by Rebecca Tope
‘Well, as far as I can see, Gillian’s got it all sewn up. Evidence, probably motive, timing. She’ll be presenting the whole thing to the police as we speak, and Matthew will be questioned and probably charged.’
‘Hm,’ said Bonnie again, with heavy significance. ‘Or it could be that it works out to be something altogether different.’
‘It’s great that we’re all talking about this together now,’ Ben declared. ‘No more need to take sides. That was never right, anyway. I mean – it was a vital part of the process, but now we should pool all our findings, and not hold anything back. As far as it looks now, Gillian Townsend has accomplished her mission to prove her friend’s innocence, but in the process incriminated the suspect’s son. How will that go down, I wonder?’
‘If you mean, how does Anita feel about that, she’s absolutely miserable,’ said Simmy, conscious that she was being selective in this report. Anita Olsen’s emotions had been a lot more complex than simple misery. ‘She says she’s failed as a mother, and she’s going to have to move right away and start a new life.’
‘At her age!’ scoffed Bonnie. ‘Some chance.’
‘She’s only about sixty-five. She might have another thirty years. People do it all the time – move to a new town and join all the clubs and whatnot. She might even do a bit of part-time work, I would guess. She’s perfectly competent.’ Simmy’s continuing defence of Anita Olsen was as powerful as ever. ‘And she’s really nice. She’ll make a success of it.’
‘If she’s as nice as all that, why do both her children hate her?’ asked Ben. ‘And it doesn’t strike me that she’s particularly popular around here. Nobody’s leapt to her defence online.’
‘I don’t think she’s a bit nice, actually,’ said Bonnie. ‘Simmy’s trouble is, she likes everybody.’
‘I do my best to keep an open mind about people,’ said Simmy stiffly. ‘She’s just one of those women who can’t see much need for a lot of close friends.’.
‘Right. In fact, as far as I can tell, the only one is the Townsend lady.’
‘And Simmy,’ Bonnie persisted stubbornly. ‘Simmy wants to be her friend.’
‘Not if she moves away. Besides, don’t forget there was going to be a big party for her retirement. That implies that plenty of people like her and want to send her off with a flourish.’ Even as she spoke she knew what Ben was going to say – and he did.
‘They might just be glad to be getting rid of her.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ said Simmy.
‘We’re not doing this right,’ complained Bonnie. ‘We ought to be thinking about that van and who might have been driving it, pretending to be Matthew. What about the timing on Friday? Is it even possible that it was Matthew? How did he know where Declan would be?’ She looked to Ben for agreement. ‘And we just saw him. He was talking about the van so openly. He didn’t blush or stammer or anything. Nobody’s that good at acting.’
‘We said that before about him and Gillian,’ Simmy reminded her.
Ben nodded abstractedly. ‘The police will be going over the van for marks and fingerprints and so forth. It could yet turn out that it’s a red herring – not the murder vehicle, after all. And we have no idea where Matthew Olsen says he was last Friday. That didn’t come up when we were there, did it? Why would it, anyway? We’d got no idea he was the latest suspect.’
Bonnie shook her head. ‘They were laying it on so thick about his mother having done it.’ She frowned. ‘What’s Debbie going to feel now? She can’t have the slightest inkling that it might have been her brother.’
Finally, thought Simmy. The first time the feelings of the people involved had been mentioned and it turned out to be a conversation-stopper. Ben was silent as he tried to compute this question. Simmy took pity on him. ‘She’s not going to be happy,’ she said lightly. ‘But the whole business is obviously focused very tightly on the family. There must be much more horrible things behind the scenes than any of us know about.’
‘You never told us Anita’s side of the story,’ Ben remembered. ‘Why does she think there was so much bad feeling towards her?’
‘She thinks Declan only married her daughter to put pressure on her and Gillian to take him on in the business. When they still refused to do it, he and his father both turned very nasty and it’s stayed like that for years.’
Ben scratched his head. ‘That doesn’t seem enough to warrant calculated murder, does it?’
