by Alice Castle
‘Unless you mean Julia, Julia Winthrop? And she does always have a friend with her, I thought her name was Mary-Ann, but of course my hearing isn’t what it was…’
Beth knew this was her cue to insist Wendy’s hearing was pin-sharp, but she was too excited. ‘You do know them, then?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say I exactly know them, Beth dear, but yes, I’ve played bridge with them.’
‘You have? But that’s wonderful. So, what can you tell us about them?’ Katie was leaning forward again, but this time she was all smiles.
‘Well,’ Wendy said confidingly. ‘I will say that Julia is the more reckless of the two. Quite like a man, she is, in the way she hurls an ace down on the table, as though she’s challenging you to a duel. Mary-Ann, I suppose I should say Miriam if that’s what her name is, is a quieter sort of player. Not as confident. She’ll underbid, as often as not, and trumps on air, too.’ Wendy pursed her lips up at this.
Katie couldn’t help but let her disappointment show. ‘But don’t you know anything about them as people?’
Beth, meanwhile, was thinking. It wasn’t a lot, but it did confirm the impression she’d had of the two women. Jules was the more ebullient of the two; Miriam was submissive. But that wasn’t enough to go on.
‘Do you know anything else about them? Where they live?’
Wendy went into brain-wracking mode again, which meant fidgeting with her scarves, plucking at her necklaces, and gazing vaguely around the café as though for inspiration. Again, just when both Beth and Katie had given up hope of more enlightenment, she spoke up. ‘I’ve a feeling they live around Pond Cottage way. You know, tucked behind the playing fields…’ she drifted off.
‘But that’s literally round the corner from you, Mum. Surely you’d know if they were that close?’
Wendy lived in one of the smallest houses on College Road – the only toll road left in London. It was one of nefarious Thomas Wyatt’s longest lasting money-making wheezes, raking in travellers’ money relentlessly since 1789. It was currently charging cars £1.20 a time to pass through, every day except 25th December, and felt like a civilised form of highway robbery to those who simply wanted to get to Sydenham by the most direct route. But it successfully cut traffic on the road, as most people took the long way round, and Wendy had enjoyed many peaceful years in her little home there, bordering the golf course where her late husband had spent quality time with his clubs.
She looked baffled at the idea that she’d know all her neighbours. ‘Oh, well, people do come and go, dear. And this Julia and Miriam, well, not the best bridge players, if I’m brutally honest with you.’
The strong implication was that, if they had been card aces, Wendy would have been best buddies with them. Beth shook her head. Her mother was never going to change, that was for sure. And at least they now knew a little more about the women – and roughly where they lived. It was something to go on. Outside the café, footfall increased relentlessly as pick-up time approached. Beth checked her watch and saw Katie doing the same. It was that time of day again.
When she thought back to her pre-Ben life, she was amazed at all the time she’d once had at her beck and call, and despaired to think how little she’d crammed into it. Even now that Ben was getting such a big boy (relatively speaking), having him around in the afternoons seriously curtailed the amount of work she could get through, whether that was legitimate stuff she was paid for by Wyatt’s, the freelance projects she still had going on the side, or the investigations which had filled up so many crannies of her life in recent months.
But even as Katie started gathering up her gloves and scarf, Beth had a little brainwave. Josh might be somewhere poking his camera into a pariah regime’s business, but Wendy was right here, right now. ‘Mum, I don’t suppose you remember something that happened when Josh was at Wyatt’s? When some boys got into trouble at one of the stations, for spraying graffiti? I think it might have been down at Loughborough Junction. One of them was called Mark, Mark Smeaton? You might have known his parents?’
Wendy, who’d been faffing around with her handbag, sorting out some small change to leave as a tip – she’d made the automatic assumption that Beth would pay for her tea – looked up immediately. ‘Of course, dear. Those poor boys! Mark Smeaton! Well, I haven’t thought about him for a long time. Though I saw his name in the paper a few years ago, some art show or something… Funny, as he wasn’t really the best in the class. But then, after what happened, I suppose it made sense. He probably just improved, and of course there was no-one, really, to compare him with any more. The third boy was a bit of an also-ran, from what I remember. Josh knew Mark and the others, but thank goodness he wasn’t involved. Too sensible,’ said Wendy smugly.
