by Fiona Leitch
‘I hardly know her.’ I was painfully aware that was the exact thing I’d said to Mel. He laughed.
‘That’s not a no, is it?’ He stared out of the window for a moment then turned back to me. ‘I know Cheryl can be a bit…’ What? A bit of a fricking nightmare? ‘A bit high maintenance. But she’s not had an easy life.’
I thought about the things I’d gone through over the last few years.
‘Lots of us have had a hard life—’ I started.
‘She lost her parents when she was fifteen.’ Oh crap. ‘That’s how she ended up with her uncle. I don’t know what her parents were like – they didn’t live round here – but her uncle and his lot…’ Tony shook his head and lowered his voice. ‘They’re not very nice people. So cut her some slack, yeah?’ He touched me gently on the arm. ‘I’m glad you’re back, Jodie. I’d really like you and Cheryl to be friends. Will you try?’
‘Of course,’ I said. And I meant it, for him.
I finished my drink and left the bar. Should I go up and talk to Cheryl? Part of me wanted nothing more than to just go home and relieve my mum of her babysitting duties – Daisy liked to think she was a grown-up, but she was still only twelve – but the concerned (or nosey) part of me thought that maybe I should pop up and check on her.
I stood outside her room, hesitating. Maybe I shouldn’t disturb her if she wanted an early night. But I could hear movement – a lot of movement – from the other side of the door. So I knocked.
There was silence. To my mind it was a guilty silence – like someone had been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Don’t ask me how a silence can be guilty, but it can. I just have this instinct…
Just as I was becoming convinced she wouldn’t answer the door, she did, opening it a crack. She had a smile on her face which dropped as soon as she saw me.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said.
‘Just checking that you’re all right after that little incident earlier,’ I said sweetly. I can do sweet.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. Through the crack in the door I could see a suitcase on the bed with a mess of clothes half in and half out.
‘Getting everything ready for your big day?’ I said. ‘Packing for the honeymoon?’
‘Yes,’ she said, attempting to close the door a little tighter. I had a horrible feeling that packing wasn’t what she was doing.
‘Look, we may have got off on the wrong foot,’ I said. ‘If you want to talk—’
‘Not really.’
‘Okay.’ I was relieved. ‘Tony’s a really good guy, you know. He deserves to be happy.’
Her face dropped. Uh oh.
‘I know he does.’
‘So if you’ve got any doubts…’
She looked at me for a few seconds, then plastered on a fake smile.
‘No doubts at all,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your concern.’ And with that she shut the door in my face.
I went home and went to bed, first looking in on Daisy, who had given up waiting up for me and gone to bed, and on my mum, who was staying in the spare room. I’d mentioned her moving in with us permanently as she was getting on a bit and I worried about her being on her own (especially since she’d been diagnosed with angina a few months ago, which had helped persuade me now was a good time to move back), but she’d been almost indecently hasty to reject that idea, saying that she valued her privacy and she could hardly bring a man home if her daughter and granddaughter were there.
I turned the light off and stared at the ceiling before finally falling into a restless sleep. My dreams were filled with 80s hairstyles, rugby tackles, and dickheads in Ralph Lauren, and somewhere in the middle of it Tony saying he’d deliver the sofa tomorrow. Except of course he wouldn’t because it already had pride of place in my living room and tomorrow was his wedding day.
I woke the next morning and saw the text from the groom, and in my sleep-fuddled state I thought, He’s arranging a time to deliver the sofa.
When I opened it, I was unsurprised to read that the bride had disappeared.
Chapter Three
Tony was waiting outside the hotel, hopping about impatiently from foot to foot as I drew up in the van. He looked up and his mouth dropped open as I jumped out.
‘What the—? What are you driving?’ he asked, aghast, staring at the picture on the side of the van. ‘Tell me it ain’t yours.’
‘My new company vehicle,’ I said airily. ‘I got it a couple of days ago off a bloke in Tavistock. He’s closing down his fetish shop. Apparently Tavistock isn’t the hotbed of perversion and kinkiness he thought it was. Who knew?’
Tony walked alongside the van, looking closely at the image while also quite clearly not wanting to look that closely.
