by Rachel Ward
‘Jesus.’
‘I shouldn’t have told you that. It’s not been made public yet. Don’t say anything to anyone, okay?’
‘No, of course not. That’s . . . that’s horrible.’
He looked down at his tea. ‘Yeah, it’s pretty grim. I have seen terrible stuff, but that was the worst. She didn’t stand a chance.’
A little muscle was twitching beneath his right eye, and now Bea could see how pale he was, how tired. She reached across the table and put both her hands over his.
‘I’m sorry, Tom. You’ve had a tough day. And I spoilt everything, didn’t I?’
‘No. No, not at all. I was being . . . it was all too fast anyway. I’m happy to just sit and talk. Honestly. It’s good to talk to you, Bea.’ He turned his hands palm upwards and they held hands properly.
‘We should go on a date,’ he said. ‘Would you? I mean, would you like to?’
Bea smiled. ‘Yes. That’d be lovely.’
‘A meal out? A drink?’
Bea pictured them both with best bib and tucker on, sitting awkwardly across the table from each other, tumbleweed rolling in between.
‘Okay. Nowhere too posh, though,’ she said.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Nando’s?’
She laughed and his face fell.
‘Too chavvy?’
‘No, not too chavvy for me. I mean, look at me! I was just relieved you didn’t say Maccy D’s.’
‘Or we could . . . nah.’
‘What?’
‘I was going to say, we could get fish and chips and just have a walk. Eat them in the park or down by the river. But, well, that’s a bit naff.’
Bea stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. ‘That’s a bit lovely. Cold, though, at the moment.’
‘How about Bonfire Night? Wrap up warm, watch the fireworks. The display’s on the third this year, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, that’d be great. Can’t wait.’ The clock on the wall behind Tom was showing a quarter to four. Bea tried and failed to stifle a yawn.
‘Okay, I can take a hint,’ Tom said. ‘Time for me to go.’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘I know. I was just teasing.’
He stood up, leaned across the table and kissed her forehead. Then he held her chin between index finger and thumb and gently tipped her face up so that he could kiss her properly. Gently, this time, on the lips, with nothing more. And she could feel herself melting again.
‘Goodnight, Tom,’ she said.
‘Goodnight.’
She let him out of the back door and locked it behind him. She stood for a little while, leaning her back against the door, savouring the moment. The glass panels were cool against her shoulders. It was welcome for a minute or two, but then she shivered.
‘Time for bed,’ she said to herself. She walked to the hall, turning off the kitchen light as she went. She wondered if she’d be able to sleep, whether her senses would calm and her pulse would slow down enough for her to nod off. She put her laptop on the floor, but kept her phone on and near her, just in case there were any messages – not that she was expecting him to text, but, well, you never knew.
She drew the duvet up around her ears and snuggled into the pillow, and this time she could feel herself slipping into drowsiness. She wasn’t thinking about Ginny now. Instead she imagined herself walking hand in hand with Tom in the dark, him putting his arm round her shoulder, making her feel safe. She pictured them walking in step. Dot was irritatingly right – it’d been ages since she’d been on a date.
‘Goodnight, Tom,’ she said in a whisper and drifted into a deep sleep.
10
‘So, we’ve decided that you playing detectives is a bad idea,’ Dot said. ‘Whoever is doing this is obviously a nutter and a really dangerous one at that. What if you find out who it is? What if they know you’re going to identify them?’
She was one side of Bea. Ant was the other. They’d caught up with her on the High Street.
Ant nodded in agreement.
‘I’m not gonna stop,’ Bea said. ‘He needs catching.’
‘That’s what we thought you’d say,’ said Ant. ‘So if you’re gonna to do it, we wanna help you.’
‘What?’
‘We’ll be your sidekicks. We can do stuff.’
‘Both of you?’ She looked from one to the other.
‘Yeah. Then you won’t be on your own doing this. It’ll be safer.’
‘Two heads are better than one,’ said Dot.
‘Two and a half with Ant,’ said Bea and was immediately sorry when she saw his crestfallen face. She reached out and ruffled his hair. ‘I was teasing. Three of us – that’s a proper team.’
