Winners and Losers (23 page)

‘Probably,' Connor said and grimaced. ‘I'll let them make the first move – but I still think it would be better for you if you distance yourself from me, Terry. I don't want to ruin things for the rest of you.'

‘It's that rotten little bitch that's done it!' Terry looked furious. ‘You should get a lawyer and go after her, Con. Make her admit she's lying.'

‘If Sarah believes this rubbish, she will ditch me. I should go home and square things with her and my family if I can.'

‘You'll probably find some people think you're guilty . . .'

‘As long as Dan and Sarah know the truth, the rest of them can go to hell.'

‘I'm really sorry, Con. I wish I'd been with you last night.'

‘She would have blamed us both then,' Connor said. ‘I don't know what is going on in that mixed-up little head of hers, but she must be pretty miserable to do something like this.'

‘Don't feel sorry for her. I could wring her neck!'

‘Stay well clear of her,' Connor advised. ‘The police found nothing in my room or my car that could incriminate me. At the moment it is just her word against mine.'

‘What about blood tests, you know . . .?'

‘I'm not sure if they found any semen on her. I suppose they might try to match it up but they didn't ask for anything like that from me. They were polite and seemed to believe my story, but that may be just to keep me from bolting. I was warned not to go abroad, but I can go home as long as I let them know. So that is where I'm going.'

‘What about the gig next week?'

‘Find yourself another lead singer, even if it is only temporary.'

‘I don't think Phil can step into your shoes. I know Sam wants him in, but we'll go back to being what we were – just a local band that gets a few gigs and appearances at weddings if we're lucky.'

‘I'm sorry. I've let you down, but I think it was heading that way even if this hadn't happened.'

‘It's not your fault.' Terry swore loudly, anger getting the better of him. ‘Maybe we'll get together again somehow.'

‘Maybe.' Connor shrugged and walked away. All he wanted was to get home; he had to talk to Sarah before she saw the national papers.

Maura stared at her son's bed and went cold all over. It hadn't been slept in all night. She hadn't gone out, even though he wouldn't open his door to her. Instead she had taken half a bottle of whisky to bed and fallen into a deep sleep. She hadn't heard David go out and she had no idea how long he had been gone.

A shaft of fear went through her. Had David run away? Where could he go? He had no cousins or uncles to run to in this country and he couldn't have enough money to travel to his grandmother's house in Ireland, because he didn't do a paper round and she only gave him a shilling for sweets every now and then.

Maura had a wash in cold water to freshen herself up. Her mind was still fogged from the drink. She should never have had that half bottle of whisky. She had promised David she wouldn't, but after trying to persuade him to come out of his room she had given up and gone to bed. She wasn't sure why she drank so much, but she just felt so low and miserable these days. She wanted someone to love and care for her and there was no one – just her son. But she had driven a barrier between her and David and now he'd run away.

Maura wasn't sure whether she ought to go to the police or whether it would be better to wait for a few hours. David was probably just sulking. She would look stupid if she reported him missing too soon – and the police would want to know why she hadn't heard him leave. If she waited for a few hours, the smell of the whisky would have gone and she wouldn't have to explain.

She was a single mother, and if the police started asking too many questions, she might lose David altogether. He was probably just sulking, she reassured herself, because he couldn't have much money and he wouldn't have any idea of how to get to Ireland . . .

The morning had hardly got going. Dan was busy working on a small Austin car he had bought cheap. It had been left outside in all weathers and some of the bodywork had gone rusty and the engine had seized up. He had managed to get the engine running again fairly quickly, but he'd discovered some holes in the rear wing. He could fill them and paint over but that would mean he was selling someone a car that could cause problems. He hadn't realized that there was so much rust when he bought it and he was trying to decide whether to try and buy a new wing or simply pass it on as it was and reflect the defects in the price. He knew the axle was sound enough, because he'd just finished inspecting it.

