Cross Check: The second Posh Hits story Page 3

  Felt a bit awkward in the car with Sid. Once we got in, (and he held the door open for me and saw me safely in, just like royalty) he got in the front and off we went but it was all very Lady Penelope and Parker again, and as he’s my - I mean our - baby’s grandfather I feel a bit weird about the whole situation. Then, when we arrived at the hotel, he checked me in, took my bags up to my room and off he toddled again, saying he’d pick me up at 8.45 in the morning, if that suited me. And I haven’t seen him since. Don’t even know if he’s in this same hotel or if he’s gone home or where he is. It’s all a bit upsetting. And although he’s been lovely to me as always, I feel it’s all my fault.

  Can I continue to ‘employ’ my partner’s parents as my staff? I just don’t know what to do!!!

  Tuesday 1 July – 6.30am

  Had terrible night’s sleep. Looked in the mirror just now and I look absolutely awful. White, with huge circles under my eyes, anxious, strained. Perfect, in fact, for the memorial service of my best pal.

  Don’t suppose the dining-room’s open yet for breakfast at this place. Plus don’t feel like eating, but am desperately thirsty – have been gulping down lukewarm bath water from one of those little plastic tooth-mugs all night. Will probably wet myself during the funeral. The joys of impending motherhood!

  Later – 9.45pm

  Phew! All over. It was all right, after all. I don’t know why I get myself into these flaps, I really don’t. It was actually quite fun.

  It was gratifying to see my bouquets of tasteful pale yellow and white flowers in the shape of ‘Dearest Friend’ along the left hand side of the church hall and on the other side, the family had opted for rather garish roses and freesias in the form of ‘Daughter’, ‘Sis’ etc. No wonder the staff all looked a bit green about the gills – they had been there at least an hour before everyone else and the church wasn’t very big – the scent was almost overpowering!

  I exchanged sad smiles and air kisses with Nadina and Jeremy. He looked quite nice in a charcoal grey suit although I felt the white carnation in the buttonhole of his lapel was a bit of an odd touch for a funeral. Nadina looked totally washed out in the dingiest previously-navy dress I have ever seen, complete with shiny-from-the–iron seams and uneven hemline. Has that woman got no decent clothes whatsoever? And there was Jeremy looking quite nice next to her. Poor chap.

  There were a few other familiar faces there - Cherub and Harrison, and the Mayburys, the Blairs, the Menzies and of course, quite a few family members. I hadn’t really met any of Monica’s family but Nadina introduced them to me, and of course I had heard of them from Monica’s psychotic rants whenever any of them did something to upset her.

  Everyone fussed over me as a tragic young widow and also Monica’s closest friend. It didn’t seem appropriate to announce my pregnancy – felt that might raise a few eyebrows, esp as I was driven to the service by Sid, not Matt who is high on the gorgeousness scale no matter what one’s economic background, so I had no eligible man in tow.

  A simple but affecting service. The minister glossed over the whole falling down drunkenness and psychotic crazies with the expedient use of the phrase “troubled times” and pointed out that now at least she was at peace. What it lacked in originality it more than made up for in brevity. A few of us snuffled delicately into lacy hankies and finally we rounded it all off to the squeaky strains of ‘All things Bright and Beautiful’. Honestly! How was that even slightly appropriate? And no one can manage that pitch. Surely the funeral director could have dug out something a little more tasteful. ‘Abide With Me’ or something equally sombre. Basically it was an off-the-rack funeral without any coffin. Or taste.

  Her parents are taking care of the ash-scattering next week, after the actual funeral, back in Lancashire. Felt teeny bit bad when I saw how upset they all were. But too late now!

  Later there was a buffet lunch at a nearby hotel and I found myself standing next to the sandwiches with a large, badly-dressed woman of about fifty. She turned out to be Monica’s housekeeper, and she was a bit chatty after half a dozen pale sherries.

  She told me that she was not sleeping due to suffering from guilt. It seems she very crossly cleared out the entire contents of Monica’s fridge at least once a week in the belief that Monica had taken to diluting her fruit-juices etc with vodka. And now her conscience was pricking her with the reminder of her lack of compassion for human frailty.

