Chapter 14
Beth stood by the Aga waiting for the kettle to boil, scrolling through local job adverts on her phone. Perhaps she should apply for an overnight shelf-stacking position at the supermarket. The kitchen door banged back against the wall.
Rose stalked in and pointed an accusing finger at her. ‘You stole from me!’
‘Pardon?’
‘The guy from next door came over yesterday. Wanted to thank ,’ Rose made little bunny-ear speech marks in the air with her fingers around the word, ‘you for the cakes you gave him.’
‘Oh. I meant to say. He got so cranky about the cows. I thought one of us ought to behave like a grown-up.’
‘You should’ve asked me.’
‘About the cakes? There were so many, I didn’t think you’d miss them.’
‘They were mine.’
‘From ingredients I paid for.’
‘Don’t be tight. You can afford it.’
‘Can I?’ How come she thinks I’m made of money? ‘Rose, the grocery bill for this family is astronomical. Have you seen how much your brother eats?’ Beth already bought budget brands for most things, secretly decanting stuff into high-end packaging in the utility room, banking on the fact that none of the children would ever go near the washing machine of their own accord.
‘Stacy wanted four-dozen frosted cupcakes for The Coffee Pot,’ Rose grumbled. ‘I had to make another batch.’
‘Why did Stacy want them?’
‘Duh. To sell, of course.’
‘Cakes you’ve made here?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I admire your initiative, but don’t we need a licence for that? I mean for the kitchen.’
‘It’s only a few cakes. Why are you making such a big deal?’
‘Rose, there are laws about selling food for public consump—’
‘You see? There you go, moaning again. Dad would say I could.’
Beth gritted her teeth. With Jack as the only son and Daisy such a daddy’s girl, Rose, with her quiet, sensible nature, had often been overlooked by Paul. Then she’d discovered the alluring power of butter, sugar and flour and things had changed. ‘Well, your dad’s not here, is he?’
‘Because you’ve driven him away.’
‘That’s not fair. Anyway, if you listen to what I’m saying, you’ll see I’m not actually telling you to stop.’
‘Eh?’
‘You’re nineteen, Rose. If you want to sell cakes, go ahead. I bet you could sell to other outlets, too. You make amazing cakes. Only, do it properly. Get a licence. Don’t get us fined or sued or whatever. We can’t afford it.’
Rose levelled an unblinking stare at Beth. ‘You really think I could sell to other shops, too?’
‘Yes, but you’ll have to start bulk buying your own ingredients and work the cost of them into your prices.’
Rose chewed on the inside of her cheek, deep in thought. ‘If I apply for a licence, you need to sort that roof out – or else they’ll never sign this place off.’
‘I’m just about to call the roofer,’ said Beth. ‘And after that, I’ve got some fly-tipping to report before Mrs Trenchard finds out I haven’t and puts a hit out on me.’
‘Don’t diss Aunty B. And don’t give any more freebie cakes to, what’s his face, the psycho next door.’
Beth tutted. ‘You can’t go around calling people psychos.’
‘I can. You should see what’s on X about him.’
‘X?’
‘Get with it. Twitter is now X.’
‘Is it? Well, you know what I think about social media. You shouldn’t make judgements about people based on a few random posts.’
‘Watch this and then tell me I’m wrong.’ Rose tapped at her phone and shoved it in front of Beth. ‘He says it isn’t him, but it is.’
‘Oh.’ The figure in the video, driving away from a hit-and-run, was the spitting image of Beth’s Wolverine.
‘See? Psycho. Anyway, I’m off to work. Laters.’ Rose flounced from the room with the dramatic flair of a whole troop of Taylor Swift backing dancers.
Her mind in freefall from that video, Beth tried to remember what she’d been about to do. Oh yes. The roof. Time to check that the money from the sale of those Merrill shares had arrived in the account. She logged into her account, frowned and then phoned the bank, getting straight to the point as soon as she was connected.
‘Hello, yes, can I ask about a recent transaction, please? I can see that ￡10,000 arrived in my account, as expected, about an hour ago. The problem is it looks as though it went back out again, almost straight away. Is that a glitch?’
A flurry of keystrokes rattled down the line, before the man on the other end spoke, ‘No glitch, madam. The money arrived at 11.39am but was transferred out again at 11.45am.’
Beth went cold all over. ‘Transferred where?’ But she knew where – or, at least, who. There was only one other person with access to the account.
More keystrokes and the bank teller confirmed her suspicions. ‘It’s gone to a savings account in the name of Paul Hope.’
‘He can’t do that. It’s not his money.’
‘This is a joint account, madam.’
‘I know that, but—’
‘This is a legitimate transaction. Mr Paul Hope is a named account holder.’
Blood buzzed in Beth’s ears as she put the phone down.
She glanced at the time. She was late to pick up Grace. Grabbing her bag and keys, she hurried down to the village in a hazy fug of shock. It wasn’t until they were on their way back, with Grace singing a less-than-musical version of “The Wheels on the Bus” from her booster seat in the back while kicking Beth’s seat with enthusiasm but no rhythm, that the trembling started. Hot, fat tears welled in her eyes, making the world go wobbly.
Unable to see the road, Beth pulled into a lay-by to calm down and stared out of the windscreen at an old washing machine lying on its back with the door torn off its hinges.
Bastard . How had he known? Had he been watching the account? A shiver ran down her spine. You stupid, stupid woman. You should have known better than to risk using an account he had access to. A thought occurred to her. Perhaps he’d only married her for her inheritance in the first place. Well, it was all gone now. She was a fool for trusting him. Could she trust anyone? The Wolverine sprang to mind. What if Rose was right and he was a hit-and-run driver? He’d admitted that his life was falling apart the day they met. No matter how much her thoughts kept returning to him, she’d be a fool to trust him. The space around her heart hardened as if a defensive shell were forming. Stuff Paul. And stuff the Wolverine. He’d already put Jack at risk by scaring the cows. If that didn’t show he could be careless with other people, then what did? She was better off without a man and always had been.
A wail rose up from the back seat of the car. ‘Mummy, come on!’
Wiping her face on her sleeve, Beth squared her shoulders and restarted the engine. For the first time ever, she wondered how much more she could take.