The truce was over. The Hundred Years’ War had restarted, entering its second century.
The mother of the abandoned children had regained control of herself and made tea for them all on her spotless stove. Back in charge of her nerves, she was explaining to Viv – and incidentally to Miss Brownlow, who had doubtless heard the whole story – the series of misfortunes that had led to the near-disaster.
‘Sid – that’s my husband – was working in Wales. He couldn’t get a job around here, you see.’ Viv could surely understand that fact of life. ‘Anyway, he had an accident on the building site. His ankle got broke. It wasn’t all that bad, but I got a message saying it was serious.’
She paused to recall the worried state of her mind at that turning point, then continued. ‘Well, my Mum’s up in Carlisle, so Sid said his sister, Rosie – she stays with us – that Rosie could look after the kids.’
Her expression hardened after mentioning the name of her sister-in-law. ‘She’s back now. The Police picked her up at Birmingham Airport.’
Viv couldn’t help shaking her head in disgust. ‘She needs locking up, you know that. Where is she?’
‘Rosie?’ the children’s mother called out. After waiting for an answer, she called again. ‘Rosie?’
Across the room a door opened slightly and remained ajar. Soon a shadowy face peered through the gap. Presumably Rosie.
‘What d’you want?’ she asked sullenly.
The young mother spoke to her sister-in-law in a stern tenor. ‘There are people wanting to see you. So get in here.’
The door opened wider, and Rosie slouched into their presence, hugging herself, perhaps holding herself together in one piece. She looked as if she had fallen down a mine-shaft. In fact, she was the slattern Viv had expected to see when the children’s mother first opened the door.
Rosie must have taken note of Viv staring at her lumps, bumps and bruises. ‘I walked into a door,’ she scowled in non-explanation.
Unimpressed, Viv went straight after her. ‘Why’d you do it? Leave two small kids in a supermarket?’ She still couldn’t believe anyone would do something so stupidly dangerous, let along idiotic.
Rosie shrugged lackadaisically, absolving herself of any responsibility or blame. ‘I thought they’d be all right. Lots of people to look after them.’ Abruptly her vindication became vindictive. ‘How was I to know not one bugger would lift a finger? Bloody nice that is!’ The rest of the world was at fault, not her.
Viv was speechless, although her mouth was open. She kept staring as if Rosie were a zombie from outer space.
‘It’s all very well you looking at me like you was the Virgin Mary, but what would you have done?’ she asked Viv rhetorically.
‘What would I have done if what?’
‘If you’d been offered a free trip to Torremolinos with the likes of Bill Braddock …’
Confused, Viv couldn’t quite understand what Torremolinos or one Bill Braddock had to do with anything germane to their discussion. Perhaps Rosie would clarify her statement.
‘You could wait a thousand years to meet a man with a body like that!’
Oh, thought Viv, so that was the reason she deserted the children. And worse, she was serious …
The expensive drilling bit had been returned to the Byron-Newman engineering works, and the manager had agreed to talk with Special Constable Anjali Shah. They met outside the entrance.
‘I don’t know how you did it,’ he shook his head back and forth. ‘And I’m not asking why.’
‘You got your property back?’ she asked him to confirm.
‘Late this afternoon,’ the manager acknowledged.
Anjali reflected before going on, speaking slowly, impersonally, unapologetically. ‘What about charges?’
The manager gave her a searching look before conceding to her terms. ‘I won’t be pressing any.’ Yet he didn’t drop his judgmental gaze, and she realized he was trying to relate to her on some deeper level.
‘I suppose you have to look after your own. And far be it from me to damage race relations,’ he went on. Sadly, Anjali could sense the signals that he was about to deliver the same tired old sermon. ‘But listen, I’ve been to India. On holiday, Taj Mahal and all that guff. I know India.’ And how naively, casually, baldly he revealed that he knew nothing of the land at all. ‘Whether I press charges or not, it won’t make any difference. You know that. I know that.’ As if she were his co-conspirator in keeping the bloody wogs under control – and as if it were a privilege for one of her kind to be taken into his confidence.
As smart as they might be, some people would never learn. What he had assumed he had won, yet had just as surely lost, was her respect, though unnoticed and obviously of no importance to him.
Freddy Calder was chatting with two young Specials as a group of them were returning from duty to the Division ‘S’ entrance later in the evening. One of them had a lead on a place that could be ideal for him.
‘… Nothing fantastic, mind. Just a small bachelor flat,’ Freddy coaxed them, envisioning this private paradise in his daydreams, and, best of all, not envisioning his mother living there with him. ‘If you see anything, give us a bell, huh?’
Spotting Loach just inside the building, Freddy shifted into overdrive and accelerated into the station. ‘Bob …?’
Meanwhile, Viv Smith caught up with the two young Specials Freddy had left behind. ‘Forget it. He’s always looking for a place. He never ever follows any of them up.’ This function also fell under the heading of duty: educating the new recruits.
Hearing Freddy’s cry, Loach halted at the door to the parade room, where Freddy buttonholed him with a wink and a grin.
‘Going up to the 4th?’ Freddy inquired.
‘Sure. After I’ve seen the troops in.’ Only then did Loach think to question Calder’s motives. ‘Why?’
Freddy sidled up to Loach and spoke to him in the stage whisper reserved for confidential consultation. ‘Well … I have a sensational announcement of a sexual nature to impart.’
His hand always quicker than the beholder’s eye, Freddy whisked MacFoxy the puppet out of his pocket. The old furball, inspired by his master’s hand, undulated in the most highly suggestive manner to relay his not-so-subtle message.
‘It’ll make your pants dance, Loach.’
A conniving wink, and Freddy was off.
‘What? Now just hold it a sec, Freddy?’
Before Loach could stop him, Freddy had already disappeared deeper into the inner labyrinths of the building.
A few minutes later up at the Pub on 4th, Loach was keeping an eye out for Freddy and his puppet companion while sipping on a well-earned pint. Looking around to check the door, he saw Sergeant McAllister moving toward him with a tall fellow in tow. Just behind them were Anjali Shah and Toby Armstrong.
McAllister walked up to Loach’s table and presented his guest. Loach stood up to meet them.
‘John Redwood – this is Section Officer Bob Loach.’ Andy turned to Loach. ‘Mr Redwood is a budding Special, Bob. Could be under your wing any day now. Isn’t that right, John?’ When his gaze returned to Loach, he raised an eyebrow, disclosing a fly in the ointment. ‘’Course, that depends on whether he reaches the very high standards needed to join your