It was Margaret’s turn to comfort him, taking his hand in hers. ‘Well as long as you do as I say, Herbert, that won’t happen. You’ve been my perfect alibi up till now so let me do this final thing and then I will come home and look after you, I promise.’
A smile swept over Herbert’s face as relief washed through his veins, and Margaret smiled too. They sat in silence for a while until she stirred, checking her watch before sitting upright. ‘Just look at the time, Herbie, and we haven’t had our supper yet. I have to be up early in the morning so why don’t I rustle up a snack and bring it upstairs on a tray.’
Herbert wasn’t that hungry but agreed, a million questions still buzzing round in his head.
‘And as an extra treat, why don’t you sleep in my room tonight, then once we’ve eaten we can cuddle up and I’ll tell you all about what I did to those girls. Would you like that, Herbie?’
Standing and then helping Margaret to her feet, Herbert had ignored the glazed look in Margaret’s eyes. ‘Oh yes, Maggie May,’ he’d said. ‘That sounds perfect and I’d like to know, I’d like that very much.’
* * *
While Herbert napped, sleeping off his Oramorph, he dreamed. He had reached the part where he and Margaret had shared their secrets – not all of them, though: he’d kept the best hidden just in case she used it against him. She’d gasped, though, when he told her what he’d done to his mother who had paid dearly for her mistreatment of him. Herbert explained how he guided her paralytic body into the kitchen, dragging her the rest of the way across the tiles when she’d collapsed, then gently laid her lolling head inside the oven, soothing her as he turned on the gas. ‘There, there, Mother, you have a nice sleep, I’ll be home soon.’Margaret really enjoyed that part.
A creak disturbed Herbert, waking him from his slumbers and as he rubbed bleary eyes, he sensed someone was close by. His befuddled half-asleep brain expected it to be Margaret back at last. Forcing open tired eyes he tried to focus. There was someone there all right but not Margaret… Too tall. Definitely not his Maggie May.
His mouth was dry, confusion engulfed him as he tried to sit, knocking his glasses to the floor before giving in, flopping back onto the mattress, the effects of his drugs disabling his limbs.
Whilst other parts of his body struggled, Herbert summoned the energy to speak to the blurry image. ‘What are you doing in here– what do you wa–’
Herbert didn’t receive and answer, there wasn’t time. A swift movement, his vision suddenly blurred, and the soft yet suffocating feeling of a pillow being pushed onto his face. He tried to fight back, gave it his best shot. But his grunts and screams were muffled by foam and his limbs were weak. As though sensing the inevitable, accepting his fate albeit earlier than expected, Herbert gave up his futile defence and allowed the blackness to envelop him.
It was easy really, and now it was over, at last.
31
Frankie knew she couldn’t lie there much longer, weeping into another soggy tissue, scrolling through photos of her and Jed, Jed and the Frenchies, Jed. He’d only been gone a few hours and it was already like someone had died which was pathetic and she needed to get a grip. It was cool in her bedroom, though, and peaceful. The windows were open and she could hear the rumble of a tractor, a trailer rattling behind as it passed the end of the lane. She was becoming an expert now and could identify most countryside sounds that ebbed and flowed according to the time of day.
Morning seemed to be the noisiest: birdsong, farmers, commuters, school bus, in that order. Lunchtime brought two hours of silence while the whole of France ate. The afternoon depended on her own activity drowning out the world beyond. Then early evening as everyone and everything returned to their place, then settled, the night noises waiting in the shadows. For the foreseeable future, all of this she would hear while she lay alone. God, she hated that word.
Maybe she should do some gardening to occupy her mind – but the searing heat was making her irritable; or perhaps it was simply life that bugged the crap out of her right now. She could walk over to see Christalle, then remembered she’d be visiting her mum while the kids were at school…don’t go there, Frankie, focus on the good things, don’t be ungrateful.
Taking her own advice, she once again picked up her phone and checked for a message and seeing none, went back to her camera roll, smiling at the photo of Ken, Jed and Spud, the three of them sitting on the veranda steps enjoying a beer. She’d been really brave when they left, managing to control her emotions. She hadn’t shed one single tear as she kissed Jed goodbye in the privacy of the kitchen. Then a hug from Ken, enjoying big strong dad arms around her and the tickle of his whiskers as she gave him a peck on the cheek. Frankie had grown so fond of him and his presence had made her miss her own dad even more, another fact that had plunged her into gloom.
Spud had given her his perfunctory fist bump and a shy smile, and then a bigger one when she handed him the bag containing some lunch and snacks for the journey to the ferry port. There was also a box of pastries for Jenny and a jar of Christalle’s home-made rillette and plum jam with a note sayingI hope to see you very soon x
That was the only thing that kept Frankie going, the idea that Jenny and Ken would pay a visit and that Jed would keep his promise and work something out with his mum and dad once he was home. She forbade her brain to entertain any notion that he’d change his mind or that holiday romance syndrome would kick in and the last few weeks would fade to memories.No, it will not happen. He loves me and I trust him.
Picking up her phone again, she checked the screen. He’d still not sent a text to say they were at Caen but she expected one anytime. Or maybe he’d taken over the wheel to give Ken a break. Rolling on her back, she sighed, spreading her arm across the mattress to Jed’s side of the bed.He’ll be back soon, I know he will. A few weeks, be patient.
Startled by a bark from Oscar, followed then by Belle, she lifted herself off the bed. Frankie could distinguish their woofs because his were longer, more gruff, where Belle preferred sharp, higher pitched yaps and together her Frenchies could make a right racket. Gathering the wet tissues from the mattress, she slipped on her sandals and straightened the duvet before hurriedly heading downstairs.
Something must have set them off: usually a pigeon daring to land on their garden; and they weren’t fond of the postlady either. Their mission in life was to race down to the gate and fend her off as she popped letters in the box outside. But she’d already been so it couldn’t be her. It was too early for Alma and Sacha. Christalle was really strict about homework, and they weren’t allowed to open the gates to Frankie’s unless invited in, just in case the Frenchies got out.
Curious, Frankie shouted from the landing to be quiet as she quickly made her way down the stairs, getting halfway before spotting Oscar and Belle with their noses pressed against the screen door, hackles raised, watching a figure coming up the path. After telling them both to go to their cage Frankie shut them in, and even though they looked very put-out it was for the best as they’d only make more fuss once she opened the door.
The warmth of the afternoon outside was in contrast to the cool of her kitchen and as she greeted the woman waiting at the steps of the veranda she wasn’t surprised by her request.
The woman removed her sunglasses as she spoke, popping them in her shorts pocket. The stranger spoke first, revealing herself to be English, which pleased Frankie because at least she wouldn’t have to struggle along in pidgin French.
‘I’m so sorry to trouble you… I noticed your car had English plates, so took a chance. I don’t speak much French, you see.’
Frankie knew how it felt to struggle in conversation. ‘Oh, it’s fine, don’t worry. Can I help you?’ Spotting her walking boots and backpack Frankie immediately presumed she was a tourist, and come to think of it, she’d seen her passing a couple of times and said hello.
Looking a bit bashful, holding up an empty bottle of water as evidence of her situation, the woman answered. ‘I wondered if you could fill up my water bottle. I dropped it on the lane and it spilled everywhere. It’s so warm out here and I came over a bit faint. I doubt I’ll make it back to the village without keeling over.’
Frankie smiled, glad to have someone to take her mind off Jed for a while. ‘Of course, it’s no trouble at all. Are you okay now?’
The woman nodded but as she did, grabbed the balustrade as if to steady herself. ‘Yes, I’m fine, a bit light-headed, that’s all. I’ll be okay when I have some water.’
