by Jan Newton
‘Are we? Is it that easy?’ She picked up the pen and tapped it on her teeth. I hope you’ll be very happy, she wrote. She glanced up at Adam, who smiled back. Best wishes, Julie.
‘You are a star, you know,’ he said.
She added three kisses to the bottom of the card.
‘Are you being sarky?’ Adam asked.
‘Possibly.’ She put the card in the envelope and handed it to him. ‘I forgot to ask you, with all the stuff that’s been going on at work. What happened about your bike tyres? Was it one of the kids having a go?’
‘You said I was paranoid.’
‘Yes, but I was being nice about it. I’ve just come face to face with the real thing and it’s not pretty.’
‘Well, I wasn’t going to say, because you were right, as usual. I was being paranoid, it turns out it was a manufacturing fault, a dodgy batch. The manufacturers wrote to the bike shop to tell them. When they get warm they can just split at high speeds.’
‘Well thank goodness for that. We can put the stalking theories to bed too.’ She put her arms round his waist. ‘Isn’t it easy though, to think something is pointing to one conclusion and to be so certain, when in reality it’s something totally different. We were convinced that everything, from the empty envelope to Mum and Dad’s burglar, were all Tiffany. It feels very real though, at the time.’
‘What’s brought this on?’
‘Oh just some poor chap who was totally convinced that he had a long-lost daughter and that said daughter was being pursued by murderous drug-taking psychopaths.’
‘And he hadn’t, and she wasn’t?’
‘No he hadn’t, and she probably wasn’t. But she was absolutely evil.’
‘No wonder you look like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘I’m saying nothing. Get your glad rags on, I’m taking you to The Trout for a steak lunch.’
‘And what will you be having? Curried beetroot? Chick peas in a Provençale sauce? Tofu trifle?’
‘Life’s too short for all that, Julie. Besides, we’ve got a celebrity engagement and a solved case to celebrate. Well done.’
‘Thanks. She kissed him before heading upstairs to get dressed. From the lane she could hear the sound of horses’ hooves. She ducked to look out of the low window, and Menna was outside on the drive. She was riding her own horse and leading Cam, who was groomed and tacked up. Julie leaned out of the window and Menna shouted up to her.
‘Come on then, Miss Marple, you said you’d come out when the case was finished.’ Menna patted Cam’s empty saddle.
Julie threw on jeans and a tee shirt and ran downstairs to find Adam on the drive, chatting to Menna and patting Cam carefully on the nose.
‘Is it OK if I go?’
‘Why not? I’ll get the bike out and go out for an hour too. It’ll do you good to get out in the fresh air.’
‘What about lunch?’
‘I’ll re-book it. There’s always tomorrow, Julie. Isn’t there?’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Day Nine
Julie looked at the height of the stirrup from where she stood on the lane. There was no way that was going to happen.
‘Just stick your foot in and bounce.’ Menna was laughing at her. ‘You make it look too difficult.’
‘I’ll never get my foot in there. You’d have to be double-jointed to even think about it.’
‘Stand on the wall then.’
When even the garden wall proved difficult for Julie to scale, Menna leapt off her own horse, looped both sets of reins round her right arm and clasped her hands at knee height.
‘I’ll give you a bunk up.’
Julie hadn’t giggled so much in months. She finally landed in the saddle red-faced, with tears streaming down her face.
‘Things can only get better,’ she said.
Menna showed her how to hold the reins. ‘Keep your heels down and your head up,’ she said. ‘They told me that in Pony Club. She smiled. ‘That was more than a little while ago now.’
‘How old were you?’
Menna shrugged. ‘About six, I think. You soon get the hang of it, just don’t think too hard about it.’
‘That’s my biggest problem, thinking too hard.’
‘Walk on,’ Menna said, and Cam ambled on alongside Menna’s horse. Julie grabbed the front of the saddle until she was used to the motion.
‘Everything moves.’
‘Of course it does.’
‘I thought the front end would be fixed, like riding a bike.’
Menna laughed. ‘I’m going to have my work cut out with you, I can see.’
