V for Violet (13 page)

Mum’s face relaxes. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘Well, just be careful, Violet. You don’t want to be getting yourself a reputation, do you?’ She pauses ‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘If you see him again … this fella. Maybe you could ask him round for tea?’

‘Maybe,’ I say. I nod at the bucket of potatoes. ‘I’d better get on with these if you want chips for the fryer tonight.’ I smile to myself. I can’t imagine Beau sitting round our kitchen table. I can’t imagine it at all. It makes my tummy squirm and my toes curl just to think of it.

‘Right. You’d better get on then,’ says Mum. She sighs. ‘I can’t think what Jackie’s playing at, worrying Brenda half to death like this.’

I can’t think what she’s playing at either. But it’s none of my business any more, and I shouldn’t care. But I do. Deep down inside I want her to be okay. Because it’s not easy to stop loving someone that you’ve loved your whole life, even when they’ve stopped loving you.

I unzip my jacket before I remember the bundle of letters tucked up inside. I quickly zip it up again. ‘Mum?’ I say quickly, before she leaves the room. ‘Where’s Joseph?’

Her eyes narrow. ‘Out looking for work,’ she says. ‘He’ll be back in an hour. Why?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just wondered.’

Her face brightens for a second. ‘It’ll all be okay, love. You know that, don’t you? I know it’s been hard on you, him coming back. He’s a stranger to you, after all. But, give him a chance, hey?’ She smiles. ‘I’m glad you’re asking after him, though. It’s a good sign.’

A good sign? She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. But at least I know it’s safe now, to nip back into Joseph’s room and slide the letters back under his mattress.

The police arrive just as we’re serving the last of our Saturday night customers. There’s one in uniform, all grey faced and sweaty looking. At first I think he’s come in for some chips, which is odd, because I’m sure the police aren’t allowed to eat or drink on duty. He comes straight to the counter followed by two other men in suits; an older man with a black brush of a moustache
and a younger one with red hair and orange freckles spattered across his nose.

The older one, with the moustache, beckons to Dad. ‘Mr White?’ he says. ‘Frank White?’

Dad nods. ‘Yes. Can I help?’

‘Detective Inspector Gordon,’ says the man from under his moustache. ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir. We need to have a word with you and your family. Is there somewhere we could go?’ The knot of veins at Dad’s temple start to throb. That only usually happens when he’s angry or stressed. But he doesn’t look angry, and he doesn’t look stressed. He shuts the door to the hot cupboard and I notice his hand is shaking. He’s frightened. Dad is bloody frightened.

Then I realise what’s happened. They’ve come for Joseph. That’s got to be it. The authorities have finally hunted him down. They’ve come to arrest him for desertion. They’ve come to take him away to face his punishment.

‘Can I at least finish serving these customers?’ Dad asks. ‘Violet will show you through to the back. Won’t you, Violet?’ He lifts his eyebrows at me as he indicates for me to go round and let the policemen in through the kitchen door. I look quickly at the inspector and back again at Dad. ‘Go on, then,’ he says.

Was Dad’s eyebrow lift a secret signal? Am I supposed to hurry through to the back and warn Joseph before I let the police in to the kitchen? Or should I just let them take him away? He deserves to be punished. If only for the pain he’s made Mum and Dad suffer. But if he does get arrested, I’ll never know the truth about Arabella and what really brought Joseph back to Battersea.

My heart’s thumping high in my throat. It’s like a scene from
Dixon of Dock Green
. I’m one of the actors and I’m about to help a criminal make his get away. I wipe my hands down my apron. ‘If you come round the back …’ I say to the inspector. ‘I’ll let you in the kitchen.’

His moustache twitches slightly in agreement. It means business.

Mum and Joseph are in the kitchen. Joseph’s got a newspaper spread out on the table in front of him and Mum’s darning one of Dad’s socks. They both look up as I come in.

‘The police are here!’ I blurt out. I widen my eyes at Joseph. ‘The police are here for you!’

‘The police?’ he says. ‘What do they want with me?’

‘You’re a deserter,’ I hiss. ‘What do you think they want?’

He frowns. ‘It can’t be,’ he says. ‘It’s not a crime any more …’ A flicker of fear crosses his face, and for a moment I think he’s going to do it. I think he’s going to run. But it’s too late, there’s a knock at the door, and before I can open it and before Joseph can get up and make his escape through the shop, they’ve let themselves in and we all freeze, as though we’ve stared straight into Medusa’s eyes and been turned to stone.

