by Linda Coles
“I see you've met Liam already?” Her father had a comforting smile, Ruth thought, as she always did, but then again, didn't all fathers? He reminded her of a worn pair of slippers. For a fleeting moment she wondered if he was lonely on his own. She leaned into his shoulder and put her arm around his waist, pulling him in close.
"Yes, another football fanatic, just like you. I guess you'll be supporting Chelsea now, will you?" she said teasingly. She winked at Liam, knowing full well that Gordon would never change teams; she was just winding him up.
"Never in a million years. I’m an Eagle through and through! Though it will be handy when we play them at home, on their turf, I mean."
Ruth was aware that Amanda had joined them now and was waiting for a gap in the conversation. Gordon pecked her on the cheek in welcome.
"And how is my favourite daughter-in-law detective?” he asked.
"I am well, thank you, Gordon,” she said. She glanced across at Liam, waiting for an introduction. Ruth did the honours.
“This is Liam, Amanda. Sits next to Dad at matches.”
"A local detective?” Liam asked.
"I'm out at Croydon, actually. Ruth and I live out that way."
Liam nodded knowingly, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"Yes, we are," Amanda said, smiling, sparing him the question. Liam's face coloured slightly with embarrassment.
Ruth laughed lightly and added, “I guess we stick out like your chin scar.”
"A lot better looking, though," he said, raising his glass as a toast to cover up his faux pas.
Amanda thought it best to change the subject and turned to Gordon. "Are you settling in okay, then, Gordon? It’s a lot more local for your work, and it’s a beautiful flat."
“It's a lot easier to clean, too, and yes, I'm at work in twenty minutes. I should have moved a long time ago.”
“I was out your way—I mean by the old house—only a few days ago. I wasn't paying too much attention, but I thought I saw some earthmoving machinery out there. Are they having some work done, the new owners?”
"They've started already, have they? They mentioned they would like to put a pool in, but I didn't think they'd be digging quite yet. Planning permission takes forever."
"Or perhaps they know somebody at the council," said Liam. "Who you know takes you a long way in this world; that's one thing I've learned in my life. All that study at uni and the people I know have got me further along than any textbook or exam."
“You’re not far wrong there,” added Amanda. “My job is all about connections and people. I leave the textbook stuff to the crime scene techs and the pathologists, and I spend my time playing a giant game of Who Dunnit.”
There was polite laughter from Liam and Gordon, but Ruth didn’t join in.
At all.
While Liam and Gordon hadn’t noticed, Amanda had.
She also noticed Ruth’s colour. She was as white as sushi rice.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Amanda watched Ruth but didn’t say a word. She looked like corpse, a vacant expression on her face as she stood totally statuesque, silent. It seemed Liam and Gordon hadn’t noticed either; they carried on chatting, oblivious. Amanda felt like she was listening with her head submerged in water; the voices around her were strangely muffled. Time stood still as she watched Ruth’s colour gradually return. She took her forearm, made their excuses and gently steered Ruth towards the front door, telling Gordon she needed some air.
“Is she all right?” he asked.
“Probably an empty stomach, and the wine has gone to her head,” she lied, keeping a well-meaning smile in place as she guided Ruth outside. There was a low stone wall to their right, and Amanda steered Ruth over to it to sit down for a moment. The sun was low in the sky, the horizon a beautiful shade of purplish pink with a dash of copper. She still hadn’t said a word. Amanda rubbed the middle of her back in comfort.
“Are you alright? Do you feel ill?”
A shake of the head from Ruth.
“What’s the matter, then?”
Ruth lifted her head and started to speak, but the words stuck in her throat.
“I... Light-headed.”
“Have you eaten? Shall I get you something?” Amanda was concerned now. “Do I need to get help?”
That did the trick. Ruth turned towards Amanda in alarm.
