Upon a Dark Night (7 page)

She stood as Ada’s lookout at the end of the chilled meat aisle, trying to give the impression she couldn’t decide between two portions of minced beef. She had one hand on a trolley containing two cartons of cereal and a bottle of lemonade. Her job was to keep watch for any member of the Sainsbury’s staff who happened to come by. She was supposed to distract them by asking where to find the maple syrup. This would compel them (customer relations having such a high priority at Sainsbury’s) to escort her to the far end of the store, leaving Ada to make a sharp exit at the other end of the aisle.

Even Rose, without any experience of this kind of crime, could tell that the strategy was flawed. Big supermarkets like this employed store detectives who weren’t dressed in uniform. But then Ada had never claimed to be an efficient shoplifter. She grabbed two packs of meat and stuffed them inside her blouse while her accomplice watched, appalled. It was swiftly done and Rose could only suppose the extra bulges wouldn’t show.

She wouldn’t fancy the steak.

She had agreed to do this only from a sense of obligation. She felt she couldn’t refuse after Ada had supported her at the Hinton Clinic. There was no risk in being the lookout, Ada had insisted. Ada Shaftsbury had never ratted on a friend, and you had to believe she was speaking the truth.

It was still nerve-racking, especially as Ada wasn’t content with two packs. She grabbed two more and moved to another aisle to scoop up some vegetables. Rose went too, squeezing the handle of the trolley to stop her hands from shaking.

The plunder continued. Some loose runner beans and a number of courgettes went under the waistband of Ada’s skirt. The fit was so tight that there was no danger of them falling through. Next, she acquired a handful of tomatoes and dropped them into her cleavage.

‘Hello.’

Rose jerked in alarm.

‘What are you doing?’

She turned around guiltily. But the voice was only a child’s. A boy of about three, or perhaps a little older, in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and blue shorts, was staring up at her.

She swallowed hard and told him, ‘Just picking out some things.’

‘What things?’

‘I haven’t decided.’

‘Are you going to buy some biscuits?’

‘I don’t expect so.’ She looked up and down the aisle. ‘Shouldn’t you be with your mummy?’

‘She’s over there.’ He pointed vaguely. She could have been any one of a dozen women waiting for service at the cold meat counter.

‘You don’t want to get lost,’ said Rose, wishing fervently that he would. She was supposed to be scouting for Ada, not humouring little boys. ‘Why don’t you go back to Mummy?’

He said, ‘I like chocolate chip cookies. I like chocolate chip cookies best.’

‘There aren’t any here,’ said Rose. ‘This is fruit and vegetables here.’

‘They’re up there. Do you want me to show you?’

‘No. I’m too busy.’

‘They have got some here.’

‘Is that so?’ she responded without enthusiasm, still trying to keep Ada in sight.

‘You got me some on the train,’ said the child. ‘What?’ She frowned at him.

‘Chocolate chip cookies. You remember.’

‘
On
the train?’

‘Yes. For being a good boy.’

Rose bent closer to his level. ‘What train?’

‘From Paddington. You remember, don’t you?’

She glanced back. Ada was already moving towards the exit. The plan required Rose to go at once to the end of the aisle nearest the checkouts and create a diversion by dropping the lemonade bottle and smashing it while Ada made her escape. She should have started already. This couldn’t be delayed.

She would be forced to leave the boy just as she was learning something vital.

‘There are cookies in this shop,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve seen them.’

‘What’s your name?’’ Jeremy.’

Another glance. She dared not delay any longer. Ada depended on her. She was turning the corner at the end of the aisle.

She started moving. ‘Jeremy what?’

He muttered something.

‘Speak up.’

‘Parker.’

Or was it Barker he said?

She couldn’t wait to find out. She didn’t want Ada to be arrested. She fairly raced towards the checkouts, fumbled in the trolley, pulled out the lemonade and let it drop. The bottle shattered. Splinters of glass slid across the floor in a pool of sticky lemonade.

‘Oh, God!’ said Rose with absolute conviction. One of the supervisors was at her side almost at once to tell her it was no problem.

‘I’m so sorry. It slipped out of my hand. Of course I’ll pay,’ Rose offered.

With the minimum of fuss the area was roped off and the glass swept up. She joined a queue. She looked along the length of the checkouts for Jeremy Barker (or Parker) and his mother. They were either still touring the shop, or they had slipped out. Rose decided not to linger. It was too dangerous. She paid for the few items she had, and left. Ada would be waiting for her in Green Park.

