The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit) (35 page)

‘Wait.’

Another moment passed by with the dog staring down the crisp. Then Declan relented. ‘Go on, boy, it’s a northerner.’

The dog hoovered up the snack, then turned his large, doleful eyes at his owner who repeated the action. Southerner, yuk, northerner, yum. It was absurd.

‘They’re clever dogs,’ he said when he’d proved his point. ‘A lot of people don’t know that. They just see these big, brown eyes and the floppy ears, and think Airedales are a bit divvy. I’ve always had Airedales, but Chuck, who I had back then, was something else. I should’ve listened to him.’

‘Could he talk?’

Declan grinned. ‘Sort of. That morning he was dashing here and there, sniffing around in his usual zigzag pattern. You know dogs walk in zigzags, don’t you?’

‘Sure.’ Helen hadn’t a clue.

‘After we’d done one round of the Common, I saw you in that car, and yer ma,’ he continued. ‘And there was another car with a woman in it. I walked by a couple of times, and it was obvious she was spying on you, so I knocked on her window asking her what she was up to. She got arsy, and I told her to hop it.

‘Then she asked if I knew where there was a public loo. Not one open at this hour, I said. Then she got out, started shouting at yer ma who hadn’t actually seen her until then. This led to a right old slanging match, and I had a real job of holding onto Chuck who was snarling and barking like mad. He was a good dog, was Chuck, but he had a temper on him.’ He sighed and patted the placid dog beside him.

‘Do you remember if anyone else was there?’

He shrugged. ‘Not really. It’s not particularly clear after all these years.’

‘What happened then?’

‘Yer ma gets back in her car, and that crazy women starts shrieking in some of the foulest language I’ve heard in my time, and that’s saying some. Then she staggers across the Common towards the Hanger Lane end, all bevvied up and groggy. I don’t like the look of that so I follow her, just to see she’s all right. The whole time Chuck’s whining and running up and down, getting in my way, pulling at me trouser leg. I got quite harsh with him.’

Declan drank from his beer and scratched the ear of his current dog as if apologising for mistreating a fellow canine.

‘When I catch up with her, she’s squatting with her back to a tree and relieving herself in full view of anyone driving past on Hanger Lane. Chuck suddenly starts getting interested, and I think, Jesus, I’m outta here, the woman’s fuckin’ nuts.’

He paused and stared at his beer, twirling the glass round and round on the beer mat.

‘And that’s it?’ Disappointment settled in Helen’s stomach

‘Not quite.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I didn’t listen to Chuck, did I? He wanted to go back the way we’d come, but I took another route. I didn’t go back to your ma’s car. She could’ve been dead already for all I know, because I don’t think that crazy woman was in a fit state to harm anyone.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the police this?’

He sighed. ‘I read in the paper they’d caught the woman who did it, and then I thought, maybe I was wrong. When they ask for witnesses, I think, like, well, they’ve got her, haven’t they, and they don’t need me. And anyway, I was trying to keep a low profile, for reasons of me own. It’s just that when I think of that child, her big eyes – your big eyes – I know there’s something more, like, but I can’t say what.’ He looked up at her. ‘That’s why you placed the ad, isn’t it? Because you think there’s more.’

Jason fingered the stem of his wine glass, wine he didn’t want to drink but Charlie had insisted.

‘We’re supposed to be a couple,’ she’d said. ‘Blokes always get white wine when they take their girlfriends to the pub.’

‘Depends on the bloke,’ he grumbled, hankering after a pint, but bought two glasses of white and carried them to the table Charlie had secured, in a corner. Here they had a clear view of a man sitting by the window, the only person in the pub with a dog.

When Helen came in and went straight to the dog owner, Jason found it hard not to look at her. Something inside him screamed ‘she’s mine’, a deep-rooted instinct of possessiveness making his gut clench. A sour taste welled up in his throat, or maybe it was the wine, when the bloke rose and shook hands with her.

He noticed Charlie scribbling something on a scrap of paper. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Composing a love letter to my boyfriend, what do you think? I’m taking notes, what else? What this chap looks like, what he’s wearing, stuff like that.’

‘You’re really enjoying this detective lark, aren’t you?’

She looked up. ‘Well, aren’t you?’

‘It’s not a game, Charlie.’

