That'll Be the Day (2007) (33 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Lynda had come to a decision. After a long and miserable, largely sleepless night spent lying on her stomach stuffing the corner of the sheet in her mouth so that her mother wouldn’t hear her sobs, she’d finally calmed down sufficiently to think clearly. She needed help. They both did, Mam too. Lynda couldn’t see her own backside but guessed it must be striped purple, judging by the pain. They couldn’t go on like this. Something had to be done to get this horrible man out of their lives.

The only person she could think of who might be of some use was Constable Nuttall. Surely assaulting your adult daughter was a criminal offence? If so, then Lynda intended to get him locked up for it. It was time to put an end to dreams and face reality.

‘Don’t you want any breakfast?’ Betty was saying. ‘You haven’t even sat down for a cup of tea this morning, chuck. What were you up to last night? You’re looking a bit green round the gills.’

‘I’m all right, I just feel a bit sick this morning.’

‘An hang-over or what? Oh, hecky thump not . . . !’

Lynda gave her mother a warning look. ‘Don’t even think it. It’s probably me period coming on, and no I didn’t drink last night. I stuck to Coca Cola. Pity a few others didn’t an’ all.’ She took a gulp of tea. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to sit down. I haven’t time.’

Lynda was thankful Ewan was still sleeping, no doubt
he
was still in a drunken stupor after his night out with his mates. ‘I have to go and pick up the flowers, and I’m running late. Barry will be wondering where I’ve got to.’ She took one last mouthful of tea and headed for the door.

Betty called after her, ‘I’ll get me tin box out later and see if we can afford to buy another van, then you can drive yourself to Smithfield.’

Lynda stopped dead. She still hadn’t told Mam about the burglary but it was looking as if she could avoid it no longer. Betty had already asked what happened to her clock and Lynda had made excuses, saying it’d stopped working so they’d taken it to be repaired. Fortunately the dresser was too cluttered with other ornaments for her to miss one or two items.

‘We’ll talk about it tonight, Mam, I have to go. Don’t you try lifting that floorboard on your own.’

‘Hold on a minute. What is it you’re not telling me. I can tell there’s summat. There always is when you get that look on your face.’

Lynda sighed and came to crouch down beside her mother’s wheelchair. ‘All right, I’ll come clean. The fact is, we were burgled while you were in hospital, and yes, whoever it was did find your tin box under the floorboards, I’m afraid. They took everything. We’re skint.’

After a beat, Betty said, ‘It’s not hard to guess who the flaming burglar was then, is it?’

Lynda squeezed her hand. ‘Let’s leave it, shall we? There’s nothing to be done. We’ve more to worry about than a few quid,’ getting stiffly back to her feet.

‘True enough,’ Betty murmured, rubbing her sore knee. The plaster cast had been sawn off a week or two back but she was still stuck with the wheelchair. They didn’t want her to even try to walk, not just yet. An ambulance came for her once a week to take her in for physiotherapy, but she was supposed to do exercises every day, morning and night. Fat chance. When did she have time for such nonsense? Besides, her leg hurt too much to risk moving it.
 

Eeh, but she’d enjoyed her evening out the night before. She and Big Molly had quite a heart to heart. She was a one, was Moll, full of bright ideas.

‘At least Jake’s back safe and sound,’ Lynda said, giving her mother a kiss. ‘And we have each other.’

‘Aye, love, we do.’ Then pulling her daughter close, Betty whispered against her ear. ‘We also have a bit money put by somewhere else. I’m not as green as I’m cabbage looking. I guessed Ewan would find my hiding place because that’s where I always kept my stash, under the floorboards. But it isn’t all there. The rest is nicely tucked away in my post office savings account.’

‘Oh, Mam, what a treasure you are. Should we do a runner?’ Lynda was smiling, feeling almost light-hearted.

‘Pity our Jake hasn’t still got the pink jalopy, or we could run off with the hot-rod crowd.’ Betty let out a heavy sigh before patting her daughter’s arm. ‘Go and fetch them flowers, chuck. We still have our living to make. We’ll talk later about this other problem,’ lifting her eyes to the ceiling from which emanated loud snores.