‘You were happy to go along with it until now,’ Simmy reminded him. ‘I assume Debbie must have told you pretty much the same story.’
‘Plus a whole lot more. She was a rubbish mother, making it clear she wasn’t interested until they got old enough to fend for themselves. By then it was too late, of course. They’ve never forgiven her for the ghastly time they had.’
Simmy looked at Bonnie, as the acknowledged expert on rubbish mothers. ‘Did all that seem credible to you?’ she asked.
‘Sort of,’ said the girl, with an uneasy twitch of her shoulders. ‘Well, not really. I mean, you don’t hate people, do you? You feel angry with them, and blame them for things, but if you’re even halfway grown-up you just get on with it, and accept that things are the way they are.’
‘And Debbie and Matthew are both pretty reasonable individuals,’ said Ben. ‘As far as I can see.’
‘She bosses him about,’ said Bonnie. ‘And he doesn’t seem to be making much of himself, just driving a van around. How does he afford that house? He must have some other money coming in.’
‘Maybe an auntie died and left it to him,’ said Simmy.
‘Could be,’ Ben agreed. ‘It is quite an auntyish sort of place.’
‘Anyway,’ said Bonnie loudly, ‘none of this is helping to explain why it was Declan who was killed. What did he do? Somebody must have seen him as a threat, or obstacle. Somebody who didn’t too much mind the consequences for poor Debbie. You have to think of the motive.’ She looked fiercely at Ben. ‘Don’t you?’
‘You certainly do,’ he said. ‘Good for you, putting us back on track.’
Bonnie smiled proudly. ‘I’m getting better at this, aren’t I?’
‘You’re brilliant,’ said her beloved. ‘Now, we mustn’t forget there are other people to consider, though. Old Man Kennedy, for one. And old Mr Olsen for another. The two fathers, who might have much more significance than we realise. The whole thing might even have started with them, thirty years ago. Did they know each other? How did Declan cope when his mother died? I bet there’s a more personal motive than what we’ve been told. Oh,’ he burst out, ‘I’d know all the answers by now if I wasn’t so tied up with all this school work. I haven’t given it nearly enough time.’
‘I can do most of it,’ said Bonnie stoutly. ‘And you can spare an hour or two some evenings.’
‘Yeah,’ sighed Ben, looking pale and weary.
‘Exactly what is it you think you have to do?’ demanded Simmy. ‘If Anita has been shown to be innocent, it all has to start again, presumably, with the focus on Matthew. And we don’t know who Declan might have threatened or offended or … whatever. We should—’
‘Don’t say “leave it all to the police”,’ begged Bonnie. ‘That’s what people always say, and you know it doesn’t have any effect on me and Ben. Even the police wouldn’t expect us to do that.’
‘They might hope,’ sighed Simmy. ‘The same as me.’
‘Gillian Townsend must be pretty clever,’ Ben remarked after a pause.
‘And persistent,’ said Bonnie.
Simmy shook her head. ‘I’m not going to think about this any more today,’ she said loudly. ‘I should have gone home ages ago. I’m having a nice evening with Christopher, and a lazy day tomorrow. Then after school on Monday your sister’s coming in, Ben. She says she can help out when we’ve got all the Mother’s Day stuff to do. Although I suppose I could have a quick word with her now, if she’s here.’
He looked completely blank. ‘Sister? Which one?’<
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‘Tanya. Didn’t you know?’
He shrugged. ‘She’s the only one of them who might be halfway useful. But no, she’s out this afternoon. Now, I’ve got to get on. Things to do, books to read. I’m behind schedule.’ He sighed. ‘It’ll be eleven or later by the time I’ve got it all done.’
‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ asked Bonnie, managing not to sound wistful.
‘The afternoon should be okay for a bit.’
