Chapter 7

Time passed; in church, the green of the ordinary season gave way to the purple of Lent. The raw, east-coast wind continued to bite, but the days were getting longer, as they do, and the first signs of spring were appearing. Gerry Westwood appeared at random intervals for a day or two before returning to his unit; he'd consult with his solicitor and an accountant, chat to Delia and share a meal with her, but no more. Delia tried to dismiss the fluttery feelings in her middle when he came home as irrelevant.

Delia was increasingly involved in the life of the church and now had half a dozen elderly folk who were glad to pay for an hour or two of her time to clean or shop for them. She found the subsequent chats over tea or coffee equally rewarding in their way if not in financial terms.

Her court hearing came round just before Easter. She was pleading guilty to being an accessory to various criminal acts, which simplified and speeded up proceedings. Although she was clearly culpable, it was considered that her involvement was more thoughtless than evil. Character witnesses spoke up for her; Dulcie's testimony was particularly helpful. Delia was greatly humbled and grateful for the support. She hadn't expected to escape punishment; indeed, welcomed the idea and expected to spend at least a short time in prison, but the judge stated that he felt such was counter productive. He ordered her to perform two hundred hours of community service over the next two years and a probation officer was appointed.

Her Community Service Order required her to spend two hours a week helping immigrant women – mostly Moslem – with their conversational English. She found this to be enjoyable and confessed to Dulcie she felt guilty about that.

"Don't," Dulcie said, "unless you were a sociopath, which you aren't, you would probably find any community service enjoyable. In fact, the same applies to your work as a Home Help."

Delia was startled for a moment before a smile spread across her face. "You know, I thought of myself as a 'cleaner'. Calling me a Home Help sort of ... inflates the importance of what I do."

Dulcie shook her head. "No, it describes what you do. Delia ... what level did you get to with your education?"

"'A' levels," she replied, "I did English, Spanish and Art. That's a few years ago, though. I don't suppose I could maintain a conversation in Spanish now."

"You might like to consider some further education," Dulcie said. "Perhaps one or more Middle Eastern languages. You need to look beyond the next couple of years and there's a need for translators for hospitals and courts."

"Dulcie, you never cease to challenge me, do you? I hadn't thought beyond the end of the two years. Actually, that's not quite true ... I thought about a TESOL course. That's not such a big deal compared to learning another language, especially a Semitic language."

"I challenge you?"

"Oooh ... yes. Just by being you, you challenge me."

Dulcie shook her head minutely. "And just by being yourself, you respond. Offering to help Bert wasn't a result of me prodding you. No, Delia, for some reason you just ... started to become the person you were meant to be when you decided to give yourself up."

It was a month later that papers came through informing her of her husband's petition for divorce. She didn't think twice before agreeing. The BMW had been sold long before and she put the house on the market and liquidated their joint investments, though her solicitor held the proceeds; their joint bank accounts were closed and half the money held on behalf of her husband; she opened an account in her own name. For the time being, she was financially independent as long as she had Bert's house to live in rent free. It was just a matter of time before she was a free woman again.

Jack's trial was not a formality. In English law, a wife cannot be compelled to testify against her husband. Delia was willing to do so, but was advised not to. Some of the people involved in the 'Group' were still untouched and influential; it was considered unwise for Delia to be visible to them and there was plenty of evidence without her. The situation was complicated by conflicting evidence of Jack's mental capacity at the time of the Hallowe'en incident. Clearly he was mentally disordered at the time of his arrest, but did his condition pre-date his arrest? Was his mental condition (the law not recognising spiritual disorders) the same during his previous involvement with the Group? In the end, he was committed to a high-security psychiatric institution under Section 37/41 of the Mental Health Act 1983, which meant he had to satisfy both his doctors and the Home Office before he could be released, paroled, or even permitted outside with an escort. His partner-in-crime was still catatonic, his doctor being unwilling to go the route Doctor Hendricks had adopted. That being the case, and as there was no doubt of his involvement, a Section 37/41 was a formality for him, too.

Delia began to relax, to believe she really wasn't an evil person. Her respect, admiration would not be too strong a term, for the Hansons grew but also expanded and changed, becoming something much more akin to love. In turn, Dulcie and Peter became very fond of her. Her efforts helping to keep the Rectory clean and tidy were invaluable but more than that their lives were enhanced by her growing friendship. Delia found, somewhat to her surprise, that she could embrace Dulcie or Peter without any sexual implication.

She began an introductory course in Arabic and found she had a gift for learning the language. She shamelessly used her relationships with the Moslem women who were happy to give her equal time learning Arabic as she gave them in improving their English. It was most satisfactory...

The British military ... the shrinking British military ... is heavily employed throughout the world; in peace-keeping and humanitarian roles, in low-level (often not so low level) conflicts, anti-terrorism and hostage recovery to name a few. The highly trained special ops units are particularly busy. Unfortunately, no amount of training can overcome Murphy completely. While serving with his unit in one of the less politically stable areas of the world, Captain Gerry Westwood lost a leg above the knee to an IED – an 'improvised explosive device'. Only quick action by a young private, also in pain from the blast, in applying a tourniquet, prevented him from bleeding out. He was mercifully unconscious courtesy of a shot of morphine for a short, jolting ride back to camp and a surgical unit, and was back in Britain within the week.

Delia didn't know Gerry was overseas, only that it had been longer than usual since his last visit. He'd not been in the habit of writing, at most he'd text to say he was on his way. She didn't feel able to contact him ... she was busy, both with genuine activity and concerns and with denying the attraction she felt towards him, so it had been over three months without a visit when the August Bank Holiday weekend came round. In Maldon, Bank Holidays, at least during the spring and summer, are an excuse for various events; shanty singers and Morris dancers on the quay, with traditional skills being demonstrated and, often, open days on one or more of the barges. On the Sunday, Delia had invited Edna Brown to share her Sunday lunch, which had become something of a tradition between them, alternating their houses, perhaps once or twice a month. As, for once, it was a lovely day, she decided to take a walk. She asked Edna, who just smiled and declined.

"But you go, dear, you'll enjoy it."

Enjoy it she did among the bustling crowd, mainly tourists; from time to time greeting, or greeted by, a neighbour or friend. Of course she'd walked the quay many times before; sometimes even when it was crowded, but though she'd looked at the boats she'd never really taken any interest in them; they were just there, part of the scenery, part of what made Maldon Hythe Quay ... Maldon Hythe Quay. For some reason, a board caught her eye and she began to read. She looked at the boat ... ship? Surely it was big enough to be a ship? For perhaps the first time, she really looked at it.

On an impulse, she set foot on the gangway and picked her way carefully along the aluminium length to board the vessel. A young man – who looked very young – sat on the hatch-cover working on a length of rope. He looked up.