‘Don’t worry, Mam. You take it easy and come over to the stall when you feel up to it.’

It was a day or later before Lynda spotted Constable Nuttall doing his rounds. A quick glance about to make sure no one was looking then she casually sidled over. After exchanging a few pleasantries and the usual stuff about the weather Lynda came to what was really on her mind.

‘If someone had been assaulted what do you reckon they should do about it?’

Constable Nuttall rubbed his chin and considered Lynda carefully before answering. ‘And who would this someone be, exactly?’

‘Oh, just a friend of mine. I said I’d ask you for advice.’

The policeman wasn’t fooled but was happy to go along with the tale. ‘Ah, I see. So how was she assaulted, this friend? By whom?’

‘Does it matter? I don’t know . . . a man she knows. The point is should she report him? I mean, would it be safe for her to report him? Would he be arrested or something?’

‘He’d be taken in for questioning certainly. Were there any witnesses to this alleged assault?’

Lynda shook her head.

‘Hmm, that’s a shame. It’s only her word against his then.’

‘Does that matter? He beat her up.’

‘So were there any bruises?’

‘Of course there were . . . hell yes, loads of bruises. She can hardly sit down.’ Instinctively, Lynda put a hand to her own tender rear. The gesture did not escape Constable Nuttall’s eagle eye.

‘Ah, so this beating was on a delicate part of her anatomy? And who was he, this man? Anyone I know? Would I know your friend? I take it she does live round here?’

Lynda’s cheeks coloured slightly. ‘The problem is that this friend of mine has a sick mother . . . relative, I mean. And she’s afraid that . . . well, that . . .’

‘She’s afraid that this man, the one who assaulted her, might take it out on her mam if she reported him to the coppers.’

Lynda nodded, finding herself quite unable to speak as she gazed up into the policeman’s kindly face.

He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Would you like me to have a quiet word with this man?’

‘But you don’t know who he is.’

‘I reckon I can make an educated guess, don’t you? Would you like me to have a word, Lynda love, without mentioning any names, of course?’

‘Take him in for questioning you mean? Yes please. Oh, I’d appreciate that, but don’t say I told you. Say you’ve had complaints about the noise or something. I had a few friends round the other night and it all got a bit out of hand. Oh . . .’ She clapped a hand to her mouth.

Now she’d as good as admitted it, really let the cat out of the bag. But the policeman was smiling and Lynda gave a mental shrug realising he’d guessed anyway, and what did it matter so long as he marched Ewan off to jail?

‘I did hear something of the sort, so I’d be bound to follow it up, wouldn’t I?’

‘Thanks.’ For the first time in ages Lynda felt almost buoyant, heady with relief. Constable Nuttall would sort Ewan out and they’d soon be free of this stranglehold he had over them all. He’d be back in jail where he belonged in no time.

Constable Nuttall called at the house at around two o’clock by which time he guessed Ewan Hemley would be rising from his drunken slumbers and considering putting an illegal bet on the two-thirty. He came to the door in his vest and a pair of filthy old trousers, braces hanging down and his hair standing on end. The stink of the man’s unwashed body and the lingering odour of stale whisky made the policeman take a step back. And he’d thought himself immune after dealing with tramps and suchlike under the railway arches.

‘We’ve had a few complaints about noise coming from this establishment,’ the constable began. ‘I wondered if we could have a word.’

‘I’m listening but make it quick, I haven’t had me breakfast yet.’

‘Happen we should talk inside, away from prying neighbours.’

‘I’ve never invited a copper into my house in me life and I don’t intend to start now. Say what you have to say, then go.’

Constable Nuttall took a deep breath and launched into his spiel on the mythical complaints he’d allegedly received, not only about a rowdy party but also concern over some screams, heard later in the evening. ‘I’m reliably informed that there was only you and young Lynda in the house at the time. Is that right? Because if so, I’d be interested to know what you were up to?’

