by Karen Clarke
‘Well, I didn’t realise it was a smudge until I got closer, but I know what smudged glass looks like.’ Erin and I glanced at each other, wide-eyed with the urge to laugh. ‘Anyway, I saw her, brazen as anything, half-dressed on the sofa in front of that dreadful Loose Women, flipping through one of Sheelagh’s books.’ Her mouth pursed. ‘I very nearly knocked on the glass to give her a fright,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t want to add more smudges and raise suspicion.’
‘Naturally.’
‘Are you going to tell Sheelagh?’ said Erin, grasping the situation right away.
Doris’s face softened. ‘I’ve written the evidence down, just in case, but I think I should wait for her to come and ask for help,’ she said. ‘She might already know but not want to know, if you get my drift.’
I was impressed by Doris’s restraint. I didn’t want to be the one to tell Sheelagh either, and was praying she wouldn’t ask me again if I’d seen anything.
‘You know, you should put your policing skills to good use,’ I said. ‘The Doris Day Detective Agency has quite a nice ring to it.’
‘I’d call you,’ said Erin. ‘If I thought my husband was cheating.’ She threw Craig a savage look, but the News South-West cameraman had wandered over and they were comparing equipment.
‘Maybe I will,’ Doris said, looking tickled by the idea. ‘I used to help my Roger solve his cases, and Midsomer Murders is my favourite TV programme after Without a Trace.’
‘There you go then,’ I said.
Bella and Mark had stepped off the stage with their booty, looking far less harassed, and Ollie was speaking into the microphone again. ‘In their own ways, all the residents were absolute winners,’ he said, holding up a hand to still the crowd, who were starting to drift away. ‘And as a thank you to everyone at Maple Hill, for putting up with me, I’ll be making a substantial donation to The Christmas Lights Society, towards next year’s festivities.’
‘You shouldn’t be encouraging people to compete against each other!’
Definitely Annabel. Luckily, apart from some tutting, no one seemed to agree and there was a rousing outbreak of applause.
Sheelagh looked overcome with emotion, her hands clasped as though she were praying to Ollie, clearly forgetting – or forgiving – his insults about Barry’s lights.
‘That’s nice of him,’ said Erin. ‘I hope the cameras got that.’
Doris looked less impressed. ‘I was rather hoping there wouldn’t be a competition next year,’ she said, adjusting the knot of her scarf. ‘But I suppose it gives those two something to look forward to.’ Mr Flannery and Barry were squaring up, like wrestlers, testosterone swirling like a cyclone. ‘Pair of big kids.’
Before I could respond, Ollie shouted, ‘Have a wonderful Christmas, SHIPLEY, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t, yah?’ He’d barely finished before the councillor stepped forward, minus his antlers, to announce the Nightingale Primary choir was about to perform, and a clutch of rosy-cheeked children were herded on stage by a smiling Jill Edwards, wearing a holly-patterned sweater beneath her padded coat.
Ollie came over and stopped in front of Erin. ‘Did I do OK?’ he said, groomed eyebrows crinkling. He sounded oddly uncertain.
‘You were fine,’ she said coolly, pulling a compact-mirror from her black, silver- studded handbag to check her lipstick.
He visibly relaxed. ‘If my agent’s happy, then so am I.’ He spoke with an air of solemnity, eyes sweeping her appearance and seeming to find it favourable. ‘Love the hat,’ he said, tugging it forward. She slapped his hand away and I realised she was being playful, which wasn’t like Erin at all. Clearly the Ollie effect hadn’t quite worn off.
‘Isn’t it traditional to repair to the pub?’ he said to Craig, who’d stopped filming and was standing a little way off, looking as if he longed to be invisible.
‘Well, I’ve got a pair of breasts to attend to.’ Doris patted her bag. ‘My Eric is coming for dinner and loves his chicken, and we’re hoping to introduce Erica to a pureed Brussels sprout, so she can get a taste for them before Christmas Day.’ She looked like she’d swallowed a bunch of fairy lights when she spoke about her granddaughter, and as she headed for the parade with a bright, ‘Cheerio,’ I half wished I was going with her. Anywhere but the pub, where things were bound to get awkward.
Plus, I loved Brussels sprouts.
Chapter Thirty-One
In the event, only Sheelagh came with us to The Anchor.
