The Way Back Ch. 05

That made sense, though I wasn't happy with the idea.

"All the more reason to get to this O'Malley guy and extract the facts. But if Fanshaw's behind my attack I'm seeing Ann right away."

Colin said, "Allan, could you come to the station and give another DNA sample?"

I agreed and we left it there.

As I sat at home with a large measure of single malt whisky, I mulled over this latest development. The idea of Northern Moor being the author of my intended demise seemed too extreme, even for them, but the cumulative reasons Derek might have, put him squarely in the frame. I began to dislike the man more than ever.

However, I had to be realistic; we needed hard evidence, and O'Malley would provide it one way or another. I finished the whisky and got myself some milk to take to bed, in the forlorn hope it would counteract the large amount of alcohol I had now consumed.

The next day would prove interesting, I had no experience in separating fighting women! I wondered again if I'd done the right thing, inviting Jenny to meet Trish.

The doorbell woke me. I stumbled downstairs and opened the door to find Jenny standing there with a big smile on her face.

"Am I too early?" she asked, "I've brought some Danish for breakfast!"

"If you've brought Danish, your timing is perfect," I answered, pulling her to me for a kiss.

"Mind the Danish!" she cried, holding them to one side as I hugged her.

I made coffee, even though I much preferred tea to begin the day. But coffee goes better with Danish pastries.

"What time is it?" I asked, as I worked.

"Ten."

So I overslept. I toyed with the idea of telling her about the meeting the previous ,insight, but thought it better to wait until Trish arrived. Trish! My mobile rang as I remembered I should have rung her.

Oh hell! I thought, as I connected.

"Trish I'm so sorry, I should have rung you. There's been progress. I had a meeting with 'the three' last night. Where are you?"

She laughed. "Don't worry, I do remember you have a small memory problem still, and I know it surfaces most when you're stressed. Do you want me?"

"Oh, Trish, you've no idea how much I want you," I growled, and she howled with laughter. Jenny raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously," she calmed down, but was still ragging me, "Today's Thursday, did you know that? I have a long, long weekend off after all the overtime I put in. Want me to come?" again she giggled.

"Definitely, Jenny's just arrived. Where are you? At home?"

"Well, actually I'm at that service station just outside Bradford. Be there in under an hour. Give me the address." She told me she would ring me when she was near. She had an A to Z Street Map of Manchester.

Jenny and I changed plans and had a round of toast and some tea, keeping the Danish and coffee till Trish arrived, which she did almost exactly to the three-quarter hour. I answered the door.

"Wow!" she exclaimed, falling into my arms, kissing me and then coming up for air. "Great house! Even better inside!"

I led her to the kitchen where Jenny awaited us. I made the introduction and watched as they greeted each other, all the while sizing each other up. It amused me. I left the room and got Trish's cases from her car and took them up to the bedroom.

There was a carrier bag, and inside it a large chocolate easter egg. I mentally thanked Trish: I had not thought of getting an easter egg for Jenny. I would have to find an opportunity to get one, though she would have to be given it on the Tuesday after Easter, but hell, for women chocolate is always welcome!

By the time I returned they were engrossed in conversation sharing information, much of it, it seemed, about me.

"Would you make the coffee, please darling?" ordered Jenny.

"And I believe there's some Danish, can you put them on a plate and lay the table, sweetheart?" commanded Trish.

They looked at each other and giggled. They had teamed up already and I was outnumbered. I did as I was told and then joined them at the table. Boy, could they talk!

After the snack, Jenny led Trish away for a tour of the house, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I wondered how Jenny would react to seeing Trish's bags in our bedroom, but there was no jealousy there that I could detect.

Trish returned to the kitchen alone, Jenny having called at the bathroom on the way.

"She's lovely!" said girlfriend number one. "Hold onto that one!"

They suggested we find a local pub and get some lunch there. Jenny said she'd drive, since she'd be going home that evening.

"I don't want to drive you out," said Trish.

"No don't worry, I've got to pack. I'm visiting my parents this weekend."

She then recounted her life story.

"So you see," she said to Trish (by this time we were seated in a pub less than a mile from my house), "it's going to be fraught. Allan's made me see I should try to reconcile with them and get it all out in the open."

"He's right," Trish answered as if I wasn't there. "He has good ideas -- sometimes!"

