Cross Check: The second Posh Hits story

by Caron Allan

  So I watched her finish poking her face about and come back to yank out the teabag and chuck it away, she added a splash of milk and went back to her TV programme, and I went back to my car, and drove away, my hands shaking as I gripped the steering wheel, and I wept silently all the way home.

  Ah, I’m being called for lunch! Yay, I’m starving!

  Thursday 7 August – later – 2.30pm

  So as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted …

  Actually it wasn’t rude and this new bread maker Lill has got will end up making us all the size of houses, because when it is hot from the gadget, with a bit of butter and lots of lovely chunky ham or cheese and some of Lill’s home-made chutney it is absolutely irresistible. Good thing I’m pregnant and have an excuse, though I have no idea what I’m going to do after little Thomas has arrived and I want to try to do something about my figure again.

  Anyway …

  I didn’t sleep last night. I got back late, obviously, after my little jaunt, and sat for a while in the garden-room staring out at the dark garden, not seeing it, (though obviously I couldn’t even if I’d wanted to) and not aware of anything other than a sense of exhaustion and failure. I felt as if nothing mattered. I felt as though I had lost some great prize, as if I had been utterly defeated by her. How clever, how callous, how cruel. I was completely taken in by her ‘death’ – by her and Nadina, and how many other people in on the fun? How many of those people at her memorial service were in on it too? All of them? Were they all just actors, hired for the day? What if they were, and none, not one, of them had really been her family or friends? Had this whole thing been one elaborate hoax to deceive or punish me, and only me? Even the cleaning lady? Had she been primed to tell me that she disposed of the fridge’s contents and so to reveal to me that Monica knows what I did? It’s all too much to take in.

  What I can’t seem to figure out is what happens next. I feel that she wanted me to know, that she had grown tired of the pretence and wanted her moment to crow over me. She wanted me to know – Criss Cross Cress – how clever she had been. And I fell for it – again - without a moment’s thought. But does that mean she is going to come after me now? After Matt? The children? Does she know I’m pregnant? Will we ever be safe? Oh God! What shall I do?

  My first instinct was to run, to take the children and pack up and leave, never come back, make sure no one knows where we’ve gone. I must keep the children and Matt safe above all else. It wouldn’t matter where we went, or how far, just so long as we escaped, and I would even live in a council house if I thought it would keep my family safe.

  So when I finally went up to bed, I just lay there in the darkness staring at the rectangle of the window frame and longing for the dawn to come. Every small sound terrified me. I remembered that night only a couple of months ago when she was here in my room, her gun pressed against my skin. I thought about Paddy, about Billy, lying there in their little beds, teddies tucked in beside them. The fear I felt for them made me rush to the bathroom and retch until my stomach ached. Children are so small, aren’t they, so trusting, so vulnerable? I don’t know how I can possibly keep them safe from her. I’m constantly fighting down a sense of panic.

  I sat by my bedroom window until morning.

  When Matt came into the kitchen for breakfast he took one look at me and laughed, said, “God, Darlin’, you look like you’ve been up all night partying. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

  Obviously he’s feeling better.

  I stood up, and beckoned him into the garden-room as Lill was giving the children their breakfasts. “I need to talk to you.”

  I pushed the door closed behind us, and we stood there in the dazzling morning sunlight, surrounded by flowers, birds dancing in the hedges and on the lawns, yanking out worms and scoffing bits of bread. Everyday life was going on all around us. Matt looked at me now with real concern.

  “What’s up? Cress?” He tried to take my hands, tried to lead me to a chair but I flapped my hands at him to fend him off.

  “No, I don’t want to sit down. Listen, I drove over to Monica’s last night.”

  From his expression I knew he was about to tell me I was over-reacting so instead of beating about the bush as I usually do, I said simply.

  “She’s not dead. I saw her.”

  He did a double-take. Took a moment to absorb this information. Then he sank down hard onto one of the wicker chairs.

  “Holy shit.” He said in a low voice.

