My Sweet Valentine, page 14
“And as well as that,” put in Andy, “The little girl, Susie, a grown woman now, has a caravan of her own with her own family, so maybe you won’t need a warrant just to speak to Mr. Shelby or his daughter, Anita.”
“Yes, you have a valid point there,” replied the Sergeant.
Carefully, the Detective Inspector picked up his trilby hat from the coffee table and placed it on his head. He was a smart man wearing a black suit, a snowy white shirt, and highly polished black shoes. “My hands are tied without a warrant,” he said, “It’s for protection as much as anything, but don’t worry, Mr. Valentine, if he runs, we’ll find him wherever he decides to go. I’ve got both your mobile numbers so myself and Sargeant Lofthouse here will be in touch.”
Sergeant Ben Lofthouse suddenly spoke up, “We had no reason to question this er, Albie Shelby at the time, Mr. Valentine, so it seems we had no actual proof to charge him anyway. No previous or anything.”
“But look at what we’ve told you today,” said Andy, “Surely all that information warrants some action. You must speak to his daughter, Ruth. She told us what we’re telling you. She even said we could go to the press, and we know Mr. Shelby was outside the nursery when Susie went missing.”
The Sergeant cleared his throat, “With all due respect, Sir,” He motioned towards me with a hand, “Mrs. Clarke only saw this under hypnosis. There’s no real memory.”
“My memories came to the fore because of the hypnosis,” I said cuttingly.
“Come on now,” said the Detective Inspector, raising a warning hand, “There’s no need for that, Sergeant Lofthouse. I’m sure Mrs. Clarke knows what she saw under hypnotism or not.”
“We’ve since found out, Mr. Shelby lost his wife and son, officers, perhaps he was,” I shrugged and glanced at Andy, “Mentally affected, depressed, when he did what he did.”
“Maybe, Mrs. Clarke. However, we will take action today if possible. As I said before, we’ve got your mobile numbers and will be in touch.”
Giving a nod of his head, he and the Sargeant walked towards the door, Andy behind them, dragging his feet, but ready to open the door for them and see them off, watch them walk down the garden path, get into their car and drive away without a backward glance.
Shaking my head with a sense of defeat, I went to the kitchen where my phone was charging, its screen blank until I pulled out the plug and several items flashed up onto the screen. My heart beat fast, and I saw a host of missed calls from Emma, texts, and a voicemail. Quickly, I tapped on a text, “Mum, they’re moving. I’m going to follow them. Please get in touch.”
Rushing into the sitting room, I shouted, “Andy, get the Detective Inspector back. They’re moving quickly.”
“Moving?” asked Andy, bewildered, “Who’s moving?”
“The gypsies, Albie Shelby,” I waved my phone, “I’ve had loads of messages from Emma. She’s going to follow them.”
I heard a shout from Andy as he rushed out of the door, but it was too late. The police car had gone, bouncing down the cobbled street on its way back to Todmorden. Putting my mobile to my ear, I rang Emma who, thanks to hands free, answered immediately, “Mum, at last, where have you been?” I could barely hear her for the sound of traffic screeching past and the wind howling like ghosts.
“I’m so sorry, Emma, we’ve been talking to the police, and my phone was charging. What’s happening? Is Milly okay?”
“Of course, she’s sleeping peacefully right here next to me. What are the police going to do?”
“They need a warrant to speak to Albie Shelby. They were just leaving Andy’s place when I saw your messages. Andy tried to stop them, but it was too late. They’re on their way back to Todmorden.”
“Oh, mum, if Albie suspects you’re on to him, they could go miles away.”
“I know. Where are you now? Can you see them?”
“Yes, I can see a whole convoy of caravans. A bit like that film “Truckers,” She giggled, “I’m on the A58 heading towards Manchester. There’s a place there for travelers to stay, it’s near the city center, I think. Maybe you could take a look at Google Maps.”
“Okay, we’re heading your way. I’ll ring the police from the car to tell them what’s happened. Try to keep them in sight, Emma, or ring me if they go off course.”
“Will do, Mum.”
“Oh, and drive carefully. It might be icy.”
