ILLUMINATION BOOK CHAPTERS (UPDATED LIST OF CHAPTERS HERE) … ROMANTIC COMEDY — QUIRKY ROMP — CO-STARS MOOCHER THE DOG
‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ — Chapter Twenty-Two
The fog doesn’t seem to be clearing …
It occurred to her as she sat on the floor in the bathroom that it was a bit strange that she could just carry on as normal despite all the weird things that were happening. But what else could she do? Normality had to be allowed to reign supreme or she’d lose her mind. And what could possibly be more normal than the happy pursuit of bathing a dog that simply refused to be bathed?
Anyway, the police were on to it now so she could take a back seat. With the other stuff she meant, not with bathing Moocher.
And of course, the other thing, the thing she’d been trying very hard not to think about, was the whole situation with Hugh. There must be a way she could let him know how much she truly loved him and how much she’d like for them to have another go at being a couple. Knowing what they knew now that they didn’t know back then, surely, if they established the ground rules up front, they could make a success of it this time.
She’d got the distinct impression he’d been engaged to Charity for a little while before he’d finally told her, and she wondered why he’d found it so difficult to tell her. Maybe there was hope for her in that, for a start. Or maybe it was just that he felt a bit of a pratt — after all, the whole engagement with Charity sounded a bit suspicious — as though he’d been taken advantage of, but that could have been her over-protective mind at work. Hugh was an astute businessman, just a bit gullible when dealing with women. She didn’t think he really believed how foul and mercenary they could be sometimes.
Uncharitable Charity… That was it! She and her previous boyfriend cooked up some scheme between them to fleece Hugh when he was vulnerable. Did this mean he’d lost a chunk of money to them? Or had they realised they’d get nowhere, fabricated an excuse and dumped him before he caught on and sorted them out? She realised she might never know as, strictly speaking, it wasn’t her business and she wouldn’t want to embarrass him
And if she ever did meet Charity she wouldn’t puree her limbs in revenge. No, she would thank the woman for making her, Liz, see sense.
Thinking about the last couple of years of him steadfastly trying to get them back together again, and her, kindly, turning him down made her feel awful. He’d been right all along. They did belong together. On the other hand, if not for those couple of years they neither of them would have the understanding they had now. Maybe it would be because of those years that this time it would work.
If only she could convince him of that.
She was sitting on the floor because she was taking a rest. It was exhausting work trying to get a stubborn dog into a bath. Moocher lay on the bathroom floor, his nose between his paws, his eyes rolled up looking at her, his tail twitching. It was very annoying. It was like someone who wants to laugh at you, but was determined they wouldn’t because of how insulting it would be. But they’re unable to control the corners of their mouth and those corners twitch upwards as if they have a life of their own. That was how Moocher’s tail was going. He was trying not to laugh at her.
Dogs have this amazing ability to make themselves really, really heavy. Just as soon as you want to pick them up, if they don’t want to be picked up, they make themselves as heavy as a train. It’s almost as though they’ve glued themselves to the floor. Moocher was perfectly happy for her to lift each of his legs from the floor, his tail also came away easily, his head would come up. No, he wasn’t stuck to the floor. He had just made himself impossibly heavy. All the muscles in her body ached from the time they had spent, her trying to lift him from the floor, him just lying there, laughing to himself. Being heavy.
She forced herself to her knees and leaning over the bath tub, checked the water. It had cooled significantly in the time it had taken for their first round of tussles. She added some hot water. She didn’t want to give him a chill. Ha! Give him a chill… The number of times he had leapt into the sea, or a river, or just any old puddle or ditch, regardless of the warmth or otherwise of the day, and then, of course, wanted to get in the car… she was beginning to get suspicious about Moocher’s supposed dislike of baths considering the enthusiasm with which he submerged himself in liquid of virtually any description anywhere else but here.
His tail twitched. He was probably wondering what Liz’d do next. She was wondering what she’d do next, too. Then, just as she was forcing herself to do something, anything, Melanie and Simon appeared in the doorway.
Melanie said, “Tony’s gone, but not far.”
