My Sweet Valentine, page 11
“I did, I had an appointment and for the life of me, I can’t remember what it was, either the doctor or the dentist.”
“The dentist,” she said, “I remember it was the dentist. Well, Susie followed you. I saw her wandering around holding on to her daddy’s card, saying your name, “Where’s Jenny?” she kept saying, “Where’s Jenny?”
“Oh no,” I blurted out, “I had a feeling that’s what might have happened.”
“Yes, but don’t start blaming yourself, Jenny. Before she actually went out of the door, I guided her back into the main playroom when the phone rang, and I went back into the office to answer it. When I came back, she wasn’t in the main playroom, and nobody had seen her. Not even Sonia, the lady that covered for you.”
She shook her head, “I remember running frantically in between the two rooms and the toilet area and the cloakroom shouting for Susie. All I could think is that when I went to answer the phone, she sneaked back out of the playroom and went outside. She was so intent on seeing you.”
She took a deep breath and then said, “I told Sonia to keep all the other children together while I searched for her. I’ll never forget that day, in fact,” She looked from one of us to the other, “It’s taken on a sort of nightmare scenario. It was blistering hot, and the road was packed with cars. The noise was immense. All I could hear was the beep beep beep of the crossing and the revving of a vehicle nearby, which turned out to be a van, a blue van that suddenly shot past at break-neck speed…”
“A blue van?” I asked her, “That’s what I remember too. Registration number 198 NCG.” The door pinged, and a couple went out, holding the door open for a large group of people who came in laughing and chattering. They chose a table, and a waitress glided over to take their order.
“I didn’t get the registration,” said Vanessa, “I was too slow. Oh, how I blame myself, Jenny.” She put her hands over her mouth just as the door pinged open again, and another large group of people walked in and, with much scraping of chairs on the floor, settled themselves at a table. The smell of fried food hung in the air, and there was a sizzling sound as if eggs and bacon were cooking. Perhaps the tea-time crowd were on their way.
“You mustn’t blame yourself,” I said, leaning forward and patting her shoulder, “I only know the registration from being hypnotized, as well as the memory of the blue van parked at the curb, that I saw when I left that day. And I feel guilt, too, now that I know what happened. If Susie hadn’t followed me, she wouldn’t have gone outside.”
Andy put a hand on my arm, “It’s not your fault either. Susie must have really taken a shine to you,” He squeezed my hand, “She wouldn’t have followed you otherwise.”
I gave a small smile as I said, “She must have dropped the card she was making, and I picked it up.”
“The card?” said Vanessa, leaning in close to myself and Andy, “Jenny…”
“What card?” asked Andy, “What did you find outside?”
“Susie was making a card for you, Andy, a Father’s Day card. She must have dropped it when she followed me outside. I found it but must have dropped it as well, and, well, the lady in the yellow dress who I saw when being hypnotized saw me lose it and gave it back to me, and I put it in my rucksack.” I looked from Andy to Vanessa, “Emma, my daughter, has my rucksack, but there’s no card in it, I’m afraid.”
“No,” said Vanessa, shaking her head, “It won’t be in your rucksack because you gave it to me the following day,” She fumbled in her bag, “Look.” With a flourish, she produced the card and laid it on the table between us. Andy and I simply stared at it in wonder until Andy said, “May I?”
“Of course,” she said. Gently, he picked it up, a great beam of a smile all over his face as he looked at the stick figure on the front of the card. He pointed at it, “I take it this figure is supposed to be me?”
“Yes, I remember her making it as if it was yesterday, her coloring it in, making the eyes very green, oh and her laughing so hard when I said daddy looked cool, and we both sang, “Daddy cool, daddy cool. She looked so cute too with a bright red bow in her hair and her dress, um…”
“Her poppy dress,” said Andy, “Her favorite, I think.”
“Yes, it did have poppies on it. A beautiful dress.”
Andy laughed a lot as he repeated again, “Daddy cool, daddy cool,” tears coming into his eyes whilst Vanessa delved into her bag again and produced other pictures, saying, “There’s more. I kept them all together after the police saw them. Oh, they told me I could keep them, hoping for an opportunity like this to give them back to the parents.”