Ada liked her steaks cooked medium rare and she stood in the kitchen doorway to make sure Rose didn’t leave them too long under the grill.

‘They’d better be tender after all this trouble,’ she said.

‘Don’t complain to me if they’re not.’

Ada laughed heartily. ‘Can’t complain to Sainsbury’s, either.’

While the cooking was going on, Rose gave Ada a less frantic account of what the boy Jeremy had said.

‘Just a kid,’ Ada said thoughtfully. ‘How small did you say?’

‘Under school age.’

‘Three? Four?’

‘Four, I’d guess.’

‘You’re wondering if you can rely on a little scrap like that? They’re just as good at recognising someone as a grown-up is.’

‘He was a bright little boy. I think he was sure he knew me,’ said Rose.

‘As someone who gave him chocolate chip cookies on a train?’

‘From Paddington, he said. He had plenty of time to get a look at me. You’re right, Ada. Kids are just as observant as grown-ups. More so, if they think they can get something out of them.’

‘But did you recognise him? Watch those steaks, petal. When I said rare I meant it.’

Rose pulled out the grillpan and turned them over. The smell was appetising. She was changing her mind about eating one, even though it had been in such close contact with Ada. ‘No. I didn’t, but I wouldn’t, would I?’

‘Something’s got to click some time. What did you say his name is?’

‘Jeremy Barker. Or Parker.’

‘Pity. There must be hundreds in the phone book.’

Presently Rose lifted the pan from under the grill and asked if the steaks would do.

She scooped some vegetables into a colander. They took everything upstairs on trays and sat on their beds to eat.

Ada said, ‘Stupid of me. We should have liberated some wine. You shouldn’t eat fine steak without wine. They do a superb vintage Rioja.’

‘How do you smuggle out a bottle of wine?’ Rose asked in amazement.

‘With style, petal, and a piece of string.’

‘String
?’

‘The best Rioja is always covered in fine wire netting. You thread the string through and hang the bottle under your skirt. It’s bumpy on the knees, but you don’t have to go far.’

Rose watched Ada start on her third fillet with the same relish she had shown for the others.

‘You said you couldn’t think on an empty stomach. Has this helped?’

‘It’s beginning to,’ said Ada. ‘What am I to think about - your problem?’

‘It would help.’

‘Things are becoming clearer, aren’t they?’ said Ada. ‘If that kid in Sainsbury’s had his head screwed on right, you were seen recently on a train travelling from London Paddington to Bath Spa. Some time since, you were in a tangle with a motor vehicle - and came off the worse for it. There’s a good chance it was driven by a local couple who brought you to the Hinton Clinic and later phoned to enquire if you were still in the world of the living. Their car may have had a silver fish mounted on the bonnet. Fair summary?’

‘I think you’ve covered all of it.’

‘No, I haven’t. There’s yourself. A well brought-up gel, going by the way you talk. Southern counties accent, I’d say. Certainly not West Country. Anyway, that’s a London haircut, in my opinion. True, you’re a casual dresser, but none of the stuff you told me you were wearing is off the bargain rail. It all suggests to me that you work for a living, in a reasonably well-paid job that doesn’t require grey suits and regular hours. And you’re not a bad cook, either.’

‘Thanks. But where do I go from here?’

‘We could see if the Winemart down the hill is still open.’

‘But I’ve got to be careful with my money …’ Then she saw the gleam in Ada’s eye and said, ‘No way. I’ve taken enough risks for one day.’

They finished the meal in silence.

Eight

Ada was out of bed early. She muttered something about phoning a friend and then plodded downstairs.

Rose lay awake, but without moving, disappointed that another night had passed and no old memories had surfaced. Her known life still dated from less than a week ago. And now she was putting off doing anything else. She wasn’t idle by nature, she felt sure. She hated the frustration of having no purpose for the day. She didn’t want to spend it sitting in Harmer House or aimlessly wandering the streets of Bath. She wept a little.

What an opportunity she had missed by walking away from the little boy in Sainsbury’s. She was certain in her mind that he really had seen her on the train. She should have asked him to take her to his mother. In a train journey of an hour and a half, she and the woman must have exchanged some personal information. Must have. Clearly they had been on talking terms, or she would never have bought cookies for the child. Two women of about the same age had things in common. At the very least they must have talked about their reasons for travelling to Bath.

