Midnight on Lime Street (24 page)

She had a bust and three new brassieres to celebrate that fact. Feeling very brave and rather naughty, she bought some blue jeans and a couple of tight-fitting sweaters from a catalogue to which
she would be paying a small sum for twenty weeks. The Avon lady furnished her with eye shadows, eyeliner, lipsticks, Skin so Soft and a range of perfumed products called To a Wild Rose. Was she
going wild? Did she care?

About one subject, she truly cared. Neil’s bike had disappeared, so he had probably come to collect it, although he had not bothered to visit his children once since moving out. He sent a
cheque every week, but no greetings were enclosed – he didn’t ask any questions about the welfare of Matt and Lucy. They were beginning to be curious, especially on Sundays when he must
have had time off from his mythical promotion course.

She sat them down after supper and did what needed to be done. ‘None of this is connected to either of you,’ she began. ‘But Daddy and I no longer get on together, so he has
left me. He hasn’t left you – he wanted you to stay in the same house and at the same school.’

Matt frowned. ‘Is he not coming back?’

‘No,’ was Laura’s quiet answer. ‘He and I don’t want to live together any more.’

Tears pooled in Lucy’s eyes. ‘Why, Mummy?’

Sometimes, the simplest questions needed complicated answers, and this was one such occasion, though her little audience wasn’t ready for complicated. ‘Because grownups quarrel just
like children do.’

Lucy thought about that. ‘I quarrelled with Maria Wilkinson, but we’re best friends now. You might get back with Daddy and be friends again.’

How could she deal with this without making her son and daughter even more miserable and confused? As ever, she stuck with the truth. ‘Daddy and I don’t quarrel exactly the way
children do, Lucy. This is something altogether different, and it happens sometimes to big people. We are happier apart.’

‘So we only have you now,’ Matt murmured.

‘That’s right, son. You both have me. I grew you in my tummy.’

‘What if you decide to leave us?’ he asked.

Oh dear. This was the crux of the matter. Children were meant to have two parents, and when half the adults in the family did a disappearing act, the young worried about the remaining half.
‘I won’t leave you,’ Laura said.

‘We thought Daddy wouldn’t leave us.’ Matt looked angry. ‘How do we know you’re telling the truth?’

‘You can both trust me. I promise you faithfully that I’ll always be here.’

‘Till you die?’ Lucy asked.

‘Till I die.’ Laura hugged them both before clearing away the dishes. At the kitchen sink, she thought about the folded sheet of newspaper in her jacket pocket. She’d never
been one for keeping up with events, but one of the benefits of working in a chip shop was old newspapers, and a headline had jumped out at her when she’d been preparing a pile of outer
wrappings.

‘Mummy?’

‘Yes?’ She looked down at her beautiful daughter.

‘Shall I help with the dishes?’ Lucy asked.

‘If you like. But you don’t need to be extra-specially good and helpful to make me stay. Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. Mummies don’t just go and leave their children, and
I love you and Matt very much, so you won’t get rid of me too easily.’

She bathed her babies and put them to bed, set the table for breakfast, sewed a button on Matt’s coat and laid out their uniforms for tomorrow. When all the jobs were done, she retrieved
the page of newsprint from her jacket on the coat stand. A Jean Davenport had been murdered, and a gold cross was missing from her body. The dead woman had always worn the cross, a birthday gift
from neighbours for whose children she had babysat during her teenage years.

A photograph of a similar cross sat next to the news item; it was diamond cut on one side, and her initials had been on the plain side. The initials. What had they been? Oh why, why didn’t
she take better notice of life’s details? The cross had disappeared, of course. But surely . . . no. Neil couldn’t kill or hurt anyone. Perhaps the killer had sold it to a jeweller, and
Neil had bought it . . . He wasn’t a murderer. Nevertheless, she shivered as she placed the paper in the bureau’s secret drawer. Neil had changed, and she didn’t like what he had
become. Perhaps he should stay away from the children after all.

By the time they reached Southport, Ian Foster, John Lucas and Phil Sharples were showing symptoms of coma. After stuffing themselves with goodies provided by Babs, they fell
asleep, mouths open, noses and throats delivering snores in several styles, none of which bore any relationship to the tonic solfa.

