Parallel Life (34 page)

Sheila nodded mutely before helping him to his feet. The sun shone, but this remained the greyest of days.

Sal Potter arrived at her place of work, mind filled by worries because Jimmy seemed to be preparing to leave. Stuff had gone missing. He hadn't found her building society pass book, so that was one thing less to ponder. She had never been a big spender, and she had salted away several thousand against the day when the peppercorn rent cottage would be taken from her by the developers who now owned Cotters Farm.

There was a lot less food than normal. Salmon, tuna, baked beans and soup had disappeared overnight. Lavvy paper, kitchen rolls and the wet wipes she used to clean her face were also in short supply. He owed her nothing, she supposed. The new furniture and TV had cost much more than he had stolen, so she was keeping quiet about the problem. But she was afraid. In fact, scared to death would be nearer the mark.

She changed her shoes, put on a tabard and went to fetch her tranklements, a word employed by her long-dead mother when describing a box filled with a variety of items. Armed with said tranklements, she picked out kitchen cleaners and began the wet work. Somebody had been overenthusiastic on the stove, so she set to in order to rid the top of various burnt offerings that covered two of the four gas rings.

Sal was suddenly aware that she was not alone. Turning, she saw the unhappy face of the spy from upstairs. It was the kind of face described by some as a bag of spanners, but a bag of spanners didn't ask questions in a foreign language when a person was trying to do the work for which she was paid. ‘Hello,' said Sal nervously.

‘Yes,' replied Eileen. ‘You're wanted.'

‘Eh?'

‘You're wanted by madam upstairs. Mrs Hermione.'

Oh, God. Not more tea and scones. ‘I've a lot to do, Mrs Eckersley. I fell behind with my day off.'

Eileen sniffed and folded her arms. ‘It's not a request, Mrs Potter. It's an order.'

‘Oh. Right.'

‘And whose is the cat?' The intruder pointed to the open kitchen door. ‘Have you been feeding that?'

‘No.' Sal banged her implements back into their box. ‘No, I haven't fed it. I've never even seen it before.'

‘Right. Up with you now till we see the missus.'

Sal's heart pounded in her ears all the way up two flights of stairs. She didn't know what was coming, but she hoped it was only the sack. There were a lot of things worse than getting the sack, and she had been living with one of them. He'd even stolen her toothpaste and some of the old towels, so he was definitely—

She entered Hermione's domain and found herself facing not only the old woman, but also her daughter, granddaughter and – she gulped hard – Jimmy's wife. Even close to, it was plain that Annie hadn't changed much; she still looked too young and tiny to be the mother of three kids.

‘Sit over there,' commanded Hermione.

Sal obeyed without hesitation. It was the only option when Hermione was in charge. Feeling like the prisoner in the dock, Sal faced the four women. Three were on a sofa; the fourth was in her wheelchair. Next to Hermione sat the large dog that was responsible for deterioration both inside and outside Weaver's Warp. The Irishwoman, probably clerk of court, hovered behind the four seated females.

Lisa opened for the prosecution. ‘According to my friend Mrs Nuttall, you have never been married, yet you gave your identity as Mrs Potter, widow.'

Sal hung her head.

Lisa carried on. ‘I won't go into too many details – we leave all that to Mrs Eckersley – but you have been searching this house repeatedly. For this?' She held up a mangled article. ‘We took a photograph of it before Mrs Eckersley's husband flattened it in his vice. There's already one life ruined because of the damned thing, and we wanted to make sure it could never be used again. Right. What have you got to say for yourself?'

Harrie chipped in. She was clearly present to offer some kind of mitigating defence. ‘Mother, she's afraid of him. Look what he did to Annie.'

Annie put in her ten-pence worth. ‘Sal? I'm not your enemy, girl. We all know what Jimmy is. I don't want my kids' dad in jail, but what's the alternative? He made a hole in my head – you've every right to be scared.'

Sal burst into tears.

Hermione joined the self-elected magistrates. ‘No time for tears, Mrs Potter. The man has clearly parted company with any sense he might have had. He needs to be separated from the children for their sake.'

Sal dried her eyes, opened her mouth to speak, but found no words.

‘It's all right,' said Harrie quietly. ‘Believe it or not, we're on your side.'