‘It is to me.’

‘But not to Helen. Her mother was murdered in front of her. Imagine how that feels.’

‘You’re right. Sorry, I got carried away.’ Charlie put the pen down and took a large swig of wine. ‘You really care about her, don’t you?’

He glanced at Helen. The dog owner was showing her a trick the dog could do, and Jason saw the mixture of amusement and confusion on her face. Right now he just wanted to go over there, put his arm around her, and reassure her she didn’t have to go through with this, raking up old memories which must be painful to her. He wanted to tell her that life was still worth living without having all the answers.

But he didn’t. He stayed where he was and watched her digging deeper and deeper.

‘Yeah, I do.’

Charlie touched his hand briefly. ‘Don’t let her hurt you, will ya?’

‘I’ll try not to,’ he said, thinking she was more likely to get hurt than he was.

‘Look, I don’t mean this in a bad way but she’s a magnet for trouble. She can’t help it, but she is.’

Jason grinned. ‘Since when did you turn philosopher?’

‘Just stay cool, know what I’m saying.’

He nodded. Charlie was more right than he suspected she realised. After Cathy he’d withdrawn into himself, shut the door on any deeper feelings he might have had and deliberately only got involved with ‘safe’ girls – girls who didn’t have the power to break down those barriers.

That is, when he’d sought out relationships at all. He could certainly count them on one hand.

Then Helen had come along and crept under his defences with her dichotomy of guarded independence and raw loneliness. His feelings for her had grown from a desire to help her, not from the selfish needs which had characterised any other relationship he’d had. Once he’d thought Cathy was The One, and when it was over between them, he spent years resenting his father, unfairly perhaps, and pandering to his own hurt, treating it as a demanding and capricious mistress.

Except he’d mistaken a bruised ego for genuine pain. He was looking at the real deal right now, and she was about to open a festering can of worms.

If he asked her to stop, she’d become suspicious and leave him out of it, and if he let her carry on without at least trying to hinder her, she may discover something about his father which was best left alone.

Things were going from bad to worse.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Declan’s account left Helen even more confused than before. She’d wanted to believe Fay was innocent, but Declan had described her as mad enough to kill. He’d also said she’d looked incapable of it, and as Fay said she couldn’t remember, this left Helen exactly nowhere.

‘So,’ said Charlie as they sat on the 207 bus home, ‘what did he see?’

‘Nothing useful, except Fay, but we knew she was there anyway.’

‘Oh.’ Charlie went quiet for a moment, then she leaned forward in her seat, making Lee who sat next to Helen jump. ‘What you going to do, then?’

‘Uhm, hope someone else comes forward?’

‘Is that all?’

‘That’s all I can do.’ Helen glanced at Jason who sat across the aisle. He sent her a questioning look, sharp even, and she could tell he knew she was holding something back.

But fortunately he didn’t interrogate her when they were alone in her room later, just held her tight and stroked her hair after they had made love. She rested her head on his chest, groggy with conflicting emotions. Happy to be with Jason, concerned for Fay, frustrated she was getting nowhere.

Letitia was waiting for her in the staff room, a rare occurrence because the green velvet curtain which hung between the back rooms and auction hall also doubled as a personification of the socio-economic divide.

‘Bad news, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Aggie is dead.’

Dead? Aggie?

On jelly legs Helen fumbled towards one of the benches which stood against the wall. Letitia noticed. It didn’t matter. For all her pride, Helen didn’t care if Letitia thought of her as weak. What mattered was that Aggie was gone.

Forever.

A large imaginary hand gripped her insides and squeezed hard, making her feel queasy.

‘Oh,’ she said.

Shivering, she drew her knees up and put her arms around them, wishing she’d never come back because it was easier to hate Aggie than to love her. Letitia watched her struggle with an ironic smile. ‘You may take the day off if you like. Although you might prefer to continue working. Keeping the mind occupied keeps the grief at bay.’

Helen stared at her, at a small pink mole beside her mouth which she’d never noticed before. What did Letitia know about grief? Surely it was too mundane for her and reserved for lesser mortals.

Yet everyone had an Achilles heel. As the pressure grew in her chest, Helen realised she knew very little about either of her aunts, least of all Letitia.

‘I’ll leave you to make up your mind,’ said Letitia. ‘I’ll keep you posted about the arrangements.’

