by Issy Brooke
“Warren was a valued member of the club who will be sadly missed,” Eric said stiffly. “That is all I have to say on the matter. Right. These dogs. Do you have any just like them, but in white?”
The handler, a young man called Peter who had some learning difficulties, frowned. “No. Poppy and Billy are brown.”
“Well, they will have to do. Come along then. Let’s get into that patch of daisies over there.”
Eric walked off, every inch of his bearing suggesting that he fully expected everyone else to simply scurry along behind him.
So they did.
Eric put his large black bag down, and began unloading far more gear than Penny thought was possible to have been stored in it. The two terriers watched as he screwed poles together, shook out a large golden circle of fabric stretched across a stiff hoop, and began to squint into the middle distance, sucking his teeth. Marge stood next to Penny and Peter, watching the show.
Marge had obviously repented of her crass questioning. She struck out on a new tack. “So, Eric, how’s your daughter getting on, now she’s back?”
He shook his head sadly, pausing in the middle holding up a small square measuring meter of some kind. “It will take her some time to get over it all. He broke her heart, the…”
“Well!” Marge interrupted his unfurling expletive. “Quite. Poor Nina. What are her plans? She’s young. She’ll soon be back on her feet. There are plenty more fish in the sea, as they say.”
“I’ve yet to meet any that are good enough for my daughter,” he said through gritted teeth. “She escaped from one heartless fool in Edinburgh only to come here and end up being pursued by … right. So, do these two dogs do any cute tricks? Where are they?”
Peter spoke up. “Poppy is doing a wee in your bag.”
“What the–”
“Eric! Please. Language,” Marge said firmly, whirling round and scooping up the surprised terrier, angling the dog’s stream with the uncanny accuracy of a mother long used to male babies. “She is just doing what dogs do.”
Penny tried very hard to keep her face straight, but she had to turn away to gain control of herself. She was putting two and two together regarding Eric and Warren’s disagreement. No doubt as soon as Eric’s daughter, Nina, came back to Upper Glenfield, Warren would have launched himself on her in his usual way. Penny was sure that Nina could handle herself just fine, but then, fathers were protective animals. And if she were the parent of a child who was being romantically menaced by someone like Warren, then she knew that she herself would have stepped in to stop it.
“My polarising filters!” Eric babbled. “My filters! My filters!”
“Would you like a tissue?” Peter asked politely.
“What a good idea. Can you run to the office and fetch some, please, Peter,” Marge said, her tone suggesting it was an order not a question, and Penny knew she was getting the young lad out of the way before Eric exploded into any more inappropriate language. He seemed exactly the sort of person who wouldn’t care who he offended, and Penny’s assumption was proved right as he began to turn the air blue.
Penny shook her head as she met Marge’s eyes. Marge tutted. “There is no need for that, thank you.”
She had a school mistress’s tone of voice, and Eric’s swearing was lowered as he knelt and began to mop out his camera bag.
His profanity turned into a litany of complaints, half-heard and barely coherent, to Penny’s mind. She tuned him out and looked around the field. The portly man had finally caught up with the playful Jack Russell terrier, and was coaxing it along a small wooden bridge. The dog had realised it was the centre of attention and was playing up to the camera like a pro. In a patch of dappled sunlight, a Dalmatian was lying on its back, showing everyone next week’s washing, as it were, while a very elderly and frail-looking woman took photos from an angle that Penny thought they would probably have to censor.
Then she spotted a slender, dark haired young woman making her way over the field, moving slowly and looking around, one hand held over her brow to shield her eyes from the sun. In the other hand she was carrying a clipboard. When she turned, Penny recognised the figure to be Nina, Eric’s daughter. She wondered if Nina was looking for her father, so she waved and began to walk towards her.
“Hi, Nina!”
Nina looked a little blank at first, but she smiled politely. “Hello. Er…”
“It’s Penny. We spoke in the shop. I’ll be doing the layout and design…”
“Oh yes!” Nina shook her head and coloured slightly. “I remember. I am so sorry. I’ve been so distracted lately.”
