Desperate Measures (13 page)

Chapter Twenty

Ten days later, on a Tuesday morning, Cheryl clipped on her wide belt, straightened her starched hat, smoothed her apron and stifled a yawn as she made her way to the ward. She should be happy. So far the dealer hadn’t called Val’s office, the man so far obviously unable to find a Dolchini. Val would collect the copy in another couple of weeks and, if it fooled the dealer, there was a good chance she’d get her money back.

If only she could sleep, forget the part she’d played in putting Ian Parker behind bars. The others didn’t seem to feel any remorse, so why her? Why couldn’t she just be happy for Paula? It was lovely to see her confidence restored, her bubbly personality beginning to shine through; yet even this didn’t ease Cheryl’s guilt.

When she lay awake, haunted by what they’d done, the same thought had begun to plague her. If Paula had moved to another area, where there was no danger of seeing Ian Parker again, surely, eventually, she’d have recovered from her ordeal. Instead, a man who on this occasion had been innocent was now in prison.

Yes, she told herself, the man was in prison, but surely he deserved to be there? Yet his face haunted her, the fear she’d seen in his eyes, and with this came doubt. Had Paula exaggerated the rape? Had she led him on to the point where he’d been unable to stop?

Lost in her own thoughts as she hurried along the lengthy hospital corridor, strangely Cheryl found she felt no guilt about the antiques dealer. As far as she was concerned, the man had robbed her. He’d known the painting was valuable when he’d offered to clear the house and should have given her a fair price, one that would have left him a fair profit. If he’d been honest in the first place, none of what they intended to do would be necessary. If it worked, as far as she was concerned, the man would get no more than he deserved. At the end of the corridor, Cheryl threw open a door and walked into the ward, but hearing a voice she snapped to attention.

‘Nurse Cutter, you’re five minutes late for duty.’

Cheryl’s face flushed. ‘Sorry, Sister.’

‘And why are you late?’

She felt like a naughty child in the face of the ward sister’s annoyance and blustered, ‘I…I overslept.’

‘That’s no excuse. Matron will be round shortly so check the ward. Make sure the beds are tidy, with unnecessary things on the top of patients’ lockers stored away. After that you can clean the sluice room.’

‘Yes, Sister,’ Cheryl said as she scuttled off. She’d been given the tasks of a junior nurse, but knew better than to argue. This was her punishment for being late. As she walked along the ward, Cheryl saw that a new patient had been admitted, an elderly lady who was struggling to sit up. She looked awful, thin to the point of being almost emaciated, and one side of her face was badly bruised. ‘Oh, dear, what happened to you?’ Cheryl asked as she hurried to help the woman.

‘I tripped on the edge of my rug and took a tumble.’

Cheryl made the patient comfortable and then looked at her notes. Edna Sands, aged eighty–two, had a fractured wrist and severe bruising. It was unusual to admit a patient with minor injuries, but her vital signs weren’t good and Cheryl frowned as she read them.

‘What a pretty girl you are,’ Mrs Sands said. ‘You may not believe it now, but I was once considered a bit of a looker.’ Her rheumy eyes became bleak. ‘It isn’t much fun growing old, so take my advice and make the most of your life while you can. My son’s married, busy, with little time to keep an eye on me. He wants me to go into a nursing home, but I’ve seen a few and can’t face it.’

‘He’s probably worried about you.’

‘Perhaps, but his wife treats me like a burden she can’t wait to unload.’

‘Nurse Cutter. Sluice room, please.’

Cheryl swung round at the sound of the ward sister’s voice and, seeing the look of annoyance on her face, she said hurriedly, ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’

In the sluice room, she set to work, but her mind kept drifting. Make the most of your life, Mrs Sands had said, and if the plan worked, Cheryl wanted to do just that. She would start looking for a flat, or even a house but, now that she had begun to have doubts about the truth of Paula’s story, Cheryl didn’t know if she could face offering her a home. Every time she looked at Paula it would bring back memories–bring back the doubts in her mind.

Paula too was at work, deep in thought as she fed paper into a laminating machine. Maybe it was the result of being in Cheryl’s company, but whatever the reason there was a yearning to make changes in her life. She wanted to do something worth while that would make a difference, but knew she didn’t have what it took to be a nurse. Like Val, the thought of looking after sick people, of dealing with blood and vomit, left her cold, but surely there was something she could do other than feeding flaming paper into a machine all day.

