Calamity in Camberwell

by Alice Castle

  ‘That’s really weird,’ said Beth. ‘She didn’t say a word to me about a big project anyway, that came from Tim. And I thought it was odd that I didn’t see any sign of her having a huge deadline or feeling the stress.’

  ‘Does she normally confide in you?’

  ‘Confide? I’m not sure about that. Well, work isn’t a secret thing, anyway, is it? So it’s not really a question of confiding. But yes, we do talk about work because we’re in similar fields. Well, Jen’s gone more IT these last few years, but we started off in journalism, pretty much in related areas. The trouble is there isn’t really enough of that work to go round, so everyone diversifies.’

  ‘But you just work for Wyatt’s, don’t you?’

  ‘I actually do other bits and pieces on the side as well,’ admitted Beth. ‘Not much. Probably not as much as I should, but it’s hard to turn down and I like to keep my hand in, just in case.’

  ‘Just in case what? They love you at Wyatt’s. Fancy new Institute and all that?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Beth modestly, her cheeks feeling warm. ‘It’s been going really well. But you never know, do you?’

  York glanced over at her, but said nothing.

  ‘I like to have a back-up plan,’ she admitted, holding the tea up to her lips.

  ‘I’ve noticed that. Unless it’s really dangerous, in which case you just steam in like a nutter.’

  For a second, Beth sat up straighter, ready to leap to offence. Then she sneaked a look at York and saw his smile curving. He was only trying to wind her up.

  She laughed. ‘I’m a reformed character. I’m going to be tip-toeing around, not getting into any more hot water, I promise,’ she said.

  ‘Believe that when I see it,’ muttered York into his mug of tea. ‘So, what’s the next bit of your cunning plan?’

  ‘I’m not sure I have one. You mean, the plan to find Jen? Or whoever clonked me on the head? Or my life plan?’

  ‘Do you actually have a life plan?’ asked York. ‘Love to hear that.’

  ‘Well, it might be a bit sketchy… things keep changing,’ Beth said, batting the question away. She suddenly felt shy in front of this big virtual stranger. If she confided her hopes and dreams to him, he’d probably laugh. And besides, some of them were so tentative that they’d go pop, like soap bubbles, if she exposed them to the light of day. Far better to think of something else entirely. ‘But you’ve just given me an idea. A mad one, but still. Do you think Jen might have hit me?’

  ‘Why would she have done that? Had you had a row?’

  ‘Not at all. I just can’t think of anyone else who might have been there to do it… apart from Jeff, of course.’

  ‘We keep coming back to him, don’t we? And to answer your question, no, I don’t think it can have been Jen, unless she’s built like a navvy. I haven’t met her but I’m guessing that’s not the case?’

  Beth shook her head. Jen was of middling height, and slight.

  ‘It was probably, but not definitely, a man who hit you. It was quite a hard blow; you were lucky not to have cracked your skull. Looks like you moved at the last second and the force just glanced off to the side,’ said York, peering at Beth’s head with the professional detachment which came with years of studying messy crime scenes. Beth’s hair, with a bandage still clinging to the soft dark strands, was now one of these. ‘Otherwise, well. If he’d hit you full on…’ York didn’t elaborate but Beth went cold for a second.

  Then she decided she just couldn’t afford to get caught up in might-have-beens. She’d had a narrow escape; she should be thanking her stars.

  ‘So it wasn’t Jen. That’s a relief. I didn’t seriously think she’d do it, but I’m glad she’s ruled out. But Jeff. He’s the obvious suspect. And I’ve got a feeling about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something, a sort of suppressed anger, if that makes sense? Jen’s odd, when he’s around.’

  ‘Odd? In what way?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t really know. But she’s a bit wary, as though she’s worried about saying the wrong thing all the time.’ Beth shook her head. ‘Look, I’m probably imagining it. Take no notice.’

  ‘No,’ said York slowly. ‘Your instincts are good. If you think something’s off, I’d put money on you being right. But we can’t steam in there and arrest him for making his wife polite. Even if we could find him.’

