Terms of Affection Read online

  Before Angie could knock on the door, it was opened by a handsome man with amazingly dark eyes that seemed to smile at her, despite the stern look on his face. His thick dark hair was beginning to show the first signs of grey at his temples, and Angie guessed he was around forty.

  “Are you the lady who called earlier?” He barely managed a smile.

  Holding out her hand, Angie introduced herself. “Yes, I’m Angie, and this is Margaret. We’re a little early I’m afraid, would you like us to come back later?”

  “Why? No, let’s get it over with, come in.” Stepping into the small hall, he flipped his hand to usher them in, obviously not pleased with their visit.

  “You seemed perturbed that was all, I thought perhaps it was a bad moment.”

  “When is it ever a good moment to discuss your missing, must be dead, son? I’m worried about my grandmother, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry, have I upset Mrs Cooksey, that was—”

  “Not at all, it’s him being overprotective.” Annette Cooksey appeared in the hall, and shoved the man three times the size of her, to one side. “Put the kettle on, Robin, do something useful, you daft bugger.” Turning back to Angie, she rolled her eyes. “Men. I’m Annette. No need of Mrs Cooksey. Come through, the pair of you, come and meet my great grandson.”

  Pausing for just a moment, Angie wondered if she’d missed the detail of Henry having a sibling. Glancing at the stairs as they were shown in, Angie could picture Henry sat there, nose dripping, his father’s coat wrapped around his legs. Returning her attention to Annette, she smiled.

  “Thank you, I hope we’re not intruding on a family get-together, or did you invite them for protection?”

  “Ha! Yes, they do make good protectors, but no, they were already coming, and they know as much as I do, because it’s important, isn’t it?”

  About to ask what was important, Angie’s mouth fell open. It took several seconds to regain control. But even then she only managed a ‘Hello’ to Henry Cooksey’s double.

  “You know what our Henry looked like then. This is his grandson. Young Henry.” Annette gave a laugh. “He’s a handsome devil, isn’t he? Sit yourselves down, if Robin beats you to it, he’ll take all the room on that sofa.”

  Unable to hide her curiosity, Margaret looked from young Henry to Annette. “His grandson?”

  “Yes, didn’t you know? Another reason I know my boy is dead. Lorna was left pregnant, she hadn’t told Henry about it because she didn’t know until the day he went missing, she was going to tell him that night. The police suggested it might have been why he ran away, bloody ridiculous notion. Still, I suppose they were only doing their jobs.”

  Making a mental note to recheck the file, Angie was shocked that Lorna’s pregnancy hadn’t been mentioned in the notes. Particularly if that’s why the police thought Henry had gone. Perhaps there was another file somewhere.

  “Kettle’s boiled, who wants what?” Robin Cooksey appeared in the doorway. Hearing his grandmother talk in such a relaxed manner lessened his concern and he managed a smile.

  Both Margaret and Angie stared at him. If you were looking for it, you could see a resemblance to his father, but nothing like the mirror image sitting in the armchair by the fire. Taking their orders, and happy to be away from their scrutiny, Robin wasn’t sorry to get back to the kitchen.

  “Tell me again what you want to know and why? Are the police opening the case again?” Taking a seat next to her great grandson, Annette patted his hand. “I’m sure young Henry is wondering why there’s all this fuss forty-odd years on.

  “Actually, Gran, I think it will be interesting, as long as you don’t get upset of course.” Scooting a little closer he put his arm around her shoulders. Annette was bird-like against the strapping young man. “I don’t actually know that much. Other than the original Henry was great at rugby, and was a good boy . . . Like me.” His eyes twinkled. “And that both you and Nana know he wouldn’t have disappeared voluntarily, so a bit of detail might be interesting.”

  “If you wanted to know more you should have asked. Let’s see what these ladies want or they’ll be here all day.”

  “First, the police aren’t reopening the case as such. The Bearing Witness project was started when I moved into a cottage of a missing actress. I found out about her and asked a few questions from people who had known her, and got . . . not sure how to describe it, but I got drawn into Wendy’s story.”