Lippy Macey pulled into a side street. ‘What are we going to do with three bags of coal?’ He knew his question was rhetorical. He, Gordy and Babs turned and stared at their charges.
‘My wife’s a small woman,’ the driver continued, ‘and my sons are in Africa doing something about irrigation, so there’ll be no one to help carry these three. Only my
wife and daughter are at home, probably with a few very well-dressed visitors. So, what next?’

‘We go to mine,’ Gordy said. ‘I’ll take one up for a bath, and you two can sort the others out in Don’s house – he won’t mind.’

Lippy agreed. ‘When they’re done and dusted, I’ll take them all to my place.’ He paused. ‘This has to be handled properly.’

Gordy pondered for a few seconds. ‘Are they any good with horses?’ he asked eventually.

Babs snorted. ‘They wouldn’t know a horse from an elephant. In fact, unless it has pedals, a chain and a pump, they’ll have no idea.’

Lippy Macey laughed. He loved the way Babs expressed herself.

‘What?’ she snapped, glaring at him.

‘Neither did you know a horse from an elephant,’ Gordy reminded her. ‘Look at you now, Miss Argumentative. You can groom, saddle and ride an impossible beast; you look after
cats, dogs, chickens, geese and donkeys—’

‘Not geese,’ she interposed. ‘Geese are not open to reason or suggestion. And they bite. Murdoch isn’t impossible; he’s just got a mind of his own.’ As ever,
she defended her mount.

‘All right, all right.’ He turned to Mr Macey. ‘My stable lads are back at school, so I could use some help.’

‘Police first,’ Lippy insisted. ‘And these boys are still under fifteen, I understand, so they’ve a little while at school yet. Police manpower needed elsewhere is being
used up in the hunt for our runaways. As you know, I have some clout with local powers, so let’s see what happens now the boys are no longer missing.’

What happened next would be engraved forever on the minds of several people. In the kitchen of Wordsworth House, the three boys acted like drunks; poor coordination, blurred vision and headaches
kept them in Don’s house for half an hour. After diagnosing dehydration, Lippy fed them sips of water, while Babs and Sal went through the boys’ bags in search of clean clothes, which
items were then ironed by Sally.

Gordy and Lippy dragged or half-carried Ian along to Dove Cottage and bathed him. The boy objected vociferously to being assaulted and damned near drowned and to being dried with the rough
towels preferred by the man of the house. He was dressed in Gordy’s old pyjamas and dumped in the spare room bed, where he took up where he had left off, delivering as a solo artist the
second movement of the snoring symphony.

Two exhausted men sat on the stairway of Dove Cottage. ‘One down, two to go,’ Lippy grumbled. ‘We need an ambulance.’

‘We need a bloody crane,’ was Gordy’s swift response. ‘They might be young and starving, but they’re damned solid. Why an ambulance, though?’

Lippy shrugged. ‘Dehydration and weeks of poor diet might cause harm to internal organs. They should be looked at by medics.’

‘So you’re a doc now?’

‘No, but my wife is.’

‘Ah yes, I remember now. Phone her.’

Lippy shrugged. ‘I can’t; we’re not speaking. Sign language on a phone’s not much use. We have visitors and I’m supposed to be there. I’ve had the lecture
about charity beginning at home, and she expected me back by eight o’clock. I might as well hang for the full sheep.’

‘Bugger.’

‘Yes, that as well. It’s fine – she will understand when I’ve explained it all, and—’

‘How can you explain when you’re not talking?’

‘On paper. Come on, Gordy, let’s relieve the ladies.’

They left the cottage.

The younger man smiled to himself, though he said nothing. Babs and Sally were no ladies. The pair walked to the main house, each dreading two more baths. Gordy had needed to mop the floor after
Ian’s splashing and fighting, and the thought of a further double dose was not pleasant.

But when they entered the kitchen of Wordsworth House, they found three happy people at the table. Don, looking healthier than he had for months, was drinking cocoa with the two girls.

‘Cocoa?’ Babs asked the new arrivals.

‘Please,’ they replied in unison. ‘Where are the boys?’ Gordy wanted to know.

‘Asleep,’ Sally answered. ‘Mr Crawford has two bathrooms, so John had one and Phil had the other. Babs and I bathed them, though we left them to deal with the private details.
Don found some old pyjamas in his tallboy, and all’s well. Where’s Ian?’

‘No comment,’ was Lippy’s answer.

Babs tutted. ‘Men? They’ve no idea. Where is he?’

‘In bed snoring,’ Gordy said. ‘He put up a fight. We were knee deep in water, and we were accused of trying to kill him by drowning, also of flaying him with my rough towels.
It was not a pretty sight; nor was the language elegant.’

