Epilogue #2
Not that he could’ve re-entered anyone’s life after his arrest. He’s been held without bail all this time, given he’s already proved to be a flight risk.
As well as the murder of Harold Woodbead, John is also facing multiple other charges, including Identity Fraud and Forgery over those fake documents he created during the whole pretending-to-die thingy, as well as Immigration and Travel Fraud for using a forged passport when travelling back to the UK.
Magnum PI also promised to try to make the coercive control charge stick, for good measure, but admitted only around three or four per cent of cases result in a charge.
The stats made Pauline sadder than the possibility of John getting away with it.
But it felt good to have them trying to prosecute – even if it might be difficult.
If no one ever tries with these cases, the men who do this will always get away with it.
And Pauline wants to make things better for women if she can.
Possibly more importantly – knowing how desperate John was for them to love him – the newspapers are having a field day .
Headlines have been screaming for months about how he staged his own fake death and fooled his family along with a nation.
Then someone leaked the news about his arrest in connection with a possible murder and it became international news.
Headlines everywhere have gone mad. Pauline has mostly found it amusing, though she draws the line at the one that read, ‘ Lottery winner faked death after murdering wife’s elderly lover .
’ Audrey told her if that one offended her, she really shouldn’t look at the National Enquirer , who claimed Pauline and Harold Woodbead had a secret S&M room at the care home.
The angry ship captain is still scolding Audrey.
‘We may issue you a fine, Mrs Woodbead—’
‘Please call me Ms Swift,’ Audrey interrupts, her hand up. ‘I’ve gone back to my maiden name. Swift. No relation to Taylor.’
‘All right, Ms Swift, but please take this seriously. This kind of disorderly conduct can’t happen again on board, or we’ll be forced to remove you at the next port. We’ve just passed Miami, but we could drop you off in Cuba.’
The Lottery Winner Widows Club’s plan had been to stay with the ship past Mexico and Belize, until they docked in Roatan, Honduras in four days’ time, where they were planning to make an on-the-spot decision about their next move – stay in Central America or find a new adventure.
But Cuba doesn’t sound so bad. It’s not the worst threat Pauline’s ever heard.
Audrey sighs, looking resigned. ‘Fine, I’ll be good.’ She tuts. ‘It really is your own fault, you know. You’re the ones serving unlimited champagne with breakfast. What did you think would happen?’
The captain shakes his head, looking around at the group before stalking away.
‘Behave yourselves!’ he shouts from over a shoulder.
Audrey and Pauline eyeball each other, feeling rebellious. ‘I might give him my number,’ Audrey announces gleefully after a moment. ‘I’m pretty sure I got what the kids call a vibe . I think he probably quite likes a bad girl.’
‘Does that mean you’ve finally dumped French Antoine?’ Pauline asks and Audrey sighs.
‘Not yet, but he knows I’m only interested in something casual whenever I’m visiting the French Riviera.’ She looks perky. ‘And he’s given up smoking! Isn’t that wonderful? He looks ten years younger.’
‘Good for him.’ Teddy smiles and she flicks her glorious hair. Something glints at her roots and Pauline looks closer.
‘What’s that?’ she asks Teddy, curiously. ‘That clip thing, in your hair?’
Teddy raises an eyebrow. ‘It’s just where my extensions are attached, babe.
’ She smiles wryly as Pauline gasps in shock.
‘Oh babe, you thought my hair was real? It’s all fake!
I’ve got the thinnest hair in the universe.
There are, like, three strands that are real over here.
The rest are glued in. Aren’t they great? ’
Pauline stares goggle-eyed at the locks she has envied so much for almost a year now. ‘Your hair isn’t real,’ she whispers to herself.
‘I’ll take you to my hairdresser when we get back,’ Teddy offers nicely and Pauline nods eagerly.
She wonders if they can make her look like Sigourney Weaver.
What a thrill! Something else occurs to her.
‘Teddy,’ she begins slowly, ‘where are you actually from? I’ve wondered about your accent since that very first day we met in my kitchen. ’
Teddy smiles enigmatically. ‘You can’t tell?’ she asks, and Pauline would swear she now sounds like a character from that show she watches with Ivy and Seb – The Real Housewives of New Jersey.
‘I haven’t got a clue,’ Pauline confesses.
Teddy holds a dramatic pause before grinning. ‘I’m Canadian,’ she admits, adding, ‘But my parents were Australian-Irish and French-Italian. The accent throws a lot of people. I like it that way.’ She shrugs.
‘So wait.’ Pauline struggles to get her head around this brand-new information. ‘You’re not even American at all?’
‘Nope.’
Pauline gapes at her non-American, non-perfect-haired friend, as Ivy giggles, turning doe-eyed to Seb. ‘What shall we do with all this freedom, after your mum and Audrey’s extended incarceration?’
