LOIS SAT IN HER OFFICE, STARING INTO SPACE. SHE HAD EATEN only half the lunch Gran had prepared and, as expected, had listened to a mercifully short lecture on the folly of employing Paula Hickson and thereby becoming involved in this mess.
“What can you expect?” Gran had said, playing her trump card. “Anybody who gives her son the same name as her husband must be not quite right in the head.”
“Lots of people do,” Lois said wearily. “I think it’s nice. Anyway, I’ve got work to do, so I’ll be in my office if you want me.”
“What about this pudding?”
“No thanks. I’ll have some for supper. Sorry, Mum.”
After Lois had shut herself away, Gran cleared up the kitchen and then stood at the sink, looking out of the window. She hadn’t been very helpful, she knew. But it angered her to see her daughter so worried about a situation that should not really be her concern. If only she could think of something she could do to help. Practical help, that’s what she was good at. As she watched Jeems digging in the flower bed, she knew she should go out and stop her. Lois had just planted out new seedlings. Then the little dog pricked her ears and shot off across the garden. Gran craned her neck to see what had caught her attention. It was a cock pheasant, squawking loudly as it rose slowly into the air and escaped over the fence.
A pheasant! Gran caught her breath. Last seen hanging by the neck in a poacher’s bothy in the woods. She rushed out into the garden and saw Jeems coming towards her with a sheepish expression, carrying a long tail feather in her mouth.
“Good dog,” she said, holding out her hand. Jeems obediently dropped the feather and Gran picked it up. She rushed back into the house and straight into Lois’s office without knocking.
“Look! I should’ve told you before, but I completely forgot! This brought it all back!”
Lois frowned at her mother, and took the proffered feather. “What are you talking about, Mum? I am rather busy.”
Gran sat down heavily and said, “Just listen, and don’t interrupt.” Then she told Lois about chasing Jeems into the wood and finding the hut with a padlocked door. “There were things inside, including a newly killed pheasant, odd bits that somebody had left there and would be coming back for.”
Lois snapped alert. “So that’s it,” she said. “That’s where he was living. Young Jack’s father. I wish you’d told me before, Mum. It’s very important.”
She picked up the phone and dialled Cowgill. Chris answered once more. “Sorry-he’s not back yet.”
“It is very, very important that I speak to him. You can get in touch and tell him to ring me. Do it now, Chris. Please. Trust me.”
“Can’t I help?”
“Probably. But I need to speak to Cowgill. Sorry. Just get on to him, now.”
Gran stood up. She was near to tears, and Lois held out her hand. “Mum, don’t worry. You might still save that kid’s life. Go and make us some coffee, can you? I’ll tell you what happens.”
Cowgill phoned back in minutes. His voice sounded strange, and Lois realised he was still suffering. She told him exactly what Gran had said, and he mumbled that he would get on to it at once. “I’ll ’ing ’ou back in ’en minish,” he said, and rang off.
It was more than ten minutes, of course, and when he did ring, the news was not good. His men had found the hut, but the padlock had gone and it was empty. No trace of any kind of occupation. Completely cleared out. The only sign that there had been anyone there was a pile of ashes neatly swept into a corner.
“That was him, then!” Lois said. “He’d have camped out there. Boiled a kettle on a little fire, an’ that. Oh, sod it,” she added tiredly. “Poor old Mum, she’d forgotten all about it, and now she’s crucified with guilt.”
“Tell her we’ll find him, and not to worry. If it’s his father who has him, the lad won’t come to any harm. According to information we now have about Jack Hickson, he was not a bad sort of bloke until he got made redundant and consoled himself with the drink. Adored his children, apparently. He won’t harm his son. Tell Gran that. Must go, Lois. Keep in touch.”
As soon as she put down the phone, it rang again. This time it was Hazel from the office in Tresham. “Just had a call from somebody over the other side of Ringford,” she said. “It may be too far away for New Brooms, but this woman’s desperate. She’s had an op and her cleaner’s just given in her notice. Can we help?”
Lois gave her head a shake to clear it. “Of course we can. Give me the name and address and I’ll go across right now. It’ll give me something else to think about.”
“How is Paula?” Hazel said.
“As bad as can be expected,” Lois replied. “And that goes for most of us here in Farnden. Can you ring this woman and tell her I’m on the way?”
THE HOUSE WAS ON ITS OWN, SMALL AND IN GOOD ORDER, WITH A neat garden and well-trimmed hedge, high enough to shield the house from a busy road. Lois parked the New Brooms van outside on the grass verge, and went in. As the door opened, she could see a small, youngish woman holding a stick and not unhooking the chain until Lois had announced her credentials.
“I’m rather isolated here,” the woman said, “so I’ve promised my husband I would be very careful. But do come in, Mrs. Meade. I’m so glad you’re able to help.”
As Lois sat listening to yet another sad story of ill health and bad luck, she reflected that a large part of New Brooms’ work involved being a sympathetic ear and a comforting presence for a short time whilst involved in clients’ lives. In Mrs. Brown’s case, her husband had a job which kept him abroad for long periods of time. She herself was sickly, and had had one operation after another. “So you see, I can’t possibly join him. And now, in this present financial crisis, he can’t give up his good job over there and return to be with me.”
“Perhaps things will soon change,” said Lois soothingly. She didn’t believe it, but needed to get down to business and return to Farnden as soon as possible.
This proved to be more difficult than she had thought. Mrs. Brown had a clinging nature, and had perfected the art of pinning her listener down with a seamless monologue. There was no chance of interrupting, and so Lois switched off and let her run on. After all, there was little she could be doing back at home, and at least this would result in another client for the business. Finally, she realised there was a pause, and Mrs. Brown was looking at her enquiringly.
“Um, oh, yes, of course,” Lois said quickly. “Now, when would you like us to start? I could fix you up with a very pleasant person to start next Monday? Morning or afternoon?”
“The afternoon would be best for me. It takes me most of the morning to get going at the moment! Yes, afternoon would be fine. Oh, that will be wonderful! You have no idea how relieved I am.”
Oh well, thought Lois, as she accepted the offer of a cup of coffee and insisted on making it for the two of them, at least I am useful to someone. Why oh why hadn’t Mum remembered sooner about the hut in the woods? Now it was too late. She appreciated Cowgill’s efforts at reassurance, but recalled only too well Paula’s accounts of her husband’s violence. Admittedly, she had always stressed he’d never touched the children, but a man in his present situation must be under enormous pressure.
She rinsed out the cups, made final arrangements with Mrs. Brown, and extricated herself from another tale of woe. “Must be going,” she said. “Nice to have met you. You can rely on New Brooms!” she added reassuringly, and made her way down the garden path.
Inside the van, she switched on the radio and listened to the news. No developments. She switched it off again, and headed for home. As she stopped at traffic lights under a railway bridge, she glanced in her rearview mirror and her heart lurched. There, in the back of the van, she saw something move. She turned around and ignored the cars hooting behind her as the lights turned to green. A dirty, exhausted boy crawled forwards.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Jack Jr. said shakily. “Can you take me home… please?”