At this Frankie brightened. ‘Do you… I mean… really understand? And thank you for saying I’m brave. I might not be and end up running back to Blighty after all. I’m going to give it a go though, I have to, otherwise things from the past will ruin my future and I hate the thought of that.’
He drained his pint. ‘Nah, I reckon you’re going to be just fine, so that just leaves the big questions.’
Frankie was confused. ‘What questions?’
‘What happened in your home town, Elkdale, you said?’
Frankie sucked in a breath, not wanting to go there on a gorgeous sunny day. There’d been enough revelations already. ‘Well, that’s another story. But can we swerve it for now? It brings me down. But I promise you I’m not a serial killer or anything. It’s teenage stuff, okay?’
Jed nodded and gave her a cheeky smile, seeming to shrug off her hint about teenage angst. ‘Oh good, so I’m safe. Right then, on to my next question.’
‘You’re a bit nosey, aren’t you?’ Frankie was glad she’d swerved the Elkdale saga.
‘Oh yes, I get it from my mum. There’s nowt that one doesn’t know or find out once she sets her mind to it. So, what about me and you? Don’t think you’re fobbing me off that easy.’
Frankie was taken aback by that. ‘What do you mean, “me and you”?’
‘Well, you’re not going until next month so looks like you’re stuck with me for a bit. Second question is, what shall we have to eat? I’ll go get the menu, then you can tell me all about your new place, you know, for when I visit. I’ve never been to France.’ Jed stood and winked, then walked away not giving her time to respond.
Frankie laughed and watched him head inside, and as much as she tried to deny it, admitted she felt stupidly happy. While she waited her eyes were drawn to the anglers and thoughts of her parents took over, her dad especially who she knew would get on well with Jed.Stop it right now, you’re getting carried away. Just enjoy having some company and not being a billy-no-mates.
It made a pleasant change from worrying, though. And she liked talking to Jed and wanted to tell him other stuff, about her parents’ wanderlust and their determination to see the world, her mum’s new-found affinity with yoga and all things Zen, and maybe about what happened in Elkdale all those years ago.
For God’s sake don’t go there,were the words of wisdom she imparted as Jed made his way back to the table.What is the point in going over that today?Yes, one psycho was due out of prison but she would be hundreds of miles away by then, and the other psycho-pervert-nutcase was still locked up and would be for many years to come.
For once Frankie was going to heed her own advice, chill out and have some fun. It was a glorious day, she was with a really nice guy who was nothing like Andrej. And as for Herbert the Pervert, that dirty old sod was out of the picture, locked up and the very least of her worries.
5
Margaret smoothed down the new eiderdown, enjoying the luxurious feel of good quality cotton beneath her fingertips. It smelled divine, of lavender and camomile fabric conditioner chosen especially to relax Herbert on his first night as a free man. Satisfied with her hard work, Margaret stepped back and took in the rest of the bedroom that she’d had redecorated and carpeted, admiring the new curtains and bedside lamps. It was perfect, just like she’d always imagined. Almost fourteen years she’d waited for this day when she would bring Herbert home and they could begin their life together.
Ever since he’d been given his release date Margaret had gone into a cleaning and shopping frenzy, buying all the things Herbert liked and not just food and clothing either. There were new books in the lounge that covered his interests, and she’d had Sky installed. Herbert could catch up with all the films he’d missed and watch documentaries and the cricket to his heart’s content. Margaret was all prepared in the bedroom department too. The list of things she’d needed had been endless but she didn’t mind because Herbert was worth it.
It wasn’t like he’d sponged off her either and if anyone suggested it, she’d put them straight on that score because Herbert wasn’t like that. He’d been very generous with money, instructing his solicitor to transfer a handsome amount to her account so she could prepare for his every whim. Herbert was what he described as financially comfortable after the sale of his home and his pension would kick in soon. They’d want for nothing.