  “Wendy Knight.” Flapping her hand about, Annette became animated. “I saw that on the news, were you the ones who found her body? The swine who killed her also killed that lovely chap, what’s his name . . . Harry Grayson? Oh.” Clearly impressed, she apologised. “I’m sorry, I’m interrupting.”

  “No problem. I roped my family in to help, and as you say we found her, and decided that her story should be told. I’ve dramatised what happened into a novel, so now she won’t be forgotten.” Giving a shrug, Angie explained, “I think she needed a witness.”

  “My mother, Bridget, was friends with a police officer, who offered us advice and assistance, and he suggested we might want to look into the disappearance of another young girl. We found her too, although I’m happy to say she was alive.”

  Margaret had relaxed and warmed to her theme. “Inspector Tipper suggested we might look at other local cases if we were of a mind to. He gave us some files of people who had been missing for a considerable amount of time, and we chose Henry.”

  “You think he’s alive?” Annette was shaking her head.

  “No.” Angie said firmly. “Having read the file, and spoken to you, albeit briefly, I think you’re right, Henry wouldn’t have left without a word. But that doesn’t mean his story shouldn’t be told, or that we shouldn’t find out what happened to him if that’s possible.”

  “Good. Because for a moment, I thought you were on a wild goose chase. My Henry won’t be coming back. I’m not sure what good taking on his case will do. He wasn’t famous, not like Wendy Knight.”

  “But he was someone’s son. Your son, and the Bearing Witness team believe that his story should be told, and hopefully we can find out what actually happened to him. With your permission of course.”

  “Where would you start, though? It’s been so long. Even my Gerry has gone.”

  “I think this is a great idea, Gran. You’ve got all those pictures of him and some of his friends. They would be able to tell them stuff. And Nana even,” Young Henry encouraged.

  “What are you volunteering Mum for?” Placing a tray of cups on the coffee table, Robin looked at Angie for an answer.

  “We will investigate this in a similar way to the police, but without the red tape et cetera. We’re more than happy to listen to assumptions, gut feelings, and hearsay. It all builds a picture. For instance, we have a witness who saw Henry at the bus stop the night he disappeared, and they think he got into a car.”

  “Who? Why didn’t they say that at the time?”

  “They weren’t around at the time. They didn’t know Henry had gone missing. Do you know who might have picked Henry up? As he was due to meet Lorna there, it must have been someone he knew.”

  “I don’t know. None of his friends had cars that I know of. Male or female, what type of car? The police might be able to trace them.”

  “They didn’t know, too long ago to remember.”

  “So, it might not have been my Henry?”

  “I think it was. The young man they saw was swinging a scarf. A scarf like the one Henry left at the bus stop.”

  “Now that sounds like Henry. Always made sure he wrapped up warm, but he did everything at full steam ahead. He often stripped off the top layer within minutes.” Sitting forward, her whole body alert, Annette clasped her hands. “You can do this! You already seem to know more than the police found out. I don’t know about the car, but Lorna may be able to help with that. What can I tell you?”

  “Anything and everything you remember about the months leading
up to his disappearance. Had he fallen out with anyone, was anything troubling him, why was he taking extra maths lessons? Anything that lets us know who he was talking about, going out with, interested in. You talk and we’ll ask questions.” Spooning sugar into one of the mugs, Angie stirred it while Annette thought.

  “He was seeing someone else, sleeping with them too I reckon, just before . . . or maybe as he and Lorna started to see each other.”

  “And that ended badly?”

  “Yes. You know what teenagers are like, finding out anything from Henry was like getting blood from a stone. Especially if it was emotional. But this girl phoned, so many times, and if it was me or Gerry she’d hang up. Then one night they had this big showdown and the calls stopped. I don’t know what happened, but he was upset and angry.”

  “Tell us more about that night.” Placing her cup on the tray, Angie pulled her phone from her pocket. “Do you mind if I record this, it’s easier than taking notes.”

  “No, you carry on. Where shall I start?”