  “The poor lady, I had no idea, I mean, they can’t help themselves, can they? And I got rid of everything what was helping her cope. It’s a disease, as I told My George. And when I think of all the things what I said about her under me breath. Well, if I could take it all back now I would and that’s a fact. Poor woman. She was sick.”

  “She certainly was.” I agreed.

  So now it all makes sense! It wasn’t my fault I failed to poison her, it was the interference of her wretched housekeeper. What a relief!

  Went home a tired but happy bunny and had a nice hot partridge casserole in front of the telly.

  Wednesday 2 July – 2.30pm

  Okay, so …

  Monica’s dead and gone, and almost buried. Now I can forget about her once and for all and get on with my life. I can start making some serious plans for the other candidates on my little list.

  First things first:

  Need to get rid of Henrietta’s girlfriend’s husband, due to possible croakage at any mo – she is 83 after all.

  Will meet up with Henrietta at the pub tomorrow when Mavis is doing her next organ rehearsal thingy and will try to get more detailed info about where the bastard lives and any other useful tips so I can begin to make the necessary - um – arrangements.

  Next Dirty Desmond. I know he’s still in Nice at the moment, Mother said something about him being there from the beginning of April until the end of September, then he goes on to Mauritius for the winter. All right for some! But that’s a bit too far for me to go, and I don’t want to be noticed travelling through airports and so on, plus if you go to Mauritius your destination is obvious, whereas Nice can be a setting-off point for loads of places, also there are more ways to get to Nice, and one doesn’t need to be staying there to be able to pop over, do the deed, and nip back again. In any case, I could fancy a few days in the south of France or in Italy, haven’t had any decent sun for donkey’s years. Well, two years – last year didn’t go away as obviously had just buried my husband so wasn’t in the mood.

  Then. Though I’m not sure that I shouldn’t take care of this one first. Then, there’s Tracey and her new paramour. Matt’s Ex. Again, no real clue as to where they live, so an afternoon-tea date with Lill is deffo called for – will try and inveigle the info out of her as Matt is not to know anything about this one, obviously, due to me not wanting him to go to prison as an accessory when I need him with me as I push our baby into the world and scream abuse at him for letting me get pregnant in the first place.

  I think the best thing will be to suggest that he brings the little boy here for a few days so that neither of them is around when ‘things’ happen.

  Right then, tea time!

  Same day – later – 10.30pm

  This is what I’ve found out: In the top left drawer in the kitchen, Lill keeps, among other things, her address book.

  When we were having tea I was talking about my plans for a few days theatre-and-museuming in London next week or the week after, and I oh-so-casually said something along the lines of, “I hope Matt won’t be there visiting his little boy? I wouldn’t want to embarrass him by bumping into him with his ex-girlfriend.”

  With not a suspicion in the world, bless her, Lill replied no, she didn’t think he had any plans at the moment. Then I very cleverly said, “anyway, it’s not likely to be in the same part of London, is it, London’s such a big place.’

  Obligingly she got up and went over to the drawer, and took out her little address book, and flicked through the pages until she came to the Fs, and she said, “Oh no,
it’s all right, they’re in Vauxhall, Tracey and this new bloke. I shouldn’t think you’d be going there. It’s not exactly a tourist spot.”

  So now I know where to look for the precise address. After my tea-break with Lill, I feel even more determined to get on with things because she just looked so sad when she was talking about the little chap. She calls him Paddy. Not sure that is something that should be encouraged, but with a name like Patrick you are a bit stuck for acceptable diminutives. Pat is horrid and sounds like an old bag-lady, or some over-weight chap of about 60 with tattoos, and driving a van. And Patrick is too much. And Ricky doesn’t really work for me either. What on earth could possess Matt to choose a name like Patrick? It’s not as if Matt’s Irish.

