by Roberta Kray
‘Good. That’s settled then. We’ll all go together.’
‘I’d better get changed,’ Sadie said. ‘I won’t be long.’ She hurried out of the kitchen, her eyes briefly meeting Mona’s as she passed. There was, she thought, a gleam of triumph in them. With a sinking heart, she went through the living room and into the bedroom.
‘No, no, no,’ she muttered as she closed the door behind her. She sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. Jesus, why had Joel had to do that? Why did he always have to be so damned pleasant? Now they were stuck with her for the whole afternoon. Mona Farrell was a loose cannon and God knows what she might come out with at the party.
There was still time to do something. Sadie stared towards the door, knowing that all she had to do was to open it and give Joel a shout. All she had to do was to sit him down and explain. Except she didn’t have any evidence, nothing solid at least. The story was so strange, so bizarre, that he might end up thinking that she was the one who had lost her marbles. It wasn’t as if Mona had actually confessed. What if the girl was just living out some delusional fantasy?
Sadie had to find out – and she had to find out fast.
23
Half an hour later, Sadie was in the front of the white van, squashed between Joel and Mona. She was sitting stiffly, trying not to let her left arm or leg touch Mona’s, but was still close enough to hear the other woman’s breathing and to smell the distinctive scent of Chanel No. 5.
As the van headed towards Shore Road, Sadie glanced down at the dress she had chosen, plain and grey and not especially flattering. She had spent ten minutes going through her wardrobe, dismissing her black cocktail frock as being too dramatic – wouldn’t it look like she was in mourning? – and all the brighter ones as being too frivolous. The grey, she hoped, would help her blend into the background.
While Joel made small talk, Sadie tried to figure out what she’d say to Mona once she got her on her own. Direct questions, she decided, no more beating around the bush. She had to know for sure what her involvement had been – if any – in Eddie’s death. It wasn’t the kind of conversation that she wanted to have at a birthday party, but then there wasn’t really a good time or place to broach the subject.
Sadie wished that she was somewhere else, anywhere else but stuck in this van with Mona Farrell. The girl gave her the creeps; she was weird and unnerving. And suddenly her head was full of if onlys again: if only she hadn’t gone to London, if only she hadn’t chosen Oaklands to stay at, if only she’d never met Nathan Stone.
‘So what’s your line of work?’ Joel was asking Mona.
‘I’m working in an antique shop at the moment, just a small one. It’s nothing much but I’m hoping to learn the trade, maybe have a place of my own one day. I’m doing night classes too in Art History.’
‘That’s interesting.’
‘Yes, I’m enjoying it.’
Sadie didn’t believe a word she was saying; none of it rang true. Mona was either a consummate liar or she’d already rehearsed her answers. Probably both. The girl was doing her best to ingratiate herself with Joel, to come across as perfectly normal when she was about as far from that condition as a person could be. A wave of panic flowed over her. What the hell was she doing? If Mona was a killer, then Joel could be in danger too. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to him.
Sadie stared out through the windscreen, making a mental effort to stop her hands from clenching. If Mona had killed one man then what was to stop her from… But there was a part of her that still refused to believe it. Wasn’t it more likely that the girl was just unhinged, playing a weird psychological game? For some obscure reason Mona had latched on to her and wasn’t prepared to let go.
Five minutes later they drew up outside the large detached house on Shore Road. Already people were milling around the entrance, laughing and joking, kissing each other on the cheek and shaking hands. Usually, Sadie would have looked forward to a do like this but today she wished she was anywhere but here.
‘Are you sure this is okay?’ Mona asked. ‘I feel like I’m gatecrashing.’
‘It’s fine,’ Joel said. ‘Half the town’s going to be here. One more won’t make a difference.’
As soon as they stepped into the grand reception area, Joel’s mother swept across the room and embraced Sadie, making the point – should there be any doubters observing – that she for one believed wholeheartedly in her future daughter-in-law’s innocence when it came to Eddie Wise’s murder.
‘Hello, darling. It’s wonderful to see you. I’m so glad you could make it.’
‘Happy birthday, Emily.’
‘You’re looking lovely as always. How are you bearing up? Oh, poor you. It must be dreadful. You know we’re always here for you, don’t you? Just pick up the phone if ever you need anything.’
Emily Hunter was a kind, sociable woman in her mid-fifties, generous and open-hearted. Sadie knew that she meant well, but the effusive welcome only succeeded in drawing unwelcome attention. She could feel the eyes on her, the raised brows and the weighing-up stares. In a small town like Haverlea, gossip spread like wildfire. Speculation would be rife as to whether Sadie Wise had actually disposed of her husband.
