by Evie Evans
“No, I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Shall I save you some dessert? There’s brandy cream.”
The thought of that made me let out another groan.
“I’ll leave you to it,” my aunt said. I heard the door bang as she left.
“You know who I think the police should talk to about Tina’s death, anyway,” the conversation outside my cubicle started up again.
“You’re convinced it was them?” the second voice asked.
This sounded interesting. Suddenly I was all ears, and stopped mid-, well, I probably don’t need to give too much detail.
“Oh, absolutely. But they never speak to the right people, the police,” the first woman answered. “No doubt they’ll get away with it.”
“I know, the police are hopeless.” It was the second woman again. “Perhaps you should do an anonymous tip or something?”
I couldn’t stand it anymore. “You can tell me,” I shouted through the cubicle door, “I’ll pass it on.”
There was the sound of rustling and footsteps, then a door banging shut.
“Hello?” I called but to no answer, they’d left.
I tried to rush but the curry had its own agenda. By the time I made it out, the dessert plates were being cleared away and there was no way of telling who the two women I’d overheard in the loo were. Unless… I rushed over to my aunt who was talking to an elderly woman I didn’t know.
“Aunt June−”
“Jennifer isn’t feeling very well,” she explained to the woman.
“I need to ask−” I tried to interrupt.
“You missed a lovely dessert,” my aunt went on, regardless, “the brandy cream was gorgeous…”
For a moment, I debated going back to the toilet again.
“…in fact the whole meal was good.”
“Yeah, did you see who was in the toilet?” I finally managed to ask.
“No, who?”
“There were two women in there.”
“Were there?”
Argh. “Didn’t you see them?”
“I didn’t really look, I was worried about you. Are you alright now?”
Pulling out a nearby chair, I sat down, gingerly, defeated.
“It’s not the same without Tina here,” the other woman told my aunt.
“Of course, we miss her,” my aunt agreed.
While they talked, I considered what I had done to deserve such a lousy evening.
“I hope they catch her murderer soon, I just don’t feel safe,” the other woman said, “do you?”
“Oh, I don’t let these things bother me,” Aunt June told her. “You just have to carry on.”
“I heard they questioned Shirley’s husband about it,” the other woman whispered, glancing round at a nearby table where a faded, washed out looking woman was sitting alone. “I always thought he was a bit funny sometimes. Terrible, isn’t it, to think you could be standing next to a murderer?”
I perked up again. This place had suddenly become a veritable hotbed of gossip about Tina Lloyd’s murder. I’d never dreamt it would be possible to get so much out of a turkey dinner.
“Shirley’s husband?” I queried hopefully.
Kate O’Neill interrupted us before my aunt or the other woman could answer. “Are you coming to our party tomorrow night ladies? Jennifer?” My name was tacked on in a voice that sounded as if she was hoping I’d say no.
“Oh yes, I’ll be there, wouldn’t miss it.” Aunt June answered. “I don’t know about Jennifer.”
Until two minutes ago, wild horses wouldn’t have been able to drag me to that party. Now I realised what a potential goldmine of information it could be. “Sure, count me in,” I said.
“I did hope she may have some friends of her own by now, but there you go,” my aunt told them.
“Aunt June!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eye on her.” My aunt dropped her voice to a loud whisper. “There won’t be any repeat of ‘last time’.”
I was rooted to my seat, mortified to be spoken about like that when I was sitting right there. Luckily, Frank barged in and stole Kate away before my face could get any redder and air traffic control started directing planes my way. I stared at my aunt.
“What?” she asked innocently.
“What was it you were saying about Shirley’s husband?” I asked the other woman I still hadn’t discovered the name of. “He’s not called Paul, is he?”
“I’d really better be going,” she said, looking at her watch. “I didn’t realise how late it was.”
“Yes, we’d better get off too,” my aunt announced. “Kostas said he was coming over later.”
