Home Is Where the Heart Is (25 page)

‘The man’s turning into a real piece of crap,’ Brenda snarled. ‘I came across quite a few like him when I was in France; men who thought they could rule the world, and make a fortune for themselves while they sought to achieve it.
And
treated all women as if they were whores.’

Cathie patted her friend’s hand, feeling the need to offer comfort as Brenda’s face was wrought with anguish. ‘You must have been so brave. I would like to hear your story in full one day, Brenda, when you feel ready to tell it.’

Her friend returned her gaze with that all too familiar stiffness in her own, the very truculence of her stance
proving how capable she must have been at coping with the traumas she suffered. ‘There are some things best not spoken of. Remember the saying, “be like Dad and keep mum”. Right now, let’s stick with your problems. What do we do about this blighter?’

Turning to Steve, Cathie’s expression now turned rock hard, revealing the determined side to her own personality. ‘All that I’ve learned about Alex recently does make me wonder about Davina, and why she vanished.’

Steve blinked, looking startled by this sudden change in the conversation. ‘What are you saying? Vanished where?’

‘That’s a good question.’ Brenda said. ‘I wish we knew.’

Cathie went on to explain how they’d failed to find any sign of their missing friend, even at the Home for Unmarried Mothers where she’d apparently been lodged. ‘Although I accept Davina may well have gone back to wherever she came from.’

‘Those nuns were astonishingly unconcerned about where she might be,’ Brenda put in, picking up the teapot to refill their cups.

‘Don’t they have her address?’ Steve asked, frowning as he listened to this puzzling tale.

‘Actually, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s much more serious than that,’ Cathie added. ‘Following the walk we took by the canal that time when you slipped, Bren, I’m starting to put two and two together and maybe making five. But I’m wondering if the girl found under the bridge
on the Rochdale Canal might well have been Davina, as it was around the time she went missing.’

The teapot dropped from Brenda’s hand, smashing to the ground and spilling tea everywhere, while Steve went white with shock.

T
he three of them went together to the police station on Minshull Street to ask who the victim had been, only to be told the girl had never been identified. ‘She carried no identity card, no bag, no ration book, nothing, and our inquiries got us nowhere.’

‘So what had happened to her?’ Steve enquired politely.

‘We suspect she may have committed suicide, so the case is closed,’ the desk sergeant said with a shrug.

‘Shows how much you care about women,’ Brenda retorted.

‘The young lady was given a decent burial,’ the police officer assured her with a certain degree of respect and apology in his tone of voice. ‘Although not in a churchyard because of the circumstances of her death. The girl was pregnant, yet wore no wedding ring.’

Something resonated inside of Cathie at these words, as this must be Davina. ‘Do you by any chance have a picture of her?’

‘Only of her dead body, love. I very much doubt you’d wish to see it, particularly if you think you might know her.’

‘We do need to check, as our friend is
missing
,’ Brenda snapped.

Nodding sympathetically, the desk sergeant picked up the phone to speak to his commanding officer. Moments later, a young constable came out of the back office carrying a black and white snapshot, which he handed to Steve.

‘Sorry, but I never met her,’ he said, passing it over to the two girls despite a glower of disapproval from the sergeant who clearly didn’t think women should be shown such things.

‘Oh, Lord, that’s definitely our friend, Davina,’ Brenda sadly announced.

One glance at the grim picture was more than enough to bring tears flooding to Cathie’s eyes. The next moment she was running out of the police station and they could hear her throwing up into the gutter, no doubt filled with terror that her worst fears had been confirmed. As Steve watched Brenda hurry after her friend, he asked the sergeant what the police intended to do about this tragedy.

‘Nothing. As I say the case is closed. Unless you have evidence to the contrary to prove that it wasn’t suicide or an accident,’ came the calm response.

‘Might I fill you in on a few details, which might help?’

Taking out his notebook, the desk sergeant licked his pencil and waited with a somewhat bored expression on his face. But even when Steve had told the entire story, or at least the outline of it as far as he knew, he was still
bluntly informed that without further evidence there was little the police could do.

‘You aren’t even prepared to question Ryman?’

‘Not without good reason.’

‘So what kind of evidence would you need?’

The sergeant shook his head. ‘Hard to say, a witness perhaps?’

Struggling to contain his anger, as he knew there was little hope of finding one of those, Steve stomped out of the station and went to put his arms about Cathie. ‘I’m sure the police will do what they can,’ he said, attempting to offer what comfort he could, against all odds.

‘Not for one minute do I believe Davina would deliberately kill herself,’ she cried, burying her face in his chest. ‘She wasn’t that kind of girl. She loved life far too much to give up on it.’

‘Unfortunately, we need proof that she didn’t.’

