A Few Little Lies

by Sue Welfare

  ‘I’m Carol Hayes,’ the girl volunteered, as she indicated that Dora should sit down. ‘Lillian’s maybe told you about me?’

  Dora smiled. ‘I don’t know Lillian very well, really. I’m just helping her out. But I’m pleased to meet you,’ she added, still hovering by the chintz chair, standing the cat basket at her feet. Gibson made one more circuit of his wicker prison and then curled into contented sleep.

  Carol smiled and waved again at Dora to sit. ‘Do you take sugar?’

  Dora shook her head and glanced around the busy colourful room. ‘You’ll need to tell the police about the man when they come,’ she said gently, watching Carol Hayes as she stepped into the adjoining kitchen.

  Carol pulled a face. ‘If you say so. But I don’t really know anything much, and I never did like coppers. That bloke just said he was a friend who’d come to get some of Lillian’s stuff. I’d been half expecting someone to turn up, you know, to collect the cat and everything.’ She paused. ‘What do you think he wanted, anyway? Do you think he’ll come back? I wouldn’t have thought Lillian had got anything worth nicking.’

  Dora shrugged. Her pulse was slowing now. ‘I’ve got no idea.’

  Carol shivered. ‘What’ll I do if he comes back? I never used to mind living here on me own. But it feels different since Lillian’s left. I keep hearing funny noises. I didn’t notice them, before.’ She glanced down at the cat. ‘That’s one of the reasons I want Gibson to go. He jumped through the kitchen window last night and frightened the bloody life out of me.’ She paused. ‘I’m going to look around for somewhere else, I think.’

  Dora nodded.

  Carol stepped forward and picked up a gilt-framed picture from one of the little tables.

  ‘I’m getting married next year,’ she said, as if that would make everything all right. She held the photo out for Dora to look at. A very young uniformed man looked back with a mixture of amusement and affection from behind the glass.

  Dora smiled. ‘He’s very handsome.’

  Carol, reddening, nodded. ‘He’s in the Navy.’ She set the photo down amongst a cluster of others. ‘I’m photo mad, me, it’s my hobby. Take me camera everywhere – hang on, let me just make this tea.’ She scurried back into the kitchen.

  On the wall, above the mantelpiece, was a huge picture frame full of photos arranged one on top of the other like a collage. Dora got up to look at the bright sea of unknown faces and places.

  As Carol reappeared, carrying two mugs, Dora turned and smiled. ‘Did you take all these? You’re very talented.’

  For the first time since opening the front door, Carol Hayes smiled warmly.

  ‘Not really, they’re mostly all the rejects in there. The good ones are in the albums. I did this course at tech’. The best stuff had to go in for my assessment.’ She stood the mugs on the coffee table and stepped up to join Dora.

  ‘There’s Lillian,’ she said, pointing to a cropped photo of a handsome young woman with brown hair and glittering eyes.

  Dora looked closer. ‘She’s got different hair in this.’

  Carol laughed. ‘I know, she hates that picture. That’s her natural colour. She calls it Minnie-mouse brown. She dyed it blonde just after that. I did some of her once with no make-up on.’ Carol snorted. ‘She went light when she saw the prints.’

  Dora stepped back. ‘She’s a redhead at the moment, sort of strawberry blonde.’

  Carol grinned. ‘Yes, I know. I told you, I saw her on the telly. Got a fancy new name as well. She loves dressing up. You never know what she’s going to look like from one day to the next. I walked right past her once, in the precinct, when she was doing a promotion for fags. She was all done up like a cowgirl, looked brilliant.’ Carol paused thoughtfully. ‘She looks really nice when she’s all done up.’

  Dora sat down and took the mug from the coffee table. ‘Have you known Lillian for very long?’

  Carol’s guarded expression returned slowly, like a mask slipping down over her sharp features.

  ‘I don’t know her very well at all really. She moved in a couple of months after me. Neither of us are what you’d call mixers. Keep ourselves to ourselves, though she’s not stuck up or anything but …’ She hesitated. ‘It’s the cat that made us friends.’ Carol curled up onto the settee, folding her legs under her and twisted a tendril of blonde hair around her fingers. ‘Lillian’s different from people round here. More glamorous.’ She screwed up her mouth thoughtfully. ‘I don’t understand how she’s ended up in Keelside. She’s done shows, modelling, all that sort of thing. It seems funny her ending up here. You’d have thought she’d have gone down to London or something. She said it was a family thing.’

