The Rise and Fall of the Queen of Suburbia: A Black-Hearted Soap Opera. Sarah MayЧитать онлайн книгу.
seeing Winke smile, he added, ‘It’s weathered worse.’
‘Do you miss flying?’ Daphne whispered to Dominique, who was sitting next to her.
Dominique stared at the Belgian woman whose hand was on her arm. ‘I don’t know – it was a long time ago – yes,’ she added unexpectedly.
The two women smiled at each other.
Something in the way Daphne was resting her hand on her arm made Dominique run on, way beyond the usual confines of her ‘Mick and I got it together at fifty thousand feet’ speech. ‘I mean, I miss the flying, but not the job. The trolley, the foreign hotels between coming and going – I don’t miss that, but the flying itself …’
‘Was it what you always wanted to do?’
‘I didn’t know what I wanted to do – the only O Level I passed was Home Economics. Then I got accepted on this training programme, and –’
‘Do you ever think about going back to it?’
‘I don’t know – no – I’ve changed so much.’ This sounded indefinite, more like she was looking for reassurance than making a statement. ‘I’ve changed so much,’ she said again. Then, turning to Winke, ‘What were you saying about Laker Air?’
‘That it’s in trouble,’ Winke said, pleased to repeat this.
‘It’s fine, Dom.’ Mick, who had overheard, watched his wife’s face as it turned towards him, settling fully on him and resting there.
‘I hope so.’ Winke started shaking his head, and he was still shaking it when conversation moved on, and Joe was telling everybody his favourite story.
‘Believe it or not, it was one of the first jobs I took on after starting up the company,’ Joe’s voice was saying, ‘and it came my way through one of the estate agents in town – can’t remember which one. They’d been renting out a house for some people who’d gone to America short term then decided to sell, as renting it out was too much hassle and the last tenants had disappeared without a trace. The agents reckoned they’d get a better price if they had the kitchen re-done. So … I went in on a Tuesday, I think it was, yeah, a Tuesday. One of the first things I did was turn the freezer off so that I could move it out the way, and – bloody hell …’ He turned to Mick. ‘I know you’ve heard it already – don’t you dare say anything.’
Linda wanted Joe to finish his story and start making an effort with Winke so that in, say, two weeks’ time, Joe could ring him to talk about the possibility of offering Nieman double glazing at a reduced price to people who were getting kitchens designed and fitted by Quantum. She also wanted to ask Daphne whether they’d considered getting their original Laing kitchen replaced? The Nassams at No. 6 and the Saunders all had Quantum kitchens.
Joe let his chair fall forward, forcing his belly into the edge of the table.
‘Guess what I found when I opened the freezer? The missing tenant. Well, one of them.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Daphne looked cross. ‘Not in the freezer, surely.’
‘Seriously – I’m not kidding you.’
‘He’s not,’ Mick added.
Here was Joe talking about dead people, Linda thought. Dead people here in Littlehaven, where the only thing people should have to worry about was whether they ought to take advantage of the new offer by Quantum Kitchens and have Nieman glazing – at a reduced price – put in at the same time. Why was Joe the one rocking back on his chair legs, laughing, when she was the one who got to open the letter from the bank telling them they’d missed a mortgage payment.
‘It was in the papers and everything,’ Joe carried on. ‘The head was in the bottom drawer and everything else was in those freezer bags with labels and dates written on them. Each bag had a different date on it – never worked that one out. Must have been something personal; a private joke or something between the killer and her victim.’
‘Wait,’ Daphne said, ‘it was the wife who killed the husband?’
‘Well – according to the estate agent it was a husband and wife who left without paying their last month’s rent, only, technically speaking, I suppose the husband never vacated the property after all because he was in the freezer the whole time.’
‘Why don’t you two go and watch some TV?’ Linda whispered to Jessica.
‘Who’s “you two”?’ Jessica asked, staring back at her.
‘You and Paul.’
‘I need to go and see if Ferdie’s okay.’
Linda saw this as her last opportunity to reclaim the evening for six people. She’d managed with the gazpacho, but she just didn’t know how to make six salmon steaks into eight.
‘Ferdie’s fine.’
‘Who’s Ferdie?’ Paul asked.
‘Ferdie’s our dog,’ Linda said, then to Jessica, ‘and Ferdie’s fine.’
‘How do you know – have you been upstairs?’
‘Jessica!’
‘I’m going.’ Jessica shunted her deckchair back into the breakfast bar.
‘So what is this Kontagion thing?’ Winke said, looking at her T-shirt as she stood up.
‘Last year’s Glastonbury T-shirt for Youth CND,’ she mumbled.
‘You went?’
Jessica looked at Linda. ‘I wasn’t allowed to go – a friend brought it back for me.’
‘I think Paul should go to Glastonbury,’ Winke said, his mind on neither Paul, who was sitting opposite him, nor Glastonbury.
‘That was very good gazpacho, Mrs Palmer,’ Paul said as Jessica left the room.
‘What the hell’s gazpacho?’ Joe asked Mick.
Linda wondered briefly if anyone was checking Paul’s alcohol intake. Then whether anybody needed to – how old was he, anyway? ‘Teenagers,’ she said nervously.
‘You’re okay, you escape all this with a boy,’ Dominique said to Daphne. Then, turning to Linda, ‘I mean, when did you last get to use your own phone?’
Linda gave what she hoped was a sympathetic shrug. Jessica didn’t seem to phone anybody, and nobody phoned Jessica – apart from Mr Browne, who lived at No. 14.
‘And all the cupboard space taken up with cheap makeup – Delta doesn’t seem to stick to one brand, she just gets bored and moves on to the next one.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Linda said, hoping Dominique would leave it at that.
‘And that’s just the ongoing stuff. This afternoon – while we were out – the girls nearly set fire to the house.’
Linda tried to look surprised.
‘Some accident with a crimper – you should see Steph’s hair.’
‘Will Jessica be going to university next year?’ Daphne asked, turning to Linda. ‘I mean, what’s the procedure for someone her age, in her position?’
Linda didn’t know. She hadn’t thought about anything much beyond the feature Trevor Jameson was going to run in the County Times, and now she came to think of it – what was going to happen with Jessica next year?
‘You should think about an American university for Jessica – maybe wait four years, let her mature … specialise … get her head round the direction she’d like her research to take. I’ve got a good friend at Berkeley you and Joe should speak to.’
‘Anyway, you got your picture in the paper, didn’t you?’ Mick was saying to Joe.
‘I