They looked at each other with fond frustration, and Simmy took her leave.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was just after five when she got home, having spent nearly an hour drifting around the big supermarket, pausing every few paces, trying to decide what she needed for the next week. She got two steaks for the coming day, and two bottles of red wine. Ice cream, peas, extra bread, cheese and a big bag of mince would all help to replenish the freezer. Tins of tomatoes, sweet corn, beans and soup would stock the cupboard, and a selection of cakes and biscuits went into the trolley, followed by instant coffee, teabags and a bottle of squash. It was the first time for many weeks that she had bought so much at a time – and still she eyed yoghurts, fruit, smoked fish and cold meat, wondering whether she could make herself some interesting meals for a change, even when Christopher wasn’t there.
It was surprisingly therapeutic, she found, focusing so much attention on food. Her mouth was watering, and on impulse she snatched at half a cooked chicken for the following evening, with some salad stuff to go with it. ‘Enough,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll never find space in the fridge at this rate.’
Wheeling it all to the car, in a small procession of housewives and elderly couples, she felt like a boringly normal person, fuelling herself for the days to come, anticipating the flavours of decent food for a change. Not a hint of murder or malice entered her head for a whole wonderful hour.
She drove home maintaining focus firmly on mundane domestic matters like giving the back bedroom a thorough dusting and decobwebbing. The cottage only had two rooms upstairs, plus bathroom and large cupboard. Christopher had inspected the one at the back on one of his early visits and bemoaned its neglected state. ‘You could make a very nice guest room here, and have friends to stay,’ he reproached her. ‘Look at that fantastic view!’
Simmy had defended herself. ‘I had someone last year. There’s a bed, look.’ The bed was a narrow affair with a hard mattress. The rest of the room contained surplus chairs, boxes and a bookcase of shamefully dull books that should have been dumped before she moved house.
It took five or six minutes to distribute her shopping to freezer, fridge and cupboard. Then her landline started ringing, and her breathing stalled. Instantly she was back in the world of mangled bodies and distraught relatives. Her strong inclination was to let it ring, but that was cowardly, and would solve nothing.
‘You didn’t answer your mobile,’ came her boyfriend’s reproachful voice.
‘Sorry. I never heard it. Why? What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing, really. Just that I won’t get to you until about half seven. Is that okay? We’ve got some pest bringing in a massive great stone trough, and he’s had transport trouble. I’ve got to hang around until he’s been and gone, so I can lock up.’
‘That’s no problem. It’ll give me time to clear up a bit. Don’t worry. We’ve still got the whole of tomorrow.’
The conversation ended with muted expressions of affection on both sides; Simmy assuring herself that it was all quite normal. Two adults living full lives, and finding insufficient space for each other. Nothing at all to worry about – even if they really weren’t behaving much like a proper couple at all. Proper couples spent every single night together, ate all their meals at the same table, watched rubbish on the telly and argued about who put the bins out. And had babies.
Seven thirty came and went, and she began to worry. After ten more minutes, she gave in and called him. ‘You are coming this evening, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘You didn’t change your mind?’
‘Of course I didn’t. What are you thinking? Sorry I’m a bit late, but I’m stopped at the lights in Ambleside, and will be arrested any moment if I don’t put this phone down. Give me nine minutes.’
His estimate was surpassed by a whole minute, and there he was in the doorway looking young and cheerful and deliciously normal. No hint of murder or family feuds or vague apprehensions. Just a warm hug and a carefree bounce. ‘Come on, then,’ he urged. ‘Let’s get cooking. Isn’t that what we decided?’
Simmy had found four pork chops in her freezer the previous evening, and left them to defrost all day. She had apple sauce, three vegetables and a bottle of red wine. ‘It’s not very special,’ she worried. ‘But at least it won’t take very long to cook.’
‘Two chops each is a feast. Tell you what – we can do them in a sauce, with onions and herbs and things, and leave them in the oven while we pop down to the pub for a quick gin and tonic. You haven’t got any gin, have you?’
She shook her head. ‘The budget doesn’t run to spirits.’
Christopher took over, chopping onions, browning the meat, fishing in a drawer for rather elderly dried herbs. Simmy watched in awe. ‘You’re terribly good at this,’ she observed.