‘If it’s any of your business, which to my mind it isn’t since I’m her dad and it’s my place to see she behaves, aye yer right, we were on us own and I did find it necessary to chastise her. But, as you say, she’d no right to hold a flaming party, let alone allow it to get out of hand. I made that very clear.’

‘How?’

‘I tanned her backside.’

‘With your hand or some other implement?’

A slight pause while Ewan leaned against the door jamb and picked his nose. ‘I took me belt to her, as my old dad used to do with me. So what? It never did me any harm.’

Constable Nuttall stiffened. He didn’t like the man’s attitude, a nasty piece of work if ever there was one. It surprised him that Betty tolerated having him in the house, though there was no accounting for tastes. Ah, he remembered now, she’d once asked him how to make Ewan leave, but the man had wanted to spend time getting to know his kids which Constable Nuttall had believed to be quite reasonable. Well, this wasn’t the way to go about it, and he meant to make that very plain. ‘Aye but Lynda isn’t a lad though, is she? She’s a woman and you can’t inflict corporal punishment of that sort on a young lady.’

‘I found her romping on the bed with a man she didn’t even know. What would you have done if she’d been your daughter?’

Constable Nuttall was struck dumb by this image, a fact young Lynda had failed to mention but was surely relevant. The policeman didn’t have a daughter, wasn’t even married having devoted his life to the police force, and found such conversations embarrassing so he blustered a little.

‘Well, I can understand you might be a bit put out, but she’s still a grown woman, and surely free to make her own decisions. I’ll let you off this time but consider this as a warning. If I hear of you being so heavy-handed again I’ll march you straight down to the station. Is that clear?’

‘As crystal.’

‘Right, well then, see that doesn’t happen. She’s a grand lass is our Lynda, if a bit over-enthusiastic where boy friends are concerned. We’ll say no more about the matter but I’ll be keeping my eye on you in future. Remember that.’

‘I’m shaking at the knees.’ Whereupon, Ewan closed the door in his face.

Constable Nuttall was left standing on the doorstep suffering from a few pangs of guilt. But what more could he do? Ewan Hemley was still her father, when all was said and done. He’d make himself into a laughing stock if he hauled a man down the nick for smacking his own daughter. His sergeant would accuse him of wasting police time. No, he’d issued a warning, which was fair enough. There was nothing more to be done.

When Lynda got home that evening, she half expected to find the deed done, her father carted off to jail and the house empty. Instead, she was shocked to find Ewan seated with his booted feet propped up on the mantelpiece, as per usual, newspapers littered about the floor and various plates of half eaten food left lying about. Nothing had changed at all.

She stood stock-still, staring at him dumb-struck, quite unable to move or think.

He didn’t even turn his head to look at her, merely sucked on his pipe and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Your friend the constable and I had quite a chat earlier. Gave me the old lecture about how I should be grateful for having such a lovely daughter but that I shouldn’t be too heavy handed. He let me off with a warning so I’m giving you the same.’

He turned to look at her then and the coldness in those dark eyes sent shivers down her spine.

‘If you ever grass on me to the law again girl, you’ll have more to worry about than a few bruises on your backside or your mam’s broken knee. You’ll be swimming in the Irwell in a pair of lead-lined boots.’

Chapter Thirty-Three

Leo took them to Clitheroe Castle, that majestic edifice that stands high on a limestone hill above the market town of the same name and Tom listened wide-eyed to tales of jousting knights as they climbed up to the ruined walls, and of how the area had once been covered in forest which belonged to the lords of the manor, the de Lacy family. How if a tenant in medieval times were caught stealing a deer they would find themselves incarcerated within the castle’s thick walls.

‘Chained in the dungeon, you mean?’ Tom wanted to know, eyes bright with excitement.

‘Something of the sort I imagine,’ Leo agreed with a smile.

From this old Norman stronghold they stood looking out over the wide valley to the green hills and woods beyond, to the thick blue ribbon of the River Ribble leading ultimately to the sea. The sun was warm on Judy’s neck, Tom’s hand in hers but acutely aware of Leo standing relaxed behind her, hands in his trouser pockets.