A Few Little Lies

by Sue Welfare

  The larger of the two men, the driver, stepped in front of her just as she reached the door. He was a lot faster than he looked. She didn’t need to turn round to know that his friend was a few paces behind her. Checkmate. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m really sorry about the roundabout – I was …’

  ‘What’ve you got in the basket?’ the man demanded, nodding down towards her hand.

  ‘Sorry?’

  The man managed an oily grin. ‘The basket. Giv’us it here.’ He held out his hand in a gesture that suggested it was not an invitation.

  Dora watched her arm lifting, bearing the basket and Gibson, without any conscious awareness that she was doing it. Minutes earlier she had struggled to carry it; now the basket rose up in front of her like a hot-air balloon.

  What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion, although it was over in an instant. Still holding her gaze, the man snatched the basket, flipped the catch without bothering to look inside and tipped it up, giving it a violent shake as he did so.

  Gibson, already bad-tempered at being imprisoned and totally out of sorts with life generally, exploded out of the lid of the cat basket like a furry grey hand-grenade and roared off up the front of the man’s army fatigues, thought better of it, did a dramatic U-turn and hurtled across the car park as if jet-propelled.

  Dora, open-mouthed, stared back at the man, too confused, too shocked to form any coherent thoughts. Before she had time to compose herself a familiar face loomed into view.

  Josephine Hammond from the Fairbeach Gazette seemed to materialise from out of a clear blue sky, and said cheerfully, ‘Morning, Dora Hall, isn’t it? How’s it going? Need any help?’

  Dora turned fractionally, breaking the hold of the man’s gaze and at once he threw the cat basket down and ran off towards the blue Metro, followed closely by his friend.

  Dora stood staring at Josephine.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Dora shook her head. ‘Not really. I think I may just have been mugged. Would you mind helping me catch Gibson?’

  Josephine Hammond shrugged. ‘Anything’s better than being cooped up in that car. I keep thinking that they’ve given me this job so I jack it in. What are you doing here? Catiana Moran? Lillian Bliss? I see Miss Moran is back upstairs this morning.’ She paused. ‘And what was going on with your jolly little friends? They didn’t look much like veterinary nurses to me.’

  Dora shook her head. It felt as if someone was squeezing her lungs. ‘Look, just help me catch this bloody cat, will you, and then we can talk,’ she gasped.

  Josephine grinned. ‘Right-oh, I’ve got a tuna and mayonnaise sandwich in the car, maybe we could use it as bait.’

  Fifteen minutes and an awful lot of cat coaxing later, Josephine Hammond pushed the remains of a toasted teacake into her mouth. Her eyes narrowed. ‘So, you’re telling me that Lillian Bliss isn’t really Catiana Moran? That’s right, isn’t it? And you are the one who writes the books. You’re Catiana Moran.’

  Dora topped up their teacups and nodded. ‘Off the record, yes. Calvin Roberts hired Lillian to promote my novels. In my defence, I would like to add, that it seemed like a very good idea at the time.’

  They were sitting in Ye Olde Cosy Tea Roome, which was across the road from Anchor Quay, facing the front entrance. Gibson was safely back in his cat basket, locked in Dora’s car, mumbling over the remains of one of Josephine’s tuna sandwiches – and Dora was spilling some of the beans.

  The truth could surely be no more awkward or dangerous than the lies. Dora couldn’t contemplate facing Lillian straight away, and hadn’t protested as Josephine had guided her across the road to the café and promised to pick up the bill.

  Across the table, Josephine picked a stray currant out of her teeth. ‘You ought to ring the police and report those guys.’

  Dora sighed. Images of Jon Melrose filled her head, touching her face, stroking her shoulders – and maybe lying to her.

  She shivered. ‘You’re probably right.’

  Josephine nodded. ‘I know I am, that’s why I was here this morning. I picked up a message on the police radio saying they were delivering some boxes first thing. They’d only just gone when you arrived. I’d planned to have a sandwich and then go and re-introduce myself to Miss Moran. Shame you couldn’t have had your meeting with the muggers a bit earlier. We could have called up the cavalry. Six hairy-arsed coppers all spoiling for a fight – it would have made the front page.’ She paused and pulled another teacake onto her plate. ‘Actually, it still might.’

