The Cost of Living

by Rachel Ward

  ‘Yeah. Don’t be hard on him, though.’

  ‘Okay. Let me know how you get on, will you?’

  ‘Yeah, of course. But Bea?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Bob didn’t do it. I know he didn’t. So, there’s still someone out there. Be careful, babe.’

  ‘All right. I will.’

  Bea leant down to kiss Dot’s cheeks. Dot reached up and gave her a little squeeze. As Bea was walking out of the ward, she looked back over her shoulder. Dot was looking at her and when she saw Bea was looking too, she blew her a kiss. Bea caught it and held it close to her heart.

  Gav wasn’t wrong about the Costsave family. There were fallings out and bitching, but there was also loyalty and real love. She didn’t know if Dot was another mum, or an auntie or maybe one of the cousins where the generations have got out of kilter – whatever, she was a proper friend.

  On the bus home, Bea fished in her pocket and got out her list of suspects. No one who knew him thought it was Bob. But maybe that was how people got away with things – they lived blameless lives and people liked them. Hiding in plain sight. It could be Bob, but what if it wasn’t?

  If that was the hammer that she found today, then the killer could only be someone with access to the back rooms at Costsave.

  She took out her pen, then put it back in her bag and dug around for a pencil. Too many ifs and buts to take people permanently off the list, but she drew a faint pencil line through Dean, Lee, Kevin and Dave. Maybe the killer was in the police station tonight. Maybe he wasn’t.

  She looked up. The bus had already turned out of the High Street and was trundling round the estate roads. Nearly home already. She pressed the request bell and gathered up her things. Rain was battering the window, making slanting parallel tracks across the glass.

  The bus stop was only a couple of hundred metres from her house, but she felt wary stepping onto the pavement, kept looking behind her as she hurried along. There was very little traffic on the dark street, and so she heard the whirring of rubber bicycle tyres on the wet road while it was still some way away. She turned round again. The bike was bombing along on the wrong side of the road – her side. It had no lights on, and the rider was hooded. Ant?

  Instinctively, she stepped back from the kerb. The bike mounted the pavement and sped towards her. She pressed herself into a wet hedge as the bike skimmed past. She felt something hit her face and put her hand up to it. She wiped away a warm, wet, slimy glob of spit.

  The bike was back on the road now, disappearing fast. She looked around for something to throw at it, then realised the futility. Get home. Get in. Shut the door.

  She’d only caught a glimpse of the pale face inside the hood, as it turned her way and launched its loathsome missile. She could be wrong, but she didn’t think so. Dean might be off her list, but he wasn’t out of the picture.

  20

  The store was open the next morning but nothing felt normal. The staff were still in shock from the day before and divided about Bob. Most of them had known him a long time. Bea reported for work in the office, and was given a hefty list of things to do. Gavin was edgy, nervous about the effect of yesterday’s closure and the press coverage about Bob’s arrest. Despite Bea’s brave words that their regulars wouldn’t desert them, she couldn’t help peeping at the CCTV cameras when Gavin went downstairs to unlock the doors. He’d be crushed if there was no one waiting. The image on screen wasn’t the best quality, but there was a reassuring gaggle of customers streaming into the shop on the dot of eight o’clock, among them the unmistakeable figure of Smelly Reg. It was business as usual.

  Towards the end of the afternoon. Gavin put his head round the door. ‘Dean’s coming in for a disciplinary meeting in five minutes. Can you hold all my calls while he’s here?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Do you want teas or coffees or anything?’

  ‘No, it’s a formal thing. Perhaps a jug of water and some glasses. For four – me, Neville, Dean and Eileen.’

  ‘Is there a union rep?’

  ‘Eileen’s there as his rep, seeing as Bob is, um, not available today.’

  Neville appeared in the corridor behind Gavin. ‘They’re here,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, right. I just need to get some paperwork ready,’ said Gavin. ‘Can you keep them in here for five minutes?’

