The Couple at No. 9(57)
He could walk out of here now and not look back. And if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d worry his mum would be disappointed in him, then he would. He doubts his dad would give a shit if he never visited again.
‘Right,’ says Theo, jumping down from the bar stool. ‘I’m off.’
His dad turns to him, surprise on his face. ‘You don’t want a cup of tea?’
He hesitates. Does his dad want him to stay? He’s as hard to read as a stone statue. Is it a peace offering? And then he remembers Larry’s words, the complaint of sexual misconduct by Cynthia Parsons. He remembers his mother’s red eyes and the bruises she hid. He remembers how he’d cowered as a kid when his dad was in one of his ranting moods. But then he looks into his father’s blue eyes, the whites of which are yellowing with age, and he feels a twinge of compassion. He’s an old man. He’s probably lonely. ‘Go on, then,’ he finds himself saying.
30
Saffy
Tom pulls a sickie the next morning, like he promised last night, even though I tell him there’s no need.
‘I just want to make sure he doesn’t come back,’ he says over breakfast. It’s raining – for the first time in weeks – and the cottage feels cold and damp. The windows need replacing, not that we can think of that at the moment with everything else going on, not to mention the expense. It’s going to cost enough to get the extension done, but a draught is seeping through the ill-fitting frames and I shiver in my pyjamas as I nurse a Red Bush tea – the only thing I can stomach – at the kitchen table. I’m exhausted after spending all night tossing and turning and worrying about Mum and that man who calls himself Glen Davies.
‘I don’t want you to get into trouble on our account,’ I say, as Mum walks into the room. She has a handful of clothes in her arms. I haven’t even had the chance to talk to her about how she got on with Alan Hartall yesterday.
‘Can I use the washing-machine?’ she asks. ‘I’m running out of things to wear. Thank goodness I brought an extra pair of shoes with me. Can’t believe my favourite sandals are broken.’
‘Give them to me and I’ll fix them,’ says Tom, standing up and taking his empty plate and cup to the sink. He’s got his paint-splattered jeans on with holes in the knees. He wants to make a start on the little bedroom. I know it’s his way of trying to get me excited about the baby and the house again. To try to take my mind off everything else. I can’t bear to admit to him that I’m feeling less and less at home here with each passing day.
My phone vibrates next to me and my dad’s number flashes up on the screen.
‘Did your mother get home in the end?’ It’s the first thing he says when I answer.
‘Yes.’ I glance at Mum, who looks up at me. ‘She lost her phone. It’s all … it’s all okay.’ I don’t want to worry him by mentioning that Mum got assaulted and threatened on her way home.
‘Is that your dad? Can I speak to him?’ she says, getting up and taking the phone from me before I’ve even replied.
She cups it to her ear. ‘Euan? Yes, it’s me.’ She wanders out of the room and into the hallway so that I can no longer make out what they’re saying.
‘Rude,’ I say to Tom, and we laugh, uneasily, as he slides into the chair next to me.
She returns five minutes later and hands me back my phone. She doesn’t tell me what they talked about. Instead she makes herself a cup of tea and joins us at the table. ‘I’ve had an idea,’ she announces. ‘I think we should go to Spain. You can stay with me for a while.’
I nearly spit out my tea. ‘You’re joking?’
‘I don’t think it’s safe to stay here.’
‘But what about our jobs? And Gran? We can’t just … leave.’
‘There are nursing homes in Spain,’ she says. ‘We can take Gran too.’
‘If we go,’ says Tom pragmatically, ‘all our problems will still be here when we get back. We can’t run away, Lorna.’
That’s the trouble with Mum. She’s spent her whole life thinking it’s the answer to everything.
What exactly is she running from this time? Is there something she’s not telling me?
Mum fills me in on her visit to Alan Hartall as I’m driving us to visit Gran. Tom has stayed at home with Snowy to guard the cottage, saying he’s going to strip the wallpaper in the little bedroom. A sadness passed across Mum’s face when he said it. She’d remembered the wallpaper. It had been hers when she was little, a link to the past.
As we were leaving I made sure to give Tom DS Barnes’s number just in case there’s any sign of Davies lurking around the house. When I get home later I’ll call him myself to report what happened to Mum. Davies can’t get away with attacking women in the street.
‘So I think Sheila Watts stole Daphne Hartall’s identity. I’m sure the woman who lodged with your gran is one and the same.’
‘And she lied to Gran?’
She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. We could try asking her about it when we get there. Anyway, I’ve asked your dad to see what he can find out about Sheila Watts and Daphne Hartall.’
‘I’ve already asked him about Sheila,’ I say, explaining about the file and how I’d found Neil Lewisham’s name on an article relating to a different case. ‘We need to go to the police, really,’ I say, knowing Mum won’t agree. ‘DS Barnes might be able to sort all this out.’