Chapter 12 #2
George gave Nigella a kiss on the cheek and then turned to me. “Arden! I feel like I know you already. Simon’s told us all about you. We even went and bought some of your books so we could know what he was talking about.”
He shook my hand and gave me a clap on the arm as he did so.
George Anson was a burly, but slightly short man in his mid-sixties.
He was bald but handsome with a roguish smile and bright eyes.
His arms were like rocks, and his hands were callused.
He wore a simple white shirt over practical trousers.
Completely unassuming, but I bet he was as fit as an ox.
I could see some of Simon’s face in his.
The line of the jaw, the curve of the lip.
But it seemed the red hair came from Marion’s side, as in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows, her freckled arms and a vague hint of strawberry blond in her hair were more apparent.
This pleasant middle-class couple that probably enjoyed National Trust properties and bought all their clothes from Marks and Spencer were not the sort of people I’d imagined raising a scowling wall of anger like Simon. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
They beamed back. “Would’ve been nicer in different circumstances,” George said. We all nodded.
“How is he?” Nigella began divesting her bag of food onto the counter.
“He’s in the lounge,” said Marion. “And your guess is as good as ours. Barely two words since we got here.”
Nigella embraced her, while I stood there like a chump. I spotted some coffee cups and nabbed them. When in doubt, do the dishes. It’s how I got through everything.
I ran the tap and washed up the cups. Oh, good, there were some bowls over there.
Ah! Jackpot, some empty plates from where Marion must’ve combined dishes to fit them all in the fridge.
There was at least ten minutes of washing up to be done.
I looked around and saw the others had departed for the living room.
I finished up the remaining dishes and decided I, too, should go through to see the person I’d come to help.
But first, the counter had some crumbs on it.
I’d grab something to wipe it with. But also, the recycling needed tidying up.
And when was the last time someone had run a cloth over this kitchen windowsill?
There were some serious cobwebs in there.
Some half an hour later, with Simon’s kitchen noticeably tidier, I edged my way into the living room to find it full of people.
The flat had been redecorated recently, judging by the décor.
A charcoal L-shaped sofa took up the left-hand wall of the living/dining room with a TV on the wall opposite.
At the front of the room was a small bistro-style dining table and chairs.
On the mantlepiece was a photo of Simon and what must be the rest of his family. They looked loving.
Simon sat on the sofa with his mum and Nigella on each side. George stood at the window speaking softly to Guy Frobisher.
They noticed me first. I gulped and made my way over.
“Arden,” said a voice from the sofa before I took a second step. I looked over to see Simon staring at me. His eyes were red, and he was as pale as a ghost. Worst day of his life.
After a second, he gave me a small smile. “Thanks for coming.”
I returned the smile. “Of course, and if there’s anything you need.”
He nodded and lowered his head again. I made my way over to George and Guy, who were glaring out the bay window at the front of the room.
“Vultures,” George said as I arrived beside him. In the street were several photographers, all sitting around various cars looking bored.
“Have they been there all morning?” Now I understood why we’d come around the back way. See, Arden, other people have problems too.
Guy nodded. “Luckily, Doris and Betty have been making their lives hell. A few have already left. And old Frank at number 37 has been out there banging on to them about the BBC licence fee, so I’m sure some are near the end of their tether.”
As we stood there, a car pulled up on the street and out got the woman from Honningtons. Riz’s campaign manager, Marina Holt. Instantly, the reporters mobbed her, despite Doris yelling at them that they were causing an obstruction.
“I shall call the council!” Doris said, giving a literal wave of her fist.
“What does she want?” Guy snarled, looking at Marina. His tone shocked both George and me, and we stared at him. “Sorry,” he said, composing himself. “Last week, she and I had a few words. Things got a bit heated. But it’s not the time.”
George clapped him on the back. “Nae worry, lad,” he said, sounding very Scottish. “I’ll go tell Simon she’s here.”
He departed over to the other side. Simon’s face fell when his dad told him who was outside. I looked down to where Marina was giving an impromptu press conference on the front step.