‘Oh my God…’
‘Do you like our Gimpmobile?’ Daisy smiled brightly at him, having clambered out of the passenger side followed by my mum.
‘Don’t call it that!’ I said quickly, stifling a giggle, although I had to admit that description fitted it perfectly. I turned to Tony. ‘You didn’t give me much time to get prepared. I’ll get it resprayed next week.’
‘You could have peeled the decals off…’ Tony looked at the picture of a cartoon figure holding a whip and shuddered.
‘Yeah, I tried that and it was worse.’
‘How could it be worse?’
‘The outline was left behind, and it didn’t look like it was a whip he was holding.’
Tony gulped.
‘Oh, pull yourself together!’ My mum shook her head. ‘You young people are too easily offended…’
I indicated my fellow caterers. ‘You know my mum, of course.’
‘Yes, of course, nice to see you, Shirley…’
‘And you remember Daisy? She must have been about nine the last time you saw her.’
‘Yes, wow, haven’t you grown…’ Tony looked at me helplessly. It was starting to become a habit. ‘Why—’
‘My sous chefs,’ I said. ‘Like I said, you didn’t give me much time to prepare.’ In truth, Daisy had been getting bored – it was the summer holidays and she hadn’t started her new school yet – and I didn’t entirely trust her and my mother to keep each other out of trouble if I was out all day. ‘They’ll start unloading the van while we have a little chat.’ I threw Daisy the keys and grabbed Tony’s arm, marching him off before she could complain about being treated like a slave (even though I’d already said I’d pay her).
We walked through reception and started up the grand staircase that swept up to the first floor. We headed towards Cheryl’s room, where Tony stopped to take a key from his pocket.
‘We were doing the old-fashioned not-seeing-each-other-the-night-before thing,’ he said. ‘She sent me a text about half nine, quarter to ten, saying she wanted to talk to me after the party, but I didn’t see it until later so I didn’t reply straight away, and then she sent me another one telling me not to worry about it because she was going to bed. I sent her a goodnight text but she didn’t send me one back, so I thought she was probably just asleep. Then this morning when her friend turned up to do her hair and make-up there was no sign of her.’
He opened the door and we went inside. The mess of clothes on the bed that I’d seen last night was gone, the suitcase was absent, and either the bed had not been slept in or Cheryl had been a hotel chambermaid in a previous life. Maybe she had, or maybe she was just tidy and into soft furnishings. My bedding never looks like that. Tony sat down heavily on it.
‘I tried ringing her, but there was no answer. No one could get hold of her so I got the key from the manager and let myself in, and I found this.’
He held out a sheet of paper. Oh no, I thought. My instincts last night had been right. I took the sheet of paper.
‘Dear Tony,’ I read, and then stopped. There was nothing else on it.
‘I didn’t know who else to call,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to tell my mum because she’d have got into a right tizzy about it and the less I speak t
o Cheryl’s family the better as far as I’m concerned.’
‘I can’t blame you,’ I said. From what I’d seen of them the night before, Tony was marrying into a right bunch.
‘I can’t call the police; they’ll just say she’s left me. But she never finished the letter, did she? She could’ve been about to write anything.’
‘She could…’ I didn’t want to tell him about the bad feeling I’d had after my brief conversation with her the night before. But I didn’t need to.
‘Who am I kidding?’ he said, his face dropping. ‘She’s left me, hasn’t she? That’s why she wanted to talk to me. I should have known it would happen, especially after Mel turned up and had a go at her. She’s so far out of my league, why would she want someone like me? I’m such an idiot.’
‘Stop that right now!’ I said, sitting down next to him. ‘I’m only going to say this once because you know I’m not given to big displays of emotion, so you’d better listen carefully. You are a good man, Tony Penhaligon. Now you’ve grown out of that habit of wiping your nose on your sleeve—’
‘I still do it occasionally,’ he confessed in a low voice. I ignored it.
‘You’re a good man,’ I repeated. ‘You’re as daft as a brush but you’ve got a kind heart and you deserve to be happy. Cheryl was a lucky woman and if she was too stupid to see it then you’re better off without her.’
