No Man’S Land

By Geraldine Patience

A thirty~ something couple after a traumatic year move to a new home near to the wifes parents home. The wife begins to experience strange episodes relating to a ten year old murder in the vicinity. A mysterious plot of land adjacent to their new home seems to have some effect on the wifes problems. The husband tries to solve the mystery of who owns this plot but he becomes convinced that his wife is still suffering from her illness and does not believe what she tells him of the young girl she sees sometimes. His wife thinks of this girl as a ghost, a ghost telling her that the young man accused of her murder is not guilty. In investigating the story of the murder she meets a young newspaper reporter who offers to help her fi nd out more. Together and with the help of the ghost`, they unmask the real killer and solve some outstanding missing persons cases.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491893517

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© 2014 Geraldine Patience. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/19/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9350-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9351-7 (e)

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

SYNOPSIS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

SYNOPSIS

A thirty~something couple after a traumatic year move to a new home near to the wife’s parents home. The wife begins to experience strange episodes relating to a ten year old murder in the vicinity. A mysterious plot of land adjacent to their new home seems to have some effect on the wife’s problems. The husband tries to solve the mystery of who owns this plot but he becomes convinced that his wife is still suffering from her illness and does not believe what she tells him of the young girl she sees sometimes. His wife thinks of this girl as a ghost, a ghost telling her that the young man accused of her murder is not guilty. In investigating the story of the murder she meets a young newspaper reporter who offers to help her find out more. Together and with the help of the ‘ghost`, they unmask the real killer and solve some outstanding missing persons cases.

CHAPTER 1

The alarm clock gave its usual warning hiccup before the clamorous ringing began in earnest. Stephen stretched out one long arm to switch it off. He was beginning to sense the moment more confidently, perhaps in time he could stop bothering to set it at all. He pulled his arm stealthily back to his chest then lay still. His wife’s breathing remained gentle and constant, he turned his head slowly to see the swell of her cheek, the line of her neck, looking in sleep like the happy girl he had married instead of the worried, apologetic shadow she had become. The recent holiday, from which they had returned just two days ago, had begun to bring some improvement, there had been good moments together again, but three weeks had not been long enough to heal the scars. He felt the sting of tears behind his tight shut eyes. He had suffered too, as she knew. The car crash at such a late stage in her pregnancy had wreaked havoc in both their lives. The accident, losing the child, being told of the detection of a brain tumour in urgent need of attention, all while she was still in hospital recovering from the shock of the crash; had proved to be more than she could bear. The ensuing court action declared her responsible for the crash; if only she didn’t have to feel guilty about that as well. He lay still deciding how soon he would be able to get out of bed without waking her. This morning ritual had become a lost habit while they were enjoying lazy days in Tuscany. He loved his wife dearly, but since her illness he preferred to manage the early morning routine alone. If she woke, she would be out of bed, saying ‘sorry’ all over again, feeling guilty about her failure to look after him as she used to. In fact while on holiday he had enjoyed standing aside, watching her, noting the improvements, but work days were too important. He had lost so much time while she had been ill, then his months in Tuscany overseeing a special job for a valued customer. A two man company cannot last for long on one and a half men’s work. Contracts were being lost and the finances were suffering. He must take back more of the bread and butter work instead of leaving it all to Peter, his business partner. Margaret was so much better now after having the last few weeks with him in Italy, he should be able to leave her alone during the day. Given time and space to work at her own pace she would manage. She had even shown some interest in the garden again. The move to new surroundings, as the doctor had suggested, would hopefully achieve the desired effect of putting an end to the nightmare of going back to their own home and all the sad memories held there. Married to a wife who still lived with her mother was no marriage, but he had put up with that while she had been recuperating so it had been no problem to him then to do the job in Tuscany, living alone in a caravan, allowing Peter to stay at home.

Had he waited long enough now? Could he manage to leave the bedroom to get ready for the day while Margaret slept on? He crept downstairs for a slice of toast and a coffee before making a pot of tea to take to his wife.

