Cross Check: The second Posh Hits story Page 11

  I was all in favour of us driving up to Nadina’s and beating a confession out of her and Jeremy then and there. But Matt suggested that first we should contact the funeral directors, posing as prospective clients. I smiled at the idea of us being so wowed by Monica’s memorial that we would be keen to use the company for our own undisclosed family bereavement. I wonder if that ever happens in ‘real life’?

  However I had no idea which funeral directors had been used. But I did remember the church.

  We decided we wouldn’t get much help over the phone, client confidentiality and all that, so we thought it would be worth taking a drive out there and if we couldn’t get any immediate help, that a few neatly folded twenties directed into the ubiquitous roof restoration fund would get us the information we needed.

  It was a nice day for a drive, and I was glad to get away from the house and Vera the new cleaning lady who was already turning up her nose at some of Lill’s most fiercely defended cleaning practices. I felt a bit sorry for Sid with the two ladies on the one hand and the two children on the other. I think he might take them out for a while. The children, not the ladies. Either that or he will disappear to a convenient nearby wood-yard.

  We stopped for a coffee and I was immediately struck by the similarity of this visit to the service station to the one last year, in fact almost a year ago bar about a week, when Thomas and I had stopped off on our way to Scotland.

  Matt made me go and find a seat and he brought our drinks over, and I started to tell him about that day when Thomas and I had talked about trying again for a family. I couldn’t help a few tears, and I hoped he wouldn’t mind me going on about Thomas. He didn’t seem to. And like Thomas he had a big snowy handkerchief in his pocket which he handed to me. That is how you know you’ve found a real gentleman, Gals, if he has a real cotton hanky in his pocket for you to blub into.

  And so I told him about the rest of it, the nice time with Jess and Murdo, how daft and absorbed I was in trivialities, how I had been told about the ‘accident’. I told him about Thomas’s body being brought back to the house much later, shrouded under a sheet but with his blood seeping through the fabric. About the hearing, the investigation, about Monica’s text to me. About how Lill and Sid had got me through it all, that and the nightmare that was the next three or four months before I was able to raise my head again and see that there was still a world around me.

  Matt hardly spoke. He didn’t really need to, I know, but I was so touched by the intensity of his listening, by the warmth of his hand, by the knowledge that he loves me as much as Thomas did, and in that same gentle, supportive way that Thomas did. Matt has been so, so patient and amazing. I wanted to ask him right then and there to marry me, but I knew deep down inside I really wanted to do it at the right time, the right place, not just because I was grateful for his love right now, but in a moment that is eternally and uniquely ours.

  So we walked back to the car hand in hand, in silence, happy.

  He found a radio station playing 60s music, and we drove along in the sunshine, windows rolled down, the sun in our eyes, the wind in our hair and the Shirelles asking “Will you still love me tomorrow?” Today will go down as one of my top ten lifetime best days. He really is wonderful.

  The Vicar was not only at home, but surprisingly helpful, without bluff or lies, or at least, only little white ones. He had no contact details for any of Monica’s family. The reason being, he told us, the service had been arranged by one Miss Nadina Cooper. She had told him she needed to arrange a memorial service for a friend who had died at sea a month earlier, and therefore there would be no casket, no burial service. It was just to be an opportunity for the deceased’s friends to give thanks for the departed life.

  “No family members came to scatter ashes?” I asked, to be doubly certain. He shook his head.

  “No indeed. I’m afraid we were just the venue, so to speak, so there were no ashes – from what Miss Cooper indicated, the body was never recovered. That was rather the point of merely having a memorial.”

  “Did you see a copy of the death certificate?” Matt asked.

  The Vicar looked a bit surprised to be asked that. He shook his head. “No. It was supposed to be coming by post this week, but so far, I have had nothing. Which is a bit annoying, if I’m honest. I can let you have Miss Cooper’s address and phone number, if you like, though I probably shouldn’t.”

  As we came back out to the car, my mind was in a whirl. We got in and Matt paused for a moment before starting the engine.

