“I don’t see why not,” Lois said. “It’d be good for him. Take his mind off the past couple of days.” She looked at the clock. “I might slip round and see Kate Adstone. She was talking about helping Paula by collecting Frankie from nursery with Cecilia, and looking after him for a couple of hours. Paula will be needing as much work as I can give her when all this is over.”
It was a lovely calm evening, still warm from the day’s unbroken sunshine. If only it could be like this next week, they should have a really profitable day. And a lot of fun, too. The soap box had brought the village together in the best way. Nothing like a bit of good-natured competition. She thought of the unresolved question of what had really happened to Jack Jr., and decided to leave it until tomorrow, when her brain had cleared.
When she reached Kate’s house and rang the bell, there was a long silence and she began to think nobody was at home. But surely it would be Cecilia’s bedtime? Then she saw the net curtain twitch, followed by the sound of locks and bolts being undone. What on earth was going on?
“Oh, it’s you, Mrs. Meade.” Kate looked worried. “Do you want to come in?”
Lois nodded and walked into the neat sitting room, all the toys now tidied away into a big red plastic box. “I hope you don’t mind my calling,” she said. “I saw Gavin on his way to a meeting, and thought it would be a good time to tell you about Paula.”
“Of course,” Kate said. “Please sit down. Would you like a coffee?”
They talked for a while, and Kate seemed pleased that Paula would entrust her small son with her for a while after nursery. “I did wonder whether she would go off the idea after what happened to Jack. What
Lois gave her the authorised version, and skipped on to ask about Cecilia. Assured that the little girl had settled very happily now, she prepared to leave. But Kate said quickly, “No, don’t go yet. It’s so nice to chat to someone when Gavin is out, and I expect your husband is with the lads, too?”
Lois sat down again. “Are you nervous about something, Kate?” she said. “I couldn’t help hearing all those unlockings! Not scared of anyone, are you?”
“No, no,” Kate said airily. “It’s Gavin. He always insists I lock up securely when he goes out in the evenings. Especially since the Hickson business.”
The conversation stumbled on. In the end, Lois said she had to go, as Gran would wonder where she was. “Gavin should be home very soon,” she said. “And look, it’s not really dark yet. Listen to that blackbird! There’s a couple of them calling to each other. Come out here and listen.”
As they stood in the quiet evening, listening to the liquid notes of the blackbirds, the sound of a rough engine broke the spell. Kate froze as a shabby white van drew up outside her gate. The window was lowered, and a voice shouted out, “Twelve o’clock sharp tomorrow, Mrs. Adstone! Be there!” And the van moved off, juddering as it gathered speed.
Kate turned and rushed back in, followed by Lois. “Who was that? Did you know him?”
“No, no, of course not. Never seen him before. Must have got the wrong house. Sorry to have kept you, Mrs. Meade. Goodbye now.” And Kate more or less shoved Lois out of the house and began to lock and bolt the door once more.
Lois shrugged. If Kate Adstone was having an affair with a man in a scruffy van, it was her business. But it hadn’t sounded like that, and Lois was pretty sure it
FORTY-SEVEN
THE MAN, WHOSE CURRENT NAME WAS ROSS, RETURNED TO his sister’s house and parked his van outside, obscuring any view of the turgid canal water on the other side of the road. The house was in darkness. He supposed she was out at one of her many social engagements. Whist, bingo, a coffee evening with her Oxfam mates somewhere in the town. Well, that was good. He would have the house to himself, and could use her telephone to make some calls.
He drew the curtains, opened a beer and settled down. The first call was the most important. He dialled a familiar number, and waited.
“Hello? It’s me. Ross. Yeah, mission accomplished. What? Yes, of course I made sure she heard.”
The voice at the other end of the line asked if he was certain she had been alone. Ross thought quickly. A small lie was necessary here. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I went to the pub first, and her bloke was there, buying drinks all round for some reason. Something to do with this soap box grand prix they’re putting on in Farnden next Saturday. I think they’d finished their vehicle, or something. You’d’ve been proud of me. I managed to get in on the round meself!”
“So she was alone, except for the kid?” the voice said.
“Yep. I kept it short. She was scared, o’ course.”
“And did she say she’d be there?”
Another necessary lie. “Oh, yeah. Said she was looking forwards to it.”
“Liar,” said the voice. “Anyway, you’ll be for it if she doesn’t turn up.”
The call was cut off abruptly, and Ross saw that his hand was shaking. Sod the bugger! If only he’d never got into his clutches. That’s how his sort worked, of course. Caught you when you were down, in his case sacked unjustly, and then made themselves indispensable.
His next call was to the dodgy character who’d been his second-in-command at Barcelona Street. “So what’s happened about that girl? Cops took her away, I suppose? Did anybody talk? All got away before they got there? Good. Keep in touch, and don’t forget that if you blab it’s your life or mine. And I’m keen to hang on to mine.”
That should fix him, he thought, and hung up. Now the most difficult one. He had to find out where Hickson was hiding out. The score was still not settled. There was no news on the telly. The story had gone quiet, but the evening paper had a small paragraph saying the police were still looking for the boy’s father. He knew Hickson had been popular when he worked with the gardening lot at the parks depot. He had good cause to remember that! He rubbed his ribs where the pain still caught him, especially in wet weather.
Well, he had had one or two mates, too. Not that they had supported him much at the time, but he could give one of them a ring and see if he’d heard from Hickson. He still had his number somewhere. He searched and found it in an old notebook in his pocket, and dialled. His luck was in, and he recognized the voice. “Hi, mate!” he said breezily. “Guess who this is?” The answer was quick and final. A click, and then the dialling tone.
Ross sagged in his chair. He finished his beer and opened another. Friendless, he said to himself. All except for that bugger who had him by the short and curlies. He needed to think, and as always when silence began to close in and threaten panic, he switched on the telly.
“GOOD MEETING?” LOIS SAID, AS DEREK CAME INTO THE SITTING room a little unsteadily.
“More of a celebration, ac-ac-actually,” he said. “Soap box
“Shouldn’t they wait until they’ve won the grand prix before cracking open the champagne?” said Lois dryly. She didn’t grudge Derek his celebration. He had worked really hard on this whole event, and deserved a break. “I wonder how they got on at the Youth Club? Hazel said John had to choose a driver.”
“He came into the pub just before I left,” Derek said. “They’ve decided to let young Hickson drive it, all being well. Unani… unanimous decision, apparently.”
“Is it safely built?” Lois said, with a sudden shiver of doubt.
“Oh, yes. They’ve had technical advice from the college. It looks a really streamlined job, too. It’ll be great for the kid if he wins. And hey, you know he was supposed to turn up at choir the night he went missing? Well, Tony Dibson was in the pub, and he said the lad had sent a note of apology. He’s still going to join, as soon as he’s sorted out.”
“That’s all right, then,” Lois said. All seemed to be going to plan. So why did she have this nagging feeling that something was still wrong, dangerously wrong?