  “Exactly.” I said. Now I had his full attention. His face set in a grim expression.

  “Tell me what happened.” He said. So I told him everything from the moment I arrived at Monica’s, and I told him all my thoughts, all my fears, I just poured it all out and when I had finished, I was crying and he was holding me in his arms, and we sat and stared at each other. I could tell he was wondering the same thing as me. What does this mean? What do we do next?

  Same day – much later – 11.30pm

  It’s been a strange day. Lill and Sid, clearly detecting tension, cast anxious glances in my direction several times, but, bless them, they didn’t ask any questions. I assume at some point Matt must have taken them to one side and told them what had happened to cause us so much anxiety. By evening, Lill was looking as tense as I felt, and Sid was looking grim. Mercifully, the children seem unaware.

  And on a day when all I really wanted to do was to be left alone quietly to think, everything conspired against me. I had to go to the doctor’s surgery for a blood test they’d forgotten to tell me about. It was a minor annoyance, but I felt stressed and upset and then because of that, it was discovered my blood pressure was a little high, so then I had to go and ‘have a chat’ with the Doctor, which meant hanging about for another forty minutes until she could see me. It took me quite some time to convince her I was merely upset by some bad news, in addition to being a bit run down following my cold of the previous week. I suspect she is going to keep a close eye on me.

  Then on the way back, I bumped into Henrietta coming back from the pub – I had completely forgotten it was ‘our day’. She waved away my apologies good-humouredly but paused, watching me. She seemed to expect an explanation. So I made up a half-lie about having to go to the Doctor’s with a pregnancy-related problem. She waved that away too, irritating me with a far too-patronising treatise on fussy first-time mothers. What does she know anyway, old bat? I know she meant to be kind but for once her lack of interest in the affairs of others rubbed me up the wrong way and made me even crabbier than I already was.

  And when I got home, cranky and swearing under my breath, it was to the news that Madison had rung to say she wanted to pop in this afternoon. I was annoyed Lill or Sid or Matt or even one of the children couldn’t have had the common sense to invent an excuse instead of airily saying, ‘oh yes, she’s not busy this afternoon, you’d be more than welcome.’

  I stomped off upstairs to have an afternoon rest, muttering f-words to myself and getting myself into a right old state. And then the phone rang.

  Matt came up with the phone (I refuse to have one in the bedroom – the perils of answering the phone when barely awake and fully functioning and accidentally accepting an invitation to something ghastly are all too awful to contemplate!) and handed it to me. Again, why no excuses to help me out? Do I have to do everything round here?

  It was my mother.

  OMG just when life couldn’t get any worse! Kill me now!

  “Oh Darling, how are you? It’s been such a long time, I’ve been a bit concerned.” She started off. I was too exhausted to put on my bright, happy voice, but soon came to regret that lack of effort. It took me ten minutes to partially-convince her that I was fine, and more importantly, the baby was fine. Don’t think she was fully convinced as she kept coming back to my health with useful suggestions and tips and tried to make me promise to find myself a private physician. She knew someone in Harley Street, she said. Of course she bloody did. Though knowing he
r, it was likely to be plastic-surgeon or someone who does veins.

  Out of a sense of desperation I asked how Whisper was. That was exactly the wrong topic, it immediately transpired. Mother was voluble on the subject of ungrateful teenagers, starting with me and ending with Whisper. Apparently the child is demanding a life of her own. Of all things.

  “She wants to go to University.”

  “Well, that’s a good …”

  “… In Los Angeles.” Mother said. Her voice indicated she was reclining on a swooning couch that had just been thrust under her nipped-and-tucked form by some poor, brave minion. I could picture it all too clearly. Said minion would probably be massaging her feet now. Eww! Sometimes my imagination is a curse.

  “Well, that’s not the end of …”

  “… We’ve only just left LA, and I simply couldn’t bear to return again so soon.”