Margaret, still lying in bed, had heard the stairs creak. ‘New house, new noises to get used to, but these are friendly noises. That’s Stephen, up and about again before I’m awake. Too late now to think of getting downstairs in time to help him,` she thought, ‘He works hard, he deserves to be looked after himself, instead of having to care for a lazy wife.’ She swung her feet to the floor to sit on the edge of the bed. So far so good. No dizzy feeling, vision quite clear, hands quite still while they rested on her knees. She recited the doctor’s orders to take her time getting upright, but these rituals were beginning to seem petty and unnecessary. She allowed her feet to find her slippers, no sense in taking the chance of bending over just yet. She looked at the window, it looked like sun shining through the thin temporary curtains. She had enjoyed studying all the catalogues Stephen had brought to their holiday home so that she could choose the new ones for herself, but these were bright and cheerful. They reminded her somehow of her childhood. Her mother must have put them up ready for their move. Margaret was almost sure she could remember the dancing yellow daisies and primroses, but could not remember where they had hung. They smelt of her mother’s laundry, she inhaled deeply as she drew them apart, fresh and soapy clean, crisp from a forcefully wielded hot iron. Her mother never threw anything away. It may have been when she was very small that these flowers had caught her attention and stayed in her mind. She admired the sight of her new garden as it came into view, what a beautiful space it was. Bigger than their old garden, it had been well cared for by the previous owners and she had no quarrel with their ideas of design. She would probably change some of the plants as she got stronger, but keeping it neat would provide enough challenge for the time being. That tangle of bushes along the bottom would have to go though. She became still, fingering a strand of red~brown hair, imagining her new garden as she hoped to see it in the future, she was lost in thought, gazing sightlessly through her large grey eyes. The fingers stopped abruptly in their habitual twisting motion as she realised how short the strands still were. Awareness returned suddenly. Had she seen someone in that untidy hedge? Just for a second? ‘How stupid’ she thought, ‘it must have been a cat.’ She would ask Stephen if he could manage to get someone to sort that mess out. Confident of her balance now, she stepped away from the view and prepared to go downstairs, hoping to see her husband before he left. She met Stephen at the bottom of the staircase.

I was on my way up to you with a cuppa darling, he said, why didn’t you stay in bed for a little while, have a lie in?

Sorry, I’m getting too good at lying in bed, she replied, I should be making you a cuppa! Heaven knows you’ve made me enough in the last year.

Come and sit down. I have to go now~if you are sure you’re alright. Do you need anything? Margaret shook her head as she sat to drink her tea and he continued, What do you intend to do today? Nothing too strenuous I hope. The hospital people said you still need lots of rest.

I thought of taking a good look around the garden, just to see what needs to be done. I need to get some fresh air as well remember. Then I still have some china to unwrap. Mother is coming along later so I shall be perfectly alright. You get off to work~this tea is delicious, thank you. I’ll have you making better tea than I can soon.

OK then~I’m gone, and with a brief kiss he was out of the front door leaving the silence of an empty house behind him. Margaret sat sipping the hot tea listening to the noise of his car fading into the distance. She was well aware that they talked more like polite acquaintances these days than the long term couple they had been, but she could never think of a way to retrieve that closeness and he did not seem to have noticed the change. She looked round the still unfamiliar kitchen, they had only been here for two days, but its pretty yellow walls and white units seemed homely, fitting beautifully with their old furniture and their own blue and white china. They had been really lucky to find a house so suited to their needs, and ready to move into immediately. Peter Warrilow, Stephen’s business partner, had dealt with all of that while she and Stephen were abroad enjoying the opportunity of a few weeks free holiday in the Tuscan farmhouse which Stephen had just finished renovating for a business friend. ‘Take a break’, the grateful customer had said, ‘you can give the place a trial run~iron out any problems’. Peter had been happy for them to go, and he had been able to deal with the financial details involved in buying their new house while her parents had assisted in moving their furniture and effects, so they had returned from Tuscany to this lovely new home without needing to face the old house. She shuddered at even the thought of the old life, passing the day nursery where she had booked a place ready for the return to work after maternity leave, meeting other young mothers who had attended ante~natal classes with her. Tears threatened to come again. Surely she could not have any more tears to cry. She straightened in the chair determined to recapture the mood she had woken up with and the contentment she had felt when admiring the garden.

Toast I think, she decided, then a lovely bath, get dressed and take a seat outside in this sun.

The doorbell interrupted her musing. Blast! she said aloud, remembering her mother’s promised visit. Her mother, lovely as she was, could be a little overbearing and Margaret had been looking forward to some time alone, learning to cope again. If Stephen and her mother continued to treat her as an invalid she would never be able to enjoy the new start she had been given. The bell impatiently rang again.

Good morning mother, how early you are. Come in, there is tea in the pot. I was just about to get in the bath. she said brightly as she flung the door wide open in exaggerated welcome.

You carry on dear. You do look a little better today. That’s good. No after effects from the flight I hope? I’ll get us some breakfast, I rushed mine earlier. I couldn’t wait to look around here. It’ll all be ready for you when you come back down. Off you go, and take your time. You’ll wish you could be having long leisurely baths when you get back to work~when you are properly well again of course.

