by Alice Castle
Richard, a solicitor who worked in Lordship Lane, was a very pleasant man. But as minutes passed and the chat continued to revolve around his ex, Beth started to get restive. She was beginning to feel she knew the errant Felicity better than she knew the chap in front of her, and – worse still – the longer it went on, the more she sympathised with her. She’d like to be knocking back an elicit cocktail in a bar with a handsome stranger right now, instead of discussing how fantastic Felicity had looked in her wedding dress and how amazed Richard had been that she’d ever looked his way. Yes, it was tragic, but was sympathising really getting either of them anywhere?
‘Have you thought about being a bit less in awe of Felicity? You know, for whatever reason, she did decide you were good enough to marry and she stuck with you for long enough to have all the children,’ said Beth, who’d already forgotten their names, despite Richard explaining them in huge detail. ‘You seem nice. Maybe you should just stop pining over Felicity and get on with things,’ she added, bracingly.
Then, to her horror, she realised Richard was looking at her like Paddington spotting an unopened jar of marmalade. Building him up a bit, then telling him he needed another woman, could definitely be misconstrued and it looked as though he was busily doing exactly that.
‘I don’t mean with, erm, anyone in particular, I just mean in general,’ she said, rapidly trying to backtrack. But it was too late. Before she knew it, Richard was clasping both her hands in his hot paws, and asking her very seriously if she’d like to come out for dinner. Tonight.
She was just starting to blush ferociously, when the door to the deli was briskly opened and cold air rushed in. Something made her crane her head, only to see a tall figure in a navy pea coat stamping around, looking at the dainty biscuits and fancy olive oils. She tried to pull her hands away, but the lawyer was surprisingly strong.
‘Richard,’ she remonstrated loudly, and the man in the deli popped his head round the corner into the café section, just in time to see her yanking her hand back across the table as if it were red hot. Her flustered eyes met those of DI Harry York for one second, before she looked down in consternation, then quickly looked up again.
‘Afternoon, Beth,’ said York in non-committal tones, raking her companion from top to toe with a quick, almost professional glance. If Beth hadn’t known better, she’d have said York was running Richard the lawyer through his personal database of criminals, seeing if he could arrest him on the spot.
Coming up blank, he nodded farewell to Beth and stamped out of the shop again, just as the flustered girl on shift came out from behind the café counter to see what he wanted. The door shut behind him with a last decisive jingle, both the waitress and Beth looking at it in disappointment.
Beth was just wondering how quickly she could extract herself from the situation, and possibly even race down the street after York – though doubtless there were hundreds of self-help books out there telling her that was the last thing she should ever do – when the door jingled again. He’d come back! Beth craned over, a smile of welcome spreading on her face, only to see Belinda MacKenzie’s commanding form dominating the doorway, one of her acolytes behind her.
She shrank back in her seat again, before Belinda spotted her. Damn it all. Was she coming in for coffee, or was she just going to buy something eye-wateringly expensive for her huge, deluxe kitchen in Court Lane?
Beth fervently hoped it was the latter, as otherwise news of her ‘date’ would shoot round Dulwich faster than an infestation of nits at the Village Primary. But her luck was out. Just as she’d finally shaken off Richard’s second attempt at clutching her hand in his increasingly clammy grasp, Belinda stuck her head around the divide between the two rooms.
‘Ah, Beth, I thought I spotted you hiding there! I’d know all that hair anywhere,’ she laughed.
Beth’s hand instantly went defensively to her pony tail, which, when she’d last looked, had been as sleek as it ever got. She was still hoping she’d got away without explaining Richard, as his back was to Belinda and, if she wasn’t mistaken, he seemed to be cowering, but Belinda inexorably stepped forward and clapped a hearty hand on his shoulder.
‘Richard! How the devil are you?’ she said heartily.
Richard didn’t quite jump, but was so sheepish as he got up to kiss Belinda on both cheeks, that Beth almost looked around for a shepherd who could take charge of him. ‘And how’s Felicity?’ said Belinda.
‘Oh, um, well, er, we’re sort of, not together, um…’ poor Richard faltered.
