No Smoke Without Fire (A DCI Warren Jones Novel - Book 2) (31 page)

And what was this about being given a lift to church? As long as they had been together, Betty and Jack had walked the three quarters of a mile to and from the small church where they had been married, come rain or shine. They’d claimed that the fresh air did them good and worked up an appetite for Sunday lunch. When had they become so tired that they had started getting a lift?

Warren realised that the woman who meant more to him than anyone else in the world, save Susan, had been slipping away from him without him even realising. Or did I realise, and just convinced myself otherwise? he asked himself.

“Can I see her?” he asked finally.

“Of course, dear — she’s in the bedroom.”

Warren rose to his feet and, taking Susan’s hand, walked to the stairs that led up to the house’s three small bedrooms. Each step brought back memories. The carpet, a faded green had been there as long as Warren could recall. He remembered clearly as a young child being told not to climb the stairs in case he fell down; a few years later he was scolded for chipping the paint on the skirting board at the bottom by making his toy cars fly off the top step; another memory was that of a rare smacked bottom after he’d tried out his brand-new sledge on the nearest thing to a slope in the vicinity. He smiled at the memory. The weatherman had promised snow that year and he didn’t know who was more disappointed when it failed to arrive, he or Granddad Jack.

Finally, Warren arrived at the door of his grandparents’ bedroom. Out of habit, he knocked quietly.

“Come in.” It was recognisable as Granddad Jack’s voice but weaker.

After a deep breath, Warren entered the room.

The room was much as he remembered it from the rare occasions that he’d entered it in the past. The radiators were on full blast; nevertheless his grandfather was dressed in a woollen jumper and a checked shirt. His hands felt cold to Warren when he hugged him. Warren could feel his bones through the layers of clothing. As Jack turned to embrace Susan, Warren realised with a start that he’d shrunk. Suddenly, there was a mismatch between the Granddad Jack of Warren’s memory — a short but robust man with powerful hands who could pluck a squealing six-year old Warren off the floor with one arm, sling him over his shoulder and carry him up to bed — and the frail, eighty-seven-year-old standing in front of him.

As he glanced over at the bed the mismatch was even more pronounced. Warren felt a weakness in his knees. When did she become so thin? he asked himself. Steeling himself, he walked around to his grandmother’s side of the bed. A dining-room chair had been carried upstairs and Warren sat down on it. Despite the warmth, the old lady was completely covered in multiple blankets. Only her head and her hands were visible, peeking above the bedspread. Her eyes were closed and Warren could hear the rasp of her breathing. Reaching out, he took her hand. It was cool to the touch, the skin paper-thin. Beneath the soft, pale flesh, Warren could feel the fluttering of her pulse, weak and erratic. He could tell that things were very wrong.

Leaning over, he kissed her softly on the forehead. “Hello, Nana, it’s Warren,” he whispered quietly into her ear. To his amazement, he felt the slightest of squeezes from her hand as a faint smile creased her face.

“She knows you’re here, son,” said Granddad Jack quietly. Raising his voice slightly, he addressed his dozing wife. “Warren and Susan are here, Betty.”

She squeezed his hand again, but made no more response.

Without letting go of her hand, Warren pulled over the chair.

“I’m sorry about this, son.”

Warren looked up in surprise, “Sorry for what?”

Granddad Jack looked uncomfortable. “For not telling you what me and your nana decided. And we told Bernie and Dennis not to say anything either. We didn’t know how to tell you, especially after your dad an’ all.”

Warren nodded numbly. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you and Nana were the type to, you know…” He struggled to find the word.

“Give up?” suggested Jack, immediately waving away Warren’s half-hearted protestations to the contrary. “Betty and I both believe that God puts you upon this earth to do what he wants you to do to the best of your ability and when that’s done you get your reward.”

The old man shuffled his chair around so he could take hold of both Warren’s hand and his wife’s.

“We brought up your dad to the best of our abilities and then when he…passed away…we tried to help your mum with you boys. Now our work’s done and maybe it’s time for our reward.”

