maybe Jeff had forgotten to lock it from the other side?
She moved forward gingerly, once again scanning the street to make sure there was no-one clocking this bit of trespass. She didn’t want to get mistaken for a burglar herself. But no, everything was quiet. Deserted. The only things moving were the leaves being pushed by desultory eddies of cold air. She strode forward a little more boldly now, and shoved the gate. It swung inwards with an agonising creak of protest. Again, she looked quickly round in case anyone had heard. Nothing. Nobody.
Two seconds later, and Beth was in the silent, narrow alleyway. All was dark and quiet. Shivering a bit, and not just from the afternoon chill, she stepped forward carefully. On one side was the brick wall of the house, and barely an arm’s width away was next door’s rickety wooden fence. She’d never been down this little passageway before, but it contained everything you’d expect. A couple of ratty-looking brooms, no doubt to sweep the patio area in better weather; the snaked coil of a garden hosepipe; and a metal bucket, catching the few gleams from the streetlight. An old rounders bat, probably belonging to Jess or left behind by the last owners, lolled nearby. So far, so ordinary. But the narrowness of the pathway made it dark and somehow much creepier. Ridiculous. In daylight, she knew she wouldn’t have hesitated to stride down it in two seconds flat. But it was a relief when she stepped round to the garden proper. She straightened her spine and looked around.
The mustiness of leaf mould and long, damp, neglected grass were much stronger here, out in the open. Maybe her sense of smell was more acute because of the fading light. The long garden was subsumed in that grainy, grey evening darkness, but she could make out far blacker shapes massed at the end, down near the railway tracks, which she definitely wouldn’t be investigating. It looked as though Jeff hadn’t got very far with his garden clearance plans. With a shudder, she remembered Jen’s warning last time about the pit.
She turned to the house. She’d been right. Somewhere, deep inside, there was a gleam of light; she could see the faintest of glows. Which room was it coming from? The excitement made her abandon caution, and she walked briskly over to the blocky extension, pressing her nose up against the cold glass of the kitchen window and unashamedly peering in.
The light wasn’t coming from the hall, or she would have seen it from the front of the house. Nor was it the kitchen, which Beth could dimly see into. There were dishes in the sink, the table cluttered. It certainly didn’t look as though they’d gone away. But the light was coming from elsewhere. Could it be the sitting room? Jen scarcely used it, preferring to work in the newly-decorated kitchen – the heart of her home. Had Beth ever actually been in it? She remembered an undistinguished blue sofa, the usual shelves of books, a tiled fireplace, which no doubt had been described as a delightful original feature when Jen had bought the place.
Beth’s breath was rapidly misting up the window as she squinted this way and that, trying to work out was going on. She stepped back a little to wipe the condensation down with the sleeve of her coat. Suddenly, a twig snapped somewhere behind her in the dense mass of dripping darkness that was the garden. In the quiet, it was as loud as a gunshot going off. She clutched her chest. Her heart had started pounding. Was it a fox? Or maybe Jen’s beloved cat, Meow? She knew from Magpie that sometimes you could see cats’ eyes glittering in the darkness. She swung round, suddenly supremely conscious that she really shouldn’t be here. But there was no sign of a cat, or anything else. Thank goodness. She turned back again.
Instantly, there was a flurry of movement right behind her. Pain exploded through her skull, as something hard and heavy connected mercilessly with the back of her head. Her final thought, as she sank to the ground, was that she hoped she wasn’t going to be late to pick up the boys.
Chapter Nine
Beth looked down at the washed-out blue coverlet and felt a powerful sense of déjà vu. But this time it was her stretched out in a hospital bed, not a lifeless teenager. She moved her head a centimetre to check her surroundings, and pain seemed to pour in on her from all directions. She became aware of a large, uncomfortable bandage on the back of her head, pulling her hair, feeling as big and as unwieldy as a paperback book stuck to her skull. She stopped moving and the contents of her head seemed to settle down, the white-hot stabbing replaced with a dull, regular throb of pain. And she was gasping for a drink of water. And the light was so bright.
‘Ouch,’ she whined, shutting her eyes tightly.
Instantly, she heard the creak of a plastic chair and a large, warm hand came down on hers. She opened her eyes a crack, only to then find them widening so much that that hurt as well. ‘What… what are you doing here?’ she croaked.
‘Well, hello to you, too,’ said Detective Inspector Harry York of the Metropolitan Police, with a big and – if she wasn’t mistaken – extremely relieved smile.
‘What happened?’ she said, faintly again, as even the movement of her jaw sent waves of pain upwards through her head, making her nauseous.
‘Here, have a sip of water,’ said York, holding out a plastic cup with a straw.
Gratefully she gulped down a little of the lukewarm liquid, trying to angle her head so it didn’t hurt so much. It didn’t really work. Every time she moved, a new bit of pain prodded her with a sharp stick. She subsided back down onto the pillow, exhausted.