“Is Shirley’s husband called Paul?” I almost shouted as my aunt picked up her coat and started putting it on.
“No, he’s Gordon. Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, just another idea bites the dust.”
“Are you sure you’re alright? You have been a bit funny tonight.”
“Well, the napalm curry didn’t help.”
“Ready to go?” my aunt asked expectantly, clutching her handbag.
I really wanted to go around the room and eavesdrop on people’s conversations now I’d realised they may be talking about Tina Lloyd, but the curry was threatening to start round two, so I gave in.
“Thank you, Jennifer, that was a lovely Christmas dinner. I can’t imagine what the ladies were thinking making the curry so hot, though. It was a shame you missed out on your turkey.”
“Hmm,” I seethed from the passenger seat. My aunt was driving us home so my hands were free to clutch my stomach.
“You’re not upset about what I said to Kate? You told me yourself you’d had a row with Addi, and Vara didn’t want to hang out with you.”
“I don’t need you to point out I’m a bit short on the friend front, I am well aware of that.” I shifted in my seat to make the ache in my stomach more comfortable. “Ever since certain…incidents back home, I’ve found it hard to open up and trust people, that’s all. It’s just something I need to work on.”
“When are you going to tell me about it, what happened back home? It might help to get it off your chest.”
Will it heck. “One day.”
“Well, I don’t mind you tagging along with me in the meantime,” Aunt June added.
Could my life get any sadder?
The answer, of course, was yes. Frank and Kate’s party was a definite low point. I’d anticipated the inevitable sea of white hair and corduroy (I’m surprised more house fires aren’t started at OAP get-togethers, the amount of static electricity their clothing can produce). Even the overwhelming scent of herbal cough sweets in the air didn’t phase me. It was the cry of ‘Christmas Karaoke’ that did me in. And this time, there was no bottle of gin to fall back on, I’d had to promise my aunt not to touch a drop. I watched the rush to bagsy the best songs with a feeling akin to despair.
Cast adrift in a sea of what appeared to be the world’s largest gathering of geriatric Elvis fans with only a lemonade to comfort me, I decided it was now or never and began my task of undercover interrogation. Fools rush in, I believe.
Sidling around the room, I couldn’t hear any conversations about Tina going on, everyone seemed obsessed with the latest episode of a new reality show that had been on satellite television earlier. I could see I would have to subtly steer the conversations in the right direction.
One group of women were talking about ‘the cute one’ in ‘Say It Isn’t So’. I wasn’t sure if that was a boy band or a new campaign at the health clinic but decided to shoulder in.
“How’s the world treating you?” I managed to ask one standing on the edge of the group. “All ready for Christmas?”
“I wish,” she replied, looking me over. “Funny how time slips away, I’m nowhere near ready, I haven’t even got my sprouts yet. It won’t seem like Christmas without them.”
“No, how true.” I couldn’t imagi
ne where you got sprouts in Cyprus. “How do you feel about Tina’s killer still being on the loose?”
“How do you think? How would you like to be looking at people you know, wondering if they were involved?”
“I understand just how you feel.”
“Really? Well, perhaps your lot should hurry up and catch the killer,” she went on, “That’s what they’re there for, isn’t it?”
I hadn’t realised my job at the police station was so well known. “Yes, of course…” Before I could say any more, she turned back to the rest of the group, shutting me out.
Undeterred, I did another lap of the room. It was starting to get a bit livelier as the alcohol went down. Sporadic bouts of jiving were breaking out here and there, artificial hips clicking along to the beat of the music. It meant a little less conversation was going on. Pushing past one group, I had to dodge one old man’s hands as he tried to grab me to dance with him.
“Let yourself go!” he yelled at me over a snail’s pace version of ‘Jailhouse Rock’.
“Or, just let me go,” I told him, pulling my hands out of his reach and making for the far end of the room.
