Teddy was sitting in the backyard of number 32 College Gardens, back pressed against the warm brick wall, now alive with night-blooming honeysuckle, face relaxed and turned up to the sun under his battered white sun hat. Watching him from the kitchen window, Thelma could see again that blond rugby player she had married all those years ago. He was wearing what these days was his standard summer outfit: tan shorts and a blue polo work shirt, the orange and yellow of the WAMMP (Wait A Minute Mr Postman) logo bright on his left breast. She thought he might be asleep, but when she opened the back door his eyes immediately snapped open and his face broke into a warm smile. No two ways about it, her husband was looking way more relaxed, youthful even, than he ever did when working at Ripon and St Bega college – or ‘the vicar factory’ as he termed it.
‘Having a pause?’ she said, having clocked the stack of parcels in the hall waiting to be delivered.
‘Something somewhat longer than that,’ he said easily. ‘It was so jolly hot in the car, even with the windows down. Each time I got back in, the seat was almost unbearable. So, I decided to call it an afternoon. One of the joys of this job.’
‘I’m surprised you’re so busy,’ said Thelma, thinking of parcels piled high on his study desk.
‘Holiday lets,’ said Teddy simply. ‘Predominantly. People go away from home and realise they’ve forgotten some necessity of life, which somehow cannot be managed without. That and, according to Big Cyn, self-help books. There’s something about this heat that apparently makes people strive for perfection.’
‘I’ll make some iced elderflower,’ said Thelma.
‘Sit a moment,’ said Teddy. ‘It’s so lovely. I was thinking of going for a walk presently.’
Thelma sat down on the warm bench, feeling the comfort of his cool fingers reflexively twining with hers. For a moment they sat in companionable silence enjoying the shade of the garden, the drone of insects, the various flowers and in the distance shouts of children on the college playing field.
‘So,’ said Teddy. ‘How are things?’
Involuntarily Thelma felt her hand slacken and pictured the letter hidden neatly in her bag. She needed to tell him and she needed to tell him now.Lord, give me the right words.
But before she could grasp the sentences forming in her head, Teddy was speaking again. ‘How did you get on this afternoon?’ he said. ‘Talking with Liz and Pat?’
Heart thudding at the reprieve, Thelma reached into her bag for her teacher’s mark book. Opening it at the right page she handed it to her husband, who scanned her teacher’s print with the same concentration he afforded scripture and his WAMMP delivery app.
‘Murder, question mark,’ he read. ‘So, you do think Neville was murdered in some way, shape or form?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ said Thelma. She thought of that glinting steel knife nestling in the dishwasher with the three plates and the vegetable dishes. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. ‘The police are adamant he died of natural causes,’ she said as much to herself, as to Teddy. ‘They surely wouldn’t get a thing like that wrong.’
‘Of course, murder isn’t necessarily a deliberate act of violently taking life,’ said Teddy thoughtfully. ‘It can just as well be the facilitation of a fatal act—’
Thelma looked at him. ‘Oh?’ she said.
Teddy nodded. ‘Removing batteries from a torch, so someone is forced to walk in the dark – or the loosening of a rug at the top of a flight of stairs.’
‘I suppose so,’ agreed Thelma. ‘But it’s hard to see how a heart attack could be anything other than – well, a heart attack.’
‘It could be something as simple as withholding medication. Remember Lesley Grey?’
Thelma nodded, remembering Mrs Grey in Teddy’s first parish. That fatal heart attack after she apparently ‘lost’ her digoxin. And then Mr Grey remarrying so quickly afterwards …
‘At the end of the day,’ said Teddy, ‘a man is dead. And as you say’ – he indicated the green mark book with its neat writing – ‘there does seem something verydeliberateat play here … this rumour – and of course that yellow line – someone must have bought paint – and paintbrushes.’
‘There was something else odd about that line,’ said Thelma. ‘Beyond the fact it was there. There was something almost slapdash about it. It certainly wasn’t done as any sort of decorative feature, I’m sure of that.’
Teddy was looking at another part of the page in the green mark book. ‘Have pity,’ he read. ‘For pity’s sake.’
‘That’s important,’ said Thelma. ‘I know it is. I just don’t knowwhy.’
‘And this.’ Teddy’s finger traced the scrap of paper with the curious symbol, neatly sellotaped into the book.
‘Do you recognise it?’ asked Thelma.
He slowly shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘And yet I know I’ve seen it before somewhere.’
Thelma took the book off him and bent her head, squinting at the white paper in the glaring sun.
‘Come on.’ Teddy stood up. ‘I’m going to grab a quick shower and then let’s walk out to Studley.’
‘Do you not want to wait until it’s cooled down a bit?’