  “Wherever that night begins in your mind.”

  As Annette began to recount the events as she remembered them, Angie closed her eyes and pictured the scene.

  Chapter Seven

  Closing the door against the biting wind, Annette Cooksey smiled. Her son was a lovely boy, in love or not. But over the last few months he had become secretive, going out at strange times, she knew it couldn’t have all been training. Then there were the telephone calls to the house where the caller hung up when she or Gerry answered. For a while they’d been worried he was getting in with a bad lot. When Gerry had found the packet of condoms, it was, as Gerry had said, a relief that Henry had discovered girls and not drugs, and that he was sensible enough to be careful.

  Whoever it was, Henry had been seeing, that was over. She’d heard him on the telephone, he’d been nice but firm.

  “I’m sorry I can’t see you anymore. It’s not about you, but I need to concentrate on my school work and rugby, and you know I’ll be off to university next year. Better to end it now, you know that.”

  Whoever it was seemed to have taken it well. She’d actually made him laugh during the conversation that came after he’d finished with her. That was nice, very grown up. His first proper and it would appear sexual relationship was done and dusted, and not a tear shed.

  Holding her hands out towards the fire, Annette shivered. This one with Lorna won’t be like that. This one was serious. Lorna this, and Lorna that, and tonight he’d told her he loved her, even Annette knew that was huge for a teenage boy.

  Settling herself with a blanket across her knees, she finished a sleeve of the jumper she was knitting while she waited for her favourite soap to come on the television. The warmth from the fire, and the comfort of the rug caused her to nod off. The slamming of the front door woke her an hour or so later.

  “Gerry?”

  Henry entered the room. “It’s me. I’m going to make some cocoa and go to bed.” He was already walking away.

  Looking at the clock on the mantel, Annette called after him. “I’ll have one please. You’re back early? Too cold for training?”

  “Something like that.”

  She listened to the tap filling the kettle, then the increasing roar from the aged kettle as it boiled the water. “I’d like mine with milk,” she called to Henry.

  No response was forthcoming, Henry couldn’t hear her over the noise of the kettle. Removing the blanket, she shivered as the air reached her legs, and went to join him in the kitchen. He didn’t hear her approach, and he stood his head touching the wall, and his weight supported by clenched fists as he leaned into the wall.

  “What are you up to?”

  Spinning round to face her, Henry snapped, “Nothing. What do you want?”

  “Don’t you speak to me like that. What’s wrong with you? Have you been dropped from the team or something?”

  “No.”

  “Then why have you got a face like a smacked arse, and why are you snapping at me. I won’t have that kind of attitude in this house, you know that.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry what?”

  “What do you mean, ‘sorry what’? Sorry, Mum, that I’m not conforming to your requirements? Will that do?”

  “No.” Annette dragged a chair out from the table. “No, it bloody won’t. Sit.”

  “I’m going to go—”

  “Don’t make me wallop you. Big as you are, I’ll have a go. Do as you’re told and sit.” One hand on a hip, the other pointing at a chair, Annette held back her grin as he dropped his weight onto it. “Now I’ll make the cocoa, you tell me what’s turned you into a teenager.”

  “I am a teenager.”

  “Not a stroppy, rude one, you’re not. Spit it out, then we can all get some peace. Is something wrong at the rugby club?” Taking the milk from the fridge, Annette filled a saucepan and lit the gas.

  “I said no.”

  Sensing the eyeroll rather than seeing it, Annette waved a teaspoon at her son. “Enough now. Who’s got you in this mood? Have you fallen out with Lorna?”

  “No.”

  “Oh my God, this is like pulling teeth. Are you sure? Should I phone her to check?”

  “No, you bloody shouldn’t.” Holding up his hands in amazement at such a suggestion, he looked at his mother as though she were a stranger. “Why would you even suggest that?”

  “Because, my boy, there is something wrong, and if you won’t tell me, I’ll have to find out from elsewhere. Lorna seems to be a good place to start.”

