Chapter Twenty-seven
From the Surviving Hay Fever: A Guide for Sufferers website:
‘And you’re sure the boots weren’t there?’ said Pat. Today she wasn’t even bothering to hide her yawns. How many restless nights had it been? Four? Five? ‘I mean they could’ve been hidden away at the back of the cupboard, behind all the cleaning stuff?’
Liz nodded her head firmly. ‘Positive,’ she said. ‘While Ffion was in the shower, I had a good poke around and those boots were not there.’ She turned to Jax who was sipping a mango smoothie through a straw. ‘And they weren’t that well-hidden, were they?’
Jax shook her head, ponytail swinging, swallowing down a mouthful of smoothie. ‘The minute I opened that door I saw them,’ she confirmed. ‘I thought: aye aye – what’s that? But Ffion’ll have put them somewhere else, as soon as she got wind that people knew what she’d done. That or chucked them.’
‘Unless,’ said Liz, ‘it’s like Ffion says – someone’s been in the house.’
The ponytail shook emphatically from side to side. ‘She’s bound to say that. We know she lied about coming back to the house – so why not lie about this?’
Pat bit back another yawn. It didn’t feel quite so blisteringly hot that morning.
The rays that penetrated the linen drapes on the windows of the garden centre café were hot but maybe not quite so scorching in their power.
Which was just as well – if it’d been any warmer, she’d have had serious trouble staying awake.
The previous night after Justin and Rod had come back from the Wheatsheaf, they’d had a family conflab.
Rod (hastily pulled to one side and primed by Pat) had said the couple could stay with them as long as they needed – live, not stay, Pat had corrected.
Justin had said that was Mega and Amazing, and implied it wouldn’t need to be for very long as he had several Irons in the Fire and Projects in the Pipeline.
Tiffany had said very little. For once she looked lost, a little girl in a world of grown-ups.
‘A baby,’ Rod kept saying, later on when the two of them were in bed. ‘A baby. How’s that going to work?’
‘The same way it worked the last three times,’ Pat had said with an ease and assurance she didn’t in any way feel.
The image of a gentle, joint retirement had recently taken so many knocks through illness and the demands of family and had now taken yet another.
But … a baby … The thought glowed bright throughout that wakeful night and early hours.
She forced her mind back to the here and now, to her hurried conversation with Liz first thing this morning. Get a grip, Pat! You’re not just here to yawn.
She forced some brightness into her voice. ‘What I don’t get,’ she said, ‘is why Ffion – or whoever it was – painted a yellow line down a wall in the first place. It’s just such a random thing to do.’
‘I can think of a reason.’ Jax rolled her eyes significantly. ‘It’s just the sort of thing that’d wind Nev up. A big yellow line down the wall – that’d stress him out big time.’
‘Painting a wall to provoke a heart attack,’ mused Pat. ‘As ways to dispatch someone go, it’s novel.’
‘And, as I say,’ persisted Liz, ‘there’s all that Ffion was saying about how someone had been in the house.’
Pat forced her tired eyes wide open. ‘You mean like a burglar?’
‘No, not exactly,’ said Liz. ‘Nothing’s been taken, as far as she can tell. It’s more like there’s been someone having a good look through things.’
‘I’m telling you – she’ll be making all that up,’ said Jax, sucking up the last of the smoothie with a dismissive slurp. ‘To cover up what’s she’s done!’
‘What has Ffion done though?’ said Pat. ‘We don’t know anything, not for a fact.’
The ponytail gave an irritated twitch. ‘We know she shouted at him, don’t we? And then he keeled over with a heart attack. God knows what exactly that woman said to him. It’ll have been something vicious I’m telling you!’
‘Going back to this person who’s been going in the house,’ said Liz. ‘I was thinking maybe they were looking for something in particular. After all, nothing’s been taken, and Ffion thinks they’ve been in a few times.’
‘How?’ said Pat.
‘How what?’ said Liz.
‘How did they get in?’ said Pat. ‘I mean did they break in every time? Or had Ffion kept leaving windows open or something?’
‘Nothing like that,’ said Liz. ‘Ffion reckons they must have had a key.’
‘I gave mine back,’ said Jax. ‘You saw me, didn’t you, Liz?’
Liz nodded. ‘I did indeed.’
‘It’s a good job you hadn’t gone and got another one cut!’ said Pat with a cheerful laugh. ‘Or you’d be right in the frame, Jax!’
