Secrets on Saturday Page 12

  “Is it nasty?” she said nervously.

  “Not exactly,” he replied, and said no more. Best not to mention talking to the mysterious man, he thought.

  After ten minutes or so, they came to a clearing and Ross gasped. “What’s been going on?” she said, still in a whisper. “Looks like someone’s been making a garden.” The sandy soil in the cleared patch had been newly dug and smoothed over, as if with a rake. They crunched on a thick layer of leaves to the edge of the patch, and Floss grabbed Ben’s arm. “Look!” she said, pointing to a roughly-made flag on a knobbly stick pushed into the fresh earth. The flag was made of white material, a piece of old sheet, with a black skull and crossbones crudely drawn on it. Floss turned to run, but Ben held her back. She was astonished to see that he was chuckling. “For God’s sake!” she hissed. “What’s funny?”

  “It’s kids,” he spluttered. “Kids playing pirates. Couldn’t be further from the sea, but still … And I thought it was something sinister going on!”

  He turned with Floss and began to walk away. “Sorry, love, to drag you in here to see the remains of kids’ games,” he said.

  “Not kids,” said a voice from the shadows. “You’re trespassin’ ‘ere. Bugger off, the pair of ya. We got work to do. Go on, clear off, and don’t come back. Else you’ll be dealt with … An’ no blabbin’! We always know when there’s bin blabbin’. Now sod off!”

  Floss did not need telling twice, turned and ran. Reluctantly Ben followed her. As he went, he heard raucous laughter. Two men laughing, he was sure.

  T

  WENTY-F

  IVE

  LOIS AND DEREK WERE BOTH ASLEEP IN THEIR ARMchairs, and Gran’s eyelids were half-closing. Her knitting slipped to the floor, and then she too was asleep. The television flickered on, but nobody watched. After a while, Derek began to snore.

  “What the hell!” All were rudely awakened by a frantic hammering at the front door, and Gran was first out of her chair. Lois rubbed her eyes and stood up, and Derek swore under his breath and hunted for his slippers.

  “Mr. Pickering!” Gran said at the door. “What on earth’s the matter?”

  “Floss,” he blurted out. “Floss is the matter. She went out to see her girlfriend, and she’s not come home. Her friend hasn’t seen her—we phoned—and has no idea where she is. My wife can’t stop crying, and I need to see Mrs. Meade. At once, please.”

  Lois appeared, tactfully thanked Gran, and led Mr. Pickering into her office. She suggested Gran might make some coffee, asked her to explain to Derek, and shut the door. “Right,” she said. “Sit down, and begin at the beginning.” He had barely begun his story, when there was another knock at the door. This time it was a very irritated Derek who went to open it. His irritation melted away when he saw a white-faced Floss holding tight to young Ben Cullen.

  “Good God, come in,” he said. “Go in there”—he indicated the sitting room—“and I’ll tell Lois you’re here.”

  He had meant to give Lois time to think what to do next, but before he could stop him, Philip Pickering had burst out of the office and was confronting his trembling daughter.

  “Just a minute, Mr. Pickering,” Lois ordered, wide awake now. “This is my house, and I’ll thank you to behave decently. Sit down, and I’ll ask the questions. If you don’t want that, then you can all go home and leave us in peace. At this time of night!” she added for good measure.

  “Now, Floss,” she began. “Introduce Ben to your father, please. The rest of us have met him.”

  Under Lois’s furious gaze, Floss stuttered out a brief introduction. “We’ve … well, we’ve been … um … friends for quite a while now,” she said. “This is Ben. Ben Cullen.”

  “Hello, sir,” Ben said quietly. “I’d like to explain …”

  “I’ll say you’ll explain!” Pickering’s colour was high, and he stood up again, advancing threateningly towards Ben.

  “Sit down, Pickering!” Derek had gone out to the kitchen with Gran, but returned just in time. He took Floss’s father by the arm, pulling him back none too gently to the sofa.

  Lois continued. “Perhaps we can go on, then?” she said. “Tell us, Floss, what happened. Ben can help you out, but I’m sure your father would like to hear it in your own words. Take your time.” Derek raised his eyebrows and looked at his watch, but he said nothing.

