They went into town with Coco on Saturday.
‘Gideon said I mustn’t neglect my friends,’ said Coco. ‘Which is why you have the pleasure of my company at the moment instead of him.’
‘I’m liking this Gideon more and more,’ grinned Juliet. ‘This is the first man you’ve not stuck to like Superglue.’
‘I might be wrong, yet again, but I’m finding that I want to trust him,’ smiled Coco. ‘He’s taking his mum out for her birthday today. I’m meeting him later
on.’
Juliet looked down at Coco’s shoes.
‘What’s up with you?’ he asked.
‘I was just checking that your feet are on the floor. You appear to be walking on air,’ she said.
‘I am,’ winked Coco, linking both women’s arms. ‘Like Aled Jones’s snowman.’
They went for lunch in the Yorkshire Rose pub in the town centre. It was cheap and cheerful and the meals were freezer-to-microwave, but it was a much nicer affair than the horror of the posh
meal at Orchards, thought Juliet. She was still pretty shaken up by mental Ryan, not that she admitted it to the others. Men like that were the obsessive type who turned up on your doorstep and put
firebombs through the letterbox. Blimey, she must be getting old, being cowed like that. She couldn’t remember the last time anything had scared her. Even she wasn’t too big and bold to
wish someone would put their arms around her and make her feel protected.
Juliet’s way of dealing with the episode was to blast it apart with humour, and over lunch she made the others laugh with predictions on what her future potential dates could have been. An
axe-murderer masquerading as a librarian, a suicide bomber who worked in Greggs pastry shop. Floz laughed along with the others, but her mind was never two steps away from Nick. She was sending him
her best vibes that he and his family would have a wonderful weekend fishing on a sparkling lake. She could imagine him, tall and rangy, lightly muscular, laughing, cigar clenched between his teeth
as he had been in one of the pictures he had sent her. She had burned his cards and photographs a year ago in an attempt to excise him from her life when she believed he had cut her out of it so
silently and cruelly.
She pulled herself back into the here and now to order a dessert.
‘So where are you going hottie-hunting until Piers casts his beady eye in your direction?’ asked Coco.
‘God knows,’ replied Juliet. ‘But if I don’t get some sex soon, I’ll be jumping on Steve Feast. That’s how bad things are.’
‘Blimey,’ trilled Coco. ‘You are in dire straits, darling.’
A text came through on Coco’s phone from Gideon saying that he hoped they were all having a lovely lunch and how much he was looking forward to meeting up with Coco later.
‘Why can’t
I
get someone who pays me attention like that?’ snarled Juliet as they left the pub. There was a wailing noise in front of them. A drunk in a shabby suit was
causing a bit of hilarity by weaving all over the promenade.
‘I bet he’s got a profile set up on Singlebods,’ said Juliet. ‘He’ll be a smart executive into amateur dramatics. Self-employed with a brand new Jaguar in the
garage.’
Two policemen were heading in the drunk’s direction just as he toppled into the photographer’s shop window.
‘Whoops a daisy,’ laughed Juliet.
Oh no, thought Floz. Not this. Not him. This was why she didn’t come into the town centre much any more.
‘Shall we go back home now?’ she said, hanging behind the others.
The policemen had the drunk between them now and were holding him up.
‘Two minutes, I just have to go in Boots for some nail glue,’ said Juliet.
‘I’ll meet you outside Thorntons. I want to buy some chocolate,’ lied Floz and she zipped off in the opposite direction.
‘Come on you.’ The drunk’s legs buckled and he nearly took one of the policemen down with him.
‘I need to talk to that woman,’ the drunk slurred, pointing at a giggling teenager with long red hair.
‘You can talk to us in the car on the way to the station.’
Coco looked at Juliet. ‘What’s up with Floz?’
‘Old flame back on the scene. Think she’s a bit emotional at the moment. Chocolate is exactly what she needs in my opinion. She’s been very quiet the past couple of
days.’
‘Everyone is quiet compared to you, love,’ said Coco.
‘Cheeky! She keeps bobbing into her room every five minutes then coming out with a face as long as Red Rum’s. I presume she’s waiting for the mystery man’s
emails.’
‘Doesn’t he ring? Or text?’ asked Coco.
‘How do I know?’ laughed Juliet. ‘If I knew anything at all about relationships, I wouldn’t have been nearly murdered twice in one week.’
