by Jill Mansell
'You still have to be sensible.' Tilly felt duty-bound to say it. She was a chaperone, after all.
'I know, I know. I am!' Kaye gleefully executed another skip and followed it up with a twirl.
'Can I ask you something?'
'About Parker? Anything!'
'No, about Jack.'
Kaye stopped twirling. 'What did Jack say about him?'
'Nothing. I mean, he said he seems fine.'
'Can you believe Max, sending him along to cross-examine Parker?'
'This thing about Jack.' Tilly tried again. 'It isn't anything to do with Parker. Listen, remember after you and Max broke up?'
Kaye wrinkled her nose. 'What about it?'
'You told me you'd slept with Jack.'
'Ye-es.'
'Well, did you really?'
'Sorry?' Kaye sounded puzzled. 'Did I really what?'
'Sleep with Jack.'
'Of course I slept with Jack.' Incredulously, Kaye said, 'Why would I say I had if I hadn't?'
Well, exactly. Exactly. And there was no question of not believ ing Kaye. The thing was, she believed Jack too. Tilly pulled Betty away from a discarded chocolate wrapper and waited for Kaye to ask why she was so interested.
'So anyway, listen to this. Parker came over here for a week's holiday but he's going to see if he can stretch it to a fortnight, isn't that fantastic?'
So much for curiosity. Kaye evidently had far more important things on her mind. Tilly smiled at her and said, 'Great.'
Max was already back from his meeting in Bath, frying eggs and bacon and slathering brown sauce on bread. He waved his spatula in greeting and said, 'Lou's gone up to bed. How did it go with the stalker?'
'Fine. She's seeing him again tomorrow. But she doesn't want a chaperone this time. She says she's a big girl now, you're not her dad, and you have to let her and Parker go out together on their own some time.'
'OK.'
'Really?' Tilly was astounded; she hadn't expected him to give in so easily.
Max shrugged. 'They can go out together. Not stay in.'
'Well, that's a start. Kaye'll be pleased.' Marveling at his change of heart, she said, 'Is there enough bacon for me and Betty too?'
'Yep.' As he flipped the rashers Max's phone began to ring on the kitchen table. 'See who that is, will you?'
Tilly peered over at the screen. 'It's Kaye. Shall I answer?'
Was he struggling to keep a straight face? 'Be my guest.'
'Is Max there with you? Oh my God, you won't believe what he's done,' Kaye shouted over the phone. 'Tell him he's a com plete bastard!'
'You're a complete bastard,' Tilly dutifully reported. 'Why, what's he done?'
'Only gone and phoned up Parker's offices and interrogated everyone who works there! I'm so embarrassed,' shrieked Kaye. 'What are they going to think?' He's already had calls from two of his fellow architects, his secretary, and his office cleaner. He's never going to live this down—they're going to tease him about it until the day he dies.'
'OK.' Seizing the phone, Max said laconically, 'I can hear you squealing away, but I happen to think it was the sensible thing to do. I could have called them up and heard them say, "Parker's girl friends? Oh, it's the strangest thing, after a week or so they always seem to vanish off the face of the earth… oh yeah, now you come to mention it, there is a funny smell coming from under the floorboards in his apartment."'
Max's New York accent was spot on. Hiding a smile, Tilly took over frying the bacon. Now it was her turn to hear Kaye's outraged tinny squawks.
'No,' Max switched back to his normal voice, 'as it turns out, they didn't say that. They told me he was a nice normal guy, every one likes him, no history whatsoever of chopping women up into small chunks.' Pause, tinny squawk. 'Well, I thought you'd be happy to hear it.' Pause, tinny squawk. 'Look, I just want you to be safe and I'm sure Parker can appreciate that. None of them had anything bad to say about him at all… yeah, yeah, I know, unlike me. And Jack says he seems OK too. So now that we know all this, I'm happy to let you go out with him tomorrow night on your own.' Pause, brief tinny squawk. 'Well, charming.'
'What did she say?' Tilly busily piled rashers of crispy bacon on to the lined-up slices of bread.
'She just called me something very rude.' Max pulled a sorrow ful face at Betty, whose only concern was that there might not be enough bacon for her too. 'And then she hung up. I potentially saved her life and this is the thanks I get.'
Chapter 51
TILLY STUDIED THE ORDER of service in her hands and felt guiltily void of emotion. It felt faintly fraudulent, attending the funeral of someone you'd only known briefly and hadn't even liked very much.
Oh God, and even that was an exaggeration. She had barely known Stella and hadn't liked her at all. But Erin had begged her to come along today and she hadn't had the heart to say no. Petrified that the turnout would be pitiful, Erin had been badgering practi cally everyone Stella had ever met in her determination to ensure that the church would be reasonably full.
And thank goodness—for Erin's sake if not Stella's—it was. Over a hundred people had turned up. Potential disaster had been averted. The so-called friends who hadn't visited Stella in the hospital were all here today. Either their consciences had been well and truly pricked by Erin or the opportunity to look glamorous in black was simply too good to pass up. The request to wear bright colors had been ignored by most of the women; black was so much more slimming and stylish.
