The Body in Belair Park

by Alice Castle

  Beth smiled, thinking it must be exhausting to live in a world where every utterance was a question. As the boy must usually speak to other teenagers, maybe they’d all grown used to never getting a straight answer to anything. ‘Do you remember her name, by any chance?’

  ‘I’d probably remember it, if you said it?’ he shrugged.

  Hm. Beth looked at him for a moment, wondering how on earth that was supposed to help. She couldn’t say something she didn’t know. Oh well, it had been worth a try.

  At Wendy’s house twenty minutes later, Beth disgorged her trove of plants and stood on the doorstep in the expectation of lots of praise.

  Wendy took a quick look. ‘Not many in flower, are there?’ she sniffed.

  ‘It’s late September, Mum. Little is in bloom, I think you’ll find.’ After her time in the garden centre, she knew this much to be true at any rate. ‘How’s the bridge?’ she asked, hoping to get onto less contentious ground. Wendy sometimes played with others in between Bridge Club meetings, but now only if she could get someone to help with the bidding.

  ‘Oh, you know, it’s fine,’ Wendy shrugged. She seemed a little dispirited.

  Beth was worried. Maybe her mother wasn’t making such a good recovery from her brush with atropine. ‘What’s up?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, just that some people are terribly competitive, you know?’

  ‘Bridge players? No, surely not,’ said Beth with heavy irony.

  ‘You can take it too far, Beth,’ Wendy said. ‘I don’t understand people like that. The point is supposed to be enjoying the game, not vanquishing all before you.’

  Beth’s eyes widened. As she knew after their recent stint at Belair House, Wendy could teach Rambo a thing or two about aggression over the green baize.

  But Wendy was continuing. ‘Trying to win is healthy. But trying to do others down, well, that’s just awful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Who’s doing that? Beth asked, raising her eyebrows and suddenly feeling a twinge of alarm. ‘No-one’s getting at you, are they?’

  Wendy hesitated for a moment. Just then, Beth’s phone rang.

  She fished it out. ‘It’s Harry.’

  ‘You’d better get that, dear. And I can’t stand on the doorstep all day. I don’t want to get a cold, on top of everything else,’ Wendy said, shutting the door firmly in Beth’s face.

  Well, honestly, thought Beth crossly. But she turned back to the call. ‘Everything ok?’ she said.

  ‘Just wondering if you needed a hand,’ said Harry.

  Beth felt a surge of affection. It was a kind offer. About an hour and half too late, but it was still enough to perk her up on the way home. She wasn’t alone with this dratted lunch tomorrow after all, and that was a good feeling.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Beth woke up feeling as braced as she possibly could be for a so-called ‘relaxed’ family lunch. After getting home yesterday with the food, she’d cleaned the house to within an inch of its life, her good work undermined at every step by the combined efforts of Ben, Harry, Colin, and Magpie. If she wasn’t coming across fresh clumps of cat fluff shed on just-hoovered cushions, she was picking up clots of dried mud from Ben’s trainers, or nudging Harry’s innumerable paperbacks and newspapers into tidy piles.

  In a way, the constant activity kept her occupied and stopped her mulling over why she was dreading the lunch so much. How had it come to the point where she’d be a lot happier having three strangers round than she was dealing with her own brother, mother and, of course, the random girlfriend?

  Beth got up and went down to the kitchen, clicking on the kettle and rattling a mug out of the cupboard. She chose a really big one, decorated with a hectic pattern of chickens. Ben had bought it for her for Easter, and the totally unexpected gift never failed to cheer her up. He was a darling, her boy. And surely any gene pool that could produce him couldn’t be all bad? Though Beth realised darkly that poor James’s side might have been responsible for a lot of Ben’s nicer characteristics.

  There was nothing wrong with her brother, Josh, there really wasn’t. And her mother had a lot of plus points. It was perhaps just that she was so tired, what with Ben trying to find his feet at school, her relationship with Harry up in the air as ever, even Colin – adorable though he was – adding that tiny bit of extra strain. She actually felt close to breaking point, she realised in shock.