Eagerly, we sifted through them, pictures drawn in pencil, some in felt tip pens, and some in chalk, all on different colored paper and all with a signature of “Susie Valentine” and the date. “Look at this one,” said Andy, pointing to each stick figure, “Mummy, Daddy, Susie and baby sister. Look at how she’s drawn baby sister, just a little dot.” He laughed a lot shaking his head, tears coming into his eyes. “These are priceless,” he said, “Absolutely priceless.”
“Well, they’re yours,” said Vanessa, as she drained her coffee cup, “Take them home with you, but now I really have to go. I’ve a big food shop to do for my mum and dad.” She handed a carrier bag to Andy, saying, “You might want to put the pictures in here?”
Andy took the bag with a smile, “Thanks for these, Vanessa,” he said, nodding at the pictures, “They mean a lot to me.”
“It’s the least I can do,” she replied.
“Wow, you’ve still got your mum and dad.”
“Yes, they’re quite frail now, though. That’s why I get their shopping.” She stood up and shrugged on her coat, picked up her gloves and hat. We stood up too in readiness to go and followed Vanessa outside, waving a cheery goodbye to the waitresses as we left and stepped outside into a rapidly darkening afternoon, the sky navy blue, fluffy white clouds hanging low as if they were a ceiling.
Cars sped past on the busy road, their headlights glowing, and a green double-decker bus pulled up with a screech. Several people stumbled off, looking tired after a long day at work, a couple of passengers going straight into the café, rubbing their hands from the cold, eager for a hot drink and a fry up for tea.
“It’s been lovely to see you, Jenny,” she said, giving me a hug, “And you, too, Andy. Please do keep in touch.”
“We certainly will,” I told her as we all shook hands and then stood and watched her as she walked away, her step brisk and her arms swinging at her sides. She stopped and turned once, waving her hand like a little white flag. We waved back until she was almost gone, a tiny black dot in the distance. Andy took my hand and squeezed it tightly within his, “Come on, let’s get you safely back to your boat.”
“Oh, for a life on the ocean waves,” I quipped as we, too, turned and, hunching our shoulders to our ears, hurried down the chilly streets to the car park, Andy holding on tightly to the carrier bag as if it was a lifeline.
“What a great meeting,” he said.
“Yes,” I agreed, “My memory of Vanessa Lynch is just as I thought it was,” And then, “Come home with me? We could have a glass of wine or two.”
“Or three? Hmm, do you know, I rather think that sounds like a good idea.”
We smiled at each other, and Andy leaned in close and kissed my cheek, his stubble tickling deliciously against my skin. My heart clattering in anticipation, we rushed along the busy streets, our hands joined, our hearts beating in harmony.
***
My phone buzzed on my bedside table, and a text popped up. Leaning closer and narrowing my eyes, I saw it was from Dave, “Hi Jenny, just checking in. How’s things? Will be popping over to your neck of the woods soon. It could well be for Christmas, but more likely Valentine’s Day. Would be great to meet up for a Valentine meal and let bygones be bygones, eh?” I was tired, my eyelids drooping, the land of nod beckoning me, summoning me with the lure of an arched finger. Slowly, I laid down, my head sinking into the pillow, my breathing steadied, and my eyes closed. Just a few deep, luxurious breaths and one last thought, “Dave’s visit here could well be a recipe for disaster,” and, whoosh, I was gone.
Chapter Twelve
Present Day – Hebden Bridge Christmas Lights Switch On
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one,” the crowd exploded into a great roar as Santa Claus himself decked out in his beautiful crimson suit, white beard bristling, pressed a bright red button and Hebden Bridge’s Christmas lights came on in a great white beam, the massive Christmas tree now a multi-colored glow. Tiny yellow lights twinkled amongst the bushes and trees, and praying angels, the sleeping baby Jesus and the Three Wise Men wearing sumptuous cloaks, swung from lampposts festooned with even more lights in a silvery hue.