  Dora stared at her. ‘Do Lillian’s family come from round here?’

  Carol shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She’s been really good to me though. Me and her have been to a lot of parties together. Really nice dos.’ She coloured slightly and Dora decided not to ask whether they had been paid to go.

  Carol shifted her weight and peered at the photo collage above the fireplace.

  ‘It’s lovely she’s got famous though, isn’t it? Fancy me knowing someone famous. I never knew she was writing up there, you know. I didn’t think she was the writing sort. I’m going to miss her. I’ve seen her on the telly a couple of times already. Don’t seem possible, really, that she’s famous. Maybe that’s why that bloke wanted to get upstairs. Maybe he wanted to look at her things, you know. I’ve read about them sort of people in the Sunday papers.’

  Dora nodded. Maybe Carol was right, except there was something about the man’s face that was vaguely familiar. She turned back to Carol. ‘Do you know where Lillian came from?’

  Carol hesitated. ‘I don’t know much about her at all. You ought to ask her, really. She did say she worked in Yarmouth last summer.’ The girl laughed. ‘Can’t see the appeal myself. Yarmouth is a right dead hole, but I suppose it’s a job.’

  Dora sipped her tea. Jon had mentioned Lillian had been picked up for soliciting in Yarmouth. Yarmouth to Keelside seemed like an odd move; there had to be a very good reason. ‘Did she have a lot of work here?’

  Carol nodded, linking her fingers around her mug. ‘Yeah, she’s always off somewhere or other, doing hostessing, modelling. Hang on a minute, I’ll show you.’

  Carol clambered to her feet and opened a cupboard in the sideboard. ‘I did these for her just after Christmas.’ From inside she produced two sleek black photo albums and passed them to Dora. ‘She wanted something to tout around the agencies so I mounted up some old photos for her, redid a few, I took quite a lot myself. I made the classy ones up into a folio and mounted the rest up in these.’

  Dora’s fingers rested lightly on the crisp shiny black covers.

  ‘Don’t open them now,’ Carol said. ‘Take them back for Lillian. There’s a whole box of her stuff in there that she asked me to keep an eye on.’ She slid a crisp box out from the cupboard. ‘I should think she’ll want all this as well.’

  From outside came the sound of a car pulling up. ‘That’s probably the police,’ said Dora.

  Carol didn’t look very enthusiastic.

  Dora smiled. ‘Would you like me to go and show them in?’

  Carol nodded.

  Dora laid the albums on top of the crisp box, wanting to say something that would put Carol Hayes at ease, something of comfort – but nothing seemed appropriate.

  Finally, she looked down at the sleeping cat. ‘I’ll look after him for you,’ she said flatly.

  Carol nodded. ‘Thanks.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Look, I’ve got to be at work in about an hour. How long do you think the police are going to be?’

  Dora got to her feet, the mug of tea still half finished on the coffee table. ‘I don’t know, but the sooner we let them in the sooner they’ll be done.’

  Jon Melrose arrived minutes after the uniformed officer had finished taking Dora’s statement. When she first saw him through the net curtains his face wa
s tight with anxiety. She got to her feet and headed out into the hall. They met at the door.

  Dora felt the shakes coming back. Seeing him there was such a relief. As their eyes met, she struggled to remember that he was there in an official capacity. Her first instinct was to curl up in his arms. As if reading her mind, his expression softened.

  ‘I thought I told you not to go playing Miss Marple.’

  Dora snorted. ‘That was days ago. Besides, I wasn’t playing super sleuth, honest injun. I’d only come here to pick up Lillian’s things for her.’ There was the slightest tremor in her voice.

  Jon lifted his eyebrows.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Dora protested. ‘It’s perfectly true, I’ve got to do something to get Lillian out of my flat.’

  He lifted a hand and stroked her fringe away. ‘They said you’d been knocked over, are you all right?’

  Dora nodded. ‘Fine, a bit shaky at the moment, but I’m made of tough stuff.’ She forced a lopsided grin. ‘Anyway, besides that, how’s Joe doing?’

