The Ferry Girl

Chapter 1 - Cast Off

The stone hit the water.

Skip, skip, ship, ship, ship.

It spun onward, skimming the surface, until the sound became a patter.

Clunk, plop.

A brick wall halted its progress. The dam was decrepit and festooned with weeds, having been abandoned years ago. Three teenage girls were playing there, ignoring the barbed railings and the danger signs. They cared nothing for safety. To them the place was a theme park, the only one that the planning authorities allowed. The girl who had cast the stone stood silently, counting, then counting again in the manner her grandmother once taught her, so as to keep her expletives to herself.

Ya reached t’other side, one of the others said.

So what, the stone thrower said. Over yon’s not paradise, is it?

Don’t be daft, Tan. This’ll never be paradise.

This was so obvious that it closed the subject. Yet the state of the pond was so familiar that it otherwise escaped notice: it lay festering, a recipient of cast off junk and industrial debris. Once it had been of use to mankind, but now the dam wall held back the world, choking it in its own rubbish. Beyond, an outflow dropped into the River Aire, a frontier the girls could not cross.

They began to meander home from their expedition, trainer heels clomping on the cobbled surface of the lane, which was also strewn with litter, like confetti left over from the wedding of the people and free enterprise, fruit that was permanently in season in every bush, dwarfing the berries of hawthorn and elder.

Tansy Helliwell kicked a dented Cola tin along as she walked.

It were twenty-eight, she asserted suddenly.

It were nivver, Audrey replied. How d’ya know?

Tansy ruffled her unkempt blonde hair.

Counted ‘em, she said. I can count.

You going to be an accountant then? Linda asked.

Don’o, Tansy said.

Don’o! Audrey taunted her. Mr Price says you’ll nivver pass yer maths GCSE, nivver mind owt else.

Tansy glared at her friend, whose small facial features and short black hair gave her the appearance of a pixie.

I can bloody skim stones, she declared and then she added to prove her prowess, I’ve swum across yon dam an’ all.

Ya daft, Linda said. Ya don’t know what’s in there. Any road, it were only ‘cos Nick Ambler were watching.

Tansy gave Linda a push and they tussled in their Cougar tracksuits. Although Tansy was quite lanky, Linda was short, thickset and not easily moved.

"As if I care about him," Tansy said.

Well perhaps ya should, Linda persisted. Don’t ya want any fun out o’ life?

’e only wants one thing, Tansy complained. Where’s ‘is spirit of adventure?

Well, Julie Bowman’s got ‘im now.

I’m sure they’re ‘aving fun, Tansy said.

In contrast to her friends, Audrey had a tracksuit that was a genuine blue Aztec model, a fact that she frequently reminded them of by turning to display the emblem on its back.

She thinks that ducks an’ drakes is fun, she commented.

Well, Tansy declared. I’ve done thirty. I might o’ beat that, only I hit wall, di’n’t I? You can count rings, see.

Oooh! Linda mocked. Don’t look at me guys. I’d rather go chuck some stones.

The Cola tin had been kicked away in annoyance, so Tansy’s trainer now extracted a plastic Wonda squash bottle from a clump of weeds. It skittered across the millstone setts.

David chucked ‘em, and they made ‘im king, she said.

Oh! She’s go’n’o be queen. Let me lick yer trainers, Linda riposted.

Don’ mean that, Tansy protested.

Well, go on then, Storky, Audrey said. Show us. Let’s see if ya can hit old Payphone’s greenhouse from ‘ere. Bet yer can’t even reach it.

The three girls had reached a high overgrown privet hedge whose flowers had, in summer, an overpowering scent that made Tansy’s nose twitch. Her nose was very long and straight. She neither liked it nor the nickname Storky that it inspired. Nevertheless, it was a very individual feature. Behind the hedge was Mr Haythorne’s allotment. Tansy frowned.

What if ‘e’s there, she objected.

So what? Linda said. He’s a perv, i’n’t ‘e? He’ll probably be looking at dirty pictures.

’As anyone broken in and found ‘em? Tansy asked.

