Abigail: Chapter 28

Two days later and I was pulling up outside Ryan’s place where Toby had been sleeping on the sofa. My Travelodge reservation had been for Monday night but I’d had to change that owing to the rather large drill in the side of my head when I woke up Monday morning. There had been absolutely no way I could contemplate driving for miles with a hangover so Tuesday it was. It also meant I had an extra day with the girls before abandoning them again. They were still nagging me about decorating the house for Christmas and I’d promised we’d do it as soon as I got back from Barnstaple.

I pressed the buzzer for Ryan’s flat and crossed my fingers that he’d be home. True to form, no one answered, so I went straight next door and knocked. When the old lady saw me her face brightened.

“Charlotte love. How good to see you. Come in, come in. You’re not allergic to cats are you?”

I smiled and confirmed that I was fine with cats. She made me sit in her best room while she made a pot of tea. The room looked like it was barely used. It was immaculate with little lace covers on the sideboard and coffee table and a floral three piece suite organised around the table in a half circle. It was like something out of Good Housekeeping magazine circa 1963. I noticed a pair of china cats on the mantlepiece and would have sworn they were the ones my mother had been raving about after watching Antiques Roadshow.

The old lady soon came in carrying a silver tray heavily laden with all the makings of a very fancy cup of tea. I stood up to help her.

“Put it on the table there would you love. Thank you.”

I did as I was told then gestured to the teapot. “Shall I play Mum?”

“Would you love? That would be champion. Milk, two sugars please.”

I poured her a cup and waited for her to sit down before passing it over. She took a sip and smacked her lips together with pleasure. We sat quietly for a few moments sipping tea but when what felt like an appropriate amount of time had passed I turned to the matter in hand.

“I’m really sorry but with everything that was going on the other day, I didn’t ask your name.” I could feel myself blushing. 

“Didn’t I introduce myself love? Oh silly me. I’m Muriel. Muriel Flanagan.” She laughed gently. “How’s that for a right proper Irish name? There’s quite a few of us round North Devon as it turns out and not a one of us has ever set foot in the Emerald Isle. Daft!”

I laughed with her. “Well it’s lovely to meet you properly Muriel. And I can’t thank you enough for ringing me. Really, you’ve been a big help.”

Muriel’s face flushed with pride. “Good to know. I wasn’t sure about ringing but right glad I did now.” She nodded to herself.

“So what happened with Ryan? You mentioned he’d taken a beating. Did you see anything?”

“‘Fraid not love. First I knew about it was when old nosy parker ‘cross the street came knocking. Told you his eyes were better than mine didn’t I? Said he’d called the police when he saw the two of ‘em brawling but they never came.”

“The police never came?”

“That’s what he said, but I bet he never called them. That’s just like ‘im to make som’ing up, add a bit o’ spice to his story.”

A nosy neighbour sounded like just the sort of person I could do with getting on my side. If he had actually seen Ryan and Toby fighting he might be able to give me a description. Although if he was unreliable I’d have to be careful about how much time I spent chasing after his stories.

“Do you think he’d speak to me?”

“I’m sure he’d love to, he’ll do anything for a bit o’ drama. Want me to come with you?” She leaned in and spoke in a whisper. “He’s got a bit of a reputation. Ladies man, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, but thanks for the warning.” I stood up and lifted the net curtain to look out the window. “Which house is his?”

“Number twelve. Roland. You can tell him I sent you if you like.”

“Will do. Let me finish this lovely cup of tea first. I want to hear more about you.”

I poured myself a second cup of tea and settled back in the chair to listen to Muriel’s stories. She might look like nothing more than a wrinkled old lady but when she started telling stories it was like being transported back in time to another world. She hadn’t always lived in Devon, she told me. When she was a little girl her father and mother had moved her and her younger brother to South Africa. I listened, eyes wide with disbelief, as she told me about meeting the man who would become her husband out there and their life together on a whole other continent. 

“Have you ever read any of Wilbur Smith’s books?” I asked. “Lots of them are set in South Africa.”

“Oh yes, used to love ‘em. Don’t read much anymore though, cos of me eyes.”

“That’s a shame. You should try an audiobook, have someone read them to you.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But you didn’t come all this way to sit nattering with a daft old bird like me. Get yourself off over to Roland’s. Will you come back and tell me what ‘e said?”

“If you’d like me to. I need to find Ryan too. He wasn’t in his flat but I don’t imagine he’ll be in work if his face is all messed up.”

“That boy would have to lose both his legs before he missed a day in work!”

“Really?” He hadn’t struck me as the industrious type.

“Needs the money. Gives everything he can to his mum and girlfriend.”

I smiled to myself. Muriel clearly didn’t miss a thing. “How do you know that?”

“I heard ‘im, on the phone. These walls are like paper. Me eyes might be useless but there’s nowt wrong with me hearing.”

“I don’t suppose you ever heard Toby talking to anyone?” 

She shook her head. “Sorry love.”

“Never mind, it was a bit of a long shot.” I drained my cup and stood up. “Thanks for the tea. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Just be sure you don’t let him give you the run around. Daft old goat likes to think he’s Inspector Clouseau!”

After reassuring Muriel that I’d make sure he behaved himself I headed outside and across the road to number twelve. Unlike Muriel’s spotless front garden, Roland’s was littered with dead leaves and stray crisp packets. I knocked on the door and crossed my fingers that he’d be home and in the mood to talk.