Devon
Friday
Dearest M,
I can't help feeling Libby is right, and you should rethink these visits on Monday, particularly the one to Alan's house. I know Danny's told you Alan won't be there-but do at least consider how he's likely to react when his wife tells him you've taken photographs of what's there. Are you sure it wouldn't be more sensible to involve the police ? I know I don't need to remind you of what Alan and his father did to you-it distresses me to see you washing your hands all the time-but I'm not as confident as you that just because Alan's brother doesn't seem to know about his past, his wife won't either.
Love,
Dad
X X X
*18*
My last port of call that day was a small 1930s semi in Isleworth with pebble-dashed walls and lattice-style windows. It was too far to walk so I took a taxi from Richmond station and asked the driver to wait in case there was no one at home or the occupants refused to speak to me. I heard a dog bark as I rang the bell, then the door was flung open by a small curly haired boy, and a Great Dane came bounding out to circle 'round me, growling. "Mu-mmy!" the child screamed. "Satan's going to bite a lady. Mu-mmy!"
A plump blonde in a baggy T-shirt and leggings appeared behind him and sent the dog back inside with a click of her fingers. "Don't worry," she said comfortably. "His bark's worse than his bite."
I smiled weakly. "How do you know?"
"I'm sorry?"
"How many people has he bitten?"
"Oh, I see!" She giggled. "None. Yet ... No, I'm joking. Actually, he's a big softy. Mind you"-she ruffled her son's hair-"how many times do I have to tell you not to open the door, Jason? Not everyone's as easy 'round dogs as this lady and if Satan did bite someone we'd have the police here in no time flat." She turned him 'round and steered him toward a door to her right. "Go and watch Tansy for me. I don't want her sticking her fingers in the sockets again." The corners of her mouth lifted in a questioning smile. "So what can I do for you? If you're a Jehovah's Witness you'll be wasting your time. That's why Satan's called Satan ... to scare off the God squad."
She was like a gust of fresh air after the watchful suspicion of Maureen Slater, and I wasn't remotely surprised that Danny preferred her company to his mother's. "That would be Alan," I said.
"That's right."
"And you're Beth?"
She nodded.
"Alan knew me as Mrs. Ranelagh," I said, holding out my hand. "My husband and I used to live down the other end of Graham Road from his parents when he was a child. I was one of his teachers."
She looked surprised as she returned my handshake. "Are you the lady Danny was on about? He phoned a couple of nights ago and said he'd met someone who used to teach Al."
"Yes."
She glanced past me toward the taxi. "He said you were in Dorset."
"We're renting a farmhouse there for the summer. It's about ten miles from where Danny's staying. I'm in London today because there were some people I needed to see"-I didn't think she'd accept that I'd dropped in on a whim-"one of whom was Alan."
A look of uncertainty crossed her face. "He went really quiet when Danny mentioned your name ... almost like you were Jack the Ripper or something."
"Did he?" I asked in surprise. "He always told me I was his favorite teacher. I wouldn't have dreamed of dropping in otherwise."
She looked embarrassed. "He's not here. He's working on a site out Chertsey way." A frown developed. "I'm surprised Danny didn't tell you. It's one of these executive-type estates ... you know, houses with fancy stonework and porches on pillars-and he's been pestering Al for weeks to put his name up for the decorative bits. They're behind with the contract so my poor old boy's working overtime ... most evenings he doesn't get back till 'round 10." The frown deepened. "Anyway, how come you needed to see him? Most of his teachers were glad to be shot of him."
"Me, too," I said honestly. "Most of the time he couldn't be bothered to turn up, and when he did he was so disruptive that I wished he hadn't." I smiled to take the sting from my words. "Then I'd take a deep breath, remind myself of what his father was like, and try again. I couldn't bear to think he'd end up like Derek. And he obviously hasn't if everything Danny's told me about you and the children is true."
Curiosity won out, as I hoped it would, because my excuse for being there wasn't enough to persuade her to invite me in. "I never met his dad," she said, a gleam of interest sparkling in her eyes. "He was long gone before I met Al, but everyone says he was a bastard. Did you know him well?"
"Oh, yes. He threatened to rearrange my face once, so I tried to have him arrested." I turned irresolutely toward the taxi. "I asked the driver to wait in case you weren't at home, but I think he's left the clock running."
"Fuck that for a load of bananas," she said cheerfully. "They're all rip-off merchants ... charge you an arm 'n' a bloody leg just to look you. Excuse my French. How about I give you a cup of tea and we'll call for a minicab later? If you're lucky, Al might get home early for once. I mean, it's not every day one of his teachers turns up"-she canted her head to one side-"though you don't look much like any of the old bats who taught me, and that's a fact."
With a grateful smile for the offer of tea and the compliment-and a silent, earnest prayer that nothing would induce Alan to come home early-I paid off the cab and followed her inside. As I might have predicted, the interior was a reflection of Beth's down-to-earth character. Colors were simple and direct-terra-cotta and straw being her obvious favorites. Floor coverings were practical-sanded floorboards in the hall and cork in the kitchen-and all her furniture was arranged to maximize space and minimize accidents for her children. It worked, and it was attractive, and when I told her so she was pleased but not surprised.
"It's what I want to do when the kids are both at school," she said, "take over someone's house and make it nice for them. I reckon I've got a talent for it, and it seems a shame to work in a factory if I can make money out of something I enjoy. I do it all myself-Al's too tired to be sanding floors when he gets home-and most of my mates go green when they come visiting. Half of them think women aren't made for this kind of caper, and the other half say they'd be too embarrassed to go to the hire shop for tools like sanding machines and wallpaper strippers because they wouldn't know what to ask for."
I skirted cautiously around the Great Dane, which had stretched itself full length on a fluffy rug in front of the cooker. "What did you do before you married Alan?" I asked, pulling out a kitchen chair and straddling it. The dog raised its head with a hostile look in its eyes, then, at a click from his mistress's fingers, yawned and went back to sleep.
"I was a hairdresser," Beth said with a laugh, "and I hated every minute of it. I was supposed to be a stylist but the only styling I ever did was blue rinses for miserable old women who had nothing better to do with their time than whinge about their husbands. And it didn't seem to make much difference whether the poor old bastards were dead or alive, they still got the treatment. Yackety ... yackety ... yack. He's mean.... He's stupid ... He dribbles on the toilet seat ... Honestly! It didn't half put me off getting old."
I laughed. "It sounds like my mother."
"Is she like that?"
"A bit."
"I never knew my mum," said Beth, pushing an armful of bangles up to her elbow as she carried the kettle to the sink and turned on the water. "Not the biological one anyway. She put me up for adoption when I was a baby. My adoptive mum's great ... so is my dad ... they love Al and they love the kids. They asked me once if I wanted to go looking for my real mum, and I said no chance. I mean, there's no guarantee I'm going to like her-half the people I know can't stand their parents ... so why waste time looking for her?"