Preface to Murder
Page 11
‘Guilty pleasures,’ said Ffion, sounding amused.
It was yet another insight into Diane Gilbert’s secret world. On the outside, in full command of her emotions. Underneath, a lonely woman with an unsatisfied craving for love. Ian Dunn had said that there had been no romantic relationships in her life since their divorce. Bridget was almost starting to feel sorry for the woman.
‘Diane Gilbert liked to present herself as a heavyweight intellectual,’ said Ffion, ‘but behind the façade she was human, like the rest of us.’
Ffion was certainly right about that. Everyone had guilty pleasures and Bridget didn’t need to gaze very deeply into her soul to reveal her own. Chocolate. Red wine. And double cream.
*
It had been a long tiring week, especially after working all day Saturday, and Jake was more than ready to head home for a quiet evening by the telly. If there was nothing much on, he might even pick up that book Ryan had lent him. You never knew – maybe there was something to this world of books that everyone was suddenly talking about.
‘Come off it, mate,’ said Ryan when Jake revealed his plans to him. ‘It’s Saturday night. Time to grab a few beers and let off some steam. Why don’t you join me and Andy down the King’s Head? Even young Harry’s agreed to come along.’
Jake had doubts. While it would be good to have some company instead of another night stuck on his own, the King’s Head could get quite rowdy on a weekend, and he wasn’t sure how much steam Ryan intended to let off. But he figured that if Andy and Harry were going to be there, it would probably be okay.
‘Well, all right,’ he said. ‘Is Ffion coming?’
Ryan shook his head. ‘I asked her, but she’s already meeting someone. Some girl, apparently.’
‘Marion, I expect,’ said Jake, recalling the name of Ffion’s new date.
Ryan cocked his head to one side. ‘You know more than me. So forget about Ffion, it’s a boys’ night out for you. No escape.’
By the time Jake had packed away his gear and headed over to the pub, Ryan was already on his second beer. Jake bought himself a pint and a packet of crisps and joined him and the other guys at a corner table. Soon he was listening to a steady stream of Ryan’s banter and ribald jokes, and beginning to relax. He sipped his pint and wondered where Ffion was, and what she was doing right now. If this Marion was a researcher at the university, she was probably just Ffion’s type. Jake pictured a tall, slim blonde with a penetrating stare and a talent for turning men into blocks of ice. Another version of Ffion, in fact.
‘Another round, lads?’ asked Ryan, breaking into his thoughts.
‘Not for me,’ said Andy, finishing his drink. ‘I need to get back to the wife and kids.’
‘Me, neither,’ said Harry, who was a teetotaller and had been drinking lime and soda. ‘I want to fit in a session down the gym.’
Jake tore open the packet of salt and vinegar crisps, admiring Harry’s self-discipline. It was no wonder that the young detective constable was so lean and trim. Yet all that fitness sounded like way too much hard work.
Ryan stared at Harry incredulously. ‘You’re going to the gym on a Saturday night?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve got a slot booked for seven thirty. It’s a popular time. Maybe you should give it a try yourself. You’re putting on a bit of flab.’
Ryan examined himself, prodding at his belly in curiosity. ‘This is not flab. I’ve just banked a few extra pounds ready for a rainy day.’
‘Well, just saying,’ said Harry, standing up to leave. ‘Maybe you should try pumping iron now and again.’
‘Nah, you’re all right,’ said Ryan. ‘I’ll stick to lifting pints.’ He looked to Andy. ‘Just another half?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Sorry. I don’t want to be late back. Sally’s got a home-cooked lasagne in the oven, and I don’t want to miss that.’
‘Right, lucky you,’ said Ryan. ‘If someone was cooking me a lasagne, I’d probably be rushing off too. If I want a lasagne, I have to microwave one from the supermarket. It’s not the same.’
‘You could learn to cook,’ said Andy.
Ryan looked as if Andy had just suggested he take up the flying trapeze. ‘Geez, what is it with all the advice all of a sudden?’ He waved farewell to Andy and Harry, and went to the bar to get more pints in.
Jake didn’t refuse. He might as well hang out with Ryan for a bit. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.
