Power on Her Own Read online

  He looked at her very hard. ‘Are we talking bait, here?’

  Kate took a deep breath. ‘There’s a very fine line, isn’t there, between horseplay and bullying. As you said yourself, Sir, one day there may be other people involved.’ She realised how angry she was: ‘Do you know what really makes me mad, Sir? That something could have been wiped, this morning, something really valuable. When there’s a bastard out there doing that to innocent kids, and some pillock’s too interested in playing Hitler to worry about holding up our work!’

  He nodded. ‘Exactly. I wondered how long it’d take you to work that out. OK. Keep a record. Not in your desk.’ For a moment, as if he, too, were contemplating the possible consequences of what they were doing, he sat silent, grim. At last he stood up, smiling: ‘Tea or coffee, Kate?’

  ‘Tea would be lovely, Graham, so long as it isn’t that liquid compost heap.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘Come on, our kid, a bit of a walk’ll do you good,’ Colin said, gathering up Kate’s raincoat and throwing it at her.

  ‘But I was so late in –’

  ‘And have worked bloody hard since. Plus having a couple of bollockings. Come on. Won’t take no for an answer.’

  Only one bollocking: but she wouldn’t admit that to anyone, not even Colin. ‘So long as we can take in Halford’s – maybe it’s my spark-plugs, the battery’s new – and find somewhere to buy a Polaroid camera. My great aunt wants photos of work in progress.’

  ‘You won’t find a Halford’s. Not in the centre. But there’s one by your bus-stop, virtually, in Kings Heath. Spitting distance from where you interrupted the rape. Any news on that yet?’

  ‘Not a dickie bird. Hey, the sun’s shining!’

  They set off, ducking through underpasses.

  ‘They’re planning to turn all this lot round,’ Colin said apologetically. ‘Ruined Brum, they did, back in the sixties. Worshipped the great god Car. Cars whiz round up there, while we’re sent Down Below. And low-life like that pester you.’ He stopped long enough to stare hard at a beggar. ‘Come on, mate. On your way, now! Silly bastard,’ he added, as the young man scrabbled to his feet, ‘he must know half West Midlands Police use this route to the shops. Not all as soft-hearted as me.’

  ‘So much for care in the community. I mean,’ she added, as if she needed to justify herself, ‘no one in his right mind would want to huddle up in this wind tunnel with nothing but an empty styrofoam cup for company.’

  ‘Nasty cough he’d got, too. Tell you what, I know this guy in the Sally Army: I’ll get on the blower to him. Come on, this tunnel for the fresh air!’

  Call this a city centre? She’d forgotten it was as small as this. OK, it had a lot of the shops she was used to. But the shopping area was so small they could get to the far side and back in a lunch-time. More like a market town. Where were the streets and streets of top-quality shops of the West End? She’d never needed to shop here for decent clothes before – young women supposed to be care assistants weren’t expected to have enough money to dress well! Colin, now, he always dressed with – yes, with elegance. Perhaps she could ask him, without seeming to insult his native city.

  ‘Clothes? Well, if you want smart but not trendy, there’s all the shops-within-shops at Rackhams. Or if you want something more individual, we could high-tail it out to Kenilworth or Leamington. Have a nice girlie time,’ he said, his voice suddenly camp. ‘Or we could go to Merry Hell.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Merry Hill, dear. Out of town shopping. A whopping mall built on the site of Round Oak Steelworks. Heavy industry all round there, once. Now we Black Country lads have to look elsewhere for work. Mind you, duckie, I don’t see me in a steelworks, for God’s sake.’ Camp again.

  ‘So the Black Country –’

  ‘Is just outside Brum. Come on, you remember: it’s the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution, et cetera et cetera. And yours truly. And if you ever call me a Brummie it’ll be the end of a lovely friendship!’

  ‘I’m afraid they’re a bit pale. I haven’t got the flash sorted out yet.’ Kate held a wad of Polaroid photos at what she hoped was the right distance for her aunt to focus on them. Aunt Cassie probably wouldn’t be able to hold them herself.

  ‘They’re very small, aren’t they? Don’t they make them bigger?’ The old woman pushed at them petulantly. She must be in a lot of pain.