  Where on earth was Jen? Beth sighed. She’d been worried before. But now she was really anxious. And where was Jeff, for that matter? They couldn’t both have vanished off the face of the earth. Could they?

  Chapter Eleven

  Beth had roses in her cheeks the next morning as she towed Ben along to school, and not just because it was one of those gorgeous crisp wintry days that allied blue skies and bright sun with biting sub-zero temperatures. She was hugging a secret bit of knowledge to herself that made her feel as fizzy inside as Christmas morning. York, when he’d eventually left late last night, had shrugged his coat on in her tiny narrow hall and, after an awkward moment, had bent down and deliberately planted a brief kiss on one of the very cheeks that now glowed so pinkly.

  She could still feel the imprint of his lips – gentle, maybe just the tiniest bit tentative to start, but becoming firmer, while the prickle of his chin had rasped her soft skin in a bracingly male way. His hands had briefly clasped her shoulders. She knew this was to steady himself; he had a long way down to bend, in order to reach her. But still, it had felt possessive, even passionate. Rather delicious. And as he’d leaned in, she’d smelt the faint, lingering whiff of a nice citrusy cologne, battling on from his morning routine hours before, overlaid at this late stage in the evening by the stronger, more masculine scent of a man who’d been on his feet all day, keeping the world safe.

  He’d straightened up. He’d looked down, she’d looked up, their eyes had met in a smile, and he’d said, ‘See you.’

  Then the door had banged and he’d been gone.

  All night, she’d deliberated. Yes, she’d been kissed on the cheek many times since James’s death. Mostly by women friends. Sometimes by elderly men at Christmas or at get-togethers, occasionally by other people’s husbands. They were kisses that were either instantly forgettable, or memorable for all the wrong reasons.

  This kiss, though. It had been nice. More than that. Special. She wasn’t imagining the spark between them. She couldn’t be. Her knees had sagged when he’d gone, and she’d had to lean against the hall wall for a moment or two. And it wasn’t just the blow to her head. Had he also faltered on his way, or had he just gone striding off back to Camberwell? Once her heart had stopped hammering, she’d heard his measured tread receding down the quiet street, and had to assume he’d beetled home as though nothing had happened. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t affected by their kiss.

  Their kiss! She ought to listen to herself, she chided mentally. She was getting completely carried away about nothing. Almost nothing. Well, a bit more than nothing, really. In fact, it had been really something.

  She had to face it. She’d wanted more.

  But what had it meant? Did a kiss on the cheek mean the friend zone? Was that as far as they were ever going to get? Did a man kiss a woman on the cheek because he didn’t want to kiss her anywhere else? Or was it a prelude to more kisses, somewhere more interesting?

  She had spent an hour or two, once she’d got to bed, wondering if she could have been more receptive, more enthusiastic. But what would that have even been like? If she’d just grabbed him – well, for one thing it was something she would never, ever do, in a trillion years. And for another, what if he’d run a mile?

  Then she’d spent a further chunk of the quiet night thinking about what various of her friends would have done in a similar situation. Katie would probably have hugged him back. Belinda MacKenzie would have munched him up and spat him out the next morning. Jen… what would Jen do? She couldn’t quite picture it. Something eminently sensible, probably. Though, look at her with
Jeff. She’d fallen for him in seconds flat, and then married him almost as quickly. Jen would probably have dragged him upstairs as well. Maybe that’s what Beth should have done herself.

  She had tossed and turned all night, finally dislodging her bandage. After the clout to her head, she knew she needed her sleep even more than usual, which of course made things worse. There was nothing like lying awake, thinking about how much you needed to be unconscious, to ensure total insomnia. And it wasn’t as if she had any outlet to discuss this kiss situation. Normally, she’d discuss any issue that was worrying her with friends. But this, no. It was too… well, her cheeks flamed just thinking about it. It was everything. And nothing. She didn’t dare bring this up. She’d just have to think it all out for herself.

  That hadn’t worked well overnight, and when the morning finally came, Beth was still in turmoil. Perhaps it was time for her to admit to herself that it had been a long time since she’d felt this way. A long time – even before James had died. She’d never delved into it, it had seemed so disloyal, but her relationship with James had been very… well, placid, before his death. It was partly that having Ben had changed things, as a baby always does. But had it been even before that?

