Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1)
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77 LUCAS
A makeshift sign was taped to the door at the front of Churchills: CLOSED DUE TO BEREAVEMENT. PLEASE ACCEPT OUR APOLOGIES FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. All the staff attended Mick’s funeral yesterday. Lucas had not told them the terrible secret that his father had murdered his mother, but the story would appear in the press soon enough.
He stood in the empty kitchen, unable to exorcise his father from it, wondering how he could survive this? That his father was a killer was bad enough, but the two men had worked shoulder to shoulder for years, and Mick had walked from this kitchen only a few days ago, without even a wave.
Lucas was furious with him, but also shocked and hurt. He picked up his phone and selected a number. Listening to the ringtone, he gazed around his restaurant; the business that he and Mick had worked like stink to build.
‘Good afternoon, Mason’s, Gerald speaking, how may I help you?’
‘Gerald, this is Lucas Adu, owner of Churchills in Chelterton.’ He swallowed. ‘If you’re still interested in purchasing, I’m ready to talk business.’
78 SAM
The police had searched every drawer and cupboard. Papers, clothing, shoes, crockery, tea towels and other necessities of life littered the floors throughout Maurice’s house. Sam was at the table amid this chaos sorting through a stack of photograph albums. One by one he opened them and turned their pages, now and then removing a photograph and adding it to a small pile: a collection of pictures that bore no image of his father.
He had not looked at these albums for years and they aroused nostalgia and sadness that sat like a physical lump in his chest. He hesitated over a picture taken on a happy day. Mum, Dad and the two boys - so small - grinned from the car of what, in his young innocence, he had believed to be an exciting theme park ride. Maurice and Twitch were squeezed into the tiny seats, their knees up to their chests. Sam and Josh sat side by side in front. It was a great shot of them all, and despite his wish to erase Maurice from his life, Sam pulled it from the page and dropped it onto his pile.
When he closed the last album, he swiped to the photos on his phone, flicking through pictures, deleting each one of Maurice.
An incinerator stood in the garden's corner, rusting away through lack of care. He dumped the albums in and squirted over a bottle of barbecue lighting fluid from the garage. When he threw in a lighted match, the plastic coating on the albums whooshed into flames and began to curl and shrink. Soon the corners of the pages blackened, and as he watched his youth float away in the smoke, Sam wept.
79 FINAL CHAPTER
The blossom had fallen from the trees before Kitty was mobile enough to leave hospital. Cerys made up a bed for her in her dining room. ‘It’s half your dad’s, this house, Lovely.’ Cerys said. ‘You’ve every right to be here, and to be honest I appreciate the company.’ Her voice gave a wobble, and she rubbed her enormous bump.
Parcels of baby equipment arrived daily. Kitty, who could not yet move from her armchair without help, was frustrated and cross, unable even to open the door to the delivery drivers from Amazon or Asda. Anwen and Cerys puzzled over instruction diagrams for furniture and equipment, arguing about which part belonged where. When the last item arrived, Cerys put one hand on either side of her front and patted it. ‘You can come any time now, little one,’ she said, watching Anwen tighten the last screw in a pale lemon cot.
‘I wish I could help,’ Kitty moaned. Cerys flopped onto the settee next to her. ‘It’s done now, Lovely,’ she said, blowing her fringe into the air to cool her forehead. ‘Next stop, hospital. Thank God I got to a few antenatal classes.’
Caroline, one of two district midwives assigned to Cerys, had made a home visit. She knew of their situation and was keen to reassure Cerys that when her labour started, everyone would be off the starting blocks and racing to get her to hospital.
In the end, Cerys’s waters broke at two in the morning on a Saturday. Ambulances were delayed, queued outside A & E, carrying drunken female clubbers who had fallen off their stiletto heels, and young people, injured in street fights. Anwen and Cerys waited for an hour after ringing the number they had been given, with Cerys’s contractions growing more frequent and stronger. In desperation, Anwen hammered on Jack and Alice’s door, and a wild-haired Jack pulled it open. Minutes later, he was outside, wearing trousers with a sharp crease, and a vee necked jumper pulled over his pyjamas. Anwen jigged about in anxiety while he diverted to the garage for a plastic dust sheet to cover the back seat of his immaculate BMW.
At the hospital, Cerys hobbled from the car, stopping once to groan. Her sister and neighbour half-carried her inside where a calm and authoritative porter found a wheelchair and pushed Cerys at a half gallop along corridors to the maternity ward.
Baby Jake arrived two hours later.
~~~
Kitty held Jakes bottom with her left hand and jiggled him on her shoulder. In her right hand she held a pencil, which was aimed at a blank shorthand notebook resting on the arm of her chair.
Cerys came out of the lavatory, straightening her shirt. ‘Aw, thanks for that, Lovely, I was bursting.’
‘No worries. I can hang on to him if you like. He’s fine here, and you’ve got loads to do.’
Cerys pulled a face. ‘I have. Your dad left me in such a pickle.’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, sorry - that just came out, like.’
Kitty shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, Cerys. He’s not my favourite person at the moment.’
‘No. Nor mine, the bastard.’ Cerys’s clamped a hand to her forehead. ‘Ooh, sorry again.’ Her Welsh accent was more pronounced in her shame, and Kitty exploded into laughter.
‘Cerys, he is a bastard. Don’t apologise. I’m surprised you haven’t said far worse by now.’
The little woman giggled. ‘I have felt like it, but he’s your dad.’
Kitty’s face became serious. ‘You say whatever you like; it can’t be any worse than what I’ve been thinking.’
