68
Saturday, 5 May 2012
‘What is your name?’
‘Myra Thornton.’
The paramedics – a man and a lady – were being nice. They lifted Daddy on to a stretcher. It would be touch and go, they warned. She could go with Daddy in the ambulance; Michael was too little. She ordered him to clean his teeth and go to bed.
All the way down the five flights of stairs, she said a prayer to the Angel. ‘Please don’t let Daddy die.’ She clutched his hand and the Angel’s jewels dug into her palm. Jade blesses whatever it touches.
Stella Darnell was pretending to be her friend. Mary had been going to invite her for tea. She never asked friends back in case they asked about the empty bedroom. She was proud of her new friend and it was all she could do not to tell Daddy. Not a new friend. She had no old friends. Daddy would forbid it so she didn’t. Stella had usurped her trust. Terry Darnell would be proud that Marian had worked out who was in the office when the printer was used. He would disown his daughter. After what she had done, Stella was not a friend.
I’m your friend.
You’re my brother. Anyway I don’t care about friends, you don’t miss what you’ve never had.
Yes, you do.
The cleaner was not meant to be her friend. She was her salvation. She had led her to David Henry Barlow of Aldensley Road. If she had not followed her from the cemetery, she would never have found him. Terry said good detection relied on legwork. She could have ignored Stella, laid her lilies at Michael’s grave and come to work. God had rewarded her. Stella Darnell had betrayed her. Cleanliness is next to godliness. That was a lie, she would tell Daddy.
I killed the Hampson widow, Daddy. I was sorting it out. Like you do.
You didn’t kill her, it was an accident.
I did.
You didn’t. She fell. It was an accident.
I didn’t call an ambulance. That was on purpose.
She banged her head and became dead. You didn’t do that.
Daddy didn’t know about David Henry Barlow and how clever she was.
I think you’re clever!
‘You don’t count.’ She said it out loud and a nurse passing her chair glanced at her. Myra Thornton smiled to show she was not mad.
Daddy will die and never know.
I know. Have some chocolate, I got it for you.
Stop playing with your food.
All she wanted was to do her job at the police station, come home, make tea and go to bed. She was never late. Every day. Job. Home. Tea. Bed.
Matthew Benson had been nasty when she said she couldn’t see him. It had shocked her. David Barlow had been polite. He promised he would be punctual.
I like him.
No you don’t, and close your mouth when you’re eating, I can see mashed-up food.
David Henry Barlow only agreed when she suggested he donate the money to charity. He had laughed when she called it compensation, as if the word was too big for her. That wasn’t nice. Daddy, don’t die now.
‘Myra Thornton?’ The woman who had asked her to wait while they treated Daddy was back.
‘Yes, doctor.’ She struggled to her feet.
‘You can see your father now.’
‘How is he?’
‘He’s suffered a massive heart attack. You being there will comfort him.’
‘I have to work.’ She could not say that only one thing would bring comfort. He would want to hear that she had done what he asked.
‘Come in for a minute or two? Your father is seriously ill.’
The doctor would think her unfeeling. Myra might tell her that she would do anything for her daddy.
At the door to the side ward, she paused. ‘Is there a ladies’?’ She didn’t like saying ‘toilets’.
‘Up the corridor on the left. Can you find your way back here?’
Mary washed her hands like doctors did and kept washing until she had killed all the germs.
When she came out, the doctor had gone. She hurried to the lift. It was too late for Dukes Meadows. The cleaner had not called to see if she was all right.
Don’t cry. I bought you chocolate.
‘Brought not bought.’ Myra croaked, she blinked back scalding tears.
The streets of Hammersmith were smeared with blood from where she had cut Daddy’s hand and saved the man he thought was Michael. Except that couldn’t be true because he wouldn’t hurt Michael. He liked boys best. The doctor was wrong. It was God punishing her.
Don’t stand there. Get the dustpan and brush!
She dropped her satchel and, squatting on the floor, collected up guttering, downpipes, shattered chimney pieces, chunks of brick wall, slabs of pavements, the gables and sign posts, lawns and lamp-posts. ‘I’m helping you, Daddy.’ She was hot with the effort.
She ducked inside his special trapdoor.
‘Who were you talking to?’
Your brother.
‘Michael’s dead, Daddy.
It should have been you.
She did not tell the doctor that it was her fault about the man. She had saved her brother from Daddy. She had saved his life. She had. She had.
When she had done what she was told, the Angel would set her free.
Mary heard the big front door open. She had left it on the latch for the ambulance crew and forgotten to lock it. She trotted down the stairs to the landing and looked over the banister. She nearly cried out with joy when she saw her.
She’s come about me. Not you. She’s being a detective.
Michael was right. It was too late to make a friend. She continued down to the basement and walked out through the basement door, noticing as she went that the putty around the side window was loose and needed mending.