Sadie, making an effort to smile, wondered if she appeared as nervous as she felt. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. If it hadn’t been for Mona’s presence, it would have been easier to brazen it out, but she was worried about what the girl might say and to whom. And where was she now? By the time Sadie had disentangled herself from Emily’s embrace and Joel had taken her place, Mona had disappeared. She scanned the crowded room but there wasn’t any sign of her.
Worried, Sadie set off in search, but was intercepted by Frank Hunter before she’d taken more than a couple of steps.
‘Sadie,’ he said, putting a paternal arm around her shoulder. ‘How are you doing? Rotten business all this stuff with Eddie. I hope Joel’s taking good care of you.’
Sadie fought to maintain her shaky smile. Frank was a big, bluff, old-fashioned guy, the type who still believed that women were the weaker sex and that it was a man’s duty to protect them. ‘We’re surviving.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ He lowered his voice a fraction. ‘If you need a good solicitor, I’ve got a number you can have.’
‘I’m hoping I won’t need one.’
Frank pulled a face. ‘I hope so too, love, but sometimes the police get the wrong end of the stick, if you know what I mean, so it’s always smart to have a fallback position. You hear about all these miscarriages of justice, about innocent people spending years in prison and —’
‘Dad!’ Joel interrupted.
‘What?’
‘Sadie doesn’t need to hear this. She hasn’t done anything wrong and there won’t be any miscarriages of justice.’
‘I was only saying…’
‘Yes, I know what you were saying but there’s no need. It’s fine, okay? Everything’s fine.’
While this exchange was taking place, Sadie was aware of the people around them halting their own conversations and leaning in to listen. She had a sudden scary image of being led away in handcuffs, pleading her innocence while the crowd looked on.
‘So have the police been in touch again?’ Frank asked.
‘No,’ Sadie said. ‘Not since I promised not to leave the country.’
Frank gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Well, I’m sure it will be okay.’
‘It will be,’ Joel insisted.
Sadie turned to him and asked, ‘Have you seen —’ She only just stopped herself from saying Mona. ‘Do you know where Anne is?’
‘I think she’s gone to get a drink.’
‘Sounds like a plan. I’ll see if I can find her.’
Sadie squeezed her way through the crowd, saying fleeting hellos to people she passed but not stopping to talk to anyone. Her eyes darted left and right as she sought out the girl in the navy blue dress. A buffet had been laid out on a long table in the kitc
hen: cold meats, coleslaw, sausage rolls, sandwiches and plates full of cheese cubes and pineapple squares on sticks. To the right was another smaller table with bottles and glasses.
Sadie poured herself a large glass of wine – she was in desperate need of one – took a gulp and then looked around again. After a while she spotted Mona chatting to a middle-aged guy in the corner, a man she recognised as a journalist on the local rag. Royston, his name was, Peter Royston. Her heart missed a beat. She felt a tightening in her chest as she approached. What was Mona saying? What was she telling him?
She gave a vague nod towards the reporter before addressing Mona. ‘Here you are,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’ She put out a hand, intending to pat her on the arm, but then withdrew it again. Somehow she couldn’t bear the thought of touching her.
‘Sadie, isn’t it?’ asked Royston. ‘So sorry to hear about your troubles.’
Sadie gave him a thin smile. ‘Should my ears be burning?’
Royston was a plump oily man with an ingratiating manner. His cheeks were threaded with red veins and long strands of lank brown hair were ineffectively combed over a balding skull. ‘No, no,’ he insisted. ‘Not at all. I was just telling Anne here about the delights of Haverlea.’
‘I didn’t realise there was a fairground,’ Mona said. ‘We should go. I love the fair. Don’t you, Sadie? Don’t you just love it?’
‘It’s all right.’ Sadie glanced at her. There was something about her face, the tone of her voice and her body movements which suggested that if not already drunk she was certainly close to it. But how could she be? She’d only been here for ten minutes. Unless she’d had a few before turning up at the flat. Dutch courage perhaps… or something more like a habit? Sadie remembered the train and the faint smell of alcohol that had wafted off the girl.
‘The waltzers and the stalls and the candy floss. And is there a big wheel?’ Mona asked. ‘I like those.’
‘It’s not very big.’
Mona laughed. ‘Still, we should go. It would be fun. Why don’t we? Just the two of us. What do you think?’
‘It’s a bit dull in the winter. Besides, it’s only open on a Saturday.’