‘Evening,’ says the inspector. ‘Sorry to intrude. I’m Detective Inspector Gordon, this is Detective Sergeant Jones and this is Constable Durbin.’

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ says Mum, her voice all thin and quivery.

‘Mrs White?’ asks the inspector.

‘Yes, sir,’ says Mum, as though she’s at school and answering the teacher at registration. Constable Durbin writes something in a little notebook.

‘And you are …?’ The inspector nods towards Joseph.

‘Joseph White,’ he replies, looking the inspector straight in the eye. Constable Durbin writes something else down.

The inspector turns to me. ‘And you are Violet White? Is that correct?’

I nod.

‘Take a seat, Violet,’ he says. I pull out a chair and sit opposite Mum. Joseph closes the newspaper and folds it up.

‘Would you like a cup of tea or something?’ asks Mum. She’s wringing the darned sock in her hands like it’s a wet dishcloth.

‘Thank you, ma’am, but no,’ says the inspector. ‘We’ll just give your husband a minute to get here.’

‘Can’t you tell us what this is about?’ pleads Mum.

‘It would be better to wait for Mr White to join us. Save going through it twice,’ says the inspector.

I slide my eyes across to Joseph. He’s tapping his fingers nervously on the table and his face has turned pale. We wait in an awkward silence. I count the seconds in my head, and it’s the longest minute ever.

Eventually, Dad comes in from the shop. He bursts through the door, wiping his hands on a cloth. ‘Well? What’s all this about?’ he demands.

‘If you’d like to take a seat?’ The inspector indicates towards an empty chair.

‘No thanks,’ says Dad. ‘I’m all right where I am. Can you just get on with it, please?’

‘Very well, sir,’ says the inspector. ‘Well, I’m afraid I have some very bad news.’ He pauses and pulls at a corner of his moustache. ‘I’m afraid I have to tell you that this morning, the body of Jacqueline Lawrence was found in Battersea Park. And I’m sorry to inform you that we are now conducting a murder inquiry.’

Nobody speaks. I’m not sure what he’s trying to tell us. Who’s Jacqueline Lawrence? Then Mum gasps and lets out a high-pitched whine. Dad rushes over to her and puts his arm around her shoulders. Joseph reaches across the table for Mum’s hand and then all three look up at me.

‘What?’ I say. Then it happens. Somebody, somewhere picks up a hammer and slams it into my head. White hurt flares in my skull and pain shoots through my body.

Jacqueline Lawrence.

Jackie Lawrence.

Jackie.

Jackie’s dead.

Jackie’s been murdered.

I can’t breathe. My throat’s closed up. I can’t get any air into my lungs.

‘It’s all right, love. It’s all right. Come on. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.’

Dad’s got his arms around me and is rocking me backwards and forwards. ‘Get her some water! Quick!’ he shouts.

There’s a cold glass at my lips. Cold water in my mouth. It slips over my tongue and slides down my throat. But I can’t swallow it. It’s choking me. I cough and cough and the water spurts on to Dad’s apron. And as I cough my throat opens up and I gasp at the air, and gasp again as my breath returns. ‘Good girl. Good girl,’ says Dad. He puts the glass to my lips again and this time I manage to swallow a mouthful of water and it hits my stomach with a cold slap of reality.

‘Jackie’s dead?’ I whisper. ‘But she can’t be. You must have made a mistake,’ I say to the inspector.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he says. ‘There’s no doubt. Her grandmother identified the body earlier today.’

‘Oh God,’ Mum murmurs. ‘Poor Brenda. Poor Brenda.’

‘We understand how difficult this must be for you,’ says the inspector. ‘But we have to ask you some questions, I’m afraid. And the more information you can give us, the more chance we might have of catching whoever it is that did this.’

‘Of course,’ says Dad. ‘Anything we can do to help. Would you like to sit down now?’

And then we’re all sitting around the table like we do on a Friday night. But instead of Norma and Raymond, Detective Inspector Gordon and Detective Sergeant Jones are sitting in their places. Mum has made a pot of tea and someone has put a cup in my hands. I don’t realise I’m holding it until my skin begins to burn.

‘So, Violet,’ say the inspector. ‘We understand that you have known Jacqueline for a number of years and that you were out with her last night.’

