It Started at Sunset Cottage

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It Started at Sunset Cottage Page 30

by Bella Osborne


  “My thoughts entirely.”

  “What’s coking, Mummy?” asked Amy, peeping into the box.

  They were all quiet in the car on the way back from the police station and still silent as they walked into Kate’s. Kate was curled up on the sofa staring at a switched-off television, but at least she was up and dressed, which was an achievement. The three dejected figures all wandered into the living room and slumped down on the sofa. Amy crawled onto Andy’s lap.

  “You all look tired. Is the house cleaner than a dentist’s smile?”

  “It’s better than it was and we’ll be able to move back in tomorrow. I’ll fill you in later, but we’ve had a bit more excitement.”

  “I take it not in a good way,” said Kate, as all three of them shook their heads in response. “Okay, so how about takeaway for dinner, then? My treat, unless you’d like caviar?”

  “Caviar?” queried Sarah.

  “Yes, I have a whole Fortnum and Mason’s picnic basket of the stuff. Oh, except for the space where the magnum of vintage champagne was.”

  “Explain?”

  “Timothy Bloody Calder,” said Kate, pointing to the kitchen. Sarah and Amy ran out to investigate and there were whoops of delight from both of them,

  “That’s not the half of it,” said Kate to Andy. “Thankfully I managed to get them to take away the Vespa scooter and the West Highland White Terrier puppy called Marlon,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “A puppy!” shouted a flabbergasted Amy.

  The hammering on the front door had the whole house awake in seconds, hearts beating fast and dressing gowns being grabbed. Andy was first downstairs.

  “Who is it?” he shouted to the closed door.

  “Police!” Andy turned round to see Kate and Sarah freeze on the stairs. He opened the door on the chain.

  “Can I see some ID please?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m Police Sergeant Harris and this is Police Constable Bentley,” said the impossibly tall policeman as he passed their badges through to Andy, but a quick glance behind them revealed a police estate car in its full reflective glory. “We’re looking for a Mrs Sarah Greasley.”

  “Come in,” said Andy, stepping to one side. Amy huddled up to Kate on the stairs and Sarah padded across the cold tiles.

  “I’m Sarah Greasley.” She looked terrified.

  “Sorry to trouble you at this late hour, but we couldn’t get any answer on the phone numbers you left us,” said the very tall policeman. Kate took a sharp intake of breath and they all looked round.

  “I’m so sorry, I unplugged it… too many sales calls.”

  “Don’t worry, Kate, the mobiles were all switched off, too,” said Sarah. She turned her attention back to the police officers. “What do you want me for?”

  “I’m afraid there’s been a break-in at your property.” He paused instinctively to let the assembled citizens react, which they all did on cue. “It’s difficult for us to tell if anything has been stolen, but the obvious items are still in place; television, DVD. We’ve secured the property but we’ll need you to meet us there tomorrow and sign some forms.

  “Is there much damage?” asked Sarah.

  “Just a back window and a bit of mess upstairs, but nothing you can’t tidy up.”

  “We were at the station earlier today,” ventured Andy. “Do you think the two things are connected?”

  “It’s possible.” Sergeant Harris shrugged. “Apologies for the disturbance. Here’s my number. Call us in the morning and we’ll sort everything out.”

  “Thank you,” said Andy, as he locked the door behind them. “Tea and chat or back to bed?”

  “No tea for me, thanks. I’ll put Amy back to bed,” said Kate, guiding a barely awake Amy back upstairs.

  “Go on, I’ll have a coffee. I couldn’t sleep now even if you banged me over the head with a mallet,” said Sarah, following Andy into the kitchen. She sat down and pulled her legs up onto her chair. Her feet were freezing.

  “So, do you think it’s Shaun or someone else looking for the otter’s stash?” said Andy as he put the kettle on.

  “My guess is Shaun. Who else would know it was there?”

  “Fair enough. So, you’re not going home tomorrow, then.” Andy spooned coffee into the mugs and collected milk from the fridge as he waited for the kettle to finish boiling.

