by Linda Coles
The tension she’d been feeling ever since the landscaper, Des, had first dug the hole in the garden had been hard to bear. She’d taken that tension out on him in the worst way possible. He certainly hadn’t deserved to die – even though she’d tried to justify it at the time. But what about her feelings of rage and spitefulness before she’d killed him? What was that all about? She had no answer there but the obvious: it had all been part of the change, the menopause. Perhaps she should have got help with chemicals from the doctor, just like Rebecca had urged. Millions of women went through menopause without killing every idiot who crossed them, didn’t they?
The tears kept coming, rolling away off her jaw, and she let them flow until she’d cried enough. Ruth wiped Madeline’s sticky brow and wet cheeks with a tissue of her own. Madeline knew her face would be all red and blotchy.
“I’ll go and get you a cold glass of water. Be right back.” Ruth disappeared inside the kitchen. Through the open window, Madeline heard the cupboard door bang shut and a glass fill from the tap. A moment later Ruth was back.
“I popped my head into the lounge. Dad’s sound asleep.” She sat back down. “This is between you and me, Madeline, okay? Don’t go and be tempted to come clean with him. He doesn’t need to know. You’ll only hurt and worry him, and he doesn’t need either. If you want to discuss it with anyone, you discuss it with me and only me, you understand?”
Madeline nodded, grateful, and took several large gulps of the water. She really wanted to tip the whole glass down the back of her hot neck to cool off.
“I should have known you’d figure it out. You’ve always been so clever. Thank you, Ruth, for not reporting me. You won’t tell Amanda, though, will you? You’ll have to keep it a secret, our secret.”
Ruth shook her head. “I won’t tell her.”
In an odd sort of way Madeline felt relieved, like the proverbial weight had been lifted off her shoulders, one she hadn’t even realised was there.
“Why don’t you start from the beginning, and tell me what’s happened and why,” said Ruth gently, and sat back in her chair.
And so Madeline did. She told her all about trying her best to deal with the anger, the sudden tears, the temperature tantrums and the spitefulness. About the need to win and the fact that it gave her satisfaction, but that at the same time she was concerned about getting caught. James’s death had not been the plan, nor Big Sod’s, nor the landscaper’s. The silly episodes like the diesel in the Blue Stickered Car’s petrol tank, Jordan’s windscreen wiper blades, and the holes in Pink Fluffy Woman’s sticky buns were pure and simply spite, though she wasn’t that person normally. Hell, she’d never been that person until her hormones had started to screw her over.
At the end of Madeline’s confession, which had felt quite cathartic, Ruth was speechless. Madeline wondered if she’d changed her mind, or was even recording the whole conversation. Ruth stared at her blankly, disbelieving, though she had heard it all from the horse’s mouth. Madeline suddenly felt very worried.
“You’ve changed your mind now, haven’t you? Oh hell, no, please Ruth!”
“No, I’ve not changed my mind. Relax, Madeline. I just didn’t realise the enormity of what you’ve been up to and how many people you’ve hurt. This is serious stuff, and we’ve got to get you through this unscathed and keep you out of prison.”
“On that we agree,” Madeline said. Thinking, she added, “There is one good thing to come out of it though.”
Ruth looked at her more closely. “And what’s that?”
“I’m pretty sure I know who the groper is and where he lives.”
“What? How do you know that?”
“Because, a bit like you, I can do puzzles too, and I’ve been putting two and two together. Where I’ve seen him and where the attacks have taken place – they all marry up. He lives next door to the guy with the blue car, the one whose petrol tank I poured diesel into. But I couldn’t say anything.” Madeline looked thoughtful.
“Until now. And like me, you’ve no evidence, and even if you had, you wouldn’t be going to the police with it. So who is it, then?”
“Ironically, it’s the same guy I tried to poison. That’s why the attacks stopped for a while – he was sick and in hospital. Probably put him off his stride for a bit. Who knows – I may have even stopped another attack happening.”
Ruth looked at Madeline as if to say, “You’ve got to be kidding. That justification isn’t going to wash with me.” She looked off, thoughtful, wondering how she could intervene without implicating Madeline or herself. After a time, she nodded over at the Great Orange Machine, which was still sitting on its pile of dirt.
“So what did you do with him then? Where is he?”
“I’m not going to tell you anything about that. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t want you implicated either. The less you know, the less you can get into trouble for. So no. I’m keeping quiet. All you need to know is he won’t be coming back and he’ll never be found. End of story.”
There was nothing to be gained from her telling Ruth any details, and they both knew it. They sat in silence for a while. Finally, Ruth spoke up again.
“And why did you do it?”
“Because the phone company pissed me off with another incorrect bill.”
Ruth looked at her like she’d gone mad – and maybe she had, a little. It did sound a bit extreme when you thought about it.
“You knocked him off because of a phone bill? Have you gone nuts?! What had that got to do with him?” Ruth’s voice rose to a squeak, and her eyes were as wide as saucers.
“Well, that and he tried to put his price up for the pond hole because the ground was so hard and I wasn’t having any of it, cheeky bugger.” Even to Madeline’s ears it sounded a bit over the top now.