Belinda smiled widely. ‘Just kidding! Of course I know all about it, we had Felicity round with her new man last week. Well, one of them. And you must come round with Beth, very soon. I don’t take sides in these things. I always say, Barty and I are like Switzerland when our friends split up,’ said Belinda, lowering her voice by one decibel, which still meant that people going about their business on the other side of the road would be getting every nuance.
Hmm, thought Beth. Like Switzerland, in that there were cuckoos involved. But neutral? That was harder to believe. Belinda would inexorably follow the money; she couldn’t help herself. If Beth and James had split up all those years ago, Belinda would have been outwardly sympathetic towards Beth, but a lot more enthusiastic about having an affluent single man available for her dinners, even if he worked in something she’d consider useful but deadly dull, like James’s career in management consultancy. Media types were much more up Belinda’s street, and she tended to collect them in an informal game of Top Trumps. Newspaper editors, TV presenters (on the serious channels – never cable), and the better sort of actor. Holby City or Casualty was ok, but they had to be playing a niche injury as a cameo role, not be a regular.
Neither Felicity nor Richard would ever be in Belinda’s iPhone favourites list. But in this case, Belinda had already had Felicity round, so that meant she considered her the better social bet of the broken marriage. Either Felicity was from an established Dulwich family, or she had a very nice property that Richard had sweetly decided to leave her and her children in, or one of her new men was loaded. Even as a lawyer, Richard seemed to be coming a poor second. But maybe that was what always happened to him.
Beth decided that she’d had enough of the whole situation, just as Belinda turned her piercing blue eyes to her.
‘And Beth? How are you? How’s that wonderful institution of yours?’ Was it Beth’s imagination, or did Belinda’s eyes narrow just a tad? Since she’d given up her own career, Belinda expected everyone else to follow suit. Those who didn’t were considered disloyal. Belinda’s friend, hovering on the fringes of the conversation, was destined never to be introduced and therefore tried to look interested in some unspeakably fancy cherries in kirsch. Named either Carol or Catherine – Beth could never quite remember which – she was amongst Belinda’s chosen band precisely because she’d made exactly the same life choices, but was a comfortable notch or two less successful at everything.
Tiresome though it was to kow-tow to the woman, Beth knew it didn’t do to get on the wrong side of Belinda. ‘I think the tutoring’s going really well, don’t you?’ she said quickly, shoving all her doubts about the lessons to one side, and side-stepping her much-envied job at Wyatt’s. The important thing, at this particular moment, was reminding Belinda that they had a joint enterprise, which had been all Belinda’s idea and for which she deserved every bit of credit.
Instantly, Belinda’s smile became a lot warmer. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you agree. It’s going to make all the difference with Ben, it will really help him turn the corner from being a reluctant reader…’
Beth’s hackles instantly rocketed higher even than the price of cherries in kirsch, but she gritted her teeth. Ben had not been a reluctant reader; he’d just been taking a somewhat scenic route to get to his current enthusiasm for the written word. Admittedly, even now, he was more likely to be reading Captain Underpants than anything remotely improving, but so what? For heaven’s sake, h
e was ten.
Though there might be the first suspicions of steam coming out of Beth’s ears, it would not do to let any escape. She told herself to remain civil. She said goodbye in a friendly, though not encouraging, way to Richard, who was luckily too much in awe of Belinda to carry on with his earlier attempts at seduction. And she braced herself and dived in for the double kiss with Belinda, almost getting smothered in the woman’s personal miasma of Je Reviens – in this case more of a threat than a promise. It was time to get back to Wyatt’s.
On the way, it was York that she kept coming back to. The timing of that encounter had been terrible. At any moment, over the last eight years, York could have bumped into her anywhere around Dulwich and she would have been blamelessly knocking back coffees alone, or with a girlfriend. The one time she had allowed herself to be set up – by Janice, of all people – and York had to appear out of the blue. What was he even doing in Dulwich, anyway? It wasn’t as if he lived here; he lived in Camberwell, like Jen. So why wasn’t he back there, trying to find her? Why was he hanging about in the very place that Beth had subconsciously picked as too small, too chichi, and too darn fiddly for him ever to poke his nose into?
