Threats at Three (15 page)

“Everybody here needs help,” the nurse snapped. “He’ll wait his turn. He’s a regular, that one.”

“You could at least mop up the blood,” Floss said crossly. “And give him some tissues. You got tissues in this hospital?”

The nurse didn’t reply, but walked over to the tramp, said something, and disappeared.

“Here we are then,” said the reverend, appearing with Lois, who carried a tray of mugs and chocolate muffins. “This should put new heart into us.”

“Sorry about that Bible thing,” Floss said. “New one on me. ‘Mote,’ did you say? Must be very painful. Do you want a turn at sitting down?” The reverend protested that he was really a fraud and her need was greater than his.

As Floss took her coffee from Lois, she balanced it with the muffin and looked up to thank her, but Lois was staring across the room at the tramp. Floss was about to tell her about her conversation with the nurse, when Lois began to walk towards him. At that moment, a different nurse appeared and took the tramp by the arm. He struggled to his feet, and they vanished into the depths of the hospital.

 

 

JACK JR., LURKING OUT OF SIGHT OF THE BUS SHELTER, HAD SEEN Lois drive her van off towards the hall and shrugged in a resigned way far beyond his years. He’d missed the bus again, deliberately this time. He dreaded that he would be met at the other end with more appeals to take sweets, gum, cigarettes, other stuff. He hoped to get a lift and by not arriving on the bus he would be able to slip into school without being noticed.

Now, nearly into Tresham, dawdling along with his head down, he heard a vehicle coming. No good. It was going the wrong way, and he recognized the New Brooms van. He ducked into a gateway and hid behind the hedge, but too late. The van stopped and he heard Mrs. Meade’s voice calling his name. He didn’t move, hoping she would go away.

“Ah, there you are.” She was standing by the open gate, staring at him. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Walkin’ to school,” he grunted. “None o’ your business.”

“Don’t you speak to me like that!” Lois said, advancing on him. She took him by the arm and marched him to the van. Thrusting him into the backseat, she climbed in and began to reverse into the gateway.

“What’re you doing, Mrs. M?” Floss said. “He lives in Farnden, opposite the shop.”

“I know that,” Lois said. “And he knows I know that.” She maneuvered the van, put on the brake and turned off the engine. “Now,” she said, “first you apologise, then you tell us exactly why you’re causing your mother so much worry and trouble.”

Silence from the backseat. Then, to Floss’s horror, she heard a very loud, rasping fart. To her amazement, Lois burst out laughing. “Good God, boy,” she said, “you don’t think that’s goin’ to shock me, do you? I ain’t brought up two good lads for nothing!” She turned round in her seat and looked at the sullen face. “How old are you, Jack?” she asked.

The boy was discomforted. He’d hope to be turned out and left to his fate, but this hadn’t happened. “Thirteen,” he said. “Nearly fourteen.”

“Can I open the window?” Floss said. She had no idea what Mrs. M had in mind, but wished she would get on with it. The painkillers were beginning to wear off, and she wanted to be home with her leg up. And the smell was awful.

Lois opened the windows, allowing a welcome rush of fresh air. “Nearly fourteen, eh,” she said. “And the eldest? The man of the family?”

“I’m not! My dad is the man of the family,” Jack said, his face bright red. “Or should be, if he hadn’t taken off and left us in the shit.”

“Maybe he’ll be back?” Lois silently put her finger to her lips, asking Floss to be silent.

“Not my dad! Mum wouldn’t have him.” Jack thought for a moment, and decided a little honesty would go down well. “An’ yes, I am scared of going to school. There’s this man who lies in wait for me.”

“Who d’you mean? Where does he lie in wait?”

“Dunno who he is. He’s every bloody where. Mostly outside school. Meets the bus. Us kids are too scared to tell the school. Let me go now, missus. I’m gonna be hours late as it is. I’m in for more lectures on truancy, more extra homework . . .”

“Mrs. M,” Floss said quietly. She could hear tears in the boy’s voice. “Couldn’t we run him into Tresham, back to school? Poor kid’s had enough, I reckon.”