Warren couldn’t say anything; behind him he could feel the warmth of Susan’s body as she hugged him silently.

“Your nana and I are both eighty-seven years old this year. My parents died in their sixties and your nan’s were even younger. Two of my brothers, Freddie and Tommy, died before they were twenty during the war. We’ve been blessed with such long lives.

“Did you know that we nearly had two more babies after your dad?”

Warren started. “No,” he managed.

“Two little girls. Neither quite made it. Then we were told that we couldn’t have any more. Nearly tore your poor nan apart.” The moist glint in his eye betrayed his own feelings on the matter.

“Well, pretty soon, Betty here will meet our little girls for the first time and be reunited with your dad and your mum. So many have gone before us, she ain’t going to be lonely up there.” He squeezed his wife’s hand affectionately and kissed her sleeping head. This time Warren could see no flicker of response.

* * *

Late afternoon stretched into evening, time marked by the ticking of the bedside clock and endless cups of tea. At seven o’clock Jane left to put her children to bed, Susan accompanying her with her laptop. She’d already phoned her school to tell them that she wouldn’t be in for the remainder of the week, but like all teachers she was still expected to plan and set detailed cover lessons to be taught in her absence. Warren had been horrified one morning when he’d been woken before six a.m. by a nauseous Susan logging on to her laptop to write, then email cover work in to school. It was no wonder so many teachers struggled into work when others would stay at home; Susan’s friends maintained that setting cover from home was harder than dragging yourself in, especially when you were teaching chemistry and the cover teachers weren’t allowed to do practical experiments with the pupils.

At eight o’clock, Father McGavin stopped by. Warren did a double take when he saw him. Old and stooped, he was no longer the robust, stern, Irish disciplinarian that Warren remembered from his childhood, who could stop fidgeting in the pews with little more than a glare. He must be even older than Nana and Granddad, Warren realised.

As Warren helped him out of his coat, the elderly priest explained that he had been retired some years now, but that the new priest would still call him when any of the older parishioners were in need of support.

“I’ve known Betty and Jack for over sixty years. I married them and baptised you and your father. I also laid him and your mum to rest. Seems right that I be here with Betty for her final journey.”

The last-rites ceremony was simple and touching. Composed of three sacraments, first came the forgiveness of sins; although Betty was unable to make a confession, absolution was given on the assumption of her contrition. Next came the ‘anointing of the sick’ with oil of chrism, in this case olive oil blessed by the local bishop the previous Maundy Thursday. Finally came the administration of the Holy Eucharist, referred to on this last occasion as ‘Viaticum’ — literally the
provision for the journey
. With Betty unable to take solids, this was administered in the form of Eucharistic wine, representing the blood of Christ rather than the bread that represented the body.

After the administration of the sacraments, Father McGavin stayed for a cup of tea, before accepting Dennis’ offer to drive him back to the small home he shared with other retired clergy.

To Warren’s astonishment, Granddad Jack then disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, before emerging dressed in grey, stripy pyjamas and clambering into bed alongside his wife. Warren got up to go, but Jack bid him to stay.

“In sixty-two years of marriage, your nana and I only spent five nights apart. One each for the birth of our children and two nights last year after her stroke…” his voice caught as he stroked Betty’s hair “…and I’m certainly not abandoning her now.”

Automatically, Warren’s eyes flicked to the wedding photo on the bed-stand, a black-and-white portrait of the two of them: Jack in his Army uniform, Betty resplendent in a traditional white dress. Warren recognised the front of the church that had played such a part in his family history. They looked so young, he thought sadly.

Looking back, Warren realised that he and Susan had spent more nights apart in their first year than Betty and Jack had in their entire marriage. A long weekend apiece for their closest friends’ stag and hen do easily added up to five nights, and then there were the nights that Warren had spent in the spare bedroom to avoid waking Susan after completing a night shift. Settling back down, Warren took hold of Betty’s hand again.

Over the next few hours, the old house emptied, Warren insisting that Susan return to Stratford-upon-Avon with her parents to get some sleep. As the hours ticked by the house became quieter, the room only disturbed by the quiet rasp of Betty’s breathing. Warren was starting to nod off himself, when he was started awake by the sound of Jack’s voice.