“You’ve been through all manner of terrible things,” said a growling voice by Penny’s shoulder. Nina flicked her eyes to him, and then back to Penny.
“It’s okay, dad,” Nina said. “Everything will work out fine.”
“But at what cost?” he intoned ominously.
Penny felt somewhat uncomfortable as Eric came alongside her, and began to speak. “My poor daughter. My poor dear Nina. We wanted to keep her with us, but if you love something, set them free; that’s what my wife said. And off she went to study in Edinburgh … and never came home. Until now. You’re safe here in Glenfield, Nina.”
“Dad! This is embarrassing. Please stop.” Nina was a bright red now, and Penny felt herself blush in sympathy.
But Eric’s public humiliation of his daughter wasn’t done, yet. “Hardships make us stronger, and you will become a better woman. I just wish that I’d been there for you. I’ve failed as a father.”
Nina closed her eyes for a few seconds, and inhaled deeply, obviously gathering her patience. When she opened her eyes again, she said, “No you haven’t.” And before he could argue, she went on, rapidly. “Right, I’m here to note down how many shots we get of different dogs. It would be great if we could do all the photos today, but I somehow doubt it.”
“Oh, we definitely won’t get everything done,” Eric said glumly. “I don’t think we’ll get a single useable shot. What is Irene doing with that spotty dog?”
“Trevor’s doing well with the Jack Russell,” Nina said, pointing across the field.
“Now that he’s caught up with it,” Penny said.
Eric shook his head. “The light is too bright, too flat, too harsh. The dogs are … haphazard. This is too big a task. That dimwit Warren should never have… oh, I’m sorry, my love, I didn’t mean to bring up his name. It must be so upsetting for you.”
Nina shrugged. “Not really. I barely knew him. I’m sorry he’s dead, though.”
“I’m…” Eric swallowed whatever he was going to say, but it was obvious.
I’m not.
Well, thought Penny, as she left father and daughter to their ongoing conversation, it was a normal reaction on Eric’s part, if Warren had made a move on Nina, although it was still speculation by Penny.
Who was she kidding? Warren would have leaped upon Nina the moment her feet crossed the parish boundary.
I ought to ask her, Penny thought, and then stopped herself.
No. NO! I am not meddling, remember? In spite of what everyone around here seems to believe.
“Penny for your thoughts!” Lucy, the dippy shop manager, said as she appeared out of nowhere, floating along in her pristine cloud of chiffon and airiness. “Oh! Isn’t that funny! It’s your name, too. Fancy that!”
Like I have never heard that before, Penny thought, but kept it to herself. Lucy meant no harm. “Nothing, really. I’m a spare part. The photos are being sorted. Marge is dealing with the dogs and the photographers. Eric is trying to be in charge. What a very … forceful sort of man he is.”
Lucy shuddered. “He must be a Taurus, that one. And always so negative! Poor Nina.”
“Poor Nina indeed – he kept saying that. What happened in Edinburgh? He just alludes to something quite horrible.” Penny didn’t like to speculate. You only had to watch the news for ten minutes to think that the whole fabric of society was on the br
ink of collapse.
“To be honest … I don’t know. She split up with her boyfriend. That’s all.”
Penny pursed her lips. “If I had only met Nina, I’d believe that. But her dad thinks it’s the end of the world.”
“Yes,” Lucy said. “But that’s dads, isn’t it?”
Penny thought that was the most insightful thing Lucy had said for a long time.
“How’s the shop? Are you opened to the public yet?” Penny asked.
“Nearly. That’s why I came to find you. Can you come and help out?”
“Of course.”
Penny followed Lucy back to the long, low building that housed a café at one end and the gift shop at the other. It was on the opposite side of a courtyard to another, larger building where the administration offices and staff rooms were. Already, lots of people were milling around – volunteer dog walkers, people wanting to look at the dogs available for adoption, and general supporters who liked to visit every weekend and bring bric-a-brac for the second-hand area in the gift shop.
