The Mum Detective

by Gwyneth Rees

  I felt my stomach knot up, because the reason I hadn’t talked about it – and had been trying not to think about it – was that Lizzie had told us during the week that her friend had decided to keep all the kittens because her kids had got really attached to them. Apparently, there were only three in the litter and she had three children who had each chosen one as their special pet. So we were going to have to look elsewhere if we wanted a kitten ourselves. But when I’d asked Lizzie when we were going to start looking elsewhere, she’d said it was up to Dad because it was his house and it would be his kitten.

  ‘I’m sure when Dad and Lizzie first said about getting a kitten they meant one that would be Lizzie’s as well as ours,’ I told Holly now. ‘That was definitely how it sounded.’

  Holly frowned. ‘Are you sure they’re not thinking about splitting up?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ My stomach felt even more knotted up.

  ‘Did you try telling your dad about that Men Are from Mars book?’

  ‘It’s not that easy. He hasn’t exactly been asking for my advice, you know.’

  Holly looked thoughtful. ‘Are you still coming round to mine next weekend?’

  I nodded. Holly’s aunt and her aunt’s new baby were staying with her next weekend and Holly wanted me to come and see her new cousin. ‘I’ve got to ask Dad, but I’m sure it’ll be OK.’

  ‘Maybe we could smuggle the book out of Mum’s room again and you could take it home with you. Then you can just leave it somewhere where your dad’ll see it. He might start reading it by himself then.’

  ‘I suppose,’ I said, not thinking it was very likely that he would. Self-help books aren’t exactly Dad’s thing. Like I said before, he prefers to read books about battle strategies or how engines get put together.

  ‘Though of course that won’t help much if Lizzie’s already having an affair.’

  ‘I told you! She’s not!’ I growled. ‘So stop saying that!’

  I carried on walking to my house after we’d parted, and when I got there I was surprised to see Dad’s car already in the driveway. He was never usually home this early. I rang the bell because I can never be bothered to get out my door key if somebody’s in, and Matthew came to the door. It turned out that Dad’s car was only there because he hadn’t been able to get it started this morning, so he’d had to go to work in a taxi.

  ‘That case he’s working on has been on the news. Someone found human remains in the allotments,’ Matthew told me, grinning. ‘Isn’t that cool? Oh – and it gets better! Jennifer just phoned and she says her dad’s hopping mad because the police have sealed off the whole area and he won’t be able to get to his vegetables until they’ve finished with it!’

  ‘Wow! Did they show any pictures on television?’

  ‘The reporter guy was standing in front of the allotments while he was speaking. There were some police in the background, but not Dad. I suppose he might get on the telly later if he has to make a statement.’

  ‘Did they say anything about the body? Everyone at school was asking me about it.’

  ‘Only that some poor guy who’d just taken on an overgrown patch of ground was doing some digging and he dug up a bit of old clothing. Then he dug a bit deeper and found it!’

  I went upstairs to get changed out of my school uniform, wishing that I could go down to the allotments and see all this for myself. But I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to.

  I sat down at the desk in my bedroom and pulled out a blank sheet of notepaper from the box of flowery stationery I’d been given last Christmas. I was keen to write letters straight away to those two doctors, one of whom I hoped was going to turn out to be Jennifer’s aunt. But what should I write? I started by printing my address and phone number very clearly in the top right-hand corner. Then I wrote the following letter:

  Dear Dr Forbes,

  You don’t know me but I got your address from the medical register in the library. I am trying to find my friend’s aunt who is called Helen Forbes and is a doctor. She might have got married and changed her name. My friend (who’s called Jennifer) is trying to find her mother and she thinks her aunt might know where she is. Her mother’s name is Catherine. Jennifer hasn’t seen her mum since she was a baby and she would like to contact her. If you can help, please write back to me or phone.

  I thought for a minute or two about how I should sign it. Then I wrote:

  Yours sincerely,

  Esmerelda Harvey

  I thought putting my full name made the letter look more official.

  I read the whole thing through, then copied it out a second time for the second Helen Forbes. Then I wrote the addresses on the envelopes and put a first-class stamp on each one before going down to the postbox on the corner of our street to post them.

