Sisteria (27 page)

Once again he reached out and took her hand.

‘You're forgetting Melvin in all this,' she said quietly.

‘But we agreed. You're going to leave him.'

‘No, we agreed I'd
think
about leaving him. And I have. I can't do it, Tom. I just can't.'

‘What?' he said, sounding shocked and exasperated.

‘I don't believe I'm hearing this. It never occurred to me that you'd actually choose this clapped-out marriage of yours over what we've got.'

‘Tom,' she said, gripping his hand, ‘what you don't understand is that I still love Mel. I admit I don't love him with the passion I feel for you. But it's a warm, comfortable love, a deep, deep affection that spans twenty years. I'm not prepared to turn my back on that. Especially not when he needs me.'

‘But what about the baby?'

She shrugged.

‘When Mel's strong enough, I'll tell him everything. Then I suppose I'll have to throw myself on his mercy and hope he'll accept the baby into the family. I think that after I've explained what Naomi did to me, he'll come round.'

‘Oh, fucking excellent,' he shot back with bitter sarcasm. ‘Suddenly you've got it all worked out. And I get to see the baby for a couple of hours each Sunday, I suppose?'

‘Tom, I'm so, so sorry,' she said, tears rushing down her cheeks. ‘I really do love you. I always will.'

She stood up to go.

‘Beverley, if you love me, please, please don't do this,' he said, blocking her way and taking her by the shoulders.

‘I really have no choice,' she said, sobbing as she pulled away. He took hold of her again and once again she struggled free. On her way to the front door she picked up her coat and handbag, which were lying on an armchair.

He stood watching her, willing her to change her mind and come running into his arms. But she didn't even look back.

***

Beverley was crying so much that she could barely see to drive. She didn't know what was causing her more agony, the thought of living to ninety and having to spend the next forty-eight years without Tom, or Naomi's betrayal. As she drove home through the centre of London, one moment she was feeling the searing loneliness of a life without Tom, the next she was rehearsing her blazing showdown with Naomi. After five or ten minutes, when the obscene epithets were truly rolling, Beverley felt an overpowering need to lob them at Naomi sooner rather than later. When she got to Hyde Park Corner, instead of heading north up the Edgware Road, she suddenly turned left, down Bayswater Road, towards Holland Park.

It was nearly midnight when she reached Naomi's flat. Although she knew the address, she'd never been there before and she kept getting confused and lost and having to refer to the A to Z which she could rarely make head or tail of even when she wasn't bursting into tears every five minutes. She buzzed the entryphone three times before a bleary-voiced Naomi answered.

‘Nay, it's me, Bev. Let me in. I want to talk to you.'

‘Bev, do you know what time it is?'

‘I don't give a flying fuck what time it is. Let me in or I swear I'll make enough noise to wake up the entire neighbourhood.'

The electronic door mechanism clicked instantly.

***

Naomi stood at the front door in her black kimono. Her face was red and creased with sleep.

‘Bev, do you mind telling me what the bloody hell this is all about?' she said, stepping back to let her sister into the hall.

‘So, Naomi,' Beverley said sarcastically, ignoring the question, ‘all alone tonight. No Fallopia?'

‘Oh, so that's it. You've been talking to Tom. Look, Bev...'

‘Yes, I have been talking to Tom, but the reason I'm here has nothing to do with you and Fallopia. Believe it or not, I don't give a monkey's about your sexuality. You can shag wildebeest for all I care. I'm here because of these.'

Beverley reached into her handbag and took out the letters. She held them out towards her sister.

‘Where did you get these?' Naomi said, snatching them.

‘Tom,' Beverley replied simply.

‘I see,' Naomi said with a smile that was half snarl. ‘The two of you seem to be getting rather cosy all of a sudden.'

Beverley decided to let the remark go for the moment. She followed Naomi into the living room.

‘Nice,' Beverley said sarcastically, trailing a finger over one of the gilt angels. ‘I see you went for a period look. Pretty bloody heavy one if you ask me.' (That would pay Naomi back, Beverley thought, for the time she'd suggested that Mr Kipling had decorated her sister's through lounge.)

Beverley sat herself down in one of the hard Regency chairs and waited for Naomi to return to the subject of the letters.

‘OK, so what do you want me to say?' Naomi began defensively, plonking herself down in a chair opposite Beverley. ‘That I'm sorry?'

‘That might be a start.'

‘OK, I'm sorry I lied. There, satisfied?'

‘Don't be so bloody stupid,' Beverley snapped. ‘Of course I'm not.'

‘Suit yourself,' Naomi shrugged. She went over to the credenza and poured herself a Scotch.