‘We’re really tired,’ said Bella, with a pointed look at Ollie that he could hardly argue with, while Jane and Dennis apparently had a ‘date night’ scheduled (I didn’t want to think about what that involved).
‘My nephew can’t be trusted on his own in there,’ said Mr Flannery, before hotfooting it back the newsagent’s, though I suspected he mostly wanted to keep a lovelorn eye on Ruby.
Barry melted into the night, without bothering to make an excuse, and Councillor Finch pleaded an appointment with his chiropodist for an ingrown toenail, which made Ollie look slightly nauseous.
‘I can’t believe there’s only us,’ Ollie said, as we launched into the pub after a short walk across to the harbour, during which he’d challenged Craig to build a sandcastle – tersely declined – and asked Erin again what she’d thought of his performance.
‘Hardly Oscar-worthy,’ she’d said, rolling her eyes at me.
On arrival at the pub, Sheelagh tripped on her cloak and Ollie offered her his arm, which she gripped with obvious delight.
‘At least you’ve got me,’ Sheelagh flirted.
‘Ah, my lovely Loretta,’ Ollie flirted back, while Erin pretended to gag.
The pub was modern but cosy, with a separate restaurant, and a bar area where a log-fire was blazing and a densely decorated Christmas tree sparkled in the corner.
It was early, and most people were still enjoying the festivities in the square, but the restaurant was busy with office parties, and the bar vibrated with piped Christmas music and the sound of people enjoying a drink.
‘Barry’s cooking a candlelit dinner tonight,’ Sheelagh said, as we squeezed onto a leather banquette around a wooden-topped table, while Ollie went to the bar with Craig to order ‘champers’. ‘He always cooks on Fridays,’ she added, eyes darting to me and away again. She was either making an excuse for him, hoping I’d forgotten she’d doorstepped me, or hadn’t forgiven me for giving her beloved Ollie a nosebleed the night before. ‘He can be very thoughtful,’ she went on, as though daring me to argue. ‘He would have come with us, but…’ He doesn’t like Ollie. The unspoken words hung in the air.
‘It’s fine,’ I said. I was relieved he wasn’t there.
Erin removed her coat to reveal a tight, high-waisted skirt, which accentuated her curves, and a baby-blue cropped sweater. I felt like the Beast to her Beauty in my jeans and sweatshirt, and decided to keep my parka on.
‘Isn’t Barry upset at not winning?’ I said to Sheelagh.
Erin shot me a look of surprise as she sat down.
‘Oh, he loves taking part, that’s the main thing,’ Sheelagh replied. ‘And all the bantering with Clint.’ I couldn’t think who she meant for a moment, and suspected he’d always be Mr Flannery to me. ‘They’re like a pair of boxers squaring up,’ she added, confirming Doris’s theory. ‘It’ll all be forgotten, until next year.’ She gave a honk of laughter and slipped her cloak off. ‘Here come the drinkies!’
Ollie plonked down a tray of half-filled glasses with a flourish, and wedged himself next to Erin. ‘I’ve ordered a bottle, it’ll be over in a minute,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘In the meantime, here’s to our last night in Shipley.’
‘Oh.’ Sheelagh gave a heartfelt sigh. She picked up a glass and drained it in one go. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said.
‘You’ll be the only one.’ Ollie looked suddenly crushed. ‘I think I’ve ballsed things up a bit, truth be told,’ he said. ‘Seem to have put everyone’s backs up.’
‘I’m not used to people like them,’ he admitted. ‘It’s been a learning curve.’
‘Really?’ I said.
‘Yah.’ He pushed his hair back. ‘I’ve learnt I’m never doing these kinds of public engagements again.’
‘Hallelujah!’ Craig said, lifting his glass. ‘I’ll drink to that.’ He’d positioned himself beside me and I was aware of his thigh inches from mine, and as Erin’s accusation spun through my mind I couldn’t help wishing she hadn’t said anything.
The waiter hurried over with a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket and placed it by the table. ‘Could I have a selfie?’ he said shyly to Ollie, who – for once – looked reluctant.
‘Sure,’ he said gamely, and we endured an excruciating few minutes as the waiter fiddled with his phone, trying to get the pose right and taking several shots ‘for luck’, his arm braced firmly around Ollie’s shoulders.