“No!” she shouted, then lowered her voice, abashed. “I mean, no thanks. I’m feeling better now. Maybe I do need a sandwich or something. I’ve had a couple of wines on an empty stomach. Silly, really.” She smiled at Amanda, trying to reassure her; she did seem to be coming back round. Standing now and wobbling slightly, she announced, “I’ll make a cup of tea too. Want one?”
Amanda stood alongside her and their eyes locked. Even in the fading light she could see Ruth’s colour was back to normal. She slipped her arm around her waist and they went back inside to rejoin the celebrations. Gordon glanced over and lifted his chin in question as they went in, and Amanda gave him a discreet thumbs-up. Satisfied all was indeed well, he went back to his conversation with another man in a navy suit. One of the many.
“Maybe we should head back when you’ve had something to eat?” enquired Amanda.
“I’m fine. But I am a bit tired. Would you mind if we did?” Ruth was buttering bread again, though this time she topped it off with strawberry jam. “The sugar will do me good,” she explained, as if she needed to, sounding a little cheerier than she had a few moments ago.
“Not at all. No rush. We’ll go when you’re feeling better. I’ll nip in and tell your dad,” she said, and left Ruth to finish her sandwich.
Amanda could see Gordon was deep in conversation with a grey-haired man in yet another navy suit; she waited for a break in the discussion and then quietly told Gordon they were about to leave.
“Tell her I’ll call tomorrow, and thanks for coming, the two of you.” He beamed as he pecked Amanda lovingly on the cheek. Amanda had always found Gordon easy to get along with; everyone liked Gordon Simpson, the salt of the earth, and she was no exception. She pecked him back and gave him a light wave as she went back to the kitchen. She found Ruth staring out of the window, her hands prayer-like in front of her mouth as though she were deep in thought. The jam sandwich lay uneaten on a small plate by the sink to her side. Amanda waited; the sound of jumbled conversation carried on behind her, interspersed with bursts of laughter. It was going to be a late night for Gordon and his friends.
“All set?” Amanda enquired, making Ruth jump a little at the sound of her voice. She turned, grabbed her sandwich and, slinging her bag over her shoulder, linked her arm through Amanda’s.
“Yes.”
“Gordon will call you tomorrow, he said. He’s busy being the social butterfly, so I told him we’d let ourselves out.”
Ruth took a bite of the sandwich and they headed back outside, down through the shared driveway and out onto the pavement. The amber glow of streetlights warming up cast the world in half colour as they made their way towards the tube station. Ruth stayed silent and Amanda let her be, not wanting to intrude on whatever it was that was bothering her. Not yet, anyway.
Fulham Broadway was as busy at dusk as it had been coming up to rush hour. As they stood on the District Line platform that would take them back to Victoria station, Ruth finally spoke.
“Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “But I feel much better now. Maybe I did just need some food and air. I hope I didn’t wreck your evening after dragging you all the way out here.”
“As long as you’re alright and feeling better,” Amanda reassured her. “I’m glad to be headed back, actually, between you and me.”
A heavy breeze pushed itself onto their platform; a crisp packet blew into the air and tumbled back down onto the rails below. Their tube was about the enter the station. The mechanical roar drowned out all conversation until the train eventually came to a standstill, and the automated voice reminded travellers of the e
ver-present gap. The carriage was almost full, but they managed to find seats adjacent to each other. Not wanting the occupants, at least those without buds in their ears, listening in to their conversation, they opted for a silent journey, each using their own thoughts to entertain them until Victoria.
If Amanda could have looked inside Ruth’s head, she’d have seen what was really troubling her.
And it was far from entertaining.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ruth stayed quiet all the way home. Inside her head all sorts of eventualities were buzzing around, visions of what might happen if the secret came out. Her father had only just got his life back together, moved to a new flat, and things were going well for him; to have something like this come along and mess it all up wasn't fair. She herself could deal with the headaches it would inevitably bring, because she was prepared for it, but not her father. And suspicion would fall on both their shoulders, she was sure. She’d gone straight to bed when they got home and had then lain awake half the night staring up at the ceiling, knowing sleep would never come. It had been a long night.
