Thelma nodded, looking at that still figure on the bed, her face growing ever more relaxed and at the same time strangely radiant. Annie Golightly was peaceful, of that Thelma was sure.
But as Thelma walked away, she was frowning. Those last murmured words …
What on earth had Annie meant?
From the kitchen window Liz watched the retreating figures of Sidrah, Zippy and Buddy Dog. From the rear, silhouetted against the evening light, they rather resembled something from a child’s picture book. They disappeared out into the lane. Liz suspected they were only heading as far as Sidrah’s house where she was sure the events of the past hour would be discussed and dissected (possibly to the accompaniment of alcohol, though probably not Prosecco).
‘They’ve gone,’ she said, carrying a cup of strong black coffee into the living room. ‘And I’d better be making tracks as well. My husband and grandson are going to be wondering what’s happened to me.’
‘Actually,’ said Ffion, ‘I wonder – could you hang on a sec, Liz.’ It wasn’t so much a question as an instruction, gruffly delivered.
Liz sat down. She’d half expected this, which was why she’d not made her excuses and gone with the other two. She knew she should be wary; after all, here was a woman with whom she’d had two angry encounters and who had been in the near vicinity when her husband had mysteriously died. Yes, Liz probably should be wary – but for whatever reason she wasn’t. She regarded the figure swathed in a fluffy white dressing gown. Without the carapace of make-up, Ffion looked a lot younger – almost pretty.
After Ffion’s dramatic resurrection, a hectic interval had ensued when iced water was poured, black coffee made. Zippy started bagging up the detritus from the kitchen and Sidrah had insisted on having a Good Go at the Prosecco stain on the carpet. (It’s Orla Kiely for God’s sake!)
At one point in the midst of all this, Ffion had suddenly shouted out, ‘Weetabix!’ This turned out not to be a cry for cereal, but the name of her horse, and how she needed to head down to the stables to see to her, because Lib who was in charge was short-handed. Ffion had been so distressed that she seemed on the point of charging off down the lane barefooted, white fluffy dressing gown notwithstanding, until Zippy had said in firm tones that she’d get Piggy Paul to have a look-down – an arrangement that seemed to put Ffion’s mind at rest. Evidently there was still some fragment of community in Hollinby Quernhow that could be called upon in times of crisis.
Liz had helped with mixed feelings. Once she had established Ffion was very much in the land of the living, she had wanted nothing so much as to head home, talk to Jacob and hopefully repair some of the damage caused by the Vegan Moments. She’d had the quickest of conversations with Derek to outline the bare bones of their falling-out, and now she needed to go back and see if calmer waters had been achieved. But then another part of her had to be sure Ffion was all right to be left, and to do that she needed to talk to her alone, away from busy chit-chat about specialised cleaning sprays and the scandal that was North Yorkshire Council recycling.
Ffion took a sip of her coffee, staring moodily into the dark depths. For all her asking Liz to stay, she seemed to be in no hurry to talk.
‘I’m sorry for screaming like that,’ said Liz to break the silence. ‘You just gave me a bit of a scare.’
‘I’ve always slept with my eyes open like that,’ said Ffion. ‘The Living Dead, my mum used to call me.’ She looked fixedly at the black coffee.’ I suppose it’ll be all around the village by now.’
‘They were both worried about you. Sidrah rang me, she was that concerned.’
‘Ffion Hilton.’ Her voice was bitter. ‘Not only has she a stick up her backside, but now she’s dead drunk. Can’t cope with killingher husband—’ Ffion looked challengingly at Liz. ‘That’s what everyone’s going to be saying. Don’t think I don’t know. You’ve seen the website – don’t pretend you haven’t.’
‘The website doesn’t actually accuse you outright of anything,’ said Liz.
‘You see the thing is—’ Ffion’s fixed gaze didn’t leave the steaming coffee. ‘The thing is – you might as well know – Ididcome back to the house the night Nev died.’
Liz could have said words to the effect of ‘Actually, I know’, but of course she didn’t.
‘I did go to that horse event in Carlisle like I told the police. I’d got Weetabix in the horsebox all ready, got the box hitched up, and I realised my driving licence was in Nev’s study. He’d been looking at getting new insurance.’ She took a sip, staring darkly into past events. ‘I didn’t want to drive the horsebox up the lane; I’d never get it turned round, so I nipped across the field and in the back. I got the licence off Nev’s desk and went back. I swear I wasn’t there more than thirty seconds.’
Liz nodded. ‘I see.’
‘I mean if I’d heard something – or seen something – I could’ve called 999—’
‘But youdidn’tsee or hear anything,’ pointed out Liz gently.
‘No.’ There was regret in the voice. ‘I saw Nev’s car come in the drive – and I didn’t want to talk to him. I was in a hurry. I didn’t want to get into any long conversations about car insurance. I was running late.’ Her voice was louder now, salted with guilt. ‘So, I rushed off out the back praying he wouldn’t see me.’ Her hands whitened as she clutched the mug. ‘I’d no idea … Afterwards – when I was told what had happened – I felt terrible. I swear to God, Liz, if I’d known …’
‘There’s not much you could’ve done,’ explained Liz.
‘I could’ve been with him!’ The words came out in an anguished shout. ‘Held his hand! And spared that poor lass. The one who found him.’ Liz put a hand on her arm, but almost angrily Ffionshook it off. ‘Whoever posted those things on the website – they must know what I did. And now everyone else knows.’ She sighed a deep, exhausted sigh.
Liz looked at the woman. Was she telling the truth? Or merely a half truth, to cover a darker reality? She had no way of knowing. She stifled a pang of guilt. Whilst Ffion had been in the shower, and the cleaning operation in full swing, Liz had taken the opportunity to have another look in the kitchen cupboard. There had been no sign of the yellow-stained boots. Which meant either Ffion had discovered them and removed them, or Ffion had actually put them there in the first place and subsequently disposed of them. Or … someone else had both put them thereandremoved them.
‘Can I ask you something?’ said Liz.
The dark eyes slid from the coffee to meet Liz’s gaze. ‘Go on,’ she said noncommittally.
‘When I saw you yesterday …’ There was a sheepish pause as they both acknowledged the previous night’s encounter in the car park. ‘You said that someone had been coming into the house? I mean since you found me and Jax that time.’
Ffion turned her head to look at her, full on. ‘That’s right.’