Her mother rarely waited for a second opinion. Conversation became very one sided with Mrs. Francis. People often wondered why Mr. Francis was such a quiet man, until they met his wife. Margaret heard the rattling of cups and saucers as soon as she had left the kitchen. Experience told her to accept the inevitable and just do as she was told. When she came out of hospital after her operation she had little choice but allow herself to be taken back in time, and into her mother’s willing care. She had too readily slipped back into the life of a single woman living with her parents again. It was so easy to let this efficient capable woman get on with things, any attempt to help seemed to smack of interference. She lay back in the hot soapy water remembering the balmy days in Tuscany, sharing the hot tub with Stephen in the privacy of the luxury farmhouse. They had come very close to getting back their old familiarity then, that sense of belonging to each other which the months of separation had worn away. Surely that would come back in time, if not, there would be little point in them staying together. She had seen so many partnerships wrecked when the couple lost that sense of togetherness after all the signs had pointed to a perfect relationship. Yet her own parents seemed to remain eternally content in a partnership which many saw as impossible. John Francis was intelligent, self effacing and shy, while Jane was a domineering chatterbox who loudly organised everything and everybody, whether they needed to be organised or not. Margaret climbed reluctantly from the bath, wishing she could feel happier about spending another day in her mother’s company, but she had readily accepted the role of invalid again, perhaps she did still need to be organised.

Breakfast was indeed ready as her mother had promised. Poached egg on toast, fresh tea, and some of the little almond biscuits her mother made so well, piping hot and heavily scented. Margaret suddenly felt hungry and picked up the knife and fork ready to start tucking in to the perfect egg. ~~

Its nice to see you eating again, Mrs. Francis was saying without even looking at her daughter, I was saying to your father last night about how peaky you still looked. Good food and plenty of rest is what you need, and~~~~

Margaret looked at the egg, saw the golden yellow yoke oozing stickily from where she had stabbed it with the knife, the smell of almonds filled her nostrils. The cloying scent, sickly sweet, masking the smell of the golden yellow,~blood red,~stinking~~~~~

Between us, Stephen and I her mother prattled on, we’ll get you right again. I was saying to Mrs. Harris, Susan’s mother, you remember Susan, married that lad from the co~op, anyway as I said to her~only the other day~good food and healthy living, that’s what my Margaret needs now~~~~~~

Margaret was struggling to get out of her seat, staring at the egg, Blood she was shouting, The stench~its full of blood~the egg~full of~~~stinking bloody awful~~. She was weeping loudly now as her mother, white with shock, led her from the table towards the sitting room where she lay her daughter on the sofa.

Margaret was surprised to find herself lying down. She could hear voices coming from the kitchen behind her. Her mother’s voice, and a man’s voice which she did not recognise. They seemed to be talking about her. Then she began to remember why she was here on the settee, the egg yolk running, the almond scent, the descending blackness.

She said the egg was bad,. her mother was complaining, Blood she was saying, over and over, then stink, stench! I’ve never heard her talk like that. I know you don’t know her yet, but she is registered with you. We have an appointment to see you next week, they’ve just moved you see. She’s recently had an operation to remove a tumour on her brain. She is still registered with Mr. Roper at the Wentworth Hospital, but they don’t want to see her again for six months, so she must be over all that. This fainting is something new, it can’t have anything to do with that, can it?

I’ll need to see her first, but it does seem unlikely. Had she been complaining of feeling unwell? the man’s voice replied.

Not to me doctor, she’s through here, in the lounge. When she came round she wanted to sleep, I decided to leave her there. ~Oh Margaret~you’re awake, this is Doctor James. I felt I had to call him, I was so worried about you, and I didn’t know what to do for the best. It was no use trying to call your old doctor, he wouldn’t have come all the way over here. They’ve moved from Lowbridge you see doctor, but they were abroad for a while because of Margaret’s health and Stephen’s work.

Yes Mrs. Francis, I do understand. You did the right thing, if I can just have five minutes to check you over Mrs. Jones, then I’ll have a chat with your mother in the kitchen. He pointedly stood aside to give passage to a surprised Mrs Francis.

Having been effectively dismissed, Mrs Francis took herself off to the kitchen to do what she always did at such times, put the kettle on. The doctor meanwhile made his necessary checks while talking irrelevant nonsense to Margaret who began to feel a little better. She was remembering more and more about what had happened to bring him here and feeling guilty at causing such a scene. She began her own examination of this man she assumed was to be her new doctor. He had nice hands, which she always appreciated in a doctor, warm and strong, confidently touching parts of her which she would regard as untouchable by all but the closest of people. Chatty, but in a casual way, leaving pauses long enough for her to make a response, but not so long as to seem to be expecting one. He appeared to be younger than her previous doctor who had been close to retirement, however this man was old enough to seem comfortably avuncular, perhaps late forties or early fifties. She felt quite happy with that, then he was asking about an egg. Egg?~~~.

