Lambs to the Slaughter (3 page)

The more he had said, the louder and angrier his voice had become, and suddenly he was coughing again.

‘You shouldn't upset yourself, Granddad,' Becky said, laying her hand gently on his shoulder.

The coughing fit subsided, and Tommy looked down into the bowl.

‘By gum, lass, there must be half a coal shaft down in them lungs of mine,' he said.

‘You need to look after yourself,' Becky cooed again.

‘If I can just get these young lads to see sense, then there'll have been some point to this miserable life of mine,' Tommy said. ‘And if I can't, then it will all have been a waste.' When he raised his head from the bowl to look at his granddaughter, his eyes were blazing with what might almost have been madness. ‘I'll do anything to see this strike succeed, Becky,' he told her.

‘Now, Granddad, remember what I said about keeping calm,' Becky said plaintively.

‘Anything!' Tommy Sanders repeated.

Paniatowski had just finished lighting the candles when she heard the church clock chime in the distance.

‘One, two, three . . .' she counted.

On the fourth stroke, the power went off – just as the local newspaper had announced it would – and Louisa appeared in the doorway.

‘You'll be eating your breakfast by candlelight – and it's your own fault,' Paniatowski told her daughter.

As she down at the table, Louisa sighed.

‘Breakfast by candlelight,' she said. ‘How romantic!'

How romantic!

Paniatowski grinned. A couple of years earlier, the word ‘romantic' would not even have been part of Louisa's vocabulary, but now it tripped off her tongue as easily as ‘dolly'and ‘teddy' would once have done.

She examined her daughter in the flickering candlelight – took in the dark eyes and coal-black hair she had inherited from her real mother, and the pleasantly stubborn line of her jaw, which came from her dead father. There was no doubt about it, she told herself, the girl was growing up.

Paniatowski broke four eggs into a frying pan and added a little milk. She had just begun to stir the mixture when the phone rang in the hallway.

‘Get that for me, will you, love?' she said. ‘If it's headquarters, ask them if it's urgent – and if it isn't, tell them I'll ring back in ten minutes.'

Louisa stood up again. ‘Honestly, Mum, sometimes you work me to death,' she said with a grin.

For Betty Cousins, resentment had become a way of life, and she resented the power cuts more than she could say.

The first reason for this was that
she
knew – though no one else seemed to – that the so-called ‘industrial action' was not about pay or conditions at all. No, it was about the fact that the miners – who she'd lived among her entire life – were all lazy devils, and would do anything to get out of doing a decent day's work.

Her own husband had been a case in point, always complaining about how life down the pit was hard, and using any excuse – even the bit of blood he coughed up some mornings – for staying away from the colliery. Well, he was gone now – too lazy to even bother going on living, in her opinion – but the rest of them who were left behind were just as bad.

The second reason for her resentment was that she half-suspected these power cuts to be nothing more than a plot to prevent her fulfilling her sacred mission, which was to watch the weakness of others being played out in the street below her bedroom window. But the plot – if that was what it was – had only partially succeeded. It was true that the street lamps were not switched on even when there was electricity, but the lights from the miners' bedroom windows – as they dressed for work they could no longer avoid – filtered out on to the street and stopped it from being in complete darkness.

It was in the light from the miners' bedrooms that she observed the dumpy woman who was shining her torch in front of her and making her way carefully down the street.

Even though the woman herself was little more than a dark blob, Betty knew it was Susan Danvers, Len Hopkins' housekeeper.

‘
Housekeeper!
' she said to herself in disgust.

Well, that was one name for it – though she could easily think of another!

It was over twenty years since Len's son, who'd had ideas above his station, had bought a car and then proceeded to crash it, killing himself, his brother and his mother in the process.

And hadn't Susan Danvers been quick to get her feet under the table after the funeral?

By God, she had!

