Power on Her Own Read online

  The room was empty when she got back, the door ajar. She plugged the kettle in, and noticed the mugs. Dirty. Another trip to the loo.

  Graham was back when she returned. He was by the kettle, flourishing a plastic cup of milk. ‘Sorry: should have washed those before I went.’

  ‘Was it a good course?’

  He selected an Assam tea bag. She nodded – she’d share it.

  ‘Not bad. Someone dropped out at the last moment and my name must have come out the hat. Crowd control. May be useful one day, I suppose.’ His smile was ironic. ‘Come on, Kate, what’s been going on? Young Colin’s out there with a face like a wet week. Any reason?’

  ‘Only that he didn’t get a place on a course.’

  ‘And someone else did?’

  She nodded, fishing his tea bag out and dropping into the other mug. He dribbled in milk.

  ‘And?’ He wandered over to the window.

  ‘Someone took a file off my desk. By some stroke of good fortune I’d prepared two. And I’ve kept the information not just on my computer but on two disks, one of which is in my desk, the other at home.’

  ‘That’s dodgy, Kate. Taking stuff home. Could lay yourself open to suspicion there.’ Then his smile erased the grimness. ‘Though of course my room was locked, and my desk ditto. Hmm. I don’t like this.’

  She stared at the traffic in the street below. An ambulance was trying to push its way through. Another sick kid maybe. Another Danny or Darren.

  ‘You may not like something else I did. I left some bait. I left the computer file number on each sheet, and then told the officer in question I was having trouble with my computer. Maybe the file will wipe itself, Sir.’

  ‘Witness?’

  ‘Another officer. Absolutely reliable. Though he might not like what I’m doing, either.’ No, Colin had enough problems of his own.

  He said, so quietly she could hardly hear, ‘Leave your tea and go and sit on the hard chair. Fast.’

  She obeyed. Had her hands in her lap looking penitent by the time the door was fully open. Cope.

  ‘– if it keeps playing up, get it seen to, for goodness’ sake,’ Graham was saying. The man deserved an Oscar. ‘OK?’

  Dismissed. Well, she’d had a sip of tea. She nodded, and was at the door herself, held for her by Cope, when Graham added, ‘I’ll talk to you about the other matter later. Did you fix transport?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. All arranged.’

  No, she wasn’t proud of being part of a conspiracy, but her pulse was racing with excitement. Never could a series of routine phone calls about attempted break-ins have been made with a warmer, more concerned voice. Yes, she was beginning to love her job again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alf backed his pick-up carefully into a space a few inches too short for it. Kate smiled grimly: on a Saturday afternoon in her road, most parking spaces would be too short. Graham merely parked on the yellow zigzag lines by the school gates. The two men wrestled the double mattress, heaving and wobbling as if in the throes of a giant passion, off the pick-up and into the house. They dropped it in the tiny hall and caught their breath.

  Graham peered. ‘Where are your stairs?’

  ‘Through the living room. Before you get to the kitchen. And there’s a very sharp bend.’

  ‘May need me tow-rope – tie it up, like.’ Alf disappeared.

  ‘Kate: are you seriously telling me you’ve been trying to do a day’s work while coping with this lot?’ He looked at her and the house with infinite concern.

  She wasn’t sure how to react. She tried smiling: ‘It’s getting better every day. But I told you I was staying at the Manse: this is the reason.’

  ‘No place to call your own, and you’ve come in to work to be subjected to bullying and harassment.’ He shook his head ‘Yes, that’s what we need. Excellent. Have you somewhere flat we can lay this, Kate? Like a floor?’ He looked in at the front room and shuddered.

  ‘Living room. It’s not too dirty – they found rot and insect infestation and had to put in a new floor.’

  Alf sniffed. ‘Got a clean dust-sheet in the cab.’ He trudged off to get it.

  Graham inspected the new door, the old mantelpiece. ‘I suppose – one day – but Kate, why on earth didn’t you show some sense?’

  ‘I was a bit low on sense altogether. Maybe it’s coming back. And the good news is I’ve let my place in Croydon. And the tenant may even want to buy. So my funds are thawing. Not that Cassie hasn’t been extremely generous –’

  ‘Given you a pig in a poke, more like,’ Alf said.