Penny had to steel herself for what she knew was coming. And her prediction was correct. She spent the rest of the day trying to convince every other customer that she had no interest in the Warren Martin case at all.
And in between the questioning, she checked her mobile phone to see if she had a message from Drew.
Still nothing.
Chapter Four
On Monday, Penny took herself off up to Lincoln to meet Cath for lunch. She had a car and also a motorcycle. The weather was still hot and humid, and though she didn’t want to drive, she resented sliding into layers of protective motorcycle clothing. Her summer textile jacket claimed to be “lightweight” but with the armour and padding and technical fabrics, it seemed to weigh a ton.
Kali got excited as soon as Penny pulled out her motorcycle boots, and went to stand by the front door, her tail – and, indeed, her hindquarters – wagging furiously.
“Sorry,” Penny told her as she pulled the helmet onto her head. “Not today.”
Kali’s tongue lolled as she panted with anticipation.
“No,” Penny repeated. “You’re staying at home.”
Kali slunk off to the kitchen. The lino floor was cool and she had a shady spot to hide in, under the table. She loved riding in the sidecar of Penny’s vintage M21 motorbike, but Penny didn’t want to drag her up to the city in the current heatwave. She didn’t particularly want to be wearing motorbike gear in the heat, either. But as soon as she fired the old beast into life, her stomach did its usual flip, and she couldn’t wait to get going.
Riding the old steel steed made her young again, in the way that nothing else ever could. She had ridden bikes – old ones, classics – since her early twenties. It had been an act of rebellion then, and it still was, now. The past decade of her career, she’d given up her bikes, so it was one of the first things she bought when she moved to Upper Glenfield. Here she was, at an age when she was expected to be at the pinnacle of her career, planning for retirement in a decade or so, sending children to university perhaps, and instead she had given up her London lifestyle for a quiet cottage in a rural corner of Lincolnshire.
The M21 didn’t go fast but she was a steady old bike, well-maintained and lovingly restored. Penny chugged up the back roads to the cathedral city of Lincoln. The journey was longer, but now she had the cooling wind blowing through her helmet and the open vents in her jacket, it was paradise. The bike thumped its way through the classic English villages that nestled in the rolling hills of Lincoln edge, where the landscape rose to a long ridge before dropping eastwards into the endless flat fenlands for miles before eventually blurring into the sea.
This was freedom, she thought. I could go anywhere.
Although … part of the point of all that was missed when people didn’t know how free she was. She knew that people turned their heads when she rode past them, and she liked that. She had to admit it to herself; she revelled in her rebellious status. It wasn’t that she wanted to shock people, not exactly.
But it was nice when she did.
Lincoln’s road system was as horrific as ever, but it mattered far less when you were riding a great bike and were in no particular hurry. She cruised along, her visor pushed up, glad of the sunglasses to keep stray flies out of her eyes. She was beginning to know the best parking areas, now, and made her way to the shopping area at the bottom part of town.
Lincoln was a city of two halves, and she loved the older, top part the best. The Bailgate area around the castle and cathedral was a haven of narrow cobbled streets and secret shops. Tourists came, of course, to view the Magna Carta and the great Bishop’s Eye window in the cathedral, but they came in far fewer numbers than she had expected. Many overseas visitors bypassed Lincoln; instead they followed a well-trodden path from London to York, via Oxford, and if they were really keen they stayed in the UK an extra day and “did” Edinburgh too. It was a shame, but on the other hand, it kept Lincoln fresher and freer than some of the crowded honeypots of the other cities.
Today, though, she was meeting Cath on a yacht converted into a floating restaurant which was usually moored at Brayford Pool. She left the bike in a secure parking area, paying a little extra to use a car park that had a real live security guard on site rather than a broken CCTV system and a wire fence. She stripped out of her jacket and carried it over her arm, her helmet dangling from her hand, as she walked through the streets to the trendy area around Brayford Pool.
