by Alice Castle
Immediately Beth stepped forward, drawn to the picture it made. It was simply beautiful, even this late in the season. A weeping willow tree cascaded onto the lawn, neat beds boasted drifts of purple and yellow pansies behind star-like pink flowers that Beth had never seen before. Nearer to the house, she recognised clusters of cheerful cyclamen, chiefly because she usually managed to kill at least one of these every September.
‘You see? You see the problem?’ the woman urged, leaning on the side of the sink but craning towards Alfie Pole’s fence.
Beth turned her attention and noticed straight away that the huge arc lights were very close to the boundary, while the garden itself was now bursting with people – some of them shivering girls in frocks who were clearly meant to be Bennet sisters, and a mass of gophers who, Beth decided, must be all the mysterious ‘dolly grips’ and ‘best boys’ she’d seen flashing past in movie credits and had always wondered about.
‘Hmm. Must be really noisy.’
‘Noisy? Noisy?’ said the woman incredulously, her delicate brows scampering up her forehead and making her look suddenly like Coco the Clown. ‘Is that supposed to be a joke?’
‘Erm, no,’ said Beth. ‘What am I looking for exactly?’
‘Plastic! It’s all plastic,’ shrieked Alfie’s neighbour.
Beth was astounded. ‘Really?’ She took another look at Alfie’s patch of garden. The bright flowers, the neat shrubs, even the ivy covering his fences. ‘All of it?’
The neighbour nodded dourly. ‘Even the lawn. Astroturf,’ she shuddered.
‘I can’t believe it. Really realistic, isn’t it?’ said Beth with a smile.
The neighbour looked at her in disgust.
‘And what about those ghastly dahlias in the front, they really are the pits,’ Beth said with a shudder, putting unmistakable feeling into her words.
The woman looked her up and down. ‘They’re real,’ she said with contempt.
‘I think it’s time I was leaving,’ said Beth brightly.
Before she knew it, she was at the gate and waving a tentative goodbye to the woman, who still looked furious as she slammed the door. So, Alfie wasn’t such a great gardener after all. What have I stumbled into now? she thought, as she retraced her steps back to the school.
As she’d hoped, when she pushed the Archives door gently open, she was rewarded with the sight of Janice, face down and fast asleep on the desk. Her head was pillowed by something that looked, most unfortunately, like Colin’s favourite blanket which he drooled on and chewed incessantly and which Beth hadn’t got round to washing for months. It seemed he hadn’t begrudged his new friend, though, as he was snoozing by her feet, paws neatly crossed like a debutant on very best behaviour, glossy brown head lolling to one side.
It was such a peaceful scene that she was quite tempted to tiptoe away, except that guilt about her neglected duties would keep stabbing her with its long, accusing finger. She gave the pair a wide berth and slid out one of the chairs at her conference table again. She’d never yet seen fit to convene an archives conference – long may that state of affairs continue – and she could easily get through some of her tasks sitting here, as she had yesterday.
It was one of the most peaceful afternoons Beth could remember. She plodded on with her work, while Colin, on the floor, intermittently chased Magpie in his dreams, and Janice, slumped across the desk, let out the occasional soft snore. Spending time with those she loved, especially when they were being absolutely no trouble at all, was really rather blissful, though Beth did wonder what it said about her that she preferred her companions deeply unconscious.
It was too good to last, though. The daylight started to fade. Beth realised she’d have to scoot along to pick up Ben or, more realistically, follow him home at a discreet distance pretending they weren’t related, which was how he preferred it these days. Then her phone suddenly shrilled.
She got up and lunged for her handbag, slung as usual on the coat hook near the desk, hoping to cut the call off before it woke her sleeping beauties. But the tune Bridge Over Troubled Water warbled out for far too long, while Beth scrabbled amongst the forest of Haribo packets and school notices that she habitually dragged from place to place. Eventually, she found the phone and answered it in a whisper, only to find both Janice and Colin peering at her with strangely similar sleepy expressions.
‘Hi, Mum, I can’t really talk now…’ Beth started, realising this was how she began most conversations with her mother.