Jax smiled tightly. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I have to ask – where’s Thelma? I thought when you asked to meet, she’d be here an’ all.’
She looked around the garden centre as if expecting to see their friend peeping out from behind one of the displayed sun loungers.
‘She’s got something on this morning,’ said Liz vaguely. Neither she nor Pat had the slightest intention of mentioning the speed awareness course.
‘So, Ffion reckons someone’s been in the house?’ said Pat, taking her turn to get the conversation firmly back on track.
‘She would though, wouldn’t she?’ Jax was now sounding impatient, as she fished her car keys out of her bag. ‘She’s going to be making all that up. I mean it’s not like she can prove it one way of the other, so she can say what she wants.’
‘Oh, she can,’ said Liz. ‘Prove it, that is. Thanks to the CCTV.’
‘CCTV?’ Jax’s voice was sharp. ‘Sidrah’s camera doesn’t show the front of the house.’
‘Not Sidrah’s, Ffion’s,’ said Liz. ‘She ordered one of those internal systems and got it all set up. She just needs to work out how to get it to play back.’
‘Well, good luck with that one,’ said Pat. ‘It took us forever and a day to get our heads round the system at the Yard.’
‘And even if she does,’ said Jax, ‘it won’t show anything.’
‘It might,’ said Liz mildly.
Jax looked at her. ‘It won’t show anything up because Ffion Hilton’s making the whole thing up.’
‘Why though?’ Pat’s question sounded innocent enough as she took a bite of her Melmerby slice. ‘Why make something like that up?’
‘I keep telling you,’ said Jax, rolling her eyes. ‘To cover up what she did. Shouting at Nev – bringing on his heart attack. Bottom line: the woman didn’t love Nev and now he’s dead, and she stands to get all his money.’ She stood up. ‘Look, are we done now?’
‘How d’you mean “done”?’ asked Liz.
‘When you messaged me – you said you had something to tell me. Was that it? I’m not being funny; I’ve stuff to do. So, if there’s nothing else, I need to be heading off.’
‘No, there’s nothing else really,’ Liz said.
‘Er – the messages?’ prompted Pat, as Jax turned to go.
‘Oh goodness me,’ said Liz, clapping her hand to her forehead in a way that was almost theatrical. ‘I nearly forgot – how silly of me! The messages!’
Jax turned back. ‘Messages?’ she said.
‘The ones on the village website,’ said Liz. She smiled at Pat. ‘Well remembered!’
‘What about them?’ said Jax suspiciously.
‘Nothing really,’ said Liz. ‘It’ll keep – you’ve got to get off.’
Jax sat back down. ‘I thought those messages had been taken down.’
Liz nodded. ‘They were,’ she said. ‘At least that’s what Zippy told me.’
‘It’s more a case of who put them up there in the first place,’ said Pat.
Jax frowned. ‘I heard they were anonymous.’
‘Ah, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be traced,’ said Pat. ‘Our Liam was telling me all about it; it’s really very clever.’
‘How is Liam?’ broke in Liz brightly. ‘How’s the trip round Europe going?’
‘He’s reached Bologna,’ said Pat. ‘You know he and Bern are staying with Bern’s cousin?’
Liz nodded. ‘She has a house out there, doesn’t she?’
‘Think villa,’ said Pat. ‘Think very plush villa. He Zoomed me last night – and Bern’s sent me some amazing pictures—’
‘What about these messages?’ interrupted Jax.
‘Oh yes.’ Pat frowned in a visible effort of remembrance. ‘Liam was saying apparently all messages leave some sort of footprint.’
‘A footprint?’ said Liz.
‘A digital footprint. Don’t ask me to explain it,’ said Pat. ‘Our Liam’s the expert. But apparently you can see where the messages originated from.’
‘You mean you can find out who sent them?’ asked Jax.
‘The police can,’ Pat corrected.
‘The police? They not going to be bothered, surely?’ said Jax uneasily.
‘They were some pretty nasty messages,’ said Liz grimly. ‘Insinuating all sorts of things. Very upsetting for Ffion.’
Jax stood up, slightly flushed. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go.’ She paused. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Thanks for all you’ve done, you two and Thelma. But I’ve been thinking. I reckon it’s all best left alone now, don’t you? Stop finding stuff out. People want to move on.’
