The Shape of Snakes (10 page)

"Derek Slater," she told me. "He was a horrible brute ... used to beat his wife and children when he was drunk. The poor creature was always taking refuge with us because she was so frightened of him." She turned a page and pointed to a dark-haired woman holding a toddler in her arms. "That's her ... Maureen Slater. She had four children by him-two boys and two girls-all of whom got thrashed at one time or another. Derek was always being arrested ... usually for drunk and disorderly ... although I believe he had theft convictions, too." She placed a finger on the toddler's face. "Derek certainly spent time in prison because this little chap came long after the other three. As far as I know Maureen's still living on Graham Road, but goodness knows where Derek went. There was a terrible fight some time in 1979 or '80 when his elder son finally found the courage to take a baseball bat to him and told him to leave."

"That would be Alan?"

"Yes. Did you know him?"

"I taught him English for a year ... a tall, heavily built child with hands the size of dinner plates. They lived next to Annie at the end of the terrace. Number 32. Do you have a picture of Alan?"

"I think so ... but he wasn't in church when I took it. As far as I recall the only time he ever set foot in St. Mark's was to see if there was something worth stealing." She tut-tutted to herself. "He was a frightful thief, stole my mother's brooch from under my nose when I offered Maureen sanctuary one day, and I've never forgiven him for it. Mind you, all her children were thieves ... only to be expected, I suppose, with a father like Derek. It's very sad the way the sins of the fathers are visited on the next generation."

"Did you report the theft?"

She sighed. "There was no point. He'd just have denied it. And it was my fault, anyway. I should have been more careful. After that I made sure everything was locked away whenever they came to the house."

I wondered what else Alan had got away with. "He tried to steal from me, too," I told her. "I left my bag on my desk while I went to collect some notes from the staff room, and when I came back he was going through my wallet. I didn't report him either." I tapped a finger against my lip where a tiny tic of hatred pulsed and throbbed beneath the skin. "I'd never have let my own children get away with it."

"No," she said slowly, watching me with her sharp eyes, "but I don't suppose you liked Alan much so you overcompensated."

I didn't answer.

"I'd forgotten you were a teacher," she said to break the silence.

I nodded. "For my sins." I ducked my head down for a closer look at Derek Slater's face. He had long, dark hair and a pleasant smiling face and appeared anything but a wife-beater. "What did Derek go to prison for?"

"I've no idea. Theft? Assault?"

"On his wife?"

"A woman certainly. I don't think he was brave enough to pick fights with men."

"Who's this?" I asked, touching a picture of a heavily made-up blonde, simpering at the camera from beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

"Sharon Percy," said Wendy, turning her mouth down at the corners. "Mutton dressed as lamb. She wasn't far off forty when that was taken but most of her bosom's hanging out and her skirt barely covers her knickers. You must remember her. She lived next to Annie on the other side from the Slaters and was forever complaining about her." She heaved a sigh. "Poor Annie. She was sandwiched between the two worst families in the street-a thieving violent family, the Slaters, on one side and a tart with an out-of-control son on the other."

Sharon Percy-aka Jock's floozy and Libby's "bleached vampire," I thought with amusement. "I don't believe I ever saw her," I said, "or if I did I don't remember. I taught her son, Michael ... at the same time I was teaching Alan Slater, but I don't think she ever came near the school."

"She was a dreadful woman," said Wendy tartly, "little better than a prostitute ... entertained a different man in her house every night ... but she still thought she was superior to a black woman ... made Annie's life a misery with her endless complaints to the council."

I studied the young-old face with interest and recalled some of the rednecks we'd met in South Africa. "It's the 'poor white' syndrome," I said slowly. "The lower you are in the pecking order the more important it is to have someone beneath you."

"Mm, well that was certainly true of Sharon."

It seemed a very unchristian attitude and I wondered what the woman had done to make Wendy dislike her. "How do you know so much about her?" I asked curiously. "Was she a regular churchgoer?"

"Oh, yes. Regular as clockwork as long as Peter was willing to give her an hour a week to discuss her problems. Hah!" she snorted suddenly. "
Alleged
problems, I should have said. Called him
Father
Stanhope because she knew it would appeal to his vanity. It was only when she started putting her hand on his thigh that he realized what she was up to and told her he wouldn't see her again unless I sat in on the discussion. After that she never set foot inside the church again."