It was a bit quieter here and, by and by, after a few minutes loitering by Frank and Kate’s christmas tree, I made out snippets of a conversation that sounded promisingly as if it was about Tina Lloyd.
“I wasn’t surprised… the way Tina lived her life… happen one day.” Leaning around the tree, I could see the speaker was an elderly woman in a red blouse. She was talking to a slightly younger looking man with dark, slicked back hair. I put back the bauble I’d been pretending to examine and stepped quickly over.
“I couldn’t help hearing you speak of Tina.” I began, trying to wedge myself between them. “She was lovely, wasn’t she?”
“Knew her, did you?” the woman in red asked.
“Well… of her, shall we say. I’ve heard a lot of her. Lovely and a lively woman too, I believe.”
“Yes, you could say that.”
Neither of them seemed very keen to talk to me. “How would you describe her?” I asked both of them.
The man looked away.
“It’s not all that suitable for a Christmas party,” the woman in red said.
“Talk about the good times, then.” I didn’t care, I was desperate for any information.
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Oh, go on. I won’t tell anyone.”
She gave me a look. “But you work for the police.”
“So I do.” My undercover mission seemed to have hit a bit of a snag. Did everyone here know? I thought of my next move. “Have you seen Paul?” I asked, looking around as if searching for someone.
“Paul? Paul who?”
“Oh, you know, Paul whatshisname, he was a friend of Tina’s too.”
The old lady looked at me. “I don’t know any Paul.”
Her companion put his hand on her arm. “This is our dance, dear.” Giving me a filthy look, they moved towards a group dancing at the front.
So close, yet so far. There were too many suspicious minds round here and not enough of the old community spirit. Now I wanted people to talk about Tina Lloyd, no one was interested. I felt like jumping on a table and shouting at everyone for not helping the police. Between them, they probably knew enough information to work out who the murderer was. It would make an interesting kind of party game anyway. Seeing our hostess nearby, I suggested to Kate this new version of the murder mystery. She looked at me as if I had grown a second head.
“I’m not proposing a vigilante group or anything,” I tried to reassure her.
“This is a party,” she said. Her voice sounded a bit funny, almost robotic.
“You don’t want to get everyone together, then? Discuss the murder?”
She stared at me until I walked away, and for a little time after that.
It seemed a good moment to leave. Looking round for Aunt June, I eventually found her dancing with Kostas to another Elvis song, something about tonight being so right for love. This was an escape just in time. Interrupting the lovebirds, I handed over the car keys. “I’m leavin’, I’ll walk home.”
17 Always On My Mind
I realised I had gone a little too far back there, but solving this case had become a bit of an obsession with me. There just wasn’t enough going on in my life, I suppose - no man, no friends, not a very challenging job, no English language television – it left me with too much time on my hands. Too much time to obsess about a murder case.
Not that I was getting anywhere with it. Okay, I admit it, I’d pictured myself steaming in, solving the case from under the nose of the police force, and earning a fair amount of kudos. Yes, I’d even imagined posing for that photo being presented with the key to the city, for the front page of the newspaper. Like I said, I had too much time on my hands.
This detecting lark was proving a lot more difficult than I’d thought. On the walk into town, I mulled over the notes I’d read in the file again. Tina’s sister wasn’t the nicest person I’d ever met but her alibi had been checked and there was no motive (so far). I wondered what her son was doing for Christmas. No, I told myself, you’re not getting on that roundabout again. What about Simon Richards? He’d been pretty aggressive. He was the sort to fly off the handle and do something rash. He didn’t feel like a killer though.
Without realising it, I’d taken the road that led to the seafront. It wasn’t the quickest way home. Perhaps I did realise it, perhaps there was some Freudian thing going on here because I was about to walk past the one place I’d been avoiding since my arrival. There was a light on inside, it looked open. I came to a halt outside the internet café and decided this must be what they call destiny.
