Dennis poured himself a large measure into his murky glass and wiped his eyes. Crying wasn’t going to help. He needed a plan. The coppers said Dunne was getting out; maybe he was already free although they wouldn’t say where he was. Dennis snorted and rolled his eyes because it didn’t take a bloody detective to work that out. It stood to reason that if Tibbs had been prison visiting all these years, and Dunne’s house had been sold ages ago, there was only one place he would go.
Sneering into his glass, Dennis picked up the remote and began flicking through the channels. Enough moping for one day. He was going to drink his whisky, order a takeaway and then tomorrow, if the weather was fine, he’d take a walk up to Tibbs’ house and have a scout about. If Dunne was there he’d show his face eventually and when he did, Dennis was going to keep his secret oath to Abby, and kill him.
10
Frankie taped up the last of the boxes and slid it across the wooden floor by the others. Her mind was racing so she was glad to be occupied. The need to get everything packed away seemed more urgent after the phone call. It was her mind playing tricks, she knew that, yet that squeeze of anxiety was real. Looking around at the growing pile of boxes in her lounge eased it slightly. They were a sign that she was moving on.
Her belongings would be heading south in advance because the removal firm did multiple pick-ups along the way and hers were being collected the following morning. Frankie would arrive in France in a week’s time and all being well, her stuff would be there a day later.
She was going to rough it and sleep on a camp bed while the beds and furniture she’d ordered from IKEA were delivered and Frankie was determined to be a flat-pack expert by the time she’d assembled it all. Failing that she’d go cap-in-hand to Henri, her builder. First, she was going to have a go herself. It was all part of Frankie’s ‘new me’ philosophy and she’d convinced herself that positive thinking and a gung-ho attitude would see her through. That and her brand-new power drill and a giant tube of wood glue.
One more task completed, she rested her handy tape roller on a box and forced her mind away from her mum’s recent phone call by occupying it with a pile of paperwork. A nice bit of shredding was good for the soul: all that useless information, old bills and bank statements sliced into pieces. Frankie had developed a bit of a thing about old baggage, such was her determination to rid her life of it. But today’s news from Elkdale hadn’t helped. It wasn’t her mum’s fault, though. She’d only been passing on what she’d heard and had mentioned it tactfully, in between going over her travel arrangements for the third time.
* * *
Sylvia and Barry, Frankie’s parents, were going on a dream holiday to India. Actually it was her mum’s dream; her dad was just tagging along. On the month-long itinerary was the Taj Mahal, the Holy City of Varanasi, the Golden Temple of Amritsar, three days in Mumbai, and a stay in what Sylvia described as therealMarigold Hotel. Then on to Goa and a luxury yoga retreat. To say Sylvia was excited was an understatement.
‘Have you definitely written it all down, Frankie, because if you need us in an emergency you’ll have to phone the hotel or the retreat. Definitely at the retreat, because they don’t encourage mobile phones, did I tell you that? And in some places the signal is dreadful. I read it on the internet but if I’m honest, I want to leave the world behind and soak up the atmosphere, not be looking at texts all the time so I’ll probably just switch it off.’
Frankie stifled a yawn. Her mum could rattle on for hours. ‘Yes, Mum, you did mention it and all your contact numbers are in my iPad and phone so don’t worry. If I need you, I know where you’ll be. Just let me know you’ve landed in India and when you get to the hotel and after that chill out. I’ll be busy at the house anyway so send me a nice long email, if and when you can, okay.’
‘Yes, love, I’ll get your dad to do that, with some photos, too. That’s set my mind at rest but I will check in. I don’t want you thinking I’m neglecting you.’
‘Mum, it’s fine. I’m a big girl now and you don’t need to check on me and vice versa so please, act like you’re a hippy and leave the West behind for a few weeks. That’s an order.’
Sylvia laughed at that. ‘Okay, I promise. Ooh I am looking forward to this, you know. And then we’ll be over to see you as soon as you’re straight. Dad’s more excited about getting his new motorhome when we get back. Honestly, he’s like a big kid but at least while I’m doing my yoga he can plan his grand tour of Europe. I’ve bought him some maps and a few travel guides to keep him happy.’
‘That’s lovely, Mum, I’m so pleased for you both. That bucket list must be full of ticks by now. So when are you doing a bungee jump or a sky dive?’
Sylvia tutted. ‘Never, that’s when. I told your dad that dangerous activities are banned, full stop. I want to make the most of life, not risk it by doing something bloody stupid and ending up dead.’ There was a pause, as though she’d said something wrong.
Frankie noticed and filled the silence. ‘Mum, are you still there? What’s up?’
‘Nothing, love. Well, not with me anyway. Look, I might as well just say it and I don’t want you dwelling on this, but I thought you should know.’ Sylvia’s intake of breath was audible down the phone.
Frankie’s heart missed a beat. ‘Know what?’
‘Well, there’s a rumour in the village that Herbert Dunne is out of prison and you know that woman, Margaret, who runs the hardware shop, that I told you goes to visit him? It seems he’s living with her.’
Another silence. Then Frankie gathered her wits although her nerves had started to jangle, thoughts of another convict invading her head. ‘I know who you mean, but I’ve never been in her shop and I only ever saw the back of her head in the viewing gallery. I didn’t look up in court when I gave evidence.’
Sylvia huffed. ‘Are you sure? Mousy-looking and very timid so I suppose you probably didn’t notice her. I’ve never been in her shop since the trial. Lots of other people boycotted it. I’m surprised she hasn’t closed down but it’s handy, I suppose, if you need a key cut or your shoes mended, or you’re desperate. I know I’d have to be to go in there.’
Frankie wasn’t really that interested in Margaret so steered her mum in another direction. ‘And how has his return gone down in the village? I’m surprised Dunne had the gall to show his face after what he did.’
Sylvia agreed. ‘That’s what everyone is saying but nobody has actually seen him. Dennis Mills has been spreading it about so that Margaret woman is even less popular, if that’s possible, and everyone is on the lookout for Dunne.’
‘Well, I’m just glad I’ll never have to see him again, or her, whoever she is. Nobody is being nasty to you, are they? I’d hate it if people started being dickheads again.’
‘No, love, we’re fine and if anyone is going to cop for a hard time it’ll be Dunne. And anyway, me and your dad are tough as boots and we’re buggering off for a month, so they can tear each other to pieces for all I care. As long as you’re okay.’
Frankie hated how the conversation was making her feel, so decided to change the subject. ‘I’m fine, Mum, and thanks for telling me, I know you’ll have been worrying about it and I promise I won’t dwell, and you shouldn’t either. Right, I need to get these boxes packed up and I’m sure you have lists of things to be getting on with.’
‘Oh yes. I’m nipping to Boots for my last bits. Dad says I should have shares in that place, I’m never away.’
Frankie forced a laugh and once they’d said their goodbyes, she made herself a drink – tea with one big sugar. Her grandmother always said that it cured everything. It didn’t.
* * *
