Читать книгу The Silent Girls - Ann Troup - Страница 14

Chapter Three

When Edie had been younger, The Crown had been a typical spit and sawdust dive which she had glimpsed occasionally through the hatch in the ‘off sales’ cubicle. The thought made her feel old, she couldn’t think of the last time she’d been in a pub that had a separate space where people could buy their booze to drink off the premises, another tradition that seemed to have died out. That had been in the days when she and Rose could gain a few pennies for sweets by taking empty bottles back to the pub’s offie and pocketing the deposits. They called that kind of thing recycling now, back then it had just been a way of life.

Now the place had been taken over by a chain and had the generic ambience of all such places. Wednesday was pensioners’ credit crunch lunch, and curry and a pint night. Thursday was win a cirrhotic liver in the weekly quiz, and Friday was two for ten, as long as it was deep fried, microwaved and could clog your arteries at thirty paces. Edie found it frankly depressing and took no comfort from the fact that she could have free refills of her watery diet coke.

Sam seemed to catch her appraising the place. ‘Dire, isn’t it? Do you remember when old Charlie was the landlord and we used to scam him for deposits by nicking the empties from the yard and selling them back to him?’ he said it with the same impish grin he’d had as a boy.

Edie gave him a wry smile. ‘Thanks for bringing up our criminal past.’

‘We would never have got caught if it hadn’t been for you dropping all those bottles, cutting yourself and squealing like a stuck pig.’

Edie gave him a mock scowl. ‘I was five, the bottles were bigger than me and that incident scarred me for life!’ She rolled up her trouser leg and showed him the tiny white scar on her knee. ‘It didn’t hurt half as much as the pasting I got from Beattie afterwards.’ She could never think of Beattie as Nanna or Granny, those were soft terms designed for use with affection. There had been little that had been soft or affectionate about Beattie.

‘I’ll bet. She was the most terrifying woman I’ve ever encountered, and given that Lena is my mum that’s saying something.’ They both laughed, Beattie had indeed been a scourge.

Edie recalled her black crepe clad grandmother, who still loomed large in her imagination as the bringer of doom. ‘Yeah, as nannas go she was hardly the cuddly cookie baking type.’

Sam shuddered. ‘She was like terror in a black dress. No child was safe from her wrath. I always felt quite sorry for you and Rose.’

‘We didn’t have to see too much of her, only on visits, and I was only ten when she died. Rose had it worse. I always thought that Beattie disliked me because my dad ran off, like it was something I had caused.’ Frank had disappeared a few months before she had been born.

‘Of course. You never knew him, did you?’ Sam said.

Edie looked at her glass, cold beads of condensation trickled down its sides and dampened her fingers. Since her encounter with the old man at the funeral her father had been occupying space in her mind. ‘Not really, only what I’ve been told by Rose and she doesn’t talk about it much. I suppose you don’t miss what you can’t remember. Your mum must have known him, what was he like?’ She wasn’t even sure why she had asked. It was quite clear what kind of person Frank Morris had been. He was the kind of man who walked out on his pregnant wife and child. Having tolerated Simon for so many years just to prove that she hadn’t inherited Frank’s flakiness, Edie had more sympathy for her father than she wanted to admit to. Though she would never have abandoned her child, she sometimes wished she had taken Will and run for the hills.

Sam screwed up his face, as if trying to recall a distant memory. ‘Vaguely, I’ve only heard her mention him once or twice. I know him and Mum clashed, I do remember a row once with Dolly when his name was mentioned… I couldn’t tell you what it was about but I know Dolly was one of the few people that ever got the better of Mum. I think that’s why it stands out, it was the first time I ever saw Mum cry. Anyway, from what I can recall he was quite…ummm….a character.’

Edie laughed at his hesitation. ‘Do you mean arrogant? That’s what Rose always says.’

Sam pulled a face. ‘I was trying to be polite.’

‘No need, no one else is, well not about him anyway.’

‘You can’t choose your parents.’ Sam said.

‘Anyway, enough of that. What are you up to these days? We seem to have done nothing but talk about the past.’ It already felt as though she was being pulled backwards, without every conversation hauling her down memory lane.

‘This and that. Nothing special, I have fingers in a few lucrative pies.’

