by EJ Lamprey
‘Suzi? You here, hen?’
‘I – I’m in the garden. I had to bring my dog.’ There was a muffled curse and the line went dead. Had he seen the police? Would they intercept him before he even made it to where she sat? He loomed in the garden doorway even as the wish crossed her mind, a burly man in his late fifties, medium height, with a shaven, slightly sunburned, head, and powerful shoulders. He glanced around the almost empty garden. With evening coming on, and a sharpening breeze bringing the temperature down rapidly, the only other people there were the Lawns foursome, all talking animatedly at once. He strode over towards her.
‘A dog? You should have said. Not the best weather for sitting outside. Well, let’s look at you.’ His eyes were piercing, and he didn’t offer his hand, just pulled out a chair and sat heavily. Buster, bristling, rumbled deep in his chest and Edge put a hand onto his silver-threaded black ruff to soothe him.
He laughed. ‘Any good as a fighter? Not any more, I guess, at his age. You’re older than you look in your photo, and you never said you was a ginger. What is it about women, you can’t tell the truth? But not bad. You’ll do.’ To show this was flattery of the highest order, he grinned at her.
She dug her nails into the palm of her hand and forced a simper in return. His own photo was at least ten years out of date, but his physical presence was intimidating and she had to fight down the impulse to jump up and run away. He glanced impatiently at the half empty glass in front of her.
‘No point having another drink here, we’ll bloody freeze. My real name’s Reg, by the way. Pleased to meecha. Bring the dog over to my place, it’s not far, and we can have a drink there. Get to know each other a bit better.’
Buster rumbled again, his hackles rising under Edge’s hand, and Reg laughed again, not very pleasantly.
‘Don’t worry that he doesnae like me. He’ll come round. There’s an old saying, bit of truth in it – a woman, a dog and a hazel nut tree, you know it?’
She did. ‘The harder you b-beat them, the better they b-be?’ The wobble in her voice wasn’t entirely assumed, and he beamed at her.
‘Exactly. Just a joke, see, I never hit a woman in my life. You going to finish that drink, or leave it?’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ She had friends here, there was an enormous policeman in the car park, and she was not, and never had been, a coward. She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘But thanks for the offer.’
‘Aw, don’t be like that.’ His face darkened but he made an effort to keep smiling. ‘Don’t mind my manner. I’m a take-charge kinda guy. What you see is what you get, but I’m a good bloke to have around. Lonely widder like you, you’re looking for someone to take care of you, am I right?’
She shook her head, and Buster snarled, his lip curling up from his teeth. He glared at them both and leaned forward, hunching his big shoulders.
‘You think you’ll get a better offer, you and your geriatric dog?’
‘Lots better offers.’ William, who despite his bulk could move quietly, had come up behind him. ‘We don’t like the look of you, pal. Or your attitude.’
Reg’s head snapped round belligerently. William, leaning lightly on one of his heavy sticks and holding the other halfway up the shaft, was huge and angry, and Donald looked like a man born to wield a flick knife. Reg glanced from one to the other, then back at Edge.
‘Friends of yourn?’ he sneered, and she nodded. ‘Hen, you don’t know what you got yourself into.’
He pushed himself to his feet, measured himself against the two men, and hesitated. William was taller, bulkier, and had two heavy sticks. Donald, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, looked quick, mean and dangerous. Edge swore afterwards she could read his thoughts. Either man, maybe, but both, plus a Labrador, albeit elderly, now well launched into a snarling bark which revealed a generous supply of healthy teeth, and two interested spectators at another table…
‘This isn’t over,’ he warned, and William leaned forward, thrusting his big face into Reg’s so that the shorter man had to lean slightly back, and bringing the handle of his stick under the other’s chin to forestall a Glasgow kiss.
‘You’re wrong there, Jimmy. My friend here saw you before. The police have been looking for you. They’re on their way.’ Never taking his eyes off the other, he stepped slightly back out of range and gestured toward the door with the stick. ‘I’m wrong. They just arrived.’
~~~
‘Thank God for Kirsty, the police must have been waiting round the corner.’ Vivian, who had been walking round the garden looking at shrubs, was still flushed when Edge and Donald returned with the next round of drinks. ‘I wish you had a police escort for every date.’