Ryan returned to the table with a pint in each hand. ‘So, to business,’ he said, sitting down and passing one of the beers across to Jake. ‘We need to sort out your love life.’
‘What?’ said Jake, coughing as he mis-swallowed a mouthful of beer.
‘Romance,’ said Ryan. ‘That’s what’s missing from your life, and it’s time we got it sorted. You’ve had more than enough time to get over your break-up with Ffion, and in any case my detective instincts tells me that she’s already moved on. That ship has sailed, mate, so let’s get you fixed up with someone new.’
‘Who did you have in mind?’ asked Jake warily. He glanced around the pub, wondering if Ryan had already fixed him up with a blind date. If he’d known that Ryan was planning this, he’d never have agreed to come out to the pub.
‘Not who,’ said Ryan, ‘but how.’ He pulled out his mobile phone. ‘Internet dating.’
‘You have got to be joking.’
‘Me? Joking?’ said Ryan. ‘When does that ever happen? Seriously, mate, don’t judge it till you’ve tried it.’
Jake took another swig of his beer, making sure that this went down the right way. ‘And you’re an expert, I guess?’ Ryan might not like receiving advice, but he wasn’t shy when it came to dishing it out.
‘As it happens, I’ve had some considerable success in that area,’ said Ryan. ‘And I hate to see you being left on the shelf. Stay there too long, and you’ll be past your sell-by date before you know it.’
‘I’m not anywhere near my sell-by date,’ said Jake. ‘People don’t even have sell-by dates. And anyway, if you’ve had such amazing success with internet dating, why are you in the pub with me instead of in the arms of some gorgeous woman?’
‘An act of selfless charity on my part,’ said Ryan. ‘I am sacrificing the pleasures of my own Saturday night in order to get you some. Now, come on, get your phone out.’
Jake pulled his phone out of his pocket with a sigh. Ryan obviously wasn’t going to let the matter drop, so he might as well play along. Anyway, maybe Ryan was right for once. Maybe this was the best way for him to meet someone. Had Ffion met Marion on an internet dating site? He’d never considered it before.
‘This is the best app I’ve found,’ said Ryan, showing Jake his phone.
Jake typed in the name of the app and his screen was soon displaying pictures of happy, smiling couples, assurances of trust and safety, and the offer of thousands of potential partners. He was only looking for one.
‘You just give them a few details about yourself,’ said Ryan, ‘and then sit back and wait for the matches to come flooding in.’
To be honest, it didn’t look too hard. Jake selected “male” looking for a “female”, gave his date of birth and said he lived in Oxford. He needed to submit a photograph of himself but he didn’t have any recent ones on his phone.
‘Give it here. I’ll take a picture of you.’ Ryan snapped a few shots, selected the best one and handed the phone back to Jake.
‘How should I describe myself?’ asked Jake.
‘Normally, I’d say add an inch or two to your height, but in your case’ – Ryan looked up – ‘I don’t think there’s any need. Just say you’ve got a great sense of humour. Girls always go for that. Whatever you do, don’t mention your musical tastes.’
‘What’s wrong with my taste in music?’ Jake was quite proud of his taste in indie rock. Although, he recalled, Ffion had hated it.
‘Trust me, mate,’ said Ryan. ‘Just don’t go there.’
 
; ‘Should I say that I work for the police?’
‘I’d leave it out. You can always own up to it later if the relationship starts to get serious.’
‘Own up to it?’ said Jake. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s a big part of my life. Isn’t it important to be completely honest from the start?’
‘Blimey, if everybody’s description was a hundred per cent accurate, we’d all still be single. Listen, think of this more like a marketing pitch than the bare truth. The trick is not to give too much away. It’s better to be enigmatic.’
Jake had his doubts, but he followed Ryan’s advice and within minutes his online profile was surfing the internet, in search of true love.