I hid a smile. For all her declared frustration with her marriage, she could still feel jealousy. "Did she ever marry?"

"Not when we knew her. I couldn't even say who Michael's father was, and I don't suppose Sharon could either. The poor child was always getting into trouble with the police and Peter would be dragged out at midnight to stand in loco parentis because his mother was flat on her back somewhere." "Turned fourteen in '78," I said, remembering. "Dark-haired, rather adult-looking ... always wore white T-shirts and blue jeans." She nodded. "He wasn't a bad lad, just hopelessly out of control. He was very bright and very articulate-the complete opposite to Alan Slater, who could hardly speak without uttering an obscenity. I was rather fond of him, as a matter of fact, but he wasn't the type to give his affection easily." A wistful expression crossed her face. "I read in the newspaper about six years ago that a Michael Percy had been sentenced to eleven years for armed robbery. The age was right but the photograph was very different from the boy I remembered." I couldn't bring myself to shatter her illusions. "Does Sharon still live at number twenty-eight?" "Presumably. She was certainly there when we left in "92." She took the album from me and leafed through the pages until she came to a picture of a gray-haired man with a pointed, raddled face like a tortoise, "Geoffrey Spalding," she said. "Married to a woman called Vivienne who died of breast cancer in '82. Poor creature-she fought a long battle against it-nearly five years in all. I took this at her funeral. They lived across the road from Sharon, and it was one of the big scandals that, while his wretched wife was dying, Geoffrey spent more time in Sharon's house than he did in his own. He moved in for good about six months after Vivienne's death." She sighed again. "The whole business upset Geoffrey's children terribly. He had two teenage daughters who refused to acknowledge that Sharon even existed."

"Did they move in with her as well?"

"No. They stayed across the road and took care of themselves. It was all very sad. They had virtually no contact with Geoffrey afterward except to post the gas and electricity bills through his door. I think they blamed him for their mother's death."

"I suppose we all lash out when we're hurt," I said, thinking of Jock and his parents. "It's human nature."

"They were very quiet girls ... rather too quiet, I always thought. I can't ever remember seeing them laugh. They started caring for their mother when they were much too young, of course. It meant they were never able to make friends with their own age group."

"Do you remember their names?"

"Oh Lord, now you're asking." She pondered for a moment, then shook her head. "No, dear, I'm sorry. They were pretty girls with blond hair and blue eyes ... always reminded me of Barbie dolls."

"You said they were teenagers when their mother died. Late teens or early teens?"

"I think the elder was fifteen and the younger thirteen."

I did some mental arithmetic. "So they'd have been eleven and nine when Annie died?"

"More or less."

"They were called Rosie and Bridget," I said. "They used to walk to school every morning, hand-in-hand, wearing beautifully ironed uniforms and looking as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths."

"That's right," said Wendy. "What a wonderful memory you have."

Not really
, I thought. Before Annie's death the two girls and I had been friends. We would greet each other with smiles and hellos, I on my way to one school, they on their way to another. Then, for no reason that I ever understood, everything changed in the months following Annie's death. Their wide smiles vanished and they avoided looking at me. Once upon a time Bridget had had pigtails like her sister until someone cut them off and posted them in long, blond strands through our letter box. At the time I didn't know their surname or which house they lived in. All I knew was that Rosie grew paler and thinner, while nine-year-old Bridget's hair was long one day and short the next. But I had no idea why the ends were sent to me or what their significance was.

"I didn't know their mother was ill," I said sadly. "I used to think what a nice woman she must be because they were so sweetly behaved in contrast to some of the others."

More sighs. "They were very lost after she died. I tried to help them but Geoffrey became appallingly belligerent and told me to stop interfering. There's only so much you can do, unfortunately ... and Geoffrey made them suspicious of me by saying I was trying to have them put into care. It wasn't true, but they believed him, of course." Her mouth turned down at the memory. "He was a beastly little man ... I never did like him."

"Are either of the girls still on Graham Road?" I asked.

She looked troubled. "No, and the awful thing is I've no idea where they went or what happened to them. I believe Michael was living with them at one point, but he was in and out of juvenile prison so much it was difficult to keep track. I asked Geoffrey once what had happened to them but he brushed me aside as if I were an irritating gnat. A most pernicious creature. I've always felt he and Sharon deserved each other."