Cold as Ice (18 page)

Tracy came back from settling Jackson down for a nap. She closed the bedroom door and stepped back out from the hall into the lounge.

‘Jackson’s so tired. Is it normal for him to want to sleep like this?’

Jeanie nodded. ‘He’s going into shut-down mode because he’s in shock.’

‘I’ll pack a bag for Steve while things are quiet.’

‘Okay, I’ll join you.’

Tracy led the way through to her bedroom. She pulled down a suitcase from the top of the wardrobe and unzipped it, started to fill it. Steve’s neatly ironed pyjamas went in first. Then
T-shirts, then she took his shirts from the hangers in the wardrobe and zipped them into a suit bag. Jeanie was impressed by her methodical packing.

‘You been together a long time, Tracy?’

She stopped mid folding a T-shirt into the bag. ‘Seems like forever.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘In a nice way, of course.’ Jeanie smiled, waited. Tracy busied herself
with repacking the case. ‘We’ve known each other since college. That’s what I mean.’

Jeanie watched Tracy as she smoothed out creases and folded into perfect neat squares. It struck her that Tracy would have a hard job maintaining her level of perfection with Jackson running
around. For now, she was still clinging to her lifestyle and making him fit into it but it was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.

‘You’ve done that before.’ Jeanie stood beside Tracy and looked into the perfectly packed suitcase.

‘One of the many jobs I’ve done in my life – worked in retail. You learn how to fold a shirt. It’s funny how you collect skills. But I don’t have a clue how to look
after Jackson.’

‘You’re doing a good job, Tracy. No one gives you a rule book. You just learn along the way.’

‘That’s what Danielle said to me. There isn’t a right way of doing things.’

‘She’s right. Has Steve got any kids?’

‘God no.’

‘Not keen, huh?’ Jeanie smiled.

‘You know what? We’ve never really sat down and said, shall we?’

‘Did he know about Danielle?’

‘Yes – well he knew I had a baby but we didn’t talk about it much.’

‘What was it like when you gave her up? You were very young?’

‘I was fifteen.’ Tracy’s voice came out shrill. She took a breath, closed the suitcase and sat on the bed. ‘It was very difficult. I came from an ordinary family; I was
one of two kids. My sister never did anything wrong.’ Tracy sat on the edge of the bed and tucked her hands beneath her thighs. Jeanie could see Tracy didn’t have a lot of practice when
it came to talking about her past. Tracy looked up at Jeanie. Her eyes distant, sad. Gone was the super-efficient Tracy, in control. The fifteen-year-old, caught out and cracking up, sat before her
on the edge of her girly white satin bed. ‘I was just unlucky, I guess. The first boy I felt deeply for and I ended up “up the spout”. I left it too late for an abortion; I had no
idea what was happening to my body. My parents had never really told me much. I’d have done that if I’d had the choice – got rid of it – I mean, I was just a girl. I knew
nothing about parenting. I lost so much schooling. My academic side just came to a standstill. I suppose . . . if I’d been really bright, really keen, I might have made it to uni but . .
.’ She shrugged. ‘It wasn’t really talked about. It wasn’t on the cards.’

‘It must have been a difficult time.’

She didn’t look at Jeanie.

‘Devastating. My mum and dad were so upset. They couldn’t look me in the eyes after that.’ Tracy’s hands spread out along the satin bedspread as if she looked for comfort
in its silky touch. ‘No more
princess
for me!’

‘They helped you in making the decision to give Danielle away?’

‘She wasn’t called that then. I named her Clare.’ Tracy flashed a look Jeanie’s way then smiled, embarrassed. ‘Yes they decided, with me, that I was too young. I
couldn’t have coped. They decided it was best.’

‘Did you think it was?’

She shook her head. ‘I did at the time, or rather I didn’t know what to think.’

‘But you picked yourself up afterwards and went back to college?’

‘Yes, sort of – we papered over the cracks. We tried to behave like it never happened. I went to do a course in beauty therapy and I met Steve. He was doing a mechanics course. My
parents were really anti him in the beginning but he was a friend more than anything else and I needed that.’

‘Is he still?’

‘What?’

‘A friend? The love of your life?’

Tracy gave a half smile but didn’t answer.

‘Marriage is hard work, isn’t it, Tracy?’