Course they ‘ave.

Linda didn’t know, but it seemed very likely.

Tansy shrugged her shoulders. I’ll do it, then, she agreed, and she began to search for a suitable missile.

The allotment had a wide wooden field gate. The land was sectioned, the dividing lines being left to nature. The nearest plot had rows of potatoes and then there were fruit bushes. The greenhouses beyond could only be picked out by the glinting of the sun on their roof lights. They were close to eighty yards away.

Go on. Give it ‘im, Tan, Audrey urged, reverting to Tansy’s friendship name now that they were acting as comrades.

See that roof, Tansy said. That’s bull, okay?

Her arm went back and in one fluent movement she launched the stone high into the air. The distant sound of breaking glass came back to them.

Fucking ‘ell, Linda swore. You did it.

Twenty-eight, Tansy reminded them insistently. Then they heard some shouting from which only the word Oy was distinguishable.

Let’s scarper, Linda said. "Payphone is there."

I shouldn’t ha’ done that, should I? Tansy asked, but she was left to ponder that question on her own.

Come on, Tan, Audrey called back urgently. Don’t let ‘im catch yer. He’s a weirdo.

Tansy was unsure. Oughtn’t she to face up to her action? By staying where she was, she was at least being positive. With her elbows on the gate, she bit her thumbs as Mr Haythorne approached.

I see ya, he shouted. I know ya.

He was right. Tansy was easily identifiable and would be in trouble now, even if she were to run.

And I’ll ‘ave none of yer lip, neither, Mr Haythorne yelled angrily, as he drew near. Yer stand there like a brazen hussy, but I’ll have yer.

He posed no actual physical threat. He was an old man in a shabby green anorak and torn worsted trousers. Tansy’s friends knew exactly where she was, and, knowing that, she was more curious than frightened.

Sorry, she said, and she meant it.

Sorry! George Haythorne expostulated. Yer bloody well will be sorry, I’m telling yer. Yer parents ‘ll be hearing from me. Perhaps ya’d like to say sorry to the nice policeman as well.

They didn’t think I could ‘it it from ‘ere.

I’d like to ‘it ya behind. I’d like to give you a good hiding.

Although Tansy realised that this threat of contact had no ulterior motive, she felt offended. She stood up straight.

I’m not a child, she said.

George didn’t agree. He saw a fifteen-year-old girl who was clearly immature. Although he was not the paedophile that he was reputed to be, he was aware of the wiles of some youngsters.

Don’t think yer’ll ever get round me like that, he said severely.

I’m sorry, Tansy said again. I’ll ‘ave to pay fer it, won’t I?

Oh aye! Buy yer way out o’ trouble? Not a chance. Do ya want to know what y'ave done?

George watched Tansy’s open face as she nodded. He was weighing her up very carefully, as he knew what counterclaims might be made against him.

Come on then, he said, and he unfastened the rope that secured the gate.

Tansy walked behind him along the trodden path. Soon she could see, beyond the glasshouses, a stream and the high brick wall that marked the boundary of the Ockleston Hall estate.

Does yer garden go down to t’ beck? she asked.

Ya could say as it does, George replied cryptically, Seeing as t’ beck is trying to come up to me.

Oh,

All George meant was that the stream’s channel changed over time through erosion. However, she couldn’t make out that meaning. He now drew her towards the nearest greenhouse, the one she had aimed at.

Reet, he said. Now yer can see yer ‘andiwork.

Only a few jagged shards of glass remained in the frame of one skylight. After he had allowed her time to reflect on it, George turned the round knob on the door and pushed it open. Tansy felt a little anxious, both about what she might see, and what the old man might intend. She hesitated, remaining outside after George had entered. She heard a gentle sound of running water and it drew her like a magnet to the doorway.

Come on in, she heard the man they knew as Payphone say. There’s no hobgoblins in ‘ere.

She peered through the door and, seeing that he had understandingly created a space between them, she ducked her head and entered. Separating her from Mr Haythorne was water and, rising from its surface were flowering lilies.