  Between them they trussed the mattress.

  ‘Bit of good stuff this,’ Alf said. ‘This weight’s springs – none of your foam rubber. Good for your back, Kate.’

  ‘But not for yours or Graham’s trying to get it up those stairs.’

  As if on cue, before either could protest, a man’s voice called from the hall. ‘Kate? Anyone at home?’

  ‘Must have forgotten to shut the door,’ Alf muttered.

  Paul erupted into the room. ‘Hi, gorgeous. I kept my promise: tickets for Symphony Hall tomorrow. Oh.’ He paused theatrically.

  ‘Alf Graham. Paul.’

  They shook hands solemnly.

  ‘Wonderful timing, Paul. You’re a rugby man, you say.’ Kate gestured. She was relieved. Alf might be tough, but he wasn’t young. And Graham had those rounded shoulders which must put his back at risk if he tried hefting anything as heavy as this.

  The older men hadn’t been exactly fulsome in their welcome: she thought she’d heard Alf sniff with what seemed horribly like disapproval. And Graham wasn’t exactly a bundle of smiles. She hadn’t got an outbreak of antler-locking on her hands, had she? Well, if they all wanted to show off their masculinity, there was no better way than getting the mattress round that awkward bend without damaging her nice new paint. And their backs.

  She appointed herself guide, peering down at them from the landing. Alf joined her, reaching down to steer. Graham and Paul combined their efforts underneath. And within moments they were stuck.

  ‘Hang on!’ Alf leaned down and tightened the rope. ‘Not so fast, young fellow-me-lad – never heard the one about the tortoise and the hare? Well then. Nice and easy. Let us old uns set the pace.’

  Kate had spread the old springs with a thick – and even older – blanket: she didn’t want this mattress damaged. And although she’d dusted and indeed wiped the springs and the frame, it would never be pristine again. She held it flat while they laid the mattress down, and straightened it as they untied the rope. Yes.

  ‘Perfect. Thank you all so much. Now, I think you all deserve coffee.’

  ‘Coffee? I can think of better things! But perhaps we’d better wait until we’re on our own.’

  Alf raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Like that guy going for a walk in the snow, it may be some time. I see you’ve started on that fence, Alf.’

  ‘Got the weather for it, haven’t we? Don’t mind a bit of overtime on a day like this.’ He led the way downstairs. Graham made sure that Paul went next. Kate was left to bring up the rear.

  She organised them onto deckchairs the canvas of which made her fear for their lives it was so thin, leaving them to what would no doubt be laddish chat if Paul had anything to do with it. Or would he leave them to it, on the pretext of helping her? Yes: so she’d better beat him to it, by scooping everything on to a tray as fast as she could.

  But the footsteps on the path outside were Graham’s. ‘Anything I can do?’

  ‘In the short term, open these biscuits. In the long, we may have to devise a way of getting rid of Paul, there. Sticks like a leech.’

  So it was foolish of her to mention later that she was going to visit Cassie that evening.

  ‘That’s the old lady that Maz is so taken with?’ Paul asked.

  ‘That’s right. My aunt.’ She raised her mug at the chaos of the garden, which probably exceeded that of the house at its worst. Or may
be not. But it was bad enough. Cutting the sycamore trees down had crushed any grass and shrubs that might have survived the recent years of neglect. The shed was on its knees, ready to collapse. ‘Funny to think that my childhood memory of this garden is of a fairy-tale garden. Pretty little paths, edged with fancy bricks. Secret places under trees.’

  ‘Plenty of them,’ Alf said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me’ – he set his mug on the tray and returned to his saw horse. ‘Only I want to have a clear run tomorrow – I don’t want to leave you with no fence any longer than I can help. News soon gets around.’

  ‘Ah, but you’ll be guarding the place again tonight, won’t you? Now you’ve got a proper bed?’ Paul prompted her.

  ‘If you want my opinion,’ Graham said, sounding like a caricature of a policeman, ‘you’ll give that mattress a good airing before you sleep on it. It’s been in my garage for months.’

  ‘But I bet it’s a very solid garage,’ said Paul.

  ‘Don’t want you going down with rheumatism, Kate,’ Alf said. ‘Now, I’m afraid I need your room more than your company.’