“Let me guess,” Liz said. “He’s gone next door.”
Melanie nodded her head, her hair bouncing with the movement. “Yup, you’ve got it. Strange, isn’t it, the way Lydia’s suddenly started to take in lodgers? It’s not as if she needs the money.”
“I think it’s mainly for her loneliness,” Liz said, somewhat absent-mindedly. She was thinking about the gun Julie had. Regardless of what anyone said, she still felt uneasy about Lydia. She couldn’t explain the phone call from Lydia and the story about a burglar, unless it was her trying to shop Mark Scotter because he’d found someone closer to his own age. Liz still wasn’t as convinced as she’d like to be that Lydia was okay. But she didn’t know what to do about it.
On the other hand, Lydia’s brother was there now and he would probably take care of things.
Liz was beginning to feel more generous towards Julie, too. After all, she hadn’t actually harmed Moocher. Also, the revelation of how immoral and unfeeling her adoptive brother actually was made her see Julie in a different light. Living with him must have made her hard — if only to survive.
“Yeah, but I thought we were all friends,” Melanie said, breaking into Liz’s train of thought. “So, what’s with her taking in lodgers who’ve fallen out with us and why’s she getting all funny with us?”
“I think she may have had the hots for Simon, you know…”
Simon swallowed hard and audibly. A red tide of embarrassment crept from under his collar to disappear into his hair.
“Ah, gotcha. She’s a ‘woman scorned’ is she?” Melanie said with her usual delicacy, looking at Simon as though waiting for him to spill all his sordid secrets.
“Look, I’ll tell you what,” Liz whispered. “While the black furry animal over there thinks we’re all engrossed talking about Lydia and Simon and Lydia’s thwarted attempts to get Simon for her next toy boy, let’s all get ready to pounce on him and get him in the bath. Okay?
Moocher, that is, not Simon.”
“Oh,” Melanie said. “I wondered why you were whispering then.”
“Well, let’s stop whispering now or he’ll realise something’s going on. Don’t look at him!”
“Oh, sorry. Okay, where were we? Um, oh, yeah, talking about Lydia, um…” Melanie casually rolled up her sleeves in readiness. Clever girl. She’d got the drift. Whereas Simon just stood there still looking startled, still a deep pink.
“Okay, Simon, ready to grab black furry animal?”
He nodded, too frightened to look around.
“Okay, now listen,” Liz said. “I’ll grab him around the head and shoulders, you two get his rear end. Actually it’s best if one of you, Melanie you do it, get his rear end especially making sure you have one leg and Simon you just make sure you keep his other hind leg close in to his body, whilst supporting his middle. We’ll just lift him straight up, move over a little and then straight down into the bath. Okay, I won’t count because Moocher can count, you know. He’s sooo clever, that dog. I’ll just say, ‘here we go’, Okay?”
Her co-conspirators nodded, looking grim. There was a short uneasy silence in the bathroom. They could hear a car pulling up, handbrake going on, door opening and slamming. They could hear a fly thud into the window and start to whine about it. They could hear an aeroplane in the distance flying off to some white-sanded shore where people wouldn’t dream of cutting off other people’s fingers or kidnapping dogs and terrorising them with threats of torture.
Very quietly, Liz said, “Here we go.” And they all pounced on that poor, unsuspecting dog who’d been nodding off into a doze. He didn’t stand a chance, not against the combined deviousness of three human beings. Ha!
All that happened was that after they got him airborne, all four of his legs suddenly, as though responding to some mechanical instruction, stuck out at the corners of his body and effectively stopped him from being lowered into the bath. He became as rigid as a Victorian wardrobe — he wasn’t going anywhere.
However, in the ensuing struggle through which Moocher whiffled and snuffled, occasionally letting out a single delighted ‘woof’, Simon fell into the end of the bath; Melanie skinned her elbow on the wall and Liz managed to smack into the bathroom cabinet so hard it threw itself, plus all its contents, into the bath to join Simon. To add insult to injury Liz also managed to snag herself in the shower curtain which, with a gigantic unzipping sound, ripped itself from its restraints and landed in the bath too.
