Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Pauline Winstanley was always up first. Her alarm was set for six o’clock every morning, even on the days she wasn’t due at the nursing home until after lunch.
She liked to make sure Anthony was up and had a good breakfast in him before he left for work.
If it was up to him, he’d leave the house with his coat hanging off his shoulders, chewing a Marathon. What would the neighbours think?
She weighed the oats and put them into a saucepan followed by the full fat milk and set the gas to a low light. She put bread under the grill and spooned three heaped teaspoons of tea into a warmed pot. She then went to the bottom of the stairs to give her son a third call.
Back in the kitchen, she turned on the radio. It was coming up to seven o’clock and time for the morning news.
‘A murder inquiry has been launched in North Yorkshire following the death of a teenager during the storm that hit the region on Monday night. In a statement released yesterday evening, North East Police say the victim, eighteen-year-old Alice Patterson was killed and left in woodland close to Whitby Cemetery. Leading the investigation is…’
Pauline turned off the radio. She remained frozen to the spot, her hand on the radio, her face pale from the news.
Alice Patterson was dead. Murdered. She knew her mother.
She felt a wave of sickness build up inside her but swallowed it down as she heard her son thunder down the stairs like a herd of elephants.
He was whistling something tuneless and stopped dead in the doorway to the kitchen.
‘Mum. The porridge,’ he said.
Pauline snapped out of her reverie. She looked at the cooker behind her to see the milk was boiling over.
‘Oh, bloody hell!’ she said. She turned the gas off, picked up the pan with a tea towel covering the handle and dropped it into the sink. She turned on the cold water tap. Steam began to rise from the ruined breakfast and ruined pan. ‘You’ll just have to have toast this morning,’ she said.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘What?’
She followed his gaze to the grill where black smoke was coming out of it.
‘Oh, Jesus bloody Christ.’
She pulled out the grill pan. The toast hadn’t caught fire, but it was black.
‘I can scrape it off. It’ll be fine.’
Pauline grabbed a knife from the cutlery drawer and began scraping the soot from the toast into the sink.
‘Someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning,’ Anthony said, sitting down at the table.
‘Something like that. Pour yourself some tea,’ she instructed him. ‘You’re feeling better this morning?’
‘Yes. Probably just one of those bugs that goes round.’
‘Yes. I don’t think going out in the middle of a storm helps, either. Jam or marmalade?’ She placed two well-cooked slices of toast on a plate in front of him.
‘Both.’
‘Manners.’
‘Please.’
She placed pots of jam and marmalade in front of him and he smeared a thick layer of each on the two slices.
‘I was thinking…’ he began.
‘Not with your mouth full,’ Pauline interrupted him. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat opposite him. ‘Have you taken your tablet this morning?’
He swallowed. ‘Yes. I was thinking, I might ask Mrs Wilkinson if she’ll ask Mr Graham if I can have the supervisor’s job when Mrs Abbot leaves at Christmas.’
‘She’s only going off to have a baby, Anthony. She’ll be back.’
‘I know, but I can be the supervisor while she’s away.’
‘Do you think you can do it?’
‘Yes. I’ve been helping her anyway when she’s felt sick. You can hear her retching in the toilets.’
‘Not at the breakfast table, Anthony.’
‘Do you think I can do it?’ he asked, looking hopefully at his mother.
She looked back at him, took in the wide-eyed optimism, and smiled. ‘I don’t see why not. Just … don’t get your hopes up.’
‘Why not?’
‘Just … don’t. That’s why,’ she said, picking up her empty cup and taking it to the sink. ‘Now, go up and brush your teeth.’
Anthony stood up and headed for the door.
‘Hold on a minute, young man,’ Pauline said. ‘What are those you’re wearing?’
He looked down at himself. ‘Trousers.’
‘You’re not wearing those to work. You’ve had them years. They’re faded and bobbling.’
‘I can’t find my good ones.’
‘Ah,’ Pauline suddenly remembered. They were the ones she washed on Monday night, the ones she washed again on Tuesday morning and that were currently folded up waiting for her to sew where they’d torn on the seams. ‘I need to repair those. You’ll have to wear your grey ones.’
‘Oh, no. I hate my grey ones. They’re too tight,’ he moaned.
