The New Neighbours (57 page)

Madeleine shrugged. “Don't know. Haven't seen anyone yet. But it looks like the Havens will be moving soon. Theirs is already sold.”

Annabel Haven sat on one of the few chairs left in the living room and looked down at the removal van backed into the drive. They were moving all the furniture today, and the family was staying in a hotel for the night before trying to move themselves into their new house in a village on the other side of Belcaster. They were lucky, Annabel's parents said, that the house had sold quite quickly, because now there were so many on the market in the Circle, they might be less sought after and slower to move.

Annabel was glad they were moving. She couldn't wait to get out of the house and live somewhere where nobody knew her; nobody treated her with the particular kindness reserved for those who were bereaved, or recovering from some dreadful illness. She was tired of being an object of pity in the Circle, she was tired of being cosseted, however well-meaningly, she simply wanted to be left alone to get on with her life, to come to terms with everything that had happened to her in her own way.

After the attack, she had been kept in the hospital for three days. On the day she was discharged, she lay in a side ward and stared out of the window. The grey December sky met the roof-tops of the buildings opposite, a flurry of rain dashed itself against the window pane, and the world outside looked a most miserable and uninviting place. She was waiting for her mother to come and fetch her home, but she hadn't got ready. The nurses had told her she should have a shower and get dressed, but she couldn't seem to summon up the energy; she would wait until Mum arrived to help her. She still ached from her bruises, but these paled into insignificance compared with the pain she felt at the loss of her baby. The doctors had done all they could, but though he was born alive, he only survived for half an hour. They'd asked her to give him a name, and through the haze of her exhaustion she had murmured, “Christopher,” and little Christopher Haven had been baptised by the doctor and now lay in his tiny coffin awaiting burial. When she heard that he had died, Annabel felt numb, and that numbness had persisted. She was confined to a grey world where every thought, every movement was an effort. She did the bidding of others, allowing herself to be washed and fed, but had no will of her own.

The police had been called of course. They had asked her if she knew who had attacked her. Had she recognised him? Annabel shook her head wearily, blocking Scott Manders out of her mind. What did it matter now? If they found Scott and could prove it were he who'd beaten her up, it wouldn't bring baby Christopher back.

Charlie had been to see her, had sat beside the bed and held her hand for hours in silent support and communication. She recognised Annabel's need for entirely undemanding company. The police questions had achieved little in the way of information, and it had been decided that any further questioning should wait until Annabel felt up to answering. But Charlie asked her again if she knew who it was, and was stunned into awful silence by the answer.

“It was Scott, Charlie. He thought I'd gone to the police and told them where his lock-up was, you know with all the computer stuff?”

“You mean the garage?”

Annabel nodded.

“And he attacked you for that?” The words were hardly more than a whisper.

Annabel shrugged wearily. “That's what he said. He said I'd grassed him up, and he'd probably go to prison because of me, and then he started to punch me.”

Charlie sat in silence for a moment still holding Annabel's hand, as she took in what Annabel had told her, then she took a deep breath and said in a low voice, “Oh my God. It's all my fault.”

Annabel was uncomprehending. “What do you mean, Charlie? How can it be your fault? It's nothing to do with you.”

“I'm afraid it is,” Charlie said quietly. “You see, I sent an anonymous note to the police, saying if they wanted to find the stuff from the robbery at Belcaster Computers, they should search the garages in the yard off Camborne Road. I was the one who put them on to him. It's all my fault.”

Annabel stared at her: “You told them? But why?”

Charlie buried her head in her hands. “Oh, I don't know. Because he'd been such a bastard to you, I suppose.” She looked up again and added fiercely, “He made me so angry, why should he get away with it? Men like him are better locked up!” Her face crumpled and the tears streamed down her cheeks, “but I never thought… I mean to think he'd attack you…” And the baby… but these last words were left unsaid, though they both knew they hung between them. “Oh, Annabel, I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry!”

