‘Look,’ she said impulsively, ‘why don’t I open a bottle of fizz? We can have a cheeky glass, and a proper chat.’
It was as if the sun went in. Without losing its friendly smile, the face became a mask.
‘Not for me,’ said Tiffany-Jane. ‘But you go ahead. Actually, I think I need to get in. I’ve been out here way too long.’
She stood up and walked inside. Pat watched her, perplexed. Whatever momentary connection had been there was gone – the bubble burst. What on earth was the matter?
At about the same time, Liz was standing in one of the (thankfully) air-conditioned aisles of Tesco, staring in deep gloom at a packet of biscuits to help replenish her greatly denuded food cupboard. According to the link Jacob had sent her, they were both low in sugar and fat, whilst high in fibre and vitamin something or other. They were also, Liz noted, high in price, being over double the cost of her regular digestives. She put them down with a sigh and picked up another, less expensive packet of reduced-sugar biscuits, squinting at the discreet green squares on the back. Sugar 4.5 grams. Was that good? Jacob would no doubt know, but she could never be sure these days. She stared at them, irresolute. Sound substitute – or sugary time bomb? That was the problem, behind the facade of the packaging she just didn’t know. Like with Neville Hilton.
Her mind made a sideways leap to her other preoccupation. There she was, saying to Pat and Thelma that Neville wasn’t a bad person – but how did she know? How was she to know he didn’t have a whole string of lovers plus a history of embezzling? Just because she couldn’t imagine it, it didn’t make it so, not by a long chalk. And then there was Jax, taking herself inside Neville’s house like that.Why?
‘I see. A goody two-shoes.’ Zippy Doodah’s grim tones barged into Liz’s thoughts, bringing her rudely back to earth. How long had she been standing there, lost in thought? ‘That’s one healthy trolley you’ve got there,’ said Zippy, openly regarding her rather drab collection of vegetables and brown pasta, even moving a butternut squash to see what lurked underneath.
Liz smiled thinly, wishing the other woman wouldneb out. For reasons she couldn’t be bothered to unpack she found herself reaching for the more expensive biscuits and ostentatiously placing them prominently on top of a heap of broccoli.
‘How are you?’ she, said looking at Zippy’s trolley with its brazen heap of crisps, white bread and biscuits.
Zippy Doodah followed her glance and smiled. ‘I know – terrible, aren’t I!? Don’t go telling old Happy Harvey! Any road …’ She leaned forward on the handles of her trolley with the air of someone settling in for a good chat. ‘WhatIwant to know is, are you and your mates any further on with finding out what happened to Nev Hilton?’
Liz stared at her. She was shocked and not a little outraged at the question. She knew Thelma had spoken to her the day of the festival. What had she said exactly? To have this woman with her trolley of disgrace refer to them as though they were three Jessica Fletchers, here, right in the middle of Tesco, for the whole world to hear!
‘We’re really not finding anything out,’ she began to say but Zippy was shaking her head.
‘I saw your mate Thelma snooping round the back of Nev’s house, and Don and Jean said your other mate had been asking about the night Nev died.’ She ducked her head confidentially and lowered her voice. ‘I know people are talking about Ffion Hilton, but thinking about it, I reckon they might be barking up the wrong tree.’
To her chagrin, Liz found herself likewise ducking her head and lowering her voice. ‘She told the police she was at some horse event, didn’t she?’
Zippy nodded. ‘Carlisle,’ she said. ‘And of course the police will have checked. Also, the thing about Ffion Hilton is she may be an arsey so-and-so, but with her – well, you get what it says on the tin.’
In spite of everything Liz was curious. ‘You think she’s telling the truth?’
Zippy shrugged. ‘I think she’d be crap at lying,’ she said. ‘It’s not exactly the same thing.’
Liz frowned. ‘But if it wasn’t Ffion shouting at Neville, who was it?’
‘Not a clue.’ Zippy Doodah spoke adamantly as she levered herself off the trolley. ‘Sidrah were out in her garden most of the day and she reckons she didn’t see anyone apart from Neville going into the place.’
‘Sidrah?’
‘Lass as lives opposite. The one you were speaking to at the village festival.’
An image of a flourishing hydrangea and a pink sparkly T-shirt came into Liz’s mind: Sidrah with the CCTV.
‘Anyway, flower, I must be making tracks. Keeping up with your food diary, I hope?’
Liz nodded, thinking of the blue and white tome by her bed. ‘Are you?’
Zippy Doodah gave a little snort of laughter. ‘Not a bloody chance,’ she said. ‘Life’s way too fookin’ short!’ And taking her leave, she marched purposefully off to the frozen desserts.
Liz stared after her, feeling slightly shocked. Not because of Zippy’s assumption that she, Pat and Thelma were actively investigating Nev’s death, but because she realised she had been rather enjoying herself. All this finding out felt untold miles away from bleak choices about biscuits and salad cream. She smiled ruefully. What on earth would Derek say?
The buzz of her phone made her start guiltily, as if her husband had divined her thoughts. But it wasn’t him. It was Jax Shally. Of course. Her first instinct was to ignore the ringing, but something … something to do with the memory of those tears, her feelings of sympathy – that and not wanting to face the bleak contents of her shopping trolley – found her taking the call.
‘Liz. Thank God!’ Jax’s voice was shrill with need. ‘Don’t hang up on me. I know Thelma’s mad with me, but please don’t hang up! I need your help!’
Chapter Ten
Wednesday 16th July