  “No, I suppose …”

  “… Bloody child wants to go back on her own. ‘You stay here, Mother’, she says, ‘there’s no need to cut short your holiday, Mother,’ she says. What do you think of that?”

  “Well, I …”

  “… Exactly – a man! That’s what I thought too. You mark my words, there’ll be a man involved in this somewhere along the line. Oh, girls can be so devious, so sneaky, so conniving! Though how she’s managed to meet anyone I’ll never know. I never let her out of my sight!”

  Obviously my mother has never heard of the internet. Or Facebook. Or texting. Or – you know – the twenty-first century.

  She went on. And on. “But there’s this very pleasant older gentleman, very steady, very generous, partially disabled, so no need to worry about hanky-panky, I don’t know why she won’t at least meet him. It couldn’t hurt.”

  God, poor Whisper, must text her and see if she needs help with the air fare.

  Ten minutes later I was finally a free woman, but not before she’d said those immortal words every woman hates to hear.

  “If you’re constipated, it’ll be the iron tablets, just drink more water to flush you out and eat lots of bran flakes, that’ll keep you nice and regular.”

  “Goodbye Mother.” I said and hung up as she was gathering steam for her next onslaught. Not on my watch.

  At least I was feeling a bit calmer and you know – grounded – by the time our lovely mother-daughter chat was over. I only hope Billy and Paddy never think of me as some mad old bag who bangs on about constipation and wealthy older gentlemen who will probably not require ‘hanky-panky’. Not that they will have any difficulties finding a life-partner, they’re both so beautiful. I imagine it’s more likely we’ll be beating would-be admirers off with a stick.

  By the time Madison arrived for afternoonsies, I was back to my normal calm, considerate self again, though still absolutely knackered. I hoped she’d only stay for half an hour or so.

  She was slightly in a flap when she got here. Things really only went downhill from there. She said Henrietta had told her that I had something to tell her. It could only mean one thing.

  “You’ve found out who she is, haven’t you?” Madison demanded. Damn Henrietta, interfering old bat! How could she dump all this on me? We hadn’t even sat down by this time. I was just thinking longingly of our trip to Scotland and a few days away from all this madness, but she grabbed my arm and clutched it, her rather conventionally French-polished nails digging into my skin, her crazy eyes staring into my face in a desperate state. It looked as though she wasn’t going to sit down and drink her tea and eat her cakes nicely like a well-brought-up lady.

  “Look, Madison,” I said, still hoping against hope she would just calm herself down a bit. “Shall we just …?”

  But it was no good. She did at least sit down, but it was only so she could burst into tears. Cursing Henrietta yet again, I sat down next to Madison and put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Mads, I really am. I’m …”

  “Who is she, the bitch?” Madison snarled.

  “… afraid it’s not good news.”

  She was still gripping my arm. Her nails were really biting into my flesh. I was a bit surprised how strong she was. I’m going to have a set of bruises down my arm that would make even the most committed self-harming teenager proud. I was quite alarmed by Madison’s roller-coastering between rage and despair. Was she unbalanced? I was beginning to wonder. Maybe Sacha had good reason to seek solace elsewhere? I mean, who knows what goes on behind closed doors?

  Shaking off mental stirrings of Charlie Rich singing his signature Country ballad, I tried to hedge with, “well, Madison, I’m not sure …” because I had a bad feeling about the danger of putting precise information in the hands of a lunatic, and I really wasn’t sure I wanted her to go barging round to the Vicar’s and bash up Vanessa, even if she is doing naughties with Sacha. (And why??? I mean I know Madison’s my friend (sort of before she turned into a Psycho) but what could she or Vanessa – or anyone – possibly see in Sacha of all men? I suppose at least in Vanessa’s case she is married to Rev Steve, but even so …)

  Madison began to weep and say his name in an irksome whiny, pleading sort of way.

  “Oh for God’s sake get a grip!” I finally snapped at her. And for a few seconds she looked at me in stunned silence, then it all began again, though not quite as loud this time. She dabbed daintily at her nose with a tissue.

