Tragedy at Two (30 page)

That would be tomorrow morning, quite early, Alf had said, as he left. Now it was evening, and she wondered if he had arrived at his hotel. She looked at the clock. Nearly time for Alf’s favourite programme on television. She had had bread and cheese for lunch and a cheese and pickle sandwich for supper, and had indigestion. Perhaps she would go to bed early, stretch out and ease her stomachache. She went through to the empty sitting room and switched on, ready for the show.

 

 

SAM AND SHEILA STRATFORD WERE WATCHING THE SAME EPISODE, and instead of sitting separately, Sam settled on the sofa and beckoned Sheila to join him. “Come and cuddle up,” he said, and put his arm around her.

At last! thought Sheila. Here’s my old Sam back again. It had been such a long time since he had shown her any sign of affection, and she impulsively kissed him on his cheek. He smiled at her. “Why do we watch this old rubbish,” he said. “Not exactly the everyday story of country folk, is it?”

“Nor the everyday life of our dear young Queen,” she said, and began to giggle.

“Funny how you remember these sayings from years ago,” Sam answered. “My mum was a royals fan. She watched the Queen’s coronation on my gran’s little ’ole telly. It was covered with a fancy cloth when it was switched off.”

“My gran’s telly was kept in a cupboard,” Sheila said, snuggling closer.

Sam roared with laughter. “God,” he said, “how long ago that was. Seems like another life. An’ yet in some ways, only yesterday.”

They were quiet for a few moments, and then the familiar soap tune came up and Sheila said, “D’you reckon that Karen will leave her hubby?”

“Dunno,” Sam said. “Be a right fool if she did. He’s not a bad bloke, compared with some.”

 

 

DEREK WAS NOT WATCHING TELEVISION, ALTHOUGH GRAN HAD settled for an hour or so’s viewing with a cup of tea after supper. He said it was a good opportunity, with Lois away, to fix the overhead light in their bedroom. It was lethal, he said, with bare wires visible.

“And you an electrician,” Gran had said.

Now he came back and fidgeted about the room, passing by the screen so often that Gran said finally, “Oh, for goodness sake, Derek, settle down, do.”

“What d’you think they’re doing at this moment?” he said, by way of an answer.

“Enjoying themselves, I should hope,” Gran said. “There’s been enough fuss and bother organising it all. Mind you, that Floss did a good job in the shop today. I’ve told her to ring me if she has a problem. I reckon she’s too good to be a cleaner. And now she’s married she’ll need more money than Lois pays.”

“She likes working for New Brooms,” Derek replied, slumping down into the armchair that was usually Lois’s. “Like one big family, Lois always says.” He looked at his watch. “D’you think they’ve had supper in the hotel?” he asked.

“Derek Meade!” Gran said, losing patience. “Forget about them! There’s safety in numbers, and Lois is not going to put her only daughter in any danger, is she? If you don’t want to watch telly, for heaven’s sake read the evening paper. It’s still on the mat in the hall.”

Derek got up thankfully and fetched the paper. “Usual rubbish,” he said, before he opened it. He turned at once to the sports pages, and it was not until the programme had finished that he sat up suddenly and said, “Gran! Look at this! Here, at the bottom of the page.”

“Tresham market trader arrested in the north.” The headline meant little to Gran, until she read on and learned that the market trader had had a stall in Tresham market with his brother. She had seen it herself on a market day when she went in to town shopping with Lois. But they had agreed that it was all junk, and Lois had said they were just fly-by-nights. Something to do with the lot that camped here, on Alf Smith’s land. Probably never paid any rent for the market pitch, Gran guessed.

“I remember them!” She looked at Derek in alarm. “Nowhere near Appleby, is it?”

“Doesn’t say exactly where they were. But read on. See what he’s supposed to have done.”

The story was brief. The body of the younger brother had been found, possibly drowned in nearby floods, and the older one had been arrested. “Police are pursuing their enquiries,” the story said. “And there’s a missing dog.”