Paula felt there was something troubling Cheryl, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Though now enthusiastic about the plan to get her money back, at times Cheryl seemed distant, remote, as though her mind was elsewhere. Not only that, lately Cheryl had avoided looking her in the eye, but why? The ageing of the painting would take about another two weeks, and then, after rehearsing the plan again, they were all set. Maybe it was Cheryl’s nerves, yet even as this thought crossed her mind, Paula felt it was doubtful. She’d been uptight for quite a while now; in fact, since they’d put Ian Parker behind bars. It couldn’t be that–surely?–but, unable to find an answer, Paula sighed. She glanced up, saw that the machine minder, a bloke called Keith, was staring at her again. Throwing him a look of distaste she curled her lips into a sneer.

He just laughed, calling above the clatter, ‘I know you love me really. If you play your cards right you can buy me a pint tonight.’

‘Sod off!’ Paula yelled.

Keith laughed again and shouted to the minder on the next machine, ‘Did you hear that, Charlie? Miss nun face swore at me.’

‘What?’

‘The daft bugger’s as deaf as a post,’ Keith said, then shouted, ‘Nothing, Charlie, just forget it.’

‘He ain’t daft or deaf,’ Paula snapped.

‘Oh, the nun speaks again. My, ain’t I privileged?’ Keith drawled.

Paula shook her head in disgust and, ignoring Keith, she looked across at old Charlie Riley. He was the only man in the factory she felt safe with and preferred working his machine to any of the others. When it was possible above the noise, he would talk to her about his son and how much he missed him since he’d emigrated to New Zealand. Charlie was obviously lonely and she knew he dreaded his retirement. As though aware of her scrutiny, he suddenly grinned, waving what looked like a letter. ‘What’s that?’ Paula mouthed.

After working with the noise of the machines for many years, Charlie was practised in lip–reading but, even without the same skills, Paula understood when he mouthed back, ‘Later.’

She smiled, but then hearing Keith’s shout of anger as he turned off the machine, Paula snapped her attention back to her work.

‘You soppy mare!’ he yelled. ‘You missed feeding in a sheet of paper.’

Paula grimaced. Because of her inattention, the huge chrome roller would now be coated in sticky laminate, and until Keith was able to clean it, production would halt.

‘Look at the state of that,’ he spat. ‘Happy now, are you?’

Normally she’d apologise, but annoyed by his attitude, Paula just climbed off her stool, saying nothing as she headed for the cloakroom.

‘Oi! Where are you going?’

Paula didn’t turn, instead jabbing up two fingers at him. In the cloakroom she dived for her coat, pulling cigarettes out of the pocket. She quickly darted outside to light up, drawing in a lungful of smoke as though it were nectar, but had barely finished her cigarette when the door was flung open.

The forewoman stormed out, her face red with anger. ‘You. Go to the office!’

Paula wasn’t intimidated. After working in many factories, she knew the score, but in truth this wasn’t a badly paid job and she didn’t want to lose it. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked innocently.

‘According to your machine minder, you deliberately caused production to stop, and I can see why,’ she said, her eyes travelling pointedly to Paula’s cigarette.

‘It was a mistake; it wasn’t deliberate. Anyway, I ain’t the only one who misses the occasional paper feed.’

‘I know that, but the other girls don’t leave the machine room to have a cigarette without permission.’

‘I don’t see the harm. It’s gonna take Keith a while to clean the roller.’

‘I am
not
having this conversation in the cloakroom. Now go to the office.’

‘All right, but I ain’t talking to you without the union rep.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, this is ridiculous.’

‘I still want her there.’

‘Very well, I’ll put out a call for the mother of the chapel.’

Paula heaved a sigh. Why the union rep had such a silly title was beyond her, but she needed the woman on her side. She stubbed out her cigarette, head held up in defiance as she went to stand outside the office.

It was ten minutes before the mother of the chapel made an appearance, ten minutes in which Paula was left alone to ponder; but as soon as the woman turned up, she was straight on the case.

After a few words they walked into the office, the mother of the chapel saying, ‘If this is a disciplinary action, I want the proper procedure followed.’