  “Thanks, Mrs. M,” Floss said. “Well, it was like this. We—Ben and me—went for a walk, and as it was a nice evening we decided to go up the hill and see if we could hear a nightingale in the woods. I’ve always wanted to hear a nightingale …”

  You’ll have to do better than that, thought Lois, but she nodded encouragingly.

  “Anyway, when we got up there, all we could hear was a kind of scream coming from the woods. So I persuaded Ben”—Lois saw her squeeze Ben’s hand hard—“that we should go in and see if it was an animal in a trap. Then we could … um … set it free.”

  Too pat, much too pat, thought Lois. She waited for Floss to continue. “Then it was awful,” Floss said in a very small voice. “We walked towards the screaming, but it soon stopped, and it was getting dark. We wandered about for hours and hours, completely lost, and I was getting frightened. But Ben was very good and cheered me up, and eventually we found ourselves at the edge of the wood, but in a completely strange field, and then it took us even longer to walk round until we found the way back to the right road.” She took a deep breath, and looked her father straight in the eye. “So that’s why I’m so late, and I’m very, very sorry if I’ve worried you and Mum. She told us to come straight up here to see you. But I’m glad you’ve met Ben now, and we don’t have to keep secrets any more.”

  Silence. Tears began to run down Floss’s cheeks, and Ben put his arm around her. Then Mr. Pickering stood up. “Right,” he said, and now he was calm and dignified. “I think it’s time we let these good people go to their beds. And us too. I’ll see you in the morning, young … er … Ben. Come along, Floss. We must go and see that your mother is all right now.”

  When they had gone, Lois sat on in her chair, saying nothing, until Derek took her hand and pulled her up. “Come on, me duck,” he said. “Don’t you remember when we were young, and your dad was waiting on the doorstep when we got back at five in the morning? It’ll blow over, you’ll see. Floss’ll be back to work tomorrow, right as rain, as if nothing’s happened. Wish I was young again,” he added nostalgically, and led the way to bed.

  But Lois lay awake for a long time, becoming more and more convinced that Floss had been lying. What had really happened up in the woods? Her last thought before finally falling asleep was that her first job tomorrow would be to find out the truth.

  * * *

  BEN CULLEN LET HIMSELF INTO HIS QUIET HOUSE AND went straight upstairs to his room. No anxious parents awaited him, and he thanked God his father was nothing like Pickering. Poor Floss. He had been very unwilling to concoct a story instead of telling the truth, but she had been so desperate and terrified, he had had to agree. When that man had given them such a fright, Floss had been hysterical and it had taken him ages to calm her down. Then she wouldn’t go home. Her father would find out, she’d said. He was good at knowing when she was hiding something. So he’d taken her to Blackberry Gardens. His parents were out, and he made her coffee and they just sat and worked out a story to tell the Pickerings. Ben had said it didn’t sound very convincing, but Floss was insistent. She knew what her father would swallow, she’d said. Then they’d watched some television and lost count of time. When they arrived back at Floss’s house, and found her weeping mother, it had suddenly become much more serious. They’d obediently gone up to find her father at the Meades. Floss had been very good. She’d done well, but Ben was quite sure that even if Pickering had swallowed it, Lois Meade certainly hadn’t.

  He sighed, and got into bed. This was not the end of it, by any means. He had a nasty feeling they had stumbled into something he didn’t understand, and he had a stron
g urge to get on a train in the morning and disappear. But then he thought of Floss, dear little Floss, and he knew he’d stay and deal with it as best he could.

  T

  WENTY-S

  IX

  LOIS KNEW SHE HAD TO GET TO BEN CULLEN BEFORE Pickering. The lad would get such a pasting from an angry father that he would clam up completely in the face of more questioning. But when she had swallowed a quick breakfast and set off for Blackberry Gardens, she was dismayed to see Pickering’s car outside the Cullen house. She stood for a moment, undecided what to do next. No Wallises were around, but the terriers were barking at the gate as usual, warning off any callers. Lois had no wish to call there, anyway. Then she remembered the Everitt keys were in her pocket, and decided to go in and do some cleaning while keeping a sharp eye on Pickering’s car. As soon as it had gone, she would walk over and enquire politely how Ben was after the night’s adventure. She also had a couple of things to tell Mrs. Cullen about New Brooms, so had every reason to be there.