Mona’s face fell. ‘Is it? Oh, that’s a shame. There’s something… I don’t know, kind of magical about them. Don’t you think? Especially at night. They remind me of being a kid. All the best films have fairground scenes in them.’
‘Do they?’ Royston asked. He thought about it for a second and then added, ‘Which ones?’
Mona put her empty glass down on the window ledge and reeled off a list, ticking them off on her fingers: ‘There’s Brighton Rock, The Third Man, The Lady from Shanghai, Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, A Taste of Honey, Paper Moon. Oh, there are loads of them.’
‘You’re a fan of old movies then?’
‘Yeah, they’re the best. There’s another one too.’ Mona looked at Sadie and frowned. ‘I can’t recall the title. Do you remember? We were talking about it just the other day. It’s to do with these two guys who meet —’
Sadie instinctively grabbed hold of Mona’s elbow, squeezing it hard as she interrupted. ‘You really must come and meet Joel’s parents.’ She smiled at Royston. ‘Sorry, I hope you don’t mind. I promised I’d introduce them.’
‘Of course not. Nice to meet you,’ he said to Mona. ‘Will you be coming back to see us again soon?’
Mona smiled widely. ‘Yes, I’m sure I will.’
Sadie quickly propelled her away. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she hissed under her breath.
Mona giggled. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. He wouldn’t guess, not in a thousand years.’
‘He’s a reporter, for God’s sake.’
‘I know.’
Sadie kept her voice low as she forged a way through the crowd. Even though music was playing and the room was full of chatter, she wasn’t taking any chances. And then the full meaning of what Mona had said suddenly sank in: He wouldn’t guess. Was she still playing games or was she serious? ‘You’re crazy. I don’t even know what you’re doing here.’
‘You invited me. Well, as good as.’
‘What?’
‘You said you couldn’t come to London so I knew I had to come to you. I mean, we need to talk, don’t we?’
‘Yes, I think we do.’
‘I need a drink first.’ Mona gazed down at her hand as if surprised to find that a glass wasn’t in it. She turned abruptly and headed for the kitchen. ‘Come on.’
Sadie trotted behind, not wanting to let her out of her sight. It had been her intention to be in control, the one asking questions, the one putting Mona on the spot, but somehow the balance of power seemed to be shifting. She felt fear flutter in her chest. Now that the moment of truth was drawing close, she wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to hear it.
While Mona poured herself a vodka and tonic, Sadie tried to think of somewhere they could talk in private. The conservatory, she decided, was the best option. Rather than going through the living room where she was bound to bump into people she knew, she led Mona through the back door and into the garden instead.
‘It’s cold,’ Mona said, glancing up at the sky. ‘It’s going to snow again. Don’t you think? I like the snow. It makes everything seem… different.’
But Sadie wasn’t interested in the weather. ‘What’s going on?’
Mona looked at her, wide-eyed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know exactly what I mean.’ Sadie expelled a sigh of frustration, her breath emerging as a cloud of mist in the icy night air. ‘Sending the book, calling me at the flat, turning up here and pretending to be my friend. I don’t understand. I don’t get it.’
Mona frowned. ‘I’m not pretending anything. We are friends, aren’t we?’
‘How can we be? We’ve only met once. We had a five-minute conversation.’
‘It was longer than that.’ Mona sipped on her drink as she walked. ‘And anyway, it only takes five seconds to know if someone’s going to be your friend or not. We hit it off. You can’t deny it. There’s a connection between us.’
‘No, there isn’t.’
‘Of course there is.’
Sadie pushed open the door to the octagonal conservatory. It was furnished with rattan chairs and tables and filled with plants, mainly tall potted palms that cast long shadows in the gloom. A thin light came from the living room along with the sound of laughter and the chink of glasses. There was a temporary pause in the music – maybe someone was changing the tape – and then it started up again: the Drifters singing the Sixties hit, ‘Under the Boardwalk’.
Sadie quickly glanced around, making sure they were alone before speaking again. ‘I don’t know what you want from me.’
Mona stepped in behind her and closed the door. She sipped on her drink, keeping her sly eyes on Sadie. ‘Sure you do.’ A smile flickered at the corners of her lips. ‘Hey, I know it’s kind of scary but you can do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘You know what.’
Sadie swallowed hard. ‘I-I don’t,’ she stammered. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’
A frown settled on Mona’s forehead and a look of distrust crossed her face. She paced to the left and the right as if it might be a set-up and the police were lurking in the undergrowth. She poked among the palms and peered into the corners. When she was sure that they were the only two people in the conservatory, she returned to Sadie and said very softly, ‘I’ve done mine and now you have to do yours.’