Chapter Thirty-two
From the Hambleton Amblers Not Ramblers Facebook Page:
Please be aware that due to today’s wet weather, the Abbey-to-Abbey Saunter has been postponed until next week.
‘So, the fact is, Chelsey, Mr Hilton – Neville – had been there for hours before you even went into the property.’ DS Donna Dolby’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact. ‘And even if you had been there when he was taken ill, there was very little you could have done.’
Except maybe stop Bun Widdup from waving a knife in his face, thought Pat.
Chelsey nodded. ‘I mean I had been told that but you can’t help wondering, what if—’
‘Well, you can stop wondering.’ Ffion’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
‘Nev had suffered with his heart for years. Since before I knew him. He used to say, “I’m a ticking time bomb, me.”’ She sighed, and looked at a photo, newly fixed to the wall.
The smug and, yes, frankly irritating features of the late Neville Hilton smirked back.
Eyes wide, Chelsey looked round at the others sitting in Ffion’s living room, which was a sight tidier today and smelling strongly of furniture polish (apparently Zippy and Sidrah had been in).
Pat, Liz and Thelma smiled reassuringly at the girl, and she nodded again, seeming to grow in confidence.
Outside, the August rain hissed and dribbled down the washed wet glass; the grass was green and lank.
‘It’s just hearing someone official say it,’ she said.
Donna smiled grimly and tapped a document on the coffee table next to her. ‘Can’t get any more official than a forensic report, love,’ she said.
Chelsey nodded. ‘I just have to get a hold of myself,’ she said. She sighed, and the shadows returned to her face again.
‘Are you not back at work yet, lovey?’ asked Liz. Since their encounter a few days previously, none of the three friends had heard from Jax.
Chelsey shook her head, shuddering slightly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No way. I mean, I know it’s daft, but I just can’t face going into all of them different houses on my own.’
‘It’s not daft at all,’ said Pat.
‘It’s the most understandable thing in the world,’ said Liz.
‘I mean I’m sleeping a bit better,’ said Chelsey. ‘And all that talking with the therapy lady does help. It’s just—’ She shuddered. ‘I keep thinking about putting my key in that lock and pushing open the door.’ She stopped abruptly, eyes filling with tears.
‘So, if you don’t go back to work with Jax, what will you do?
’ asked Thelma. None of the three friends liked to say it, but they all felt losing the cleaning work would inflict a financial hit that Chelsey could barely afford.
Plus, it was seeming more than likely that before long Jax would ditch the business and move on to something else.
Chelsey shrugged. ‘I dunno,’ she said. ‘Something will turn up.’
‘What are you like with horses?’ Ffion’s voice was back to its usual brusqueness.
‘Horses?’
Again, Chelsey shrugged. ‘I mean, I used to have riding lessons when I was little,’ she said.
‘Only Lib needs someone on a weekend to help out,’ said Ffion. ‘Mucking out and so on.’
‘Like cleaning stables?’ said Chelsey.
‘It’s not for everyone,’ said Ffion. ‘And I suppose if you gave up riding—’
‘Only because my dad lost his job and we couldn’t afford the lessons anymore,’ said Chelsey. ‘I used to love it.’
‘It’s a lot of mucky work,’ said Ffion. ‘Shovelling ess aitch eye tee.’
‘I wouldn’t mind that,’ said Chelsey. ‘It can’t be worse than some of the stuff I’ve found when I was cleaning. I mean aside from dead bodies. Oh God—’ She stopped, clamped her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Hilton, that came out all wrong.’
‘Don’t worry, love,’ said Ffion with a grim smile. ‘And it’s Ffion.’
On her way out, having taken Lib’s phone number and said a nervous goodbye to Donna Dolby, Chelsey paused in the doorway. ‘So, it’s really okay then?’ she said. ‘About Mr Hilton?’
‘It’s fine,’ said Ffion. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘And that yellow line on the wall? What was that about?’
The remaining five women exchanged glances.
‘Nothing important,’ said Ffion. ‘Nev must’ve been trying out colours to repaint or summat.’
Chelsey nodded. ‘I am sorry,’ she said to Ffion. ‘About Mr Hilton. I’m sorry he died on his own like that.’
Ffion nodded but no one spoke. After all, what was there to say?
* * *
Once Chelsey had gone, and Ffion returned with a fresh cafetiere of coffee.
DS Donna slapped her hands on her knees.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I have exactly twenty-two minutes before I need to be heading elsewhere. And remember – I am not here; I never was here.’ She reached for her cup and spooned in brown sugar. ‘So, speak.’
‘Well,’ said Thelma. ‘Whatever Bun Widdup might have said to you, she had this whole thing meticulously planned. From booking an earlier stay at the cottage, to setting up the whole fake Zoom scenario.’