Liz nodded. ‘I’d agree,’ she said, looking Jax firmly in the face. ‘One hundred per cent, I’d agree. As long as all the messages and all the goings-on in Ffion’s house stop – well, then there’d be nothing to find out.’ Her tones were crystal sharp and uncompromising.
Jax nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly, looking at the ground. ‘Of course.’
As the subdued figure retreated across the garden centre, Pat let out a laugh. ‘You enjoyed that, Liz Newsome,’ she said.
Liz nodded grimly. ‘After all that woman put us through,’ she said. ‘All the confusion she caused – all she put Ffion Hilton through – it’ll do her no harm at all to have something to think about.’
Pat grinned and stifled another yawn. ‘So go on, Liz Newsome Detectivator,’ she said. ‘Explain – because I’m feeling very slow on the uptake here.’
Liz half shut her eyes, gathering her thoughts.
‘It all comes down to triggers,’ she said.
‘Triggers?’ Pat took a thoughtful bite of Dishforth meringue. ‘Like in a gun? Or that man off Only Fools and Horses?’
‘Mental triggers,’ said Liz, doing her best to avoid looking at the sugar on her friend’s lips. ‘Harvey was telling us about them at pre-diabetes awareness.’
‘So, what were Ms Shally’s mental triggers?’ asked Pat.
‘Money,’ said Liz sombrely. ‘Or rather the lack of it. She is working all hours she can, cleaning up after other people – and there’s her ex and his wife doing very nicely, thank you, with a very plush property, plus a holiday let to rent out.’
‘Jax was the one who left Neville,’ pointed out Pat.
‘Which is Jax all over,’ reminded Liz. ‘Giving something up in the hope of something better. And then, after all these years she’s suddenly back in touch with her ex and sees that maybe she’d have been better off staying with him all along.
Every time she set foot in that holiday let, she was reminded of how much money Neville and Ffion actually had. ’
Pat frowned. ‘But it’s a bit of a leap – going from envy, to actively besmirching his widow’s name,’ she said. ‘I presume those boots were her doing?’
Liz nodded. ‘I think she must have taken them from one of the charity bags Ffion would leave outside the house. Maybe she took them for herself and then realised they’d come in handy,’ she said.
‘Whatever the case, I think she genuinely believed Ffion had in some way caused Neville’s death, so when she planted the boots, she felt she was planting evidence about something she thought was a fact.
But of course, she put too much paint on them, and in slightly the wrong colour.
But that’s Jax all over – she never thinks things through properly. ’
Pat nodded. ‘And that was her going through the house?’ she said. ‘Letting herself in with a copy of the key?’
‘I’m completely guessing here,’ said Liz. ‘I rather think after she went in with me and Thelma, she started letting herself in on her own, with a key she must have got cut.’
‘So, what was she looking for?’ said Pat.
‘Guessing again,’ said Liz, ‘I think she was looking for his will.’
‘His will?’ said Pat. ‘Did she think Nev was leaving her something? That seems a bit unlikely.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Liz. ‘She’d been talking to Neville a fair bit ever since she took on cleaning his holiday let and, knowing her, she’ll have made it quite clear how hard up she is.
When I saw her yesterday, she was hinting how Neville always looked out for her.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Nev had even given her some money from time to time.
And Jax being Jax would’ve drawn her own conclusions—’
‘And was he, d’you think?’ Pat mused. ‘After all, at the end of the day, she left him.’
Liz didn’t answer for a moment but looked out of the window where two young people in garden centre polo shirts were laughing together as they wrestled down the table umbrellas.
In her mind was a creased photograph of two other young people laughing, happy, carefree, with it all stretching out in front of them.
‘Feelings,’ she said reflectively, ‘are funny things. They flare up and then they die back down. And then years later they can flare up all over again.’ She sighed and thought about her son, Tim, and the whole sorry saga of him and the barmaid from Dishforth, and how after many years she’d resurfaced in his life, almost upending his marriage.
With a determined shake of the head, she pushed the past away.
‘Anyway, I don’t think there’s going to be any more anonymous postings or visits to Ffion’s house. ’
‘Liz Newsome,’ said Pat, ‘I take my hat off to you, you ace detectivator, you—’
But Liz was not looking at her friend, she was looking at the determined figure crossing the garden centre café towards them.
‘Thelma?’ she said. ‘But surely today’s her course?’
Pat turned and looked. ‘Maybe it’s finished?’ she said.
Thelma reached the table and sat down.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘I can’t stay long; I have to be logged on by noon. But there’s something I have to tell you.’