by Helen Phifer
‘Can you ring him and find out where he is, please? Don’t tell him I’m looking for him, as he might not want to speak just yet. I just need to make sure he’s okay.’
Alison picked the latest iPhone off the counter, which Mattie was staring at wistfully. They waited for him to answer, but it rang out. She ended the call and shrugged.
‘I should have said he never answers my calls unless I text him first to say it’s an emergency. Is it an emergency?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘Gosh no, I’m worried about him. I wanted to make sure he was okay. Don’t worry, I’ll catch up with him at work. Thank you, we’ll leave you to it. If you need anything don’t hesitate to phone, anytime.’
Once they were inside the car and Alison had closed the front door, Lucy began manoeuvring to turn the car around.
‘What the fuck is going on? I don’t understand why he’s lied to Alison.’
‘You really don’t know why he’s lied to her? Come on, Lucy, either your brain’s tired or you’re far too trusting.’
‘What do you mean? Yes, I am beyond tired if I’m honest, so be kind to me and explain.’
‘Well it’s simple, isn’t it? He’s shagging around. It’s not as if she’s the nicest woman he could be married to. You can tell who wears the trousers in that house and it’s certainly not our Tommy lad.’
Lucy, although horrified, began to laugh. ‘You’re terrible, do you think he is having an affair?’
‘Yep, for our sake we better pray that he is, because I’d rather him be a philanderer than someone who’s committed matricide.’
Her phone began to ring, and she passed it to Mattie. He mouthed to her, ‘It’s the doc.’ After a brief conversation he ended the call.
‘She said can you go to the mortuary in thirty minutes? She’s cleared the decks and wants to get started.’
Lucy felt a wave of tiredness wash over her. What she wanted to do was to go home and have a hot shower, something to eat and crash into bed. Looking at the clock on the dashboard she felt her stomach lurch. Jesus Christ she needed to get to the church fair: Ellie was helping out and she’d promised she’d go. Making a sharp left she sped off in the opposite direction of the hospital.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I have to go to church.’
Chapter Seventeen
The heat was getting to David. It was uncomfortable wearing a starched dog collar when the winter sun was beating through the many glass windows of the church hall and someone had left the heating on all night. He handed out tickets and kept smiling at the varied bunch of parishioners flocking through the doors. If there ever was a return of freak shows he was pretty sure that most of this lot would be taken on without a second thought. That was the thing about town centre churches like this one; it didn’t have an acre of lush graveyard and gardens to set up their stalls in. All they had was a badly tarmacked car park with potholes big enough to launch a boat in. It was currently hosting the bouncy castle, coconut shy and an inflatable paddling pool filled with rubber ducks. The raffle tickets hadn’t been sold, and the kitchen was struggling to keep up with the demand for teas and coffees. He felt a finger poke his back and whipped around to give whoever it was a telling off.
‘Where the fuck is Margaret?’ hissed his wife.
He smiled at her; taking hold of her elbow he pushed her through the crowd into the kitchen and slammed the door shut.
‘How many times must I tell you not to talk to me in public like that, it’s not nice.’ He shook his head, trying to calm himself down. Lord if anyone pushed his buttons it was Jan, his pain in the arse wife.
‘I don’t know where she is, this isn’t like her. I expected her to be here two hours ago double-checking everything. If I’m honest I’m a bit concerned she might be unwell.’
‘Have you tried phoning her, Jan?’
‘Yes, and it rings out. You phone, she’ll answer to you. You’re the one she fawns over like an overprotective Rottweiler that’s just had a litter of pups.’
He wanted more than anything to tell her to sod off, only he couldn’t because she’d love it and so would the freaks outside; they thrived on drama and stupid television shows like Jeremy Kyle. If the vicar and his wife had a major meltdown in the middle of a winter fair, it would be the talking point for months. He peered over the top of Jan’s head and caught a glimpse of Natalia – her head thrown back as she laughed at something that moody teenager had said to her. Christ why couldn’t he have found a woman as beautiful as her instead of an angry little woman the size of a house? He looked back at Jan, who had her arms folded across her chest and was now staring at him with eyes the size of pinholes. How did she manage to make them go so small and beady? He was surprised she didn’t fire venom from her vulgar foul mouth.
He pulled his phone from his trouser pocket and found Margaret’s number. Showing the display to Jan, he pressed the green button and waited for it to ring. It rang and rang until the voicemail kicked in.
‘Margaret, it’s David. I’m just checking that you’re okay, I’m a bit worried about you. Please ring me back as soon as you get this message. Bye.’
‘“I’m a bit worried about you”, David you’re pathetic.’
‘What did you want me to say?’
‘How about, get the fuck to the church hall to sort out the bloody fair you arranged?’
About to answer her, he then saw the woman with the platinum-blonde hair, dressed in a smart suit, come flying into the hall and head straight for the stall the moody teenager was standing behind. His interest piqued, he bent down and pecked Jan’s cheek.
‘Come on, Jan, you know you can handle this. Please try and keep calm.’
She glared at him, turned around and stormed back to the waiting queue of customers. He grinned when he heard an old guy with no front teeth address her: ‘Bloody hell, love, I’m gasping for a cup of tea. I thought you’d gone on strike.’