  “So how do we even know she’s dead?”

  I gaped at him.

  “What?” He asked, Mr Innocent looking at me with big eyes.

  “Of course she’s dead, you moron, you pushed her down the stairs.”

  Now he was the one doing the gaping. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You killed her. You told me you had. The day before my birthday, remember?”

  “I think I’d remember doing something like that.” Matt said and started the car. I put my hand on his arm, moving closer to stare into his eyes.

  “You sent me a text saying ‘Criss Cross Cress’ and then you put two kisses.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never texted you in my life. In fact I’ve only just got a new phone a week ago, I lost my old one.”

  I felt sick. I said nothing. As he turned onto the main road he shot a glance at me.

  “Okay?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ve been conned. You didn’t send me that message?”

  “No. I lost my phone weeks ago, I thought I had dropped it in a pub, but now …” He was quiet for a moment, negotiating traffic, then said, “so what are we saying here? She’s not even dead? There was no funeral, it was all a joke?”

  Yes, I thought, that is exactly what we’re saying. I felt cold all over.

  I flicked off the radio and sat back in my seat, closing my eyes.

  “She’s not dead.” I told him. It was all falling into place now. “There was no funeral. Well, yes, there was a bogus memorial service, with a bunch of people I didn’t even know posing as Monica’s family. Presumably actors or friends of Nadina’s who were also in on the whole thing. Therefore I think it’s safe to assume Nadina is in this with Monica. This is Monica’s payback – again! She played me. She must have taken your phone, God alone knows when or how. She sent me that message. I thought it was you, joking, letting me know that you had killed her. And I fell for it like …” I ran out of words. I clutched my stomach and Matt wrenched the car over to the green verge where I leaped out and was as sick as a dog. We drove home in silence. There was no doubt in my mind. I knew it was all true.

  Monica was still alive.

  Wednesday 30 July – 10.15am

  If only it was Thursday and I could go to the pub! Of course, there isn’t anything stopping me going to the pub today, but Henrietta won’t be there and I wanted to ask her advice. But then, I wouldn’t be able to fully confide in her – there is too much I wouldn’t feel able to tell her.

  So I’m sat here twiddling my thumbs in the garden-room – Vera is here again, crashing around upstairs with the vacuum cleaner. No idea why she is so angry. I really don’t think this is going to work out – and yet I thought she and Lill were such great pals? Lill is in the kitchen baking something or other, and Billy is helping her – which means a mess and strange stringy bits of misshapen pastry baked and decorated and presented proudly by a tiny person, and us all pretending it’s lovely and praising the hell out of her. Families!

  And Matt has taken Paddy to playgroup, then he’s got something or other to take care of. He took both children to begin with but Billy didn’t want to stay and so he left Paddy for an hour or so and had to drop Billy back at the house. I bet all those women at the playgroup will be all over him! (Matt I mean, not Paddy, although obviously he’s very cute too!) And Sid is out. Don’t know where – probably nipped out to a special sale at a nail-and-saw shop.

&nbs
p; So here I am. Left alone with my whirling thoughts which I can’t still or quiet. My whirling thoughts that kept me awake and nauseated for most of the night.

  How could I have been so stupid, so perfectly gullible? I fell for the whole thing hook, line and sinker. Never once did I suspect Nadina’s involvement or any kind of conspiracy.

  Nadina must be in on this with Monica. Surely they’ve devised this between them to mess with my head. Am totally obsessed with it now, so clearly their plan is working perfectly!

  At least, I think that’s the most likely scenario. I mean, it is just vaguely possible Monica might genuinely still be dead but Nadina has planned the package and sent it to me for some scary reason of her own, most likely just to upset me. I suppose Monica could have fed her some twisted tale in the past. Because – thinking of the DVDs, maybe Nadina is saying to me, “I know what you did last summer.” It’s a threat. Or maybe this is in preparation for an attempt to blackmail me?

  Or.

  Maybe she killed Monica and … but no, even I’m not convinced by that one. No. Because Monica was not “lost at sea”. That was all a ruse, a lie. There was no death.

