Father Unknown (14 page)

Suzie could imagine what a weight that would be off a mother's mind.

Millie was through the garden gate, starting to walk up the path, when a large silver car swung round the junction behind Suzie. The brakes squealed. The horn blasted. Belatedly realizing where she was standing, Suzie sprang out of the way.

As the car completed its turn, she saw the irate face of the driver turned to her through the side window.

Leonard Dawson.

Terror froze her.

It was too far to call out to warn Millie. Too late, anyway. The car was sweeping along Maple Lane. She saw the brake lights snap red as it started to turn into the drive.

The car stopped, its rear still half in the road. The door flew open and the burly figure of Mr Dawson leaped out. His roar rang down the road.

‘AND WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?'

Caught on the garden path, Millie twisted her pale face towards him. He was covering the ground between them, still shouting. His forceful strides were shattering the flowers in the beds. Suzie was too far away to distinguish more words.

She started to run towards them. She cursed the fact that she had worn heels today, instead of her usual flat pumps.

When she reached the gate, Leonard Dawson was berating Millie. His face was the same ugly red she remembered from yesterday, its usual baby pink verging towards purple.

‘Get off my land, you two-faced little slut! Do you not understand plain English? I made it abundantly clear that I will not have you poking your nose into my affairs and upsetting Tamara. Do you want to make her more ill than she is already? And I won't have you badgering my wife.
Do you hear?
'

Suzie saw the fear in Millie's face. It was not that there was anything in Mr Dawson's words which was explicitly threatening. It was the venom with which he said them. He loomed over her. The overbearing force of his personality and physique, crashing down on a fourteen-year-old.

The pressure Tamara must have felt on her. Daily.

‘Mr Dawson!' It was hard not to let her own voice sound like an inadequate squeak.

He swung round, fresh fury in his eyes.

Suzie made herself look past him and speak directly to Millie. ‘Oh, there you are! I think you should come home now. It's obviously not a convenient time to call on Tamara's mum.'

Her eyes called her daughter, willing her not to argue. To her relief, Millie accepted the summons gratefully. She edged her way back down the path. She had to step aside on to the wrecked flower bed to avoid Mr Dawson's implacable bulk. She scuttled along the pavement to Suzie.

He was shouting after both of them now, though the volume was lowering. Suzie blotted out the words. She took hold of Millie's arm and turned her away. With what dignity they could manage, they headed back to the avenue and turned the corner towards home.

Millie was shaking. ‘That
man
! I thought it would be safe. Tamara said he never came straight home from school. He always had meetings or something. It was her best time, with her mum. How could she
live
with him?'

‘She couldn't,' Suzie pointed out. ‘Not for more than a couple of months.'

‘Long enough, though.' Millie scowled. ‘Long enough for him to ruin her life. I could kill him.'

‘What did you think you were playing at, going round there without telling us?'

Suzie's knife halted over the cucumber she was slicing for a salad. Tom was out with friends. Nick was standing over Millie, his voice loud with anger. Suzie winced. She knew he was only giving voice to his fears for Millie, what might have happened to her. But the hectoring tone was too like Leonard Dawson's for comfort.

Millie was hidden from view, hunched up on the conservatory sofa. She had just finished an indignant account of their encounter outside Tamara's house. Clearly, she had been expecting sympathy.

‘But he's a headmaster. He has meetings. He's
never
home straight after school. And I know Tamara's mum gets in from work around five. I had to tell her, didn't I? I mean, wouldn't you be worried stiff if it was me? She'd love to know I've heard from Tamara. That she's . . . well, sort of all right.'

‘You could have asked one of us to go with you. You knew what he was like yesterday. Waving that racquet about, as if for tuppence he'd have knocked my brains out. Stay away from that house in future. One girl in danger's enough. I don't want you caught up in it too.'

‘But she's my friend, Dad. I can't not be.'

Nick turned away and walked swiftly out into the garden. Watching him through the kitchen window, Suzie felt how he was wrestling with protective anger.

