‘Yes sir, can I help you?’ The counter clerk was civil but dour, suffering the impatience of someone who was at the end of a very long, hard shift.
‘I want to see a senior police officer, please,’ said Stephen, pushing down on the pressure he felt inside him, which was not unlike that of a shaken bottle of champagne.
‘Can you give me some details?’
‘Certainly,’ he replied, his brain preparing to register the impact of his words. ‘I’d like to report a murder.’
Chapter 51
Lew walked into the bedroom with a tray scattered with some of the pink Happy Birthday confetti which he had commissioned from Bonnie. The rest was sprinkled elsewhere in the house and he’d have some serious vacuuming to do later. Also on the tray was a full English breakfast, coffee, juice and a cut rose in a glass on the side. He trilled the ‘Happy Birthday’ chorus before he rested it at her side on the bed.
‘How lovely,’ she grinned, reaching for the orange juice. ‘But I can’t eat it. I’ll be as fat as a pig if I do.’
He leaned over and gave her a kiss full on the mouth. ‘Yes you can. There are no calories on your birthday. Happy Birthday, darling.’ Then he disappeared into the dressing room and came back out with an armful of presents. ‘A good fortifying breakfast will set you up for the day but you’ll be hungry again by dinner. We’re going out.’
‘Where?’ Charlotte demanded with a sharp intake of excited breath.
‘Surprise,’ said Lew.
‘Firenze?’ She clapped her hands together expectantly and Lew knew then that – sadly – she would probably be disappointed by what he had planned for her. At least initially. He hoped she would be charmed by the fuss that everyone made of her and declare it afterwards to be the best birthday she’d ever had.
‘Just wait and see.’
Charlotte was grinning because she was absolutely certain he had booked Firenze. It was her favourite place and Lew knew that, so he would have made a reservation there, of course he would.
‘Open your presents,’ he said and she tore into them, declaring undying love for the Tiffany earrings which matched the necklace he had bought her for Christmas, the gorgeous shoes, the perfume and some other fripperies, although he was keeping the bag and the purse for later. But, apart from a few nibbles on the toast, she didn’t eat any of her breakfast.
*
Stickalampinit was telling Bonnie all about the holiday he and Sharon Seventeen Stone were going on in four days’ time. They were off to a little place on the Costa Brava for a fortnight, staying in the Hotel Sunshine, their favourite, apparently and it was well situated, being across the road from the beach and next to the police station, so there were no pickpockets about. They were only having bed and breakfast, he explained, because they knew lots of dirt-cheap cafés in the back streets. The hotel had a huge swimming pool with a waterfall and a sunken bar and spa facilities. He sounded like a talking travel brochure. Bonnie envied him so much, flying far away from here on easyJet to a guaranteed good time with someone he loved. His brain would empty of everything but the feeling of sun on his skin, the smell of Hawaiian Tropic and the taste of San Miguel. Bonnie wished she could rip out her brain and throw it as far away as possible, because it felt full of worms that were squirming into chambers she had kept locked for years. She’d always suspected that Stephen had gone against his mother’s wishes to be cremated in case the day ever came when they might have to exhume her. She knew that Stephen would have been into the police station by now. The worms were telling her that he would have relished every second of his visit.
‘We go to a place called Antonio’s. You can get a full fry-up for next to nowt. We love it.’ Stickalampinit dragged her back to the here and now. ‘You should go and get some colour in your cheeks because you look white as a bleeding sheet, Bonnie, lass. You ailing?’ He gave her cheek a light pinch and she gave him her fake smile and told him that she was fine.
‘Right, I’m off. I’m going to pack. It’ll tek me ten minutes, it takes Sharon three days.’
‘You have a lovely time,’ smiled Bonnie. ‘I’ll see you when you get back.’
‘One pair of Sharon’s knickers will take a full case up,’ said Long John from behind her, when Stickalampinit had gone. ‘He’s right about something though, you’re the shade of boiled shite. That dickhead husband of yours causing you hassle?’
Bonnie wasn’t surprised he knew that she wasn’t divorcing on the best of terms. The compost heap of gossip amongst the traders was rich and fertile. How Valerie and Jack’s affair remained undiscovered was nothing short of a miracle.