  After half an hour or so, she heard a car engine start up, and went to the window. Yes, he had gone. She locked up and walked across the road, about to knock at the door, but Ben had also been looking out of the window, and saw her coming. He was halfway down the path before she got there. Damn! Lois guessed he would invent an excuse to get away from her, but she was surprised when he stopped, greeted her cheerfully, and said if she was going home, he’d like to walk along with her.

  “So how’re you feeling this morning?” she said, as they set off.

  “Fine,” Ben said. “I was expecting a roasting from old Pickering, but he was nice. Too nice, really. Said I must go up and have supper with them, and we’d all get to know one another. Actually thanked me for looking after Floss in the woods!”

  “Mmm,” Lois said. “I’ve heard he overdoes it with Floss’s boyfriends and frightens them off. Be a shame if it happened to you. She really cares for you.”

  “Me and Prince William,” answered Ben, “but anyway, it’s nice of you to warn me.”

  “Um, I was wondering,” began Lois, as they drew closer to the shop, “whether you told him the true version this morning?”

  Ben stopped dead. “What d’you mean?” he said, staring at her. He was thinking quickly. He’d been right that Mrs. M would not swallow the stuff about getting lost in the woods.

  “I mean what I said,” Lois said gently. “I am certain Floss was not telling the truth last night, and I was sorry for her. She’s not an untruthful girl, and it must have been something pretty serious she wanted to conceal. And not just going up to the woods with a boyfriend. Long Farnden girls have been doing that for generations. Fortunately they don’t end up with a bun in the oven so often nowadays. No, what really happened, Ben?”

  He hesitated. He had promised Floss he would tell nobody, but it would be a huge weight off his mind if he could confide in Mrs. M. “You’re sort of right,” he said Finally, “but I’m sworn to secrecy and couldn’t betray poor Floss.”

  “OK,” said Lois, “I can wait. When you or Floss are ready to tell me, you know where I am. Now, I must call in and see Josie,” she added and began to walk on.

  “Hey! Wait a minute!” It was Ben, pursuing her. “I guess I can give you a clue,” he said quickly. “We weren’t alone in there,” he blurted out, and was gone.

  “Hi Mum,” Josie said, as Lois walked into the shop. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing’s up,” Lois said shortly. “I need some apples. Two pounds, please.”

  “Fine, don’t tell me then.” Josie weighed out apples huffily.

  “Oh, sorry, love.” Lois smiled and began again. “Hi Josie, how are you? How’s business?”

  Josie laughed. “I’m fine, thanks. Business is not bad. Next rush will be when the kids come out of school. Am I allowed to ask if anything’s up?”

  Lois nodded. “It’s still this business with old Everitt disappearing. It looks like being nastier than at first thought. Have you seen Mr. Cox lately? The farmer from up by the woods? Looks like he’s done a bunk, or been persuaded to …”

  Josie shook her head. “No, not for a week or two,” she said. “Mind you, he didn’t come in very often. I think somebody did his shopping for him, and it wasn’t from me. Supermarket, probably. But Mum,” she continued, “surely you don’t think there’s a gang kidnapping old men? For God’s sake, what for?”

  “Money?” said Lois. “Herbert Everitt must have had a bit stashed away, with no children and no close relatives. And William Cox was rumoured to have bags of the stuff under the mattress. Both old men living on their own and vulnerable.”

  “I suppose so, and no relations left. Somebody told me that old lady you visit was his sister-in-law.”

  “She was, or is,” Lois answered, “and she was not at all fond of William. Seems he was not a good husband and the family treated her sister like dirt. Ellen Biggs was very outspoken on the subject!” But then Lois remembered that the last time she called on Ellen, she had been different, unwilling to talk about William or anything to do with him. Why the change? Perhaps another visit would be more productive. An idea struck her. “Do you fancy a ride over to see Ellen tomorrow, Josie? It’s my day for the cake. She’d love to see a new face, and you’d have lots of Farnden gossip to tell her.”

  “In the evening?”

  “No, afternoon would be best. I’m sure Gran would hold the fort. She loves it … mops up all the local stories.”

  “Yeah, well. I know she likes doing it, but between you and me her arithmetic’s not too good. Nobody’s complained, but balancing the books is always a bit tricky after Gran’s been in charge.”