  Clearly I won’t be able to leave the choice of names for the new baby in his hands. But if I select something a bit more appropriate, I hope he won’t give me an argument over it. Patrick indeed. He’d probably choose something working class and awful like Les or Bill for our new baby. Or if it’s a girl (which I think it is, or rather, I hope it is!) it’ll probably be Madge or Sharon. God! The very thought of it!

  I hope they will be able to tell me when I have my scan if it’s a boy or girl, as I need to get to work on names, and other things.

  Note to self:

  Must remember to tell Matt about the scan and make sure he’s available for it. It will be nice to have him there to hold my hand and say all the right things. And it will be even nicer not to look like a total knocked-up loser. Plus I suppose I should remember it’s important for him too, as it’s partly his fault baby.

  Later still – 12.45am

  Wandered down to the kitchen for a cup of chamomile tea and may have quickly made a note of the address of Tracey Foxman (and Mick). They were the only ‘Fs’ in the book, and it’s a Vauxhall, London address, so it had to be them.

  Now I have all I need to begin making plans for their swift removal.

  Oh Goody!

  Thursday 3 July – 5.15pm

  Got up late due to mucking about in the middle of the night with Lill’s address book and spending half the night making plans. And thinking. A lot. Mainly about Thomas. I know I told Jess that I wasn’t planning on going up to them in August the way we always have but now I’ve changed my mind. I need to – well, I know I can’t see him as there’s not a grave as such, just a little plaque-on-a-stick in the ground on the edge of Jess and Murdo’s garden, where we scattered his ashes. But I need to ‘see’ Thomas. I need to go there and speak to him, I need to tell him about Matt. (In case he doesn’t know, wherever he is now, somewhere out there in the ether.) I need to say I still love him but I’m moving on (horrid cliché, it sounds so callous, so selfish, but I am, aren’t I? Moving on I mean, not selfish) because I’ve met Matt, because of the baby. But as a result of sitting up half the night with all this stuff going round in my head I feel perfectly foul today – tired, cranky, headachey and sick.

  Couldn’t face anything to eat when I did finally get up, so moped about the house until it was time to go out to meet Henrietta, but gulped down about fifty glasses of water and two glasses of apple juice. Had to keep reassuring Lill that I was all right and I didn’t need her to call the vet doctor. Then immediately had to dash off to yak up the water and apple juice – only just made it to the downstairs cloakroom. Felt disgusting and looked even worse. Now have tiny red dots all round my eyes from straining to be sick when hadn’t actually eaten anything. Apart from the red dots, my face was ridiculously pale and I decided that even make up would not help. I looked (and still look) like something from the Night of the Living Dead. Only better dressed. Which is of small consolation at this point.

  So decided I would go and meet Henrietta for a brunch in the pub and to find out what I could about Mavis’ husband. I deffo needed the fresh air and a little walk even though I was a bit wobbly on the old pins. Sid and Lill tried to persuade me to go back to bed. So had to promise I would have a nap when I got back (which I did, and it felt very sinful!). I know they think I went to the boozer to get tanked. But everyone knows you can’t drink when you’re pregnant.

  No sign of Matt all day – again! I never seem to see him. What is he doing? Where does he go? Surely he’s not visiting his son? I’m sure Lill would have said so if he was.

  Anyway. The little walk was nice. Birds singing, sky blue-ish. Flowers. Trees. Pleasant. Met Henrietta at the Tripe and Clackett – she didn’t seem surprised to see me. Was suddenly voraciously hungry so ordered the giant Yorkshire pudding with beef stew in the middle and a side order of chips. Wolfed down the lot in five minutes flat and felt marvellous afterwards – suddenly everything in my life not so shit after all!

  I beamed at Henrietta and asked how things were. She seemed upset and distracted. I felt mean for not noticing sooner. I got the impression she needed to talk, to off-load. But obviously we had to build up to that, one doesn’t just plunge straight in with people one is still getting to know, so I started asking a few careful questions and she didn’t seem to mind too much and began to open up and talk a bit more freely. Think I now have everything I need to be able to track down Mr Mavis, or Simon Meesham as I now know his real name is. Now I can plan his future. His short, short future.