  ‘Mending fast. They’re going to discharge him some time this afternoon.’ Around them the policemen were preparing to leave. ‘I’d ask you out to lunch but I’m on duty.’

  Dora grinned. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve had just about as much excitement as I can handle today. Do you think you’ll be able to make dinner tomorrow night?’

  Jon nodded. ‘I should think so, what time?’

  Dora shrugged, grinning still. ‘How does eight-ish sound? I’ve just got to put this box in my car and get the other things Lillian wanted from upstairs. All her stuff is packed in boxes ready to be picked up.’

  Jon shook his head. ‘You’ll have to leave the things upstairs until the fingerprint mob have done their business. I’ll arrange to have it brought over to Fairbeach if you like.’

  ‘Suits me. So there’s just this box, then, and Gibson.’

  She hesitated and took a step towards the door. Carol Hayes hovered, pacing from one foot to the other.

  Dora smiled at her. ‘I’ll give you my telephone number, maybe you’d like to ring me some time and check up on Lillian and Gibson?’ She pulled a piece of paper out of her handbag and scribbled down the number. Carol took it without a second glance as Dora stooped to pick up the cat basket.

  ‘Let me help you with the door,’ the girl offered, as Dora struggled to balance her handbag, the cat basket and the albums.

  Jon bent down to pick up the crisp box. ‘Lead on, and don’t tell me you’re parked half a mile away.’ He winced as he realised the box was a lot heavier than he’d anticipated.

  ‘I’m parked just across the road,’ said Dora, over her shoulder. She smiled back at Carol. ‘You get yourself organised for work now.’

  Carol opened the doors for them, while Gibson, shaken rudely from sleep, began to complain, prowling around in the basket, making it impossible to judge the sway or the weight.

  Outside Belleview Terrace, Dora tucked Lillian Bliss’s photo albums up under her arm. As she crossed the main road it began to spit with rain. Gibson growled crossly. Jon, walking beside her, hefted the box a little higher. Dora fished the car keys out of her bag and popped the boot, dropping the photo albums in beside the spare wheel. Jon stood the crisp box alongside them.

  Dora rested her forehead against the cool boot lid.

  ‘Rough day?’ Jon said, softly resting a hand on her shoulder. ‘Still considering the possibility of running away?’

  Dora laughed. ‘That was Saturday. Today it seems like the only feasible solution.’ She looked up at him, eyes widening. ‘What in God’s name am I doing disturbing burglars at my age? He could have killed me –’

  Jon turned slowly and took her in his arms. Dora felt a wisp of pure fear slither up from somewhere low in her belly followed by a geyser of tears. Snuggled up against him, revelling in the security and warmth, she pressed her fists hard against her eyes.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ asked Jon, peering down at her.

  Dora took a long shuddering breath. ‘Trying to stop myself from crying,’ she snorted. ‘I end up looking like a snotty werewolf if I cry.’

  Jon sighed and held her closer. ‘I’ve seen women cry before, you know, and lived. You don’t have to pretend everything is all right, with me. I don’t mind if it isn’t.’

  Dora felt the first red-hot tear burn down her face. Jon brushed it away with a fingertip. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’

  Dora snorted again, feeling the tide rising behind her eyes. ‘You asked for this,’ she gasped, forcing another smile. ‘On your own head be it.’

  Alicia Markham took a deep breath, her fingers tightening on the telephone receiver.

  ‘What do you mean, you were seen?’ she hissed furiously.

  ‘I would have thought it was bloody obvious what I mean, Alicia. I was caught at the flat by some woman,’ Colin Scarisbrooke snapped. ‘And I haven’t got much change, so when the pips go, that’s it. This is not my sort of business, you know. Not my sort of business at all. You said all I had to do was go in and pick up any photos that were there. I should never have been asked to do this kind of thing. You’ve got other people to do this kind of work for you.’

  Alicia drummed her fingers on her desk. ‘And what did you do when this woman saw you?’

  Scarisbrooke snorted. ‘Cleared off, of course. I’d got no idea who she was, she sounded as if she had permission to be up there.’

  ‘Did you find anything worth having?’

  ‘No idea, yet,’ said Scarisbrooke evasively. ‘I’ll let you know once I’ve sorted through the things I’ve got.’

  ‘We need to talk to Guy as soon as possible,’ Alicia told him.

