Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (82 page)

Kipper got the call just before he was going off duty. Sinking fast, they said. He went straight to the hospital.

Ernest Franks rallied slightly as Kipper walked in the door.

‘Got to tell you …' he gasped, ‘before it's too late.'

Kipper went to the bedside and Ernest grabbed at his coat. ‘Danny … he must have taken …' Ernest sank back on the pillow, his eyes wild.

‘Take your time, sir,' said Kipper gently.

The man's breath was coming in short pants after his exertions. ‘Bomb site … Reg Cox …'

‘The real Reg Cox was found on a bombsite,' said Kipper. Ernest nodded. ‘And Danny Sinclair took his identity?'

Ernest nodded again.

‘Tell me,' said Kipper. ‘Was Reg Cox a coloured man?'

Ernest nodded. ‘Jamaican.'

Kipper patted Ernest's arm.

‘He left him to die,' said Ernest. ‘He could have helped him, but he didn't.'

‘How do you know all this?' said Kipper.

Ernest took a deep breath and sighed his last word on earth. ‘Military …'

Although Christmas was still weeks away, Billy's mum had let him go carol singing but his heart wasn't in it. The grown-ups
had been getting together in little huddles for a couple of weeks. More than once, he'd heard his mum whispering, ‘Shh, keep your voice down. Let's keep the children out of it,' but they weren't stupid. All of them knew something bad had happened to Auntie Dottie and Patsy. Even little Christopher was unsettled. He spent nearly all the time sucking his thumb and twiddling his hair. His dad always got cross when Christopher did that. He said he might be only four but it wasn't manly … but just lately he hadn't said anything to Christopher.

Billy and his mates Paul Dore and Dennis Long had walked right round the village and he was getting tired. They'd quickly realised that if they just sang outside a house, no one answered the door, but if they knocked first and sang as soon as the door opened, they'd get some money. His dad had given him the old oil lantern so that they looked more Christmassy and occasionally people kept the door open and listened. They weren't so keen on that because you'd feel a right twit singing your head off with everybody looking at you with goo-goo smiles. But they'd made quite a bit of money.

Billy's walk slowed to a crawl as his mates ran ahead. They were heading for Auntie Dottie's road. He'd never tell his mates of course, but he really missed Patsy. She was good fun … for a girl.

Maureen missed her as well. She kept on and on, asking where Patsy was but no one would give her a straight answer. In the end, it drove his mum nuts so she said Patsy had gone to a new home. Maureen was upset but not as upset as she would have been if she'd understood what that meant. Billy knew and he was gutted.

Paul Dore came running back. ‘Hurry up, Billy,' he shouted.

Billy's heart did a cartwheel inside his chest as Dennis came up behind Paul, staggering under the weight of a pile of clothes.

‘Look at this lot,' he cried. A jumper slid from the pile and unintentionally, he trod all over it. Billy recognised it at once.
It was Patsy's jumper. She didn't like it much but it was the one Auntie Dottie had knitted with the kangaroo on the front. His eye gravitated to the rest of the pile. There was Patsy's red coat and Auntie Dottie's pink hat, the one she wore at Michael's wedding. With an agonised roar, Billy charged up the road towards Auntie Dottie's gate.

Holding up the lantern he could see a large pile of clothing beside the dustbin. When he lifted the lid of the bin he found Auntie Dottie's sewing box and some material with pins in it. At the foot of the mound were two suitcases as well. The smaller one had a photo album in it and the other had loads of photo frames complete with pictures. Auntie Dottie and Auntie Sylvie, together with the old lady who used to live in Myrtle Cottage, smiled up at him from the top.

‘Stay there!' Billy barked. ‘Don't nobody touch it.'

‘Where are you going?' cried Paul as he ran back down the road.

‘Just stay there!'

Billy charged back to the house. The old pram stood in the doorway. He could hear his mother in the kitchen talking to Aunt Peaches. Billy emptied out the bedding and backed it towards the door.

Christopher appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Where are you going, Billy?'

Billy put his finger to his lips and manoeuvred the pram out of the front door. As the door closed, he ran like the wind back to Myrtle Cottage.

