Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
CATH
T he walk back up the hill from the café to the museum felt like climbing Everest instead of a gentle amble up the picturesque cobbles. Cath felt like her feet were encased in blocks of lead—but she knew the sudden heaviness in her limbs and desire to climb under a blanket in a darkened room had nothing to do with being tired.
Lunch had been far from the fun, happy break she’d been expecting. In fact, she felt a bit like the tenuous grasp she had on her new reality had just come under fire from a bunch of pipe bombs.
Cath didn’t blame Caroline for bringing the subject up. In fact, she had a feeling the pair of them would get on like a house on fire… when the woman in question wasn’t doling out more home truths than Cath had been expecting over her cheese and ham toastie.
To say that it had left her feeling a bit demoralised was the understatement of the century. And frankly, didn’t she have every right to feel like that? It looked like the council had been anything but straight with her during the interview process.
The burning question now was, where did it leave her?
Living in a new town, in a strange flat piled high with boxes – that was where. Cath’s new job might look like a dream on paper, but in reality, it looked like that particular piece of paper might be on fire.
‘I knew it was too good to be true,’ she sighed, mooching past the florist and the antiques shop with downcast eyes and an even more downcast heart. She couldn’t believe she might be job hunting again in just a few short months.
Blowing out a long, slow breath, Cath slotted the big stupid key back into the big stupid lock and gave it a big stupid wiggle.
The wave of possibility she’d been riding all morning had well and truly vanished. Now she was left with a queasy kind of sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, and very little energy or enthusiasm left to attack the next round of junk waiting for her inside.
Cath dashed inside, flicked on the lights, and then headed back to the door and slammed it shut. She wasn’t in the mood for any unexpected visitors this afternoon. Still, she didn’t want to get a reputation as a grumpy baggage and she definitely didn’t have it in her to be a smiling ray of sunshine if any of the locals happened to pop in to say hello. As for the dithering gaggles of tourists…
‘Better to shut them out!’ muttered Cath, turning the key in the lock for good measure.
There. Now at least she could be a grump without risking an audience. As much as she’d enjoyed Andy’s company earlier, she was glad that he’d had to disappear off after lunch to deal with one of his many maintenance jobs. She needed some time to digest what she’d just learned, and she really didn’t want to end up taking the bad news out on him.
There wasn’t much point in sulking though, was there? Ruth wouldn’t be back in the country for a couple of weeks, so getting to the bottom of the museum’s funding and finding out the future of her job was going to have to wait.
‘Right,’ said Cath in a loud, purposeful voice, hoping that it might trick her brain into thinking that everything was hunky-dory.
It didn’t work.
If she was being honest, Cath had no idea what to do next. Unfortunately, it looked like the magic of the plan in her back pocket had worn off over lunch.
Picking her way through the newly sorted piles and stacks of boxes looking for some inspiration, Cath was surprised at how much the pair of them had managed to achieve in just one morning. There was certainly a lot more space to move around, and they’d even managed to shift most of the piles away from the front of the glass cabinet that held the tennis equipment.
In fact, if she just moved that bundle of old newspapers and the heap of what looked like old theatre curtains out of the way, she might even be able to get the doors open for a closer look. It would be nice to see if there was anything interesting in the lower half of the cabinet.
Grabbing the string that was looped around the bundle of newspapers, she dragged them out of the way. She’d take them over to the pile of recycling later. Cath shifted her attention to the heap of red, velvet curtain. She gingerly took hold of a handful of the grubby fabric and tugged.
A plume of dust rose in the air, and Cath had to pause to sneeze.
And sneeze.
And sneeze again.
‘Enough already!’ she muttered, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand in an attempt to stop the explosions.
‘Okay, change of plan,’ she muttered, eyeballing the curtains. There was no way she was getting her face too close to them again. Instead, she started to nudge the pile of fabric out of the way with her foot until the glass doors were clear.
‘That’ll do,’ she sniffed.
Leaning forward, she gave the dusty glass door a gentle tug.