  “Well, up to you. You decide.” Lois wondered whether to persuade her, but that had never worked when she was small, so probably wouldn’t now.

  Then Josie nodded, and said, “I’ll come. It’d be nice to get out for a bit. This can be more than a full-time job. Will you pick me up—three o’clock?”

  It was so seldom that Lois and her daughter went out together that Lois found herself ridiculously pleased at the idea. She hoped Ellen would be in a better mood, and that somehow the subject would get around to William Cox.

  WILLIAM COX’S EARS WERE NOT BURNING. BUT THEN he was unlikely to worry if people were talking about him. He was finding it difficult to think at all. His head felt muzzy and he found himself drifting off to sleep almost as soon as he woke up. He had no idea whether it was night or day, and his watch had been removed from his wrist. Food, delicious food, arrived at regular intervals, but he could never get a good enough look at who was bringing it to him. The door was always locked behind the stranger, and when William asked why, he was told it was for his own safety. Sick patients are vulnerable, he was told. But why should he be? He’d done a few foolish things in his time, but not to merit confinement. And who had decided he was sick, and brought him here? It wasn’t Reg Abthorpe, though he half-wished it had been. At least he would know who was responsible. He had never trusted Reg, ever since … He’d carried on doing a few jobs for him here and there, just to keep him happy. And for others, of course. All those others, who were either clients of Reg, or worked for him because he had something on them and could get their labour cheap.

  It was dark in the small room, and only a dim light bulb enabled William to see roughly were he was. The walls were painted clinical white, and he could see his narrow bed and a white-painted table and chair. A more comfortable chair, like those in day rooms in hospital, stood by the wall. The uneven floor was covered with rugs, and high up was a small window with bars. Although it was clean, very little light came in through it. One corner of the room was curtained off, and behind it an old-fashioned bowl and jug were filled each morning with hot water for washing. No razor, of course. He was too vulnerable. His beard had begun to itch. A portable toilet was emptied and cleaned scrupulously every day, and a row of hooks served as a clothes cupboard. He hadn’t much in the way of clothes, and his washing was collected and retu
rned neatly laundered every few days. As far as he could remember, no doctor or nurse had visited him.

  I should be trying to get out of here, he told himself, but even as the thought went through his mind, his eyelids closed and he slumped on to his bed and began to snore. He dreamed, and the dream developed into a nightmare. He was in the woods, woods he’d known since a child, but he was lost and couldn’t find his way out. Men were chasing him, brandishing sticks, and he and his old dog were slowing up. Finally they stopped and were caught. He was forced to watch as they began to beat Rosie until she collapsed on the ground. Then they advanced on him, and he awoke screaming. He was sweating, although the room was chilly. The door opened a crack, and a man’s voice said, “Did you call, Mr. Cox?” The door shut again, and everywhere was silent. He was just drifting back to sleep when he heard a distinct tap on the wall next to his ear. He was awake instantly. The tap came again, and this time it was followed by two more taps. William, suddenly awake, succeeded in a wobbly attempt to get up, and was able to pick up a metal mug from the table. He held it carefully and tapped sharply on the wall. Then twice more.

  If he could have seen Herbert Everitt’s joyful expression, he would have wept with relief. All that time in the village Scout troop, learning tracking and Morse code, wouldn’t be wasted after all. So Herbert had been a Boy Sprout too. Maybe they had other things in common, like wondering what the hell all this was about.

  T

  WENTY-S

  EVEN

  IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL MORNING, HIGH WHITE CLOUDS scudding along in a clear blue sky. Child’s picture-book morning, thought Floss, as she sat next to Lois driving to Dallyn Hall. She smiled, thinking she was nearer to childhood than the rest of New Brooms’ cleaners. But she loved the work, the variety of it, and the satisfaction of leaving a client’s home clean and fresh for them. Most were friendly and grateful, but Dallyn Hall was different. It was more professional. They were hired as a team, and apart from the sniffy manageress, who ridiculously gave herself the title of Director of Hotel Services, there was unlikely to be an opportunity to get to know anyone else. The hotel staff kept themselves to themselves, and Mrs. M was not keen on getting too close to them anyway. “We’re here to do a job,” she’d explained to Floss, “and we do it and then leave.”