Chapter Twenty-five #2
After Ffion’s dramatic resurrection, a hectic interval had ensued when iced water was poured, black coffee made. Zippy started bagging up the detritus from the kitchen and Sidrah had insisted on having a Good Go at the Prosecco stain on the carpet. (It’s Orla Kiely for God’s sake!)
At one point in the midst of all this, Ffion had suddenly shouted out, ‘Weetabix!’ This turned out not to be a cry for cereal, but the name of her horse, and how she needed to head down to the stables to see to her, because Lib who was in charge was short-handed.
Ffion had been so distressed that she seemed on the point of charging off down the lane barefooted, white fluffy dressing gown notwithstanding, until Zippy had said in firm tones that she’d get Piggy Paul to have a look-down – an arrangement that seemed to put Ffion’s mind at rest. Evidently there was still some fragment of community in Hollinby Quernhow that could be called upon in times of crisis.
Liz had helped with mixed feelings. Once she had established Ffion was very much in the land of the living, she had wanted nothing so much as to head home, talk to Jacob and hopefully repair some of the damage caused by the Vegan Moments.
She’d had the quickest of conversations with Derek to outline the bare bones of their falling-out, and now she needed to go back and see if calmer waters had been achieved.
But then another part of her had to be sure Ffion was all right to be left, and to do that she needed to talk to her alone, away from busy chit-chat about specialised cleaning sprays and the scandal that was North Yorkshire Council recycling.
Ffion took a sip of her coffee, staring moodily into the dark depths. For all her asking Liz to stay, she seemed to be in no hurry to talk.
‘I’m sorry for screaming like that,’ said Liz to break the silence. ‘You just gave me a bit of a scare.’
‘I’ve always slept with my eyes open like that,’ said Ffion. ‘The Living Dead, my mum used to call me.’ She looked fixedly at the black coffee.’ I suppose it’ll be all around the village by now.’
‘They were both worried about you. Sidrah rang me, she was that concerned.’
‘Ffion Hilton.’ Her voice was bitter. ‘Not only has she a stick up her backside, but now she’s dead drunk.
Can’t cope with killing her husband—’ Ffion looked challengingly at Liz.
‘That’s what everyone’s going to be saying.
Don’t think I don’t know. You’ve seen the website – don’t pretend you haven’t. ’
‘The website doesn’t actually accuse you outright of anything,’ said Liz.
‘You see the thing is—’ Ffion’s fixed gaze didn’t leave the steaming coffee. ‘The thing is – you might as well know – I did come back to the house the night Nev died.’
Liz could have said words to the effect of ‘Actually, I know’, but of course she didn’t.
‘I did go to that horse event in Carlisle like I told the police. I’d got Weetabix in the horsebox all ready, got the box hitched up, and I realised my driving licence was in Nev’s study.
He’d been looking at getting new insurance.
’ She took a sip, staring darkly into past events.
‘I didn’t want to drive the horsebox up the lane; I’d never get it turned round, so I nipped across the field and in the back.
I got the licence off Nev’s desk and went back.
I swear I wasn’t there more than thirty seconds. ’
Liz nodded. ‘I see.’
‘I mean if I’d heard something – or seen something – I could’ve called 999—’
‘But you didn’t see or hear anything,’ pointed out Liz gently.
‘No.’ There was regret in the voice. ‘I saw Nev’s car come in the drive – and I didn’t want to talk to him.
I was in a hurry. I didn’t want to get into any long conversations about car insurance.
I was running late.’ Her voice was louder now, salted with guilt.
‘So, I rushed off out the back praying he wouldn’t see me.
’ Her hands whitened as she clutched the mug.
‘I’d no idea … Afterwards – when I was told what had happened – I felt terrible. I swear to God, Liz, if I’d known …’
‘There’s not much you could’ve done,’ explained Liz.
‘I could’ve been with him!’ The words came out in an anguished shout.
‘Held his hand! And spared that poor lass. The one who found him.’ Liz put a hand on her arm, but almost angrily Ffion shook it off.
‘Whoever posted those things on the website – they must know what I did. And now everyone else knows.’ She sighed a deep, exhausted sigh.
Liz looked at the woman. Was she telling the truth?
Or merely a half truth, to cover a darker reality?
She had no way of knowing. She stifled a pang of guilt.
Whilst Ffion had been in the shower, and the cleaning operation in full swing, Liz had taken the opportunity to have another look in the kitchen cupboard.
There had been no sign of the yellow-stained boots.
Which meant either Ffion had discovered them and removed them, or Ffion had actually put them there in the first place and subsequently disposed of them.
Or … someone else had both put them there and removed them.
‘Can I ask you something?’ said Liz.
The dark eyes slid from the coffee to meet Liz’s gaze. ‘Go on,’ she said noncommittally.
‘When I saw you yesterday …’ There was a sheepish pause as they both acknowledged the previous night’s encounter in the car park. ‘You said that someone had been coming into the house? I mean since you found me and Jax that time.’
Ffion turned her head to look at her, full on. ‘That’s right.’
‘You think you’ve been burgled?’
‘No,’ said Ffion. ‘It’s more subtle than that – nothing’s been taken, at least not that I can see. I’d come home and things would have been moved – only slightly. Drawers a bit mussed up.’
‘Mussed up?’ Liz remembered the crammed drawers in the study.
‘Like I say, really subtle, but once I started looking for it, it became more and more obvious.’
‘How many times has this happened?’ asked Liz.
Ffion shrugged. ‘I can’t be sure. Three or four. Defo once on a Saturday when I was out with Weetabix—’
‘And you’ve no CCTV or anything like that?’ Liz thought of the jerky figures on Sidrah’s laptop. Could she have captured the intruder?
Ffion gestured wearily to a large unopened Prime box. ‘After it happened with Nev, I knew being on my own, like, I needed something. But I can’t get my head round setting it up. I’m no good with that sort of thing. I keep catching myself thinking I need to get Nev to sort it—’ Abruptly she stopped.
‘If you want,’ said Liz gently, ‘I could get Derek – he’s my husband – to have a look at it. He’s very good with that sort of thing.’
Ffion nodded, with acknowledgement or agreement Liz couldn’t be sure. ‘So was Nev,’ she said.
‘You must miss him very much,’ said Liz, still in the same quiet voice.
‘That’s just it – I don’t!’ The passion of the words startled Liz. ‘I’m such a horrible person,’ wailed Ffion.
‘No,’ protested Liz.
‘I am! I don’t miss him. When he was here, we were like – what’s that phrase?
Ships that pass in the night. Him off with work, me off with Weetabix.
But that night, he must have been lying there in pain, afraid.
And there was I, off necking Merlot with my horse-riding mates!
’ She brushed brimming tears from her eyes with a wadge of toilet roll.
Liz said nothing. What was there to say? Nothing she could think of. She looked at the younger woman. Was now the time to make her departure?
‘And there’s something else,’ said Ffion abruptly. She jumped to her feet. ‘D’you mind? Can I show you something? I don’t understand it – but I think it’s got something to do with what happened to Nev.’ She jumped up, tore off another length of toilet roll and headed out of the room.
Liz followed her, noting that once again that frightened tone was present in the woman’s voice.