The Loner (3 page)

‘No it doesn't, Mor.'

‘– but we both want Percy to come.'

‘How is he?'

‘Not good. That chesty cough have really taken it out of him. I'm wondering if I ought to ask him to move in with us after the wedding. 'Tis just – after taking care of mother all those years I was hoping Ben and me … but I don't like to think of Percy on his own.'

‘Mor, he wouldn't be on his own. You and Ben would be calling in every day or two. Percy's got a lot of friends in the village. They'll visit, and take him up to the pub for a pint, or to the over-sixties lunch. Besides, he's lived in that cottage all his life. I don't think he'd want to move.'

‘That's what Ben said.'

‘Well, Percy's his father so he should know. Ben's looked after Percy just like you looked after your mother. The two of you deserve some time to yourselves.'

Morwenna pressed a palm to her pink cheek. ‘I can't hardly b'lieve it, Jess. Me getting married. Truth is I'd given up hope. Now I got some job keeping on top of it all, there's that much to think about.'

‘Enjoy every moment, Mor. You've earned it.'

Chapter Three

Jess went into the shop just before midday on Saturday to pick up milk and other shopping for the weekend.

‘You could have come in and told me,' Gill said coolly. ‘I had to hear about it from Maggie Collins. Her husband Mark works for Angwin's funeral directors.'

‘I thought I recognised him,' Jess said. ‘But they were there and gone so fast –'

‘Yes, but
you
weren't.' Gill folded her arms. ‘He said it was you that found the body.'

Jess nodded. ‘You know what the weather was like last week. By Thursday I was going stir-crazy. I needed a walk so I took my spare tomato plants to give to Mr Preece. I thought he'd be in the garden like he always is, especially after all that rain. I called out three or four times. But he didn't come and I couldn't see him anywhere. Something didn't feel right. So I climbed over the gate –'

‘You never!' Her grudge forgotten, Gill leaned forward over the counter, her face close to the Perspex barrier.

‘I didn't have any choice. There was a chain and padlock on it and no other way in. It's a good job I did, or he might still be lying there.' Jess's skin tightened in a shiver.

‘That's what comes of cutting yourself off from everyone,' Gill said. ‘Mark wouldn't say what happened. Was it a break in? He wasn't attacked, was he?'

‘No, nothing like that. PC Davey made me wait outside while he looked round. When I asked what he was looking for, he said drugs or weapons. And no, he didn't find any. His sergeant came, then the doctor and the coroner's officer. They're writing it up as an accident. The sole on Mr Preece's slipper had come away from the upper. It looks like he tripped and cracked his head on the granite hearth when he fell. He was so cold, he must've been lying there all night.' Jess cleared a sudden thickness from her throat. ‘It was an awful shock finding him like that. I felt so sorry for him, Gill. When PC Davey finally let me go all I could think about was getting home and having a cup of tea.'

‘I don't blame you, bird. I wonder what'll happen to the place now.'

‘Was he local? Did he have any family here?'

Gill looked along the counter to where owner Gerry Eustice had just finished serving a customer. ‘Ger, do you know if John Preece had any family?'

‘He never said. But you'd need a crowbar to get more 'n two words out of 'n.'

Gill nodded. ‘Even when I charged the key card for his electric he never spoke, just gave me the cash.'

‘We'll miss his fruit and veg,' Gerry added. ‘Lovely quality it was.'

Gerry's wife, Sandra, came over. ‘Who's going to pay for his funeral? You read terrible stories in the paper about bodies being left in they fridge drawers for years because there's no one to give the poor soul a decent send-off. If he 'aven't got family –'

‘Hang on a minute, Sandra –'

Jess bit back a smile at the panic on Gerry's face.

‘No need to go off half-cock, Ger. I aren't saying we do it all by ourselves. But what about a collection here in the shop?'

‘That's a kind thought,' Jess said.

Gerry wasn't convinced. ‘How will that work then?'

Sandra fetched a large clean jar with a lid. ‘Gill, write a label saying “John Preece's funeral.”'

Using a black felt-tip Gill printed large letters. ‘No missing that.'