She glanced at me, smiling.

"Talking about reconciling, what's the latest on the Ann saga?"

I recounted the meeting's progress the previous night and my worries. Both women became solemn and concerned.

"She's going to be destroyed when she finds she's been living with her husband's murderer," said Jenny.

"I can't imagine how that would feel," said Trish.

"Hold on, you two," I countered. "I didn't die, or didn't you notice I'm still, shall we say, active."

They both laughed.

"Is he 'active' enough for you?" giggled Trish to Jenny.

"Oh, yes!" Jenny replied, giggling in her turn. "Totally! But I think his skill when he's 'active' is down to you!"

I was getting embarrassed.

"Hey!" I objected. "I'm still here, you know! And going back to Derek, we don't know he's the guilty party."

"Yet!" said Trish.

"At all," I countered. "We're going to corner O'Malley and get the story out of him, one way or another."

"We know he's guilty as sin," said Jenny. "Don't do anything silly, Allan."

"I think it's obvious Derek is the guilty one," said Trish. "I'd lay you odds on that. He needs stopping. You're not going to let the wedding go ahead, are you?"

"Poor woman!" muttered Jenny.

As if by common consent, the conversation turned to other things, women's things. I might as well not have been there. Some men have fantasies about having two women. That's all they are, fantasies. Sex apart, they natter on and on about clothes and make-up and all sorts of things in which I have not the slightest interest.

Not that I was going to get any three-in-a-bed sex; neither did I want any. I had a loving relationship with each of these sweet women, now lost to me for the afternoon, and each was different, and separate, and I wanted to keep it that way. Seriously, I was intensely relieved that they got on so well. Trish went to the loo.

"She's gorgeous!" enthused Jenny. "I'm sorry she's going. We could be best friends. You'll miss her terribly when she goes, won't you?"

I nodded. "I've been so lucky to have had her to pull me through, and now you. Both of you are clever, effective women with the biggest of big hearts."

"And the perception to know a perfect man when they see him," said Trish kissing the top of my bald head as she returned and passed me. Then she slid into her place; the 'girls' were sitting side by side opposite me. Good for me!

The afternoon passed quickly, and we went out for dinner after which Jenny left to go home and prepare for her trip. She dropped us off at the house, hugged and kissed me with much enthusiasm as Trish looked on grinning. The women hugged each other and then she was gone.

"Allan," Trish said, "don't let her go. She's just right for you. She's got everything, a loving nature, good looks, highly intelligent, and she worships the ground you walk on!"

"I don't know what I've done to deserve two women with those qualities," I said, smiling lovingly at her.

"And you say all the right things!" she answered. "But we have an appointment. Time's running out and I want my share of you."

So we went straight to bed and made love. A thought crossed my mind at some point as to how Jenny might be feeling, knowing what we were doing.

It must have shown in my face, for Trish gave an extra squeeze and whispered, "It's all right, Allan darling, she's happy you're happy."

At times like those you wonder if you're dreaming but don't want to wake up. In real life, I didn't believe her.

------

TWENTY

A Good Friday tradition in our house before the unpleasantness, was that I would bake Hot Cross Buns in the morning while listening to the St Matthew Passion by JS Bach. Why I should remember that while forgetting so much more important stuff, I don't know, but I'm glad I did. Furthermore thanks to my foresight (which seemed infinitely superior to my memory, or backsight) and the already fully stocked larder cupboard, I had all the ingredients I needed. I rose early and had got things under way when Trish arrived downstairs, looking dishevelled, as well she might after the previous night's activities.

She said nothing but shambled about the kitchen getting in my way while she made tea and toast. At last she broached the silence.

"Nice smell."

"Trish, you have never tasted Hot Cross Buns until you've tasted home made ones."

"Humph!" she replied. I neither knew or cared whether she was dismissive of my assertion or approving of it. She sat at the table and munched her toast while I ate 'on the hoof'. As I passed behind her I kissed the top of her head.

"You are so beautiful!" I whispered. This time there was a snort of disbelief.

"It's true." I asserted. Another snort.

I sighed. "There's no talking to some people in the morning." No reply.

She got up and came across to me where I was knocking down the dough, mixing in the dried fruit and cutting and forming the pieces into buns, She put her arms round my stomach and laid her head on my shoulder, "Love you," she said.