‘If it’s an old flame, he would be more likely to ring, don’t you think?’ Coco and Juliet stood watching the policemen trying to load the protesting drunk into the car.
He was singing now, much to the entertainment of the town-centre shoppers. His voice was surprisingly clear with a measured vibrato. It was a voice wasted on such a numpty, a few observers
thought.
‘He might ring during the day when I’m at work so I wouldn’t know,’ Juliet said, amused by Coco’s attempts to turn himself into a detective.
‘But if he doesn’t ring in the evening . . .’ Coco’s brain was computing ‘. . . that says to me that he might be married. Gideon says that a man who prefers to text
and email rather than talk has something to hide.’
‘Come on, Miss Marple.’ Juliet dragged Coco into Boots. She wasn’t sure that her friend should sell his Perfume Palace and join the police force just yet.
Across the road, through Thorntons’ window, Floz watched the drunk being placed in the back of the police car. He’d lost weight — and teeth. His jaws were
hollow now and he looked far older than his age, with his sallow skin and unkempt hair. She couldn’t believe that she had once shared a bed with him. He was a tramp now, a drunk at whom
people laughed. Once upon a time they had been a couple with a house and jobs and a future. It pierced her that he had chosen this path. Despite everything he had done to her, and the revulsion she
felt at seeing him now, she could have cried for him again.
‘So, ready for your lunch with the family and
Steve
?’ asked Juliet, with a slight sneer pulling up her top lip.
‘What is it with you and him?’ said Floz, looping her handbag over her shoulder.
‘He’s all brawn and no brain.’ Juliet tapped the side of her head. ‘Find me the polar opposite of Steve Feast and then you’ll have someone I’m very interested
in.’
‘I thought he seemed really nice.’ Floz disappeared into the kitchen to get the white wine from the fridge.
‘You have only met him once, Floz. I, however, have known him all my life.’
‘Your brother obviously doesn’t share your feelings.’
‘Steve Feast spent more time at our house than his own when he was a kid. Mrs Feast was – and still is, unfortunately – a total piss-head. Steve’s father buggered off
before he was born. My mam bought him more clothes for school than his own did. But then he was very good to Guy when . . .’ She trailed off, as if she had been just been wrenched back from
the verbal equivalent of a very large hole.
‘When what?’ prodded Floz.
Juliet grabbed her coat. ‘Oh, nothing really. Guy had a rough time a few years back and Steve helped him through it. So, are we ready for lunch
chez Grainne et Perry
then?’
Yep, thought Floz. Then: This is going to be great, Guy glowering at me, Juliet glowering at Steve . . .
Mr and Mrs Miller lived in a very spacious detached house on the quiet outskirts of Maltstone, a pretty little village with a gothic church and an annual May Day festival.
Perry Miller and his late twin brother Stan had owned a successful plastic engineering firm before they sold it for a huge profit and retired. Stan had been the flamboyant director in a suit, Perry
– never happier than when he was in his overalls in the engineering toolshop. Grainne Miller had always been content in her role as a home-maker. Only the fact that she was the world’s
crappest cook stopped her from being Doris Day.
Juliet pushed open the front door to number 1, Rosehip Gardens and stepped into the large square hall immediately followed by Floz. The wonderful aroma of a Sunday lunch hit them both smack in
the face. The Miller seniors appeared quickly, arms out ready to greet their daughter and their considerably smaller guest. Grainne gave her a big kiss on the cheek, then, as if she were on a
hugging conveyor belt, Floz was passed to Perry and given a squashy hug. They were the sort of people who made her think she had known them forever, and she totally understood why Steve had
gravitated to this family if his own had been so cold and dysfunctional. She wanted to smile as soon as she thought about the Millers.
‘Where’s our Guy?’ asked Juliet, stripping off her coat.
‘He’s in the kitchen,’ said Perry, admiring the very nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that Floz had just placed into his hands. ‘Steven is opening some wine in the lounge
– go and say hello.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Juliet under her breath, but she was forced into meeting him seconds later as Steve rounded the corner with a tray of glasses.
Floz took him in again: the strong lantern chin, the white-blond hair and eyebrows, whilst his skin was light olive, which set off his ice-blue eyes beautifully. Oh yes, she bet he was an
absolute dog with women. Although she did think his eyes were kind, his welcoming smile wide and genuine.
‘Steven, put that tray down and come and meet our Floz,’ said Perry, putting his arm around the man and pushing him forward.
