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Authors: Marian Babson

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BOOK: The Cat Next Door
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Chloe, the quiet one. Chloe, who had seemed to be following in Emmeline's wake as a rock for the rest of the family to cling to when life grew stormy. Chloe, who had suddenly turned from a rock to a raging volcano and erupted, unleashing a torrent of horror, scandal and pain upon the family. Chloe, the dependable one. Chloe …
‘On the other hand,' Margot said thoughtfully, ‘I might go up to London and try to visit Chloe.' If it was going to be one of her good days, why not utilise it to the utmost? Who knew when she might have another.
‘Oh, no!' Christa raised her head and regarded Margot with consternation. ‘No, you can't. Don't even try.'
‘Don't even think it!' Emmeline weighed in. ‘In any case, the system doesn't work that way. It's Holloway Prison, you know, not the Holloway Hotel. You can't just walk in and ask to see one of the guests.'
‘One of the inmates,' Christa corrected bitterly.
‘One of the inmates.' Emmeline sighed deeply. ‘One of our family … one of the inmates.'
‘
Cave
…' Christa whispered the schoolgirl warning, looking over Emmeline's shoulder to the doorway behind her.
Margot turned. Aunt Milly was standing there, smiling vaguely, clutching her book. ‘I thought I heard Kingsley,' she said.
‘You did. He's upstairs with Lynette.' Emmeline took her by the arm, drawing her towards a chair. ‘Sit down. Have you had anything to eat this morning?'
‘Eat …? Oh, yes. Yes … I'm sure I have.' Her voice firmed and strengthened. ‘I'm absolutely sure.'
She was the only one who was. Christa and Emmeline exchanged disbelieving glances. Emmeline poured a cup of coffee and set it down in front of Milly, then lifted the lid of one of the serving dishes and reached for a plate.
‘Have another little bite,' she coaxed. ‘Just to keep us company.' Margot saw that she had cleverly put the serving of scrambled eggs in the centre of a large plate so that it looked like a smaller portion.
‘I don't really want …' Milly's voice trailed off, it was clearly too much effort to argue. She ate a couple of mouthfuls, then settled for pushing the rest of it around her plate.
Emmeline nodded in satisfaction, obviously feeling that every extra morsel they could get Milly to eat helped.
‘Margot – ' She turned her attention to her niece. ‘Have you tried the mini-Danish? Apricot, raspberry, apple, or how about a doughnut?'
‘I'm fine,' Margot said. ‘I couldn't eat any more.'
‘Did you sleep well, dear?' Milly seemed to recall her duties as hostess. ‘Always so unsettling, the first night or two in a strange bed, I always think. And you so jet-lagged, too.'
‘I think I still am.' Margot decided it was the best
explanation for any peculiarities in her behaviour, at least, for next few days. After that …
‘And I slept very well, thank you. It's not really a strange bed to me, you know. It's my own, my childhood – ' She broke off as Milly's eyes filled with tears.
‘Of course, you've come home,' Milly quavered. ‘You're sleeping in your own bed again, unlike – '
‘Have another cup of coffee?'
‘Finish your eggs!'
Christa and Emmeline spoke simultaneously. Margot sat aghast at the unexpected effect of her innocent words. She had not realised how careful it was necessary to be. How could she have been so tactless?
‘No, no … thank you.' Milly got to her feet unsteadily, leaning for a moment on the table before straightening up. ‘I must get back to my – I want to see what happens next. I'm so worried about Lady Amabel. I'm sure Sir Jasper intends her no good …' She left the room still talking, her words trailing off as she moved away.
‘Lady Amabel?' Margot looked after her aunt. ‘Sir Jasper?' She turned to her other aunts.
‘Those bloody books!' Christa's bracelet jangled, her hands were shaking. ‘It's all she does these days: read one damned Regency romance after another!'
‘They're not all Regency romances,' Emmeline protested. ‘She reads straight historical novels, too. It's her way of escaping the present. Don't begrudge it to her, she needs it.'
‘But, if she's like this now …' Margot felt a cold chill envelop her. ‘How on earth is she going to get through the trial?'
‘She'll cope,' Emmeline said. ‘We all will. We have no choice.'
They all jumped when the bell rang again upstairs, an urgent, uncontrolled, almost hysterical summons.
‘That sodding bell!' Christa threw down her chalk. ‘You'll have to take it away from her! You never should have given it to her, in the first place. She'd have come downstairs soon enough if no one paid any attention to her tantrums.'
‘That's easy enough to say now,' Emmeline snapped. ‘You weren't here to see her at the beginning …' She trailed off, obviously struck by a new thought. ‘But why is she ringing for us? Her father and Verity are up there with her. Surely, they can get her anything she wants.'
‘I'm sorry.' Kingsley spoke from the doorway behind them, making them all jump again. ‘There's nothing we can do. She's too … upset.' He looked older, harassed and frustrated at his own inability to handle the situation.
‘Please, can you go up, Emmeline? She … she's slipped back. She was rude, terribly rude, to Verity. And then she began calling out … for Claudia. She wants her mother. She wants her Aunt Chloe. We can't reason with her. We can't calm her. She wants Claudia … and Chloe.'
