A Cuckoo in Candle Lane (38 page)

The policeman nodded and leaning forward, he helped her out of the chair. Sally averted her eyes from the vomit on her aunt’s rug and slowly made her way upstairs, her mind racing. Something had happened. The police were there, but how?

She was away for some time as, not only using the toilet, she ran water into the sink and washed her hands and face. Reaching for a towel to dry herself, she gagged at the foul taste in her mouth and grabbing a toothbrush, brushed her teeth.

When she returned to the sitting room, her nose wrinkled at the smell. ‘I must clear this mess up,’ she told the policemen. It was easier to think of practical things, to turn her thoughts away from Harry.

‘Leave it for a minute, miss,’ one of them insisted. ‘Please sit down, we need to get a few things clear.’

As Sally reluctantly took a seat on the sofa, he sat beside her. Then, pulling a notebook from his top pocket, he licked the end of his pencil and asked, ‘Was the man attacking you?’

‘Yes, sort of,’ she whispered.

‘Could you explain what you mean by “sort of”.’

Sally stared at him. How could she explain? No, as far as she could remember, he hadn’t actually hit her. It was more the implied threat, the look in his eyes that had terrified her. ‘I … I thought that he was going to hurt me,’ she stammered. ‘He was so angry, and he stopped me when I tried to run out of the room.’

‘How did he do that, miss?’

‘He … he grabbed me, and when I screamed he put his hand over my mouth.’

‘What happened then?’ the policeman asked, scribbling in his pad.

‘I don’t remember, I think I must have passed out.’

‘I see. Now you said it was Harry – do you know his full name?’

‘Yes, it’s Harry Taylor, he’s my uncle.’

‘Why was he attacking you?’

The second policeman reappeared in the room, and as he held out a glass she looked at him gratefully. Taking sips of the water she gathered her thoughts then, taking a deep breath, she told them what had happened, and why. ‘Did you catch him?’ she asked tremulously.

‘In a manner of speaking, miss.’

Sally frowned as she looked at him. What did he mean?

There was a screech of tyres outside, the sound of car doors banging, and then Elsie was in the room, Bert behind her. ‘Oh Sally, Sally, are you all right?’ she cried. ‘What’s been going on here?’ she snapped, glaring at the policemen.

The Constables glanced at each other, then one of them gave a small nod, after which his colleague spoke. ‘We had a call from a neighbour to say she could hear screaming coming from this house. When we arrived we endeavoured to apprehend a man who tried to run off. This young lady tells us it was her uncle, a Mr …’ He looked at his notebook, scanning the page, ‘Harry Taylor.’

‘No!’ Elsie gasped. ‘Oh my God. Sally, what happened? Why was he here?’

‘He said it was my fault that Sheila wouldn’t let him see his son.’ Sally turned to the policemen. ‘Please tell me, did you catch him?’ she asked again.

‘I’m afraid there was an accident,’ one of them replied. ‘While our colleagues were in pursuit, Mr Taylor ran into that block of flats on the corner and made his way up to the roof.’ He hesitated, rubbing his hand around his chin. ‘We think he must have panicked, miss. You see, he climbed onto the parapet and then – well, he fell.’

Sally’s jaw dropped. What did he mean? Surely Harry hadn’t fallen off the roof. ‘Is he all right?’ she asked in confusion.

‘No, miss, I’m afraid he’s dead.’

She slumped, unable to stop the surge of relief that flooded through her, but then almost immediately felt overwhelmed with guilt.

Elsie came over, and sitting down between her and the policeman she took her hand. ‘Sally, where’s Ann?’

‘She’s out with Billy,’ she told her, finding that her whole body was beginning to tremble. ‘Someone will have to ring Sheila, she’ll have to be told. Oh God, my aunt too.’

‘You’re shaking like a leaf, love. Calm down and leave it to me – I’ll tell them. Now listen, you’ve had a terrible shock and when Ann comes back you’re all coming home with me.’ She stood up then, and with her arms folded across her chest, she addressed the officers. ‘I hope you’re finished with your questions. I’m sure you can see that she’s had just about enough.’

