Lois Meade 03: Weeping on Wednesday (1987) (29 page)

“Speakin’ of weddings,” she said, “I were trying to remember who that Mrs Abraham – her down at Cathanger – was before she married. D’you remember, Alf?”

“Who wants to know?” said the old man, automatically suspicious.

“I do,” said Sheila. Silly ole fool. It wouldn’t do to tell him Mrs Meade had asked, else he’d clam up like an oyster. Or oyster up like a clam. Sheila chuckled to herself. Alf said, “What’s the joke? Think I’m senile or somethin’? O’course I remember the Blenkinsops. Big family o’girls. He were a railway worker. Wife was a right harpy. Still, all them girls got wed.”

“Good lookers, were they?” said Derek. Thank goodness Sheila had brought up the Abrahams. He’d forgotten, and Lois would have crucified him.

“Some of ‘em,” said Alf. “One especially. The youngest, she was. Spoilt rotten. Lovely lookin’ gel. Dark hair and very pale skin. Black eyes. Used to say she were a changeling. Didn’t look like neither of her parents.”

“Who did she marry?” Sheila knew she was on the right track.

“Some bloke from away.” Alf looked scornfully into the distance. “She got above herself then. Still, she was always uppity, what with her mum and dad tellin’ her all the time how marvellous she was.”

“So what happened to her?”

“Went away. I ‘ad a soft spot for ‘er meself once, so I kept me ears open, though I weren’t good enough for ‘er. They said she went to Edinburgh. Then I heard the whole family come back, but I don’t know n’more about them. Now,” he continued, “how’s about fillin’ up for the toast?”

Derek took three brimming glasses back to the table, then excused himself and phoned Lois. She listened carefully, and when Sheila rang a bit later and related proudly what Alf had said, she listened all over again and pretended it was new and vital information.

§

“Blenkinsop, did you say?” Cowgill held the phone closer to his ear. Lois must be speaking quietly for some reason. He heard her thank Gran for something, and knew what she was about to say must be about Enid, and not for Gran’s ears. A pause, and then she was back talking to him.

“Yep, a Blenkinsop. Big local family. There wasn’t nothing much new in what Derek and Sheila heard from Alf. But Edinburgh has cropped up again. I expect you got the word out there?”

Cowgill smiled to himself. She was indomitable. He could do with a bit of that. “Oh yes,” he said quickly, “we have everywhere on the alert, Edinburgh especially.”

“Do you know yet?” Lois was hesitant. “Whether it was her…Mrs Abraham?”

There was a pause, and then Cowgill said, “We’ve not confirmed the suspicion yet, but between you and me, Lois – and I mean that – we are now almost positive. I think you can be sure we’re treating it as matricide.”

“Blimey!” said Lois. “Fancy that!”

Cowgill put down the phone, uncomfortably aware that he was being mocked.

§

Around the middle of the afternoon, Gran peeped into Jamie’s room and saw an empty bed. He’d managed quite a good lunch, and she had suggested a nap. “Jamie!”

“What?” He was over in the corner, busy with a computer game.

“What would your father say?” Jamie made a face. Gran opened the window and said, “Your Mum’s gone out cleaning at the estate agent’s, while they’re shut. I don’t think it’s right on a Sunday. Still filling in for Enid. Sooner we get a replacement the better. Poor Enid.” Her voice broke, and she squared her shoulders and added, “You’d better get dressed and come downstairs. I’m just making tea – or would you like another special?”

“No, no thanks, Gran,” said Jamie quickly. He had tiptoed out on to the landing where Mum had a plant in a pot, and given it the benefit of the first special. He expected the plant to be dead by the time Mum came home.

It was warm in the kitchen, with Melvyn the cat snoring peacefully in the big chair by the Rayburn. With his school book in Gran’s capable hands, Jamie found it much easier to absorb the facts. Gran said the war wasn’t history to her, and had told him interesting, gossipy details to help him remember.

“Well, then,” she said, finally pushing the book over to him. “I reckon you’ll be fine. And restored to health, too,” she added, with a sideways look at him. He nodded, and they were silent for a few minutes.

“Gran…”

“What?”

“You know Miss Abraham?”

“Of course I do! What about her?”

“I thought of something she told me. It was about school, an’ her own times, an’ that. I just remembered, with us doin’ stuff about the old days.”

