We still hadn’t taken off. The plane was delayed – some passenger or other hadn’t boarded when they were supposed to. The insanely cheerful grins had slipped off the flight attendants’ faces. They’d put a call out but no one had shown up and now we’d missed our slot and the other passengers were starting to complain.
Graham began tutting and checking his watch, and Sally was jiggling fretfully. “Tessa will be furious if we get to Athens late,” she grumbled. “I suppose the helicopter will wait, but I don’t know how I’ll manage to get everything done on time. I’ll have to start at the crack of dawn as it is. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…”
“Why can’t we just take off?” I asked. “Surely it’s their own fault if they can’t get here on time? The rest of us managed it.”
“Presumably the missing person’s luggage is in the hold,” replied Graham. “With the threat of global terrorism, it’s not possible to embark unless every passenger who checked in a suitcase is on board. Otherwise it would be a foolproof method of planting a bomb.”
“Oh,” I said, wishing I hadn’t asked. I wasn’t a nervous traveller but the thought of being blasted out of the sky was enough to make anyone uneasy. To take my mind off it I picked up another magazine.
This article took the “Angelica’s perilously close to killing herself” angle one degree further, directing the threat of violence towards someone else. A “close personal friend” described how she’d been with Angelica when Josie Diamond had appeared on TV. Angelica had hurled her mug of tea at the screen. And then yelled, loud and clear, “I’m going to wring that little tart’s neck!”
Which I found extremely alarming. Because just then the missing passenger finally showed up, white-faced, stick-thin and shaking like a leaf in a storm-force wind.
There we were, about to fly off to Greece on the eve of Bill and Josie’s wedding.
And the person we’d all been waiting for was Angelica Strummer.
the uninvited guest
When Angelica stepped onto the plane the cabin fell completely silent. Then people began to cough and rustle their newspapers to cover up the fact that they’d all been staring, open-mouthed.
Muttering apologies to the flight attendants, Angelica slid into a seat just across the aisle and slightly in front of us, explaining to the passenger next to her that she had a terribly upset stomach.
“She must have got caught short,” I whispered to Graham.
“I suppose so,” he whispered back. “If you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go. Bit embarrassing for her, though.”
I glanced at Angelica. She was sitting bolt upright, her back not quite touching the seat, arms clasped tightly across her chest as if she was literally holding herself together. Her whole face was screwed up with intense concentration and her lips were moving, as if in prayer.
“Do you think she might be scared of flying?”
“It’s a common phobia,” Graham replied. “And it might explain the stomach upset. When it comes to fear, I believe that kind of physical reaction isn’t unusual.”
I kept a close eye on Bill’s ex-wife over the top of my magazine. When we’d taken off and the seatbelt lights went out, everyone in the cabin visibly relaxed, unbuckling straps and reclining seats, making themselves comfortable for the journey. Everyone but Angelica, that is. She remained in the same position, as still as a statue. Only her lips moved. I couldn’t hear the words, but she was muttering something to herself, over and over again, which I thought could mean one of two things. She was either (a) really frightened about flying (in which case, why had she got on a plane in the first place?), or (b) up to something.
Once we’d reached the right altitude the cabin crew brought out a trolley and started wheeling it down the aisle. When it stopped beside Angelica, the flight attendant put a hand on her arm to attract her attention. Angelica looked up and there was a flash of something desperate in her eyes that made the attendant take a step back. She refused every freebie on offer with a miniscule shake of her head, then closed her eyes again and carried on muttering, arms even more tightly wrapped around herself. It was as if she was concentrating all her energies on something important and couldn’t be distracted for even one second. It was kind of spooky and reminded me of the English homework we’d been working on when Tessa’s call had come through. As I watched I began to think Angelica looked less and less like a terrified traveller and more and more like a witch. Maybe she wasn’t praying; maybe she was putting a curse on something. Or someone. Goosebumps popped up all over my arms.
“What on earth is she doing here?” I muttered to Graham. “Do you reckon she’s going to the wedding?”
