My Sweet Valentine, page 13
A dart of fear shot through me, but peering through the rain and darkness, I could see it was a woman of a similar age to Anita, dressed in dark denim jeans. She also wore a jacket with no hood and her hair was wet, plastered to her scalp. With no hat, scarf, or gloves, it was no wonder her face was pinched with cold, her nose red.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said, “Neither of us smoke.” We made to move on, but she stopped us by saying, “Were you just talking to Anita Warner? Well, Shelby that she was?”
“Yes, do you know her?”
“Know her? I should say. She’s my cousin, my dad’s Albie’s brother. I know her sister, too. Oh, I’m Ruth, by the way, Ruth Shelby.”
“Nice to meet you, Ruth,” We said in unison, even holding out our hands to shake hers, “So you’re still a Shelby then?”
“Oh yes, never been married, never had kids. Didn’t want to, thought I could be a successful single woman, but look at me now, begging for cigarettes from strangers.” She gave a rueful grin and then said, “Maybe I could have done better, eh?”
It was difficult to know what to say to that, so instead, I said, “Shall we move under the trees over there? It’ll provide some shelter while we talk. We’re all getting soaked.”
They both nodded and followed me across the road, where we stood in a huddle, still a bit chilly but at least protected and dry. “You said Anita had a sister? So, she’s your cousin as well, isn’t she?”
“Well, no, not legally like.”
“Legally?”
“Look, I could tell you all sorts about that family if I only had a fag.”
“Sorry, but,” Andy hesitated for a split second and then reached into his pocket for his wallet from where he produced a ten-pound note and handed it to her. “Get yourself a pack,” he said.
She took it, snatching it from his hand and putting it carefully in her pocket. “Thanks, but they cost twelve pounds a packet, now you know.”
“Really?” He said as he fumbled in his pocket for change and handed her a couple of pound coins, “Daylight robbery!”
“You’re telling me,” She replied as she pocketed the coins, “Now then, Anita’s sister ain’t my real cousin as such because she was adopted.”
A surge of something like dread shot through my body at the word “adopted,” and as the girl carried on speaking, the feeling got stronger and stronger, “Uncle Albie’s wife died in childbirth, both her and the baby, only young she was, it was so sad, the baby was a little boy, and Uncle Albie was distraught. Oh my God, so distraught. He already had a daughter, that’s Anita, who you spoke to, so he found himself a single parent to an eight-year-old. Good dad he was, though, took great care of her.”
A breeze suddenly sprang up, shaking the trees and raining down icy drops that soaked us through. Despite that, Andy and I stayed, hunched into our coats, mesmerized by the woman’s story. She carried on, “One day though, he comes home with this little girl, a little tot, tells us he adopted her, all through the proper channels and all, but, well, even my mum and dad were suspicious, and they love Uncle Albie. Us kids used to take the mick out of him, you know, singing at him, “Albie Shelby, Albie Shelby,” ooh, he really hated that.” She stared into the middle distance, reminiscing, I suppose.
“What were your mum and dad suspicious of?” I asked, “It is possible for single men to adopt and, as he lost a child and his wife, maybe he,” I shrugged, “Just longed for another?”
“Yeah, I get what you’re saying, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about adopting before, and there’s lots of channels to go through. It all takes time. You don’t just pop off one day and come home with a child. Even Anita knew nothing about it, and you’d have thought he would have told her she was gonna have a sister.”
She sighed, “Think about it, he just turned up with this little girl, and even I thought it was strange, and I was only nine. And as well as that, we all had to move on then, out of the area, and we didn’t come back here for years. She’s okay though, the little girl, married now and everything, even got a couple of kids. Both boys.”
“So, she’s here?” asked Andy, “Still living with all of you here on the field?” His voice sounded shocked, disbelieving. As if such a thing could never happen.
She nodded, “Yeah.”
“When did this happen?” I asked her, “When did Albie bring the little girl home?” A strange sense of foreboding settling through my body, I reached for Andy’s hand and squeezed it hard.
