The Spring Daffodils

Tom Cox loved his house. He and Jenny bought it a few months before they were married. They couldn’t believe their luck; they’d wanted to live in this area but didn’t think they’d be able to afford it. Then this old house came on the market.

The structure was solid enough, but the inside needed to be stripped back to its bones and rebuilt. They’d done most of the work themselves; they worked evenings and weekends, and spent their annual leave working on the house. When they needed to employ the experts, on the electrics and the central heating, Tom took on a few freelance jobs to pay for them.

And now here he was, standing at the bifold doors in the kitchen, hugging a coffee and feeling proud of their achievements. The house was finished, and looked as good as any other in their area. But that garden. God, that garden needed work.

So that was the plan for the summer. Starting tomorrow, he was going to clear the garden and do some landscaping with his Best Man Phil. They’d make this garden special, a magical place for little Oliver to play in as soon as he could crawl.

Oliver.

A broad smile spread over Tom’s face every time he thought about his newborn son. Oliver had helped make this house a home, and from the minute Tom saw him, he swore he would love, look after and protect his little boy for as long as he had breath in his body.

*****************************

Tom’s mobile started belting out the Grand Finale to Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture.

“Tom. Dad’s gone missing. I’m worried sick” his mother, Josie, said quickly. “He went for his walk as usual this morning, but he hasn’t come back. Jim next door and his boy, Kyle, have walked Dad’s usual route but there’s no sign of him. Oh my god, Tom, what am I going to do?”

This wasn’t the first time Mrs Hawkins had made a call like this. Tom’s stepfather, Ron, had a wandering eye and had recently been spotted going into Flossie Davidson’s house. Several times. There had been at least two occasions over the past few months where he’d lost track of time and been late getting home.

“Mum, calm down. You know what he’s like. He’ll have spotted a new bird or something and followed it into the park. He’s done it before, and I’m sure he’ll do it again.”

Tom could tell that his attempts to stop his mother worrying were unsuccessful but, as always, she put on a brave face.

“Yes, you’re right love. I’m just being silly. So how are you? How’s Oliver? Did I tell you that Aunty Marie is going to be a granny again?”

Tom let his mother talk for as long as she needed to. He knew that she led a very lonely life at home; when Ron wasn’t with Flossie or with his friends down the pub, he was sitting in front of the telly, ignoring her, apart from the times he held out his empty mug and expected her to refill it with coffee. Josie wasn’t allowed out of the house unless she was with Ron. She no longer had any friends of her own, just Ron’s friends and their partners, all of whom were as downtrodden as her.

Tom’s thoughts were interrupted by Oliver’s crying.

“Sorry Mum. I’ve got to go. It’s time for Oliver’s feed. We’ll be over to see you on Sunday as usual.”

Sunday roast at his mother’s house was one of Tom’s greatest pleasures. Ron always spent Sunday afternoons in the pub so Tom and his family had Josie all to themselves. She blossomed when they were there, showing glimpses of the woman she was before she met her husband when her son was nearing 10 years of age.

“Love you” he said as he ended the call.

*****************************

Tom heard his mobile vibrate against the hard wooden top of his bedside cabinet. It was Josie.

“Tom. Dad’s still not home. Something’s happened to him, Tom. I know it has. What shall I do, Tom? Can you help me?”

Tom checked his watch. It was nearly midnight, so Ron would have had enough time to stagger home from his local if that’s where he’d been all day. Tom felt confident that even if he’d been with Flossie that day, she wouldn’t have been able to put up with him until midnight so Josie was probably right. Something must have happened to him.

Tom threw on some mis-matched clothes, kissed Jenny on the cheek, then jumped in the car and headed to Josie’s. He arrived at the house at the same time as a police car.

Kathy, the next door neighbour, opened Josie’s front door.

“In here, thank you. Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked the young police officers, before turning to Tom and giving him a big hug. 

“Your mum came to our door just after she called you. She thinks Ron might have dementia; you know he’s forgotten to come home a few times over the last few months, so she thinks that must be what it is. When she told me she hadn’t seen him all day today I phoned the police.” Kathy’s words tumbled out quickly. Tom made an effort not to roll his eyes in front of her. He didn’t want his mother to find out about Flossie.

“Did you tell the police that?” asked Tom.