  “Lorna is fine. Perfect. There is nothing about Lorna that upsets me. Will that do?” Even though the smile was forced, he saw his mother’s resolve weaken.

  “Do you want a sandwich with your cocoa?”

  “No thanks.”

  Walking to the table, Annette sat with her son. “Now I know it’s serious. You finish training early, you snap at your mother for no good reason, and now you’re refusing food. We’re staying here until you’ve told me. Now—”

  The ringing of the phone released Henry from his mother’s stare, and he raced into the hall, snatching at the receiver. Making no pretence about not listening, his mother followed him into the hall and stopped a few feet away listening to her son’s side of the conversation.

  “Yes, sorry about that, I didn’t feel too good, I’ll be there on Tuesday, I promise . . . Thanks . . . Oh nothing serious, bad stomach . . .” Henry forced a laugh. “I know. Okay Jamie, see you on Tuesday.”

  As he hung up, his mother jerked her thumb towards the kitchen.

  “Now you’re lying to your coach. Kitchen. Now.”

  Huffing, Henry scuffed his way back to the kitchen, and dropped onto the chair with a grunt. “Get on with it then.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “The lecture, the nagging. I’m tired, so do it and then I can go to bed. You want to watch . . .” he pointed at the cooker, “too late.”

  Rushing to the cooker, Annette lifted the overflowing, boiling milk off the burner. The gas hissed as the milk slopped onto it, and the smell of burning milk filled the air.

  “Now see what your cheek has made me do. Now start talking. Where have you been tonight and who with?” Her back to her son, Annette made the cocoa before squeezing a generous amount of washing up liquid into the pan and running water into it. “I’ll have to soak that overnight. You’ve not started talking.” Carrying the cups to the table, she took a seat and looked at her son’s worried face.

  “Nothing to talk about. Women problems, but they’re sorted.”

  “What girl are we talking about, not Lorna?”

  “No, not Lorna. An old girlfriend.”

  “The one you were seeing before you started dating Lorna?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s her name? What’s happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. But she wound me up, that’s all. Sorry if I was rude.”

  “Forgiven, but
why did you miss training.”

  “Because she followed me there, and started making a scene just outside the changing rooms. I went for a walk with her so no one would see us. It took too long for her to leave, and then there didn’t seem much point in going.”

  “I take it she doesn’t like it that you’ve got another girl on the go.”

  “What does on the go, mean? God, you use some weird expressions. But, no, she didn’t like it that I was seeing Lorna.”

  “But now you’ve convinced her, because it would be nice if the calls didn’t start again.”

  “What calls?”

  Seeing the look of fear, Annette worried about how serious this girl was, who followed her son about, and stalked, yes that was the word, stalked him.

  “The calls where someone hangs up if it’s me or your dad. Those calls. How long were you seeing her for?”

  “Only a few weeks, five at the most.”

  “She’s a bit loose then?”

  “And you’re off again, what does loose mean?”

  “Don’t give me that. Free with her favours, otherwise what would make her so upset that she follows you around to be humiliated.”

  Thinking it wise not to mention the discovery of the condoms, Annette ploughed on, “Because in my day, you wouldn’t sleep with a boy unless you were in love, even then it usually required a ring. I’m guessing she probably feels used, and to be honest I don’t blame her.”

  Snorting, Henry got to his feet. “I doubt that very much. She wants me back, wants me to finish with Lorna, and that’s not going to happen. Can I take this to bed now, or have you got more questions?”

  “Oh, I’ve got plenty, but they’ll keep for now. But I’ll tell you this, my son, and you’d better listen: don’t be a bed hopper, don’t be that boy that breaks their hearts after empty promises. It’ll all end in tears that way, and yes, yours too, big and ugly as you are. You be kind, and considerate to Lorna, and don’t go charming your way into her bed.”

  “Mum! God, you’re embarrassing. Goodnight.” Red-faced, Henry started for the door.

  “If you’re old enough to be breaking hearts and sleeping with these girls, you’re too old to be embarrassed. Bring that mug down in the morning. I don’t want it growing mould under your bed.”