‘I’m okay, John,’ replied Bonnie. ‘I’ll just be glad when it’s all done and dusted.’
‘Where’s Lew today?’
‘He’s having his Sunday off. It’s his wife’s birthday.’
‘Nothing better than having a good partner,’ said John, polishing a silver lighter with a soft yellow cloth, ‘and nowt worse than having a bad ’un. I’ve had both. I felt like I’d been let out of prison when I got divorced from Satanic Sandra.’
Bonnie smiled, but her mind was troubled. Prison, police . . . the words were haunting her, or maybe preparing her. The worms teemed excitedly in her head. She wished the police would just come and be done with it. She had to let the weight of what happened that night drop soon, because she had carried it with her like Jacob Marley’s chain for too long and it was breaking her.
*
Lew left Charlotte soaking in the Jacuzzi whilst he slipped out to Tesco to buy some bottles of pink champagne, which he thought might be a nice addition to Charlotte’s surprise party. He didn’t tell Charlotte where he was going or why, which all added to the intrigue. Then he was worried that her expectations might be building up to a ridiculous level. She was probably expecting a private jet to take them to Paris for the night.
Who should he bump into down the booze aisle but Gemma, who was studying the label on a bottle of non-alcoholic wine, as he discovered when he perched his chin on her shoulder and scared her half to death.
‘You silly dog,’ she grinned, recovering from the shock.
‘Non-alcoholic wine?’
‘I was just wondering if it tastes as crap as it sounds,’ she replied.
‘What are you doing here anyway?’ Lew asked, thinking how lovely she looked: fresh and healthy and smiley. ‘I thought you’d be slaving over a hot stove. You’ve only got’ – he made an elaborate show of checking his watch – ‘seven hours until we’re at yours.’
‘You have nothing to worry about. Room is decorated, the table is half-set, the cake is made but I dropped the tub of cream getting it out of the fridge, hence I am here to replenish stocks.’
‘On your own?’ asked Lew, twisting around, looking for Jason.
‘Of course. He’s working. As per usual. He was out of the door before I woke up this morning.’ Then she added, as a private thought spoken aloud, ‘. . . which was a shame, really. Oh well.’ She gave herself a little shake. ‘Anyway, how’s the birthday girl? I did text her this morning but I haven’t had a reply.’
‘I don’t even think she’s looked at her phone. She went straight for a bath and that girl can soak for England when she’s in there reading magazines,’ said Lew, rolling his eyes and hoping he sounded convincing. It was rude of Charlotte not to answer, and might make it awkward for tonight. ‘In fact, I’m sure she turned her phone off in case Regina rang,’ he added for good measure. ‘Charlotte has come to her senses at long last and has had quite enough of her. Especially after “Swingergate”.’
‘Don’t blame her,’ said Gemma, with a hoot of laughter. ‘I hope Regina doesn’t scrape the bottom of the friend barrel and try and latch on to me if Charlotte’s given her the brush off.’
‘Tell her to sod right off if she does,’ said Lew, leaning down to give her a see-you-later kiss on the cheek.
‘Don’t you worry, I will. With bells on,’ said Gemma.
Gemma almost l
aughed when she turned the corner into her road and saw, too late to do a crafty backwards manoeuvre, a white Mercedes sports parked outside her house and an all too familiar figure about to get back in it. When Regina spotted her, she bared her porcelain veneers in a dolphin-unfriendly smile and Gemma cursed the unfortunate timing. Only sixty seconds later and she would have missed her.
‘Hello Regina, to what do I owe the pleasure?’ said Gemma, her tone flat but polite.
‘I was in the area and, as I haven’t seen you for ages, I thought I’d call by and say hello.’
Gemma didn’t buy it at all. Regina had never once popped by to visit her humble abode.
‘Oh, really,’ she said, opening up her boot and scooping up the shopping which had spilled out of the carrier bag: a packet of chocolate cake sprinkles, three lemons and some Happy Birthday candles.
‘Someone’s birthday, is it?’ trilled Regina as Gemma slammed the boot shut.
