The Tapestry Bag: A gripping mystery, full of twists and turns (A Janie Juke mystery Book 1)

by Isabella Muir

  ‘Scary thought.’

  ‘Why scary?’

  ‘I don’t even know what I want to do with my life.’

  ‘All in good time, for now enjoy each day, especially today.’

  ‘I might not be home by 11pm.’

  ‘I’m expecting nothing less, in fact I’ll be listening out about 2.30am for you falling up the stairs.’

  ‘I’ll take my shoes off and try not to wake you.’

  ‘I won’t be asleep.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Ditto. Now off you go and have a wild time. Is that what they say, nowadays?’

  ‘Probably not, but I get your drift.’

  A few of my friends surprised me by telling the DJ it was my birthday and requesting my favourite record. We danced to one Beatles track after another. I want to hold your hand, She loves you and every other song he played and I barely had time to drink the vodka and orange I’d proudly bought.

  Greg was standing with a girl, over to the side of the dance floor. If I had to describe my ideal bloke, Greg was it. Slightly taller than me, sandy coloured hair that fell casually across his forehead and just long enough to catch the collar of his shirt. There was a quiet confidence about him. I’d glanced his way a couple of times, but then tried not to, because he was clearly taken. So, when the slow dances came on at the end of the evening and he walked towards me, I wished I’d been faster at disappearing into the toilets.

  ‘Do you want to dance?’ he said.

  ‘Um, won’t your girlfriend mind?’ I nodded my head in the direction of the girl, who oddly was now dancing with someone else.

  ‘No, she’s not my girlfriend, she’s my sister.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So, do you want to dance?’

  My mouth was dry and it seemed that my voice had completely disappeared. So I nodded and he took my hand. He led me to the dance floor and while Cilla’s Anyone who had a heart was playing in the background we discovered we both loved dogs, dancing and music. The last record played, the lights came up and I noticed his eyes were the deepest colour of chocolate. I was smitten.

  ‘Can I walk you home?’ he asked, as I went off to the cloakroom to get my jacket.

  ‘What about your sister?’

  ‘Becca’s okay, she’s teamed up with Paul, he’s a mate, so I trust him to see her home safely.’

  ‘It’s quite a walk, I could grab a taxi?’

  ‘Save your money. Anyway, I like walking.’

  And that was that. I introduced him to dad a couple of weeks later and some of my happiest times were listening to the two of them chatting together. Dad had been a keen Brighton football fan since he was a lad and now, although he couldn’t watch the game, he kept up with their progress every week. Greg went to most of the home matches and would come round the house afterwards and give dad a kick by kick account of the whole game.

  On our six-month anniversary Greg proposed and I thought he was joking.

  ‘I’m not old enough to get married,’ I told him, attempting to hide my joy and failing miserably.

  ‘Okay if I ask you again then?’

  I didn’t need to answer. The kiss, which must have lasted at least two minutes, would have told him all he needed to know. He asked me twice more, once on my nineteenth birthday and finally on my twentieth I couldn’t wait any longer. Each time he asked me he’d approached my dad first, which was funny and old-fashioned, but lovely too. Apparently, dad did his usual teasing and reassured Greg he’d be delighted to get rid of me, but I could tell he was thrilled with the thought of a son-in-law, who would always be more like a son.

  We went back to Aquarius to celebrate our engagement and had the spotlight on us, as we danced to The Supremes telling us You can’t hurry love.

  Since Zara had moved in dancing had taken a back seat. She was in a dark place and the thought of me dressing up in my favourite mini skirt, with newly lacquered nails, seemed cruel and unfeeling.

  But when Greg came home from work on Friday, I told him I had an idea.

  ‘Why don’t we go dancing tomorrow night? We haven’t been for ages and it’s time we brushed up our moves while I’m still able,’ I said.

  ‘You sure? You’ll be okay?’

  ‘I’m just pregnant, not ill.’

  ‘If you think it’ll be alright,’ he said, laying a hand on my stomach.