  It was a good job she’d come, though she could have thought of a thousand ways she’d have preferred to spend the evening. None of them to do with Kings Heath or Birmingham, come to think of it. Still, at least Halford’s had come up with the goods, and the car had started first try.

  ‘This is the size the camera chums them out. Have you ever seen one working? Look, here it is. I’ll take a photo, just to show you how it works.’ This was a ploy. She’d never had a photo of Cassie, who declared herself to be too ugly now to take pictures of.

  ‘Hold your horses, young lady. How much do the photographs cost?’

  Kate shook her head.

  ‘Come, you must have bought a film. How much does it work out for each frame?’

  ‘About a pound, I suppose.’

  ‘And you’re going to waste a pound just to show me how it works. Well, we know how long you’ll keep your money.’ Then one of the photos caught her eye. ‘Is that my bedroom?’

  ‘That’s right. That’s all new plaster. I’ve kept the grate because it’s so elegant. I shall keep the others, too.’

  ‘So what won’t you keep?’

  Perhaps talking would keep Cassie’s mind off her pain.

  ‘The airing cupboard. The central heating engineers said I ought to have a different sort of boiler, the sort that gives instant hot water without having to store it.’

  ‘This is this new sort: I’ve read about them. Much more efficient. Good. And this is – what?’

  ‘The bathroom. They’re fitting the new bath tomorrow. I hope. I’m going for a white suite.’

  ‘I thought you might have one of these new ones – they have such pretty colours,’ she added wistfully. ‘I always wanted a champagne one. Tiles?’

  ‘Here.’ Kate dug in her bag. ‘I thought I’d have a border of these, and one or two of this one scattered about. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you chose a cheap bath and washbasin so you could have expensive tiles. That’s what I think, young lady. And I wish you’d remember, you don’t need to penny pinch. I’ve been working it out, the police must be going to pay you damages for letting your young man get himself killed.’

  ‘No. It’ll go to his children and –’

  The old woman stared at her. ‘And?’

  ‘And his wife.’

  ‘I thought they were divorced.’

  ‘Separated. But she didn’t want a divorce, so it takes five years, you see.’ Kate writhed with embarrassment. She’d tried to conceal the worst of the truth from Cassie. She was old enough to be shocked, after all. Except – and the women exchanged a wry grin – hadn’t Cassie been the Other Woman for years upon years.

  ‘And you’re going to let her have the lot?’

  ‘What would you have done?’ She’d never spoken to her like this, as an equal.

  ‘Exactly what you’re doing. After all, you had the pleasure of his company when he was alive. Except you seem to have supported him. Arthur supported me. Handsomely.’ Her smile was at more than the hefty diamonds on her knuckles. ‘I think you young women are worse off than you realise. I wish you could find a rich lover, dear. Have plenty of money. Enjoy spending it.’

  Do what I say, not do what I did. Poor thing. Did she ever spend anything? But she couldn’t ask her that, not straight out. Not yet.

  ‘Honestly, I liked these so much –’ Kate touched the tiles – ‘I thought I’d have to have them even if it meant having a white suite: I don’t think anything else would go.’

  ‘Hmm. Now, there was some wet rot in the window –’

  ‘There was wet r
ot in quite a number of the windows. So I thought I’d have them all ripped out and have double-glazing. Except –’

  ‘Except you can’t afford it. Talk to Mr Whatshisname, dear. Have some more out of the pot.’ Aunt Cassie gestured expansively. ‘Kate – they’re slipping!’

  Kate grabbed at the tiles and caught them.

  ‘Put them back in that bag of yours. Don’t want them broken.’

  She did as she was told. ‘No, Aunt Cassie. It’s not money I need. It’s advice. You’ve got that lovely Victorian window in the front bay – all that curved wood. I don’t want to touch that. But the double-glazing people are saying I’ll regret it if I don’t.’ No, she had no intention of letting them touch it: it was a matter of seeing how her aunt was reacting to the changes.

  ‘Is the wood still sound?’