‘Locked? Are you serious?!’ she laughed. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to make off with an old tennis net and a few moulting balls. ‘Damnit… now what?’
Patting her jeans pockets, Cath felt for the smaller bunch of keys that Ruth had sent her with the Welcome Pack. They had to be for something in the building, didn’t they? With any luck…
Pulling the little ring of ancient keys from her back pocket, Cath flipped through them, looking for a likely candidate. The lock looked like it was made of brass.
‘This one?’ she murmured, not holding out much hope that the very first one she tried would actually work.
‘Eureka!’
It turned easily and the door swung open with no effort at all.
‘Okay that was too easy,’ she muttered, peering inside.
The grubby sweatbands and old shorts didn’t look any more appealing than they had with the doors closed. She’d been right about the net being decidedly tangled… and the balls were more motheaten than she’d originally thought. In fact, they were practically bald.
Crouching down, Cath started to inspect the lower levels of the display case that had been hidden behind all the junk.
‘So, this is where all the fluff went!’ she muttered, reaching in and gingerly shifting a cloud of yellow fibres that had clearly once belonged to the bald balls on the shelf above.
Underneath, there were a couple of wooden-cased rackets that had probably been originally used as a backdrop before they’d tumble into the rest of the mess. Cath shifted them aside, only to reveal a couple of rusty old cogs that looked like they might belong to the ancient piece of machinery behind the cabinet. They certainly bore splatters of matching white paint.
‘I wonder…’ she said, turning them over. Could the machine possibly have been used to paint the court lines?
Cath shrugged and peered right to the back, only to find a velvet plinth. The green cloth had faded around the edges, but there was a circular patch of dark green right on the top—an echo of something that had sat there for years before being moved.
Lost? Stolen? Sold? It was anyone’s guess!
Right in the middle of this circle sat a scrap of paper—curled and yellowing at the edges. Cath could just make out a few letters of faint, spidery handwriting. It felt crispy between her fingertips as she reached for it and then gingerly eased back the curled edges to read it.
Sir Anthony Cheswell Cup – loaned to the antiques shop.
‘Which antiques shop?!’ said Cath. She could only assume the note was referring to the one next door… but that was just a guess. Probably a decent guess though, right?
‘Well, there’s only one way to find out!’ she said, popping the paper back on its plinth and straightening up again with some difficulty.
There wasn’t any point in locking the case back up. Cath would have to empty it anyway to clean and rearrange its contents at the very least… though it was likely that process would involve a big black bin-liner somewhere along the way!
‘Anthony Cheswell, Anthony Cheswell,’ she muttered, heading back towards the door. The name was familiar. Wasn’t that the eccentric businessman Heather and Andy had been talking about? The one who’d built the Dolphin and Anchor?
Cath shrugged. She couldn’t remember… but she was definitely going to investigate. Somehow, she didn’t fancy diving into yet more boxes of junk. Getting to the bottom of this little Crumbleton mystery was far more appealing right now!
Pushing the museum door open a crack, Cath checked the coast was clear and that she wasn’t about to walk straight out into a crowd of visitors. Then she sidled out onto the cobbles and quickly locked up behind her before jogging the couple steps to the antiques shop. There, she paused to have her first proper look at the window display.
‘Bingo!’ she said in surprise.
Well, it hadn’t taken much to solve the mystery of the whereabouts of the cup – it was right there in front of her! It was huge and silver, and the name of the competition was engraved across its slightly tarnished curves.
Around its heavy, circular black base, there were several smaller silver shields, each one engraved with the names of dozens of winners, along with a year. One of the shields was only half full, and the last name on the list was E. Barker. It was dated 1988.
Cath hot-footed it towards the door and excitedly pushed her way inside.
‘Can I help you?!’
The slightly scary demand brought her up short. There was nothing warm or welcoming about it. In fact, it was the kind of voice that would cut through a thunderstorm and miles of thick sea fog.