Enough was enough. She helped Simon out, produced some antiseptic cream and a plaster for Melanie, scooped out various chemistry products from the bath, rather unwisely tore the shower curtain out which seemed to bring with it half the water, put on the taps to top it up and got in the bath herself.
“Moocher, come here. Good dog,” she said in a wheedling, let’s-have-fun voice.
He looked all around as if to say, “Well, why didn’t we do it like this from the start? If only I’d known what you wanted.” And he jumped in to join her. Easy. Any dog was only too delighted to join their owner in the bath if they’re asked in the right way. Liz reached for the very expensive special dog shampoo and, removing the cap, poured a good handful in to her palm.
That was when the front door bell rang and Moocher, who always felt obliged to welcome people into the house properly, if he was awake, leapt out of the bath. The shampoo landed on the bathroom floor and proceeded to leak away into the carpet. Liz was left, fully clothed, sitting in a rapidly cooling bath with no dog to wash. This wasn’t quite the plan.
She could hear Moocher thundering down the stairs closely followed by the clack of Melanie’s sandal shod feet. The front door opened and there was a sharp, very irritating scream. Liz might have known that Angela would call round now. There was also the low rumble of an accompanying man, but she couldn’t think why she should have dragged her hubby round with her. He, to give him his due, simply wasn’t interested in poking around in Liz’s business, not in the same way that Angela was. Then she heard footsteps on the stairs and her sister appeared in the doorway.
Liz noticed that Melanie and Simon, very wisely, didn’t accompany her.
“How nice to see you,” Liz said. Well, what else could she say?
She sniffed. “Sarcastic to the end, aren’t you?”
Hugh appeared behind her. Ooh, it wasn’t Angela’s hubby, it was Hugh. Liz felt herself go hot. “Getting ready for our dinner date, Liz?” he asked.
Good grief! She’d forgotten! She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten. Too much had happened in too short a space of time. “Er, well yes, of course,” she said, enthusiastically rubbing dog shampoo into her scalp in a fair imitation, she thought, of someone getting ready for a dinner date. She noticed that dogs’ flea shampoo didn’t smell very romantic. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from you, Angela?” she enquired. Very reasonably, she thought.
Angela ignored her. “Why are you in the bath with all your clothes on?” she asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t be entertaining all and sundry in the nude would I?”
“I know what it is — your washing machine’s broken isn’t it?”
Amazing. She’s amazing. Moocher chose that moment to shoulder his way back into the bathroom producing little shrieks from Angela as she tried to stay out of his reach. He jumped into the bath. He knew his place. His place was by his mistress, wherever she may be.
“Just tell me why you’re here, Angela.” Liz was fresh out of polite social niceties by then. Hugh raised an eyebrow. He’s the only man Liz knew who could do that with his eyebrow and not look like a right poser who thinks he should be the next Sean Connery. He then gave her an orchid all ready to be pinned to her bosom when she was ready, with some leaves nicely taped on to it as a suitable backdrop to its lush petals. Actually, he thought better of handing it to her and laid it tenderly on the back of the sink. Angela stared at it and stared meaningfully at Liz and her look was unmistakable. It said, ‘What an unbelievably stupid person you are to turn this man away.’ Maybe, for once in her life, she was right.
Liz was beginning to think she needed someone to get some order back in her life, and if it just happened to be the man she was madly in love with, then so be it. Mind you, it was horrible to admit Angela was right, but Hugh was too important to let that get in the way, although Liz would burn with resentment about it for a while.
But then again, she didn’t like orchids. She would much rather have a freesia corsage or just a rose from the garden and Hugh would know that. But he would consider an orchid much more the thing. In the face of knowing that he knew that she knew that he knew she would rather not have an orchid but he still felt he knew better, then she knew she could cope very well on her own, much as she loved him. Hmm, maybe she would be better off on her own after all.