  And that was without her sense that it was up to her to find out who had killed Alfie Pole and tried to rid the world of Wendy. Because, despite her best efforts to find out where Harry was with the investigation, she was very much afraid that, as usual, he was letting the whole business drop into the massive ‘unsolved’ folder that seemed to lurk at the centre of the Metropolitan Police like a swirling black hole.

  Harry’s attitude to Josh was also potentially problematic. So far, they had circled warily around each other like dogs in the park. They’d stopped short of giving each other a thorough sniffing, but only just. Beth knew that Josh felt occasional surges of protectiveness towards his little sister. And while she had always been about four times more responsible than him, he was, technically at least, the more grown-up sibling. To some extent, he still seemed to feel he ought to be looking out for her, in lieu of their father. Luckily, this impulse was usually thwarted by the fact that he was constantly abroad and had little time to spare from his own concerns.

  All this would be complex enough, without the added burden that her mother would be playing the recent poisoning victim like Meryl Streep on steroids, to get Josh’s full attention. And Josh, Beth was pretty sure, would instinctively disapprove of Ben starting at Wyatt’s. What had it ever given him, she could imagine him arguing, except a quiverful of qualifications he didn’t use and the bullet-proof confidence to sashay through life? Then, like the cherry on the top of a cake of trouble, there was the cooking itself. Beth was never at her best in the kitchen, unless it was making tea, she thought, sticking the kettle on again for another cup.

  She sighed. While she was at it, she might as well start sorting out the lunch. If she gave herself plenty of prep time, she’d get less stressed and she’d reduce the chances of accidentally giving everyone food poisoning. She turned on the cooker and hefted the chicken out of the fridge. It sat there on the counter, pale, flabby, and covered with goosebumps, looking rather like Beth herself on a bad day at the seaside, she thought ruefully.

  She sorted out what seemed like a mountain of potatoes, knowing from experience that Ben and Harry between them could put away more than she’d ever thought humanly possible. Wendy, meanwhile, would only pick at a singleton, and would no doubt pass a comment of some sort on the crispiness of Beth’s roasting style. Josh would have as many as he could. His girlfriend was an unknown quantity, but based on previous experience, she’d probably exhibit at least one food allergy and might well turn out to be a vegan.

  Once the potatoes were done, Beth moved on to carrots, the orange peelings building up around her and dropping all over the floor, reminding her of the flaming acers in Mrs Hills’ garden. She mustn’t forget to mention the knotweed to Josh. He could at least do something useful while he was in the country.

  The time passed pleasantly enough, and Beth was getting into the soothing rhythm of chopping the carrots when Magpie peered through the cat flap, checking to see whether Colin was around. Though Beth had caught them having secret love-ins on the sofa when they thought there were no witnesses, in public at least Magpie kept up the pretence that she and the ancient Labrador were mortal enemies. Seeing that the coast was clear, Magpie sidled through the flap, sauntered over to Beth, and bit her on her bare ankle.

  ‘Ow! What was that for, Mags? That was just mean!’ Beth protested. Magpie looked up at her, green eyes unrepentant, and miaowed loudly. Understanding dawned. ‘Oh, your bowl’s empty? Sorry, Magpie, I haven’t got round to your breakfast yet. I haven’t even had mine.’

  That cut no ice with the cat, who advanced on Beth again. ‘All r
ight, all right, I’m going to feed you,’ Beth said, backing away and going into the sitting room where Magpie’s stash of priceless cat food lived.

  Colin slunk out as Magpie advanced, the two animals exchanging a glance like prison guard and detainee, though Beth wasn’t quite sure which was which. She got out the bag with its illustration of a glamorous, fluffy cat who no doubt never bit its owner, rattled the pellets into the cat’s bowl, and watched as Magpie scarfed them down. She’d certainly been hungry.

  Beth more or less forgave her the nip, stroked her for a while as the cat continued to crunch, then wandered back into the kitchen.

