Whilst he was grateful for Margaret’s now unprompted defence of him, sometimes he wished she’d just bugger off and let someone else get a word in edgeways. It was as though she purposely emasculated him at every turn and he’d felt like a teenager being defended by an overprotective mother. Seriously, the new Margaret was a pain in the arse and he really did long for the return of his timid mouse. Life, what was left of it, would have been so much easier.
In truth, and in comparison to the companionable existence they’d portrayed to both sets of detectives, they merely endured twelve daylight hours in each other’s company. In the real world, on the day in question, after they watchedEmmerdalehe retired to his room leaving her alone downstairs to chat to her Facebook friends and put the final touches to her ridiculous plans for the annihilation of Elkdale village.
She was over the moon that someone had taken a lease on her shop which now stood bare, most of the stock sold off as a job lot while what Margaret described as ‘useful bits and bobs’ were stacked at the back of the garage. To be fair some of it was handy: her dad’s old toolbox, cleaning materials, rubber gloves, carrier bags, stuff like that.
None of it was remotely useful if you owned a massage parlour that also specialised in adult magazines, though. The occupation of her prospective new tenants pleased Margaret immensely. Still thoroughly intent on lowering the tone of the village, she had revelled in the knowledge that there had been complaints to the parish and local council after her licence application went in. Consequently, she was gearing up for a battle with officials, waging her own private war with God and prudish villagers alike.
Herbert always listened patiently to her diatribes and watched as she pressed razor sharp creases into the trousers of her power suit, wondering if her adversaries knew they were taking on Kim Tate’s demented doppelganger. When he weighed it up, Herbert thought that living with the evil Kim would be a walk in the park. And at least she liked a bit of nookie because Margaret had called time on all that, too.
It was as though she had a different agenda entirely. She was biding time, he was sure, counting the days until she was free of him. The only reason he was still there was because of his money and in some ways they were both holding each other to ransom. He would leave her everything if she cared for him until the end and didn’t pack him off to a hospice to die alone; but in return she had curtailed their intimate moments. For both of them that little fantasy had crashed and burned. He wasn’t up to it and she wasn’t interested.
* * *
Hearing the door slam, he shuffled to his designated armchair and picked up his book, pretending to read as Margaret entered the room. He felt her death-ray stare penetrating his forehead before she even spoke.
‘Well, I think that put him firmly in his place, don’t you, dearest one?’
Herbert hated it when she called him that and swallowed down his irritation. ‘Yes, my love, you did and I’m eternally grateful because I have no doubt they’d take the utmost pleasure in carting me off to the station. I fear I’m their whipping boy and they’ll be back if their enquiries hit a dead end. I’m too easy a target, for everyone.’
‘Well, I shan’t have it, Herbert. And if they persist without evidence, I will have no hesitation in making a formal complaint. Now, let’s forget about them because it’s time for your medication. How is your pain? I noticed you paled slightly whilst the detective was here, or was that simply nerves?’
Herbert hated that she managed to make him sound weak, like everything was his fault. He was convinced she blamed him for being sick, as if he was genetically inferior and now owing to his earlier misdemeanours and ex-con status she had to endure police scrutiny. Margaret bore her huge and heavy cross like the proverbial martyr and made the very most of it.
‘I’m fine, Margaret, only mild discomfort but you’re correct: I did find the detective’s visit a strain so I think I’ll go for a lie down after I’ve taken my pills.’ Herbert stood, then immediately sat down again when Margaret signalled with her hand he should do so.
She was like a bloody dog whisperer the way she did that. He’d seen it on a documentary, the slow lowering of the hand, the firm stare. If he’d been a bull mastiff he’d be inclined to get her by the throat and eat her for supper. Sod buttered crumpets.
‘This can’t continue indefinitely, Herbert, you know, me covering for you like this. The police aren’t completely stupid and if you’re not careful you’ll slip up and I won’t be able to help.’
Herbert quailed, just managing to force out a sentence. ‘W-what do you mean, Margaret?’
