There’s Always Tomorrow (25 page)

The whole bungalow smelled musty and damp. The windows were boarded up and the only light came from between the open cracks. There was no electricity and the wind made an eerie sound as it whistled between the back door and the fence.

‘The owner is in a nursing home,’ said Reg. ‘I know it doesn’t look a lot right now but it’ll be really nice once we’ve done it up.’

His eyes shone with excitement and he was animated in a way Dottie’d never seen before. Patsy ran from room to room, keeping up a running commentary as she went. ‘There’s some old saucepans on the cooker. Ugh, there’s something in this one, it’s all mouldy.’

Dottie stood at the entrance to the sitting room watching Reg putting down a sheet. Her mind was working overtime. Surely he couldn’t be serious about this?

‘I can see paw marks on this floor, Auntie Dottie,’ Patsy’s voice drifted towards them. ‘Is there a dog here? I like dogs.’

How could she make this into a guesthouse? It would take a month of Sundays to clean it up and then it would need to be redecorated throughout. No one would want to stay in a place with nicotine-stained walls and smelly drains. The garden was a wilderness and it was miles from anywhere. She wondered vaguely how the old couple next door managed to do their shopping.

‘Come on,’ said Reg at last. ‘Let’s have our picnic.’

‘Reg,’ she began weakly.

He glared at her stonily. ‘We’ll talk about it later. Now do as I say and sit down.’

His tone was so belligerent, Dottie lowered herself down at once.

Patsy bounced into the room. ‘What are you doing?’

‘We’re having a picnic,’ said Reg.

‘But …’ the child began; then seeing Dottie’s expression, she lowered herself beside her, hugging her toy elephant close.

Reg opened a duffle bag and took out some sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper. ‘I asked the old dragon to make us some sandwiches. Hungry?’

Even the thought of eating made her feel sick but Dottie nodded. She had to get out of this somehow. How could she possibly have her baby in this God-forsaken hole. And where would Patsy go to school?

Reg threw a bag of crisps at Patsy. The child’s face lit up.

Reg poured some tea from a flask and handed Dottie a mug. Dottie cupped her hands around it. Did he really want her to give up Aunt Bessie’s comfortable cottage for this?

‘I can see the bungalow has great potential but I’m not sure many people would like it here, Reg,’ she ventured cautiously. ‘It’s very isolated.’

‘Nonsense. This is just what people want. A nice quiet place.’

A nice
quiet
place … her mind echoed with emphasis.

A dark expression drifted across his face. ‘Eat your sandwiches.’

She ate but they tasted like cardboard and she was struggling not to cry.

‘Can Suzy and me go and look for the dog?’ Patsy asked.

‘Course you can, pet,’ smiled Reg.

‘I can’t buy this place,’ Dottie said quietly as soon as they were alone.

His head snapped up. ‘But as soon as your inheritance comes through …’ he began.

‘It’ll be tied up until I’m thirty.’

His mouth became a tight line. ‘Tied up?’

Dottie explained the terms of her aunt’s will. ‘I can’t do anything without the approval of the trustees.’

Reg held her gaze for a while and looked away. ‘What a shame.’ His voice was so controlled it chilled her even more. What was he up to? Her head was spinning. She could think straight.

‘I don’t feel so good,’ she said. ‘My mouth is very dry.’

‘Have some more tea, dear.’ He helped her with the cup and she managed another mouthful. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t you have a bit of a lie down? There’s a bed next door. I can lay the sheet over it for you.’

She protested but he stuffed everything back into the duffle bag and helped her out of the room. Her legs were like lead.

The bedroom was cold and the windows were closely boarded up. No cracks here, but she was grateful to see the bed. He spread the sheet over the mattress and Dottie lay down. ‘I’ll be fine in a minute,’ she said.

‘Course you will, pet,’ he said.

Ann gasped in horror. ‘What!’

But Ernest Franks was seized by a violent coughing fit. They rang the bell and a nurse came. Between them, they hauled him into a more upright position and she re-arranged the pillows.