  ‘I’ve been reading about our new little person. Right about now it looks exactly like a kidney bean. Who would have thought it? How can a little bean be giving me so much trouble already? Turned me off tea, given me hiccups, stopped me from enjoying my lie-in at weekends. You, little bean, have a lot to answer for,’ I said and poked my stomach.

  ‘Don’t do that, it’ll hear you.’

  ‘I don’t think it will have ears yet.’

  ‘Well, it will definitely feel you, prodding it like that. Besides I don’t like calling our child an ‘it’. It doesn’t sound right.’

  ‘Our little bean then, that’s what we’ll call it, okay? Sorry little Bean, I won’t poke you again. In return, give me a break in the morning and let me lie in?’

  ‘I’ve missed this,’ he said, taking my hand and swinging me around. Aquarius was the perfect place to twist and shout. The atmosphere was buzzing and the music loud enough to blast away my worries, at least for a few hours.

  ‘Me too, and you’re still the best dancer on the dance floor.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Mrs Juke. You’re not bad yourself, especially for a mum to be.’

  We danced and laughed and relaxed, but as midnight approached I felt weary.

  ‘Not quite the party girl I used to be.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you’re not a teenager anymore either.’

  ‘Will you still love me when I’m old, wrinkled and grumbly?’

  ‘You might be grumbly before you’re old.’

  ‘Charming, what happened to my chivalrous husband?’

  ‘He’s gone to the toilet.’

  ‘Seriously though, will you?’

  ‘What’s got into you? Of course, why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Do you reckon Zara and Joel would have married eventually?’

  ‘Weren’t we supposed to be having a Zara-free night?’

  ‘It’s hard not to think about her, Greg, I wish I understood why she left. I just want to know she’s okay.’

  We sat for a while and people watched.

  ‘See if you can guess who’ll end up together, let’s matchmake,’ I said.

  ‘Pretty, blonde-haired girl by the bar, the one with the long legs and the lad with the Beatles haircut. He’s been watching her all night.’

  ‘Sounds like you might have noticed her too, Mr Juke, and you a married man.’

  ‘You asked me to guess. Anyway, me appreciating beauty is a compliment to you, means I’ve got excellent taste.’

  ‘You got out of that one nicely.’

  Our conversation was interrupted by a tall lad who approached our table.

  ‘Hello, you’re Zara’s friend, aren’t you? Janie, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hi, sorry, I don’t think we’ve met?’ I asked him.

  ‘Owen Mowbray,’ he said, leaning over our table.

  ‘This is my husband Greg,’ I said, nodding towards Greg. ‘So, you know Zara?’

  ‘Yes, but I haven’t seen her for ages, how’s she doing?’

  Greg and I looked at each other, before Greg replied, ‘Not sure to be honest, we haven’t seen her for a while ourselves.’

  ‘Do you mind my asking how you know her?’ I said. ‘To tell you the truth we’re worried about her, so anything you can tell us might help.’

  ‘I met her on a protest march. It was a couple of years ago. We kept in touch for a while but then I moved away and I’m just back visiting my parents. I was thinking it would be fun to look her up, but you say she’s not around at the moment?’

  ‘Take a seat, it’s a long story.’

  We explained about Joel’s accident and Zara
’s disappearance, skirting over the detail. He listened and said little.

  ‘Do you think she’s okay?’ he said, when I’d finished speaking. ‘Maybe she’s gone away to get herself together?’

  ‘We don’t know, but yes, probably something like that. By the way, how did you know I’m Zara’s friend, how did you know my name?’

  ‘She showed me a photo of you both, when we were on the march. I’m good with faces and names, plus the headband you’re wearing, it caught my eye. You were wearing one in the photo.’

  I didn’t respond as I was trying to recall the photo, but then he said, ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you.’ And with that he shook Greg’s hand and walked off.

  ‘Well, that was weird,’ I said, as we went to the cloakroom to pick up our coats.

