by Alice Castle
Sudden death, at no matter what age, was unquestionably hard to face. The loss of Alfie would leave a void in Wendy’s constrained and well-ordered life. Beth made vaguely sympathetic noises but was rudely cut short by her mother.
‘I don’t think you understand, Beth. I’m not upset because Alfie has died. Well, I am of course, but that’s not really it, not at all. It’s the circumstances, you see.’
‘Circumstances?’ As usual, Beth felt as though she and her mother were on completely different wavelengths. What on earth was Wendy on about now? Already feeling harassed and by now more than a little tetchy, Beth was aching to get off the phone, her moment of empathy wearing thin.
She checked the electronic display above the cash register – still a couple of people to go – and peered around automatically to see where Ben had got to. He was fine, of course. But the background noise in the department seemed to have ramped up yet another notch, now putting it on a par, Beth was sure, with the main stage at Glastonbury. As well as the buzz of bored and grumpy children, mothers and assistants, some rambunctious little child was now loudly refusing to have anything to do with his mother’s choice of sensible footwear, pointing instead to a pair of bright yellow trainers with all the bells and whistles, including light-up soles and orange Velcro tabs. They were seconds away from a full-blown, heel-drumming tantrum.
Beth smiled sympathetically at the red-faced mother’s struggles. They’d all been there, and it wasn’t pretty.
‘Murder! It was murder, Beth. Do I really have to spell it out?’ From her mother’s exasperated squawk in her ear, Beth realised that Wendy, too, had come to the end of her tether.
As usual, the word got Beth’s full attention. But it was ridiculous. Surely her mother couldn’t really believe that anyone would want to murder Alfred? He was an inoffensive old man if ever there was one.
‘You’re not serious? Who would want to kill Alfie?’
‘You have no idea, Beth. You really don’t. The Bridge Club is an absolute hot-bed these days.’
Beth struggled inwardly. On the one hand, there was the Alfie she’d met a few times – a placid, calm, white-haired chap, with courtly good manners and a twinkle still in his eye. He was one of the few who’d been able to hack it as Wendy’s bridge partner for more than a couple of sessions. Wendy liked to think she was the doyenne of the club, but Beth had heard the mutterings over the years – sporadic lapses of concentration and wild bidding had been mentioned. She was apt to blame her mistakes on whoever was playing opposite her at the time. Certainly, Wendy had had more changes of partner than either Elizabeth Taylor or Taylor Swift.
Alfie had seemed not only resigned to bearing the brunt of her erratic style and even less predictable outbursts, but had really seemed to relish playing with her, and they’d lasted longer together than any of Wendy’s other pairings.
On the other hand, Wendy had definitely lost her maddening veneer of vagueness, and had come right out with what was bothering her. That in itself was quite startling. Beth was used to circumventing several layers of passive-aggressive obfuscation before being able to disinter Wendy’s true meaning. But today, her mother couldn’t be clearer.
‘I want you to look into it, Beth. That’s what you do these days, isn’t it? After all, that’s how you got my old neighbours into such frightful trouble.’
Beth seethed inwardly. Only her mother could blame her for someone else’s brutal killing spree. But she tried to put her annoyance to one side and consider the proposition calmly.
The trouble was that Alfie was eighty-five if he was a day. All right, you were only as old as you felt, but from where Beth sat – on a smaller and smaller wedge of ottoman – you had to feel a tiny bit old at that age, didn’t you? She was pretty sure that disinterested observers would be mumbling all the old clichés about Alfie’s death – ‘a ripe old age’ and so on.
‘Look, Mum, I know you were fond of Alfie, and it’s a terrible shame, but…’ Beth’s gaze roved restlessly around the shoe department as she thought of ways to fob her mother off without her noticing. Suddenly, she caught sight of their number flashing in bright pink neon on the board.
She staggered to her feet, burdened by her heavy bag, with the phone still clamped to her ear. The ticket was now crumpled into a tiny ball in her hot palm. ‘Listen, I’ve really got to…’
‘Beth! There’s more to it than you know.’
‘Oh, come on, Mum. I know it’ll be murder for you, finding a new partner and all, but that doesn’t mean—’
‘You’re not listening to me. It won’t just be murder for me, it was murder for Alfie, too. He was poisoned, I tell you. Poisoned.’