‘We’ve met, Pez,’ Steve answered, putting the tray down on a coffee-table.
‘Pez?’ Juliet rolled her eyes backwards.
‘Nice to see you again, Floz,’ said Steve, ignoring her. Steve knew exactly where Guy was coming from with his attraction to Floz. She wasn’t beautiful like Chianti Parkin, but
she was incredibly sweet-looking – with bright, shiny eyes like waxed leaves.
‘Have some wine, Floz,’ said Steve, handing her a glass. ‘Red okay?’
‘Thank you,’ replied Floz.
‘So, what have you been writing this week?’ asked Perry, drawing Floz into conversation whilst Juliet wandered into the kitchen to see Guy in his empire. Pans were bubbling and
steaming; Guy was carving the roast beef. Juliet stole a bit and Guy slapped her hand.
‘Just testing,’ she said, munching merrily. ‘Up to your usual standard, I have to say.’
A pan hissed and gravy bubbled over the top of it.
‘Oh shit!’ said Guy, looking wildly around him for a cloth.
‘S’up with you?’ Juliet gawped at him. ‘You’re in a flap. You never get in a flap cooking.’
‘I am not in a flap,’ growled Guy.
‘You all right?’
‘Course I’m all right,’ said Guy. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘It’s just that . . . I haven’t seen much of you recently. And when I do – well, there’s me telling Floz what a great laugh you are and you’ve gone all
grumbly like a big disgruntled grizzly bear.’
‘I don’t think it’s right that I visit as much when you have a lodger. She’ll want her privacy,’ Guy grumbled like a big disgruntled grizzly bear.
‘Floz and Steve seem to be getting on rather well,’ mused Juliet, stealing a look in the mirror on the kitchen wall which held a reflected view of Steve and Floz talking together in
the dining room. ‘I reckon there’s a spark there.’
Guy dropped a carton of milk and swore and Juliet made a hasty exit. Maybe today her twin would be best left alone.
Steve was leading Floz over to an armchair when Juliet joined them. He was showing off Stripies the family cat: an ancient, one-eyed, one-toothed cat with deformed paws. He looked fiercely feral
with his single long canine, but he was as soft as butter.
‘Why do you call him Stripies?’ asked Floz, seeing as he was all black with not a hint of a stripe anywhere.
Everyone in the room swapped amused glances above Floz’s head.
‘Ah, there’s a story,’ said Grainne.
‘Actually it’s a fact that when black cats are kittens, a lot of them have ghost-stripes on them,’ began Perry with a grin. ‘They grow out of them soon enough, but they
definitely look stripey.’
‘Oh I see,’ said Floz.
‘But that wasn’t the reason he got his name,’ smiled Perry, being deliberately evasive.
‘Oh Dad – tell the story,’ urged Juliet with good-humoured impatience. ‘Okay, I’ll begin. For my nineteenth birthday, Mum and Dad bought me a black fur
coat.’
‘And a few nights after, Guy runs into the house shouting, “Juliet, give me your coat quick and a black binliner”,’ Grainne took up the reins of the story. ‘And he
handed this wet bag over to me and ran out of the house with Juliet’s coat and a bin bag.’
Floz looked bemused.
Perry took a few attempts to light the pipe that was now clenched in between his lips. When he had, he carried on with the next part.
‘In the bag was a damp, shivering black kitten with strange paws. Turns out that a man called Donald Green had put him in a sack and thrown him in the stream that runs just to the side of
Pogley Top Woods. The stream that is known locally as “Pogley Stripe” because it’s really more of a ditch with a very shallow
stripe
of water running through it. Hardly
more than a dribble. Then this Donald bloke called in the local pub and starting talking about what he’d just done. He thought it was a funny yarn. He had an idea that people would see him as
the hard man for doing such a thing.’
‘Prick!’ interjected Juliet, giving her beloved cat a tickle under his chin.
‘And who should be drinking in the pub, but our Guy and Steve,’ said Grainne.
‘Ah.’ Floz was beginning to see the connection now.
‘Wait though, there’s more to tell.’ The story baton passed back to Perry. ‘So Guy and Steve straight away leave the pub to go hunting for the cat and find him. The state
of the little thing. Pogley Stripe wasn’t deep enough to drown him in, but he’d have died of the cold if he hadn’t been rescued. Then the boys come home, give us the cat to warm
up and grab Juliet’s coat, because they’ve made a plan.’