Trust Me (10 page)

‘She come in one day last November. She’d only popped in for a packet of fags, but it was quiet and I asked if she wanted a drink. She stayed, we got chatting and she said she’d always fancied working behind a bar. As it ‘appened I knew one of my girls was leaving, so I offered ‘er a job. She started first week in December, three lunchtimes to begin with, then as it got busier she did more and an occasional evening.’

‘You said you were mates – did she used to stay on after the bar was closed?’

Tosh smirked. ‘Yeah, we’d ‘ave a few drinks and a chat. I felt sorry for ‘er. She could ‘ave ‘ad it all if she ‘adn’t married Reg. Ought to ‘ave found ‘erself an office worker or sommat, not a bleedin’ builder.’

‘But she married him for love.’

‘That soon flies out the winder when you’ve got no money,’ Tosh retorted. ‘I see it every day in ‘ere. Anne used to say to me, “Tosh, I’m tired of waiting for the good times. It just gets drearier and drearier every day.” She used to tell me that sort of stuff ‘cos she knew I weren’t one for the routine, the ordinary.’

‘I expect she found the sex was boring with Reg too,’ Hewitt said.

‘Too right. She used to say he was a Friday nighter. Always the same, predictable as Big Ben.’

‘No wonder she fell for you!’

Tosh jerked his head up, sensing sarcasm.

‘Come on, Tosh, I knew right away the first time I called you were lovers. It was written all over your face. You have a right to grieve for her too, and you can’t do that unless you admit what she was to you.’

Tosh looked wary.

‘She’s dead now, Tosh,’ Hewitt said in the same gentle, reassuring tone he always used with the bereaved. ‘My job is to get at the truth about the circumstances. Don’t you owe her something? At least the truth.’

Tosh swilled back his drink and grimaced. ‘Okay, we was ‘aving it off, and I feel bad if you must know because I should have listened to ‘er when she said Reg ‘it ‘er. But I didn’t take it serious, I thought it were just a little slap. But ‘e’s a big bloke, and deep too – Catholic, yer know, never misses ‘is Mass every Sunday, they’re always the worst ones. They bottle things up, and when it comes out it’s with a big bloody bang.’

‘Had you made any plans with Anne for the future?’ Hewitt asked.

Tosh suddenly sat bolt upright, an expression of horror on his face. ‘Plans for the future! Of course not, she were a married woman with two nippers. Gawd almighty, mate, whatcha take me for? We just ‘ad a bit of fun together. She were a great screw. But I wouldn’t want to be saddled wif ‘er.’

‘Why not?’

‘She were a schemer. Oh, I fell for the big blue eyes and the sexy ways of ‘er in the beginning. But there was sommat wrong wif ‘er, like she didn’t really care about anyone, not even that much about ‘er kids. ‘Er life weren’t a bad one, she ‘ad more than most round ‘ere. But I reckon even if you gave ‘er the sodding moon she’d be cryin’ out for the stars too. I was just a stand-in till someone better came along.’

Tosh paused to get up and pour himself another drink. He stood by his big mirror-lined drinks cabinet and swigged it down in one.

‘But I still wish I’d taken her a bit more serious on Saturday. Maybe if I’d bin a bit nicer to ‘er she wouldn’t have gone ‘ome and picked a fight.’

Hewitt knew the time had come to leave. He’d got what he’d come for – Tosh was the lover, and a dirty little affair it was too.

Back at the school at twelve o’clock, Hewitt was ushered into a classroom by another stern-faced middle-aged teacher and asked to wait for Miss Sims.

All the classrooms, and there appeared to be just three, were partitioned off from the assembly hall with wooden panelling up to five feet and then glass up to the ceiling. A handful of children were having lunch on tables out in the hall, he assumed the rest of the children had gone home for theirs. The school had the same smell he remembered from his youth, a mixture of chalk, floor polish and small bodies that perhaps weren’t washed well enough. But there the resemblance ended – his school had been a grim, gloomy place, the only decoration on the walls a map of the world and a set of canes.

Children’s bright paintings covered the walls here. There were displays of handicrafts, a nature table with a vase of sticky buds and a bird’s nest, and up on the blackboard the teacher had written a series of words connected with spring. Hewitt thought perhaps the children had been asked to write an essay using them.

He saw a painting which had Dulcie’s name on it, and he moved closer to get a better look. Again the theme was spring, as for all the pictures, and hers was by far the best, with trees covered in blossom and lambs skipping around beneath them.