‘Yes. You need to do it when you’re young, that’s for sure. You compromise then, don’t you? You’re willing to bend an awful lot to accommodate someone. Too much,
really. Then, before you know it you’ve lost yourself and you kind of hate them as much as love them.’ She turned her face away. ‘But you can’t imagine life without them,
that’s the trouble. You get caught in a love trap.’

Jeanie could see Tracy’s reflection in the window, she could see that she was thinking hard what to say; her expression was a sad one.

‘Love loses something along the way, doesn’t it?’

Tracy shut the case and looked earnestly at Jeanie. ‘I certainly wouldn’t do it again.’ Jeanie smiled. They looked out at the street outside. ‘Is Jackson safe?’

‘Yes. I don’t think he’d come near Jackson here.’ Jeanie smiled. ‘You’re doing a good job, Tracy.’

It was midday when Carter left Tracy’s house; he drove to Camden and parked up on a quiet residential street with a smart-looking row of Victorian terrace houses. He
walked along to the end of the terrace and smelt the bonfire as he turned up the driveway and walked past a battered-looking van.

He rang the doorbell and waited. No one came. He walked to the edge of the house and heard the crackle of the bonfire as flakes of soot drifted past him. Carter knocked on the side gate and
tried the latch. He called out:

‘Mr Foster?’

‘What do you want?’ came the reply.

‘A word.’ Carter opened his warrant card and showed it above the garden gate.

The gate opened and a man stood wiping his hands on a rag. Behind him was a long garden with a clump of trees at the end and a smoking bonfire in the middle. ‘Gerald Foster?’ It
struck Carter that Foster was a tough-looking man. He was over six foot. His frame was still upright and strong. He would have put his age at fifty. Foster wore heavy-rimmed glasses covered in a
layer of dust. They were ones that had come back into fashion, clear at the bottom, black and heavy at the top.

The man nodded but he didn’t move from the gate.

‘I won’t keep you long, can I come in please?’

For a moment it looked as if Gerald Foster was about to say no but then he turned and walked over to the bonfire.

Carter followed.

‘Funny time to be burning stuff? Isn’t that ground a bit wet?’ Foster shrugged. He carried on past the bonfire and through into the utility room and kitchen at the back of the
house. The kitchen table was covered with newspaper and tools being cleaned. Foster unscrewed a chain-saw that was secured in a vice screwed to the edge of a worktop and blew onto the newly
sharpened chain blade. Christ, thought Carter – this is what happened to some men when there was no woman around. Foster had turned his house into a tool shed. ‘You’re having a
tidy-up?’ Carter looked around the kitchen. There were large pieces of antique-looking mechanical equipment on newspaper. There was a wooden box under repair, its hinges hanging out, its
broken lid resting on top of it.

Foster shrugged and turned his back to Carter while he washed his hands in the kitchen sink.

‘I’m very busy as you can see.’ He picked up a dirty towel from beside the sink and wiped his hands.

‘What’s all this stuff? You repair antiques? Looks like you have a lot on here.’ Carter knelt down to look at a piece of old machinery that looked like a pump.

‘It’s a hobby.’ Foster glared at Carter. ‘What’s this about?’ Foster’s voice was surprisingly soft for such a gruff-looking man, thought Carter. He
looked nervous. He definitely wasn’t comfortable with visitors.

‘It’s about your daughter Danielle. She’s gone missing.’ Foster stared blankly at Carter for a few seconds then he shook his head and turned away, irritated.
‘We’re very concerned about her welfare. We think she’s been abducted.’

‘Whatever trouble she’s in she brought it on herself.’ Foster picked up a pair of shears from the kitchen table and began sharpening one of the blades on an oiled stone.
‘I haven’t seen her in two years. Don’t want to either. I’m finished with her – I’ve done my bit. Brought her up as best I could.’

‘Bit if a handful, was she?’ Carter nodded sympathetically at Foster. He didn’t answer; he continued sharpening the blade.

‘You could say that. She caused my wife’s death; she brought it on with all her shenanigans.’ He turned to look at Carter and make sure he understood. ‘She was never any
good. I could see it as she grew. She had that look about her. Nothing but trouble and then she got herself pregnant and I told my wife not to have anything to do with her but she felt sorry for
the little boy. Poor blighter.’ Foster lifted his eyes and looked at Carter.

‘I don’t know what he’s capable of. Not much, I don’t expect. He’s disabled. You seen him?’