  Colin was now lying down in the kitchen, looking like a lumpy brown rug. As she passed him, he tried to raise his head but gave up, giving her a strangely remorseful look out of one chocolate brown eye. Beth wondered what that was about, then crossed over to the cooker. The oven was probably hot enough now. It was a little early to put the chicken in, but she could get it ready, rub a bit of paprika on it or something, whatever the posh cooks did these days.

  She came to a stop in front of the stove, which was humming away to itself as it heated up. On the hob, where she had left the chicken, there was nothing but an empty space.

  The chicken was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Beth couldn’t help thinking that the last-minute table they’d bagged in the Crown and Greyhound pub in Dulwich Village was a bit of a godsend. Technically, she knew she should be furious with Colin. He was outside, his lead tied around a table leg, still looking green after scoffing not only the chicken but also its little polystyrene platter and the clingfilm which covered it, complete with cooking instructions. How a dog, who was ponderous at best, had managed that in the short time she’d been occupied with Magpie in the sitting room, she couldn’t imagine. It just showed that, much though she loved the old Labrador, he had much more in common with the playwright Oscar Wilde than she had ever realised before. Both of them could resist anything – except temptation.

  Poor Colin was definitely regretting his moment of madness now, having hoiked up a lot of his unexpected windfall in the back garden, along Pickwick Road and even, truly disgustingly, outside the pub. Beth was already dreading what might emerge from the other end, in the hours to come.

  But despite it all, she couldn’t be too cross with him. The look in his eye was so contrite, so abject, that it would have taken a harder heart than hers to punish him. His evident gastric turmoil was payback enough. And nor could Beth escape the fact that she was secretly thrilled. She felt as though she’d been offered a last-minute reprieve. There had been just about time, she was now willing to admit, for her to run back to the shop and get a last-minute alternative to the chicken. But she’d leapt at Harry’s suggestion that they all meet at the pub instead, thrilled to be let off making a meal which her mother would have very much enjoyed judging her over, every bit as harshly as RuPaul contemplating a drag queen with a five o’clock shadow.

  Things were even easier, because Josh was distracted from his usual Alpha male act with Harry. Instead of the pair clashing antlers, Josh was completely preoccupied with his new girlfriend, Rose. To Beth’s astonishment, for the first time ever he seemed totally besotted. And the girl seemed quite ordinary, compared to some of the stunners he’d had fawning over him before. She was lovely, most definitely, but not a potential supermodel. She was of average height, normal size, and wearing a sensible jumper. Best of all, she didn’t seem to be hanging on Josh’s every word. Beth really warmed to her. And Josh immediately agreed to root out Wendy’s knotweed, presumably to impress Rose like a knight of old slaying a dragon.

  Unfortunately, gazing at Rose, laughing at all her jokes, holding her hand, and making sure she had a drink at all times, did distract Josh a bit from Wendy and her terrific performance as a frail little old lady. But her mother’s sporadic coughs, sudden claspings of her forehead, and occasional complaints (in a very piercing voice) that she felt a little faint, did remind Beth that she, for one, was still dying to get to the bottom of the mystery. Her mother might be maddening, but if it was anyone’s job to kill her, it was Beth’s.

  When they’d all managed to put away very decent helpings of the Greyhound’s respectable take on a roast Sunday lunch – which Beth was happy to admit was a lot better than anything she could have served up – she volunteered to go to the bar to get another Coke for Ben. He was dealing with the boredom of so much grown-up chitchat by playing a game on his uncle’s phone.

  The place had filled up, and she found herself, as usual, all but invisible behind a crowd of fellow lunchers. Once they were served, she realised she was just a pace behind an elderly lady with a rigid blonde hairdo. It was one of those moments when she knew she’d seen the woman before, yet couldn’t for the life of her remember where. So frustrating, thought Beth. Was this what it was going to be like growing old? More and more moments missing? She hoped not.

  She racked her brains. The woman was well turned out, her shoes were shiny – she could have been the grandmother of anyone in Ben’s class. Was that where she knew her from? Beth tried to edge round and glimpse the woman’s face, hoping they could solve the mystery together.