“No! Can’t be…” Graham pulled a face. “It says in Hi! that the divorce was amicable – at least on Bill’s part – but surely it can’t have been that amicable. Can you imagine anyone wanting their ex-wife at their wedding?”
“No… It’s a bit of a weird coincidence, though, isn’t it? Angelica being on the same flight as us?”
“It is,” said Graham thoughtfully. “And it’s the kind of coincidence that’s inclined to make me feel apprehensive.”
“Me too.”
Things got a whole lot more awkward when we landed in Athens. For a few minutes we lost sight of Angelica – she nipped to the Ladies as soon as we got off the plane – and then we couldn’t see her in all the crush and confusion of going through passport control.
The minute we entered the arrivals lounge I noticed a huge moustached man lurking by the barrier. An impressively deep tan highlighted the contours of his razor-sharp cheekbones, and even though the sun had gone down long ago he was wearing very dark glasses. He was holding a large square of cardboard with “Sally Marshall” scrawled hastily across it in marker pen.
“Oh!” exclaimed Graham’s mum, stepping towards him nervously. “That’s me. Are you…?”
“Gregor Ravavich,” he replied smoothly, removing his sunglasses for a moment and throwing a cheesy wink at Sally. “Come.” He jerked his head towards the exit. “You are with me now.”
We fell into single file, trooping obediently along behind him, but we’d barely walked three metres when we heard someone calling out his name.
“Gregor! Gregor!” The voice wasn’t particularly commanding but it made him stop in his tracks. He turned. We all did. And there was Angelica Strummer, walking carefully towards us as if the linoleum floor was an ice rink.
“Holy Mother!” whispered Gregor, aghast. “What is she doing here?” The blood drained from his face, leaving his suntan looking like a bad paint job. Then he flushed so violently he went almost purple.
Angelica held her hands out towards him and there was nothing he could do but take them and graciously accept the air kisses she bestowed on both cheeks.
“Thanks for coming. Shall we get going?”
Gregor didn’t say a thing. He just stood there, looking horrified, as Angelica linked her arm through his. She gave a small, insistent tug and we all moved off again. The super-suntanned man seemed powerless to resist. As for us – well, Angelica hadn’t even glanced at Sally, let alone me or Graham. It was weird, but it didn’t seem to me that she was being deliberately rude. It was more that we were invisible to her. Somehow she’d got it into her head that Gregor had come to collect her, and he was way too polite to put her straight.
I’ve noticed that when grown-ups are really embarrassed, they do one of two things: either they try to wriggle out of the situation or they pretend it isn’t happening. Gregor had apparently decided on the second option. With a determined shrug of the shoulders that said “Not my problem” as clearly as if he’d shouted the words out loud, he allowed Angelica to come along.
Sally, on the other hand, attempted to take evasive action. Surreptitiously pulling her mobile from her bag, she tapped in a number and started whispering frantically into it. I could only hear her half of the conversation, but it went like this:
“Tessa! It’s me. Sally. Sally Ma
rshall. The chef! Yes. No. It was fine. Yes. Bit late but we’re on our way. Listen, Angelica’s here. Angelica… You know. Thought I should warn you.”
“No idea. I haven’t talked to her. But she seems to be coming with us.”
“Well, Gregor’s letting her. Yes, I’m sure Josie will go mad, but what do you expect him to do? Rugby-tackle her?”
“No, I can’t!”
“No, I won’t. I’m not about to start fighting a total stranger. You’ll just have to deal with her when we get there.”
Sally switched her phone off, huffed indignantly and then said to no one in particular, “This is going to be hideous! I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t come.”
“We’d have been far better off staying at home,” Graham said gloomily.
I couldn’t agree: this was riveting stuff!
It wasn’t long before we were climbing into a helicopter. Sally, Graham and I crammed ourselves into the back while Angelica took her place in the front as if it was rightfully hers.
We took off – not a particularly pleasant experience – and soared into the night, the lights of Athens twinkling below us then gradually getting further away until they disappeared altogether and we were being carried over the empty blackness of the Mediterranean.