She called softly to Millie. ‘Don't take it to heart. He's only cross because he's worried about you. What might have happened.'

‘I know
that
.'

Suzie was just setting the meal on the table when Nick came in. He took his usual chair, but sat staring down at his plate, as though he was not really seeing the food.

Then he raised his head. ‘It doesn't fit. It's too obvious.'

‘What is?' Suzie encouraged him.

‘Leonard Dawson. The big bad bully. Shouting at everyone who questions where Tamara is. Drawing attention to himself. At church, at the tennis club. Don't you think if he really had a guilty conscience about Tamara, he'd keep quiet? Play the suave, everything-under-control stepfather?'

‘Surely that's what he meant to do, with that story that Tamara was unwell and they'd sent her away for a bit? Cover it up until people had stopped asking questions.'

‘Mmm. But he's in danger of blowing his cover, then. He's not being clever enough. And he
is
a clever man.'

‘But that's how he
always
is,' Millie said. ‘Shouting at people. You ask anyone from Briars Hill. He has them wetting their pants.'

‘Using anger as a weapon to browbeat children is one thing. Losing your temper at the country club is another. Anyone could have come along and seen him. That sort of behaviour is generally frowned on.'

‘Even if we were genuinely at fault?' Suzie queried. ‘I mean, we were there on false pretences. He had a reason to bawl us out.'

‘He's worried somebody will find Tamara. That she'll tell the police what he did to her. That's why he's scared as hell.' Millie stared belligerently at her father.

‘Maybe. I'm not denying he's a dangerous man if he's crossed. That's why you should keep away from him. I just feel that the more he has to hide, the more careful he'd be.'

‘You think he's
not
the baby's father?'

Suzie frowned. ‘He's just too proud to let people know she's missing? That's a bit extreme, isn't it? Anything could have happened to her. As far as he knows, she might not have run away. She could have been murdered by a stranger.'

‘Who's being extreme now?' Millie exclaimed. ‘Aren't most murders committed by someone close to the victim?'

‘I didn't tell you, did I? I met Alan Taylor in the library today. You know, the minister at Springbrook.'

‘Yeah, Tamara told me about him. He sounds a good laugh. She says he gets on great with the youth group at church. Better than the old one used to.'

‘I . . . Well, I found myself telling him about Tamara.'

‘Mum!'

‘I know, but you can say things to ministers you wouldn't tell anybody else, even your best friend. And you're right.' She turned to Nick. ‘He did notice that we were having a bit of a set-to with Leonard Dawson. And he's not unaware that there's a personality problem there.
Forceful
was the word he used. Anyway, the upshot is that he's going to ask the Salvation Army to see if they can trace Tamara. They might not do it for us, because we're not her parents, but he thinks he can persuade them to do it for him.'

Millie's eyes lit up. ‘You really think they could find her?'

‘There's a good chance. Unless she's covered her tracks extremely well. But don't get your hopes up too high. Even if they do find her, they won't tell anyone where she is unless she wants them to. So we might not be much better off than we are now.'

‘Maybe we should just drop it,' Nick said. ‘We know she's safe. At least, for the moment. Somebody seems to be looking after her. She probably wants to stay there until the baby's born.'

‘Dad!' Millie cried suddenly. ‘There was something in her letter about seeing a doctor.' She jumped up and grabbed the notelet. ‘Look! You don't think someone's making her have an abortion, after all?'

Suzie and Nick studied the words. Suzie read them aloud. ‘
She says I have to see a doctor soon because of the baby.
' Suzie's head shot up. ‘She? I never noticed that before. She's staying with a woman? Who could that be, Millie?'

Millie shrugged. ‘I haven't a clue.'

‘Seeing the doctor could mean anything. Antenatal care. An abortion. She doesn't say.'

‘I'm sure she wouldn't. Agree to an abortion, I mean.'

‘Makes sense,' Nick said. ‘If she had wanted that, it could all have been taken care of by now. She wouldn't need to be in hiding. But she might be so that Dawson can't put pressure on her to get rid of it.'