‘How do we do that?’ Cathie looked bewildered, as if her world were collapsing around her all over again, and she was desperately trying to block out fear. If her suspicions about Davina were proved to be correct, then there could be a serious risk of Ryman attempting to silence her too. The very thought filled Steve with a mix of fury and terror.

‘Leave it to me, love. I’ll see what I can find out from the nuns.’

‘Good luck with that one,’ Brenda caustically remarked, while Cathie hugged and thanked him for at least offering to try.

‘I know she ruined our friendship, and my engagement by cheating with Alex, but I can’t bear to think that this is the price Davina has paid for falling in love with the wrong man. It’s too horrific to even contemplate.’

When Steve patiently explained to the young nun at the gate what he had learned from the police, she led him straight to the Mother Superior. As soon as that good lady was shown a copy of Davina’s photograph, she put her hand to her chest as if it were pounding with shock.

‘What a dreadful tragedy! We shall hold a special mass in honour of her memory,’ she generously offered.

Moved by this, Steve nodded. ‘May we, as her friends, also attend?’

‘Are you saying that you’re the father of her child?’ the Mother Superior snapped.

Now it was Steve’s turn to look shocked. ‘No, I most certainly am not, although I do have an idea who that person might be. In fact, I never knew the girl personally but my friends did, so I would like to accompany them to any special service, as they are very upset by this tragedy. Right now, what I’m looking for is any information you might have about her. Davina Gibson hadn’t lived for very long in Castlefield and, as is often the case with so many people these days, she didn’t speak of the past. Do you by any chance have her home address?’

The Mother Superior shook her head; her grey-eyed
gaze now distant and cool, unconvinced by his declared innocence. ‘You can ask Sister Teresa, who looks after the records in the office, but I am not aware of any. So who was the man responsible for getting her into this dreadful mess?’

‘I don’t think it’s my place to reveal his name, but I may have cause to pass it on to the police, should that prove to be necessary. Did she make any friends while she was staying here?’ He’d already passed on Ryman’s name but had no wish for this to be widely known, particularly as the police didn’t seem interested.

‘Yes, she did make friends, and escaped with one, the silly girl. At least they weren’t stupid enough to climb the wall and get themselves caught up in the spikes on top, as far too many have done in the past.’ She tut-tutted. ‘They must have stolen the key to the side door, as it was still sitting in the lock the next morning. It did them no good at all to run off like that, particularly considering how Davina has ended up. No doubt she had nowhere to go so the foolish girl threw herself into the canal. Goodness knows what happened to her friend.’

‘And who might she be?’

The Mother Superior picked up the bell on her desk to call in Sister Teresa, the nun who kept the records. He was duly handed the address of one Barbara Cartwright.

‘I suspect she may not have gone home either, as her father threw her out for falling pregnant with a Yank,’ the young nun told him, as she was showing him out through
the gate. ‘But she does have a sister. Unfortunately, I don’t have her address.’

‘Thanks, I’ll see what I can do,’ Steve said, and walked away with a sad resentment growing inside him that these girls were so poorly treated they were prepared to take any risk in order to escape.

A Requiem Mass was duly held, which all three friends attended, together with the nuns. Psalm 23 was read, prayers were chanted, the organ played Mozart’s Requiem in D minor, and communion was held. No other family members or friends of Davina’s were present, which made Cathie feel even more sad. How dreadful to die and no one you once loved to even be aware of it. Who her parents were, or where they lived, was a complete mystery, assuming they were still alive.

‘At least we, as her one-time friends, are here to pay honour to her,’ Brenda said, lighting a candle in her memory.

‘It’s all we can do for her now,’ Cathie agreed, as she did the same.

‘I’m not so sure about that. It’s our responsibility to discover how she died,’ Steve said.

Cathie gazed at him in anguish. It was true that however foolishly Davina might have behaved, she did not deserve to lose her life. And not for one moment did Cathie believe she’d committed suicide. The blame for her death must
surely lie elsewhere, a thought that brought a shiver of fear to ripple down her spine.

‘She can’t have been happy living there,’ Steve said later, as he and Cathie sat together that evening on stools in the backyard, the moon glistening down on them from between the clouds. Brenda had gone out for the evening with a new boyfriend, and little Heather was fast asleep in her cot. Steve felt his heart clench with pain at the sight of Cathie’s distress. She was sitting with her head in her hands, her lovely red-blonde hair falling over her face as if she wished to hide behind it. He ached to comfort her, to stroke and kiss her, but was afraid to do so in case she slapped him away, or even banished him from her life. It was bad enough to be convinced that she didn’t feel the same way about him as he felt about her. But if he upset her by making a pass too soon, then he risked losing Cathie’s friendship entirely, which really didn’t bear thinking about.

