I called Joan back from the den she was constructing in a nearby section of forest and scooted around to Middle Cottage. The door was answered after two knocks. My hopes were high.
‘What?’
‘Some people in the village are bringing us meals while Leanne’s in hospital. There’s far too much, so I hoped you might help us finish it.’
His forehead furrowed in a scowl. ‘I can cook my own dinners.’
‘I’m sure. So can I.’
‘Take it to Leanne. She’s the one having to eat hospital food.’
‘It’s a roast dinner. There’s nowhere to heat it up in hospital.’ I peeled back the foil, releasing a waft of delicious smell. ‘It’s wheat-free.’
His beard twitched in response, and I knew that I almost had him. ‘Ebenezer, you have mown, pruned and weeded my garden for the past two months. You put up a washing line and a canopy so I didn’t get wet when Nesbit was being house-trained. This is just one dinner that I didn’t even cook myself.’
I held out the plate until it bumped into his It took 80 years to look this good! T-shirt.
Shaking his head in irritation, he took it.
‘Enjoy!’
One way or another, I was going to get my neighbour along to my party. Forget the inevitable note of complaint if he had to hear it through the wall; I wanted him to boost the numbers. I also suspected that somewhere underneath the scowl and the beard, Ebenezer might be quite good fun.
Sam arrived just after two. I’d messaged to let him know that Joan and I were at her house, trawling through boxes and piles of clutter in search of clues that might lead to the whereabouts of her family.
The priority was, of course, names. With a surname like Brown we were hoping for first names as unusual as Diamanté Butterfly, but even if they were John and Jane, until we knew, there was little progress to be made. We had found Joan’s birth certificate, and various other documents relating to the past two years, but so far nothing else from before her arrival in Bigley. Given the manner in which Leanne had fled from her previous address, I didn’t hold out much hope.
Sam had some other suggestions. ‘Have you tried the internet?’
‘Well, duh!’ Joan said, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ve looked and looked using Mum’s name, but she’s nowhere on there.’
‘Maybe she had a different name, before?’ I said. ‘If she was running from Archer, she might have changed it?’
‘That’s possible,’ Sam mused. ‘But I think we need to find out what we can using Leanne Brown before we start down that track. Does she have a middle name?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Joan replied.
‘Okay, let’s see if we can find a birth certificate.’
I made us a drink while Sam tapped away on his laptop, but without a birthplace he didn’t get very far.
‘No idea where your mum was born?’
‘Could we try Liverpool, or Merseyside?’ I suggested. ‘That fits her accent.’
That helped to narrow things down but it wasn’t straightforward to obtain a birth certificate without knowing the exact registry office, and most options were going to take time and cost money, so we really needed to know which Leanne Brown was the right one. For all we knew she was born in Australia.
‘I’m going to keep tugging on some threads,’ Sam said eventually. ‘But I think you should carry on searching here as well.’
Joan was more than happy to keep ploughing her way through the junk piles until it was time to leave for the hospital. I did wonder, as I helped her inspect tatty envelopes and poke about in old bags, if there was a much easier way to find all this out. But if we asked Leanne directly, that gave her the opportunity to tell us to stop looking. She might even ask us to promise to abandon the search, and that was a promise I didn’t think Joan could bear to keep.
Leanne’s haggard face was tight with worry. She tried her best to hide it from her daughter with bright chatter, but I could see that the news wasn’t good. When Joan asked when she could come home, her whole body tensed up.
‘Not yet, sweetheart. There’s still one or two things they need to keep an eye on so that I’m definitely ready. I know it’s hard, but they want to make sure I can look after myself, so I can then take care of you, as soon as possible.’ She took Joan’s hand. ‘You’re all right with Ollie and Nesbit for a few more days, though, aren’t you?’
Joan bared her teeth in what I think was supposed to be a reassuring smile. ‘Yes! I love it! Not more than living with you, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘But it’s fine. I think you should definitely stay in hospital for a few more days.’ She paused, pressing one hand to her chest and switching to a sombre frown. ‘I would worry if you came home. I know the nurses will keep you safe here.’