  “No, but you can.”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t like to leave you three, you know…”

  “We’ll be okay. The police and you aren’t far away. I know you want to get back to your place now it’s all finished.”

  “Not completely finished, but it is looking good. I’d like you to see it; you can give me a woman’s verdict.” He finished making the coffees and passed one to Sarah.

  “I’d like that. How about tomorrow?”

  Andy looked a little wrong-footed, “Uh, yeah. Okay, if you like.”

  “Well, while I’ve got a built-in babysitter.”

  “Good call! I’ll cook us a meal.”

  “That’ll be lovely. Thanks for everything, Andy. You’ve been brilliant,” and she leaned over the table very inelegantly and planted a kiss on his lips. They both let the kiss linger. Andy gave a shy smile and Sarah sat back down and sipped her coffee whilst they both stared at the table.

  Sunday was a miserable, rainy day, so Kate decided she would take Amy swimming and then to a particularly good indoor adventure playground that had near-vertical drop slides and rope swings. It was just the thing to take Amy’s mind off stuff and for her to burn off some energy. Then they would grab a hamburger and finish off with the cinema. All in all, it would be a good kid’s day out.

  Andy and Sarah met another group of police officers at her house, as planned, and, due to the weather, Sarah gave them the option of either standing in the hall or taking their boots off as she had no desire to be scrubbing the kitchen floor again anytime soon. Despite a lot of fingerprint dust on Sarah’s recently cleaned windowsill and worktop, the police hadn’t found any evidence to implicate Shaun with the break-in. But Sarah did. An old cocoa tin was lying on its side near the sink.

  “That tin was in the cupboard; it’s where we kept the food money. It was empty, but only Shaun would have known where to look.” The young officer smiled weakly and scribbled a note on his pad. Apart from the damage to the kitchen window, downstairs was unscathed. Upstairs was a different matter. The loft hatch was open and half of the remaining contents were strewn across the landing, including the pink tinsel, which Sarah quickly bundled into a carrier bag as Andy sniggered. The biggest shock was Amy’s bedroom. It had been totally trashed. Everything that had been in the wardrobe or drawers was now flung around the room. Even the bed had been stripped and dragged away from the wall. Thankfully nothing appeared to be broken.

  “So here or the loft stuff? I’ll toss you for it.” Sarah tried to smile.

  “Let’s do both together. Come on,” and Andy got hold of one end of the bed and beckoned for Sarah to take the other and they moved it back into position.

  “It can only be Shaun, so why on earth has he done this to her room?” Sarah put the bed down.

  “Beats me. I’m just glad she won’t see it like this.”

  It didn’t take them long to tidy and straighten everything up in Amy’s room and return the loft to some resemblance of order.

  “I’ll drop you back at Kate’s, then I’m off to do some shopping for tonight,” said Andy with a boyish grin.

  “Okay,” said Sarah feeling a little apprehensive, for the first time, about their planned evening together. Neither of them had mentioned last night’s kiss. It hadn’t been wild and passionate, so maybe it wasn’t worth mentioning, but Sarah wanted to know what it meant or if it meant anything at all. At least he’d invited her over for a meal for two – or had he? When Sarah thought it through she realised that she’d invited herself over. Too late now, she thought.

  Back at Kate’s, Sarah was still mulling it over. All she cou
ld do was go with the flow, let Andy lead the way and see where they ended up. Just in case that meant bedroom activity, she went wild with the hair remover and did lots of neat topiary with the razor. Sarah found it particularly hard to drag herself out of Kate’s giant bath tub, but on hearing a commotion downstairs, she was out in a flash, wrapping a towel around herself and heading onto the landing, her heart racing.

  There was someone crashing about downstairs and they weren’t worried about who heard them. Sarah heard the tea and coffee jars being knocked over in the kitchen, closely followed by what she guessed was the knives, as whoever it was worked their way along the kitchen surface.

  She didn’t know whether to confront whoever it was or just go straight for the phone. In her heart she knew it could only be Shaun. The sensible thing to do was call the police. Sarah went for the middle ground and grabbed the phone from Kate’s room, tapped in 999, but didn’t press the call button. She cautiously headed partway down the stairs.