  ‘Council of war?’ said Scarisbrooke.

  Alicia sighed. ‘Schoolboy talk. This is politics, not Swallows and Amazons. What we need to do is sit round and decide where we’re going from here. Guy needs to be in on this.’ She sighed again. ‘Council of war.’ And hung up.

  At Lawrence Rawlings’ house, the guests were being served aperitifs before Sunday lunch. Guy Phelps helped himself to another sherry from the tray and lifted his glass in a toast.

  ‘I really must thank you for inviting us, Lawrence. Elizabeth and I were saying how very kind it was of you to ask us all.’ He smiled benignly at his wife, who was sat sprung tight and uncomfortable on the edge of the sofa in Lawrence’s sitting room. She had half an eye on their son and daughter, who were fighting a muted battle on the hearth rug. Guy’s gaze moved around the room as if he was holding court.

  ‘Old-fashioned family Sundays, everyone together after church. It’s the very heart of our nation, where would we be without traditional family values? Sunday lunch, the whole family together.’ He sighed as if he had just said something of great weight and immeasurable importance.

  Calvin Roberts and Lawrence Rawlings glanced at each other, for once in complete agreement. Lawrence knew that Calvin had only put in an appearance because it was in his best interests to align himself with Guy Phelps. It might be in Calvin’s best interests but it didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.

  Lawrence swallowed back a smile, as Guy turned his attention to Calvin. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’

  Calvin was now obligated to follow one inane comment with another. ‘Couldn’t agree more, Guy,’ he murmured. ‘Family is right at the heart of the – of the …’ He stopped as Sarah came in, carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

  Guy leapt across the room to take one, as if they had been brought in especially for him. ‘Wonderful,’ he murmured and then looked at his wife. ‘You really must ask Sarah for the recipes for these.’

  Elizabeth Phelps nodded. ‘Of course, dear.’

  The atmosphere was stretched so tight in the sitting room that you could almost pick out a tune on it. Lawrence nodded to Vic and Bob, the only members of the inner circle to have appeared for lunch once his usual guests found out Guy Phelps had been invited. Lawrence had taken the precaution of ringing round to
warn everyone.

  ‘Calvin,’ Lawrence said, turning towards his son-in-law, ‘perhaps you’d like to show Guy and his family around the garden. Rather nice out there this morning, and I’m sure the children would like to have a run around in the orchard before lunch?’

  Elizabeth Phelps sprang to her feet. ‘That would be really lovely,’ she said quickly, and hurried to drag her squabbling offspring to their feet. She pulled her son up by his arm.

  Calvin Roberts’ expression hardened. He knew that Lawrence was excluding him.

  Guy Phelps, by contrast, smiled beatifically. ‘What a simply wonderful idea. I’ve always thought this was a wonderful house. A proper family home.’ He glanced across at Calvin and Sarah. ‘How old is it?’

  Sarah skilfully guided the Phelps family out of the French windows, with a rueful glance towards her father, while Lawrence indicated his friends should follow him upstairs into his study.

  With the study door closed, Vic Hill let out a long shuddering sigh. ‘Sweet Jesus, how the hell did we end up selecting that arsehole?’

  Lawrence pulled the stopper out of the whisky decanter. ‘Alicia Markham railroaded the committee. Sarah invited Phelps and his spawn to lunch today. Social good form – we’d have had to invite him sooner or later.’

  Bob Preston blew out his lips thoughtfully. ‘Are we seriously expecting to retain the Fairbeach seat with Guy Phelps as our candidate?’

  Lawrence indicated the leather fireside chairs while he busied himself with the drinks tray.

  ‘Alicia has some notion that our friend Mr Phelps will be totally controllable. Write him a speech and every syllable will be delivered with total sincerity. He believes every single word.’

  Vic nodded, accepting the proffered tumbler of Scotch. ‘Unlike the late, great Jack Rees.’

  Lawrence nodded. ‘Unlike Jack Rees, who ran our dear Alicia ragged.’ He poured himself a drink.

  ‘A situation she is hoping to avoid with Mr Phelps?’ Bob suggested. ‘The whole family are the same, you’ve met old man Phelps, haven’t you? Vic, you must remember him. He was on that committee with you over at Loughbrooke …’