Donna nodded. ‘When do you think she decided all this?’ she asked.
Thelma stirred her coffee. ‘Probably when Neville got the job at Lodestone. Here was the man who had effectively destroyed Pity Me school, landing a top job with one of the leading academy chains in the country.’
‘And a top-whack salary,’ put in Pat. ‘When there were people like Chloe Lord potentially facing being out of work when the school was closed.’
‘She had tried a smear campaign,’ said Thelma.
‘Spreading rumours about Neville, but that didn’t work.
Neville still landed the job. So, I imagine it was around then, in her rage and grief over everything that had happened – the school, and then Davey Fletcher’s death – she decided she was going to kill the man.
’ She looked at Ffion. ‘I can imagine this must be very hard for you to hear,’ she said, ‘So just say if you want me to stop.’
Ffion shrugged. ‘It’s not easy,’ she said, ‘but then it’d be harder not to hear it, if that makes sense.’
Thelma nodded and continued. ‘Remember,’ she said to Donna, ‘this is for the most part supposition – there’s very little actual proof.’
‘Which is okay as technically a crime hasn’t been committed,’ said Donna. ‘FYI seventeen minutes.’
‘Bun would have used the time she spent here in March finding out the lie of the land, as it were,’ said Thelma.
‘She’d have found out about your weekends away with the horses,’ said Liz to Ffion. ‘And the fact Neville went to Rotary on a Friday.’
‘She’d also have worked out she could disguise the living room to look like her studio,’ put in Pat. ‘So she was all set. Your typical primary school practitioner.’ She smiled grimly. ‘Planned up to the hilt.’
‘I think if you ask Caro Miranda,’ continued Thelma, ‘she’ll tell you that the memorial service in school was Bun’s idea.
She’d have said it needed to fit in with her diary, so it’d have been relatively straightforward to book a week here in June and arrange it so the service would be on the Friday.
At any rate she managed it. All she needed to do was check in, fit the drapes and paint that line of yellow where they didn’t quite meet in the middle.
She could then do all that week’s Zoom calls and no one would know she wasn’t at home in Robin Hood’s Bay.
And of course, the same thing applied to the memorial service – everyone thought she was sixty-odd miles away on the coast.’
‘Only one person realised that she wasn’t,’ said Liz.
‘Annie Golightly,’ said Pat.
‘I think when she saw Bun on the Zoom at the memorial, she might have had some idea something wasn’t quite right but she wasn’t sure what,’ said Thelma.
‘It was only when I mentioned the yellow line on the wall of your holiday let’ – she nodded at Ffion – ‘that the pieces fell into place and she worked out what Bun must have done. Her first instinct was to protect her friend – which is why she told people to delete the film of Bun from their phones – but as she neared death, she realised it was important to her that she told someone what had happened, and she sent for me.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Donna. ‘What was it that made her realise Bun wasn’t at home?’
‘The sunlight,’ said Thelma. ‘When Bun was reciting the sonnet, the curtain slipped, letting in the sun.’
‘Son Masters said she looked like an angel haloed in the light,’ said Pat.
‘Only Annie realised the light was coming in from the wrong direction,’ said Thelma.
‘The Snuggery faces a different direction to her studio in Robin Hood’s Bay,’ said Pat.
‘Not the west but the east,’ said Liz. ‘Or the other way round, I’m not exactly sure. But the sun was coming in the wrong side for the time of day.’
‘Annie tried to tell me,’ said Thelma. ‘The sun was wrong, she said. Only I thought she meant SON – ess oh en – as in Davey’s partner – when really, she was saying SUN – ess you en.’
Ffion and Donna exchanged glances.
‘Blumin’ hummer,’ said Ffion. ‘How you lot worked this out is beyond me.’
‘I’ve been on a number of Zoom calls lately,’ said Thelma delicately.
Both her friends tactfully looked down at their coffee cups.
‘It’s such a recent phenomenon, everyone having these virtual meetings.
And one time when I was on a call, I realised that what I was seeing was what people wanted me to see …
Things they wanted hidden could all stay neatly off camera. ’
‘And Bun was able to hide the fact she wasn’t in Robin Hood’s Bay,’ said Pat.
‘Yeah, but why didn’t she use a virtual background?’ said Ffion. ‘Like a photo or something?’
‘Or even blur the background?’ said Donna.
‘Bun’s red African drapes are very distinctive,’ said Thelma. ‘If they suddenly disappeared, people would notice—’
‘And remember she did all this when she was planning to murder Neville,’ said Liz.
‘So, she needed an alibi?’ said Donna.