Ruth rubbed her hands over her face as if deep in thought, or just disbelief. “Hell, remind me to never piss you off.”
Madeline smiled weakly. “Now you’re being silly. I’d never hurt a hair on your head and you know it. And before you get all worried, I wouldn’t hurt Gordon either.”
Ruth stood up and paced on the small patio area, occasionally looking out to the digger and then back to Madeline again. Dexter was lying on the bucket sunning himself, and despite herself Madeline smiled at the secret only the two of them knew.
“And what’s so funny?” Ruth was definitely not smiling.
“Nothing, actually. I was just smiling at Dexter sunning himself over there, not a care in the world. He kills something, it’s not an issue. I kill something and it is. I’m coming back as a cat when I leave this earth.”
Ruth rolled her eyes again in disbelief. “I’m going to get myself a stiff drink. Want one?”
Hell yes.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Thursday
Since James’s death two weeks before, the little group hadn’t met up as a book club. One reason was that they met fortnightly anyway, but the other was that no one was really sure if they should, and how they should carry on. Added to that, Madeline had been laid up in hospital and then at home after her run-in with a chicken poop truck. Finally, Josh had taken the initiative and sent everyone a text suggesting they all met up at the pub for an informal discussion on where to go next. It was an excellent idea and they’d all agreed.
They met at the Baskerville, the pub Madeline and Rebecca had their lunch get-togethers, and also where James’s funeral tea had been held. It seemed appropriate somehow, as if he with them in a way, though Madeline thought it more likely he was looking down on them – literally and figuratively. And frowning at her.
At any rate, while it was a bit further out than his old house for her, it meant she could have a G&T and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps while they all chatted. Madeline was looking forward to getting out again, which was putting it mildly. There was no way she was staying indoors until her shoulder was healed; she was going stir crazy. Dexter hadn’t been much good on the conversat
ion front, and she was bored to death with reading and television. She was also looking forward to seeing the rest of the group. Lorna had been to see her in hospital, and the others had sent their love via text messages when they’d heard about the crash.
How ironic was that? The woman who killed him almost killed herself on the way to his funeral. It sounds like a plot for a good book.
Madeline was the first to arrive. She wasn’t really supposed to be driving with her arm in a sling, so she had allowed plenty of time to get there, taking things steady. For a change.
“Thank god I’ve got an automatic,” she’d said to Gordon, who had voiced his concern about her driving herself anywhere. “No need to change gears or anything like that, though going around roundabouts is a bit tricky.”
“Gin and tonic please, and a bag of salt and vinegar,” Madeline said to the barman. It was Gabe, the same one who served her and Rebecca each Friday lunchtime, and he recognised Madeline straight away.
“Hello, love. Your friend not with you tonight?” Bloody typical. Rebecca had pulled and she wasn’t even in the same damn room. At least he’d remembered Madeline, though, and for that she was grateful. Apparently she wasn’t completely invisible in Rebecca’s presence.
“No. Gabe, isn’t it?” He looked a little taken aback at the mention of his name, but she knew quite a bit more about him, quite intimate details in fact, from Rebecca’s stories, though she didn’t say so. “She’ll be in with me tomorrow lunchtime if you’re working, so you can carry on flirting and whatnot with her then,” she said with a wink, smiling to show she wasn’t being mean. She just thought it would be fun to see him blush. He didn’t disappoint, going crimson and giving her a nervous smile in return before turning away to fix her drink. A moment later, he handed it across the bar to her.
“That’s four-fifty, please,” he said. She paid him, thanked him and gathered her crisps, putting the little bag inside her sling and leaving her free hand to carry her drink. She chose to sit in the same spot as she did every Friday lunchtime, even though it wasn’t Friday. If those chairs had ears, they’d have been privy to a lot of juicy details over the time she and Rebecca had been meeting.
As she sat waiting, her thoughts drifted off to when Todd had found her with Gabe and how upset she’d been, though it could have been a whole lot worse if it had been Edward who’d found her. She and Edward needed to get their marriage sorted out before much longer, or they’d both find themselves single at an awkward age. Who would want to start dating all over again, hooking up on Tinder in their fifties or sixties? It all sounded too hard and she was glad she had Gordon – comfy, reliable old Gordon. She loved him.
Thinking she should order some sandwiches to share with the others when they arrived, a sort of cheese and cracker replacement, she headed back to the bar to order a mixed platter. No sooner had she put her purse away than the others all arrived en masse.
“Madeline!” exclaimed Lorna. “You made it!”
“Yes. I didn’t crash the car on the way here. I managed it all the way this time,” she said, laughing. “I’m quite a capable driver generally, really I am.”
“I know you are. I’m sorry – I just meant it’s great to see you, that’s all.”
“And I appreciate it.” Madeline gave her a one-armed hug, trying not to crush her damaged shoulder in the process. The others each embraced her individually, though gingerly, and she felt her heart swell with happiness.
“It’s really good to see you all. I’ve really missed human contact this last week or so, and bloody hated it in hospital.” She beamed at them all and they stood, beaming back. “I’ve ordered some sandwiches too.”