  No.

  Now that I’ve thought about this for more than five minutes, I know Monica is still alive. I know it. I feel her. Out there, watching me. Laughing at my pain, enjoying watching me fall for their grand theatre. Waiting for her moment.

  She sent me the text message purportedly from Matt, on his stolen phone. She wants to manipulate us and torture us and amuse herself playing with us and watching us squirm.

  There was a dark moment last night when my brain wasn’t working and the thought just dropped into my mind, suppose Matt is in on this with Monica?

  And I obsessed about that for hours, I must have fallen asleep just after dawn, and I awoke with my arms clutched around my baby.

  When I awoke the sky was blue, the birds were singing and Paddy and Billy were jumping onto the bed full of the joys of another new day surrounded by love, and I looked up to see Matt standing there in the doorway, just coming in to try to shush them and let me sleep. He smiled down at me, our eyes met and I knew then that he would never do such a thing. And he would never allow his child – his children – to be near someone he despised and was seeking to destroy.

  My love is mine. And I am his.

  So glad I finally got that little conundrum cleared up!

  Which brings me back to the beginning again. What am I going to do about Nadina, and about Monica who is presumably still alive and enjoying playing puppet-mistress, though it’s me who is being dangled on a string. I feel so foolish, so stupid, so angry with myself for believing everything I was told.

  Is there anything to be gained from paying Nadina a visit? I’m thinking not, seeing as Monica has clearly poisoned her mind against me in order to get her to co-operate. Nadina is now as deeply mired in this as is Monica

  So her name is going on my list …

  Same day – 3.15pm

  Had to break off earlier due to Vera coming in grumbling that someone wanted me on the phone. She hadn’t bothered to take their name or find out what they wanted. It was (speak of the devil!) Nadina. Had I managed to speak with Monica’s sister yet? She sounded breathless and shrill, like a child with a secret bursting to get out, but I was in no mood to play her games. I didn’t want to let her know what I suspected or that I’d already tried the number she’d given me. I wasn’t ready yet to show my hand, so I just bluffed along.

  “Oh my God! No! Sorry, Darling, I completely forgot all about it! It’s just been so hectic here these last few days. I might try her next week.” I lied, and I could tell that had let down her tyres. She simply said “oh!” in a disappointed way, and couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say. So I invented someone at the door and said a quick goodbye.

  But I was punished for my lie – a few minutes later Vera traipsed in again having reluctantly opened the front door for real – in her wake was Madison. She had popped round on the off-chance that I was available.

  “She’s always bloody available if you ask me.” Vera said as she stomped out of the garden-room having graciously ushered Madison into my presence. I called after Vera, asking her to bring us some tea. She turned to look at me as if she couldn’t believe her ears and for a moment I really thought she was going to tell me what I could go and do to myself. But then she just turned on her heel and walked away. I really don’t think she’s going to last, you know. She’s not very pleasant and even less willing.

  Madison and I wandered out into the garden. I pointed out the newly renovated area, the subject of Sid and Matt’s hard work. She murmured polite praise but seemed distracted. She was miles away, and I had to work very hard to get a dozen words out of her on our way to the garden chairs but finally we made it and sat down. It was nice to be in the shade.

  There seemed no point in trying to make small-talk, so I just waited to see if she would say what was on her mind.

  She did.

  She pleaded with me to end my affair with her husband!

  I’m a bit ashamed to say I laughed. Then I realised she was serious but I spoiled it by saying, in frank disbelief, “what, Sacha?” As if she had another husband – der! At this moment Vera arrived with a pot of tea and two mugs on a tray. She slammed them down, spilling the tea everywhere, then turned to leave, saying over her shoulder,

  “I’m not coming back, no matter ‘ow much you beg me. Treated like a bleedin’ slave, I am.”