It was a frosty night, the paths a slippy silver and the sky a deep black twinkling with tiny stars and the great globe of the moon. The air smelt densely cold, mixed with the acrid smell of frying onions and meaty burgers, sweet candy floss, and sticky toffee apples that quivered in the air like lines of washing. Groups of Morris dancers cavorted merrily, cheered on by the surrounding crowds amidst much howling with laughter as one of the dancers, looking very much like the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Child Catcher, chased through the crowds with a pig’s bladder.
I caught sight of the Town Mayor, Councilor Ronald Rudd, cavorting happily, his rather large belly trembling as Hebden’s beautiful regalia clanked around his neck and a flower-laden straw hat tottered on his rather large head like a pea on a drum. People crowded around him, clapping their hands, encouraging him to dance faster, dance harder. Stilt walkers dressed as fairies and elves stood stiff-legged on the sidelines, and a young man strummed an acoustic guitar and sang, his voice echoing around the crowded market square and the packed streets.
Public house doors stood open, customers walking in and out with full and empty glasses, and children, munching on sweets, their faces etched with awe, sat cross-legged in a circle listening to a young woman, her voice high-pitched and excited, reading “The Snowman.”
I felt a hand on my shoulder and then an arm around my waist, hot breath on my neck, and to my delight, Andy appeared at my side, “That’s me finished for the evening. The Clerk’s taking over. Do you fancy a drink?”
“Oh yes, that would be lovely.”
“The Railway?” I nodded as he grabbed my hand and pulled me through the throngs of people into the public bar of the Railway. Every seat being taken, we queued at the bar until Andy was served with a frothy pint and a glass of red wine.
“Cheers,” we said, chinking glasses, people pushing and shoving all around, thrusting us closer and closer together, Andy’s chest pressed against my breasts, making my heart clatter harder and harder. It was very warm inside, too, a far cry from the cold frostiness outside, and a fire roared in the old tiled fireplace, red and orange flames licking up the chimney. There was a strong smell of perfume and cigarette smoke that trickled in through the open door. Andy raised his glass to a couple of familiar faces, and the jukebox whirred and clicked, and a disco song from the 1970s blared out, “Night fever, night fever, we know how to do it …”
“The Bee Gees,” I said happily, “Oh, how good are The Bee Gees?”
“Excellent,” replied Andy, “A cause for celebration.” We chinked glasses again when, suddenly, something caught my eye at the bar, something that made my heart beat even harder and faster. A man, a bald-headed man. He was turned away from me, his narrow shoulders hunched against a bright white tee shirt tucked into baggy denim jeans, but I had a gut feeling that if he turned around, his face would be wrinkled now, the cross tattoo folded into his cheek and the snake slithering around his neck, caught up in the aged creases. He held a battered-looking black leather jacket in a strong fist.
“Jenny?” Andy shook my arm, “Jenny?”
I came around as if from a dream to look straight into Andy’s worried, frowning face, “What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
I leaned in close to him to speak into his ear, “Maybe I have. Please tell me, or am I imagining it? Do you see a bald-headed man standing at the bar?” Andy turned to look, and this time, it was my hand on his arm, as I whispered, “Don’t be too obvious,” as I looked the other way.
“Yes, I can see a bald-headed man at the bar,” The man must have turned his head because Andy suddenly said, “Oh, good God, he’s got a black cross tattoo on his cheek.”
“Yes,” I replied, “And look at his neck.”
We could just about make out the head of the snake, little tongue flicked out, beady eyes staring, as it lay motionless close to his ear. I took a sip of wine that shot through my body, relaxing me a little as borne on the crowd around us. We moved a little nearer to the bar and the bald-headed man with the tattoos. He held a pint of beer close to his chest as he spoke to a younger man with a head of thick black hair, a small gold hoop hanging from his ear lobe, and another from his nose. The other man sipped from his pint as he said, “So why don’t we get out of here, Albie? I’m getting nothing but hostile stares.”
“Take no notice of ‘em,” growled the bald-headed man, who we now knew was called Albie, “After all, this is a Christmas thing. Peace to all men and what have you.”
“Why we didn’t stay in Tod tonight, I’ve no idea.”
