history to her, and had told him interesting, gossipy details to help him remember.
“Well, then,” she said, finally pushing the book over to him. “I reckon you’ll be fine. And restored to health, too,” she added, with a sideways look at him. He nodded, and they were silent for a few minutes.
“Gran…”
“What?”
“You know Miss Abraham?”
“Of course I do! What about her?”
“I thought of something she told me. It was about school, an’ her own times, an’ that. I just remembered, with us doin’ stuff about the old days.”
Gran looked at him closely. “What did she say?” she said urgently.
“Said when she went to school in Edinburgh, her dad was caretaker, an’ it was a bit embarrassing. She got bullied, but her brother stuck up for her. Him an’ his best friend Donald. Got into fights about it. She likes her brother a lot, you know.”
“Well, maybe so,” said Gran. “Probably did once, but not so much now. Donald, did you say?”
“Yep. D’you think her brother did that terrible thing, Gran?”
“Looks like it,” said Gran, trying desperately to think of a way of changing the subject. “Anyway, Jamie,” she said, “we’ll probably see Enid again soon, and get going on the piano lessons.”
“I’ve remembered something else,” he said, and she could see his eyes were glistening with tears. “That school, where she was bullied, where her dad was. It was called St Cuthbert’s Junior. She said it several times, and told me who St Cuthbert was.”
“Who was he?” said Gran automatically, her mind churning.
“Some ole saint…don’t remember,” said Jamie, shrugging. “Think I’ll go upstairs now and have a rest.”
“You don’t fool me, young man,” said Gran. But she let him go, and went to the telephone. “Lois? Listen, I got something to tell you. What? Well, stop in a lay-by, or something. This is important. Ready? Right, listen then. It’s important, and you’ll want to get hold of your cop. Jamie said…”
Lois listened, then took a deep breath. “Right, thanks Mum,” she said. “I’ll need to make a quick call now. Not much chance of an answer, but worth a try. How’s Jamie?”
“Right as rain,” said Gran. “As always.”
¦
In St Cuthbert’s school in Edinburgh, the school secretary frowned. She’d just returned from holiday in Spain, and had come into the empty school to make a start on the pile of work waiting for her. The temp, as usual, had been useless. She could break the back of it today, and be ready for the onslaught tomorrow. Now the telephone was ringing, and she considered not answering it. But it might be her husband, or one of the family.
“Helloo? Well, school’s closed. Oh, I see. A serious personal matter. Go on, then.” Lois told her a prepared story, and crossed her fingers.
“It’s a long time ago, Mrs Meade,” the secretary said. “We do have school records, of course, and I could look in there for them.” She sounded very reluctant, and Lois stressed the urgency. “Oh, all right. Abraham? If you could hang on for a wee while…or can I ring you back?”
Lois said she was on a mobile, so would sit and wait for a return call. “Sorry to bother you,” she said. “It is really urgent. Thanks a lot.” Finally, the call came.
“Got it!” said the secretary, more cheerful now she had a result. “Edward Abraham. What did you say? I’m not getting you very clearly. A boy in the same class called Donald?”
There was a pause, and then Lois grinned. “Great! You’re a star,” she said. “What was his surname? MacDougall?…Donald MacDougall. Thanks ever so much. Yes…very helpful…Bye.” Lois signed off before the secretary could pursue the conversation, and immediately rang Cowgill.
“Yes, Lois, of course I’m listening carefully,” he said. His eyes opened wide as she told him all she’d discovered. “That’s my girl!” he said, and immediately knew he’d said the wrong thing.
“I’m nobody’s girl, least of all yours!” said Lois. “Just get on with it. There’s probably quite a few Donald MacDougalls in Edinburgh. If I get any more info, I’ll be in touch. And let me know what’s happening,
Hunter Cowgill sighed deeply, and did as he was told. He got on with it, very rapidly.
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Forty-Six
After a long, dreary and claustrophobic day in the flat, Enid drifted towards the sitting- room window. She must avoid at all costs giving any hint that she was up to something. She tried hard not even to think of her plan, terrified that Edward would pick up on her thoughts.
“It’s raining,” she said.
He lowered the old magazine he was reading. “Come away from that window at once, Enid!” he said in a harsh voice. “How many times do I have to tell you? We’re in hiding!”
“Sorry,” said Enid, and backed away, but not before she’d seen a woman’s face at the window across the courtyard. The woman was looking straight at her, and then, before she could duck out of sight, Enid saw her give a little friendly wave. That’s torn it! Still, what Edward didn’t see wouldn’t annoy him. “Sorry,” she repeated, “but there’s nobody about. It’s raining quite hard.”
She sat down and picked up a magazine from the pile Edward had brought in from the hall. The newspaper had disappeared.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Father?” Enid was deeply relieved that her father seemed to be more or less restored to health – or such health as he’d had before his ascent up the spiral staircase.
“How about you, Edward?”
“Rather have something stronger,” grunted Edward, “but I suppose I should keep a clear head. Yes, all right then, I’ll have a cup.”
Enid went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. Under cover of the noise of water coming to the boil, she took out of her pocket a little screw of paper. Whilst Edward had been out on an errand, she had crushed two sleeping pills into a fine powder. She made the tea and tipped the powder into the cup destined for Edward, stirring it well.
“Here you are, Father,” she said, “and this one’s yours, Edward. I know you like it strong.” Oh dear, that sounded silly. Why should she suddenly say that, out of nowhere?
He was looking at it suspiciously, and she held her breath. “Could’ ve been a bit stronger,” he said, and she nearly laughed with relief. But she made a big effort to appear casual, not to watch as he drank it down to the bottom of the cup.
“Did you put sugar in it?” he said, putting his finger into the empty cup and licking it. Enid shook her head. “Of course not,” she said. “Must be the milk. Was it fresh?”
He shrugged, not bothering to answer her, and went back to his magazine.
¦
When his eyelids began to close, Enid got up and went swiftly into her father’s room. Thank goodness he hadn’t dozed off too. She stuffed his warm jacket into a holdall, then went into her own room and collected her coat.
“Father…” She was whispering, and he did not hear her. She risked more volume, and this time he turned and saw her, carrying the bag, beckoning to him with her finger to her lips. His mouth dropped open, and he turned to look at Edward. But Edward was deeply asleep, his head back comfortably in the chair. Enid put down the bag, and picked up a small rug draped over the sofa. She wrapped it gently round Edward’s legs, and then took her father’s arm, retrieved the bag, and made for the hall.
“Door’s locked,” whispered Father. His voice trembled, and Enid could feel him shaking. She felt in her handbag and pulled out the key.
“Pickpocket!” she whispered, and smiled, hoping to relax him. He stared at her and nodded. She had never seen him look so terrified, not even when Edward had threatened him at home.
It seemed to Enid to take a lifetime to negotiate the spiral staircase. She dared not hurry her father, unless
