Lois Meade 03: Weeping on Wednesday (1987) (24 page)

Enid could sometimes read Edward’s mind. Twins were renowned for this. She had tried for years to deny their twinhood, not wanting to be associated with Edward’s excesses more than necessary, but there had always been a kind of silent communication between them. It had been a comfort at times, when they were little. The two of them in league against the world. But after a while, when Edward began to be difficult, she’d tried to shut it down. Most of the time she had succeeded, but now she felt it strongly. He was lying. Somewhere in his account of what had happened to Mother, there was a lie.

“We’ll go and see her…see for ourselves, when we go back,” Enid said. “She’ll want to have visitors, Edward.”

He laughed, more of a bark than a laugh. “Huh! I don’t see why,” he said. “She’s not wanted visitors for years now, so why should she change?”

Father’s voice came from the back, weak and croaky. “We’re not going back, anyway,” he said.

“Shut up!” All Edward’s amiability had vanished. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “How can I concentrate on the driving if you two keep babbling on! Shut up, both of you!”

They drove on in silence for another hour, and then he started singing again: “
Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous
…?” Over and over, the same refrain.

Enid dozed off, but woke again when the car came to a halt. They had turned off the motorway, and were in a lane bordered by high hedges. This was not what she expected, and she said, “What are we doing here?”

“Father needs a pee,” said Edward, getting out and opening the rear door. He helped the old man out, and they disappeared. Enid had wild thoughts of making a run for it, but knew that Edward would soon find her, and she could not risk his anger. She needed the toilet herself, but decided she could hold on for a while. It was dark now, and she dreaded stumbling about in the woods, bopping down and peeing into her shoes, like in the old days of picnics. Supposing Edward went off and left her when she was crouching down? No, she would wait, stay here in the car and do her best to protect Father.

She saw the silhouettes of the two men coming back to the car. Edward, tall and thin, very much in charge, and poor Father, a broken, beaten, old figure. What dreadful things had Father done at Edward’s behest over the years? And what now? Enid tried to imagine her mother, a stranger amongst people over whom she had no control, but the image was illusive. She couldn’t picture it, and gave up.

They were on the road again, back on the motorway and still heading north, and Enid recognized a sign. ‘Welcome to Scotland’ shone out at her in the car’s lights. She was right, then. They were going back, returning to Edinburgh. But what then? She tried to tune in to Edward’s thoughts, but found only an incoherent jumble. She began to cry silently, but quickly stopped herself. The thing now, she told herself firmly, was not to antagonize Edward, but to act calmly and normally. That would be best. She settled in her seat and, with a great effort, tentatively joined in his chorus: “
Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques…
”

“O
h, sod it,” said Lois to her empty office. She had urgent New Brooms work to do before tea, lists to make, visits to organize, and she had sat down with good intentions. But the red leather-covered diary on the corner of her desk caught her eye, demanding attention. She’d had a quick look when she came home, but the writing was tiny, and she had put it aside for when she could find a better light and had more time to examine it properly.

Now, under her desk lamp, Lois knew she could read it quite easily. She cursed her own weakness, put aside her lists, and gave in to temptation. It was more of a journal than a diary, she discovered. It was not divided into days, but with plain, lined pages, and Mrs Abraham had written her thoughts and accounts of happenings as they occurred. Fortunately, she had dated most of these, and Lois could see that the journal had been started three years ago. Was this when she had become a total recluse? She read an entry:

Nice dinner. Enid a good cook now. Not as good as me, but not at all bad. Walter suggested a walk round the fields, where we wouldn’t meet anyone. I declined with thanks!

Lois flipped forward through the pages. The mood had darkened.

Edward in trouble again. Not his fault, poor boy. Walter unsympathetic. It upsets me dreadfully. Early bed, and slept badly.

There were several more entries along these lines, and then the next date was many months later:

Haven’t seen Edward for weeks. He doesn’t care about his poor old mother. Walter makes excuses, but he’s probably shown poor Teddy the door. Had a go at Walter and ended up throwing a plate at him! Enid talks about getting a job. What nonsense! Her place is here, looking after me. The light hurts my eyes, and I keep the curtains drawn. Not much appetite.

