Read A Poison Tree (Time, Blood and Karma Book 3) Online
Authors: John Dolan
ADELE
The year 2000 had gone much better than Adele could have hoped.
To the churchgoers of St. Mark’s, her secret life remained a secret, although common sense told her it was only a matter of time before the light of discovery would expose her dual existence. Since no one would believe a few hours a week in a dress shop would keep her fed and housed, Adele had invented an
Internet marketing job working from home on her newly-acquired laptop.
She hated lying to Simon, but the alternative was far worse.
So she juggled.
She spent
Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays at the Gold Club; Wednesdays and Thursdays at the dress shop; Saturdays were free. Each Sunday morning she attended a service at St. Mark’s. She saw Simon on Saturday mornings and Wednesday and Thursday evenings. They usually went out to dinner at modest, out-of-the-way establishments or ate at her flat. On such occasions, the vicar dressed in ‘civvies’. They had not slept together, but while their relationship progressed at a snail’s pace, there seemed little doubt in which direction it was headed.
Adele kept the brakes on commitment. She often agonised over the grand deception that made possible their growing affection for one another. She worried for his position in the community if the true nature of her employment became common knowledge. Yet she could not give him up. In a soiled world, he remained
for her a beacon of decency.
Although religious belief failed to register on her dial of Things That Are Important, Adele had been adopted by the faithful of St. Mark’s. She thought they viewed her as a kind of science project, an enigmatic member of their circle who would experience a
Damascene conversion in the fullness of time.
Eleanor remained frosty
, and continued her campaign to undermine Adele in unsubtle ways. Since her husband’s life-support machines had been switched off, the older woman had thrown herself into her church activities even more, albeit her zeal had more to do with being top dog – or top bitch – than with the ideals of Christian charity. Her daughter Ruth had been packed off without ceremony to Durham University, lest she prove the cause of further embarrassment.
Eleanor Irving had more than her fair share of troubles, but her aloof, spiteful character made it difficult for anyone to have sympathy for her.
Ross had not been back to the UK at all in 2000. He had an extended assignment in Moscow for several months, working for a Russian
‘family’. Some oil oligarch, Adele was given to understand. Whatever Ross’ contract entailed, it required his travelling to Vladivostok and Dubai.
The arrival of winter found Ross in South East Asia, moving between Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. Whether he was still in the employ of the Russians was
not stated. In one of his more chatty emails, there was mention of the establishment of a casino in Phuket. Adele had seen a television programme about rich Muscovites moving money into property in London, Spain and Thailand, so she reasoned the Russian continued as his paymaster. But you could never tell with Ross Gallagher.
He reported he had bought an apartment in
Pattaya for rest and recuperation purposes. Knowing of the town’s unsavoury reputation for girlie bars and general lewd behaviour, Adele deemed it wise not to enquire too deeply into this.
Something pulled Ross to South East
Asia.
Whether it was to do with his father’s death there, the laissez-faire lifestyle or the presence of a casual girlfriend – or multiple girlfriends – was unclear.
But Adele could not blame him for staying away from his homeland unless family duty called. If she had the money to spend her days on a tropical beach, she would have done that too.
“Fuck,” said Nina. She plonked her bag on the table in the back room of the Gold Club. “My boyfriend is driving me crazy. Do you know where I can buy some rat poison?”
“What’s he done this time?” said Adele.
“He wants to buy himself a new motorbike. I am so glad we don’t have a joint account. He’d bloody well empty it as soon as my back was turned.” She sighed. “Fancy a cigarette before the rush?”
“Why not?”
The two women went into the yard.
For once, the
February weather was kind.
The yard had been tidied and an old plastic table and two chairs had been placed there as part of Miss Connie’s
‘facilities improvements’ for her girls.
Leona had stopped turning up for work at the Gold Club just before Christmas. Whether she had passed her law exams or given up, nobody knew. Girls came and went at the club,
their final departure often unannounced. The half-Italian girl only lasted three months. It did not matter. The club had an inexhaustible supply of females looking to earn some tax-free cash.
The Gold Club’s current favourite was a tall West Indian girl with dreadlocks and a model’s figure
. She possessed a fierce and unpredictable temper, and from time to time explosions occurred.
Up to that point, Miss Connie had only employed white girls, but with the arrival of more competition in the area, she had decided to
‘go exotic’. Indian cushions and wall tapestries had appeared. The dungeon had a makeover.
A new establishment had opened a mile away. Asian Dreamland had Thai and Vietnamese women, and Adele thought the enterprise smelled of human trafficking.
There was also an Indian brothel in Highfields, but that was not part of Miss Connie’s target market as it catered almost exclusively to clients of Asian origin.
Asian Dreamland, however, posed a serious threat to her livelihood.
“Ten more months in this dump,” said Nina, puffing on a cigarette. “I’ve set December 2001 as my deadline, then I’m off to Hull to set up my art gallery.”
“Will you have saved enough by then?”
“I don’t care whether I’ll have saved enough or not. I’m going. I’m sure there are guys in Hull who like to be spanked too. I’ve been looking into setting up a website. Maybe do some webcam sex. That looks like money for old rope.”
It was a far cry from Nina’s original dream
. But life is full of compromises.
“I am not too concerned about your mother’s heart murmur,” said Dr. Stewart, “but I
am
worried about the state of her liver.”