‘I think I may not be a natural in the horse department.’
‘From the grapevine, I hear you’re due a bit of relaxation. They say you’ve solved the mystery of the poor girl on the Monks’ Trod.’
‘Not on my own, I didn’t.’
‘Well, from what I’ve heard, you’re pretty good at what you do.’
Julie blushed. ‘I try.’
Menna nodded. ‘Lean forward into the hill, it’s a steep one.’
‘I know, I’ve attempted to walk it.’
Cam was as unfit as Julie was unbalanced, but somehow they wheezed and wobbled their way to the top of the hill. Menna guided them through a gate and onto the forestry track.
‘Joe tells me you wanted to ride these tracks.’ She closed the gate, leaning further out of the saddle than Julie thought possible.
‘I get the feeling my ears should be burning at all times.’
Menna laughed. ‘It’s bound to happen. You and Adam are the most interesting thing to happen up here in a while. A police officer and a sporty history teacher, it’s quite a combination.’
Cam tripped and Julie dipped forward with a small shriek.
‘Don’t worry, you won’t go anywhere. Do you want to try a little trot up this hill? He won’t manage to keep going for long, he’s so unfit. He’s not been ridden for years.’
‘Why does Joe keep him? I thought animals had to pay their way on farms.’
‘Sometimes people surprise you don’t they? Cam belonged to an old friend of his, and Joe promised to look after him for her.’
‘What happened to her?
‘She died.’
Julie raised an eyebrow. ‘He doesn’t strike me as a soft touch.’
‘It’s all an act. He’s a lovely man under all the gruff stuff. Trot on.’ Menna made a clicking sound and both horses broke into a trot. Julie jiggled and squealed while Menna sat like a gaucho, barely moving in the saddle as though she and the horse were one.
‘I think that’s enough for him. We don’t want to overdo it first time out.’
‘Never mind him, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk again after this.’
Menna turned both horses round and they walked slowly down the hill. The views to their right were stunning. A couple of farm buildings nestled into the hill and above them, the land changed from lush green cultivated fields to dense heather, gorse and bracken. They seemed to have reached the boundary of the limit of man’s influence over the land.
‘What decides where you stop farming and leave the land to its own devices?’
‘When it’s too steep to get a tractor on it.’ Menna leaned forward to open the gate. ‘And when it’s too boggy to bother. Some things are just too difficult.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘You’ll know all about that I imagine. How do you do that job of yours?’
‘I’ve never thought about doing anything else really.’
‘Do you not you have nightmares about the things you see?’
‘Sometimes,’ Julie admitted. ‘Sometimes the people really get to you, the victims mostly.’
‘And you must see some sights.’
‘You do.’
‘So why did you want to do it? Lean back a bit, take the weight off his front end on this hill.’
Julie did as she was told and she could feel Cam leng
thening his stride beneath her. ‘I suppose it’s about right and wrong. Making sure that justice is done.’
‘Well, whatever it is, I’m glad you’re doing it.’
Julie’s phone trilled in her pocket and Menna reached over to take her reins.
‘Hello, Sir. Any luck?’
Swift laughed. ‘You don’t need to worry about Mick giving evidence, Julie. It’s that latest phone of Lizzie’s. We’ve got separate text messages from this phone to both Rosa and Quigley, asking them to meet her out on the hill to discuss Sean’s future. She arranged the whole thing, date, time, place.’
‘But why would she keep it on her phone? Surely if it would incriminate you, you’d erase it, or you’d lose the phone?’
‘It’s a power thing, surely? She won, she called all the shots and got exactly what she wanted.’
‘I thought she was cleverer than that.’
‘So did I. Thank goodness her ego was large enough for her to trip over it eh, Sergeant.’
Cam snorted and Julie laughed.
‘Where are you, Julie?’
‘I’m on a horse on a forestry track with a very patient neighbour.’
‘Good for you. I’ll let you go then. And well done.’
Julie blushed. ‘Thank you, Sir. You too.’
They rode on in companionable silence. By the time they got back to the cottage, Julie was beginning to relax.