  “I’m so sorry,” she wailed, “I’m just so desperate to find out blah blah blah blah blah.” OMG I thought, I am sick of this already. I stopped listening.

  “It’s Vanessa.” I said bluntly. A lot more bluntly than I would have if she hadn’t driven me daft with her fuss.

  Madison stunned, stared at me, not comprehending.

  “Wh – I – no, surely – I mean, It can’t be …!”

  Then, I don’t know why, she was suddenly angry again. With me! Like it was my fault!

  “How can you say such terrible things? You should be ashamed! You’ve only lived here five minutes, I’ve lived in this village for years, and the Vicar and his wife are very, very dear friends of ours! Really, I think it’s simply horrid of you!”

  And yes, that is how she talks, like a late arrival from a Famous Five book. As if anyone says ‘simply’ anymore. I gave up. You can’t win, I decided. I sat back down on the other sofa and poured myself a cup of tea. I took one of the sweet little plates, selected a lovely little watercress sandwich and a petit-fours iced in baby pink, and settled back to look at the garden. Madison was still ranting, but I tuned her out. It had suddenly dawned on me. This wasn’t my fight. I was not to blame for this one. I was too tired and fed up to get involved. I looked out at the roses that were blooming so perfectly over the pergola, and I thought how beautiful they were. I wanted to pop out and inhale their lovely scent, but that would have been a bit rude, so I simply took another sip of my tea and stayed put.

  After a few minutes, Madison put out a shaking hand and poured herself a cup of tea. She sloshed in a drop of milk, gave it a little jiggle with a teaspoon and drank half of it down in one go. She set her cup down and sat back in her chair, hands neatly folded in her lap. Like a grown-up. At last.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “What must you think of me? I do apologise.”

  “It’s all right,” I told her. “You’ve had a nasty shock. But this isn’t my fault. You asked me to help you. I mean, you even accused me, to begin with, if you remember.”

  She sighed. “I know I did. It’s just so hard to believe it’s true.”

  “By the way, I’m really sorry,” I said, “I was completely convinced it wasn’t really true. Perhaps you just need to talk it over.”

  She looked down at her hands. Tears still brimmed over and ran gently down her cheeks and she rubbed them away with her fingertips. “Was it really Vanessa?”

  I told her it was, and related the whole story to her, and just to ensure she was totally convinced, I even showed her the pictures on my phone. She wept softly then, and that was worse, if anythin
g, than the ranting and wailing. I left her to sit alone for a few minutes to compose herself whilst I went into the den to print off the photos from my phone. She may as well confront him with the evidence. When I returned to the garden-room she was polishing off another cup of tea. I handed her the pics and she took them from me without glancing at them. She got up, hugged me and left without saying another word!

  Forty-five mins from start to finish!

  Decided to reward myself for my difficult day with a little nap. Hope Madison doesn’t do anything rash. She won’t, will she?

  Saturday 9 August – 11.45am

  Oh God Oh God Oh God!!!!!

  This is all my fault!

  Last night, after dinner, Sacha apparently popped out for a little while – and after giving him a ten minute head start, Madison followed him to the hotel where he meets Vanessa, then she burst in on them both ‘in flagrante’ so to speak and let loose with an air rifle!

  Fortunately Madison is a terrible shot so no one killed but Sacha was slightly injured by the broken glass from the lampshade and Vanessa was taken to hospital with concussion – yes, emergency services were summoned, and now Madison is in jail and Rev Steve has been sitting crying in my drawing-room the whole morning! OMG!!! He was at his wife’s side all night from the moment the police broke the awful news to him.

  Feel horribly guilty and miserable. I am an evil person.

  Have phoned Henrietta, hopefully she and Mavis will come round and sort out Stephen. Lill has been in and out with pots of tea and plates of cake. Her new, ‘new protégée’ has been wandering about with pursed lips – not happy about things, I’d say. It’s Vera all over again. This one is called Cynth. She won’t stay. Am beginning to think I’m cursed.