Tilly, furtively gazing around the church as they waited for the service to begin, recognized Stella's fellow shopkeepers amongst the assembled congregation, mixed in with several of her neighbors and various familiar faces from the Lazy Fox. Staff from Fergus's estate agency were here too, including his secretary Jeannie, whom she knew for a fact had never got on with Stella.
And there, towards the back of the church, was still-thin but visibly pregnant Amy, wearing dark glasses (perhaps she thought she was in Hollywood) and an elegant black velvet wrap-around dress. Tilly still hadn't been able to get her head around the Amy conun drum. Had Jack got her stupendously drunk? Had she woken up the next morning with a cracking headache and amnesia, only to be told by Jack that they'd done the dreaded deed when in fact they hadn't?
Had he hypnotized her into somehow believing she'd had wild sex with him?
Tilly gulped. Oh dear, now she was imagining wild sex with Jack, which had to be totally inappropriate at a funeral… Stop it this instant…
Hearing her strangled intake of breath, Max gave her a nudge and murmured, 'You all right?'
She nodded, her mouth dry. Sunshine was streaming in through the church's west-facing stained-glass windows, casting rainbows of colored light on to the congregation. She forced herself to exhale slowly, then breathed in the mingled churchy scents of dust and sun warmed polished wood and ancient Cotswold stone. And speak of the devil, here was Jack coming into the church now. Tilly did her best to look as if she wasn't looking.
Then again, was there really any need when everyone else was?
Nodding at people he knew—but not at Amy, she noted—Jack made his way up the aisle then joined Declan from the Fox in a pew on the right. He was wearing a dark grey suit, white shirt, and black tie. Just the sight of him was enough to set off the usual reaction. Tilly wondered if it would ever stop. Life would be so much simpler, it really would. It couldn't be good for you, feeling like this about another human being and not allowing yourself to do anything about it.
OK, breathe. Breathe. Of course it hurt, but wasn't keeping your distance safer in the long run? It indisputably was. And breathe again. This way was a million times less painful than the alternative.
Anyway, never mind that now. The vicar was readying himself to begin the service. Here came Fergus and Erin, the last to enter the church, moving slowly together up the aisle like the very opposite of a wedding. Fergus, ironically, a widower now too. And Erin, being brave but biting her lower lip at the sight of Stella's
coffin. When they'd seated themselves in the front pew, the vicar cleared his throat and signaled to the organist to stop playing.
It was time to say good-bye to Stella Welch.
There was a good turnout at the Fox afterwards, thanks to the funeral having taken place at three o'clock. By the time it was over, nobody felt the need to rush back to work; far easier to soften the blow of mortality with a few drinks instead. And it was a jolt, to think that someone you knew had died before reaching forty. God, forty was nothing at all. Suddenly, you realized it was no longer safe to assume that one day you'd be a pensioner. Anything could happen to anyone at any time. The prospect induced an atmosphere of almost wartime recklessness and Tilly, observing from the sidelines, saw Stella's single female friends visibly step up their efforts to flirt with the available males. An exotic-looking girl with waist-length black hair was currently monopolizing Jack. Fergus's fellow estate agents were being targeted too. Even Declan, hard at work behind the bar, found himself the subject of attention. Everyone was drinking that bit more rapidly than usual. Well, why not?
As one of the barmaids approached with an open bottle of Moet, Tilly stuck out her glass for a refill. Kaye had volunteered to pick Lou up from school today, so it was allowed. She found her gaze sliding over towards Jack again.
'All right, sweetheart? Penny for them.'
Tilly turned, smiled at Fergus, and decided on balance not to tell him what had been occupying her thoughts. 'Just thinking that Stella would be pleased with all this.'
'She would.' Fergus nodded in agreement. 'Most of it's thanks to Erin, getting everyone here today. She's been amazing.'
'Of course she's amazing. She's my best friend.' Tilly gazed fondly at Erin, across the room talking to a portly white-haired woman in her sixties. 'You're lucky to have her.'
'She feels guilty. We both do. No more warring solicitors, no expensive messy divorce. We can just get married now, whenever we want. And I do want, but Erin says we can't because it would look bad. She won't even discuss it, says she's not going to have people calling us Charles and Camilla… Oh hello, yes, so good of you to come…'
Fergus had been buttonholed by the man who ran the antiques market a couple of doors up from Stella's shop. Slipping tactfully away, Tilly made her way over to Erin.
'Well, if Fergus isn't going to be moving back into the house, I do hope it'll go to a nice family. We don't want any rowdy teenagers crashing around on skateboards.' The hectoring tone belonged to one of Stella's neighbors. Tilly recalled hearing her over the fence while she'd been taking her turn at feeding Bing.
Erin was nodding, looking slightly trapped and anxious. 'I'll tell Fergus. I'm sure he'll do his best.'
'And what about the cat? Who's having Bing?'
Flustered, Erin said, 'Um… well, we're probably going to be—'
'Stella wanted him to go to a good home,' Tilly leapt in. 'It was her last wish.'
'Really?' The woman's chins quivered. 'Well, the reason I asked was because if you don't have a home lined up, I wouldn't mind taking him.'
