Haven't They Grown(18)

I smile at her. ‘You’re very observant.’

‘One needs to be.’

‘That was my son, Ben. I dropped him off at his football match and then I came back.’

‘What business do you have on Wyddial Lane?’

‘None, probably. That’s what I’m hoping you can help me with. I had some friends who lived next door, at number 16, a few years ago. Lewis and Flora Braid.’

‘Before my time. When did they leave? I’ve only been here three years.’

‘I’m not exactly sure. But … I’m assuming you know the names of the people who live in the house now?’

Her eyes narrow. ‘I do, yes.’

‘Are their names Lewis and Flora Braid?’

‘No. Didn’t you just tell me that your friends have moved away?’

‘Yes. I was pretty sure they had, but I wanted to check.’

‘Well, now you’ve checked. A different family lives in the house now. No one by the name of Braid.’

‘Thank you,’ says Dom. ‘That’s incredibly helpful to know.’

She gives him a curt nod.

‘Come on, Beth.’

‘Hold on. Would you mind telling me the name of the family that lives at number 16 now?’ I ask the woman.

‘I think I would, yes. I wouldn’t appreciate it if they gave my name to complete strangers. Why do you care what they’re called? I thought it was your friends the Braids you were interested in.’

‘It is,’ says Dom. ‘Thank you. Sorry for bothering you.’

‘Wait a second,’ I say. ‘Maybe if I tell you—’

‘Beth,’ says Dom forcefully. He puts his hand on my arm and tries to steer me away.

‘I’m not ready to leave yet,’ I snap at him. Great. Now the woman behind the gate will be confirmed in her suspicion that he’s a tyrannical wife-beater.

‘They’re called Cater,’ she says unexpectedly. ‘Kevin and Jeanette Cater.’

‘Thank you so much. Do they have young children? Is one of them known as Chimp, or Chimpy?’

The woman looks affronted. She takes a step back.

‘Why on earth would you ask me that?’

‘Does either of them drive a silver Range Rover?’

‘May I ask what is going on here?’ She stares at me with undisguised suspicion. ‘This is starting to feel more than a little irregular. A great deal more is involved, I suspect, than a desire to know if an old friend is still in the same house.’

‘Yes. You’re right.’ If I want more information from her, I’m going to have to tell her. ‘My friends – the Braids – are supposed to have moved away. To America. But when I was here yesterday morning, I saw a silver Range Rover drive up and go in through the gates. A woman and two kids got out, and … they were my friend and her two oldest children. They were the Braids. I … I recognised them.’

The woman shakes her head. ‘I’m afraid your story doesn’t add up, Mrs …’

‘Beth Leeson. You can call me Beth.’

‘My name is Marilyn Oxley.’ She says this as if she thinks it should make a difference to what happens next. ‘If you knew your friends had moved away, why on earth would you come and park outside their former home? Hmm?’

‘I didn’t know at that point.’

‘The silver Range Rover you saw is Jeanette Cater’s car.’

I swallow hard.

‘What’s more, I heard a voice that I recognised as the voice of Mrs Cater. As you can imagine, I know her voice rather well, from living next door to her. Now, if you’re telling me that your friend Mrs Braid got out of the car with her two children, why on earth didn’t you rush over and say hello? You didn’t do that, did you? You waited and you watched, while Mrs Cater got out of her car and spoke to somebody on the telephone. I saw you, from my bedroom window.’

‘You were watching me?’

‘I was. It’s not common for cars to appear on our street and for nobody to get out of them. We residents of Wyddial Lane take our home security seriously. I decided your behaviour was suspicious, so, yes, I watched you until you left.’

‘It’s not at all suspicious once you know why,’ I tell her. ‘If I could maybe …’ Stop it. You can’t invite yourself into her house. ‘If we can talk properly, I’ll tell you the whole story. Flora Braid and I were once best friends, but we’re not any more.’

‘I think I’ve heard enough,’ says Marilyn Oxley. ‘You’d better be on your way. I’ve told you who lives next door, against my better judgement. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

‘Please, just one more thing. You’ve been so helpful. If you could tell me … is Jeanette Cater around five foot six, with wavy, dark brown, shoulder-length hair?’

A long, tense pause follows. Then, ‘Yes, that is an accurate description of Mrs Cater. Goodbye, Mrs Leeson.’

‘Does she have two children, about five and three?’

She must have heard me, but she keeps walking in the opposite direction.

‘Thomas and Emily?’ I call after her.

She stops. Turns to face me. Her expression makes me gasp. She didn’t look this angry or disgusted a moment ago.