  While I was doing my homework, Lizzie arrived. She had brought the ingredients to make chilli con carne, which is one of the few things she can actually cook quite well. Dad apparently knew she was coming and had promised her that he’d be home in time to eat it.

  Dad was home in time – just – and it was lovely to have all of us sitting round the table like a proper family with a mum as well as a dad. After Dad had taken his first forkful of chilli, he told Lizzie it was nice – which I noted was only a plain compliment, not a juicy one. So I said it was really delicious and that Lizzie was really talented at making chilli con carne to demonstrate the sort of compliments he ought to be making. Dad grinned at Lizzie and nodded as if he agreed with me, so I reckoned that at least counted as him sort of upgrading his compliment to a juicy one.

  As we ate, Matthew started asking Dad questions about the body on the allotments. ‘Can you tell how long it’s been there?’

  ‘We’re still working on that. It’s not as easy to age skeletal remains as they make out on those TV detective programmes, you know.’

  ‘So, it’s just a skeleton then? Like . . . there’s no . . . flesh and stuff ?’

  Dad pointed to his dinner and frowned at my brother. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Do you know how it was murdered?’ I asked, as Dad shovelled in a big mouthful of chilli.

  Dad carried on chewing for a bit, then he grunted, ‘Like I said, Esmie – it’s difficult to tell at this stage.’

  ‘But is there a bullet hole in the skull or anything like that?’ I persisted. As Matthew sniggered, I turned on him crossly. ‘If you knew anything about being a detective, you’d know that you should always look for the obvious first when you come across a body. Isn’t that right, Dad?’

  ‘Esmie, do you mind if we move on to a more cheerful subject?’ Dad said, pointing to my heaped plate of food. ‘A bit less talking and a bit more eating would be good.’ He turned to my brother, who had nearly finished his dinner, and asked, ‘So how’s the studying going, Matty?’

  I concentrated on eating my dinner, and listened while Matthew moaned to Dad about school and all the homework he’d been given.

  Then, when I reckoned I’d been quiet for long enough, I said, ‘Dad, can I go round to Holly’s at the weekend? Her baby cousin’s going to be there and Holly says she’s really cute.’

  ‘I don’t see why not, sweetheart. I don’t think we’ve got anything planned for Saturday or Sunday yet, have we, Lizzie?’

  ‘I’m meeting my friend in the morning on Saturday. That’s all.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Dad said. ‘Why have you got the morning off again?’

  ‘They want to use the shop for some training.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right, you told me. So what time are you meeting her?’

  ‘Ten o’clock.’

  ‘Lizzie’s friend isn’t a she, it’s a he,’ I put in, when it didn’t look like Lizzie was going to correct him. ‘He’s called Andrew. But don’t worry, Dad. He’s not an old boyfriend because I already checked.’

  Matthew let out a muffled snort.

  ‘What?’ I demanded, glaring at him.

  Lizzie had a half-amused expression on her face as she looked at
Dad. ‘I won’t be gone long.’ She turned back to look at me. ‘Maybe I’ll come and visit Holly’s cousin with you afterwards, Esmie. I like babies too. We ought to buy it a little outfit or something.’

  ‘Cool!’ I said, grinning at her.

  I really liked Lizzie a lot, I decided. And if Dad didn’t end up marrying her, I was going to be very upset about it indeed.

  Two days later Lizzie met me from school on her half day so that we could go shopping for baby clothes together.

  When I was younger I used to imagine what my mother would look like standing at the school gates and it had always involved her having just been to the hairdresser’s and looking much prettier than all the other mums. For a couple of seconds I let myself imagine that Lizzie was my mother. Her hair was looking a bit messy, but it didn’t matter since she was sitting inside her car and, anyhow, now I’m older I know that looking pretty isn’t the most important quality in a mum. (And I know that being a good cook isn’t the most important thing either – even though it would be nice if Lizzie learned to cook something other than lasagne and chilli con carne.)

  ‘People probably think you’re my mother,’ I said when I climbed into her car.