“Oh, I used to come here, to Hebden, you know, back in the day. Had some good times around here. And anyway,” He rounded on the young man, “It’s better than the “Farmer’s Arms” in Tod. It’s dead as a doornail in that place!”
“Well, we don’t belong here. Too upmarket. Come on.” Tipping his head back, the younger man drained his pint as Albie carried on sipping slowly, “Albie, come on,” he said urgently.
“Yeah, in my own good time, alright? In my own good time, Ryan.” Slowly, he nodded his head up and down, his mouth twisted and his dark eyes daggers. If looks could kill, I certainly wouldn’t want to be the young man, Ryan. He had a strange accent too, a mixture of several areas as if he’d traveled around a lot which I suppose he had if he was the man we suspected him to be if he was a gypsy and had owned a blue van, registration number 198 NCG, somebody who was always on the move, going from place to place. Alarmingly easy to snatch a child and hide her away, I suppose.
My stomach rolled alarmingly with horror that this could be the man who had snatched little Susie Valentine, this man standing so close to us, I could almost reach out and touch him. Oh, how I longed to put a firm hand on his shoulder, spin him around, and ask him the question, “Okay, Albie, where is she? Where’s Susie Valentine?” The whole situation seemed surreal as if I was in a drama or a soap on TV. As if he could read my mind, Andy squeezed my hand and, leaning in close, kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear, “I don’t know how I’m managing to keep away from him. If it is him, of course.”
“Oh, Andy, it must be, surely. How many bald-headed men have a snake and a cross tattoo, and in the right places, too?”
“Yes, but we’ve got to be very careful here. No silly moves, you understand what I mean, don’t you?”
I nodded as the jukebox suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree, bright primary colors of red, yellow, and blue flashing, and the strains of Donny Osmond singing “Puppy Love” rang out. The usual group of rather large men started to sing along, waving their pints in the air, beer spilling from their glasses, oblivious to everything around them. Suddenly, one of the large men stumbled, crashing into the bald man, who lurched forward into the younger man, Ryan, beer spilling between them. Enraged, Albie turned around, still miraculously holding his pint, beer dripping from his tee shirt and his jeans, his arm and hand soaked.
Gripping my hand, Andy said, “Come on, Jenny, let’s get out of here. There’s going to be trouble.” We backed off, crowding into the doorway, as it seemed a million other people were, too, all pushing and shoving and trying to escape. Slowly Albie, put his almost empty glass onto the bar and shouted, his gravelly voice loud, deadly, “Who did that?”
Donny Osmond’s voice faded away, and with a whirr and a click, the record came to an end, and the jukebox fell silent, just the lights flashing lozenges of color. The group of large men stood motionless, shiftily looking from one to the other, their eyes not meeting, as people still tried to get out of the doorway, elbowing each other out of the way as if their lives depended on it.
The landlord rapped on the bar, “Calm down, ladies and gents, calm down now. There’s no harm done.”
He turned to Albie and the young man, Ryan, “Alright now, Sir, finish your pint, and then maybe it’s time to leave.” The whole pub fell into a silence so deep, you could hear a pin drop, everybody waiting with bated breath until Albie broke it, his voice ringing out, “I ain’t going nowhere. It weren’t my fault,” His neck bulged with the effort of shouting, the tattooed snake swelling up as if it had eaten something very large. A crocodile, perhaps?
“Okay then, Sir,” said the landlord, pulling a mobile phone from his pocket, “I’ll call the police, eh?” Rapidly he tapped some numbers onto the keyboard and put it to his ear.
The young man with the earrings grabbed Albie’s upper arm, “Come on, Albie, let’s go. We don’t want no trouble, okay?”
Slowly, deliberately, Albie put his pint glass to his lips and drained it, staring around with his dark eyes whilst he placed it on the bar and shrugged into his leather jacket, pulling the collar up, obscuring the snake from prying eyes. He swaggered towards the doorway, closely followed by the young man, as the relieved crowds parted, like Jesus parting the red sea, to let them go, watching them and whispering amongst themselves all the derogatory words they could think of, which, with the threat of the police hanging over his head, Albie decided was best to ignore.