  “Shaun, I’m calling the police!” she shouted. She couldn’t hear anything for a moment until, all of a sudden, there was the sound of more of a kerfuffle, which was heading her way. As she came eye to eye with them, she screamed. Sarah was met on the stairs by a green bird in mid-flight. It was about the size of a pigeon, with an impressive wingspan and a flash of red on its head. It was closely followed by a very determined Marmalade, who was bouncing up and down underneath it as if she was on springs. Sarah dodged the bird and threw the towel over Marmalade, who let out a screech of annoyance. Sarah, now completely naked, grabbed the struggling bundle, shoved it in the conservatory and shut the door. She was just wondering how Marmalade had managed to get in when she heard a scream behind her and spun around to see Concetta. Sarah decided to brazen it out.

  “Hi, Concetta, welcome to naked Sunday. Are you going to join me?” and she did a little catwalk pose. Concetta’s mouth opened and her jaw moved as if she was talking, but no noise was audible.

  “Can I help you? We don’t usually see you on a Sunday,” she said, a little slower this time.

  “No, I look for Endy.”

  “He’s gone home. Try calling him. Don’t let the pyscho cat back in and I’ll sort out the bird. Bye,” and Sarah walked upstairs trying hard to stifle her laughter. The poor bird was sitting on the windowsill in the bathroom, looking terrified. Up close, Sarah could clearly see that it was a woodpecker and was amazed by how beautiful it was. She had a little look over it and could see no signs of any injuries; Marmalade was gentler than she looked. Sarah opened the bathroom window as wide as it would go and then left the room, taking another towel with her. As she reached the door, the bird saw its opportunity for escape and was gone.

  Chapter 26

  Tim banged on the front door again as the ginger cat swirled itself around his legs.

  “Why don’t you have a key?” he asked it. “That would be useful, wouldn’t it?” Marmalade stalked off in disgust and disappeared around the side of the house and Tim put down the carrier bags, which were starting to cut into his fingers. He tried Kate’s home phone and he heard it ring inside. He tried her mobile again and it went straight to voicemail. A quick look round told him there were no cars on the drive, so it was likely that nobody was home.

  He stood for a moment and tried to think. He wished he did more thinking, wished he thought things through better. He was impulsive and most of the time it worked out well for him, but where Kate was concerned, it just seemed to end in mini-disaster after mini-disaster.

  Tim thought he heard something, so he peered in through the letterbox. There was no sign of anyone, but as he let it snap shut, he thought he saw some movement inside. He opened it and peered in again. There was a ginger cat, identical to the one that had just been wrapping itself around his legs, and it was sitting in the hallway staring at him. “How did you get in? Or are you a body-double?” The cat turned around, twitched its tail and sauntered off.

  Tim felt a rush of excitement; if the cat had got in, maybe he could, too. He picked up his carrier bags and almost ran around the house. On the side of the house was a large semi-circular Victorian conservatory and there was one small window that was open. Tim tried the door, but to no avail. He put down his bags and studied the window. It wasn’t too high up, about level with his head, and there was a ledge at knee-height, which must have been where the cat had jumped from. Marmalade appeared and settled down on the wicker furniture to enjoy the show, her unblinking gaze instantly putting Tim off his thought process.

  Tim picked up the first carrier bag and started to post the contents through the window. First of all, a couple of onions, a bag of carrots and some parsnips. Marmalade sat up in alarm and watched intently. Stock cubes, garlic, sage and artichokes rained down next. Tim let the two handfuls of large tomatoes go at the same time as his brain kicked into gear and he and the cat watched them explode as they hit the floor, sending juice in every possible direction. The conservatory now looked like a budget version of La Tomatino, Spain’s tomato festival.

  “Bugger!” Tim held the butternut squash in his hand and he and Marmalade stared at it. Tim had a bad feeling about this. If the impact of the tiled floor had done that to the tomatoes, then this one looked as if it could be a big problem. Tim put the butternut squash through as far as it would go and then swung his arm. The vegetable left his hand and he and Marmalade followed its trajectory until the cat realised it was heading her way and, with a brief squeal, she leapt out of its path. The butternut squash landed safely on the soft cushions of the wicker chair. Tim punched the air and Marmalade glared at him. He did the same successful lob with the lemon and the steak but, deciding he would have to get by without the glass bottles of olive oil and red wine, he left them on the step.

