by Agatha Frost
“Take a seat,” Grace said, pointing at the chair opposite her desk as she sat behind her computer. “I just wanted to ask you if Evelyn got any better after we left? We both feel terrible about the state she was in. We couldn’t help feeling to blame.”
“It’s a tough time for her,” Julia explained in a low voice. “Don’t blame yourselves though. She perked up a little when I managed to talk to her, but we all deal with grief differently.”
“That’s true,” Grace mumbled, her eyes glazing over. “I can barely eat since we heard. I just can’t keep anything down. Aiden is the same.”
Grace glanced at a framed picture on the edge of the desk, which was angled so the patient could also see it. It appeared to be a family picture taken on holiday, featuring Grace and Aiden, along with the three boys Johnny had told her about. They varied in age, with the eldest looking to be at least twenty, the youngest around five, and the one in the middle in his early-teens. The eldest had Grace’s black hair, while the others had Aiden’s sandier hair.
“We took that in Scarlet Cove last year,” Grace said with a soft sigh as she picked up the picture. “It was Aiden’s idea to holiday in the UK, so we picked a small fishing village on the south coast. We usually go to Cyprus or Spain, but we had just as much fun there.”
“You have a beautiful family.”
“Thank you,” Grace said with a soft smile. “Isn’t it odd how time flies? It feels like only yesterday that we were in school, and this was my mum’s office, but my Mark turned twenty a couple of months ago. I don’t feel old enough.”
“Well, you don’t look old enough,” Julia said with a small chuckle. “I’ve got Jessie, and she’s just turned seventeen.”
“I never knew you had a daughter,” Grace said as she rested the frame back where it belonged.
“I’m her foster mother,” Julia explained. “Well, not officially, but social services are slow to act. I’m as good as, though. She was homeless until I took her in at the beginning of the year.”
“That’s very noble of you,” Grace said. “Mark isn’t Aiden’s real son, but he’s been there for him since he was born.”
“I didn’t know that,” Julia said, looking at the picture again, noticing even more how much Mark stood out with his dark hair amongst the other blond boys. “Does Mark see his biological father?”
“No,” Grace said flatly, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I got pregnant while I was still in school. Too many drinks at a house party. You know what it’s like to be a teenager. Hormones are blazing, and you do stupid things you regret instantly. He didn’t want to be a dad when I told him, so we went our separate ways after school. I haven’t seen him since, but we don’t need him. I had a lot of help from my parents in the early days before Aiden and I officially got together.”
“Must have helped having a doctor for a mother,” Julia said, remembering the fact from her youth. “Doctor Gambaccini?”
“Alessandra Gambaccini,” Grace said with a smile. “She retired. I took over her office after working my way up. She worked here for nearly forty years before she hung up her stethoscope. Lives up at Oakwood Nursing Home now.”
“She must be proud that you followed in her footsteps.”
“She is,” Grace said with a sweet smile. “It wasn’t easy going through medical school with a newborn. I don’t think I could have done it without Aiden being by my side.”
“I should probably get going,” Julia said, suddenly remembering her bike leaning against the wall outside. “I don’t want to keep your patients waiting.”
“Will you give Evelyn my love?” Grace said as she opened her top drawer before pulling out a flyer. “Why don’t you come to The Flying Horseman on Friday night? It’s a nice little pub over in Burford. Aiden’s band is playing there, and it would be nice to catch-up properly over a glass of wine. You should bring that hunky detective inspector I heard you were dating.”
Julia looked down at the poorly designed flyer for Aiden’s band, which was aptly called ‘Nerveana – The Cotswolds’ Best Nirvana Tribute Band’.
“I’ll try and make it,” Julia said as she pocketed the flyer along with Dot’s prescription slip, despite punk rock not being hers, or Barker’s, cup of tea. “Hopefully Barker isn’t working.”
“No pressure,” Grace said, turning her attention to the screen as she began typing. “Can you send Mrs Wainthropp in? I suspect her hemorrhoids have been playing up again.”
Julia slipped out of the room and informed the elderly woman that the doctor was ready to see her. Mrs Wainthropp scowled at her as she stood up with the aid of her cane, wincing as she did.
Leaving Grace to get on with her job, Julia slipped out of the surgery, glad to see her bike exactly where she had left it. She squinted into the distance at her father’s antique barn at the bottom of Mulberry Lane, surprised to see a familiar redhead walking towards her with a plastic bag.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Roxy said with a grin as she kissed Julia on the cheek. “Just been having a catch-up with your dad. Gave me a nice little discount on some antique pictures for my downstairs bathroom.”
“My gran made me pick up her prescription,” Julia said, pulling it out of her jean’s pocket along with the flyer. “Just spoke to Grace. She invited me to see Aiden’s band on Friday night.”
“Nerveana?” Roxy mumbled with a snort. “That’s tragic. I wonder if he’s still with those nerds from school. They would get up on stage at every school event. They had as much star quality as a dry piece of toast. Are you going?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Julia said as she stuffed the flyer back in her pocket. “Maybe they can tell me some stuff about Astrid, that might help me piece things together.”