“Nineteen ninety,” she said, “It was summer, I remember, and really hot and sunny. He said she was called June. I don’t know whether she was already called that or he re-named her, but she’s answered to that ever since.
There was a brief silence before she spoke again, her tone angry, “So if you are from the local rag, like Anita thought you were, you can publish my story. I don’t care who knows, I’ve always thought it odd, him turning up like that with a little girl, and I’ve got more and more upset about it over the years. Go ahead and publish it. I’d even tell the police if you want me to.”
“We’re not from the press,” I said gently, “But we do have an interest in your story…”
“You know who the little girl is, don’t you?”
“Perhaps,” said Andy, “But we can’t say any more at the moment, but thank you for this, for telling us your story.”
“What did she look like?” I asked her.
“What, June?” She shrugged, “Pretty little thing, cute face, dark hair, greeny color eyes.”
“Dark hair?”
“Yeah, straight dark hair to her shoulders.”
Andy sounded defeated as he said, “Well, thanks Ruth. You’ve been more than helpful.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police with your suspicions?” I asked her.
She shook her head, “Oh God no, I’d have been in real trouble. It’s best someone else does it. It would have been seen as a betrayal of the family, and I was too young then anyway, I didn’t think.”
“But isn’t telling us a betrayal of the family?” asked Andy.
“He won’t know, will he? Unless you tell him that is, and, anyway, I know better now.” She gave us a suspicious, assessing glare.
Andy and I exchanged a glance, “We’re saying nothing,” Andy replied, “But what if we told the police and they wanted to speak to you?”
“Well, that’s okay. That way, I didn’t actually go to the police myself. Do you see what I mean?”
We nodded, and I said, “Now go back to your caravan. You’re soaked through.”
“Nah,” She gave us a cheeky grin, “I’m off to the shop first, gotta get me fags. Thanks again.” She walked away, her shoulders hunched to her ears, water dripping from her hair and flowing like little rivers down her face.
“Oh, Ruth,” said Andy, walking after her, “Just one more thing. Sorry.”
She turned around, “Yeah?”
“Which is June’s caravan?”
“Um, well, it’s not far from Albie’s and Anita’s. It’s painted green. Very well put together is their place, they’re both a bit fussy.”
“Who’s her husband?” My heart felt tight and squeezed at the beseeching look on Andy’s face.
“Oh, he’s a friend of Ryan’s, Ryan’s one of Albie’s grandsons, Anita’s boy. He came along to help out one time,” She shrugged, “And never left. Took a shine to June straight away, I think.” She laughed.
“Ah, Ryan,” I said, “He was the young man with Albie in the pub in Hebden.”
“Yeah, they often drink together. Anything else?”
“What’s her husband’s name?”
“Bob,” she replied, “Bob Edwards and their two boys are Bobby and Vince.”
“Thank you,” he said, and then again, “Thank you, Ruth.”
Andy gripped my hand as we resumed our hurried walk to the car, “Good God, Jenny, I thought we were on to something there, but the child had dark hair. Susie was blonde.” He gave a great sigh.
“Albie could have put a wig on her. Don’t forget, Susie had her hair in pigtails that day. Ruth just said that the girl’s hair was straight to her shoulders. Could easily have been a wig.”
Andy looked hopeful again, “Yeah, you’re right, Susie did have her hair in pigtails, I remember Fran doing her hair that morning, but, even so, we’ve landed ourselves in it, haven’t we, by speaking with Anita, and even so, what on earth do we do now? Speak to this, Albie, you know, do it on our own, so to speak, or go to the police?”
“Yeah, if Anita tells Albie about us, he might guess what we want to talk about, but then again, because he got away with it for so long, he might not. I think telling the police is the only thing to do, really.”
Once in the car, Andy turned up the heater as I took off my gloves and my hat and tried to shake the wet out of them. I shook my head sadly, “Makes me wonder why the police didn’t find her at the time. It’s so terrible. Such a waste.”