  ‘Sound as a bell.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake leave it, then. Let them do the rest and leave that. Oh, and I’d always thought a door from the living room into the back garden would be useful. Let in more light. You’ll find it’s very dark in the winter. Humph, it is the winter, isn’t it? You lose all sense of time and season in this place. They’ve got a room with special high-intensity lighting. They cart you down there and you’re supposed to sit and chat with the others. Stop you getting depressed. The lights. Not the others. My God, there are some poor old dears here. Quite doo-lally and wee-ing themselves all the time. Which reminds me – is there any smell of pee in the entrance hall yet?’

  ‘But you can’t possibly live in a house in this condition,’ Maz declared, her eyes widening in horror. She had arrived just as Kate squeezed her car into a space an inch too short for it. If what Kate really wanted was a hot bath and an early night, the next thing on her wish list might have been a friendly person dropping in.

  ‘It’ll be all right tomorrow: I shall be able to have a bath again.’

  ‘It may be all right one day, but it certainly won’t be tomorrow. Oh, Kate, why didn’t you tell me? And come round to the manse for a bath, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell. After all, I’m not here all that much. Most of the men come in when I’ve gone, leave before I get home. All I can see is the progress they’ve made. Which is considerable.’

  ‘My God, what was it like when they started?’ Maz looked around for somewhere to sit.

  Kate grabbed a curtain she’d not yet consigned to the skip and rubbed it across a chair. It did little more than reorganise the plaster and brick dust that gave everything a dull orange sheen.

  ‘It was the sort of place the National Trust should have taken over. Hardly any alterations to the original. Which is why part of me feels so guilty. It ought to be preserved. But I can’t live in a museum. So what do I do?’

  ‘Very much what you are doing, I should think. But don’t let them double glaze that front door.’

  ‘But the lead’s breaking up, and some of the glass has gone. And leaded lights really are invitations to burglars.’

  ‘Have it restored. There’s a woman in Moseley who’ll do it. Oh, it’s an inner door, love. Keep a pit-bull terrier in that vestibule, if you insist, but save the door.’

  ‘OK. If you can find this woman’s address. Fancy a drink?’ It was out before she could catch it. It was like in the old days, when you could have a glass of wine with a friend and not turn a hair. These days, it would be tough keeping it to one glass.

  ‘Thought you’d never ask.’

  ‘What’ll you have? Not that there’s much choice. Scotch or Irish malt?’

  Maz raised her eyebrows a fraction. ‘Hard stuff only? Irish, please. No water.’

  Kate poured two. She gave Maz the larger. ‘I’ll bring my wine up when I’ve had the cellar painted! Actually, there’s a cold shelf in the pantry I’ve earmarked for it. Here’s to Aunt Cassie.’

  Maz seemed to be about to say something. Instead, she took a deep breath. ‘It was about Aunt Cassie I came. The Girls’ Brigade have to do some sort of community service – visiting the sick or elderly. Or both. D’you think she’d like a visitor on a regular basis?’

  Kate ran through several scenarios. One involved her asking her aunt. She dismissed that instantly. One involved a uniformed little girl turning up. She rejected that as child abuse. The third seemed a possibility. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you ask her? She’s the most compos mentis person I know.’ That way Aunt Cassie would get to meet Maz: she rather thought they’d both enjoy it.

  The bathroom looked really pretty when she got in on Tuesday evening, apart from the fact that the tiler had managed to get one of the border tiles upside down. He looked at it in disbelief: ‘Tell you what,’ he said at last. ‘I can’t get it out, can I? So what I’ll do is do you a freebie on the shower door.’

  ‘Shower door?’

  ‘Much neater than a curtain. Nice Victorian design. Save your carpet.’ He pointed. ‘Stop water splashing on your loo.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Fit it free. Got one or two in stock. Or you could go and have a look in Manjit Bros. That’s were I get me materials from.’

  ‘So would they be any different from yours?’

  ‘I got mine from him.’

  What a surprise. But perhaps a shower door would be better than a curtain. With a slight suspicion she was being conned she nodded. ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Better be careful how I shower tonight, then!’

  ‘Ooh, no. Can’t use this for twelve hours at least. Twenty-four’s better. See you tomorrow, Miss.’

  She saw him out cheerfully enough. She managed to hold back the tears till she’d shut the front door and the leaded vestibule door. She made it as far as the stairs. And then she cried.

