‘No,’ said Liz. ‘His partner – his name is Son. Hang on.’ Pat sighed as Amazon Prime appeared yet again (sugar-free madeira cake) to be rapidly replaced by an image of fluffy clouds and pink and purple sky. Over this were Comic Sans letters in a bold tangerine colour:Are you the best you that you can be?(Pat had to read this through twice before finding the correct phrasing.) To one side of the screen was a picture that Thelma recognised from the montage at school. Despite all the advantages of posed studio photography, Son Masters still retained that air of slightly androgenous amiability.
‘He does these talks,’ said Liz. ‘Self-help stuff.’
‘There’s one today,’ noted Thelma. ‘Seven steps to success. Ingleby Barwick library, wherever that is.’
‘Remember, it was a woman that Judy Whats-her-face heard,’ said Pat. ‘Not that I don’t think he had a good reason to be mad with Neville. But from what Dreamy Pete was saying, this Son person was more into hugging. At least on the surface.’
‘I think he looks rather sweet,’ said Liz. ‘Harmless.’
Pat clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘Liz Newsome, what are you like?’ she said. ‘It’s not about how people look. Remember Jason Riley in my class? Mr Butter-wouldn’t-melt himself. We lost half our tadpoles thanks to him.’
‘The thing to remember,’ said Thelma, ‘is that the nicest people, the most well-meaning of us – well, we’re all capable of doing the most terrible things. And just because someone has done something terrible, it doesn’t automatically make them a terrible person. Sometimes they’re just as good and principled as ever they were.’
‘So, what are we going to do?’ asked Pat. There was a slight tumbleweed moment, one that made her feel frankly irritated. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘Victoria called us detectivators – we might as well detectivate.’
Thelma coughed slightly.Here we go, thought Pat half considering doing a drum roll on her coffee table.Just spit it out.
‘I’ve had an email,’ said Thelma, once more sharing the screen. The email was brief.
Dear Mrs Cooper, it read,I understand from Caro Miranda you visited Pity Me Infants school yesterday. I wonder if you would have the time for a conversation very soon? We could speak on the phone or via Zoom. Alternatively, we could meet face to face, although due to ill health I am unable to travel very far. I live near Middlesborough in a village called Newton-under-Roseberry.
King regards,
Annie Golightly
‘Who,’ said Pat impatiently, ‘is Annie Golightly?’
‘She’s the head teacher at the school,’ said Liz, mildly reproachful. ‘The one who’s been ill.’
‘So, are we going to see her then?’ said Pat.
‘Iam,’ said Thelma with a slight emphasis on the first word. ‘I’m going later on.’
‘Today?’ said Liz. ‘Don’t you need someone to drive you? With your arm?’ If there was a certain ironic inflection on the last part of this sentence, Thelma ignored it.
‘Teddy’s taking me,’ she said. ‘I don’t think going in mob-handed is such a good idea.’ There was another bit of a tumbleweed moment, this one more pronounced.
Quite how the exchange would have played out was unclear; however, at that moment Snaffles the cat decided to assert his authority by walking casually across the keyboard, treating Liz and Pat to a flash of bottom. By the time Thelma had removed him the call had timed out and ended.
Pat shut the laptop with feelings of vague irritation.Mob-handed? What was that supposed to mean? Like she and Liz were going to barge in shrieking with laughter and start wrecking the joint? Larson, seeing that she was done with the call, nosed hopefully round her ankles in that way he had when announcing he was about ready for his walk. Pat was just reaching for her sun hat when the door to the kitchen opened to reveal Justin, dressed for work in short-sleeved shirt and cargo shorts, leather satchel over his shoulder. It was the first time she’d seen him in two days.
‘Hey, Ma,’ he said, walking purposefully to the back door.
‘Never mind, “hey, Ma”,’ said Pat, standing up. ‘I want a word with you—’
‘Just heading off to work, can’t stop,’ said Justin with a dazzling smile.
‘I wanted to say I was sorry about Newcastle.’
The smile flickered, but only briefly. ‘Ah well,’ he said. ‘Plenty more nets to shoot.’ He started to move but with the ease ofexperience, Pat transposed herself adroitly between her eldest son and the back door.
‘Justin,’ she said.
‘Ma! On a deadline here!’
‘What’s going on?’ she said firmly. ‘With you and Tiffany?’
‘Er – nothing!’ Justin’s tone was an upbeat, sunny blend of the questioning and mocking.