If Ada hadn’t involved me in the shoplifting, she thought, I might be lying in my own bed this morning.

Sod Ada.

She wiped away the tears, sat up awkwardly and examined her legs. The bruises had gone from blue to greenish yellow. Her ribs still hurt, but the body was recovering. Then why not the brain?

In this chastened mood, she speculated what would happen if her memory never returned. Unless she took drastic action, she was condemned to eke out her existence in places like this, or worse, dependent on welfare handouts.

She had no skills or qualifications that she knew of. The descent into self-neglect, apathy and despair would be hard to resist. That was how people ended living rough.

The sound of the stairs groaning under pressure blended in with her mood. Then her thoughts were blasted away by a spectacle almost psychedelic in effect. At nights Ada wore an orange-coloured T-shirt the size of a tent and Union Jack knickers. She seemed to relish prowling about the hostel dressed like that, startling the other inmates.

‘I’ve got Hildegarde started on the cooking. She would have overslept. I said you’d probably want mushrooms with yours, am I right? She can’t say mushrooms, but she knows what they are now.’

Rose started to say, ‘I don’t think I—’

‘Yes, you do. Get a good breakfast inside you. We’ve got things to do.’

‘Oh, yes - like another supermarket? No thanks, Ada.’

Ada made her feel mean by announcing that she’d been on the phone to a friend who had forgotten more about cars than she or Rose were ever likely to find out. If anyone in Bath knew about silver fish mascots, it was Percy. He had promised to see them in his used car mart on the Warminster Road at ten.

The overheads at Percy’s Car Bargains were minimal. He had about eighty used vehicles lined up on a patch of gravel beside the A36 and his office was a Land Rover. Two tattooed youths were employed with buckets and sponges. They probably got paid in used fivers, with no questions asked about tax and National Insurance.

‘My dear Miss Shaftsbury, my cup overflows,’ Percy said in an accent that would not have been out of place in the Leander Club marquee at Henley. ‘You
and
the young lady of mystery.’

‘How do you know that?’ said Ada.

‘Well, unless I’m mistaken,’ he said, pausing to scrutinise Rose as if she might be a respray job being passed off as new, ‘you’re the one who turned up at the Hinton Clinic the other night.’

Rose felt a sudden outbreak of goose-pimples.

Ada said, ‘Percy, I didn’t tell you that on the phone.’

‘I saw it in last night’s
Chronicle,
my dear. “Lost Memory Mystery” or some such. There was a photo of a stunningly attractive young lady, and I thought to myself that I wouldn’t mind being introduced.’ He turned to Rose. ‘You had some injuries from a car - is that right? We’re supposed to tell the plod if we can help.’

‘I’m in the paper?’ said Rose, appalled.

Ada clicked her tongue. ‘Didn’t I tell you it was a mistake to let them take pictures?’

‘But no one asked my permission.’ As Rose was speaking, she recalled the policewoman saying that her superiors would take the decisions.

Ada explained, ‘Rose didn’t want this. She wanted to deal with her own problem.’

Percy crowed his sympathy to the entire fleet of used cars. ‘Bloody shame, my dear. You can’t trust anyone these days, least of all the guardians of the peace, I’m sorry to say. I would have told you that myself, given the chance.’

Rose sighed deeply and looked away, across the rows of cars towards the trees, trying to compose herself.

‘Percy knows exactly how you feel,’ Ada said to Rose. ‘He’s a very understanding man. The world’s most perfect gent. I haven’t told you how we met. It was at Swindon Magistrates’ Court.’

‘So it was,’ said Percy.

Ada continued to discuss her gentleman friend as if he wasn’t present. ‘I was up for shoplifting and he refused to believe I was guilty.’

‘You’re a magistrate?’ said Rose.

‘No, my dear,’ said Percy, smiling. ‘Like Miss Shaftsbury, I was waiting for my case to come up. Falsifying documents, or instruments, or some such nonsense, the sort of horse manure that is regularly dumped on a person in my profession. Well, we had an instant rapport, Miss Shaftsbury and I.’

‘Percy, I do wish you’d call me Ada. He gave me his visiting card,’ she told Rose, ‘and he offered his services to my solicitor as a surprise witness. Petal, you should have been there. It was like one of those old Perry Mason films. Percy came into court and swore blind he was with me at a tea-dance at the time of the offence. A tea-dance, would you believe? He was brilliant. He said he partnered me in the square tango and it was etched on his memory for ever.’