And she wouldn’t be on her own. She would have her trusty, clean and sweet-smelling, dog by her side. On the other hand, she no longer wanted to be on her own, despite a couple of years of enjoyable singledom. Maybe they could be a couple but not live together? Hmm — that had possibilities. But she still had to convince him…
Angela snorted. Not a very lady-like habit that one, but she just wouldn’t be told. “I came round to tell you about Betty,” she announced, looking very important. Liz just knew something nasty had happened to Betty. Angela looked too pleased for it to be otherwise.
“Don’t tell me,” Liz said. “She’s discovered she was sitting in your kitchen for three hours with a crumb on her chin and she’s committed hari kiri only it’s not a crumb, it’s a wart, but she didn’t put her glasses on either…”
Angela was oblivious. Angela was triumphant, and beaming, in her role as news bearer extraordinaire. “Betty’s nephew, Kevin has been arrested for drug dealing,” she said. “But it’s actually Betty’s operation. She’s been dealing in drugs all these years under the name of Mark Scotter.”
Well! You could have struck her down with a blade of grass. All Liz could manage was a strangled, “What?”
“Yes,” Angela continued. “Kevin has been the brawn, she’s been the brain and the café’s been a cover. Kevin reported you to the police for breaking and entering and when they went there they found all these drugs hidden away in bags of sugar and bags of flour. He’s not very bright.”
Angela stopped to gulp in a breath and look important and then carried on, “She was absolutely livid and tried to shoot him but missed. It seems that he took a part-time job, too, because she never gave him enough money and the police were on to him already through that. And, to think, she and I ran the tombola together for the church fete when that nice vicar was there, when she was plain Betty Podger. Do you think they’ll want to interview me?”
Liz massaged more shampoo into Moocher’s back as he lay across her lap in the bath. He was ecstatic. Her mind buzzed and looped, trying to sort out what she already knew from the new stuff and trying to work out the extra convolutions this added to the picture. She still couldn’t believe Betty was a drug dealer, though, whatever she called herself.
“Why would they want to interview you?” she asked.
“So that they can build a profile of her as a wanted criminal, of course,” she said. “Profiles are all the rage. I know. I read all the right books.”
“Why would they want to build a profile?” One must exercise a lot of patience with Angela.
“You haven’t been listening,” she snapped. “They’ve got Kevin, but Betty got away.”
“You mean they had no trouble apprehending a strapping, muscle-bound young man, but a dear little old lady fought her way clear and made a successful dash for freedom against all the odds and half the police force from the West country?”
“She’s not a dear little old lady. We did a tombola together. She’s barely middle aged.”
“So how come she got away?”
“Apparently she retreated into her house and simply vanished. She must have had this manoeuvre worked out for a long time just in case she needed to be able to disappear. It was live on the local news. That’s where I heard about it and I came over straight away. The police are still looking for her. If you weren’t so wrapped up in yourself all the time you’d have noticed the carryings on in the street.”
“So this vicious criminal is on the loose and possibly wanting revenge from the family that, quite accidentally, exposed her life of crime, and my sister is wondering what to wear for the interview. If I were you I would be at home right now battening down the hatches, stocking up on tinned foods and bottled water, and getting ready for a siege, not prancing about looking for cameras to be coy at and microphones to lisp down.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Liz. Betty won’t come after us. We did a tombola together, don’t forget.”
“Dearie me,” Liz sighed. She turned away from Angela and, holding the shower head, fumbled with the dial-thing to get it on. It would need to be on full blast to rinse the shampoo from Moocher’s exceedingly thick coat. He loved this bit. He was definitely a shower dog and definitely not a bath dog. Sometimes, in the summer she would chase him around the garden with the hose at full power and when she was exhausted he would bark, ‘More, more,’ at her. When she couldn’t get it turned on from where she was sitting, she turned back only to find Betty in the doorway, brandishing a gun.
Why was she not surprised? She was beyond it by then. Never again to feel that refreshing edge of astonishment — what a sad state of affairs. Hugh sat on the edge of the bath and Angela sat, quivering, on the loo. They both had their hands in the air. Very sensible, she thought. She put hers up too so there’d be no mistake about who was in charge here.