  ‘Surely they won’t think I’m old enough,’ Lizzie teased me as she started up the ignition. ‘I expect they think I’m your sister.’

  ‘You reckon?’ I said, pulling a disbelieving face.

  Lizzie laughed.

  ‘Where are we going to look for a baby outfit then?’ I asked. ‘There’s this really trendy shop in town that does great clothes. I think they do baby clothes too. Juliette took me there to get a dress for Holly’s birthday party last year. Remember I put it on to show you the first day you came round to our house?’

  ‘I remember. It was a lovely green colour, wasn’t it? You looked beautiful in it. But I think that shop is a bit expensive.’

  ‘OK.’ I reckoned Juliette would have gone back to that shop no matter how expensive it was because she always says that the English don’t spend enough money on clothes and that’s why they’re not nearly as well dressed as the French. But, come to think of it, that time she’d taken me there, she had been spending Dad’s money rather than her own.

  We ended up going to our local department store and choosing two really cute little Babygros and a set of bibs with teddy bears on them. Afterwards, I asked if we could stop and have tea in the cafe on the top floor, because Holly’s mum always takes her there (unlike Dad who will never stop for tea in town, because he says it just prolongs the agony of shopping). Lizzie had started to say that we could buy some nice cakes to have with Dad and Matthew when we got home instead when she saw my face and seemed to change her mind. ‘Come to think of it, it would be nice to have a sit down. And they do very good coffee here.’

  I beamed at her and we took the escalator up to the cafe and stood in the queue, where I spent ages looking at all the different cakes before deciding on a chocolate eclair. I had an orange juice to drink with it and Lizzie got a coffee. While she was waiting with the tray to pay at the till, I went and got us a table.

  We chatted about all sorts of stuff as we sat there. I ended up telling her that I wanted to be a detective like Dad when I grew up and she told me that when she was my age she wanted to be an astronaut. I said, ‘Yes, but I really am going to be a detective.’ And she laughed and said, ‘Good for you!’

  After we’d finished our drinks, we went to the greetings-cards department to buy some wrapping paper and, while I was choosing some, Lizzie went to have a look in the bookshop section next to it. She found something there that she brought across to show me. It was a box and book set that had a picture of a detective holding a magnifying glass and the words CRIME-BUSTER KIT on the front. The little pocket-sized book gave you tips about how to solve crimes and the box contained bits of detectives’ equipment. There was a very cool detective’s ID card, a little magnifying glass, a pair of plastic gloves, some sealable plastic bags with EVIDENCE printed on them, a little plastic pot with a scew-on lid, which I guessed you were meant to use to collect samples of liquid evidence (like spilt blood), a tiny square ink-pad for taking people’s fingerprints, and a stick of chalk to use for drawing round dead bodies.

  ‘It’s not expensive,’ Lizzie said. ‘Shall I get it for you?’

  ‘Oh, yes please!’

  I started to read the book on the way home, which wasn’t a great idea because I always feel sick if I read in the car, but fortunately we got home without me having to use one of my evidence bags to puke up in.

  By the time Dad got back from work, I was just finishing taking Lizzie’s fingerprints like it showed you how to do in the book. I’d tried to take Matty’s as well, because the book said you should try and build up as big a database of fingerprints as possible, but he’d told me to get lost when I’d asked him.

  ‘What’s all this then?’ Dad asked, watching as I rolled Lizzie’s last finger from left to right on my little ink-pad, then repeated the action on the sheet of paper I was turning into a fingerprint record sheet.

  ‘Lizzie bought me this great book that shows you how to be a detective,’ I told him. ‘It’s really cool. It tells you how to take fingerprints and how to check if something’s forged – like a letter for instance.’ I released Lizzie’s hand and pointed to the unopened letter Dad had picked up from the hall.

  As Dad opened it I immediately seized the envelope to examine it under my magnifying glass. The first thing I looked at was the postmark. ‘This was posted locally,’ I announced, moving the glass down over the name and address, which were both written by hand in block-capital letters. MR J. HARVEY, I read, peering closely at the writing. The letter ‘A’ wasn’t written like an ordinary capital ‘A’, I noticed. It was written like this:

  MR J. HaRVEY.