Lisa grinned ruefully. ‘I was on my side in a field full of cows this morning, and I got no sympathy from this lot. Look at me. Look at me, Sal.'

Sal managed to make eye contact with her employer.

‘You can help.' Lisa tried to smile reassuringly. ‘We women have to stick together. Come on, now. Tell us what's happening. Did he get you to apply for this job?'

It poured from her in a stream that seemed never-ending. Filled with plasma screen, misplaced love, new furniture, depression involving her dead dad's teeth, Sky TV, boredom and separate bedrooms, the story flooded out of her. She returned to teenage years and the loss of her virginity, told how he had visited her over the years, how he had been nice to her poor, dying father, how nasty he was becoming now. ‘He's dangerous,' she concluded.

‘In what way?' Hermione asked.

‘I seen it on the telly.' Sal mopped her face again. ‘Saw it, I mean.'

‘Saw what?' Hermione leaned forward.

‘About loonies. He can't keep still. He rocks and shakes and talks to himself. Then there's his eyes – they're not right. Stares a lot, then starts blinking all the while. Sometimes, I think there's two of him. Or more. Mood swings, they called it.'

Harrie stood up, walked across the space and placed a hand on Sal's shoulder. ‘We'll look after you,' she said.

The sobbing began again. ‘Don't be nice to me,' Sal begged. ‘You'll only go and make me worse.'

‘But we
will
look after you.'

The seated woman took a deep breath and looked into Harrie's eyes. ‘It's you needs looking after, girl. If he doesn't get that gun back today, he's going to kidnap you and rob the shop. He says the Compton-Milnes would swap the gun for you and a few diamonds.'

Harrie blinked. Was that the bloke seen skulking outside, the one Roger had mentioned? ‘Stop worrying, Sal. I'll stay away from the shop until he's caught. Are you safe at home? Are you sure he won't hurt you?'

Sal nodded.

Harrie pulled Sal to her feet. ‘Look. Go to Gran's bathroom and sort yourself out – wash your face. Don't go home yet. Stay for the usual length of time. You don't need to do any work. Then carry that blessed gun home with you and let him do as he wishes with it. My mother will take her chances if he accuses her of involvement with his burglaries. She can stand up for herself, because this town knows and respects her. She's been daft, but no more than that. There's no danger of her being thrown out of office like poor President Clinton—'

‘And look what they replaced him with.' Hermione was in the saddle again. ‘An ape with the brains of a—'

‘Be quiet,' Harrie shouted. ‘Get off your high horse, Gran. This poor woman's had enough.'

Hermione muttered about not being able to say her piece in her own house. She threatened to leave all her property to a home for sick donkeys, but nobody listened. Eileen, however, eyes and ears of the world, found the temerity to put a hand on her boss's shoulder. ‘Enough,' she said. Hermione stopped talking immediately.

‘Shall I say you gave it to me?' Sal was asking, in reference to the mangled gun.

‘No!' chorused five females. ‘Say you found it in the garage with the photo,' Annie advised. ‘Then he won't phone Lisa this afternoon. If he does phone her, she can say that it's gone. It would be the truth.'

Sal went out to wash away her tears.

‘Can we trust her?' Hermione asked.

‘Course we can,' replied Annie. ‘She's one of us. She's another female who's been stood on by a bloke. His mam said he wasn't right the last time he visited her. She thought he looked wild – like a tiger kept too long in a cage. She's scared of him and scared for him. She
is
his mother, so she must have mixed feelings over it all.'

‘Well, he'll be in a cage soon enough,' promised Lisa.

Annie sighed. ‘He was always wild. And I've got two of his sons to tame. God help me.'

The door had been left ajar by Sal. A face appeared low down, very near to the floor. It was black, fluffy, and had recently travelled, together with the rest of its person, in a skyward direction via Hermione's summer-weight curtains. The room seemed to hold its breath. Hermione placed a hand on Milly's neck.

Milly remained where she was. The cat, having looked from a distance into the face of its natural enemy, walked straight in and placed itself between the Alsatian's huge front paws. There was no clawing or hissing this time. The animal had done its research and reached a decision.