  Then a stocky man, whom she hadn’t noticed as he had been leaning his broad, bullish back over the counter, turned and spoke a word to the elderly lady. He started waving a twenty-pound note at the busy barman like a picador brandishing a red rag at a bull.

  Good God! Beth stepped back in confusion even faster than she had after Magpie’s nip that morning. It wasn’t just the man’s awful manners. He was the last person in Dulwich she wanted to run into.

  Beth whipped round immediately, hoping she hadn’t been seen. Ben’s Coke was just going to have to wait. Sure enough, as she passed a large mirror, she took a quick peek. She’d been right. It was just as she thought. A shiver of horror went right through her.

  Sitting back down at the table, Ben’s question about the strange non-appearance of his drink was the least of her worries. What on earth was she going to do now?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Exactly a day later, Beth was at Wyatt’s, still facing the same dilemma. She sat in her office, twirling a pencil, lost in thought. A much-chastened Colin was sitting very quietly in the conference corner. The full ramifications of his short career as a thief were now over, thank goodness, but from the injured look in his eye, Beth knew he’d never quite trust a chicken again. She knew she should consider herself lucky that they hadn’t had to go to the vet. The old boy had had a very lucky escape – and so, she decided, had she.

  Yesterday’s lunch had gone much better than she could have predicted, what with Josh being head over heels in love, Harry thus let off the hook, and her mother a little squashed by Josh’s inattention, much to Beth’s silent amusement. But that sneaked glimpse in the mirror had landed her with a huge decision to make.

  Should she say anything? And who on earth to? Harry wouldn’t take it seriously, she was sure. With a mammoth effort of will, Beth put the whole issue to the back of her mind. Sometimes things unravelled themselves, she found, if you could distract yourself successfully enough with different issues. Displacement, they called it.

  By the time she finished work that day, she’d displaced enough to clear her desk. She’d even got halfway through a plan for her biography of Wyatt, at last. She’d squinted through Ben’s homework diary, filched from his bag that morning. He seemed to be getting it done, and everything he’d had back so far, faithfully recorded in the ‘marks’ section, was in the six or seven out of ten, B+ range where, Beth suspected, he was likely to stay throughout his academic career. Nothing wrong with that, she thought defensively. It was fine.

  Beth had even managed to catch up with Katie and have a chat, though the friends seemed a little out of tune with each other. They somehow hadn’t got round to the promised discussion of the Billy MacKenzie issue. Even walking the dogs together seemed to be out, as Katie had ceded cont
rol of Teddy to the dog walker, but Beth really couldn’t blame her for that.

  Then Katie had let it slip that there’d been yet another coffee morning that Beth hadn’t made the cut for. And she’d sighed very heavily over some Latin prep that, of course, Ben hadn’t mentioned. Beth wondered if it was possible that Katie herself was finding the work hard-going. Or was she a lot more ambitious over Charlie’s marks than Beth? It was mysterious. She certainly seemed to have lost interest entirely in the investigation, though Beth wasn’t surprised, given the bullying. And Beth wasn’t ready to tell her friend about yesterday’s devastating encounter yet.

  That fleeting glimpse had filtered into her dreams. With a shiver, she remembered tossing and turning last night, trying to escape nightmares where the same motifs came up, time and time again. The tightly-packed balls of yellow petals that she’d seen in Mrs Hills’ front garden, blowing across Dulwich Park towards her, mimicking the curiously helmet-like blonde coiffure she’d seen in the pub, which kept popping up everywhere she went. Was the connection really what she thought it was? And how could she ever be sure? By the time she was packing her handbag and straightening things on her desk, Beth had come to a decision. There was only one way to make absolutely certain that her theory really did hold water. It wasn’t going to be easy. But it was necessary.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next day, Beth didn’t mind admitting that she was shaking in her pixie boots. The drastic step she was now taking had somehow seemed like the only option when she’d been sitting safely at her desk at Wyatt’s. But now she was here, on the brink of irrevocable action, she wasn’t really sure she should – or could – go through with it. And could she really pull it off?

  She looked up at the façade of Belair House, smooth and cold and white. This is where it had all started. And where Beth was hoping to bring things to an end.