A loud sigh escaped her mouth. ‘Oh, Herbert, please don’t take me for a fool. I know you’ve been nipping out at night on my bicycle. It has a counter on the handlebars and it doesn’t take a mathematician to work out how far it’s travelled, or a detective to notice the muddy tyres and I certainly haven’t been on it lately.’
Herbert was stunned. He hadn’t thought about it. What a fool he was. Before he could respond Margaret jumped in. ‘Now, I want to make myself clear, Herbert. While I have no desire to know what you’ve been up to, I do accept that you may feel the need to… shall we say, spread your wings while you can. It is pitiful that you are more or less incarcerated here and soon you’ll be incapable of many more things, but do take care and engage your brain otherwise we know where you’ll end up.’
Herbert was astounded. What exactly was she saying? Did she know what he’d done? Did she approve? There was only one way to find out. ‘Margaret, I’m not exactly sure what you think I’ve been up to but I would rather you say so I can at least state my case.’
A hand shot up, Margaret’s palm flat, telling Herbert to stop. ‘No, there is no need. I have been your confidante for many years and know how your mind ticks and also, what you have endured. So I’m not surprised you wish to serve a cold slice of revenge especially on that dreadful man Dennis Mills. All I ask is that you do not implicate or discuss your actions with me.’
Herbert caught the look, the slight lowering of her head, the raised eyebrows and wide knowing eyes sending him a silent message. ‘Okay, yes, I mean, I understand.’ Herbert nodded obediently.
‘Good, then we shall leave it there. Now I will prepare your tablets and a snack then I suggest you get an early night. We’re seeing the solicitor tomorrow at nine so we need to be up and about early. I’ll bring supper up on a tray.’ With that Margaret stood and after smoothing the wrinkles out of her new leather-look trousers, tottered off into the kitchen.
Placing the bookmark between the pages he’d lost interest in, Herbert did as he was told and made his way to bed, wincing as pain sliced through his abdomen. He did wonder as he took each stair slowly if his illness was some kind of punishment, like living with Margaret was turning out to be. Dying a slow death was exhausting; dealing with the pendulum swing of Margaret’s dual personality even more so. How had he missed the signs? Fifteen years of being visited by a total headcase and not once had he realised. Oh the irony.
All that kept him going now was the notion of making his last few days, weeks, months matter. That hunger was building in him again. He had to feed it somehow. He didn’t care about the money that he was leaving to Margaret. What he cared about was his legacy. If he could just manage one more kill, one more thrill, he would die a happy man. Surely he was still allowed dreams: even Margaret couldn’t rob him of those.
19
Frankie switched off her laptop and stretched her achy limbs, arms reaching upwards while her legs extended under the table, toes wiggling in her tatty flip-flops as her taut body relaxed. As she rotated her neck to relieve tension, her movements aroused the attention of Belle and Oscar who were now getting used to the signs. This one meant their human had finished work for the day and it was time for fun.
‘Come on then, you two rascals, let’s go for a little walk, shall we?’
Frankie loved wandering around the perimeter of her property with the puppies who now knew the way and raced off, getting bolder and bigger by the day. It was a great feeling, knowing that the field scattered with wildflowers, bordered by the pine forest to the rear of the house was all hers, and that the very empty large barn had potential. Perhaps it could be converted for her parents when they’d had enough of globetrotting, or an office, or pool, the possibilities were endless. And the view across the valley always took her breath away. It was a free and simple pleasure like the wind that turned the turbines on the distant horizon.
Never in her very vivid imagination, possibly a by-product of editing hundreds of manuscripts, had Frankie believed she’d be so happy and settled in her new home. She also never believed how much she would despise the sight of her flat-pack furniture. After being defeated by double wardrobes, she had sworn an oath never to step foot in IKEA ever again.
Jed had literally cried laughing, and thanks to her brand-new wifi connection she’d been able to see his tears close up when she flipped her laptop round to show him her wonky wardrobes with doors that wouldn’t close. Frankie had seen the funny side, though, and was happy to leave her power drill on charge for when Jed arrived to take over.