“I reckon they were among them gypsies that were here,” Derek said. “Alan Stratford said he’d walked round the wood behind them, and saw the same pair as I did them with the pit bull terrier. They’d more or less told him to clear off, he said.”

“I wish Lois and Josie would ring us,” Gran said. “Just to let us know they’re safe.”

“I thought you said we should forget about them, let them get on with enjoying themselves,” Derek said.

“Yes, well,” Gran muttered. “As long as they’re safe.”

 

 

FLOSS AND BEN HAD GONE TO BED EARLY. THEY HAD A TELLY in their bedroom, and were propped up on pillows watching the news. Floss had enjoyed her day in the shop, with one or two new customers from the development over in Waltonby. Josie stocked such a good variety that Floss reckoned you could buy all you needed and not have to go out of the village at all. She was trying this out herself, as her Ben had decided that supermarkets were the root of all evil. Bankrupting the farmers, he had said. And making people buy more than they needed with their cheap offers and buy-one-get-one-free enticements.

The local news started with a story about kids from Fletching school who had done a cycle ride for charity, and Floss said she knew one of the boys they could see wobbling about on his bike and giving his neighbour a push so he fell off. “That’s young Braddon,” she said, “his folks farm over at Fletching. A troublemaker, apparently. Funny how you can tell quite young.”

“I wonder if we’ll spot it in our own. . . .” he said, looking sideways at her.

“Ours will be perfect,” she said, “
when
they come along.”

He turned to her. “Shall we give them a helping hand?” he said, sliding down the bed beside her and disappearing under the duvet.

“Hey! Stop it, Ben! Wait! Look at this—it’s about them gypsies who were camped over at Farnden. D’you remember all that fuss, with them being moved on? I’m sure that one who’s been arrested was over the fields one day with one of them dogs—you know, the dangerous ones you’re not supposed to keep. Ben!”

Ben surfaced, his face flushed, and said never mind about flaming gypsies, how about a bit of the other.

Floss giggled, and turned off the news. Much later she remembered the story about the arrested man. The young one had come to the door once, she was sure, asking if they had anything to sell. She had shut the door in his face, more or less, and now wished she hadn’t. It must have been him that ended up dead in the mud up north.

 

 

HUNTER COWGILL WAS ALSO WATCHING TELEVISION. HE HAD eaten a solitary supper and picked up a thriller he had borrowed from the library. But the author’s account of police activity was so wide of the mark that he wondered if she was thinking of some other country, a police state some thirty years ago maybe. He turned to the front to look up publication date and saw that he was right. Published in the seven-ties, and not reprinted. No wonder! Not only were the police sorely misrepresented, but the plot was so convoluted that he gave up, throwing it to the floor.

Now he was watching the news, and nodded sagely as the story of the drowned man and his arrested brother came up. He knew about it, of course. He wondered if Lois was watching. Perhaps he would give her a ring, draw her attention to it.

“Hello? May I speak to Mrs. Meade, please? Inspector Cowgill here.”

Derek had answered the phone, and his heart sank. “What’s happened!?” he said. “Is Lois all right? And Josie?”

Cowgill said, “Sorry? What did you say? Surely you would know better than I if Lois and Josie were all right?”

It occurred to Derek that Cowgill did not know they were in Appleby, and he relaxed.

He explained that they had gone to the horse fair, and would be away for a few days.

“Where are they staying?” said Cowgill, his voice suddenly sharp.

Derek told him, and gave him the number. “What d’you want her for?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing important, thanks Derek,” Cowgill replied, and cut off the call at once.

LOIS AND JOSIE SET OFF FROM THE HOTEL, PAST THE CROWD sitting outside the pub and over the bridge, where families were walking slowly back and forth in the evening sun.

“We could be in the south of France, not the remote north of England,” Josie said.

“With the same weather for once!” Lois took her daughter’s arm in an excess of affection, and Josie squeezed it and then gently disengaged it.