‘A crime-fighting posse,’ said Ant, ducking away from her.
‘I’ve never been in a “posse”,’ said Bea.
‘Me neither,’ said Dot. ‘Do we need Stetsons and horses and guns?’
‘What?’ said Ant.
‘Like the Wild West.’
‘What are you talking about? Posse,’ he repeated slowly and loudly like he was talking to someone hard of hearing. ‘A gang, a crew, a massive. Do you know what I’m saying?’
‘Massive?’ said Dot. ‘Are you saying I look big in this coat?’
Bea started laughing, and Ant clapped his hand to his forehead and spun away in mock agony.
‘So, when shall we start?’ said Bea. ‘Lunchtime?’
The atmosphere at Costsave was still muted. It was difficult to ignore the empty locker, the mug on the shelf that wouldn’t get used again.
As Bea logged on at her till, she sighed.
‘I don’t want to be at work, Dot,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want to be at home either.’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’
‘It just seems wrong to be carrying on with everything, like nothing’s happened.’
‘I know. But what can you do? Ginny wouldn’t want everything just to stop.’
Bea checked the change in the drawer of the till. She sprayed cleaner onto her conveyor belt and rubbed some antibacterial hand gel into her hands. She felt something tickling her neck just behind her ear. She put her hand up and turned around, then screamed. A huge foam hand was jabbing at her. Behind it, at the end of a long handle, was Ant.
‘You little bugger!’ Bea yelled at him. ‘Get off me with that thing!’
Dot shrieked with laughter. ‘Of all the people that shouldn’t be let loose with the queue pointer. I thought they’d binned it.’
It was most people’s idea of hell, the least popular job on the shop floor. Neville usually only brought it out of the Stores in the run-up to Christmas, when things were really busy and there was a danger of queue rage. Bea wondered if it was some sort of punishment for Ant but if it was, he was blissfully unaware of it. He spent the morning cruising up and down the line of tills, happily aiming the huge foam finger at the least busy operator.
Halfway through the morning, he scooted past Bea.
‘You enjoying that?’ she asked.
He grinned. ‘I can do this,’ he said. ‘I can actually do it.’ She was reminded of his agony the day before, the embarrassment of trying to deal with a list he couldn’t read. Damn it, she thought, this is his life if we don’t help him. Carrying a big foam finger. He needs to read.
At lunchtime they bought sandwiches and huddled round a coffee table in the far corner of the staffroom. Bea brought out her list of suspects from her pocket, unfolded and smoothed out the paper and handed it to Dot.
‘You’ll have to read it out,’ said Ant.
Bea glanced round the room. Bob-on-Meat was reading The Mirror in one of the armchairs, well within earshot. Dean from Stores was making a cup of tea at the kitchenette.
‘We can’t do this here. Have we got time to go to the coffee shop?’
‘Not really. Maybe if we’re quick.’
They gathered up their things and headed for the door.
‘Ooh, where are you going? Ca
n anyone join in?’ Dean called out, as they were bundling through the door.
‘Just out for a bit,’ Bea said, and disappeared before he could ask any more questions.
In the café just round the corner from the far end of the car park Bea read out the list. She left Ant’s name until last.
‘Well, it wasn’t me. And if you think it was me, I shouldn’t be here, should I?’ He stuck his bottom lip out.
‘I don’t think it was you, Ant.’
‘So cross me off the list. Here.’ Bea had put a biro on the table. Now he slid it towards her.
Bea sighed. ‘I can’t, Ant. Not until I’ve got some evidence. An alibi. A witness who saw you somewhere else when the girls were being attacked.’
Ant looked at Dot and raised his eyebrows. She nodded briefly. Bea felt the glimmering of understanding, but dismissed it quickly. No way. Really, no way.
‘I’ve got one,’ he said. ‘An alibi. A witness.’
He stopped.
‘Good,’ said Bea. She picked up her pen. ‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘So, first things first, where were you after you left Costsave the night Emma was attacked?’
He looked at Dot again. ‘I was with her, wasn’t I?’ The pen dropped out of Bea’s fingers. ‘We were—’
‘Talking,’ Dot cut in. ‘We were talking. All night.’
