Rock a Bye Baby (39 page)

Miss Turnbull’s tight little mouth turned tighter. ‘The child was born a bastard!’

Before Miss Turnbull could say another word, he snatched the papers from her hand, ripped them into pieces and threw them up into the air.

‘Sod your forms! Sod your arrangements, and sod you!’ He turned to Marcie. ‘Come on. Let’s go home.’

Sally and Allegra had got wind that something was up and were waiting for her by the front door.

‘We heard the good news,’ said Sally.

‘One more goodbye,’ said Allegra giving her a kiss. ‘You’re very lucky to have a dad like yours.’

Marcie didn’t bother to correct her. Neither did Alan.

‘Everything to your liking, madam?’ asked Alan.

He kept whistling and humming. She sensed his spirits were soaring. Why hadn’t she seen how he felt about her?

It doesn’t matter now, she said to herself. You’re doing this for Joanna.

She had no other option but to marry Alan. Hadn’t her father said he would throw her out if she ever brought such trouble home? He’d only come round when he thought she was going to marry Johnnie. Only by marrying someone else would she be respectable. All the same, it would be nice to have some time at home before the wedding.

On the journey home he told her in more detail about Steph leaving, reiterating that they’d never got round to getting hitched. They also discussed the options available to them regarding getting married and where they should live. Marcie found this the most difficult to contemplate, yet Alan enthused about the options.

‘You could move into the bungalow, or we could buy something you like better. The choice is yours.’

Yes. The choice was hers, but one she was hesitant to make.

Moving in with Alan straight away was an option he preferred but she wasn’t quite so sure about. After all they weren’t married. She finally came to a conclusion.

‘I’ll stay with my grandmother at first until we’re married.’

He laughed at that. ‘Keeping up appearances, are we?’

‘Why not?’

‘That’s fine by me. It’ll take a couple of weeks to
sort matters out. And we’ll have a party – a bloody wedding reception. You just see if we don’t.’

Another more pressing question lay heavy in her mind. Again she broached the subject he’d been loath to answer earlier.

‘Is my mother buried beneath the shed?’

She fancied the car swerved a little – not much but just enough to make her realise that the question unnerved him.

‘No. Of course not.’

Rosa Brooks eyed her son. He was sitting in his armchair and chewing his thumb.

‘Stop doing that. You did that as a little boy when I accused you of doing something wrong.’

He looked up at her uncomprehending. ‘What?’

‘You are chewing your thumb. You always did that when you were a little boy.’

Exasperated by her presence, he folded his hands in his lap and fixed his eyes on a cracked tile in the beige-coloured grate which was plain but modern. It shouldn’t be cracked, he reasoned.

Rosa sipped at her tea. Babs wasn’t in but at least Antonio knew how to make a cup of tea.

‘You buried something in my garden. Do not deny it. I know what I know.’

She saw that her words had taken him unawares. He stared round eyed at this woman who everybody believed could see things they could not. Nobody could have told her, so how could she know?

Suddenly he covered his face with his hands, shook his head and shouted, ‘I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t bloody know!’

He said it with such great vehemence that she truly believed him. Anyway, she had not brought her son up to lie.

Sighing, Rosa put down her cup and got to her feet. ‘I am sorry, Antonio, as I do not wish to do this, but feel I have no choice. Though Shalt Not Kill, says the Bible. I have to make sure that such a great sin has not been done beneath my roof!’

‘Mother! You can’t!’

She eyed him contemplatively. Never had she questioned his methods of making money, and never would she have shopped him to the police. But this was different.

‘I have to.’

Antonio Brooks was well known to the police, so it didn’t take them long to send a digging team along to the cottage.

Rosa Brooks stood watching, her sense of doing right for once outweighing her love for her son. A detective asked her where Antonio was.

‘We’d like to ask him some questions.’

‘At home?’

‘No. He wasn’t there.’

‘He will be back. He’ll never leave Sheppey. This is his home.’

Seeing he was unlikely to get any information, the detective returned to where a large pile of earth grew ever larger.

The smell of turned earth permeated the air. Rosa Brooks refused to leave the house but stood defiant at the back door as the hole grew bigger and bigger.

