He seemed to be speaking through a mouthful of cotton wool. An accentless, half-choking mumble. He wanted money. A thousand pounds or he’d go to the police. He told her exactly when and where to leave it. Ann started to protest. Tried to say he wasn’t giving her enough time but the phone was banged down.
She never for a moment considered not paying and not only because of the danger of discovery. Consumed by guilt, Ann recognised that she and she alone had been directly responsible for the whole tragic situation. She had driven Carlotta from the house, pursued the girl to the river and failed, in spite of all her efforts, to stop her jumping in.
In fact Ann had now started to ask herself just how genuine these efforts had been. She remembered Carlotta crying, ‘You’ve never wanted me here, you’ll be glad to get rid of me,’ and knew it was the truth. The girl’s despair, her determination to jump had made her very strong but surely if she had tried just that little bit harder . . . And then that cry, ‘Don’t push . . .’ She hadn’t pushed Carlotta. Had she?
But whether she had or not, the fact remained the whole business was her fault. And it was only right that she should pay. It would be the first step towards salving her conscience. She could raise that amount by a visit to the bank. They knew her there and the balance in her current account would easily cover it. And if there were more demands, she would sell what was left of her mother’s jewellery. Surely that would balance the scales a little in her direction? The sad symmetry of this conclusion made her want to weep.
That night Ann took a torch to light her way through Carter’s Wood. There was a little picnic area with wooden benches and two long tables. She had been told to leave the money, sealed in an envelope and wrapped in a polythene carrier bag, in the litter bin.
She was more frightened of doing something wrong than of being alone among the dark rustling trees. Nor was she afraid for her own safety. The blackmailer would hardly wish to harm his golden goose and, not wanting to be seen, would be keeping well out of her way.
There were two litter bins. One was empty and Ann dropped the packet in. It made a gentle thump as it fell and she wondered if he was close enough to hear. A small animal screamed suddenly as she ran away.
Chapter Four
When her husband did not return at his usual time from his late-night walk with the dog, Mrs Leathers went to bed. Occasionally he would do this. Call in at the Red Lion where closing time was elastic to say the least, have a throw of darts and cadge a drink or a smoke. Sometimes she thought he’d stay the night if they’d let him. So she drifted off to sleep, pleasurably aware of the empty space by her side.
When she woke, the room was full of brightness. Mrs Leathers sat up blinking, looking round. She seized the bedside clock. It was ten past eight!
Mrs Leathers gasped and climbed quickly out of bed. Charlie never forgot to set the alarm. Six thirty on the dot, always. And he never got up until he’d drunk his tea either.
More puzzled than worried, Mrs Leathers put on a shabby candlewick dressing gown. She glanced back at the room as she was leaving, as if he might have slipped down between the furniture. The bed looked huge. She hadn’t realised quite how much space it took up.
Down the narrow, twisting stairs and into the kitchen where the harsh smell of Charlie’s cigarettes fouled the air, killing the fragrance of bread left to rise overnight on the Rayburn. Automatically Mrs Leathers filled the kettle and put two Typhoo tea bags in the pot.
She had never thought of herself as an imaginative woman but now her mind started running every which way. All those stupid soaps - that’s what Charlie would have said. They turn your mind, woman. And it was true that she was constantly enthralled by their exciting twists and turns. If this was television, her husband would have run off with another woman. Mrs Leathers’ heart, which had leapt briefly in her flat chest at the very notion, got a grip on reality and thudded back into its usual place. Let’s face it, she sighed aloud, who in their right mind would want Charlie?
Perhaps he had secretly become involved in a crime and had had to run away. That was more likely although he was so stupid he’d probably never know it was time to run away until it was too late. And who would he be involved with? A handful of boozy cronies down at the pub? He didn’t have a real friend in the world.
The kettle boiled over. Mrs Leathers filled the pot and called, ‘Tea time, Candy.’
But the dog did not come out of her basket. Mrs Leathers bent down, wheezing slightly, to peer under the table. Candy was not there. Which meant they had both been out all night.
Much more alarmed at the absence of the little dog than she had been over her husband, Mrs Leathers took the big iron key from behind the door and ran out into the front garden.