Beth blinked. She’d never have described Josh as sensible. She imagined he just hadn’t shared their interest in graffiti. Thank goodness.
‘So, you knew Smeaton! And his parents?’
‘Oh, they died ages ago, some sort of accident abroad, I mean, really,’ said Wendy, as though Mr and Mrs Smeaton had been guilty of an appalling lapse of taste, not ending their days peacefully in Dulwich.
Beth was agog. ‘What happened exactly? With the boys, down at Loughborough Junction? Do you remember any details?’
Faced with such transparent interest, Wendy retreated a little into her customary vagueness. ‘Oh well, dear, such a sad story, really. So long ago…’
Beth took a deep breath, tried to count to ten, and was just about to let rip, when Katie intervened, saying in her softest, most tranquil yoga-teacher voice, ‘You’ve got the most wonderful memory, Wendy. I’ve always thought that.’
‘Oh, have you, dear?’ Wendy preened. ‘Well, I don’t know much about Mark’s parents. I think it was a plane crash, or maybe a train? But the incident with the boys, it’s like yesterday in some ways. That poor boy, Simon Bude. Josh used to bring home his cartoons sometimes. The things he drew! Lampooning those teachers. He was unmerciful. But very funny. It was a tragedy, it really was.’
‘But what happened?’ Beth knew her voice was becoming shrill, but she couldn’t help herself. They were so near, yet so far.
‘Oh, who knows really, dear? The papers all said the three of them went out there to draw on the trains – so silly, and so naughty – and, of course, only two of them came back. But they had very good legal representation. Said the stations were at fault, making access so easy. I’m not sure how they got away with it, the parents. I know the school had the boys in detention for months. But I think it was just community service, you know, collecting litter and cleaning away that stupid stuff they liked to scrawl everywhere. That must have put them off it, if nothing else would. That – and the death of their friend,’ Wendy said, her voice quavering.
‘Simon was the one who died?’
‘Yes,’ said Wendy, closing her eyes as though she couldn’t bear the thought. Suddenly Beth felt as though she was there, all those years ago. The dark station, the excited boys, the cans of paint, the stink of the spray – then the whoosh of a train when they’d least expected, and the flat, deathly silence in its wake.
It was a horrible story, thought Beth. She wasn’t surprised her mother was upset at reliving it. And the worst thing about it was the fact that the boys – the survivors, anyway – seemed to have got off almost scot-free.
Once they’d pecked Wendy’s sweet-smelling cheek in a hurried farewell, both Beth and Katie bustled away to get to the school and dashed up the road. Suddenly, Beth grabbed Katie’s coat as they passed Jane’s Café, and dragged her into the doorway. Katie was about to remonstrate loudly when Beth put a finger to her mouth and pointed. On the opposite side of the road, outside Romeo Jones, was the dandified figure of Andy Kuragin, apparently stooping over to pay enormous attention to some of the pricey speciality teas in the window. With him was a man in his fifties, with a smooth pink face like a well-stuffed pork sausage, garnished with an insincere smile, and topped off with lots of white hair.
‘That’s your friend, isn’t it? And who’s that with him?’ asked Beth.
‘Not my friend,’ Katie said quickly. ‘Michael’s. And that’s another of his chums, he’s very tight with Kuragin… I think he’s in the art world, too.’
‘Why is Michael so big on art at the moment? I never thought he was particularly keen before,’ asked Beth.
‘Oh, it’s just the latest publishing fashion,’ said Katie dismissively. ‘You can sell art books for a fortune. All those yummy pictures.’ She shrugged. ‘I hate to say it, but Michael’s already looking into a book on Slope.’ She made a little moue of distaste. ‘It looks like cashing in on a tragedy… but someone’s going to do it, so why not Michael? At least he’ll do it well. I bet Kuragin’s here getting some colour for the book, where the artist grew up, you know, all that stuff… And that guy, I’ve just remembered. His name is Benson.’
‘Not Baz Benson? I think he’s the man who discovered Smeaton all those years ago,’ said Beth, peeping round the doorframe at the odd pair.