‘Wait, did someone pick up the boys?’ she said, moving her legs restlessly and looking as though she was going to try to sit up.
‘Yes, yes, your friend stepped into the breach. That one with the car like a tank.’
Beth screwed up her eyes. That didn’t narrow it down much. Personal space was at a premium where she lived. Once people had bought the largest houses they could manage, with the biggest mortgages they could possibly leverage from the banks, they then bought massive vehicles to match, so they could take their bubble of expensive air with them wherever they went.
‘What did she look like?’
‘Oh, you know, tall, shiny hair
, I think she was wearing white trousers…’
Again, that wasn’t really helping. York had just described every woman she knew. Beth tried to think logically who would have caught the ball she’d inadvertently dropped, but her head was hurting again.
‘Oh, wait a minute, she was wearing boots. And she had one of those, you know, handbags…’
Beth looked at York through narrowed eyes. Was he doing this just to wind her up?
‘…And she was extremely bossy.’
‘Belinda,’ she sighed with relief. Of course. Billy and Bobby’s mother was the best bet. She’d have been the first person the tutor rang when Beth herself didn’t appear.
York nodded. ‘All that stuff is being taken care of. Ben’s with her tonight. I saw him very briefly and he’s absolutely fine. Don’t worry about anything.’
‘What time is it, anyway?’ asked Beth fretfully.
The news that Ben was at Belinda’s was not good. Yes, it was kind of her to take him. But she couldn’t imagine for a second that he’d be having an easy time there. It would all be new, and very unfamiliar. And Belinda would be in the centre of it all. Goodness knew what she’d be saying about what had happened. One thing was for sure, she’d be on the phone all night to every acolyte she had – and there were plenty. Ben was bound to overhear. The last thing she wanted was for him to be worried. She pleated her forehead, and felt the pain radiate again. Her eyes shut. She was too tired even to think about it at the moment.
‘It’s nearly 3am. You were out for a good long while. You gave us quite a scare.’
Beth found herself warmed by the concern in York’s face, despite her anxiety. And if it was 3am – and how had that happened? – then Ben would be asleep. No point worrying about him now. But instantly her mind was buzzing with questions again.
‘How did you even get here? Do you have a special Bat phone that rings when something’s up in Dulwich?’
York chuckled. ‘It feels like that. You know I actually live round the corner from where you were found?’
‘No! You live in Camberwell?’
‘Lots of people do,’ he confirmed with a smile. ‘You were very lucky. A neighbour spotted your foot when he was putting his bins out. Gave him quite a turn. Otherwise you could have been there a while.’
Beth closed her eyes again briefly. That wasn’t a pleasant thought. It had been cold enough standing in the garden. Lying unconscious, for who knew how long – it didn’t bear thinking about. But wait a minute. ‘I’m sure I got hit in the garden, right by the kitchen windows… but it sounds like I was found round by the side gate at the front. They’re quite a long way apart.’
York looked thoughtful. Beth was sure there was a lot he wasn’t saying. But maybe it explained why her back also felt so sore. Had she been dragged down the passageway? And to what end?
‘Try not to think about all that too much,’ said York, attempting to sound reassuring. It was not a natural role. He was more used to exhorting people to remember as much as possible, as quickly as they could. ‘I suppose it’s no use my asking what on earth you were doing round there in the first place?’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Beth uncomfortably, knowing that, again, she’d put herself on the shady side of the law. Just a bit. But all in a good cause. Which reminded her. ‘There’s no sign of Jen, is there?’
‘Jen?’
‘Jen Patterson. Well, Jen Burns now, I suppose. The friend who lives in that house. I was just checking to see if she was in,’ said Beth, knowing it sounded lame.
‘There are these things called doorbells, you know,’ said York mildly.
‘I’d tried the bell. I just wanted to check.’
‘Did you have a definite arrangement, then? Is it out of character for her to be away from home without telling you?
‘Well no, not exactly…’
‘Then I fail to see what you were up to?’ York was suddenly all business. He was more or less radiating rules and regulations at her, whereas a few moments ago… well, there had been something else entirely in his eyes, Beth realised, though she couldn’t say precisely what. ‘You could be charged with breaking and entering, you know.’
‘You’re not serious?’ Beth screwed up her face in consternation. That was all she needed.
‘Well, in this case, the householder doesn’t seem to be around to complain. Luckily for you. But that was a very nasty crack on the head you got. You seem to have a very tough skull. But you need to watch out, Beth.’
‘I know, I know,’ she said, subsiding into apathy. What would have happened to Ben if she’d been more badly injured or, heaven forfend, killed outright? He’d be looked after, yes, by her mother and her brother. But they were hardly the dream team. Her mother was in her own very safe little world, and her brother by contrast was always off seeking out danger zones. Neither was what a small boy needed. And that was leaving aside the whole issue of Ben being an orphan. It just didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Do you know who might want to do this? Any idea at all?’ said York, leaning a little closer.