“It doesn't matter,” Annabel said listlessly. “You did it for the best.” She really didn't care anymore. She didn't blame Charlie, she might even have done the same in her place. It didn't matter now, it was all too late.

“But you must tell them it was Scott who attacked you,” Charlie said. “You must get him put away after what he's done to you.”

“It won't bring Christopher back,” Annabel said dully, and Charlie felt another stab of anguish at what she'd done, but she was determined that Scott Manders shouldn't be allowed to get away with it.

“I know,” she said gently. “I know that, but we have to stop him doing anything like this ever again. He's obviously a violent man, he'll do it again, you know?”

“I can't tell them,” Annabel said wearily, “or I'll go to prison for the robbery too.”

“No you won't,” Charlie said stoutly. “I'm sure that won't happen. Look, can I tell Mike about all this? He'll know what to do.”

“Mike? Mike Callow?”

“Yes,” Charlie smiled in spite of herself. “I think, well, we've been very close lately, you know?”

Annabel stared at her, jerked for a moment from her lethargy. “You and Mike Callow? An item?”

“Yes, no, well maybe. He wants to be, I'm not quite sure. Look, I'll tell you all about that another time. The thing now is to find out what we do about Scott, and I'm sure Mike will know. Like, that way we can decide things before you have to tell your parents, or speak to the police again, OK?” She could see Annabel was far from convinced and she went on, “Look, Annabel, something has to be done. We can't have this robbery thing hanging over you for the rest of your life; it's got to be sorted, right? I know there must be a way, some way. Let me talk to Mike and see what he says, OK?”

Annabel was too tired to argue. “If you want to,” she said.

So Charlie had spoken to Mike that same evening. He was amazed by what he heard, but he was adamant. “She must go to the police at once and tell them everything,” he said. “She may be charged with being involved with the burglary, an accessory or something, but even so she must tell them everything. Her parents will stand by her, won't they?”

“I should think so,” Charlie said. “They did over the baby, and they'll certainly want to see Scott Manders put away for what he did to her.”

“Tell her if it does go to court, they'll probably be lenient with her in the circumstances, but whatever happens she must tell them everything.” He looked grim, “Thugs like that Manders guy should be put away for a long time,” he said.

Charlie went over to see Annabel as soon as she got home from the hospital the next day.

“Mike says you must tell the police everything,” she said firmly. “He says tell your parents and then go to the police. In the circumstances he doesn't think you'll be in too much trouble.”

“That doesn't matter now anyway,” Annabel said, “that's what I've decided. I'll tell Mum and Dad first, and see what they say, OK?”

“Yeah,” Charlie gave her a hug. “Go for it.”

So Annabel had gone for it. When her father came home that evening, she sat her parents down and told them everything, right from the start. How Scott had rescued her from the Crosshills gang, about learning to drive his van, about the hours she'd spent with him and finally about the burglary of the computer shop, the getaway and having sex in the van afterwards. Her parents listened in silence, only the changing expressions on her mother's face showing her increasing disbelief and horror at what she heard.

Annabel told them that Scott had been Christopher's father. She told them of his reaction to the news that she was pregnant, and at last how he'd attacked her because he thought she'd given information about his lock-up to the police.

When at last she finished, she felt quite light-headed from the relief at having told them everything. There were no secrets now, from them, anyway. All they had to do now was decide what to do for the best.

Ian got straight down to practicalities. “We'll find a solicitor and then go to the police,” he said. “You do realise that we have to tell them everything, don't you, Polly?”

“But what will happen to her?” worried Angela. “Will she have to go to court?”

“I don't know,” admitted Ian. “That's why we need a solicitor, but what I do know is that we are going to get this young thug put away for a very long time. He's attacked my daughter in broad daylight and killed her baby, not to mention tricking her into criminal activity. He has to be stopped and he has to be punished, and we're going to do whatever it takes. Agreed?”

