That'll Be the Day (2007) (44 page)

Her question, so closely echoing Judy’s own, made him gasp. ‘What makes you say such a thing?’

‘You remember my telling you that I suspected she was having an affair with that ironmonger, Beckett, is he called? I once saw her coming home, arms full of shopping yet she claimed she’d been to the warehouse which was in quite the opposite direction, and then I spotted Beckett’s car. I’m quite sure he’d given her a lift from town.’

‘That’s hardly proof of a love affair.’

Dulcie pursed her lips. ‘I asked her but she denied it. Why do that if she was innocent? So I watched her, to see if my suspicions were correct. She would slip out to see him several times a week. They’d meet either in his shop or she’d go off up some back alley. I followed her once and saw them together. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. Despite her possessiveness and the furious jealousy I know she exhibits over you, dear, she is by no means innocent herself. I did warn you once before, Leo, and I stand by what I’ve observed.’

Leo was struck into stunned silence. Was he being deliberately blind, perhaps anxious to convince himself that it couldn’t possibly be true? It seemed impossible for a woman so consumed by jealousy over her husband’s imagined affairs to be guilty of the very same crime herself. And yet perhaps she had become entangled in an affair herself as some sort of perverted vengeance.

‘Would it shock you very much, Mother, if I told you that I was no longer quite so innocent either? Throughout my married life I’ve remained loyal and steadfast, but Helen’s jealousy ate away at me and eventually destroyed whatever it was we had together. She seems incapable of showing affection and that too has taken its toll.’

Dulcie said, ‘I’ve been aware for some time that you weren’t happy, dear. Your father and I used to talk about it often. You’ve perhaps been too loyal, Leo, too generous-hearted, as you always were as a child.’

Leo smiled at this typical example of maternal pride, but could he accept that Helen had played him false? ‘Even if what you say is true, Mother, Helen and I are still man and wife and this child will need a father. How can I deny it one when it might still be mine?’

‘But are you absolutely certain? And if you’re not, can you face taking responsibility for what may well be another man’s child? It wouldn’t be easy. You’d always be asking yourself that question.’

‘Not if I came to love the child as my own.’

Dulcie gazed upon her son with real sympathy in her faded blue-grey eyes. All these years Leo had longed not simply for a son to inherit the business, but for a family of his own. He’d always wanted to be a father, and to have this doubt hanging over the paternity of this unexpected offspring was sad to say the least. ‘When did Helen discover she was pregnant?’

Leo shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She told me the other night. I’d asked her for a divorce, having finally given up all hope of us ever being happy. That’s when she told me. It was a real bolt from the blue, I can tell you.’

Dulcie gasped. ‘My dear Leo, you are an innocent indeed. Didn’t it occur to you that she might be lying, that she could be faking this so-called pregnancy simply in order to prevent a divorce and hang on to her failing marriage?’

Leo looked stunned. ‘That had not occurred to me, no. But surely, even Helen wouldn’t stoop so low. How could she hope to get away with it? I’d be bound to find out eventually, obviously, when no baby came, no bump even.’

‘She wouldn’t be the first wife to play that trick and later fake a miscarriage. By which time she would hope you’d have lost your new lady friend and the pair of you would be reconciled once more.’

‘God, what a naïve fool I’ve been.’

‘I’m simply asking, dear, if you have any proof that she is indeed pregnant? Have you spoken to her doctor?’

Leo shook his head. ‘Why would I? It would look as if I didn’t trust my wife.’

‘But it’s true, you don’t. Neither do I.’ Dulcie took a sip of her tea, found it cold and set it to one side. ‘Leo, there is something else I need to discuss with you. I realise I’ve been having a few problems lately over forgetting things, and still do when I get upset or stressed. Caring for your father was very difficult and for much of the time I was exhausted. He could be particularly demanding at times.’

Leo snorted with laughter. ‘Don’t I know it.’