At 4.30 AM she’d crept out of bed, eyes swollen with exhaustion, feeling like she’d been punched. She grabbed her robe and slipped down to the kitchen. The room was pitch black; it was far too early for the sun to be up. She switched on the light and filled the kettle to make her first cup of tea of the day. Looking out of the kitchen window, she could see only her reflection staring back at her—it was like looking at an image printed on a blackboard. It was a pity she couldn’t rub some bits out. Her swollen eyes looked like they’d been crying, though she hadn’t. Turning the tap back on, she splashed cold water on her face and dried it on the kitchen towel. She knew she looked like hell, but she could blame it on the housewarming. Her work colleagues would tease her that she’d had too much to drink, and she’d let them believe their own story. Because the real story was far more sinister, far more unbelievable, and far more serious.
Her stomach rumbled as she dropped two slices of bread into the toaster. Normally she’d go for a run, but she didn't know if she had the energy this morning, even though she knew it would help to sort her thoughts out, keep her mind in check as well as wake her up. She’d decide when she’d eaten her toast. The sound of water running upstairs caught her attention; Amanda was up. Tuning her ears to the sounds of the house, she soon heard footsteps lightly descending the stairs. In a moment the kitchen door would open, and Amanda would be standing there asking if she was okay, why she was up so early. Ruth realised she would have to go for her run in order to keep away from the awkward questions. It would do her good anyway, in more ways than one. No sooner had she finished the thought than Amanda appeared in the doorway wearing her pink fluffy bathrobe stifling a yawn, her blonde hair sticking up in all directions.
Ruth found some energy and pushed most of it into her opening sentence. “Morning,” she said brightly, forcing the words to sound cheery. Amanda smiled and muttered ‘morning’ back. It was far too early for her. “I'll make you some tea,” Ruth offered, and stood to do the necessary as Amanda sat down at the table with a thump.
“Going for a run?” Amanda enquired,
It looked like the decision had been taken out of her hands. “I fancied some toast first, then I'm off. Should I put you some in?”
“Too early for me, thanks. Just the tea,” as a steaming mug was placed in front of her. Either Amanda hadn't seen Ruth looking so tired or she was ignoring it, but either way she didn't ask.
“What does your day hold for you?” Ruth asked her. “Have you got much on?”
Amanda stared into her tea and mumbled, “Hopefully Dupin is back today. That could mean the press will be hassling us, but it will be good to have him back. It must've been hard on him. I’d have hated to be in his shoes with such an accusation hanging over me.”
“I can't imagine what it would be like, being up for manslaughter or murder. Amazing how a horrible situation can arise out of something that started out so innocently.”
Amanda glanced up from her tea, a questioning look on her face. “Cheery thought,” she said sarcastically.
“It's true,” protested Ruth. “Sometimes we have no control over the outcome, because fate intervenes. And we have no control over what others do; sometimes other people’s actions force us to act out of character.”
Amanda nodded and gave her a thoughtful look. It was a bit deep for so early in the morning.
“I’d better get out there,” Ruth announced taking the remaining half slice of toast with her. “I'll see you in an hour,” she added, and headed off back upstairs to get changed.
Amanda took a sip of tea and mulled over Ruth’s last words. She knew Ruth wasn't acting normally and that she hadn’t had much sleep during the night. Whatever it was that was playing on her mind, she hoped it passed soon. Amanda hadn’t got much sleep either, having been fully aware that Ruth was wide awake and restless. She heard the clunk of the front door closing and hoped her run would help her manage to work through whatever was bugging her before she got back.
Chapter Thirty-Six
By the time Ruth returned home, the sky over Croydon was a pale blue with the promise of sunshine to come. Birds flitted from branch to branch in search of breakfast; some worked the ground with their feet to bring worms to the surface. Amanda was dressed and almost ready to leave, figuring she might as well go in to the station early since she was up; there was always something to do. Not to mention the fact she fancied a McDonald's for breakfast. And their coffee wasn't half bad.
