Desperate Measures (22 page)
Betty found that the week leading up to Christmas Eve was agonisingly slow. She had saved a little, had been to Clapham Junction for her shopping, but once she’d found presents for John and Anne, along with their partners, there hadn’t been a great deal of money left. Northcote Road market hadn’t been far away, and ambling along she’d found a solution on the stalls; one of them perfect for Paula. She was used to this, used to making money stretch, and hunting for the gifts had filled a little more of her time.
It was her last day at work now and she locked the house, hoping once again that in the New Year she’d be able to find another job. Val had suggested a shop; though it would be nicer than cleaning, it wasn’t really what she wanted. Yet what else could she do? Nothing much–nothing that would be rewarding and give her a sense of purpose.
When Betty arrived at the flats she knocked on Val’s door to tell her that she was expecting her children to call, but if they didn’t stay long, she’d be down to see her later. She then hurried upstairs to tidy up before grabbing a bite to eat.
By eight o’clock, Betty was hovering at her window, her face lighting up when she saw John’s car. Ulrika was with him, and with a swift look in the mirror Betty patted her hair before going to the door. ‘Hello, darling,’ she cried as they appeared. ‘Hello, Ulrika.’
On the threshold, John bent to kiss her cheek, and Betty was gratified when Ulrika did the same. ‘Come on in. It’s lovely to see you. Sit yourselves down, and how about a glass of sherry?’
John’s eyes widened. ‘Well, that’s a first. I thought you were teetotal, Mum.’
‘I was, but nowadays I enjoy the occasional glass of sherry.’
‘Well, in that case, yes please.’
‘What about you, Ulrika?’ Betty asked.
‘Yes please.’
Betty poured the drinks and was just about to hand them out when there was a tap on the door. ‘That’ll be Anne,’ she said, smiling as she let her daughter in. ‘Hello, sweetheart. We were just about to have a glass of sherry. Would you like one?’
‘Hi you two, and no thanks, Mum. It’s too sweet for me.’
‘Hello, sis,’ said John. ‘Are you still off to Cornwall in the morning?’
‘Yes, but I wish I hadn’t agreed to go now. It’s a long journey and a rotten way to spend Christmas Eve.’
Betty sipped her sherry. It was lovely to see her children, to have them here, but it wasn’t the same as sharing Christmas Day. She could remember times past, when she and Richard had crept upstairs to put presents by the children’s beds, and the joy on their faces when they opened them in the morning. Then later they would all sit down to the dinner she had loved to prepare, pulling crackers and laughing at the silly jokes. As she thought about the happy times they shared, Betty wished she could turn the clock back, but then felt a surge of bitterness. It was all right for Richard, he was having another child, a chance to do it all again, but for her…
‘Mum, you’re miles away. Are you all right?’
Betty forced a smile. ‘I’m fine.’
‘We’ve brought your present,’ he said, ‘but no opening it until Christmas Day.’
Betty took the large squashy parcel. ‘Thank you, darling, thank you both,’ and going to the tree she laid it down before picking up two prettily wrapped boxes. ‘One for you and one for Ulrika, and the same goes for you. Don’t open them until Christmas morning.’
‘Thanks, Mum, and don’t worry, we won’t. Oh, and as you know, we’ve been invited to my boss’s house for Christmas dinner. He’s now suggested that we stay the night, and though I said we’d call round on Boxing Day, I’m not sure I can guarantee it now.’
‘It doesn’t matter, darling. I’m spending Christmas with friends, so though it would be lovely to see you, if you can’t make it, don’t worry.’
‘That’s a relief, but we’ll do our best to get here.’
‘Here, Mum,’ said Anne as she pulled a small package out of her handbag.
‘Thank you, darling,’ Betty said, and as she had with John’s present she laid it under the tree before finding two more packages, one for Anne and one for Tony.
Anne thanked her, and then turned to Ulrika. ‘Did you try that dressmaker I told you about?’
‘Yes, and she was very kind. I have made up my mind now, and will have apricot for the bridesmaids. She is going to make a start on them in the New Year.’
Betty smiled at Ulrika’s so correct, but stilted pronunciation, saying warmly, ‘I’m glad. I know when we spoke last you favoured that colour, and it’s so pretty.’
‘Oh, please, not the wedding again,’ John appealed. ‘Can’t we at least give it a rest until after Christmas?’