‘We’ll make a rider out of you, yet. Whose is the car?’
‘Oh my God, it’s Mum and Dad.’
‘Go on, you go, I’ll sort Cam out.’
‘Are you sure? I should help you take his gear off and take him back to the field.’
‘No bother, you don’t see them every day, do you?’
‘Thank you so much, I’ve really enjoyed this.’
Menna nodded. ‘Go on then.’
Julie didn’t move. ‘Menna, how do you get off?’
‘Oh my, you’re walking like John Wayne.’ Adam hooted with laughter and waved at Menna, who trotted off up the lane.
‘Very funny. Did you know they were coming? Are they all right?’
‘Yes, I knew they were coming and yes, they’re all right.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘And spoil the surprise?’ Adam grinned as Julie’s mum came rushing down the drive.
‘Julie, this is an amazing place. Why didn’t you tell me? And you’re horse riding!’
‘How’s Dad? Did they find out who broke in?’
‘He’s absolutely fine, still a bit sore, but he doesn’t say anything, you know what he’s like. And he’s happier now that we know who it was.’
‘Did the police catch him?’
‘Not exactly. His mother came round and apologised. She brought my mobile phone back.’
‘No way. Who was it?’
‘It was young Jason next door. She said he’d been out boozing with his friends from school. Celebrating the end of his exams. Apparently he was so drunk he just got the wrong house.’
‘But how can you not recognise your own house?’
‘He was tipsy, love.’
‘But why did he run, and why did he have to attack Dad?’
‘He panicked. He says he didn’t recognise your dad.’
‘It sounds to me as though he was on more than booze.’ Julie’s expression made her mum laugh out loud.
Julie’s mum shook her head. ‘There’s no real damage done, is there. Isn’t it strange, how you can get yourself completely worked up about something without having all the facts.’
‘You don’t need to tell me about that after the week I’ve just had.’ Julie laughed. ‘Still, it’s all sorted now.’ She smiled at Adam.
‘Did he not know it wasn’t his house when his key didn’t fit the lock?’ Adam asked.
‘He was too far gone to even attempt to get his key in the door,’ said Julie’s dad, who had reached the little group and hugged Julie lopsidedly. ‘He broke the little window by the side of the door.’
‘Come to think of it, you did mention that when I came up. That window needs proper toughened glass in it, and you need a better lock than that battered old Yale.’
‘It’s all done. We’re sorted.’
‘And what about your arm?’ Julie said.
‘It’s grand, love. There’s nothing to worry about.’ He flexed his fingers. ‘Anyway, that’s enough of all that. Adam tells us you’re due a couple of days off.’
‘I am.’
‘That’s perfect.’ He looked around him at the hills and the fields dotted with sheep. ‘Then why don’t you show me and your mum where you’ve been hiding all this time.’
‘But reprehensible though it is, jealousy is almost rather to be pitied than blamed – its first victims are those who harbour the feeling.’ (Arthur Lynch, Moods of Life)
ABOUT HONNO
Honno Welsh Women’s Press was set up in 1986 by a group of women who felt strongly that women in Wales needed wider opportunities to see their writing in print and to become involved in the publishing process. Our aim is to develop the writing talents of women in Wales, give them new and exciting opportunities to see their work published and often to give them their first ‘break’ as a writer. Honno is registered as a community co-operative. Any profit that Honno makes is invested in the publishing programme. Women from Wales and around the world have expressed their support for Honno. Each supporter has a vote at the Annual General Meeting. For more information and to buy our publications, please write to Honno at the address below, or visit our website: www.honno.co.uk
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First published in 2019 by Honno Press, ‘Ailsa Craig’, Heol y Cawl, Dinas Powys, Vale of Glamorgan, Wales, CF64 4AH
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Copyright: Jan Newton © 2019
The right of Jan Newton to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The Author would like to stress that this is a work of fiction and no resemblance to any actual individual or institution is intended or implied.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Published with the financial support of the Welsh Books Council.
ISBN (paperback)
978-1-909983-86-1
ISBN (ebook)
978-1-909983-87-8
Cover design: Graham Preston