It was just infuriating, that was what it was, thought Beth, as she kicked a pile of stray leaves that had the temerity to have wandered into her path. Yes, they were beautiful windfalls from the blood-red acers that lined the roads here; yes, each one was a stunning explosion of crimsons and oranges, a firework in fragile organic form; but they were blimming well in her way on this most annoying day. She was so thoroughly fed up that she didn’t even notice York barrelling out of the larger, less popular deli on this side of the road, with a paper bag tucked under his arm, until he’d nearly hit her.
‘Oh!’ she said, feeling defensive before he’d even opened his mouth.
‘Beth, hi again,’ he said, in measured, amused tones, taking in her high colouring, her little boots with red leaves stuck to them, and her decidedly grumpy air. ‘Everything ok?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ she shot back, then cursed herself. Casual, that’s what she needed to be. She tried flicking her fringe to one side, but it swung back like a fire door, perhaps doing her the favour of disguising the daggers in her eyes. ‘You didn’t call me back.’
‘Well, I did, but maybe you were busy?’ he said, head on one side. ‘Anyway, what can I do for you?’
Surprised, Beth realised she hadn’t checked her phone. She felt as though he’d wrong-footed her. But now he was here, she might as well make the most of him. As it were. Of course, when she’d rung, she’d been thinking about Jen and what useful steps she could possibly take. But she’d also had that kiss in her mind, that gentle brushing of her cheek that had sent her to bed so tingly and discombobulated. But now, looking at York in the cold light of day, he couldn’t look less affected himself, and to be perfectly honest, she couldn’t imagine what she’d been getting herself in such a tizz about. He was quite ordinary-looking really, just tall, and broad, and smiley, with that hair ruffled by the breeze, and those blue eyes smiling down at her… Oh. This wasn’t going well. She burst into speech.
‘How do I go about reporting a missing person? Do I have to be a family member to do it?’ Her tone was abrupt, and her chin jutted out belligerently. She was acting as though she’d asked him endless times before and he’d dodged the question through laziness or sheer malevolence. But she couldn’t help it. She had to build up her walls, and quickly, or he might see what she’d been feeling. And that would never do.
‘Um, if you hadn’t just had a coffee, I’d suggest we went and sat down somewhere while I talked you through the procedure,’ said York mildly, eyeing Beth’s aggressive stance. When her stare didn’t waver, he ploughed on.
‘You don’t have to be family, you can just ring 101, that’s the best way. You’ll be asked for contact details for the person – address, phone and so on, and also for details on their relatives. You don’t even have to wait twenty-four hours, as most people seem to think. Look, we could just pop into Jane’s, if you like, and get out of this wind,’ he urged.
There was no wind, just a light breeze shuffling the acer leaves up with the acidic yellows and caramel browns of the large plane leaves. And for once, Beth was impervious to offers of coffee.
‘I’ve waited a lot longer than twenty-four hours,’ said Beth, stricken, and with all the imbroglio of the kiss forgotten. ‘I should have done this sooner, much sooner. But there always seemed to be other people who should be doing it, if they were worried. And I’m not sure that anyone else is worried. Apart from Jess. Jen’s daughter,’ Beth clarified. ‘Listen, can you take all the details?’
York hesitated. ‘It’s best if you just ring 101. There’s a whole checklist to run through, and you need to get that information on the system. If there’s been no report from close family members, then perhaps there isn’t really any cause for alarm. She may be visiting someone that you just don’t know, for instance. But once the information is in place, then I can take a look at it and start taking action on it. I have to tell you that it’s not going to be the only thing on my plate, but I will look at it personally.’ York said this kindly, and for a moment, Beth forgot all their troubles and complications, and just stared gratefully up at him. He smiled in return, and the moment stretched as long as Court Lane.
Just then, Beth distinctly heard the sound of the school bell. She looked at her phone quickly. 3.30 already. How could that be? It was chucking-out time at the Village Primary and she was, as usual, about to be late for Ben. There wasn’t a moment to race back up to Wyatt’s to sort out her office. Oh well, she had her handbag, which was all that mattered, and she could send a text to Janice asking her to make sure her door was locked.
‘Got to go,’ she said to York. ‘And thank you,’ she added with a smile.