George hadn’t expected much reaction to this. He merely intended to point out the necessary conditions for his plants to thrive, and that broken glass in the ponds did little good to his goldfish.

Now d’ya see? he asked.

A small stream cascaded down an artificial channel, moistening the atmosphere. The ponds themselves were still and raised well above ground level. Tansy put her hand in and found the water was tepid. The broken window glared at her like an evil star. She reached forward and touched the silky petals of an open blue flower.

What’s ‘at? she asked, enraptured by her strange surroundings.

That’s polychroma, that is. It’s a specie, George explained enthusiastically. Look at these ‘ere. This is Blue Beauty. D’ya like them? Now, d’ya see them that’s closed up. Those are pink ‘uns and they only flower at night.

Although Tansy wasn’t very proficient at sums, she realised at once the real reason for Payphone’s nocturnal visits. However, she was more affected by the flowers than this revelation as to his character.

They’re beautiful, she said.

George was pleased, but he scarcely caught the wonder in her voice.

Yes, he said, and can ya feel that draught? They’re supposed to be kept warm.

Tansy felt quite warm enough, but she accepted what she was told.

How d’ya mend windo’s? she asked.

George’s anger subsided. Instead of being the mindless vandal that he initially supposed, she seemed merely to be a simple soul.

Come outside, lass, he said, and I’ll show ya.

Tansy waited patiently as he fumbled in his pockets for the key to his padlocked shed. If she did penance, maybe she could gain something from this experience.

I keep some glass by, George told her. Y’ave to be careful wi’ glass; it goes brittle over time.

When he had shown her his stock, he held up a small implement.

This is a cutter, lass, he said. Ya should be good wi’ this. Diamonds is yer best friend, aren’t they? First, though, hold this tape. We’ll have to measure up.

George insisted on doing the measuring himself. He stood on a trestle and Tansy passed the tape up to him.

Eighteen and three-eighths, he said. Remember that.

He turned the tape round and stretched it up the slope.

Twenty-eight, exact, he reported.

Twenty-eight? Tansy queried, nonplussed by this coincidence. She wouldn’t forget that.

That’s right, George confirmed as he stepped down. You’ll have to wear mi gloves. I’ll not have ya cutting yersen. I’ll fetch mi steel rule and show ya how to cut it square.

Before long, Tansy was bent over a bench, cautiously grinding the cutter along a steel edge.

I’ll nivver cut it right through, she said.

Ya don’t have to, lass. Ya just scoring it, like, ‘cos glass don’t bend. Give it a bit more humpy.

Tansy proceeded more vigorously and, as George snapped off the surplus, the pane began to take shape.

What are ya going to do wi’ yersen, lass? he asked. Ya’ll shack up with a lad, I expect.

The future was not something that Tansy was worrying about yet. However, on reflection she realised that being good at throwing stones was not going to take her very far.

Don’o, she admitted.

Don’o, George repeated. D’ya realise that if ya just drift, ya’ll find yersen with bawling kids and nought much else but bingo and the boozer.

That was far from what Tansy wanted. The boys at school thought they would become professional footballers or pop stars. The girls wanted to be models or, failing that, girlfriends of successful males. Tansy didn’t; she hoped to do something in her own right and she thought over the possibilities as she applied the putty to the greenhouse frame, which George had already cleared of broken glass. Her moistened finger ran along the wooden edge, smoothing out the fixative.

I’d like to have a boat, she said, encouraged by the creative act, a boat on a river. All day I’d ferry people across from one bank t’ other.

I like that idea, George said. It’s got some style.

Nobody wants a ferry girl, Tansy commented with such a philosophical air that George was forced to smile.

I dare say. Now, are ya standing firm up there? I’ll pass ya the glass up.

Tansy took hold of the sheet carefully and manoeuvred it into position. It dropped into place with a resounding crash.

Oh no! she exclaimed.

Looks all right to me, George reassured her from below. Just firm it in and job’s a good ‘un.

He gave her a hand as she came down the stepladder.