“I know you’re not as thick as some,” Betty said to Liz. “So for Chrissake put your hands down and stop that animal of yours coming anywhere near me or I’ll be forced to shoot it.”
“Him,” Liz said as she whipped her hands down and gripped Moocher hard. “He’s a ‘him’ not an ‘it’.” She couldn’t seem to help it.
“Liz, just shut up,” Hugh said.
“No!” Betty shouted. They all flinched and watched the gun with unwilling fascination. “You shut up!” Betty continued. “No one asked you, Hugh. Don’t let a man ruin your life, whatever you do, Liz.”
“I won’t, don’t worry,” Liz assured her and risked a grin. Just now, she didn’t really want to grin at a drug dealer, but she did want to get out of this situation alive and they seemed to have found, unexpectedly, some common ground. Betty’s marriage couldn’t have been a happy one by the sounds of it. Liz wondered where Melanie and Simon were and looked behind Betty, worried that they might appear at the wrong moment.
She saw the look. “The other two are out in the street enjoying the fuss. Everyone’s looking for me. I doubt they’ll look here just yet. I only want a moment to clear something up anyway. I’m not interested in you lot or in revenge, despite what you might think. I want to know about Simon Medley. Is he Julie’s father or not?”
Liz couldn’t begin to imagine why she would want to know, but she was happy that in the face of that gun this was one question she could answer with utter certainty. “No,” she said. “He is definitely not Julie’s father.”
“Shit! Are you absolutely positive?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Liz said sadly, her illusions of dear little ol’ ladies shattered by the curse. But then, she hadn’t really got used to the idea of her being a drug-runner yet. She supposed it might be all right for a drug-runner to swear like that.
“Who else could it be? I was sure it had to be him.”
“Who, Julie’s father?”
“Of course, Julie’s father.”
“Why do you want to know who Julie’s father is?” Liz thought she might as well get as much information as she could under the circumstances. But Betty raised the gun even higher and pointed it more menacingly at her.
Hugh said, “Shut up, Liz!”
Whereupon the gun swung around to him and she said, “No! You shut up!” and thanks to Hugh’s timely admonition to Liz, Betty proceeded to tell her: “Julie’s father and my sodding husband were in cahoots together when that job was done. Julie’s father got away with all the money. I know he did the time for it, but he came out to a very nice early retirement pension. Very nice indeed. If I’d had that I wouldn’t have been forced into the burglary game. But I had to keep body and soul together somehow.”
“Burglary?” Liz said.
“No need to look at me like that,” Betty said to her. “We all do what we have to. I’m not sure I believe you anyway — it has to be him — if it isn’t him, who else is there? I know he’s here in Malvern Road — I know this from some papers of Tom’s that I found. He was my husband — useless sod that he was. I thought if I lured the daughter here she would lead me to him and she led me to Simon Medley so why should I believe you? I even got Kevin to get it together with the girl, but she was only leading him on as it turns out. By the way, the thing with the dog — I didn’t approve of that. She just took an opportunity and overplayed her hand. She thought you knew about the money as you were such good friends with Simon Medley.”
Liz felt her mouth must have been hanging open. The torture of not knowing whether Moocher had been maimed or was even dead was just “an opportunity” Julie took to get at her. Betty cracked a mirthless laugh as she took in her expression.
Abruptly she turned to Angela, but was unable to get in the first word. “I don’t know how you could do it,” she said. “How could a woman be a burglar?” Angela stared at the gun defiantly. Liz was quite pleased with her sister actually, much as it pained her to admit it.
“Oh, don’t be so boringly sexist, Angela,” Betty said. “Do you know who Julie’s father is?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. This is my sister’s house and nothing to do with me.” She shuddered delicately at the very idea. “I always knew she shouldn’t take in lodgers. Who knows where they’ve been? On the other hand, I would find it difficult to believe of that particular lodger that he was capable of planning, and carrying out successfully, anything more complicated than getting matching shoes on at the same time. I certainly can’t imagine him doing the job, surviving gaol and then keeping hidden all this time.”