Typical self-obsessed-and-bugger-everyone-else Regina, thought Gemma with an inner huff. She never remembered anyone’s birthday until at least a fortnight after the event. Even when they’d all arranged to go out expressly to celebrate Gemma’s birthday last October, Regina had forgotten to buy a card and a gift.
Presented with an opportunity to cause mischief, ordinarily Gemma would have passed, but she was irked by Regina’s cheek of just turning up unannounced and expecting the red carpet. So, on this occasion, Gemma acted against type and said, ‘Yes. It’s Charlotte’s birthday. Today. She and Lew are coming up for dinner.’ And she let that information sink in.
‘I see,’ said Regina, trying not to let it show that there was more than a possibility of life going on without her. ‘And would there be a spare place for me? Or has everyone dropped me like a hot shit now that I’m not half of a couple?’ She was smiling but it was a horrible one; more like a grimace from a long-dead cadaver.
Tonight was more special than Regina could ever know. The idea that Gemma would even consider allowing her across the threshold was laughable so the answer to that one was easy.
‘No you can’t come tonight, Regina,’ said Gemma. ‘And let me tell you why. You have single-handedly ruined most evenings that I have spent in your company. You have always talked to me as if I am something you are trying to flush away and yet here you are just calling by for the first and only time because everyone else is avoiding you and you presume I am thick enough to believe you actually want my company.’
Regina’s jaw dropped.
‘We have never been friends, Regina. Don’t kid yourself that I even showed up as a blip on your radar.’
And with that Gemma turned her back on Regina and walked up her path.
Chapter 52
Lew was now feeling that his plans for the evening might not have been the wisest. Charlotte was dressed in her new towering birthday shoes, an obviously new and very expensive black dress and wearing more rhinestones than a roomful of guests at a joint Elton John and Liberace convention.
‘You’re not wearing that, are you?’ asked Charlotte, looking at Lew’s open-necked shirt, even if it was a Hugo Boss one.
‘Yes I am,’ said Lew. ‘I’m perfectly dressed for where we are going.’
‘So we aren’t going to Firenze then?’ Charlotte’s bottom lip started its customary curl.
‘No, we aren’t. Just let the surprise unfold, please,’ Lew said. ‘You’ll enjoy it. I promise.’ Oh God, he sent a silent message upwards. Please make her enjoy it.
He shooed her out of the bedroom and down the stairs so that he could leave the Lulu Guinness bag and the purse on the pillow for her to find when they got back home later that evening, along with more sprinkles of Bonnie’s confetti. He made her close her eyes for the length of the taxi journey and only open them when they pulled up outside Gemma and Jason’s house. He watched her face drop when she saw where she was.
‘Please, trust me,’ he said, observing her mouth move over a jumble of silent swearwords. ‘We want you to have the best evening. Gemma’s gone to a lot of trouble.’
Charlotte got out of the car, slapping away his offer of a helping hand. Her jaw was twitching as her teeth clenched, but when Gemma gushed out to greet her, Charlotte forced a smile and let herself be pulled over the threshold into Gemma’s warm and welcoming kitchen. Lew followed with carrier bags full of clanking bottles which he handed over to Jason, making a joke about them being relabelled Lambrusco.
‘Happy Birthday, dear friend,’ said Gemma, holding Charlotte at arm’s length and studying her. ‘We have been bezzies for thirty-one years in September, did you know that?’
‘Really?’ said Charlotte, smiling awkwardly at the OTT greeting.
‘Yep. And I’m not giving you your present yet, you’ll have to wait. What did Lew buy you then? Tell me all.’
‘These shoes, some earrings, perfume, a scarf, a reed diffuser . . .’ Charlotte reeled off.
‘. . . Fondue set, cuddly toy. Bloody hell, it’s like the conveyor belt on the Generation Game,’ Jason guffawed like a man twice his age. ‘Though, obviously I am far too young to remember that first-hand.’
He didn’t look too young though. He was wearing a green-and-yellow Paisley shirt with a pink V-necked jumper over it and red slacks, as if he had dressed either to play golf with a bunch of posh old farts or to present a relaunch of Rainbow.
‘You spoil her, Lew,’ Gemma laughed. ‘You’re totally ruined, Charlotte Harley.’