*
Marion Badeaux was in many ways different to Ffion. Where Ffion’s hair was short, blonde, and clipped strictly into shape, Marion wore hers long in a heavy untamed mass of chestnut curls. Ffion’s skin was pale in hue, whereas Marion’s face and arms carried with them the sun-drenched heat of Southern France. Ffion’s slender build also contrasted markedly with Marion’s generous curves, and while Ffion liked to run long-distance and practise Taekwondo, Marion had a Gallic contempt for all forms of exercise. But while there were obvious differences, the two women shared many similarities too. They were both outsiders, for one thing.
Ffion had earned her outcast status while growing up bisexual in a small Welsh mining community, while Marion had been born into a conservative Catholic family in Toulouse, resulting in bitter rejection by her parents when she had come out as gay. They had both found Oxford to be a much more welcoming city than the places they had been born.
Unlike Ffion, who had dated both women and men – most recently, Jake – Marion had only ever been interested in girls. She’d known from a very young age that she never wanted to be with a man. And while Ffion had enjoyed only a very small number of tentative, short-lived relationships, Marion had been out with many girls, enjoying wild, ardent romances both in France and in England.
All this Ffion had learned on her very first date with Marion.
Marion, it had to be said, was very free with her opinions and her confidences. It was one of the things that Ffion loved most about her. When they were together there was none of the stilted conversation and awkwardness that had dogged her relationship with Jake. Words flowed effortlessly between them, and there were so many things that didn’t even need to be said. They understood each other, wordlessly, and she could simply relax and be happy.
Dating a guy, by contrast, was a minefield of complications and difficulties. Ffion recalled her first tortuous exchanges with Jake, dancing around each other, uncertain who might make the first move, if either of them. It had taken her ages simply to admit to him that she was bisexual. Marion hadn’t been at all surprised when she had told her about their messy break-up. ‘This Jake sounds to me like every other man. They are all the same. Devils. Snakes. Men cannot be trusted. All women know this, so why do they deceive themselves?’
Ffion smiled to herself. Marion’s views on men were unduly harsh perhaps, but it was hard to disagree with her when she spoke so passionately, and with such a colourful French accent. Her voice was sultry and seductive, and Ffion could happily listen to it all day. She thought of Jake’s downbeat northern vowels, and of the deep rumbling gravel of his voice. Sometimes his thick Yorkshire accent had been like a foreign language.
‘So, what are we eating?’ asked Marion. Ffion had brought her to one of her favourite restaurants in Oxford, the Al-Shami in Walton Crescent, famous for its Lebanese cuisine.
‘The vegetarian specials are good,’ said Ffion. She was particularly fond of the artichokes and vegetables served in a delicious sauce.
Marion tossed back her long hair. ‘For me, I am too hungry. I need meat. A mixed grill, I think. Kafta, kebab, chicken and lamb.’
Some things hadn’t changed so much. Jake liked his meat too. But he was less adventurous than Marion. Curries were his favourite, and fish and chips, and of course his mother’s Yorkshire puddings, which he had once described to Ffion in great detail. Vegetables had been more of a challenge for him, unless they were clearly identifiable as peas or carrots. Her thoughts lingered on Jake a little longer, and she recalled his great height, his ginger hair and full beard, his broad shoulders and strong hands. They had shared some good times together, as well as some awkward moments. Ffion was glad that they had patched up their differences after the break-up and were back on friendly terms. Jake was a nice guy and she hoped that he would soon find someone as nice as Marion.
They placed their orders with the waiter, then Marion reached her hands across the table to enclose Ffion’s. ‘This was a good place to come. Thank you for bringing me here tonight.’
‘I’m glad you like it,’ said Ffion. It was good to be sharing the places that she loved with the new love of her life. Marion wasn’t into everything that Ffion liked – motorbikes, for instance, or running, or herbal tea – but there was plenty of time to win her over. For now, it was enough that they could talk so easily and that they could be themselves in each other’s company.
‘What shall we do later? Dancing? A nightclub? It’s Saturday night.’
Ffion laughed at Marion’s enthusiasm. ‘We haven’t even eaten yet.’
‘You are right,’ said Marion. ‘But I want us to make the most of every moment together. Time is precious. Let’s not waste any.’
‘Of course,’ said Ffion. ‘But we’ve got a lifetime of moments ahead of us, haven’t we?’