‘But I’m not quite senile, not yet anyway. Maybe I’ll end up that way,’ she added with a smile, ‘but it’s perfectly normal to get a bit forgetful when you’re older, particularly in a distressing situation. No, don’t interrupt, I must say this. I’m very happy here in this lovely private home. The staff are delightful and very friendly and there are plenty of other widowed ladies here rather like myself. We have quite a good time and I still keep in touch with my old friends. Most of all I have no wish to be a burden to you, Leo, but Helen went about getting rid of me in quite the wrong way.
 

‘The fact is, my dear, she lied.
I
did not start that fire,
she
did. Helen reminded me to turn off the cooker and of course I did. I’ve been cooking for over fifty years and it’s automatic to turn off the heat when something is cooked. I never used the gas jets at all as I was baking scones. I then went out for my walk and Helen went upstairs for her shower. But she must have come back down again the moment I’d gone and started the fire herself.’

Leo was aghast. ‘Why would she do such a thing?’

‘She wanted me out of her house,
your
house. She’d made several attempts to persuade me to return to Lytham because she’s jealous of me and wanted to have you all to herself. Helen is a sick woman, Leo, with no sense of moral rectitude.’

Leo might have smiled at his mother’s quaint turn of phrase had not the matter been so serious.

‘Ask yourself,’ Dulcie continued, ‘how would a tea towel catch fire, which is what she claims must have happened, when we hang them up by the sink to dry, nowhere near the cooker? I’m quite certain I wouldn’t foolishly leave a tea towel by a lighted gas jet, and, as I say, you bake scones inside the oven, not on top of it. Helen started that fire in order to force you to agree to putting me in a home.

And here Dulcie gave one of her sweetly patient smiles. ‘I’ll admit that it has turned out for the best, even if I disagree with the method she used to achieve it. Perhaps I should have volunteered to go of my own free will. It was wrong of me to try to cling on to the past by staying in my old home close to the market, and to cling on to you. But ask her, Leo, what
really
happened that day. I beg you, please don’t believe everything she tells you simply because she is your wife. Helen will tell any lie that suits her own ends.’

Leo was seething with anger by the time he left, his first instinct being to rush back to Judy and discuss this new possibility with her, but then decided against doing so until he was certain of his facts. It would be cruel to raise her hopes that they might have a future together after all, only to have them dashed by incontrovertible evidence his wife was indeed pregnant. So far Leo had no proof, nothing more than gossip and inuendo from a couple of old dears, his mother and Betty Hemley. Hardly reliable sources.

He judged it wise to say nothing to Helen immediately. Leo felt that he needed to digest what his mother had told him, watch her for a while and check for himself if what Dulcie accused her of might possibly be true. Weren’t pregnant women sick in a morning, or exhibited other symptoms of pregnancy such as strange cravings and aching legs? He’d watch and wait.

He considered ringing the doctor but how would that sound, if Helen really was pregnant? Did he want the whole world to know at this stage that he no longer trusted his wife and believed she was either lying over this alleged pregnancy, or was guilty of having an affair?

Leo really had no wish to broadcast his marriage difficulties to all and sundry. In any case, old Doc Mitchell might not answer the question. Wasn’t there something called patient confidentiality?

Best to wait. If Helen was lying, she couldn’t keep it up for long. He’d give her a week or two. In the meantime if he spotted old Mitchell, socially as it were, he might casually bring up the subject of Helen’s pregnancy in a chatty sort of way, just to judge his reaction to the news.

As for the fire, to imagine his wife capable of such malice was quite beyond him. There were ways he could check, he supposed, by asking some questions of the fire brigade. They could tell him the seat of the fire, though not who had started it even if it did look like arson.

Once he knew the truth for certain, and
if
his mother was proved right, then he would go to Judy.

Chapter Forty-Four

The morning following poor Queenie’s demise, Lynda came downstairs to find that Betty had already left. Ewan wasn’t there either, although he could still be upstairs in bed snoring his head off for all she knew. Jake was standing in the middle of the kitchen munching Marmite on toast and sipping a glass of milk. He was in his blue work overalls, hair all over the place, looking as if he hadn’t even been to bed.

