by A J McDine
‘Sorry. I’m a bit on edge. There’s still so much to do. Listen, Chlo. You know last night I left you to lock up? Are you sure you came out of the front door?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Because Pete found my keys in the back door when he arrived this morning. You must have left them there.’
Chloe stared at Kate. ‘No, I didn’t. I left them on the dresser at home, I swear. Anyway, you saw me come out of the front door. You were there waiting for me.’
‘I was texting Lola. I didn’t see.’
‘You don’t believe me.’
Kate paused. ‘Of course I do. But how else do you explain why the keys were in the back door?’
‘Did you ask Grandpa? Maybe he wandered over here with the keys in the middle of the night.’
‘Why on earth would he do that?’
‘I dunno. Looking for you or something. Seriously though, Mum, you need to get him to the doctors. I swear he’s getting Alzheimer’s.’
‘He’s nearly ninety. He’s a bit forgetful, that’s all.’ Kate came to a decision. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’
She strode over to the storeroom with Chloe on her heels. Shutting the door behind them, she retrieved the black sack and pulled out the defaced tablecloth. ‘Take an end,’ she instructed.
Chloe’s eyes widened as she read the message. ‘Bloody hell. Who did that?’
‘Whoever let themselves in with my keys, I guess,’ Kate said.
‘Well, it wasn’t me if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Chloe said. ‘Although it’s true, he is a bloody pervert.’
‘Chloe!’
‘Come on, he’s a grade one sleazebag. In my humble opinion,’ she added. ‘Any one of the girls here could have done it.’
‘But what if he or one of the guests had seen it?’
‘Did they?’
Kate shook her head. ‘No, thank God.’
Chloe shrugged. ‘So what are you worried about? And on the plus side, at least they can spell.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
CHLOE
Chloe didn’t know what all the fuss was about. It was probably just one of the girls playing a prank, and totally justified in her opinion. OK, so Patrick had never actually felt her up, but he’d come close a few times, like that day he’d straightened her tie in the hallway. The memory of him leaning towards her, his minty breath on her face, still made her shudder. She’d seen the way his eyes lingered over her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She’d had a lucky escape. It was only because she made sure she was never alone with him that he hadn’t properly tried it on.
There were so many rumours among the waitresses about him and his wandering hands. One girl had stormed out in tears after he pinched her bum while she was on her own with him in the storeroom, and another had almost reported him to the police after he forced himself on her as they closed up the bar for the night, according to the stories.
Chloe’s mum had given her a funny look. ‘He may be demanding and difficult and downright unpleasant at times, but he’s not a sexual predator, Chlo.’
‘You think those girls were lying?’
‘I’m saying I’ve worked here since I was seventeen. In all those years, I have never once witnessed Patrick behaving inappropriately with anyone, teenage girl or otherwise.’
But her mum always saw the best in people. And in Chloe’s view, that was a weakness, not a strength.
No, there were too many rumours about Patrick for it not to be true. He was a dirty paedophile. And he deserved everything he got.
By half-past ten, the tables had been laid, and Chloe was helping her mum set out the table decorations. Each table was named after a brand of drink: Smirnoff, Baileys, Glenfiddich, Bombay Sapphire, Courvoisier and so on. In the centrepiece of each was a corresponding bottle with a string of LED fairy lights twinkling inside. It looked pretty cool.
Chloe’s mum, usually an oasis of calm in the frenetic few hours leading up to a wedding, was flustered and jittery. Her eyes constantly roamed the room as she checked and rechecked everything.
‘I can’t help thinking I’ve missed something vital,’ she said, picking up a champagne glass from the top table and holding it up to the light to inspect it for smears. ‘Oh my God, is that the helicopter?’
They both cocked their heads to listen as the whirr of rotor blades grew louder. Patrick ushered the staff into the hall and clapped his hands, the sound reverberating off the walls like a gunshot.
