Hate Bale

by Stephanie Dagg

  “Sorry,” apologised Philippe, as she drew in behind him on the road for a much-needed breather. “I got a bit carried away there.”

  He braced himself for an earbashing.

  Martha simply grimaced. It was meant to be a forgiving smile but she didn’t have full control over her facial muscles. Most of her energy was going to her heart, which was thumping faster than she’d have ever guessed possible. She briefly diverted a fraction of a calorie to fuel a dismissive hand flutter.

  “Good training!” she panted eventually. “I guess this will be the… sort of speed I’ll need to go tomorrow to…”

  “Win?” supplied Philippe, admiring her ambition. “Good for you.”

  “Not come last, I was going to say,” Martha confessed. “I refuse to come last.”

  That wasn’t quite as ambitious, but it still counted as a goal and thus was still commendable, if less enthusiastically.

  “That works too,” shrugged Philippe.

  Martha took a quick glug of water from her bottle, and mopped the sweat on her forehead and cheeks with the back of her cycling-gloved hand. She sucked in more deep breaths and was delighted to feel a sudden and unexpected surge of energy. She shoved one foot back into the toe clips, pushed off with the other and began to pedal furiously.

  “Come on, slowcoach,” she called over her shoulder, “I’ll beat you home,” she challenged.

  Relieved at being forgiven so quickly for setting such a selfish and punishing pace, Philippe was careful not to overtake on the final stretch. He only drew level with her as they bumped down the drive. They swung round the bed, and saw a second car next to Philippe’s outside the farmhouse. Both of them frowned: Philippe in case this was a threat, but Martha because she recognised it.

  “Jared!” she bellowed, coming to a halt next to it.

  The door to the house opened and Flossie bounded out, followed by Jared. He looked both guilty and defiant at the same time.

  “I thought I told you not to come,” cried Martha.

  “Hi Mum, nice to see you too,” grinned her good-looking son.

  “Don’t go thinking I won’t be cross just because you’re all handsome and I love you so much.” She was trying to stay annoyed, but failing. Her eyes were filling with tears of joy. It was always wonderful to see either of her children and she really, really needed to see one of them at the moment.

  By now she’d laid the bike down, blinked away her tears and was hurrying over to Jared. She wrapped him in a hug as best she could since he towered over her. Where the tall genes had come from was a mystery since neither hers nor Mark’s families were noteworthy for height.

  “Well, you told me not to come but Blandine said I should, to keep an eye on you. And I thought, who am I better off obeying? My mum or my fiancée, my fianc—”

  “What?!” screeched Martha, stepping back to scrutinise Jared. He was beaming proudly. “You’re getting married? When did you get engaged? Why didn’t you tell me before? Have you set a date yet? What about Lily?” The questions gushed out. Then pure happiness took over. “Oh, I’m so pleased for you both. And so would Dad be.”

  They locked eyes, both fondly imagining how Mark would have reacted to the news. He’d never met Blandine but Martha knew he’d have adored her, like she did.

  “So? Details,” she demanded.

  She felt Philippe’s hands on her shoulders. He leaned past to shake Jared’s hand.

  “Congratulations, young man,” he said. “I hate to interrupt, as I know you have a lot to talk about, but I need to get back home so I don’t keep the boss waiting.”

  “Have something to eat and drink first,” urged Martha. “You must be starving. I know I am.”

  She was, but she’d temporarily forgotten her hunger in all the excitement.

  Philippe looked at his watch. “No, I don’t have time. I dare say we’ll stop at some services between here and Calais so I can get a meal.”

  “I’ll make you a sandwich,” offered Martha, taking a step towards the house.

  “No, there’s no need. And I really have to get going.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry it’s all turned out to be a bit of disaster,” sighed Martha.

  “What disaster? I’ve had a great morning, well, apart from the phone call, and it’s not because of you everything’s gone pear-shaped,” he pointed out. “Work’s got in the way.”

