be late and Gillian felt nervous, suspicious that someone could have got at Lois and warned her off coming to her house this morning. She shook herself, told herself not to be so stupid. The whole thing was descending into ridiculous melodrama, she thought. That meeting last night had been a good example. Peter White, who should know better, wallowing in self-pity, Malcolm Barratt just out to save his skin at all costs, and Dallas Baer, a cold fish if ever there was one, quite sure that he had done nothing out of the ordinary, merely indulged in a little bit of stuff on the side and no harm done.
But harm had been done. Gloria had been strangled in a dark, steamy kitchen, in a state of silent terror. Gillian was sure of the terror. Gloria had never liked the dark, and left lights burning all night ‘to keep the bogies away’, as she had said. She would have been steeling herself in that kitchen with its blank, dark windows, hurrying to make tea for the women, desperate to get back to the safety of the brightly lit hall, where that woman had been droning on about milking cows, or whatever it was. If only she had been there that night! Well, she had been there, in a way, and had done nothing. She would never forgive herself. She had been getting ready to go over to Ringford, and had watched the dark shadow go along the footpath past her cottage and up to the village hall, knowing quite well who it was. She had followed a few paces behind, softly, in her nurse’s shoes. Then she had stood and waited. And when the screams came, she had turned tail and fled, back along the footpath and into her cottage, shaking from head to foot and gasping with fear at what had been done, and at her own connivance. It
Twenty past nine and still no Lois. Gillian went to the telephone, dialled Lois’s number and waited. No reply. Well, perhaps she was on her way, after being held up by one of the children, or a traffic jam in Tresham, or a flat tyre on the road. Or a visit to the police station…
“Morning!” It was Lois at the back door, voice cheerful and apologetic. “Sorry I’m late. Josie again, not feeling well, and deciding to stay at home. So I had to make sure she wasn’t lead-swinging and then leave her some food, and by then…”
“No bother, Lois. Don’t worry. I was just worried that you might be ill.”
Lois pulled off her coat and hung it behind the door as usual. “Soon catch up, anyway,” she said. “Are you out this morning…how’s that old lady in Ringford?”
It was all so normal. How could Gillian begin to find out what Lois knew? It was almost as if Lois had decided to forestall any awkward questions. She kept up a stream of inconsequential remarks until she had all her cleaning things ready and then disappeared upstairs to start on the bathroom. Gillian could hear her singing tunelessly, and shrugged. She could wait. Maybe at coffee time the opportunity would come. She had changed her appointments around so that she could have the whole morning free. Perhaps if she got out some old photographs and left them on the table, that might start some useful conversation. She took out a green, leather-bound album, and opened it. She turned to a page where a young woman half-smiled at the camera, holding a tiny, new-born baby in her arms.
It was herself, in better days, and she was smiling at Gloria, who had reluctantly taken the picture.
¦
Josie was not feeling ill at all, of course. In fact, she felt very well, alert and excited. Melvyn had phoned, luckily while Mum and Dad were out, and arranged to meet her this morning in the shopping centre.
“Best place for a secret assignation,” he’d said, to make her laugh. “Lose ourselves in the crowds. Never be noticed that way. I’m longing to see you, Josie,” he’d added in a different, softer kind of voice. “I’ve missed you a lot.”
“Me too,” Josie had replied, looking at herself in the mirror that hung above the telephone and thinking that she looked a lot older than fourteen, nearly fifteen, specially with her hair this way. “See you then,” she’d said. “I can get rid of Mum OK and get the bus. I’ll be there.”
Melvyn was already there when she walked up the long street, with its tall palm trees and sparrows flitting in and out. The sun was shining through the glass roof, and it felt warm and springlike. Josie saw him, leaning up against one of the pillars, reading a newspaper. His familiar good looks gave her a happy jolt. There’d never be another like Melvyn, whatever Mum said. He was special. She walked softly up to him and stood close, saying nothing. He looked down at her, smiling.
