It was hardly a big break.
“Was it unusual, her calling him names, getting upset?”
“Well, she called him all sorts, you know what teenagers are like. He was big on morals and what he called decent behaviour and all that and she hated his conservatism, his prejudice. But this felt different. She rang me up to tell me, for a start and at first I thought she’d told him about the baby and he’d been horrible about it and she was calling him a hypocrite because he wasn’t being a Christian and forgiving her. Mind you his particular Church never seemed very tolerant.”
“Maybe he told her to get an abortion?” I suggested.
“Yes, that would fit. But the thing is, I asked Jenny if she’d told them and she said no, not yet. She said it was something else.”
“You got the impression something had happened, her father had said something or done something that she thought was hypocritical?”
“Yes.”
“But not connected to her pregnancy?”
“No.”
“And this was just before she left?”
“Yes, it’s so hard to be sure after all these years but it was one of the last times we spoke, if not the last. At the time you’re just talking you don’t expect to be quizzed on it decades after, you don’t know it might be important.”
“I know,” I reassured her, “you’ve done well to remember it at all. And if anything else comes up do call me.”
There was no milk at the office so I called home for some and collected a cheese and vegetable pastie that had come of age. If I didn’t eat it for lunch I’d have to bin it. There was a bank statement and a wodge of junk mail for me in the Dobson’s hall-way. Somehow my name had reached a list in catalogue land and I was being bombarded with free gift offers, new customer bribes and the promise of 250,000 pounds in cash or 5,000 per year for life if I’d only take a catalogue and buy something. I dumped everything but the bank statement. I made a coffee before I opened it. I looked at it, closed my eyes and took a rallying breath then filed it. It wouldn’t seem so bad in a couple of days.
I updated my notes and rang Roger Pickering. It was about time I told him what I’d found out about his sister. We arranged to meet the following day after I’d seen Frances Delaney. I wondered whether that would be a waste of time but unlike Caroline Cunningham she lived locally so it needn’t take me long to see her and then I’d have finished with Jennifer’s friends. I worked on a draft report for Roger so he could see what I’d been doing with his money. Would he want to retain me when I was getting nowhere fast? I’d have to be honest with him about my fading hopes. Even if Keele did give me Jennifer’s forwarding address there would be twenty odd years of moving house to trace and pursue. It would be time-consuming and there’d be no guarantee of success.