‘I'll get her pills.' Emmeline left the room swiftly.
‘I'm sorry.' Kingsley spread his hands helplessly. ‘I didn't realise – I mean, she knows the situation. She … she found them. How can she still want … Chloe?' He turned abruptly and went after Emmeline.
‘That's it!' Christa said into the silence that followed. ‘I'm barricading myself in the study for the rest of the day. And you'd be well advised to start off on your nostalgia trail as soon as possible. When Little Madam goes off on one of her turns, there's no peace around here.'
‘I suppose so.' Margot felt oddly disinclined to move and it must have shown in her face.
‘Are you all right?' Christa looked at her with sudden piercing concern. ‘Did you really not bring a camera with you? Nothing at all? That isn't like you.'
‘Oh, I've brought a little one. Nothing serious, hardly better than an old box Brownie.'
Her toy
, Sven had called it. Sven …
‘I thought – ' She pulled herself together. ‘I thought I might take a few shots around town for a travel article - Quaint Old St Albans and all that. Nothing to do with the family.'
‘That's good.' Reassured, Christa's face cleared. Like the rest of the family, she could not imagine someone without a current project to keep them busy, a goal to be striving for. Except Chloe, of course.
Perhaps it was at that moment that Margot changed her plans for the day. Not that she mentioned it to Christa.
‘I might be a bit late getting back,' was all she said. ‘Don't let them delay dinner for me. If I'm running late, I'll get a bite in town.' She did not specify which town.
 
 
Except for a momentary sighting of Tikki on the way to the bus stop (he lifted his tail in greeting and seemed to nod, then turned away upon some business of his own), the trip to town was uneventful.
At the King's Cross Thameslink station, she let the rush of exiting passengers go ahead of her, waiting at the foot of the long flight of stairs until they were out of
the way. Until there was no one to observe her dismay and reluctance as she grasped the handrail and slowly pulled herself up to the top, where another flight of stairs awaited her. She paused at the foot of them, gathering her remaining strength and courage, telling herself that they weren't so bad, really, and that she could see the street level beyond the top of them. She was nearly there. Just one more effort …
A sudden rush of passengers from the train which had just arrived from the opposite direction carried her up the last few steps and she moved to one side at the top, allowing everyone to go ahead of her. Most of them, carrying heavy luggage, seemed to be heading for the main line station across the street to continue their journeys, either off on holidays or homeward bound. Briefly, she envied them their happy destinations.
She had to cross the street, too, then wait at the bus stop at the side of the great looming station. When the Number 17 bus arrived, she boarded it, waving the pass included in her ticket at the driver. She was grateful for the pass, it saved her from having to name her destination. Not that the driver would care, or even notice, he would have seen it all before.
‘The Number 17 is the scenic route,' Nan had written ironically, in one of the few letters she had written to Margot in the immediate aftermath of the horror. ‘First, it passes Pentonville, the men's prison, continuing along its way until it reaches Holloway, the women's prison. imagine –
two
of Her Majesty's major prisons on one and the same bus route! What does that say about urban planning? The mind boggles.'
Margot sat on the shady side of the bus and watched the Caledonian Road roll past, lined on both sides with little shops, many of them spreading their second-hand wares out across the pavement. People swarmed along the street, browsing, shopping, laughing, talking … so much vitality.
She closed her eyes for a moment, surrendering to
the overpowering weariness, feeling the ache in the muscles she had forced into action climbing the stairs. What had given her the idea that this was going to be one of her good days? Or had it started out to be and she had ruined it herself with her own impulsive decision to come to London? She had yet to take the full measure of the beast that was mauling her.
‘Not a life-threatening condition,' the doctor had said. But definitely a life-diminishing one.
A change in the quality of light made her open her eyes again to find they were passing under a railway bridge. Beyond it loomed a creamy-white Victorian building which made her catch her breath. Could that be it? One of the great penal institutions of England, sprawling alongside the main thoroughfare as though it were just another block of flats?
No, not quite on the street, she saw, as the bus drew abreast of HMP Pentonville. There was a wall along the pavement, painted black about one-third of the way up and a vast expanse of creamy-white above. Behind the wall was an inner driveway and then the prison buildings. Even the bars on the windows were painted that creamy-white. Did that make them seem less like bars from the inside?
On one side of the prison was, cheek-by-jowl, a block of Victorian tenement flats, one of the early examples of public housing for the worthy poor. Which had come first, the prison or the charity housing? Had it been intended: the carrot and the stick? Enjoy the clean, up-to-date, affordable housing – but make sure you remain worthy and hard-working to deserve it. Stray from the straight and narrow – and you might be housed next door, where you will not find the accommodation so greatly to your liking. The Victorians had their own little ways of ensuring that everyone kept to what was considered their proper station in life.
The bus rolled on and she thought she was prepared for the next prison, but it took her by surprise. A vast
red-brick expanse appeared to wall off the end of the street but, as the bus drew closer, she saw that it was on the opposite side of the street. It stretched back endlessly, the length of a long city block, blank and windowless.