  Dean, Eileen and Neville gathered in Bea’s office. Apart from some terse greetings, no one spoke. Bea made a point of looking Dean in the eye, but the look she got back was so hostile that she quickly looked away and pretended to be busy at her computer. She couldn’t concentrate with the three of them crammed into the small room with her, kept remembering the warm spit hitting her face. She put her hand up to her cheek. It was no good. Never mind what Gavin said, she thought, and offered them all tea or coffee as an excuse to get out of the room.

  She scuttled off to the staffroom and made up a tray of hot drinks, together with the water and glasses that Gavin had asked for. She’d only just got back when Gavin rang through and asked her to send them in. She led the way with the tray and then left them to it, closing the door behind her.

  The meeting lasted for about three quarters of an hour. Afterwards a clearly upset Eileen hurried straight past her door, but Dean paused in the doorway. When Bea looked up he didn’t say anything but drew his finger across his throat, then left. Neville and Gavin came in, Gavin tugging at his tie to loosen it, Neville wiping a clean hankie across his forehead.

  ‘Well, that was awkward,’ Gavin said.

  ‘These things are never pleasant,’ said Neville, ‘but they have to be done. Discipline, fairness – they’re important.’

  ‘He’s gone then?’ said Bea, and they nodded their confirmation.

  ‘Do you think Eileen will stay?’ Gavin said to Neville.

  ‘She’s been here a long time.’

  ‘She will if she needs the money. We’re not exactly falling over job opportunities in Kingsleigh, are we, not since the factory closed,’ said Bea.

  ‘I hope she stays,’ said Gavin. ‘It’s not been a good couple of weeks for Costsave.’

  He and Neville both looked defeated for a few seconds, then Gavin straightened his shoulders. ‘Let’s bring everyone together,’ he said.

  ‘A staff meeting? Tomorrow morning?’ said Bea, reaching for the mouse and clicking on the online diary.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘A drink in the Nag’s Head this evening. An hour before last orders. I’ll get the first round in. How about it, Neville?’

  ‘Well, I could join you. It’s Maureen’s Brownie night tonight, so I’d be on my own.’

  ‘No, I assumed you’d come. How about buying the second round?’

  Neville looked as though he’d just sat on a pin. ‘Well I, I don’t know . . . ’

  ‘Staff morale, Neville.’

  Neville’s face flushed. ‘Well, all right, I suppose.’

  Gavin clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

  ‘Great. Put it in an all-staff text and email please, Bea.’

  ‘Yes, Gavin.’

  By mid-evening Bea was exhausted. It had all been too much: nights of broken sleep, a romance broken before it had really begun, an investigation that had started out as a righteous cause and ended in a mess of recrimination. All she wanted to do now was go home, put her feet up and watch the TV with Queenie. She certainly didn’t feel like going to the pub but she had to go out of loyalty. She’d show her face, be seen, have one drink and go home.

  The offer of a free drink was always going to be appreciated by the Costsave crowd, but even so, there was an odd feeling in the pub that night. The last time they’d gathered together here had been the night of the spinathon, and naturally that was playing on people’s minds. It was only after the second free drink that things started warming up and the hubbub of conversation reached a more normal level. The subject of most of the conversations was, inevitably, Bob.

  Ant found Bea near the bar. He was fetching a pint for Saggy
, who had somehow wangled his way into the free round. Bea was frowning.

  ‘I can’t find my phone.’

  She turned out her pockets and then started rummaging in her bag. She put the contents on the bar. They formed a mountain of odds and ends, seemingly far bigger in volume than the inside of her bag.

  ‘Damn!’ she said. ‘It’s not there. This is stupid. I’m too tired for this. I feel like I’m going mad.’

  ‘All right, all right. Calm down. It’ll turn up.’

  She filled her bag again with all her essentials and tried her pockets one more time. ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘I’ve always got my phone.’

  ‘Have you put it down in here?’

  ‘No, I haven’t had it here.’ She carried on patting her pockets. ‘What’s going on with you and Dot, anyway? She said you hadn’t been to see her for a couple of days.’