‘Before the first of our guests arrive I wanted to remind you how important this wedding is for The Willows. There may only be two hundred guests here today, but we’ll be on show to the rest of the world. So, I want nothing short of perfection. Congratulate our happy couple and remember to smile. Hands behind backs when not holding food and absolute discretion at all times. That means nobody trying to take photos or posting anything on social media at all. Do I make myself clear?’
They all nodded.
‘You’re all professionals. You know what you’re doing. Go and do what you do best. Kate, can I have a quick word?’
Chloe’s mum gave the waiting team a strained smile. ‘Run through in five minutes, OK guys?’
Chloe pulled out the nearest chair and sat down, half-listening to the others as they second-guessed who was on the wedding list.
‘I heard George and Amal are coming,’ Shannon said, her eyes wide.
A haughty girl called Tanisha snorted. ‘In your dreams. Edison’s from Hackney, not Hollywood. We’ll have a room full of wannabe C-listers, if we’re lucky.’
Chloe scanned the room, taking in the hop garlands and fairy lights twisted around the oak beams and the opulent display of claret-red roses and peonies on the top table. Everywhere, polished glasses sparkled in the weak early spring sunshine. The Great Hall had never looked more beautiful. The bride and groom had thought of everything, from the personalised packets of love-in-a-mist seeds on every table to the goody bags stuffed with colouring pads, crayons and sweets for the children.
Her eyes drifted upwards to the bunting behind the top table that she’d hooked up with her mum the night before. It was definitely on the saccharine side of cutesy with its vintage-style hessian flags, white lettering and love hearts. Chloe could already picture the artfully-curated photos on Pippa's Instagram feed.
But something wasn’t right. Caught up in her daydream, it took her a second or two to realise. Then her eyes widened, and she gasped.
Someone had ripped off some of the flags. What was left was a single word, with no mistake about its meaning. Five letters. One ugly word.
Paedo.
Chloe flushed hot, then cold, as she realised the gravity of the situation. In a few moments, the groom would be arriving with his best man and ushers, not to mention the photographer from the magazine. They could walk in at any second. Her eyes darted to the open doors. She couldn’t risk anyone seeing the banner, but she couldn't reach it without a stepladder. She jumped to her feet, not bothering to push her chair back in, and scurried out in search of her mum.
She eventually found her in the kitchen with Pete, going over the list of guests with food allergies.
‘Mum,’ Chloe said.
Her mum held up a hand. ‘Not now, Chloe. I’m busy.’
‘It’s important.’
Her mum sighed, apologised to Pete and ran an agitated hand through her hair. ‘It had better be good.’
Chloe tugged her sleeve. ‘You need to follow me. Now.’
‘I don't have time for games.’
‘This isn’t a game,’ Chloe muttered, dragging her mum out of the kitchen and along the hallway into the banqueting hall. ‘Look at the bunting,’ she hissed.
‘Yes, it’s still there,’ her mum said impatiently.
‘Look at it properly. What does it say?’
‘Pippa and… oh shit. How the hell did I miss that?’
‘I only just noticed it. We need to get it down before they arrive.’
> Her mum closed her eyes for a second. ‘Go and tell the others that Pete’s briefing them on the menu in the prep room today. On your way back grab the stepladder. I’ll tell Patrick there’s a call for him in his office, then I’ll meet you in a couple of minutes.’
Chloe nodded. She ran back into the hall, shepherded the others out towards the prep room and went in search of the stepladder. She arrived back at the hall at the same time as her mum. They worked together in silence, Kate holding the ladder while Chloe climbed to the top rung and reached up to unhook the bunting from the wall.
She wound it up roughly and stuffed it in the front pocket of her apron. ‘What do we do if they ask where it’s gone?’
‘Don’t worry, I'll think of something,’ her mum said. ‘And well done for spotting it. It could have ruined everything.’
‘Who do you think could have done it?’
Her mum shrugged. ‘The same person who spoiled the tablecloth?’
‘But why?’
‘I wish I knew.’
There was a scrape of wood as the door opened inwards and two men in black dress suits sauntered in. Chloe’s eyes popped out on stalks at the sight of Edison Cooper and one of his impossibly-tanned fellow Love Island contestants.