  Dora snorted. Her hands had just about stopped shaking, but there was a lot of tea in the saucer to testify that the tremors hadn’t been gone that long.

  ‘My place, Lillian’s new flat, Calvin Roberts’ office and Lillian’s old flat –’ Dora counted off on her fingers. ‘Four burglaries and then this thing this morning, and I’m certain someone has been watching my place. I’ve got a …’ She paused. What was Jon? She took another breath. ‘The police think the burglars may be looking for something.’

  Josephine nodded. ‘And this morning’s little run-in would suggest, whatever it is they’re looking for, they haven’t found it yet. Right? I really think you need me on your side.’

  Dora sighed. ‘Please don’t mention this to Lillian, I want her to stay where she is.’

  Josephine’s expression suggested her mind was elsewhere. ‘What the hell do they think it is you’ve got?’

  ‘I only wish I knew,’ said Dora. ‘I’d give it to them to get my life back.’

  Josephine pulled a pad out of her shoulder bag.

  Dora frowned. ‘I did say all this was off the record.’

  ‘I know, I know, but I think better when I write things down.’

  Josephine carefully wrote out a list of names: Dora’s, Lillian’s, and Calvin’s, adding Catiana Moran’s last of all.

  ‘What is it?’ she said, staring down at her list. ‘There has to be some sort of a link.’

  ‘Lillian.’

  Josephine nodded. ‘Yes, but surely it can’t be because of your books? What mileage would there be in that? Who cares whether you write them or Lillian does?’

  Dora had to agree with her. ‘No-one except perhaps my sister.’

  ‘Right, so we’re back to Lillian Bliss. What the hell has she got, or does she know, that someone else wants so badly?’

  Dora shook her head. ‘No idea, why don’t you try asking her yourself? I’ve tried and got nowhere.’

  Josephine clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, thinking hard. ‘We are assuming whatever she’s got, she got it since she came to Fairbeach.’

  Dora felt a little shiver. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly, ‘since she started to work for me.’

  Josephine doodled a small leaf under Catiana’s name. ‘But where was she before? You said the girl in her old flat told you she’d moved in late last year? Where did she live before that?’

  Dora shrugged. ‘No idea. I know she spent some time in Yarmouth.’

  Across the table Josephine was getting to her feet. ‘Time, I think, that we found out some more about Miss Bliss.’

  Lillian welcomed them into her new apartment as if she hadn’t seen Dora or Gibson for years. The elegant sitting room was strewn with cardboard boxes in various stages of unpacking. It looked as if they had been disembowelled. Ornaments, shoes and clothes were heaped across the furniture and floor. The oversized teddy-bear that Dora had seen at the flat in West Keelside lolled drunkenly on one of the sofas.

  Lillian waved them to sit down amongst the chaos and hurried off to make tea. Dora wondered whether it was possible to get tannin poisoning – she’d already had four cups at Ye Olde Tea Roome with Josephine.

  ‘Right,’ said Josephine, once they were each cradling a mug. ‘Can you tell me why you decided to settle in Fairbeach?’

  Lillian Bliss looked up and then took a deep breath.

  ‘I find it very inspirational, the river cours
ing through, the –’

  Dora held up her hand to stop her. ‘No, Lillian, not the thing I wrote for you, just tell Josephine the truth.’

  Lillian screwed up her nose. ‘But you said I was to stop telling the truth, you said …’

  ‘I know what I said, but now I’m telling you to tell us what really made you move here.’

  Lillian sniffed. ‘But I like what you wrote about me. I really like being Catiana Moran.’

  Josephine Hammond smiled warmly. ‘And you can carry on being Catiana Moran, talking to me doesn’t have to change that at all. What I’m trying to do is find out about Lillian Bliss.’

  Lillian looked at Dora for a sign of approval. Dora nodded. ‘It’s all right, really.’

  Lillian licked her lips. ‘I was born in Fairbeach and lived here when I was little. Then, when I was about four, me and Mum moved to Norwich.’ She stopped, gathering thoughts together. ‘I thought I’d come back and see if I could find my dad, my real dad, not like an uncle or anything. I’d been trying to find him for ages and then I did.’

