‘What?’ said Pat.
‘Some of the messes I walk into,’ said Jax importantly, ‘disgusting. Proper animals some folks.’
Thelma ignored this. ‘Did you notice anything else?’ she asked.
‘Just the body. Sat there, eyes open.’ Chelse’s voice shook and Liz covered her hand with her own.
‘I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been,’ she said to her.
‘Forgive me for asking,’ said Thelma. ‘Did you happen to notice what Mr Hilton was wearing?’
Chelse frowned. ‘Just normal clothes,’ she said. ‘Well, normal for him.’
‘He wasn’t,’ said Thelma, ‘wearing painting clothes?’
‘Oh no.’ Chelse shook her head. ‘Nothing like that. Jacket and trousers – not a suit – and a checked shirt and a tie.’
‘Just the sort of thing he’d wear to Rotary,’ said Liz.
‘And this yellow line?’ Thelma asked the question almost casually.
‘Oh yeah.’ Chelsey frowned, eyes once more fearful. ‘That. I’ve no idea whatthatwere doing there.’
‘What was it like?’ asked Liz.’
Chelsey frowned. ‘Well, it were yellow,’ she said. ‘And it were a line. I don’t know what else I can say really.’
‘What shade of yellow was it?’ asked Pat, by now thoroughly engrossed.
‘Pale,’ said Chelsey. She looked around and nodded to a woman in a primrose-yellow top sitting at a table across the café. ‘About the same shade as that lady’s T-shirt. Maybe a bit paler.’
‘And thick?’ said Thelma. ‘Or thin?’
‘I dunno really.’ Chelsey looks confused. ‘I mean notthin, thin – but not thick either.’ She shivered, eyes widening. ‘It wasweird,’ she said. ‘I didn’t like it.’ She half closed her eyes. ‘I’ve been dreaming about it,’ she said. ‘Like I’m somewhere normal – and suddenly there it is on the wall …a pale-yellow line…’
The trio watched the two figures retreating across the rapidly filling café, Jax with a proprietorial hand between Chelse’s shoulder blades.
Thelma looked grave. ‘In cases like this,’ she said, ‘it’s always the innocent who suffer. Finding Neville like that – it’s something that’ll always stay with her.’
‘Poor lass,’ said Liz. ‘Poor, poor lass.’
‘Never mind “poor, poor lass”,’ said Pat. ‘Madame Jax Shally just wants to have her cleaner back up and running.’ She looked grimly at her friends. ‘The phrase “thundering cheek” comes to mind.’
‘What was she playing at?’ said Liz, blowing her nose in exasperation. ‘Bringing the poor lass here like that and making her go through it all over again?’
‘And then expecting us to go and investigate what happened,’ said Pat. ‘Who does Ms Shally think we are – a Miss Marple tribute band?’
‘It’s that lass that bothers me,’ said Liz. ‘She’s never going to get over it, thinking she’s responsible in some way.’
‘Well, if you want to go trawling round Hollinby Quernhow Village Festival this weekend, fill your boots,’ said Pat, finishing her Melmerby slice. ‘I have other plans.’ Her words were firm, her mind filled with the glorious prospect of a weekend with just her and Rod in the house. Padding round in her favourite faded sundress, reading in the garden, maybe binge-watching that new season ofReal Housewives of Tampa Bay.
‘I’m not saying we should get involved,’ said Liz hastily. Her weekend was also full. Her grandson Jacob was staying over and Liz had a nasty idea he planned to go through her food cupboard and weed out what he termed ‘unsuitable food’. Forestalling and ensuring there was at leastsomefood left would take both time and patience.
All at once they both became aware that Thelma was saying nothing. Saying nothing but stirring her coffee in that very familiar way.
‘What?’ said Pat with a long-suffering sigh.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Thelma. ‘I was just wondering.’