He left, not wanting to witness her assaulting a customer, and briskly walked over to the toy stall where the blonde was doing her best to chatter to the sulky teenager. This was interesting. Moments ago the kid was laughing and smiling with Natalia. Now she looked angrier than Jan.
‘Hello, I’m Father David.’ He held out his hand.
The woman took it, grasping it much more firmly than he’d anticipated.
‘Lucy Harwin, Ellie’s mum.’
‘Ah, yes I can see the connection. You both look alike.’ He ignored the eye roll the girl behind the trestle table gave to him.
‘Yes, I suppose we do.’
He heard his name called, and he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, please excuse me. The whole thing is falling to bits. The lady who arranged it all and has the clipboard with a running order of the itinerary hasn’t turned up, which isn’t like her.’
Natalia nodded. ‘Where is Margaret? It’s very unlike her not to be here after all her hard work. I hope she’s okay.’
Lucy asked. ‘Who’s Margaret?’
David looked at her. ‘Margaret Crowe, do you know her?’
Lucy shook her head as a cold shiver ran down the full length of her spine, technically, she didn’t. All she knew about Margaret was that she was a nice old lady who lived with her cat and volunteered to organise the church fair; that was until someone had decided to murder her and her cat so violently that both of their heads were almost severed. Lucy obviously couldn’t tell them anything, it was all confidential.
‘Well it was nice to meet you, Lucy, Ellie is doing a grand job running the toy stall. Thanks for coming, we need all the support we can get.’
‘My pleasure, David.’
He wandered off back in the direction of the door; he was going to have to sell the bloody raffle tickets as well as take the entrance money.
Chapter Eighteen
December 1989
The ground was frozen solid; a coating of snow covered the rows of graves. He shivered. His coat had seen better days; the zip had broken. His mum woul
dn’t have let him walk to school in this weather with a coat that had a ripped pocket and didn’t fasten. The few friends he had were excited for Christmas Eve in ten days. He wasn’t, Christmas meant even more time spent at the church listening to the vicar, and his dad preaching about how wonderful God was. If he was that wonderful, he wouldn’t be here freezing his arse off trying to find his mum’s grave to lay some flowers on it. Instead his mum would be at home baking those awful mince pies no one except her liked, and singing along to the cheesy Christmas songs on the radio. His heart tugged sharply at the pain of the memories, and a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. He missed her, missed her more than he could ever have imagined. You don’t really think about a world where you have no mum when you’re ten years old; he didn’t even think your mum could die and leave you like that. He didn’t know anyone else whose mum had died; the vicar had taken to being extra nice to him. He kept patting him on the head and asking him if he was okay. As if he was okay; he was probably never going to be okay again.
He slipped on the frozen ground, falling hard onto his arse.
‘Bastard.’
He’d said it a lot louder than he meant to. A dark shadow fell over him, and he looked up. Terror filling his veins. If it was his dad, he’d be for it: swearing and jigging school would not be a good combination.
‘Hello, are you okay?’
He squeezed his eyes shut, it was even worse than his dad. It was the bloody vicar. Nodding, he whispered, ‘Yes.’
A firm hand grabbed his arm, dragging him off the frozen grass which had been so cold his arse was numb. He looked around for the bunch of flowers that he’d stolen from outside the grocer’s on the high street. The vicar handed them to him.
‘What a lovely bunch of flowers, I bet they cost you all of your pocket money.’
He nodded, oh shit, he knows I don’t have any pocket money. I bet he knows that I nicked them.
He waited for the accusation, but it didn’t come.
‘If you want I can wait for you while you go and put them on your mum’s grave, then I can give you a lift home and you can get changed out of those wet trousers.’
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s okay. I can walk back, thanks.’
‘Come on, don’t be daft. It’s freezing, your trousers are wet and your hands are frozen. Where are your gloves, young man? Your mum wouldn’t be too happy with me if I left you here on your own to freeze to death, would she, and I can’t be bothered doing any more funerals now right before the big day. I need to get on with my Christmas shopping.’
For the first time in what felt like for ever he laughed. He hadn’t realised the vicar could make a joke. The mention of the wet patch on his trousers made him realise just how cold he was; he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore and his toes were probably turning black right now and about to snap off with frostbite.
‘Do you not mind?’
The vicar laughed. ‘Of course not, I’ll wait in the car. It’s that blue one on the top of the hill. Take your time. Although you don’t want to be too long, you might get hyperthermia.’
He had no idea what he was talking about, but he wanted to get out of these wet trousers more than anything. The vicar walked off, and he ran the rest of the way to her grave, which was nothing more than a huge mound of soil and stones. It was horrible, it didn’t look like the rest of the graves. There was no headstone to tell anyone who was there, but he knew. He’d never forget who was buried underneath that ugly mound. He tried to pull the bunch of dead brown flowers from the top of it, but the wrapper had frozen to the soil and was stuck solid. He tugged and tugged, but it wouldn’t move. He’d have to come back when the ground wasn’t frozen to bin them. He laid the fresh bunch on top of them so it hid the withered ugly ones beneath. Patting the soil, he whispered goodbye and turned to run up the hill to the knackered blue car that was blowing out clouds of black smoke. He didn’t care as long as it was warm inside, he’d have accepted a lift in a hearse.
