by Adele Abbott
“Yes, madam?” He sounded bored.
“My name is Susan Hall. I work for The Bugle.”
“I guess someone has to.”
She ignored the jibe. “Are you the owner?”
“I am. Is there a problem? If it’s about the nappy promotion—that was just a misunderstanding.”
“It isn’t. I wanted to ask you about a young man who worked here several years ago. Ten years ago, to be precise.”
“You’re out of luck, then. I only bought the business six years ago.”
“Would you happen to know the name of the person who owned this business ten years ago?”
“I would, but it won’t do you any good.”
“Why’s that?”
“How old are you, young lady?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Did you live in Washbridge ten years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should remember the Crab Tattoo murder.”
“Sorry?”
“The owner of this business was murdered. The case was big news at the time.”
It still didn’t ring any bells with Susan, but then at sixteen years of age, she had paid very little attention to the local news. She’d been far more interested in music, clothes and boys.
After leaving the pharmacy, she used her phone to research the Crab Tattoo murder case. The articles made rather harrowing reading. The owner of the pharmacy had been hit over the head with a chair. He’d stumbled forward and fallen onto a glass display case, which had shattered—glass from the case had severed an artery. His assailant had left the man to die. Before he did, the pharmacy owner had managed to write the words ‘crab tattoo’ in his own blood. The police believed he may have disturbed a thief, but despite several appeals they were never able to find anyone with a crab tattoo. The police had also found what they believed to be the murderer’s fingerprints on the chair used in the assault, but there was no match on their databases. The case remained open to that day.
Susan made a phone call to Simon Briggs.
“Hi, it’s Susan Hall, again. I’m sorry to trouble you.”
“That’s okay.”
“You mentioned that Chris worked in a pharmacy. I’ve just been reading up about the Crab Tattoo murder case. Did the police talk to Chris about that?”
“Yeah. They questioned him. It wasn’t really a surprise because he’d been fired from there not long before, and was known to have a drug problem. They asked him a few questions, and took his fingerprints, but he didn’t hear any more about it.”
“Okay, thanks.”
***
“Charlie!” Greta called through the microphone.
“Is everything okay?” Charlie made his way over to the cupboard.
“Look what we found.” She pointed to a crumpled sheet of paper next to the thimbles.
“What is it?”
“Take a closer look.”
Charlie picked up the paper, and straightened it out. It was Susan’s rota. “Where did you find this?”
“It was on the pavement below the window. When we were out there yesterday, we saw something sailing through the air, so we followed it down to the ground. It took both of us to carry it back up here. It was very heavy, but we managed it. Do you think someone has lost it?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think someone has been very naughty.”
He could see that the paper had been folded into an aeroplane. The only other bedroom on the same side of the building was Dorothy’s. She must have thrown it out of her window. He couldn’t help but laugh.
Just then, someone knocked on the door, and stepped inside. It was Susan. “I hope you don’t mind me coming in. I just wanted to—” She stared at the paper in his hand. “What’s that, Charlie?”
“What’s what?” He put his hands behind his back.
“That!” She pointed. “Behind your back.”
“This? It’s—err—a plane. It’s sort of a hobby of mine.”
“Can I see it?” She held out her hand.
“This one isn’t very good. I could make you a much better one.”
“Please, I’d like to see that one.” She insisted.
He reluctantly handed it over.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t realise it was your rota.”
She handed back the crumpled plane. “If you didn’t like the idea of a rota, I wish you’d just said so.”
“No, Susan, it’s not what you think.”
At that moment, Neil came into Charlie’s bedroom. “Guys, we’ve got a visitor. You’re both needed out here.”
Susan turned and followed Neil.
“I’m going to kill Dorothy,” Charlie said under his breath.
Bunty was laughing her head off.
***
Dorothy was absolutely shattered. It had been a quiet day at the bookshop, but sometimes they were the worst. She’d been so bored that she’d almost fallen asleep. Her plan was to go straight to her room, lie down, and have a short nap, but when she stepped into the apartment, she was horrified by the sight that greeted her. Susan, Charlie, and Neil were all talking to her mother. Worse still, Dolly had already erected her easel. On it was a blank canvas.
“Mum? What are you doing here?”
“I told you I was going to come over and paint a portrait of you and your flatmates.” Dolly had a huge smile on her face.
“But, Mum, I said we didn’t want our portrait painting.”
“Yes we do,” Neil said. “I think it’ll be great.”
“Yeah, me too.” Charlie nodded. “We could have it on the wall over there.”
“I quite like the idea,” Susan said.
Dorothy knew it was pointless to argue. She was outnumbered three to one. If she insisted that her mother left, they would all think she was cruel and heartless. But she knew the truth; her mother couldn’t paint for toffee. There was nothing Dorothy could do, but join the others. Charlie and Neil took the armchairs, while Susan and Dorothy sat on the sofa.