‘Gay,’ Ollie whispered when he’d gone. ‘A lot of my fans are.’ He sloshed more champagne into our glasses, even though he and Sheelagh appeared to be the only ones drinking. ‘Might as well get piddled,’ he said, slumping against Erin and pulling a sad face. She shoved him away, clearly trying to maintain a professional agent/client relationship, even though Ollie kept trying to take hold of her hand.
‘So, what’s next for you, Ollie?’ Sheelagh had gone a little cross-eyed after emptying another glass of champagne. ‘I know!’ She held up a finger. ‘You should go back to Players.’ She made it sound like a brilliant and original idea.
‘I’m never going back there,’ he said, as though he’d worked in an office on a charmless industrial estate. ‘I’m on a new career path, lovely Loretta.’
‘Well, I’m sure whatever you do, it’ll work out for you.’ She stood up, bosom straining at the material of her ruffled, leopard-print top. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to powder my nose,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why people say that.’ She swayed a little. ‘I’m actually going for a wee.’ She clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said to Ollie. ‘Have I shared too much?’
‘Don’t mind me,’ he said. ‘Have a number two, on me.’
‘Ew,’ said Erin, and punched his arm.
Sheelagh’s face turned puce. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she said.
Once she’d hurried off, Ollie angled a look at Erin. ‘Why do you keep glaring at Craig like that?’
She gave a guilty start. ‘Like what?’
‘Like you want to hurt him.’
Craig shifted uneasily, a mix of dread and resignation washing over his face.
My heart started to race. This wasn’t the place for a confrontation. ‘Erin…’ I began.
‘Are you going to tell him, or shall I?’ she said to Craig, colour suffusing her normally creamy cheeks.
‘Tell me what?’ Ollie was looking between them with deepening suspicion. ‘You two…’ he waved a hand between them, eyes widening. ‘Oh god, please tell me you’re not—’
‘No, we’re bloody not,’ said Erin, slapping his hand down. ‘For Christ’s sake, Ollie, I barely know him and, anyway…’ She took a breath. ‘It’s not me he’s been messing about with.’
I had a feeling she hadn’t really meant to say it and felt an unexpected surge of pity for Craig. Whatever had happened with Tattie was obviously over, and he must have been dreading Ollie finding out. Was that why he’d been so keen for them to get away? Had he been protecting himself, as much as Ollie?
‘What’s she talking about, Craggers?’ Ollie looked from one of us to the other, his brow furrowed. ‘What’s going on, mate?’
Craig fiddled with the stem of his glass. It was the sort of flute I’d seen on the clip of Players and it looked too dainty in his hand. ‘Can we do this somewhere else?’ he said, quietly.
‘Oh, come on, you can’t leave me hanging.’ Ollie looked at me.
Oh heck. ‘I—’
‘Tattie and Craig slept together,’ Erin said baldly, and I experienced a moment’s surprise that she was pushing this to its inevitably ugly conclusion. Was it to do with her own nasty break-up, and not wanting to see someone else get hurt? But that didn’t make any sense. Why bring it up at all? ‘She cheated on you, with your best friend.’
‘Craig?’ Ollie looked at Erin for confirmation.
‘Of course, Craig, you idiot,’ she snapped. She was being incredibly rude to him, under the circumstances. ‘How many best friends have you got?’
There was a burst of raucous carol-singing from the restaurant, overlaying the chink of cutlery and loud chatter from another table, but it couldn’t drown out the pounding in my ears as I waited for the penny to drop.
Ollie gave a shout of laughter. ‘This has to be a joke, right?’ He directed the words at Craig, who looked like he wanted to be sick. ‘That’s what this is about?’
Erin and I glanced at each other.
‘It’s not true,’ Craig said, stiffly. ‘Tattie tried it on with me, but I would never—’
‘Of course you wouldn’t.’ Ollie’s face twisted with concern. ‘You’re my friend.’
Craig looked thrown, as if this wasn’t the response he’d envisaged. ‘I never even fancied her,’ he said, warily. ‘That was the problem, really. When I turned her down, she said if I told you she’d say I made a pass at her.’
Ollie gave a snort. ‘As if I’d have believed that.’