Pauline wonders how Ivy might look in her mother’s wedding veil and whether they would consider having children. She’d love to be a grandma.
‘Shall we go duty-free shopping?’ Teddy suggests and everyone murmurs their agreement.
They head down to the atrium via the main staircase.
Pauline’s now seen it several times but she still stares around herself in awe at the grand entrance.
It is exactly like that bit in Titanic where Kate walks down to see Leo in a tuxedo waiting for her, and for a moment Pauline feels a thrill, wondering if they might end up hitting an iceberg – wouldn’t that be fun!
They pass rows of endless designer boutiques, talking about what show they’ll see later that night at the on-boat theatre.
Last night’s performance was like seeing an episode of Strictly Come Dancing in real life, without the joke act MP.
They pass the boat’s fitness centre and all laugh at the idea of using a gym while on holiday.
‘You know there’s a library on deck eleven?’ Teddy says and they all ooh and aah, agreeing plans to head up and find a new novel later. One they won’t get round to reading beside the many on-board pools.
‘Oh, by the way, Mum,’ Seb says brightly. ‘The solicitors have emailed. The searches are back. It’s looking like we might be able to complete on the house sooner than we thought.’
‘That’s wonderful, sweetheart.’ Pauline claps her hands.
Yes, children should be able to stand on their own two feet, but she firmly believes the world these days is skewed against the young.
She and John purchased their house in the late eighties for thirty-five thousand pounds.
These days that would barely be a deposit on a home!
Pauline has all this money, and yes, she adores the refuge centre they’ve set up – and it’s doing amazing things already – but she also wants to be able to do nice things for herself.
And buying her children a home each is making her happier than she’s felt in years.
Not least because she’ll get her garden shed back.
Ivy looks pretty relieved about that part too.
They pause outside Chanel. Teddy stares longingly at a pink handbag in the window. ‘I might have to buy a new flat for all my clothes,’ she murmurs.
A man emerges from the shop, slamming the door aggressively.
It boomerangs back in the face of a woman trailing in his wake, nearly knocking her off her feet.
He doesn’t notice. ‘There,’ he says to her, waving a small Chanel bag in her face.
‘And that better shut you the hell up.’ She stays silent as instructed, and Pauline watches carefully.
‘You know,’ he is crowing, ‘I am a high value male and your body count is seriously questionable. You’re hitting the wall, too, getting old , so just know how lucky you are I’m willing to even be here right now. I could have my pick.’
‘Yuck,’ Audrey says as the strangers walk away down the corridor.
‘Misogynistic dog whistles,’ Seb says with quiet fury.
‘It’s all over the internet and it’s disgusting.
You know, I keep getting targeted Andrew Tate-type videos shown to me in my social media feed?
As if of course I’ll be into it because I’m a man.
It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I click “not interested” or report it. ’
‘I know we’re only supposed to be helping women at the refuge these days,’ Audrey says thoughtfully, ‘but can’t we be, I don’t know, murder facilitators ? Help women kill their own husbands if they want to? Because some of them definitely deserve it.’
Teddy frowns. ‘Is The Lottery Winners Widows Murder Facilitators Club too clunky?’
Pauline takes a few steps in the direction the couple are slowly walking. ‘I think we should at least offer her the option.’
‘Excuse me,’ Ivy calls out to the pair. ‘ Excuse me! ’ They turn at the end of the corridor. The man’s lip curls with distaste at being addressed – by a woman of all things.
‘What?’
‘Can I talk to you?’ Ivy moves closer, directing herself at the woman only. She glances anxiously at her partner and he rolls his eyes.
‘Why?’ he answers. ‘What do you want?’
‘I . . . I work for Chanel,’ Ivy lies smoothly, stepping forward. ‘And we’d love to do a survey on your latest purchase. You can win a ten-thousand-pound shopping spree!’
She looks at him with uncertainty and he rolls his eyes again.
‘Whatever, I’ll be at the fitness centre, in the cold room. Come find me when you’re done.’
‘What on earth is a cold room ?’ Audrey mutters.
‘Like, the opposite of a sauna,’ Teddy offers helpfully. ‘It’s horrible.’
Ivy waits for the man to be fully out of sight before she turns to the quivering young woman.
‘Hello,’ she says softly. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Charlotte.’ She matches Ivy’s tone.
‘Hi, Charlotte.’ Ivy nods round at the rest of the group, all waiting and watching. ‘We’re the Lottery Winners Widows Murder Facilitators Club and we want to help you take back your power.’
The woman frowns. ‘You’re . . . what ?’
* * *
From: [email protected]
Subject: Divorce finalised!
Dear John,
Finally, an actual Dear John letter! Thanks for nothing. Enjoy your time in prison.
Goodbye for ever,
Pauline