  “And I’ve enjoyed myself too, apart from the last couple of hills. But,” she went on firmly seeing Philippe opening his mouth to apologise, “it’s been a good warm-up for tomorrow.”

  “I hope I’ll be back to cheer you on, but I won’t promise,” said Philippe.

  “Oh yes, Mum’s bike race thing. Don’t worry, I can cheer for both of us,” offered Jared.

  “Please do, and loudly,” Philippe chuckled. “Well, I’d better make tracks. Can I leave my bike here, Martha? It took me ages to strap it onto the rack and I’m seriously short of time.”

  “Of course. I’ll put it in the barn with mine, no worries.”

  “Thanks. And I’ll keep you posted as much as I’m able to,” he promised, bending to kiss her cheeks.

  “Fingers crossed he is our man after all,” said Martha.

  “Goodbye, Jared.” The men shook hands again. “Don’t let your mother out of your sight, will you? And both of you go to Lottie’s tonight, all right?”

  Martha nodded vigorously. “We will.”

  Jared shot his mother a horrified look. He found Lottie slightly terrifying. Martha returned a ‘you’ll do as you’re told’ look, one she’d perfected over turbulent years of raising strong-willed children. Jared wilted slightly, as he always had done on seeing that expression. Martha was strong-willed too.

  They waved Philippe goodbye. Jared turned to his mum with a sly grin.

  “Were you two on a date?” he asked.

  “No,” Martha said primly. “Philippe was coaching me for tomorrow’s race, that’s all.”

  “So you just bought in all that fancy food in the fridge, plus that ultra poncey bottle of wine, on the off-chance someone might drop by?” Jared enquired, raising an eyebrow. “Not to mention a top-of-the-range cool box.”

  Did such things actually exist, wondered Martha. They were all the same, surely.

  “Philippe just happened to bring a picnic with him,” Martha replied quickly. “Now, let’s—”

  “Aha, it was a date!” declared Jared triumphantly. “Good for you, Mum. He’s a nice guy.”

  “Never you mind what I’m up to, or rather not up to,” said Martha dismissively. “You’re the one who needs to do all the talking. So let’s go inside and get some lunch, and then you tell me everything.”

  In they went, Martha already thinking about what sort of hat she’d buy for the wedding.

  Chapter 15

  The next hour flew by. Martha wanted to get all the details about Jared’s proposal and talk about the wedding, but he wanted to find out more about the various murders that had been going on all around his mother. They kept going round in circles, answering each other’s questions with non-sequitur questions of their own, until Martha thumped the table hard.

  “Right, it’s my roof you’re under, my food you’re eating – well, Philippe’s but he gave it to me – so my rules. You will talk for ten minutes about all things wedding related, then I’ll talk about… events here.”

  “Five minutes for me,” bargained Jared. “And fifteen for you – five minutes for each homicide.”

  Martha frowned at him, but if that was the only way she’d get to hear what she wanted, then so be it. “OK, but one thing I want to clear up first.”

  “Fire away,” invited Jared, tucking into another plateful of pâté en croute and assorted salads accompanied by a delicious baguette. Philippe knew how to do picnics.

  “You said you’d cheer for me at the race tomorrow, but surely you’ll have to be on your way home? You’ve got school Tuesday morning. I don’t want you getting home crazily late,
” said Martha.

  “Nope, no school until at least Thursday,” Jared told her.

  “How come? Oh, you’re not on strike, are you? You know how I feel about strikes.”

  Martha was not a fan of them. She appreciated the fact that people had a right to strike, but in her view such action only ever inconvenienced members of the public who had no say or influence in the matter at the centre of such disputes. Train strikes only ever meant students couldn’t get to or from uni, air traffic control strikes messed up the long awaited and eagerly anticipated holiday that ordinary folk had been saving up for ages for, and teachers’ strikes meant kids weren’t getting the education they were entitled to. She sighed.

  “To answer your last two points: no I’m not, and yes I do. As for ‘how come’, well, you’ll never guess.” He paused, tantalisingly.