‘You’ll have to put that stuff away, Ernie,’ she said pointing at the old knapsack and its contents scattered all over the bed. ‘If Sister sees it, you know what’ll happen. She’ll have it all in the incinerator as quick as you like.’

Ann busied herself putting everything back in the brown paper bag. As she pushed in the trilby hat, her fingers touched something sharp and she let out a small cry. She supposed it was his knife but she pulled out a medal. The DSO and bar. She and PC Kipling shared a glance and her respect for the tramp went sky-high.

Kipper opened his notepad. ‘So you’re saying that Mr Cox was in the house when Mrs Thornton died?’

Ernest was in a world of his own. Bouncing the rabbit in the air, he began to sing softly. ‘Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run …’

Kipper glanced at Ann and shook his head. It was obvious that the poor man was a sandwich short of a picnic. As they turned to leave, Ernest looked up sharply. ‘And that isn’t his name either.’

The full import of his statement was lost as Ann exclaimed, ‘Ernest, if
you
heard Aunt Bessie fall, why didn’t
you
go and help her?’

‘I wasn’t there when she actually fell,’ he said. ‘She gave me my tea and she let me talk. I liked it when she let me talk.’ His voice trailed. ‘I could never talk to people about Eileen and my boy, nobody except her. She didn’t try to shut me up. She didn’t say, that’s all in the past, time to move on. She’d listen. I could talk to her. I told her about my boy. My little Bobbie.’ His face clouded. ‘But then,
he
came back,’ he said bitterly. ‘He never liked me being there. Whenever he saw me, he used to shout at her. She always said she wasn’t worried but I didn’t want to get her into trouble so I only went there when he wasn’t around.’

‘But he came back that day,’ said Kipper.

Ernest nodded. ‘He came in the back way, down the garden path, and I scarpered out the front door.’

‘Reg always used to come in the back way,’ Ann remarked. She wanted to tell them that he used to stand in the lane and watch her house and that he gave her the creeps, but this wasn’t the time or the place.

‘So why didn’t you come to the police when you heard Mrs Thornton had died?’ Kipper wanted to know.

‘I didn’t know she was gone until a few weeks ago,’ he said simply. ‘She had given me a rail ticket to go back home, so that’s where I went.’

‘Home?’ said Kipper. ‘Where’s home?’

‘Liverpool.’ His voice had dropped again. ‘I went back to see where they’d put Eileen and the boy.’ He laid his hand on the top of the brown paper bag. ‘The neighbours saved a few things for me. This is the little rabbit my boy used to take to bed with him, a few photographs and stuff. There wasn’t much left.’

‘May I ask you what happened?’ Ann asked gently.

‘They were killed in an air raid.’

They all became very conscious of how quiet it was in the room.

‘Mr Franks,’ said Kipper bringing them back to the business in hand. ‘We are very sorry for your loss, but you indicated that Reg Cox wasn’t his name?’ Ernest’s face clouded with anger. ‘That’s because when I called out his real name, he turned around. His name is Daniel Sinclair, and we met in a courtroom in 1942.’

Ann frowned. ‘That’s not possible,’ she smiled. ‘Reg and Dottie met in 1941 and were married in 1942. Soon after that, Reg went on a special mission. It was all very hush, hush.’

The tramp eased himself up on his elbow and looked intently at her. ‘And I’m telling you, Danny Sinclair was a no-good thief and troublemaker,’ he said, with just a hint of the authority he’d once wielded. ‘He’d been had up for stealing army blankets for the black market and then he was done for stealing lead from bombed-out houses. I should know, I was the escort at his trial.’

A little air escaped from Ann’s lips. ‘Reg always said he was shipped to Burma. He was one of those brave Chindits.’

Ernest relaxed against the pillows. ‘One of the Chindits, my eye. By the end of 1942, he was in prison.’ He pointed to his face. ‘Why do you think he did this? He knew I could expose him for the rat he is, so he left me for dead.’

They became conscious of Kipper turning the pages in his notebook in his struggle to keep up with what was being said. ‘Can you prove any of this?’

Ernest shook his head. ‘Not now. I could have done but when he jumped me in the lane and he took everything off me.’