‘It’s Jackie,’ I say. ‘Her name’s Jackie.’

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Of course. Jackie. Now, can you talk me through last night? Where you went, what you did, who was there? Anyone you may have seen Jackie talking to? That sort of thing.’

I don’t know where to begin, but Constable Durbin is still standing by the back door with his notebook and pencil. He’s ready to start writing, so I know I have to say something. I take a sip of hot tea and Mum pats my hand reassuringly.

Then I tell them everything I remember. That Jackie called for me at seven o’clock last night and we walked to the Roxy together. She was wearing a tight blue skirt and a matching jumper and had big gold hoops in her ears. Oh, and she had heels on. White patent heels. We met up with her friends from the sugar factory. Pauline, Mary and Sharon. I don’t know their last names. We danced for a bit. We did the Twist. There were some fellas there too. One of them was Jackie’s boyfriend. His name was Colin. But I don’t remember his last name.

Constable Durbin is scribbling all this down. He must have gone through three pages by now.

I didn’t feel well, I tell them. I’m not sure what time it was. I went outside. I was going to go home. Jackie came out with Colin and I told her I was going home. She was still with Colin when I left and I presumed he would be walking her home. I can’t bring myself to tell them about the argument. It’s none of their business and it wouldn’t help things anyway.

That’s it, I tell them. That’s everything. That’s the last time I saw Jackie and then I came home.

‘You didn’t argue with Jackie, then?’ the inspector asks. ‘Before you went home?’

I hesitate. How the hell do they know about that?

‘Only, Mr Trindle, Colin Trindle, says that you and Jackie had an argument. That you shouted at her, threw something at her and then stormed off?’

So they’ve already spoken to Colin? Of course they have. ‘I … I … yes,’ I say. ‘It was only something stupid, though. She’d just upset me, that was all.’

‘And how had she upset you?’ He pulls at the corner of his moustache again.

Oh my God! What is this? Do they think I had something to do with her murder?

‘Violet?’ he prompts.

‘She’d just changed recently,’ I murmur. ‘She wasn’t like she used to be. She had new friends and stuff and started doing things without me. Then … then I overheard her talking about me. In the toilets, last night. She was laughing at me. It was like I didn’t mean anything to her any more. So … so I just blew it, that’s all. I told her what I thought and that I didn’t want to see her again.’

There’s a silence in the room, and my last words hang there.
I didn’t want to see her again.
Everyone’s looking at me with a strange expression on their faces. ‘No!’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean it like that!’

‘And then you went home?’ Inspector Gordon asks.

I nod.

‘How did you get home?’ This time it’s Sergeant Jones asking the question.

‘I … I …’

Mum cuts in. ‘You got a lift from a friend, didn’t you?’ she says. ‘That fella you were telling me about.’

‘And what fella is this?’ asks Sergeant Jones.

Why has Beau got to be brought into this? It’s nothing to do with him. ‘Just someone I know,’ I say. ‘His name’s Beau. He gave me a lift home on his motorcycle. But we went to Chelsea Bridge first. For a coffee.’

The sergeant nods knowingly. ‘And his surname?’

‘Don’t know,’ I say. I can feel Mum glowering at me.

‘Not a good idea to accept lifts home from people if you don’t even know their surname, is it?’ Inspector Gordon purses his lips at me. ‘And what time did you get home, Violet?’

I don’t know why I’m being made to feel guilty when I’ve done nothing wrong. ‘I don’t know!’ I say, louder than I should. ‘It was late, okay? But you’re wrong if you think I’ve got anything to do with hurting Jackie.’ My voice breaks. ‘I love her,’ I sob. ‘I love her like she’s my own sister.’

Mum pulls a hankie out from her sleeve and passes it to me. I push my face into it, but the familiar scents of Lily of the Valley and cold cream make me cry even harder. I want to be a child again, messing about in Mum’s bedroom with Jackie. Squirting ourselves with her perfume and rubbing her cream on the backs of our hands.

‘Well done, Violet,’ says Inspector Gordon. ‘I know that was tough for you, so well done.’ He asks Mum and Dad and Joseph a few questions. Have they seen anything or anyone suspicious lately? A stranger, perhaps? Someone whose behaviour gave them cause for concern? And were they all at home last night?