She let out a long breath. ‘In the nick of time. Still, no harm done, eh?’
Her mum rested a hand on her arm. Chloe wasn’t sure whether she was offering reassurance or seeking it. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘No harm done.’
Chapter Forty
KATE
Kate poured herself a large glass of Sauvignon, pulled up a chair and propped her phone against the fruit bowl. The urge to talk to someone other than a monosyllabic teenager, an irascible pensioner or an adoring labrador was overwhelming. She took a slug of wine, picked up the phone and called Adam before she could change her mind.
He answered on the fifth ring with a tetchy, ‘Hello?’
‘Oh, erm, hi, it’s me. Kate.’
‘Is everything all right?’
‘It’s fine. Why?’
‘It’s a quarter to eleven on a Saturday night. Is it Chloe?’
‘Oh shit, is it that late?’ Kate rubbed her forehead. ‘I’m sorry, Adam. I should never have called. Were you asleep?’
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘I’m reading court papers in bed. Very rock n’ roll.’
‘Living the dream,’ Kate said, the tension behind her eyes easing a fraction.
‘Indeed. Have you been at work?’
‘Just got in. We had a celebrity wedding. It’s been a bit full-on. Edison Cooper from Love Island got hitched to Pippa Harrington-Jones. You know, the Instagram queen?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t.’
Kate was silent. Was she being over-sensitive, or was there an edge of disdain to his voice? Maybe she was imagining it. She was tired, that was all. It had been a long day.
‘And did it go well? This celebrity wedding?’
‘It was fine. Look, I’ll leave you to your court papers. Sorry to bother you so late.’
‘Are you working tomorrow?’
‘I’m always working, me. No rest for the wicked.’ Kate tried to inject lightness into her voice, but it just came out a bit whiny. ‘Night, Adam.’
‘Goodnight, Kate. Take care.’
Kate took another long draught of her wine and stared at her phone, feeling a little foolish. All she’d wanted was to talk about her day, but Adam clearly hadn’t been in the mood for a chat. And who could blame him? It was late, and he was far too cultured to want to dissect Edison and Pippa’s big day if he’d even heard of them in the first place.
Rory would know who they were. Kate tapped the FaceTime app on her phone, and within seconds, her brother was grinning at her from the other side of the world.
‘Hello, Katie, how’s it going?’
‘We had Edison Cooper’s wedding today, the guy from Love Island.’
‘Oh my God,’ Rory said. ‘He’s sooo buff. Such a waste he’s into girls.’ He arched an eyebrow and Kate stifled a snort of laughter, her mood instantly lifted. ‘He’s engaged to Pippa Harrington-Jones, isn’t he?’
‘Not any more. They’re Mr and Mrs Triple-Barrelled-Edison-Harrington-Jones now.’
‘God, I bloody love her. Did you know she has almost as many followers on Instagram as Doug the Pug? Why wasn’t I told they were getting married at The Willows?’ he pouted.
‘It was all very hush-hush. If I’d told you I’d have had to kill you.’
‘Fair enough. So, spill. How did it go?’
Kate sipped her wine and described the wedding, from the moment Pippa glided in wearing a Caroline Castigliano wedding dress and faux fur stole to the moment Kate had left with the disco in full swing and things getting decidedly messy.
‘Christ knows what state the place will be in tomorrow, but all in all the day went pretty well, considering how it began.’
‘What do you mean?’
She hadn’t intended to tell him about the graffiti-stained tablecloth or the defiled bunting. The fewer people who knew about it the better. But she had to tell someone otherwise she might burst.
‘Someone broke into The Willows and spray-painted “Patrick Twyman is a dirty paedophile” on the top table.’
Rory’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re kidding me.’
‘I wish I was. And they even cut off some of the letters on the Pippa and Edison bunting, so it just said paedo.’
Rory burst out laughing.
