Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1)

by Sue Nicholls

  ‘Maybe I’ll tell you one day Charlie, but I can’t talk about it yet.’

  The boy nodded his head twice. ‘Stuff happens - I know that.’

  The afternoon passed in a muddle of new teachers and incomprehensible lessons on subjects she did not understand. Throughout it all, with Daisy and her cronies in mind, Anwen held her chin up.

  The route to her locker from their final class took Anwen past a pair of obscured glass doors. She pushed them open a crack and found the school library - something to investigate tomorrow if she could find it again. It might be the answer to more than one of her problems.

  ~~~

  The library door moved in a smooth arc, and Anwen stepped inside. As it cruised back into place, the room cushioned her in comforting silence.

  To her left, several study tables bore computers with mouse mats that carried the school name and badge. Beyond the tables was a long counter where two women sat stamping books and chatting in subdued voices. Low, upholstered chairs and a table took up a corner on her right, and facing her, ranks of shelves bore more books than she had ever seen. She lifted her eyes to a mezzanine - the reference library according to a sign.

  Anwen knew about libraries from reports in the newspapers that after being read by her father, were screwed into balls for window cleaning or folded into complicated plaits to form kindling. While supposedly carrying out these chores, she discovered an article saying the government could no longer fund all libraries, and that the nearest one to her home in Wales was under threat of closure. In an accompanying image, a group of demonstrators waved banners outside its imposing wooden doors, petitioning to keep it open.

  One of the librarians at the desk glanced up at her, then fell back to her task. More confident and with a rising sense of excitement, Anwen began to explore the almost deserted space. Empty because her fellow students would be eating lunch or sitting outside on walls and benches in the weak sunshine. She ran her fingers over the serried spines, taking in authors and titles. Harry Potter, and Anne of Green Gables, poetry books by Ted Hughes and Tony Harrison. She pulled one out with interest.

  I search for Buzzards as the air grows clear,

  and see them ride fresh thermals overhead.

  It reminded her of the mountains, and she put the book back, promising herself she would familiarise herself with Mr Harrison when she could. In the reference section on the upper floor, books were arranged by category. Anwen chose a volume entitled GCSE Physics and became engrossed in its pages. When the bell rang for the end of the lunch hour, she had not eaten her sandwiches. She did however understand about acceleration due to gravity and how light waves behaved when shone through a prism.

  Over the following days, Anwen bolted her sandwiches and slid into the sanctuary of the library. She saw little of Charlie who, as he had already explained, was in a remedial class. Anwen liked Charlie but found little to connect them. She promised herself she would help him with his homework if he needed it - when the right time came.

  Later, in her English class, Anwen was struggling to understand the complex language of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Her teacher, Mr Finlay, was a gentle man with a deep love of poetry. However, when faced with a class of rowdy teenagers, his weak, ‘Be quiet, now,’ had scant impact. Today, his task and Anwen’s, was rendered especially challenging by two girls behind Anwen who elicited great amusement from chanting, ‘Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, beware McDuff, McDuff,’ to the tune of the National Anthem. Anwen put her elbows on her desk and cupped her hands behind her ears to hear the struggling teacher, and someone behind kicked her chair.

  ‘Think you’re better than us do you, Blodswot.’

  Anwen face turned puce. ‘Blodswot’ is that what they called her? With gritted teeth, she determined to move up from this class by the end of term.

  ~~~

  ‘What’s Snapchat?’ Anwen asked.

  Cerys help herself to a chocolate. ‘No idea. Why?’

  ‘I think it’s a computer thing, where you can share pictures.’

  Cerys popped an Orange Cream into her mouth and offered the box to her sister. Anwen shook her head, and Cerys took Hazelnut Whirl and put the chocolates down.

  ‘Who do you want to share pictures with?’

  ‘No idea, but I have to learn about the stuff everyone else at school has known forever.’

  ‘Can’t you ask them?’

  Anwen raised a hand from her lap to twist her hair. ‘I don’t want to - they’ll think I’m stupid.’

  Cerys focussed on the girl. ‘Is everything OK at school, Anwen?’

  ‘Fine.’ Anwen looked away.

  ‘It’s no use asking me about social media. It’s all a waste of time, I think.’ Cerys paused. ‘Perhaps Kitty would help you. Why don’t you ask her at the party?’

