Chapter 23
So that was it. As far as I was concerned.
There. Solved. Someone pretending to be Stuart Murray was doing this.
They had contacted Ollie’s law firm using that name.
Then they had sidled up to Riz and concocted a story of how they could guarantee him a place in Parliament at Guy’s expense. They had attacked Jed.
And then … they had killed Riz. One of Stuart’s ex-boyfriends whom we would never know.
Correction: I would never know. Because I was fucking done with it all.
The TV went off. My phone started buzzing. It was Verity.
Two weeks of silence. I … I needed to answer this. It was for work. It was my career. It was important. I stared at the phone and let it go to voicemail. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
Slumping down on my sofa, I admitted it to myself.
I was exhausted. Emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually, financially (unlikely, but I’ll throw it in there), fucking exi-bloody-stentially.
The only kind of exhausted that I wasn’t right now was sexually.
Frankly, the first man who turned up on my doorstep would get jumped on.
Eventually, I stood and got dressed. I had put off the inevitable long enough. Time to go be a good citizen.
St Candida Church was probably the prettiest place that I’d ever cast a vote.
It was also definitely the most media-focused.
Of course, since British laws meant that you couldn’t report about an election on the day of it, I’m not sure what they were doing here, but there were several journalists asking people questions as they politely filed in and out of the church to vote.
Across the road, watching like a Greek chorus were three women. Technically, they were an Irish, Polish, and French chorus. Rita Parkinson, Ewa, and Cytrine all greeted me warmly.
“I’ve just voted,” Rita said. Irish citizens were allowed to vote, but Cytrine and Ewa couldn’t.
“We came to gawp,” Cytrine said.
Ewa gestured to the sky. “It is nice day for gawping.”
“Anyone that I need to avoid in there?” I asked Rita quietly.
“No,” she said. “Guy voted by post; he told us. There’s going to be a bit of a scene around midday when Suzy and all the other candidates are going to lay a wreath in Sittingston. But that’s it.”
I nodded and left the ladies to get on with their double toils and troubles and joined the queue.
“Hello, love,” Roz Staines, proprietress of the village shop, said as I sidled up behind her in the line.
In one hand, she held an apple she was eating and in the other a celeb gossip magazine. Using her time effectively.
“Morning, Roz.”
“Gosh, I can’t wait for this all to be over, don’t you agree?”
“You have no idea.”
Nigella came up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Are we discussing tactical voting strategies? I say we all write in the Monster Raving Loony Party.”
Roz chortled.
Nigella put her arm through mine. “How are you?” she asked.
“I feel a hundred years old.”
Nigella looked at me for a few seconds then she patted my arm. “I think you need a holiday.”
“Oof, don’t we all?” Roz said. “Wait, is that bloody Odette talking to the reporters?”
We shuffled closer just in time to hear Odette’s views. “It makes one wonder if we should even have democracy. I was reading a fascinating column in the Daily Mail the other day about whether we should have tests before people can vote. Especially people on benefits.”
“Dear Lord,” Nigella said. She turned to me. “Have you heard from Sonia today?”
“Not a peep.”
Nigella looked as if she was going to say something. But then she frowned. “What on earth is he doing here?”
I turned to look in the direction her eyes were focused. The car that had driven me to Sittingston a few weeks ago was now pulling up beside the church. Out of it got Errol Mottley. He was unshaven, his tie was loose, his shirt was crumpled, and his immaculate suit looked like he’d slept in it.
“Christ,” I said. “Hide me.”
“Arden!” He was coming over.
“Not now, Errol, I’m voting,” I said, trying to look anywhere but him. Of course, Odette had directed the reporter to watch me.
“Not even sure Arden’s allowed to vote. My husband said he was an illegal immigrant who probably had to stow away in a cargo hold of a plane to get here, but that’s not true, is it, Arden … is it?”
Errol grabbed my arm. “I need to talk to you.”
I looked at Nigella for help. “Please,” he said. “Five minutes.”
“Anything you want to say, you can say it here, my love,” Roz said, eating her apple, with a glint in her eye.
He looked so desperate. I sighed. “C’mon,” I said and shook off his hand.
“Nigella, if I’m not back in two minutes, please come save me.
” I took Errol by the elbow and dragged him around the corner out of sight of the queue – and the journalists – into a very pretty laneway that ran around the south of the church.
Once we got there, I could see how bad Errol looked. “What happened to you?”
He stared at me. “Have you found anything else out?” he asked.