‘Yes I saw him. He’s a sweet little kid. He’s in shock. He was left alone overnight.’

‘He’ll soon forget. He’s going to be better off without her, that’s for sure.’ He picked up some bits of debris and threw them angrily into the bin. Then he turned
back to Carter. ‘Marion saw them despite my wishes. I told her not to but she disobeyed me and look where it got her. It put her in an early grave. If someone has taken that girl, good luck
to them. They’ve done the world a favour. She’s never been any good to anyone.’ He paused and looked up from his sharpening. ‘The boy’s better off without her.
What’s happened to him now?’

‘He’s with Danielle’s birth mother, Tracy.’

Foster looked away and shook his head with a cynical smile on his face. ‘What’s she like, Danielle’s birth mother? Rough, I expect?’

Carter shook his head. ‘Not at all – she’s a nice woman: hard-working, respectable. So you haven’t seen Danielle for some time?’

‘Not since the funeral. I didn’t want her at that but she turned up and I didn’t want to make a scene. Marion wouldn’t have wanted that. Marion was nothing but goodness.
A saint to put up with the things she did. A wonderful woman who deserved better than the treatment she got from her own daughter. Well, adopted daughter. I never used to think there was a
difference – I do now. I think of her as a cuckoo in our nest. All she did was take – bled us dry.’

‘I understand what you’re saying, Mr Foster. I know it’s not easy. I came from a big family – fallouts are an everyday thing, but you might want to keep the door open on
Danielle and your grandson. She was trying her best to put her life in order. She had enrolled in evening classes, she was living in a new place with Jackson. She was trying to make a go of
things.’

‘Oh I know she was attending classes. She told me.’

‘So she did contact you recently. I thought you said she hadn’t?’

‘I said I hadn’t seen her. She rung up six months ago, said it was to see how I was. But she always has an angle. She got to it in the end. She asked me for the details about her
birth mother. I gave them to her. It was no skin off my nose. Typical – now that she can’t tap my wife for money she’s trying to get it out of some other poor sap. Good luck to
them both.’

Carter watched as Gerald started sharpening the other side of the shears.

‘Do you work, Mr Foster?’

‘I’m a London guide. I take people on guided walks around the city and the surrounds. I’m working this afternoon.’ He looked at Carter as if to say – so hurry
up.

‘A tourist guide?’

‘Yes. I show people round. Charles Dickens’ London. Jack the Ripper’s haunts. That kind of thing.’

‘Interesting job.’

‘It’s more of a hobby really. I’m semi-retired.’

‘What did you do before?’

‘I’m a carpenter by trade. I still get the odd call to make something but I haven’t done so much since my wife died.’ He caught Carter looking around at the mess in the
kitchen. ‘I don’t see the point in keeping up with the housework any more. Never did really. That was always Marion’s domain. But I make sure I brush up well when I go to
work.’

‘You manage here on your own?’

‘Yes. I can live very frugally. I don’t need a lot of money.’

‘Looks like you look after your tools. My granddad was one for making and mending, always saw him with a pair of pliers in his hand, always fixing something.’

Foster didn’t reply, instead he motioned his head towards the back garden and the bonfire.

‘Of course, I won’t keep you.’

Foster picked up his gloves and marched outside. Carter followed him out. They passed the overgrown edges of what had once been a neat and well-cared-for garden. There was lawn in the main
middle part, shrubs around the outside now looking wintry and uncared for. The lawn came to an abrupt stop at a small copse of trees.

‘You’ve got a lot of space here. Ever thought of getting planning permission? Is that a big shed you’ve got at the bottom there?’ Carter took a few paces towards the
trees and a shed with an open door.

Foster blocked his way.

‘It’s a workshop. I’m giving it a tidy-out. Look – I’m busy. If you want to talk to someone go and find that worthless no-hoper Niall Manson, the boy’s
father. What about him? She said she’d broken away from him but I never believed it. If there’s some muck to roll in he’ll find it.’

‘Funny,’ said Carter, watching Foster work. ‘He didn’t seem to like you either.’

Foster stopped and looked him.

‘You’ve talked to him? What did he say?’

‘We talked about Danielle
mainly
.’

Carter watched as Foster seemed to be mulling this news over.

‘Ah well.’ He stamped on the growing pile of debris to burn. ‘Those that live in glasshouses shouldn’t throw stones.’ He glared at Carter.