  ‘OK… And do you think I might have a computer? Everyone seems to have one… And could you make my skirt shorter?’

  ‘I’ll have a word with Paul about a computer. You’re right, you need one for school.’ Cerys puffed out her cheeks. ‘I’ll find the right time - you know what I said about keeping him happy. As for the skirt, I’m sure you can do it yourself. I’ll try not to disapprove of its length.’ She winked.

  Anwen gave a wide smile and leaned over for a chocolate. ‘Thanks Sis.’

  25 LUCAS

  The restaurant in Chelterton, formerly known as Feast, once belonged to Lucas’s deceased mother, Millie. Nowadays it went by the name of Churchills. Not that Lucas or his father, Mick had any special feelings for the wartime Prime Minister, but the building stood at the top of a rising High Street and near the beautiful church of St Peter the Apostle. A church on a hill -Churchills. To Lucas, the name suggested quality and elegance.

  Beside his flashing knife blade, transparent onion slivers grew like a deck of cards. Nearby, Mick, was forming rolls of garlic butter. ‘What’s she like then?’ he said.

  ‘Oh... nice, I suppose. She’s just a friend.’

  ‘Nice? Is that all?’ Mick winked at his son. ‘Hair? Body? Interests?’

  Lucas put down the knife. ‘Dad. Give me a break. If there’s anything to tell, I’ll tell you.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s only a game of tennis and a drink, not a proposal of marriage.’

  Mick rolled a sausage of butter in tinfoil and put it on a tray with several others. ‘OK, OK. I’ll mind my own business.’ He picked up the tray. ‘Have you thought any more about the offer from Masons?’

  Lucas rinsed his hands and wiped them on a cloth, saying, ‘It is a lot of money…’

  Mick continued his son’s sentence. ‘But?’

  ‘But is it what I want?’ Lucas swallowed. ‘This place has always been in my life.’

  ‘True. Good memories - and bad.’ Mick closed the fridge and turned to regard his son, who went on, ‘And I feel like I’d be letting Mum down if I sold.’

  ‘Your mother would want you to be happy.’

  ‘I am happy.’ Lucas threw the cloth onto the draining board. ‘I love it here. It’s the one thing I’m sure of.’

  Mick flashed Lucas a hurt look. ‘The one thing?’

  ‘Well, apart from you.’

  26 KITTY

  The stink from an artificial pine car freshener mingled with Liz’s heavy perfume and hairspray, and Kitty swallowed down her nausea. ‘Thanks for picking me up, Liz.’

  The former kitchen assistant flicked her indicator to the left. ‘No problem. It was good of you to offer your sidecar, but as I said, my creaky hips aren’t up to that and I’m certainly not riding pillion wearing this.’ She bobbed her chin at her navy spangled dress.

  Around them, the metal shoulders and haunches of queuing vehicles hustled them forwards, while the sweep of the windscreen wipers brought the street in and out of focus.

  Kitty, self-conscious in her one skirt, longed for comfy jeans. She wiggled her ankles in their unaccustomed tights, already spattered with dirt after her dash to the car. She pulled down the visor and checked her short, blond hair.
It too was damp. She combed through it with icy fingers.

  ‘Turn up the heater if you’re cold.’ offered Liz. ‘I should have thought before. I don’t feel it anymore.’ She stole a glance at Kitty. ‘Age.’ She grinned.

  ‘Age? That surprises me. I thought hot flushing stopped in your fifties.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. It’s better than it used to be, but I still get warm.’

  ‘Sounds terrible.’ Kitty pulled a sympathetic face, although she found it hard to imagine life in Liz’s boots, or she should say, sensible shoes. Liz’s feet, jumping between accelerator, brake and clutch, were shod in low, silver court shoes.

  The women lapsed into silence while Liz concentrated on negotiating the traffic.

  Kitty had no enthusiasm for the upcoming party. Her dad would be on her case about her ‘disappearing act’. He would subject her to a barrage of questions about her whereabouts over the past weeks. She decided to avoid answering by making obscure reference to confidentiality; that should keep him quiet. The last thing she needed was for Paul to get wound up about Max Rutherford. But she hated lying to him.