George Haythorne, he said, introducing himself at last. Yer a giddy lot, you young ‘uns, but yer a good lass, and I’ll say no more about this.

I’m Tansy, she replied. Tansy Helliwell.

Before leaving, she looked again towards the distant boundary wall. She could see the channel that held the winding stream and beyond it a tangle of rushes and weeds. Although she longed to walk down and inspect the beck, she was afraid of undoing the reprieve she had won. She didn’t want her father to find out what she had done.

Can I look at ‘em again? she requested. Them flowers.

Water lilies, George told her.

Thought ya said polycoma.

Aye, well you’ve a lot to learn. Come again if ya like. Ya know where I am, don’t ya?

George watched the girl walk back towards the road. As he had said, he could recognise her anywhere by her distinguished nose. Now he saw her tousled hair shining like gold in the sunlight. He doubted if she would return; her interest would surely wane very quickly. However, his mood was more cheerful than it had been for some time and he whistled as he went back into his greenhouses. He put on a pair of old gardening gloves, and gingerly probed for broken fragments on the floor of the pond.

Aye, he said to himself. She were none a bad lass, after all.

Chapter 2 - First Strike

The sun also shone on a garden in West Aldwick, an outer suburb of Leeds that lay to the north of the Ockleston estate. Timothy Helliwell had been in the house making coffee, and he came out through the French windows carrying a tray on which were two mugs and a tin of biscuits.

He had left his wife, Gillian, who was Tansy’s grandmother, weeding in the border, but now he couldn’t see her.

Gill, he called as he stepped onto the lawn. It’s ready.

Timothy lowered the drinks onto the grass intent on following his wife, whom he supposed had gone round to the front garden. A bird was piping, which he identified as a song thrush, but he was listening for Gillian’s voice.

Gill? he called again.

Then he saw her feet between the Jerusalem cross and some crocosmia.

Oh God! Gill! he exclaimed, moved towards her hurriedly. Gill, are you all right? What’s happened?

Gillian lay motionless and didn’t respond. Timothy didn’t know what to do. He turned her onto her back and attempted resuscitation, without observing the swelling on her left temple. A feeling of total inadequacy came over him. He wanted to hand her over to the experts at once. Yet if he failed to revive her, he would surely lose her forever: she might die whilst he was going to the telephone. All his shouts for assistance were in vain.

At length Timothy gave up. He ran into the kitchen and through into the hall, leaving a trail of dirty shoe marks on the carpet. His emergency call was taken and he was reminded of the drill. All that remained was to try again until help came.

When a difficult situation arose, Timothy would listen to Gill’s advice. Now she was silent and he began to panic. He worked mechanically, his faith in success evaporating as he did so. When would the paramedics come? Surely they would revive her; they had to.

Come on, Gill! he urged, his mind wandering. He thought of her last words; they had been joking about the biscuits.

Don’t forget the boat meal biscuits, she said, because he’d made a remark about a shipping order.

The whole family would be affected. Gillian had two brothers, only one of whom was still alive. Both had descendents but it was his own children that were uppermost in his mind. It was best to look on the worst side, then the outcome could only be better.

Craig, the younger, had proved the brighter of his two sons. After his degree, he went into teaching and had a neat new detached house in Wetherby. Craig would scratch his head and ask him if he’d arranged the funeral yet. His wife, Val, would tell him of the funeral rites of past queens. Her character had rubbed off on his granddaughter, Gemma, who was something of a know-all.

Gemma was only eight. She would be very upset, but there would be no nonsense about shielding her from the truth. All the grandchildren would be expected at the funeral.

‘Oh God!’ Timothy thought. ‘Not a funeral! When is that ambulance going to come?’

Oscar was two years older. Why his only male descendent had been given such a name, Timothy had never understood. It did have an air of distinction, but that was all. Oscar’s favourite pastime was constructing Japanese warplanes from kits.

Timothy had two other granddaughters by his older son, Roger. Elise was thirteen now and she was his favourite. She had always been sweet and charming with such a smile, and her small red lips contrasted with the silky blackness of her hair, which was always cut so neatly. He could imagine her sobbing, a quiet ululation, unlike the distant sound of a wailing siren that he could now hear.

