CHAPTER 60
Rosa put Hot on his lead and on her way back up the hill, she phoned Titch. ‘You can breathe again, darling girl, as it looks like Madame Hannafore and Wanker Watkins will be getting their comeuppance - and soon.’
She was just relaying what had happened, when she heard a call waiting in the background. ‘Titch, sorry to be so rude, but I’m going to buzz you back. I need to talk to Josh.’
But it wasn’t Josh. ‘Rosa, it’s Lucy,’ said an imperious voice. ‘Josh thinks it’s for the best he doesn’t come down and see you again.’
‘You what? I think he’d be man enough to tell me that himself, Lucy. And I don’t believe it anyway. Put him on.’ But Lucy hung up.
Rosa was now steaming with anger. She immediately phoned Josh’s mobile, which went straight through to answerphone again. She tried phoning his office but got his answerphone on that too. Why did nobody pick up their sodding landlines any more?
Titch managed to pacify her slightly by saying she knew it had nothing to do with Josh as their friendship was as strong as an ox - although she did think it was a bit odd that he wasn’t taking calls from her. ‘Look, go and see Mary,’ the girl suggested, ‘then call me and we will hatch a plan.’
The door to Seaspray Cottage was on the latch when Rosa arrived. Mary told her to come straight in and shut the door behind her. Rosa jumped, as she was expecting her to be up in bed and not in Queenie’s rocking chair in the kitchen.
Rosa smiled at her. ‘Hey, how are you feeling?’
‘As if I’ve had the air sucked out of me. But so much better than I was, dear.’
‘I thought you just had asthma?’
‘It’s a little bit worse than that, but I’ll manage. I should have had the right drugs here ready as I felt an attack coming on, but somehow I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I was all over the place. I have them all now, so it’s panic over.’ She looked at Rosa’s hand and said, ‘Do you like it?’
‘Yes, it’s lovely. We need to talk, don’t we, Mary?’
‘After what just happened to me, yes, we do, Rosa. I have been kept in the dark far too often and for far too long, and I don’t want the same for you.’
Mary coughed and Rosa could see she was trembling. ‘Get us a nice cup of tea, dear,’ Mary said, ‘and come and sit down with me.’
The tea was brought, along with a couple of ginger biscuits for Mary to nibble on, and after a little while she was less shaky and ready to talk.
‘I was a new-born baby when Gran became my mum. That’s why she resented me at times. She was fifty, felt too old to bring up a young kid like me, but she didn’t have a choice. And every time she looked into my green eyes, she felt that she was looking into the eyes of her dear, lost daughter. She even chose my name, Mary, to be like my mother’s – Maria.’
‘Did you know your father?’
‘Yes, but when he got in his car to drive home from the hospital, the night my mum died, he had a blow-out in his car which led to a fatal accident. Well, that’s what Gran told me anyway. Perhaps he didn’t want to live, even though he now had a baby daughter - me.’ Mary’s lips quivered and she took a puff on her inhaler.
‘Oh my God, it gets worse.’ Rosa put a hand over her mouth in horror. ‘But what about Ned? He must have helped. He was Maria’s dad, after all, right? Tell me the truth, Mary, please.’
‘Yes, I did know that Ned was my grandad, but Gran didn’t want anyone to know that, as she was so ashamed of the affair. Queenie only gave me crumbs of information, but what I could gather is that after Dotty’s death, she went through a dark period of grieving, afflicted by feelings of guilt and regret. Being pregnant as well must have been just terrible for her.’ Mary looked at Rosa. ‘Until I found her suicide note the other day, you see, I didn’t realise Dotty had taken her own life. I thought it was an accident. No wonder Gran had been in such a state.’