No one’s seen or heard anything suspicious, Dad tells them. And they were all working in the shop last night – well, him and Joseph anyway; Mum just popped in and out when she was needed. There were just the usual customers, nobody that they didn’t recognise, and when the shop closed for the night, they had a bite of supper and then him and Mum went to bed. They can’t believe what has happened. When they saw Brenda at lunchtime, they all thought Jackie would be coming home. ‘Poor woman. Poor woman,’ Mum keeps saying.

‘And you, sir?’ Inspector Gordon asks Joseph. ‘Were you at home all night too?’

Joseph nods. ‘Yes,’ he says quite calmly. ‘I had supper with Mum and Dad, stayed up for a while to read the paper, then I went to bed too.’

And then my heart’s banging so hard against my ribs that any minute now, it’s going to burst right out of me and splat against the kitchen wall.
Joseph’s just lied to the police.
I can’t believe what I’ve just heard. Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t Joseph I saw walking towards the Roxy last night. But I can’t lie to myself. I know it was. I might wear glasses, but I know what I saw. I feel dizzy and faint and I gulp down a mouthful of hot tea. I try not to think about the mention of the pump house in Arabella’s letter and I
really
try not to think about how Joseph winked at Jackie last week, right here in this kitchen.

Inspector Gordon and Sergeant Jones get up from the table. ‘Thank you for your co-operation,’ says Sergeant Jones. ‘If you think of anything else, please let us know. And, Violet?’ He turns to me. ‘We will need to know some more details about your friend. The one who gave you a lift home. If you could let us know his surname or where he lives, just so we can eliminate him from our enquiries. Okay?’ He puts a card into my hand. ‘We’ll be in touch soon,’ he says. Then Constable Durbin closes his notebook with a satisfied snap.

‘How did she die?’ I blurt out. ‘Was she … was she …?’ I can’t bring myself to say the word. I can’t bear to imagine it. She hadn’t even done it with Colin yet. And to think what her first time might have been like … My stomach heaves and the tea I just swallowed rises back into my throat. I gulp it down and try again. ‘Was she … was she messed about with, like the other girls?’

‘Sorry,’ says Inspector Gordon. He can’t look at me. ‘I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to go into details about the case just yet.’

‘But you arrested Mr Harper,’ I say. ‘It was in all the papers. Is there someone else now, doing these things?’

The inspector lowers his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Violet,’ he says. ‘I really can’t say.’

Nobody speaks. Not for ages. After the police close the door behind them, we all stare into space. It’s like there’s nothing left in the world to say. There’s nothing that can make any of this any better.

Joseph is the first to move. He goes into the front room and comes back with a bottle of whisky. He takes four glasses from the cupboard and pours a measure of whisky into each glass. Then he puts a glass in front of each of us. ‘Can’t make it any worse, can it?’ he says.

I put my hand to my throat, searching for the V that I know isn’t there any more. I couldn’t have made this happen, could I? Did I somehow wish for this when I threw my chain at Jackie’s feet? When I broke the bond of our matching chains, did I break something else too? Did I want Jackie to be hurt? To be wiped from the face of the earth? Did I want vengeance?

V for Violet

V for Vengeance

I pick up the glass of whisky and drink it down in one go. It burns a thick trail down through my chest and into my stomach. It burns away the guilt and the horror. I pour another glass and no one seems to notice. This one goes straight to my head and wraps my thoughts in a warm, comforting blanket. The next one steals its way into my legs and toes and fingers and makes me hiccough and snort as I try to stop myself from laughing hysterically.

‘Violet! Enough’s enough!’ I hear Dad saying. ‘How many of those have you had?’ And then somehow I’m in bed and my pillow is the softest thing in the world. I close my eyes and the world inside my head spins round and round. Jackie and me are riding the Big Dipper in Battersea Park. We’re holding hands as the wooden train rattles along the rails. It climbs higher and higher until our heads touch the clouds then it plunges us down, faster and faster, and we shriek and yell in delight until our voices get carried away by the wind. Then suddenly, Jackie’s hand slips out of mine. I reach out to grab it again, but she’s too far away. ‘Violet!’ she screams. ‘Violet!’

I lean over the side of the wooden train and I watch her falling. I watch her growing smaller and smaller and then I close my eyes and clench my fists as the thud of her hitting the ground jars my bones and I wake up suddenly, to the early-morning gloom of my bedroom and a pain in my heart like the devil himself is sitting on my chest.

There are three thoughts in my head.