Sandra stuck the label on the jar. Then she fetched an A4 lined pad from the shelf, flipped it open and wrote the same words at the top. She passed the pad to Gill.

‘You got a ruler. Draw a line down the page, about there.' She pointed. ‘Put “Name” on one side and “Amount” on the other. When people see what others have given, they won't want to look mean.'

Jess laughed. ‘Good plan, Sandra.' Taking the pad from Gill she wrote her name and address in block letters, then took a £10 note from her purse and put it in the jar.

‘No need for you to –' Gill began.

‘Yes, there is. I found him.'

Sandra set the jar on the counter with the pad in front of it and snapped her fingers at her husband. ‘C'mon, Ger. Open your wallet and let the moths out.'

‘Put me in the poor house, you will,' he grumbled, but handed over a £10 note.

Sandra whipped it from his fingers and pushed it into the jar while he wrote on the pad. ‘Right, that's a start. Gill, don't you let anyone out that door until they've put something in the jar.'

‘How do you expect me to stop them? I'm stuck back here.'

‘You'll think of something.' Sandra hurried away to serve a customer.

‘Hard as nails and a heart of gold.' Gill's face brightened. ‘I know who'll find John Preece's family.'

‘Who?'

‘You, you daft maid.'

After a light lunch, Jess washed up then sat down at her laptop and looked up the electoral register. John Preece wasn't listed on it. This didn't surprise her. Someone so determined to guard his solitude would have opted out.

She listed what she did know. According to PC Davey's enquiry he wasn't registered with the local surgery, and the cottage contained no paperwork. He didn't have a car or a TV set. He drew his water from a well outside the back door. He had a key card for electricity and charged it once a month paying cash.

Jess rang the number PC Davey had given her. He wouldn't be on duty until 2 p.m. on Monday afternoon.

The following morning Jess phoned Fred Honey, the builder who had renovated her cottage.

‘Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, Fred.'

‘That's all right, my bird. What's on?'

‘I've got a damp patch at the top of the front wall in my bedroom above the window. I think it was that heavy rain last week. It was hammering on the window.'

‘Prob'ly blew up under the eaves. I'm in the middle of a job so I can't come meself. Any case, you want a roofer. Colin Terrell isn't cheap but he do a good job. And he's local. He lives up Roseveare Meadow. You'll prob'ly catch him now if you want to give 'n a bell. His wife been awful bad with that there flu virus been going round. 'Ang on a minute, I got his number in me book.'

Jess wrote it down. ‘Thanks, Fred.'

‘That's all right, my ‘andsome. All right are you? It must've been some nasty shock finding John Preece like that.'

Of course he would have heard. It would have been all round the village within hours. ‘It was, Fred.'

‘Be some awful shame if his garden is left to go. Mavis said you're going to find his family.'

That would have come from Gill. ‘I'll do my best.'

Colin Terrell didn't mind her phoning on a Sunday. ‘Best time to catch me. If I aren't out for a run, or fishing, I do my paperwork Sundays. I can come Tuesday morning if you want. I had a job booked in but Mr was took bad with a heart attack so they put it back till August.'

‘Tuesday would be great.'

‘8.30 all right?'

‘Fine. Thanks so much.'

Relieved that she wouldn't have to wait weeks with the risk of the damage getting worse, Jess spent the rest of Sunday catching up with housework. On Monday morning, while the washing machine quietly churned, she baked a lemon drizzle cake and a tray of mixed fruit flapjacks. Having brought up two permanently hungry sons, and with vivid memories of labouring for Fred during the cottage's renovation, she knew how much tradesmen appreciated cake to accompany regular cups of tea.

Colin Terrell arrived promptly on Tuesday morning wearing clean blue overalls. His dark hair was cropped short, showing a silver stud with a tiny cross in one earlobe.

‘Morning, Jess.' His smile revealed very white teeth. The familiarity surprised her. She didn't like people she didn't know using her first name. But saying anything would give it importance it didn't deserve. And he was doing her a favour by turning up so quickly. Before she could respond he went on, ‘Fred rang to say he'd given you my name and I better make sure I done a good job. Think the world of you, he do.'

‘He and Jason did a fantastic job here.'