Mary took another sup of tea then put her cup down. She turned to Rosa. ‘When I got older, I did used to talk to Grandad Ned; we spent many happy hours together, up on your little outside balcony. Gran carried on telling Ned that she didn’t love him any more and that Maria wasn’t his child until the day he died. But he didn’t believe her. He knew, all right. Maria was the spit of him. He did everything in his power to be with Queenie, but she wouldn’t have it, so he would help in different ways. Practical ways, so she’d never want for money or repairs on this house.’
Mary concluded quietly, ‘They never had any other lovers, they just had their own special relationship. It was probably better than most conventional ones, in fact, as they both loved each other to the core. Queenie just couldn’t allow herself to love him openly, thanks to her guilt, even after the Cockleberry rumour mill had died its own death.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘Not really, because in a way they were still together; they just didn’t share a bed.’
‘But sad for Maria, not knowing her dad was Ned, don’t you think?’
‘He told me he treated my mother just like he would a daughter anyway, they loved each other, but when she died he said it was like a rocket blowing up both his and Queenie’s lives. But neither of them could give up or run away, as they had me to look after. Grandad Ned said I saved their souls. And, yes, fundamentally Queenie forever struggled without Maria, but I know deep down she loved me too.’ Mary’s voice cracked.
Rosa put her hand on hers. ‘She loved you fiercely, Mary. I could tell.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Truly, madly, deeply. I struggle to understand the feeling myself, but when I see it, I know it.’
Mary’s eyes were full of tears. ‘Ned left you the shop, Rosa,’ she said.
Rosa could feel a lump rising in her throat.
‘It was me who came into your flat - I kept the keys, you see. I tried to find the letters before you did. I can’t believe he hid them so well, but Queenie knew they’d be there. I also took the necklace.’
‘And what about the ring and the bronze statue? Was that you too?’
‘The statue of Hot was from Queenie and me, for your birthday, dear. We’ve been looking out for you, Rosa.’
‘The hit-and-run alibi? Sending me to Joe’s house?’
Mary nodded. ‘All of it. Queenie didn’t have eye problems, she wore the dark glasses in the house to make pretend her sight was bad, and the black scarf when she was out of it, so that people would not notice her. She wanted to be your ears and eyes when you arrived down here, so you wouldn’t be afraid.’
Tears were now running down Rosa’s face. ‘Tell me the rest, I have to know.’
‘I don’t drink because I am an alcoholic, Rosa. Gran was hard to live with, as I’ve explained, and I didn’t have a mother’s love. I just used to be a barfly in the Ship. So, one night, after a massive drunken row, about nothing in particular, I took some money out of the teapot where Queenie used to hide it, packed a small bag, then got on the train and went to live in London. Can you imagine how naïve I was? But I was twenty years old and always drunk, so I didn’t see danger - or if I did then, I would probably have welcomed it, to help dull the pain. I didn’t give a damn. All I cared about was where my next drink was coming from.’
Mary rocked back in her chair. Rosa blew her nose and carried on listening intently.
‘There were many drunken nights and many men. But one morning when I woke up in a bed in somebody’s bedsit, in what turned out to be Clapham, I was bleeding and sore between my legs. I was also so hungover I couldn’t move. I knew if I reported it, it would never stand up in court, as I didn’t even remember who the man was or if actually we’d had consenting sex. I also knew that I couldn’t put Queenie through anything else. She’d suffered enough.’
Mary heaved a sigh as she thought back on her life. ‘I didn’t even tell her or Ned that I was pregnant. I had the baby and got myself on benefits and in council accommodation. And even though I cut right down on alcohol through my pregnancy, and didn’t even fancy smoking, once I had the baby I started doing both, just like I’d done before. The health visitor had alerted social services: I was being monitored and I knew that.’
Mary took Rosa by the hands, her face contorted. ‘But one night, I got so drunk that I dropped my baby and she knocked her beautiful little face on the edge of the kitchen cupboard.’ The woman was now in floods of tears. ‘It only was a little knock, just enough to make her cheek bleed, just enough to form a scar in the shape of a perfect little lightning bolt.’