‘That’s a bit unfortunate,’ said Kipper dryly.

‘I wrote several times,’ Ernest went on, ‘but of course, she never replied. I knew that wasn’t like her, so I decided to come back. I turned up a couple of months ago but everyone was going to a wedding.’

‘Michael Gilbert,’ said Ann.

‘I didn’t want to intrude so I bought a few bits for my shop in Liverpool and left.’

‘Shop?’ asked Kipper.

‘I deal in antiques now,’ Ernest went on. ‘And then I found that wrapped around some trinket.’ He pointed to the newspaper cutting. I was very upset and it niggled me, so I had to come and find out what happened to her.’

‘But why didn’t you go straight to the police?’ Kipper asked.

‘Because, fool that I was, I wanted to confront him myself.’

The nurse reappeared. ‘The doctor says Mr Franks has to have his sleeping pills now.’

Ernest became agitated. ‘I’ve got to tell you …’ he said looking at Kipper, ‘about Danny …’ He began to cough.

‘You really must rest,’ the nurse insisted.

‘We’ll come back when you’re feeling better,’ Kipper soothed.

Ann put the brown paper bag back into the locker as the nurse stood over him with two pills on a small tray. Obediently, Ernest took them one by one, washing them down with a sip of water.

‘You do realise, he’s very poorly, don’t you?’ said the nurse quietly behind her hand. She raised her voice to speak directly to her patient. ‘Good man. Now you lie back and try and get some sleep.’

Kipper walked briskly to the door. ‘Goodnight, Mr Franks.’

Ernest didn’t acknowledge him. He had closed his eyes and was relaxed on the pillow. Ann couldn’t resist leaning over him and giving him a feather-like kiss on his cheek. ‘Goodnight, Ernest.’

Ernest Franks sighed. ‘Night, Eileen, love …’ ‘you will come back, won’t you? You must know … Danny …’ His eyes closed and he drifted into sleep.

On the way home, PC Kipling was apologetic. ‘I shouldn’t have taken you there. I had no idea what he was going to say but I would ask you to keep this to yourself.’

‘It’s all a bit worrying, isn’t it?’ said Ann. ‘Especially now that Dottie and Patsy have gone missing.’

‘Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill,’ said Kipper. ‘We don’t know that they
are
missing.’ Ann sat grim-faced. ‘What about Ernest?’

Kipper shrugged. ‘I will report it to my superiors but, despite what he’s just told us, he’s unreliable. Half the time he’s away with the fairies, isn’t he?’

They had reached Mary Prior’s place. ‘Thanks for dropping me back,’ said Ann.

‘Don’t forget,’ he reminded her, ‘this is strictly between ourselves.’

As she jumped out of the car, Ann couldn’t help feeling very worried about Dottie and Patsy.

Mary listened open-mouthed as Ann told her what had happened at the hospital. Once Edna turned up, the whole story was repeated verbatim.

‘I can’t see how we can do it,’ said Mary. ‘I mean, I don’t want to sound melodramatic, hen, but even if everything is all right, who’s to say she’ll be back by Saturday?’

Edna shrugged. ‘She’ll probably walk in here, right as rain at any minute.’

‘I can’t stop thinking about those chickens,’ said Ann.

‘Whoever killed them,’ said Edna. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t Dottie.’

‘Like Vince said, it was the work of a madman.’ They glanced around at each other nervously.

‘Do you think Kipper will keep looking for her?’ Ann asked.

Mary nodded. ‘He’d make a good detective.’

They all stared miserably into their teacups. ‘We can’t just leave it to him,’ said Mary. ‘One of us ought to go and look for her.’

‘Don’t look at me,’ said Ann. ‘I’m a single mum. Can’t go traipsing around the country, and besides, where would I start?’

‘Nor me. I’ve got five kids and a husband,’ Mary reminded them.

‘I would if I could, dear,’ said Edna. ‘But my old rheumatics …’

‘Then what we need,’ Mary said, ‘is someone who has plenty of time and nothing much to do.’

There was a second of silence before everyone looked up.

‘Sylvie,’ they chorused.