Flora Darrow glared at the GP. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here.”
He turned to her. “Much good it does when I do talk to you,” he retorted. “This drinking is going to kill you. I can’t be plainer than that. Perhaps your daughter can talk some sense into you. God knows, I can’t.”
Adele accompanied her mother home through Glasgow streets that were changing even as Flora Darrow remained trapped in a resentful past.
Adele tidied up the scruffy, uncared-for flat as best she could while the old woman complained at length about the state of the National Health Service and the price of cigarettes.
A panicky phone call from her mother
two days before had brought Adele to her home city.
As she
dusted, she reflected on how different this trip was compared to her last visit, when Social Services had grudgingly agreed to facilitate a meeting with Jamie under the auspices of his foster parents, the Martins. Without the Martins’ kindness, such a gathering would have been impossible. They ignored the authorities’ advice, for which Adele would be forever in their debt.
“A mother should have the chance to see her son.”
They had given Adele the number of their landline, which meant Adele could talk to Jamie over the phone. She now called twice a month – enough to stay in touch, but not enough to disrupt his routine and make the little boy feel torn and confused.
Rebuilding their relationship would take time, but so long as the Martins remained amenable, it would happen.
Hope forced its way up through a crack.
Adele stayed with her mother for two days, then caught the train south. No visit to Jamie this time.
As much as her heart ached to see him, she had to do right by everyone. Also, she had to get back to work.
While her monetary situation had improved, Adele needed to keep her foot pressed
on the cash pedal.
“You seem miles away this evening, Adele,” said Simon. “Are you worried about your mother?”
“A little, I suppose. But Mam is a tough old bird. She’ll survive.”
“Are you thinking about Jamie, then?”
“Always,” she said.
Adele reached across the restaurant table and held his hand. “I’m lucky to have such an understanding man.”
“Does that mean I get to see you tomorrow evening too?”
“I can’t.” She pulled back her hand. “I have to work. Sorry. Saturday for sure though, OK?”
Colin w
as visiting her the following evening.
More juggling.
Adele pushed open the lobby door to her apartment block and
tutted in annoyance.
Not only was the lift not working again, but the security access system was also out of commission
, and had been for weeks. Adele had installed an extra chain on the door to her apartment after two of the ground floor flats had been burgled. The landlord remained unconcerned about security matters, even after one of the Indian tenants had led a petition calling on him to carry out essential maintenance on the building. The Indian’s reward for his trouble was not having his lease renewed when it expired. Security of tenure might work in theory, but not in practice. Not with this landlord.
Adele trudged up the stairs to her flat
, passing on the way a young family struggling to get a pushchair and baby downstairs. She was running late and just had enough time to shower and change before there was a knock on her door.
“Still no security, eh?” said Colin.
Colin’s pronounced lisp made it sound like,
Thtill no thecurity
.
“No. We’ll all be murdered in our beds one of these nights. Come in. Cup of tea?”
“Lovely.”
Adele had met Colin a few months before at the Gold Club. It was shortly after she had lost her last special client,
Robbie. The old Scotsman was in a bad way due to his worsening health problems, and had bid Adele a reluctant goodbye. With David also gone, Colin had caught Adele at a weak moment, and she agreed to let him visit her at the apartment.
Adele doubted ‘Colin’ was his real name, but
aside from that predictable subterfuge he seemed genuine enough. She found his lisp endearing, and he made her laugh when he enthused about horse racing and betting. He told her he had recently moved to Leicester from Coventry, but did not elaborate further. This did not bother Adele. He was accommodating about visit times and saw her a couple of times a month, which suited her – although his time with her was always at the expense of Simon.
“Do you know,” said Colin, undressing, “”I’ve had the most
th
urreal ex
th
perien
th
the la
th
t week. I keep bumping into thi
th
little old man with a mound of white hair. He remind
th
me of a leprechaun.”
“Maybe he fancies you, Colin, but he’s too shy to ask you out.”
“You could be right. Now come here.”
There was a loud hammering on the door. Colin and Adele both froze.
The knocking repeated, more insistent. A woman’s voice shouted out, “Harry Dempsey, open this door. I know you are in there.”
Adele threw on a robe and opened the door, keeping the chain in place.
A small, red-faced woman stood outside.
“I’m sorry,” said Adele. “You must have the wrong apartment. There’s no Harry Dempsey here.”
“I don’t care what name he uses with you, lady. I know my husband is in here. Now open this door or I’ll make the sort of fuss you don’t want your neighbours to hear.”
Adele released the chain and the woman pushed past her into the bedroom, where a terrified
Colin or Harry was desperately trying to pull up his pants.
“Violet,” he said. “I can
e
cth
plain.”
“I rather doubt that, Harry. Now get dressed. You’re coming home with me now.”
The woman turned to Adele.
“Your name is Adele Darrow, isn’t it?”
Adele
stood still, unable to think of anything to say.
“I know it is. My private detective, Mr
. Cumberbatch, has given me all the disgusting details.”
Violet’s errant husband appeared, shame-faced, from the bedroom, and she pushed him out into the corridor.
“If you ever go near my husband again, I’ll get the police onto you, Miss Adele Darrow. Be warned, slut.”
The door slammed behind her.