‘I don’t feel better off without her,’ he said, mournfully. I sighed and leant my head against his shoulder.
‘No, I know you don’t.’
We sat in silence for a moment.
‘What do I do? Do I cancel the wedding?’ he said.
‘Well, I ain’t marrying you.’
‘We’ve got a hundred people coming. I can’t ring them all up and tell them not to come!’
‘Then let them come,’ I said. ‘You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. And you’ve already paid for everything. I’ve got 300 vol-au-vent cases downstairs, waiting to be filled. Let them come and all find out at the same time. They can have a drink and some food, and a good old gossip. Let them pat you on the back and tell you how sorry they are—’ He let out a low moan. I patted him on the back myself. He was going to have to get used to it. ‘I know, I know, but at least you’ll get it all over with on the same day. No point dragging it out.’
‘This is a nightmare,’ he said. I nodded. Then sat bolt upright as I spotted something on the dressing table: a bunch of keys, almost hidden by a crumpled hand towel.
‘Are those your keys?’ I asked.
Tony looked surprised, then shook his head. ‘No, they’re Cheryl’s.’
Then she hasn’t gone home if she’s left her door key, has she? And her car keys. She must still be here somewhere.’
‘She could’ve got a taxi.’
‘Why would she do that? If I was doing a runner I wouldn’t want to wait around for a cab.’ I stood up and tugged Tony to his feet. ‘Come on! She’s probably just had some last-minute nerves and she’s gone for a walk to clear her head. She might even be in the hotel grounds as we speak.’
We walked back down to the foyer and stopped in the doorway of the hotel, looking out into the grounds. Tony pointed to the other side of the car park where a very new, sporty-looking bright red Mazda was parked.
‘There’s her car,’ he said. ‘I didn’t even think to look; I just assumed she’d gone, what with the letter and her suitcase missing.’
I wandered over and peered in. Cheryl’s suitcase was on the back seat.
‘You’re leaving for your honeymoon straight after the reception, aren’t you? What car were you planning to go in? Yours or hers?’
‘Hers. She wanted to have this big send-off after the reception – us driving away with the top down, and confetti and balloons and everyone waving us off – and she said my old car didn’t really fit the bill.’
‘There you go, then. She was just getting prepared.’ Although it was a slightly odd thing for a bride to be doing on the morning of her big day when she should have been busy getting her hair done. And it didn’t explain why she wasn’t answering her phone.
The sun was shining. The gardens, where the ceremony was going to be held, were beautiful and it was already warm; it was gearing up to be a lovely day. The only blip was the barking of a dog somewhere nearby, but you couldn’t have everything; the hotel was well known for being dog-friendly, and it was probably the pampered poodle or blinged-up bichon frise of a fellow guest.
‘Go and have a walk around and see if you can find her,’ I said. ‘You’ve still got hours ’til the ceremony. Honestly, you’re just as on edge as she is, jumping to conclusions like that. Now, I need to get into the kitchen.’ I clapped him on the arm. ‘We’ve got a wedding banquet to prepare!’
I left him standing on the steps leading up to the hotel, looking slightly less worried than when I’d found him, and headed for the hotel kitchens. The manager had been happy for us to use their waiting staff but I got the impression they were a bit miffed that Tony and Cheryl hadn’t hired their catering services, so I really had needed to supply my own kitchen helpers. I just hoped they wouldn’t be hinderers. And I really hoped we would still have a wedding to cater for…
Mum and Daisy were hard at work, if you could call drinking tea and looking mutinous ‘work’. Daisy looked up from behind a huge pile of potatoes.
‘Nice of you to join us,’ she said. Sarky little madam.
‘Hey, young lady, I’m not just your mum today, I’m your boss,’ I pointed out. ‘Don’t be cheeky and make me fire you.’
‘I really wouldn’t mind,’ she said. I pulled her into a hug, making her squirm.
‘Thank you so much for coming to help Mummy, my little sugar plum,’ I said, in a condescending baby voice. She hated that voice and that pet name. ‘Mummy can’t do this on her own.’
‘You’d better still be paying me,’ she growled, her voice muffled against me. I laughed and released her.