The three boys set about loading up the pram, then Billy pushed it back while Paul and Dennis took it in turns to carry the big suitcase.

‘This thing is too heavy,' Paul protested. ‘And we might drop the photo frames. They've got glass in them.'

‘We're taking the lot,' said Billy fiercely.

The overloaded pram kept shedding articles of clothing but
Billy wouldn't let anything stay in the road. He shouted at them tetchily to ‘pick 'em up,' his face heavily flushed. His two friends couldn't really understand why he was in such an odd mood.

‘I thought we were going carol singing,' cried Dennis. ‘If my dad sees me with this lot, he'll go mad.'

Billy glared at him. ‘We can't leave it.'

‘What d'you want it for?' asked Paul. ‘This is all rubbish. They chucked it out.'

Billy rounded on him. ‘All this stuff this belongs to Patsy.'

‘Patsy …' Dennis pointed his finger at him and laughed. ‘He's in love!'

‘You shut up, Dennis Long,' shouted Billy, his eyes glistening with tears.

Paul pulled a woman's cardigan from under the pile. ‘Well, this ain't Patsy's.'

‘It's my Auntie Dottie's and she's coming home soon,' said Billy snatching it back.

Paul and Dennis exchanged an anxious look. ‘Bet she don't,' said Dennis, ‘my dad says she's a murderer. She tried to kill Patsy.'

‘That's not true!' cried Billy. He launched himself at Dennis, throwing him to the ground and wrong-footing Paul at the same time. In the scrap that followed, it seemed to Dennis and Paul that Billy had the strength of ten men. Although it was two against one, Billy won easily. Twenty minutes later, hot and sweaty, and struggling to control his emotions, Billy pushed the pram into his dad's shed at the bottom of the garden. He cleared a space on the top of the workbench and began pulling at the untidy bundle. His shoulders shook as he folded each item carefully and placed them neatly on top of one another. It took him ages. That was because every now and then, he had to stop and wipe his nose on the cuff of his sleeve.

‘Sylvie, they've been found!' Mary couldn't contain her excitement.

On the other end of the telephone, Sylvie gasped. At first she was relieved that Dottie was alive but she listened with mounting horror as Mary told her what had happened.

‘The bad news is,' Mary concluded. ‘Dottie has lost her baby.'

‘Baby?' Sylvie gasped. ‘What baby?'

‘Oh!' said Mary. ‘Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything. I thought you knew.'

‘She and Reg …?'

‘Yes,' said Mary. ‘I tried to talk her out of it, but she was determined to keep it. Anyway, now she's lost it.'

There was a slight pause.

‘In one way, I can't say I'm sorry,' said Sylvie. ‘That Reg is an absolute pig, but knowing how much Dottie wanted children, I should imagine she's devastated.'

‘I'm sure she is.'

‘Haven't you seen her then?'

‘She's not allowed visitors. She's been haemorrhaging badly and they're giving her blood.'

‘How awful.'

The two women struggled to contain their emotions.

‘And Patsy?'

‘She's still quite ill. Some sort of poisoning. They've got her in the children's ward. No visitors.'

‘Let me know when we can go,' said Sylvie. ‘And I'll take you over to see Dottie.'

‘I bet that blinking Reg had something to do with this,' said Mary, darkly. Sylvie wouldn't be drawn but as she hung up she pondered Mary's words. When she'd last seen him, Reg was so sure Dottie was dead, he was even looking over his life policies. She shook her head in disbelief. Reg was a nasty piece of work, all right. He was capable of terrible things – but stooping as far as attempted murder? That was a different league altogether.

Dottie looked around the room, willing her mind to think about something less painful. She felt a bit woozy, probably from that stuff they had injected into her arm. The blood drip was gone. The room was stark, the walls bare. The locker beside her bed was empty apart from a jug and a glass of water. There were some screens in the corner and the material was faded. They must have left it in the sun. Her mind drifted back to that cold sunny day on Highdown Hill. In her head she could hear Minnie barking and Patsy was laughing and happy as she ran up to the chalk pits … Oh, Patsy …

John was there again. Neither of them spoke, but he held her hand and gently kissed her fingers.