Chapter Three
It was utterly typical of Wendy, Beth thought the next morning, to manage to take the gloss off Ben’s first day at Wyatt’s – an epic moment that she, as a proud mum, had been working up to for what seemed like every moment of the past eleven years. Beth felt she ought to be photographing him in his uniform, treasuring the sight of him looking simultaneously absurdly young and heartbreakingly grown up in the pristine black trousers and smart new blazer. She ought to be gazing at the school crest, emblazoned with the motto ‘For God’s Sake’ (which had presumably sounded a lot less whingey and petulant when Sir Thomas Wyatt had come up with it in the seventeen-whatsits) and drinking it all in. Her own boy, now a member of the most exclusive, most sought-after group in Dulwich!
But she didn’t have a moment. She needed to hustle Ben to the gates and then rush to meet Wendy, before hurtling back to Wyatt’s to do a smidgeon or two of work… and all this with a malodorous old Labrador in tow. All right, this last part was not actively her mother’s fault. But the rest of it she totally blamed on Wendy.
Yet despite herself, she couldn’t help being intrigued. She’d thought long and hard into the night about Alfie and about who might possibly have wanted to harm the old dear. To her, the whole thing just didn’t compute.
‘Mum? Are we leaving or what?’ Ben shouted.
For once, the tables were being turned. Beth was being chivvied into leaving by her boy. She suppressed a smirk, gathered up coat, bag, and phone, gave Magpie a wave, and clipped the lead onto Colin’s collar. They were off. Wyatt’s here they came – ready or not.
It felt odd, walking the familiar route but striding straight on past the gates of the Village Primary where Ben had spent so many happy years. Beth, looking through the gates somewhat wistfully, noticed that all the children inside now seemed so small, so young, compared with her boy. What a difference a few months made. Ben, plodding along fast, head down, absorbed in his own little world, scarcely seemed to notice, but Beth tried to take in every bit of this first journey to Wyatt’s together, from the fresh scents of the flower shop they passed to the gusts of expensive perfume wafting from the glamorous Dulwich mummies towing little knots of children up and down the Village street to their various destinations.
Waiting at the zebra crossing, glancing across at Ben, Beth’s heart was full. If only her late husband James could have been here to see this day. True, he’d been a lot less obsessed with what he called “all this Dulwich silliness” than she undoubtedly was. He probably would have been annoyingly down to earth about Ben’s big day and would have teased her mercilessly for caring so much. He also wouldn’t have been best pleased that she’d spent last night with an enormous policeman in her bed. Beth smirked reminiscently as she thought of Harry. No matter how exhausted he claimed to be after a long day tramping the cruel cul-de-sacs of south London, it was extraordinary how much he perked up once they were safely tucked up together. Suddenly there came an impatient toot, and Ben’s call of, ‘Muuuum.’ A Volvo had screeched to a halt for them and the woman at the wheel was barely keeping the vehicle at the biting point, dying to be on her way. Beth could see she had one tiny car seat in the back of an otherwise empty vehicle – Baby probably had an urgent appointment at the Montessori and her whole educational path would be blighted if she didn�
�t get there on time.
Beth scurried over the crossing as quickly as she could, all but tugging her forelock, and the car zoomed off, burning rubber. Beth shook her head. Funny how mothers always thought their own child’s age and stage was the most important. Whereas any disinterested observer could tell you that the first day at secondary school, well, that really was the biggie, no contest…
As they wandered on up Calton Avenue, Beth realised that for once it wasn’t Ben who was dawdling. He was out in front, the pacemaker, while she was bumbling along with Colin, her head full of dreams. She really needed to wake up. As they crossed the intersection with Court Lane, Beth caught sight of two familiar figures, and realised why Ben had been in such a hurry. It was her great friend Katie, with her son Charlie, Ben’s partner in crime. The way the two boys greeted each other, with a swipe of their brand-new backpacks and a casual, ‘hi’, belied the huge grins which lit up both faces. Katie and Beth exchanged their own relieved smiles, each now certain that things would go well. Though both boys were confident and outgoing, it never hurt to have a friend on your side – particularly on a day when everything else was going to be new.