‘Naomi, have you any idea what you've put me through over the last few months? My husband's in a nut house as a result of me agreeing to have your baby. I have spent most of my adult life trying to understand and make allowances for you. Ever since we were children, I've looked out for you. I have cared for you, loved you and forgiven your wickedness time and time again. In all those years you have done nothing but belittle and demean me. I allowed you back into my life after five years because I was stupid enough to believe you've changed. Now I find out it was all just one huge lie. You haven't changed at all. In fact, you've got a thousand times worse. I tell you, Naomi, looking at you now, I'm convinced Lucrezia Borgia is alive and well and living in Holland Park.'

‘Impressive speech, Bev,' Naomi said with quiet sarcasm. She picked up her Scotch and returned to her chair. ‘Since when could you string more than two sentences together at a time without tying yourself up in knots and forgetting where to put the verb?'

‘Since I discovered,' Beverley said simply, ‘what a treacherous, deceitful, double-dealing cow you are. People do their best to love you, Naomi, but all you do is take that love and destroy it. Your head needs sorting. For Christ's sake, get yourself a shrink. No. Correction. Make that a lobotomy.'

‘Well, we all know what made me the way I am, don't we?' Naomi shot back.

‘Naomi, plenty of people have shit childhoods. It doesn't give them the right as adults to take their anger out on the rest of the world.'

Naomi took a huge slug of Scotch.

‘Oh, stop deluding yourself, Bev. You're not such a bloody saint. The fact is that you stood to make a quarter of a million quid just as you and Mel were about to go down the bloody Swannee. It was just as much a business deal for you as it was for me. So what if you didn't know all the details? I bloody rescued the pair of you, if the truth be known.'

‘How can you even suggest I agreed to have your baby simply for the money?' Beverley cried, banging the arms of her chair. ‘Just because you've never done anything in your life that wasn't motivated by greed or self-interest, you think the rest of us function the same way. You really are a toxic tart, aren't you? When you die they won't bury you, they'll have to dump your body in the middle of the Atlantic in a lead box.'

By now Beverley could hardly believe what was coming out of her mouth. In the past, whenever she'd got into a confrontation with Naomi she'd simply dissolved into tears. Suddenly all that had changed. For the first time in her life she'd found the courage to stand up to her sister and bring her to heel.

‘Well,' Naomi said, ignoring the insult, ‘since we're on the subject of greed and self-interest, I think we should talk money. I assume you'll want to keep the baby now. So I'm sure you won't mind returning the hundred and twenty-five grand I gave you.'

Beverley had been expecting this and had come well prepared.

‘All right, Naomi, you can have it back,' she said slowly. ‘But seeing as I've spent most of the money, I'll have to find some way to raise it. Now then, how could I do that, I wonder? Oooh, oooh, I know... how's about I go to the
News of the World
and sell them this whole sordid story?'

‘You wouldn't,' Naomi gasped.

‘Just watch me.' Of course in reality Beverley wouldn't have dreamed of doing such a thing, but by now she just couldn't resist watching Naomi squirm.

‘All right. All right,' Naomi snapped. ‘You keep the bloody money. But when the baby's born don't even think of asking me for another penny. That money is all you'll ever get from me...'

‘Apart from your...' Beverley was about to say ‘boyfriend', but stopped herself. Furious as she was with her sister, she simply couldn't bring herself to be that vindictive.

Just then the phone rang.

‘Christ, it's the middle of the bloody night,' Naomi hissed. ‘Who the bloody hell is this?' She stretched across to the Regency side table and picked up the receiver.

‘Ah, Tom,' she said acidly. ‘The well-known film director and thief. Beverley's already here. Let me put you on speakerphone and we can make a party of it.'

‘I thought she might be,' Tom said, sounding like he'd been hitting the booze since Beverley left. ‘Just for the record - in case Beverley hasn't got round to mentioning it yet - I think you should know that for the last few blissful weeks she and I have been carrying on a mad, passionate affair.'

‘What? Don't be so ridiculous, Tom,' Naomi snapped. ‘You're drunk. You and Beverley, I've never heard anything so absurd.'

‘OK, ask her.'

Naomi turned to Beverley, who, despite her resolve of a few seconds ago, couldn't help smiling a smug smile.

‘Good God,' Naomi exclaimed, looking for the wicked queen when the mirror announces that Snow White is the fairest of them all. ‘You and Beverley? How could you possibly fancy Bev?' By now she had started to gabble uncontrollably. ‘I mean, she's a housewife. From Finchley. She lives in a semi with a through lounge. She's completely without sophistication. She shops in Principles. For Chrissake, the woman owns
fish knives and forks
. Tom, I know we're not together now because I've finally faced up to my sexuality. But you know as well as I do how much you always fancied me.'