Somewhere on the other side was Chloe. Chloe incarcerated. Chloe alone. Chloe, from the sound of it, in deep shock and denial.
The bus turned and went past a circular entrance drive with a bar lowered across it and some sort of administration building on one side. Two or three women were strolling out, appearing quite cheerful, accompanied by several small children. Children? Visiting a prison? But this was a women's prison and the children had probably been taken in to see Mummy, or Auntie, or even Granny. Margot remembered reading somewhere that most females were prisoners because they had been convicted of misdemeanours such as shoplifting or prostitution or not paying their television licence.
She got off at the stop just beyond the prison and walked back, grimly forcing herself to walk all the way along the brick wall to the very end. Thirties architecture, probably. Newer, certainly, than Pentonville, but the lack of outward-facing windows gave it a bleaker aspect. At least, in Pentonville, cream-painted bars or not, the prisoners could look out on to the street and get a glimpse of normal life.
The prisoners … Chloe. Margot began to realise that she was in something of a state of shock herself. Seeing Holloway suddenly made the whole horrible nightmare real.
That article she had read had also stated that a good proportion of the women had no place being in prison, but should have been in one of the mental facilities that had been emptied and sold to property developers with the excuse that the patients would do better as Care in the Community outpatients. They wouldn't – and they
hadn't. Now HM Prisons were taking the strain that the community had rejected.
The mad, the bad, the pathetic and the downright dangerous. And Chloe was cooped up amongst them.
Margot's steps faltered. Heaviness dragged at her heart as it had dragged at every fibre of her being for the past few months. Chloe … it didn't bear thinking about. The entire world had gone mad and nothing would ever be right again.
She had retraced her steps as far as the entrance driveway; now something at the edge of her peripheral vision caught her attention. There was something familiar about the figure walking past the lowered bar and towards her. It couldn't be …
‘Nan!' It was. ‘What are you doing here? Have you seen Chloe? How is she?'
‘Margot!' Nan seemed equally disbelieving. ‘What are
you
doing here?'
‘I asked you first.' The childish rejoinder made them both smile ruefully. ‘How is Chloe? What did she say?'
‘Nothing. I didn't see her. I just brought her some clothes – they're allowed to wear their own, you know. No prison uniform for women. And I thought she might want her navy blue suit to wear at … at the trial.'
‘And did she?'
‘I hope so. I sent it in and waited. She didn't send it back.' Nan dabbed with a fingertip at the corner of her eyes and blinked hard.
‘We thought you'd gone shopping.' Margot hadn't meant to sound accusing, but Nan gave her an old-fashioned look.
‘I'll do my shopping now. Here.' She took Margot's arm and walked her down towards the shopping centre on the main road. ‘Where nobody knows me. It will be easier. I can get more done without people stopping me to talk … or having to watch them avoiding me.'
The words brought another sharp insight into what the family had been enduring.
‘And why are
you
here?' Nan gave her no time to think about it.
‘I'm not sure,' Margot confessed. ‘I just felt I wanted to see for myself … where Chloe …'
‘We've all felt like that,' Nan said. ‘At one time or another, every one of us has …' Nan's mouth twisted wryly, ‘made the pilgrimage. But, as we told you, she won't see any of us.'
‘I know. I didn't try. I just wanted to see the place.'
‘We've got the green light.' They had come to a crossroads, shops and stores stretched out in four directions, people thronged the pavements. They joined the crowd surging across the street and Nan continued straight on.
‘We'll start here.' A fruit and vegetable stall spread itself across a street corner. Nan briskly removed a wheeled shopping bag from her shoulder bag and snapped it open. ‘We'll get the fruit and veg from the outdoor markets,' she told Margot, ‘and pick up the meat at the supermarket. The car's in the supermarket parking garage. You're driving back with me, aren't you.' It was a statement, not a question.
‘Yes, oh, yes.' Margot suddenly realised how much she had been dreading the endless flights of stairs she would encounter on the way home. It made her dizzy to think of it. ‘I'll be glad to avoid all those stairs.'
‘Are you sure you're all right?' Nan picked up sharply on the unguarded comment. ‘You haven't looked at all well since you've got here.'
‘Jet lag.' How much longer would she be able to go on using that excuse? ‘It's really hit me hard this time.'
‘I don't know much about jet lag,' Nan admitted. ‘With all her travelling, Claudia never suffered from it.'
‘Claudia was an enthusiastic traveller.'
‘Yes, and I don't know whether it makes it better or
worse that she was so happy the night she … She'd just returned from what she said was the holiday of her life.' Nan smiled wryly. ‘Even though Kingsley wasn't with her. She was cock-a-hoop and on top of the world, already planning her next holiday in that place. It wouldn't have suited me at all, somewhere in the Balkans, with people shooting at each other – although she said that was in another part of the mountains. She raved about those mountains, that unpolluted air …' Nan frowned at the traffic streaming along Holloway Road.
‘I'm glad that her last holiday was the best but …' Nan sighed. ‘I don't know. Perhaps it was tempting Fate to be so happy, to have everything, even a perfect holiday …'
BOOK: The Cat Next Door
8.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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