Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,165

of destruction I did not know. When he hadn’t been able to reach the doctor, my father had searched out a bottle of her pills, given her a couple with a glass of water, and made her swallow them down. Then he and Mabel had taken her upstairs to her bedroom, where she’d rapidly fallen asleep. After walking through the house with a torch to survey the full extent of the damage my mother had carried out, my father had collapsed in a defeated bundle onto the settee. When he finally fell asleep, he slept fitfully, letting out little murmurs and grumbles as his limbs jerked and his features twitched.

“I’m sure Frank and Uncle Ted are fine, Auntie Mabel,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “Maybe they stopped off somewhere to get out of the weather.”

“I hope you’re right, Jesse,” Mabel said. “I really do. But I’ve got this awful feeling. I just know something terrible has happened.” She pressed a fist into her stomach. “I can feel it, right here, in my guts.”

I WAS JERKED OUT of sleep by the sound of loud banging, and for a moment I thought my mother must have found her sledgehammer again. But then, as I opened my eyes, I realized that it wasn’t the noise of a hammer that had woken me; there was someone banging on the front door. I pushed myself out of the broken armchair.

It was no longer dark. Light seeped through the curtains, so that the room was cast in a silvery pall. My father still lay sleeping on the settee, his mouth open, his breath coming out in snuffled gasps. Mabel was flopped into the other armchair, her head thrown back, her arms draped limp over the chair’s sides. As the pounding on the door continued, she groaned, her eyelids flickered, and then she suddenly opened her eyes wide. The next moment, she was on her feet.

“It must be Frank and Ted,” she said. “Oh, thank God! They must have forgotten to take a key.” She marched across the room, pausing for a moment to check her reflection in the mirror above the mantel, now hanging at an angle, a massive crack across its middle. She cupped her cheeks in her hands, groaned again, then patted her hair. “Crikey,” she said. “I look like I’ve been through a bleeming war.” Then she added, mumbling, “Feel like I’ve been through one as well.”

I followed her out into the hallway, hanging back as she raced to the door.

“Where the heck have you—” she began as she opened the door. Apparently shocked at what she saw there, she took a step back. The door swung wide, and I saw two policemen standing on our front step. One was tall, with a jutting chin and an enormous swell of a belly that pressed against the shiny buttons of his midnight-blue uniform. The other was thin and much younger, his conical helmet too big, so that it hid a good part of his smooth-skinned face and made me think of a bucket turned upside down onto his head.

“Are you … Mrs. Bennett?” the tall policeman asked, pausing as he consulted the notebook he held. He had a deep, authoritative voice, the sort that seemed appropriate for a representative of the local constabulary.

“No … she’s … she’s in bed. I’m Mabel Pearson,” Mabel said, her voice shaky as she pressed her hand against the wall.

The tall policeman looked grave. The younger one shuffled about, his expression invisible as he made a study of his feet. “Well, Mrs. Pearson—”

“It’s Miss … Miss Pearson,” Mabel said.

I moved along the hallway to stand next to her.

“Well, I’m afraid, Miss Pearson, that we’ve got a bit of bad news.”

“Oh, God,” Mabel gasped. “I knew it. I just knew it. What is it? What happened? Has there been an accident? Are they both … are they dead?”

The two policemen exchanged looks.

“Erm … If you’re referring to”—the tall man looked at his notebook again—“Mr. Edward Pearson and Mr. Frank Shipton, no, Miss Pearson, they’re not dead. They’re fine. But I’m sorry to say that they’ve been arrested.”

“Arrested?” Mabel’s voice rose close to a shriek. “For what?”

He looked down at his notebook. “Stealing. And I’m afraid there may be a charge of conspiracy to defraud.”

“Oh, God,” she said, grappling with her cigarette packet. “I’ll kill our bloody Ted, I will. Dragging poor Frank into trouble.” She pulled out a cigarette, waving it about, unlit, as she spoke. “So, what’s he