‘What time is it? Have I overslept?’ Lynda peered bleary-eyed at the clock on the mantelpiece. It said ten minutes to six. She rubbed her eyes, looked again in disbelief then once again addressed her brother. ‘Where’s Mam? She can’t have gone to the market already?’

‘I dunno,’ Jake shrugged. ‘How would I know?’

‘Has she got a lift with Barry Holmes to Smithfield? If so, that’s very naughty of her. She does too much already. Though Barry will help her, I suppose. I do wish she’d told me, then I could’ve had a bit of a lie-in. I’m worn out after our late night dealing with. . .’ Lynda drew in a sharp breath . . .’our poor Queenie.’

Betty had insisted they bury the cat there and then, declaring she couldn’t possibly sleep a wink knowing its little body was lying dead in the kitchen. Jake had arrived while they were still weeping over it and he and Lynda had wrapped the cat up in a towel and buried her under a tree in a corner of the churchyard, which seemed appropriate.

Lynda moaned. ‘I feel dreadful, almost as bad as you look. Did you have a bad night too?’

Jake finished slapping Marmite on his second slice of toast and headed for the door. ‘See ya.’

‘Jake, I’m talking to you!’ But the only answer was the slam of the front door. Her brother was behaving even more oddly than usual.
 

Since Mam had already gone there seemed to be no great rush and Lynda dragged herself back upstairs and slept for another hour, then took her time over breakfast, dreamily going over her wedding plans as she washed the dishes and tidied up. Consequently it was almost nine o’clock by the time she got to the market.
 

But as she approached the corner where the flower stall usually stood she could see no sign of it, nor of Betty. Lynda quickened her pace, looking about her in startled disbelief.

‘Oh, there you are, lass,’ Jimmy Ramsay said as she passed his butcher’s stall. ‘I was wondering where you were. Had a lie-in, eh?’

‘Where’s Mam, have you seen her?’

‘No, not a sign.’

Lynda’s heart slowed to a dragging, fearful beat. Then where was she? Why wasn’t she here setting out her flowers and chatting to people from her chair, as she always was. Lynda spotted Barry Holmes stacking apples on his stall, and hurried over. ‘Am I glad to see you. Where’s Mam?’

Barry turned on his heel to look at her, a quizzical expression on his face. ‘I beg your pardon? Why would I know where Betty is?’

The heartbeat was gradually increasing in pace now, thudding in her ears like a drum so that Lynda could barely hear herself think. ‘Didn’t you give her a lift to Smithfield this morning?’

Barry shook his head. ‘Is it her morning for going? She generally goes on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, same as me. It’s only Thursday today.’

‘Oh, lord, course it is. I’m losing track.’ Lynda took a moment to catch her breath. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’

She looked frantically about her, some instinct warning her not to raise the alarm, not just yet. There had to be a perfectly innocent explanation, if only she could think of one.

‘Have you lost her then?’ Barry was asking, a smile on his face.

Lynda managed a little laugh. ‘No, no, she can’t have gone far, can she? Not in her wheelchair, and she’s even slower on them crutches. The cat died last night, that’s all it is.’

‘What, your Queenie? Eeh, I am sorry. Well then, I expect she’s in a corner grieving somewhere, you know how potty she was about that cat.’

‘I expect she is. Thanks, Barry,’ and Lynda walked calmly away, but after twenty paces her calmness evaporated and her walk turned into a run. If Mam wasn’t in the house, or on the market then Barry was right, there was only one place she could be.

But minutes later when Lynda arrived at the churchyard it was to find it empty with no sign of Betty, nor a single flower on the small unmarked hump of ground beneath the beech tree. So where the hell was she?

Terry offered to help organise a search. All the stallholders were worried by this time and started to make helpful suggestions. Jimmy Ramsay thought Betty might have gone back to the hospital to show off her new skills with her crutches. Alec Hall, Terry’s father, believed they shouldn’t overlook the obvious and offered to call some of her friends.