Since Erin was hesitating, Tilly said quickly, 'That would be fantastic, brilliant. Wouldn't it, Erin? The perfect answer. Just what Stella would have wanted.'
When the woman had moved on, Tilly murmured triumphantly, 'There you go. Sorted.'
Erin was worried. 'But what if that wasn't what Stella wanted? What if she was trying to say she wanted me to give Bing a good home?'
'You just have.'
'Oh, you know what I mean!'
'You don't want a cat living with you.' Least of all Bing, who had that perpetual belittling, I-don't-like-you air about him.
'I know, but if it was what Stella wanted, maybe I should try to—'
'No.' Tilly shook her head very firmly at her. 'No, no, no. Listen to me. You've done enough for Stella. Ten times more than enough. You did more for her than she deserved, and now you can stop. Let someone else take care of Bing.'
Slowly, like a leaf unfurling, Erin's shoulders sagged with relief. 'OK. I will. Thanks.'
'You don't have to feel guilty.'
'I know. Logically I know that.' Erin managed a wry smile, took a sip of wine. 'I just can't help it. Because I'm still here and Stella isn't, and I'm going to be living the life she wanted to live.'
Marrying someone you love, having babies, watching them grow up and go on to have children of their own, staying married till death do you part… well, that was the fairytale existence for mil lions of people but how often did it actually happen? There were no guarantees. Look at Max and Kaye, Jamie Michaels and Tandy, and what about Jack and Rose?
Tilly's gaze was drawn helplessly across the room. The exotic looking girl was still busily flirting away, flicking her long hair like a pony. 'Who's that talking to Jack?'
'Oh, Stella used to belong to a fitness club in Cheltenham. I went over there on Wednesday night and told everyone the funeral was today. I think she teaches Ashtanga yoga.'
Hmm. Bendy, then.
Still watching them, Erin said with amusement, 'So it looks like Jack's got his evening entertainment sorted out.'
She was undoubtedly right. Tilly determinedly didn't envisage the acrobatic and wildly improbable positions a yoga teacher might be capable of conjuring up. Then her attention was caught by the conversation taking place to the right of them, between a curvaceous blonde in an emerald-green summer dress and a reed-thin brunette in black.
'…I mean, I know it's not the done thing to speak ill of the dead, but she could be pretty intimidating sometimes,' the blonde confided.
Her friend said, 'You're not kidding. She scared the living day lights out of me.'
Erin gave Tilly a tiny nudge, letting her know she was listen ing too.
'Stella told me I should sue the surgeon who left me with a nose like this.' The brunette shook her head. 'I said I hadn't had a nose job. So she said wasn't it about time I got one?'
'But if you tried to tell her she was being mean, she'd be really surprised.' The curvy blonde nodded in agreement. 'As far as she was concerned, she was just being honest. She was so confident, wasn't she?'
'I'll tell you something else,' the brunette confided. 'My Auntie Jean always does my hair for me. She cuts and colors it in her kitchen. But when Stella asked me where I'd had it done, I knew she'd laugh if I told her that. So I said Toni and Guy.'
Tilly grinned at Erin. Had Stella really been that intimidating?
'Well, guess what I did,' countered the blonde. 'She wanted me to go along with her to that new health spa in Cirencester last year. I mean, you can just picture it, Stella looking amazing in a bikini, me and my cellulite wibbling around in my swimsuit, Stella pointing out my rolls of fat and telling me I should do something about them. Yeurgh, no thanks! So I said I couldn't go because I had to visit my granny in hospital in Dundee. But then Stella didn't go to the spa, which meant I had to hide in the house all weekend because I couldn't risk her finding out I was still here.'
'Nightmare,' agreed the brunette.
'You're telling me. Then afterwards, Stella asked me how my gran was and I couldn't remember whether I'd said she'd had a stroke or a heart attack, so I had to pretend she'd had both. I mean, God, can you imagine? The wicked lies I was telling! And talk about tempting fate. How would I have felt if my gran had had a stroke?'
'Awful.' The brunette shook her head in sympathy. 'Still, I suppose it was nice of Stella to ask after her.' Then she perked up. 'Ooh look, Declan's bringing out more of those smoked salmon thingies; let's grab some before they go.'
They rushed off. Tilly frowned, feeling as if she was standing in the middle of a supermarket having forgotten something vital. She cast about in her mind, searching for a clue to jog her memory…
'What's wrong?' said Erin.
'I don't know.' It was like waking up and trying to cling on to a dream as it slithered away. If she could just concentrate hard and catch it before it evaporated completely… nearly there, nearly there…
> And then it came to her. The connection she'd been strug gling to make. Not a definite answer to her question, but a possible explanation so bizarre yet so feasible that it might… might… just be true.
My God. Could it be?
Erin was staring at her. 'Tilly? What is it?'
'OK, I need you to do me a favor.' The beginnings of a plan were ricocheting like a trapped fly inside Tilly's head. She checked out the gathering of mourners—yes, there was Deedee, there was Kirsten, there was thingummy with the red hair who was another one. 'When I tell you, don't ask any questions, just follow me, and go along with everything I say.'
'Why?'
'Because I've had an idea.'
