Chapter Nineteen
Voice of the Vale, Thirsk FM Radio: Today’s beat-the-heat tip!
Sizzle sizzle, Thirskians! For a heat-busting snack try chomping on a cucumber! This has a high water content and can be key in keeping you properly hydrated!
With a flourish worthy of a stage magician Harvey pulled a packet of chocolate digestives from out of his plastic crate. ‘Triggers!’ he cried with a broad grin. ‘That’s what it’s all about! Things that get the old brain thinking naughty thoughts!’
‘Ey up,’ said Zippy Doodah in a deadpan voice. There was an explosive snigger from the coven.
Harvey didn’t react but it was noticeable the tips of his ears turned rather red.
‘If you know you’ve got these in your cupboard’ – he brandished the offending packet – ‘is it any wonder your brain is going to be tapping you on the shoulder every ten minutes saying, “Er, excuse me, what about those bad boys we’ve all got stashed away!”’
Liz felt a flush of shame remembering those two packs of Vegan Moments.
It’d been just after she’d come back from Hollinby Quernhow, as her headache was subsiding and she’d been getting Jacob’s room ready.
After the exertions of the afternoon, she’d been assailed by a sudden powerful craving for something sweet – and as if in answer to a prayer they’d just fallen out of his Greenpeace duvet cover, two glossy brown packets …
Even now she could taste the glorious chocolatey sweetness on her tongue.
Surely, it couldn’t have caused any real harm.
With a shock she realised Zippy Doodah was looking directly at her, a significant glint in her eye.
It was almost as if she knew in some way. Which was, of course, ridiculous …
It had to be that other thing – whatever it was.
Liz thought back to the start of the session. As she had been on the scales being weighed by Happy Harvey, Zippy Doodah had come up almost offensively close – so close Liz suspected her of sneaking a glance at the reading.
‘At the end, don’t disappear,’ she’d said grimly, giving Liz’s arm a firm little shake.
Don’t disappear indeed! Liz had felt indignant, not just because of the invasion of her personal space, but the tone of her voice – as if Liz was in the habit of running out of the sessions, hand clapped to her mouth sniggering in mischief!
What on earth could the woman want anyway?
Presumably to ask her how she was getting on with finding things out – in the same way she had in that brazen way in Tesco.
Possibly in the normal way of things Liz might have stayed and talked to the woman, but she was feeling tired and drained after her expedition to Hollinby Quernhow, sorely in need of some space and peace to reflect on the afternoon’s events.
So tonight, despite the muzzy vestiges of her earlier headache, she was determined to stop off by the allotments to give Billy’s bench that long-promised coat of preservative.
Everything she needed was stashed in the boot; she could be at the allotments and painting in less than ten minutes without any need for Derek to stand over her with an umbrella.
It’d take, she reckoned, the best part of an hour so the last thing she needed was any interrogation from Zippy slowing her down.
‘Okay, peeps!’ Happy Harvey smiled round at the group.
‘That’s a wrap! Avoid those triggers. Keep those food diaries and step counters going, folks, and I’ll see you in three weeks’ time when we’ll be immersing ourselves in the dizzy world of Carbs Carbs Carbs!
I’d say maybe the most important session so far. ’
‘More bad news,’ said Zippy Doodah in a gloomy undertone.
Even as Harvey had been speaking Liz had been discreetly gathering up her things – notebook, food diary, pen – in order to make a quick getaway.
While Zippy was talking to the coven she was able to duck out of the room unnoticed, stifling down any feelings of guilt with the thought that that bench really did need its coat of green preservative.
Don’t disappear indeed!
The white Fiat was where she’d left it in the car park, now partly obscured by a large, black four-by-four.
There was something off though, and it took her a second or two to register what it was.
The black four-by-four wasn’t just obscuring the white Fiat – it was parked close against it, making it impossible for Liz both to get in, and manoeuvre it out of the library car park.
A flurry of panicky thoughts swelled up in her mind.
There would be no one in the library, no one official, not at this time.
She certainly didn’t want to alert Zippy or even Harvey.
She could ring Derek, but what could he do?
The AA ditto? Could some crane or truck pull the offending car away?
Alongside these thoughts she was aware of a growing, blooming flower of familiarity.
Black?
The door of the four-by-four opened with a chill waft of air-conditioning.
‘I wanna word with you.’