‘It would be handy,’ Edge agreed demurely and smiled at Jayenthi. ‘You were an absolute star. No hesitation at all.’
‘Once seen, never forgotten.’ Jayenthi looked slightly strained. ‘My poor friend. But at least he will not be beating any other women for a while. Vivian, what is wrong? Why are you still looking so distressed?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Vivian said hastily, then when both Edge and Jayenthi persisted, shrugged. ‘Well, probably nothing. It’s my ankle.’ She delicately tugged up the leg of her cotton slacks, to expose a massively swollen red ankle dwarfing her neatly-sandaled foot. ‘I haven’t had ankles per se for years, but this is different. I sat for hours last Sunday on the computer, between my weekly Skype chat with the family and going a little bit mad on eBay, and it’s been like this, and throbbing, ever since. I didn’t think much of it, but the swelling seems to be moving up my shin, with all the running round today.’ Her lip quivered through her attempt to smile. ‘My ankles have puffed up before, but never just one. And the swelling never moved before. The throbbing’s driving me mad. I keep having to jump up and move around.’
Jayenthi touched the back of her slim brown hand to the angry puffiness. ‘It is certainly very hot. And no pain? It isn’t worse after moving house today, all the walking – I mean to say, you haven’t twisted or sprained it?’ She twitched the cotton fabric back into place and straightened up. ‘I think you are worrying about a deep vein thrombosis, yes?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘It is more likely to be an infection, a fairly common one, but you should get your doctor to check. Even better, go to the Royal Hospital outpatients. If they aren’t absolutely sure they can do an ultrasound scan and blood tests.’
‘I’ll take you home. Or to the hospital, if you like?’ Edge pushed her drink away and picked up her handbag.
Vivian protested, but gave in when she realized Edge genuinely couldn’t wait to get away.
‘No more bullies, right?’ she remarked as she followed Buster into Edge’s little car.
‘No more bullies,’ Edge agreed fervently. ‘I’m glad we did it, he’s best behind bars, but I’ve never been more afraid in my life. I’d have broken and run if not for Buster.’ She reached up to fondle the old dog’s ears as he thrust his head between theirs to get a better view, and he stopped panting long enough to wipe his muzzle affectionately on her shoulder.
‘Good, because I’ve thought once or twice you’re being a little too casual about the risk.’ Vivian shifted restlessly and reached down to rub her leg.
Edge glanced affectionately at her old friend as she took the motorway, and wished she could tell her how little risk there was. ‘Easy to be brave when I’m never out without an escort. How scary were the boys today?’
‘William was magnificent!’ Vivian agreed proudly. ‘Donald even scared me, for that matter. I wouldn’t want to meet him down a dark alleyway. If he wasn’t a friend, I mean. I’d feel safe walking down a dark alleyway with either of them. Edge, this is driving me mad. It throbs, and it itches, and it burns – where are we going?’
‘The hospital in Larbert, and we’re nearly there. If it’s an infection,’ she talked over Vivian’s protest, ‘I want to know what it is, if I’ll get it, and how to head it off. Haud your whisht!�
�
CHAPTER 12
Wednesday
Walk Buster for Vivian
Clarissa’s bulldog-cross Maggie greeted Edge with a fervent wriggle of pleasure, then froze and stood stock still while Buster sniffed her in a friendly, albeit cautious, manner. In times past she would have attacked him for taking such a liberty but the post-trauma Maggie was altogether milder and more benign.
The two dogs, formalities concluded, led Clarissa and Edge towards the campsite across the road for their walk. Vivian’s condition had been confirmed as cellulitis, which she said ruefully sounded too much like orange-peel thighs to get any respectful sympathy, and she was under orders to keep her leg elevated as much as possible. That was easier said than done, but Donald and Edge were taking turns to give Buster at least one good walk a day.
Once safely across the road the dogs were let off their leads to investigate the fascinating smells left behind by the rush of recent visitors. The Easter weekend was well behind, but good spring weather had kept the campsite busier than usual. It was deserted today under a low and threatening sky and the dogs could explore as they pleased, Maggie lumbering gamely in Buster’s excited wake.
