That was the thing about Orla; you never really knew where you stood with her, but for some reason you couldn’t avoid being sucked into her orbit, attracted like a moth to a candle. Perhaps, and on the basis that all children like the thrill of being scared, it was the unpredictable and slightly dangerous quality about her character that he’d enjoyed as a young boy.
When he thought about it, there had been something of the child about Orla herself. He’d once heard his mother mutter to Dad about her acting like a selfish brat if she couldn’t get her own way. Dad had laughed and said it was all down to Orla’s artistic temperament. Dad, it had to be said, had always been quick to leap to Orla’s defence, and equally quick was Mum’s swiftness to criticise. But then that was hardly surprising, given that Mum had been Alastair’s girlfriend before Orla came along.
He passed no other river traffic during the short journey home, the outboard motor of his dinghy the only sound to be heard. After turning into the narrow dyke that ran parallel to his small cottage, he moored up and hopped out of the dinghy. Water’s Edge Cottage, a tiny two up, two down, fronted the river and was slap bang next door to Snazzell’s Boatyard. Being equidistant between Linston and the village of Horning, it was handily placed to get to the shops in Horning. Linston had only a pub and a church.
So far no girlfriend had ever actually lived at Water’s Edge Cottage with Callum. The last one had tried her best to move in on a permanent basis, but he had resisted Becky’s frequent attempts to get more than her toothbrush over the threshold. It was this adamant refusal on his part that led to Becky giving him an ultimatum – let her move in, or their thirteen-month relationship was over. It had been an easy decision on his part, and told him all he needed to know about his feelings for Becky. Had he needed to deliberate over his response to her ultimatum, it would have proved he cared about her, but he hadn’t and as brutal as that was, it proved the relationship had reached the end of the line. As Alastair had said, the right decision is always an easy one to make.
It was only now that Callum was prepared to be honest with himself, that he could admit that for many years he had been subconsciously comparing every girlfriend to Jenna. It was the natural ease of their friendship, which he had never quite replicated with a girlfriend, that he hankered for.
He let himself in at the back door, flicked on lights and set about making himself a bacon sandwich. He had the bacon under the grill and the bread buttered when he picked up his mobile and decided to give Jenna a ring.
It was more than a week since that day in London when he’d surprised her, and when she had surprised him so spectacularly. To his disappointment there had only been a reply to his text about her father. Since then there had been nothing but silence from her, certainly nothing to indicate that things had changed between them as a result of her kissing him. Had he presumed too much to think that she had instigated something? Whateversomethingwas. Or if that had been her original intention, did she now regret it?
If that was the case, then perhaps it would be better not to ring her. Once again, as he’d done several times in the last few days, he put down his mobile. Better to leave things well alone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘I know this is a bit unorthodox, me turning up on your doorstep, but I wanted to speak to you personally about what happened as I feel so badly about it.’
Both Danny and Frankie looked at the unexpected guest sitting across the table from them. Her name was Tess Moran and she was a volunteer at Woodside Care Home. Danny had spoken to her many times during his visits to see his mother, as well as Mrs Maudsley.
‘I have no idea what it is you’ve come here to say, Mrs Moran,’ said Danny stiffly, ‘but can you tell me how Mrs Maudsley is, please?’
‘Oh dear,’ the woman said, ‘of course, you won’t have heard, will you, not actually being a relative? I’m sorry to tell you, but she died.’
A sudden squeeze on his heart sucked the breath out of Danny’s lungs. ‘When?’ he managed to say.
‘Two days ago, while I was away. Yesterday was my first day back, and that’s when I heard that Suzie Wu’s side of events had been believed, and not yours. You see, I witnessed what happened that day in the garden, so I know she lied. I was tidying up the sitting room and happened to look out of the window when I saw you approach her. I clearly saw her drop the mobile phone to the ground herself.’
‘Then why didn’t you come forward to say that before now?’ asked Frankie.
‘Because when I finished my shift that afternoon, I had a few days off. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything at the time, I feel awful about that.’
‘Have you told Matron what you saw?’
‘Yes, of course. But by yesterday Matron knew that Suzie wasn’t just a liar, she was also a thief. A number of things from the residents’ rooms have disappeared. Including items of jewellery that belonged to Mrs Maudsley. And now there’s no sign of her. She’s vanished.’
Frankie shook her head and tutted. ‘Presumably the police have been notified?’
‘They most certainly have. It turns out that she’s been caught for stealing before.’
‘Then how on earth did she get a job at Woodside?’
‘Her references weren’t properly checked. It’s all such a terrible shame. It would never have happened under the old management, they only employed the best staff who could be trusted one hundred per cent. I’ve worked at Woodside as a volunteer for many years, my daughter even helped for a few months, and never before has there been a problem like this. But lately standards have definitely slipped. It’s all about money for the new owners, and how much they can keep for themselves.’
Later, when they had thanked Mrs Moran for coming to see them, Frankie took Danny in her arms. ‘I’m sorry about Mrs Maudsley,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry too,’ he said sadly.
‘But at least you don’t have to worry anymore about that dreadful Suzie Wu.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. But his voice lacked the conviction of his wife’s.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Paul was late and Rachel wasn’t happy. Not that she was one to talk, but this was supposed to be their big romantic night together – their last opportunity to see each other before she went up to Linston and Paul went off with his mates for his Formula One fix.
She had spent ages tidying up her small flat in readiness for a cosy night in with Paul, clearing out anything that didn’t fit in with the Hygge style of wellbeing and relaxed intimacy she had wanted to create. Gone was anything of a garish colour and which jarred on the senses, along with the clutter of magazines, books and storage boxes so stuffed full their lids no longer fitted. She had got rid of the fuchsia-pink cushions she had thought so jolly, replaced them with ones the colour of stone, and covered the scruffy sofa with an eye-wateringly expensive Mongolian cashmere throw in charcoal.