  She paused, staring down into the gaping mouth of her teacup. ‘My mum and dad weren’t married.’ She grinned. ‘Well, not to each other, anyway. I was fostered when I was about six or seven because my mum was ill. She couldn’t cope with me as well, though I used to see her sometimes. She had cancer – anyway, when I was fourteen she died. So when I got to eighteen I decided to start looking for him. I had to wait to see if he would see me. You know, all that stuff.’

  Dora leant forward. ‘But you did find him?’ she said encouragingly.

  Lillian nodded. ‘Yeah. He got in touch with me last October and said he’d like us to meet up. I’d stayed in Norwich until then, did a bit of work in Yarmouth during the summer season, bit of modelling – but when he said yes I got the flat in Keelside. Belleview Terrace was close, but not too close. We met up quite a few times.’ She smiled. ‘He was really nice and seemed pleased to see me. I thought he was a lovely man, we got on really well.’

  Her eyes misted over. ‘He even invited me and my flatmate, Carol, to this big Christmas party at a great big house. He laid on a car to pick us up and everything. I took a load of old photos to show him, photos of my mum and when I was a kid – you know the kind of thing. I wanted to show him all the things he’d missed, I suppose. Try to make up for lost time.’ She sniffed, eyes brighter still. ‘Doesn’t seem fair, really. We were just getting to know each other and then he died too.’

  Josephine nodded. ‘It must have been awful for you.’ Her tone was gentle and encouraging. Dora realised she was good because she was genuinely interested.

  ‘He came from Keelside, did he?’ Dora could feel Josephine Hammond’s mind circling the things that Lillian knew, gently picking through the chaff, searching for the ears of wheat.

  Lillian shook her head, twirling a stray tendril of hair into a barley-sugar twist. ‘Fairbeach, though he wasn’t here a lot of the time. He met my mum here though, before we moved to Norwich.’

  Josephine leant forward. ‘So you came here to be near him?’

  Lillian grinned. ‘Yeah, it was him that fixed up this place for me, said it was a belated coming-of-age present.’

  Dora stared at Lillian. ‘You said Calvin got the flat for you?’

  ‘Well, he did. He did all the legal stuff, solicitors and that sort of business. I met Calvin at this party too. He said he could find me a job.’ Lillian giggled. ‘I thought it was a wind-up, you know how blokes are. But he’s a nice man, Calvin. I really like him. I don’t think my dad liked him much, but maybe he didn’t know him very well.’

  Dora stared. She couldn’t wait for Josephine to ask the next question and so she asked it for her.

  ‘Who is your dad, Lillian?’ she said quietly.

  Lillian smiled her radiant shark-toothed smile. ‘Jack Rees, you know, the MP?’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ hissed Josephine Hammond.

  ‘It still doesn’t make any kind of sense,’ said Josephine, glancing down at the notes she had made from her interview with Lillian.

  Dora snorted. ‘What does these days?’

  They had said their goodbyes to Lillian and driven back’ to Dora’s flat together. Dora wasn’t sure that she could face another cup of tea, but had put the kettle on anyway. On the way back they had called in at Fairbeach police station and given the man behind the desk a potted summary of Dora’s encounter with the two men at Anchor Quay. He’d made a note and assured Dora someone would call in to see her. Dora only hoped, at the moment, that the someone they sent, was not Jon Melrose.

  Josephine accepted the mug of tea without comment. Presumably journalists had cast-iron bladders.

  ‘Where’s the mileage?’ Josephine wondered, tapping her pad. ‘A single exposé about a dead politician? If he was alive it would be different. I mean, there is a story here, but not something that would call for these sort of tactics. Besides, Lillian is hardly making a secret of it, is she? All we had to do was ask. And what else did she say?’

  She glanced back over her notes and read the comments. ‘“My dad’s name is on my birth certificate. He wasn’t ashamed of me or anything. He seemed quite proud really. He’d only got step-daughters, and didn’t seem to get on very well with them. He said he always wanted a kid of his own.”’

  Josephine rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘Sad, really. Did you know Jack?’

  Dora nodded. ‘Not well, not personally, but I suppose everyone in Fairbeach thought they knew him, didn’t they? What about you?’