‘Erm… hi!’ said Cath, her voice sounding weedy by comparison. She smiled at the woman glaring at her from the other side of the shop. Cath’s first impression of her was something along the lines of “larger than life”. From her booming voice to her interesting dress sense – an orange waistcoat over a floral shirt and green and white striped culottes – there was nothing in the least bit subtle about her. She was eyeballing Cath suspiciously from behind a pair of old-fashioned men’s glasses—the kind that were black on the top and clear at the bottom.
‘I’m… erm… I’m Cath?’
‘You don’t sound too sure about that!’ proclaimed the woman.
Cath cleared her throat and decided to try again… this time with a bit more certainty.
‘Yep – definitely sure,’ she said. ‘I’m Cath Walker. I’m the new curator next door.’ She paused again, not entirely sure whether she wanted to ask about the trophy after all. Maybe she could just wimp out and slink back to the museum.
‘Geraldine Scott,’ announced the woman.
‘It’s nice to meet you.’ Cath held out her hand, but Geraldine didn’t take it. Instead, she eyed it with suspicion and then crossed her arms over her ample bosom.
‘So, I guess you’re here about the cup?’
Well… at least that made things easier. Now Cath didn’t have to figure out how to broach the subject!
‘Yes, I—’
‘I meant to give it back when the last version of you left,’ said Geraldine, sounding defensive, ‘but it’s a lovely piece of silverware, and it’s important to the town. Anyway, I gave it pride of place in the window… and if I’m honest, I don’t really think about it much.’
Cath nodded. The antiques shop was a right little Aladdin’s cave. There were shelves from floor to ceiling, and they were all full to overflowing. Some of them were bowing ominously under the weight of curios, and Cath couldn’t help but wonder how often one of them gave up the will and went crashing down along with several hundred pounds worth of stock.
As for the window display, it looked like you’d pretty much have to send a mountaineering team out on an exhibition just to reach it, so she wasn’t exactly surprised that Geraldine didn’t think about it too often!
‘I don’t have it for sale if that’s what you’re thinking,’ huffed Geraldine.
‘Oh no!’ said Cath, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t, I mean I…’
‘I get it out of there twice a year to empty out the dead flies and give it a bit of a polish. I mean… it’s worth the effort. It’s part of the town’s history—and who’s going to see it in the museum?’ she paused for effect. ‘No one, that’s who! The place is a shambles.’
Cath felt herself bristling slightly, though she couldn’t imagine why. After all, it wasn’t her who’d been responsible for letting the place slide into such a state. But still… it was her territory now. At least, it was until the council ran out of cash.
‘Well… I’m here to change all that,’ she said, squaring her shoulders.
‘Hmm,’ said Geraldine, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, I know what the paper said, but I can’t see you getting that place open in the next few weeks.’
Watch me!
The words might not have come out of her mouth, but Cath felt the lingering sense of desperation that had been haunting her since lunchtime disappear. Instead, it was replaced by a steely resolve. It felt… unexpectedly good.
‘Either way, I’ll be needing the cup back,’ said Cath, lifting her chin.
‘Got something sporty planned?’ said Geraldine.
‘You know… I might just have,’ said Cath, making a snap decision.
‘Well, feel free to pick my brain anytime,’ said Geraldine. Her voice was still loud enough to set the silverware on the shelves ringing, but it had definitely softened to a degree. ‘I hate to say this, but I was at the last game that cup was awarded at.’
‘You were?’ said Cath.
‘I was. Of course, I was a young whippersnapper back then – but I still remember it. Fantastic match… and there were these bowls of amazing strawberries. Locally grown. Sweet and juicy and covered in cream…’
Cath smiled and nodded along as Geraldine waxed lyrical. After about ten minutes without managing to get another word in edgeways, she began to surreptitiously edge back towards the shop door.
‘I just need to…’ she muttered, tapping her watch and stepping back onto the street as Geraldine finally paused to breathe.
‘Of course, of course,’ said Geraldine, flapping two meaty hands at her. ‘I’ll dig the cup out for you. It might take me a little while though.’
Cath nodded her thanks, still backing away. ‘I’ll come back for it!’