“What d’you think, Jack? Shall we let you walk the rest, or drop you outside school?”

“Take me to school,” the boy said quickly, “an’ wait ’til I’m inside.”

Lois started the van, and they cruised along the Tresham road in silence. As they neared the school, she said, “I’m going to have to tell your mother, Jack. This can’t go on, y’know. He can be stopped.”

“Mum knows. And we don’t want the police! He’s got friends, and they’d kill me.”

Lois stopped outside the school gate and reached behind her seat. She took hold of his hand. It was cold and the nails were bitten down to the quick. Nearly fourteen, she reminded herself. A child still.

“Get going, then,” she said, and then, as an afterthought, shouted after him, “You know where I live.”

On the way back, they said nothing for a while, and then Floss cleared her throat. “It isn’t right, is it, Mrs. M? It isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Lois. “D’you think I should mind my own business, Floss?”

“Are you serious?” said Floss. “That kid needs help. His mum works with us now, and everybody knows you’re well in with the cops. You’re probably his best hope. Couldn’t we all help?” she added.

Lois frowned. “Against the rules, Floss,” she said. “My own rules. Family first, then New Brooms, and a poor third comes my work with Inspector Cowgill. I don’t think your Ben would think much of me if I involved you in a nasty court case. It could come to that, with witnesses an’ that. No, you’re a good soul, but all I ask is that you keep your eyes open for that boy’s father. There may be no need for that now, but it’s not certain yet. Now, here we are, gel, let’s get you out and into the house. Then I’ll phone your mum.”

Joan Pickering was round at her daughter’s house minutes after Lois’s call, full of concern and plans for looking after Floss. “Just you be more careful in future,” Joan said, and with a sideways glance at Lois added that she didn’t think turning out cupboards was part of the job description anyway.

“Don’t fuss, Mum,” Floss said. “There’s worse things to worry about than a sprained ankle.”

T
HE REST OF THE WEEK HAD PASSED WITHOUT ANY UNDUE events. Lois and Gran had made friends, and had now decided that instead of going to Sunday church, Gran’s preference, or weeding the flower beds, Lois’s choice, they would do neither, but would take the little terrier Jeems out for a walk in the woods.

Lois had heard nothing from Cowgill, nor had she mentioned her encounter with Jack Jr. to his mother. If, as was possible, the drowned tramp had been Jack Sr., it was going to be tragic and difficult for the Hickson family, but no longer a dangerous threat. She had cautioned Floss to keep the whole thing to herself, promising to let her know if any solution suggested itself.

It was a beautiful morning, and the two set out with Jeems tugging eagerly at her lead. “Walk properly!” said Gran. She shortened the lead and the terrier immediately obeyed. “Pity some kids are not so easy as this little dog,” she said reflectively.

“Meaning?” said Lois.

“That eldest Hickson boy,” Gran said. “He was at the cricket match on the rec yesterday, fooling about with another boy—not from the village—and disturbing people who were trying to have a picnic and watch the match.”

“What were they doing?”

“They’d got their bikes, and had made a track of hollows and bumps down by the hedge at the bottom of the field. Then they were riding as fast as possible, shrieking and yelling until they fell off. Wheelies, do they call it?” Gran could see from Lois’s face that she did not think this a great crime, and decided to change the subject. She had no wish to start another quarrel with her daughter.

“How’s Floss’s ankle coming along?” she asked, as they climbed the stile and took the footpath into the wood.

“She says its much better,” Lois said. “Mrs. Tollervey-Jones sent her a bunch of flowers! How’s that for a changed character? Mind you, she’s always been fond of Floss. I don’t like the girls to get too close to the client, as you know. That’s why I send Paula there alternately with Floss.”

Gran thought of saying that she would bet a pound that Mrs. T-J wasn’t as devoted to Paula Hickson as she was to Floss. But she bent down and released Jeems, who headed at once towards a rabbit hole.

“Damn!” she said. “Will she come out?”