He tugged open the door and clambered in the back seat. He sniffed a couple of times, his nose wrinkling. The vicar, who was older than his dad, looked at him through the rear-view mirror.
‘Sorry, it’s the engine. It overheats if I have it running when the car isn’t moving, then it smells like burning rubber. It’s okay though, it won’t set on fire or anything.’
He shrugged, right now setting on fire wouldn’t be so bad he was so cold. His teeth began to chatter as he rubbed his hands together to try and get some feeling back in them. He didn’t pay much attention to where they were going, he was tired. He hadn’t been sleeping more than a few hours at a time, instead he lay in bed listening to his dad carrying on with the woman with the blonde hair. Which was both terrifying and exciting at the same time. The car juddered to a halt, and he felt his head snap back. He opened his eyes.
‘Where are we?’
‘I didn’t know if you wanted to go home all wet and soggy while school is still open. I thought you might want to come and dry off at the vicarage. Have a hot chocolate, sit by the fire and then I’ll take you home when it’s school kicking out time. I won’t tell your dad where I found you. I have a sneaking suspicion he won’t be too pleased about you bunking off school to go to the cemetery. I, however, think that it was a very kind thing to do; you must really miss your mum.’
Faced with the chance of getting caught out by his dad this sounded like a great idea. His dad would kill him, and he was cold and would die for a hot chocolate. The downside was, what if he had to spend the next hour talking about God? He hated God. If there was even such a thing, God wouldn’t have let his mum die. God wouldn’t have turned Robbie’s granddad into the scary, skeleton dude, would he?’
‘You can watch the television; I promise I won’t make you read the Bible if that’s what you’re worried about.’
He grinned, wondering if the vicar was a mind reader or if he had some kind of special powers, and then he was out of the car. He followed him into the huge house next to the church, glad to be escaping from his rubbish life for an extra hour.
‘Come in the kitchen and you can tell me how you like your hot chocolate; it’s warm in here. You can take those soggy trousers off, and I can put them over the radiator to dry.’
He went inside the huge kitchen that was big enough to put the downstairs of his house in. The vicar began to pull a pan down from the rack, then he opened the fridge, taking a bottle of milk out. At least it was warm in here, but he was still cold. He didn’t know if he wanted to take his trousers off in a vicar’s kitchen; he couldn’t sit around in his underpants, it wasn’t right.
‘Take your trousers off; they won’t take long to dry on the radiator.’ He pointed to the long heater on the wall.
‘Erm, it’s okay. I better not.’
The vicar turned to him and smiled. ‘Come on now, don’t tell me you’re shy. We’re all men here. I won’t look, I promise. You can wrap a towel around your waist if it makes you feel better.’
He reached out, grabbing a towel off an airing rack and hurled it in his direction. Grabbing it he mumbled thank you then unzipped his trousers and deftly wrapped it around his waist. He was relieved his shirt wasn’t wet as well; there was something not quite right about sitting in front of a vicar with no clothes on. The vicar set the milk to boil then turned to him and held out his hand. He passed him the damp trousers.
‘Seeing as how we know each other a little better you can call me Vincent, or Vince if you prefer. What should I call you?’
He froze, he didn’t want to call him Vince. It was a little too friendly for him. He shook his head.
A loud knock at the door broke the awkward moment between them. The vicar turned the heat down on the milk and went to answer the door. There was a lot of shouting and a woman began to wail – he didn’t know what was happening. But he didn’t want to get caught here, bunking off school with no trousers on. He grabbed his pants, threw the towel off and tugged them up. Pushing his feet into the s
hoes he ran towards the back door, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. He ran across the back garden, pausing to turn around and look up at the windows. Someone was watching him, but he had no idea who and he wasn’t waiting around to find out who they were. He was getting out of here; he’d rather try and sneak into his house and risk getting caught than listen to whatever commotion was going on back there. Especially dressed in his underpants. He wondered who would be shouting so loud at a vicar.
Chapter Nineteen
Lucy left the bustling church hall with a handful of raffle tickets and some paper bags. Mattie, who couldn’t get parked any nearer, had waited a couple of streets away and she was relieved he was still there. Church had never been her thing; she felt even worse for Margaret because it had clearly been hers. How were they going to take it when they found out about her and what about Ellie, how was she going to question her? It also widened her suspect pool; both murders had some links to religion to them. Sandy Kilburn had been found in a church, and Margaret spent a lot of time helping out at one. Before she’d even climbed into the car Mattie was holding out his hands for the paper bags. She passed them over.
‘I hope you’ve got some decent cakes in these – you bloody took long enough. What did you do, go to confession while you were there? I suppose that would have taken an awful lot longer though, with all your sins.’
‘First of all what sins? I’m not a sinner, you cheeky git. And who said you could have a cake? You don’t deserve one, especially after that remark.’
She glared at him, and he smiled. ‘Sorry, you’re not a bad person. In fact you’re one of the good guys. Can I have the chocolate-covered flapjack?’