  Ant looked shamefaced. ‘I don’t know. It’s just – well, we’d only just, you know, and it probably wasn’t anything anyway. I don’t know.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to marry you, Ant. She just needs friends right now. That’s all. She’s not expecting anything from you. Go and see her.’

  ‘Yeah. I should. I will. I’ll go tomorrow.’

  ‘You could give her a ring now. She’ll still be awake. Clear the air.’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’

  ‘Which reminds me. I reckon I left my phone at work. I definitely had it there. I’ll go and get it.’

  ‘It’s closed, Bea.’

  ‘Yeah, but I know all the codes and everything. It won’t take five minutes. Will you come with me?’

  Ant eyed the remains of his second pint longingly. ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said. He drained the glass.

  They were making their way out of the pub when Eileen fell into them, coming out of the ladies’ toilet.

  ‘Woah, steady,’ said Ant, trying to stand her up straight. She slumped against him, clearly the worse for wear.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘You all right, Eileen?’ said Bea.

  ‘No. And why should I be? My son’s been sacked, thanks to you. Everything’s gone to shit. I need another drink.’

  She stumbled again and pushed all her weight against Ant, who took a couple of steps back and then propped her up again.

  ‘You need a coffee, Eileen,’ Ant said. ‘Shall I get you a coffee?’

  Bea smiled.

  Gavin was working his way towards the bar and overheard. ‘Good lad, Ant. Here,’ he dug in his pocket and handed over a fiver. ‘Pay for it out of this.’

  ‘Wow, okay,’ said Ant.

  ‘I’ll just go and get my phone,’ Bea said, over the top of Eileen’s head. ‘I’ll leave you two bonding.’

  ‘Are you coming back here?’

  ‘Yup. See you in ten minutes.’

  Ant found a spare seat for Eileen and went to the bar to fetch her a coffee. He felt a pang of worry at Bea going out on her own, then dismissed it. Bob was still in custody, after all. They’d had him for over twenty-four hours now. They’d got him.

  He looked for Gavin to give him his change, but he was lost in the throng.

  When Ant went back to Eileen, she had her head on the table. He gently put the cup and saucer down. ‘Here’s your coffee, Eileen. Drink up.’

  She raised her head slowly. ‘Whaa? Oh—’

  She tried tearing open a sachet of sugar, but spilled half of it onto the table.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Ant added the remaining half and another sachet to her cup and stirred it for her. She watched, silent and glassy-eyed. By the time she’d sipped her way to the bottom of the cup, she was talking again and there wasn’t any stopping her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ant. I got you all wrong. I know you and Dean don’t get on, but you’re not a bad lad, are you?’

  ‘Well, I try not to be.’

  ‘I don’t think you can ever really know someone.’

  Ant was only listening with half an ear. He was looking towards the door, trying to see if Bea had come back yet. ‘What was that?’

  ‘You think you know someone, live with them, share your days with them, but you don’t really know them. Like now. I’m here and I’ve no idea where my Dean is. He could be anywhere, doing anything. Like most evenings. I haven’t got a clue what he’s up to.’

  Ant stopped looking at the door and turned his full attention to Eileen. ‘Like the evening Ginny . . . ?’

  ‘We were all at the pub, weren’t we? When it was time to go home, I couldn’t find him. Ended up walking back on my own. He didn’t get in until gone two.’

  She had his full attention now.

  ‘But you told the police he was with you,’ he said urgently.

  ‘He’s my son. Your ma would do the same for you, Ant. She would.’

  ‘Yeah, but we’re talking about murder.’

  ‘He’s not a murderer.’ Eileen slumped against the padded seat.

  ‘Have you got any idea where he is now?’ Ant asked.

  She shook her head.

  Ant got his phone out and started to dial Bea’s mobile. Then he remembered that that was what she was looking for. The phone went to voicemail.

  ‘Bea,’ he said. ‘Ring me as soon as you get this. It’s important.’

  She’d check her messages when she picked up her phone, which must be about now, surely. He waited for a few more minutes, then collared Kirsty as she was passing.

  ‘Can you keep an eye on this one, please? She’s a bit tipsy.’