“About?”
“Suzy, you idiot!” he yelled. His face caved in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s … our internal polling. She’s going to win. I need to know I’ve not helped elect a murderer.”
Now he had a conscience. “Where was all this concern the other night when you threatened me?”
He gripped my arm again. “Please, Arden. Do you know of anything she may have done? She’s a snake, I know. She’s going to betray the party, and no one will listen to me. They’re all so excited she’s going to snatch the seat. All the press coverage.”
I did feel genuinely sorry for him. But also, I was done with being poked and prodded. “Your only concern is that you got tricked by her,” I said. “When you hadn’t realised she’d turn on you all the moment she got elected, you were fine with her antics.” I shrugged.
“Arden!” He grabbed my other arm and dug his fingers in. “Tell me!”
“Get your fucking hands off him,” Simon said.
Oh, good. Because this day needed to get worse.
Simon stood at the end of the lane. He was as dishevelled as Errol. His face contorted in anger.
My ire rising, I shrugged off Errol’s grip. “I can fight my own battles,” I snapped at Simon. “Listen,” I said, turning back to Errol. “Suzy’s a snake. That’s on you. Deal with it and put on a clean shirt.” I left him to it.
He called my name as I walked away, but I was so very done.
“Are you okay?” Simon asked as I pushed past him. He put his hand out, but my facial expression must have warned him not to touch me, and he retracted it sharpish.
“What do you think?” I said and kept going.
Nigella had saved my place in the queue. She waved me towards her, but I couldn’t face it; Margo Cadbury-Smythe and Lady F had emerged from the church hall and were going over to greet Nigella and Roz. Katrina had joined the end of the line, and I fell in behind her.
“You look like the thunder we had last night,” she said.
“I’m beginning to agree with Odette Douglas about democracy.”
Katrina laughed. “Nearly over, deary. It’s all nearly over.”
Nigella beckoned me forward while Margo was in full flow on some topic, but I shook my head. I didn’t have the energy for patience.
My phone rang again. We were about to go in. I looked at it. Verity. She was persistent today.
I ignored it. A second later, it pinged with a message.
Verity: If you won’t answer me I’m coming to see you.
Our turn to go inside and vote had arrived. Katrina and I both sidled up to the desk to get our papers. Behind us, Simon had joined the line, and his eyes never left me as he waited to grab his own forms.
I took my sheet and went to the tiny desk, partitioned off from other voters. It was busy, with almost every table occupied. The only other station free was obviously the one across from me. Naturally, that’s where Simon stood. He watched me like a hawk.
I looked at my voting papers, my hands shaking.
PATEL, RIZ – Labour and Co-Operative Party
POTSDAM, MARJORIE – Green Party of England and Wales
THRALL, ROBERT – UKIP
RABBIT, SUZANNE – Liberal Democrats
And the last candidate – Michael Cadbury-Smythe. Yup, the replacement Tory candidate was Margo’s brother-in-law.
The red line through Riz’s name had WITHDRAWN written by it.
I ticked the box next to Marjorie’s name. Her passion for saving the bees was the only policy position I could remember after everything else that had happened. I left the desk before Simon could start begging me to talk to him and stuffed my ballot in the box. Democratic duty done.
I stalked out of the church hall. Have you ever had several people calling your name before?
All asking you to stop and speak? Neither had I until this day.
I looked up but kept on walking. Guy had joined his aunt.
Several men were around him, one with a bright blue rosette on his chest. Nigella, Roz, and even Katrina were around them too.
I couldn’t face it. I walked home as fast as I could. To distract myself, I decided to take Kennedy for a walk. I needed to think of something else. I needed to blow off steam. I needed to hit something. Actually, what I needed was to be anywhere but this village.
“C’mon, lad,” I told Kennedy. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Instead of a walk, we piled into the car, and I drove off too fast, heading towards Compney. Nigella had said that Sonia was a mess, so maybe she wanted some company. At least Sonia never lied to me.
Compney High Street was busy in the blistering sunshine. Tables and chairs from several cafés spilt out onto the pavement. Happy, chatting, laughing people enjoyed the early summer day.
The estate agency was closed. Huh. That was unusual. I took out my phone and rang Sonia’s number.
A voice answered. But it wasn’t Son. It was Dhapinder. “Ah, Arden. How good of you to call.” Through the glass, I saw her appear in the shop. “As you can see, we’re closed today, but why don’t you come on in?”