Gran looked at him closely. “What did she say?” she said urgently.

“Said when she went to school in Edinburgh, her dad was caretaker, an’ it was a bit embarrassing. She got bullied, but her brother stuck up for her. Him an’ his best friend Donald. Got into fights about it. She likes her brother a lot, you know.”

“Well, maybe so,” said Gran. “Probably did once, but not so much now. Donald, did you say?”

“Yep. D’you think her brother did that terrible thing, Gran?”

“Looks like it,” said Gran, trying desperately to think of a way of changing the subject. “Anyway, Jamie,” she said, “we’ll probably see Enid again soon, and get going on the piano lessons.”

“I’ve remembered something else,” he said, and she could see his eyes were glistening with tears. “That school, where she was bullied, where her dad was. It was called St Cuthbert’s Junior. She said it several times, and told me who St Cuthbert was.”

“Who was he?” said Gran automatically, her mind churning.

“Some ole saint…don’t remember,” said Jamie, shrugging. “Think I’ll go upstairs now and have a rest.”

“You don’t fool me, young man,” said Gran. But she let him go, and went to the telephone. “Lois? Listen, I got something to tell you. What? Well, stop in a lay-by, or something. This is important. Ready? Right, listen then. It’s important, and you’ll want to get hold of your cop. Jamie said…”

Lois listened, then took a deep breath. “Right, thanks Mum,” she said. “I’ll need to make a quick call now. Not much chance of an answer, but worth a try. How’s Jamie?”

“Right as rain,” said Gran. “As always.”

§

In St Cuthbert’s school in Edinburgh, the school secretary frowned. She’d just returned from holiday in Spain, and had come into the empty school to make a start on the pile of work waiting for her. The temp, as usual, had been useless. She could break the back of it today, and be ready for the onslaught tomorrow. Now the telephone was ringing, and she considered not answering it. But it might be her husband, or one of the family.

“Helloo? Well, school’s closed. Oh, I see. A serious personal matter. Go on, then.” Lois told her a prepared story, and crossed her fingers.

“It’s a long time ago, Mrs Meade,” the secretary said. “We do have school records, of course, and I could look in there for them.” She sounded very reluctant, and Lois stressed the urgency. “Oh, all right. Abraham? If you could hang on for a wee while…or can I ring you back?”

Lois said she was on a mobile, so would sit and wait for a return call. “Sorry to bother you,” she said. “It is really urgent. Thanks a lot.” Finally, the call came.

“Got it!” said the secretary, more cheerful now she had a result. “Edward Abraham. What did you say? I’m not getting you very clearly. A boy in the same class called Donald?”

There was a pause, and then Lois grinned. “Great! You’re a star,” she said. “What was his surname? MacDougall?…Donald MacDougall. Thanks ever so much. Yes…very helpful…Bye.” Lois signed off before the secretary could pursue the conversation, and immediately rang Cowgill.

“Yes, Lois, of course I’m listening carefully,” he said. His eyes opened wide as she told him all she’d discovered. “That’s my girl!” he said, and immediately knew he’d said the wrong thing.

“I’m nobody’s girl, least of all yours!” said Lois. “Just get on with it. There’s probably quite a few Donald MacDougalls in Edinburgh. If I get any more info, I’ll be in touch. And let me know what’s happening,
if you
can spare the time.”

Hunter Cowgill sighed deeply, and did as he was told. He got on with it, very rapidly.

A
fter a long, dreary and claustrophobic day in the flat, Enid drifted towards the sitting-room window. She must avoid at all costs giving any hint that she was up to something. She tried hard not even to think of her plan, terrified that Edward would pick up on her thoughts.

“It’s raining,” she said.

He lowered the old magazine he was reading. “Come away from that window at once, Enid!” he said in a harsh voice. “How many times do I have to tell you? We’re in hiding!”

“Sorry,” said Enid, and backed away, but not before she’d seen a woman’s face at the window across the courtyard. The woman was looking straight at her, and then, before she could duck out of sight, Enid saw her give a little friendly wave. That’s torn it! Still, what Edward didn’t see wouldn’t annoy him. “Sorry,” she repeated, “but there’s nobody about. It’s raining quite hard.”

She sat down and picked up a magazine from the pile Edward had brought in from the hall. The newspaper had disappeared.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Father?” Enid was deeply relieved that her father seemed to be more or less restored to health – or such health as he’d had before his ascent up the spiral staircase.