‘Reg took us to see that bungalow in the car,' Dottie said eventually. ‘He wanted me to buy it. It was horrible. So bleak and it was miles from anywhere. There were roses on the wall but inside it was old and smelly …' She was beginning to gabble. ‘I didn't like it at all but we had a picnic in one of the rooms. It wasn't as much fun as the one we had on Highdown, but Reg was trying so hard and Patsy had egg sandwiches and …'

Something was beginning to niggle John, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Dottie turned her face away and began to cry again. John held onto her hand, stroking it with his thumb. Suddenly aware, she pulled her hand away.

‘John, I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I've tried writing but it seems cowardly. I want to tell you face to face. I'm having a baby.'

She could feel a tear running across the bridge of her nose. Every part of her body wanted to say yes but she thought too much of him to let him ruin his whole life and reputation for her and the baby. The gossips would put two and two together and make five in no time.

‘Listen, Dottie,' he said lowering his eyes. ‘You need to know something –'

All at once, her eyes grew wide. ‘My baby? Is my baby all right? I had bad pains. I am still pregnant, aren't I?'

John gripped her hand even more tightly. She couldn't believe it when he started shaking his head slowly. ‘I'm terribly, terribly sorry. They did all they could but you'd been starved of oxygen for so long …'

‘No!' Dottie stared at him helplessly. She'd lost the baby? She wasn't going to be a mother? ‘No, no, you've got it all wrong.' Her other hand flew to her stomach and she pressed the flesh. It still felt a bit round but then she felt the sanitary belt around her waist and the bunny between her legs. ‘My baby …'

John stroked her forehead. ‘There will be other babies,' he said softly.

‘No,' she moaned. ‘I want
my
baby.' She turned her head away. First Patsy and then this … ‘I can't bear it.'

John seemed to be fighting to control his own emotions.

‘And Reg?'

‘Reg knows.'

‘I hate him.' Her voice was barely more than a whisper and her face crumpled as she searched in vain for a dry area of her handkerchief. ‘Have you seen poor Patsy yet?'

‘Not yet.' He fished around in his pockets and found a clean handkerchief.

She took it gratefully and blew her nose. ‘I pushed her face by the gap under the door,' Dottie went on. ‘I thought the air … fresh air …' she paused, taking in a huge racking breath, ‘but I couldn't stop the gas. I did try and save her …' Her voice had risen to a squeak and now she was sobbing again.

He frowned. According to the sister, the police believed that Dottie had locked herself and Patsy into the bedroom and as soon as Patsy was asleep turned on the gas taps. At some point, Patsy had crawled out of bed and collapsed by the door, her face by the gap in a desperate attempt to get some fresh air. Dottie was found lying on the floor halfway between the bed and the door.

‘I don't think you should try and say any more,' he said softly.
‘I'm going to tell the sister to call the police. You must tell them everything you know.'

‘No, no. I can't, I can't talk to the police.'

‘Dottie, you have to,' he said. ‘Listen. You're a strong woman and if you really care about Patsy, you must help them find out what happened to her.'

‘
If
I really care?' she said bitterly. ‘Surely you of all people must know how much I love her.'

‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like that,' said John. ‘But you need to persuade the police that you meant her no harm.'

‘You will stay with me, won't you?'

He hesitated. How would that look for her case? Would it be such a good idea?

‘Please, John,' she begged. ‘I need a friendly face with me when I talk to the police. It's the last thing I'll ever ask of you.'

At last he understood. She wanted him there professionally. He was a doctor. She needed his moral support. If that was so, how could he refuse?

‘May I remind you that you are here purely as an observer, Dr Landers,' the sergeant said. ‘Any interruptions and I shall ask you to leave.'

Dottie had been in hospital five days but today was the first day she was deemed well enough to be questioned. John stood with his back to the window, grim-faced as two policemen, Sergeant Smart and PC Connelly, sat on either side of Dottie's bed, their notebooks at the ready. Dottie, red-eyed and still very tearful, was telling them what had happened.

‘Reg wanted to buy a bungalow.'