Katie and Beth kissed quickly on both cheeks and Katie bent to pat Colin, who licked her appreciatively. The formalities out of the way, the pair strolled on side by side, picking up the pace a little to keep up with the boys. From the speed at which the boys were marching up the hill, backpacks swinging, one would almost think that they were looking forward to this.
‘No Teddy today?’ Teddy was Katie’s appalling cockapoo, the worst-behaved dog in Dulwich.
‘I couldn’t face it. He’ll be fine at home for a bit,’ said Katie, demonstrating her famous optimism. ‘How’re you feeling?’ she asked Beth.
‘Oh, you know. Butterflies. But they’ll be in such good hands.’
‘I think it’s easier for you. You know the school so well, and you’ll be there if there’s any trouble.’
‘Trouble? There won’t be any trouble,’ said Beth automatically, although no-one knew better than she, by now, that evil could lurk anywhere in Dulwich, and Wyatt’s certainly wasn’t immune. ‘Also, and talking of trouble, I won’t be around this morning, at any rate. I’ve got to go and talk to my mother.’ Unconsciously, Beth used the downward-swooping tone of voice she always fell into when discussing Wendy.
‘Oh? What’s up?’ Katie asked lightly.
‘You won’t believe it, but she says there’s been a murder at the Bridge Club. Only her partner, Alfie.’
‘Not poor old Alfie Pole? I heard he’d just died. Awful. But he must have been nearly ninety…’
‘Exactly. But now my mother is convinced that there’s skulduggery afoot. Honestly,’ Beth muttered.
Katie looked at her quizzically. ‘I’m surprised, Beth. You’re usually up for a mystery.’
‘I know, but it’s my mother. Ten-to-one it’s going to be nothing, just a storm in one of her fancy-pants porcelain teacups. It’ll be a total waste of my time. And I was going to start my book plan today…’
Katie smiled and nudged her arm. ‘Oh, come on. I’ve heard that one before. Listen, how about I tag along with you? I know you sometimes find Wendy a bit much on your own. And aren’t we in the mystery business together now?’
Beth looked up at her friend. Katie was her perpetual ray of sunshine. A gifted yoga teacher, and happy-go-lucky good egg, Katie had lifted Beth from the doldrums more times than she cared to remember. Whether she was as natural a detective was something that Beth was still taking under consideration. It was definitely true, though, that while three was usually a crowd, with Wendy it was crowd control. Immediately, one of Beth’s most pressing anxieties started to lift and she grinned her agreement.
‘It would be brilliant if you could come. We’ll just drop the boys then, shall we?’
The women exchanged glances, eyes wide. Both wanted to downplay the significance of the moment, for the sake of their sons, but Beth knew each was a mass of jitters.
In the end, it was all a bit of an anti-climax. Beth hadn’t really noticed what had happened to previous new Year 7 intakes, as her Archives Institute was nowhere near their playground, but it turned out that the school very wisely limited the opportunity for parents to lurk and spook their offspring. Carers were politely stopped at the ornate wrought-iron gates, leaving the children to file in on their own. Pupils were then immediately whisked off to their new classrooms in seconds, while parents were left in knots outside the school premises, craning wistfully through the bars. Neither Katie nor Beth liked the idea of looking quite so desperate, so with unspoken accord they started to make their way back to the Village when they – or rather, Katie – was hailed by a loud voice right behind them. ‘Katieeee. Lovely to see you.’
Katie almost disappeared from view as Belinda MacKenzie engulfed her in a huge hug, while Beth had to make do with a glancing blow from the woman’s trademark giant handbag. She raised her eyebrows at Belinda’s black and white faux-fur coat. It was bang on trend – if you were Cruella de Vil.
‘I’m so glad Billy’s in Charlie’s class. They’re so sensible, Wyatt’s. They never separate best friends,’ trilled Belinda.
Katie smiled brightly, while Beth did her best not to look too put out. Billy and Charlie had lived virtually next door to each other in Court Lane for years but, though on perfectly cordial terms, had never played together willingly, as far as Beth knew. Ben was Charlie’s best friend. She hastily reassembled her features into a social smile as Belinda finally deigned to include her in the conversation.