Ruth's face was beet red and sweat glistened on her neck as she stood outside on the patio, a hand towel draped around her shoulders, trying to cool off. She swigged back a glass of water and tipped the last couple of inches into a nearby pot plant. She stood, panting, looking down at the herb garden. A light dew covered everything, making the plants twinkle in the early morning light.
“I must make some basil ice cubes with all that basil; there’s no sense in wasting it. And the same with the coriander,” she said.
On the other side of the open door, Amanda grunted absently in reply; she was only half-listening. Green-fingered she was not, nor was she a chef, but she was good at other things. Luckily Ruth had both those skills; otherwise, it would be takeaway every night and even Amanda would have to contemplate running to keep her weight under control. It was hard enough as it was.
“Right, I'm off,” she said. “Speak to you later.” She planted a quick peck on Ruth’s cheek. Feeling a little more upbeat, she said, “I bet Gordon's got a bit of a headache this morning. The flat-warming was in full swing when we left.”
“I'll call him later, see how he is.”
“Good idea. He’ll want to know how you are, after what happened to you last night. He was a bit worried, I think.”
“I'll call him,” Ruth assured her. “Well, I’d better go get in the shower before I drip sweat all over the place. Have a good one.”
Amanda grabbed her keys and phone and headed out. As the front door clicked closed, Ruth was halfway up the stairs to the bathroom.
The smell of hot bacon and sausage muffins greeted Amanda's nostrils as she entered McDonald's. Rather than collecting her breakfast through the drive-through window and eating it in the car park, she decided to park up properly and head inside for a change; that way her car wouldn’t stink later. It was also less messy; eating in the car, she invariably dropped something and made a grease mark. It was a habit she’d picked up from Jack; he hated eating inside with all the noisy kids and preferred the comfort of his own vehicle.
She placed her order, collected her meal and sat down. Four young boys and a man Amanda assumed was their father sat at a table a couple across from hers. The boys all looked a similar age and were dressed in their school uniforms, enjoying a greasy breakfast. She wondered if it was a birthday breakfast for one of the boys, or a special treat, or maybe their father was just short on time or patience and McDonald's fitted the bil
l. She hoped they didn't make a habit of it, though she was hardly one to talk, sat with her own sausage and egg muffin, a sheen on her lips that wasn’t lip gloss.
She glanced again at their eager young faces as they tucked into their breakfast and realised they all looked quite similar to each other and the man with them; there was no mistaking that he was their father. She wondered where their mother was, if they had one, even; perhaps he’d taken them out for breakfast to give her a break. The boys weren't quadruplets, she realised, but they could be two sets of twins. Either way, four boys around seven years old would be a handful, tough work.
Her phone warbled out the opening bars of ELO’s “Mr Blue Sky”—Jack. She wiped her mouth and fingers on a serviette before swiping the screen the take the call.
“Morning,” she said brightly. “Another early bird.”
“The best way to see the sunrise is to get up for it.”
“And another deep thinker this morning, too, I might add.”
“Where are you? You’re obviously not at home. No, don't tell me: you're at McDonald's again.”
How the hell did Jack know that?
“What on earth makes you think that?”
“The background noises, for one, and I know you're partial to a bacon or sausage muffin if it’s early. I'm right, aren’t I?”
“You’re one talented detective, Jack.”
“Someone's a bit cranky this morning,” he said. “What's bugging you?”
“Just tired.”
“A big night at the party, was it?”
“You could say that. Anyway, I’m sure you didn't ring to find out how the flat-warming went. What do you need, Jack?” She sipped her coffee.
“I'm ringing to warn you, actually. There's a bit of a crowd gathered already at the station, outside the front doors. Some are press, but there are quite a few of the public and they don't look too happy.”
Amanda groaned; there was no need to ask what the gathering was all about.