  Sometimes, the fireworks she felt with Harry made her question the tranquil waters she’d drifted into with James. Too much peace could be as bad as too little. Had they become more like brother and sister than lovers? While that bond was really close and truly comforting, she did already have a brother. Maybe, even, that was why she hadn’t noticed that he’d got ill?

  The suddenness of his decline and death still shocked her. It had proved to be little more than three months from codeine to coffin. Had there been much more, which she just hadn’t noticed because, well, they weren’t living in each other’s pockets? But it was ridiculous for her to take all the blame. James could have said if he’d been feeling ill. He’d been an adult, responsible for himself, ultimately. It had just been a particularly aggressive form of tumour; the consultant had said so. That didn’t exactly make her feel better, but she needed to keep things in perspective, if she could. She and James had been close, and loving. They just hadn’t been in the first throes of passion by the time he died – but who was, with a toddler in tow?

  Beth looked up guiltily from her thoughts. They’d reached the school railings, and Ben was running ahead, bursting into the playground, impervious to the cold and just pleased to be with his friends again. Why couldn’t everything be so uncomplicated?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tim edging towards her. Mentally, she sighed. Oh well, maybe listening to his endless work stories would give her a break from the turbulence in her head. She turned to him with a gentle smile.

  ‘Morning, Bess,’ said Tim with a sycophantic smile. ‘Lovely to see you.’

  ‘Beth,’ she corrected automatically. ‘How are you? I’ve been meaning to ask, have you heard from Jen lately?’

  ‘Jen? Oh, she’s fine, I think, still working away on this huge project. It’s really keeping her busy. So much so that we’ve been a bit stuck with Jess recently…’ Tim pounced.

  ‘Really? Stuck? With your own daughter?’ said Beth. She tried to keep her voice neutral, but she could feel disapproval seeping out of every pore.

  ‘Well, it’s just that Babs is forging ahead with her career. I’m all for supporting women in that, totally behind equality in the workplace, all that stuff,’ said Tim smarmily.

  Hmm, thought Beth. She’d found that the men who waved their feminist credentials around most enthusiastically were often the most misogynistic.

  ‘But of course, it makes it hard for her, having Jess every afternoon while she’s trying to get on with things, and I can’t get away any earlier than I do…’ Tim faded out on a pleading note, letting the sentence hang heavy in the air.

  Realising full well what Tim was up to, Beth toyed with making him spell it out. But what the hell, it might be nice for Ben to have someone to play with tonight. All right, she’d only just got out of hospital with a head injury, but she couldn’t expect Tim to know that; she hadn’t mentioned it. And she felt absolutely fine. She could easily take Jess for a couple of hours. And she might be able to find out something about Jen from her daughter, if she proceeded cautiously.

  She waited a couple of beats longer, just enjoying watching Tim squirm, then offered magnanimously, ‘Well, I could pick her up tonight if that helps? Babs can fetch her about 6.30pm. What’s your number? I’ll send you my address.’

  Tim, having got what he wanted, was off and out immediately – a familiar pattern, as both Jen and Babs could have attested. ‘That’s great,’ he said, reeling out a string of numbers that Beth hastened to get down on her phone. ‘Just send me your address, see you soon,’ he said, sprinting for the gates.

  Beth was left smiling ruefully. Fine, let him think he’d played her. She was happy to give Jess a bit of respite from Babs, whom it was plain she had not gelled with, and even to give Babs herself a bit of a break. But if Tim thought he was going to make a habit of this, he had another think coming.

  ***

  By pick-up time, Beth was regretting her decision. Her sleepless night had caught up with her, her head was sore and pounding again, and the day’s work she’d put in was lacklustre at best. If she’d been doing her own performance review today, she’d have sacked herself on the spot. When she hadn’t been mooning hopelessly about the kiss, which had now grown into a moment to rival Rodin’s sculpture or Klimt’s shimmering golden clinch, she was revisiting painful truths about her marriage and alternating that, just for the sheer fun, with pointless worrying about Jen’s whereabouts. She was thoroughly fed up with herself, and was willing to bet that two ten-year-olds were going to be much more than her frayed state could manage this afternoon.