‘I’ll take you to get your ears pierced on Monday,’ I said. She tried not to look thrilled but I could see she was. She should have been; she’d been nagging me about it since she was seven.
‘Two holes in each ear?’ she asked. I hesitated, then nodded. Why not? It was probably against her new school’s regulations, but she could always take one lot out and for once it wouldn’t be me being the bad guy. ‘Can I have one in my nose too?’
‘Of course! And one in your belly button. And a tattoo. And Nana’ll get a nipple ring while we’re there.’
‘Ooh,’ said Mum. ‘Just imagine getting that caught on your cardie.’
Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘You only had to say no.’
‘All right. No.’
My mum finished her mug of tea and began to whisk the bowl of Marie Rose sauce in front of her.
‘How’s Tony? What do you think, has she done a runner?’ She dipped her finger in the sauce, licked it, then added a squeeze of lemon juice. ‘I can’t say I’ve really spoken much to her but I didn’t warm to that woman.’
I gently grabbed her hand as she went to stick her finger back in the bowl. ‘Mum! Hygiene, please! Use a spoon and then if you want to taste it again, use another spoon. A clean one!’ She harrumphed like I was making a fuss. ‘You know I’m right. It’s one thing to be a bit slack when it’s just you eating it but I don’t want my first foray into professional catering ending with us poisoning half the town with your geriatric cooties.’
‘Bloomin’ cheek!’ she said, snapping a tea towel at the back of my legs in mock indignation. I dodged out of her way easily. ‘No respect for your elders.’
‘I think Cheryl just had an attack of nerves,’ I said, changing the subject and deftly catching a freshly peeled potato as it rolled off Daisy’s chopping board. ‘I’m sure it will all go ahead without a hitch.’
Mum cackled. ‘It’s a wedding; someone’s got to get hitched.’ She grinned at me. ‘That could have been you, you know.’
I rolled my eye
s. ‘Two weeks, Mum. Two weeks in 1994.’
‘Oh no, you didn’t go out with Tony, did you?’ Daisy thought it was hilarious. God knows why; he’d probably have turned out to be a better choice than her useless father.
‘No, I went out with Cheryl. She would’ve been about five at the time. Can we just get on with it, please? There’s so much to do.’
I helped Daisy with the potatoes. It made my heart swell to look at her standing in front of the chopping board in her pinny because it reminded me of my own childhood. Mum had never worked as a chef but she’d always loved to cook and I remembered the big dinner parties my parents had held when I was little. I would help her in the kitchen – I preferred assisting with dessert as there were more spoon-licking opportunities, but I could turn my hand to most things under Mum’s supervision – and then, after an early dinner (usually fish fingers and chips) for one, I’d go up to my room so the grown-ups could eat all that lovely food and talk. I didn’t really mind missing out on the posh food because for me the best bit was helping my mum. Quite often the Penhaligons would be among the guests, and me and Tony would sit on the stairs and listen to them all talking, giggling as we heard our parents getting tipsy and their conversations start to get more and more risqué as they forgot we were there. Then we’d sneak down and steal whatever pudding was left.
Those early days had really made me love food and I soon realised that if you loved food, you needed either to earn enough money to eat out regularly or to learn how to cook. On my police salary I’d had to go with the latter and when a late career change had been forced upon me it was the only thing I could think of doing that I actually enjoyed. And after a year at catering college, it had really become a passion.
We were serving a creamy truffle-infused mash, to go with some lovely free-range organic pork and fennel sausages (made by a local supplier), roasted apple purée and a cider jus. Mum got on with filling a hundred vol-au-vent cases with prawn cocktail; the rest were being stuffed with Mediterranean roasted vegetables or a West Country camembert and redcurrant jelly. Most of the guests would be having the sausages but there were also ten portions of parmesan-crusted aubergine and Israeli couscous for the vegetarian guests ready to go in the oven closer to the time. For dessert the diners could choose between rich chocolate tart with raspberries and clotted-cream ice-cream, or vanilla panna cotta with strawberries and more clotted cream. Cheryl had wanted to go full-on posh while Tony had been keen to stick with local suppliers and traditional West Country ingredients where possible, and I thought I had come up with a menu that combined the best of both worlds.