“Don’t worry. We can grab her tail,” and saying this, Lois took hold of Jeems’s rapidly waving tail and pulled her out backwards.

They strolled on, enjoying the dappled sunlight through the trees, until Gran stopped suddenly. “Who’s that?” she whispered. She pointed to a figure seated on a stool with an easel in front of her, painting away, totally absorbed and unaware of their approach.

“It’s that new woman,” Lois whispered back. “They’ve bought one of Thornbull’s old farm cottages for weekends. She’s in the wood most weeks. All weathers, apparently. Painting the trees. Doesn’t like anybody talking to her. Lovely paintings, people say.”

“No accounting for folk,” said Gran, “though she looks friendly enough.”

They walked on, talking idly about Jamie and his concert tour, and Douglas and Susie, and young Harry. They agreed they would do certain things differently in his upbringing, but also agreed that it was best not to interfere.

“I suppose you know the way? We’re not lost are we?” Gran said, as Lois stopped and gazed around her.

“No. It’s just there’s something different about the bushes over there. Looks like somebody’s made a hide of some sort.”

“Bird-watchers,” said Gran. “They’re everywhere these days. You’d think birds couldn’t exist unless someone watched them. Barmy lot, if you ask me. They should let the little dears get on with it, without bein’ watched all the time. Enough to make them emigrate, I say.”

“Just wait a minute. I’ll go and look,” Lois said, and pushed through the bracken. It was a rough hide, but not for bird-watchers. Ashes from a fire had been spread out neatly to make sure there were no smoldering cinders. A small wooden box turned upside down proved to be a mini-larder. In it, Lois found a plastic bottle of milk, half-full, and the remains of a loaf of white bread, both covered in protective wrap. Insulation, Lois supposed. She rewrapped them carefully and replaced the box.

“What was it?” Gran said, as Lois returned.

“Just a shelter for bird-watchers, like you said. Come on, let’s see if we can find wild strawberries. There used to be some on the Waltonby side of the wood. Are you up to a bit of a trek?”

Gran bridled. “O’ course I am! I’m used to plenty of exercise from being on me feet all day round the house, down to the shop, round to WI, over to Blackberry Gardens for coffee with Joan. It all adds up, you know. Not an ounce of spare fat on me. You must’ve noticed.”

Lois had to admit that this was true. “But then, I
sit
at my computer, sit in my van, sit in the Tresham office, sit interviewing clients, and I weigh exactly the same as I did when I was twenty. How come, d’you reckon?”

“Nervous energy,” Gran said confidently. “You worry it all away. Anyway, are you still sure we’re on the right path? I can see a man over there, looks like he’s got a gun.”

“Morning, Mrs. Weedon, Mrs. Meade!” It was John Thornbull, and he explained swiftly that he was out shooting rabbits. “Pesky things!” he said. “Hazel is mad because they ate all the new lettuces before we’d had a single one. Funny thing, though, they took the whole plant out of the ground. One by one, they went. Never seen that before.”

“Perhaps them rabbits had an order from Tesco’s—lettuces on the vine, an’ that,” Lois said lightly, but in her mind she was beginning to see a pattern forming. Self-sufficiency, she thought. Whoever was the culprit, he was clever. Never in the same place two nights running, on the move. Locals might say it was the Green Man. She knew there were legends about this wood, with many sightings of a tall ghostly character with leaves for hair and a face carved out of wood. But she’d never heard tell of a Green Man living on half-liter plastic bottles of milk and sliced white bread.

“What’s funny?” said Gran.

“Nothing much,” Lois said, and then pointed excitedly at a green patch ahead. “Look! Strawberries. Come on, Mum. We can get cream from Josie on the way back and have them for pud.”

 

 

JOSIE WAS ABOUT TO LOCK THE SHOP DOOR AS THEY APPROACHED. Sunday mornings she opened up, mainly for newspapers and sweets for the children, and now she looked forwards to an afternoon with Matthew Vickers. He was taking her over to his cottage to see his latest acquisition, a king-sized double bed. “One careful owner, good as new,” he had said persuasively.