‘Drink?’ said Jason. ‘Shall I crack the top off some champers or do you want a beer?’
‘Oh please, champers for our guests,’ Gemma said. ‘I’m on the non-alcoholic stuff so I can coordinate all this properly,’ she swept her hand across the busy work surfaces and hob, full of pans and plates. ‘But I can have half a glass because I want to toast my very good friend Charlotte’s birthday.’
Gemma is acting a bit odd, thought Lew, though no one else seemed to notice.
Jason popped a cork and cheered, then poured out four flutes of pink champagne.
‘Let me do the toast,’ begged Gemma. She lifted up her glass. ‘To friends and lovers,’ she said, wearing a smile of such gigantic proportions it almost split her face in half. ‘How fortunate we all are to have each other.’
Chapter 53
Detective Sergeant Bill Henderson had been the lucky man who had interviewed Stephen Brookland the previous night. Mr Brookland had insisted on taking his allegation right to the top but a DS was the highest rank he was going to get on a Saturday night. Even if Johnny Depp had walked in with a hand grenade, Henderson would have been the man drafted in to deal with him. He had listened to Brookland’s story, delivered with relish, taken a formal statement and now he was on his way to interview Mrs Brookland. Even though it was a five-year-old historic case and he doubted somehow that Mrs Brookland was the devil incarnate her husband had inferred, DS Henderson decided to check it out sooner rather than later. With him was Detective Chloe Barrett, who had been uniform for two and a half years and had recently transferred to CID. Barrett could have done far worse – and not much better – than to have as a mentor the well-seasoned Henderson, who thought she’d make a good detective in time. She did, however, in his opinion, tend to see things in black and white and could do with a few lessons in recognising the shades in between.
Henderson got out of the car with his battered blue A4 daybook under his arm which had all his notes from the meeting with Brookland in it. He had a feeling this case was going to fill most of the pages. He noticed the sparkling clean windows of the house on Rainbow Lane when Barrett knocked on the door. The thought came to him that his mother always judged a person’s character by the condition of their front windows and he suspected a little of that must have rubbed off onto him, because he paired those respectable windows with the woman who answered the door. She looked absolutely terrified to find them standing there and he knew instinctively that this woman had never been in trouble with the police in her life before.
‘Mrs Bonita Brookland?’ said Henderson.
‘You’re the police, aren’t you?’ she said, hazel eyes wide and worried. She immediately stood aside. ‘Come in. I’ve been expecting you.’
Chapter 54
The snug dining room was decorated with huge bunches of Happy Birthday balloons, pink heart-shaped balloons and ones with Charlotte’s name on them; there were Happy Birthday banners Blu-tacked to the walls, streamers draped over the arms of the big light – in short, Gemma had done her friend proud. The starter of buttery potted shrimps was divine, though loaded with calories and Lew knew that his figure-conscious wife would probably be living on fresh air for the next couple of days to compensate. The next course was a creamy fillet steak stroganoff, the best Lew had ever tasted. The food was fantastic, the company was great, the atmosphere stress-free. Lew was in seventh heaven. It was soul-refreshing to have a normal evening with normal friends with neither the prospect of any food-flinging nor the A-Z of name-calling on the horizon. Charlotte’s initial faux smile had relaxed into a real one. Even Jason seemed more like his old self now with this smaller group dynamic.
‘Dim the lights, Lew,’ ordered Gemma, disappearing into the kitchen and pulling her husband in there behind her.
‘Uh-oh, I feel a surprise cake coming on,’ chuckled Lew, twisting the knob on the wall. ‘At least I hope I do.’ He squeezed Charlotte’s arm and whispered to her, ‘You okay? I’ll take you to Firenze this week, promise.’
‘I’m good,’ said Charlotte and Lew knew that she meant it.
‘Happy Birthday to you . . .’ sang Jason, walking in and carrying a large pink lit candle like a gaudy choirboy. He pointed behind him at Gemma. ‘She says she’s not sticking it in the cake because it’s too big. Looks like a bloody dildo to me.’
Charlotte and Lew chuckled.
The Queen of Wishful Thinking Page 24