Clarissa, who was making a steady recovery after a stroke, still needed a stick on rough ground and they moved sedately in the wake of the dogs. She was full of questions about Edge’s dating experiences, agog for vicarious excitement. Edge tried to sound cheerful, and as if she was thoroughly enjoying her adventures, but it was an effort. She was relieved when Clarissa noticed Maggie was flagging and turned back, leaving Buster to canter on alone and Edge to her somber thoughts.
Spring was supposed to be a season of budding promise, of feeling youthful and energetic. It certainly seemed to be that way for Buster, who was joyfully snatching mouthfuls of green grass as he darted from scent to scent. She’d now had six dates for the police and Nick was still the most interesting – a man who saw her as a source of investment commission. Had she secretly thought that helping the police was a wonderful way to meet another Alistair? It was turning out to be a far cry from that long-off first attempt. It was probably time to accept that meeting the love of her life had been one of the rare success stories, the thrilling minority that keeps the whole machinery in motion.
The sky flexed rumbling clouds and chased Buster back to her side with some warning fat raindrops. He didn’t like thunder, and, although a dog who would plunge enthusiastically into any water he found, he didn’t care for rain. They reached the protection of the walkway as the full fury of the storm hit and she returned him to Vivian, refused to stay for coffee, and removed herself and her black mood back to her apartment with the excuse of some work that had to be done.
Rain hissed against her window and rough gusts of wind pushed her Havana chairs sideways roughly on her little verandah, startling Mortimer. She changed into a favourite purple jumpsuit over a bright red T which did a little to lift her mood, joined him at the window briefly to stare out at the storm, then with a sigh shook herself, put on some music, and sat at her desk to get on with some overdue work.
It was no good. The script she was trying to edit for a client was so badly written, and the concept so dull, that she pushed it aside after twenty minutes and checked her social media instead. Her Twitter timeline was peevishly debating an issue that interested her not at all, and most of her Facebook friends seemed to be out enjoying themselves rather than chatting. With another sigh she logged on to the first of the two singles websites to wade through the overnight messages. It was almost a relief to have a visitor, even if it was, surprisingly, Sylvia. Mortimer removed himself discreetly to the bedroom alcove.
~~~
‘May I bring Froufrou in? She’s a bit wet. I can tie her to your bench in the rain if not.’
‘Of course you can – I’m all set up for dog visitors anyway.’ Edge stroked the elegant poodle’s head and got a friendly nose-poke in response, before the dog headed unerringly for the fascinating smells of the dog bed. The mixed scents of damp dog and Annick Goutal billowed into the room and she discreetly left the door slightly ajar.
Sylvia peeled off her raincoat, revealing a lime green knitted trouser suit and jaunty navy and white rolled scarf. She perched on the very edge of the chair, refusing the offer of a hot drink.
‘You may have heard me saying I’d been invited to steward at a local dog show?’ she asked and Edge nodded. ‘The breeder who set it up breeds standard poodles. In fact, one of her best stud dogs is one of Froufrou’s. I hated breeding, so Froufrou only ever had the one litter, but they all did well. I’ve showed eight standards, over the years, and done very well with them. I got in touch with Beverly about getting a puppy, and she talked me into stewarding instead. At the show I remembered how much work a show poodle is, and I’m too much of an expert to want to start again with another breed. I’m applying for a judging license instead. Oh, all right, white tea, if you have it?’
‘I have rooibos, that’s also a health tea?’ Edge offered instead, and Sylvia shrugged and nodded.
‘Anyway,’ she told Edge’s back, ‘I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, am I? Beverly said you suggested it to a mutual friend. To approach me about getting involved on the judging and stewarding side. She let it slip this morning.’
Edge turned back from her kitchenette, surprised and a little wary. ‘I didn’t, not quite like that. I said,’ she picked her words carefully, ‘that if good judges come from experienced breeders and winners, I knew someone who knew poodles from nose to tail. My friend’s in another breed altogether, but she remembered you from the circuit. If she passed the comment on, it can only have been in conversation.’
‘I’ve been asked before,’ Sylvia said sharply, ‘but at the time I was a bit fed up with the whole thing anyway. It’s quite a bitchy world at times.’