He’d avoided looking at her and it was clear he didn’t want to expand on his occupation. ‘So, you must live quite near. You seem to spend quite a bit of time with Lena.’

‘I’m not far, I’ve got a flat at Riverside. I see Mum most days, let her cook for me and that – she’s getting on and it gives her a reason to get up and get going. She’s had a houseful all her life, I doubt she’d cope if we left her to her own devices.’

Edie had to agree; a woman like Lena would wither and die without a familiar purpose. Maybe that’s what had happened to Dolly, without her mother and brother to look after she had quietly faded without fuss. ‘I’m glad she has a reason to crack on with it. I think you’re right. And Riverside, wow, that’s a bit posh isn’t it?’ Edie had passed the new development when she had arrived in town, it was most impressive and out of the price range of ordinary folk like her.

‘Can’t be that posh, I have shares in the company that developed the land.’ It came out casually, as if he felt it was neither here nor there that he owned part of a huge company. Fingers in pies indeed…

‘Blimey, you dark horse! I’d have made you take me somewhere much better than this if I’d known.’ Edie quipped.

Sam laughed. ‘Well you were buying so I thought I’d keep it low key. Which reminds me, you might be on free refills but I need another pint. I’ll take you somewhere posh next time.’

He walked towards the bar and left her pondering “next time”. Jesus, she was behaving like a giddy schoolgirl, and a desperate, frustrated one at that. The fact that he was clearly loaded was quite sobering, and if she thought about it, fairly intimidating. Nice as he was, he was out of her league in so many ways. Besides, he was only being kind because of past connections; there was nothing in it for her above the generosity of old friends.

Lena too was mulling over thoughts of old friends, so much so that she hadn’t been able to concentrate on the bingo and had missed the opportunity of winning twice. Not that she wanted the prizes, last year’s recycled Christmas presents and the same bottle of wine that had been re-donated as a prize three times weren’t exactly high on her list of desirables. But peace of mind was. She was going to be hard pressed to find any of that now that Number 17 was under scrutiny. There were too many ghosts hidden in that house and she for one wasn’t looking forward to any of them making their presence known. Edie was going to find things, things she probably wouldn’t understand, and the mere thought of it was breaking Lena’s heart. She sighed and hauled herself to her feet, bingo was over and everyone was leaving. If there were going to be things that Edie didn’t understand, Lena would have to make herself available to explain them.

Edie was sorry to discover that Sam wouldn’t be joining her at Lena’s; though she had to accept that he did have a life away from his mother, she had enjoyed his company. It had been good to laugh and spend time with a man she didn’t want to brain with the nearest blunt object. Thoughts of Sam were soon chased away by Lena’s demeanour, the old lady looked tired, as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Edie guessed that the afternoon’s bingo session hadn’t yielded its usual pleasures. ‘Everything all right, Lena?’ she asked as the woman trudged into the house and slumped into her favourite chair.

Lena shrugged. ‘Tired, that’s all. I usually get fish and chips on a Wednesday, be a love and go and fetch them would you? I don’t think these old bones will stand another trip out today.’

Edie didn’t hesitate; it was the least she could do to repay Lena’s hospitality. Though there was some grappling over who would pay. Edie won and set off to fetch their supper.

The queue inside the shop was long; she loitered outside for a few minutes, loath to expose herself to the steamy aroma, which would linger on her clothes – l’eau d’chip shop wasn’t the most appealing perfume in the world. A man, the smart man with the military bearing from yesterday’s funeral, sat on the bench opposite unashamedly staring at her while he ate chips from a paper cone. Edie found his scrutiny wholly unnerving and tried to ignore him by peering up and looking around the square, but his attention was like a magnet and compelled her to keep glancing at him. She almost sprang back when he suddenly stood up and launched his unfinished meal into a nearby bin. From the corner of her eye she saw him step forward, hesitate, seemingly think better of it and walk away. A bizarre sense of relief washed through her and she had no idea why, it was hardly as if he had been about to attack her in such a public place. Even so, she kept her wits about her as she made her way back with two steam-sodden parcels of the nation’s favourite. The man was nowhere to be seen, though she was sure that he had walked across the green towards the opposite side of the square. Fortunately she didn’t have to cross it herself, and could cling to the more brightly lit pavement to reach Lena’s house, nonetheless she closed the front door behind her with a sigh of quiet relief.

