I tidied up the rampant clematis round the back door. Mourned over the stumps of marigolds that the slugs had got to. The slug traps were brimming. It could have been worse. I’d killed a fair few of the buggers. There was satisfaction in that.
I hadn’t told Martin about the funeral. Would he like to be there? Would he be allowed to come? He wasn’t a free agent, I’d gathered that much. Though not the whys or hows of it.
I was eager to wash my hands of the whole affair. I wanted to forget about it. I’d tell Mrs Hobbs what I knew. And what I’d learned. Give her a rollicking for lying to me. Work out my bill and give her the change she was owed. Close my file on Martin Hobbs. Or so I thought. Just shows how wrong you can be.
Mrs Hobbs was waiting on the Dobson’s doorstep when I arrived. That threw me. I’d hoped to gather my thoughts, prepare myself to tackle her.
‘Sorry I’m early,’ she said, ‘I thought the traffic would be worse. I don’t often come in on a Saturday.’ She looked so respectable in her beige lightweight suit, a moss-coloured blouse with one of those old-fashioned cravat collars. Oh, I know abuse happens in every sort of family, but it still seemed incongruous that the plump, middle-aged woman who stood clutching her handbag and smiling nervously at me, had that dark secret.
‘Come in.’ I unlocked the door and led her downstairs. The office still smelt of paint and looked dingy and unwelcoming. I pulled up a chair for her, opposite mine.
‘He’s alright then? Where is he? How did you find him?’ She was grinning through the questions. She had a nice smile; it reminded me of the picture of Martin with the fish. ‘Oh, I was so pleased when you rang, you can’t imagine…’ I wasn’t returning her smile. She noticed. ‘Is something wrong?’ Worry enlarged those brown eyes. ‘I thought you said he was alright. What is it?’
‘Martin’s okay,’ I said. ‘He’s found somewhere to stay in Cheadle.’
‘Yes?’
My mouth was watering, a small muscle tremoring in my knee. ‘Mrs Hobbs, Martin explained to me why he left home. He told me what had been going on.’ I paused. Expecting some reaction. I got bewilderment. ‘I’d never have agreed to take the case if you’d told me the truth. Is that why you lied to me?’
‘What do you mean?’ She was alarmed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, come on, stop pretending.’ I spoke roughly, my cheeks burning. ‘Martin was abused by his father for years. When he tried to tell you about it, you threatened to send him away, called him a liar.’