‘For now, yes, but if the young lady is going to stay with you, I will need your address, Mrs Jones.’

Sally felt exhausted. She heard Elsie talking to the policemen, Bert too, but the voices washed over her. At one point she became aware of the smell of disinfectant, and the sight of Elsie scrubbing the rug. Then she was being led to Bert’s car and found herself sitting in the back with Ann, who was holding her hand, her face drawn with concern.

‘I’m calling a doctor as soon as we get home, Sally. You don’t look at all well. Are you in any pain?’

Sally shook her head. No, she wasn’t in any pain. She just felt numb.

S
ally had seen the emergency doctor, who examined her, frowning when he took her blood pressure. He had insisted she stay in bed, and now, three days later, she pushed at the blankets impatiently. Elsie had given her a lovely room overlooking the back garden, which was alive with a profusion of summer flowers. There was a trellis below the window entwined with honeysuckle, the heady perfume drifting into the room. She knew she should appreciate it, but hated its confinement. Ever since her childhood, being forced to stay in a room made her feel trapped.

‘The police are here to see you,’ Elsie said, poking her head round the door.

Sally hastily tugged the blankets up again, looking at them warily as the same two Constables approached the bed. ‘Hello, miss. Sorry to bother you again, but we just need to clear up a few more details.’

What can I tell them that they don’t know already? she thought. How many times had she been over her statement? Sheila and Ruth had travelled back from Blackpool, as shocked as she was by what had happened. They too had been questioned and were now, like her, waiting to attend the inquest into Harry’s death.

Now, answering their questions, she went over the same things yet again, sighing with relief when they rose to leave. ‘Can you tell me when the inquest will be?’ she asked.

‘No, I’m afraid not. We’re conducting an internal investigation, and the inquest will follow, but it could be some time yet.’

Sally closed her eyes momentarily, still full of guilt, not only about the relief she had felt when told of Harry’s death, but the fear that she might have caused it. Had she over-reacted? Had she imagined the madness in his eyes? If she hadn’t screamed, the police wouldn’t have been called, and her uncle would still be alive. It weighed heavily on her mind, causing her sleepless nights.

‘We’ll be off now, miss. I don’t think we will need to question you again.’

‘Thank you,’ Sally murmured as Elsie escorted them out.

A few minutes later she pushed the blankets away again, and throwing her legs over the side of the bed, stood up gingerly, only to hear Elsie’s voice, a hint of chastisement evident. ‘Now then, Sally. You know what the doctor said. You’ve got to stay in bed for at least a week.’

‘But I’m fine,’ she said as Elsie advanced across the room, carrying a tray.

‘You don’t necessarily feel ill with high blood-pressure, and until it goes down you must rest. Now come on, I’ve made you a sandwich.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You’ve hardly eaten in days, Sally. Think of the baby, darling.’

Sighing, she got back into bed and Elsie placed the tray across her lap, saying, ‘It’s ham, a nice bit of honey roast. And I’ve made you a glass of lemon barley water too.’

Sally half-heartedly bit into a sandwich while Elsie started to bustle around, tidying up the already tidy room, moving things around on top of the dressing-table.

‘We had better think about your antenatal appointments, Sally. When is your next one due?’

‘Some time next week, I think. But I’m booked into St George’s hospital in Tooting and it’s a long way from here.’

‘Yes, it is. And too great a distance to travel when you’re in labour. I tell you what, where’s your appointment card? I’ll give them a ring and see if we can change hospitals.’

Sally frowned, trying to recall when she had seen it last. ‘I can’t remember. Ann unpacked for me – is it in one of the drawers?’

Elsie rummaged. ‘No, there’s no sign of it.’

‘You could try looking in my bag,’ Sally suggested.

Picking it up, Elsie looked inside. ‘I can’t see it in here. Hang on, there’s a pocket on the front, isn’t there.’

As Elsie’s words sank in, Sally reacted, her voice loud as she cried, ‘No, Elsie, no, don’t look in there!’