  “Well, go on,” urged Martha, tempted to break off another large chunk of baguette but opting instead to save room for the delectable-looking tarte Tatin Philippe had provided.

  “There started being problems with the electrics in some of the classrooms – lights flickering, plug sockets not always working, that sort of thing. Then some pupils started saying they could hear weird noises, in cupboards or maybe in the walls or under the floor. Rumours started going round there were ghosts or a poltergeist, so of course kids starting catching glimpses of shadowy figures and what have you.”

  Martha smiled. “But that lycée is only ten years old or so, isn’t it?”

  “Nine,” nodded Jared.

  “Was it built over an old graveyard then?” teased Martha.

  “Nothing so exciting. Some pupils were getting a bit hysterical about it all so the principal called in the builders to see if they could find a more mundane reason for the weird goings-on. They made an exploratory hole in the wall of one of the classrooms,” he stopped to take a mouthful of bread which he chewed very, very slowly while Martha rolled her eyes, “and out poured hundreds of rats!”

  “Seriously?” exclaimed Martha. “Ooh, gross.”

  There were rats in her barn inevitably, but the team of cats kept the numbers down. One had run over Martha’s foot once and she caught occasional glimpses of one or two scuttling up or down a wall now and again, and that was quite enough contact. She couldn’t imagine being faced with a deluge of them.

  “Turns out the place is infested so the public health brigade have closed the school until they’re all eradicated and the mess cleared up.”

  “Good heavens. Well, in that case you have my permission to stay and watch the bike race, assuming your fiancée doesn’t need you back home.”

  “No, she’s with her family. I dropped her off on the way here. Her and her mum and sister are going to plan dresses and get the official stuff started. We’ll get married at the Mairie in her village.”

  “Good, now that you’re on the subject, go back to the beginning and then keep going,” instructed Martha, and Jared did.

  He told his mother that he’d been standing in the tinned vegetable aisle in the hypermarket, watching Blandine as she patiently told an old lady who’d forgotten her glasses the price of all the different brands of sweetcorn, and it hit him as never before what a sweet, wonderful, beautiful, gorgeous woman his girlfriend was and that he really should marry her.

  “You didn’t propose there, did you?” asked Martha, aghast. She’d never considered her son as being particularly romantic, but he really could do better than that.

  “Course not,” snorted Jared, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I waited till we were outside in the car park.”

  “Oh no, you d— Horrid boy!” she laughed, realising he was teasing her when she saw his face crease up in amusement.

  Jared revealed he’d taken Blandine out to a tiny Turkish beachside restaurant they loved, and he’d popped the question there. She’d squealed with delight, cried, run outside onto the sand then run back in, cried some more and said ‘yes’. It was an evening neither of them would ever forget.

  “Did she like Grandma’s ring?” asked Martha.

  When she died, Mark’s mother had left both Lily and Jared a diamond ring each. One had been hers, and one had been her mother’s, the children’s great-grandmother’s. Mark had put them in the safe until Jared, the eldest, reached eighteen. He’d let the children choose one each. Luckily they’d liked different ones. Lily had gone for the older of the two rings, which had garnets encircling the central stone, resembling a flower. Jared had preferred the more subtle, white gold ring with a dainty solitaire diamond in a princess cut. It was simple and understated, and all the more beautiful because of that. Martha had told them that they didn’t have to actually use them, they could just keep them as mementos, but Jared announced there and then that he would give this ring to his future wife. There had been many happy marriages on both Mark’s and Martha’s sides, so he was sure this ring would bring him the same happiness.

  “She absolutely loves it, Mum,” beamed Jared. “So did her parents when they saw it this morning. And what’s more, it’s a perfect fit.”

  “I’m so pleased,” smiled Martha.

  “Right, that’s my bit done. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Whoa, not so fast! I need to hear your wedding plans.”

  Another eye roll. “Haven’t got many yet,” he shrugged dismissively. “We’ll sort it all out in the next few weeks I expect. Flowers, bridesmaids, reception, whatever. Right, I’m all ears.”

