Page 90 of Vengeance is Mine

‘No. I couldn’t impose like that. I just want to be on my own.’

Dawn came into the room carrying a tray with three mugs on it and a large Victoria sponge cake in the middle. Despite Anthony not being in the mood to make the cake after the police had left, that morning he’d thought it would be a good activity to take his mind off things. After all, he’d bought the ingredients and hated things going to waste.

‘I thought we’d cut into this. It looks lovely, doesn’t it, Mum?’

‘It looks better than any I could make. Dawn, tell him about the cake I made for your sixteenth.’

‘Oh my God. She made this cake that was supposed to be three layers, but she used the wrong flour. She didn’t notice and still iced it. It looked like a big biscuit rather than a cake.’

Anthony gave a weak smile.

‘You still ate it, though,’ Rita said.

‘I never say no to cake.’

Dawn cut into the cake Anthony had made and handed out three slices. Hers was the smallest. Her new diet allowed her the odd treat, but she didn’t want the taste of those delicious calories to undo all the work she’d done in the past six months to remove the weight. The phone started to ring again, and they all ignored it.

Anthony waited until the ringing stopped before he spoke. ‘How are you doing, Dawn?’

‘I’m okay. I don’t know… I can’t seem to settle.’

‘You’re in shock,’ Rita said, munching on the cake.

‘I think we all are,’ Anthony said. He was using his fork to turn his slice of cake into crumbs. He hadn’t eaten any. ‘To be perfectly honest, I wanted him to die in prison. I always imagined getting a phone call or a letter from someone telling me he’d been beaten up or he’d committed suicide. I didn’t want him being released and returning to Newcastle. I knew something like this would happen.’

‘You couldn’t have known, Anthony,’ Rita said.

‘He was my son,’ he said, with a broken voice. His eyes filled with tears. ‘He was my…’ He couldn’t finish. His words were lost to his emotion.

Dawn, the nearest, stood up and perched on the edge of the armchair. She placed an arm around his shoulders and held him to her.

‘It’s all right, Grandad. It’s all right to be upset.’

She looked at her mother, who was looking down at her cake, her bottom lip wobbling slightly as she struggled to contain her tears. Dawn knew her mother. She was a very emotional person and always cried when she saw other people crying. She cried whenever anyone died in a TV soap or a child hugged his grandfather in an advert for life insurance.

‘I just…’ Anthony tried again but still couldn’t speak. He waited a moment then wiped his eyes on his sleeves. ‘I just keep thinking about Carole. If someone had done this twenty years ago, she might still be alive now. That’s why I’m upset. I miss her so much.’ He fell into Dawn’s arms again, and she held him tighter.

Anthony was crying for his dead wife. Rita was crying just because Anthony was crying. Dawn’s eyes were dry. Dominic had been dead for little more than twenty-four hours, and nobody was crying for him.

Chapter Forty

Terry drove to Lavender House. He wanted to talk to his father. He had no idea what about, but he couldn’t help wondering if Harry and Barbara might, in some way, be capable of murdering Dominic Griffiths. It was a ridiculous notion. The level of violence inflicted upon him had been savage. Yes, they hated him, but could they murder him with such intensity? It was time to find out if he needed to consider them suspects.

He parked, got out of the car and made his way to the reception desk. He asked the smiling receptionist if he could check the visitors’ book, and there, on 1 January at 7.30 p.m., was Harry’s signature. Terry let out an audible sigh of relief. Harry was in the clear, and there was no way Barbara could have attacked and killed Dominic on her own. He felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

Terry thanked the receptionist and walked down the corridor, entering his father’s room with a couple of carrier bags. One contained fresh toiletry supplies for the bathroom, the other had a sandwich for each of them along with some fruit, chocolate bars and a couple of paperback novels.

‘Terry, I didn’t expect to see you today.’

Ian was sitting by the window, looking out over the back gardens. They were usually landscaped and vibrant, but at this time of year they had an unkempt, abandoned look about them. He was reading his tablet and had a cup of tea on the table in front of him. It would be easy to look at him and think he was simply having a lazy afternoon reading a book and enjoying his retirement. Sadly, the truth was very different.

‘I thought I’d pop over with some things.’ Terry raised the bags. ‘I’ve brought you a sandwich from that shop in town you used to like, with the crusty rolls.’ He took out a paper bag and placed it on the table. ‘Hot roasted pork with apple sauce and stuffing.’

Ian’s eyes lit up. ‘Delicious.’ He tore open the paper bag, took the huge sandwich in both hands and held it up. He inhaled the aroma and closed his eyes. ‘It’s been years since I’ve had one of these.’

It was a couple of months ago, actually, but Terry didn’t say anything.

Ian took a bite and chewed slowly, savouring every morsel.

---