‘On The Crumbles.'

‘Yes, but when we got there, it wasn't very nice. It had been empty for ages. Apparently the owner had gone into a nursing home. Reg said he wanted us to run it as a guesthouse but there wasn't much room. I mean, we couldn't have many guests.'

‘So you didn't like it,' said the sergeant. ‘What happened next?'

‘Reg brought a picnic,' Dottie went on. ‘He made it quite fun. We had Smith's crisps, fig-roll biscuits and sandwiches. He put it all on a big sheet and we sat in the sitting room.'

‘You all ate the same thing?'

‘Yes. Patsy and I drank the tea from a flask. Reg had a beer but apart from that we all had the same.'

‘Go on.'

Dottie shrugged. ‘Then Patsy felt tired and Reg suggested she
lie down on the bed for a while. I wasn't feeling so bright myself, so I lay down beside her. It wasn't very pleasant. I mean, the sheet smelled and the room was cold.'

‘You say you didn't feel so bright?'

‘My head felt funny and my mouth was very dry,' said Dottie. ‘Anyway, I must have drifted off to sleep, and when I woke up I could smell gas. I tried to turn the tap off but someone had smashed it up.'

‘Who?'

‘I don't know! It was all right when I turned it on.'

‘
You
turned the tap on?'

‘Yes, of course I did,' cried Dottie.

The sergeant looked at his constable who was desperately trying to sharpen his pencil and handed him his fountain pen. ‘Make a note of that, Constable. Mrs Cox turned on the gas tap.'

‘The electricity was off so I put the fire on,' said Dottie. ‘The room was cold.'

‘When you woke up,' said John, ‘was the fire still on?'

‘Dr Landers!' said the sergeant reprovingly.

‘No!' cried Dottie. ‘The fire was out but the gas was still on.'

There was some shifting of feet and then the sergeant said, ‘Go on.'

‘The window was all boarded up and the door was locked. We were trapped. I couldn't get out … I couldn't …'

Dottie blew her nose and wiped her eyes. John smiled encouragingly at her.

‘Did you shout for help?'

‘The gas made me feel so sick, I was trying not to breathe,' she said. ‘I dragged Patsy over to the door and pressed her face by the gap. Then I tried to break the wood over the window.' She held up her hands and showed them her broken nails. ‘And then the gas just stopped.'

‘Stopped?'

‘I don't know why but it just stopped.'

‘The only thing that saved you, apart from the neighbours smelling the gas, was the fact that the gas meter had run out of money,' said the Constable.

‘I think I must have fainted.' Dottie blinked. ‘The next thing I knew someone was breaking down the door.'

She told them that she didn't know where Reg was. He must have gone back to the hotel she supposed and, no, she couldn't understand why he'd left them there. Everything was fine between them and that night she was going to tell him that she was having his baby.

The thought of her beautiful baby made her break down and the three men waited for a few minutes while she sobbed uncontrollably. When she recovered herself, John gave her a glass of water, and Dottie reached out with a trembling hand for his. ‘Thank you.'

John was acutely aware of the sergeant's gaze as he sat back down.

‘Are you ready to continue, Mrs Cox?'

Dottie nodded.

‘Mr Cox says he waited for you to come down from your bedroom that morning,' the sergeant continued, ‘but you and Patsy had gone off without him.'

‘That's not true,' said Dottie desperately. ‘He told us to go ahead of him so we walked along the seafront.' She glanced at John. ‘We didn't mind. Patsy wanted to try out her roller skates. When we got so far along, he met us with the car.'

‘Car?'

‘A hired car.'

‘What sort of car?'

‘I don't know. One looks much the same as the other to me. A black one.'

PC Connelly's fountain pen scribbled away.

‘And you say you had no intention of killing yourself and the child?'

‘No,' she cried, horrified. ‘Of course I didn't.'

John couldn't get Reg out of his mind. He'd looked as if he was going to pass out when PC Kipling told him Dottie was still alive, but John couldn't work out why he might want to do his wife and Patsy harm. Why not simply walk away from them? Plenty of men did. Smart and Connelly probed into every part of Dottie's marriage and her relationship with Reg. Were they worried about money? Could they pay the rent each week?