Tansy was more like her father who was a motor mechanic. Roger was also a football fanatic and Leeds United supporter. Tansy went with him, although only to home matches now. How would that untidy and ill-disciplined young lady react? Would she make it an excuse for bad behaviour at school and have herself excluded again? The poor girl couldn’t help lacking brains.

Truffle, the cat, knew that something was wrong. He sat on top of the panelled fencing, peering down anxiously. Tansy and the cat seemed to be on the same intellectual level and Truffle always made his way to her when she visited.

The ambulance men were there, in the garden.

You can leave her to us now, the one called Derek said.

Timothy stood up with a feeling of relief. Everything was going to be all right, after all.

She just collapsed, he explained. I’d gone in to make a cup o’.

Then he wandered back towards the house with Truffle following. He was thinking of locking up, so that he could go with Gillian in the ambulance. He wanted to be there when she regained consciousness.

Timothy let Truffle in, stroking him at he did so. This was more to comfort himself than the cat. He changed his shoes and checked that he had the car keys in case he had to follow behind. He was about to lock the kitchen patio doors from the inside when the paramedic appeared, tapping on the window in an apologetic manner.

Timothy pushed the door open again.

I’ll follow you, he said.

Derek looked at the ground.

I’m afraid she’s dead, Sir. We’ve called the police, but there’s nothing more we can do.

Timothy began to spit out his words.

Dead? She can’t be. You must save her. You must rush her to hospital.

Derek hated to do this, but he trotted out one of his stock answers.

If miracles happened all the time, they would no longer be miracles.

I’m not asking for a miracle, Timothy said desperately. I’m calling on the wonders of modern science.

There had been another call and Derek wanted to be on his way. However, he was obliged to wait for the police to arrive. The circumstances were clearly suspicious.

Death hasn’t been abolished yet, he remarked. If it were, it would be a good idea to make childbirth illegal.

Timothy pushed his way out and stared across to where Gillian still lay prostrate.

What’s happened to her? Why have you called the police? What am I going to do?

She’s taken a severe blow to the head, Sir, Derek told him. He knew he was speaking to Mr Helliwell, but it was possible that he was addressing a murderer.

How can that have happened? I was only inside for a few minutes, Timothy protested, his hand combing through his grey hair.

Richard, the other paramedic, had lugged their equipment back round the side of the house to the ambulance. Timothy addressed him as he re-appeared.

You’re surely not leaving her there, in the flower bed. Can’t you show some respect?

You’d be advised not to touch anything, Richard said. She could have had a heart attack and fallen onto her spade handle, but you’ll have to wait for the forensic examination.

But I already have touched her, Timothy objected.

Come round to the front with us, Richard advised. The police will be here shortly.

It wasn’t possible that this was happening. Timothy followed in a complete daze. Richard was right. It wasn’t long before the sound of another siren could be heard. A police car pulled up and, to Timothy’s surprise, an Asian officer emerged who identified himself as Inspector Hussain. Accompanying him was a young policewoman. Once the inspector had been shown where Gillian lay, Timothy found himself putting the kettle on again.

I’d just made coffee, he began, repeating this information. The tray’s still out there on the lawn.

P. C. Jane Turnbull took a seat at the kitchen table

This must be a terrible shock, she said.

After opening several cupboard doors, Timothy located the sugar bowl.

I don't know what’s going on, he moaned. I don’t know where anything is.

This was how it seemed and it reflected his feeling of helplessness. The nightmare that he had rehearsed had turned out to be reality. Now, what he needed most was to weep, but there was no shoulder to cry on.

It’s necessary for us to establish the cause of death, Jane reminded him. It may help you to know that as well.

Yes, he said distractedly, as he poured out the drinks. Yes.

I’m sorry, the policewoman said kindly. Is there someone you could call?

Oh. Oh yes. I’ll have to let the boys know.

It was something to do. Before going to the phone, he unlocked the patio door and let Jane out.

He rang Craig first and Val answered the call.