  I gaped after her, then turned to Madison, noting that she was oblivious to what had just happened. At the hourly rate I was paying her, Vera was hardly a “bleedin’ slave”. And FYI, I had no intention of begging. Good riddance, I thought, as I surveyed the tray. The teeniest little jug of milk, no sugar, no bickies, nothing. One of the mugs was an old chipped one Lill uses for mixing up cornflour when making gravy for a casserole or something.

  I apologised to Madison for the lack of amenities. She seemed to have recovered herself a bit, although her hand was shaking as she took the (non-chipped) mug from me.

  To make sure she and I were on the same page, I said, “And FYI Madison, I am emphatically not having any kind of a physical relationship slash affair slash anything whatsoever with Sacha – the very idea!”

  After all, I’ve got Matt, not that I said that to Madison. I’m not a total cow. But as the saying goes, when you’ve got pheasant at home you don’t go out looking faggots.

  Fortunately she didn’t notice my shudder of distaste but greeted this declaration with relief and a little sigh, “Oh Cressida, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. But I’m in such a state about him.”

  “Tell me all about it, Poppet.” I said.

  I must stop saying things like that. Tell me all about it. Because unfortunately that is exactly what she proceeded to do. At length. OMG when will my life be normal? I just don’t need all these hassles!

  Thursday 31 July – 2.30pm

  Popped out pretty smartish this morning to meet up with Henrietta – Matt and Lill are having a bit of a heated debate due to Vera not coming in today – it seems she has sent her resignation notice. If you can call it that when someone rings up and says they’d rather have “bleedin’ David Cameron sit on their face than come back to work for a lazy effin’ WAG.”

  “Not if you paid me a nundred pounds a hour!” She said.

  This is wrong on so many levels. I’ve never even met a footballer, let alone dated one. And poor David Cameron, to be vilified this way, after all his hard work for our country.

  And as for offering her more money - that just isn’t going to happen, what I was already paying was bad enough. I don’t know why Matt is so cross about it – it’s not as if it’s Lill’s fault, I mean she met the woman in the post office, had met her a few times actually, liked her, (for some strange reason – not quite sure about this bit, my defence of Lill breaks down somewhat at this point!) knew she was looking for a job and thought it would suit e
veryone. Which on the face of it … So she did her best, poor thing, and now she’s upset because of the poor reflection on her of Vera’s behaviour. She was banging pots and pans about and the children were sitting very close to Matt. Sid was hiding behind his newspaper. I made a general comment to the effect that Vera wasn’t a great loss and would Lill try to find someone else, and then I retreated from the kitchen at speed, ignoring Sid’s attempts to catch my eye as I nipped back into the hall and freedom.

  So there we are. And there I was, sitting at the same old table with my pal Henrietta.

  Things are still a little bit awkward over that comment Mavis made last week or whenever it was. I wish Henrietta would just forget all about it. I tried my best to be witty and relaxed but I suppose it’s going to take a bit of time. She complimented me on my little baby bump and we settled down with our ‘usuals’. She certainly seems happier, anyway, with that horrid weight off her shoulders. So that shows it’s worthwhile pursuing these ‘projects’.

  “Have you ever heard any rumour about Sacha having an affair?” I asked. No point beating about the bush. Henrietta was scornful.

  She leaned forward to clasp her glass between both hands, resting on her elbows, and looked up into my face with a knowing grin.

  “Well of course! He’s notorious for it! Everyone knows!”

  I gaped at her. “What? I don’t! And Madison certainly doesn’t, she thought I was his fancy woman!” I’m good at this old-lady talk. I didn’t think she’d appreciate me saying Ho. If she even knew what that was. Or Bee-atch. She deffo wouldn’t know what that meant. Poor old girl. Old ladies don’t like bad language. Henrietta slammed down her pint of rum, laughing.

  “That’s a good ‘un. Wait till I tell Mavis, she’ll piss herself.”

  Not a nice image. So much for the nice old ladies, I had forgotten with whom I was dealing.

  “Bloody cheek! Why?”

  “The man’s got no class, he’s – slimy.” When she’s right, she’s right. She continued, “no, the vicar’s wife is more his type, mousy, a bit bossy, neat.”