But Janice was already getting to her feet, smoothing down her cardigan and rubbing at her cheek where it had come into contact with the blanket. She patted Colin, who obligingly moved in for a goose. Janice dodged him, waved goodbye, and mouthed a big thank you to Beth, then was out of the door.
‘Sorry, Mum, it’s ok now, go ahead,’ said Beth, sliding into the chair Janice had just vacated and hurling the blanket off her desk. Colin, with a grateful pant, got on top of it again and sucked the edge thoughtfully, apparently very much enjoying the addition of Janice’s unique flavour to the old familiar mix.
‘I was just saying,’ said Wendy with that slightly querulous edge she often used in conversations with Beth, ‘that he’ll be coming over on Sunday. I’m hoping that’s convenient.’
‘What? I think I’ve missed a bit. Who’s coming over, and where will they be going on Sunday?’
‘Your brother, Beth. Don’t you ever listen to a word I say? And he’s coming to lunch. I knew you’d want to see him. It’s been so long.’
‘Josh? And he’s having lunch where? Not at—’
‘Well, of course, if you can’t be bothered to have your brother round, when you haven’t seen him for at least a year…’
‘It’s not that,’ said Beth, angry with herself for feeling defensive, but also furious with her mother for inviting herself and Josh over without any sort of consultation. ‘But I might have plans…’
‘Well? Do you?’
‘Do I what?’ Beth was rapidly wondering if she was as muzzy-headed as Janice.
‘Do you have plans?’ Wendy asked, managing suddenly to make her voice sound very frail.
Immediately, Beth remembered her mother had just been through a terrible ordeal. And she herself had sworn to treat her differently from now on. She sighed.
‘No, that would be, um, great. Is it just the two of you coming, or is there anything else I should know about?’ She couldn’t resist adding that. Just to show she wasn’t going to be a pushover.
‘Josh will be bringing his girlfriend. Isn’t that lovely?’ trilled Wendy. Now she’d got her way, she was sounding a lot stronger already.
‘The same girlfriend as last time?’ Beth asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
‘I shouldn’t think so, dear. But actually, he didn’t say,’ said Wendy.
I bet he didn’t, thought Beth. Josh changed his girlfriends more regularly than he changed his sheets. They were all lovely, but she’d almost got to the point where she’d stopped listening to the names, as there wasn’t really much point trying to remember them. Their ages were frozen, though, in a sort of mid-twenties zone, while Josh himself was now pushing forty. It was a pattern that Beth really wished she didn’t have to expose her son to.
‘Bless Joshy. He’s so worried about me,’ Wendy was continuing.
Honestly, thought Beth. When was Josh last worried about anyone but himself? And if he’s so worried, why isn’t he on a plane right now? But then she realised it was quite obvious that this had been coming. Wendy was always trying to get Josh to come home, and preferably get a nice sensible job like his late father’s while he was at it. No doubt she had been giving him the works about her brush with death. Even Josh couldn’t help but be horrified at the thought of a murderous attempt on his mum’s life. Beth knew when she was beaten.
‘What time will you be coming?’ she said, resigned to her fate.
‘Well, Beth. What a question. Any time that suits you, of course. Y
ou’re the hostess!’ said Wendy blithely, much too far away to hear the sound of Beth grinding her teeth.
***
When she was slumped in front of the telly later, after an unsatisfactory evening of chivvying Ben about his homework, getting no further with details about Billy MacKenzie, and then opening the door to Harry, who’d forgotten his keys, Beth realised that the lunch party was at least a safe topic of conversation. Harry had already headed off her attempts to cross-question him about the substance used to poison Wendy, not to mention her emailed list of suspects. Though she was pretty sure it was the same atropine that had seen Alfie off this mortal coil, it would have been nice to have had that confirmed. Then any discussion of Venetia Pole, the cottage or gardening was met with stone-walling.
‘So, are you going to come to this lunch on Sunday?’ she finally asked.
‘With your brother and your mum? Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ said Harry heartily, before gluing his eyes back to the screen where DI Perez was gazing moodily out to sea in Shetland. Beth sighed and gave up. Perhaps tomorrow would be easier.