  ‘It will be super to see the young ones again.’ Liz’s voice interrupted Kitty’s thoughts. ‘I feel like I’ll be intruding, though. Are you sure Paul and Cerys won’t mind me being there?’

  ‘The invitation said me plus one. You’re my plus one. I don’t have to ask permission.’ Liz’s brow crumpled into a worried frown, and Kitty said, ‘Liz. Honestly. Cerys will be busy fussing over the food and drink, and Dad will hardly remember you. The others will love to see you. Don’t worry; it’ll be fine.’

  Cars lined the curb outside Paul and Cerys’s home and between the curtains, heads bobbed in the living room.

  They hung on to their drinks and squeezed between guests, many of whom Kitty did not recognise. Across the room, Paul caught sight of her and grinned, and soon he had her smothered in a fragrant hug. ‘Pops!’ Paul said.

  ‘Hello Pop.’ It was their small joke. Paul had called her Pops since she was a toddler. It was a diminution of Fee’s endearment: Poppet. Kitty returned the affection by calling Paul Pop, which might change to Alcopop if he was drunk, or Popcorn in response to an awful joke.

  She said, ‘You smell good.’

  Paul looked sheepish. ‘Aramis. Cerys likes it.’

  ‘Me too. A distinct improvement on sump oil.’ Kitty turned from him. ‘Pop. I’m not sure if you remember Liz. She used to work in the restaurant with Millie.’

  Paul’s arms tightened a little round Kitty before he released her and shook Liz by the hand? ‘Hello Liz. This is an unexpected pleasure.’

  ‘So lovely to be here, Paul. I hope you don’t mind me coming. Kitty insisted. I’ve missed all the young ones since…’

  ‘It’s great to see you,’ Paul interrupted with a brief smile, and his eyes swivelled from Liz to scoot around the room. ‘The children must be in the kitchen.’ He waved a hand in the direction of the door and was already moving away as he murmured, ‘If you’ll excuse me…’

  Kitty took Liz’s arm. ‘Come on.’ They squeezed past Mick and Maurice and Liz smiled at them, but they were talking together and did seem to see her.

  The ‘children’ had congregated by the sink. Kitty called a greeting. ‘Look who I found. Remember Liz? From Feast?’ She pulled Liz towards them.

  After a brief silence, Livvie threw herself on Liz. ‘Oh God. I can’t believe it.’ Tears rained down her cheeks, her emotions rendering her speechless. Liz held her tight and stretched hand to Lucas over Olivia’s shoulder. ‘You’ve turned into a fine young person, Luc.’ She pushed Livvie back to study her blotched face. ‘You too, Olivia. Beautiful.’

  ‘Why are you here, I mean how did you find us?’ Livvie was asking Liz but her eyes were on Kitty.

  ‘Part of my ongoing search for truth,’ Kitty answered. ‘After Sam came up with Liz’s name, I did some ferreting.’

  ‘Well done.’ Livvie beamed at Kitty and hugged Liz again before handing her to the others, who were more restrained, but happy to see her.

  The evening romped on, but Kitty, alert for new reminiscences, kept her beers to a minimum. On her way to the fridge for a top-up, her eyes drifted over the kitchen; so organised and pristine. Cerys managed Paul well. There were no car parts in the sink or black fingermark smudges on the paintwork. Kitty wondered what kind of person this made Cerys. A nag, bossy or manipulative?

  In the room's neatness, the lid to the recycling bin sat at an incongruous angle, with a quake of paper protruding from its top. Kitty lifted the metal lid to tidy the stuff inside, but the muddle of corners refused to be tamed. Determined to restore harmony, she gathered up a handful of bills and newspapers and tapped their edges on the counter. Something small and heavy slid to the bottom - a booklet, written in a hand she recognised. Without hesitation she pushed the notebook up her top and wedged it under her waistband then put the, now unimpeded, lid back into place. Keeping her eyes from other guests, Kitty muttered that she needed to pee. After retrieving her bag from where it hung over a kitchen chair, she sauntered to the cloakroom.

  When she emerged, with the booklet secure in her bag, the others had re-grouped. The boys were in the lounge - Sam and Josh with their fathers, roaring in mirth at something Paul was saying, and further away, a strained Lucas in deep conversation with his own father, Mick. Kitty looked around for Liz, but Anwen intercepted her.