He slid out from underneath the car to find he was being watched by a young lad. A feeling of shock and dismay went through him as he recognized the boy. There was no mistaking those features, even though his hair was darker and curlier than Danny's.

‘Hello,' he said, sitting up and looking at the boy. ‘How did you get here?'

‘I came on the bus and then asked where you lived. I walked here.'

‘Why did you come? Did your mother send you?'

‘She doesn't know I know about you.'

‘Oh . . . what do you know?'

‘She says you're my father. At least, that's what she says when she is drunk sometimes.'

‘Does Maura get drunk?' Daniel stood up.

‘It happens once or twice a week. She gets lonely.' David's eyes were on him. ‘Didn't you want to marry her? She says you wouldn't and she had to marry Dad – I used to call him that until he left us, but she says you're my father. Are you?'

Daniel cursed Maura for her loose tongue and her bad habits. ‘I didn't go out with your mother. How did you come along? Is that what you're asking? Well . . . it was an air raid and she was ill. I had to look after her and it just happened. We hardly knew each other. I didn't know about you until a few months ago.'

‘She told me that you gave her money for the shop and at Christmas. She just said you were my real father. She wouldn't tell me your name then, but when she was drunk she said it – and I looked in her things. She has your address written down.'

‘Yes, I expect she has.' Daniel frowned. Where does your mother think you are now?'

‘She doesn't care what I do. She hit me last night for fighting with boys at school – but they were calling her names. Dirty, horrible names.'

‘Yes, I see,' Daniel said. ‘She shouldn't have hit you for that, lad. Fighting isn't a good idea, but sometimes you have to stand up and be counted.'

‘She may be drunk and go with men sometimes, but they have no right to call her those names.'

‘No, they don't, and I'm sure it isn't true. She may just be lonely.'

‘She is lonely and unhappy since Dad left us.'

‘So why did you come looking for me?'

‘I want to go to Ireland. My grandmother lives there. She will let me live with her.'

‘She might not want to take on a lad of your age.'

‘She will – and my uncle will help me when I leave school. I can leave school soon in Ireland and work with them on the land. My uncle left school when he was fourteen.'

‘What will your mother say about that?'

‘I don't care what she says.'

‘She loves you, David. If you leave her, she won't have much left, will she?'

‘Why should you care? She means nothing to you – and nor do I.' David hunched his shoulders. ‘I thought you might help, but I shouldn't have come.' As Dan remained silent, he turned and started to walk away.

‘No, don't go,' Daniel said. ‘I can't send you to Ireland unless your mother agrees, but if it is really what you want, I'll talk to her about it.'

David turned and looked at him, uncertainty in his face. He looked vulnerable, young and frightened, and Daniel's heart went out to him. He might be the result of a mistake one much-regretted night, but he was a child – and he was his son. He hesitated and then saw Alice walking towards him across the yard. He was conscious of the sharp stink of oil on his clothes and the acrid stench of the pigpens. His wife had enough to put up with living here and now he was going to ask even more of her.

‘This is David,' he said. ‘He came looking for me because he was cross with his mum and he wants to go and live in Ireland. I said I'll talk to her for him.'

‘You had better bring him into the kitchen.' Alice smiled at the boy. ‘I've just made some seed cake and lemon curd tarts. Could you eat some before Dan takes you home?'

‘I don't want to go home,' David said and a tear ran from the corner of his eye. He wiped his hand across his face, smearing dirt he'd picked up on his walk. ‘Can I stay here until she says I can go to Ireland – please?'

‘I don't know,' Daniel said. ‘You really should go home.'

‘It's a Saturday,' Alice said. ‘David can stay with us. Danny and the others are playing in the drove somewhere, but they will be home soon. Perhaps they should meet their cousin David . . .'

‘Perhaps they should,' Daniel said, nodding because as usual Alice had found a way to deal with the situation. ‘Is that all right with you?' Alice nodded. He looked at his son. ‘What about you, David – do you want to stay with Alice while I talk to your mother?'

‘Yes, please. I didn't have any tea or breakfast.'