‘Wait a minute, you don’t think the two of them could have bumped the poor man off, to try and boost interest in his work?’
Beth looked at Katie admiringly. She was really getting into this detection business. But then she shook her head. ‘Surely that’s a bit too cold? Even for art dealers. Listen, we’d better get on or we’ll be so late for the boys. Let’s just sprint up the road, and hope Kuragin and his chum don’t recognise us. We’re on the other side of the road, so we should be safe.’
Katie agreed, and the pair nipped out of the doorway and skedaddled as quickly as they could, crossing over in front of the school gates. Though a lot of the classes seemed to have gone already, Year 6 was yet to emerge from the school. Beth heaved a sigh of relief. She hated to be late.
She and Katie had a lot to mull over, what with the strange story they’d finally extracted from Wendy, and then the sighting of the two art experts. But here in the playground, it was business as usual – Belinda MacKenzie was holding forth in the middle of a knot of mummies.
‘I always say, it really pays to have the Discovery Channel. Gives them so much to chat about in their interviews. Now Allegra, when she was meeting Angela Douglas of the College School – there’s an inspirational Head for you – she had just watched the most fascinating documentary on childhood obesity in India. Really thought-provoking. They had quite an in-depth chat about it.’
Beth smiled to herself. Only Belinda could make a massive virtue out of sticking her kids in front of the telly. Then she remembered that Ben spent far too much of his own life in front of a screen, but it was showing tiny aliens whom he was bent on killing – and nothing remotely educational at all. She vowed, yet again, to winkle him away from his controller and give him a good old quiz on popular culture. It wouldn’t make her very popular, but it was in a good cause.
Just then, Ben socked his head into her side, almost winding her. It was his preferred mode of greeting these days, now that a kiss on the cheek or even a smile was just much, much too young for a boy of his immense age and status at the top of the school. His first question was, ‘Where’s Colin?’
‘Lovely to see you, too! Colin’s at home, love, and we should get there straight away and see what he’s been up to,’ said Beth, realising she’d left the dog unattended for most of the day. Unlike Teddy, he wasn’t in a cage and could therefore have run wild, if the mood had suddenly taken him.
She waved goodbye to Katie, who yelled over, ‘Tomorrow?’
Before she’d thought about it, she’d nodded happily – then she remembered. She did actually have a job. Not that they’d probably recognise her at Wyatt’s any more. She’d really have to go in and show her face the next day. ‘Day after?’ she mouthed at Katie, who thankfully understood and smiled, though she seemed a bit disappointed.
Beth chuckled to herself. Detecting certainly could be addictive. She knew that already. To her cost.
Chapter Twelve
Beth was thinking about the price she’d paid for her interest in mysteries the next day, as she finally settled back into her chair at the Archives Office. Colin, the latest and perhaps most concrete by-product of her enthusiasm so far, was installed in his corner, this time with a strange rubber bone that had been in Teddy’s cast-off bag. Most of the time he was completely silent, then at odd intervals he’d make blood-curdling crunching and slobbering noises, causing Beth to break off her work in alarm until she remembered that she had company and that the company had a snack.
In some ways, Beth was amazed that she’d got away with bringing Colin in again. She was sure that if Janice hadn’t been on maternity leave she wouldn’t have got the dog within a hundred yards of the school gates. Not that Janice didn’t love dogs, but she’d consider it inappropriate to bring Colin in, unless the school’s archivist had suddenly been struck blind or had a similar impairment requiring specialist canine support. But although Janice’s replacement, Sam, was doing a good job, and Beth’s own friend Nina was a brilliant addition to the backroom staff, no-one quite had the effortless overview that Janice had always managed. With her eagle eye otherwise engaged, Beth and Colin seemed to be getting away with it.
Still, every time there was a noise outside in the corridor, Beth braced herself to give her bête noire, the Bursar Tom Seasons, a full explanation. He had always been liable to erupt into her room without so much as a by-your-leave, and Beth had the strong impression that he’d love to catch her out in some misdemeanour. Seasons’ marriage had fallen apart, through no real – or maybe that should be direct – fault of Beth’s. And his next relationship had come to an equally sticky ending, following her latest investigation. Since then, he’d really seemed to have it in for her. And frankly, he hadn’t liked her much in the first place.