‘Naomi,' he said acidly, ‘I fancy you about as much as I fancy a barium enema. Get this straight. She may have decided to go back to Mel, but it doesn't alter the fact that I loved Beverley. I loved her like I have never loved anybody in my life. She was the sweetest, the kindest, the most beautiful, sexy woman I have ever met. And for your information, virtually all we did over the last few weeks was make love in my flat. And let me tell you, she is hot. She was the best I've ever had, Naomi. That Finchley housewife makes love like a fucking tiger...'

‘Stop it, Stop it,' Naomi screamed, hanging up. ‘I don't have to listen to this. I didn't come here to be made fun of and humiliated. It's me he fancies. Me. It was always me. I'm not sticking round to hear any more of this. I'm off.'

To Beverley's utter astonishment, not to say profound amusement, Naomi stormed out of the room, tightening her kimono belt as she went. Then she flung open the front door and slammed it behind her.

Beverley sat in the Regency chair and waited. What must have been half a minute went by before she heard a tentative tapping on the door and the letter box flapping. She went to the door, bent down and looked through the slot. Naomi's huge tear-filled brown eyes were blinking back at her.

‘I forgot, I live here,' she sniffed. ‘Bev, will you let me in, please?'

Chapter 23

Beverley got home just after two in the morning. The confusion brought on by extreme tiredness cause her to spend several seconds trying to open the front door with her ignition key.

She stepped into the hall and took off her coat. As she hung it over the banister post, she glanced at the answer machine on the table. One message. Convinced that it could only be one of Benny's mates, she almost didn't bother playing it. Then it occurred to her that it might be Wim phoning to say Melvin had taken a turn for the worse. She flicked the switch and waited for the tape to rewind.

‘Hello? Did the beep go yet? Queenie, it's Millie. I got your message. So, where are you? Maybe you're having an early night. Hang on... hang on, I got a piece of salt beef stuck between my teeth... OK... that's better. I mean, you're telling me it's a breakthrough. Miracle more like. I couldn't believe it when Lenny phoned and told me what you found when you searched Lorraine's office. Bloomin' smart move to think of getting her keys copied. All that stuff you found. It's truly amazing. Now then, don't worry about a thing. Tomorrow's all sorted. Between us Lenny and I have rung round all the members of the action committee and everybody knows what time to be there. I tell you, Queenie, this is so exciting. I feel like a kid again. I can't wait. We're gonna get 'em, Queenie, we're gonna get 'em.'

A perplexed expression on her face, Beverley let the message rewind and then played it for a second time.

‘Oh my God,' she gasped, ‘they think they're Bonnie and flaming Clyde.' At that moment she was in no doubt that as far as her mother was concerned, the combination of the words ‘Holloway', ‘six', ‘months' and ‘in' were about to become as familiar a part of family vocabulary as ‘bin'.

Suddenly it all made sense. Naomi still hadn't contacted her mother about the day centre story, despite Queenie having now left umpteen messages on her work and home answer machines. The old people had obviously got fed up with waiting and had decided to take the law into their own hands. Clearly, the upshot had been that Queenie and Lenny had broken into the day centre in order to recover the stolen loot. What Millie didn't make clear when she said ‘action committee' was precisely what action they were planning. Whatever they had in mind, it was plainly due to happen in a few hours' time.

She couldn't wake her mother now - even to accuse her of breaking and entering and masterminding some lunatic geriatric uprising. Besides, she'd experienced quite enough confrontation for one day. She would get up early and give Queenie the third, fourth and fifth degree before she was even out of bed.

She trudged slowly up the stairs. Lying in bed a few minutes later, her thoughts inevitably turned back to Tom - about how much she loved him and whether it was even remotely possible to ever get over an affair which had been as passionate as theirs. Then she began thinking about Naomi. Try as she might, she couldn't go on hating her. The woman was clearly barking. Furthermore, Tom was right. As a direct result of Naomi's wickedness, the baby was now hers to keep. She sank into the pillows and wept tears of sheer bloody relief.

She was woken just after six by an urgent need to pee.

Beverley stood washing her hands in the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. In an effort to make herself look less like a bloated bloodhound, she splashed her face with cold water. Her eyes closed, she began groping for the towel which, unless somebody had forgotten to put it back, lived on the metal hook next to the basin.

‘Here.'

Beverley jumped at the unexpected sound of her son's voice.

‘Blimey,' he said, squinting, ‘you made me jump.'

