Anna, and the people at the mill. When Jamie’s name was mentioned, she snapped to attention. “What did you say?” she asked.
“Well, nothing to do with Enid not coming this morning, really, but…” She relayed what Anna had said. Lois muttered, “Oh yes, we know about that,” and asked more urgently if they’d had a call from Enid saying she’d be late, or anything?
“No, nothing,” said Rosie. “It’s not like Enid, is it? I’d go down and make sure she’s all right, but I’m not really keen on…well…you know…”
Lois did indeed know, and had now decided that though she was far from keen herself, the time had come for her to ignore Enid’s warnings and pay a visit herself. She’d had enough of all the fiddle-faddling about – Gran’s words here – and with Derek’s accusation ringing in her ears – “trusting that woman in the face of plenty of warning” – she told Rosie she’d send Sheila Stratford instead. Then she telephoned Cowgill and filled him in, and told Gran she might be out for lunch.
As she opened her car door, she was surprised to see Hazel drawing up outside. “Can I have a word, Mrs M?” Hazel said, unsmiling.
“I’m in a hurry,” Lois said. She’d had no apology from Hazel, and was not in the mood to be indulgent, even if she was the daughter of her best friend.
“Right, I’ll make it snappy. First, I’m sorry I sounded off about Enid Abraham. Out of order, I know. Very sorry. Next, I hope you’ll take me back, because I like it…and I like you,” she added, with a very uncharacteristic wobble. “But more important, I want to warn you.”
“Warn me, Hazel? What of?” said Lois, feeling a huge relief that Hazel was back in the fold. If she’d gone, it would have been a failure for New Brooms.
¦
“The Abrahams,” Hazel said baldly. “I hear all kinds of things, mixing with the undesirables as I do.” Lois knew that good things had come of Hazel’s work with Cowgill. It was a pity there wasn’t a better word for snout, grass, informer. Hazel had put her life at risk on occasion, knowing full well that involvement in drugs could, and did, provoke dangerous reactions in a murky world. It was a kind of mission for the girl, and Cowgill made full use of it.
“What things?” said Lois.
“There’s trouble down there. The kids say they used to go down to see if they could fish in the mill pond…and other things, o’course. The old man sent them packing every time. And they said the curtains were always drawn across one of the windows, but they twitched, like someone was watching. They notice things, the kids. They get wary.”
“Oh my God,” Lois said wearily. “Thanks, Hazel. And, by the way, we’ll forget our little barney. I do trust you, Hazel, but I have to stick up for Enid unless there’s something solid against her…Must go now. Cheers.”
Lois drove off, relieved that at least one problem was solved. But her irritation with Enid was growing. Why hadn’t she phoned in if she was sick? And shouldn’t she have checked that it was all right for Jamie to be there last night? One phone call would have done it. There was a definite chilly centre to Enid Abraham. Like the way she took charge in the yard, more or less forbidding Lois to call the police. She was very like her brother, people said. How much like? And was it more than a physical resemblance? By the time Lois turned into the track to the mill, she was simmering.
The early sun had disappeared behind heavy clouds and the mill was shrouded in its usual gloom. Lois shivered as she got out of the car. Nobody about. Well, that was nothing new. Chickens cackled from a barn across the yard, and a cow called out in what sounded to Lois like a soul in torment. Blimey, talk about Cold Comfort Farm!
She marched across to the back door. Well, the only door, as far as she could see. Folk at the mill for centuries had had no need of a front door. The mill stream ran alongside the house, and the rotting remains of the big mill wheel still clung uselessly to the wall. The big pond was covered over with blanket weed, an unpleasant light green, hiding its depths. What a place. No wonder Enid didn’t want visitors.
Lois listened before she knocked. No sound came from inside. No friendly conversation, or a Hoover cleaning up. Nothing homely. Then a dog barked twice, a sharp, warning yelp. Lois knocked loudly, and waited.
Nothing happened. The air in the yard seemed to have thickened into something old and stale. Lois had a strong impulse to get out, to find somewhere fresh and wholesome and take some deep breaths. But she had a job to do, and she knocked again. This time the dog barked for longer, but still no one came.
Lois put out a tentative hand and gave the door a slight push. It opened a fraction, and creaked loudly, but nobody appeared. Lois looked all around, especially behind her, before pushing it wide enough for her to step gingerly over the threshold. An old sheepdog with rheumy eyes barred her way, snarling.
Lois gritted her teeth. She was not going to be put off by any bloody dog. Grabbing an old rubber glove left abandoned by the door, she clouted it round the head and pushed her way into the Abrahams’ kitchen. It was gloomy, but neat. The cats dozed, not bothering to get up. A shelf clock, its plain face worn away by time, ticked over the fireplace. The kitchen table was covered with a chenille cloth bordered by bobbles, just like Lois had seen on her grandmother’s table years ago. In the corner, in a high-backed wooden chair, sat the old man, not moving, but staring at her with eyes that were very much alive.
“Oh, God!” Lois said, startled into retreating a few steps. “Sorry…Mr Abraham, is it?…I knocked, but…”
“What d’you want?” Walter Abraham spoke flatly, as if hypnotized.
“Where’s Enid?” Lois’s anger was returning. “I’d like to speak to her…urgently.”
The old man said nothing for a few seconds, then to Lois’s horror, tears began to fall unchecked and ran down his cheeks, some into his half-open mouth. He shook his head. “She’s gone,” he said.
“Gone shopping? When will she be back?” Lois was daunted now, uncertain what to do about this old man weeping in front of her.
Again he shook his head. “Not shopping. Gone. Gone away. And I don’t know when – or if – she’s coming back.”
Now what? Lois frowned, and made a decision. She pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down. “You look terrible, Mr Abraham,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, then I can make us a cup of tea and see what help you need.” She sighed. She was a cleaner, not a ruddy social worker.
He made an attempt to get up from his chair, but sank back, his eyes closed. After another moment of silence, he opened them and said, “We had a big row. Worse than usual. About your lad coming down here. It upset Mother, and I was angry.”
“But no harm was done, was it?” Lois was gentle. She knew if she stormed on about Enid’s irresponsibility, he would dry up, or defend his daughter with excuses.
He shook his head. “You don’t know how we live down here, Mrs Meade,” he said. “Always on a knife-edge, waiting for Mother to explode. Start throwing things. Screaming. We walk on tiptoe down here.”
“And Enid broke the rules, letting Jamie stay?”
“Right,” he nodded. “I think she cracked. I suppose I knew she would, one day. Couldn’t stand it any longer. She’s not taken any of her things…”
“She probably means to come back later.”
“No, we had this terrible row. She said she’d send a postcard when she got where she was going, and I wasn’t to try and get in touch. No one must try, she said.”
The old man had brightened. The tears had stopped, and he sat up straighter. He told Lois he could manage on his own, and, yes, look after Mother. She wasn’t to worry. He was sorry about the job, and about the piano lessons. Jamie had seemed a nice lad.
Lois stood up. “I’m sorry too, Mr Abraham,” she said. “Enid was a good worker. Let us know if you need any help.” As she left the kitchen, she heard sharp rapping sounds from inside the house. What a bloody awful situation.
As she got into her car and started the engine, she stared at the house. Her anger had subsided, and she supposed she should feel sorry for the old bugger. But she didn’t, and for a good reason.
She was convinced he was lying. Lying through his rotten teeth.