The police had questioned when the chicken house had been erected. Rosa had shrugged and said it was years ago.

The police asked questions of the neighbours. Mrs Ellis, who now had a completed nuclear fallout shelter in her garden, had enlightened them.

‘The old chicken house used to be over in the corner. The new one was put up in the early fifties round about the same time as the first Mrs Brooks disappeared.’

The two women of separate generations stood slightly apart, both coldly isolated in their respective worlds.

Two hours or more passed before she saw one of the police officers making his way towards the house. The sight of him filled her with dread. He looked down at the path as he walked. Rosa knew what that meant. He was considering most carefully what he had to say, and yet he didn’t need to say anything. She already knew, or thought she did. The puzzling thing about it was that Cyril hadn’t mentioned any restless spirit around here, and neither had she sensed the presence of one.

Rosa had been through difficult times before – the war was bad enough, though the Isle of Sheppey hadn’t endured any bombing, the enemy preferring to fly past
and bomb London. But this was different. This terrible moment was not about tragedy afflicting strangers; this was her family and in particular her son.

She braced herself for the terrible truth. It was she who spoke first.

‘Is it her? Is it my daughter-in-law?’

He shook his head. ‘No, love. It’s a dog. A big dog. Did you ever have a dog?’

She shook her head. No. She’d never had a dog, and what was it doing there in the first place?

The green Jaguar slid into its parking place in the gravel-filled drive. Alan had half expected Rita to be stood there waiting for him but Tony Brooks was standing there instead, hands in pockets, his dark eyes glittering beneath frowning eyebrows.

Alan helped Marcie out of the car before going to him.

‘This is a surprise, Tony old mate …’

Tony looked right past him to his daughter. ‘Is that my grandchild?’

Marcie hugged her daughter. ‘Yes. It is.’

‘And the kid on the bike was the father?’

Again she said that this was so and added, ‘He died.’

‘Look, I was going to tell you,’ Alan began to say.

It happened so suddenly. Her dad lashed out. Alan went flying, flat out on the gravel, his head crashing onto a rosebush.

Tony Brooks addressed his daughter. ‘You didn’t have to run away. I was going to sign for you. You knew that. So why did you run off like that?’

‘There were reasons,’ she blurted out.

She looked down at Alan. He was still sprawled in the dirt but coming to and already rubbing his chin.

Marcie bit her lip. The sight of a man who had once seemed so big and strong now looking small and nervous filled her with sadness. She forced herself to concentrate on the best way to handle him.

‘I wanted to tell you I was coming home, but there wasn’t time. Joanna was about to be adopted. Alan found me and tore up the adoption papers.’ It was never going to be easy saying the next bit, but she had to.

‘Alan wants to marry me and give Joanna a name and a home.’

‘Does he now! Well there’s generosity for you. And why would he want to do that, I wonder …?’

Leaning down, he grabbed Alan’s arm, dragging him to his feet.

Alan was panting. A scratch from cheekbone to jaw was weeping blood. His hair was awry, his clothes dirty.

For the first time ever, Marcie saw Alan Taylor’s face drained of confidence.

‘I didn’t touch her,’ Alan babbled.

Her father flashed a dangerous-looking smile. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

She didn’t contradict him.

Tony Brooks was now holding his old mate by his shirt collar.

‘You’ve been playing me for a mug all these years, Alan. You told me I murdered my own wife and buried her. Now it turns out there’s only a bloody dog buried there – an Alsatian according to the coppers. Now tell me, what the fuck was that all about?’

Marcie stared wild eyed at the two men. ‘What?’

Her father explained quickly what had been discovered beneath the hen house. He sounded embarrassed. ‘What sort of bloody fool am I?’

‘You thought you’d killed her?’ Marcie questioned incredulously.

Her father spread his hands helplessly. ‘I didn’t know. I knew I’d been drinking. I feared the worst.’ He turned to Alan. ‘He made me believe the worst. Now I want to know the truth.’

Alan hedged. ‘It’s complicated—’

‘Try me. I might be a bit thick, but try me.’

Alan looked nervously around. ‘Can we go inside? The neighbours will be watching—’

‘And I need to change and feed the baby,’ Marcie added.

They went into the house. Marcie listened as the two most prominent men in her life sorted out their differences.