  It was now his turn to follow the ingredients inside. Marmalade resumed her seat to watch him. The first part was okay. He could balance on the ledge quite well and had already managed to unhook the latch so he could open the window to the full. Now came the hard part. He let the window rest on the back of his head whilst he wriggled in as far as he could. He gave a push with his feet and found himself being cut in two by the window frame and the window arm digging painfully into his back. Marmalade got a little bored and decided to investigate the items on the chair. The lemon and butternut squash were quickly dismissed, but the steak was a lot more interesting. She started to claw at the cellophane.

  “No, you little sod, leave it alone. That’s dinner!” Marmalade had a look at the shouting man who was stuck in the window and decided he was noisy but clearly not a threat. “I’m warning you!” he said, as he did some more wriggling and tried to lift himself off the window edge, which was trying its best to slice through his ribs. “Bugger!” he shouted as he hauled himself through, being careful not to balance any sensitive parts on the window edge. Tim now realised that even when he did think things through he didn’t do a very good job. He was now tilting precariously towards the tiled floor. Marmalade stopped clawing the meat packet for a moment to watch.

  “Do you know how much this face is insured for?” Tim asked a bored-looking Marmalade, who quickly returned to the meat packet, this time deciding that she’d give it a chew and see what happened. Tim realised he had to make a move now, and it was probably worse to think about what might happen than to actually do it. He pushed the rest of himself through the window and, as expected, he landed with an unceremonious and very painful thud. His hands broke the fall, but landing head-first onto Victorian tiles was never going to be a soft landing.

  “Bugger!” said Tim, as he hauled himself into a sitting position and leant against the chair to get his breath back and inspect his injuries. Marmalade had failed to get into the steak and was now rubbing affectionately around Tim’s head to see if he might like to help her. “And you can bugger off, too. You were no help!”

  After lots of inspecting, Tim decided that it was only bumps and bruises, but his right forearm was swelling up a bit. He collected his ingredient
s and ferried them into the kitchen, wishing he’d thought to bring the bag. Once inside, he realised that he could now go out of the front door and walk round and retrieve the olive oil and red wine, and he so wished he’d thought to do that for all the ingredients, especially the tomatoes. He gave a sigh, propped the front door open with a chair, just in case the bloody cat decided to shut it after him, and collected the bottles.

  Some time later, Tim found himself in a steamed-up kitchen, up to his ears in chopped veg and in charge of a very angry, spitting pan.

  “Didi, help!”

  “Tim, I can’t talk right now. We’re deciding where to put a picture.”

  “On the sodding wall. Now, listen, this is important. I’ve burnt two onions and I’m on my last one, the sage has gone all stringy and the beef is now covered in what looks like glue. What do I do?” Tim stood dressed in a spotty apron he’d found, with the phone tucked under his chin and a wooden spoon raised in the air, ready to leap into action.

  “What are you talking about? I thought you were in Italy.”

  “Change of plan. The casserole recipe you told me about, I’m making it now.”

  “Oh, heaven preserve us! Who are you trying to poison?”

  “Not helping! Onions still spitting at me here!”

  “Turn the heat down and stir them.”

  “Right, yes, that’s a little better. It didn’t say stir it.”

  “Maybe not, but it probably says get an adult to help you. You should have started off with chocolate crispie cakes.”

  “Again, not helping. What about the beef?” he said topping up his wine glass. He was glad that the recipe only needed a small amount of red wine.

  “Did you pat it dry in kitchen roll and then roll it in flour?”

  “I just rolled it in flour.”

  “Which explains the glue. Rinse it off under a lukewarm tap, pat it dry and try again. You did peel the veg before you chopped it, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not completely stupid! Thanks, bye,” said Tim, surveying the vegetables, and wondering how he was going to peel them now they were cubes.

 

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