They all laughed at his petulant expression, which didn’t stop them from going on to discuss Ulrika’s dress, veil and bouquet. Despite John’s protest, a happy hour passed, but then Anne said, ‘Sorry, I must go.’
‘All right, darling. Have a lovely time in Cornwall, but drive carefully.’
‘The wilds of Cornwall in winter aren’t my idea of fun. It’s a lovely place in the summer, but at this time of the year, Bodmin Moor will be bleak.’
‘We’d better go too,’ John said.
Betty gave all three of them a hug, sad to see them leave. ‘Bye, and see you soon, I hope.’
‘Bye, Mum,’ John said. ‘I’ll ring you before we leave for my boss’s house on Christmas Day.’
‘Thank you, dear, and have a lovely time at your father’s party tomorrow night.’
Betty remained standing at the open door as they went downstairs and, though out of sight now, Anne’s voice carried upwards.
‘What’s come over Mum? I still can’t believe she doesn’t mind you going to Dad’s party.’
Betty didn’t hear her son’s reply, but she had a smile on her face as she closed the door. Oh, she didn’t mind John going to his father’s party. In fact it was just what she wanted. But of course, neither of her children knew why.
One more night to go, Betty thought as she washed the sherry glasses before going downstairs to spend the rest of the evening with Val. One more night before Richard’s party–how she wished she could be a fly on the wall to see their faces when Paula turned up.
Paula found that, just as Betty predicted, it hadn’t been too bad at work. There were just a few titters here and there which had, as the week progressed, died out altogether. She had been put on another machine so saw little of Keith, but found that she missed his comical banter.
It was now Christmas Eve and the factory closed for the holidays, but at eight o’clock that evening, when Val drove her to Farnham, Paula was shaking with nerves. She was hardly aware of the journey as she went over and over all that Betty had told her, praying that she wouldn’t slip up.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,’ Val assured her. ‘I know Betty drummed a load of information into you, but to be honest, I doubt you’ll be asked many questions, if any. All you have to do is say your piece, add a bit of personal stuff to make it convincing, and then leave.’
‘If I let her down it’ll be awful.’
‘I’m sure you won’t. It’ll soon be over and, as you’re staying over with Betty tonight, we’ll wake up to a wonderful Christmas Day. It’ll be your birthday too, and something else to celebrate.’
Paula knew that Val was trying to calm her, but still she trembled. ‘What if they don’t believe me?’
‘It might help if you step away from yourself. You aren’t Paula; you’re someone else, like an actress playing a role in a play or film. I did that when the police questioned me about Cheryl’s supposed rape. I took on another persona, pretended that I was a haughty, standoffish woman.’
‘All right, I’ll try,’ Paula said. She had to do this. The others had done so much for her and this was for Betty–lovely, kind, caring Betty who had come to mean so much to her.
By the time they reached Farnham and Val drew into the kerb at the end of a very posh-looking cul-de-sac, Paula felt that her advice had done the trick. She did feel better now, ready to play her new role. ‘Right, what’s the time?’
‘It’s just coming up to nine o’clock. All the guests should be there so it’s perfect.’
Paula opened the door. ‘I’m off.’
‘Good luck,’ Val called.
Paula walked along the tree-lined cul-de-sac, looking for the house that Betty had described. They were all large, all set back, some gated with long drives, but at last, on the curve, Paula found the one she was looking for. For a moment she just stared at it, unable to picture the Betty she knew living in such a grand place.
The grounds were well lit, the gates open and, as Paula walked down the drive, she skirted some very expensive cars. She faltered. Blimey, the place was probably full of toffs. She felt out of place, out of her depth, and for a moment wanted to turn and flee. Come on, come on, she urged, moving forward on shaky legs. The house seemed to loom over her now, bright lights shining through leaded windows as she forced herself back into the persona she’d invented.
Paula straightened her shoulders, and with what now felt like righteous indignation, she lifted a large, black metal knocker on the heavily studded oak door. When opened by a well–dressed woman, Paula had no idea who she was. She wasn’t pregnant so it couldn’t be Mel, but nothing was going to stop her now. She strode forcefully in without invitation, and in the spacious hall demanded, ‘I’d like to see Richard Grayson.’
The woman looked bemused, but before she could respond Paula heard the buzz of voices and headed towards the sound.