Helen squeezed her eyes shut. Aggie was barely cold, and
arrangements
were being made?

She stayed on the bench for God knew how long, alone, leaning against the cold wall with its peeling plaster, and waiting for the tears to come, just so the pressure inside her could ease up. Nothing happened.

She wanted to scream, shout, stamp her feet like a child. That didn’t happen either. Instead she tasted the bitter-sweet sadness of losing someone she had mixed feelings about. Did her grandmother know she’d forgiven her? She hoped so. Last time she saw Aggie, they’d held hands. Perhaps Aggie understood this was Helen’s way of showing her feelings.

No words, just touching and seeing.

Charlie found her later and pulled her close. Helen dropped her head on Charlie’s shoulder, whose hair gave off the usual oily tang. The familiar smell was comforting.

‘I’ve just heard,’ said Charlie. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Helen shook her head.

‘Bill told me,’ Charlie said. ‘I haven’t said anything to anyone. Neither has he. We thought you’d still want to keep the family connection quiet.’

They sat like this for a while, then Charlie, ever restless, began pacing the room. ‘So, what happens now? What does this mean for the company? And you? Your gran was a major shareholder, wasn’t she? Where do her shares go?’

Helen shrugged. ‘I don’t know. To her daughters, I suppose. Or all three of us. It doesn’t really matter now, does it?’

‘Of course it matters. You’re just as much part of this as they are. You’re the founder’s granddaughter. Are you just going to stand by and let Letitia do whatever she pleases? I bloody well wouldn’t.’

Even Charlie had been bitten by the company bug. Like a parasite, it got into your blood. It wasn’t healthy.

‘Letitia works in the company’s interests. Always has done. My grandmother only ever interfered on the board, never in the day-to-day.’ Helen sent her a sour look. ‘How come you know so much about it, anyway?’

‘I keep my eyes and ears open. And use Google. You need to check your legal position. Did your gran die very suddenly?’

‘Not really. I mean, she was overweight and had diabetes. I expect her heart gave out.’

‘Just like that?’

‘She was old.’

‘How old?’

Helen rubbed her face with her hands. ‘Somewhere in her eighties. Why? What are you saying?’ Charlie had stopped pacing, and the sudden stillness brought a chill to the room.

‘It’s very convenient, isn’t it? The lost granddaughter returns. Granny makes a big fuss. The aunties’ noses are out of joint. Then she pops her clogs.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ protested Helen, but suspicion had started gnawing. When she’d overheard that distasteful confrontation in Ruth’s office, she’d learned that Letitia was itching to get full control of the company. But to do away with her own mother? It was the stuff of soap operas.

Still, it could do no harm to ask Sweetman about the legal implications, and there seemed to be no one else Helen could turn to who’d genuinely liked her grandmother.

She accepted the offer of taking the rest of the day off and sought out Sweetman. She found him bent over a bullet-proof filing cabinet, rummaging through a row of green hanging folders that had been squeezed in tight in the drawer. He held another file between his teeth.

‘Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a tick. Aha,’ he added triumphantly a moment later. ‘Thought I got the date right.’

‘The date?’

‘I file things chronologically, not alphabetically.’

‘Doesn’t that get rather confusing?’

‘Not for me. I’ve got it all up here.’

‘And what if you secretary – your wife – has to find something?’

‘Oh, we’re two of a kind.’

That explained Mrs Sweetman’s permanently harassed air. ‘Obviously.’

Small raisin-coloured eyes bored into hers. ‘It worked for your grandmother too. By the way, my sincere condolences. I shall miss her.’

‘Me too.’ Helen cleared her throat.

‘One day,’ Sweetman said, ‘you and I will sit down over a cup of my wife’s most excellent coffee and have a good old chat about Mrs Ransome. Right now, we must get down to business.’

She nodded.

‘It worked for your grandmother that I do things differently,’ he repeated. ‘For instance that I use a filing system which isn’t immediately transparent. If anyone, say, without the proper authority decides to look for a file in my office, it’s pot luck whether he actually manages to find it or not.’

Helen glanced at the filing cabinets. Built to withstand fire and more, they probably wouldn’t keep out a determined intruder with a lock pick. However, the eccentric filing system would defy anyone.