“Then I discovered that Olive was human and very likeable, so I kept going. And almost everyone I’ve spoken to has given a similar answer to you. They hardly knew her, they never talked to her, she was just the fat girl down the corridor. Now, I could write my book on that theme alone, how social ostracism led a lonely, unloved girl to turn in a fit of frenzied anger on her teasing family. But I’m not going to because I don’t think it’s true. I believe there’s been a miscarriage of justice. I believe Olive is innocent.”
Surprised, he reassessed her.
“It shocked us rigid when we heard what she’d done,” he admitted.
“Because you thought it out of character?”
“Totally out of character.” He thought back.
“She was a good worker, brighter than most, and she didn’t clock-watch like some of them. OK, she was never going to set the world alight, but she was reliable and willing and she didn’t make waves or get involved in office politics. She was here about eighteen months and while no one would have claimed her as a bosom friend she made no enemies either. She was one of those people you only think about when you want something done and then you remember them with relief because you know they’ll do it. You know the type?”
She nodded.
“Boring but dependable.”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
“Did she tell you anything about her private life?”
He shook his head again.
“It was true what I said at the beginning. Our paths rarely crossed.
Any contact we had was work related and even that was minimal. Most of what I’ve just told you was synthesised from the amazed reactions of the few who did know her.”
“Can you give me their names?”
“I’m not sure I can remember.” He looked doubtful.
“Olive would know them better than I do. Why don’t you ask her?”
Because she won’t tell me. She won’t tell me anything.
“Because,” she said instead, “I don’t want to hurt her.” She saw his look of puzzlement and sighed.
“Supposing doors get slammed in my face and I’m given the cold shoulder by Olive’s so-called friends. She’s bound to ask me how I got on, and how would I answer her? Sorry, Olive, as far as they’re concerned you’re dead and buried. I couldn’t do that.”
He accepted this.
“All right, there is someone who might be willing to help you but I’m not prepared to give you her name without her permission. She’s elderly, retired now, and she may not want to be involved. If you give me five minutes, I’ll telephone and see how she feels about talking to you.”
“Was she fond of Olive?”
“As much as anyone was.”
“Then will you tell her that I don’t believe Olive murdered her mother and sister and that’s why I’m writing the book.” She stood up.
“And please impress on her that it’s desperately important I talk to someone who knew her at the time. So far I’ve only managed to trace one old school friend and a teacher.”
She walked to the door.
“I’ll wait outside.”
True to his word, he was five minutes. He joined her in the corridor and gave her a piece of paper with a name and address on it.
“Her name’s Lily Gainsborough. She was the cleaner cum-tea-lady in the good old days before privatised cleaning and automatic coffee machines.
She retired three years ago at the age of seventy, lives in sheltered accommodation in Pryde Street.” He gave her directions.
“She’s expecting you.” Roz thanked him.
“Give my regards to Olive when you see her,” he said, shaking her hand.
“I had more hair and less flab six years ago, so a description won’t be much use, but she might remember my name. Most people do.”
Roz chuckled. His name was Michael Jackson.
“Of course I remember Olive. Called her “Dumpling”, didn’t I, and she called me “Flower”. Get it, dear? Because of my name, Lily. There wasn’t an ounce of harm in her. I never believed what they said she done and I wrote and told her so when I heard where they’d sent her.
She wrote me back and said I was wrong, it was all her fault and she had to pay the penalty.” Old wise eyes peered shortsightedly at Roz.
“I understood what she meant, even if no one else did. She never did it but it wouldn’t have happened if she’d not done what she shouldn’t have. More tea, dear?”
“Thank you.” Roz held out her cup and waited while the frail old lady hefted a large stainless steel teapot. A relic from her job on the tea trolley? The tea was thick and charged with tannin, and Roz could hardly bring herself to drink it. She accepted another indigestible scone.
“What did she do that she shouldn’t have?”
“Upset her mum, that’s what. Took up with one of the O’Brien boys, didn’t she?”
“Which one?”
“Ah, well, that I’m not too sure about. I’ve always thought it was the baby, young Gary mind, I only saw them together once and those boys are very alike. Could have been any of them.”
“How many are there?”
“Now you’re asking.” Lily pursed her mouth into a wrinkled rosebud.
“It’s a big family. Can’t keep track of them. Their mum must be a grandmother twenty times over and I doubt she’s reached sixty yet.
Gyppos, dear. Bad apples the lot of them. In and out of prison that regular you’d think they owned the place.
The mum included. Taught them to steal soon as they could walk. The kids kept being taken off her, of course, but never for very long.
Always found their way home. Young Gary was sent to a boarding school approved schools, they was called in my day did quite well by all accounts.” She crumbled a scone on her plate.
“Till he went home, that is. She had him back on the thieving quicker than you can say knife.”
Roz thought for a moment.
“Did Olive tell you she was going out with one of them?”
“Not inso many words.” She tapped her forehead.
“Put two and two together, didn’t I? She was that pleased with herself, lost some weight, bought some pretty dresses from that boutique her sister went to work in, dabbed some colour on her face.
Made herself look quite bonny, didn’t she? Stood to reason there was a man behind it somewhere. Asked her once who it was and she just smiled and said, “No names no pack drill, Flower, because Mummy would have a fit if she ever found out.” And then, two or three days later, I came across her with one of the O’Brien boys. Her face gave her away, as sunny as the day is long it was. That was him all right the one she was soppy over but he turned away as I passed, and I never did know exactly which O’Brien he was.”
“But what made you think it was an O’Brien anyway?”
“The uniform,” said Lily.
“They all wore the same uniform.”
“They were in the Army?” asked Roz in surprise.
“Leathers, they call them.”
“Oh, I see. You mean they’re bikers, they ride motorbikes.”
“That’s it. Hell’s Angels.”
Roz drew her brows together in a perplexed frown. She had told Hal with absolute conviction that Olive was not the rebellious type. But Hell’s Angels, for God’s sake! Could a convent girl get more rebellious than that?
“Are you sure about this, Lily?”
“Well, as to being sure, I don’t know as I’m sure about anything any more. There was a time when I was sure that governments knew better how to run things than I did. Can’t say as I do these days. There was a time when I was sure that if God was in his heaven all would be right with the world. Can’t say as I think that now. If God’s there, dear, He’s blind, deaf, and dumb, far as I’m concerned. But, yes, I am sure my poor Dumpling had fallen for one of the O’Briens. You’d only to look at her to see she was head over heels in love with the lad.”
She compressed her lips.
“Bad business. Bad business.”
Roz sipped the bitter tea.