“Resents living in a goldfish bowl but forgets that they got the house for a pittance just because it was a goldfish bowl. Ted and Dorothy Clarke virtually gave the place away because they couldn’t stand it any longer. What shall I say? Ungrateful girl. Imagine what it’s like for those of us who’ve always lived here. No bargains for us. We have to put up with it, don’t we? Sit down.
Sit down.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re from Mr. Crew, you say. They found the child yet?”
He stared into her face with disconcertingly bright blue eyes.
Roz stared back, her mind racing.
“That’s not my province,” she said carefully, ‘so I’m not sure where they are on that one. I’m conducting a follow-up of Olive’s case. You did know that Mr. Crew is still representing her?”
“What’s to represent?” he asked. His eyes strayed in disappointment.
“Poor little Amber. They should never have made her give it up. I said it would cause trouble.”
Roz sat very still and stared at the worn carpet.
“People don’t listen, of course,” he said crossly.
“You give them well-meant advice and they tell you you’re interfering.
What shall I say? I could see where it would lead.” He fell into a resentful silence.
“You’re talking about the child,” said Roz at last.
He looked at her curiously.
“If they’d found him, you’d know.”
It was a boy, then.
“Oh, yes.”
“Bob did his best but there’s rules about these things.
They’d signed him away, given up their stake, so to speak.
You’d think it was different where money’s concerned, but there’s no contest for the likes of us against the government.
What shall I say? They’re all thieves.”
Roz made what she could of this speech. Was he talking about Mr.
Martin’s will? Was this child (Amber’s child?) the beneficiary? On the pretext of looking for a handkerchief, she opened her bag and surreptitiously switched on her tape-recorder. This conversation, she felt, was going to be tortuous.
“You mean,” she tried tentatively, ‘that the government will get the money?”
“Course.”
She nodded wisely.
“Things aren’t exactly stacked in our favour.”
“Never are. Damn thieves. Take every last penny off you. And what for? To make sure the ski vers go on breeding like rabbits at the expense of the rest of us. Makes you sick. There’s a woman in the council houses has five children, and all by different fathers.
What shall I say? They’re all worthless. Is that the sort of breeding stock we want in this country? Goodfor-nothings, with not a brain between them. Where’s the sense in encouraging a woman like that?
Should have sterilised her and put a stop to it.”
Roz was noncommittal, unwilling to be drawn down a culdesac, even more unwilling to antagonise him.
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“Course I’m right, and it’ll be the death of the species.
Before the dole, she’d have starved to death and her brood with her, and quite right too. What shall I say? It’s the survival of the fittest in this world. There’s no other species mollycoddles its rotten apples the way we do, and certainly none that pays its rotten apples to produce more rotten apples. Makes you sick.
How many children have you got?”
Roz smiled faintly.
“None, I’m afraid. I’m not married.”
“See what I mean?” He cleared his throat noisily.
“Makes you sick. What shall I say? It’s your sort, decent sort, should have the children.”
“How many do you have, Mr. er-?” She made a play of consulting her diary, as if looking for his name.
“Hayes. Mr. Hayes. Two lads. Fine boys. Grown up now, of course.
Only the one granddaughter,” he added morosely.
“It’s not right. I keep telling them they’ve a duty to their class but I could be pissing in the wind excuse my French for all the good it does.” His face set into familiar lines of irritation. His obsession was clearly a deep-seated one.
Roz knew she had to take the plunge or one hobby horse would follow another as inexorably as night follows day.
“You’re a very perceptive man, Mr. Hayes. Why were you so sure that making Amber give up her son would cause trouble?”
“Stands to reason there’d come a time when he was wanted again. It’s sod’s law, isn’t it? The minute you throw something out, that’s the minute you find you needed it after all. But it’s too late by then.
It’s gone. My wife was one, forever throwing things away, pots of paint, carpet, and two years later you needed to patch. Me, I hoard.
What shall I say? I value everything.”
“So, are you saying Mr. Martin wasn’t bothered about his grandson before the murders?”
He touched the end of his nose with thumb and forefinger.
“Who’s to say? He kept his own counsel, did Bob. It was Gwen who insisted on signing the kid away. Wouldn’t have it in the house.
Understandable, I suppose, in view of Amber’s age.”
“How old was she?”
He frowned.
“I thought Mr. Crew knew all this.”
She smiled.
“He does but, as I told you, it’s not my province. I’m just interested, that’s all. It seems so tragic.”
“It is that. Thirteen,” he said wistfully.
“She was thirteen. Poor little kid. Didn’t know anything about anything. Some lout at the school was responsible.”
He jerked his head towards the back of his house.
“Parkway Comprehensive.”
“Is that the school Amber and Olive went to?”
“Hah!” His old eyes were amused.
“Gwen wouldn’t have stood for that. She sent them to the posh Convent where they learnt their times tables and didn’t learn the facts of life.”
“Why didn’t Amber have an abortion? Were they Catholics?” She thought again about Olive and foetuses being washed down the sink.
“They didn’t know she was pregnant, did they?
Thought it was puppy fat.” He cackled suddenly.
“Rushed her off to hospital with suspected appendicitis and out pops a bouncing baby boy. They got away with it, too. Best kept secret I’ve ever come across. Even the nuns didn’t know.”
“But you knew,” she prompted.
“The wife guessed,” he said owlishly.
“It was obvious something untoward had happened, and not appendicitis neither. Gwen was well-nigh hysterical the night it happened and my Jeannie put two and two together. Still, we know how to keep our mouths shut. No reason to make life harder for the kid. It wasn’t her fault.”
Roz did some rapid mental arithmetic. Amber was two years younger than Olive which would have made her twenty-six if she were still alive.
“Her son’s thirteen,” she said, ‘and due to inherit half a million pounds. I wonder why Mr. Crew can’t find him. There must be records of the adoption.”
“I heard they’d found traces.” The old man clicked his false teeth with disappointment.
“But, there, it was probably just rumour, Brown Australia,” he muttered with disgust, as if that explained everything.
“I ask you.”
Roz allowed this cryptic remark to pass unchallenged. Time enough to puzzle over it later without claiming ignorance yet again.
“Tell me about Olive,” she invited.
“Were you surprised that she did what she did?”
“I hardly knew the girl.” He sucked his teeth.
“And you don’t feel surprised when people you know get hacked to death, young lady, you feel bloody sick. It did for my Jeannie. She was never the same afterwards, died a couple of years later.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded, but it was clearly an old wound that had healed.
“Used to see the child come and go but she wasn’t a great talker. Shy, I suppose.”
“Because she was fat?”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“Maybe. Jeannie said she was teased a lot, but I’ve known fat girls who’ve been the life and soul of the party. It was her nature, I think, to look on the black side. Never laughed much. No sense of humour. That sort doesn’t make friends easily.”