As we flew, Angelica’s lips kept moving as they had done on the plane. And this time I was close enough to hear what she was saying, over and over, chanting in time to the whirring helicopter blades like a witch’s incantation: “She has to go. I’ll make her go. She has to go. I’ll make her go. She has to go. I’ll make her go.”
The prospect of Josie’s wedding day being the happiest of her life suddenly seemed very remote indeed.
angelica’s landing
Despite its sinister undertones, Angelica’s muttering must have had a hypnotic effect on me. By the time the helicopter landed in the garden of the massive villa, I was snoring, nose pressed against the window, mouth hanging open, neck twisted at an awkward angle, Graham’s elbow in my ear. When I woke up I thought for a second I must still be dreaming, because there, looking in at me with an amused smile warming his familiar features, was the man himself: the legendary Bill Strummer. He was wearing a battered denim jacket, faded jeans and a hat, which made him look more like a cowboy than a rock star. He seemed as soft and stylish as an old leather sofa: there was something about him that was instantly welcoming.
But there was nothing either soft or welcoming about the woman standing, stiffly protective, at his side. She nodded and threw a forced smile at Sally, baring her teeth like a Rottweiler about to attack. This had to be Tessa Whittam.
As Gregor released the door locks, Bill stepped forwards to help Angelica out. Gregor looked embarrassed, Tessa seemed plain angry, but Bill oozed pity from every pore. Pity and vast amounts of guilt. The poor man was riddled with it.
The sight of her ex-husband seemed to unhinge Angelica even further. For a second she shrank into herself, arms squeezing her chest again, eyes tight shut as if she didn’t want to look at him. Then she took a deep breath and mumbled quickly to herself, “I’m going to put a stop to all this,” before taking his outstretched hand and wrenching her face into a pathetic smile. As she stepped out I got the faintest glimpse of what she’d looked like before her husband had dumped her.
“Bill,” she said croakily. “Bill.”
“Good to see you, babe,” he said gently. Too gently. It was like she might crumble into dust if he spoke too loudly. And then he tucked her hand carefully into the crook of his arm as if she was a fragile old lady in need of support.
Beside him, Tessa looked poised and ready to attack if Angelica did anything unexpected: her fists were clenching und unclenching as she considered where to aim her first blow.
Anyone else would have tried to hustle Angelica out of sight immediately, but this was Mr Nice Guy, remember? He looked over to where Sally, Graham and I were prising ourselves sweatily off the back seats and unfolding like crumpled balls of newspaper. He smiled, apologizing for the awkwardness of the situation with his eyes. “Hey, thanks for dropping everything, Mrs Marshall. I’m dead chuffed you could come.”
“Do call me Sally,” said Graham’s mum as she stepped out, blushing and letting out an unexpectedly high giggle. One look at Bill and she’d transformed back into a schoolgirl with a crush.
“Hi guys,” he said, turning to me and Graham – who, let me remind you, everyone had completely ignored until this point. “Sorry to drag you into this. You missing school on my account?”
“Yes,” I said, adding, “a whole bunch of assessment tests. We’re really gutted about it.”
Bill threw back his head and guffawed. There’s something nice about a grown-up who genuinely laughs at your jokes, and I couldn’t help beaming back at him. That’s charisma for you. The man was irresistible. Even Graham managed one of his blink-and-you-miss-it grins.
Then Angelica shivered as if she’d been plunged into iced water.
“Hey, babe,” Bill said, full of concern. “You ain’t well. Let’s get you into the house. We’ll find you a nice room.”
“With you?” She sounded desperate.
“No, babe, not with me,” Bill’s voice was thick with embarrassment. “You know I’m with… You know I’m getting m…” Words failed him.
“Married? You’re getting married? You’re going ahead with it, then?” Angelica said flatly.
“Of course.”
“I see.” Angelica’s mouth thinned into a severe line. “I’ll stop you,” she declared fiercely. “I’ll find a way. This won’t happen. I won’t allow it.”