Lena had laid the table and warmed plates in the oven, Edie found it odd that such ceremony should accompany a paper wrapped meal; surely the whole point was to have time off from preparation and clearing up. She would happily have eaten her own supper from the greasy bundle, but concluded that when in Rome it was wise to feign Italian. They sat at the table to eat, Edie picking at the congealed mess of carbohydrate while Lena ate with mechanical regularity, her fork moving from plate to mouth with instinctive precision as she focused on the television. One of the soaps was on, churning out typical storylines where someone had stupidly lied, someone else had slept with someone’s partner and yet another was developing a dangerous addiction that would result in doom and disaster. Edie found the show mindlessly oppressive and mentally tuned it out, her thoughts returning to the strange man in the square. There had been something vaguely familiar about him, more than the recalling of him at the funeral. It was something from way back that nudged at her memory. She reached for a slice of the thin white bread that Lena had provided and took a bite. A slick of margarine coated her mouth and she felt her stomach begin to lurch, she had never been able to stand the taste and texture of margarine. She discarded the bread and took a gulp of tea to wash the taste away while her memory wheeled and clicked like an enigma machine and decoded the messages of the past. Slowly images flickered across her mind, another death, another funeral – limp white bread sandwiches made with margarine and a smear of meat paste. The flush of tepid tea to take the taste away; a grimace and the glimpse of a man sitting in a corner and staring. The same man. He had been at her mother’s wake. Much of the event was a complete blur, she couldn’t look back at it without an overwhelming, confusing sense of loss and longing for the woman she had never felt able to love. She couldn’t remember who had been there other than Simon (who had insisted on repeatedly looking at his watch and sighing) and Rose, who had done all the talking and thanking people for coming. But she recalled that man and it didn’t make sense. ‘Lena, did you come to my mum’s funeral?’

Lena pulled her attention away from the TV ‘Eh? No love I didn’t. Bill was in hospital at the time, and I couldn’t make it. Why?’

Edie shrugged. ‘It’s just that I saw someone in the square who I’m sure was there. I was just trying to place him.’ She had forgotten that Lena’s husband Bill had died soon after.

Lena frowned. ‘Other than me, Dickie and Dolly I can’t think that there’d have been anyone left who’d have known your mum. Unless the Bastins went, though I can’t see that would be likely.’

That name too was familiar. ‘Who are the Bastins?’

‘You must remember Sheila Bastin – you know, always went about the place looking sorry for herself and sheepish, lived across the way with that boy of hers, Matthew. It was her bastard husband what killed Sally Pollett and them others. But like I said, there was no love lost between us lot and them, so I doubt she’d have gone to your mum’s funeral. But Matthew might have done, odd bugger that one. Spent all his life trying to prove his father’s innocence and getting nowhere – used to stalk this place like a nosy little goblin, so it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he’d pitched up there just to have a look see. He came to Bill’s and all, cheeky swine. Didn’t get past the door for the wake though, I saw to that. We didn’t see much of him after that, I heard he joined the army or something. Not sure I’d even know him now.’

Of course! The different sections of Edie’s memory clicked into place like a combination lock set to the right sequence and released. She did remember him, Matthew Bastin, son of a killer and bully bait for the whole square. Skinny, scruffy and always hanging around as if he was waiting to be picked on. It was a fleeting thing, but Edie recalled a sense of pity for the boy which had been knocked out of her eleven-year-old self by Rose’s remonstration and a Chinese burn painfully administered by a young and spiteful Sam. All because she had offered Matt a sweet once. Was it Sam who had told her to stay away from Matt because he would chop her to little pieces and stuff her down the drain? She couldn’t recall, but someone had. It seemed that Matt Bastin was still a glutton for punishment if he had chosen to come back to the square.

Lena’s attention had drifted back to the TV where another soap with its familiar themes had begun to insinuate its immorality onto the supper eating viewers. Edie couldn’t stand it. She pushed her unfinished food away and reached for Lena’s empty plate. ‘I’ll wash these up and make some more tea.’ she said, waiting for Lena’s absentminded nod of approval. All those characters could remain faceless and unnamed to Edie; life already had more than enough drama for her.