Chapter Eighteen
The day didn’t start with much promise. There was a nasty thin rain falling, the type that seemed expressly designed to make everyone in Britain question their motives for living on a bleak little rock in the middle of a cold sea. There were people right now, thought Beth, who were getting ready to spend their days on golden beaches. Why was she having to muster a recalcitrant boy and a Labrador who was going to smell to high heaven after five minutes in this downpour? Harry was no help. He was long gone, having grabbed a coffee and a piece of toast in the early hours and rushed off to tend his cache of secrets down at the Camberwell police station.
As they set off, the sun broke through the scudding clouds and the rain finally stopped. Once upon a time, Ben would have splashed in the puddles that now studded Dulwich Village, shiny as the rhinestones on a leather jacket. These days, Beth noted sadly, he was old and wise enough to step carefully round their edges, not because he was at all interested in protecting his expensive shoes, but because he didn’t want soggy trousers all day. They intersected with Charlie and Katie at the junction with Court Lane and, once the boys had done a bit of jousting with their gym bags, they ran off down the road. Beth and Katie were left looking at each other and shrugging.
Katie linked her arm through Beth’s. ‘How’s it all going? How’s your mum?’
‘Oh, she’s fine. I’m picking her up later. She’s well enough to be inviting everyone round to mine for lunch at the weekend, anyway,’ said Beth, rolling her eyes.
‘Bet you’re glad, though,’ said Katie, not fooled.
‘Yeah, I’m glad she’s better. No Teddy today?’
‘Don’t judge, Beth, but I’ve hired a dog walker,’ said Katie, looking embarrassed.
‘There’s no shame in that,’ said Beth bracingly. Privately, she was surprised it had taken Katie this long. Teddy needed walking for about twelve hours a day. ‘And it’ll give you more time for the investigation. I’m getting nowhere fast with finding stuff out… I could do with your input.’ Katie didn’t reply.
‘Listen, are you still on the case with me?’ Beth asked.
Katie looked even more shamefaced. ‘The thing is, Beth, I don’t think I can spare the time. I’ve got some, um, concerns…’ Her eyes flicked nervously from side to side.
‘What’s up? Are you leaving me in the lurch?’ Beth said, as light-heartedly as she could.
‘I hoped you wouldn’t take it like that,’ Katie said sadly.
‘I was joking,’ said Beth quickly. ‘If you’ve got other things to do…’ she tailed off, not quite seeing what could possibly be as urgent as chasing a murderer. Hovering over Charlie’s homework like an Apache assault helicopter? Going to coffee mornings? Katie must be able to see they were just peripheral activities, not serious work at all.
‘Look, I’m a bit worried about Charlie,’ said Katie, her voice dropping even though the boys were now far ahead of them, nearly at the school gates and paying them no attention at all.
‘What’s going on?’ said Beth, feeling a clutch of alarm. Whatever it was, she selfishly hoped it didn’t involve Ben. Was that awful? No, she reasoned. It was human. And it didn’t mean she wouldn’t help her friend as much as possible.
‘It’s… well, it’s… Billy MacKenzie,’ said Katie in a small voice. Instantly, Beth relaxed. This wasn’t what she’d been imagining at all. Her thoughts were always darker and wilder than they needed to be, she told herself. Anything involving the MacKenzies was basically silly, and usually concerned some sort of social jostling. Nothing real. Nothing serious.
‘What’s up with him? He’s a nice enough kid, but…’
‘I think he’s been having a go at Charlie. Really having a go,’ said Katie, unmistakably upset now.
‘Oh my gosh, you mean Billy’s been bullying him?’ Beth said, concerned. No wonder her friend had been off the radar for a bit. ‘I asked Ben about Billy just last night and he was really evasive,’ said Beth. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t say anything. You know he loves Charlie and would always stick up for him,’ she added.
‘I think Billy’s being cleverer than that. It’s very… insidious. He’s just said some snide things, quite a few times now, to Charlie. Implied that he’s a bit rubbish at Latin, for instance. Or that he wasn’t going to get great marks for Maths. You know my Charlie, he’s quite suggestible. All of a sudden, he seems to have a problem with the work. And this is behind it.’