Cerys smiled and made to turn away. ‘If you don’t mind hanging on to Jake for a while, I want to check on our insurance.’ She squeezed her lips together before saying, ‘I don’t imagine there’s a clause for a husband being in jail for murder.’
Kitty gazed at Cerys in silence. The poor woman looked more exhausted than upset. And to add to her troubles, Anwen had chosen now to develop some overdue teenage attitude. There had been much door-slamming and going ‘out.’ Kitty had tried to talk to the girl, but it was as if their past relationship: the help with social media, giving her the cleaning job, the school advice, had never happened.
Cerys suspected that the new baby was the cause. ‘I thought she’d love having a baby brother,’ she grumbled.
But Anwen wanted nothing to do with changing nappies or walking the buggy to the local shop. It was a shame because Cerys and Kitty needed her help.
‘It’s her hormones,’ Kitty said. ‘She’ll get over it when she realises that she needs us too. I’m pretty sure I was the same at her age. Dad couldn’t cope with me. He’s never been that good with the female of the species.’
‘What man is?’ Cerys observed. ‘Actually, what woman is? Sometimes I don’t understand myself, let alone Anwen.’
‘Nor me.’
‘I need to check on the mortgage situation, too,’ Cerys added, ‘I expect I’ll have to sell this place and buy somewhere smaller.’
Kitty was quick to offer help. ‘I’ve got a chunk of money you can have - the advance for my story.’ She looked in frustration at the pencil in her hand. ‘If I can ever write it.’
From the doorway, Cerys said softly, ‘Give it time, Kitty. You had a serious head injury. Give yourself a chance to recover.’
The doorbell sent out a triple burst of Avon chimes, and the baby suckled the inside of his lip. At the sound of Sam’s voice in the hall, Kitty’s mood lightened. Throwing down the pencil, she shifted Jake onto her lap, enjoying the cool air on her sweaty shoulder and on the soggy patch of drool on her back.
Kitty kissed the small head. ‘He does. No mistaking his paternity.’
‘Poor little thing. Has Paul seen him lately? He’s growing fast’
‘Yeah. Cerys took him on Saturday.’
Sam eyed the pencil. ‘Still not managing it then?’
‘Does it look like it?’ Kitty could not keep the irritation from her voice.
Sam lifted his palms. ‘OK. Don’t bite my head off.’
‘It’s so frustrating. My job depends on my ability to write.’
‘I understand.’ Sam paused. ‘Actually, I have a suggestion.’
‘Oh?’
‘I thought, seeing as we worked together so well on our last case,’ he hesitated, ‘Even though the outcome wasn’t what we expected…
‘I thought maybe I could be your P.A.’ He grinned, grabbed the notebook and pencil, and put on a feminine voice. ‘Take a note, Mr Roman…’
Kitty flared, ‘I can manage, thanks.’
Sam’s face grew sad. ‘OK,’ he mumbled, ‘It was only an idea. Think about it at least.’
With theatrical timing, Jake’s legs gave a kick, and his body arched in Kitty’s arms. His little face transmuted from serene to distressed, and he opened his eyes. It took three seconds for him to focus on Kitty and emit a piercing yell.
Cerys rushed in. ‘Come here little man,’ she crooned, and scooped him from Kitty’s arms. ‘Hungry, are you?’
The wails faded, and they heard Cerys’s voice murmuring reassurances while she undid her blouse. Soon all was peaceful.
During her stay in hospital, Lucas had planted some of his Buddhist wisdom into Kitty’s head. At first, she had dismissed such things as, ‘Happiness comes from inside us. Nobody else can make us happy.’ or, ‘Try not to be cross about something you cannot change. Be determined that everything will be OK.’ There was other stuff too, and although Luc’s persistence was tedious, in times of solitude, Kitty had browsed the leaflets he left her.
She looked at Sam, squatting on a footstool. ‘Sorry I was sharp,’ she said, and to her horror tears welled in her eyes. She muttered, ‘To be honest, I’m scared.’
‘Course you are. That’s why I offered.’ Sam gave a half smile. ‘I didn’t mean to rub it in.’
‘Kitty thumped the arm of her chair. ‘Life’s really shit.’
‘Yeah.’
She glared at the carpet, and Sam watched her face. After a while she groaned. ‘I can’t write this bloody thing on my own, and if I must have someone to help me, it might as well be you.’
Sam grinned. ‘You’d be doing me a favour, anyway. I can’t paint at the moment. My mind’s in the wrong place.’
Kitty blew a lengthy breath at the ceiling. ‘I may be the first dyslexic journalist in history.’
‘I’ll be here, for as long as you need me.’ Sam’s expression was so kind that Kitty wanted to weep again. ‘Oy. Don’t get all sentimental on me,’ she said, but she laid her hand onto the arm of the chair, almost as if she were reaching for him.
Sam lowered his own onto it and for the first time, Kitty did not push him away. They looked at each other, their eyes acknowledging something unspoken.
Kitty was the first to break the moment. She pulled her hand from under Sam’s and shot him a sideways look. 'I will write again. You realise that, don’t you? Because if I don’t, I’ll be hell to be with.’
‘I do.’ Sam beamed at her and grabbed the pencil. ‘OK, how do you want to start?’
‘Well,’ Kitty said, ‘I have a feeling there might be a novel in this.’
THE END
Find out more about Sue Nicholls on her website www.suenicholls.com. Here, you can follow her hilarious blog and discover more about her writing, as well as obtaining a free short novel: another intriguing case for Kitty and Sam.