Gillian’s dead, he said starkly. He didn’t have any explanation yet.

What? Val queried anxiously. What’s happened? Has there been an accident?

I don’t know.

What is it? Are you all right?

His daughter-in-law liked to ask questions. Timothy appreciated her inquisitiveness, but he wanted to sound strong.

Yes. The police are here and there’ll be a post mortem. It seems likely that Gillian has had a heart attack.

Inspector Hussain was now in the hall. He was holding a polythene bag.

Mr Helliwell, he said, signalling for his attention.

Just a minute, Val, Timothy said into the phone, and then he looked into the bag as requested. It contained a rounded flat stone.

I dare say you didn’t notice her injury, the inspector said. It was concealed beneath her hair, and there was surprisingly little blood.

Timothy looked at him aghast.

You’re telling me she was killed by that stone.

It’s still subject to confirmation, naturally, but I believe so. I’d be obliged if you would go through what happened again.

Yes, of course.

Timothy put his mouth back to the receiver.

They think she was hit by a stone, he reported. Would you do me a favour? Would you mind ringing Roger straight away?

If he had been thinking, Timothy would have remembered that Roger would be at a football match that afternoon. Val’s call was taken by Elise, but there was no point in concealing the news, flimsy as the information Val held was.

Someone’s thrown a stone at your Gran, she said.

Oh no! Elise responded. How is she?

Val had to reveal the full gravity of the situation.

She’s dead, she said. The police are investigating.

Dead?

A horrifying thought came to Elise. What if her sister had done it? Surely it would have been an accident, but Tansy did like throwing things. Rather than wait for her mother to return from the shops, Elise decided to set off herself immediately. She put on her blue raincoat because black clouds were now beginning to blot out the sunshine. It was only a couple of miles to West Aldwick. She had walked it many times before, as there was no bus service from Brightcliffe.

By the time Tansy arrived back at her home, at 21 Wigglesworth Avenue, it was already raining. It splashed off the pebble dashed walls of the house that were painted over in a pale pink wash in an attempt to raise it above its former council house status.

Tansy’s fist beat on the door. Although she did have a key, she was not sufficiently organised to ensure that she always had it with her.

Let us in, Elly, she yelled through the letterbox.

The rain grew heavier and, as the house had no porch, Tansy rapidly became soaked. She went round the back, but there was no music coming from Elise’s room. Returning to the front, she banged the knocker. Tansy had an unpleasant suspicion that Elise was upstairs with her boyfriend, in which case she would take a while to appear.

Come on, Elly, Tansy shouted. It’s ruddy siling it down.

Going round to one of her friends’ houses was an option, but she didn’t want to talk about Mr Haythorne’s lilies with them or anyone else for that matter. She would keep quiet about it for the time being. Instead she hurried up the road until she came to the bus shelter. There, she shook herself like a dog, and slouched on the plastic seat in the little glass pavilion. She reckoned that her Mum ought to be on the next bus.

Elise was caught in the rain too and, although she was better prepared, by the time she reached her grandparents’ house, she looked like a performing seal that had lost its ball.

She loved the sound of the bell. Ding dong, its two notes resonated harmoniously. For a moment, Elise forgot why she had come. When the door opened, she was ready to ask her Gran for a towel.

Granddad, she said, suddenly reminded by the look on his face.

They hugged one another, and Timothy’s tears were lost in the damp of Elise’s hair. It was a little while before he realised that the wetness of his shirt was not caused by his grief.

You’re soaked, he said. It was a relief to be feeling concern for someone else. Let me find you some towels.

Where’s Gran? Elise asked. I want to see her.

They’ve taken her away. They have to do an autopsy.

I thought she’d been hit by a stone.

Granddad helped Elise out of her raincoat and she began to towel her hair.

The inspector showed me one, but he said they wanted to be sure it was the cause of death.

Elise went to the dining room window that overlooked the back garden.

Was it out there? she asked.

She was over there, by the fence, Timothy said.