"And I you," I replied, "and I'd demonstrate how much if I weren't at this delicate stage of things."

She sighed in disappointment.

"I'm off for a shower," she said, and she was.

Just over an hour later the buns were sugar-washed and on a cooling rack, and I went upstairs. Trish was fast asleep on the bed, wearing a bathrobe. I crept out of the bedroom to the bathroom and took a shower of my own.

I returned to the bedroom naked and dry and stroked her face until she opened her eyes. Then she opened them wider as she saw my nakedness and my half-erection. She smiled, rolled off the bed and dropping the robe off her shoulders went to hang it up. As she passed the window she stopped, holding the robe in front of her.

"Allan, there's a girl on our drive," she said in surprise. "She's just standing looking at the house."

A pause.

"I think she's crying. I'll go and see what's the matter."

She pulled on some tracksuit bottoms and a tee shirt over her naked body.

"Get dressed and come down," she said. It was more a request for help than an order.

I went to the open window and looked out. Trish was walking towards her. The road was quiet on this bank holiday and I could hear every word. The girl looked familiar.

"Hello. Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean--"

"What's the matter hinny? Are you in trouble?"

"It's all right. It's nothing."

"It's obviously something. Would you like to come in? Have a drink: juice? milk? tea? Come on in and tell me all about it."

And Trish put her arm round the girl and the two came into the house. Where had I seen the girl before? Somewhere in Sale perhaps; was she a checkout girl? I hurriedly (or as hurriedly as I could manage) dressed and descended the stairs quietly. They were in the kitchen. Trish had obviously got her a drink, so I'd missed nothing.

I had reached the bottom of the stairs when they began talking, and what was said froze me to the bottom step.

"So, what's the matter?" asked Trish.

"It's nothing really. I used to live here. My mum said the house had been sold. We moved out when Mum went to live with her boyfriend. I didn't want to go; I love this house. I hoped Dad might come back someday. I wish we knew where he was. I came back for a last look. I hate living where we are, and I hate her boyfriend; he's creepy. I hate it that he and mum are getting married. But... Everything's just as we left it! And you've been making hot cross buns! Dad always did that on Good Friday. That's weird!"

"I'm Trish."

"Greta."

"Well, Greta, my boyfriend wanted this house as soon as he saw it, and he wanted it furnished. It seems your mother wasn't interested in any of the contents so she left it just as it was."

"Is he here?"

"Yes. He's getting dressed, I think. Now, your dad. What happened? Tell me the story."

"He walked out on us. Two years ago. He went on one of his sales meetings and never came back. He's living with another woman somewhere, but no one knows where he is. Mum was totally devastated for ages, and every day she'd say 'perhaps he'll come back'. Then I think she just lost it and got angry and bitter.

"That was when she started sleeping with Derek. But it's not like it was with Dad. No one laughs any more. Derek doesn't play with the lads, Dad used to play footy with them. He was lots of fun. He used to talk with me and take me for walks. Derek's boring – he just keeps looking at Mum with those adoring eyes. I don't think he knows we're there.

"I don't think he's very good in bed; Mum used to make a lot of noise with Dad, but it's very quiet now. I used to feel so repulsed and embarrassed when I heard Mum and Dad, but now I miss the noise.

"I can't understand why he did it. Mum and he were so happy. How could he even look at another woman? While we lived here I always thought Dad would come through the door one day. When we moved in with Derek, I think that's when I lost hope. Even if he couldn't face Mum, how could he just leave me and my brothers? How could he? I wish I knew. I miss him so much."

I heard her begin to cry again.

I felt a real sense of loss. It wasn't just my life and health those thugs had taken; they'd destroyed a whole family, and that family was, like me, still suffering. Somehow that wasn't real before this moment, but now I felt their loss intensely. Greta must not suffer any more. I heard someone get up and I hid round the corner of the stairs in case it was Greta.

"I'll be with you in a minute. I'll just see where he is." Trish came into the hall and saw me.

"You heard?" she whispered.

I nodded. I was still in shock. That was my daughter in there, and she was very upset.

"Will you see her? She needs you Allan."

Again I nodded. I couldn't deny my own daughter.

"Wait here until get her ready," Trish said, practical as always. "Meeting you will be a shock; it's the last thing she'll expect, but your appearance will be even worse. Trust me, I know what's needed." She turned and went back.