Beth sighed. It didn’t take much; just a tiny bit of poison, dripped here and there. Sometimes words were every bit as toxic as whatever had done for Alfie and carried Wendy to the hospital. She placed a hand tentatively on Katie’s arm. ‘That bloody Belinda! All the pressure she’s put on that kid… and now he’s taking it out on Charlie. I could wring her neck.’
Katie smiled. ‘Not sure you could reach.’
‘I’d get a ladder,’ said Beth through gritted teeth. They both looked at each other and laughed. It was the lessening of tension they’d needed. ‘Seriously, Katie, I’m going to ask Ben again—’
‘Don’t,’ Katie broke in quickly. ‘I don’t want anyone to treat Charlie any differently, not now, and especially not Ben. I’m thinking of just talking to the teachers. Or even going to Belinda. I bet she’d be mortified if she knew.’
‘Mm.’ Beth wasn’t so sure. Belinda might easily go the other way, go full tiger mother and refuse to hear a word against her son. It was a horrible situation for Katie. And, of course, for Charlie. ‘Can you stop him hanging out with Billy? Just nip that whole situation in the bud?’
‘How can I?’ said Katie, gesturing to the school gates. Right in front of their eyes, they saw the ponderous figure of William MacKenzie bound up to Charlie and Ben. He launched himself at Charlie and yanked his gym bag, so it fell to the ground and bounced into a puddle. It was more or less the jousting that Ben and Charlie now used as a greeting – just ratcheted up a notch too far. Katie gripped the iron railings so hard her knuckles showed white.
Beth leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder for a second. ‘We need to have a coffee. Sort out a strategy. But not today. I’ve got to pick up Mum from the hospital now.’
Katie nodded. Beth was alarmed to see her blue eyes were glassy with unshed tears. Bloody Belinda MacKenzie. And bloody Billy. She turned away and trudged back to Pickwick Road alone to fetch her little car.
***
Two frustrating hours later, Wendy was back in the comfort of her own home. As usual, leaving hospital had felt like breaking out of a benign but bonkers prison camp, but finally Beth had achieved it, signing a pile of forms and dutifully collecting a huge paper bag of painkillers that she could have purchased in a quarter of the time (and probably for half the price) at the Superdrug in West Norwood.
The lady of the house was installed in her favourite armchair, with innumerable cushions and throws protecting her from the merest whisper
of a draught. A dainty bone china cup of tea, plastered with blowsy cabbage roses, teetered on one of Wendy’s spindly occasional tables. If Ben – or Beth – had lived here, her mother’s entire china collection would have ended up in small bits before the week was out.
‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?’ asked Beth, her eyes beseeching her mother to let her go. But Wendy seemed unable to stop milking the situation – quite literally.
‘Well, if you insist, dear, you could just top up the jug – semi-skimmed, we must watch our figures, mustn’t we?’ Wendy raised her eyebrows at her daughter and her glance rested for a moment too long on Beth’s sturdy, jean-clad thighs.
Beth tossed her ponytail, immediately feeling a surge of the boiling rage that had fuelled her teenage years, and stomped off to the kitchen. Just like the sitting room – and, in fact, the rest of the whole blinking house – it was infested with the knick-knacks which Wendy found so “adorable” and which Beth could have hurled into a skip with the greatest of pleasure. There were wilfully naïve pottery bowls from Brittany on the shelves; there were tea towels embroidered with winsome mottos tacked onto the walls; there were cute little ceramic kittens (real pets were too much trouble) peering at her from the windowsills. Even the washing-up liquid dispenser – Wendy couldn’t possibly have a plastic bottle of Fairy on display – was garlanded with hectic floral patterns. The washing-up gloves, too, were emblazoned with large fake cornflowers. Where did Wendy find this stuff?
Beth felt a sudden sympathy with Venetia Pole. There must, indeed, be a satisfaction in taking over a property from a parent and blatantly flouting their dearest wishes. Then, immediately, she felt the stab of familiar guilt which came so often when she was around her mother. Only a few days ago, she had sent up her silent prayer to the heavens, begging for Wendy’s life and pledging to be a better daughter. Where was that resolve now?