‘We don't have to pay rent,' she said. ‘The house belonged to my aunt and she left it to me.'

Now at last, John began to understand what Reg was up to. Dottie had just given him the motive he was looking for. He put his hand up and took in his breath to say as much but one look from the sergeant silenced him immediately.

The questioning went on and on. Did she regret having Patsy? How did Reg feel about having his own baby on the way? Was it Reg's child?

Dottie was beginning to look exhausted. The circles under her eyes were growing darker than ever. John was just about to demand that they stop questioning her when the sergeant stood up.

‘Thank you for your co-operation, Mrs Cox,' he said formally. ‘We shall be in touch.'

Dottie was gazing somewhere into space. ‘There was someone else.'

Connelly stopped by the door and turned around. ‘Someone else you say? Where?'

‘In the bungalow.'

‘Who?'

‘I don't know, but now I think about it, I feel sure Reg was talking to someone.'

‘A neighbour, perhaps?'

‘No, it wasn't him.'

They waited a moment or two, but Dottie shook her head. ‘I can't remember.'

‘We'll speak to you again as soon as we've spoken to the little girl,' said PC Smart.

Dottie sat bolt upright. ‘What do you mean?' she demanded.

‘We have to verify your story,' said the sergeant.

‘No, no,' cried Dottie. ‘What do you mean, talk to the little girl? What little girl?' Dottie's heart was beginning to pound.

‘Patsy, of course,' said PC Connelly.

‘You mean, she's alive?' cried Dottie. ‘She's really alive? But that's wonderful.' She looked wildly from John back to the policeman. ‘But why didn't you tell me? How is she? Is she going to be all right?'

John's mouth gaped. ‘But I thought you knew. The sister said …'

‘The sister wouldn't tell me anything,' Dottie cried.

‘She's been very ill,' the constable said, his voice a little softer, ‘but she is improving all the time.'

Dottie smiled and burst into tears. Oh wonderful, wonderful day … Patsy was alive. Alive and getting well. ‘Is she asking after me?' she went on eagerly. ‘When can I see her?'

‘No, Mrs Cox, I'm afraid you can't,' said the sergeant coldly.

Dottie took in her breath. ‘But why not?'

‘Because I have given instructions that she's to have no visitors – not even you, Doctor.' The sergeant frowned. ‘All that can wait until Connelly and I have spoken to her.'

Dottie relaxed back onto the pillows and began to laugh softly. ‘But she's alive. I can't believe it. She's alive.'

‘If you remember anything else, Mrs Cox,' the sergeant said as he headed for the door, ‘let us know.'

‘Give her my love, won't you?' Dottie called after them.

The door closed and John moved back to the bed. ‘I am so sorry you didn't know.'

‘It doesn't matter now,' Dottie sighed. ‘Oh, isn't it wonderful? She's alive.'

‘I think you'd better rest now.'

‘They don't believe me about someone else being there, do they?'

John chewed his bottom lip. ‘Perhaps if you could have been a little more specific …'

She looked up, willing him to touch her, hold her hand, stroke her hair, anything … but instead he picked up her chart from the foot of the bed and studied it.

‘John …'

‘Anyway, you're getting better all the time,' he said, glancing up. The coolness in his voice hurt.

The door burst open and PC Connelly came back into the room. ‘Whoops-a-daisy,' he cried. ‘Forgot me pen.' He smiled at Dottie and added, ‘Now don't forget, if you remember anything else, just give us a shout.'

John headed towards the door with him, knowing full well that the pen had been left as an excuse to check on whether there was anything between Dottie and him. For a while he'd better keep up the pretence.

‘I hope you make a full recovery, Mrs Cox,' he said stiffly.

The policeman held the door open for him to pass.

Dottie stared at the closing door, then lay back and stared at the ceiling.

Outside in the corridor, John fell into step with the two policemen.

‘When do you plan to talk to Patsy?' he asked.

‘As soon as we've got her father over here,' said the sergeant. ‘She'll probably feel a lot safer with a relative.'