“There you are, then,” he said. “Let’s go.” He took her hand and led her down the long sunlit boulevard, out into the car park, and up to a car that she recognised as the one they’d taken to Yorkshire. He held the door open for her, laughing and attempting a formal bow. Then he started up the engine and cruised out of the car park and took the road in towards Tresham.
Josie thought she had never felt so happy. Melvyn was driving with one hand, the other stroking her leg, sending thrills of excitement through her. He put in a tape and turned up the thudding music until Josie felt her mind whirling away to the hypnotic beat. It was not until the car slowed down and stopped, that she saw where they were. It was the deserted back road that led down to the canal.
“Come on, Jose,” said Melvyn, grinning at her. “Time for a surprise.” He took her hand and pulled her out of the car, slamming the door and locking it.
She stood looking at him, her happiness evaporating fast, and a horrible, creeping fear taking its place. “I don’t want to go to that place,” she said, her voice now like a little girl’s. “Take me home, Melvyn. We’ll be in trouble if we go there.”
Melvyn still smiled, as if he had not heard.
“I’ve made some improvements,” he said. “Wait ‘til you see. All mod cons.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and drew her along beside him.
When they reached the factory, she stopped, snatched her hand away, and said, “No, Melvyn. Not in there.
He took no notice, and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, daftie,” he said. “You gotta trust Melvyn. He’ll look after you.” And in spite of her protests and attempts to turn around and run, he manoeuvred her into the warehouse and shut the creaking door behind them, taking a key out of his pocket and locking them in. “Cosy?” he said, as he led her to that same deserted room. It was indeed transformed. Clean and tidy, with furniture arranged neatly in place. Melvyn had made a home. “Just for you and me, Josie,” he said. “Now sit down there, and I’ll get us some dinner.” He opened a cupboard and took out paper bags and cans of drink, setting it all out on a table. There were proper plates and glasses, knives and forks, and two chairs ready for them. Josie sat down mechanically, her eyes glazed with terror at being trapped. When she wouldn’t eat, Melvyn drew his chair up next to hers and fed her titbits, as if she was a recalcitrant child. Finally, he pulled her to her feet and put his arms around her. “Our own home, Jose,” he said. “Nobody can get us here. We’re safe here, for as long as we want.”
Josie was shivering now, and Melvyn took her over to a new, garishly covered sofa. “There,” he whispered close to her ear. “Have a rest for a bit.” Then he opened another cupboard and took out a bright pink blanket. It was clean and he spread it carefully over her. “See?” he said. “Everything we need. Just you and me, Jose.”
She looked at him pleadingly. “I want my Mum,” she said.
He did not seem to hear and instead walked over to the table in a purposeful way, sat down, and began to read a magazine.
¦
“Who’s that, then?” said Lois obediently. She was sitting at Nurse Surfleet’s kitchen table, her coffee still too hot to drink. Just my luck, she thought, to have to look at a load of old snaps. Why do people do it? As if I care. Then she stared harder at the picture on the page Gillian was shoving towards her.
“Guess who?” Gillian said again. “Come on, Lois! Surely I haven’t changed that much?”
“It’s you, is it?” Lois looked closer at the faded print. “Good heavens, so it is. Well,” she said, thinking quickly, “I think you’re much better looking now. That terrible hair style! Blimey!” Her mind was working rapidly now. That baby…it was just another new-born, of course. But the way it was wrapped, and the shawl itself, looked identical to those other snaps, the ones in Gloria’s cottage and at the Rixes’. “And the baby?” she said casually.
Gillian’s face was pale now. “I think you know who the baby was, don’t you, Lois?” she said, in a cracked voice. “Especially if I tell you it was Gloria who took the photograph?”
Lois knew that whatever she said now was terrifyingly important. Gillian’s response would tell her, she was sure, the answer to the whole sorry puzzle. And then it would be for her to act. Or for Gillian to act. Suddenly Lois was frightened. It was, after all, a matter of life and death. Somebody had felt strongly enough to strangle a
