“He was killed,” Trudy adds.
Shit.
How the hell am I supposed to help Delores resolve her unfinished business if Beau’s already dead? Should I take her to his grave? Would that even work?
“They never recovered his body,” Trudy continues.
Double shit.
“They wouldn’t even tell us what happened.” She blinks in my direction, and I don’t think it’s my imagination that her fucking pupils look huge. “Both he and Delores worked in intelligence for their respective countries, but every now and then there would be a joint intelligence-gathering task, that’s how they met. They fell in love and promised to find each other after the war ended, but that never happened. After he was killed, many years after, Delores tried to petition the war office for information, but all they would say is that the plane he was on was shot down over the ocean. They wouldn’t even say which ocean.”
“That’s so sad,” I mutter. “She never knew what happened to him?”
“No.” Trudy shakes her head. “So sad… so very terribly sad.”
“Tristan?” Chan looks around at the other women at the table. “Do they look a bit… stoned?” He sniffs the air. “Can you smell weed?”
“Who peed?” Violet blinks and looks down. “Was it me?”
“God, I hope not.” Chan wrinkles his nose as Kevin scurries over, looking decidedly harried and holding a Tupperware container that’s empty but for a couple of brownie crumbs.
“Oh crap. Please tell me they didn’t eat the brownies.” He looks in horror at the brownie crumbs scattered across their empty plates.
“Well, no need to ask were the smell of weed’s coming from.” Chan blinks rapidly, pressing his fingers delicately to his nose.
“Are you okay?” I ask Chan. “Your eyes are watering.”
“I’ll be fine.” He turns to look at Kevin, one of the community centre’s regular helpers. “Please tell me you didn’t just feed a load of OAPs pot brownies?”
“Not on purpose,” Kevin hisses as he looks around nervously. “My friend gave them to me, and I left them in the kitchen in a bag to take home, but somehow they got mixed up with the cakes from the bakery and put out by mistake. Oh my god, I’m so sorry. If it helps, it’s a really mild strain. They might get the munchies a bit, but they’ll be fine after they sleep it off. I’ll make sure someone keeps an eye on them.”
“Jesus Christ,” Chan snorts. “And I thought this was going to be a boring birthday.”
Kevin hastily shoves the couple of remaining brownies from the cake stand into the box and hurries away.
“Oh! Sorry it took so long.” I look across to see Dusty standing by the table breathing heavily and holding onto Delores for dear life, presumably to stop her wandering off again. “She’s remarkably quick for someone so small. I had to chase her all the way to Hyde bloody Park.” Dusty holds her stomach as if to catch her breath, even though technically she doesn’t breathe.
I want to ask her what on earth they were doing in Hyde Park, miles away from where we were, but I can’t with so many people about.
“I think I need one of those human dog lead things,” Dusty decides.
“What?” I mouth discreetly in her direction.
“You know, those things they put on children to stop them wandering off.” She fists her hand on her cocked hip as she glances down at Dolores. “Honestly, you can’t take your eye off her for a second. Now I know why she had three carers.” She stops and leans in, looking closer at the pack of old ladies.
Vera is no longer furiously clacking away at her knitting and instead seems to be hyperfocused on just trying to wrap the yarn around one needle and hook it into a stitch. Birdie and Maeve are fighting over Chan’s bag of crisps. Trudy is back to staring aimlessly at her hands. Phyllis has upended the sugar bowl onto the table and is sifting through it like she’s looking for buried treasure, and Ivy seems to be taking a nap judging by the snores coming from her brightly painted but lax mouth.
“Holy fucking shit, are they stoned?” Dusty frowns. “I miss all the good stuff,” she laments. “We’re really going to have a long talk about this. I did not sign up for Nanny McPhee when I agreed to be a spirit guide.”
Bollocks, this is not going well. I look up at Delores as she stands at Dusty’s side. How the hell am I supposed to help her resolve her unfinished business? I literally don’t have a clue. Beau’s body is at the bottom of some ocean somewhere, and his spirit, I would hope, is somewhere in the light. If he’s not, what are the actual chances of his disembodied spirit wandering aimlessly around Clapham? It’s far more likely he’s haunting his old stomping grounds somewhere in America. Meanwhile, I’m stuck with Mrs Abernathy who, even dead, requires more supervision than a hyperactive two-year-old.
My stomach gives a loud growl, and I absently reach for the sealed packet of biscuits Chan got me from the vending machine. Ripping it open, I shove one in my mouth and start chewing, regretting it the second I realise how dry they are.
“Well, I think this is an excellent time for me to go and powder my nose.” Chan rises gracefully. “Do you know where the loos are?”
I can’t swallow enough to make actual words, so I wave in the direction of the door leading out into the entrance foyer.
“Thanks, honey.” Chan slaps me on the back as he walks past. Unfortunately, it has the unintended side effect of me drawing in a breath and inhaling dry biscuit crumbs.