“How about you, Edward?”

“Rather have something stronger,” grunted Edward, “but I suppose I should keep a clear head. Yes, all right then, I’ll have a cup.”

Enid went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. Under cover of the noise of water coming to the boil, she took out of her pocket a little screw of paper. Whilst Edward had been out on an errand, she had crushed two sleeping pills into a fine powder. She made the tea and tipped the powder into the cup destined for Edward, stirring it well.

“Here you are, Father,” she said, “and this one’s yours, Edward. I know you like it strong.” Oh dear, that sounded silly. Why should she suddenly say that, out of nowhere?

He was looking at it suspiciously, and she held her breath. “Could’ ve been a bit stronger,” he said, and she nearly laughed with relief. But she made a big effort to appear casual, not to watch as he drank it down to the bottom of the cup.

“Did you put sugar in it?” he said, putting his finger into the empty cup and licking it. Enid shook her head. “Of course not,” she said. “Must be the milk. Was it fresh?”

He shrugged, not bothering to answer her, and went back to his magazine.

§

When his eyelids began to close, Enid got up and went swiftly into her father’s room. Thank goodness he hadn’t dozed off too. She stuffed his warm jacket into a holdall, then went into her own room and collected her coat.

“Father…” She was whispering, and he did not hear her. She risked more volume, and this time he turned and saw her, carrying the bag, beckoning to him with her finger to her lips. His mouth dropped open, and he turned to look at Edward. But Edward was deeply asleep, his head back comfortably in the chair. Enid put down the bag, and picked up a small rug draped over the sofa. She wrapped it gently round Edward’s legs, and then took her father’s arm, retrieved the bag, and made for the hall.

“Door’s locked,” whispered Father. His voice trembled, and Enid could feel him shaking. She felt in her handbag and pulled out the key.

“Pickpocket!” she whispered, and smiled, hoping to relax him. He stared at her and nodded. She had never seen him look so terrified, not even when Edward had threatened him at home.

It seemed to Enid to take a lifetime to negotiate the spiral staircase. She dared not hurry her father, unless he tripped. The stairs were stone, narrow and unforgiving. At last they were at the bottom, and she quietly opened the door to the courtyard. She helped Walter into his jacket, and said, “Off we go,” as if they were setting out for a picnic in Cathanger fields.

“Where’re we going?” Father said at last, glancing back at the flat window, as if he expected to see his son’s angry face.

“Tresham,” said Enid. “But first, Waverley Station. It’s not far, but there’s steps, so we’ll take it gently. Plenty of time, Father,” she added, though she had looked at her watch and seen that they would only just make the train from Edinburgh to Kings Cross. She hoped there had been no changes to the timetable. Trains were fewer on a Sunday. They should be in Tresham soon after midnight, and Enid hoped against hope she’d be able to telephone for a taxi. Her father leaned on her as they made their way through the darkening streets. She prayed that he would be up to the long journey. The rain had stopped, luckily, but the skies were heavily overcast, and streetlamps had come on early.

Having safely descended the steps, they were making good progress down Market Street when Walter suddenly stopped. “What about Edward?” he said. “What’ll happen to him?”

Enid gulped, but urged him on, saying that Edward would be fine. He’d always managed to get out of trouble before. He would find a way this time. Now it was important to get back to Cathanger, where they could help him more than if they were shut up in that flat. “Did he say that? Did he tell you why we had to come to Edinburgh?” Father said anxiously.

“Sort of,” said Enid. “Just wouldn’t let us go back again straight away. And you need to see a doctor. So that’s why we’ve escaped. Come on, Father, I can see the station. Nearly there.”

It was a rush, first buying tickets and then finding the right platform. Enid had nearly given up when her handbag flew open and scattered its contents all over the station forecourt. But Walter, suddenly galvanized into action, had helped her collect it up, and at last they were in the train, subsiding gratefully into their seats as the guard blew his whistle and they moved slowly out of Edinburgh on their way south.

T
he taxi cruised down Long Farnden main street and drew to a halt outside the Meade’s house. It was after midnight, and the village was asleep. No lights showed, except for security lights in the big house by the shop.

“There’s Melvyn!” said Enid. “Oh, do be careful, driver! I couldn’t bear him to be run over.”