“Well, now our climate’s supposed to be changing, perhaps we could do the same? Maybe play boules round the back of the village hall? We could suggest it to Dad, get him to propose it to the parish council.”

“Not quite British, though,” said Lois. “And what about when it pours with rain every evening for weeks, like it did last summer?”

“There’s brollies,” Josie objected. “You can get lovely holiday designs, like the ones people bring back from Monet’s garden an’ that.”

“Can you see old Ivy Beasley under a Monet umbrella promenading down the High Street in the rain?”

“Why not? She’s a game old thing. Probably lead the way.”

Lois gave up. “Let’s go and look at the fie ld where the camp and the stalls are. Where everything happens,” she answered, expecting a refusal. After all, the sun was beginning to sink and the camp field was the heart of it all, and after a few beers they must all be in fighting mood.

But to her surprise, Josie said it was a good idea, and they started up Gallows Hill. Privately Lois had decided that she was most likely to see George or Athalia when they were all gathered together on the field.

From a long way off, they could hear the music, loud and exciting. Josie said she reckoned the stalls would all be packed up for the night, so perhaps not so many people would be up there. They could just have a wander around and then come again tomorrow with money to spend.

Eyes followed them as they entered the field. It was full of activity and with so many camp fires burning, there was a marvellous smell of wood smoke and charred meat. Everywhere there were vans, trailers, tents, and dozens of small tinkers tearing around with noisy shouts in a foreign tongue. Several times, a group of them stopped dead at the sight of Lois and Josie, staring, as if the two women were creatures from another planet. A row of stalls ran from the entrance into the field, and they walked slowly along. Many were still trading, and most of the stuff for sale was to do with horses. There were beautiful leather harnesses, and brightly coloured carts for racing, horse blankets and newly decorated traditional wagons, with their owners sitting proudly chatting, puffin g on pipes.

Josie stopped at a stall selling jewellery, and after a conversation with the seller, bought a bracelet with tiny hanging pendants bearing pictures of Christian saints. Lois agreed it was pretty, but doubted if it had been a traditional craft of the Romany people. “More like Taiwan,” she said.

A gypsy woman approached them and said directly to Josie that she could see she’d had a lot of sadness lately, but good things would happen by the end of the year. She offered a gypsy wish for a fiver, and Lois tried to pull Josie away. Josie did not move, and stared at the gypsy woman. “I’ll have a wish, then,” she said. The woman gave her three blue glass beads, and patted her on the hand. “Good luck, my dear,” she said.

“Mum!” Josie said suddenly. “Look! There’s that bloke you were staring at this afternoon. He’s one of them gypsies that were in the village, isn’t he?”

Lois tried to look nonchalant, and said, “Where?” But Josie said, “Oh, come on, Mum. You don’t fool me. You’re here with a purpose. You think this lot can give us some clues about what happened to Rob. Well, you don’t have to keep it a secret from me. I was his partner, don’t forget. Let’s do it together, shall we?”

Lois sighed. “All right, then. Let’s see if we can get a conversation going.”

They approached the half circle of vans where Josie had seen George, and, sure enough, Lois saw Athalia in her usual place, sitting on the steps of her trailer, gazing out across the field. She saw Lois and quite deliberately looked the other way.

Not a good start, thought Lois, but approached with a big smile, nudging Josie to do the same. “Hello, I was hoping we might see you here,” she said, stepping forward to where Athalia sat, now glowering at her. Lois ploughed on. “This is my daughter, Josie, who you might have seen in the village shop when you were stopping in Farnden?”

Athalia was a good woman, and felt confused. She had decided that the less she had to do with people from that village the better. And although she had liked Lois on first acquaintance, she judged it was best for both not to pursue a friendship. Bad things had happened in Farnden, and she and George had decided not to go there at all next year, in spite of Alf Smith’s encouragement. Athalia had known Alf for many years, and had been fond of him, but he had changed. She was not sure about him anymore. One of their family had said they’d seen him in Appleby, going into the big hotel. Athalia hoped he would stay clear of them. Too many puzzles were unresolved.