We clicked off and Andy and I shrugged on our coats and pulled up our hoods as it was still snowing, fine flakes hovering in the air beneath a low white sky, settling rapidly on the paths and the roads. Andy locked the door firmly behind us as quickly as we could. Slipping and sliding, we hurried out to the car.
***
“Good morning, Todmorden Police Station.”
“Hello, good morning. Could I speak to Detective Inspector Jack Rand, please?”
“I’ll see if he’s in his office. May I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Jenny Clarke. We’ve just been talking to him about the Susie Valentine case.”
“Hold the line a moment, please, Mrs. Clarke.”
There was a lot of whirring and clicking, and then “Hello? Mrs. Clarke?”
“Yes, Inspector Rand? Hi, the gypsies are on the move. They’re no longer on the field behind Brush Row. My daughter is following them and suspects they’re heading for Manchester. Apparently, there’s a place there for travelers? Close to the city center?”
“Yes, it’s on Dantzic Street. It was an official site, but it’s closed, I’m afraid. That’s not to say they won’t go there, though. Okay, Mrs. Clarke. We’ll head that way. Any change in course, please ring me.”
“Have you a warrant?”
“Yes, we’re all prepared. Oh, by the way, if you arrive before us, please don’t approach anybody until we get there. Okay?”
“Yes, of course, Inspector.” Clicking off my phone, I turned to Andy. “They’ve got the warrant sorted already.”
“Good,” replied Andy, “It seems they were taking us seriously after all.”
“Yes, thank goodness.”
The radio was on, and I could make out Vernon Kaye’s voice chatting in his usual friendly way and then the traffic news, a woman with a nasally voice telling everybody to try not to drive today, to stay at home if at all possible, as the snow is causing havoc on the roads with miles of traffic at a standstill and little chance of a let-up within the next few hours.
She’s right, I thought, as the snow was coming down faster now, the car’s wipers struggling to keep a clear windscreen so Andy had to hunch forward to see properly. I noticed his hands gripped the wheel, his knuckles white, and no doubt his heart racing just as mine was. There was a short silence before Andy said, “Jenny, you don’t really think the death of Albie’s wife and son excuses him somehow for what he might have done, do you?”
“Well, yes, I think the deaths will have affected him, but excuse him? No.”
“Good,” He shrugged, “I took it the wrong way then.”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” I took a deep breath, “That’s not what I meant. Not at all.” I shook my head, saying, “All I mean is that he might use it to get a lighter sentence.”
“Oh, I see, yes you could be right,” Reaching out a hand, he caressed my thigh and gave me a rueful grin when my phone beeped. A text message from Emma, “I can see you in my mirror. I’ve pulled into a layby so we can stay together.”
Emma’s little red car came into view, and as the traffic had slowed considerably, she slotted in easily in front of us, giving a flash of her lights for good measure. The traffic was crawling now, the snow coming down thicker and faster.
“They couldn’t have picked a worse day to be on the move,” said Andy, “Are you bothered about the radio being on?” I shook my head as Andy switched it off, the only sound now being the swish-swish of the wipers across the windscreen. Up ahead, there was a never-ending stream of wagons and cars and caravans, crawling along at a snail’s pace. Andy put what I was thinking into words.
“Actually,” he said, “This weather is a God’s send, really. It’s slowed everything down and probably made Albie think twice about traveling further than Manchester.”
“Yes, you’re right,” I replied, and then heartfelt, my hands clasped to my breasts, “Thank you, snow.”
Andy laughed, throwing his head back, the wrinkles around his eyes appearing as if by magic, “You are funny, Jenny.”
We crawled along, an inch at a time, slowly eating up the miles to our destination, keeping the caravans in sight. My heart thumped hard as I thought about what might happen when we arrived at Dantzic Street. After a couple of miles, the snow eased off, just white flakes floating in the air like fairies, and the traffic started to pick up speed, Emma still keeping just ahead of us.
“Oh, Andy, I can’t wait. I just want to be there.”
