‘Who was it?’ Simon asked the pillow.
‘The vicar. He wants to know how I’m getting on with this Serendipity do.’
Simon struggled up into a sitting position and blinked at her. ‘How are you getting on? You haven’t mentioned it since your last trip to the hall.’
‘There’s a reason for that,’ said Pippa. ‘I haven’t done anything. I’ve been too busy beating myself up over the fete and trying to work out who sabotaged it. Plus I’d rather not organise another event until the saboteur is caught.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said Simon. ‘The rev will hunt you down till it’s done. He’s a guided missile for good works.’
‘Oh God,’ said Pippa. ‘Sorry,’ she added, looking up.
She received an unexpected reply; a sharp wail from the direction of Ruby’s room. ‘Aaaaaand there’s the alarm. Time to get up. Again.’
After breakfast they went to the supermarket, securing Freddie’s cooperation with the promise of a cake in the cafe. ‘Right,’ said Simon, revving the handle of the shopping trolley. ‘Brm-brm-brm-brm.’ Ruby, in the trolley seat, laughed and batted at his hands. ‘Let’s go!’ He set off at a good pace, Freddie trotting alongside. Pippa followed, but her eye was caught by a familiar name on the news stand. She stopped dead.
MY HOSPITAL HELL: EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH DEV HARDMAN, screamed the cover of a glossy celebrity magazine. Dev was pictured sitting up in bed in the black pyjamas, his hands folded on the white sheet and a brave smile on his face. Below was a blurred shot of him on the stretcher, heading for the ambulance. Well, it could have been anyone, but the grass and trees in the background gave it away. Her hand reached for the magazine —
‘You’re not buying that, are you?’
‘Don’t do that!’ Pippa glared at Simon.
‘Do what? I just came back for you. I thought we were shopping.’ His eye fell on the magazine. ‘Ah.’
Pippa picked it up and turned to the story. ‘“I may never cook again”: Dev Hardman reveals all about his brush with death and the possible legacy.’
‘“Brush with death”,’ scoffed Simon. ‘He threw up after too much cake!’
‘Ssh,’ said Pippa, reading on.
‘Mummy!’ Freddie shouted. ‘You can’t read them without paying!’
‘I’m not!’ cried Pippa. But the man at the customer service desk was giving her a hard stare. He said a few words to his colleague, then made a beeline for Pippa.
‘Thanks, Freddie,’ snapped Pippa, throwing the magazine into the trolley and moving off at speed.
‘But it’s true!’ Freddie said, at maximum volume.
‘Freddie. Stop shouting, or no cake.’
Freddie clamped his mouth shut and stomped along behind them. At least he’s quiet.
‘That was a bit harsh,’ said Simon, in an undertone.
‘Maybe,’ said Pippa, reaching for a packet of pasta, ‘but he needs to learn you can’t accuse people of things for no reason.’
‘You don’t think this is getting to you, just a little?’ said Simon, tapping Dev’s brave smile.
‘It’s possible.’ Pippa sighed. ‘I should be used to this media circus stuff. I’ve seen enough of it. I don’t know why I’m even surprised.’
‘You can read it in the cafe,’ said Simon. ‘After we’ve paid.’ He winked at Freddie, who gave him a brave smile which was an almost exact copy of Dev’s.
Pippa had an almond croissant with her coffee and magazine. She had hoped to fob Ruby off with a rusk or fruit puree, but Ruby had seen Freddie’s chocolate muffin and was resisting Simon’s attempts to feed her. ‘Wa-wa-wa-wa,’ she said, leaning out of her highchair and swiping for the muffin. ‘WA-wa-wa.’
‘Here, Ruby,’ said Freddie, putting a little bit on the tray of her highchair.
Ruby picked it up. Half fell off, but she managed to get most of the rest into her mouth. For a moment she looked confused, then her jaw started to move, and bitty brown dribbles trickled down her chin. Pippa pushed Ruby’s cup towards her, and when she drank from it, more muffin fell out.
‘I’m sure she liked what she had,’ said Simon. ‘Go on Pip, drink your coffee before it gets cold.’
Pippa picked up her cup and reopened the magazine. Dev’s exclusive interview wasn’t actually very long. Most of the four-page spread was taken up with photos of Dev; on a motorbike in a rugged landscape; at a cookery show; in a dinner suit, receiving an award; standing against a brick wall for no apparent reason.