Cutting off my old life had been pretty sudden and absolute. Maybe it was the novelty of being in Cyprus wearing off, or maybe it was just because it was Christmas, but I’d been thinking of back home more and more the last few days. It would be nice to hear from some old friends, especially after that bloody awful party. And now here I was.
The man inside looked pleased to see me. In the age of wi-fi and smart phones he was probably grateful for all the business he got. When I thought of all the time I used to spend on my smart phone, checking my social media accounts, reading about what other people were having for breakfast and what they were doing with their hair, I felt a little pang of sadness, that was a large gap in my life.
Waiting at my terminal for the latte I’d ordered, I was surprisingly jittery. Getting back in touch was a big step. What had my friends thought about my sudden departure? What news would await me? Instead of plunging straight into poking and tweeting, I thought I’d ease myself in gently, do things the old fashioned way, use email. I entered my id and password and clicked log in. My heart sank at the message I saw.
‘Wrong password entered’ it read. Damn technology. Whoever said ‘Progress peaked with frozen pizza’ was right.
It had been so long since I’d used the email account I had a sinking feeling I wasn’t going to remember it. After thinking for a second, I typed the password again.
‘Wrong password entered’ came back once more. Would it lock me out totally if I failed on the third try?
I stopped, not knowing what to do – try the password again or go to one of my social media accounts? They had the ability to track where you were; one used to flag when friends were nearby in a scary, stalkerish way. Forget that, I wanted to find out what was going on not alert everyone to my whereabouts. I took a deep breath and tried to remember the last time I’d used the password.
It had been in Swindon. I’d just come back from his house. It was the moment I’d decided getting out of the country was a good idea, especially after what I’d just done. I’d logged on and sent a ‘Goodbye world’ message to pretty much everyone in my address book after I’d changed and burnt the clothes I’d been wearing. I could almost visualise the password I’d entered that evening.
; There. I typed it quickly before it went again. This time it went through and my account loaded. I had 112 unread messages. So, some of my friends had tried to get in touch, that gave me a warm feeling.
The first few emails were from eBay telling me to add reviews for things I’d bought ages ago. I deleted them. The next was from an online store telling me of the great sale they were having. I deleted that too. And so was the next, and the next. Were any of these emails actually for me? After I’d deleted the spam, I had 9 messages left. Not much for almost three month’s absence. I left, depressed.
It wasn’t the taste of home I’d hoped for. On the climb up the hill to the villa I thought how replaceable friends seemed to be nowadays. My so-called friends certainly seemed to have replaced me. The path got darker and darker as I went up. At first it seemed like a metaphor, reflecting my lonely way in life. Then it just seemed downright dangerous, soon I couldn’t actually see where I was going.
“Crappin’ hell,” I shouted, stumbling off the path into a ditch. Even better, it was witnessed by someone.
“Are you alright?” Helena, our neighbour, asked, leaving the bin she’d been wheeling outside her house and walking over to where I was trying to pick myself up from the ground.
“I’m okay, thanks,” I said.
She gave me a hand to stand up. As I put my weight on my foot, I felt a sharp pain stab through my ankle.
“Ooh, aah. It’s alright, I can make it.”
“Hold on, I’ll get my son,” she told me.
I’d only gone a couple of wincing steps when Michalis came running over.
“You have to be careful, walking around here in the dark,” he pointed out.
Remembering it was the season of goodwill, I bit back my response and limped on.
“Let me give you a hand,” he said, and before I had a chance to protest, he’d grabbed my hand and draped my arm over his shoulder. I can’t deny it was a lot easier having someone help to take my weight.
We limped up to my aunt’s villa, his arm about my waist, my hip bumping into his thigh (he was a bit taller than me) at regular intervals. I felt vaguely embarrassed at this close proximity considering I had only spoken to the guy once before. After assuring him I could manage when we got to my doorstep, I thanked him and levered myself inside, promptly falling onto the hall floor in an inept manoeuvre I hoped he hadn’t seen.