Page 49 of Maybe Tomorrow

‘I’m not leaving this station without him,’ she said firmly.

‘Pauline, come on. Let’s go and sit down,’ Leo said, placing his arms around her and guiding her to the seating area.

Pauline allowed herself to be led and sat down. Leo sat next to her. She wanted to remain strong and stoic for Anthony. He would need her to help him, to support him. But right now, she just wanted to cry.

Freya Sloan knocked on Pauline Winstanley’s front door and stood back, looking up at the house.

‘She’s not in, love,’ Hilda Meyhew’s gruff voice rang out.

Freya turned to where the voice was coming from and saw a woman in her sixties standing on her doorstep two doors away. She had her hair in a net and a flowery apron over her clothes.

‘Do you know where she’s gone?’

‘Probably to see you lot,’ she said, taking in Freya’s uniform.

‘You’ve heard?’ Freya smiled.

‘Helping you with enquiries, is what I’ve heard, but we all know what that means. I can’t say I’m surprised.’

‘Do you know the Winstanleys much, Mrs…?’

‘Meyhew. Hilda Meyhew. I’ve been here since 1963. I know everyone in this street. She doesn’t talk much, though. She’s enough on her plate.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘She works shifts and she looks after her Anthony. He’s a handful in every sense.’

‘Go on,’ Freya prompted.

‘Well, he’s not right in the head, is he? A bit simple. You can tell that by looking at him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice enough lad. He’s polite. He always says hello, and he’s helped me with my shopping more than once. But, well, let’s just say, I wouldn’t like to meet him in an alley on a dark night.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s got this look about him, as if he’s undressing you. I mean, it might be his way, but I wouldn’t want to be on my own with him. He unnerves me. Afternoon, Mrs Bryant,’ Hilda called out to a woman across the road. ‘I see your Paul’s got a new car. He’s doing well for himself.’

‘He got a promotion. Assistant manager now,’ Mrs Bryant beamed.

‘Good for him. Tell him I was asking after him.’

‘I will.’

‘Now, her Paul is the same age as Anthony Winstanley.’ Hilda turned back to Freya and lowered her voice. ‘He left home at nineteen and got himself a flat. Only council, but it was a start. He got a job as an office junior at the Yorkshire Bank. He went to night school, passed his exams, and now he’s assistant manager. He’s in a two-bedroom house, private rented, got a steady girlfriend– they live together, but I don’t say anything– and he’s always dressed smart. Now look at Anthony, still living at home, having his mother do everything for him, working part-time in a library. It’s not normal, is it?’

‘Does Anthony have any behavioural issues?’ Freya asked.

‘That’s what Pauline’s always said. What did she call it? Learning difficulties. I think she said he was starved of oxygen when he was born. Something like that. But she doesn’t help him. He should be independent. I was in there once last year having a cup of tea. I’d gone round with the catalogue. Anyway, Anthony’s there eating a chocolate biscuit. He’s dunking it in his tea, and he’s got melted chocolate all over his hands. Pauline literally takes him over to the sink and washes his hands for him. I did that with my two when they were four and five. She hasn’t cut the apron strings. That’s why he is the way he is.’

‘Does he have any friends?’

‘I doubt it. I’ve never seen him with any.’ She looked over her shoulder then back to Freya, lowering her voice further. ‘Leo Mulligan, three doors along, he goes round there a lot. I think he and Pauline are… you know. Anyway, he’s taken Anthony to the football a few times, but I don’t think Anthony’s too keen. He says it’s too noisy.’

‘What about a girlfriend? Have you ever seen Anthony with a girl?’

‘That’s another thing. He should have a girlfriend, shouldn’t he? I’ve never once seen him with one. Not once. Now, Amanda Rushbrook at number twelve, I never saw her boy with a girl either. He went off to university in Manchester, came back with his hair dyed blond and a boyfriend. Well, I always knew he was funny. You can tell, can’t you? And he’s a lovely lad, always sends his mum a bunch of flowers on her birthday, so I don’t mind. But Anthony, well, there’s nothing there. And to be honest, who’d have him? Man or woman. So, did he kill that Alice Patterson then?’

‘Would it surprise you if he did?’

‘Nothing surprises me anymore, love. I wouldn’t put it past him, though. There’s definitely something loose in his head, trust me on that one.’