Increasing his confusion, Kim seemed unwilling to engage. Stevie asked Edward, ‘Are you still the most famous person in Sidmouth?’
‘I’m not even the most famous person in this café,’ said Edward, surprising himself by adding: ‘I think I’m getting sacked soon.’
‘What?’ asked Stevie.
‘Problems with the boss. He says my show doesn’t have any stories.’
‘That could be a problem if it’s a news show.’
‘Wrong thing to say, Stevie,’ said Kim in a stage whisper. ‘Anyway. Edward darling. You were whispering something down the phone about your crossbow lady.’
Edward nodded, then shrugged as if to say it might be something and nothing.
‘Well, Stevie knows who this lady is,’ said Kim.
Stevie said, ‘Have been googling while you walked over. I know this case. But I think you might have missed it because you had quite a lot of … very difficult, fucking difficult, bloody shite basically in your life at that time. Oh, and I lost my grandmother too, so for me the Wrigley case was … argh, what word am I looking for …?’
‘Peripheral?’ suggested Kim.
‘Lost in the wash,’ Stevie preferred. Her voice was strong, the accent broad Glasgow. ‘Anyway, memory refreshed. Shall I fill you in? Because I really don’t think you should be seeing this lady. Not even getting close to a waft of her expensive perfume.’
Stevie kept them in suspense, insisting on fetching a drink for Edward before explaining. Kim looked at Edward while Stevie was away from their window seats. He could not read Kim’s expression. Their stools were in a straight line facing the window, with Stevie’s, now empty, placed between them.
‘Nice to see her,’ mouthed Edward, thumbing at Stevie’s back as she queued at the till. Kim pursed her lips and rocked her head, moving a hand out in front of her, palm down, and tipping it left and right. ‘You’re not so keen?’ asked Edward, misreading.
‘God, no, I love her to bits. But I’m worried,’ whispered Kim. ‘She’s getting married to a chap called Roddy. I don’t think he respects her. He left a minute before you arrived and he asked to borrow money and she gave him her last twenty and then he got cross that she didn’t have any more and—’
‘Wait. Are you crying?’
‘He had a tattoo saying “one hundred” – what’s that?’
‘Oh, I read about it, I think that’s—’
She cut in. ‘Cover for me.’ He saw Stevie returning.
‘What is it?’ Stevie asked a second later. ‘Did you say something to upset her, because if you did I’ll tip this milkshake over you.’
‘No,’ said Edward, unable to laugh. ‘She has hay fever.’
‘It’s strawberry. Lots of pips all over you.’
‘Pips don’t make me guilty.’
Stevie set their drinks down. She sat between them, sucking loudly on the milkshake, facing out of the café to the street. The other two turned inwards towards her.
‘Can I just say …’ Edward began.
‘No, you can’t,’ said Stevie, ‘because you’ve got no voice.’
‘Only that – the three of us …’ His voice gave up. He formed a heart with his hands.
‘He loves us,’ said Kim, her eyes clear of tears now.
‘I know what heart-hands mean,’ said Stevie, ‘but thank you for explaining, old lady.’ Kim laughed. Stevie continued: ‘Listen up, team. The key person is a GP called Jonathan Wrigley. He was out walking, and he was shot with a crossbow.’
Edward held up his hand. ‘Where?’ he mouthed.
‘Through the heart.’