  ‘Why weird?’

  ‘I don’t know, it’s strange he should turn up like that. How come Zara never mentioned him if they were such great friends?’

  ‘You read too many crime novels, they feed your already over-active imagination. Come on, home for you and young Bean.’

  Greg was asleep before I’d even got undressed, leaving me to toss and turn and try to work out why I felt disconcerted about Owen Mowbray.

  Chapter 8

  ‘You are annoyed, is it not so?’ he asked anxiously, as we walked through the park.

  ‘Not at all,’ I said coldly.

  The Mysterious Affair at Styles - Agatha Christie

  The next morning Greg was up before me. I could tell he was upset about something from the way he was throwing himself around the kitchen, slamming the kettle down on the gas and banging the cutlery drawer shut.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked him.

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Too late last night? Didn’t you sleep well?’

  ‘It’s not that, I’m just worried.’

  ‘About what? Is it work?’

  ‘No, it’s you if you want to know.’

  ‘What have I done? I thought we had a fun time, we should do it again, not leave it so long next time.’

  I took my drink upstairs and got dressed, but when I returned to the kitchen Greg was still looking annoyed.

  ‘What is it about her?’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who do you think? Zara.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Why do you feel so responsible?’

  ‘She’s our friend, isn’t she? Where’s all this come from? It was only when that Owen fellow turned up last night that we even mentioned her.’

  ‘The way I see it, you knew her at school, but not that well. Then you didn’t see her for ages and suddenly she’s living with us. We did all we could for her at a bad time in her life and then she decided to strike out on her own. It’s a good thing, isn’t it? Perhaps she just felt strong enough to start again.’

  ‘How do you know she’s started again? She could be lying dead somewhere.’

  ‘Being positive then, are we?’

  ‘Why are you being so horrible? Why shouldn’t I care?’

  ‘Do you think she’d do the same for you, if you went missing?’

  ‘Yes, I do, actually.’

  ‘All I’m saying is you’re too involved. We’re too involved.’

  ‘I’m going out,’ I said and didn’t wait for his reply.

  Greg’s words made me uncomfortable and I didn’t know if it was because he was right or wrong. I wondered how much angrier he’d be if he discovered just how involved I planned to be. I hadn’t intended to go out, so now I needed to give myself a destination. Dad would always be pleased to see me, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk or listen, I just wanted to walk and think.

  There were puddles everywhere and I felt like jumping up and down in them, as I did when I was little. I’d delight in making as big a splash as possible, even when I wasn’t wearing wellies. Aunt Jessica rarely reprimanded me; I’m certain she would have liked to do exactly the same thing. Now I’m all grown up I can guess how she felt.

  I walked down through the town towards Fortune Park. It was a long walk, but just what I needed to clear my head. The first part of the park was always busy at the weekend with young families and dog walkers. I chose a bench over to one side of the play area and watched as the children ran between the slide, swings and roundabout. At one point two little boys jostled together in their rush to grab one of the swings when a dainty, pig-tailed girl hopped off it.

  Greg and I had never talked about whether we wanted a boy or a girl. I don’t think either of us were bothered, although I could imagine Greg enjoying the banter with a son. Off they’d go to football, or have a kick about in the garden. If Bean turned out to be a girl would she be as close to Greg as I am to my dad? A wave of sadness hit me as I got to thinking that dad would never see my child’s face. It would be another milestone we would bluster our way through.

  My wedding day was the last significant event where dad and I both did a good job of pretending. I described every last detail of my wedding dress to him before he took my arm to walk me down the aisle. I don’t know if it was harder for him or for me. He missed the sight of his only daughter being wed and I felt sad that I couldn’t enjoy his expression of pride to see me all grown up.

  Mum came to the wedding, but stood rigid in the front row, clearly embarrassed at the reality of me guiding dad towards the altar, when it should have been the other way round. Her false laugh tinkled constantly during the reception, as she made sure she mingled, carefully avoiding any meaningful discussions. Then, when I took dad out on to the dance floor half-way through the evening, it was more than she could bear and I watched her disappear into the toilets.