‘Literally, surely.’ Edge, smiling, put a cup of pale rooibos tea next to her visitor, who looked slightly puzzled, and sat opposite her.
‘Oh. Bitch. Right.’ Sylvia’s brow cleared and she sipped at the tea, making a face. ‘Always with the jokes. Anyway, I quite enjoyed the stewarding and I think I’m going to try for my judge license, so when I found out you had a hand in it I came to say thank you. And,’ she squared her tiny shoulders, ‘to apologize.’
‘Apologize for what?’
‘Putting in a formal complaint about the cat.’ Sylvia managed to look both defiant and truculent at the same time. ‘That’s how I found out you’d been involved. I was telling Beverly how Katryn wouldn’t let me have a puppy but was turning a blind eye to your cat and that I’d written to the Trust about it. Then she told me you’d taken the trouble on my behalf. I still think it’s unfair that you’ve brought in a cat after the fuss Katryn made about me getting a dog but I’ll write again to say I’ve changed my mind, if you like.’
‘Honestly, Sylvia, you are the bloody end.’ Edge felt herself flushing with annoyance. ‘What good would that be? A complaint is a complaint. And by the way, if you can’t see the difference between a ten-year-old cat and a puppy –’
She was interrupted by another knock at the half-open door, and Katryn put her head inside.
‘Bad time?’ Her eyes fell on Sylvia, who was rigid with affront, and she beamed. ‘Excellent, this involves Sylvia anyway. Ooh, rooibos, got any more?’
Edge got up slightly sulkily to pour a decidedly darker cup from the teapot. Katryn accepted it gratefully and sat opposite Sylvia.
‘Sylvia, I think you’ve misunderstood about the cat.’ She drank deeply, then put the cup down. ‘It was adopted by the Trust. Like the dogs. We were asked by the police if we could take it in, and I for one think cats are better suited to this place than dogs. However, the house dogs weren’t having it. Hamish tried to phone you to explain as soon as he got your letter. I know he left a message asking you to call him back. I even knocked at your door on my way over, so I’m glad to catch you here. And I came here, Edge, because Hamish wants to know if you’ve ma
de a decision.’
Edge was so impressed by this calm and blatant lie she almost missed her cue, then hastily nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I do want to keep him. He’s lovely.’
‘Good. That’s settled then. I thought he would be excellent for the house but when the house dogs took agin him…’ She shrugged. ‘So. How’s the dating going?’
‘Let me know when the Trust gets around to adopting a poodle puppy, won’t you?’ Sylvia looked absolutely furious, but her face changed ludicrously as Katryn’s last words sank in. ‘What dating? Who are you dating?’
‘I’m doing some research for a possible script about senior singles.’ Edge managed to avoid sounding too crisp. ‘It does mean occasionally meeting up for dates.’
‘Oho, if that’s your story, you stick to it!’ Sylvia, with one of her mercurial changes of mood, was thrilled. ‘Anyone good?’
For a half-beat Edge was genuinely tempted to drag the conversation back to a lively quarrel but Katryn’s eyes, over her raised cup, were slightly anxious. Mortimer’s head, as he peered through the alcove door as though checking whether the coast was clear, tipped the balance. Instead she passed on Nick’s story about the medium, then described the date she’d had on Monday.
‘Non-smoker, light drinker, fit, just under six foot,’ she quoted and despite herself had to smile. ‘I’m five nine in heels, we were exactly the same height. And he reeked of smoke and cheap brandy. Teeth like a row of condemned houses. He told me he’s specifically looking for a wife, so he thought, and I’m quoting, ‘we should go away, er, for a weekend and, er, try each other out’.’
Sylvia shrieked with delight and Katryn choked on her mouthful of tea. ‘The man must be bluddy mad,’ she said with conviction. ‘Edge, this isn’t safe. How on earth did you get away from him?’
‘Oh, William and Vivian think it’s a hoot. They’ve been coming along to the same places and we even have a little signal when I need them to come over and join in. On Monday they couldn’t – Vivian’s not very well – so it was Donald on duty, and he scared him off in a couple of minutes. Pretended to be my violently jealous Baltic lover and Colin couldn’t get away fast enough. He bolted while Donald was dragging at my wrist and hissing at us both in broken English.’