  ‘Hi. I haven’t been able to talk to you all evening, like.’ Her Welsh accent was less irritating than that of her mother, and Kitty grinned.

  ‘Hello Anwen. I love the new haircut.’

  Anwen flicked her sleek tresses. ‘Thanks… Kitty?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I wondered if you could help me with the computer. Cerys hasn’t got a clue, you know.’ Anwen’s eager smile slipped for a moment. ’I’m so ignorant about everything.’

  Kitty understood. At Anwen’s age, when blending in at school was important, her own face and those of her family, appeared regularly in newspapers and on television. A murdered mother and a father in custody made her the subject of unwanted attention in the street and at school. Her response had been to build a tough, proud shell around her heart. A shell that kept out not only strangers, but to some extent her friends and family. Through this investigation and the memories stimulated by it, her defenses had begun to dissolve, releasing a mixture of feelings she was finding difficult to deal with.

  She smiled at Anwen. ‘Any time poppet,’ she said, and her use of Fee’s endearment took her by surprise. With a small frown, barely perceptible, she offered, ‘After school one day?’

  Anwen beamed. ‘Thanks Kitty. Monday would be fantastic.’

  ‘Monday it is.’ Kitty pushed her workload from her mind. ‘Shall I come here, or would you like to visit me at the flat?’

  ‘Ooh, your flat please. I could bring my laptop.’

  ‘Lucky you. A laptop.’

  ‘I need it for school, and Snapchat.’

  ‘Ah, Snapchat. That’s important, but I think you might need a phone for it. We can try, though.’

  It would be Anwen’s first visit, and to make up for her hitherto neglect, Kitty said, ‘Perhaps we might go for an ice cream afterwards. There’s a fantastic new place in town. I’ve never been but I’ve seen the ice cream sundaes through the window.’ The thought sparked a memory: herself and her mother at the seaside, buying cheap toys, eating chips and sharing a knickerbocker glory. The memory had stuck because it was so out of character for Fee to allow Kitty so much junk food. Perhaps she had had things on her mind.

  27 LUCAS

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes Son?’ Mick was gazing over the heads of nodding party guests at Kitty and Anwen.

  ‘About the girl at the tennis club.’

  Mick’s attention snapped to his son and his face brightened with hope. ‘What about her?’

  ‘Well, I won’t be seeing her again.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Not wife
material then?’

  ‘Not exactly. I’m not sure I’ll ever find someone to be my wife, actually.’

  ‘Not find a wife? I’m sure you will. The right girl will turn up, eventually. Just give it time.’

  ‘Yes, Dad, but I need to prepare you...’

  ‘OK son. I won’t expect any grandchildren just yet.’

  Lucas took a slug of vodka. ‘If ever, Dad. I’m trying to tell you I may never have children.’

  ‘Whatever makes you happy.’

  Lucas gave up and changed the subject. ‘I’ve been thinking about Mum a lot, lately.’

  His father looked confused. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. I find I want to know more about her. Do you mind me asking about her?’

  Mick frowned. ‘It’s not the best timing, is it? But if you feel the need.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  Mick’s face expressed tenderness. ‘She was tiny, much smaller than me, and she had a mind of her own.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She knew what she wanted, and she went after it.’ Mick shrugged. ‘Even if that meant hurting those closest to her.’

  ‘Are you talking about yourself?’

  ‘Yes, me, and you children, and Nanny Gloria.’

  ‘What did she do that was so wrong?’

  ‘She wanted to have a job and neglect you children.’

  ‘Was that so bad - having a job I mean?’

  Mick let his breath hiss between his teeth. ‘Now, I recognize that she was no different from any other woman, but back then I didn’t want her to go out to work, and neither did Nanny Gloria.’ He frowned. ‘If I’d been more understanding, she might have stayed with me, and be alive today.’

  ‘You can’t know that. Don’t blame yourself.’

  Mick shook his head and stared out of the window without comment.

  ‘Where did she learn to cook?’ Sam asked.

  ‘From me, mainly. She loved food, especially spicy food. She knew plenty of Italian recipes from her family and had learned traditional British cooking at school, but I taught her about spices. Where to buy them and how to use them. She had an amazing palate.’ Mick looked at his son. ‘You got that from her.’