  Later, before Greg and I left for our wedding night I waited for her to say something to me. I hoped for the words of wisdom I always imagined a mother would offer her daughter on her special day. Instead, all she managed was to squeeze my hand and say, ‘Be happy’, as though she was doubtful I would be.

  We’d saved every penny we could and, with dad’s help, we were able to put a deposit down on a little terraced house. We kept the wedding as low key as possible and rather than any grand honeymoon, we had two nights away in a country house hotel. When we got back mum had already departed, returning to wherever it was she had made her life.

  So, there was me and dad and Greg and that had been perfect. But when Zara came back into my life I loved having the special girl-time we had together. Since leaving school I’d kept in touch with a few of the girls, but I didn’t have much in common with any of them. It was different with Zara, she brought out a side of me I didn’t know was there. Until my friendship with Zara, I did my best to be a helpful daughter and a loving wife, but she made me feel that being Janie Juke was just as important.

  ‘I was thinking about Owen,’ I said.

  Our arguments never lasted long and by the time I got home we were both ready to kiss and make up.

  ‘Is there something you want to tell me? Got your eye on him, have you?’

  ‘Seriously, I was mulling over what he’d said, about how he recognised me.’

  ‘Yeah, from a photo Zara showed him.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s weird though? The only photos Zara would have had were from our schooldays.’

  ‘You haven’t changed much. Possibly not so many teenage pimples.’

  I went to poke him in the ribs, but he stood back just in time.

  ‘Well, it’s quite a stretch, isn’t it? He’s seen a photo of a sixteen-year-old me and then he recognises me in a dimly lit nightclub?’ I said.

  ‘Stranger things have happened.’

  ‘Maybe he’s lying.’

  ‘Why would he lie?’

  ‘It could be that he’s seen her more recently?’

  ‘Enough now, otherwise we’ll be arguing again and I’m fed up with the subject. Accept what he’s told you and forget about it.’

  ‘Sorry, you’re probably right.’

  But I wasn’t going to forget about it. I needed t
o know for sure and wondered how I could arrange to bump into Owen Mowbray. I knew nothing about him, except that his parents lived locally and he was back to visit them. The chances were he had already returned to wherever he’d come from.

  ‘There’s a job going at the builders up Wiley Avenue,’ Greg announced, as we sat down to supper on Monday night.

  ‘You’ve got a job.’

  ‘I know, but that’s all it is. If I join the building trade I’ll be able to learn.’

  ‘Learn what?’

  ‘I don’t know, bricklaying or plumbing.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘The money won’t be much to begin with, but I’ll hardly be giving up a career. Once I’ve learned the trade I’ll be on a better wage and we can finally start paying your dad back.’

  ‘He won’t expect you to.’

  ‘I know, but he’s done so much for us, the deposit for this place, the car. And I bet he pays you more than the going rate for those two days you work for him.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting I’m not worth every penny, are you? Because you’re in danger of having your dinner tipped over your head if you are.’

  ‘I’m just saying I’d like to learn a trade. With bricklaying I could build us our own house.’

  ‘We’ve got a house.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to support me, be pleased I’m ambitious?’

  ‘Sorry, I’m being mean. Yes, it’s a great idea. You would make a wonderful bricklayer and I’d love you to build us a house. Do you really fancy it then?’

  ‘I’m going up there, just to ask, see what’s on offer. Do you want to come?’

  ‘Count me in, when are you going?’

  ‘First thing tomorrow, builders start early. 7.30 okay with you? Then I can get to work after and I’ll not be missed. If we go in the car I can drop you round your dad’s after if you like?’

  Greg used our car to get to and from work and most of the time I walked to dad’s or to pick up the library van. Occasionally I’d cheat and catch a bus, even though it was only two stops. It meant another five minutes in bed for me and after a restless night even five minutes made a difference.