The Paying Guests(136)

‘You gave it?’

‘Len’s Uncle Ted did. We didn’t feel easy about letting a picture go. But Ted ran home and fetched his album, and we picked out the best. It might help the investigation, the Mirror fellow said. It might prick a conscience or two, to show what a fine boy Len was.’

Lilian wouldn’t answer him. She stared at the photograph for another few seconds, then pushed it away from her as though the sight of it made her sick.

Outside, the crowd seemed bigger than before, and a man with a camera was darting about. There was no chance to say an ordinary goodbye to Leonard’s father, to Charlie or Betty; Frances and her mother became separated from them as soon as they left the steps. The gusty weather made everything worse. Hats and coats were flapping. Then two reporters approached Frances, having discovered – how? she wondered – her connection with the case. Could she and her mother say what their feelings had been, on learning of Mr Barber’s murder? Could they spare a few moments for the readers of the News of the World?

‘No, we can’t,’ she said, turning her back on them.

Her mother’s hand had tightened on her arm. ‘This is frightful, Frances. Let’s get home, can we? As quickly as we can.’

‘Yes, of course. I’m just looking for Lilian. Wasn’t she behind us when we came out?’

‘I don’t know. Does it matter? We’ve done enough for her, surely?’

‘We can’t go without her.’

‘Her family can see to her now.’

But there she was, just emerging from the building with her mother and sister, seeing the man with the camera and nervously putting down her head. She moved forward into the crowd, then lifted her gaze and looked around. ‘Where’s Frances?’ she asked Vera; Frances saw the words rather than heard them. She raised her hand, and after another moment or two of blind searching, Lilian’s gaze caught on hers. They picked their way to each other through the stares and the jostles.

‘All these people!’ said Lilian. ‘What do they want?’

Frances took hold of her arm. ‘Come quickly. This way.’

But she pulled back. ‘Frances, wait.’

Her mother and sister had caught up with her. Mrs Viney, brick-red, was glaring furiously at the faces turned their way.

‘A lot of vultures, I call ’em! Ain’t they got no sense of decency? Ain’t they got no notion of shame? You and your mother get going, Miss Wray, or they’ll have the skin off your backs! We’ll go by the quiet way back to the shop. Lil’s coming with us. We managed to talk her round at last.’

Frances looked at Lilian. ‘You’re – You’re going, then?’

Lilian’s expression was wretched. ‘It seems the best thing, after all. Vera and my mum can’t keep coming to the house. It isn’t fair on them. It isn’t fair on your mother, either. I’ll stay just for a few days. Till after the funeral.’ She saw Frances’s face. ‘It isn’t so long, Frances.’

‘You don’t have any of your things.’

‘Vera says she’ll fetch them tomorrow. I can borrow hers till then.’

‘I could bring them to you. Say we need to talk, or —?’

‘I don’t know. But Vera will get them. I won’t need much.’

There seemed a thousand things to be said, but no chance to say anything with so many people about – with Mrs Viney and Vera right there, and Frances’s mother looking on tensely from the crowded pavement. Even Inspector Kemp had appeared and was watching them now. So Frances nodded, that was all. They reached and patted at each other – patted, she thought, so clumsily, that they might have had paws rather than hands, or been wearing boxing-gloves. And then they parted. Lilian turned, to catch hold of her sister’s arm. Frances re-joined her mother; they headed back to Camberwell.





13





For the remainder of that day, and for the two or three days that followed, though Frances and her mother were regularly bothered by reporters, there was no further sign of police activity on the streets around Champion Hill – no more going through the gutters, no more knocking on residents’ doors. The cinder lane was re-opened: Frances screwed up her courage and went down the garden to look at it. But there was nothing to be seen. She couldn’t even with any certainty pick out the spot where she and Lilian had dropped Leonard’s body. That part of the affair had been so densely dark, so urgent and improbable, that it had begun to seem like something from a dream – just like one of those violent acts she’d sometimes committed in her dreams, then marvelled at on waking.

On Tuesday morning Vera came, to put together a suitcase of Lilian’s things. Frances went up to the bedroom with her, desperate to make the most of the link with Walworth; wanting to know, or to gauge, how Lilian was coping. Vera said that she was feeling stronger, was eating and sleeping better. Inspector Kemp had called to see her again the previous night —

‘He saw her again?’ asked Frances. ‘What did he want?’

Vera didn’t know. Just more questions like the others. Anyhow, he hadn’t stayed long. But some press men had called too, and they had been more of a nuisance. Had Miss Wray read today’s papers? They were full of the murder; it was awful. Lil had taken one look at them and burst into tears.