  ‘And we need to talk shop, Kate.’ Graham got to his feet, folded his deckchair and Alf’s, and held his hand out for Paul’s.

  ‘No, I’ll hang them back in the entry on my way out.’ So he could take hints. ‘What time shall I pick you up tonight, Kate?’

  ‘Tonight? I thought it was tomorrow we were going out? He’s got tickets for Symphony Hall – can’t wait to see it, I’ve heard so much about it,’ she said to Graham, conscious that she sounded as if she was offering the excuse she was.

  ‘Yes, but we’re seeing Cassie tonight. If she’s agreed to let the Brigade kids visit her, the least I can do is thank her. And I can hardly swan in when you’re not there.’

  That was true.

  ‘Are you going anywhere near the Manse? Because you could tell them I shouldn’t be late.’ She rather thought honours were even.

  Graham looked at his watch. ‘I suppose you haven’t any shopping to do?’

  ‘I’ve got a week’s to do. Why?’

  ‘I promised my wife I’d bring some things in. And Sainsbury’s is practically your corner shop. We could talk while we walked.’

  She wasn’t surprised he seemed embarrassed, but grabbed her bag, checked for her keys, and yelled to Alf to lock up if she wasn’t back.

  He stopped to look at the privet skeletons in the front garden. ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘I know. I shall have to get them out. But if I so much as think about it, Paul will be round there excavating them and telling me what I should do with the garden. Not so much telling as doing it, in fact.’

  ‘Well, what it needs is reducing to ground level, and then double digging with gravel and fertiliser. Sounds just the sort of job an outdoor type like him would love.’

  ‘But would I love him to do it?’ She set them in motion down the road.

  He looked at her sideways, a question in his eyebrows.

  ‘He’s such an overgrown teenager. Doesn’t know where to draw the line.’

  ‘You have to draw it for him?’

  ‘Precisely. But he’s such a public-spirited sort – devotes himself utterly to the BB. Hasn’t had time for girlfriends to civilise him, perhaps.’

  Graham snorted. ‘Are you telling me you’re doing a course of advanced community education for him?’

  ‘He’d love to hear you say that! Him a teacher – sorry, lecturer! – in some college.’

  ‘Talk about the blind leading the blind.’

  ‘Quite. And now I’ve got myself landed with him this evening. On top of tomorrow!’ she wailed. ‘Just when I wanted a nice girlie chinwag with Cassie. Though she’s terribly tetchy these days.’

  ‘Is he planning to enlist hordes of boys and girls from the Brigade to improve her shining hour?’

  ‘Maz – his sister – is on to that. In any case, it’s Cassie who’ll improve theirs. Especially if it comes to manners.’ They’d reached the High Street. ‘You know, I really think we should cross at the pelican – it wouldn’t look good in an incident report, two police officers flattened in the same RTA.’

  They’d got as far as the delicatessen counter before he opened up. And then it was hesitant. ‘So now what?’ he asked.

  It took her a second to realise he was talking about work.

  ‘Have you had time to look at the PM results?’

  ‘It’s the interpretation that’s the problem. If I were absolutely convinced I wouldn’t be standing here agonising over Camembert and Brie. I’d be mobilising everyone.’

  ‘Not convinced?’ Her voice rose in disbelief. She controlled it with an effort.

  As if he hadn’t heard her, he continued, ‘I want to talk to the lorry driver, for a start. He’s stuck in Calais until the barricades are lifted. Then young whatshername – the local PC –

  ‘Harjit Kaur?’

  ‘Right. And she’s at a wedding – in Delhi. I’m talking to the parents as soon as Family Support think they’re up to it. I want the disappearing Samaritans. And all the local newsagents and corner shops selling balls. They’re being done now. No point in Uniform not earning a living.’

  ‘The ones that interest me most are the disappearing Samaritans. Any sort of ID at all from the paramedics?’ She took her number from the dispenser. 107. The number now being served was 96.

  ‘I’d better get some bread,’ he said. ‘Any for you? Or are you at the Manse for the duration?’ He didn’t sound pleased with the prospect.

  ‘I want to move into my home,’ she said, surprising herself. Did she really think of that dump as home? ‘But I’m in a quandary. Would Maz and Giles see it as an insult if I wanted to return to what’s basically a building site? Or would they be relieved to be lodger-free at last?’