York smiled back, and strode off, his paper bag under his arm. What on earth was it in? Beth wondered. That was a mystery she probably wasn’t going to solve.
***
York, walking quickly up the street, was already cursing the urge that had made him buy a box of peppermint teabags. So what if Beth liked them? When would she ever be coming over to Camberwell, anyway? But he’d suddenly felt like giving them a go. And you never really knew, did you?
She’d been having a coffee with that sweaty-looking guy, who definitely wasn’t good enough for her. Maybe he’d been advising her on insurance, or something? Yeah, right, he thought. But it had made his mind up about something. If he didn’t want to end up alone, like poor Mrs Thingummy bob in the high-rise flat, he’d have to make a move at some point. And the sooner the better.
***
Nipping back over the road to get Ben, Beth bumped into Katie, bouncing down the steps of her exercise studio tucked above the most expensive boutique in the village – which was a hotly contested position, of course. Katie was now running enough classes to fill several days a week, and as a result was as bendy as a young sapling in the wind and even a bit more relaxed about Charlie’s precious routine. This was partly because the entrance exams were now looming so large that, as Katie had explained to Beth, it was important to take her foot off the pedal a little, so there’d be enough in Charlie’s engine for the final push in January, when it came.
Beth was just hoping Ben realised he was supposed to have an engine at all, as he lolloped forward into the unknown like Bambi on ice. Well, he’d had a practice run, of sorts, with the grammar school exams – the results of those were due any day – but Beth was pretty sure he’d wiped the whole experience out of his memory banks by now, like a Nintendo handset when it ran out of charge.
As a result of Katie’s new devil-may-care attitude, temporary though it might be, Beth and Ben found themselves happily accepting an invitation to supper. For Beth, this actually meant not getting fed, as she was used to eating her evening meal early with Ben. Katie, however, cooked something ‘child-friendly’ for Charlie, which meant it was rigorously org
anic, screened for toxins, and pumped with at least six of his five a day, and yet cunningly designed to appeal to his ‘chips with everything’ small boy palate. If that wasn’t feat enough, Katie would then create a lovely grown-up dinner for Michael when he eventually found his way home from the coalface of his big job in publishing.
‘Have you ever tried giving Michael the same thing to eat as Charlie?’ Beth mused, as she took her place in Katie’s kitchen, which featured more marble than the façade of the Santa Croce in Florence.
‘Have you met Michael?’ laughed Katie, fishing two mugs out of one of her innumerable cupboards and putting the kettle on. ‘You know he can’t stand vegetables. I have to hide everything under his meat. He’ll eat cabbage if it’s got a hunk of beef sitting right on top of it. I have a lot to thank MasterChef for. He’s way more difficult to cook for than Charlie. Only trouble is that I have to make sure Charlie doesn’t see his dad is eating mashed potatoes instead of sweet potato.’
‘What do you do at weekends?’ Beth wondered idly.
‘There’s a lot you can do with a burger,’ said Katie, waggling her eyebrows.
‘Wouldn’t it just be easier to say to Michael, “you’ve got to eat vegetables”, and say to Charlie, “you’re basically going to live until you’re 150, thanks to me”?’
‘It would be easier,’ said Katie. ‘But it wouldn’t work. I don’t want to let too much light in on the miracle, do I? At the moment, Charlie thinks kale is more or less compulsory at every meal, and Michael doesn’t recognise green things if they’re in close enough proximity to protein. It’s all working perfectly.’
‘Except that you’re doing twice as much as you could be?’ Beth pointed out gently.
‘The thing is that I don’t mind. Yes, I’m a lot busier with the yoga, but that’s great, and it’s all timed around Charlie. In the evenings, I just cook, basically, which I love. So I’m quite happy.’
Beth, who’d despaired of finding new ways with fish fingers long ago, and had no intention of subjecting either Ben or herself to Swiss Chard or whatever the latest in-vegetable was, decided to keep her own counsel. Although she technically had hours of free time every evening after Ben was in bed, she filled them very successfully with her freelance work and lots of idle Internet surfing, as well as reading and enough housework to satisfy her OCD tendencies without making the house unliveable for a small, messy boy. There was no way she’d ever consider making more food after the last bit of their supper washing-up was done.