Turning to the last entry, Lois saw that it was dated a few weeks ago:

Dreadful rain again. Very depressed. Walter no help. Driven to slapping his face yesterday, but he turned away from me. Haven’t seen my Teddy for so long. Very unhappy Mummy.

The words were smudged here and there, where, Lois guessed, tears had fallen.

Nothing more. The rest of the journal was blank. Lois checked the date of the last entry. She thought back, remembering the days of endless rain and imagining how gloomy it must have been in that awful room at the mill. She looked in her own desk diary, and found the date. Oh my God. Lois stood up and looked out of the window to see if Derek was back. His van stood outside, and she rushed out of the room, calling for him. “Here, Derek! Come here! I want to show you something!”

He came at once, and Lois shut the door behind him. “Don’t want Gran to hear this,” she said. She handed him the journal, open at the last entry.

“Whose is this?” he asked suspiciously.

“Mrs Abraham’s,” Lois answered. “I’ve borrowed it. Read that last bit, and see the date.”

Derek read it carefully, then looked up at Lois. “Old bag,” he said. “But I don’t see…?”

“The date,” repeated Lois. “It’s the day of the big flood. That night I went down to the mill and got stuck in the water.”

“And?” said Derek patiently.

“And I looked over the bridge and saw a big
thing
in the stream and…Oh God, Derek…I saw a
face
!”

“Here, steady, Lois,” Derek said, seeing her colour draining away. “It doesn’t mean anything. Remember? They said it could’ve been a cardboard box, or an old feed sack caught up on that dam. And they looked afterwards, and didn’t find nuthin’.”

Lois took a deep breath. Derek was right. She was jumping to conclusions. The woman probably gave up writing because she was too depressed. She took back the journal and closed it up. “I’ll just keep it for a day or two,” she said. “I expect Cowgill will have found them by now, and we’ll get an explanation.”

“And it’s time for tea,” said Derek, taking her hand. “Gran’s cooked us something from a WI recipe, so watch out. Could be curtains for the lot of us.”

After tea, when Derek had gone out to the garage to reorganize his van, Lois looked at her watch and decided to phone Cowgill. Surely they must have spotted the car by now. It couldn’t have been an easier target to find: an old blue car with a crazed-looking driver, an old man and a weeping woman in it? She’d heard from Bill that he and Sebastian Charrington were going to take care of the Abrahams’ stock, until it became clear what had happened. That was one thing Cowgill didn’t have to worry about.

“Hello? Can I speak to Inspector Cowgill, please?” Lois was accustomed to him answering on his own line, but this must be a passing office girl.

“Hold on, please.” There was a minute’s pause, and then Cowgill came on. “Sorry about that, Lois,” he said. “I was just out in the corridor getting a cup of tea. Things round here seem to have ground to a halt.”

“Specially important things like cups of tea?” said Lois sourly. “But on a trivial matter,” she added, “where are the Abrahams? I was expectin’ you’d let me know.”

There were a few seconds’ silence, and then Cowgill said, “Well, actually, Lois, we are not absolutely sure at this moment in time.”

“You mean you lost ‘em!” Lois was disbelieving.
Surely
that must have been the easiest manhunt on record!

“Well, it was more a case of never finding them,” Cowgill said apologetically. “No trace of the car as you described it…and we put out a countrywide alert. We’re still looking, of course. We do want to talk to Edward urgently.”

“But…” Lois was speechless.

“As soon as I get news, I’ll let you know, of course. But anyway, Lois, I shouldn’t worry. For all his many and unattractive faults, Edward Abraham has no record of physical violence.”

“Except murdering a dog,” said Lois quickly. “And attacking his father in his own farm yard.
And
putting his own sister under such a reign of terror she’s disappeared against her will! How much more violence do you want? Are you really goin’ to wait until Enid is found dismembered in a cupboard somewhere? And, for God’s sake,
where is the old mother
?”

