Threats at Three (14 page)

Joan laughed. “‘Always look on the bright side of life,’ ” she hummed. “You know, Elsie, he could’ve been doing his homework.”

“More likely wandering around Tresham with his no-good friends,” muttered Gran. “Anyway, she’s coming to the meeting tonight. If she turns up. Apparently my granddaughter is babysitting for her. For free, if I know Josie.”

“Perhaps we should call for her?”

“No,” said Gran quickly. “She’ll be there already, I expect. Come on, else we’ll be too late for ‘Jerusalem.’” The two of them laughed, and quickened their pace until they reached the hall.

Mrs. Tollervey-Jones sat at a table covered with a green cloth decorated with the WI badge, rapped with her pen, and called the meeting to order. “Good evening, ladies,” she said benevolently.

“Good evening, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones,” chorused the women, for all the world like a bunch of infants in reception class.

“First of all,” Mrs. T-J continued, “I would like to welcome a new member, Mrs. Paula Hickson. Welcome, Paula. So glad you have decided to join us. Anything you would like to know about the WI, don’t hesitate to ask. And our treasurer will be after you later for your subscription!”

A flutter of laughter came from the semicircle of women. Their treasurer was known to be a terror for collecting the subs, and then was very loath to spend them.

The business of the meeting was then conducted, with only one or two interruptions. Paula got the impression that Mrs. T-J ran the whole thing, and did not welcome suggestions or objections. She glanced to her left, where her colleague Sheila Stratford, also on New Brooms’ team, sat comfortably looking out of the window, obviously listening to none of it.

Eventually, when a scratch rounders team had been raised, representatives for the County Scrabble Competition appointed, and a decision on who should go to the AGM at the Albert Hall in London once more postponed, Mrs. T-J got to her feet. She looked down at the patient policeman in uniform sitting next to her, his German Shepherd dog perfectly well behaved at his side, and said that she had great pleasure in introducing James Smith. “Dog handler extraordinary,” she added with a deep chuckle.

 

 

“I’LL SAY THIS FOR ’IM,” GRAN SAID, SIPPING HER WI TEA AND nibbling a slightly soft digestive biscuit, “he knew his stuff. I reckon everyone was riveted, didn’t you, Joan?”

“Well, I was,” Joan Pickering answered, but her attention was elsewhere. “Come on, Elsie,” she said. “That new woman’s all on her own, nobody talking to her. Come
on
,” she repeated. “You know what your Lois said.”

Paula smiled as they approached. “That was interesting,” she said, though Gran noticed her hands were tightly clenched.

“You haven’t got any tea,” Joan said. “I’ll get you a cup.”

“No thanks,” Paula said. “I don’t drink tea. Doesn’t suit me. Thanks, anyway.”

“Did you like the video?” Gran said slyly. “Specially that bit where the dog caught the tramp stealing food from a garden bird-table! That
was
exciting, wasn’t it! What a nerve! Deserves all he got.”

“What would he’ve got, Mrs. Weedon?” Paula said. “Maybe a night banged up in a cell would have been better than sleeping in a smelly doorway?” Her voice was shaky, and Joan Pickering intervened.

“Tell us about your boys, Paula,” she said. “That little tot is a real charmer! I help out some mornings at the playgroup, and he’s bright as a button.”

And so Gran’s unpleasant remarks passed, and Paula relaxed. As she walked home afterwards with the two of them—Joan Pickering had insisted—she wondered if Mrs. Weedon knew about Jack Sr. Would Mrs. M have told her? She doubted it, but this nasty old woman would be quite capable of picking up bits of info from here and there. She was always hanging about outside Mrs. M’s office door when Paula had been in there.

“How was it for you?” Josie said with a grin, as Paula arrived home.

“Not bad,” Paula said. “Thanks a lot for looking after the boys. No trouble, I hope?”

“Little lambs,” Josie said. “Makes me think children are not such a bad idea after all.”