‘So what is the possible legacy?’ asked Simon. ‘Apart from this magazine deal, of course.’
‘Haven’t got to that yet.’ Pippa scanned the columns. ‘Oh. Oh dear.’
‘Come on, out with it.’
‘Well, the vomiting thing may have brought on a psychological reaction to eating. Especially new things. He says “At the moment I’m just eating foods that feel safe. Toast, biscuits, ham sandwiches, fruit. I couldn’t look a piece of meat in the eye. I’m worried it’ll happen again. I’m having lots of protein shakes, though, and the doctors are doing great things. I’m hoping with therapy I can get over this and come back fighting.”’ Pippa bit her lip. ‘I feel bad now.’
‘He’s probably exaggerating,’ said Simon. ‘Isn’t it normal to stick to bland food for a while if you’ve had any sort of gastro trouble?’
‘It is, actually,’ said Pippa. ‘Given how many times Freddie’s had a tummy bug, I should know that by heart.’ She took a bite of her croissant, and felt a little guilty.
‘He’ll be eating sweetbreads and caviar in a couple of weeks,’ said Simon.
‘Yes,’ said Pippa, her gaze drifting back to the magazine.
There was still something not quite right, though. Something missing. ‘I know what it is,’ she said, at length. ‘Someone like Dev, you’d expect a photo of him with a glamorous girlfriend. That’s the vibe he gives off.’
Simon peered at the magazine, which for him was upside down. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘Maybe he wants to keep his private life private.’
‘Maybe,’ said Pippa. ‘I’m surprised Dahlia lets him. She probably makes her clients sign a contract in blood.’ She closed the magazine before Ruby could dribble on it. ‘Let’s get this stuff home.’
The effort of mashing up a piece of muffin had exhausted Ruby, who was fast asleep in her carseat by the time they got home. Simon lifted the carseat out very gently, as if Ruby were a bomb. ‘You get the door, I’ll take her up.’
Pippa found her keys and let Simon in, then unbuckled Freddie. ‘You can put the TV on, but quietly,’ she said. ‘Don’t wake your sister.’ Freddie trotted down the path and into the house, lifting his feet over the door frame. He was getting taller, losing his toddler chubbiness. Freddie was a little boy; a preschooler. Almost — she gasped — almost ready for school.
A cough made Pippa jump. She turned, expecting to see a random dog walker, or the postman.
‘I was, um, passing,’ said Sam. Again, she seemed both guilty and woebegone.
‘No you weren’t,’ said Pippa, opening the boot of the car and taking out two shopping bags. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I, um — can I come in?’
Pippa stared at her. ‘Does this look like a good time? I’ve got a load of shopping to put away, my husband’s settling a sleeping baby, and I haven’t even thought about what to do for lunch. Sorry, Sam, but whatever it is will have to wait.’ She hefted the shopping bags and walked up the drive.
‘I need to tell you something —’
Pippa froze. Then she put the bags down. ‘What sort of something?’ she asked. ‘Something you did?’
‘No!’ cried Sam. ‘Not really,’ she amended.
‘So you did do something.’ Pippa wished she could be one of Freddie’s laser-eye robots. Just for a second or two.
‘That isn’t what I mean.’
‘What do you mean? Out with it, Sam, my peas are defrosting.’
Sam stood, seeming to
weigh her up. Pippa shrugged. ‘I haven’t got all day,’ she said, and leaned down for the bags.
‘Saw something,’ Sam mumbled.
‘You saw something? What, at the fete? What did you see?’
‘Not me,’ said Sam. ‘Livvy.’
CHAPTER 23
‘Livvy’s with my mum,’ said Sam, her hands gripping a mug of tea as if she needed warming up. ‘I thought you might grill her. I don’t want her upset.’
‘Give me some credit, Sam,’ said Pippa. ‘I do have kids of my own, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Sorry,’ Sam murmured into her tea.
Pippa sighed. ‘So tell me about the … something Livvy saw. How come you haven’t taken this to the police, anyway?’ Oh, listen to me. I sound like such a nag.
