Chapter Twenty-one #2
Liz nodded, and with a bit of difficulty wound back the video to show the slight figure in a fleece and beanie trotting across the road.
‘There she is,’ she said. ‘And there she is coming back – and there she is driving off – and the time stamp’s saying four oh three.
’ She rewound the video and froze it as the figure was crossing the lane.
‘It could be Caro Miranda,’ she said. ‘Or Chloe even. You just can’t tell with her in that fleece and hat. ’
‘It could even be Son Masters,’ said Pat. ‘Tiffany did say he reminded her of someone she knew who worked as a drag artist. A touch of make-up, that higher voice – and remember a fleece is a fairly androgynous garment.’
‘Not always.’ Liz’s lips thinned as she thought of her beloved green garment hanging on the back of the utility room door. Her mouth opened. ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s just come to me.’
‘What has?’ said Thelma.
‘My fleece,’ said Liz. ‘I’ve not worn it for weeks now – it’s been hanging on the back door all this time—’
‘So?’ said Pat.
‘So,’ said Liz triumphantly, ‘Friday 13 June was right at the start of the heatwave. Why wear a fleece and hat?’
‘Unless they were disguising themselves,’ said Pat in excitement. ‘So, it could have been Caro or Chloe or Son!’
‘Except,’ said Thelma. She was speaking in her best Key-Stage-One-planning voice, which told Liz and Pat she was about to roundly rain on their parade.
‘Go on,’ said Pat long-sufferingly.
‘The time.’ Thelma pointed at the time stamp on the screen. ‘Four oh three p.m. Chloe would certainly have been at school, Caro too – Son and Annie would have been arriving around then for the service.’
‘So, it must’ve been Ffion after all!’ said Liz triumphantly. ‘Don’t forget those boots in the kitchen cupboard.’
Thelma looked at Liz and frowned as she stirred her coffee. ‘You said those boots had too much paint on?’
Liz nodded. ‘I only got a few specks on mine. But Ffion might have been in a hurry – or upset or drunk or something – and splashed paint everywhere.’
‘In which case,’ said Thelma. ‘Why wasn’t there paint on the floor and walls?’
‘Someone put a dust sheet down?’ said Pat.
‘Or maybe,’ said Thelma, ‘it was a fake.’
‘But I saw the boots,’ said Liz.
‘No,’ said Thelma. ‘I mean maybe someone splashed them with paint and put them in the cupboard. Someone who wasn’t Ffion.’
‘You mean planted them?’ said Pat excitedly. ‘To implicate Ffion?’
Thelma nodded. ‘And those rumours that have been posted about her on the website,’ said Thelma. ‘Those vague accusations – just like happened with Neville.’
They looked at each other.
‘It strikes me,’ said Pat, ‘we’ve lots of questions but precious few answers.’
‘Maybe we’ll get some off this Bun Widdup person tomorrow,’ said Liz.
‘I wonder what she wants?’ said Pat.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ said Thelma. She checked her watch. ‘Just to let you all know, Teddy’s picking me up in twenty minutes.’
‘You better both come over to mine tomorrow,’ said Pat. ‘Justin can hook my laptop up to the flatscreen; don’t ask me how. That way, we won’t all be squashed round someone’s laptop.’
Liz nodded. Thelma didn’t.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘would you mind coming over to me? There’s some parcel deliveries I’m expecting that I need to be in to sign for.’ Her voice was low, diffident, quite unlike her normal self. Pat and Liz looked at her.
‘Right, Thelma Cooper,’ said Liz briskly. ‘This has gone on for far too long.’ She faced her friend, a well-known glint in her eye. ‘You might as well tell us.’
‘Tell us what?’ said Pat, bemused.
‘Tell us why I had to drive you to Pity Me, why Teddy had to drive you here and why you’re all of a sudden nervous about driving. And don’t give me any guff about a bad arm; you’ve been stirring that coffee off and on for the best part of twenty minutes.’
Thelma sighed and looked at them.
‘It’s not good,’ she said quietly. ‘What I’ve done—’
‘What you’ve done?’ echoed Pat in alarm.
‘Whatever it is,’ said Liz, ‘it can’t be half as bad as the things I’ve been imagining.’
Thelma took a deep breath and laced her fingers. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Right.’
As she told them, Pat found herself biting back a smile.
Thelma, of all people, in trouble with the law!
And typical her – all that guilt about a mere speeding ticket!
She remembered the various brushes with the police her own speeding had engendered over the years.
She looked at her friend, frowning unhappily, hands clasped, and felt a well of sympathy.
As if Thelma could read her mind, she looked back at her imploringly.
‘Tell me I’m being stupid. Tell me I’m overreacting,’ she said.
Pat put a comforting hand over one of her friend’s. ‘Of course you’re not being stupid,’ she said. ‘It’s an upsetting thing. I’m just glad it’s nothing worse.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Liz, taking the other hand.
‘You’re a much better driver than me,’ said Pat.
