Relatively Strange (16 page)

“Shirley?” I said “Shirl, you all right?”

“Fine.”

“Look, your mum’s had a bit of a fall.”

“I know.” She glanced up then and smiled brightly at me. “I’m reading my book. I’ll carry on reading till Mum feels better, then I’ll come down for tea.” She turned back and I saw she was holding the book upside down.

“You’ll be all right up here for a bit then?”

“Oh yes, I’m happy as Larry, Daddy always says I’m happy as Larry.” And she handed me another of those terrifyingly blank smiles. I closed her door quietly.

In the kitchen, Faith was trying to help her mother sit up, they were both sobbing quietly.

“I don’t think we should move her.” I said, “She may have broken something, she needs a doctor.”

“No. No doctor. Fine in a minute. Shirley?” There was more than a swollen lip and broken tooth stopping Mrs Brackman from speaking properly, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. What with Faith and her mum, there was a fair old bit of panting going on. I quickly grabbed and soaked a dishcloth in cold water and knelt to place it gingerly and gently against her lip which was oozing blood. She raised her hand to help me and I saw that two of her fingers, her long slim fingers of which she was so proud, were bruised and swollen and one of them, the little finger on her right hand was completely twisted to one side and oddly limp. I had to make a couple of attempts to get my voice working properly, it came out though nearly as croaky as hers.

“Shirley’s fine, Mrs Brackman, she’s just upstairs, reading.” She was trying to talk again,

“Time? What’s time?” I looked at my watch. My own hand was shaking rather badly and I had to hold it with the other to keep it still enough.

“Ten to four.” She moaned and grabbed my arm fiercely, trying to pull herself up but the movement must have hurt something inside because she lost whatever vestige of colour she had and slumped back against Faith, who moaned in sympathy. Her mother took a shallow breath, held it, then got out on a gasp, words distorted by her swollen mouth,

“Donal. Polsh. Coming back.” I didn’t understand what she meant, I scanned her, God, she was in such a lot of pain, I didn’t know how to stop it, didn’t want to feel it, I withdrew quickly but I knew what she was trying to say. He’d gone to the local shops. He’d gone to buy polish because he wasn’t happy with the shine on the dining room table. No, he wasn’t happy at all, that was what he’d been making clear to Mrs Brackman before he left.

“Faith,” I hissed, “Your Dad’s coming back, he’s only gone down to the shops.” She didn’t question how I knew, she was still holding her mother.

“Why mum, why, why, why d’you do it? Why get him all upset?”

“I’m sorry, so sorry.”

“Faith,” I interrupted desperately, crouching, reaching out and gripping her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Listen to me, your Dad’ll be back any minute, do you understand? Is there a neighbour, anyone, someone we can call? She’s got to have a doctor, she’s badly hurt.” I was shouting now, Mrs Brackman flinched, Faith gaped at me. I stood up, my mother would know what to do, the phone was on the window-sill. As I grabbed the receiver, we heard the key in the front door. Mrs Brackman moaned into the wet cloth,

“Faith, upshtairs, go ‘way quickly, go to Shirley.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said more staunchly than I felt, “We’re not leaving you, not going anywhere.” In my haste, my finger had slipped sweatily on the phone dial, I had to start again.

“Allo, ‘allo, ‘allo what’s a goin’ on ‘ere then?” Chief Inspector Brackman had on his smart, blue uniform he wore for official dos. He cut an imposing figure. Mock-accent in place, smile as wide as a barn door, he’d come in through the dining room and was eyeing us all warmly.

“Wasn’t expecting you home yet girls, but nicest surprises are the one’s we’re not expecting, eh?” We all stared at him. He looked back cheerfully and held up the carrier bag of shopping,

“Faith, your Mum’s got a wee bit of polishing to do. You and Stella run upstairs and we’ll call you when it’s tea-time. Helen, here’s the duster and the other stuff you needed.” He stepped carefully over Mrs Brackman and Faith on the floor and took the kettle to the sink where he filled it, placed it on the gas hob and used the Ever-Ready Igniter to light the gas. “And while you’re at it Hells, hows about a bit of the cup that cheers?” he looked down inquiringly at Mrs Brackman.

“Come on love, ups-a-lazy-daisy, won’t get much done down there.” Mrs B was indeed struggling obediently, trying to shake off Faith’s arms and get up. His eyes, blue and clear, lighted on me, frozen with the phone receiver in my hand.

“And who’s that you’re phoning, Stella pet?” he inquired mildly.

“My mother.”

“Not now, call her later love, more convenient later. Put the phone down.” I did, his was a voice used to giving orders. My hot hand had left a damp imprint on the black bakelite.

He grinned companionably at me over the matching fair heads of Faith and her mother. Inside his own head, beyond the everyday jumble – station shifts, road-safety talk at local infant school, tyre that needed replacing – there was a terrifying and complex blankness, a deep nothingness I’d never encountered before. The kettle began to bubble softly, such a familiar domestic sound. He moved a few steps away from the cooker and stood over his wife and daughter, loosening his tie,

“Come on old girl, that table’s not going to polish itself now is it?” And he drew back his foot with its impeccably polished black shoe and kicked her in the side, just below her ribs, I didn’t know whether it was the same side she’d been hurt earlier. The force of the blow went through her and into Faith, still with both arms round her mother, so that Faith’s head jarred dully against the kitchen door. Mrs Brackman didn’t seem to have a moan left in her, she retched once and her breath hitched even more in her chest, an ugly, uneven sound.

Faith very carefully and gently withdrew her arms from her mother, trying not to cause any more pain, lowered her to the ground and rose stiffly to her feet. She was a tall girl and nearly on a level with her father. Ice blue eye met ice blue eye. Within her head all those carefully constructed walls were coming down and from behind them was first seeping then trickling then pouring knowledge, known but denied for so long.