‘They wouldn’t be if you cut back on the Marathon bars. Look, wear the grey ones for today. I’ll pop into town and buy you some new ones. If they make you uncomfortable, you can come home to change at lunchtime, but you’ll have to be quick as I’m due at the nursing home at one.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Anthony said with a smile. He left the kitchen with a spring in his step and took the stairs two at a time.
After Anthony left for work, Pauline tidied up the kitchen, threw out the ruined saucepan, then changed to go shopping.
Before leaving, she screwed up Anthony’s torn trousers and put them in a carrier bag and wedged it in the bottom of her shopping bag.
She’d drop them into a litter bin in town. Better to be safe than sorry.
She closed the front door behind her and locked it with the Chubb.
It had been a mild start to the autumn before the storm, but now it was chilly, and she lifted up the collar of her coat to keep warm as she walked to the bus stop.
She stopped when she saw the familiar red Volvo pull up three doors away.
‘Morning Pauline,’ Leo Mulligan said, climbing out of his car.
‘Good morning,’ she smiled. ‘You’re up and about early this morning.’
‘I wanted to get to the hardware before they got too busy.’
Pauline looked into the back of his car and saw the lengths of wood. ‘I saw your shed had taken the brunt of the storm.’
‘The shed itself is fine, but there’s a tear in the roof and it’s rotted the timber underneath. Listen,’ he said, stepping towards Pauline and lowering his voice. ‘Did you hear about Judith’s daughter?’
‘Judith?’ Pauline asked, feigning ignorance.
‘Judith Patterson. You know her. Works in the doctors’ as a receptionist. Mousey hair. Slim. She replaced Valerie who left after her husband had a stroke.’
‘Oh, yes. I know who you’re talking about. What about her?’
‘Her daughter’s dead.’
‘Really?’
‘Murdered.’
‘No,’ she said, hoping she sounded convincing enough.
‘They found her in the woods opposite the cemetery. Strangled.’
‘Oh, my goodness.’ Pauline swallowed hard. She felt sick again.
‘According to Letitia, lives two doors down from the Pattersons, she was raped.’
Pauline slapped a hand to her mouth and turned away.
‘I know, it’s dreadful,’ Leo said as Pauline held her back to him. ‘Is everything all right, Pauline?’
She took a long moment to compose herself. She took a deep breath and turned back to face Leo. ‘Are you sure?’
‘What?’
‘Are you sure that she was raped?’
‘Well, I’m only going on what Letitia told me. But she said her daughter, Claire, had been round to see if she could do anything to help and Judith gave her all the details. It’s horrible, isn’t it?’
Pauline nodded.
‘Why would someone do something like that? She was such a lovely girl, Alice. Did you know her?’
Pauline covered her mouth and shook her head.
‘She was, you know, special, but she was a lovely little thing. Always had a smile on her face. It makes you wonder what the world’s coming to, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m going to get off, Leo,’ Pauline said, edging away. ‘I don’t want to miss the bus.’
‘Are you going into town? I can give you a lift in if you like?’
‘No. You do your shed,’ she said, turning on her heel and walking away. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Pauline paid her fare and sat down. She placed her shopping bag on her lap and held onto it tight.
Alice Patterson had been raped and strangled.
Alice Patterson, the girl Anthony spoke about often.
He said she was sweet and always laughed at his jokes.
He said she loved books, especially Alice in Wonderland and some others he couldn’t remember the titles of.
She always came into the library on a Monday after college and sometimes on the weekend with her mum.
He memorised jokes from his comic books to tell her and said her face lit up when she smiled.
It was obvious Anthony was attracted to this Alice.
He never spoke about other people who came into the library in the same way, apart from Susan Livesy.
Pauline tried to think about what would happen next.
The police would talk to everyone Alice and her family knew, that included friends and neighbours.
Would they knock on their door? They lived three streets away, would they come that far to ask questions?
Alice was at college, so they’d go there and talk to her tutors and fellow students.
Would they go to the library? Would they talk to Mrs Wilkinson and to Anthony?
Pauline hoped not. Anthony didn’t do too well when dealing with people in authority. Even Mr Graham scared him slightly.
Pauline didn’t bother getting off the bus in town. She stayed on until close to where the bus terminated near Robin Hood’s Bay. She got off the bus, found a litter bin and wedged the carrier bag with Anthony’s torn trousers down to the bottom. Hopefully, they’d be in a landfill by teatime.