"He'll be here in a minute. Now, you wished for your dad just now?"

"Well, yes. I always longed for him to come home, but there's no hope of that."

"Listen, Greta. I'm afraid you're in for some shocks today."

"What d'you mean?"

"If I told you I could put you in touch with your Dad?"

"What?"

"I mean it. I can put you in touch with your Dad, but there are conditions."

"You sure? You're not joking? You wouldn't joke would you? Anything. I'll agree to anything."

I could almost see her bouncing in her seat. I smiled and tears started in my eyes.

"First. You must agree most solemnly not to tell anyone else where he is. Not your mother. Not your brothers."

"You know I have brothers?"

"You said your Dad used to play with your brothers. Now will you swear not to tell a soul where he is? He will eventually make himself known, but not yet."

"Yes, yes, I don't understand why, but I'll keep it a secret. Anything to see him again." She was impatient, "Can we go and see him now?"

"Second," Trish said, ignoring her request. "There are things you need to know. I told you, you are in for a number of shocks, some of them are bad."

"OK, OK!" I could hear her impatience growing.

"Here goes then. Your father did not go off with another woman."

"So why--"

"The day he left York and should have come home, he was attacked by a group of yobs who took everything he had, including his clothes. I'm sorry to tell you this, Greta, but they beat him up very badly. No one who saw him admitted to hospital thought he would live. And he only had his underwear on so no one knew who he was. It's taken him this long to remember he even has a family. He didn't know his own name for over a year."

I heard a gasp. "But I'm sure Mum contacted the hospital and there was no one admitted."

"The hospital was in Newcastle. I'm a nurse there. I was there when he was admitted."

"Newcastle? How?"

"No one knows. Your Dad can't remember. But Greta, you have to know he was very badly injured. He still is. Greta, it's his face darling. They kicked his face in; it had to be rebuilt while he was in a coma. You won't know him."

"I will! I'll know him!"

My heart bled for her.

"OK. My boyfriend can put you in touch with him. I'll get him."

She came into the hall.

"Off you go," she said with tears in her eyes.

My eyes were wet.

"Here," she said, offering me her handkerchief. "Dry your eyes."

I did and made my way to the kitchen.

I limped in without my stick and walked across to her, holding out my hand. I saw her face register all the usual emotions, shock, horror, pity, and as I spoke, I saw she realised who this hideous man was.

"Hello Greta," I said.

She took my hand.

"You're in touch with your Dad now, chicken," I said with a smile, the tears forming in my eyes.

"Daddy!" she shouted, and sprang to her feet, the chair flying backwards as she was instantly round the table and in my arms.

"Daddy!" she sobbed and sobbed. I could feel her tears on my tee shirt, and my own fell on to her head.

"Now I feel I've come home, darling," I whispered. "How could you think I would ever want to leave you?"

She sobbed uncontrollably; so did I, and we stood like that for an age, my hands stroking her back, while Trish, her own eyes moist, bustled around us making the inevitable British solution to every emotional turmoil, a 'nice cup of tea'.

After a while Greta calmed and I sat down; she sat on my knee with her arm round my neck. It must have looked awkward, a sixteen year old girl on my knee, but we did not care.

We drank our tea, Trish opposite us and smiling, looking from one to the other. She broke the silence.

"Greta, Your dad had to learn everything from scratch, how to talk; to wash, to eat and drink, then to walk. He's worked and worked at getting as fit as he can be. He forgets things, though his memory has come on by leaps and bounds since he got back to Sale."

Greta looked at me with pride.

"Ugly customer, aren't I?" I quipped.

"You're still the handsomest man I know!" she asserted with a wide smile.

"Liar!" I exclaimed.

"You're my Dad. There's no one better. This is the best day of my life," and she began to tear up again.

"Enough of that! No more tears!" I ordered, more to stop myself from joining her than anything else.

"Er, Dad?"

"Yes, Chicken?"

"Trish said you're her boyfriend."

"Yes."

"Does that mean...?"

"Yes."

"Don't forget," Trish broke in, "your dad started going with me before he knew he had a wife and family. He needed someone. But it seems he hasn't got a wife any more. Your mum is with someone else, she's moved on."

"Oh," Greta said sadly. "The divorce." Then she brightened, "But now you can come back and talk to Mum."