‘Dad! What if
he
finds out where she is?'

‘He knows less than we do. I doubt he can find her if he won't go to the police or the Sally Army.'

‘We have to get there first,' Suzie said slowly. ‘We need to find out what really happened and persuade her to go to the police. Even if it's only physical abuse, and not something worse.'

‘Or
we
go to the police,' Millie insisted.

The phone rang. Millie sped to answer it. They heard her breathless query turn to laughter. Then: ‘It's for you, Mum. It's that nice American lady.'

Suzie hurried to take the call. ‘Hi, Pru. How are you?'

‘I'm doing great. I've had the best time. And I'm dying to share my news with you. It just might open a few more doors than we thought. Look, I'm coming back tomorrow afternoon. How about if I come round to your place about eight? Fill you in on the details?'

‘That would be great.' Suzie stifled the voice of conscience that told her she should invite Prudence for a meal. ‘Eight would be fine. But can't you tell me over the phone?'

‘Wait till tomorrow. I want to see your face when I tell you.'

Suzie came back to the table with a mixture of feelings. It was comforting to be reminded again about Prudence's family history. Safe. Its dramas securely in the past. But it was hard to sound enthusiastic about the unmarried Johan Clayson of Corley when a real, living girl was hiding from her parents, waiting to have a baby whose existence might be the result of rape or, at the least, coercion.

SEVENTEEN

S
uzie was surprised by the rush of affection she felt when she saw Prudence Clayson on the doorstep, in her crisp green dress and white jacket. She had only known this dark-haired, carefully-coutured American woman for a week, yet it felt like welcoming a much-loved member of her own family.

It was laughable to think of that moment of hostility in their first encounter, when Prudence had found it difficult to accept the evidence of bastardy.

The women embraced warmly.

‘Come in. I'm dying to know what you've found.'

It was not strictly true, but she couldn't help responding to Prudence's enthusiasm.

Prudence unwound her white chiffon scarf and settled herself on the sitting-room sofa. She beamed, with the delighted confidence of one who believes she has a treat to give. ‘I sure struck gold with William Clayson. He's just a mine of information about the family. Around Birmingham, the south-west, the south-east, you name it. He's got 'em all covered.'

‘And?' In spite of her other worries, Suzie was warming to the excitement she could see in Prudence's eyes.

‘He told me one handy little bit of information you and I never suspected.'

‘Which is?'

‘Well, we've been chasing up the name Clayson. And, thanks to you, we did pretty well. Adam's baptism. Poor little Johan. That apprenticeship at Norworthy. The lease on the farm down in the valley you said we could go look at one day. I'd be excited enough to take all that back to the family. But that's only the half of it. Of course, I knew all along that people weren't too particular about the way they spelt their names in those days. Back when most folks couldn't read and write.'

Suzie laughed. ‘They pull schoolchildren up for getting the spelling of Shakespeare wrong. But even Shakespeare couldn't spell Shakespeare. He wrote it about fourteen different ways.'

‘Is that so? Well, that sure makes me feel better about my own spelling. But this William Clayson's pretty sure that, early on, the Clayson name was Clarkson; in some parts, anyways.'

‘Clarkson? Are you sure? When you look for someone on the IGI Family Search, they throw in all the variant spellings for you. But when I searched for Clayson, Clarkson never came up once. I'm sure of it.'

‘Guess the IGI don't know there's a connection.'

Suzie was thinking rapidly. ‘When I get on the A2A website, looking for documents, I usually put in asterisks to cover variant spellings. With Clayson, I probably typed in Cla*son. That would cover things like Clason, without the y. But once the list of hits comes up, I run my eye down it and pick out just the ones that look possible.' She felt the jolt as she grasped the point. ‘So, if I saw there was a document about someone called Clarkson, I wouldn't have bothered to click on that and get the details. In fact, I remember now that's what we did. There were lots for John Clarkson which I didn't bother to open.'