A Father’s Revenge. Kitty Neale
‘This is from us, Mum.’
In the small box, Emily was thrilled to find a delicate gold chain hung with a pretty pearl locket. ‘I just love it,’ she said, smiling with happiness.
‘Emily, I’m so sorry,’ Tim said softly, obviously embarrassed. ‘I haven’t got you a gift.’
‘It really doesn’t matter,’ she told him, just glad to have him there. She had been friends with Delia, Tim’s late wife, and had always been fond of them both. Tim had been lost when Delia died, but just recently Emily’s platonic friendship with him had slowly begun to develop into something more. Of course he was still grieving and it was far too soon to take things any further, but maybe, in the future … just maybe …
Chapter Four
Derek awoke earlier than usual on Friday. Careful not to wake Pearl, he climbed out of bed, shivering as he threw on his dressing gown before making his way to the kitchen. It was still cold, but perhaps next month they’d see a decent rise in the temperature. He lit the fire, and then placed the kettle on the gas stove, unable to stop his thoughts turning to Kevin Dolby. There had been no news from Bernie about the parole hearing, and with any luck that meant he’d been turned down.
‘I thought I’d be the first one up this morning.’
Derek turned to smile fondly at Emily. ‘We’re both early birds then,’ he said, struck as always by her tiny, birdlike appearance. Some people assumed that Emily was frail, yet although she had angina, she hadn’t had a bad attack for many years. He’d heard all the jokes about mothers-in-law, but none applied to his relationship with Emily. From the day he’d married Pearl and moved in, Emily had given them plenty of space, even using her bedroom as a sort of sitting room too, with a couple of chairs on each side of a small fireplace, along with a radio and television. They’d protested, but Emily insisted that she liked it that way and it meant that she could watch the TV programmes she preferred.
‘I see you’re making a pot of tea,’ Emily said.
‘Yes, it won’t be long now.’
‘I’ll take over if you like,’ she offered.
‘Thanks. I’ll go and get ready for work while it’s brewing,’ Derek said. As he went up to the bathroom his thoughts returned to their living arrangements.
Even now, when Emily wasn’t next door with Tim, she spent most of her evenings in her room, watching programmes like All Creatures Great and Small, while Derek preferred The Sweeney. It was a good choice of title for the police series – Sweeney Todd, slang for the flying squad. Over the years Derek had suggested that they find a place of their own to rent, but somehow it never happened, both Pearl and her mother happy to keep things the way they were.
Derek hadn’t found moving to Winchester easy. He’d managed a boxing gym in Battersea, but a similar role had been impossible to find here. With no other skills, or choice, he’d started out as a painter and decorator’s labourer, but he’d learned quickly and his capabilities increased until he became proficient enough to start out on his own. He didn’t make a fortune, his jobs only small ones, but he was working for himself and preferred it that way. Recently though, he’d quoted for a job on a housing development, a big one with a great profit margin, and now his shoulders straightened. If it came off they would have a deposit, a chance to buy a house. Surely Pearl would love that?
After taking Clive to school, Lucy was now at the shop. She switched on the lights and then went through the back to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Nora, it’s me,’ she called. ‘I’m just going to open up.’
All was quiet and, worried, Lucy shouted again, ‘Nora! Nora, are you there?’
There was still no answer and, seriously concerned now, Lucy hurried upstairs. Nora was usually up by now and would have managed to prepare a simple breakfast of cereals for herself and Bessie.
Lucy looked in Nora’s room, but the bed hadn’t been slept in. She went up to the next floor and to her relief saw that Nora was there in Bessie’s room, sitting in a chair, bent double with her head resting on the bed, fast asleep.
The bedside lamp was still lit, and as Lucy crept forward she gasped. Like Nora, Bessie was asleep but she looked awful, her breathing shallow and wheezing. Lucy floundered, unsure what to do, but just then Bessie’s eyes fluttered open, and she struggled to sit up.
‘Here, let me help you,’ Lucy cried.
Nora awoke, her eyes cloudy with confusion for a moment, but when she saw Lucy trying to help Bessie, she joined in, plumping the pillows and putting them behind Bessie’s back. It didn’t seem to help and Bessie’s breathing was still ragged.
‘She really bad now,’ Nora wailed, her eyes filling with tears.
‘Don’t worry. I’m going to call the doctor,’ Lucy replied as calmly as she could.
‘No … No …’ Bessie managed to gasp. ‘I … I’ll be all right.’
‘You don’t look all right.’
‘Med … medicine.’
Nora poured it. After swallowing a spoonful, Bessie seemed to start breathing a little easier and asked for a cup of tea. Lucy still wasn’t sure, but as she stood looking down on her, Bessie said with more strength in her voice, ‘I’m fine and don’t you dare bother the doctor.’
Lucy knew better than to argue, but she wasn’t happy as she went back downstairs to make the tea. Bessie refused food, but Nora ate her cornflakes, though she remained sitting by Bessie’s side.
‘We’re fine,’ the old woman said. ‘Go and open the shop.’
Lucy thought Bessie looked a bit better, but decided she’d look in on her again in an hour or two. If there was no further improvement by then she was going to ring the doctor – whether the old woman liked it or not.
For Pearl, the weekday morning followed the usual routine. She made breakfast, Derek left for work and then John went to school. Her mother taught art in a local primary and had already left; the house now quiet as Pearl did a little housework before taking a break. While sipping a cup of coffee she let her gaze rest on one of her mother’s paintings that hung on the wall above the fireplace. Her choice of pastels was restful to the eye, the scene a cottage window dressed with soft, blue, gingham curtains and a toning vase of cottage garden flowers on a windowsill.
Pearl had always loved painting. She had inherited her mother’s talent but what with housework, cooking, and a part-time job in a chemist, her days were full. There had once been a time when Pearl had dreamed of being an artist, of her paintings being shown in an exhibition, but those dreams had long been put aside in favour of being a wife and mother.
Though she hadn’t wanted to think about him, the news of Kevin’s possible parole loomed heavy in her mind. The things he’d done, his violence, had sickened her, yet there was no denying that from the moment John had been born, Kevin had loved him. At his own insistence, Kevin hadn’t seen John while he was in prison, but Pearl felt he would want to see him when he was released. Her stomach lurched as the same fears made her hands tremble. What if he tried to take John away from her? He was certainly capable of doing that.
Her thoughts were cut off by the ringing of the telephone. It was Lucy.
‘Pearl, despite Bessie insisting that she’s fine, she’s getting worse. I know she’ll do her nut, but I want to call the doctor. What do you think?’
Frowning worriedly, Pearl asked, ‘Has she got a fever?’
‘No, I don’t think so and as I said, Bessie insists she’s fine. It’s just that her breathing is really bad.’
‘In that case, call the doctor.’
‘All right then. I just hope she doesn’t have a go at me.’
‘Bessie’s