‘Then you might like a cheese sandwich as well as your cake,' Alice said and held out her hand. ‘Shall we see what we can find?'

Connor knocked at the door of Sarah's home. It was mid morning and he had begun to wonder if everyone was out, because several minutes passed before Mr Jenkins came to open the door. He was wearing a smart suit with a shirt and tie and looked annoyed.

‘Oh, it's you,' he said and glanced down the street as he heard backfiring from a motorbike. ‘You had better come in. I want to talk to you, young man, though I'm not sure Sarah will. I was due to leave here an hour ago, but I couldn't go with my daughter in such a state. She has been crying for ages.'

‘She has seen the newspapers? I hoped I would get here first. I've driven all night . . .'

‘You look like it,' Mr Jenkins remarked as he took him through to the kitchen. ‘We'll talk here. I'll make a cup of tea. My wife isn't feeling too well and Sarah was awake half the night. You had better tell me your side of this, because I'm the only one in this house willing to give you a hearing, Connor.'

‘I didn't touch her – at least I pulled her arm when I made her get out of my car and she said it hurt. I give you my word I didn't do what the papers are saying I did . . . She is only fifteen.'

‘Why was she in your car in the first place?'

‘The parking attendant had the keys while I was at a party. I could smell her perfume after I'd been driving for a while. I stopped the car and made her get out. It wasn't the first time she'd come on to me. We get it from fans all the time – they call the girls groupies. They follow the bands from venue to venue. Most of them just try to put things in your pockets or throw things at you on stage. Lisa wanted me to take her to my hotel but I told her to get lost. She said I would be sorry and the next thing I know the police arrived. Apparently, she was raped and she blamed me – but I swear on everything I hold dear that it wasn't me.'

‘Can you prove you left her and went to the hotel alone?'

‘No. The others were out. I didn't see anyone until the morning. Unless someone saw me alone as I went to the lifts – the receptionist gave me the key, but whether she will say I was alone I don't know, because she was talking to her friend. I know what it looks like, but I didn't do this, Mr Jenkins. The police are keeping an open mind. I gave a voluntary statement. I haven't been arrested but I have been warned not to leave the country.'

‘They know you're here?'

‘Yes.' Connor ran frustrated fingers through his thick dark hair. ‘I've told you the truth, sir. I wanted Sarah to know before the morning papers came out.'

‘It was in the Cambridge evening paper. They must have phoned it through from London. I like to know what is going on so I take it regularly, but Sarah picked it off the mat when it was delivered.' The kettle had started to whistle. He poured water into a china pot just as his wife entered the kitchen. She was dressed and wearing a floral apron over her dark green skirt and cardigan, but her face was pale and there were shadows under her eyes. ‘It's none of it true, Millie. Connor has just told me his side of it and I believe him.'

‘I'm not sure Sarah will. She is crying again and she won't come down. I'm sorry but she says she doesn't want to see you, Connor.'

‘If she would just let me explain what happened.'

‘I'll do that for you. Sarah is very young, Connor. We've tried to keep her innocent and perhaps we've sheltered her too much. She sees things as black and white – and at the moment she is too hurt to be sensible. Let me talk to her and you can come back tomorrow when she's had a chance to calm down.'

‘I really want to see her. She needs to know that I love her. I want to get married soon.'

‘We'll have to see what happens,' Millicent Jenkins said. ‘Sarah needs time to think about what she really wants. Come back tomorrow as my husband says and she may see you then.'

Connor looked at her in frustration. Short of charging up the stairs and banging on Sarah's door there was little he could do but leave.

‘Tell her I love her, please.'

Outside in the car, Connor stared moodily in front of him. He'd been given a fair hearing, but he sensed that Mrs Jenkins was against him, perhaps because she'd spent the night comforting Sarah. He was angry and frustrated, but there was little he could do if Sarah refused to see him. He didn't know where he was going from here, because all he'd thought about since the previous morning was talking to Sarah, hoping that she would listen and believe him.