She shivered. “It does indeed, Edward,” she said.
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Forty-Five
Jamie was not feeling so good. At least, that is what he had told his mother first thing this morning. Lois had looked at him doubtfully. “You look all right,” she’d said. But when he answered her, his voice was hoarse, and he coughed painfully.
“Well, you’d better stay there today,” she had said. “I’ll get Gran to make one of her specials. She swears hot lemon, brown sugar and a splash of something stronger will cure anything.”
“Kill or cure,” muttered Jamie, who’d had specials before, and hated the taste.
The real reason for his not feeling so good was a session fixed for tomorrow with the history teacher. They were doing the Second World War, and had some facts to learn.
Jamie had been bored with the subject, and done no work. He’d promised to have it learnt by tomorrow, but couldn’t see any hope of it. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. He’d sat in his room with the book open in front of him, and gone over and over. But it didn’t stick. This morning, he’d decided on evasive action. Maybe if he asked Gran to help him, he could do it. No good asking Mum. She never had a spare minute. Yep, Gran would do it. And if it didn’t work, he could still be ill tomorrow. It’d be more convincing. Relaxed by this consoling thought, he had shut his eyes and when Lois came in with the special, he’d given a very convincing imitation of being sound asleep. She put the drink by his bed, and smiled down at him. My baby, she had thought. Looks so innocent, bless him.
Derek had gone off early to help with the paving stones, and she knew he’d be late back. They’d have a real thirst on them. She went into her office to check messages, and saw ‘Blenkinsop’ written on her pad. Damn, she’d meant to remind him. She dialled his mobile, and got a breathless Derek. “OK, I won’t forget,” he said. “What? Oh, yep, it’s goin’ fine. Cheers.”
¦
Sheila Stratford had surprised her husband at breakfast. “Nothing much in the larder for dinner,” she said. “Shall we go to the pub?”
“What?” said Sam. “On a Sunday? What about that leg o’ lamb?”
“You got that last Sunday,” she said doggedly. “Anyway, it’s our anniversary, in case you’d forgotten. It’d be a little treat.”
Sam was cornered. “Oh, well then,” he said grudgingly. “I suppose it’d be all right, just this once. Can’t spend more than the hour…we’re very busy on the farm. I shall be there most of today, Sunday or no Sunday.”
When he’d gone, Sheila was chagrined to answer the door to the florist from Tresham, who handed over a bouquet of roses with a professional smile. “Happy anniversary, Mrs Stratford,” he said.
“Best love, Sam,” she read. So he’d not forgotten. Damn. Still, there was an ulterior motive to her pub idea, and she put the roses in water gratefully. She’d made a special fruit cake for his tea, so that should put things right.
¦
“Hello, Derek! Fancy seeing you here!” Sheila and Sam walked into the bar, and Derek rose to his feet.
“Could say the same,” he said. “What’re you havin’?” He introduced his neighbour, who said he must be off for his dinner. Derek intended to follow, but couldn’t duck his round when Sam and Sheila came in.
“No, it’s a special day today,” said Sam, rising to the occasion. “Another half?” Derek nodded his thanks, and congratulated them.
A voice from the corner chimed in, “How’s about one for the oldest inhabitant then?” It was old Alf, one of several who made the oldest claim. He was on his own and feeling left out.
“I known you two since you were knee-high,” he said. “That counts for summat, don’ it?”
The four of them sat around the table swapping tales of old times like the Stratfords’ wedding day, when it had rained right up to the time when Sheila got out of her dad’s car at the church, and then the sun had come out like a spotlight, and not gone in again for the rest of the day.
“We seen some times,” said Alf, shaking his head wisely. Sheila judged it the moment to mention the subject she’d planned to bring up all along. She’d known Alf would be in his regular corner.
“Speakin’ of weddings,” she said, “I were trying to remember who that Mrs Abraham – her down at Cathanger – was before she married. D’you remember, Alf?”
“Who wants to know?” said the old man, automatically suspicious.
“I do,” said Sheila. Silly ole fool. It wouldn’t do to tell him Mrs Meade had asked, else he’d clam up like an oyster. Or oyster up like a clam. Sheila chuckled to herself. Alf said, “What’s the joke? Think I’m senile or somethin’? O’course I remember the Blenkinsops. Big family o’girls. He were a railway worker. Wife was a right harpy. Still, all them girls got wed.”
“Good lookers, were they?” said Derek. Thank goodness Sheila had brought up the Abrahams. He’d forgotten, and Lois would have crucified him.
“Some of ‘em,” said Alf. “One especially. The youngest, she was. Spoilt rotten. Lovely lookin’ gel. Dark hair and very pale skin. Black eyes. Used to say she were a changeling. Didn’t look like neither of her parents.”
“Who did she marry?” Sheila knew she was on the right track.
“Some bloke from away.” Alf looked scornfully into the distance. “She got above herself then. Still, she was always uppity, what with her mum and dad tellin’ her all the time how marvellous she was.”
“So what happened to her?”
“Went away. I ‘ad a soft spot for ‘er meself once, so I kept me ears open, though I weren’t good enough for ‘er. They said she went to Edinburgh. Then I heard the whole family come back, but I don’t know n’more about them. Now,” he continued, “how’s about fillin’ up for the toast?”
Derek took three brimming glasses back to the table, then excused himself and phoned Lois. She listened carefully, and when Sheila rang a bit later and related proudly what Alf had said, she listened all over again and pretended it was new and vital information.
¦
“Blenkinsop, did you say?” Cowgill held the phone closer to his ear. Lois must be speaking quietly for some reason. He heard her thank Gran for something, and knew what she was about to say must be about Enid, and not for Gran’s ears. A pause, and then she was back talking to him.
“Yep, a Blenkinsop. Big local family. There wasn’t nothing much new in what Derek and Sheila heard from Alf. But Edinburgh has cropped up again. I expect you got the word out there?”
Cowgill smiled to himself. She was indomitable. He could do with a bit of that. “Oh yes,” he said quickly, “we have everywhere on the alert, Edinburgh especially.”
“Do you know yet?” Lois was hesitant. “Whether it was her…Mrs Abraham?”
There was a pause, and then Cowgill said, “We’ve not confirmed the suspicion yet, but between you and me, Lois – and I mean that – we are now almost positive. I think you can be sure we’re treating it as matricide.”
“Blimey!” said Lois. “Fancy that!”
Cowgill put down the phone, uncomfortably aware that he was being mocked.
¦
Around the middle of the afternoon, Gran peeped into Jamie’s room and saw an empty bed. He’d managed quite a good lunch, and she had suggested a nap. “Jamie!”
“What?” He was over in the corner, busy with a computer game.
“What would your father say?” Jamie made a face. Gran opened the window and said, “Your Mum’s gone out cleaning at the estate agent’s, while they’re shut. I don’t think it’s right on a Sunday. Still filling in for Enid. Sooner we get a replacement the better. Poor Enid.” Her voice broke, and she squared her shoulders and added, “You’d better get dressed and come downstairs. I’m just making tea – or would you like another special?”
“No, no thanks, Gran,” said Jamie quickly. He had tiptoed out on to the landing where Mum had a plant in a pot, and given it the benefit of the first special. He expected the plant to be dead by the time Mum came home.
It was warm in the kitchen, with Melvyn the cat snoring peacefully in the big chair by the Rayburn. With his school book in Gran’s capable hands, Jamie found it much easier to absorb the facts. Gran said the war wasn’t
