As they all prayed Elizabeth was particularly devout in asking for guidance and forgiveness, especially in respect of Jacob. After the service she mingled with the small groups which as usual gathered in the churchyard for a chat. The weather was good and no one seemed in any hurry to leave. The talk was mainly about Mary, and the likelihood of what she was claiming to be true. A number of the villagers had now visited her in hospital and had their own version of what had happened, part of which was what Mary had told them, and part their own interpretation. Speculation was running rife again.
‘Fancy her having all that money stuffed under the floorboards,’ Bert said. ‘Who would have thought it!’ The place where the money had been hidden varied, as did the amount – anything from £5,000 to £50,000.
‘Where did she get it from?’
‘Savings I guess.’
‘Pity she didn’t spend it on a good holiday or having central heating put into the cottage. But who would do such a dreadful thing?’
Elizabeth listened without comment as Sid tried to curb the gossip, and repeated that nothing was certain yet and they should wait until the police had finished their investigation and told them for definite what had happened. Then Maggie, one of the newcomers to the village, said she felt her two sons were under suspicion as it was a young man who had committed the crime, and there hadn’t been any crime in the village before. Sid was quick to reassure her that if a crime had been committed – and it was a big if – they weren’t under any more suspicion than anyone else.
‘But the police think it’s definitely a young man from our village,’ Bert’s wife Sandra said.
‘No, that’s hearsay,’ Elizabeth finally put in. ‘And to be honest all this talk doesn’t help. Mary is very confused. As Sid said, it might turn out that there was no robbery at all.’
‘Perhaps she lent the money to someone and forgot,’ someone suggested.
‘And hit herself on the head?’ Bert said.
‘She certainly wasn’t confused when I saw her,’ Sandra persisted. ‘She knew what day of the week it was and was convinced she’d been burgled. I’m keeping all my doors locked until they catch him. Shocking when you’re not safe in your own home.’ Everyone agreed with that.
Elizabeth said her goodbyes and walked away from the gathering deep in thought. Perhaps Andrew’s next sermon should be on the power of the tongue and the harmful effect of gossip. Maggie wasn’t the only one with sons and if the police were pursuing that line of inquiry then at some point they could want to see Jacob.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
On Monday morning Jacob sat in the outpatients department of the transplant centre waiting to see a doctor. He wasn’t in the best of moods. The nurse who’d done all the preliminary checks – blood test, urine, ECG, and so on – had given him a telling off for missing his last two check-ups. He didn’t like bossy women disrespecting him and could have easily slapped her. Now he was having to wait to see the doctor, which was annoying. Prior to this he’d had an argument with Rosie. She’d said she couldn’t come with him as she daren’t take any more days off work.
‘Stuff your work!’ he’d shouted. ‘I should come first!’ This had led to her looking hurt and saying it was her job that paid the bills and if he felt like that then perhaps he should consider moving out. So he’d apologized – the thought of living at the rectory again overrode his indignation at having to say sorry. She still wasn’t completely happy as she dressed for work so he ate more humble pie and confessed he was worried about his health, which was making him tetchy as he thought there might be something seriously wrong. That had done it. She’d become all loving and concerned, but had still gone into work, telling him to text her as soon as he’d seen the doctor.
While he’d been waiting the old Rev had phoned and left a message on his voicemail saying he needed to speak to him urgently. He’d cancelled his credit card. Arsehole. Jacob could guess what had brought that on. Well he could go and fuck himself. He’d get a credit card of his own, and in the meantime he had money in the bank. So all in all it hadn’t been the best of mornings and now he was having to wait to see the doctor because he didn’t have an appointment. Since all the excitement on Friday night when he’d watched Chez being beaten up he’d been having pains in his chest and felt hot and clammy, possible warning signs that something was wrong.
Thirsty and with his blood sugar levels dropping from replacing breakfast with a joint, he went into the main reception area where he got a Mars bar and a can of Coke from the vending machine. He returned to his seat and was still drinking when the nurse called him into the consultation room to see the doctor.
‘Good morning, Jacob, have a seat,’ he said, glancing up from reading his medical notes. ‘I’m Dr West, one of the team here. We’ve met before.’
‘Hey,’ Jacob said and sat back in the chair, legs spread. He finished off the Coke as the doctor read, then crumpled the can and threw it into the bin where it landed with a sharp metallic twang. The doctor looked up.
‘So how are you? We haven’t seen you for a while. The nurse said you’ve been experiencing some chest pain.’
‘Yes. It started on Friday night. And I feel hot and sweaty sometimes too.’
‘Have you been taking your medication?’
‘Yes.’
‘At the set times?’
He nodded.
‘Any other symptoms?’
‘No, just the pains and feeling hot.’
The doctor looked again at the folder which contained the results of his most recent tests.
‘Your blood pressure is up,’ he said. ‘I’ll adjust your medication, although that wouldn’t necessarily account for your symptoms.’ Jacob could see he was worried. ‘Your urine sample showed possible signs of an infection. We’ll send it to the lab for further testing, but in the meantime I’ll start you on a course of antibiotics. How is your diet?’
‘Fine,’ Jacob said with a shrug.