Roger had put those panels up. Elise could remember that, as it was only two or three years ago. Behind them, Mr Hobbs’s greenhouse was visible; where he grew his tomatoes. The rain was splashing down from its wet roof.

Who can have done it? Elise asked. Do you think it was an accident? You’d have to be a good shot to kill someone with a single stone.

I don’t know, love, Granddad said softly. None of it makes any sense.

Suddenly, Elise wanted to get away from a place that Tansy had once used as an artillery range.

Come back home, she urged, and Mum’ll make you some tea.

It was Tansy who had broken the fence in the first place by bombarding it with her brick bombs. This memory only went to reinforce Elise’s growing belief that her sister was responsible for her grandmother’s death.

Tansy had never hit the greenhouse, but she used to joke about sending infrared missiles to home in on Mr Hobbs’s tomatoes. Perhaps she had lobbed a stone for old time’s sake, and unwittingly caused this tragedy.

Chapter 3 - The Revelation

The front room at number 21 contained a battered old brown leather sofa and Tansy lay back on it with her feet raised on a red patterned beanbag. The wire from a plug trailed through a jungle of magazines as she applied the dryer to her hair.

Through the bay window she could see the wilderness that passed for a front garden. She was toying with the idea of digging it out and making a pond, although she knew that it would not be permitted, even if she did all the work herself. Beyond the wilderness was a neat wooden fence. Her father was good at erecting fences, and would probably have been happier doing joinery as a trade instead of being a motor mechanic. There was so much vandalism on the Brightcliffe estate that he would have been kept busy enough.

In the road, she saw a car pull up.

Her mother, Iris, was growing anxious about Elise’s absence. She put her head round the door and began to scold her elder daughter.

It’s time you put a comb to your hair, she said. Why do you always have to look such a mess?

Tansy made a face.

Granddad’s here, she said, pointing outside.

What on earth does he want? Iris asked irritably. I wish Elise would hurry up.

She’s here with Granddad, Tansy observed.

Thank goodness, yer tea’s nearly ready, Iris said, and her relief turned her to the next matter of concern. Did we get a result?

Nah, it were one all. Tansy said.

Yer Dad won’t like that. We’ll not be champions this year,

Early days, Tansy replied. Tell me that again after we’ve thrashed Man. United.

Iris opened the front door.

Where’ve ya bin? she asked Elise, who came in first.

Mum, Elise said. Then she halted and turned to look at Granddad. Gran’s dead.

What? Iris blurted in disbelief. No! That’s dreadful.

Tansy hadn’t heard Elise, whom she supposed was repeating the news of the football match, so she didn’t rise from the sofa. However, she did wonder why Grandma hadn’t come as well. Indeed, Granddad had stopped inside the gate and that certainly wasn’t in order to admire the flowers. Her mother walked rather tentatively down the drive to embrace him.

Come on, Tansy shouted out. A draw’s not that bad; not at Liverpool.

Elise burst into the front room. She glared at her sister, as though she were intending to pull out a red card.

Stupid! she said angrily. How could you?

Wha’ d’ya mean? Tansy asked with a perplexed look.

Don’t pretend ya don’t know about Gran.

Eh? What about Gran?

Gran’ s dead, i’n’t she?

Tansy stared at her sister. Surely this couldn’t be true. Not when a wonderful new world was opening up in front of her; a world full of beautiful flowers.

"Where’ve you bin? Elise shot at her. Ya’ve been throwing stones again, ‘aven’t ya?"

That’s nowt to do with you, Tansy retorted, and she aimed the hairdryer at her sister on full blast. Elise snatched at it furiously.

Oh yeh! she yelled. So Gran’s dead, and it’s nowt to do wi’ you. That’s good; that’s really good.

What d’ya mean? Tansy complained again. Why won’t ya tell me what’s happened?

Iris brought her father-in-law inside. Her attempts at consolation were disturbed by the bitter argument between her daughters.

Will you two please be quiet, she shouted severely. This is no time to be quarrelling.

She’s won’t say where she’s been, Elise said in accusation.

Why should I? Tansy retorted. It’s nowt to do with owt. I told ya.

