“That means it had to be someone she knew, doesn’t it?”
“Most likely.”
“Oh good, you’re already here,” a loud voice exclaims, followed by the chatter of several others, and I turn in my seat to see Trudy and Larry approaching the table, followed by the Clapham Senior Ladies Social Circle.
“Sorry it took us so long to get here, we had to wait for Aunt Delores,” Larry says slightly out of breath.
“You had to wait for–” I stop mid-sentence when Larry sets an urn down in the middle of the table.
Chan pauses with his Coke halfway to his mouth and blinks slowly. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Aunt Delores.” Larry pats the lid of the urn with a sad sigh of affection. “We thought she’d like one more afternoon tea with the ladies before we scatter her ashes over the rosebushes.”
Chan shoots me a look and I shrug.
“Uh, that’s… nice,” I manage, eyeing the urn sandwiched between the vase of plastic daisies and the fairy cakes.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, move out of the way, Violet,” Ivy huffs. “I swear you’re slower than a snail.”
“What’s that? You’ve spotted a whale?” Violet yells back. “But we’re nowhere near the sea!”
Ivy rolls her eyes and shoves Phyllis aside in order to plant herself firmly in the seat next to Danny, giving him a coy flutter of her eyelashes.
I watch as Vera settles into the seat beside Chan and retrieves her knitting from a large Sainsbury’s shopping bag. The fat wooden knitting needles start clicking together almost immediately as she continues to add to the giant multicoloured and shapeless lump she’s creating.
“What is that?” Chan whispers to me. “It looks like she’s knitting a full-body condom.” I snort softly into my tea as I raise it to my lips and sip. “Bloody hell, it’s the Trunchbull from Matilda.” Chan’s eyes widen as they land on Birdie, who has taken a seat beside Vera and is trying to avoid being accidentally impaled on her clacking needles. Birdie casts a steely eye in Chan’s direction, whose eyes are fixed grimly on the old woman’s ginormous mole which is sprouting several long wiry hairs.
“Jesus, has she never heard of tweezers,” Chan mutters.
As Phyllis and Maeve take their seats, Trudy nods in approval. “Make yourselves comfortable, ladies. I’ll organise the tea.”
“Where’s the redhead who was with you at the funeral, handsome?” Ivy leans over and purrs.
“She had to return to work,” Danny says politely.
“Her loss.” Ivy winks. “I wouldn’t ever leave my man unattended if he looked like you.”
Danny shakes his head. “We’re not involved like that. Tristan here is my boyfriend.” He reaches for my hand.
“Funny name, isn’t it? Princeton,” Violet shouts across the table at me. “Are you American?”
“Tristan,” I yell, correcting her.
“There’s no need to shout, dear,” Violet huffs.
“The red-haired lady is Detective Hayes’ partner, Detective Wilkes,” Larry says to Ivy. “They’re both running the investigation into Aunt Delores’ murder.”
“Old Bill, eh?” Birdie eyes him suspiciously.
“That’s right,” Danny replies.
Last time we were here, he wanted to fly under the radar to see if he could get a handle on who Delores' friends were and how they interacted, but now I see him studying each of their faces carefully. He seems to have changed his strategy.
“Poor Delores,” Maeve says primly, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s all very sad.”
“It was a blessing if you ask me,” Birdie huffs. “Don’t get me wrong. I liked her, but it’s no kind of life, is it? Being locked inside your mind. It was a mercy killing if you ask me. At least now she’s at rest. No offence, Larry.”
Larry looks at her miserably.
