There was a pause filled only by the lazy noise of an evening game of cricket on the college recreation fields.
‘Thank you for coming with me today,’ she said.
Teddy nodded. ‘I was glad to come with you,’ he said. ‘Glad to be with you, glad to be with Annie on her journey.’
Teddy had never referred to ‘death’ – only to people being at the end of their journey. In her darker moments this was something Thelma found very comforting.
She closed the laptop. With a disgusted stretch Snaffles got up and padded off into the kitchen.
‘So where,’ said Teddy, ‘will you go next?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Thelma. ‘Annie was very definite none of her staff were involved – but then we’ve only her word for it they were all at the memorial service and not in Hollinby Quernhow. And I don’t see how I can possibly go asking them, not without causing a lot of upset.’
Teddy nodded absently, and his wife realised he was in all probability contemplating the logistics of delivering thirty fans.
The ping of the laptop stirred them both. ‘That’ll be the email,’ said Thelma, reopening the lid, ‘confirming my online registration.’
But it was not the course.
The email was brief to the point of curtness.
Dear Mrs Cooper,
I received your contact details from Ms Annie Golightly. I wonder if we could schedule a Zoom call as a matter of urgency.
Kind regards,
Bun Widdup
BUN WIDDUP EDUCATION SERVICES
Part Three
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun
Chapter Twenty-one
Thursday 24th July
Hambleton Council: Hot tips for hot weather:
Two people in a bed means twice the body heat. Stretching like a starfish with a fan on nearby may be the coolest option.
The Northern Lights took Ripon and Thirsk by surprise that night. Between one thirty and three, a time when most people were snatching what fitful sleep they could, the skies beyond the moors were washed with dazzling, shimmering sheets of turquoise, amethyst and lime green. By three thirty when many people were stirring more no matter how wide open the windows, how big the fans, how thin the sheets, the spectacle had largely faded and by four thirty when Pat, Thelma and Liz were if not exactly wide awake, certainly far from peacefully asleep, all that remained were a few pale smears away in the pearly-grey north-east.
Pat lay in that semi-conscious state common to mothers waiting to hear the noise of a child’s return home from a night out. This was something that had become second nature to her during her son’s teenage years; like Larson she’d used to sleep with one ear open until the click of the back door, the flush of the toiletannounced a safe arrival home. This instinct had been something Pat thought gone for good, but that night it had slammed back prompt and strong when she realised she had not heard Justin come back home from his ‘catch-up’ with Taj.
Now she lay in an uneasy doze wondering whether to wake Rod or Tiffany, or text Justin or even go the whole hog, ring all the hospitals and inform the police that her son had stormed out in a strop and failed to come back.
Thelma was sitting yawning at her kitchen table. Spread out before her lay a veritable jigsaw of prompt cards plus two pretty, thick booklets and a boxed-up computer programme – all her prep for the speed awareness course in two days’ time. Where on earth to start? When she took her driving test – her mind shied away from just how long ago that had been – there’d been none of this. Just one, holly-green Highway Code booklet, which she’d duly memorised. And now …
Blinking her tired eyes, she looked blankly at the untidy heap of information consisting of current rules for motorists. Of course, the speed awareness course hadn’t said anything about mugging up on the Highway Code but she wanted to do something to address this icy nag of anticipation she still had, despite now being able to attend by Zoom.
Liz was also sitting at her kitchen table enjoying the relative cool flooding in from the open window. These days whenever she woke early, she’d got into the habit of opening the downstairs windows when the heat (and the pollen) was at its lowest ebb. Now, luxuriating in the cooler air on her face and neck, she was looking drowsily at footage of Chapel Lane, Hollinby Quernhow, date-stamped Friday 13 June. The footage alternated between looking up and looking down the lane, punctuated by a dizzying swivel as the camera swung from right to left.
Earlier, idly scrolling through her phone, she’d seen an emailfrom Jacob (what was he doing sending emails at 12.43 a.m.?) outlining the ingredients needed for spinach and kale risotto. She made a note of them – plus a guilty memo to replace the Vegan Moments – then, lacking the energy to go back upstairs, listlessly flicked through her junk folder. She’d nearly deleted the crucial email –CCTV 4 U!– along with yet more offers for solar panels and discreet hook-ups with Estonian hotties. It was the name that had stayed her finger – Sidrah?Sidrah!
The CCTV from Chapel Lane!