“Me too,” He replied as he put his foot harder on the accelerator to keep up with the now-moving flow of traffic. White clouds suddenly fled away, and patches of blue sky appeared. Emma indicated to come off the A58, following the signs for Manchester town center. We drove along back street after back street, the car twisting and turning, until we saw a brown sign indicating the traveler’s camp even though it was now closed. Emma indicated to pull over so, following suit, we pulled up behind her.
“Maybe Emma thinks we should walk now. It’s possible somebody could see us if we go closer, and then they’d take off again.”
“Yes, good idea,” He gazed from the window, “I wonder if the police are here yet?”
Exchanging a worried glance, we got out of the car just as Emma got out of hers, carefully carrying baby Milly and then going to the boot for the pushchair. I smiled at her and, giving her a wave, shouted, “Emma,” whilst Andy fumbled for my hand, gripping it hard as, taking deep breaths, we hurried towards her.
Chapter Fifteen
Present Day – January - Hidden Desires
My hand shaking, I gripped my phone as it purred like a cat, ringing over and over again. Was nobody going to answer? My heart beat like a drum. And then, at last, “Hello?”
“Jeanette?”
“Yes, Jeanette speaking. Who is this?”
Alarmed that she hadn’t recognized my voice, or was she just kidding, I said, “It’s me, Josh.”
“What do you want?” The tone of her voice knocked my confidence right out of the window. I hadn’t expected that, her voice laden with contempt. I stammered then, stumbling over my words. The words I thought I’d be able to say confidentially, pretty much my old self, my ego huge, “Oh, you’re so full of yourself,” as she always used to say.
“I miss you…I…”
It was her turn to be confident now as she said nastily, “Too bad! It’s too late for that, Josh. You made your choice. Now leave me alone, don’t call again.”
She hung up. Yeah, Jeanette, the last person I’d expect to do that, but yeah, she hung up on me. I sat there then, glowering at my phone, the screen blank, an awful, terrifying blank. I half hoped for an apologetic text message, or a missed call, a voicemail dripping with sobs, but there was nothing, zilch.
My heart sank right down into my boots. If I’d been wearing boots, that is, but my feet were bare, my heart bare, my life bare. What should I do? My heart rose as I thought of Henry. I saw his face, his smile, his light blue eyes, and the sexy stubble that covered his cheeks and his chin. Pressing his number, I let it ring and ring, hoping he’d pick up, longing to hear his voice.
“Oh God,” I thought, “Who is Josh going to end up with?” The ending of this story was still very much out there somewhere, swirling around in the ether but, unfortunately, just not in my own mind as yet. My publisher was getting impatient now. Urging me to finish the story, to get it done. My writing seemed to be taking a back seat yet again, especially now after all that had happened. Ah, life was so unexpected. You just never knew what was around the corner, did you?
I was at home, in my cozy caravan, the wood burner blaring out a beautiful heat, the flames mesmerizing to watch, cavorting sinuously, bright orange and red, behind the glass. Christmas and the New Year had come and gone, and all was back to normal. Although was it? For some people, maybe, but not for us, especially Andy. Hmm, was that a hint at what I’m going to tell you, dear reader?
I know, I know, I’ve left you holding on for dear life yet again, haven’t I? A real cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter. “Yes,” I heard you cry, “What happened? Did all the caravans head straight for the closed campsite on Dantzic Street? Did the police arrive, battling their way through the snow to save the day? What’s the biggest question, though? The most important? Yes, I know exactly what you’re thinking! Was Andy reunited with Susie?”
Okay, we’ll go back to that snowy day. The snow that brought the traffic to a standstill, the snow that just kept falling until it was inches deep and in great drifts like a giant ice cream laying over fences and walls, a watery sunlight glinting a myriad of colors on unblemished fields and trees, their silvery white branches pointing up to the Heavens. We’d left our cars within walking distance of Dantzic Street. Do you remember? Here we go then. This was what happened.
“Mum, Andy,” said Emma, giving us a nod, a bright smile creasing her face, “Here, hold Milly while I get the pushchair from the boot.” Frosty air puffed from her mouth as she spoke.