It was too late; she had found it, her face puzzled as she drew it out. ‘What are you doing with this?’ she asked, her fingers stroking the material. ‘This is Arthur’s tie. I recognise it because he spilled hair oil on it just before we went to the hall for his going-away party. Look, you can still see the residue.’

Sally’s mind went blank. What could she say? She shouldn’t have kept it, but when she packed to go to her aunt’s she’d found it in the back of her drawer. Remembering how Arthur had left it behind the night they made love, she had clutched it, holding it to her nose, trying to breathe in his scent. It was all she had left of him, and she couldn’t bear to part with it.

‘What’s the matter?’ Elsie asked, her voice concerned.

Sally just shook her head, unable to speak.

After moving the tray, Elsie sat on the bed. ‘Talk to me, Sally. I thought there would be a simple explanation, but if there is, I don’t know why you look so worried.’

It was no good, she couldn’t do it, couldn’t lie any more. Elsie had been so kind, taking her in, looking after her, when all the time she had deceived her. The baby kicked against her ribs, as if sensing her fear. ‘Oh Elsie, you’re going to hate me,’ she burst out.

‘Hate you? Why on earth would I hate you?’

Taking a deep breath, Sally said, ‘I lied when I said I didn’t know who my baby’s father is. I do know.’ She paused, lowering her eyes, cringing at what was going to happen next when Elsie heard the truth. ‘It’s Arthur’s baby,’ she whispered, too terrified to look up.

If she could have imagined Elsie’s response, she would have expected her to explode with anger. Instead, bending hastily forward, she pulled Sally into her arms.

‘Oh Sally, Sally,’ she cried. ‘You’re having my Arthur’s baby! I can’t believe it. Why didn’t you tell me? Why have you kept it to yourself?’

‘Because Jenny’s pregnant too. In fact, she must have had her baby by now.’

‘What! Jenny’s had a baby?’ Elsie’s brow creased. ‘I don’t understand. How do you know, Sally?’

‘Because she told me she was pregnant before they left for Australia. How could I ask Arthur not to go then? I knew the baby would need its father.’

Elsie drew back. ‘None of this makes sense. If what you say is true, Arthur would have told me.’

‘He was supposed to write and tell you as soon as they arrived in Australia.’

‘Well, I did have a letter from him then, the only one I’ve received, but there was no mention of Jenny being pregnant. And anyway, if it’s true, why didn’t he tell me before they left?’

‘He didn’t want to hurt you. He said you were upset enough about him going to Australia, without finding out that you wouldn’t see your first grandchild.’

‘Oh son, son,’ she groaned.

‘I’m sorry, Elsie.’

‘No, love, there’s no need to be sorry. I don’t blame you – after all, you only did what you thought was for the best. But if Jenny’s had a baby I just can’t understand why Arthur hasn’t told us. There’s something wrong out there, I just know there is, and I’m worried sick.’

After a few moments Elsie heaved a deep sigh, then pulling Sally briefly into her arms again and giving her a gentle pat on her back, she stood up. ‘I still can’t take this in, really. You’re actually having my grandchild.’

‘What do you think my mum will say, Elsie?’

‘I don’t know. But she’ll be here this evening so we’ll soon find out. Your gran’s still got bronchitis so she’s coming on her own. Bert’s going to pick her up.’

Sally closed her eyes, nervous at the thought of her mother’s reaction. ‘I’m dreading telling her.’

‘Leave it to me, love. I’ll tell her. Now come on, you look exhausted and I think you should have a little nap.’ With a small smile, she added, ‘Try to stop worrying, Sally, everything will be all right.’

As the door closed behind Elsie, Sally’s taut nerves snapped. All the pain of losing Arthur, all the guilt she felt at Harry’s death, rose to the surface. She tried to hold back the tears, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, but they oozed out of the corners, running down her cheeks and soaking the pillow. She didn’t see the glow forming in the corner of the room, didn’t see the translucent shape, and only when she felt a feathery touch on her cheek, did her tears stop.

‘Hello, how’s Sadie?’ Elsie asked when Ruth arrived that evening.

‘A bit better, but she was up half the night coughing. How’s Sally?’