Sally chuckled. ‘I wonder why lads take more notice of little women than they do of great big men?’

‘Sheer, naked terror,’ Lippy answered. ‘My wife is five feet and one half-inch tall. We must never forget the half-inch. She’s a practitioner of general medicine, and she
strikes fear into the stony hearts of consultants who are, for the most part, untouchable. Nor must we omit the third l in her name – Lillian. Small women come out fighting, because they feel
they’ve a lot to prove.’ He looked from Babs to Sally. ‘And here we have two more, God help us.’ He went to phone the Chief Constable.

Don sipped his cocoa. ‘Lillian visits me sometimes, and she’s a pussy cat.’ He turned to Gordy. ‘Have you accommodation in Dove Cottage for all three boys? I know the
third bedroom’s a bit small.’

‘I could manage as long as you feed and clothe them.’

‘We’ll see what Lippy thinks.’ Don stood. ‘I’m off to bed.’

The two girls glanced at each other. Gordy noticed their silent communication and swallowed anger alongside his cocoa. As the sole confidant of Don Crawford, he knew that the two small women
were the boss’s ‘babies’, and the thought of them being touched by the dirty old bastard did not sit well with him. But he could do nothing about this area of their lives.

‘Are you all right, Gordy?’ Babs asked.

He shook his head wearily. ‘I’m fine. Boys are more tiring than horses.’

Babs placed a hand on his forearm. ‘He doesn’t hurt us,’ she whispered, ‘he’s just very annoying. We’re tougher than we look.’

‘Thank God for that,’ he murmured.

Sally smiled to herself. The chemistry between Babs and Gordy was almost palpable, and she didn’t need to be a true adult to notice it. She loved Babs, and Babs loved her, but that was
different; it was a phase both had needed, a sort of stepping stone between abuse and a better future. For now, it served as cabaret for Daddy Crawford, so it was a job, she supposed. But Babs and
Gordy seemed made for each other, and Sally was pleased for both of them. At seventeen, and not far from eighteen, she was almost a woman, and women were clever – even Mr Macey thought
so.

Gordy looked towards the hall. ‘I wonder what he’s saying to the police?’

‘He knows what he’s doing,’ was the reply from Babs.

Lippy re-entered the kitchen. ‘Right. The police know we have the boys, as does my solicitor. I’ll come for them in the morning and we can start to plot their next move. That school
is going to be hit hard.’

‘All the monks?’ Sally’s eyes were wide.

Mr Macey nodded gravely. ‘Some of the others must have known what the three main players were up to, so the guilt must be shared by all. My wife would liken it to cancer and its
metastases. There’s the main growth, the primary, and it can give birth to other malign tumours in different parts of the body. No one spoke up while the abuse was going on; if it
hadn’t been for Ian Foster and his allies, the disease would have spread. It may start again, so the school goes.’

Babs swallowed. ‘How do you get rid of a school?’ she asked quietly.

‘I own the building,’ he answered. ‘Their lease runs out at the end of this year. More important, I have friends in the newspaper business, and the printed word is mightier
than the sword. The Brothers Pastoral will be damned. Is there any more cocoa?’

While DC Eddie Barnes helped Bill Tyler with his statement, news filtered through the police force at speed. A uniformed officer knocked quietly on the door of the interview
room, and Eddie stuck his head into the corridor for a few seconds. Wisely, he returned to his seat without saying a word about the message he had just been so pleased to hear.

‘Let’s get this finished, Bill. So you feared for your family?’ he asked, taking up where he had left off.

‘Yes. We knew a lad whose mam got beat up after he spilled to the cops. She was in the ozzy for three days with conker something . . . er . . .’

‘Concussion?’

‘That’s the one. She had three broke ribs as well, and some bones in her feet was snapped, too. They jumped on her feet. Yes, we got scared.’

‘Are you still frightened, Bill?’

The boy shrugged. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? Boss is locked up, and his gang will have all ran away.’ He pondered for a few seconds. ‘Yeah, I’m still a bit worried,
like.’ He stared hard at Eddie. ‘Will you come and talk to me mam and dad and me brothers?’

‘If that’s what you want, of course I will.’

‘You can tell ’em what Roy and me done with them plants. It’ll come better from you, cos you’re on my side. And when I have to give wotsit – evidence in court, it
won’t come as such a shock to them.’