  All the capital ‘A’s in our address were written like extra-large little ‘a’s. I was just about to start deducing whether the handwriting looked more like a man’s or a woman’s, when Dad grunted, ‘Go and tell your brother I want to see him, please, Esmie.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Who’s the letter from?’

  ‘Just do it.’

  ‘What is it, John?’ Lizzie asked as I left the room.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him showing the letter to her. ‘It’s from Jennifer’s father.’

  I raced upstairs and knocked on Matthew’s door, yelling excitedly, ‘Dad wants to see you in the kitchen. He’s just had a letter from Jennifer’s dad! I think you’re in trouble!’

  ‘What?’ Matthew came and flung open his door. ‘What does it say?’ He was looking worried.

  ‘I don’t know, but Dad doesn’t look too pleased.’

  As he followed me downstairs, Matthew started muttering the sort of stuff he always mutters when he thinks he’s about to get into trouble with Dad – that he was sixteen, for God’s sake, that Dad could just butt out of his life for once, and that he was damned well going to tell Dad that. I just went, ‘Yeah . . . sure . . .’ because I knew that once he got face to face with Dad, there was no way he was going to dare mouth off at him.

  Dad was speaking on his mobile in the kitchen and it sounded like he was going to have to go back in to work straight away. (For once, Matthew looked relieved instead of irritated at that.) Lizzie wasn’t in the kitchen, so I guess she’d decided to opt out of this particular family battle.

  Dad ended the call, slipped his phone into his pocket and picked up the letter from the table. ‘Perhaps you could enlighten me about this,’ he said crisply, looking at Matthew like he was a prime suspect in a major crime. (I reckon it must be really scary having Dad interrogate you if you’re a murderer.) Dad slowly read out Jennifer’s father’s letter. ‘Dear Mr Harvey, I am writing to ask that your son, Matthew, does not come to my house or see my daughter again. In my opinion, he has shown himself to be an unsuitable companion for her. Firstly, he tried to enter my loft without my permission – this was his idea and my daughter unfortunat
ely went along with it. A few days ago I caught him sneaking about behind my back in my house, causing damage to items of my clothing. I am also afraid that he is causing emotional distress to my daughter by deliberately stirring up upsetting feelings about her mother. My daughter is very precious to me and I will not stand by and allow this to happen. I therefore hope that you can ensure that he stays away in future. Yours sincerely, Alan Mitchell.’ Dad looked up at my brother. He was frowning. ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘I don’t know what he’s talking about,’ Matthew said defensively. ‘I haven’t damaged anything of his.’

  ‘So what are you saying? That he’s making this up?’ Dad sounded impatient.

  ‘Maybe he means when Matthew trampled all over his suit,’ I pointed out helpfully.

  ‘You trampled on his suit?’

  ‘Not on purpose!’ Matthew said, giving me a sideways glare.

  ‘Matty was hiding in the wardrobe and he knocked it off its hanger,’ I added, to make things clearer. ‘And then he sort of trod all over it, but he didn’t mean to. It was an accident.’

  ‘You were hiding in a wardrobe?’

  Matthew flushed. ‘I knew Jennifer would get into trouble if her dad found me in the bedroom with her so—’

  ‘You were in the bedroom?’

  ‘Esmie was there too! We were on the computer. But I knew he’d freak out if he found me because he’d already said I wasn’t to go round there again.’ He swallowed. ‘But I had to Dad! I had to see her!’

  ‘You see, it’s just like in Romeo and Juliet—’ I started to explain, but Dad gave me a look that made me think it was wiser not to make that comparison right now.

  ‘Why does he want you to stop seeing Jennifer?’ Dad demanded.

  ‘Because he’s a—’ Matthew broke off from saying whatever rude word he’d been going to say as Dad frowned at him. ‘Well, it’s not fair, Dad! I haven’t been stirring up any feelings about Jennifer’s mum! She talks to me about her because she can’t talk to him. She asked me to help find her!’