Penny spotted Cath from behind as she came out of a side road and turned onto the street in front of her. Penny hailed her with a piercing yell, and at least three other people turned as well.
Cath grinned and waited for Penny to catch her up. “My goodness, you look hot.”
“In a complimentary sense or a ‘you are a menopausal woman, what on earth do you think you’re doing’ sort of way?”
“Mostly the second, sorry,” Cath said. In her baggy shorts and loose tee-shirt, she looked like she’d just been interrupted halfway through a slobby day at home. Unless she was on duty, when she’d wear a sober suit, Cath tended to dress down. Her focus was not on clothes or such niceties. As far as Penny could tell, Cath’s priorities were her family, and then her job. Everything else was simply optional icing on an already rather good cake.
“Have you eaten here before?” Penny asked as they boarded the yacht. It was wide and long, and brilliant white. “Is it really a good idea to serve food on something that is always moving slightly?”
“I haven’t been here but Ted at work recommended it. But he did say to check the weather forecast first.”
“I am not surprised.”
They were met on the deck by a strapping, athletic girl in a smart waitress’s uniform, except that it was nautically blue and white rather than black and white. She had a slight Polish accent and perfect English. “A table for two? This way please.”
It was good to be spending time with her friend again, Penny reflected as they went through the rigmarole of menus and drinks and orders and cutlery organisation and all the other business of getting food. When the salads were delivered to the table, Penny sat back, her fork in her hand, and eyeballed Cath until she looked up.
“What?” Cath said, suspiciously.
“You haven’t told me to stop meddling again yet. Do you want to get it over with now?”
“Are you meddling?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t need to tell you to stop. I already did. Once was enough.” Cath speared some lettuce. “You know, I can’t feel the boat moving at all.”
“I know, it’s weird, isn’t it?” Penny glanced out of the round window to her side. The level of the water was disconcertingly high but everything was calm and still. “It’s just that everyone else in Upper Glenfield has been chasing me around talking about poor Warren Martin, and even you called me to warn me to stay away. And the thing is, you know, I have no intention of looking into it. Why would I?”
“Why, indeed,” Cath said mildly.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I suppose we all assumed you’d get the bug, that’s all.”
“Huh. No, I am busy enough, thank you very much. And I don’t appreciate everyone making assumptions about me.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. How’s the salad?”
“It needs more calories and fewer bits of green,” Penny said darkly. “But it does leave space for the pistachio ice cream I saw on the menu, so there’s that. Anyway. Tell me about work. How are things?”
Cath shrugged. “Apart from the Warren Martin case, of course…”
“Of course…”
“Well, it’s the usual, run of the mill, low level stuff that is everyday policing. There’s a spate of harassments going on.”
“In Upper Glenfield or here?” Penny asked. Cath was based in Lincoln, mostly.
“Both, as it happens. Actually the Lincoln one is just some person apparently lingering outside someone’s house, and no one knows who or why. Or even if it really is anyone at all. Frankly, the main witness – the only witness – is a teenage girl. It’s probably some boy from her class at school. Or a shadow. Who knows? One of my lads spent half an hour coaxing a hedgehog out from under his bed, and it turned out to be a pair of rolled up socks.”
“What about the Glenfield one? I haven’t heard of any harassment, I think.” Penny felt affronted. It was a small town and she expected to have heard the gossip.
“I can’t tell you the name but you’ll hear it, I’m sure, if you ask around. It’s an older chap who lives alone and someone’s phoning him up. Silent calls, you know? And a bit of low level vandalism, painting on his fence, stamping on his flowers. It’s the really petty, targeted kind of stuff that makes my blood boil.”
“That is horrible,” Penny said, feeling her own anger rise. “Go on. If it’s common knowledge, you can tell me his name.”
“I’ll be sacked if I tell you it’s Reg Bailey.”
“So don’t, then. See if I care.”