“Yes. They said it made him a vulnerable adult or suchlike, so they’d send someone over. I didn’t think anyone would get here so quickly, mind. Would you like a cup of tea too?”

Tom was exhausted by Kathy’s monologue and left her to the tea-making while he went into the living room to support his mum.

As he walked in, Josie was giving the officers a photo of Ron. They asked her a few questions about his normal routines, and gently checked if he’d been worried about anything recently, or if he’d received any threats.

“Oh my god, you think someone’s hurt him don’t you! Tom, they think someone’s hurt Dad” shrieked Josie.

“They didn’t say that, Mum” said Tom. “They’re just trying to get a picture of where he might have gone, that’s all.”

The officers could see that Josie was very distressed and drew the interview to a close. Tom walked them to their car, and told them about Ron’s relationship with Flossie. The officers said they’d check with Flossie in the morning and agreed they wouldn’t share any information with Josie unless it was absolutely necessary. Tom thanked them.

*****************************

The following morning, PC Mark Dinsdale and his partner, PC Mirza Banerjee, called on Flossie Davidson.

“Can we come in?” asked Mark.

Flossie glared at him.

“You’ll have to be quiet” she barked. “My boy’s in bed.”

Flossie’s son, Richard Davidson, was known to everyone as Razor because of the cutthroat razor he carried in his back pocket. He was also well-known to the police.

Flossie stood in front of the fireplace and scowled as Mirza explained why they were there. She asked Flossie if she knew where Ron was. Flossie took a long drag on her cigarette.

“I haven’t seen him for a few days. He was going to pop in yesterday afternoon but he didn’t turn up. His loss” shrugged Flossie. When pressed, she said he hadn’t seemed worried lately, and he hadn’t told her about anyone threatening him. If he wasn’t at the pub, or at home with his wife, then she couldn’t think where he could be.

“Ok, well thanks for your help. If you see or hear from Mr Hawkins, please let us know” said Mark as they were ushered out of the front door. He looked at Mirza.

“I won’t hold my breath” he said.

*****************************

Mark and Mirza’s next stop was the Duke of Wellington. The pub at the end of the Hawkins’ road was not as grand as its name. The walls and ceiling were still stained with nicotine and the carpets were as sticky as treacle. The five customers stopped talking as the police officers walked in, and all heads turned to look at them.

“We’re looking for a local man. Ron Hawkins. He hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning. Does anyone know where he is?” 

“Ron?” shrugged the barman. “Haven’t seen him for a couple of days.”

The four customers sitting at the round table in the corner also shrugged before returning to their conversation. The customer sitting at the bar said nothing, just picked up his cigarettes and walked out of the front door.

“Ok, well if anyone hears anything about Mr Hawkins’ whereabouts, please let us or his family know. As you can imagine, Mrs Hawkins is very worried” said Mark. His request was not acknowledged.

Mark and Mirza left the pub, crossed the road and walked towards the High Street. As they passed a small alley, they saw the customer who’d left the pub earlier standing alone, smoking. He waved his hand, inviting them to join him.

“You didn’t hear this from me, but if Ron’s missing, you want to be talking to Razor” he said.

“Why’s that?” asked Mirza.

“Look, Ron’s an old mate of mine and I don’t want to grass him up but I don’t want nothing bad to happen to him.” The smoker looked around, nervously.

“I saw Ron the night before he went missing. He told me he’d dipped his hand into Flossie’s purse and Razor saw him take a tenner out and put it in his pocket.” The smoker started pacing from one side of the alley to the other.

“Razor gave him a few smacks and made him put it back. He said if he ever saw Ron hanging around his mother again, he’d be sorry.” The smoker threw his cigarette on the floor and stomped on it.

“Like I said, you didn’t hear it from me but that boy is trouble. He’s got a wild temper and he’s not safe. But I don’t know nothing more, alright, so don’t come back bothering me.” 

The officers watched the smoker cross the road and return to his warm pint.

“Time to wake Razor?” asked Mirza. 

“Yup. Time to shake the tree to see what falls out” said Mark.

*****************************

“God, not you two again. What do you want now?” asked Flossie.

“We need to talk to Richard” said Mirza. “Is he here?”

“You just missed him” replied Flossie. “He said he was off to meet his mates and wouldn’t be home til tonight. I don’t know where he is so there’s no point asking.”