‘Livvy only told me this morning,’ said Sam, putting her cup down. ‘We were in the village feeding the ducks, and Livvy said “Ooh, there’s the funny lady,” and pointed at a woman walking along the road. Of course I shushed her, and told her not to be rude, but then Livvy said “She did something naughty at the fete.” So I looked to see who it was — I couldn’t tell at first, because the sun was so bright — and I recognised Mrs Harbottle. You know, the housekeeper from the hall. She went into the butcher’s, and I asked Livvy what she’d done that was naughty. And she said, “I saw her touching the cakes. Not the pretty-colour ones” — I think she meant the iced ones — “The brown ones.”’
‘The sponges,’ said Pippa. ‘I remember at least two Victoria sponges.’ She leaned forward. ‘Go on.’
‘So I asked how she was touching the cakes, was she touching them lightly, and Livvy said no, she was pressing her finger into them. Not enough to make a hole, but sort of poking them.’
‘She was poking the cakes,’ said Pippa. ‘That is weird. You didn’t see anything, though, Sam?’
‘I was looking at Dev,’ said Sam. ‘He’s so…’ Her eyes took on a faraway expression, which reminded Pippa a little of Lila’s whenever Jeff came up in conversation.
‘Right.’ Pippa sipped her tea and considered. ‘Would I be able to talk to Livvy?’
Sam’s shoulders stiffened. ‘Oh, I’m not sure about that,’ she said. ‘She’s too young to go through being questioned.’
‘Well, the alternative is that I tell PC Horsley what you’ve told me, and he summons you both to the station,’ said Pippa. ‘If you’d prefer that —’
‘I didn’t say that!’ cried Sam, recoiling. ‘I came here to tell you, I didn’t expect you to go all Taggart on me!’ She glared at Pippa across the dining-room table.
‘What do you expect?’ Pippa shot back. ‘How do I know you haven’t made this up? We’re hardly friends, are we? You could be trying to make me look stupid by sending the police on a wild goose chase, or confronting Beryl Harbottle over something she didn’t do!’ She paused for breath, and a new idea struck her. ‘Or what if you’re lying to distract me from what you were doing? What if you were messing with the cakes? It isn’t as if they were under lock and key, is it?’
Sam gasped in horror, and shrank away so far that she was in danger of disappearing into her chair. ‘I didn’t,’ she whispered. ‘Please, Pippa, I didn’t touch the cakes. I wouldn’t do a thing like that.’
‘Not even to get me in trouble? That’s your main hobby.’ Pippa was almost beginning to enjoy herself.
Sam shook her head, hard. ‘No.’
‘All right then, if you didn’t mess with the cakes, was it you who told the papers about the sword swap during the play? That does seem more your style.’
Sam swallowed. ‘That wasn’t me. I didn’t know a thing until I read the article online.’
‘And shared it to the event page,’ Pippa snapped. ‘Ever wonder why we don’t get on?’
A tear rolled down Sam’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, in such a low voice that Pippa was tempted to make her repeat it. ‘I shouldn’t have, but I was in a bad mood, and —’
‘You took it out on me. Thanks.’
Sam put her head in her hands and sobbed. ‘You don’t know — how much — flak I got — over it!’ she jerked out. ‘Half the village sent me messages asking me why I’d done it! Most of the playgroup mums haven’t spoken to me since. Lila came to my house and shouted at me! Even my mum…’ The word became a full-blown wail. Pippa fetched a box of tissues, and waited for the storm to abate. Eventually the wails became occasional gasps, and then sniffles, until Sam grabbed the tissue box and scrubbed at her damp, blotchy face.
‘I don’t understand why you hate me so much,’ said Pippa. She felt as if she should be sorry for making Sam cry, but she wasn’t at all. She felt as if she’d finally got her revenge.
‘I don’t hate you!’
‘But you don’t like me.’
‘It isn’t that! You came here what, less than a year ago, with your cute kid and another on the way, and made friends with everyone, and started running the playgroup, and tracked down the murderer who’d been hanging out with us all along!’ Pippa had to admit that Sam’s description did make her sound pretty insufferable. ‘I’d love another baby, but I can’t even manage that!’ And she was off again.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Pippa. ‘I really am.’
‘And THEN you took over the fete, and turned it into this massive event with performers and celebrities and alcohol!’ Sam bawled.