He nodded. ‘I remember what it was like before they started. But these old cottages was built to last.'

‘Come in, Mr Terrell.' Maybe he'd take the hint. As he passed her, wafting aftershave, she was pleasantly surprised when he slipped off his shoes.

‘Front bedroom, you said? All right if I take a look?'

‘It's the first door on the left at the top of the stairs.' She followed him up. He went directly to the window and studied the patch.

‘That was some rain we had last week.'

Jess nodded. ‘It was blowing straight at the window like handfuls of gravel.'

He nodded. ‘Rare to get rain like that on an east wind. I'd guess it blew up under the eaves.'

‘That's what Fred thought.'

‘I'll know more when I've had a look from outside.'

‘Fred didn't touch the roof when I had the renovations done. It looked sound and he didn't want to disturb anything he didn't have to.' He'd known she was on a tight budget.

Colin Terrell nodded. ‘Quite right too. But trouble with these old places is that they haven't got felt over the roof timbers. The slates was laid direct onto battens.'

Panic stirred like mud in a pond. Jess fought it down. ‘I can't afford to replace the roof.'

‘You won't have to, my 'andsome.' He flashed his white smile. ‘Don't you go worrying. Good job you didn't wait though. Water damage can cause all kinds of trouble. What I'll do is take off the bottom two rows of slates, fit a strip of felt along so he hangs into the gutter, then put the slates back. So instead of rain blowing up underneath and dripping down inside, it'll hit the felt, run into the gutter, and be carried away to the down pipe.'

‘How much will it cost? I know it has to be done, but I'd like a rough idea.'

‘Shouldn't be more than …' he sucked air through his teeth, ‘three hundred.'

Trying not to wince she nodded.

‘I can knock a bit off for cash.' He winked. ‘How about putting the kettle on while I have a look from outside.'

She followed him down, calculating adjustments to her budget for the month. She didn't have a choice. Waiting risked further damage and an even higher price. It was better to get the job done now. Writing Marigold's story for Simon Opie would earn her some of the money back.

Colin Terrell pushed his feet back into his shoes, leaving the door open as he walked down the path to his van.

Jess switched the kettle on. Hearing an electric hum and rattling she looked out of the open door.

He had unhitched a small box trailer loaded with metal frames and thick planks, coupled it to a jockey wheel, and was pushing the trailer up the path.

‘That's a useful bit of kit.'

‘Battery-powered caravan mover. Worth every penny for places like this when I can't get the van any closer.'

‘Tea or coffee?'

‘Tea'd be 'andsome.'

Jess went back inside. She recognised the frames as a scaffold tower on wheels. Fred had used one when painting the fascia boards and putting up new plastic gutters to replace the old rusted iron ones. The planks provided a platform from which to work and would hold the slates stacked on edge so they could be replaced in the same order. The trailer also contained a roll of roofing felt, a bag of tools and a ladder.

She made a pot of tea and filled a mug, then put a slice of cake on a small plate and took them outside. ‘Do you take sugar?'

He laid the ladder down and lifted a heavy frame with wheels attached out of the trailer. ‘Don't need it, my 'andsome. I'm sweet enough.'

Oh please.
Jess hid a sigh. ‘I'll leave you to get on.'

He grinned again. ‘Proper job.'

She went back inside and shut the door. PC Davey wouldn't be available until that afternoon. Until then she would look for Marigold.

Armed with the address she looked up street and trade directories for the 1940s. In 1944 Marigold Mitchell was the tenant and the ground floor ‘shop' was listed as a soup kitchen.

Jess's next search was in local newspaper archives where she found an article praising Marigold Mitchell, former star of the Fal Operatic Society, for reopening her café – forced into closure by rationing – as a lunchtime soup kitchen for the needy. The article continued with her calling on all past and present cast members who had a garden or worked on farms to bring in any vegetables they could spare. Shotgun owners who had permission from farmers and landowners to shoot rabbits and pigeons were asked to share their catch. Times were hard for everyone. But for women struggling to bring up families after losing husbands, fathers, and sons during the conflict, life was especially difficult. Contributions of any kind would be greatly appreciated.