Paula laughed. “Maybe you should try it,” she said. “Now, how much do I owe you?”

“Don’t be daft,” said Josie. “Just keep shopping at my shop,” she said. “That’ll do well.”

“Any messages?” Paula said, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, yes—I almost forgot. The phone went, and I answered it. It was for Jack Jr. A man’s voice. I called Jack, but he yelled down from his room that he was too busy with his homework. He’d ring back later.”

“Did the man leave a name?” Paula said, anxious now.

Josie shook her head. “Nope. Just put down the phone when I gave him Jack’s message. I hope I did right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’d be one of his teachers, I expect. Probably wanting to know where he is most of the time when he should be in school. He’s a problem, Josie. But still,” she added, doing her best to smile, “I don’t want to put you off kids! And thanks again. I’ll do the same for you, one day.”

 

 

AFTER JACK HAD REFUSED TO SPEAK TO HIM, THE MAN SWORE AT the waste of money hard come by, and went out of the phone box into the street. He looked up and down the empty street and decided to take the Tresham road out of the village. No rain tonight, he judged, and set off for last year’s straw stack in a field bordering the road. He had noticed a reasonably clean spring that bubbled up there and fed a running stream that led to the river. In his rucksack he had a couple of stale bread rolls retrieved from a wheelie bin at the back of the shop, and with what was left of a hunk of cheese from the night shelter, he reckoned he would be fine until tomorrow, when he intended to put Plan B into action.

 

 

PAULA CLIMBED THE STAIRS WEARILY, HOPING THAT TONIGHT SHE would drop off to sleep straightaway, before the onslaught of old worries crowded in the moment she shut her eyes.

“Mum!” It was Jack Jr., still fully dressed, standing in his doorway, pale and tired looking.

“Time you were in bed,” she said sternly. “You’re not even undressed. Get into your ’jamas straightaway. Then if you ever reach school tomorrow, at least you’ll have had some sleep.”

“Mum!” He put out his hand towards her and burst into tears.

“Jack! For heaven’s sake, what’s the matter? Here, come into my room. You’ll wake the others. Come on, get moving.”

It was some while before he stopped the wrenching sobs that shook his thin body, and Paula’s anxiety mounted. Finally he stopped, shrugged himself free of her comforting hug, and sat on the edge of the bed. There were dark shadows beneath his red-rimmed eyes, and her heart bled for him.

“It was a bloke who gets kids to buy things,” he said in a croaky voice. “On the phone. I didn’t speak to him. That shop lady told him I was doing my homework.”

“What things?”

“He hangs around outside the school. Offers kids what he says are sweets. They’re not, o’ course. Uppers, downers, you name it. Some kids sell ’em on.”

“Are you sure it was him?”

Jack frowned. “Who else?” he said.

“Could have been your father,” she said reluctantly.

Jack shook his head. “Why should he ring me?” he asked bitterly. “No, it was either this drug dealer bloke or the school police. I’m not scared of them, Mum, but I am of him. Can’t you get him to leave me alone? He was outside the school gates the other day, waiting for me.”

“When? Which day?” said Paula urgently.

Jack shook his head. “Can’t remember,” he said. “Anyway, I ran into school. Jonathan was with me, and we scarpered. Jonathan’s never had no truck with him, and I guess he just buggered off.”

Paula sat down beside him and took his hand in both of hers. “Jack, try and remember which day.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. It could matter a lot,” she said.

A
MESSAGE FROM LOIS AWAITED COWGILL WHEN HE REACHED his office next morning. He had been out of town, visiting his sister Eva, who was in hospital after what her daily help described as “having it all out, dear.” He felt somewhat bruised after a day of tea and sympathy.

Eva had once more given him a dozen sensible suggestions why the two of them should set up house together, and he had given her his usual evasive answer. The idea appalled him. When his wife had been alive, she wasn’t a very warm companion, but it had taken him quite a while to get used to being alone. Now he had achieved a more or less satisfactory solitary life, making decisions that affected him only. His work occupied most of his time, and he had taken up golf which, although he was a late comer to the game, worked its addictive magic on him. He played most weekends, and told himself he was improving.