Your mother is quite put out about it, she thinks it may have been a bad egg, but she showed it to me and it looked perfectly alright to me.

Oh, the egg. Of course it was alright, scoffed Margaret, it was a beautiful egg. If you’ve finished you could call her back in now. I want to apologise for being so silly. I seem to spend my time apologising these days, to mother, to Stephen and now to you. I do try to avoid calling a doctor out. The tears were threatening again. She looked away from his gaze, blinking to clear her vision.

Mother, come on in, I’m so sorry, I have no idea what came over me. The egg was fine, everything was lovely. Perhaps I had the bath water too hot.

Do you think that was it? her mother sighed with relief. Do you think that could be the trouble doctor?

Its certainly possible, was the cautious reply, but any unexplained loss of consciousness, as this obviously was, must be treated seriously, especially in view of your recent history. I think we have to arrange for Mr. Roper to see you again as a priority. In the meantime just relax, no more hot baths, and perhaps leave eggs alone for a while. Try some dry toast for now, and I’ll contact Mr, Roper’s secretary for an earlier appointment. You have some medication do you?

We made sure she had enough to last till next week’s visit doctor, Mrs. Francis interrupted cheerfully.

Good. I’ll be off then, and don’t worry about calling me out. I’m glad I could get here so quickly. I know its difficult to know how to act in these circumstances.

Doctor James left with a thoughtful expression, he knew that he needed much more information on this patient before making any hasty diagnosis.

I’ll make that toast~Margaret’s mother was happy to have a task again, shall we sit outside with it? It feels quite warm enough.

Margaret was soon settled on a suntrap terrace outside the French doors leading from the sitting room into the garden. The wrought iron chairs left by the previous owners were sturdy, and more comfortable than their own had been; well suited to the garden they sat in, as if they had always been a feature here. Margaret felt instinctively that she would have liked the people who had arranged this garden had she ever met them. The paving of creamy stone, in a rustic irregular design pleased her eye. It was so peaceful here, difficult to imagine that they were in the middle of a housing estate, yet she knew that she only had to lift her head to see the fences down each side of the long back garden hiding all but the tops of the ornamental trees in adjacent gardens. Perhaps it was only quiet because most people were at work, quiet but not isolated. Knowing that others lived nearby was a comfort and, if they were noisy at weekends then surely she could live with that. It may even be nice to hear other people being happy. She stopped mid~thought, surely she couldn’t be so miserable~could she?. Her mother’s arrival with a loaded tray put an end to her morbid thoughts, she forced a smile as she straightened in the chair to allow space at the table for the tray.

Thank you mother! You do have a way of making even tea and dry toast look attractive, Margaret said, hiding the sarcasm with a smile.

Really dear? Do you really think so? I have always believed that any task is worth doing to the utmost of one’s ability. A little thought can make such a difference, and it takes so little time to give things a bit of extra attention. I often say to the ladies at W.I. ‘anyone can make tea, it takes a woman to make it look inviting’. Now you come on, eat some of that toast. I left it dry as the doctor suggested, but I have brought some butter out as well. You please yourself, but I know I could not eat toast without something to put on it, she settled into a second chair. You know, this patio is definitely bigger than the one at home. I must ask your father if ours can be extended~and this stone flooring is nice too. We were very fortunate to find this house for you.

I thought Peter found it, Margaret interrupted sharply.

Well~yes. I suppose you could say that. I arranged for the estate agent to send us all the possibilities. Your father and I went through them to select what we thought were most suitable. Peter was so busy at the time. It was much easier for us, and we enjoyed doing it. You don’t mind do you? Peter did make the final decision.

Of course I don’t, Margaret replied, while realising to her own surprise that she did. it was just a surprise. Peter told us that he and Ann had looked at it together. I suppose that was what made me so confident about accepting the choice. You know I have always relied on Ann for advice on furnishing and things. Peter is really lucky to have such a sensible wife, don’t you agree?

Oh yes! her mother started to push back her seat, I’ll be in the kitchen tidying up if you need me.

Stay a while, Margaret pleaded. She knew that she had hurt her mother, and wanted the chance to conciliate before another brick became firmly set in the wall between them. The mother daughter relationship had never been as smooth as it may have been but living apart, then having to return in what Margaret could only see as failure, had done nothing to improve things. Those first few weeks on coming out of hospital had been difficult. These days Stephen seemed to get on with her family better than she did.

"You know I trust your judgement absolutely. I suppose I viewed everything about the house as through Ann’s eyes. Its quite surprising to find my mother in agreement with me