A Mersey Mile (39 page)

His heart quickened as he placed a hand on the doorknob. They were talking quietly in the living room.

The pair sat together on the sofa, Mother’s arm across Christine’s shoulders. She appeared to care about somebody, then. Mrs Lewis seemed to have aged, while Mother looked decidedly
younger and healthier.

He closed the door quietly. ‘Sorry I was away so long, ladies. Those customers took a while to make up their minds.’

Norma looked up when her son entered the room. ‘I made a pot of tea, Frank, but she won’t eat anything, and God knows I’ve tried my best. She’s been out of order for a
while now, poor soul, since we started getting Elaine followed.’ She patted Christine’s hand.

‘I see.’ Frank placed himself in front of the fireplace. ‘We all have to eat, you know. And you’re quite slender enough, Mrs Lewis. Even your shadow will come out on
strike if you don’t take some food.’

Christine raised her head and smiled bravely at Frank. She’d missed him. He had two levels of humour, one dry, the other silly. He was a nice man, a good man, and she hoped that Elaine had
not upset him too greatly. ‘My daughter’s gone strange, Frank. I feel as if I don’t know her, and she barely talks to me.’

Strange? Stark raving crackers would have been nearer the mark. ‘Yes, she has been behaving oddly, Mrs Lewis. I wanted to talk to you, but was worried about causing any upset. She helped
me with the legal details connected to the shop and the flat. But she wanted . . . well . . . she wanted more than money for services provided.’

‘She wanted you,’ Christine said, and the words were delivered not as a question. ‘She’s never had a boyfriend. At university, she put herself on one side, away from all
the societies and college occasions. She missed out, because Oxford offers opportunities above and beyond degrees. There was a point where the sheer weight of work got to her, and she faltered
slightly, but I thought we’d put all that behind us. What’s she up to, Frank? I’m completely at a loss as to what to make of her.’

Both women gazed expectantly at their host.

He moved and sat in an armchair. There were no answers, yet he knew he must make an effort. ‘She’s looking for what she thinks she needs, Mrs Lewis. I don’t doubt that
she’s a very clever woman, and I know she’s beautiful, but she’s no idea about real life and relationships. There’s a gap in her makeup, as if she knows nothing about
ordinary, day-to-day living. I’m sorry.’

‘As am I,’ Christine said. ‘So she comes and waits outside every night?’

‘Yes, she almost invariably arrives here,’ he told her. ‘She even had the key copied so that she might let herself in. The locks are changed and I keep the bolts on at the
front. A neighbour comes in through the rear door every evening, closes curtains in the flat, lights a fire and so forth, but I tell him to look out for her and not to stay too long, so
you’re not the only one who’s been having her watched. Because of Elaine, I can’t even live in my own home. I stay with Polly and her brother when the shop’s closed and
after I’ve done my deliveries and collections.’

He paused for a moment. Could he say it? Should he? Oh, he must. ‘Because for some reason I don’t fully understand, your daughter frightens the living daylights out of me, Mrs Lewis.
I’ve no idea what she’s capable of, but I want her away from me and mine. She looked at Polly with disdain, then with sheer hatred. Polly is expecting our first child, and she must be
kept safe.’ He paused. ‘And if Elaine tries to destroy me, she might hurt my neighbour instead, so I’ve had to make him aware of her obsessive behaviour. He will have warned other
nearby residents, and gossip travels, but that can’t be helped, because his bodily safety is more important than her reputation. Fortunately, I now have a phone installed, so we can summon
emergency services if required.’

‘You fear for your life?’ Christine asked, her mouth remaining open after the question had left her lips.

Frank nodded. ‘As I said before, she terrifies me. There’s a special kind of coldness in your daughter. I regret having to say this, but for me, she’s as hard and as chilled as
the article that destroyed the
Titanic
.’

Norma blinked back some unexpected wetness; she was going to be a granny. ‘Elaine sits in her car looking for you, Frank. We’ve been told about that by the detective whose people
have been keeping an eye on her. And you think she could do something terrible?’

Frank had no idea, and he said so, because he might have been wrong. ‘The fact is, we all have opinions and those opinions are not necessarily the truth. My truth and yours could be miles
apart. We all make judgements that may often be wide of the mark.’

Christine nodded thoughtfully. ‘When her dad died, something in my daughter died, too. She kept the grief inside, where it festered, no doubt.’