‘Sure, naturally,’ said Marion. ‘A lifetime, of course. But for now, let us live in the present. Who knows what the future might bring?’
15
The next morning was Sunday, a day of rest. As if, thought Bridget, but she permitted herself a half-hour lie-in and a leisurely breakfast (although it wasn’t the same without Jonathan’s trademark scrambled eggs) before driving to the short-stay car park at Oxford station to await the arrival of Chloe’s train from London. Her daughter had been away for three full days, and Bridget was missing her dreadfully. She had spoken to Jonathan again the previous evening, and he had helped to soothe her fraying nerves, but almost as soon as she’d finished the call, her problems had begun to close in on her again. When she was alone in the house, they had a habit of crowding in to fill the void, especially in the darkest hours of the night. She would be very glad to have Chloe back home, causing all her usual noise and disruption to the smooth running of the house, and generally helping Bridget to put her troubles into perspective.
The train came in on time and a minute later Chloe appeared, sauntering across the car park with a wide-brimmed hat on her head, laden with shopping bags, and dragging a suitcase on wheels behind her. Bridget jumped out of the car to greet her.
‘Hi Mum!’
‘Hi.’ Bridget wrapped her arms around her in a big hug, or at least as far as she could with Chloe being so encumbered with shopping. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Of course!’ Chloe was breathless with excitement. ‘I had the most amazing time.’
‘It looks like you’ve been shopping.’
‘Well, sure, Mum, that was the whole point of the trip.’
‘Let’s get everything into the car and you can tell me all about it. Just put everything on the back seat for now.’ Bridget opened the car door and stood aside to allow Chloe to shove all her gear into the back.
As soon as they were moving, Chloe reached behind her and pulled out a bag featuring the logo of an expensive footwear brand. She lifted the lid off the box and extracted a pair of patent red leather stilettos with heels like skyscrapers. ‘Look at these, Mum! Aren’t they amazing!’
Bridget stole a quick glance at the shoes, then slammed on the brakes to avoid a double-decker bus that was lumbering round the drop-off zone outside the station entrance. ‘Can you walk in them?’ she asked.
‘Of course I can. At least I’ll be able to with a bit of practice. Tamsin showed me how to do it. They’re j
ust perfect for my dress.’
‘Are they really?’ asked Bridget, as she turned out of the station and into the flowing traffic on Frideswide Square. ‘So what’s the dress like?’
It was obvious that Chloe was bursting to tell her. ‘Oh my God, it’s just so amazing. It’s in red silk, cut on the bias so it’s really clingy, and it’s cut away at the back in a plunging V, so obviously I won’t be able to wear a bra with it, but it’s designed with hidden support at the front which gives my figure a real boost.’
‘It sounds…’ Bridget was lost for words. If she was honest, it didn’t sound at all suitable for a fifteen-year-old girl. ‘Will it be warm enough?’ she asked lamely.
‘Oh, Mum, don’t be such a frump. Who cares about being warm? Anyway, the wedding’s in the summer. It’ll be perfect. Have you chosen your outfit yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Bridget. ‘I’m a little tied up at work right now.’ Oh God, what was she going to wear? There was no point trying to compete with Chloe in her figure-hugging, bare-backed silk gown. She might as well cover herself from head to toe in some shapeless garment that would hide the extra inches she’d added to her girth since Christmas. With luck, no one would recognise her. But that was foolish thinking. The last thing she wanted was Tamsin taking one look at her and thinking no wonder Ben had left her. She would have to make an effort, for her own sense of dignity. Maybe Chloe would be able to offer her some good advice.
She cast a sideways glance at her daughter. There was another thing – make-up. Subtly and expertly applied, but clearly visible nonetheless. It made Chloe look much older than her fifteen years. That was presumably another of Tamsin’s influences. Bridget felt her own influence slipping further and further away.
They dropped the bags off in Wolvercote and then drove round to Sunderland Avenue to pick up Chloe’s boyfriend, Alfie. After weeks of cajoling and dropping not-so-subtle hints, Bridget had finally persuaded Chloe to bring him back to the house a fortnight earlier so that she and Jonathan could meet him.