‘Plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables and not too much meat?’
Jacob nodded. He wished he’d just get on with it and tell him he was all right.
‘Alcohol?’ he asked. ‘How often do you drink?’
‘Just the occasional beer.’
‘What’s occasional?’
‘One beer a week,’ he lied.
‘That shouldn’t affect your immunosuppressants but cut it out completely if possible.’ Jacob met his smile stony-faced. ‘OK. I’ll examine you now.’
Jacob knew the procedure like the back of his hand and took off his jersey. The doctor put his stethoscope in his ears and placed the metal end on various points on his chest and asked him to take deep breaths in and out. Then he had to sit forward so he could do the same to his back.
‘I fell off a ladder,’ Jacob said before the doctor had a chance to remark on the bruises on his back from the beating Chez’s boss had arranged. They were fading now but still visible.
‘Whatever were you doing up a ladder?’ the doctor asked.
‘Putting up a light fitting for my girlfriend,’ Jacob said.
‘Very admirable, but please be more careful in future.’ He finished listening to Jacob’s back and then asked him to lie on the couch.
‘That’s fading nicely,’ he said, referring to the operation scar on his chest that ran nearly the length of his sternum. Using the palm of his hand he began gently pressing Jacob’s stomach and around his sides. ‘There’s no sign of fluid build-up so we won’t increase your diuretics. It all seems normal. You can get dressed.’
Jacob gave a sigh of relief and climbed off the couch. He returned to his chair and put on his jersey as the doctor wrote.
‘As you probably know there is only so much I can tell from examining you and the routine tests we run here. So you will need to have another biopsy. You’re due for one anyway, overdue in fact. I’ll try to book if for this afternoon if possible, if not tomorrow at the latest. You don’t feel nauseous, dizzy or short of breath, do you??
??
‘No.’
‘Why have you missed so many appointments?’ He looked at him seriously.
‘Work commitments.’
‘They must allow you time off to attend your hospital appointments. I can give you a letter if necessary,’
‘I’ll tell them,’ Jacob said.
He paused, scrutinizing Jacob in a manner he didn’t appreciate.
‘These check-ups are very important,’ he emphasized. ‘I am aware that once you recover from the actual operation and feel so much better you may not see the need for continuous monitoring. But the risk of the organ being rejected, whilst it diminishes with time, is still there. These check-ups are as important now as they were at the start, as is having a healthy lifestyle. I see you’ve stopped attending your physio programme. Are you exercising at home?’
‘Yes.’ Fucking Rosie was very good exercise Jacob thought, unable to hide a smirk. It beat going to the hospital gym any day.
‘OK,’ the doctor said, making a note on the file. ‘If you take a seat outside a nurse will advise you when we can do the biopsy.’
Jacob nodded and stood. The doctor watched him go. There was something he didn’t like about that young man; his manner was hostile and arrogant. Cocky. The sort of patient who thought he knew better than the doctor, until it was almost too late. He turned to his computer and brought up the schedule for the special procedures room to see when it was next free to book it for the biopsy.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Elizabeth sat in her car, concentrating on number 33 Birch Road. She was parked on the opposite side of the road a little way up from the house and had a clear view. She’d been there for nearly an hour now watching, waiting for any sign of movement, but so far there’d been nothing. She guessed Shane’s siblings were probably at school and his mother Tracy could be at work. But she continued waiting just in case. If she did see Tracy entering or leaving the house she knew what she would do; quickly get out of the car and intercept her with a polite, ‘I’m so sorry to bother you but could I possibly talk to you about Shane?’ She knew what Tracy looked like from her profile picture on Facebook and if it wasn’t convenient she’d ask if she could come back another time as it was very important.
She thought the poor woman might break down and cry at the mention of her son, and Elizabeth would comfort her until she felt well enough to continue. She pictured Tracy inviting her into her house where over a cup of tea she’d tell her all about Shane. Elizabeth would thank her and commiserate with her at her loss but wouldn’t tell her the real reason she needed to know: that through cellular memory her son could be responsible for Jacob’s behaviour. It would be too cruel, for regardless of how bad Shane had been in life – if indeed he had been bad at all – he was still her son. And meeting Elizabeth might help Tracy come to terms with her loss and see that her son hadn’t died in vain. If she was a practising Christian then they could say a prayer together before she left.
Birch Road was a mixture of social and private housing as was most of the 1950s estate, and as usual it was clear from the outside which was which. Tracy’s house was mid-terraced and had the standard external appearance of social housing. It was slightly run down, suggesting the family didn’t have much money. The window frames and front door were in need of painting if not replacing, and the net curtains that hung at the windows were badly faded. The front garden was an old crumbing concrete drive with straggling weeds and rubbish that had been blown in from the street, in sharp contrast to many of the neatly tended gardens of her neighbours. Unloved and uncared for, Elizabeth thought, but then the poor woman had lost her son a year ago so she was unlikely to be concerned about the niceties of a pretty front garden.
When Elizabeth had set off from home she hadn’t known the number of Tracy’s house, since the newspaper had stated only Birch Road, but she’d assumed – rightly as it turned out – that her tragedy would be known in the street and someone would know where the poor woman lived. The first door she’d knocked on had been answered by an elderly gentleman. ‘I’ve come to see Tracy Smith,’ Elizabeth had said. ‘I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number.’