Andy shrugged as he indicated and drove away from the curb. “I don’t know who they questioned at the time, everything’s a blur, but Albie probably wouldn’t have been in the picture. Not with him upping sticks and traveling around all the time.”
“Yes, you could be right, but most things tie up, the dates for example, him calling the little girl, June, the month he “adopted” her. It’s got to be him, Andy.”
“Yes, most of it does tie up, Jenny, but, well, it’s too good to be true. I can’t let myself believe it, in case I’m disappointed.”
I squeezed his hand, “I don’t know how you keep so patient. Some people would go straight to Albie’s caravan and have it out with him.”
Andy shook his head, “What, and show everybody that I’m no better than him? No, I’m biding my time. If Susie is there somewhere, I want her as she is now, a woman, to meet a dad she can be proud of.”
I reached out and squeezed his hand, loving every word he’d said. He gave me a sideways smile and a gentle wink and then looked forward, his eyes on the road, as he drove carefully all the way home.
***
“Hi Jenny, Dave here checking in. It’s getting really close to that oh so wonderful time of the year again, Christmas! I’ve loads of extra work over the yuletide, so I will give your neck of the woods a temporary miss. Definitely be there for Valentine’s Day, though. I’ll be the guy hidden behind the ginormous bouquet of red roses, lol. I’ll come and find you, okay? Have a lovely Christmas, darling, on your little love boat. Thinking of you xxx
***
“Hi, Jenny. I’ve just had a voicemail from Anita Shelby saying she had a word with her dad, and he says (these are his own words apparently), “No way, I ain’t talking to no one. Tell ‘em to get lost!” So, there we have it. No joy from him, eh? Something to hide, don’t you think? I’ll see you tonight. I’m looking forward to a Christmas Eve drink with you. Ax
“Hmm, I hadn’t expected Albie Shelby to welcome us with open arms (his name still felt weird to say. Methinks Albert Shelby definitely has more of a ring to it), so it was great we’d found out most of what we needed to know from Ruth Shelby. A visit to the gypsy camp with the police would be far more helpful to us than sneaking around on our own and being attacked by what appeared to be a vicious dog (even though Bruno turned out to be a sweetheart) and almost causing a bad injury falling backwards onto a churned up muddy field.
My heart rose at the thought of Andy being reunited with his long-lost daughter. That was if she wanted to be reunited. Some did and some didn’t. And there was another thing, something I’d never say to Andy, but would she even remember him? Childhood memories don’t always go back very far. Mine were a blank before the age of about five. I tapped on reply to his message.
“Hi Andy, I didn’t think we’d get much from Albie Sheldon, so yes, I think we can come to the conclusion that he does have something to hide. Looking forward to tonight. Christmas Eve, here we come! Shall I meet you in the pub? Jx
And two minutes later, “Yes, the Railway. I can’t wait to see you Ax.”
Chapter Fourteen
Present Day – the weird time in between Christmas and New Year
“Hello?”
I could just about hear a tinny voice, “Good morning, Todmorden Police Station.”
“Yes, good morning, I have a crime to report. Could you please tell me who I should speak to?”
I watched him as, holding his phone to his ear, he listened to the tinny voice, his face somber, “It’s a historical crime from nineteen ninety concerning the disappearance of Susie Valentine.”
He listened again, “Of course. My address is 16 Spring Villas, Hebden Bridge. Thank you, I’ll be here.”
We were in Andy’s house, a beautiful Victorian terrace, set on a hill that climbed vertically from Hebden Bridge out onto the moor, or “the tops” as the locals call it, a far cry from my little boat as the house boasts fine large rooms with high ceilings, a large cellar filled with vintage wine (a couple of bottles of which we sampled on Christmas Day) and attics with ancient buzzers to call the maids to their duties, in the days when servants were a thing. There was just a small yard at the front of the house but a large lawned garden at the back, complete with massive old trees and bushes.