‘Is this a suicide mission?' Harrie asked. ‘Are we in the presence of a kamikaze cat?'

Lisa smiled. ‘In a fight between a cat and a dog, there's only one winner. And it ain't the dog.'

A pink-faced Will appeared. ‘Sorry to interrupt,' he panted. ‘She got away from me. I found out her owner died a few days ago – lived on the estate – Beech Gardens. They used to have a dog as well – their son's taken it, but he can't have the cat because his wife's allergic to them.' He paused for breath. ‘Bella's used to big dogs. See?' He pointed to the animals. The cat had curled into a ball at Milly's feet. ‘Can we keep her?' he asked.

‘Bloody hell,' laughed Annie. ‘You sound like Billy or Craig. They even brought an old tramp home once – he stank of booze and was covered in sick. “Can we keep him, Mam?” Will, you proved my theory – males never grow up.'

Harrie's eyes filled with moisture. He was a good man, and she would have his child. He would want her to have his child. University needed to be managed, and it would be managed. She stood up. ‘I'll look after Sal till it's time for her to go home. Then, I have a few things to do.'

‘If you're going out, take Will with you,' ordered Lisa.

Yes, she would take Will. Firstly, she had to share news with him. Secondly, he might help with the mystery of Mathilda.

Twelve

The hammock was slung between a pair of apple trees that seemed old enough to have figured in Genesis. Will, who had fallen off the thing twice, was now balanced precariously between comfort and broken bones, Bella purring contentedly on his chest. She had fallen to the ground with him, but she seemed to have accepted such events as examples of the vagaries of the life she had chosen for herself.

In a nearby upholstered swing made for two, Harrie was perfectly composed. The air of contentment was a mere cloak, however, as it concealed a great deal of inner turmoil. Firstly, there was the blob created by herself and the idiot in the hammock. As occupier of an unstable item of leisure furniture, he was, perhaps, not in the best of positions when it came to discussing blobs. She would deal with that in a minute, as he was sure to come crashing down fairly soon.

Ben wasn't answering his phone. She knew he had experienced trouble when it came to recharging, but she so badly wanted to talk to him. About Father and Mathilda, about Will and the blob – though Ben had to be placed in the bronze position on the podium regarding her pregnancy. Will must take gold; Mother, Father – if he could be found – and Gran shared silver; while Ben would be forced into third position. In reality, she knew that her brother was all the gold in the world, because, in accordance with his instructions, she had opened a certain letter on his behalf. He had gained four A-stars in his A-level exams. She could tell him that, at least, before informing anyone else.

‘I have never understood hammocks,' said Will sadly. ‘All those sailors hung up like that on heavy seas. It must have been dreadful – one big wave, and they'd be crippled.'

Harrie sniffed. ‘It was the only way to keep them all in there. They couldn't fit everybody on the floor. Poor sailors would have been laid like sardines from helm to poop.'

‘What is a poop?' asked Will just before he tumbled down to earth yet again. From his new position in life, he asked how the meeting had gone.

‘Meeting? More like a fracas. I am confined to barracks, and you can stay where you are,' ordered his fiancée. ‘Leave the hammock alone for a minute. The meeting was interesting, and I have something to tell you.'

The cat shook herself, stiffened her tail as if raising a finger to the world, then stalked off. In her opinion, dogs and old ladies made more sense than these two clowns.

Will was not one who gave up easily. Ignoring the order to the contrary, he struggled to climb back into his hammock. When he heard Harrie's next words, he performed the classic full turn and re-deposited himself on the grass. ‘What? A baby?' He scratched his head.

Harrie shook hers. ‘Parenthood is not to be undertaken lightly. You will have to learn to comport yourself in a sensible and upright manner, and you have less than eight months to improve. Close your mouth – you look like a goldfish in a dry tank.'

‘You mean we can keep it?' he asked.

She remembered Annie's remark about her twins. ‘Men never grow up,' she had said. ‘Either keep it or put it to auction on eBay,' Harrie replied. ‘Stop it, stop it. Put me down!' She was suddenly airborne. He ran in circles, whooping and shouting like a cowboy who had just reined a heifer. But she wasn't a heifer – not any more – she was twenty-one and a bit. ‘Put me down,' she repeated.