She reached out, took the towel from him and began patting her face.

‘Sorry,' he said, ‘but the door was open.'

‘I know.' She never locked the bathroom door these days in case she suddenly felt faint in the bath or shower and needed to be rescued.

‘So, what are you doing up this early - got an essay to finish before school?'

‘No, I couldn't sleep,' he said. ‘I've been tossing and turning all night. Mum, I'm really worried about Dad.'

‘Why? Wim said he's definitely on the mend. They're even talking about letting him out soon.'

‘I know, but it's just something that happened yesterday evening when I went to see him.'

‘What?' she said, suddenly concerned. She draped the towel over the bath. ‘Come and sit on the bed and tell me what happened.'

He followed her back to her bedroom. Beverley got under the duvet and Benny sat next to her on the edge of the bed.

‘OK, go on,' she said.

‘Well,' he said, ‘I took him a pile of magazines I found on your dressing table.'

She nodded.

‘He seemed really pleased that I'd remembered,' Benny went on. ‘Apparently you'd forgotten them twice. Anyway, as he took the magazines from me, a letter fell out from between a couple of them. Dad picked it up and started reading it. I couldn't see who it was from.'

‘A letter?' she said with a shrug. ‘Can't think what that could be.'

‘Well, anyway, he read it and then when he'd finished he just sat staring at it for ages. Then he started roaring with laughter. He wouldn't stop. But it wasn't happy laughter - you know, like somebody had just told him a brilliant joke. It was this mad, demonic, like, cackling. I tell you, Mum, something in that letter really upset him. He pulled it away every time I tried to get a look. Mum, think. Have you got any idea what it was?'

‘No,' she shot back, defensively. ‘Absolutely none.'

By now Beverley had turned white and was starting to shake. She knew exactly what the letter was. It was a love letter she'd started writing to Tom weeks ago, but never got round to finishing. Careless idiot that she was, she must have left it out on her dressing table.

‘So, go on. Did he say anything?' she said, doing her best to sound calm.

‘Nothing. He just carried on laughing for about ten minutes or so. In the end, there were tears streaming down his face. Then he got this mad attack of hiccoughs. I didn't know what to do. I was really scared. In the end one of the nurses heard him and gave him a glass of water and a pill to calm him down. I tell you, Mum, Wim's got it all wrong. I reckon that letter was just some circular or something and he's started having mad delusions. God knows what he thought he was reading. I mean, if it was genuinely something serious, you'd know about it. I reckon he'll be hearing voices next. Honestly, Mum, Dad's much more ill than any of us could have imagined.'

Beverley sat staring into space. The unimaginable had happened. Melvin had found out about her affair with Tom, weeks before he was in any fit mental state to cope with the news. With his history of depression, God only knew what he might do now. She was feeling sick and her hands had started to tremble.

‘Mum, you OK?'

‘Yes, sweetheart, I'm fine,' she said, running her fingers through her hair. ‘Just a bit concerned about your dad, that's all. Look, after what you've told me I think I'd better get over to the Friary right away. Now then, I don't want you to worry. I'm sure this will turn out to be nothing more than a minor setback. Promise me you and Natalie will go to school as normal?'

He nodded, but was clearly terrified.

‘OK,' she said brightly, planting a kiss on his forehead. ‘Now disappear. I need to get dressed.'

Twenty minutes later, all thoughts shelved of whatever nonsense Queenie was involved in, she was driving round the North Circular in the heavy Monday-morning traffic towards the bin.

***

The Friary's electronic glass doors slid open in front of her. Beverley dashed across the empty reception area and headed for the stairs.

‘Mrs Littlestone. Please. Wait,' a voice shouted from behind her. Beverley turned round to see Jean, one of the nice lady receptionists, slam down the phone and come waddling towards her on fat ankles.

‘Oh, Mrs Littlestone, thank heavens you're here,' she said as she reached Beverley, her breathlessness bordering on asthmatic wheeze. ‘We've been trying to get you at home for the last hour, but your line's been permanently engaged. And your mobile's switched off.'

Beverley stared at Jean for a few moments, taking in the woman's anguished face.

‘Oh my God, I'm too late, aren't I?' Beverley's voice was trembling.

Jean stared down at the floor, clearly unable to speak.

‘Melvin's gone, hasn't he?'

‘I'm afraid he has, Mrs Littlestone,' Jean said gently as she looked up. ‘I am most terribly sorry. There was absolutely nothing we could do.'

‘Please, do you think I could sit down?' Beverley said, feeling sick and fearing her legs were about to give way.

‘Of course. Of course,' Jean said, taking Beverley's arm and leading her to one of the sofas by the main door.