‘I'm not sure that's a good idea,' said John. All three men stopped walking. ‘Look,' John went on, ‘I'm not one to cast aspersions, but I think Mr Cox may know more than he lets on.'

The sergeant gave him a strange look. ‘And perhaps
Mrs
Cox does too, sir.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?' John protested. ‘You saw how pleased she was that Patsy had survived. I tell you, she loves that child.'

‘Tell me, Doctor,' said the sergeant. ‘How close are you and Mrs Cox?'

‘We're friends, that's all,' John insisted.

‘Could it be that she wanted more?' the sergeant suggested. ‘Patients fall for their doctors all the time. Unrequited love is a very powerful thing.'

‘It's not like that at all.' John went cold. ‘And I can tell you now that you're barking up the wrong tree, Sergeant.'

‘We'll see, Doctor. We'll see.'

They parted somewhere near the front entrance. On his way out, John passed a petite blonde woman carrying a large bunch of flowers.

‘Excuse me,' she said exuding a waft of cheap perfume. ‘Could you tell me the way to the women's ward?'

‘Down the corridor, and turn left at the top of the stairs,' said John.

The woman smiled. ‘Thank you. Much obliged, I'm sure.'

‘Peaches!'

Dottie was walking down the ward between two nurses because she had asked to go to the toilet rather than have a bedpan.

Peaches followed them all into her room and waited until the nurses had put her back into bed. As soon as they were alone, the two friends embraced warmly.

‘Oh, Peaches,' said Dottie tearfully. ‘I was having a baby, but I've lost it.'

Peaches was shocked. ‘Oh, Dottie, how awful.' She hesitated. ‘But I didn't think you and Reg … No, no, I'm sorry.'

‘I have never been unfaithful to Reg,' Dottie said stoutly.

Peaches squeezed her hand. ‘Of course you haven't and I wouldn't suggest anything of the sort. Oh, Dottie, I'm so sorry about the baby.'

A nurse bustled in with the tea trolley and to Dottie's delight, Peaches was allowed to have one too.

‘How's Gary?'

‘He's doing really well,' said Peaches, pulling up a chair and sitting down. ‘He has to keep on with the exercises. Jack's much better at it than I am. Gary gets a bit cross about it and as you know, I'm not very patient, but his leg is getting stronger all the time.' As she relaxed in the chair, Dottie smiled at her friend. She was looking really good. She'd regained her figure after the baby and she'd obviously taken great care with her clothes. She was wearing a pretty tangerine twinset, a colour which suited her very well.

‘I wish you could have brought Mandy with you,' sighed Dottie. ‘I still haven't seen her.'

‘I know, I'm sorry.'

‘How did you know I was here?' Dottie asked when the nurse had gone.

‘Jack,' said Peaches. ‘He was doing a run to Worthing station and overheard Marney talking and, of course, you're in all the papers.'

‘The papers?'

‘Only no one realised it was you,' said Peaches. She held out her hand, headlining, ‘Mystery woman and child in gas tragedy.'

Dottie pursed her lips.

‘Oh, Dottie, I'm an idiot,' said Peaches. ‘Listen to me prattling on … me and my big mouth. How is Patsy? Has she said anything?'

Shaking her head, Dottie reached for her handkerchief, wet from use. Peaches fished in her handbag and gave her a clean one. Dottie blew her nose. ‘I'm not allowed to see her. Can you find out how she is? I'm so worried about her.'

‘Of course, darling,' said Peaches. ‘I'll go and see her on my way home. It's the least I can do.'

As Dottie grasped her hand in gratitude, Peaches chewed her bottom lip.

‘You know something else, don't you?' said Dottie. ‘Tell me, Peaches.'

‘I don't like to say …'

‘Tell me … please!'

Peaches lowered her head and stared at her own hands. ‘The papers say you had something to do with what happened to Patsy.'

‘But that's not true!' cried Dottie. ‘The windows were all boarded up on the inside. I couldn't break them …' She was becoming agitated. ‘Peaches, Reg left us there but I don't remember why. And when I smelled gas, I couldn't get us out.' She broke off and stared at Peaches wide-eyed.