Peter Turnbull - Deliver Us from Evil

‘Wounded?’

‘In here,’ Sally Brompton tapped the side of her head, ‘or maybe here,’ she pointed to her chest. ‘She wasn’t insane, nothing like that, but just damaged emotionally. She had difficult years, a bad start in life.’

‘Yes, she was fostered, was that a bad experience for her? Did she ever tell you about that?’

‘Well, she didn’t talk about it or about the time with the nuns and that’s always a sign of something bad. . you must assume what you must assume.’

Yellich nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘So that really was Edith’s life, many dates with divorced or widowed men in their middle years. She wasn’t a cougar though.’

‘A cougar?’

Sally Brompton smiled. ‘You’ll have them in England but you’ll know them by a different name. In Canada “cougars” are middle-aged women who seek younger men.’

‘Oh yes,’ Yellich smiled, ‘sugar mummies.’

‘There is a bar here in Barrie where a lot of that sort of thing goes on. The young men sit alone and the “cougars” approach and offer to buy the drinks. . all upside down. . all reversed. . back to front. . but Edith wasn’t like that, her dates were of her generation, the sort of men that need to pop a little blue pill if they are going to satisfy their date.’

‘I see,’ Yellich smiled.

‘But nothing for her ever got beyond one or two dates with the same man.’

‘So there was no one special in her life when she disappeared?’

‘No one, and I am sure I would know if there was. We went out socially from time to time as well as talked in here. I am sure I would have known if there was someone special, as would her sister in Midhurst, but you’ve seen her, you say.’

‘Yes. Now the other question. .’ Yellich paused, ‘the other question is, did she seem frightened at all?’

‘Frightened?’

‘Yes. . of someone. . of something?’

‘Not that I recall but as you said and as I also said, she was a private person, she probably wouldn’t have told me if she was frightened but I got no sense of her being in a state of fear. . but her emotional hunger took her to some worrying places.’

‘Worrying places?’

‘Dark bars on Dunlop Street.’

‘Oh, our hotel is on that street, seems quiet.’

‘Oh it is, during the day. . during the day it’s a very quiet street. . but at night. .’

‘Ah. .’

‘The bars stay open until two a.m. and Edith would occasionally come to work with bloodshot eyes. It never seemed that it affected her work though; Mr Neill never had any complaints about her. She was very efficient, very good at her job. When we went out together we were always home early, but she went out alone occasionally.’

‘Did she ever mention a woman called Ossetti. . Heather Ossetti?’

‘Heather Ossetti? No, no she never mentioned that name to me.’

‘I see. Where was the foster home in which she grew up?’

‘Out on the coast at Safe Harbour, in Aldersea, by the side of Lake Simcoe.’

‘Safe Harbour?’

‘Yes, she said it was anything but safe and harbour-like, it was on a road. . called. . she mentioned it, an English name, an English place name famous in history. . where the Normans landed. .’

‘Hastings?’

‘Yes,’ Sally Brompton smiled, ‘Hastings Road, Safe Harbour, Aldersea. Not a happy time for her.’

‘Thank you,’ Yellich stood. ‘I’ll pay a visit, see if anything is still there, or anybody.’

George Hennessey slowly and sensitively opened the door and smiled at Matilda Pakenham who sat propped up in the bed. He saw how extensively bruised about the face she was. Her body was covered in a hospital gown and the bed covers and Hennessey doubted that the bruising would be confined to her face and head. She forced a smile and said, ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘Well I did say you could phone me.’ Hennessey sat on the chair beside the bed and placed a box of chocolates on the bedside cabinet. ‘Bad for the figure I know. .’ he tapped the chocolates, ‘but I think you can make an exception under the circumstances.’

‘Yes. . thank you. . I think I will enjoy them, and thank you again for coming, you were the only person I could think of to call. They put me in a private ward as you see. . well, it’s not really a private ward. . it’s a little room off the main ward. They exist because some patients need isolation. . what’s the term? Barrier nursing. . if they have a contagion.’

‘Yes, that’s the term, “barrier nursing”.’

‘And the rooms are also useful so battered women like me don’t get stared at by the other patients, so they shove us in here. I prefer it really. I am just not in the right frame of mind to spend the day chatting to other women.’

Hennessey thought the room was best described as ‘cosy’. It had room for just the one single bed, and the cabinet and the visitor’s chair. Windows on each wall above waist height ensured that it was well lit by natural light. A small radio with headphones was mounted on the wall behind Tilly Pakenham’s head.

‘So what happened?’ Hennessey asked. ‘I mean apart from the obvious. Perhaps I should ask, “how did it happen?”’

‘I told you he was in the town. .’

‘Yes.’

‘I told you that I sensed him being here in York. Was I right or was I right? So he found me last night. . he followed me home, followed me back to my little drum and jumped me just as I opened the door, pulled me back and shoved me into the alley beside the house. . but I scratched him good. I have never done that before but I have read about DNA so I knew what to do.’

‘They scraped your nails?’

‘Yes. . it was a bit uncomfortable.’

Hennessey nodded. ‘Yes, it can hurt a bit but our officers are taught to be as gentle as possible. . we need the evidence.’

‘I understand. Thank you again for coming.’

‘My pleasure. So now he’ll be arrested, we now have the evidence to put him away for this. . he won’t like that at all.’

‘Yes. This time I am going to stand up to him.’

‘Good. .’ Hennessey smiled, ‘good for you. So where now? I mean after you are discharged.’

‘Nowhere.’

‘Nowhere?’

‘I mean I have nowhere else to go. . I want nowhere else to go. It’s time for me to stop running.’

Hennessey smiled warmly at her. ‘York is a good city to live in, although I always find it too small. I am a Londoner myself. You can’t hide in York like you can hide in London; you can really lose yourself in the smoke.’

‘Yes, I noticed your London accent. I’ll settle here. . and no more of that.’ She indicated her tin whistle which lay atop the bedside cabinet close to where Hennessey had placed the box of chocolates. ‘I’ll keep it though. . it’ll remind me of the gutter.’

‘What will you do? Do you have any plans?’

‘Get educated. Just lying here or sitting here you cannot do anything else but plan. So I’ll get an education.’

‘Good for you.’

‘I’ll build on what I already have and I have quite a bit I’ll have you know, George.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. I have university entrance level qualifications and I can operate a word processor. So I can work to pay my way if I have to.’

‘And you ended up sitting in a doorway wrapped up against the cold playing a tin whistle?’

Matilda Pakenham closed her eyes. ‘Yes.’ She opened them again. ‘Yes. Quite a fall from grace wouldn’t you say? But it’s a question of self worth. If you are battered often enough and told that you are no good often enough you come to believe it. After a while all you think that you are worth is a doorway and a tin whistle and a plastic coffee cup for folk to drop their kindness or their pity into. But it was you that began the turn round for me.’