  Kirsty grinned. ‘Sure.’ She sat next to Eileen and Ant weaved his way through the crowd and out of the pub. Bea must have found her phone by now, if it was in the office. He tried ringing again with no joy.

  He got hold of his bike from where it was leaning against the wall and started wheeling it down the High Street towards Costsave, thinking he’d meet her halfway. He stopped for a minute. Perhaps there’d been a change of plan and she’d found a message from Queenie when she checked her messages. There usually was. On the off-chance, he dialled Bea’s home number. It only rang a couple of times before it was answered.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mrs Jordan? Is Bea with you?’

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘It’s Ant. I came to your house?’

  ‘Oh, Ant! How are you , love? Are things a bit better now?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. I’m trying to find Bea. Is she at home?’

  ‘No, but she’s on her way here. She texted me to say she was meeting her friend here.’

  Ah, she’d found her phone. ‘Oh, great.’ He felt a bit put out that she hadn’t rung him though, when she knew he was waiting at the pub. He wondered who was more important, knowing at the back of his mind that it was probably Tom, despite what he’d told her. ‘Um, which friend was it?’ He tried to keep his voice casual.

  ‘One of the boys from work. You’ll know, I suppose.’

  Not Tom then – he felt a little surge of relief. But then he remembered that pretty much everyone from work was at the pub. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Dean, I think.’

  The relief turned to something cold and hard inside.

  ‘Dean’s coming to your house?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ There was a noise in the background, a doorbell ringing. ‘Oh, that’ll be him. I’ll tell Bea you rang—’

  ‘Mrs Jordan! Don’t let him—’ Ant was shouting over the top of her, but it was no good. She’d rung off. ‘Shit, shit, shitterty shit!’

  He rang back and kept it ringing as he turned the bike around and started pedalling the other way. Going past the newsagents, he spotted someone in uniform queuing at the till. Ant checked the traffic and swerved across the road. He bumped the bike up the kerb and rode through the open door into the newsagents. He was aware of people shouting at him, but he ignored that. The officer looked round. It was Tom.

  Ant skidded to a halt. ‘Mate! Listen!’

  Tom looked at him with a mixture of distaste an
d glee. ‘I’m not your mate,’ he said. ‘And I’m on duty, and this is clearly antisocial behaviour—’

  ‘No! Bea’s in trouble! Or her mum is. At her house. We’ve got to get there now!’

  Tom scrunched up his face, trying to make sense of what Ant was saying.

  ‘Dean’s up there. He’s threatened her. He’s there now!’

  ‘Okay, okay. We’ll go up in the car. I’ll get Shaz. She’s just using the bog in the chip shop.’

  Ant swore. ‘I can’t wait for that. I’ll see you there.’

  He swung his bike around and started pedalling, leaving behind him more shouts of outrage from the shop staff and customers. Ant pedalled as fast as he could. His legs were hurting, it was difficult to catch his breath, but he pushed on. The alcohol was sweeping through him, but it didn’t muddy his brain. No, it was all clear now, crystal clear. Dean had no alibi for the attacks and he had a massive grudge against Bea. He pedalled faster.

  The police car overtook him at the end of Bea’s road. Ant stood up on his pedals and pumped his legs as fast as they would go. When he got to number twenty-three, he jumped off his bike and left it lying on the pavement. He ran through the gate. There were three people in the front garden – the two coppers and Bea’s mum. Ant raced up to them.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

  Queenie looked round. ‘Oh, Ant,’ she said. ‘My feet are freezing.’

  ‘Just step back, please,’ said Tom, trying to usher Ant away from them.

  ‘No! Wait a minute. What’s going on? Is Dean here?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Queenie. ‘He’s in the cupboard under the stairs.’

  ‘What?’ said Ant and Tom together.

  ‘He was saying some nasty things about Bea. I didn’t like it. I asked him to leave and he wouldn’t.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I asked him to fetch us a drink, a bottle of sherry from under the stairs, and then I pushed him in and bolted the door. He was making an awful racket so I came outside and rang the police. I’ve only just come off the phone. Surprised you got here so fast. Were you in the area?’