‘Dulcie is very good at painting and drawing.’ A gentle, refined voice spoke behind him, making him reel round in surprise as he hadn’t heard the door open. The owner was young, no more than twenty-five, small, with light brown hair caught back in a bun at the back of her neck.

‘I’m Susan Sims, Dulcie’s teacher,’ she said, transferring a cup of tea into her left hand and holding out the right. ‘How are she and her sister? What a terrible business this is. I’ve been so worried about them.’

There was real compassion in her soft brown eyes, and a sweetness in her face that made Hewitt think of heroines in old-fashioned books.

He shook her hand, introduced himself and asked her to sit down. She didn’t ask him any questions about Mrs Taylor’s death, but instead said she was relieved to hear the children were with their grandmother rather than in a children’s home.

The absence of any snooty remarks was cheering, especially as Miss Sims was clearly out of the top drawer herself. Her brown and cream print dress, though very plain and demure, looked expensive, as did the cream leather belt around her small waist.

She said Dulcie was one of her brightest children and very willing to learn. If she had a problem it was only that she never pushed herself forward. She allowed other children to shine when she could probably outdo them.

‘And what can you tell me about her parents?’ Hewitt asked, perching on one of the small desks.

It was the first time she faltered. ‘Say whatever you think,’ he prompted her. ‘I’m trying to build up a true picture of the family.’

‘Mrs Taylor rarely came here,’ she said. ‘I believe she did when Dulcie first joined the school, but then she’s only been in my class since last September. Since then the mother only came once, and only then when I sent a note home asking her to.’

‘Problems?’ Hewitt asked.

‘No, the reverse. Dulcie is such a good reader, I wanted the parents to let her join the library. Mrs Taylor came in with rather a bad grace I’m afraid. She seemed to think I was exceeding my role of teacher. She said she didn’t have time to keep going up to the library with Dulcie, and surely there were plenty of books at school she could borrow.’

Hewitt raised his eyebrows.

‘But Dulcie did join, her father used to take her after he got home from work. Almost every week she’d show me what she was reading. She said her father often read them too.’

‘How did he seem to you?’

‘Not the way people are portraying him now,’ she said firmly. ‘I thought he was a good man, a loving father, and he tried hard to give his girls all the things he’d been denied as a child. Did Miss Willoughby tell you about him calling here to complain about them standing on the doorstep in the snow?’

‘Yes, she did.’ Hewitt replied.

She blushed and looked down at her hands. ‘Well, please don’t repeat what I’m going to tell you, but I thought Mr Taylor was right to complain. I was away from school that day, and I’d certainly have brought the children over here if I’d seen them waiting in such cold weather. Maybe it was a bit high-handed of me, but I dropped in to see the Taylors a couple of nights later.’

‘I don’t think that was high-handed, just kindly,’ Hewitt said.

‘I’m glad I went,’ she said. ‘You see, rumours were flying around about Mr Taylor being a brute even then, and I wanted to reassure myself they weren’t true. Mrs Taylor was working that night too, and he’d just got the girls ready for bed when I got there. We chatted by the fire, he was sitting in one armchair, with both girls on his lap, I was in the other, and I could see for myself that this was how he was all the time. A man who loved his family and home. I do not believe for one moment that he killed his wife.’

‘What did you talk about?’ Hewitt asked.

‘All sorts, books, the bad winter, how the government was letting everyone down by not rebuilding houses fast enough, even the new Health Service. But mostly about school. May had only started at the Infants in January, and he asked me how he could help her along with reading at home. May made us both laugh because she said she wanted to be a film star when she was grown up, and you didn’t need to be able to read for that.’

‘How long did you stay?’

‘Over an hour. I was shocked it was that long when I looked at my watch, I’d only intended to stay a few minutes.’

‘It sounds as if you really liked him.’

‘I did,’ she said softly.

As Hewitt drove back to the police station he was very disturbed. He felt he knew Anne Taylor now, and he didn’t like her one bit, a self-centred, neglectful mother, an unfaithful wife and a heartless bitch. Yet the saddest, most disastrous part of all this was that every new fact that emerged about her gave more credence to Reg deliberately killing her. He could just hear the prosecution banging home to the jury how impossible she was, they’d get to hate her, and sadly at the end they would judge Reg by what they knew they would do faced with the same circumstances.