Dolly put on her smock, grabbed a paintbrush, and began to paint. Dorothy was dreading the outcome. She’d seen so many of her mother’s paintings, and they were all the same—absolutely hopeless. What would her flatmates think when they realised that her mum was a fraud?
As was always the case when Dolly painted a picture, it didn’t take long. After only an hour, she announced, “Okay, everyone. It’s finished. You can all take a look.”
Dorothy was the first off the sofa. She hurried behind the easel, and cringed when she saw the finished product. There was what looked vaguely like a sofa, and maybe two armchairs. On them were matchstick figures which bore no resemblance to any of her flatmates. Dorothy was worried that the others would make some snide comments or, worse still, laugh at it.
“That’s fantastic, Mum. It’s one of your best. It’s just so post-modern. Like Charlie said, we’ll hang it over there.”
By now, the other three were standing behind Dorothy. Neil sniggered, but soon stopped when Dorothy kicked his shin. Charlie had to stifle a chuckle. Susan just looked confused.
“I’m glad you all like it. I must get back now.” Dolly tidied away her paints and packed up her easel. “I have to take Babs for a walk. I’ll see you soon, Dorothy.”
Dorothy saw her mum out, and then turned around to find the others staring at her, puzzled.
“What was that all about?” Neil said.
“You two make me sick,” she said to Charlie and Neil. “How could you laugh at Mum like that?”
“But look at it.” Neil pointed at the picture. “It looks like a three-year-old did it.”
“Be quiet, Neil.”
“It isn’t very good,” Charlie said.
“I quite like it,” Susan said. “I agree with you, Dorothy. It’s very post-modern. Very now.”
Dorothy was taken aback by Susan’s reaction to the painting, but she needn’t think that was going to win her over.
Chapter 17
The n
ext morning, Susan was on her way to The Bugle’s offices when someone called her name. It was the reporter from The Chips. It took her a moment to remember his name. Tom Wallace, that was it.
“I was hoping I’d bump into you,” he said. “I’ve got something I want to show you.” He produced a newspaper from behind his back. “This is our first copy. What do you think?”
The first thing she noticed was the name of the publication: ‘In The Wash.’
“Is that the best name you could come up with?” Susan laughed. “It’s terrible.”
“Actually, I agree. I didn’t have any say in that. Still, it’s a great newspaper. Have you seen the headline?”
Susan glanced again at the paper. The headline read ‘The Last Post.’ She skimmed it quickly. It accused her newspaper of not supporting the residents of Washbridge, and being too focused on sensationalist stories. In The Wash promised to step into the void, and to fight the important issues on their behalf. All in all, it was a real hatchet job on The Bugle.
“Here,” Susan pushed the newspaper back into his hand. “You can keep it. I’m not impressed.”
“There’s still a job for you at In The Wash,” Wallace said. “It’s not too late, but you’ll need to make your mind up quickly.”
“I’ve already told you that I’m not interested. I’m not worried by competition. I thrive on it.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “If you won’t take the job, will you at least have a drink with me?”
“No, thanks.”
“Why not? Do you have a boyfriend?”
“That’s none of your business.” She turned and walked away, which would have been a lot easier to do if he hadn’t been so very good looking. But she wasn’t about to fraternise with the opposition.
Before she went back into the office, she made a phone call to Dreams.
“Hi, Susan. How are you settling in?”
“Okay. Early days, but so far so good.”
“I see there’s a new newspaper in town.”
“Yeah. Their first issue’s out today.”
“Is that going to be a problem for you?”
“It will make life a bit more interesting, but I like a challenge. Anyway, I rang to see if you fancied going out tonight? Jess will probably be up for it too.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ve already got something on tonight. I could meet you straight after work for a quick drink though, if you like?”
“Yeah, okay. Where do you want to meet?”
“How about Downtown?”
“Down town where?”
“That’s the name of the bar. It used to be The Crown.”
“Oh, right. Yeah. What time?”
“How about five-thirty?”
“Okay. See you then. I won’t bother telling Jess. The three of us can have a proper night out another time.”
“I hear you’ve landed yourself a major scoop.” Dougal Andrews caught Susan as soon as she walked into the office.
“What scoop would that be, Dougal?”
“A little bird told me that you went to Margie’s house yesterday. What’s your headline going to be? ‘My Husband the Wizard’?”
“I’ve no intention of running a story about wizards, witches, or any other make-believe creatures for that matter. I just thought I should do Margie the courtesy of hearing her out. Something you should have done a long time ago.”
“You thought you’d shut her up, more like. I’ve got news for you, Suzy, it won’t work. Once the word gets out that you’ve got a sympathetic ear, every nutjob in Washbridge will be headed your way.”
“Thanks, Dougal, but when I need your advice, I’ll know it’s time to quit.”
She’d no sooner taken a seat at her desk than Flynn beckoned her into his office.
“I assume you’ve seen this.” He had a copy of In The Wash on his desk.