They all agreed and Ian rang up an old friend, John Belmont, who was a solicitor with a large partnership in Belcaster.

John came round and having heard Annabel's story, he agreed to go with them to the police station. When they got there they were taken into an interview room and Sergeant Trump, who had been to the hospital to see Annabel when it first happened, came in to talk to them.

“I'm glad to see you looking a little better, Miss Haven,” he said as he sat down with them. “And I want to tell you that while you've been in the hospital, we have been pursuing our enquiries. We've found a witness, an old man called Robert Hogan, who was working on his allotment at the time of the attack. Mr Hogan saw a scruffy white van driving along the track. It was going fairly quickly, so we're assuming that, if it did have anything to do with the attack, it was leaving the scene.”

“It was involved,” Annabel began, but John Belmont interrupted.

“Just a moment, Annabel. Sergeant, Miss Haven has come to see you today to make a full statement with regard to the attack and the various circumstances which led up to it.”

Annabel made her statement, and the sergeant tape-recorded it. When at last she had finished Sergeant Trump asked a few questions about the burglary, and where the computers had been hidden.

When they finally left the police station, Annabel had signed her statement and been warned that she might be charged with being an accessory to the burglary, but that decision was not yet taken. John Belmont told them that he would represent Annabel if it came to court, and that he thought he could plead a lot of mitigation in her defence.

“There are many things that can be said in her favour,” John Belmont explained to them. “She has come to the police voluntarily and made a complete admission to being involved in the burglary. It was a daytime burglary of shop premises, not someone's home at night. She is only eighteen, and this is a first offence, into which she was led by someone with a criminal record.” He smiled at Annabel reassuringly. “I will have the opportunity to explain all this to the magistrates, and it will all be taken into consideration when they decide how to deal with you. With luck, and a sympathetic bench, they may be lenient. That's what I shall be asking them anyway, and we'll hope that they listen to me.”

It all sounded reasonably hopeful, but for Annabel it was yet another thing that weighed in on her when she awoke each morning and had to face another day.

The decision to move house had been taken quite suddenly. It was two days after Christopher's tiny coffin had been taken to the church. Annabel and her family and Frank Marsh, the vicar, were the only people at the short service, and as they stood outside in the raw December air and watched Christopher committed to the earth, Ian felt that today, surely, they had plumbed the depths. He stood with an arm around each of his daughters as tears ran down their cheeks, he saw Angela struggling to be strong for Annabel and he thought, surely we have hit rock bottom now, surely things must get better.

The family was sitting round the dinner table a few days later when Ian said, “I looked at a house in Stone Winton today. A lovely house, converted from an old barn. I wondered what you all might think about moving.”

At first, they were all stunned. None of them had thought of moving, but as the idea sank in, they all, for different reasons, found the idea becoming more and more attractive. They were all full of questions, but Ian was ready for every one.

“Yes,” he told Chantal, “you can still go to Chapmans. Yes, I can drive you into college most days,” he promised Annabel. “Yes, we can afford it, even if you go back to part-time working,” he reassured Angela. He looked round the table, where they had all forgotten the food in front of them and said, “I think we all need a change, a fresh start, where no one knows anything about any of the problems we've have over the last few months. Tomorrow, if you like the idea, we'll all go and look at the barn, and see what you think. I think it's a lovely house, but if you don't like it, we can look at other houses.”

They did like it; they'd all loved it. There was plenty of room, more than in their house in the Circle, and both the living room and the kitchen looked out across water meadows to the River Winton beyond. The four bedrooms were all of a reasonable size, and there was a large room built out above the garage that could become a sitting room for the girls.

Each of them was sold on a different aspect of the house, but all agreed they would love to move there, if they were able to buy it. Ian rang the estate agents, Mark Harrison and Son, straightaway. He was determined that they should buy the house and move into it as soon as possible, so he wasted no time but offered the full asking price.