Beth tried moving her head from side to side, and gave it up immediately as a very bad job. ‘I’ve no clue at all. Would it have been a burglar or something like that? Had someone broken into the house?’
‘Not that we can tell. It all looks fine. Do you know where the owners are?’
‘That’s just the thing. They should be there. Or at least Jen should,’ Beth said firmly. A little too firmly, as her head started to swim again. And then again, what did she really know about Jen’s schedule, anyway? Jen could be anywhere, doing anything, and she had a perfect right to be doing all of it without informing or contacting Beth. Why, then, did she feel so worried? There was something funny going on, of that she was sure.
‘Ben’s been having tutoring every Tuesday, so I’ve been going round to Jen’s—’
‘Tutoring?’ said York, his eyebrows going skywards.
‘Don’t you start,’ said Beth limply. ‘I’ve got enough doubts about it myself, without any disapproval from other people. It’s just that, well, everybody does it round here…’
‘Everybody also drives too fast and drinks too much,’ said York censoriously. ‘I don’t notice you following suit on all the trends.’
Beth winced. She had been known to knock back a Sauvignon or three if she was at a sticky Dulwich dinner party and the talk turned, yet again, to the monumental problem of getting a reliable cleaner for your second home. True, she didn’t drive too fast, but only because her car would fall apart at the seams if she edged over thirty miles an hour.
‘Ben seems a smart little chap. Does he need extra lessons?’ said York.
Beth tried to shrug. ‘Well, I don’t know. I think he’s smart, too. But I just want to give him every chance…’ Her voice was getting quieter and quieter, and she was having trouble getting to the end of her sentences. Waves of tiredness competed with the pain, both fighting to carry her away.
‘I’d better let you get a bit of rest,’ said York, patting her hand. Instantly, Beth’s fingers clung.
‘Don’t go,’ she said sleepily. She was in the land of Nod as soon as her eyelashes hit her cheeks. Her fringe, for once, swung to one side, exposing her high forehead to view. Despite her constant worrying, the lines were smoothed out in an instant as she slept. With her penetrating grey eyes closed, she looked almost as young as Ben, and just as vulnerable. York smiled gently and stayed on.
***
It was 4pm when Beth next woke up properly. There’d been brief interruptions to her rest, when people had taken her pulse or given her tablets, but she’d basically slept the clock round, like a teenager again. As soon as she surfaced, she struggled to get upright and then waited for the pain to hit her in a wave, as it had last night. Sure enough, there it was, but it was less strong, as though the tide was turning. Thank goodness.
She looked around for the first time. She was in one of the rare side rooms of the hospital, King’s C
ollege by the looks of things, and already there was a card propped up on the windowsill with its dispiriting view of the railway track that must lead to Denmark Hill Station. The card – a folded piece of A4 with rather aggressive lettering saying ‘Get Well’ –brought a lump to her throat. It was from Ben. York must have brought it with him last night, after seeing Ben at Belinda’s.
She wished she could reach out and grab it, see what it said inside, but after all the pain in the night, she didn’t quite dare. She put her hands up slowly to her head, to feel round the bandage. It was all pretty sore, but without the catastrophic aching she’d felt before. Either she was healing fast, or they’d given her some pretty strong drugs. She gingerly propped herself up a bit higher on her pillows, which immediately made her feel a bit more in charge, for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. Whoever had done this to her had a lot to answer for.
And who could it have been? She thought back. She’d been standing with her face literally pressed to the window. God, she was such a nosey parker. She wished to hell she’d stopped herself, but curiosity had got the better of her. Again. She could just imagine Katie saying to her, ‘You know what happened to the cat, right?’ Beth sighed. Well, she’d learnt her lesson this time.
She was closing her eyes and feeling herself drift again – what was it about an injury that made you sleep so much? Suddenly there was a minor commotion at the door and Ben burst in, cheeks red from the cold outside, bounding over to her and throwing his arms around her in the biggest, untidiest hug ever. Her eyes filled with tears, which she hastily batted away, reaching down to rumple his dark hair, which looked like it hadn’t seen a brush for a week. He smelt so good, just of the crispness of outdoors, of hot little boy, and of not-hospital. How wonderful. He was as good as a million painkillers.
Bringing up the rear was Katie, with Charlie in tow. Katie’s own eyes were glittering with unshed tears but Charlie, of course, was just Charlie.
‘Wow, cool view of the trains,’ he shouted, in what was a normal decibel level for a ten-year-old boy and was borderline eardrum-damaging for anyone over twenty-five in a confined space. Ben didn’t need more prompting, but scooted over to the window with his friend, where they oohed and aahed over the trains coming into the station. Katie took a seat at the head of the bed and looked Beth full in the eyes.