The black Wolseley glided to a halt in Deptford High Street in front of a greengrocer’s. Mr Sims turned to his daughter. ‘Are you quite sure this is wise, dear?’ he asked.

It was Saturday morning, four days after Susan Sims had been interviewed by PC Hewitt. She had thought of little else but Dulcie and May since then, and she’d woken early this morning determined to visit them at their grandmother’s house.

‘I don’t know that it’s wise, Daddy,’ she smiled. ‘But I must do it. Pick me up again here in an hour.’

‘Why won’t you let me drive you to the house at least?’ he said in a pleading tone.

Susan tickled him playfully under his chin. To her he was just Daddy, but she knew his clothes, bearing and voice displayed that he had an important position in the City. ‘Because you and this car will just create more attention,’ she said. ‘Now, stop worrying, I’m going to see an old lady and her grand-daughters, not an ogre.’

She got out quickly and walked away. She had telephoned Hewitt and got the address – fortunately he’d seen no good reason why a teacher shouldn’t go and see her old pupil and had given her directions. But he had warned her that she would find the area very unpleasant.

Susan could see exactly what he meant once she was off the High Street and into the labyrinth of narrow streets which led to Akerman Street. There were no front gardens here, front doors opening right on to the pavement, and as it was a warm sunny day, most of them were wide open giving a glimpse of a world she had no previous knowledge of. Dank, unpleasant smells wafted out, mingling with worse ones that appeared to come from drains. Yet it was the level of noise which affected her most – babies crying, women shouting both inside the houses and out on the street, bringing home to her that almost all these houses held more than one family.

As she turned into Akerman Street she saw May jumping a skipping-rope turned by two big girls. It was quite obvious she didn’t belong here, for there was a glow about her – rosy cheeks, shiny, neatly plaited hair, and plump legs. She was chanting breathlessly as she jumped, her short dress leaping up to give glimpses of white knickers.

Dulcie was sitting on the doorstep, watching her sister. Her shoulders were hunched, arms clasped about her knees. She looked so very sad.

But as Susan came nearer, Dulcie glanced round, saw her and leaped to her feet. A wide, wide smile spread across her face and she came tearing down the street to greet her.

‘What are you doing here, miss, have you come to see me?’ she asked, her blue eyes wide with delight.

‘Now, what else would bring me down this road if not to see you?’ Susan said with a smile. ‘How are you?’

‘Okay,’ Dulcie replied, her eyes sliding away from her teacher’s face. ‘Did you get told Mummy died?’

Susan nodded. ‘Yes I did, Dulcie, and I’m so sorry.’

‘Daddy didn’t kill her,’ she snapped out, as if needing to get that straight immediately.

Susan put her arms around Dulcie and held her tightly for a few seconds, overwhelmed with sympathy for the child. ‘I know, dear, I liked your daddy very much and that’s why I came today. I hoped it might make you feel a bit better,’ she whispered into the child’s hair.

May came running up then. ‘Did you see me skipping?’ she asked in a shrill voice. ‘Beryl and Janice have been teaching me.’

Susan gulped, sensing in that moment how different the two girls were. May was too young to grasp the gravity of what had happened, Dulcie was bowed down by it.

‘Shall we go in to see your granny?’ Susan asked.

May disappeared almost as soon as she’d checked that nothing in Miss Sims’s bag was for her. Susan had brought two pots of blackcurrant jam made by her mother, a quarter of tea, sugar and some home-cooked ham.

‘My mother and I thought you might be finding it a bit difficult if you haven’t got the children’s ration books yet,’ she said to Maud by way of an explanation. ‘I hope you aren’t offended.’

‘Offended! ‘Course I’m not, it’s good of you, miss,’ Maud said, looking delighted. ‘I ‘ave got the ration books now, ‘cos that policeman took me up to ‘Ither Green on Thursday to get some more stuff for the kids. It’s right kindly of you to come and visit us too. It means a lot to Dulcie, don’t it, girl,’ she said, nodding at her granddaughter.

Susan drew Dulcie on to her knee. ‘Well, we’re old friends, aren’t we, Dulcie, and in times of trouble we all need friends.’

‘Will I be able to come back to school soon?’ Dulcie asked.

‘The funeral’s on Monday,’ Maud said pointedly, making a gesture to Susan as if she wanted to have a word with her in private. ‘I keep telling Dulcie that I can’t see ‘ow she can go back to your school after that. It’s too far away.’