Chapter 6: Family matters
The terraced house is Victorian or Edwardian, and is similar to a lot of brick-built slate roofed houses in other Home Counties villages. They were built originally for tied farm workers, but those labourers were no longer needed after mechanisation. The terraced cottages are narrow, two-up, two-down, most with two-storey extensions out the back to include a modern kitchen below and a bathroom and or third bedroom above. I had spotted the extensions on my earlier recce and noticed several houses also had small very similar conservatories built on the back of the extensions.
It's Polly-Jo who answers the door, almost speechless with surprise and joy at seeing her favourite swimming coach.
"Daddy-Dan!" she squeals putting her hands up to her mouth, "Come on in! Come on in, please!" She holds out both her hands and I respond by holding out mine. She pulls me in, Agnes following immediately behind. I glance at her, Agnes is back smiling again. Children smiling is naturally infectious whether you are a parent or not.
"Mum! Mum!" She shouts down the hall as she pulls me long with one hand now holding mine in a vice-like grip, "you'll never guess who has come visit!"
'Mum?' I think, instantly on my guard. If her mother Josie's here, does this mean that was Marty Wheelwright here too? Was he lying in wait for us, or was I about to catch him cold? Unfortunately, I am unarmed, we had left the 'tools' in the motor in response to Freddie's relied on all-clear signal. I silently motion Agnes to stay back with my free hand. I want her out of the way if there was going to be a fire-fight. Damn, my twins were inside already and now I regret not marching up to the house, tooled up at the outset.
Pulling me with one hand and skipping with joy, Polly-Jo throws open the door to the sitting room and drags me through.
"Mummy!" Polly-Jo cries, "this is my coach, Daddy-Dan!"
The twins were playing with some toys on the floor in front of the newly lit fireplace, the kindling burning fiercely and the coals just starting to catch, but the twins were already up on their feet and running into my arms, crying "Daddy!"
Sitting close together on the two-seater settee are Freddie and Polly. Sitting very closely together in fact and holding hands. Freddie grins at me, remaining seated, but Polly jumps up in shock.
"Daddy? Danny?" she says, "is that really you? What's going on?" One hand has gone to her mouth, the other still held firmly by Freddie.
"Is Marty here?" I snarl at her from the centre of the room. She reacts like she's been struck and almost sits down again, struggling to maintain her balance.
"No ... no, of course not, we never see him at all. I doubt he even knows where we live." she says, her eyes brimming over with tears. She is still holding Freddie's hand. "Why does PJ call you 'Daddy', Dan?"
"Where's your sister Josie, then?" I demand, pushing aside her question.
"She ... Josie passed away, in Turkey, about ten years ago ... ten years last June."
"So, you've looked after your niece, ever since?"
"She's not my niece, Daniel, she's my ... she's ... our daughter." As she speaks, Freddie tugs her by the hand and pulls her down to sit back next to him and puts his arm comfortingly around her.
I am confused, she surely can't mean that Polly-Jo is Polly and Freddie's daughter, as Freddie is twelve years younger than us and from Lancashire not London. How would they have met without me knowing? No, that can't be it, they don't even know each other, although they do seem very friendly now. So if Josie's not the father and Polly is the mother, then she must mean that Martin Wheelwright, her brother-in-law, is Polly-Jo's father. But none of that matters now. Families! And I thought that Agnes and mine had become a complicated marriage!
"So, are we here alone?" I ask, "just the seven of us?"
I hear a rustle Agnes quietly enters the room behind me.
"Just us, Staff," Freddie says, a smile on his face like he's just lapped up the cream and, judging by the way Polly is cuddling up to him, I guess he has. "I've had a quick recce, and you couldn't swing a cat in any room here, either upstairs or down. There's no cellar, garage or even a garden shed, and no-one's been in the loft for months, according to a spider's web in the corner."
"OK, Freddie, cough up, what's really going on here between you two?" I ask.
The girls giggle and Mickie holds out a hand to her mother Agnes, so she sits down on a rocking chair the other side of the fireplace, and the twins cheerfully climb on her lap, all full of infectious smiles. "Uncle Freddie loves Aunt Polly," they sing out in unison. The couple on the settee, snuggle up, although Polly still looks in shock at seeing me.
"I can see that," I say, "So, while l've been busting my butt in school, I suppose you two love birds have been exchanging emails."
"Tweets," they quietly say in unison, dripping with guilt. Freddie clears his throat.