Without processing his thoughts, Frank simply reacted. ‘Psychopaths are born, not made,’ he said, wishing immediately that he could bite back the harsh statement. ‘Again, just
my opinion, but backed up by a little reading in the Picton Library.’

White-faced, Christine stared at him. ‘What did you say?’

‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’

‘You think my daughter is—’

‘Mrs Lewis, I’m no doctor; I’m just an ordinary bloke with a junk shop. All I know is she’s different, absent, unable to connect at certain levels. That coldness of hers
freezes my blood. But she does have control when it comes to her working life, so that’s good. Yet at the same time, I’m afraid that one day she’ll crack wide open and do
something unspeakable. She’s a mess, but it’s not your fault. You’re a good woman.’

Norma spoke up. ‘You’re frightening Christine, Frank. I didn’t bring her here to make things worse for her. This woman’s my only friend, son, because I’ve never
been kind or gentle or generous like she is, but she’s taught me more about life than . . . than . . .’ She turned away from him. ‘Christine, come on, let’s get you
home.’

‘No, Norma. I’ve always valued Frank’s opinion. He might not be an Oxford graduate, but he’s a clever young man.’ She dashed some saline from her cheeks.
‘Frank, I don’t know where to turn. What do we do next?’

‘I wish I knew,’ he said.

‘So do I.’ Christine wrung her hands.

Norma knew. ‘We have to wait till it happens. Because no one would believe she’s not normal until she does something or other. You read about stuff like this all the time in the
papers, people who do things while their balance of mind’s disturbed. For the most part, families and work colleagues had no idea that the person’s mind was disturbed at all.’

‘Nearly always suicides,’ Christine mused aloud.

‘She won’t do that.’ Frank went to make more tea. ‘She’ll look after herself at all costs, Mrs Lewis,’ he said as he walked towards the door.

‘Call me Christine. She is selfish. Correct in her way, but selfish.’

‘Correct in that she remembers your birthday and buys groceries,’ Norma said. ‘That proves she does know the proper thing to do, so she’s well aware of the difference
between right and wrong. So it looks as if she falls down when it comes to relationships with people her own age. Perhaps she’ll straighten herself out in time. People go through things. When
Frank was born, I cried for about three months, didn’t know where to put myself. It passed. He stopped having colic and I stopped the weeping.’

In the kitchen, Frank waited for the kettle to boil. The truth about Elaine was that she couldn’t put herself in anyone else’s shoes, was unable to sympathize with another person, to
feel pity, to offer comfort, to give real affection. To a lesser degree, his mother had been like that. He warmed the pot.

According to the Bible, God had breathed life into the human animal. Elaine was one of the exceptions, and the fact remained that although she seemed cruel and thoughtless, it was possibly not
her fault. She was rather like a telephone line with a break in it. But could she be mended? He pictured her sitting in a corner of some institution for the rest of her life; as bad as she was,
surely she didn’t deserve that? Yet everyone else needed to be safe. Oh God, was there ever a clear answer?

He returned with a fresh brew and some biscuits. ‘Christine?’

She raised her head. ‘Yes?’

‘Running on fumes can harm your engine, so take a bit of fuel, please.’

‘I can’t. I’d be sick, sorry.’

He offered the plate to the other occupant of the sofa. ‘Mother?’

‘No thanks, Frank. I’m counting points to save my kidneys, apparently.’

‘Good for you, Mother. Glad you got a grip on it at last.’ She’d definitely lost many pounds and looked better for it.

‘What can we do?’ she asked her son yet again.

He explained that little could be achieved by seeing a doctor on Elaine’s behalf, because doctors had to keep quiet about patients. ‘You might register your concerns with him, but
you can’t make him treat her or talk to her about your worries. Talk to him, so that if anything does go amiss, he knows that you were anxious about her. Beyond that, I have no idea at
all.’

‘And when it’s too late?’ Norma asked.

‘I know what you mean, Mother. But she’s a law-abiding citizen who’s also a successful solicitor, and her cleverness helps her to hide what’s going on beneath the
surface. The subsidence has started, and cracks have begun to appear, only she’s broken no rules thus far. Until her foundations crumble completely, there’s little to be done. It seems
a pity that we can only hang on until she goes too far. If you try to reason with her, she won’t even hear you.’