  When at last she could see, when she could hold down the sobs and stop her hand shaking for long enough, she staggered to the kitchen. She didn’t care which bottle. So long as there was enough in it to shut out the filthy house, the foul furniture and the fact she couldn’t have a shower. Half a glass of Jameson’s – that would do.

  The phone. At first she meant to let it ring. Then she thought of Aunt Cassie, and snatched up the receiver.

  ‘Hi! It’s Paul. Paul Taylor. Is this a good time for me to pop round and have a word about the Brigade?’

  ‘Not particularly. The house – bit of a mess.’ She couldn’t tell if her voice was slurred. All she could manage was not to sound sorry for herself.

  Perhaps she didn’t manage that.

  ‘We’ll go out for a drink, then.’

  ‘No – honestly. I’m –’

  ‘Kate – there’s something wrong, isn’t there? I’m on my way.’

  Chapter Seven

  Paul Taylor’s shoulders filled the tiny vestibule: she had to back into the front room – she’d decided she’d call it her dining room – to let him through the equally tiny hall.

  ‘Careful – where there isn’t wet paint there’s wet plaster. Go on through to the kitchen. I’ve just made some coffee.’ She followed him, still talking. ‘Would you like a cup? Only it’ll have to be black: the builders have finished my milk. It probably wouldn’t have kept till tomorrow anyway – as you can see, I don’t have a fridge at the moment.’

  ‘Kate – are you telling me you’re living in these conditions?’

  ‘Camping out. Oh, I know it’s dreadful now, but they’re laying the new floor tomorrow, and skimming the walls too, with a bit of luck, and then I can think about such luxuries as sinks and working surfaces.’

  ‘As opposed to a camping stove on a windowsill. Goodness, woman, are you off your head? The police could surely have found you temporary accommodation. Or what about renting a place? Or B and B with a colleague?’

  If only he’d shut up. He was right, of course, on all counts. She couldn’t justify even to herself her decision to stay put. It didn’t make sense. She was living out of suitcases anyway. Moving the suitcases to somewhere free of builder’s dust, somewhere she coul
d have a bath and boil a kettle – why on earth not?

  ‘I didn’t know it would be so bad,’ she said at last. ‘And I rather thought if I was around it might make them get a move on. But some of them work very strange hours. The plasterer never turns up before half four.’

  ‘Doing foreigners. You know, moonlighting. No, I’ll give the coffee a miss, I think. Look, go and put some things in a bag. Now. I’m taking you to Maz’s. For tonight. You can argue with her. Go on.’

  Too woozy from the whisky to argue, she went back to the living room and shoved tomorrow’s undies and shirt into a carrier. Make-up. Shoes.

  The car? She might be well over the limit. Wouldn’t want to risk her licence. Not to mention her job. Get up early and walk back here to collect it, or go by bus. At last – the coffee might just be working.

  ‘What’s the rest of the place like?’ Paul’s question made her jump.

  ‘Be my guest. Have a look round. But be careful – there are floor-boards up.’

  She followed him up the stairs. ‘The bathroom’s nearly ready – but it’s very small. I can’t give you a conducted tour.’

  He shrugged and went in. ‘Hey, no door.’

  ‘Didn’t you notice – no doors anywhere! I’m having them dipped to get rid of the old paint. Then I shall wax them.’ Her first positive statement. She must be sobering up.

  ‘Lovely tiles. Oh, Kate,’ Paul emerged. ‘If the rest of the house ends up looking as good as this, you can be really proud of yourself. Which is your bedroom?’

  ‘The big front one’s nice. But with the school opposite it could be noisy. And Aunt Cassie’s bedroom suite fits the middle bedroom so nicely – that’s it, that pile of wood there. They had to take it apart to get it out so they could plaster. I suppose that was how they got it in in the first place, in pieces.’

  Paul squeezed into the front room. ‘It’s nice in here,’ he called. ‘All those trees!’

  ‘And all the mummies in their Volvos delivering their kiddie-winks because they’re too little to walk.’

  ‘Can you blame them? These missing kids, these abductions – that little kid last week. Any news of him, by the way?’ He picked his way back towards her.