I snuggled Milly into my body, Andy peering over my shoulder. She was wrapped up tight in a pink fluffy blanket, her tiny face peering out like a slice of cream cheese, and when she caught sight of us, her face creased into a smile, a real gummy smile. “She smiled at us,” I said as I handed her over, and Emma tucked her into the pushchair, “A real proper smile.”
“Oh, it’ll be wind, Mum,” she said, “She’s done that before, and it’s always wind.”
“Oh well, you really have burst my bubble,” I replied.
She giggled as we walked along, slipping and sliding on the slushy paths, Andy holding my hand so tightly. It was starting to ache, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want him to let go.
“It’s possible,” Andy said, “I remember Susie smiling at Fran and me when she was only a few months old.”
Turning to him, I said, “Andy, I’ve just thought. Shouldn’t you tell Fran about this?”
He shook his head, “Not yet. Let’s just wait and see what happens. I don’t want to get her hopes up.” I nodded with understanding. If nothing came of this, the disappointment would be immense.
We neared Dantzic Street, and a caravan sped past, towed by an old green car that rattled and rolled, as it made its way along the street and drove through a pair of wide-open gates that looked as if they’d seen better days, in fact, the whole place looked run down and neglected, left to rot since its closure. Caravans and cars dotted the field, all of them covered in snow, little frozen squares like ice cubes in a freezer, and plenty of activity ensued as people got out of their cars, rubbing their hands and stamping their feet, shoulders hunched to their ears.
Boots crunched through the snow as they went to their caravans, lugging in bags of coal and wood kindling, thinking that a fire would be just the thing on a day like this. I noticed the old, dilapidated caravan that was Albie Shelby’s, parked up with his wagon, the back still full of old scrap metal, and nudged Andy. He nodded, and I whispered to him, “So close and yet so far. The Inspector said not to approach anybody until they arrive.”
He nodded, “Yes, he’s right, but, oh boy, do I want to go over there and knock on his door.”
I gave a rueful smile and said, “Me too,” as my eyes roamed the field for a green well put together caravan (as Ruth Shelby had called it), the caravan owned by Susie, or should I say June, as she was now known, and her family of a husband and two little boys. The snow had stopped now, petered out at last, and the sky was blue, all the white clouds gone, melted away by the tepid sun. Birds fluttered around the trees, dislodging the snow that coated their branches and speckling the ground like icing sugar.
At last, the police were here, pulling up with a screech at the curb in an unmarked car. The Detective Inspector leaned from his open window, “We think the best bet is that we stay here and watch while you two go in. We’ll be here if anything untoward happens.”
“What about my daughter and the baby?” I asked, noticing Emma’s pinched face and red nose, “It’s so cold out here.”
“She can get in the car with us.” He turned to the Sergeant, “Ben, if you wouldn’t mind giving the young lady some help with the pushchair.” Sergeant Lofthouse sprang from the car and approached Emma, who, with a small smile of thanks, got into the back of the car, baby Milly in her arms as the Sergeant folded the pushchair and put it into the boot, closing it with a click.
A shiny black car towing a green caravan passed us as Andy and I walked through the gates. I noticed a young couple inside, two children sitting in the back. I stopped and stood, one hand over my mouth. I could barely breathe as Andy, noticing I wasn’t beside him, came to an abrupt halt and said, “Jenny? What’s wrong?” and when I didn’t reply, “Jenny?”
My hand shaking, I pointed forward, swallowing hard as if something had somehow become lodged in my throat. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, “Look.” I swallowed again. My throat was dry, parched as if I needed water, gallons of it, “Look, Andy, “I pointed to the green caravan, “Maybe we won’t need to speak to Mr. Shelby after all.”
Slowly, we walked forward, our boots crunching on the path, watching the black car towing the green caravan as it maneuvered expertly into a parking space. The passenger door opened, and a woman got out. She was bundled up for the cold, wearing black leggings and a thick puffa-type jacket, a bright scarf around her neck, gloves on her hands, and sturdy walking boots on her feet. She wore a woolly hat that hid her hair, yet some had escaped, framing her face with tendrils of silky ash blonde.