Ant broke into a grin. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘we were talking.’
Their eyes locked and held each other and Bea suddenly felt like the greenest gooseberry in the fresh fruit and veg aisle.
‘You two,’ she murmured. ‘I just didn’t . . . I never . . . ’
Dot looked at her sideways, bracing herself for Bea’s reaction. ‘I should’ve told you,’ she said. ‘Except there’s nothing to tell really. We’re just friends. Good friends now.’
Bea held up her hands. ‘Listen, nothing to do with me. It’s all good. It’s just . . . I can’t believe I didn’t notice. I mean, I’m meant to be observant. I’m trying to investigate – and I didn’t see what was under my nose.’
‘It’s cool,’ said Ant. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. Like Dot said, we’re just friends, anyway.’
He reached for Dot’s hand under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Bea tried not to stare. ‘Right. Okay,’ she said, pulling herself together. ‘So you walked home together, did you? From Costsave to Bea’s?’
‘Yeah,’ said Ant.
‘No,’ said Dot. ‘Not all the way. You caught up with me on Orchard Avenue. I walked through the town centre on my own.’
‘Yeah. Okay, whatever.’
‘So there was ten minutes or so unaccounted for?’
‘Yeah, but that was before Emma was attacked, wasn’t it? Because she was attacked at about ten thirty, after you’d left work. So I’m in the clear. Right?’ He nudged the pen again.
Dot nodded. ‘He’s right, Bea. Cross him off.’
Bea picked up the pen and put a couple of horizontal lines through Ant’s name. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Good. Great, actually. But how do we rule the others out? We can’t interview them, can we? People will think we’re mad.’
‘We need to do stuff the police can’t do,’ said Ant.
‘Like?’
‘I dunno.’ He rested his head in his hands. They sat in silence for a while, Bea doodling on the corner of the sheet of paper.
Then Ant sat up. ‘What about you?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Bea.
‘You were followed home twice. You’ve seen the guy. You know stuff no one else knows.’
‘It was dark though. I didn’t see much.’
‘You don’t think you did, but there’s probably something in there that you don’t even know is there.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘You might have the clue to finding out who he is.’
‘I’ve been over it a million times in my head.’
‘Tell us again, though, Bea,’ said Dot. ‘Tell us what you saw the first time.’
Bea tried to take herself back to that evening. She remembered looking behind her, but what she saw was indistinct.
‘Just someone following. Getting closer to me. One person, on their own. I can’t remember any detail. Can’t see anything in my head.’
‘Give it a little time,’ said Dot.
Trying harder didn’t make the image any clearer. This was hopeless.
‘There’s nothing there. I can’t—’
‘It’s okay. Don’t get stressy,’ Ant said. ‘Stop trying to see it, what did it feel like? Walking home. Being followed. What were you feeling?’
Bea looked at him. Was he getting some weird sort of kick listening to her? And now, in her mind’s eye, the list of names again. She’d only crossed him out on Dot’s say-so. Was that right, though? Was this part of some sort of sick game?
‘What was it like?’ Ant said again, and suddenly Bea was back there. Her heart was speeding up. The skin on the back of her neck was crawling. Don’t look back. Stay calm. But she had broken into a run, hadn’t she? And looked back when she was in the open, by the side of the Rec. What had she seen? A shadow disappearing back into the alleyway. Was that it? A shadow. The head and body one dark shape.
One dark shape.
‘They were wearing a hoodie,’ she said.
‘Yeah?’ said Ant. His own light grey hoodie which he’d put on over his Costsave uniform, was half-unzipped, the hood down. Bea tried not to seem as if she was looking at it.
‘Yeah. I’m sure. I didn’t really notice it, take it in, but it’s true. I saw him ducking back into the alley, and he was wearing a hoodie.’
‘So that’s gotta rule out some of our suspects, hasn’t it?’ said Ant.
‘Does it?’ said Bea. ‘Doesn’t everyone own one? All the people on our list? Let’s see. I can’t imagine creepy Kevin in one, or Neville. Or Bob.’ She laughed at the thought.