‘It’s fun, when there’s someone else to enjoy it. Now in it goes, and we’ve got fifty minutes before we need to get the potatoes on. You’ve done a lovely job of peeling them,’ he added, with exaggerated patronage. ‘But we won’t be needing apple sauce. I’ve put an apple in the casserole. Lucky you had one.’
‘It’s a miracle.’
‘We should do this again tomorrow. Establish a routine. We’ve been awfully disorganised up to now.’
She sighed, thinking how easy it could be to make a person happy. ‘I went to the supermarket,’ she told him. ‘And got everything we’ll need from now till Monday morning.’
They walked the short way to The Mortal Man and were mutually delighted to be together. But Simmy could not entirely divest herself of thoughts about Declan Kennedy, his wife, mother-in-law and above all, his brother-in-law Matthew Olsen. The day had been filled with the whole business, and the sense of impending climax was inexorable. ‘I gather you know Matthew Olsen,’ she said, as they drank their aperitifs. There were people in the bar who could overhear what was said, if they wanted to. Too late, it occurred to her that the man himself might even be there, since she didn’t know what he looked like.
‘Do I?’ said Christopher. ‘In what context?’
‘He drives a van for you.’
‘Um …?’
‘I mean, he delivers things that people buy at your sales and are too big to go in their cars. A white van.’ There had been no obvious flickers of recognition from the surrounding tables, making her feel safer about discussing the man, albeit in a low voice.
‘Oh. There are a few of them. They don’t work for us, exactly. They just hang around waiting to be needed. It’s all very informal. There is one called Matt, now I come to think of it. Nice helpful chap. Very good with old ladies.’
‘Not with his mother, he isn’t, He loathes her.’
‘So what’s the connection? Why are we talking about him? What did his mother do to him?’
‘He lives here in Troutbeck. I expect he comes in here to drink. I might know him by sight, but I’ve never consciously met him.’
‘So?’ Christopher was plainly puzzled and a trifle impatient.
‘I’ll tell you when we get back to the house. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, really. It’s just – the whole day has been so taken up with it all, I can’t get it out of my head.’
He changed the subject willingly enough. ‘So what’s happening about your ex? Any more developments?’
‘Oh – no. I’d forgotten all about it. Did I tell you they’ve decided they don’t need any more from me than I’ve already provided? It was clutching at straws to think I could be of any use to him. Besides, I’m inclined to be on the woman’s side, more than h
is. He must have driven her mad, poor thing.’
‘I’m on his side,’ said Christopher with a laugh. ‘Which is probably very incorrect of me.’
‘There’s a lot of taking sides going on,’ she noted. ‘Everybody seems to be against everybody else at the moment.’
‘In what way?’
She glanced around the cosy bar. ‘Better not go into that here,’ she said.
He gave her a surprised look. ‘What’s all this mystery? Is it something to do with the Matthew chap? Have I been missing something?’
‘Quite a lot, actually. I was hoping not to drag you into it, but I can see that’s not going to work. Let’s think about holidays instead.’
Obediently, Christopher began to rhapsodise about beaches and foreign food and quirky shops. ‘Someone told me about a wonderful place in Teguise,’ he told her. ‘That’s in the middle of Lanzarote. It has a huge market, but the shops are great as well.’
‘You’ve been doing some homework,’ she said. ‘I never do that. I like to find out everything when I’m there. I want it all to come as a surprise.’
‘But you’ve been before. How does that work?’
‘There’s still loads I haven’t seen. Are we going to hire a car?’
‘Of course. And we’re going to get a ferry to another island one day, for a change of scene.’
‘Oh good,’ said Simmy.
Back at the cottage, after a scramble to get the vegetables ready, and the wine broached, she was reluctant to spoil the mood by talking about murder, suspicion and downright lies, but Christopher would permit no evasions. ‘It’s obviously bothering you,’ he said. ‘And what bothers you should bother me as well. Don’t forget, it was murder that brought us back together. I can take it, you know. Probably better than you can, actually.’
‘I know,’ she said, and did her best to summarise events of the past week, concluding by saying, ‘The trouble is, Ben and Bonnie are convinced that Anita did it, and I’m convinced she didn’t.’