  Josephine tipped her chair back against the wall. ‘I liked him, he always had a quote. A couple of times he rang me up and gave me a juicy bit of gossip – and social, party things – he’d always make sure we got an invite so that we could mingle a little.’ She blew out a long slow breath. ‘His wife is a cow, though.’ She rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Caroline Rees, now there is one perfect twenty-four-carat gold bitch. Only together when the party demanded. Separate houses, separate lives. He died all alone, you know. I can understand Jack being pleased to find Lillian, someone who had been looking for him, someone to love.’

  Dora pulled a face. ‘I’ve got a fridge full of defrosted dinnerparty desserts, fancy a big bowl of comfort food?’

  Josephine nodded. ‘Why not.’

  Dora cut her a large slice of strawberry pavlova.

  ‘There is something we just aren’t seeing.’ Josephine glanced at Dora. ‘You’re the writer, what’s missing in this plot?’

  Dora snorted. ‘Sex. I don’t have to worry too much about plot with my stuff, just endless variations and permutations to get the main characters into the sack.’

  Josephine, still staring at her notes, felt around for the plate of cake. ‘Maybe you’ve got something there. I wonder who else was at this Christmas party.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be too difficult to find out. I’ll ask Calvin, he’ll jump at the chance to name drop.’ Dora hesitated. ‘The thing is, you’re looking for a story, maybe he wouldn’t be so keen to know everything he said was going to end up on the front page of the Gazette.’

  Josephine grinned. ‘I’m not going to write it yet. Besides, when I do, I’ll say “a reliable source”. Don’t worry, I’m used to deflecting flak. In the office I’m the odd one out, the token carrot top, the token woman, the token vegetarian, the token Lib Dem supporter. I’m used to being out on a limb.’ She glanced around Dora’s kitchen. ‘Actually, I always fancied being a novelist. I’ve got to be off, will you ring me when you find out about the party?’

  Dora nodded, as Josephine fished in her handbag and pulled out a business card. ‘My mobile number is on there. Any time, any place, anywhere, that’s me. Oh, and thanks for the tea and cake.’

  There was a sound of the doorbell ringing. Dora sighed and got to her feet: Jon? Sheila? Lillian? Guiding Josephine towards the door, she took a quick detour into the office.

  ‘Good afternoon, is that Mrs Hall?’ said the disembodied voice through the spe
aker. ‘PC Reed here, you reported an incident at Fairbeach police station this morning? I wondered if I might come up and have a word with you about it.’

  Dora gave the policeman a statement and then went to sit in the office.

  An insistent ringing bell woke her.

  Whoever was ringing had their finger firmly pressed on the downstairs bell. It was Jon. It had to be Jon. She would ask him about his wife quietly, calmly … She pressed the call button and yawned before she spoke – the gap was just long enough to let Sheila’s voice in.

  ‘Hello, it’s me, I was wondering if you’d like to come to tea. We’ve got tinned salmon.’

  Dora groaned.

  ‘You’ve left your answer machine on …’ Sheila said.

  Dora heard the sentence beginning through the speaker and finishing as Sheila climbed the stairs. ‘I really hate those machines. You never listen to the messages anyway.’

  Sheila bustled past Dora and into the kitchen.

  Watching her sister’s mouth flap up and down, like a guppy out of its tank, Dora wondered who Sheila spoke to the rest of the time. She needed to provide a running commentary, a constant soundtrack. Dora held up her hands to stem the verbal tide. ‘I’ll get changed.’

  She stepped back into her bedroom. Even through the door, Sheila’s voice was clearly audible, seeping through the cracks in the woodwork. Dora groaned and quickly dragged on a clean sweater.

  Detective Sergeant Rhodes handed Jon Melrose a slip of paper. ‘I thought you’d be interested in this. We’ve just had a report in from Fairbeach about a mugging.’

  Jon stared at the bald statement and felt the flutter of anxiety returning. ‘Is Dora all right?’

  Rhodes nodded. ‘Fine, as far as we know.’

  Jon picked up the phone. ‘We’ve got to do something about all this. I’m going to ring Dora and I want you to pull all the files on the other incidents. It’s high time we got this sorted out. I need you to organise some manpower.’

  Dora’s number rang once, twice. He glanced at his watch – where was she? He heard the phone pick up, and was about to speak when the answer machine cut in. It was good to hear her voice but he needed it to be Dora, not a recording.