‘Do you KNOW how much grief I’ve had over the whole thing?’ Pippa shouted. ‘Beryl Harbottle giving me shade, Dahlia flaming Dean telling me I’m an idiot, the newspapers having a field day, and me worrying that someone could have been KILLED?’ She felt her blood pressure rising. Oh God, this must be catching. Sam was going to make her so angry that she would spontaneously combust. But the shouting had released something in her, too. A rush of emotion threatened to crash over her like a tidal wave.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Sam stared at Pippa, her eyes red and watery.
And that was it. ‘Because you hate me, and you’d use it against me!’ Pippa cried, tears trickling down her face. She grabbed a tissue and mopped her cheeks.
‘I wouldn’t have if I’d known!’ Sam wailed. ‘You’re just so bloody perfect!’
‘I AM NOT!’
A cough from the doorway made them both stop dead. ‘I, er, wondered if you needed anything. More tea, perhaps,’ said Simon.
‘We’re OK, thanks,’ said Pippa. She looked at Sam, who nodded.
‘Just checking,’ said Simon. ‘Oh, and Ruby’s still asleep.’
Pippa wiped her eyes. ‘Is Freddie OK?’
‘Yeah. I told him you were rehearsing for a play.’ Simon smiled. ‘He says he wants to come and see it.’
‘Oh God. Thanks.’
‘No problem. I’ll leave you to it.’ Simon vanished.
‘See?’ Sam jerked her head towards the space where he had been. ‘Darren would never have done that.’
‘I’m still not sure I trust you,’ said Pippa. ‘But I’m prepared to call off hostilities for now. If you are.’
Sam nodded fervently. ‘I’ve felt so bad about it. Every time I’ve done something mean it’s come back to bite me.’
‘You’re just not good villain material,’ said Pippa. ‘Better return from the dark side.’
‘Can we return to playgroup?’ asked Sam. ‘I’ll understand if you say no, but —’
‘All right. So long as there’s no funny business. Or snarky comments.’
‘Deal.’ Sam held out her hand, and Pippa shook it. It was clammy, and hot, but she felt better for doing it. ‘Livvy will be over the moon. She’s missed it so much. That was another thing I felt awful about.’
‘I didn’t feel great myself,’ said Pippa. ‘But it was the right decision then. You were pecking at my head all the time.’
Sam sighed heavily. ‘I was really stupid. But I’m over it now.’
‘Oh, come here,’ said Pippa, and held her arms out.
***
‘See you Tuesday,’ said Pi
ppa, as Sam stepped outside.
‘Yes, see you Tuesday.’ Sam’s mouth twisted up. ‘It’ll be funny. I wonder what people will say.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Pippa. ‘It could drive you mad. Just bring cake or biscuits, and they’ll welcome you with open arms.’
‘True.’ Sam smiled. ‘I’ve lost a few pounds, not coming for all those months.’
‘Get ready to put them back on,’ said Pippa, glancing at Sam’s slim figure. ‘Carbs are go.’
Pippa watched Sam walk down the street. She looked much smaller than usual, and more fragile. Probably because she wasn’t scared of Sam any more. Pippa sighed and went in.
‘All OK?’ asked Simon.
‘I think so,’ said Pippa. ‘Sorry we were, um, noisy.’
‘I gathered that you were — what do they say on TV? Working through some issues.’ He grinned.
‘Do shut up, you sound like a relationship guru.’
Simon smirked. ‘All this, and I put the shopping away too.’
‘Superdad.’ She punched his arm gently. ‘I don’t suppose you made lunch as well?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Only joking.’
‘So what next?’ Simon asked, as Pippa arranged fish fingers on a baking tray.
‘For today, or in my long-running investigation?’
‘Both.’ He was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, and for no reason at all Pippa wanted to hug him.
‘My first task is to track down a tin of peas. I thought we could take the kids to the park after lunch? Maybe drop in on Sheila, if she’s home?’
‘Park, definitely. Mum’s still in mid-air.’
‘Fair enough. Oh, and I might pop to the library.’
‘I presume that’s just to borrow books. Nothing to do with any ex-policemen who might happen to be offering guidance?’
‘Couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Pippa. ‘But if you could keep the kids occupied, that would help. Read them a story, maybe.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. Now, are you putting those fish fingers in the oven, or will we be eating them frozen?’
A Fete Worse Than Death Page 14