‘Number thirty-three,’ he’d replied without hesitation. Elizabeth had thanked him, and driven further up the street to Tracy’s house.
It was now 3.30 and Elizabeth thought that if Tracy’s other children were of school age then they would be returning home soon. But another half-hour went by and no one appeared. Elizabeth was growing stiff from sitting in the car for so long. She stretched her legs as far as she could. Five more minutes and then she’d knock again on the front door to make sure no one was in, possibly put a note through the letterbox with her mobile number asking Tracy to phone, and then leave. She couldn’t stay here indefinitely, although whether she would ever summon the courage to return and try again, she wasn’t sure.
A few minutes later, as Elizabeth was about to start the engine, two women appeared, walking down the street towards her. Dressed similarly in leggings and blouse tops they were laughing and talking loudly. As they arrived outside number thirty-three one of them turned into the drive and calling, ‘See ya,’ continued up to the front door. Before Elizabeth realized what was happening and that this could be Tracy, she’d let herself in and the front door had closed behind her.
Lambasting herself for not acting sooner, Elizabeth got out of her car and ran across the road and up the crumbling drive, her mouth dry and her stomach tight. There was no doorbell so she clattered the letterbox. As she did she heard a deep female voice shout from inside, ‘Don’t give me your lip, you little cow! I fucking told you if you stayed in bed all day again, you’d be out on your ear. Now pack your stuff and get the fuck out.’
Then the front door suddenly opened. ‘Yes?’ the woman demanded. ‘What do you want?’
‘Tracy?’ Elizabeth asked, shocked. She didn’t look anything like her Facebook photo, which had clearly been taken when she’d been younger and showed her with her hair styled and her face made up.
‘Who’s asking?’ she demanded. A teenage girl crossed the hall behind her, disappearing into one of the rooms. Tracy turned to shout at her. ‘Get a move on you lazy slut.’ Then she returned her attention to Elizabeth. ‘If you’re from the council I’ve already told you lot you’ll get the fucking rent money as soon as I’ve got it. I can’t magic it out of thin air, much as I’d like to.’ She gave a thick mucus-filled laugh, suggesting she was or had been a heavy smoker.
‘No, I’m not from the council,’ Elizabeth said, her voice unsteady. ‘Are you Shane’s mother?’
‘Maybe, why? He can’t be in any more trouble. He’s dead. You the police?’
‘No, I’m not. I’m sorry, I know he’s dead. Could I come in so we can talk?’
‘Say what you have to say there. I’m busy.’
This wasn’t what Elizabeth had imagined when she’d pictured meeting Shane’s family, not at all. The woman was so aggressive that she felt intimidated, almost scared of her, but she’d come this far so she tried to hold her nerve. ‘My name is Elizabeth,’ she began. ‘I’m sure you know this, but when Shane died his organs were used for a transplant. My son received his heart.’
‘Well, bugger me! You don’t say!’ the woman exclaimed. ‘Well I never! Yeah, I’m his mother, or was.’ Some of her aggression had softened a little, but it was soon replaced by mirth. ‘The hospital phoned and asked about his organs. Don’t tell me they’ve stopped working and you want a refund.’ Her laugh broke into a bronchial cough and Elizabeth waited until she’d recovered before continuing.
‘I’d like to learn more about Shane,’ Elizabeth said hoping she might be invited in.
‘Like what?’
‘What he was like as a person. His hobbies, his likes and dislikes, hopes for the future, his career.’
Tracy was laughing raucously again. ‘Are we talking about the same bloke? The only hobby Shane had was breaking into people’s homes. And as for his career? Well, that w
as very specialist.’ She couldn’t contain her laughter. ‘Secure children’s home from the age of eleven, then a young offenders’ institution, and when he was old enough, adult prison. That was his career!’
Horrified, Elizabeth waited until the woman’s laughing and coughing had subsided before she asked, ‘So Shane spent most of his life in prison?’
‘Yeah, best place for him. Not sure why they let him out. He tried to move back ’ere when he came out the last time but I sent him packing. I mean, he hit me before so I don’t think I was being unreasonable.’
Elizabeth stared at her, bewildered and dismayed, not only by what she was learning about Shane but that any mother could speak so unkindly of her son. ‘Did he take drugs and drink a lot of alcohol?’ she asked, remembering some of the information she’d been hoping to find out.
Tracy eyed her suspiciously. ‘Are you a reporter?’
‘No. I’ve said, my son received Shane’s heart.’
The girl appeared again in the hall behind Tracy, now dressed and with a bag over her shoulder. ‘I’m going,’ she said with attitude.
‘Good riddance, you little cow. And don’t come back,’ Tracy retorted.
Elizabeth stood aside to let the girl pass. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen.
‘Bitch!’ the girl called over her shoulder, lighting a cigarette as she went.
‘Fucking kids! Why do we have ’em?’ Tracy said loud enough for the girl to hear.
‘She’s your daughter?’ Elizabeth asked, horrified.