“They’re sending an officer out, Jenny.” He began to pace the room, “Oh, what have I done? What if it’s not her? Oh God, I…” The dog, Ziggy, whined, aware that Andy was upset, so he hunkered down and gently stroked Ziggy’s head before resuming his pacing.
“Andy, please stop worrying. It’s got to be her; everything points to it.”
“No,” he said, “Not everything,” He shook his head, “Susie was blonde. The child Albie Shelby took home was dark-haired.”
“That’s the only thing that doesn’t tally, and, as I’ve said before, she could have been wearing a wig. It seems he’s wily enough to do that if he thought he could get away with it. The dates tally, the name he gave her, June, tallies. I saw the man, Albie, when I was hypnotized, and Susie followed me outside, so she was there too. Please, Andy, stop pacing and come here,” I held out my arms, and dutifully, he stopped pacing and walked straight into my embrace.
“Calm down,” I whispered as I pulled him close and rubbed his back with the palm of my hand, “Just tell them everything you know. They’ll question Albie and, well, we’ll see what happens then.”
Taking deep, calming breaths and pulling me even closer, he said, “Has Vanessa been in touch with you?”
“Yes, I said we’d contact her after we’d spoken to the police.”
He nodded, “Yes, that’s a good idea.” And then heartfelt, “Oh, Jenny, I’m so glad I met you.” He pulled away, holding me at arm’s length, staring at me as if I was a study, a muse. His eyes roamed my face, looking carefully at my mouth, my nose, into my eyes, his gaze traveling to my hair, “You’re so beautiful.” His mouth hovered over mine, red and ripe as a strawberry, teasing me, tantalizing me, when the doorbell buzzed, a harsh, angry sound, and we both jumped out of our skin.
He swallowed hard before saying, “Oh my God, that was quick. I didn’t think they’d get here so soon.”
“Yes, just goes to show how important this case still is and that there’s still hope.” And when he stood there motionless and the bell buzzed again, “You’d better answer the door, Andy.”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
He fled from the room, and I heard the door open and his voice, “Good morning, officers, please, come through.” I heard the tramp of feet along the tiled floor of the hallway, and I took a deep breath and faced the doorway, my heart thumping in my breast as I waited for the police to enter.
***
“Mum, will you please pick up your phone. I’ve rung three times this morning, sent a couple of texts and now I’m leaving this voicemail. I don’t know when you’re seeing the police, but they’re packing up, the gypsys, I mean, they’re going. When the last one has gone, I’m putting Milly in the car, and I’m going to follow them. It looks as if the building work will go ahead a lot sooner than we thought. Oh, Mum, get in touch. Please!”
***
“Well, first things first,” said Detective Inspector Jack Rand, “We’ll need a warrant to speak to this er,” He consulted his notes, “Albie Shelby.” Both police officers were flecked with snow, white flakes like dandruff that were rapidly thawing and dripping onto the carpet. I’d made coffee and they sat comfortably on the settee, each with a mug balanced on their knees, a plate of biscuits on the coffee table in front of them.
“But, how long will that take?” asked Andy, his face seeming to fold in on itself in sheer disappointment.
“From a few hours to a few days,” said the Inspector, “Leave it with us.” He nodded towards his side-kick, Sergeant Ben Lofthouse, who stood up as the Inspector did, tidily putting their mugs down, to take their leave. We’d told them everything we knew about the bald-headed man called Albie Shelby and what his niece, Ruth Shelby, had told us about the little “adopted” girl turning up at the caravan in the exact same month and year that Susie Valentine had gone missing.
“But they might move on,” said Andy, “They’re gypsies, they don’t stay in the same place for too long, you know. Oh, and they’re there illegally and holding up building work.”
“We’re well aware of that, Sir,” replied the Detective Inspector, “But, well, there’s a lot of red tape with this sort of thing. I’ll try to get a warrant for today.”
I put in a point, “Now that Albie Shelby knows there’s somebody wanting to speak to him because of what we said to his daughter, Anita, he might just do that, move on, I mean. If he does, he’ll make sure to move as far away as possible, and we might never find him again.”
