“And bludgeoned,” chipped in Catherine.
“Oh, yes, bludgeoned. That’s not a bad list. All pretty tried and tested. How easy is it for you to see him? Are you on friendly terms?”
Catherine deadpanned Carol. “He thinks we are.”
“Good.”
“Will you be seeing him soon, for any reason?”
“Our grandson’s eighteenth. We’re all going for a big restaurant dinner, somewhere in London. It’s in a couple of weeks.”
“Perfect. Well, I mean, Catherine, I do keep finding myself going back to poison. That gives us enough time to get some without it tracing back to you. How many people will be there?”
“At least thirty.”
“Nice. Lots of suspects. No one will ever imagine it could have been Grandma. And what this gives you is the opportunity to watch him die. Catherine, trust me on this, if you’re only going to do one murder, make sure you see them die. Too many of mine died out of sight. There’s nothing quite like watching the results of your own hard work.”
Catherine’s eyes became glassy. Her breath juddered as she inhaled and went back to fiddling with the pen.
Carol spoke softly. “Or you could always not murder him.”
“You probably think I’m a terrible wimp.”
“Not at all.”
“It’s just…in front of all our children.”
“Do you know the problem with murder?” said Carol.
Catherine looked up from the pen.
“I had a friend in prison. We used to say it’s like Chinese food. It fills you up but only for an hour or so. Then you want more. Whatever it is, whatever the feelings are that make you want to kill someone, when you’ve killed them, those feelings don’t go away.” Carol spoke tenderly. “What’s your grandson’s name?”
Catherine grew a small smile. “Finn.”
“They give them such funny names, don’t they, the parents now?”
Catherine nodded, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “Don’t get me started. His sister’s called Oslo. They’re very smart, though. You should see Finn. He’s got all this energy. Brilliant at sport. Plays cricket with his right hand, plays tennis with his left, it’s incredible. Off to university in September to do something ridiculous like American studies. We’re both…” Catherine’s voice trembled. “We’re both so proud.”
Carol stared into the middle distance for a moment. “You still love him, don’t you?”
Catherine nodded.
Had Carol ever been in love? She wasn’t sure that she had. Not like this.
“Why don’t you just knock off the new woman?”
Catherine laughed. “Oh, not much point. I’m sure she won’t be around for long. She’s nothing more than Anne Boleyn in a Toyota Yaris. It’s him I’m angry with.”
“How do you know what car she drives?” asked Carol.
“Oh, some people put everything on Facebook, don’t they? Don’t you snoop on your exes?”
Carol contemplated the question. “I haven’t had a lover in nearly forty years.”
“Sorry.”
Carol stood up. “Let’s sweat it out.”