‘He’s got a dressing gown with a hood,’ said Dot quietly.
‘What?’ said Bea.
Ant was looking from one woman to the other and back again, his mouth gaping. ‘His dressing gown?’
‘Oh Jesus, Dot,’ said Bea. ‘You didn’t, did you?’
‘Only the once, after the Christmas party two years ago.’
‘No wonder he’s mooning after you. He’s tasted that sweet honey and wants some more.’
‘Bob?’ Ant managed to close his jaw long enough to splutter. ‘Really? You were boning Bob the Butcher?’
Dot reached for his hand again under the table. He moved it pointedly away.
‘Just once. That’s all,’ she said softly, then to Bea, ‘I’m not going to apologise. And don’t you get all holier than thou, Madam, that was the year you got off with you-know-who.’
Now Ant was looking at Bea.
‘Who?’ he said.
‘None of your business,’ said Bea. ‘It’s got nothing to do with this. Neither, I’m pretty confident, has Bob’s dressing gown. The thing is, most people own a hoodie – or other hooded clothes,’ she said looking at Dot significantly. ‘Not everyone was wearing one the night I was followed.’
‘What about the second night?’ said Ant. ‘When Ginny was . . . did you see much then? Was it the same person?’
‘I didn’t see much at all. I just heard him call my name.’
‘What was his voice like? High-pitched? Low?’
‘I don’t know. Just . . . ordinary. I don’t know. God, this is useless. We’re running out of time, too. We’ve got three minutes to get back to the mother ship.’
‘Oh blimey. Come on,’ said Dot.
They scraped back their chairs and left, scuttling over the car park towards the staff entrance.
During the afternoon, Bea enjoyed watching Ant shepherding customers to the tills. Quite a few of Bea’s regulars ignored his increasingly insistent pointing. Time was one thing they had plenty of and they didn’t mind waiting a bit longer for a chat with Bea. Ant seemed to take their actions
personally, walking up to them and wafting his big foam hand in the opposite direction.
‘It’s all right, love,’ said Norma, as she balanced her wire basket on top of a sturdy tartan bag on wheels, ‘I’ll wait here.’
‘But it’s quicker over there. Till number eight. There’s no queue.’
The finger drooped a little and came perilously close to the top of Norma’s purple rinsed perm.
‘Ant! It’s okay. She’s fine here,’ said Bea. ‘Take your finger over there, please.’
He retreated, tutting to himself and muttering, ‘Can’t help some people.’
Later Julie, with Mason and Tiffany in tow, came to Bea’s till. There were two snail trails running from Mason’s nose; Julie wiped them away with a tissue. In the trolley seat, Tiffany was rubbing her eyes and whining. Bea noticed that the plaster had gone from Julie’s ring finger, but the skin by the ring looked weird. She tried not to make it too obvious that she was looking, just sneaking a glance now and then as Julie reached into the trolley and loaded the shopping onto the conveyor belt. There was a layer of almost clear stuff between the ring and her skin, and the surrounding skin was being pulled every time her finger moved. It was almost like the ring was attached. Like it was glued on.
Bea beeped the shopping through and started putting it into bags. Mason stood with his hands over the metal edge of the table, watching her. The snail trails had seeped back down Mason’s top lip. Without really thinking, Bea fished a tissue out of the packet under her till, reached forward and wiped his nose.
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have to do that! I’m sorry,’ Julie said, darting back from the far end of the belt.
‘It’s okay. It’s that time of year, isn’t it? Coughs and colds.’
‘It’s just one thing after another with these two. You don’t want to catch it, though, do you? His cold.’ She peeled Mason’s hands away from the edge.
‘It’s okay. I reckon I’m pretty immune to most things that pass through here.’
Julie looked distressed to the edge of tears.
‘Honestly,’ said Bea. ‘It’s okay.’
She finished processing the shopping and together they packed the last of it. Julie heaved the bags back into her trolley and paid. The photo of Dave was still in her purse. He was wearing an open-necked shirt in this picture. He’d always been wearing a business suit when Bea had seen him. In the store on date night. In the pub after the spinathon. He’d been there, but suited and booted. Definitely not a hoodie.