Now he dialled Lois’s number and waited. He saw that her message was timed at three thirty yesterday, and swore. He hoped it was not too late, knowing that she would never call him unless it was something important.

“You took your time,” Lois said, without introductory pleasantries.

He explained that he had been away on a mercy errand, and had just arrived back in his office. “How can I help you, Lois?” he said. Apart from inviting you to rush down here straight into my waiting arms, he added to himself.

“More like me helping you. It’s a vital piece of information. I don’t want questions, Cowgill. Just listen to this: an appendix scar from childhood, but still clear to see.”

“Got it,” he said firmly.

“I don’t suppose you’re any further forwards on the identity of the body in the canal?”

“No time to check yet,” he said. “But I’ll be in touch immediately I know more.”

He was about to thank her warmly, when she snapped, “Do that,” and rang off.

She turned off her computer, tidied her desk, and went through to the kitchen to tell Gran she was off to the shop. She knew Josie had been babysitting for Paula, and wanted to check that all had gone well. Gran had come home last evening from WI full of the dog-handler policeman. “He’d got this video, Lois,” she had said. “Great bits of film chases with the dog catching the villain. Better than the telly! Specially the one with the vagrant. The dog made a great rip in his trousers when he tried to run away! Still, the trousers was in rags anyway, and it served him right.”

Lois had lost her temper then, and had called her mother a narrow-minded old bag and other names, and the two of them had yelled at each other with Derek vainly trying to keep the peace. Now they were scarcely speaking, both being reluctant to back down.

“Going down the shop,” Lois said. “Anything we need?”

“No,” said Gran. “I’m well organised.”

Lois was just leaving the house when the phone rang again. It was Mrs. Tollervey-Jones, and Lois’s heart sank. It was going to be that kind of day. It couldn’t be Paula again, because it was Floss’s day at the hall.

“Mrs. Meade? Bit of a drama here. Your Floss has fallen off a stepladder. Turning out the kitchen cupboards, as arranged. Yes, she’s hurt her ankle. Says she can’t drive home. Be here within the next half hour, please. I have to go to a meeting in Tresham. Goodbye.”

 

 

THE ACCIDENT & EMERGENCY UNIT AT TRESHAM HOSPITAL WAS crowded. It was always crowded, and as Lois looked around for a seat for Floss, she realised they were in for a long wait. There were no spare seats, but a man got up and offered his to hobbling Floss. He was holding a hand over one eye, and nodded to them. “Nothing much wrong with me,” he said. “Just a wretched mote in my eye.”

“Thanks. But what did you say?” asked Floss, sinking gratefully into his chair. She winced as she caught her foot in the chair leg, and Lois patted her on the shoulder.

“It’s in the Bible,” she said, noticing the man’s dog collar. “Don’t worry, Floss. Think of beautiful things.”

“Like what?” said Floss.

“Hot coffee and chocolate cake,” Lois answered, and the reverend said no sooner said than done.

“Though chocolate cake is not a comforter mentioned in the Bible, so far as I am aware,” he said bravely, and set off towards the refreshment counter. There was a queue, and Lois saw that he couldn’t possibly carry a full tray with one hand. She told Floss to stay put, and followed him.

Floss tried hard to ignore the pain shooting up her leg, and looked around the room. There were two lads joshing each other, apparently fit and well, an old lady sobbing quietly into her handkerchief, a small, pale child held tight in her mother’s arms. And a tramp, bowed over in his chair, one hand held out, slowly dripping blood into a small puddle on the floor.

“Nurse!” said Floss, as a harassed girl passed by.

She stopped and looked at Floss. “We’ll get to you sooner or later,” she said.

“No, not me,” Floss replied quickly before the nurse could move on. “It’s that man over there.” She pointed to the tramp. “He needs help.”