‘Thing is, he couldn't have picked a worse time if he'd tried,' she continued as Beverley sat down. ‘All the staff were busy doing the breakfasts. Then there was an emergency. One of the paranoid schizophrenics thought he could hear his poached egg and an Earl Crey tea bag hatching a plot to assassinate Prince Andrew. It took five male nurses to calm him down. There was egg yolk everywhere by the time they'd finished.'

‘So Melvin was upstairs... all alone?' A single tear rolled down Beverley's cheek.

‘Yes. I'm sorry. By the time we got to his room it was too late.'

‘Was there a lot of mess? I mean, how did he...?'

‘Mess? No, he didn't leave any mess. Such a tidy man, Mr Littlestone. Never gave the cleaners a moment's trouble.'

‘So, how had he, you know... done it? What did he use? His belt? Had he been storing sleeping pills?'

‘Oh no, nothing like that,' Jean explained, looking a little puzzled. ‘He used women's clothing. A rather nice navy two-piece, actually, with cream trim on the pockets and lapels. Wouldn't have minded it myself. Can't imagine it doing anything for Mr Littlestone.'

‘What, Melvin killed himself with women's clothing? I'm sorry, maybe it's the shock, but I don't...'

‘Killed himself?' Jean said in astonishment. ‘Mrs Littlestone, Mr Littlestone isn't dead. Good Lord, no. He
escaped
.'

‘Escaped?' she repeated.

‘Yes, about two hours ago. There's this woman in the room next to him - you know the one. Thinks she's three people. Total basket case. Needs putting away if you ask me. Anyway, it seems Melvin went into her room while she was asleep, stole some of her clothes, make-up and a headscarf. Then he swans out of the door in drag, without anybody noticing. The staff searched the building and the grounds and then called the police... They'll find him, Mrs Littlestone, I just know it. Now you sit there and I'll fetch you a nice cup of tea.'

***

She sat. After a few moments Wim appeared. She'd spoken to him several times over the last six weeks, so was quite used to the fez, comedy spectacles and moustache ensemble. As he lowered himself on to the sofa, he confessed to being utterly perplexed by Melvin's behaviour. ‘During last night's group therapy session he seemed more upbeat than I have seen him in weeks. In fact, I was thinking seriously about letting him go home next week. Now I can only assume that this outward display of contentment was masking some deep-seated inner turmoil.'

‘Wim, tell me honestly, do you think he could be suicidal?'

Wim twirled the end of his moustache.

‘Let's just wait for the police to find him,' he said, avoiding her question and patting her on the knee.

But she couldn't wait; wait for the police to walk in a few hours later to tell her they'd found Melvin swinging by the neck from a tree.

She was convinced he was still planning to kill himself. Why he had first gone to all the trouble of escaping dressed as a woman, she had no idea. Nor did she care. All that mattered to her was finding him.

She ran back to the car and decided to head for Richmond Park.

She'd been driving for a couple of minutes before she remembered that her mobile was still switched off. It was on the passenger seat inside her shoulder bag. She reached inside with one hand, pulled out the phone and stabbed the on button. It rang almost immediately.

‘Mrs Littlestone?'

‘Yes,' she said, not recognizing the male voice.

‘You don't know me. My name's Phil Capstick, sergeant. Finchley police.'

‘Police?' she repeated, her voice trembling. ‘Oh my God, you haven't found Melvin already, have you?'

‘I'm sorry, Mrs Littlestone - not with you. Who is Melvin - a missing moggy?'

‘No he bloomin' well isn't,' she shot back at the bemused sergeant. ‘Melvin's my husband and he's just gone missing from the Friary psychiatric hospital in Richmond.'

She gave him a brief, tearful account.

‘South-west London's rather off my patch, I'm afraid,' he said when she'd finished. ‘But I'm sure the Richmond boys will pick him up. He can't have got far with no transport and no money. And I'm sure if they've been briefed properly, and know he could be suicidal, they'll be keeping a special watch on all the parks. Look, Mrs Littlestone, I realize you are under a great deal of stress and I don't want to add to it, but it's your mother, you see. One of my PCs has just radioed into the station to say she appears to be leading some kind of mutiny down at an old people's day centre in Temple Fortune... One of the helpers there gave me your number and I thought you ought to know.'

‘Christ,' Beverley exclaimed, remembering Millie's cryptic message on the answer machine. ‘So what exactly is going on?'

‘Mrs Littlestone, your mother is on the day centre roof and refusing to come down. The roof is large and flat, but they're old folk, and we're frightened one of them could miss their footing and...'