Jenna was quite shocked by Mrs Dawlish’s unkempt appearance. The woman she remembered from her childhood had always looked so prim and proper, and she had always gone to great pains to ensure her children were well turned out.
In sharp contrast to her previous high standards, the tangled hair of the woman standing before her was sticking up as though she had just been dragged backwards through a thicket. The accusing eyes that struggled to focus on Jenna were rheumy, the skin on her face was blotchy. Mrs Dawlish’s lips sagged along one side as though she had recently suffered a stroke, and the teeth were in a terrible state, with a number missing.
What was left of a bottle of vodka hung limply from her left hand, the clear liquid sloshing against the sides every time she moved.
Jeanna was so startled by the transformation that she just stood there, unable to speak.
Mrs Dawlish burped drunkenly and then tottered sideways until she came to a halt against the doorframe. “Rodney don’t live ‘ere anymore,” she said, and then burped again.
Jenna instinctively took a backward step, afraid that Mrs Dawlish was about to throw up over her. She tried not to wrinkle her nose in disgust, but the smell wafting off the poor woman was so rancid that it was making her eyes water.
Her breath was like death; catching a sudden whiff of it, Jenna fought back the urge to gag.
“Do you know where I can find him? Please, Mrs Dawlish, it’s important.”
The woman shrugged, and in so doing nearly fell over. “Dunno,” she slurred, and her face morphed into a mask of sadness. “Bastard never comes to see me anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jenna said, “but I need you to concentrate for a moment and tell me where he lives.”
Mrs Dawlish waved the bottle in the air as she spoke. “Should be livin’ ‘ere with me, but ‘e ain’t, is ‘e?” Her shoulders slumped and she started to sob. “I got no one left now,” she said. “Kevin’s banged up inside again, worthless little shit that ‘e is, and their father… after all I done fer ‘im. After givin’ ‘im the best years o’ me life, the heartless git buggered off with another woman. Thought me precious little Rodney would’ve stayed with ‘is dear ol’ mum, but ‘e turned out to be just like the others, only out fer ‘imself.”
As the drunken rambling continued, the woman became increasingly hard to follow, and Jenna soon realised that she wasn’t going to get any sense out of Mrs Dawlish tonight. She would have to come back again in the morning. Hopefully, the poor woman would have sobered up a little by then and would be slightly more coherent.
“Okay, thank you, Mrs Dawlish,” she said, turning to leave. “Maybe I’ll pop by again tomorrow and see if you’ve been able to remember where Rodney is living these days.”
Mrs Dawlish wasn’t listening. “Never even visits me, the worthless sod,” she said, tearfully venturing onto the walkway outside her flat. “Shame on ‘im. ‘E only lives in Star Lane. Not exactly like ‘e ‘as to travel far to see ‘is poor ol’ mum, is it?”
Jenna stopped in her tracks and spun around. “He lives in Star lane?” she asked, wondering if she had heard correctly.
“Course ‘e does,” Mrs Dawlish mumbled. She flopped against the wall for support. “Got ‘imself a flat in one of them ‘ouses opposite the park. All independent now, doesn’t need ‘is poor ol’ mum any longer.”
Jenna strode over to her. “Do you know what number he lives at?” she asked, grabbing hold of the woman’s skinny arms and shaking them.
“Gerroff me,” Rodney’s mum shouted, pulling free. “’Ow would I know that? Never even been invited round there, ‘ave I?”
Jenna stared at her for a long moment, wondering if she could wheedle any more information out of Mrs Dawlish. Probably not, she decided. With a sigh, she gently placed her hands upon Mrs Dawlish’s shoulders and steered her back into her flat.
“You should try and get some rest,” she told the woman. “And it might be an idea not to drink any more of that tonight,” she added, nodding at the vodka.
It might also be a good idea to have a shower and clean what’s left of your teeth, she thought as Mrs Dawlish closed the door behind her and went back to watching EastEnders.
Jenna had nothing to lose, so she decided to make a little detour along Star Lane on her way back home. As poor old Mrs Dawlish had said, it wasn’t far away, and while she had no idea what number Rodney lived at, there was always a possibility of bumping into him in the street.
Jenna passed beneath the A13 flyover and waited for the traffic lights to go red before crossing the busy Barking Road. She made her way into Manor Road, following it around past the perimeter of Malmesbury Road Park.
Turning into Star Lane, with the park on her right, she walked slowly, staring into each of the properties she passed like a burglar canvassing the area, only instead of being on the look-out for valuables she was searching for Rodney Dawlish.
Why am I even bothering to do this? she asked herself. I haven’t seen him for years and it’s not as though he means anything to me. Why don’t I just go home, phone the police and tell them what I know? If Rodney’s not involved, he won’t have anything to worry about.
But instead of returning home, as common sense dictated, she plodded on with her breath forming little clouds of condensation around her head as she walked.
She was