‘Mummy,’ said Brian, bursting into the kitchen. ‘That man is outside Auntie Dottie’s house again.

John Landers was pushing a letter through the letterbox at Myrtle Cottage. He had written formally and addressed it to Mr and Mrs Cox. In it he had told them that he had just been passing the area and had called in on the off-chance that he might see Patricia. After that he wrote the usual sort of keeping-in-touch letter, asking after their health and Patricia’s welfare. Even though John felt honour-bound to make quite sure that the child was well, he had made his enquiry as light-hearted as possible for two good reasons. If Dottie, as he supposed by yesterday’s shenanigans, had left her husband, Reg Cox wouldn’t feel in any way threatened by his visit. But if the three of them had simply gone on holiday, as everyone else supposed, they would be quick to reply, having the need to apologise for his wasted journey.

The collapsed well had now been roped off and the police had satisfied themselves that no one had fallen down the shaft.

While sitting by the open fire in the pub last night, John overheard some of the locals talking. Everyone was puzzled by the Coxs’ disappearance. It was, the regulars agreed, totally out of character. Rumour had it that the detective sergeant and the detective constable hadn’t been too happy about being dragged out to the village to deal with a bag containing a few dead chickens weighted down with a hammer, and after that, there had been a lot of laughter revolving around eating kippers and chicken soup.

John Landers couldn’t help feeling that if the Coxs had been moneyed people, the crime of kidnapping would have been uppermost in the mind of the law enforcement officers. But, to give him his due, PC Kipling had tried to persuade the DC that he should mount an investigation. As soon as the bag had been retrieved, with (it had to be said) a great deal of open hostility and ridicule aimed towards the village bobby, the scaffolding planks had been left for safety’s sake.

‘Excuse me.’ A neighbour looked over the fence. John recognised her from the day before.

‘Good morning,’ he smiled affably. ‘Mrs Pearce, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

John raised his hat. ‘Any news of Mr and Mrs Cox?’

Ann shook her head and John Landers became conscious of two other women standing by Ann’s back door. ‘I don’t know if you know,’ he went on, ‘but I accompanied Patricia from Australia.’

‘We guessed who you were,’ she said, ‘although from what Dottie said, we thought you would be a lot older.’

‘And not so good looking,’ Mary muttered near Edna’s ear.

‘I wonder if I might have a word with you?’ John asked.

‘We’re not much for gossiping, if you know what I mean,’ said Ann, looking around at her friends.

‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,’ he said. ‘And I’m not at liberty to discuss confidentialities but as friends of Mrs Cox, I wondered if you might be able to throw some light on the matter.’

‘We all reckon,’ said Ann cautiously, ‘there’s something funny going on.’

Dottie felt the bed dip but she didn’t open her eyes. Her head felt as if it weighed as much as a sewing machine and her mouth tasted like the bottom of a parrot cage. A sickly sweet smell drifted towards her but she couldn’t work out what it was.

She heard Reg say, ‘She says she can’t sell the place. She can’t do bloody anything until she’s thirty.’

Dottie breathed in a waft of stale cheap perfume. It wasn’t one she used but she had smelled it before.

‘All tied up, eh?’ said a woman’s voice. ‘Then if you ask me, lover, she’s worth more to you dead than alive.’

Sitting in Ann’s kitchen, John listened to Dottie’s friends as they told him how much Dottie meant to them. Ann told him in glowing terms how Dottie helped her get a job which enabled her to pull herself back out of the gutter and Mary and Edna shared a few wartime experiences on the farm. Finally, Mary told him about Dottie’s love for Patsy, as they all called her.

As they talked, it dawned on John that he had fallen in love with Dottie. The revelation almost took the wind out of him, but something told him that it must remain a secret for the time being. It had probably begun when he was untangling her hair from the tree branch and even now, as he remembered, his heart ached for her. Her blue-green eyes, her soft mouth, her hair … such a lovely colour, like burnished bronze. His daydream was sweet. Her hair must be quite long. He wondered what it would be like when it wasn’t tied up in that rather severe bun. He even remembered her smell. He never had been a man for heavy perfume, but his head felt light as he thought of her natural fragrance. She wore lipstick, but not too much, and he could even remember the laughter lines around her eyes …

Yes, her friends were absolutely right. Dottie wasn’t the sort of woman to go off without telling anyone. She was kind and considerate. She would know that people would worry. And she certainly wouldn’t risk losing her job.