‘Wait,’ the woman called as she hurried behind her, but Paula was already through the open double doors of a large room, seeking the face of the man that Betty had shown her in photographs.
He was there, by the hearth, standing by a roaring fire and talking to a group of men. Paula drew in a huge breath, stretched her neck, head held high as she brushed past guests to confront him.
Standing rigid in front of Richard Grayson now, arms akimbo, Paula yelled, ‘You bastard!’
The man’s eyes widened and his tone of voice echoed his shock. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me! You didn’t tell me you’re married.’
The room fell silent, all eyes on the scene now as he said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you? And how did you get into my house?’
‘Don’t give me that. You know who I am all right.’
‘Richard, what’s going on?’
Paula spun round to see a heavily pregnant woman, and guessed it was Mel. ‘Huh, you must be his wife, but don’t bother to ask him. He’ll only lie, just like he lied to me.’
Mel looked confused and, ignoring Paula, she asked, ‘Richard, who is she?’
‘How the hell do I know? I’ve never seen her in my life before.’
‘See, I told you,
lies’
, Paula spat, and turning to look the man in the eye again, she added, ‘and I ain’t going anywhere until your
wife
hears what I’ve got to say.’
‘Richard…’ Mel wailed.
‘It’s all right, leave this to me,’ Richard Grayson said, and grabbing Paula’s arm he tried to drag her from the room. ‘I
don’t
know who you are,
or
what your game is, but I want you out of my house–
now!’
‘Get off me,’ Paula yelled, and wrenching her arm from his grasp she once again rounded on Mel. ‘He knows me all right, but I didn’t know I was his bit on the side, honest I didn’t. When one of my mates told me he’s married, I nearly had a fit.’
‘No, no, I don’t believe you,’ Mel cried.
Paula felt a stab of pity, but forced it from her mind. This was the woman who had stolen Betty’s husband–the woman who had driven her from this lovely house. ‘You should believe me, because other than the satisfaction of having it out with that cheating bastard, I’ve got nothing to gain from coming here.’
‘Shut up! You must be mad–out of your mind!’ Richard Grayson roared.
‘Yeah, I was mad to believe your lies,’ Paula retorted. She felt everyone’s eyes on her and nearly wavered, but then taking another deep breath she fought to remain in role. She was on stage and the guests were her audience as she spat out her next lines. ‘You said you were a widower…that your wife died years ago. I only slept with you because you promised we’d get engaged.’
‘No…no,’ Mel cried, swaying as she held a hand to her head.
Richard Grayson moved swiftly, taking her arm. ‘John, give me a hand,’ he called. ‘I think Mel’s going to faint.’
Paula saw the young man step forward, his voice a low growl. ‘Is it true, Dad?’
‘What? Of course it isn’t. Look at her. She’s younger than your sister.’
‘Huh, that didn’t stop him,’ Paula snapped as she met John’s eyes. ‘Yeah, I must have been mad, but after some of the young twerps I’ve been out with, it was nice being an old man’s darling.’
John’s face twisted with disgust. ‘You’re as bad as him.’
‘Shut up, John! Can’t you see she’s lying?’
Paula’s tone was scathing, ‘Oh yeah, well if I ain’t telling the truth, how come I know about the scar on your leg? You know, Richard, the one at the top of your thigh.’
John’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as he looked at his father. ‘Yes, Dad, how
does
she know about your scar?’
Before he could answer, Paula said, ‘That’s not all, is it, Richard? I’ve seen every part of you–for instance that mole on your back…And if that’s not enough, what about your feet? It’s not everyone who has six toes!’
Mel gave a cry of anguish, pulling herself away from Richard, but as she fled her legs seemed to go from under her and she crashed to the floor.
‘Mel!’ Richard Grayson yelled as he crouched by her side. He then looked up, his eyes frantic. ‘John, please, help to get her up.’
John stood unmoving, his jaws working in anger, but a young woman who’d been standing by his side rushed forward, followed by two men.
‘Ulrika, no. Come on, we’re leaving,’ John ordered.
She shook her head, refusing to leave Mel’s side, and soon after she came round. She groaned as they helped her up and moved her towards a sofa, whilst Richard asked worriedly, ‘Mel, are you all right? Do you want me to call the doctor?’
‘No, get away from me. Don’t touch me.’
‘I think it would be best if I got everyone to leave,’ one of the men said.