“Bravo, Madeline. Great idea,” said Derek in his best schoolteacher voice. Madeline secretly reckoned he would be keen to take over the book club leader role and she wondered when he might get round to suggesting it. Before the night was over, she suspected.
“Let’s go and sit down, shall we?” Annabel steered the group to where Madeline had been sitting, noticing her drink and crisps alone on the table. She pulled up some extra chairs and it was Pam who took the floor first.
“Let’s get started then. If I might, I’d suggest we go round the table and see who is keen to continue and what their thoughts are with regard to venue, day etcetera, and if they have any interest in becoming the chair, I guess, for want of a better word. Would that be okay for everyone?” The group gave a collective nod, not wanting to say anything while Pam had the floor.
“Why don’t you start then, Josh, and we’ll work our way back round to me.” She smiled at Josh, who took the reins with a bit of a splutter at being first cab off the rank. He took a moment before he spoke.
“Yes to carrying on. I don’t see why we shouldn’t, though it’s sad James has gone. Happy for it to stay on the current day fortnightly, and no, I don’t think I want to be considered as chairperson. Not my thing. Wouldn’t mind it being held here, actually, then we can all have a drink and maybe share some sandwiches together.”
As if on cue, a platter of cheese and pickle, ham and mustard, and beef with horseradish arrived. Everyone leant forward and took a soft filled triangle.
“Great idea, actually, Madeline.” Josh nodded his approval and she nodded back.
“I can be useful at times.”
It was Lorna’s turn to speak, and she agreed with Josh’s points, adding that she herself would not want to be chair either. Around the table they went, with both Pam and Derek expressing they would like to be considered for the role. No surprises there, really. Madeline certainly had no interest; she had enough trouble trying to read the books in the first place and it wouldn’t do for the chair to be so slack.
The business concluded, the group turned their attention to the sandwiches, their beverages, and each other. Madeline felt a rush of pleasure at being out in the company of friends again, out of hospital and out of the house. She sipped her drink and thought back to that fateful afternoon with Ruth. Madeline had been hugely relieved to unburden herself to her stepdaughter, and more than relieved that Ruth was going to keep her dreadful secrets. They’d chatted a little more about why she’d done the things she had, her feelings, and how Ruth could help her in the near future. Madeline had agreed to go back to the doctor in the hope she could suggest something a bit more natural than the chemical option she was so keen to hand out, but maybe she’d have no choice in the matter. One thing was for sure, though: it had to stop. She couldn’t carry on being Mad Madeline and doing the things she had been. Spending the rest of her menopause in prison was not an option.
The last beef and horseradish was looking at her longingly, begging her to eat it, so she picked the triangle up and bit into it with gusto. Yes, book club in the pub was going to be a great idea.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
The book club meeting had been most enjoyable. They’d toasted James, and elected Derek to be the new chair for the rest of the year up until they broke for Christmas, Pam would take over in the New Year, which seemed fair. They’d all said “Aye, aye” in agreement, and that was set. At 9 pm they were all done – drinks drunk, sandwiches eaten. The only things remaining on the table were a few ice cubes sat in the bottom of otherwise empty glasses.
“Can I give you a lift back, Lorna, or have you driven over?”
“Thanks, Madeline, but I drove over even though it’s not far. I’ve been taking your advice until this pervert guy is caught. I can’t believe he’s not been found yet. Must be a master of disguise or something.”
“And he keeps attacking by all accounts,” Derek added. “I hope he doesn’t escalate things and really hurt someone. Weird people can sometimes change their MO and escalate their crime to something even nastier. Shocking state of affairs, it really is.”
Another one watching too much CSI, though it’s probably true.
Everyone mumbled in agreement as they gathered their things and headed out to the car park. Feet crunched on gravel, car doors slammed
and last-minute goodbyes could be heard as engines started and the small group dispersed in both directions. Slipping inside her own car, Madeline sat for a moment before starting the engine. There was no doubt in Madeline’s mind who was behind the attacks on women, but again, where was the proof?
She pressed the ignition button and the engine fired into life; the air-conditioner was still on full throttle from her arrival earlier. She turned it off before the blast blew her head off. At 9 pm only a little cool air was all she needed, and she much preferred the natural air from outside, so she wound her window down fully. Her head was full of ‘what-to-do’ scenarios: tell the police what she suspected, against Ruth’s advice, and put her name back on their radar but possibly help save some other poor woman from being attacked? Or be totally selfish and stay quiet in the hope they caught him without her help soon? There had to be another way. Madeline just didn’t know what it was yet.
“Maybe an anonymous tip-off would work?” Another conversation with herself and the windscreen. “Or I could confront him myself?”
She pondered both options for a moment, but decided neither would work: it all came back to the fact that she still had no evidence. What was she going to do – call the police and say, “It’s a man that lives on Sanderson Road,” or actually knock on Grey Man’s door and say, “I know it’s you but I have no proof”? Nope: he would just laugh in her face or, worse, assault her. She decided to leave it for her unconscious computer again; she put the car in gear and headed out, knowing her head would eventually tell her what to do. She gave it until she reached the end of her road to come up with the answer. Until then, she tried to think about something else, although that was easier said than done.