Everything became very quiet. He was aware that they were all looking at him. John blinked and cleared his throat noisily. ‘And what about Mr Cox?’

‘He doesn’t think very much of me,’ said Ann. ‘I keep out of his way.’

‘He’s a dark one, that one,’ said Mary. ‘He gave her a black eye once.’

John’s blood ran cold. What an idiot he’d been. A dark one … a black eye … He should have insisted on proper background checks before he’d left Patricia with Reg Cox. He shouldn’t have listened to Brenda’s protestations that everything would be all right. His chest was filled with rage.

Edna had gasped in horror. ‘Reg gave Dottie a black eye? You never said.’

‘It wasn’t my place to,’ said Mary crisply. ‘Anyway, she tried to make out it wasn’t much. But I told her, no matter what you do, there’s no cause for a man to hit a woman, isn’t that right, Doctor? Anyway, she said he’d never done it before, and it was an accident. She reckoned he just got a bit upset about the little girl, that’s all.’

‘Upset?’ John interrupted crossly. ‘Why was he upset?’

‘Because of the way she looks, I suppose,’ said Mary shaking her head. ‘You people are supposed to tell the parents about the child they’re adopting, aren’t you? I can’t think why you adoption people never told him she had coloured blood in her. He should have been told before they sent her.’

They were all nodding in agreement. Clearly they had no idea that Patricia was supposed to be Reg’s natural offspring, but they were unanimous about Reg’s dislike of the child. His mind drifted back to Dottie. What was it like for her living with Reg?

‘Are they happily married?’ he asked, although he could hardly bear to hear the answer.

Mary shrugged. ‘She’s pregnant.’

John said nothing but it felt like the bottom had fallen out of his world. He’d thought … hoped, that she no longer had relations with Reg.

Edna and Ann gasped. ‘What? Are you serious?’

Mary nodded. ‘She’s having Reg’s baby.’

‘After all this time,’ Edna said slowly, ‘I don’t know whether to be happy or sad.’

‘I’d top myself if I was having his kid,’ said Ann ominously.

John smiled grimly. ‘Could they have gone to visit relatives?’

‘Dottie came to live with Bessie because she didn’t have a soul in the world,’ said Mary. ‘And I can’t honestly say as I’ve ever seen any of Reg’s relatives, have you?’

Ann and Edna shook their heads.

‘And if she was going away, she would have asked me to look after the chickens,’ Ann insisted. ‘She loved those birds.’

‘PC Kipling believes Mrs Cox killed the chickens.’

‘Dottie wouldn’t do that,’ said Edna. ‘She would only kill a chicken if it was going to be eaten – and before you suggest they might have been diseased, let me tell you, I’ve looked at them very carefully and there’s nothing wrong with those fowl.’

‘That’s right,’ Mary went on. ‘It’s such a waste. Have you seen the price of chicken these days? Dottie would have put them on somebody’s doorstep if she didn’t want to eat them. She wouldn’t chuck them down the well. Those birds would have made a nice meal for someone.’

‘What about a fox?’ asked John. ‘There’s talk that one might have got into the henhouse.’

Edna shook her head. ‘And I’m telling you, no fox has been at those chickens.’

John regarded them carefully. ‘You think Mr Cox did it, don’t you?’

There was an awkward silence and then Ann said, ‘The truth of it is, Dr Landers, we’ve all got a really bad feeling about all this.’

Edna nodded. ‘Something has happened to them. I can feel it in me water.’

‘I’m not sure exactly what I can do,’ said John, reaching for his hat. He stood to go. ‘But I’ll ask around. The trouble is, I’m not sure where to start.’

Thanking them for their time, he made his way back to his room at the Warnes Hotel. He was glad to have met with Dottie’s friends but their concern only served to fan the flame of his own terrible sense of foreboding.