Flossie slammed the door shut and walked back to her living room.

“Thanks Mum” said Razor.

*****************************

Back at the station, Mark started to look into Ron’s mobile records as Mirza checked the CCTV. On the morning of his disappearance, she saw Ron arrive on the High Street and pop into the local newsagents. He walked out with a paper under his arm, then he walked towards the park. She saw him walking into the wooded area, which had no CCTV cameras, but she couldn’t find any footage of him leaving. That was the point at which Ron Hawkins disappeared.

Sergeant Bob Singer walked into the squad room and asked for an update. Mark told him about Ron’s violent encounter with Razor, and Mirza told him where, exactly, Ron had disappeared.

“There’s a row of houses on the John Lennon Estate that back onto the wooded area in the park” she said. “Flossie and Razor Davidson live in one of those houses.”

Bob looked from Mirza to Mark and back again.

“Bring him in for questioning” he said. “And put in a request for a couple of cadaver dogs to check their garden and the woods tomorrow.”

*****************************

Razor Davidson was bullish as he sat in the interview room. For over 2 hours, he simply repeated his stock answers.

     “Who told you that?”

     “Where’s your evidence?”

And his most popular reply.

     “No comment.” 

Mark and Mirza reported back to Bob Singer.

“He hasn’t got a credible alibi for the day and time Mr Hawkins went missing” said Mark. “He said he was asleep and his mother was downstairs so she could confirm that.”

“But we haven’t got any evidence linking him to the disappearance, either, or giving him a motive” said Mirza. “Even if we could persuade Mr Hawkins’ friend to make an official statement, it’s still only hearsay.”

“Razor didn’t even break into a sweat when we said the cadaver dogs would be checking his garden in the morning” said Mark.

“Ok” said Bob. “Let him go for now and keep working on finding anything to link him to the disappearance. But don’t block off other avenues. Get Mrs Hawkins to make an appeal for information and get his face out there, on the lampposts and on social media. See if anyone else can bring us any credible information.”

*****************************

Mark and Mirza worked closely with the force’s communications team to reach as many people as possible but no new information came to light. One member of the public, who wouldn’t leave his name, phoned the hotline to say that Ron had told him about Razor giving him a beating but there was no evidence to support this, and the caller couldn’t be persuaded to make an official statement.

The cadaver dogs had worked hard but found nothing. The review of Ron’s phone showed it had been switched off 3 minutes and 27 seconds after he’d entered the woods and hadn’t been switched on since. The review of Ron’s bank account showed that since his disappearance, no money had been withdrawn by anyone other than Josie. 

The UK Missing Persons Unit was informed but their investigations failed to find Ron, or find out what had happened to him on the day he went missing.

“We’ve lost him” said Josie, on the six month anniversary of his disappearance. “He won’t be coming home now, son.”

Tom hugged his mother as her tears flowed.

*****************************

Two months later, Tom Cox was standing at the bifold doors in his kitchen, hugging a coffee and watching his mother, wife and son playing on the new lawn. 

His smile disappeared when the memory came into his head. He was 11 years old. He and his mother had been playing football in their small garden and they’d been making a bit of noise. Ron had been working a night shift and shouted “belt up” from their bedroom window.

Tom and Josie stopped their game and moved indoors for a cold drink. They heard Ron cursing as he stomped down the stairs. He marched into the kitchen and hit Josie, hard, across the face.

“You got no respect” he shouted in her face. “I work hard to put food on this table and clothes on your backs and shoes on his feet and you wake me up when I’m trying to sleep. Well you won’t be doing that no more.”

Ron put his hands around Josie’s neck and started squeezing. In a panic, Tom picked up a small dining chair and threw it at Ron’s back. Ron turned all his anger on the young boy, putting him in hospital for the first time in his life. It would not be Tom’s last visit to A&E before leaving home at 18 to go to University.

Tom’s body shook at the memory. He pinched his arm to bring him back to the present.

He looked at the Spring daffodils, standing tall and beautiful in a raised bed at the bottom of the garden. Several neighbours had complimented those flowers and asked what his secret was.

But Tom couldn’t share it. 

He’d heard that human bodies made great fertilizer and those Spring daffodils were living proof.

Tom smiled to himself. Ron would never hurt him or his mother again.