Black hair, black T-shirt, black leggings – bronze smooth face, eyes obscured by black shades, and an aura as deep as the lengthening shadows.
Ffion Hilton was obviously not in a good place.
Looking at her, Liz was reminded of the Bad Fairy in a pantomime; all that was needed was a puff of purple smoke and a clap of thunder.
‘You and I.’ Ffion jabbed an accusing purple-taloned finger at Liz. ‘We need to talk.’
Liz felt icy adrenalin kicking in, as one of her all-time dreads materialised – a scene. ‘What about?’ she said weakly.
‘What about?’ Ffion kicked the words scornfully back at Liz. ‘What about?’
Yes, what about? Liz didn’t dare utter the words aloud, and besides she had a pretty good idea.
‘I want you to tell me one thing,’ said Ffion. ‘Why are you going round my village sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong? Why are you spreading rumours about me? And why have you been coming into my house?’
Liz could have pointed out that this was in fact three things, but of course she didn’t.
Ffion’s angry questions, her accusatory tone, her stunt with the car – were all designed to wrong-foot and fluster.
And whilst Liz fully recognised this, she was still both wronged-footed and thoroughly flustered.
‘We’re not—’ she began to say but Ffion cut her off, which was just as well, as Liz had no idea how she was going to finish that sentence.
‘Are you trying to tell me it wasn’t you round the back of my house today?
Not you sneaking round my kitchen? Putting all them lies on the village website?
Coming in when I’m not there?’ Ffion lobbed the words with the force and precision of cricket balls aimed at pads and stumps.
Liz shut her mouth and regarded Ffion, hands on hips, shades glinting in the fading sun.
What could she possibly say to someone who wouldn’t let her speak more than two words together before angrily interrupting?
‘So go on then,’ said Ffion. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’
‘What lies on the village website?’ asked Liz.
‘Do not give me that!’ The words were hard and scornful. ‘Do not give me that! Do not pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!’
‘I don’t,’ protested Liz.
Ffion raised her half-shut eyes to the sinking sun. ‘Give me strength!’ she said.
We’re going to stay here forever! thought Liz wildly. Her rolling her eyes and me not knowing what to say!
‘Everything okay here?’ Liz had not heard the approach of Zippy Doodah and neither, judging from the slight start she gave, had Ffion. The larger woman regarded the scene, car keys in hand, with, Liz thought, the aura of some inner-city bouncer.
‘I’m not being funny,’ said Ffion. ‘But keep out of this, Zippy. This is between me and her.’
‘Maybe it is, Ffion,’ said Zippy Doodah. ‘But at the end of the day you can’t go round blocking people in car parks. At least’ – she cast a glance upwards – ‘not while it’s on CCTV.’ Both Ffion and Liz nervously jerked their eyes upwards.
‘How would you like it?’ said Ffion angrily to Zippy. ‘Someone going into your house when you’re not there?’ She gave Liz a raking, angry glare. ‘So, what were you up to? Looking for something?’
‘I really don’t know what you mean,’ said Liz.
‘You were in my kitchen!’ The words came out as an angry shout.
‘It’s bad enough having my husband die on me, but then on top of that, to have people thinking it was something to do with me!
I did not see Nev the night he died.’ There was an odd quality to the statement, an odd emphasis, a defensiveness – and something else … a certain tone to her voice …
‘Listen, Ffion love,’ said Zippy Doodah. ‘Everyone knows you’ve been through a lot—’
‘So why is everyone looking at me funny?’ broke in Ffion. ‘Saying stuff about me?’
‘People would be a lot nicer to you if you didn’t walk round like you had a stick up your backside,’ said Zippy Doodah in a surprisingly gentle voice.
The effect was dramatic. Ffion seemed to pinch herself in at the waist whilst at the same time puffing her torso up and out. Again, Liz fully expected a puff of violet smoke and a clap of thunder.
‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that,’ she screeched. ‘Anyway’ –again the talon jabbed towards Liz – ‘it’s her I’m talking to. Her who’s been coming into my house.’
Liz regarded her. Zippy Doodah’s timely intervention had done two things. First it had shown some definite chinks in Ffion’s angry, enamelled carapace. Secondly it had given her a much-needed opportunity to step back, calmly assess the nature of Ffion’s wrong-footing tactics and react accordingly.
‘First of all,’ she said, ‘I only came into your house that once, because Jax was looking for her keys – and I said then how sorry I was about—’ Ffion opened her mouth but it was Liz’s turn to drive on.