“Don’t touch her.” She said. I could see her teeth were chattering and she had to clench her jaw against that to talk. “Not. Ever. Again. Do you hear me.” He smiled, cocking his head to one side, humorously quizzical as he’d been, to our amusement, so many times before.

“Faith, sweet pea, don’t interfere in things you don’t understand. Helen?” he appealed mock-plaintively to his wife who had crawled a little way, reached up to the oven door handle and was trying and failing to haul herself up.

“Tell her Helen. Tell her I’m not a difficult man. Now am I? Tell her I sometimes spot things you’ve missed, tell her I help you out with that.” He moved forward again. I didn’t know whether he had in mind to hit her or help her, because he didn’t know either, but whichever, he didn’t get a chance. Faith moved swiftly in front of her and blocked him. He frowned.

“Now, Faith, if you really want to help your old dad, run upstairs, get my slippers, there’s a good girl.” Faith looked past him at me.

“Call an ambulance.” She said. I picked up the receiver again. He slapped her hard round the face and she rocked back on her heels.

“Ah now, look what you made me do.” He was genuinely sorrowful and I mean genuinely, there was no doubting what I read. She didn’t move one muscle, stood her ground his finger marks livid and reddening on her chalk white face. Mrs Brackman reached out with one hand and caught hold of his trousers.

“Don, no, please.” It came out ‘pleashe’. He swung on his heel, moving swiftly across the kitchen as I was dialling the second 9 and knocking the phone clean out of my hand. As it hit the floor, he wrenched the brown plaited cord out of the socket on the wall and I thought he was going to hit me too, but no, he seemed to want to keep it in the family.

He moved back to his wife on the floor and their daughter. He stood face to face with Faith again, shook his head, more in sorrow than anger drew back his arm, fist clenched tight this time.

“Noooo.” I screamed. “Don’t.” He turned his body slightly to ensure maximum impact and I went into his head. I didn’t know what I was looking for yet I found it immediately and acted. Nothing very dramatic, just a small pull, a minor twist. The result was instantaneous and terrible.

He toppled where he stood, falling backwards in strangely slow motion, not crumpling but going down full length like a felled tree. He hit the tiled floor with a solid thwunk and his cheerful blue gaze, glazing over already, contemplated the ceiling without much interest.

I think we stayed in silent tableau for a good few moments, Faith, Mrs Brackman, me and of course the DCI, before movement returned to three of us. Mrs Brackman let out a high-pitched howl that seemed to last forever. Faith’s legs gave way and she sank to the floor beside her mother putting her arms round her again, to receive as much as give comfort. I moved around the Chief Inspector cautiously on stiff limbs. It wasn’t a big kitchen and there were a lot of people on the floor.

“I’ll get help.” I said. But there was no doubt in the minds of any of us that he was dead. A tidy home, or lack of it, had ceased to be of any further interest to D.C.I. Brackman.

I walked steadily down the garden path and up the adjacent one, to their next-door neighbour, no-one I’d ever met before. A nice lady who came to her door wiping floury hands on a flower-patterned apron and smiling inquiringly. If she was shocked to find a teenager she didn’t know, on her doorstep with a story of accident and emergency, she didn’t let it show. She didn’t panic and she didn’t ask unnecessary questions. She phoned for an ambulance whilst divesting herself of the apron, gave the address and the minimum details I’d passed on, yelled through to whoever was watching television in the living room that she was popping next door for a tick and, pausing only to gather up some sort of picnic rug from an under-stairs cupboard, followed me at a brisk trot back next door.

She sucked in a deep breath at the scene that greeted her but wasted no time – the sort of woman who copes for England. She utilised the picnic rug to drape gently over the ex Chief Inspector, covering his rapt gaze and despatching me upstairs quickly to bring down eiderdowns from the bedrooms. I dragged one off Faith’s bed and then tiptoed into the room that I knew was Mr and Mrs Brackman’s and pulled another off the bed there, dragging them past Shirley’s closed door. I didn’t go in. She was probably better where she was for the moment. Neighbour Joan wrapped the eiderdowns swiftly round Faith and her mother, tucking them both in, tutting and there thereing all the while. She handed me the damp cloth, to rinse out so it could be re-applied to Mrs Brackman’s now purple, still-swelling lip.

“Ah, Helen, Helen,” she kept murmuring, “There, there, my dear, there, there, you’ll be all right, we’ll get you to hospital, you’ll be all right.” She knew, had known what had been going on for a long time, had helped Helen before when she’d had ‘accidents’, tried and failed to get her to seek help. She glanced up at my ashen face and ordered me to make tea, strong, hot and sweet, mind. Actually, she didn’t think we’d have time to drink it, but she knew shock when she saw it and in her book, action was always by far and away the best course. I dutifully utilised the water, boiled, was it only a few moments ago, by the late, not yet lamented Chief Inspector and in no time at all there was the sound of sirens.

The police arrived at the same time as the ambulance, a couple of very shocked constables from the local station who, of course, knew the family and were on first name terms with neighbour Joan. Mrs Brackman was lifted swiftly and efficiently on to a stretcher by the ambulancemen. She was, even in the midst of all the pain, grief and humiliation, still polite and thanked them over and over. She made them stop for a moment as they carried her out, pulled her arm from under the blanket and took my hand briefly,

“So sorry, you were here pet, so sorry.” Faith was led out too, still eiderdown wrapped,

“Shock, poor kid.” One of the nice ambulancemen had his arm around her and she rested against him heavily, she seemed to have forgotten I was there.