Elise was now convinced that her sister had done it. Tansy’s prevarication was very provoking and she wished that she would at least own up to her responsibility.

See, Elise said. She won’t tell. That’s ‘cos she did it. She threw the stone.

Tansy grabbed at her sister. She was furious.

What bloody stone?

Will you be quiet? Iris yelled at them.

Elise is right, Timothy said quietly in the ensuing hush. Grandma was killed by a stone. The police have cordoned the garden off.

Now the implications were clear.

Why, you! Tansy shouted at Elise.

Well? Elise challenged.

Well, you only ask what I’ve bin doing. You tell ‘em what you’ve bin up to.

Tansy had become so angry that she didn’t care about any promises of confidentiality she might have made.

Elise immediately understood the danger that loomed.

Don’t you dare, she spluttered.

Will you, won’t you? Tansy taunted her. The lovely Edward. Will he, won’t he?

Iris remained silent, as she tried not to believe what she was hearing. Elise thought it too late and wanted her revenge in full.

You threw the stone, she reiterated.

And I wonder what you’ve been doing in your bedroom, Tansy said coldly. She felt as though she were now holding a stone. It was large and flat, wet and clammy in her hand, as though she had just drawn it from a river. She couldn’t control herself. Her finger spun it wildly away from her.

You were having sex, sex, sex, sex, sex.

That word might have skimmed on twenty-eight times if it had not been halted by Elise’s retaliation.

You’re like a big kid, she shouted. You’ve never even had a boyfriend.

This was meant to hurt, but it was of no concern to Tansy.

So, she answered. I’m only fifteen. I’m a kid. D’ya think I want to be grown up? What fun do grown-ups have? Once I’m grown up I’ll nivver be able to muck about without fussing again.

Mucking about’s no excuse, Elise hissed.

Tansy jumped up and threw the cushion she was holding at her tormentor.

I don’t need no excuse, she screamed. I’ve been at dam, I tell ya. I’ve been at bloody dam.

With that Tansy stormed out and thundered up the stairs.

Timothy stared at his other granddaughter in dismay. It seemed no time since they had played together at dolls’ hospital. He had been bringing in the casualties, a broken ruler, and a watch with a flat battery or a torn photograph of pop idol, Josie O’Brien. How could this child have been corrupted so soon?

Tell me this isn’t true, he said with quiet insistence.

Elise’s conviction of Tansy’s guilt collapsed as quickly as it had arisen.

All right, she conceded. She didn’t, if she says so.

You know what I mean, Timothy persisted. His voice sounded harsh, although he would rather have gently dabbed away the stain that disfigured his granddaughter.

Elise looked down at the wet boots that she had forgotten to remove.

I, she began and ended.

Then she began to smooth her hair as anger at Tansy’s betrayal welled up.

Bitch, she spat.

It is true, then, Timothy said resignedly. What are you thinking of, girl? God. You’re only thirteen!

You’re not to do that in this house again, Iris said. Her sternness was mixed with bitterness. Tansy, she now realised, although undisciplined in many ways, had given her a false sense of security in this particular area.

I’m old enough to decide, Elise said. I love Edward, and he loves me.

Clearly, Iris said.

I’m appalled, Timothy said. I’m totally appalled. I can’t stop here. I’m going back home. I’ll get something at a takeaway.

Granddad’s departure was accompanied by the sound of a persistent thumping beat from upstairs.

How could ya do it? Iris said to Elise tearfully. Look what you’ve done. Can’t you see what a state the poor man’s in? You know how he dotes on you; he always has.

Elise scowled, in spite of the gentleness of her features.

It’s her, she said, indicating the continuing bass above them. She done it. She don’t care about Gran. She don’t care about anyone except herself.

Up in her bedroom, Tansy had finished mulling over being falsely accused, and had put the matter to one side. Although she the music was set louder than usual, it was impossible to shut off the outside world. Tansy was quite used to being guilty. She was quite capable of lying and making up excuses, but that afternoon she had discovered the benefit of facing up to her responsibilities.