“Calm down,” said Cowgill irritatingly. “We have no proof they didn’t take the mother with them. Perhaps you just didn’t spot her. We are still keeping an eye out for the car, and have several other leads we are pursuing.”

“Huh! Heard that one before!” said Lois. “And don’t tell me to calm down…Enid is one of my team, and a friend of my mother’s. And,” she added with emphasis, “while you are pursuing your ‘other leads’, I’ll be following my own.”

She listened to his flat voice for a minute or so, and then cut in, “Oh, I’m fed up with this. You do it your way, and I’ll go mine. There’s not much point in my telling you things if you don’t act on them, is there?” He was still talking as she cut him off.

I
t was dark now, and Enid dozed in the front seat of the car. Her father had been deeply asleep for a couple of hours, and she was glad. The longer he was absent from this nightmare the better. She watched Edward’s profile from time to time, and was not reassured to see him calm and relaxed. She could feel the tension in him, and had decided in the long hours of travelling northwards that he must be handled with great care. It was his unpredictability she feared, as always. Perhaps there was something in his swings of mood that could have been put right, but she considered he was, and always had been, spoilt, selfish and naturally wayward. He’d got away with all kinds of minor misdemeanours as a child, and gradually, as he grew up, the seriousness of these had increased. But, unfortunately, his confidence in his own invulnerability had also increased.

It was really Mother’s fault, Enid reflected sadly. Father had tried to discipline him, but each time Mother had stepped in with excuses, pleas for leniency, promises that she would correct him in her own way. He was an attractive child, a handsome teenager and a charming adult – when it suited him. All his life he was bolstered through numerous sticky patches by the knowledge that his mother would defend and protect him. She had lied for him, given him false alibis, and persuaded Enid to do the same.
Her
childhood, teenage years and adulthood, had been very different. Edward had always been given first place. “He
is
the boy,” she’d heard her mother say repeatedly, and though Walter had retorted that they were not living in the dark ages and women were now supposed to be equal, even he had finally given up and colluded in the primacy of Edward’s position. “He
was
born first, you know,” he would say weakly.

She had loved Edward so much. Guided by her mother, she had looked up to him and followed his lead in all that they did together. Despite everything he had done and made her do, they still had the closeness of twins. He had demanded so much. In spite of his good looks, he’d never had a real girlfriend. Mother again! She had given such a cold shoulder to any girls brought home for inspection. And so Edward had gone underground. Enid knew he had women who supplied his needs. She shivered and hunched down in her seat. “Edward?”

“What?”

“How much further?”

“Nearly there,” he said. “You must know where we’re going by now?”

“Mmm,” said Enid.

“Well?”

“I suppose it’s Edinburgh,” she said reluctantly. She could hardly deny the existence of a band of light across the night sky, where the city awaited them.

“Brilliant deduction!” Edward was cheerful, humming that tune again.

“Where are we going to stay?” They would certainly not be going to any old friends of her parents. By the time they left, Edward had alienated all their friends. No chance that a welcoming house would be opened up for them.

“You’ll see,” said Edward. “I’ve got it all arranged. Been busy, you know. I may look like a tramp, but my organizing talents have not deserted me. And speaking of looking like a tramp, Enid, when we get where we’re going, I’d like you to do a spot of washing and ironing. Smarten me up!”

“Like Mother used to?” said Enid quickly, without thinking.

His hand left the steering wheel, fist clenched, and Enid recoiled. But he collected himself in time, and said tersely, “Shut up about Mother! She’s OK where she is. Father’ll only get upset.”

Enid said nothing, but found herself trembling. She hadn’t been able to imagine Mother in that nursing home, and wondered why. Could he be lying? Again?

“Where was that place you took her?” Enid was risking a lot, but had begun to think she hadn’t a lot to lose. Her job was finished, her home abandoned. She had sailed too close to the wind with Edward too many times. He’d
almost
got her into trouble more often than she could count, like that time at Waltonby vicarage when he’d come looking for her. More lies, and to that nice old vicar, too. She would never be free of him, and she feared him. But he needed her, just as he had needed her in the past, and she could make use of that.