  But, as usual, Ben confounded all her expectations. It would have been wrong to use the word ‘gallant’, exactly, about the way he treated Jess that afternoon, but he certainly showed her a consideration and thoughtfulness that was absolutely never accorded to Charlie. And that, to Beth’s astonishment and baffled guilt, reminded her strongly of poor James. He’d really been the loveliest man, and she’d been so lucky. If she’d ever found him predictable, that just showed what an awful, shallow person she really was, she fulminated, shaking her head at her painful thoughts.

  ‘Are you talking to yourself again, Mum?’ said Ben, bombing into the kitchen with Jess to get snacks.

  ‘Of course not, I never do that,’ she said quickly, sitting up straighter and smiling mechanically at the children.

  ‘Don’t worry, my mum does that all the time, too,’ said Jess, taking a large handful of crisps from the bag Ben had just ripped open.

  ‘Does she?’ said Beth slowly, then turned to Ben. ‘And did I say you could have crisps?’

  The boy shrugged. ‘You didn’t say we couldn’t,’ he said, with all the insouciance of Gary Kasparov moving into checkmate. If Kasparov had ever spoken with his face exploding with crisps, that is.

  ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ said Beth, and turned to Jessica. ‘So, how is your mum?’ she asked, somewhat tentatively. She didn’t quite want to come over like the inquisitor in the painting, asking ‘When did you last see your father?’ But that was exactly the sort of question she wanted to put to the girl.

  ‘Fine,’ shrugged Jessica, hands deep in the crisp bag. It was a race against time if she wanted to get a fair share. Ben was now on auto-chomp and showing no signs of slowing down. Being nice to girls was all very well, but he didn’t often get away with opening a family-sized bag of crisps before dinner, and he wanted to make the most of it while the going was good.

  ‘You’re spending a lot of time with your dad at the moment,’ Beth said, hoping that a slight upward inflexion would mean she wasn’t cross-questioning, but would still elicit a reply.

  Jess nodded, and carried on munching.

  ‘Babs seems nice,’ said Beth, trying again. This time Jess jus
t rolled her eyes and stuck her hand in the bag again.

  Beth racked her brains desperately. She could ask about Christmas plans, which were always fraught in divorced families, but for kids this age, the festive season was still as far away as the planet Pluto. ‘What about this weekend? Going to see your mum?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said Jess, but she looked as though she was thinking about the question at last. It was a start. Beth didn’t want to distress the girl, but on the other hand, she needed answers.

  ‘I’ve got a wedding present for her in my car, but I keep forgetting to give it to her, and sometimes she’s out. Do you think you could give it to her?’

  ‘A present? Cool!’ said Jess. At last, thought Beth. She’d hit on something that might work. ‘Yeah, I could give her that, she’d really like it.’ The girl looked so eager at this tempting bait, a sure-fire way of pleasing her mum, that Beth felt yet another guilty pang; as if she hadn’t overdosed on them already today.

  ‘I’ll just go and get it,’ she said, making for the hall. York had dropped the key through the letterbox earlier, with a scrawled note saying where the Fiat was parked. She turned back at the door. ‘You two will be fine for a second, won’t you?’

  Ben and Jess looked innocently back at her, faces lightly encrusted with crisp crumbs and the orange powder residue of the paprika flavouring, which was no doubt full to bursting with horrible toxins. No two children could look saintlier. It was worrying, but Beth thought it was worth the risk of popping out just in case she could finally get somewhere with Jen’s disappearance.

  The car was just down the street, near the junction where Pickwick Road turned into the wider, grander thoroughfare of Dulwich Village itself. On the way to it, she bumped into all her neighbours, from lovely Zoe Bentinck – her sometime babysitter – to Jean Pepperdine, a retired English teacher from the College School. Mrs Pepperdine was a bridge rival of her mother’s, and had plenty to say about their last encounter over the green baize cloths of the Dulwich Bridge Club.