‘Oh, I love it. I was down in Bury St Edmunds before, small town, so it’s a complete change. I love the theatre and the galleries.’ Flipping heck, when had I last been to either? ‘And there’s some superb concerts. I’ve been to the Royal Northern College a few times. There’s such a lot going on I could spend all my time going out if I’d the money. I never expected it’d be like this.’
‘Still thought we were in clogs and shawls?’
She laughed. ‘Well, not quite. But, the rain, I can’t believe it rains as much as it does, I thought that was part of the myth too.’
‘No, that bit’s true.’ I sorted my remaining chips into edible and not. The ones I rejected were mainly those vicious little sharp bits designed to choke you. ‘People don’t realise. It’s like when they were laying the tram lines. The firm that got the contract were outsiders. About a year after they’d laid it all the lines on Moseley Street started coming unstuck. They had to do it all again. Claimed they’d no idea it would rain so much.’
‘Oh, that’s awful.’
‘And when the Velodrome first went up the roof leaked. Probably be the new Concert Hall next,’ I said.
‘I hope not,’ she said, ‘I intend to be a regular there.’
‘On a student grant?’
‘An occasional regular, then.’
Later I rooted out the evening paper. Tina Achebe was the main story, whole front page. Despite all the ‘Gunchester’ stories a murder is still big news in the city.
There was a photo of the house in Levenshulme, quotes from a neighbour who had heard arguments on the Wednesday night and Thursday morning and had alerted the police when she couldn’t get an answer from the house. The report said there were signs of a violent struggle but there was no detail about the cause of death. There was a grainy photograph of Tina and Jimmy posing formally in front of some blossom trees. Where did they get the photo from? No charges had been brought, the report said, but Mr Achebe was assisting police with their enquiries.
I had a bath, tried to relax. All the while images of Tina and Jimmy churned round my mind. And I struggled to convince myself that whatever had happened I couldn’t be held to blame. I’d just been doing my job. There’d never been any atmosphere of violence around Jimmy. I wouldn’t have taken the work on if I’d sensed anything like that. It was a losing battle. In bed I lay awake far into the night waiting for exhaustion to release me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Birdsong. A note of cheer on a cold March morning. Then I remembered Tina. Dragged myself out of bed and down to breakfast.
Sheila was there, finding her way round the kitchen. I didn’t think it was fair to confide in her. I’d passed off the police call of the previous evening as routine enquiries.
I had promised Agnes we’d call at Kingsfield but I needed to check if Ray could look after Maddie. We often did separate things at the weekends, each of us only responsible for our own child.
Tom and Maddie were glued to Saturday morning television. I asked them where Ray was. After three goes Tom managed to disengage long enough to answer. ‘He’s taken Digger for a walk.’ I’d have to wait.
They arrived back an hour later. Digger, with mud up to his belly, stank to high heaven. Ray shut him in the kitchen.
‘Can you look after Maddie for a couple of hours?’
‘Sure, when? I said I’d take Tom over to my mother’s.’
‘Nowish. I just need to ring this woman up and check.’ I got through to Agnes. She was ill.
‘Some sort of flu, I think,’ she said. ‘I’m really not up to it.’
‘Shall we leave it till next week?’
Oh, no. You go,’ she urged me on, ‘please; See how she is.’
Flu? Funny how things kept cropping up to prevent Agnes from going to visit Lily.
The snow had gone completely now, leaving a residue of grime where it had trapped the city muck. The sky had a blank, bleak cast. Traffic was thick with Saturday shoppers and visitors.
At the hospital I had trouble parking. By the time I reached the Marion Unit I was feeling as grim as the weather.
Lily was in the dayroom pacing round. She was agitated, rubbing and wringing her hands and muttering to herself. She was smaller than I remembered, the curve in her spine emphasising her short stature. Her permed hair was dishevelled, a flat patch near the crown showing a glimpse of scalp. She wore a plain blue long-sleeved dress and slippers.
The room was busy, fifteen or twenty people, perhaps some visitors. I could only see one nurse in the room, mopping up a spill in the far corner. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned round. The man had wiry grey hair sprouting from head, nostrils and ears. Enormous eyebrows. Grand with age. His face was leathery, dotted with liver spots. He took my hand and beamed at me. His whole face alight. A cracking smile. I smiled back. He crushed me to him in a sudden bear hug. I smelt menthol and zinc and the starchy smell of unwashed hair. Just as swiftly he released me and walked away.
Lily had reached the far end of the room, near the bedrooms. I caught up with her and touched her on the arm. ‘Lily, it’s Sal Kilkenny, I came the other day. Agnes asked me to visit, see how you are.’
She glanced at me, her round face flushed. There were tiny beads of perspiration on her nose and her forehead. She pushed her glasses up her nose, looked all about her then took my arm and led me to her room. She stopped beside her bed. I stood awkwardly at her side.
‘How are you?’ Would she talk to me or not?
‘I can’t find George. I don’t know what they’ve done with him.’
‘George?’
‘He’s a good man. Mother says he’s a good man. With prospects. Do you know,’ she leant towards me conspiratorially, ‘the Wetherbys have got a half-share in a pig.’
Her husband, George, he’d gone missing in action in the Second World War, the Far East. I tried to bring her back to the present.
‘Charles came to see you yesterday, from Exeter.’
‘Charles. What Charles?’
‘Your son Charles.’
She gasped. ‘I haven’t got a son. I’m not married yet. What sort of a girl do you take me for? Cheek of it!’ A look of impudence stole across her face. She hadn’t taken offence at my mistake.
I went on the offensive. ‘Who’s Nora?’
‘Nora? Nora Donlan. Poor do.’ Her mouth puckered. The same surname as Agnes. Mother or sister?
‘Is Nora related to Agnes then?’
‘Sister. We don’t talk about Nora.’
‘What happened to Nora?’ I persisted.
She mouthed carefully in a whisper, ‘They put her in Kingsfield. Terrible business.’
The penny dropped. And Agnes’ flu made some sort of sense.
‘Is she here now?’ And what would ‘now’ mean to Lily? Were we still in the war, or before that, during her courtship?
‘No, she’s not here, she’s in the asylum.’
Oh, help. ‘Lily, what’s the date today?’
‘It’s August the fifteenth.’
‘What year?’
A look of terror descended on her. Her eyes grew wide, her mouth split in a grimace of fear. ‘Where’s George? I can’t find George? What have they done with him? George? George?’ She resumed her pacing, beating her fists against her thighs. Gasping for air.
I went in search of a nurse. There were two in the dayroom. The nearest was helping a patient with a drink.
‘I’ve come to visit Mrs Palmer,’ I said. ‘She’s getting quite upset.’
‘I’ll see to her just as soon as I can.’
‘You don’t know if her son made it yesterday?’
‘Sorry. I wasn’t here, I’m on the bank. I cover if they’ve a lot off sick.’
I went back to say goodbye to Lily. At first I thought she’d left the room. I heard a snuffle from the corner. She was crouched there behind the bed. Hiding.
‘Lily, are you all right?’