Guy nudged me. I looked up at the handsome face. “Hey,” I said softly.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Sorry, I went AWOL last week. Everything … well, you know what happened. But I’m sorry I didn’t reach out and check in on you. I felt terrible, but I didn’t know what to say.”
Guy had been worried about me? “I was fine. I had people to help me.”
“Do you want to talk about the article?” he asked gently, his hand on my elbow. “It was cruel, and half of it was pure conjecture. You should sue.”
I shook my head. “I want it to be forgotten about.”
He nodded. “Still. I didn’t believe a word of it.” He looked over at the sofa and then turned back to me with a sly smile. “Apart from when they called you handsome.”
I reddened. “Guy …” I said after a second.
“I know, I know. Not appropriate. And, yeah, I know I asked you out …” He sighed. “But, it’s not going to happen, is it?”
“Probably not.”
“Ah, well. Anyway, not what we’re here for today.” He looked over at the sofa again. “I can’t imagine what Simon is going through right now.”
“Yeah, poor Riz.”
Guy was silent and didn’t share my sympathies for the dearly departed, but I chose to ignore that.
George led Marina Holt into the room, and she politely nodded at everyone.
Well, she nodded at Guy. She and Simon made eye contact, and he stood.
She followed him through the kitchen, and the door outside closed with a firm click.
“What does she want?” Guy didn’t bother to mask his tone.
“Probably wants his answer on whether he’ll do a press conference with Riz’s parents,” Marion said. “She wants it done as soon as possible. She rang him twice about it yesterday.”
We all sat in silence.
After an age, I broke. “So … do the police have any leads?”
George puffed out his cheeks. “Take your pick. Politically motivated, hate crime, robbery gone wrong.”
“That awful policeman this morning asked if Riz went cursing—” Marion said.
“Cursing?” Guy mouthed at me.
“Do you mean ‘cruising’?” I asked gingerly.
“Oh, do I? I think I do, yes,” she said, going pink. “But I told them, Simon’s not into that sort of thing and he wouldn’t be with someone who was.”
I met Guy’s eyes. Yes, because all gay men told their mums about their sex lives. Nigella caught us and sent a warning look.
The silence stretched on. All of us trying not to look out the back window to see what was happening. Eventually, Marina Holt came back upstairs and glared at everyone before remembering her manners. “Good afternoon, I hope you’re all coping under the circumstances. Guy.” She nodded at him.
“You’ve perfect timing, Marina. I must get going, and you can be my cover. Come, come,” he said and stood. He shook mine and George’s hands and then kissed Marion and Nigella on the cheek. “Tell Si that I’m sorry I couldn’t stay any longer,” he whispered to Nigella.
They took their leave – Marina clearly furious – and the shouts of the photographers briefly filled the room before the front door closed.
George and Marion went into the kitchen and looked out the window, and we followed.
In the back garden, Simon stood in the middle of the lawn staring out over the trees.
His back to us. “Should I go?” George asked.
“Maybe we should give him a minute,” Nigella said.
Simon was rubbing his face, and I could see how tense his massive shoulders were under his T-shirt.
I walked to the fridge, instinct guiding me that what I was looking for would be inside it.
Yup, there they were. I grabbed two. “You guys take it easy for a bit, I’ll see what I can do,” I said and departed.
Downstairs, I opened the door, making enough noise to alert him to my arrival. I moved to stand beside him and handed over the bottle of beer I’d taken from the fridge. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” I said when he hesitated.
He took the bottle. “I’ve been trying to avoid the stuff while …”
While you’re upset and emotional.
I gulped my own down. “I don’t think one will have you living on the streets pissing yourself.”
He took a swig.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” I tempted a glance over my shoulder to the kitchen window and saw three faces there. I cocked my eyebrow and Nigella put her hands up in defeat and began to usher the Ansons away.
“Not really.” His voice was hoarse.
“Then do you want to tell me why you and Marina Holt hate each other so much?”
He snorted. “You know, usual reasons. I’m not political candidate boyfriend material.”
My eyebrow returned to cocked position.
“They couldn’t even say what I do for a living in any blurbs. ‘Riz’s fiancé works for the government’ was as much as we could offer.”