“I wish your father could see you today. He’d be so proud of you.”

“What do you mean?”

Jack sat up slightly, talking quietly so as not to disturb his wife, although they both knew that was no longer possible.

“Your old man was a bloody good man. I don’t care what they say about him. He was a copper through and through — it’s all he ever wanted.” In the dim of the bedside table lamp, Warren saw that Jack’s eyes were misty. “I remember that for his fifth birthday I got him a policeman’s helmet and a toy truncheon.” The old man chuckled at the memory. “I think he must have arrested every person in the street at least twice that week. When he got his first bicycle that Christmas, I painted blue stripes down the side and stencilled ‘Police’ on it. Then the neighbours had to put up with him racing up and down the pavement making an awful wailing noise like a police siren.” Jack smiled. “I’ll have to dig the photo out for you.”

His tone turned sombre. “I know they say that what your father did was wrong, but we never heard his side of the story.”

“No, we didn’t.” Warren’s voice was cold. “He didn’t stick around long enough to tell us.”

“Warren, I know that you feel betrayed by what your dad did, but I’ve always believed there was more to it than we ever knew.”

“Well, it’s all in the past now and maybe that’s where it should stay.” Warren could see that Jack wanted to say more, but he didn’t think that now was the time or the place. The old man nodded finally and changed the topic.

“She was so proud of you. We both were.” He motioned towards Betty’s still form. “When you were promoted to Detective Inspector, she’d watch
Midlands Today
religiously in case you or any of your colleagues were mentioned. She has an envelope full of newspaper stories about you and your team. When you moved to Middlesbury and were promoted to DCI she was heartbroken until Mr Cartwright three doors down showed us how to reprogramme the SKY box so that we could pick up other BBC TV regions. We heard all about that nasty business at the university over the summer.” He laughed quietly. “I haven’t watched
Midlands Today
since August. I’ve no idea what the weather will be like in Birmingham tomorrow, but I know they’ve forecast more rain for Cambridge with a short sunny spell for North Essex.”

Despite himself, Warren found himself smiling. He squeezed his grandmother’s hand. “What are you like, Nana?” he whispered into her ear.

“We both knew that you’d go into the police. Even as you did your exams downstairs and then went to university, we knew that you’d end up serving. It’s in your blood.”

Warren thought back. He could picture himself at the dining table downstairs with his books out. After his father’s death, the atmosphere at home had been tense and fractious. A young Warren had taken to turning up unexpectedly at his grandparents’ house after school. Wordlessly, his grandmother would open the door and he’d come in and sit down at the big wooden table in the dining room and do his homework. Nothing was ever said; it was just accepted. Granddad Jack wouldn’t even blink an eye as he returned home from work, he’d just ruffle Warren’s hair and ask if he needed any help. After eating his tea, he’d do a bit more homework or watch a bit of TV, before walking the mile back home.

At the time, Warren never really understood how his mother knew that he was safe around his grandparents’ but he realised now that they had phoned his mother the moment he arrived and let her know when he left.

This ad hoc arrangement continued throughout Warren’s GCSEs and A levels, and when he went to university he’d spend at least some of the holidays at his grandparents’. Now with his mother also gone, he realised that for much of his life Nana Betty and Granddad Jack had been his de facto parents.

The two men quietly settled back into their own thoughts. Outside, a dog barked. An hour later a babble of voices advertised the closing of the local pub. As the clock ticked past midnight, the road outside quietened, with only the occasional shushing of a car on the wet road. Soon, the only noise was the relentless tick of the clock and Betty’s increasingly laboured breathing.

At a quarter past one, even that stopped.

Thursday 15
^th
December

Chapter 38

Much to Warren’s surprise, he’d actually dozed off in the early hours of the morning, sleeping until gone eight when the winter sun finally poked its way through a gap in the curtains. His back was stiff from sleeping in the chair and he struggled to the bathroom without making any noise.

When he returned, Granddad Jack was awake, looking at the peaceful, still form of his wife.