‘So, it paid off aiming high, then, didn’t it, Beth? Ben got in after all. Well, you splashed out on all that tutoring. And, of course, you are working at the school…’
Behind Belinda’s shoulder, Katie opened her eyes wide and silently shook her head from side to side. Beth took a deep breath and closed her lips on the many retorts that tumbled, one after the other, onto her suddenly sharpened tongue. How come Ben trying Wyatt’s was aiming high, but for Billy it was the obvious course? How come it didn’t count that Billy had been tutored from the moment Belinda had decided he looked a little too laid-back in the grainy black and white print-out at her twenty-week scan? Ben had endured just two terms’ worth of extra teaching. And how dare Belinda imply that Ben had only got in through some sort of back-door nepotism? All right, Beth wasn’t above having considered it, but that route had been politely shut in her face.
She tried to count to ten, got as far as three, and pinned on the best smile she could muster under the circumstances, though she was willing to bet it was as frayed round the edges as one of the ancient tapestries in Wyatt’s Grand Hall. ‘Lovely to see you, too, Belinda,’ she managed, through lightly gritted teeth.
Belinda looked her up and down quickly, seeming disappointed not to have got a rise, and caught sight of Colin. ‘Nice that you’re helping Battersea Dogs’ Home out with that mutt,’ she said, and abruptly turned back to Katie, nearly taking Beth’s eye out this time with one of the flying buckles on her bag. ‘Coffee?’ she said, in the peremptory tones that worked so brilliantly on her usual acolytes.
‘Another time,’ said Katie. ‘Got to run. See you later, Belinda.’ And with that, she grabbed Beth’s arm and the two walked off swiftly down the avenue together.
‘Phew!’ said Beth, as soon as they’d gone a few paces. ‘That woman!’
‘I feel sorry for her,’ said Katie, in quieter tones. ‘Well, I did, until she was mean about poor Colin.’
Colin, hearing his name, looked round and gave his best Julia Roberts-meets-a-watermelon grin in appreciation.
‘So, it’s fine that she implied that Ben somehow cheated his way into Wyatt’s?’
Katie squeezed Beth’s arm. ‘You know she’s madly jealous of you and Ben. Always has been. You two never jump through all the hoops, but you still land on your feet anyway.’
‘I never knew I was so gymnastically gifted,’ said Beth drily. ‘But why on earth wou
ld you feel sorry for Belinda, of all people? That’s stretching compassion the entire length of Dulwich Village – and back again.’
‘Well, look at her. She’s all on her own. Trying to find a new gang. It’s not easy, is it?’
Beth glanced back over her shoulder and, sure enough, there were little groups of mothers forming around the gates, but Belinda, in her magnificent monochrome finery, was standing aloof. She seemed ostentatiously glued to a brand-new phone, so shiny it must just have come out of its box, but as Beth watched, she peeped sideways at one likely gathering, took a step towards them, faltered, and came to a halt again.
‘What’s happened to her old cronies?’
‘I don’t think anyone else’s kids got in to Wyatt’s,’ said Katie. ‘Giles Trubshaw somehow squeaked into St Paul’s instead, and really put Belinda’s nose out of joint. The rest chose other schools. Probably so they didn’t have to risk direct competition. And a lot have gone for the state option, of course.’
As usual, Beth had a mild pang at the thought of a state school. Probably just as good, and no fees… why, why had she been so set on throwing her money at Sir Thomas Wyatt’s cackling ghost? Still, she’d made her decision now.
‘Oh well, Belinda’s still got Bobby at the Village Primary so she’ll carry on ruling with an iron rod in that playground. I don’t have to waste too much sympathy on her,’ said Beth bracingly.
‘It’s the beginning of the end, though, isn’t it? The kids don’t need her as much, so she can’t really justify all the au pairs. So, no staff for her to boss around. And once they’re all at secondary school, then there’s so much less hanging out at the gates for the mums. That’ll be a big lifestyle change for Belinda. I bet she’ll go back to work soon.’
‘I pity the City,’ said Beth. But, almost despite herself, she did feel for the woman. Trying to get back on the career carousel at any point after having children was no easy matter, even for someone with Belinda’s apparently bullet-proof ego. She knew women who’d done it in so many different ways – carrying on working with nannies, giving up entirely, going part time – and she had never heard any one of them say it had been an unalloyed success. There was always compromise, juggling, logistical nightmares, and it always seemed to be the women trying single-handedly to juggle various different-sized and shaped balls, even if they were married or had partners.