  But at the end of our conversation we said goodbye and went our separate ways, with me still feeling as though Henrietta had not quite shared everything that was on her mind apart from the obvious. Am a bit worried about the poor old girl. Hope she’s not going doolally or anything.

  Monday 7 July – 11.45pm

  Huff. Can’t sleep. For the third night in a row. I’ve been in bed for well over an hour and am more awake now than I was when I came up. Have tried reading. Can’t be bothered. Nothing grabs me. Terrible urge for hot chocolate and marshmallows and spray cream, but Lill wouldn’t countenance such a thing in the house. Not to mention that I will be a size 4 before I’ve even reached three months pregnant. I might have to get a few giant size 6 tent-dresses in, just in case.

  All my little schemes keep whirling round and round in my head and I just don’t know where I am. I know I’ve got to do something – and I don’t know why - it’s never been a problem before – but now it’s all just going round and round in my head and I feel – scared.

  It’s ridiculous. I mean, I know what I’ve got to do. I’ve made notes. And I’ve checked out all the relevant locations on the fabulous Gongle Maps, so many times I actually know my round all the streets and avenues - yes even around the place where Desmond is staying just outside Nice! (Looks quite a lovely spot, actually, and I had hours of fun dragging the little man from the compass onto the map and into the road and walking around on the wrong side of the road, getting to know the area) But now, I am consumed with fear. I don’t seem to be able to make myself get on and take the next step. It’s like I’m frozen.

  So I’ve got up (again!) and trundled downstairs in my pyjamas and I’m sitting in the little den all snuggled up under a blanket, surrounded on all sides by cats, with a cup of tea and a not-really-hitting-the-spot pile of chocolate digestives.

  These are the gigantic PJs I bought when I wanted to stop Matt looking at me, a couple of months ago, and now I’ve just realised doubly how like a five-year-old I look. I really have to get something a bit sexier and sleeker and elegant for entertaining him once I let him in my room again.

  I might wait until after the baby to go lingerie shopping, but it will be exciting! It’s been forever since I bought anything silky and pretty.

  Later - 2.15am

  Am now in bed again. I broke off due to sudden and unexpected materialisation of that rarely-seen and elusive mythical creature, Matthew Hopkins esq, in daft, snuggly mood. We sat and chatted about absolutely nothing and he nicked half my biscuits and drank half my tea. It’s as if we were already married! Very warm and cosy. Promise of future bliss.

  Anyway, like Henrietta, he was giving off weird vibes like he wanted to talk, but just like her he too never actually said anythi
ng. Very irritating! I did do something positive though – I persuaded him to bring his little boy down to stay for a weekend “very soon”. He seemed both surprised and relieved when I suggested it. And he dropped a kiss on my cheek, and mumbled “thank you” so softly I wondered afterwards if I could have imagined it, then he left and went up to bed – his bed obviously, not mine.

  So at least on that front, I’ve started the ball rolling. Perhaps I should sort out little Patrick’s situation before I tackle the others’ after all. Will wait and see what happens.

  Tuesday 8 July – 11.45am

  Another hideously late start. I told Lill I couldn’t sleep again. She asked me if I’ve got anything on my mind. I just smiled and said I couldn’t think of anything.

  Not that she was really paying attention, because she seemed very excited. It turned out Matt hasn’t let the grass grow under his feet – apparently he’s already told Lill and Sid that he’ll be picking Patrick (Paddy! Must try to remember!) up on Thursday evening to bring him here and then taking him back on Monday morning. So technically, that’s a bit more than a weekend, but I really don’t mind. After all, it’s not as though Paddy will be going back again. Ever. Although it’s all happening a bit sooner than I’d expected. I suggested I should go up to collect Paddy with Matt, but Sid dropped his paper and said,

  “Our Matt won’t like that.”

  Strange, I thought. Pourquoi, I thought.

  “Why?” I asked. Sid did an unhelpful shrug. He exchanged a look with Lill. She slid into a seat next to me, wringing her dishtowel with earnest fingers.

  “They’re not very nice people.” She said. Nothing I didn’t know already. Surely that was the whole point? I simply nodded.