“Hmmm…” Betty said.
Liz was in a quandary. She wanted Simon out of Betty’s frame, but should she drop Clive in it? Shouldn’t he take responsibility for his actions, including those that produced a daughter, especially one as nasty as his? And what about this Mark Scotter person? She just didn’t know enough.
“We thought you were a drug dealer, not a burglar,” she said.
“I wouldn’t stoop that low,” Betty said. “It’s because I discovered Kevin’s nasty little habits in that direction and the name he was using, that I shopped him to Angela. I knew she wouldn’t be able to help herself. I knew she would tell you and I expected you to do something about it. But you did nothing.” She looked at Liz in disgust. “Well, you did come to see me, I suppose, so that I could make it even easier for you. But you still did nothing.”
“Angela didn’t tell me he was a drug dealer,” Liz said, glancing at Angela.
She dropped her gaze. “I think I forgot to tell you that bit,” she whispered.
“Anyway,” Liz said, strangely unsettled to see Angela look hangdog, “When I came to see you Betty, you thought his van had been stolen for that job.”
Betty smiled at her. “Well, of course that was the impression I was going to give. You’d have smelled a rat if you’d realised I was dropping my own nephew in it. Even you’re bright enough to think that would be suspicious. Or I thought you were. I had second thoughts when I realised you were trying to break into a café I’d already left unlocked for you…”
Gee, thanks, Betty. Liz opened her mouth to make some scathing retort when Betty jumped around at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Liz heard Melanie shout, “Simon, your pocket!”
Liz sniffed the air. Yes, above the smell of dog shampoo spreading throughout the bathroom carpet, could clearly be smelt the peculiar and characteristic odour of a pocket on fire. Then she heard a yell and a series of thuds. Simon must have fallen down the stairs.
Suddenly, Hugh pounced, with an athletic grace that took Liz’s breath away. He was like a bounding lion, like a swooping eagle. Like a speeding shark he was on to Betty. There was a shout, a scream, a grunt, a clatter, racing footsteps, a thud as a body hit the floor, muffled moans and then a taut and waiting silence.
It was all so quick.
Liz looked at Angela. She was stiff with shock and appeared to be glued to the loo seat. Liz had released Moocher and he was out of the bath in one leap, spraying soap suds everywhere. She slowly stood up, unable to move any faster. She’d been sitting in a hard bath with her legs crossed all that time and was afraid of permanent disfigurement, not to mention everlasting wrinkles and water-logging.
Hugh was on the floor, clutching himself where men always clutch themselves whether they’ve been kicked in that area or not. In this case, he had been kicked, or kneed, in that area, and he was being a very brave boy and not making too much noise about it.
Betty was gone. The gun was on the floor. Liz felt she should pick it up just in case Betty came back intending to use it or just in case some other baddie got in and decided it was too good an opportunity to miss. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to touch it. It seemed to give off an aura of badness, of dank and chilly memories, of pain. She kicked it behind the loo and dropped to her knees beside Hugh who seemed to be recovering rapidly. He smiled, a valiant but somewhat strained smile. He had never looked so appealing to her and she leaned over and kissed him on his mouth. That wiped off the smile and a look of extreme puzzlement took its place, quickly followed by annoyance and she leant away from him, confused.
“Don’t,” he hissed. “Not even in pity. Don’t do that.”
Pity? He thought she kissed him because she pitied him for being kicked in the goolies? Or maybe, her mind took a leap — maybe he meant pity for him being dumped by old Uncharitable. He was never going to believe she loved him. Despair hit her and she had to bite her lips to stop them quivering.
“What about Betty?” he said, as though they hadn’t just exchanged life-changing words.
But Liz wasn’t worried about Betty getting away. After all, there were two fit and healthy people between her and the ground floor and then the area outside the house was crawling with policemen, media people and nosy neighbours.
Chapter Twenty-One of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ is here!
Chapter Twenty-Three of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ will be here next week!
All ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ chapters to read are here.
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‘White Lies and Stakeouts’ follows on from ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’, although, it too, can stand alone.
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