Bill was unruffled. “Look, we’ll get you settled in,” he said with patient concern. “Nice warm bubble bath, cup of hot chocolate. Something stronger if you need it. Then Tessa’s arranged for a doctor to come and check you out.”
Angelica tore her hand away from him. “I don’t need a doctor!” she screamed. “I’m perfectly fine!” Then she burst into hysterical sobs and fell into a dead faint.
And so it came to pass that the first Mrs Strummer entered, in a most dramatic fashion, the luxury villa that Bill had hired for his second wedding. We processed along behind him as he carried his ex-wife, swooning in his arms like the heroine of an old black-and-white movie. He passed through the double doors and into the entrance hall.
Josie Diamond was standing halfway up the marble staircase, her peachy looks marred by savage jealousy. The expression on her face announced loud and clear that she was just about ready to commit murder.
which witch?
Josie wasn’t the only person in the entrance hall. At the foot of the stairs stood an old woman who’d obviously been getting ready for bed when our helicopter landed. She was wearing a floor-length lilac nightie with matching dressing gown and fluffy slippers. When Angelica was carried in, apparently lifeless, an expression of concern creased her face. She looked very like Bill; this had to be his mother.
Concern didn’t feature on anyone else’s face, though. There was a whole herd of Z-list celebrities whose eyes were popping out of their heads with excitement. And a photographer – presumably from Hi! magazine – was happily clicking away as the drama unfolded.
Up until that point I’d been impressed by the care with which Bill had treated his ex-wife: he may have dumped her, but at least he had the decency to feel guilty about it. Then he saw Josie and everything changed.
It was as if he’d been bewitched, and I couldn’t help glancing at Josie’s hands to see if she was wielding a wand. The second he laid eyes on her, Bill was transformed. He literally dropped Angelica. Fortunately he’d reached a sort of floor-cushion-cum-chaise-longue arrangement in the middle of the hall, which broke her fall. As she rolled off it sideways, one unconscious hand hit the marble with an audible slap – but Bill didn’t notice. He moved towards his fiancée, arms outstretched, like a man in a dream. Josie was already descending the stairs and Bill hadn’t taken more than a few steps before they were face to face. He look
ed like he’d swallowed a vat of love potion: besotted, enraptured, hypnotized. One hundred per cent pure love was written across his features.
Josie, on the other hand, seemed brimful of hate. She glared at Bill’s ex, her eyes angry little slits that burned with such furious heat I was surprised she didn’t sear holes in Angelica’s dress.
She turned to Bill. “What did you bring her in here for?” Her voice wobbled as if she was trying hard not to burst into tears.
Bill’s smile was apologetic. “She’s not well, babe,” he explained. “I couldn’t just abandon her. I’m sure she won’t get in the way. Besides, we’re solid, aren’t we, you and me? We can handle this.”
Bill took Josie’s hand and she melted into him, her anger gone, hiding her face in his neck and blotting out the rest of the world. Shrugging helplessly, Bill looked over her head at Tessa, his eyebrows raised in a wordless plea for help.
Tessa tried none-too-gently to revive Angelica with a few slaps to the face. When that didn’t work she looked around the entrance hall for inspiration. Spotting a handy vase of flowers, she grabbed it and emptied the water over Angelica. Bill’s ex didn’t stir and I began to wonder if the combination of shock and stress had actually killed her. But then the doctor arrived – Doctor Psychondakis, we later discovered – and he managed to revive Angelica with a shot in the arm. The moment she came round, she hurled herself at Josie, screaming, “Get away from Bill! Leave here now!”
Josie slapped Angelica across the face and there was a sharp intake of breath from all the watching Z-listers. But despite looking so frail, Angelica proved surprisingly strong when it came to unarmed combat. With a single finger jab to her stomach Angelica folded Josie in half. She then grabbed her rival by the hair, whirling her around and around like an Olympic hammer thrower. Just as Josie was in danger of being hurled through the double doors and into the night, Tessa stepped in.
Love Him to Death Page 2