  Martha knew when she was defeated. She finished her slice of tarte Tatin, made herself a mug of tea and proceeded to tell Jared everything.

  “Holy crap, Mum,” was his announcement when she’d finished. “You’re one tough cookie to have coped will all that.”

  “If I’ve coped.” Martha pulled a face. “I think I’m probably still in denial about poor Bruno. The other two shook me up all right. This last one hasn’t really hit home yet.”

  She hoped it never would.

  “I’m glad I came.” Jared’s remark was heartfelt. “With any luck the rats have done even more damage to the wiring and stuff at the school than the assessors think so I can stay here with you until the police get that bastard. He really is a farm-and-farmer-hating crazy sicko.”

  That seemed to sum the perp up perfectly.

  “Well, I’m still cross you came,” replied Martha, “although you really were a sight for sore eyes. You might be putting yourself in danger.”

  “Nonsense. If I can survive two hours first thing on Monday morning with class 502 then I can survive anything,” he chuckled.

  Martha wished he would take the lurking threat a lot more seriously.

  “So, another cuppa?” offered Martha. “Or yet more to eat?”

  Jared had packed away a huge amount of food, but he was still eyeing the leftovers greedily. Martha had forgotten just how much her son could eat. How he stayed slim was beyond her as he wasn’t greatly given to exercise.

  “Yes please to both.” With a smile Jared cut himself another slice of the rapidly dwindling tart. “So what next?”

  “As in?” prompted Martha.

  “Yours and Lottie’s amateur sleuthing, of course.”

  “There won’t be any more sleuthing,” announced Martha, firmly.

  “Nonsense,” came a voice from the open doorway, making both Bigglesthwaites start with surprise. “We’ve barely started.”

  Martha stifled a groan, but only just. It was both at the sudden appearance of her friend, interrupting this all-too-rare mother-son alone time, and at her words.

  “I never heard you arriving,” she said, getting up to put the kettle on. “And you,” she nudged Flossie gently with her foot, “never warned me.”

  Flossie was stretched out on her side, efficiently filling the space between the kitchen table and the worktop where the kettle was. Martha had to step over her. The dog opened an eye long enough to give Martha a ‘so sue me’ look and went back to snoozing. Martha bent to ruffle her fur affectionately.

>   “Lovely to see you, Lottie,” fibbed Jared with a smile that he hoped looked genuine.

  “How are you, young man?” She flounced over to him, together with a powerful dose of Clive Christian No. 1 for Women and a fluttery lace cardigan, and planted a kiss on each cheek, leaving a bit of deep mahogany lipstick behind. Martha wondered where her friend had managed to source that new, dark shade overnight.

  Martha caught Jared’s eye and mimed a rub-your-cheek action, which he promptly did, frowning at the smear of cosmetics that appeared on his fist.

  “Your youthful, sharp eyes will come in handy,” said Lottie, as she sat down in Martha’s chair.

  “No they won’t, because they won’t be looking for anything,” Martha said firmly. “None of us will be. With any luck, Philippe and the Vampire Judge will come back tomorrow from Calais with the culprit.” That was wildly optimistic but it helped her argument. “He’s gone with her to interview him.”

  “I know, I know,” Lottie flapped a hand impatiently. “Philippe explained when he rang me, letting me know he’d been called away from his baby-sitting duties.” Then she tutted crossly. “They’ve obviously got the wrong guy. He’s just a car thief that you happened to see the same day you found Daniel.”

  Martha wished she could disagree with that, but she couldn’t. This ordeal wasn’t over yet, but she and Lottie poking around for clues, and dragging Jared in on the act, wasn’t going to do anyone any good.

  “Like I said just now,” she resumed sternly, “there will be no sleuthing. Nil, zilch, nada, rien. No way no how. In a nutshell, no.”

  Chapter 16

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” groaned Martha, head in her hands as Lottie pulled the Range Rover into a field entrance about half a kilometre from the Lecerf farm.

  “Oh come on, it’s harmless fun,” Jared reassured her, giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow before climbing out of the car.