Alan began to explain. ‘I just needed you on board.’

‘To take the rap for the job.’

‘That’s it. But I paid you for it.’

‘So let’s get this straight – it’s a guard dog, right? And I killed it.’

Alan nodded. ‘Yep, but you felt bad about it. You brought the bloody thing back with you. You buried it in the garden but were so pissed you didn’t remember doing it. I just kept you guessing so you wouldn’t step out of line and drop me in it. That’s the truth. The honest to goodness truth.’

‘So where’s Mary? Where’s my wife?’

Alan shrugged. ‘I don’t know, mate. I really don’t. If I knew I’d tell you, though I’m not too sure that she really went off with someone else.’ He gave a little nervous chuckle. ‘You know me. I’ll try it on with any bird. But your Mary? No way. She wasn’t like that.’

Marcie tucked her bosom back inside her blouse when she felt Alan’s eyes on her.

‘You alright, love?’ said Alan.

She wanted to say she was not his love. Not yet at any rate.

Her father now turned his attention to her.

‘So what now?’

His thick fingers were folded in front of him. Alan asked him if he’d like a whisky. He declined – a first as far as both Alan and Marcie were concerned.

‘Alan’s offered to give the baby a name,’ repeated Marcie.

Her father blinked and turned to Alan.

‘She’s just a kid.’

‘And deserves a better start in life,’ snapped Alan.

Marcie could see that the old dynamics were returning between these two. They were both dishonest, though perhaps in different ways.

‘I’m going round to live with Gran until things are sorted,’ said Marcie, getting to her feet.

‘I’ll get the car out,’ said Alan.

Her father pushed him back down into the chair. ‘She’s my daughter. I’m taking her round home. Give me your car keys.’

As her father loaded her belongings back into the car, Marcie decided there was something that needed to be said. ‘Alan, I’m grateful for what you’ve done, but you have to know that I don’t love you. I’m not saying I won’t marry you but I don’t think I could ever love you, not after what you did to me. And my dad. Do you understand that?’

He nodded silently then watched her get into the car and be driven away.

‘Gran’s,’ she blurted out once they were in the car. ‘I don’t want to go to your house. I want to go home to Gran.’

Her father didn’t push her to go home with him to Babs and the others. He didn’t press her to do anything and neither did he ask her how things had been since he’d last seen her.

She voiced the thought that had bugged her all the way from Alan’s place to Endeavour Terrace. ‘What’s Gran going to say?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You know how she is. A bit old-fashioned. But I’ll stick by you, girl. You know that, don’t you?’

Yes. Somehow she knew he was telling the truth. She’d seen his eyes light up at the sight of Joanna. The big strong man had turned into a marshmallow, but her grandmother might be more hostile. Her grandmother believed in marriage. She thought for a moment and came to a decision.

‘I want to go in the back way.’

‘OK. I’ll bring your case.’

‘No. Stay here.’

He got out his side, opened the door for her and the baby and helped her out.

‘Leave my suitcase on the front step.’

‘I thought I’d wait just in case—’

‘Go. Please.’

It felt strange to give him orders and to see him obey so quickly.

He nodded silently then watched her leave him, heading for the entrance to the back lane.

The lane was unchanged except that the nettles and tall grass smelled of summer.

She paused at the gate. The recognisable figure dressed in black was sitting outside the back door, knitting needles click-clacking as always. Everything seemed the same and yet it was not.

Marcie’s breath caught in her throat. Her grandmother seemed to have shrunk since she’d last seen her. Never had her face looked so pale and her frame so small. Her clothes were still black and even from a distance it was possible to see that there was more grey in her jet-black hair.

The reason was obvious: so much had happened in the past year or so; everyone had gone; her grandmother was alone with nothing more than memories.

Marcie felt her loneliness. Feeling it, actually
feeling
it, surprised her. She hadn’t realised such a thing was possible.

Dry paint flaked onto her hand as she pushed the gate open. It squeaked on its rusty hinges. The gate, the cottage and the woman sitting outside the back door were suffering from neglect. But that didn’t mean she’d be welcome here. It didn’t mean that at all. She’d left home without any notice. What was more she had left as a frightened little girl and returned as a woman and a mother.