  ‘Have you got a freezer yet?’ he asked.

  She blinked. It didn’t seem an answer to her question.

  ‘And,’ he pursued, moving to one side to let a stream of trolley-pushers through, ‘a fridge and a cooker and a washing machine and a TV and all the other adjuncts of civilised living? Because I’d start acquiring them. Then as soon as all your floors are safe and your units are in, you can move in properly. Meanwhile, if this is a murder inquiry – and I’m sure in my bunions it is, even if I haven’t managed to convince Superintendent Gordon yet – then you’ll be working all hours God sends and then some.’ He bent over the brown sliceds. She thought he added, ‘Nest while you can, Kate!’

  It didn’t seem to be an answer to her question, but her number was coming up and she shuffled into the queue.

  At the check-out, they carefully separated the contents of the trolley – mostly his, of course, despite her claim she had a week’s worth to do. It was all so familiar – except there was no friendly bicker over paying – that she bit her lip to stop the tears coming. If that wasn’t bad enough, someone in the straggle behind them was wearing Robin’s cologne.

  Cassie wasn’t in her room when Kate and Paul tapped at the door.

  They stared, Kate for some reason more nonplussed than she felt she ought to be.

  ‘Some sort of emergency, I suppose,’ Paul said. ‘Why don’t you sit down – I’ll check it out for you.’

  She shook her head. ‘Card room more like.’ Her voice was flat and prosaic. But despite herself there was a sharp tug of guilt. What if Cassie were ill? All this time she’d never made the effort to go and see her! Even if she couldn’t see her every day, the least she could do was contact her regularly. ‘Come on – it’s this way.’

  Paul’s face was stubbornly concerned. ‘Nurse! Nurse!’ he called. ‘The old lady – is she all right?’

  The ‘nurse’ was a tea-lady. ‘We got a lot of old ladies. Which one would you be meaning?’

  ‘Cassie Whitethorn,’ Kate said. She pointed to the door.

  ‘Oh, the one who plays cards all the time. Patience. You her niece? Always talking about you, she is. Sun shines out of your ears, like.’

&
nbsp; ‘Is she all right,’ Paul prompted, his voice urgent.

  The woman shrugged. ‘Far as I know she is. Why don’t you try the Card Room? She says the TV lounge is full of silly old buggers losing their marbles.’

  Was the charm pure or applied? Whichever it was, Cassie and Paul got on as if they were aunt and favourite nephew. Kate watched with interest, aware that some of her aunt’s gracious behaviour to a stranger might be to punish her for her absence. It was certainly on Paul’s arm that Cassie leaned when they escorted her back to her room, and when she had to rest on one of the strategically-placed chairs, it was Paul who settled her as if she were the Queen Mother. He told her about his students and his houseplants, his Boys’ Brigade and his love of boating. He flirted and he teased.

  Cassie was entranced.

  Kate let him get on with it. His energy seemed inexhaustible, whereas hers was ebbing fast tonight. She’d be glad of the Manse bed. And soon – as soon as she could fix it – her bed. Graham’s mother-in-law’s bed.

  They drove back to the Manse in silence, and he made no attempt to come in. Well, he’d learned something. Perhaps now she could think about thawing a bit – at least to the level of politeness. Perhaps she’d over-reacted, been a bit puritanical, all this keeping him at arm’s length.

  But on the whole, she decided, as she pulled herself wearily up the stairs, arm’s length was precisely where she wanted to keep him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Giles’s Sunday morning sermon had been particularly good, about the nature of charity. On a good day, he was clear and lucid, like a really good teacher. She’d managed to persuade the choir to rise above a dirge, too, and was generally feeling good about life. True, she’d be going into work later, but Graham would have told anyone interested that she had a right to religious observance. Whether God would class half an hour’s goal-shooting practice as religious observance she couldn’t say. But she certainly felt it was a social obligation.

  If supermarkets used music to vary the pace of the punters, she didn’t see why she shouldn’t use a brisk voluntary to speed the dawdling worshippers out of the church. She tried to be subtle: no need to go round antagonising people. But – more quickly than she’d hoped – the chapel was empty and she was free to scuttle off and change her sober suit for a tracksuit.