WTF?
This has clearly foxed Elizabeth, and Donna has time to look in the mirror and check her interested face, her laughing face, and her quietly seductive face before the next ping.
I’m afraid I don’t know WTF. I only discovered LOL from Joyce last week. I’m going to assume that it doesn’t refer to the Warsaw Transit Facility, as that was shut down in 1981 when the Russians came sniffing.
Donna sends back an emoji of big eyes and an emoji of the Russian flag, and then starts to floss. Even though they say you don’t need to floss anymore. Ping.
That’s the Chinese flag, Donna. Just let me know the time of death. You know we won’t tell a soul, and you also know we might just come up with something useful.
She smiles. What harm could it do, really?
3:32. His Fitbit broke when he fell.
There is another ping.
Well, I don’t know what a Fitbit is either, but thank you. x
35.
Joyce
The police came over today, and at first I had to feel sorry for DCI Hudson, but I think he rather enjoyed himself by the end. Anyway, Elizabeth gave him and Donna the file, so we’ll see what they make of it. Joanna’s name is not on the file anywhere, which Elizabeth reassured me helps with “plausible deniability,” just in case anything we’re doing is against the law. Which I assume it is.
I asked Elizabeth to repeat the phrase “plausible deniability” and I wrote it down. She asked me why I was writing it down, and I said it was because I’m writing a diary, and she rolled her eyes. Though she then asked if she was in the diary, and I said of course she was, and she then asked if I was using her real name. Which I said I was, though I’ve thought about it since, and who knows with Elizabeth? Perhaps she’s really a Jacqueline? We tend to accept what people tell us they’re called, no questions asked.
But I’ve been thinking. You must think I’m murder obsessed—it’s all I’ve written about since I started this diary. So perhaps I should tell you some other things. Let’s talk about a few things that aren’t murder. What can I tell you?
When I was putting the Hoover round after the police had gone, Elizabeth said she thought I would get on with a Dyson. But I said I didn’t think so, not at my age. But perhaps I should take the plunge?
And after the hoovering we had a glass of wine. It was a screw top, but you don’t notice these days, do you? It’s just as good.
When Elizabeth went home, I asked her to give my love to Stephen, and she said she would. Then I said they should both come to dinner one night, and she said that would be lovely. But all is not right, there. She will tell me when she’s ready.
What else that isn’t murder?
Mary Lennox’s granddaughter has just had a baby. He’s called River, which has raised a few eyebrows, but I rather like it. The woman who works in the shop is getting divorced, and they’ve started stocking chocolate digestives. Karen Playfair, from up on the hill, is coming to give us a Coopers Chase Breakfast Masterclass talk on computers. The last newsletter said she’s coming to give a talk about tablets, and that caused some confusion, so they had to print an explanation this week.
Apart from that, and the murder, all is peace and quiet.
Anyway, I see that it’s getting late, so I will wish you a good night. While I have been writing, Elizabeth has sent me a message. We are off on a road trip tomorrow. No idea when, and no idea why, but I shall look forward to it very much.
36.
Donna can’t believe she is already in bed at nine forty-five. She had gone on the date because, frankly, it was about time. A man called Gregor had taken her to Zizzi’s, where he had nibbled at a salad and talked her through his protein shake regimen for ninety minutes.
At one point Donna had asked him who his favorite author was. For her an acceptable answer would be Harlan Coben, Kurt Vonnegut, or any woman. Gregor had sagely replied that he “didn’t believe in books,” and that “you only learn in this life through having experiences, and keeping your mind open.” When she then raised the thorny philosophical dilemma of whether you could both keep your mind open and not believe in books he had replied, “Well, I think you rather prove my point there, Diana,” and sipped his water in a manner that suggested great wisdom.
Close to tears through boredom, Donna had wondered where Carl was this evening. She has recently taken to scrolling through the Instagram feed of her ex-boyfriend, and the Instagram feed of his new girlfriend, who appeared to be called Toyota. It has become such a habit now, she will sort of miss it when Carl and Toyota split up. Which they will, because Carl is an idiot, and he’s not going to keep hold of a girlfriend with eyebrows that great.
Does Donna still love Carl? No. Did she ever, if she’s being honest? Probably not, now that she’s had time to think about it. Does she still feel belittled by his rejection? Yes, that’s showing no signs of going away. It’s sitting like a stone just under her heart. She had arrested a shoplifter in Fairhaven last week, and when he had struggled, she had brought him down with abaton behind the knees. She was aware she had hit him much harder than she should. Sometimes you just had to hit things.
Was it a mistake to get as far away from Carl as she could? To transfer to Fairhaven in a frightened huff? Of course it was a mistake. It was stupid. Donna has always been headstrong, always acted quickly and decisively. Which is a fine quality when you are right, but a liability when you are wrong. It’s great to be the fastest runner, but not when you’re running in the wrong direction.
Meeting the Thursday Murder Club was the first good thing that had happened to Donna in a long time. That, and Tony Curran being murdered.
Donna had taken a photo of herself and Gregor just after he’d finished his superfood salad. She posted it to Instagram with the caption “This is what you get when you date a personal trainer!” and added not one but two wink emojis. The only thing men were ever jealous of was good looks, and Carl wouldn’t know that Donna had spent much of the evening surveying the dinner table, idly wondering how she would murder Gregor if she absolutely had to. She had settled on injecting a dough ball with cyanide. Although she later realized that there was no way she could have got Gregor to eat a carb.
Talking of Gregor, she hears the toilet flush. She slips her clothes back on, and, as he comes out of the bathroom, she gives him a peck on the cheek. There is no way she’s staying overnight in the room of a twenty-eight-year-old man who has two posters on his bedroom wall, one of the Dalai Lama and one of a Ferrari. It is still not ten p.m., and she wonders if she is allowed to text Chris Hudson and see if he fancies a quick drink. Have a little chat about Elizabeth’s file, the bits of it that she had understood. Also, she has finally just watchedNarcoson Netflix and wants to discuss it with someone. Gregor had not seen it. Gregor didn’t watch television, due to a long reason that Donna had quickly lost interest in.