But, thank goodness, the Bursar seemed to be keeping quite a low profile of late. If Beth hadn’t been so preoccupied by Smeaton, the extraordinary haul of £30k that was currently burning a hole in her handbag (she hadn’t wanted to leave it at home with Magpie), and the odd bit of work, then she would have wondered a little more why this might be. As it was, Beth was just very grateful indeed.
She was finally getting her head down to tackle a raft of emails that had been bobbing about in her in-box unattended for days now, when there was a single knock at the door, followed immediately by it being thrown open unceremoniously. Beth was about to have a heart attack, fearing a sudden inspection by the Bursar, and Colin was staggering to his feet with a wag of his stumpy tail at this sudden interruption to his frankly rather dull morning, when Nina bounced in.
With her auburn curls standing up around her head, Nina always reminded Beth of one of Raphael’s naughtiest little painted cherubs, a wilful smile never far from her dimpled face. ‘Wotcha, babe,’ she trilled, then clocked Colin coming towards her with his nose inexorably focused on her crotch. Try as she might, Beth couldn’t seem to break him of this unsavoury habit. Maybe it was a Labrador thing. Or maybe Colin was just a bit of an old pervert.
‘Blimey, a dog! And an, oops, very friendly one,’ Nina yelped. ‘Didn’t know it was Bring Your Pet to Work Day.’
‘Um, it’s not,’ said Beth, leaping up and shutting the office door quickly, before Nina had a chance to let the entire school know what was going on in here. ‘It’s just, well, you know. I’m on a bit of a case…’
‘No! Again? Is it like Potter? Got anyone bang to rights yet?’ Nina was shrill, settling herself into the visitor’s chair opposite Beth’s desk and clearly keen to hear every detail. ‘You could have told me, babe. You know how helpful I was last time,’ she said, appearing a little miffed.
That was all she needed, thought Beth. Katie dressed up in her best Burberry, like Philip Marlowe with a gold Amex, and now Nina getting in on the action, a foghorn in a puffa coat. ‘Give me a chance, it’s just sort of starting,’ she said diplomatically.
‘Great! Anything I can do?’
‘Well, apart from ke
eping quiet about the dog…’
‘Quiet as the gravy. You know me, babe,’ said Nina. ‘But how comes you’ve got a dog all of a sudden? Thought you had your hands pretty full with that cat of yours.’
Beth remembered Nina wasn’t one of Magpie’s biggest fans. She’d had a limited interest in being thoroughly clawed by Beth’s moggy, something which Magpie definitely considered crucial in any potential human berth.
‘God, it’s a long story. I just sort of had to adopt him. And now I can’t leave him at home all day…’
‘Yeah, not with that cat,’ said Nina darkly, confirming Beth’s suspicions.
‘…So, I’ve had to bring him in. But he’s good as gold, aren’t you, boy?’ she said, patting Colin and trying to induce him to lie back down in his corner. But it was no good. Colin had definitely decided that Nina had come to play, and besides, he seemed to have had more than enough of sitting quietly. Beth sighed and couldn’t help sympathising. She so knew how he felt.
‘Shall we cut our losses, take him to the park for a little stroll?’ said Beth, thinking guiltily that she should have done a lot more work while she’d had the chance. That was the trouble with her job at the moment. She had to squeeze it in around the busy corners of her life, but she knew she couldn’t do this forever. At some point, something was going to have to give. And since Wyatt’s was paying her wages – and she definitely couldn’t hang on to the delicious £30k in her bag – it was going to have to be her extra-curricular activities.
But not today. Particularly not as it was going to be completely impossible to contain both Nina and Colin in the Archive Office. Already Nina was throwing rolled-up balls of paper for Colin to fetch, and the Lab was doing his best impression of a sprightly young puppy, getting thoroughly over-excited. Letting out the occasional yip, he careered forward into Beth’s latest stack of programmes from the recent Christmas concerts, which were patiently awaiting shelving, then back into the legs of her conference table.