‘Exactly,’ said Liz. ‘Think of all the tickets Pat’s had over the years!’
Pat ignored the prickle of irritation she felt at this comment. This was one of those times when the ties of friendship transcended personal pride.
‘Even though I can do the speed awareness course on Zoom, I’m still all over the place about it,’ said Thelma. ‘I’ve made a start looking at the Highway Code but that seems to be making me feel worse.’
‘It’s really upset you, all this,’ said Liz, squeezing her hand.
‘It’s knocked my confidence,’ admitted Thelma in a confiding burst. ‘I keep thinking: what if I don’t ever feel comfortable driving again? Living round here – you need a car. What if that’s me done with driving?’
‘Come on,’ suggested Pat. ‘See how you feel after the course. Take it from one who knows – it really isn’t anything to get your knickers in a twist about.
’ Silently she hoped Thelma wouldn’t have the same instructor she had last time, the ex-territorial army instructor who persisted in describing the attendees as Speed Sinners.
‘But we’ll come to yours for the Zoom with Bun Widdup,’ said Liz. ‘Won’t we, Pat?’
But Pat wasn’t looking. Her surprised gaze was fixed on the brightly smiling girl who was threading through the tables towards them.
‘Tiffany?’ she said in alarm. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Liz! Thelma!’ Having sat down and taken a sip of iced water, Tiffany-Jane bestowed both of them with a white-teethed wide-eyed smile. ‘I’ve heard so much about you both!’ She turned to Pat. ‘Rod said if I’d find you anywhere he’d lay money it’d be here.’
‘Is Justin all right?’ said Pat. The spark of alarm in her voice wasn’t missed by her two friends.
‘Pat, he’s fine.’ Impulsively Tiffany took her hand. ‘He came back about five. He just got talking with Taj and thought it best to stop over. We’d have let you know, but we thought you must both have been asleep.’
Fat chance, thought Pat. She regarded Tiffany. The girl was wearing a loose, white top and although the smile, the hair, the make-up were as immaculate as ever, she had a tired air about her – almost one might say peaky. Presumably she hadn’t had much sleep either.
‘Anyway, folks, I’m so sorry to gatecrash your coffee session,’ said Tiffany. ‘But last night – well, I couldn’t sleep waiting for Justy to get back, so I ended up doing a spot of online sleuthing.’
Pat, remembering yesterday’s fireworks, wondered if Justin was apprised of this fact. ‘Right,’ she said noncommittally, stifling yet another yawn.
‘Anyway, I found out something that seemed pretty significant and I thought you’d want to know about it.’ She looked round the three faces, eyes bright. The three faces looked back at her.
‘What have you found out?’ asked Thelma.
‘Son Masters.’ Tiffany paused. ‘It’s not his real name FYI. “Son” is a name he adopted when he became a life coach, apparently his real name’s Barry.’
‘What about him?’ interrupted Pat, trying to stifle another yawn.
‘He’s got a criminal record,’ announced Tiffany-Jane.
‘Son?’ said Pat, now wide awake. ‘Son Masters?’
‘He was Barry Masters back then,’ said Tiffany. ‘I was as amazed as you. And you’ll never guess what he got it for.’
You’re rather enjoying this, thought Thelma.
‘Fraud?’ said Pat.
‘Shoplifting?’ ventured Liz.
‘Robbery?’ wondered Thelma.
‘GBH,’ said Tiffany-Jane, with the distinct air of having trumped every other statement uttered.
‘Grievous bodily harm?’ Liz spoke the words in a shocked undertone. ‘I thought you said he was quite amiable—’
‘He was,’ said Pat. ‘Is.’
Tiffany nodded in agreement. ‘Every comment unthreatening, very unassuming body language,’ she said. ‘But – well, I was reading his book and it talked about patches of darkness in his life – so I got to thinking what patches? And I went online, and there it all was.’
‘When was this?’ asked Thelma. ‘And where?’
‘Newcastle, seventeen years ago,’ said Tiffany, efficiently handing printouts to the three. ‘I’ve done you each a copy.’
The three read the account of how a row in a nightclub, over a drink, had spilled over into a fight outside which resulted in the other person losing the sight in one eye.
‘Neville wasn’t assaulted,’ pointed out Liz, scanning the printout. ‘He was shouted at.’
‘People can carry round all sorts of negative emotions,’ said Tiffany.
‘And if they fail to vent them properly, they can burst out all over the place.’ All at once her face froze.
‘Two seconds!’ She smiled a bright smile – or tried to – and stalked rapidly off across the garden centre in the direction of the ladies.
‘That,’ said Pat, ‘is Tiffany-Jane.’
‘She seems charming,’ said Thelma genuinely.
‘She’s been a bit peaky lately.’ Pat frowned in the direction of the ladies’ toilets. ‘She was telling Rod it’s some sort of stomach bug. I hope she doesn’t pass it on to the rest of us.’
Liz and Thelma exchanged glances.
‘You do realise,’ said Liz gently, ‘that the girl’s pregnant?’