There was no way he could have gone back there, to his home. It was bad enough before he went to prison, what with the graffiti and smashed windows and that nutter Dennis Mills setting fire to things. Mercifully, her house was on the very edge of the village, quite remote and set in its own land and away from prying eyes. It had worked out well because the probation service didn’t have to find Herbert a halfway house and knew exactly where he’d be. She would have her man all to herself. They would be happy here, she knew it.
There’d been so much to do, though, but it was a labour of love. All of Herbert’s belongings had been in storage at one of those brightly coloured warehouse facilities. Once she had gained his trust, Herbert made Margaret the guardian of his personal items and gave her a list of those he’d like to keep. It had made her incredibly sad when she saw his life all packed up and left in what was basically a big, corrugated steel box. There were no family photographs or tatty school reports, sporting mementos or battered teddys. Then at the same time, after looking at the state of his fuddy-duddy furniture and sorting through his depressing choices of art and knick-knacks, Margaret was relieved not to have them in her own home and instructed a clearance firm to shift the lot.
All Herbert had requested were some first edition books, a couple of dreary oil paintings, plus his rambling equipment which was stored in a walnut box. It amounted to some Ordnance Survey maps, a compass, whistle and torch, first aid and survival kit, an ice axe, a small notebook and an envelope of souvenir postcards, a guide to the birds of the British Isles and his binoculars.
She’d bought them both a whole set of hiking clothes, ready and waiting for when they set off on their travels. Herbert had promised to take her to his favourite spots, those that meant the most to him. Margaret had had a quick nosey in his notebook and flicked through the postcards, foolishly looking for hints of a love rival but there were none, just scribblings, names of tourist spots and map references. The postcards were blank, nothing of interest.
Everything was stored in the box room which Margaret had turned into a study for Herbert, thus keeping what she secretly referred to as tat out of sight. Then there was his beloved car that was stored in the garage, covered up. Margaret really hoped he didn’t want to use it again because everyone would recognise it, after all that’s what got him arrested in the first place.
When the police released the old banger from the compound after all the forensic tests were concluded, she agreed to store it for him. She had never looked inside it, though, in case it triggered images of what had gone on with that dreadful creature Abby Mills. Margaret never liked to think of her or how she taunted poor Herbert that night. It was best forgotten.
Dragging her mind away, she opened the wardrobe doors and thrilled at the sight of his and hers sections. After sorting through the bin bags of musty clothes at the storage place, she had suggested to Herbert that she should buy some new ones. They were all from M&S, which he preferred, and were lovingly pressed, folded or hung in the wardrobe. He would look ever so smart when they went out and about – in her car not his. They’d talked of nothing else. Sunday drives, quiet lunches in quaint country restaurants, wandering hand in hand around National Trust sites. Margaret had joined especially.
She had also hinted at a holiday but they couldn’t go abroad, not for twelve months while Herbert was on parole. When the time was up they were going to visit all the major cities of Europe and beyond. In the meantime, Scarborough or the Lakes had been discussed. A rented caravan would be nice. Margaret really didn’t mind as long as she was with Herbert.
She had the future mapped out in her head. It kept her going just like it had kept her dear Herbie going too. During the day, while she worked in the shop, he would be able to settle in and potter, keep the greenhouse up to scratch and tend the vegetable garden. In her mind’s eye, the perfect scenario would have been them working side by side in her hardware shop, like an old married couple… that part would never come true. Not with that load of bigots in the village.
The shop had been in the family for over a hundred years and was the centre of village life but times change and nowadays trade wasn’t so brisk. In a perfect world Margaret could have taught Herbert to cut keys like her father did her, or she’d have put him in charge of the stock and made the most of his bookkeeping skills. That was a hazy pipe dream, though, and employing Herbert was a sure-fire way to lose what custom she had left.
Instead, she would look forward to driving home in the evening to make dinner. They would share a bottle of wine, chat about their day and then later, settle in front of the fire and listen to the radio or watch television. Margaret had been so lonely all these years – too many dinners for one – but in the end love really had conquered all.
She’d fallen for Herbert when he first came to the village and joined their church. While in Margaret’s case it was love at first sight, where Herbert was concerned she’d describe their relationship as a slow burn.