‘If you’ll just let me finish.’ There was a steely blade in Liz’s voice, the uncompromising tone of a primary school teacher on the attack.
‘Yeah, for fook’s sake, give the lass a chance to speak,’ said Zippy Doodah. Was that a grudging note of respect in her voice?
‘Go on,’ said Ffion warily.
‘Someone was in your flat – the Snuggery – the night Neville died,’ she said.
‘Well, it wasn’t me!’ said Ffion.
Liz disregarded this. ‘Whoever this person was, I think they parked up at the back of the playing field and came in through your back gate.’
‘That’s kept locked,’ said Ffion. ‘And I did not see Nev.’ Again, there was that strange quality in her voice.
‘Are you not curious who was shouting at him?’ asked Liz.
‘Why should I be? The police said Nev’s death was natural causes – a heart attack, for God’s sake. Can you not get that into your head?’
‘Look.’ All at once Liz’s tone became crisp and uncompromising. ‘You can shout at me and box me in all you want, but I am not going to stop nebbing in until I’ve found out who was there and what exactly happened in an effort to give that poor girl some peace of mind.’
‘What poor girl?’ said Ffion suspiciously.
‘She means that cleaner,’ said Zippy Doodah with a trace of exasperation. ‘The one who found your husband. In a right state she is, tablets and everything.’
Liz regarded the two women. There was, of course, a good deal she wasn’t saying – about a yellow line down a wall and yellow paper flowers, Pity Me Infants school – she had no desire for any of that to end up whizzing round such a scanty grapevine as existed in Hollinby Quernhow.
‘I know,’ she said, ‘how perfectly horrible all of this must be for you, and you have my deepest deepest sympathies—’
‘I’ve not got time for this.’ Ffion wrenched open the car door and climbed in.
‘It’s not your sympathy I want – what I want is for you and your mate to stay out of my house and keep your big noses out of my business!
’ Once more that curious tone. What was it?
Ffion Hilton slammed the door and the engine gunned grumpily into life.
‘Ffion love,’ said Zippy Doodah, but the windows were down and the door remained firmly shut.
If it had been an episode of Emmerdale, Ffion would have driven off with a dramatic roar and squeal of tyres.
Thirsk library car park, however, did not lend itself to such dramatics and there followed a good deal of complicated manoeuvring as Ffion extricated the black four-by-four whilst Liz and Zippy Doodah looked on.
‘I was going to warn you she was on the warpath,’ said Zippy Doodah in I-told-you-so tones. ‘She collared me as I was setting off tonight.’
Liz nodded, more worried about the jerky manoeuvres of the black car. How would she explain to Derek a large black scrape on the side of the white Fiat?
‘What are these messages she was going on about?’
‘They appeared on the village Facebook page,’ said Zippy. ‘Saying all this stuff like “where was she the night Nev died” and “she knows more than she’s letting on”.’
They both took an involuntary step back as the black four-by-four revved, shot forward two feet, narrowly missing their feet and a crash barrier before returning to its tortuous manoeuvring.
‘So, they didn’t actually say she’d killed Nev?’ asked Liz. ‘These messages?’
Zippy shook her head. ‘They didn’t need to,’ she said. ‘Folk are more than capable of taking two and two and making fifty-six.’
Liz nodded. This was all reminding her of something – those vague rumours someone was spreading about Neville Hilton when he joined Lodestone. No specific accusations but plenty for people to make fifty-six out of.
‘I thought,’ said Zippy Doodah, ‘that she’d eat you for breakfast. But I was wrong.’ There was a grudging tone of respect in her voice that for whatever reason gave Liz a faint gleam of pride.
‘Thanks for your help,’ she said.
At last the thousand-point turn was complete – no scrape but it was a pretty close call. However instead of finally squealing off, the black car paused and with an expensive whine the driver’s window slid down.
‘You need to stop coming into my house! I said before I’d call the police and I wasn’t lying!’
Then she drove off with a dramatic squeal of tyres.
‘Are you going into her house?’ asked Zippy Doodah looking after the retreating black 4 x 4.
‘Only that one time,’ said Liz.
‘It sounds like it’s happened more than once,’ said Zippy.
‘Yes,’ said Liz thoughtfully. ‘Yes, it did.’
She’d finally worked out what that strange tone in Ffion’s voice was.
Ffion Hilton was afraid.