Oh.
“Wow, you actually are a spy?” I asked, feeling a bit stupid.
He gave me a look.
“Can you answer that?”
He was giving me the look still.
“Can we sit?” His voice seemed small. He pointed towards a tree stump that was repurposed as a seat. I followed him.
“Did you make this?”
He nodded and swigged his beer. He purposely sat faced away from me, staring at the trees, and sniffed loudly. I looked at him in surprise; there were tears running down his face.
“Sorry, I was trying not to cry in front of anyone.” He cleared his throat in the way men do when their embarrassment has caught up with their other emotions.
“Don’t do that,” I said. “You loved him.”
“Why?” he said sharply. “Why has this happened? There’s no rhyme nor reason to it. Riz wasn’t going to win the seat. Not even with Guy dropping out. He … he was a doctor, for God’s sake.”
No rhyme nor reason.
“I know.” I put my hand on his shoulder.
He slumped forward, tears on his face. We sat there for several minutes, maybe longer. It could have been an hour. The only sound was Simon’s occasional sniffs. He angled himself so I couldn’t see his face.
“I need to find out who did this, Arden,” he said eventually.
That snapped me back to attention. “Let the police do that, you focus on you.”
He shook his head. “No, I need to know who did this. I need to make them pay.”
“Simon.”
He spun around to me. “You caught Tarquin. You could show me what you did.”
Ah. “It wasn’t really a case of me catching him, per se.” I’d thought Tommy Douglas had done it.
He shook his head again. “But the police have nothing. They told me this morning. Neuberger said they found no physical evidence at the scene.”
“The killer will make a mistake,” I said, trying to ease his fears. “They’ll catch him. He’ll try and sell something he stole from Riz’s wallet or—”
“It wasn’t a robbery, Arden. He wasn’t carjacked,” he snapped. “This is Dorset, not Johannesburg.”
I was saved from this going further by Marion opening the door and coming out into the garden. “Darling, there are some more people here. Lady F.”
Simon grimaced but stood up and wiped his face. “I need a minute to fix myself up,” he told his mum and went inside.
She came over to me and sighed. “Who could do such a thing?” Behind the kind face was a look of abject terror.
We were silent a minute. “I’m so glad Simon has so many friends in the village. It’s reassuring. He can be a grumpy sod. Even when he was a wean.”
She sat beside me, and I took the opportunity to look at her properly. I could see her son’s face in her own. A face that was usually full of laughter and fun but was now marred with concern and stress.
“I’ve read your books, you know,” she said after a minute of silence. “They were very good. I enjoyed them.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m finishing the next one, it’ll be out for Christmas.”
“Lovely. Simon encouraged me to read them. He loved sci-fi as a teenager, always with a book in his hand.”
I couldn’t help but snort. We’d been the same. Nerdy boys with our noses buried in a book.
She went quiet again, but eventually spoke.
“Could – could you keep an eye on him? We won’t be able to stay forever, and—” She twisted her hands in her lap.
“He used to tell us everything. It’s like there’s a wall up between us now.
He rings every Sunday, but I can feel that for every detail of his life he does tell us about, there’s ten more he doesn’t. ”
I should have told Marion that he and I weren’t as close as she imagined. We were no great friends. But I couldn’t.
“I worry he’ll do something silly,” she said. “Or that he won’t do anything at all. That he won’t process it.”
No one knows what grief will do to you. I hadn’t predicted it’d drive me to amateur sleuthing. Or that catching Tarquin would turn me into a shut-in for months.
Instead, I smiled, and I gave her assurance. I soothed her tired nerves with trite words about a fictitious friendship with her son. I ignored the comments he’d made earlier. The vehemence.
We played a dance of social niceties. Marion looked at me with her kind eyes – the sort of eyes my mother never looked at me with – and she smiled. “You’re a good man, Arden.”
I departed not long after. Sharing pleasantries with Lady F, and a brief flicker of a smile to Simon. Back home, drained, I stared at the ceiling. One day, I told myself, one day you’ll know how this is supposed to work.