Kate tutted. ‘Not helpful.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, wiping his eyes. ‘But seriously? Who would do a thing like that?’
‘I genuinely have no idea.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Chloe and I managed to clear it all away before they arrived, thank God.’
‘What on earth did Patrick say?’
‘I didn’t tell him.’
Rory frowned. ‘Why?’
‘He had enough on his plate. And you know what he’s like.’
‘I hope you at least reported it to the police? That’s criminal damage.’
‘I know.’ Kate pulled out her ponytail, ran her hands through her hair and re-tied it as tightly as she could, Croydon facelift-style.
‘And what did they say?’
Kate hesitated. ‘I didn’t call them.’
‘What? Why?’
Kate lowered her voice. ‘Because I was worried it might have been Chloe.’
‘What?’
‘She’s convinced Patrick has been coming on to her. I’ve told her he’s harmless, but she thinks I’m protecting him. I know he’s a bit of a flirt and he likes a pretty face, but he’s not a paedophile.’
‘Are you sure, Katie? It doesn’t sound like something Chloe would do.’
‘There's something else. Whoever it was used my keys to get into The Willows.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Exactly,’ Kate said. ‘Chloe was the last to lock up on Friday night. So if I report it to the police, they’re bound to want to talk to her about it, even if she had nothing to do with it. I can’t let that happen. She’s got enough on her plate at the moment.’
Kate found herself telling Rory about Chloe's panic attack. ‘She's really down on herself. I don’t know if it’s because her A-levels are looming or the problems with Ben, but she’s as miserable as sin. She’s even talking about finding Noah.’
‘That’s not like Chloe.’
‘I know. And that’s why I don’t want Patrick or the police finding out what happened.’
‘Could you try to find her dad? You know, on the QT?’
Kate sat back in her chair. ‘I don’t have anything to go on.’
‘You have a name. The world is a lot smaller now than it was nineteen years ago. You could at least give it a shot.’
‘Maybe,’ Kate said, knowing full well she wouldn’t. That would be opening up a whole other can of worms. And what was the point?
Chapter Forty-One
CHLOE
Chloe yawned, closed her textbook and threw another couple of logs on the fire, watching the flames as they hissed and crackled in the grate. She plugged her earphones in and found the Game of Thrones soundtrack. Dragons and battles. Perfect for a pyjama day.
With her mum at work and her grandfather and Max fishing, she had the house to herself. It was a rare luxury and she planned to make the most of the solitude. She would finish her history revision before lunch and spend the afternoon chilling.
She was more relaxed than she’d been for a while. Ben hadn’t texted and since Adam had been in contact with Snapchat, there had been no more photos, and he’d been right, her notoriety at school had been short-lived.
Even so, she pulled her curtains closed every night.
The only niggle was her grandfather. Only that morning he’d pulled on his wellies, frowned, and said, ‘My boots feel strange.’
Chloe had crouched down, running her thumb across his toes as if he was a child in a shoe shop trying on his first pair of lace-ups.
‘That’s because you’ve got them on the wrong feet,’ she’d said. ‘Sit down, and I’ll swap them over.’
He’d sat with a bump, and she’d pulled off first one boot, then the other, sliding them back onto the right feet.
‘That’s the ticket,’ he’d said, standing again. ‘Now, where did I put my coffee?’
Chloe handed him his flask and he’d ruffled her hair. ‘What would I do without you, eh?’ he’d said, before lumbering out, Max by his side.
Was he going senile? According to her mum he was just a bit forgetful, but Chloe wasn’t so sure. She vowed to keep a close eye on him.
It was grey and blustery outside, but it was warm in the snug, and her eyelids were heavy. A quick power nap wouldn’t hurt. She’d once read that it was best to revise before you dropped off to allow your memories to consolidate while you slept. It was probably a load of crap but who cared? She lay on the sofa, pulled her dressing gown over her feet, and slipped a cushion under her head. Ten minutes to recharge the batteries, then she would tackle an old history paper. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and the hiss and crackle of the fire faded as she slipped into unconsciousness.