It was strange there wasn't a light on in Len's front parlour, Betty thought, because although he was as idle as any other man, he usually made an effort to be up and about by the time his ‘housekeeper' arrived.

Susan opened the front door without knocking – and that told you all you needed to know – and stepped inside.

Once she'd closed the door behind her, there was nothing more to see, because Len Hopkins – being a secretive, mistrustful man – always closed his parlour curtains at night.

It was just as well, in a way, he did close the curtains, Betty thought, because whatever was going on in there should certainly be shielded from the eyes of ordinary decent people.

And yet she couldn't help wishing that, just once, he'd forget and leave the curtains open.

When Louisa picked up the phone, the voice on the other end of the line said, ‘This is Ellie Sutton. Could I speak to Louisa, please?'

Ellie Sutton! Calling her! Louisa felt her heart start to pound just a little bit faster.

‘It's for me, Mum,' she called across the hallway.

For me! she repeated in her head. And it's Ellie Sutton!

‘Well make it quick, or your food will be completely spoiled,' Paniatowski shouted back.

Louisa didn't care if her food
did
spoil. At the moment, she didn't care if she never ate again.

‘Hi Ellie,' she said.

She knew the reply was inadequate. She knew she should say something much smarter and wittier when she was talking to the coolest girl in school. But she just couldn't think of anything else.

‘It's my seventeenth birthday on Friday, and Robert says I can have a big party,' Ellie told her.

‘Who's Robert?' Louisa asked.

‘My dad! You must remember him. He gave a lecture to your year on some boring old subject or other.'

‘
Dr
Sutton!' Louisa exclaimed. ‘He's brilliant. The talk was all about local history, and—'

‘Yes, well, I'm glad you enjoyed it,' Ellie interrupted. ‘But I didn't call you to tell you about Robert – I called to tell you about the party!'

But why would Ellie want to tell her about the party? Louisa wondered. Why would this cool girl – who she was surprised even knew that she existed – ring her at all?

‘Well?' Ellie asked, a little impatiently.

‘Well what?'

‘Can you come?'

‘Me?' Louisa gasped.

‘Of course you!'

It was like a dream. It was better than a dream!

‘I'll have to ask my . . .' Louisa began.

‘What?'

‘Of course I can come – if you really want me to.'

‘I wouldn't have asked if didn't,' Ellie replied. ‘See you in school.'

As Louisa put down the phone, her hands were trembling. She'd have to handle this carefully, she thought – very, very carefully – or her mum would never let her go.

The miners on the morning shift had started to come out of their houses now, and Betty Cousins shifted her attention from Len Hopkins' unpromising front window to the men on the street.

There was Phil Drummond, whose wife – the poor deluded fool – thought he was giving her his full pay packet every Thursday, whereas the truth was that before it ever reached her hand, he'd already extracted a couple of quid which he would shamelessly waste backing the ponies.

And there was Tony Clarke.
His
wife thought that when he went out on a Saturday it was to race pigeons, but Betty knew that what he was really doing was conducting a secret affair with – appropriately enough – a bus
conductress
.

Betty was following the progress of these men down the street when she heard the scream, which was so loud that she almost dislocated her neck in twisting round to find out where it came from.

And that was when she saw Susan Danvers again, standing outside the front door of Len Hopkins' house – and making as much noise as a scalded cat.

I
nstead of wolfing down her omelette, as she would normally have done, Louisa pushed it listlessly around her plate.

‘Is there something wrong with your food?' asked her mother.

‘Not really.'

‘Then why aren't you eating it?'

The truth was that she was too excited to eat, Louisa thought – but she knew instinctively that it would not be a good idea to tell her mother that.

‘How much longer do you think these power cuts are going to last, Mum?' she asked.

Paniatowski shrugged. ‘Who knows?'

‘It's all the miners' fault, isn't it?' Louisa said. ‘We're all having to struggle in the dark, just because they're on strike.'

‘That's a bit judgemental, isn't it?' Paniatowski asked.

‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘Well, for a start, the miners aren't
on
strike – they're just not working any overtime. And it's far too simplistic to say that it's all their fault. You're old enough now to stop simply seeing things in black and—'

‘Will there be a power cut on Friday?' Louisa interrupted.

‘There's a power cut every day. You know that,' Paniatowski replied. ‘What's so special about Friday?'

‘Nothing really,' Louisa said. Then, deciding this was as good a time as any to make her play, she continued, ‘It's just that that's when Ellie Sutton's got this birthday party.'

‘Who's Ellie Sutton?'

‘She's a friend of mine.'

‘I thought I knew the names of all your friends.'

‘She hasn't been my friend for long, but she's really cool, and she's invited me to her birthday party.'

‘And how old will she be?'

‘Fifteen, I think.'

‘You
think
?'

‘It must be fifteen, mustn't it?' Louisa said hastily. She paused for a second – but
only
for a second, because she didn't want to give her mum the chance to ask any more questions. ‘The thing is, you see, her dad's different from most of the dads, but even he might put his foot down if, because of the miners, the party has to be held in the dark.'

Mild alarm bells started to ring in Paniatowski's head.

‘What do you mean – he's different from most dads?' she demanded.

Louisa shrugged awkwardly. ‘Well, he teaches up at the university, doesn't he?'

‘And that makes him different, does it?'

‘In a way.'

‘In
what
way?'

‘Well, he gives Ellie a bit more freedom than the old-fashioned parents give their kids.'

‘Am I old-fashioned?' Paniatowski wondered.

‘You can be – when you're here,' Louisa said bluntly.

Paniatowski felt as if she'd been hit by a hammer.

‘Do you resent me being out of the house so much?' she asked tremulously.

‘Not really,' Louisa said, as if she hadn't realized the impact her last comment had made – and maybe, with the callousness of adolescence, she really hadn't. ‘There are a lot of latchkey kids in my school. It's the modern way.'

‘I could get a transfer,' Paniatowski told her. ‘I could move over into administration, and that would mean I'd be home every night.'

‘You'd hate working in administration,' Louisa told her. ‘You love the horrible, grisly job you have now.'

Yes, she did, Paniatowski agreed silently, but she loved her adopted daughter more.

‘Look, if it really bothers you that I'm not around much, I'd be more than willing . . .' she began.

And then the phone rang, and before she even realized it, she was standing in the dark hallway, with the receiver in her hand.

‘I've got a murder for you, Monika,' said a heavy voice that she recognized as belonging to her one-time lover, Chief Constable George Baxter, ‘and it could be rather a tricky one.'

‘A tricky one?' Paniatowski repeated. ‘What makes it tricky?'

‘For a start, it's in a village. And you know what villages are like in this neck of the woods – they don't like outsiders coming in, even if those outsiders are trying to catch a killer for them.'

‘That's true,' Paniatowski agreed.

‘And what makes it even worse is that this particular village – Bellingsworth – is already deeply divided over whether or not to vote for the strike.'

‘Well, shit!' Paniatowski said.

And then she became aware that her daughter was standing beside her.

‘Shit!' Louisa repeated gleefully. ‘What kind of language is that for a detective chief inspector to be using?'

Paniatowski covered the mouthpiece. ‘I'm on the phone to the chief constable, sweetheart,' she said. ‘What is it you want?'

‘I just came to tell you that I've washed my plate, and I'm on my way to school,' her daughter replied.

‘Are you still there, Monika?' asked George Baxter, from the other end of the line.

Paniatowski took her hand off the mouthpiece.

‘I'll be with you in a second, sir,' she said, then covered the mouthpiece again. She turned to her daughter. ‘Take care when you're outside,' she warned, ‘it's still dark, and there will be no street lights on.'

‘I'll be careful,' Louisa promised. ‘About the party, Mum – would it be all right to go, if there's proper supervision?'