‘Look, I don’t know what all the fuss is about,’ the forewoman said. ‘I only called you because Paula insisted. I had a complaint from her machine minder, which I’m inclined to take with a pinch of salt. However, as Paula left the machine room without permission, my only intention is to reprimand her for that.’

It was only then that Paula realised that she’d overreacted. Since Ian Parker had raped her she had lost job after job–her defensive and surly attitude to male co–workers her downfall. Without thought she blurted out, ‘Oh blimey, I’m sorry. I thought I was gonna get the sack.’

The forewoman smiled, the mother of the chapel sighed and, after a short reprimand, Paula was told to go back to her machine. She left the office pink–faced with embarrassment, which swiftly turned to red with anger when she saw Keith. The bastard had reported her and she felt nothing but loathing for him as she slipped back onto her stool. He held up a hand to indicate he was starting the machine and, head down, Paula once again began the mind–numbing task of paper feeding.

‘Don’t do that again,’ Keith snapped as he came to her side. ‘It took me ages to clean that soddin’ roller.’

‘It wasn’t deliberate,’ Paula retorted.

‘If you hadn’t been making eyes at Charlie it wouldn’t have happened.’

‘What!’

‘You heard me. What is it? Are you one of those weird women who prefer older men? Or is it his money you’re after? If it is you’ve picked the wrong bloke. Charlie ain’t rich and he’s only got his old–age pension to look forward to.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Charming,’ he said as he walked away, but then as an afterthought shouted, ‘Instead of treating me like dirt, maybe it’s time to show me a bit of respect.’

So that was it, Paula decided. She had wounded Keith’s precious pride and reporting her had been his way of getting back at her. As she continued to feed paper, Paula’s thoughts turned, and she slowly came to realise that it was no more than she deserved. Keith was all right really, always trying to make her laugh with his cheeky humour; but, instead of responding, she always gave him the cold shoulder. It had become almost habit to be standoffish, to remain distant from others, but now that Ian Parker was in jail, Paula knew it really was time to make changes. She doubted she could ever face a date again, but could at least be a little friendly. Taking a gulp of air, Paula called, ‘Keith. Can I have a word?’

He looked surprised, and if anything a little nervous as he moved to her side. ‘Yeah, what do you want?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said sheepishly.

Keith wasn’t much to look at, with a long face and thin lips, but his large brown eyes were nice. They widened now and with a grin he said, ‘Blimey, does this mean the ice maiden is melting? Does this mean you’re going to buy me that pint?’

Paula didn’t want to go out with him, but if they were to remain on friendly terms she would have to let him down gently. ‘Sorry, no offence, but I’m not looking for a date.’

‘Who said anything about a date? Let me tell you that birds flock to go out with me and my diary is full for at least the next few months. I may be able to fit you in after Christmas.’

Paula chuckled. ‘Yeah, well, this is one bird that’d fly in the opposite direction, but thanks anyway.’

‘Your loss,’ he said, ‘but if you change your mind, let me know.’

The rest of the morning passed quickly, and Paula found herself exchanging smiles with Keith as they worked. At lunch time he stopped the machine, saying, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to join me for a drink?’

‘I’m sure,’ Paula said as she slipped off her stool to see Charlie beckoning. ‘See you later,’ she called to Keith.

‘Are you going to the canteen?’ Charlie asked.

‘Yeah, but what was that letter you were waving?’

‘Let’s get our grub and then I’ll tell you.’

‘I’m dying for a smoke, but I won’t be long. You join the queue, and if you don’t mind, can you grab me a cup of tea and a cheese sarnie?’

‘All right, girl, no problem.’

By the time Paula finished her cigarette and made her way to the canteen, Charlie was sitting at a table.

‘Why were you taken to the office?’ he asked as soon as she sat opposite.

‘It was nothing, just a bit of an ear–bashing for sneaking off to have a fag.’ Paula took a gulp of tea, then asked, ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘I’m celebrating so it’s my treat. The letter’s from my son. When I retire he wants me to join him in New Zealand.’

‘Oh Charlie, that’s great.’

‘Yeah, but it’ll be a bit of a wrench leaving old Blighty. I’ll have to give up my house–and I don’t know what I’m gonna do with my budgie.’

‘I’ll have him,’ Paula said impulsively.