“Their tongues might get a little looser after some alcohol,” Roxy suggested with a grin. “That’s a good idea. I bumped into Mrs Hargreaves in the supermarket last night after leaving your cottage. We talked about Astrid and she said that the girl was bullied.”
“Mrs Hargreaves, the food technology teacher?” Julia asked. “I thought she would have been retired by now.”
“She’s getting on in years, but she’s still there,” Roxy said as they started to walk up the street with Julia pushing her bike. “I knew people used to tease Astrid about how odd her mum was, but the way Mrs Hargreaves was talking made it sound more serious.”
When they reached the top of the street, Julia checked her watch before saying, “It’s half past three. I wonder if she’s still at the school.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Roxy said as she pulled her keys out of her pocket. “I’m parked around the corner. Your bike will fit on the backseat.”
Julia could not remember the last time she had visited her old high school, but it had barely changed since her days walking the halls. Hollins High School had been built in the 1960s to combine the smaller high schools in the villages surrounding it. Its square grey concrete buildings with large windows looked just as Julia remembered, with the only visible change being the modernised logo.
“It still smells the same,” Roxy whispered as they walked down the main pink-painted corridor towards the food technology classroom. “Does it feel smaller, or are we just bigger?”
“I think it’s the latter,” Julia replied, glancing at the displays of students’ work on the walls.
They pushed through two heavy double doors and walked down three steps into the common area. It was filled with the same metal benches and tables, but there was now a roof above covering it, reminding Julia of the cold winter days shivering with Roxy and Johnny.
Without needing to speak, they walked automatically down the network of corridors towards the technology block. A group of teenagers hurried past, glancing suspiciously at the two women. The green and black blazer had been replaced with a black jumper with the modern logo on the breast; Julia preferred the blazer.
“I spent most of my time here,” Julia said as they approached Mrs Hargreaves’ door,
the scent of freshly baked bread drifting through the partially open door. “It was my second home.”
“Do we knock?” Roxy whispered back. “Do we even call her Mrs Hargreaves, or Jillian?”
“I can’t call her Jillian. That would be like watching a dog walk on hind legs. It wouldn’t feel right.”
The two women shared a look before they pushed on the door and walked into the familiar long room. The six mini-kitchen booths were just as Julia remembered them. The counters, floor, and equipment were all different, but it was similar enough for Julia to suddenly be transported back to her teenage years. Food technology had been her favourite subject, and the one she was naturally good at.
Mrs Hargreaves shuffled out of the storeroom, examining a can of peach slices over the glasses on the end of her nose. She was a petite and slender woman who barely scraped five feet in height. She had bushy hair, which was always pulled back and secured in a puffy bobble at the base of her neck. Aside from her brown hair now having streaks of grey and her face having more lines, the winds of time had barely changed her.
“As I live and breathe!” she exclaimed when she looked up and caught Julia’s eyes. “Is that Julia South I see before me?”
“The very same,” Julia replied, unable to contain her grin. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs Hargreaves.”
“It’s Jill to you now,” she said, setting down the can on her desk before clapping her hands together. “You look so grown up! How many years has it been?”
“Julia just celebrated her thirty-eighth birthday,” Roxy announced, nudging Julia in the ribs. “She’s getting old.”
“I’ll hear none of that, Roxy Carter!” Jill said, pointing a finger. “Don’t think I won’t put you in detention just because you’re a teacher yourself now. What brings you girls here? I suppose this isn’t a social visit?”
The three women drifted over to the table where students would work on their written work after cooking and baking. Jill brought over a freshly made lemon drizzle cake, along with three cups of tea.
“Best part of the job,” Jill said. “A girl in Year Ten baked this, and she’s almost up to your standards, Julia. I haven’t had a student as talented and dedicated since you. Sure, there have been gifted bakers, but nobody has matched you.”
“She runs her own café,” Roxy said, winking at Julia. “Best cakes in Peridale. She’s famous around the village.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jill said as she sliced up the cake. “Last I heard you were working in a factory in London. I couldn’t believe you were wasting your talent doing that.”
“She followed a man to the big city,” Roxy said, her tongue drifting across her lips as she reached out for a slice of cake. “She finally came to her senses, divorced the pig, and now she’s dating a detective inspector.”
“Technically, he divorced me,” Julia mumbled before blowing on the hot surface of the tea. “But he did me a favour.”
“You’re better off alone, if you ask me,” Jill said. “Mr Hargreaves is nice enough, but I’m sick and tired of picking up his underwear. He puts it next to the washing basket –”
“But never in it?” Julia interrupted.
“You have the same problem, then,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Sometimes I think they’re all the same. How about you, Roxy? I forgot to ask when I saw you in the supermarket last night.”
“Erm, I’m dating,” Roxy said casually as she wiped the cake crumbs from her lipstick. “This is really good lemon drizzle cake.”
“I heard you were a lesbian,” Jill said bluntly before sipping her tea. “Isn’t it funny how gossip travels?”
“She’s called Violet,” Julia said, suppressing a grin. “They’re very much in love.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jill said with a firm nod. “Too many people are judgemental these days. I’m happy to hear that you’ve been accepted.”
