‘Gotcha.’
Bex had corralled the laundry back to the basket, given Tarquin a firm talking to, and removed most of the pen marks from the wall. There were still a couple of red lines, though, and Mrs Farrier was going to hit the roof. Bex knew it wouldn’t be Tarquin who bore the brunt. The kids were still sweet, the rebellions small and appropriately childlike, but it couldn’t last for ever. Tarc was twelve next birthday and already the same height as her. Things couldn’t go on with this lack of control. It wasn’t in anyone’s best interests, as Bex knew better than anyone. Her mum and dad had been too busy falling out of love to take a firm line with Bex when she had been Tarquin’s age, and look how that had turned out.
She knew she ought to speak to the Farriers about Tarc, but that would involve a sit-down meeting with both Mr and Mrs Farrier and Bex preferred to avoid Mr Farrier as much as possible. Especially after –
‘Ex?’ Carly was in the doorway, naked from the waist down. ‘Had an accident.’
Bex shoved her worries to one side. ‘No worries, kiddo. Let’s get you some new clothes.’
Later, Bex put the laundry away in the bedrooms and went to locate Mr Farrier’s cufflinks. He didn’t usually wear shirts which needed them, but she assumed they would live in the stone dish on top of the chest of drawers in the dressing room. That was where he kept his fancy gold watch and rings, and a silver money-clip that the children had given him last Father’s Day. It was engraved with ‘The heart of a father is the masterpiece of nature’, which, apparently, was from an opera or something. Bex was cheerfully ignorant of such things, but Mrs Farrier had explained at great length when instructing Bex to get the clip from the jeweller’s. Bex had to admit it had given her a little thrill; she had never met people who didn’t buy a ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug from the card shop and be done with it.
There was a pair of cufflinks in the dish, but they were tarnished silver, engraved with his initials. They really liked engraving things in the Farrier household. She checked on top of his bedside table and in the wardrobe. She didn’t want to start going through drawers, as that felt like a breach of privacy, but she checked in all the places she put laundry away. That was one of her jobs, after all, one she’d been doing for months.
The panic didn’t really set in until she had checked the wooden dish that sat on the console table in the hallway. Bex realised that she had been subconsciously counting on Mr Farrier having taken them off after his last fancy dinner and dropping them there on his way into the house. Now, she was stuck.
She checked the pockets of his suits, finding only an old receipt in one and a few coins, which she placed carefully on top of the dressing table. The panic was full now, making her heart race. What were the chances that Mrs Farrier would accept that the gold cufflinks had gone missing? Weighed against that, what were the chances she would blame Bex for the disappearance? She blamed her for everything else, after all.
She began on the children’s tea, slicing bread and cutting carrot sticks, while trying to push away the very worst thought; what if Mrs Farrier thought she had taken them? Her mobile rang and she answered quickly, grateful for the distraction.
‘I need a favour.’
‘Hi, Nicola,’ Bex said. I’m at work so I can’t talk for long.’ Bex had known Nicola since primary school and knew that, given free rein, she would ramble without pause for an hour or more.
‘I’m in Waitrose,’ Nicola said. ‘The nibbles here are amazing. They’ve got balsamic vinegar cashews. Have you tried them? I shouldn’t get them, I’ll just eat them all.’ A packet rustled. ‘Sod it, I’m getting them.’
Bex resumed chopping cucumber and waited for Nicola to get to the point. The background noise of the supermarket went suddenly muted. Bex could picture Nicola tucking the phone under her chin as she reached for a bag of cashews. Nicola prided herself on multi-tasking and she often called while shopping or driving or, once, while learning archery.
‘I’ve got some for you, too.’ Nicola was back. ‘Seriously, they look so good. My mouth is full-on watering.’
‘Nic, I’m working –’
‘Yeah, right. Sorry. I was wondering if you were going to the pub tonight?’
There was only one real pub in Pendleford. The others were tourist traps or bistros with tiny bar areas. The Red Lion had music every Wednesday, provided by Bex’s best friend, Jon. ‘I don’t think so,’ Bex said. ‘I’m knackered.’
‘Oh, go on. I haven’t seen you in ages.’
‘I saw you Sunday,’ Bex said, mildly insulted that Nicola had forgotten.
‘I want to meet Jon.’
Bex gripped the handle of the vegetable knife. ‘Jon?’ Her stomach flipped at the sound of his name spoken aloud.
‘Yeah. I know he’s your friend, but you must have noticed the hotness.’
‘We’re just friends,’ Bex said automatically. She began dicing one of the carrot sticks.
‘I know,’ Nicola said, sounding impatient. ‘That’s why I’m asking you to introduce us.’
‘Sure,’ Bex forced out. And I’ll just stab myself with this vegetable knife while I’m about it. ‘No worries.’
Today just got better and better.
***
After Martin’s visit, Iris had taken a bath in the claw-footed tub, hoping to ease the dull ache in her back. Now, however, she was having difficulty getting back onto dry land. When she’d stood up, the room had swayed treacherously, and she felt light-headed. Her sense told her that she’d stood up too quickly, had lain in water that was perhaps a touch too hot for too long, but her animal instinct screamed ‘danger’. Weakness!
Iris steadied herself with both hands on the side of the tub and concentrated on breathing