Christine agreed. ‘She is deteriorating. I’m afraid, too. She looks right through me sometimes.’

Frank glanced at the clock, then at his watch. ‘I must go shortly, or Polly will be anxious. She’s having a hard time of it, morning sickness and permanent exhaustion. I just hope
she’s better for the wedding. It’s an afternoon job, so fingers crossed . . .’

‘She’ll improve,’ Norma said. ‘I couldn’t keep a thing down for the first few months of pregnancy, but I learned after a lot of hit and miss that plain, semi-sweet
biscuits settled my stomach. After that, I went mad for orange peel. I used to give the oranges to your dad or to neighbours’ children, then sit there chewing on the peel. I knew a woman who
liked apple dipped in malt vinegar. Pregnancy is weird. She’ll stop the vomiting soon, so don’t worry. Make sure she drinks plenty. Try her with some arrowroot biscuits.’

Frank frowned thoughtfully. Mother sounded almost normal and approachable. ‘Will you come to my wedding?’ he asked. ‘You too, Christine, but not . . . well, just you.
I’ll send invitations, of course.’

Norma’s face lit up. ‘I’ll be there, Frank. Christine?’

‘I hope so. But I seem to have a lot on my plate.’

‘You do,’ Norma agreed. ‘She’ll come if she can, Frank.’

‘I understand.’ He did. He understood better than most.

It was late, and evening was casting its thickening shadows, and there was no sign of her mother. Everything was going wrong, and the whole caboodle was beyond the reach of
Elaine Lewis who, try as she might, was unable to control the world and its quirks. Mum, on the other hand, was organized and dependable to the point where she might be elected to supervise time
zones right across the planet. So where was she? Predictability was one of Christine Lewis’s many strong points.

Every evening, Elaine walked in from work to a welcome, a meal, and the kindest companion she had ever known. But Mum noticed things. Just lately, communication between the two women had become
stilted, almost formal, because the younger one had been otherwise engaged, while the older had become . . . What had Mum become? Quiet, worried, then almost part of the wallpaper.
‘I’ve neglected the only person who cares about me. Right. I’d better go and find her, because I can’t just sit here going over and over what’s happened, or I’ll
go mad. Men. Bloody men.’

There were no lights on at Brookside Cottage, but Elaine knocked and rang the bell anyway. So, wherever they’d gone, they were probably together. She walked round to the back of the house,
but found no sign of occupation. What if— No. Mum knew absolutely nothing about the mess with Bob Laithwaite, so . . . so where? Mrs Charleson wasn’t speaking to Frank, because he was
going to marry the girl from the Scotland Road cafe, and— God, no.

She returned to her car. For a while now, she’d been followed. Not that she’d actually seen anyone, but her body had been on red alert, as if trying to tell her something. Frank? Had
the two women and Frank got together? Would he run to his mummy for help because a nasty young woman had practically propositioned him? If that were the case, would her mother be involved? Where
the hell were they?

As she drove towards Rice Lane, recent events played over and over in her head like a film at the cinema. First, Frank had dismissed her out of hand; second, a man who had worshipped her for
months had consigned her to the waste basket, just another mistyped piece of work at the office. Now, her mother, always punctual to a fault, seemed to have altered the rhythm of life without
leaving as much as a note of explanation.

After driving further along Rice Lane on this occasion, she parked and watched Aladdin’s Cave. Her hands were shaking so badly that the car was rather less than parallel with the
pavement’s edge. Norma Charleson’s vehicle stood outside her son’s shop. The place was closed, but lights upstairs advertised the presence of a person or persons, and curtains
were drawn. There was clearly a plot on. If her mother betrayed her by contributing to said plot, Elaine would have nowhere to turn. ‘How can you do this to me, Mum? How can you help people
to gang up against your only daughter? It isn’t fair.’

The shop door opened. Norma and Mum stepped onto the pavement, Frank behind them as they walked to the car.

A white, searing hot fury cut its way through Elaine Lewis’s body. It was a physical pain she remembered from years ago, when her father had died; she’d been angry with him for
leaving her. Slowly, carefully, Elaine had placed her trust in Mum, and Mum had now turned on her. ‘I’m an orphan,’ she whispered. They had been talking about her. They’d
had a meeting about her. They’d probably had her followed by a private detective . . .