“Yeah, just now. I bumped into one of their reporters, Tom Wallace. He was the one who wrote this article.”
“Have you read it?”
“I’ve only glanced at it, but it doesn’t make great reading.”
“The sad thing is that most of it’s true. The Bugle have failed Washbridge residents, which is why you and I are here. But this is going to make our job a lot more difficult. If we don’t turn things around quickly, it may be too late. Are you working on anything promising at the moment?”
“A couple of things, but it’s early days. I can’t really say much about them yet.”
“Okay,” Flynn sighed. “I know you’ll do your best, but the sooner the better. We need headlines, and we need them yesterday.”
Susan went back to her desk. It was obvious that Flynn was under pressure, which meant that she was too. Chris Briggs’ death may or may not yield a big story; it was too early to tell. Then there was always the extortion story which Manic had offered her. She was tempted to give him a call, but decided against it. Susan didn’t want her first ever story in The Bugle to come from some unsavoury character she’d met in the basement car park. She had to come up with her own.
***
“Hey, Susan,” Stella said. “Do you fancy going for a coffee?”
Susan glanced at her watch. She hadn’t even realised it was lunchtime.
“Sure, why not. Where do you want to go? Coffee Triangle again?”
“Definitely not. It’s Gong Day. It’ll be unbearable in there.”
They decided to go to Aroma.
“I’ve started to look for a job again,” Stella said, once they had their drinks.
“Really? Why?”
“Now that other newspaper has opened, I think the writing’s on the wall. No disrespect to you, Susan. I know that you’ll do a good job, but I think The Bugle’s days may be numbered. I want to get out of the newspaper business altogether. I’ve applied to lots of different places: estate agents, accountants, in fact anywhere they need an admin assistant or receptionist.”
“You have to do what’s best for you, Stella, but I’m still hopeful that The Bugle will ride out this storm.”
“Flynn looks worried.”
“He does, and I can’t blame him. If things do go pear-shaped, then he’ll be back on the job market like the rest of us. I’ll probably have to go back to London, which between you and me, is not something I want to do right now.”
“I’m surprised you moved up here. It must be very boring compared to London.”
“True, but London can get pretty tedious at times. It’s so busy everywhere, and the commute can be awful.”
After they’d finished their drinks, they headed back to the office. They were almost there when Susan heard someone call her name. She turned around to find Tony standing across the road.
“Stella, you carry on. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
Susan waited for Tony to come over.
Before they’d both left for university, Susan had thought Tony was the one. They’d both promised to remain faithful while they were apart, but that hadn’t worked out even though Susan had kept her part of the bargain.
“Hi.” He looked a little embarrassed.
“Tony,” she said, coldly.
“I didn’t know you were back.”
“There’s no reason you would.” She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
“How long have you been here?”
“A few days.”
“Look, Susan.” He stared at his feet. “I’m really sorry about, you know, what happened between us.”
“That’s in the past.” She waved it away as though it was nothing. In truth, at the time, it had broken her heart. But she would never let him know that.
“I didn’t plan for it to happen, you know.”
“I see. So you accidentally fell into bed with her, did you? Anyway, why are we even discussing this? It’s history now.”
“I just wanted you to know that I never meant to hurt you.”
“And now you’ve told me.”
“You probably heard,” he c
ontinued. “I’m no longer with Lisa.”
“Jess told me.”
“I don’t think Jess likes me. Whenever I’ve seen her, she’s been very cold towards me. In fact, she gave me a right telling off once.”
“Well, that’s Jess for you.” Susan grinned. “She always did speak her mind.”
“I don’t suppose you’d like to go for a drink sometime, would you?”
“Goodbye, Tony.” And with that, Susan turned and walked away.
***
After work, Susan made her way to Downtown. It was a small bar, which was a little too pretentious for Susan’s liking. Dreams was waiting inside for her.
“It’s great to see you again, Susan.”
Dreams had already ordered a tonic water for herself. “What do you want to drink?”
“Just an orange juice for me.”
“How’s the job going?” Dreams asked when they’d found a quiet corner table.
“So far so good. There’s a lot of pressure to come up with the big stories, and so far, there’s precious little to be had. Anyway, don’t let’s talk about me. What about you? What have you been up to?”
“Just the usual.”
“I assume you’re still working in the shop?”
“Of course.”
After leaving school, Dreams had gone to work for the family business; a small gift and card shop on the outskirts of Washbridge. She’d never been the ambitious type.
“Are you still with Ryan?” Susan kept hoping that Dreams would come to her senses, and dump that sorry excuse for a man.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason. You just haven’t mentioned him for a while.”
“I don’t mention him to you because I know you don’t like him.”
“That’s not true.”
“Liar. I’ve never understood why, though.”
Susan shrugged. “You’re not engaged yet, then?”
“Ryan says there’s no hurry, and I guess he’s right.”
Susan decided it was best to get off the subject of Ryan. “Jess wants the three of us to have a night out some time.”
