Free The Postcard by Leah Fleming Page B

began.
    ‘No.’ Callie saw Prim’s look of dismay. ‘But it was Peel Street.’
    ‘What number?’
    ‘Can’t remember.’
    ‘Honestly, you’ll never make a detective.’ Prim was reading Dorothy L. Sayers’ detective story
Strong Poison,
and she raved about Harriet Vane.
    It didn’t take long to get into the city and take a bus down the Hunslet Road. It was an area full of dark sooty cobbled streets. The houses were back to back with no gardens. This must be
where Aunt Phee was brought up, and it came as a shock to Callie. Primmy wasn’t bothered by the poor streets. She seemed to understand that not every family lived like they did. Callie knew
only about Kensington, St Maggie’s and Dalradnor. She felt uneasy. ‘Are you sure we’re in the right place?’ she asked Prim, who was marching ahead, staring at the street
names.
    ‘This is where people live, close to the mills and mines and jobs. We’re lucky to have green spaces around us. Surely you’ve seen the tenements in Glasgow, or do you sleep on
your way into town?’
    ‘I don’t think we should go any further. I’ve seen enough.’
    ‘Don’t be such a snob. If your parents lived round here, you should know where. We could find their graveyard.’
    ‘No!’ Callie replied, not wanting to think about that. She’d imagined them buried in some country churchyard, not this grimy city.
    ‘I never took you for a coward. Let’s knock on a door,’ Primmy challenged. She rapped on the first door at the end of Peel Street and when it opened she smiled.
    ‘Excuse me, we’re looking for a Mr Boardman, Ted Boardman.’
    ‘Oh, aye, why’s that then?’ The woman, who had a shawl on her head, looked at them with suspicion. ‘The Boardmans flitted years ago but I think one of them lives near
Gladstone Street, the little one, dunno his name.’ She shut the door firmly in their faces.
    ‘See, we have a lead now. Gladstone Street; can’t be far.’ Primmy was pleased.
    Callie hesitated. ‘No, let’s go back now into Leeds. He’ll be at work.’
    ‘He may do shift work. Isn’t this a ripping wheeze?’ The trouble with Prim was she had no fear. She marched straight to the nearest corner shop, bought a quarter of midget gems
to share and came out smiling. ‘Gladstone Street is just round the corner.’
    Callie felt uncomfortable and conspicuous in her kilt when men standing smoking on the corner were clearly eyeing them up as strangers.
    The streets were all identical: rows of black houses, two windows up and one down, with a basement sunk into the ground. The doorsteps were chalky white and the net valances on the windows
twitched as they passed.
    ‘You can do it this time,’ Prim ordered as she rapped the knocker of the first house to ask where Mr Boardman lived.
    An old lady pointed up the street with a toothless smile. There was no going back now. Callie dragged her feet to the appointed house, hoping no one was inside, but as soon as she knocked it
opened straight into a living room where a woman in a faded apron with wisps of dark hair stared at them both with surprise.
    ‘I don’t buy from the doorstep.’
    ‘No, is this Mr Boardman’s . . . Ted Boardman’s house?’
    ‘Who’s asking?’ The woman eyed them both cautiously.
    ‘I’m Caroline, Joe’s daughter,’ Callie announced.
    ‘You’d better come inside . . . Ted, you’ve got a visitor,’ she shouted.
    A man was lying on a makeshift bed close to the range. The room smelled of Lysol and cough linctus, but it was spotless and tidy. The man lifted his head in surprise.
    ‘So who’s this then, Hilda?’
    ‘She says she’s Joe’s daughter. You’d better sit down and shout, miss. He’s very deaf.’
    ‘Who told her that, then?’ The man stared at her. He had hollow cheeks, sunken eyes and a pallor that suggested he was an invalid.
    ‘I’m Caroline Boardman. This is my friend Primrose. We thought we’d look you up as I’m Joe and Beryl’s daughter, you see, and