“Well, there was one woman who tried to blackmail us before I told everyone the truth,” Roxy mumbled from behind her cup, glancing at Julia. “But, she’s dead now. My sister killed her. It’s a long story.”
“Ah, I heard Rachel was in prison,” Jill said before taking a bite of the cake. “That was a hot topic in the staff room at the beginning of the year. Family, eh? Full of drama, but you can’t live without them. So, what’s the real reason you’re here, girls?”
Julia and Roxy looked at each other, both sipping their tea, neither of them seeming to know how to broach the subject. Despite being a similar age to what Mrs Hargreaves would have been when she had taught them, Julia could not shake the feeling that she was suddenly a student again and the woman in front of her was her teacher.
“It’s about Astrid Wood,” Roxy started as she picked at the leftover cake on her plate. “I know we spoke about her last night. You mentioned something about her being picked on.”
“Terrible news,” she said after exhaling heavily. “Such a terrible shame. Of course, I knew she would be dead. Teenage girls don’t just go missing like that and turn up alive twenty years later. Somebody would have seen her. I pity the person who found her body. I don’t suppose it would have been more than bones.”
“Yeah,” Julia mumbled, her cheeks burning. “I suppose it would have been.”
“The poor girl wasn’t just picked on,” Jill said, her voice rising. “She was being targeted! Bullied! I tried to help, but she wouldn’t tell me who was tormenting her. The poor thing was terrified.”
“What did they do to her?”
“It was the usual stuff at first,” Jill started, her brows tensing as she stared off into the middle of the table as her mind cast back. “They destroyed her school books, broke into her locker, pushed her into the walls, but it stepped up a notch in the months before she went missing. I found her in the girls’ bathroom, sobbing on the floor. Someone tried to push her head down the toilet. Poor thing was soaked through and shaking. Wouldn’t tell me a thing! I always wondered if the people targeting her were behind what happened to her, but I didn’t have any evidence. I told the police everything I knew about the girl, but they thought I was making it up. She never reported anything, and neither did I. It was in the days before bullying was taken as seriously as it is now. Back then, it was just brushed under the carpet. I should have filed a complaint with the head master at the time, not that he would have listened. He was a misogynistic pig!”
“Mr Hunter?” Roxy jumped in.
“That was his name!” Jill said, nodding heavily. “I did a little dance when he was fired. It was a couple of years after your girls’ time, but he started turning up to school drunk. Punched a little Year Seven kid square in the face during break time after he refused to stop playing football. Instant dismissal, of course, but you can see why he wouldn’t have taken me seriously about Astrid. Nobody would have. Evelyn insisted on burning sage all over the school before her daughter’s first day. We all thought she was loopy. She’d flounce in on parent’s evening in her kaftans and turbans and would give a crystal to all of her teachers. She was nuts, but I loved her. I still have those crystals at home somewhere.”
Julia patted her pocket. She had been carrying the sapphire stone around with her since her birthday.
“And you have no idea who was targeting her?” Julia asked. “Anything you know might help.”
“There was a popular group of girls at the time,” Jill said as she tapped her finger against her chin. “Their leader was called Becky. I pulled her aside after a lesson once and asked her if she had been picking on Astrid, but she flat out denied it, and I was inclined to believe her, but I could have been wrong.”
Julia took a bite of the lemon drizzle cake. It was light and fluffy, and had just the right amount of zesty lemon. Julia made a mental note to bake one when her café reopened.
“Is there anything else you might know?” Roxy asked. “Anything at all? Julia has promised Evelyn she’s going to try and find the underlying cause of things.”
“Why w
ould you go and do that?” Jill asked, shaking her head at Julia. “Leave it to the police.”
“Julia is quite the dab hand at solving murders,” Roxy said quickly before Julia could say a word. “She’s been cracking cases all year. She’s got quite the reputation in the village.”
“I have been reading about an awful lot of murders in Peridale recently,” Jill said, her eyes glazing over again. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything else. Well, there was that – no, I shouldn’t say. I did promise her I would take it to my grave, and I haven’t told a soul since.”
Julia and Roxy glanced at each other, and then at their former teacher. They both shuffled forward on their chairs and leaned in across the table.
“Mrs Hargreaves, if you’re keeping a secret for Astrid, she’s been dead for over twenty years,” Julia said. “You can’t betray a dead girl’s confidence.”
“It’s Jill,” she said with a stern smile. “And I wouldn’t feel right.”
“You said you liked Evelyn, right?” Julia said, her voice beginning to shake. “I promised her I would figure out what happened to her daughter. Someone murdered Astrid and locked her in a basement. I was the one who found her. She was under my café. I need to figure this out, for Evelyn’s sake. The poor woman is torn up.”
Jill opened her mouth to speak before sighing and leaning back in her chair. She pulled off her glasses and cleaned them on the edge of her cardigan before sliding them back up her nose. She looked at Julia and smiled softly.
“You’re just as feisty and determined as I remembered,” Jill said, her smile growing. “I always loved that about you. I’d never met a student so determined to figure out why a recipe wasn’t working before you. You never gave up until you had things figured out.”