The idea that she might be grieving for her one-time best friend, who had cheated on her, only proved what a sweet and kind person Cathie was. Although, for all he knew, it could really be Ryman she was missing, and she blamed Davina for having caused her to lose the man she loved. If only he could be certain.

‘I thought I’d investigate this Barbara person, although I’m not optimistic that her father will be very helpful,’ he
said, explaining how she’d been thrown out when she fell pregnant. ‘The war yet again taking a bite.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Cathie said, but Steve shook his head.

‘Let me do it, you’ve had enough to deal with lately. I don’t want you to become even more upset, and who knows how her father will react.’

A quiver of longing ran through him as she met his gaze with a warm glow of gratitude in her hazel eyes. Reaching up, Cathie gave him a little peck on his cheek and desire flared within him. How he loved her, with all his heart and soul. But all Steve felt he could do right now to prove how much he cared was to attempt to discover the answer to this mystery that was troubling her so much. And somehow protect her from that selfish bully.

‘Enough of this, I’m going to pop out and fetch a beer and a glass of shandy from the pub, then we’ll sit back and enjoy a drink on this lovely warm autumn evening, and not talk about this painful subject any more.’

Cathie laughed. ‘Good idea.’

‘I’ll be no more than ten minutes,’ he said, risking planting a kiss on her upturned nose before dashing off.

But, as he strode along Byrom Street, he heard the echo of footsteps behind him. Convinced he was being followed, he slipped quickly into a ginnel to hide in the shadows of a doorway. Moments later, who should stride past the entrance but Ryman himself. Drat the man! He must have been stalking him. Was he stalking Cathie too?
Steve shuddered at the thought, a beat of anger pummelling in his chest.

When Steve returned to the yard with a jug of beer and bottle of lemonade, he made no mention of having seen Alex, and set about making Cathie a shandy and pouring himself a beer. The pair of them spent a contented evening together, laughing over hilarious memories of the past.

‘I remember Mam scolding me for playing by the barges on the canal, telling me how Jinny Greenteeth might get me,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘“What will she do to me?” I would ask. “Eat thee all up,” Mam would say. A total myth I never believed in.’

‘I expect she was only pointing out the dangers of the waterways, and didn’t want you to drown. Have you learned to swim yet?’

‘Oh, I’m finding it so difficult, but Brenda is doing her best to help. Heather loves it. She’s a real little water baby.’

They also shared dreams for the future. Steve, however, failed to summon up the courage to mention what his greatest hope for his own future was, that had nothing at all to do with a possible career as a teacher.

As they said goodnight he gave Cathie a tender peck of a kiss on each cheek, the sheer touch of her soft skin and the lovely scent of her creating a stir of longing within him that he found almost impossible to suppress. As she smiled up at him they exchanged a long, quite serious and thoughtful look, almost as if they were assessing and reviewing their emotions.

‘Goodnight, love. Sleep well, and make sure you lock the door after me.’

The next day Barbara’s father, who lived in a rather grand house out in Cheetham, refused to speak to him, denying that he even had a daughter. As the housekeeper showed him out, Steve asked if she knew where the girl was living now, but received no answer. He was getting nowhere. What a maelstrom of problems this war had created, he thought, as he walked slowly home to face more of his own.

Alex was savouring the charms of a pretty young wench he’d picked up at the Pack Horse, taking her round to an alley behind the pub. Her figure was a bit scrawny and childlike, but his needs were such that the lack of fleshy breasts didn’t trouble him in the slightest. He revelled in the powerful pitch of excitement that brought him to a climax. Sadly, the coupling was over far too quickly, but then he had been in something of a desperate situation. Losing both Cathie and Davina had done him no good at all.

In addition, there’d been a fury cascading inside him as a result of two of his most useful associates having been sacked from the supply warehouse, their connections with his scheme against that Steve Allenby character having been found out. Someone must have been investigating those chaps. He would so like to know who it was, as they
may well be aware of his own role in the enterprise. Alex’s anger had been such that he’d pounded her hard against the wall. Still, the tart didn’t seem too bothered. He handed her a shilling and sent her on her way, then, adjusting his clothes, returned to the pub.

As he ordered himself another pint of beer, together with a tot of whisky, a voice rang in his ear. ‘Mr Ryman, may we have a word?’

Assuming this to be one of his black market colleagues, Alex swung round only to be shocked to find himself facing a tall gentleman in a somewhat shabby raincoat and trilby hat, standing between two uniformed policemen. For some moments he was struck dumb as his heart raced, then with a smirk of a smile he politely asked, ‘What can I do for you?’

‘What can I do for you,
sir
?’