‘But… she said Craig had a freckle on his…’ Erin lowered her voice. ‘On his willy.’
Our eyes dropped to Craig’s crotch, as if it might be visible through his jeans. ‘How else would she have known if—’
‘Because I told her, once,’ cried Ollie, making us jump. ‘I’d had too much to drink, and we were talking about birthmarks in weird places – don’t ask me why – and I mentioned you had this freckle on your peen.’
‘Don’t say peen,’ said Erin, at the same time as I said, ‘How do you know he has a freckle?’
Craig squirmed in his seat. ‘I might have told him once, for a laugh, when we were kids, Christ knows why, it’s not even true,’ he said. ‘I can show you if you like.’
‘Er, no, mate, thanks for offering,’ said Ollie. ‘I can’t believe you lied about it.’
‘I can’t believe you told Tattie,’ Craig countered.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter if it’s not true and, anyway, it proves she was lying,’ Ollie said. ‘Not that I needed proof.’
Craig didn’t sleep with Tattie. The words sent a spiral of warmth through me that had nothing to do with wearing too many layers in a pub with a roaring log-fire. ‘But why tell Erin?’ I said.
‘And why aren’t you mad as hell?’ Erin turned to face Ollie. ‘I thought you were crazy in love with the silly bitch.’
‘Of course I’m not.’ He looked genuinely horrified. ‘Yes, I had a fling with her, but it was to make someone else jealous. Tattie fell for me in a big way – obviously – but when she realised I didn’t feel the same she started this silly campaign to make me jealous, and when that didn’t work she got me thrown off the show.’
‘If you weren’t jealous, why hit whatsisname?’ I said.
Ollie shrugged, leaning against the banquette, one arm along the back, as if discussing his plans for Christmas. ‘I never liked that idiot, Cuttlingtonson. He deserved to be punched, and I suppose it was a way of forcing things to change. I was pretty much done with Players. I’m too old for all that bull-crap.’
‘So, why do you think Tattie went to Erin?’ Craig said. I hadn’t realised how pale he’d been until I noticed some colour had returned to his face.
Ollie shrugged again. ‘She phoned me the other day, pleading with me to come back to her, saying she could get me my job back, and when I said no and told her why, she lost the plot and said she’d slept with you, and I guess she wanted to make trouble—’
‘She said that?’ Craig’s glass s
lammed down on the table. ‘And you didn’t think to mention it?’
‘What’s to mention?’ Ollie seemed puzzled. ‘I knew she was lying, so I didn’t bother you with it.’
‘But didn’t you think Craig might have been worried?’ I said.
‘I didn’t know she’d made a move on you, bro.’ He gave Craig a hard look. ‘You should have told me in the first place.’
‘How could I?’ Concern creased Craig’s brow. ‘You were moping around like a lovesick puppy. I thought if I told you she’d tried to… seduce me, it might push you over the edge.’
‘I’d have known it wasn’t true,’ Ollie said fondly. ‘Mates before dates, right?’
‘Right.’ Craig gave a reluctant grin.
‘Christ,’ said Erin. ‘It sounds like you two should be sleeping together.’
‘That’s gross,’ said Ollie. ‘Though to be fair, he probably does fancy the pants off me.’
‘In your dreams,’ said Craig, who looked like a weight had been hoisted off his shoulders. ‘You’re not my type.’
I still couldn’t quite make sense of it all. ‘But why did Tattie tell Erin?’
‘Yes, why did she tell me?’ said Erin. ‘I feel like a total bitch now, accusing Craig like that.’ She winced at him. ‘Sorry, by the way.’
‘No worries.’ He lifted his glass in a toast. ‘But, yeah, why did she tell you?’
‘It’s because of what I said when she called.’ Ollie spoke as if we should know what he was on about. ‘She knew Erin would come down and confront Craig, and probably hoped it would make trouble between us, and that I’d hate Erin for telling me the so-called “truth”.’
‘Sounds a bit far-fetched,’ I said. ‘What on earth did you tell her when she called that would make her go to those lengths?’
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘That it’s you I’m in love with.’
‘WHAT?’ I yelped.
‘Sorry.’ He flipped his eyes from me to Erin. ‘I meant you.’
‘What?’ she hissed. ‘Are you out of your tiny mind?’
