telling me. Medieval stuff, damsels in distress, knights on white chargers, all that kind of thing.”
“Oh my God!” said Derek. “Are you serious? Ah,” he added, “wait a minute. Did you say ‘knights’?” Lois nodded. No flies on Derek. “So,” he continued, “there’s an ulterior motive for this outing? Something come up to do with the major, now no longer a member of that poncey lot? Last seen givin’ a very convincing performance as a dead knight in armour in Dalling Church? Come on, Lois. I’m wasn’t born yesterday. If you want to go sleuthing in Tresham, take one of your pals. Bridie Reading’d like a night out for once. Take her.”
Lois shrugged. “OK,” she said. “Thought you might like to come along and give me a bit of a hand. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.” Derek did not reply, burying himself behind the sports page of the evening paper. “Fine, thanks a lot,” said Lois. “I’ll ask Bridie, then. And next time you want me to drive you and your pissed pals back from a match, think again!”
She dialled the Readings’ number, and Richard Reading answered the telephone. “Oh, it’s you,” he said grumpily. Like all bullies, he was temporarily deflated now his victim had turned on him. But he was biding his time, he told himself. Keeping a low profile. He had plans, he’d told his reflection in the shaving mirror that morning, and not unconnected with Lois Meade. “I’ll get her,” he said, and deliberately left Lois hanging on for several minutes before fetching Bridie in from the garden.
“Hello? Oh, hello, Lois. Did you want to know…? Oh, nothing to do with New Brooms. A play, did you say? Well, I don’t know…it doesn’t sound much in my line. Oh, hang on, here’s Hazel just come in. Wants a word with you.” Lois heard Bridie telling Hazel about the play, and wondered what it was Hazel wanted.
“Mrs M? I was going to ring you. That Mrs Jordan…you know, the one with wig! Well, she’s asked for more hours next week. Seems they’ve got extra performances of this play. Very popular, she says. Will that be OK?”
Lois confirmed this, and then, on the spur of the moment, asked Hazel if she’d like to see the play. “You’d know what Mrs Jordan was talking about then,” she said. To her surprise, Hazel seemed keen.
“What about Mum, though?” she said. Lois could hear Bridie being far from keen in the background, and then Hazel said, “Right then, Mrs M, what time and where?”
They made the necessary arrangements, and Lois put down the telephone. She looked at Derek, slumped in the armchair, snoring gently. Of course he wouldn’t want to go to a play. What was she thinking of? Poor bugger wouldn’t want to go off to Tresham after a hard day’s work.
She walked over to him, and leaned over, kissing the top of his head. “I love you, Derek Meade,” she said. “I love you just as you are, football, pissed pals and all.” He did not stir, but when she’d gone out of the room, he opened one eye and smiled.
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Fourteen
Hazel Reading sat in Tresham Hospital at the bedside of a very pale, hollow-eyed Prudence Betts. The nurse had been reluctant to admit her into the private room where Prue lay sleeping. Hazel had had to force a small tear, and stress what close friends they were, before she was told, “Five minutes only. And if she doesn’t wake, then out you go.”
Hazel’s watch showed she’d been there three minutes. Two minutes to go, but maybe they’d give her a bit longer. This was very important, and she needed to talk to Prue urgently. She looked around, making sure nobody was watching, and gave Prue’s white hand a gentle pat. No reaction. She tried again, and this time Prue stirred. Her eyelids flickered, and then she was looking at Hazel, though her eyes were clouded, unfocussed.
“Prue?” whispered Hazel. “How’re you feeling? No, don’t try to speak. Just listen. They’re going to chuck me out in a minute, so try an’ take this in.” She paused, looking anxiously at the still figure. To her relief, Prue nodded. It was a very slight nod, but there, without doubt. “Right. Now then, it’s goin’ to be all right. You’re not to worry at all. All over now. Get better quickly, ducky, and don’t worry. See you soon.”
The nurse came into the room, looking at the watch pinned to her uniform. “Time’s up,” she whispered. Hazel stood up, and blew a kiss towards Prue, who had closed her eyes again. The nurse waited, holding the door open until Hazel had left without speaking. As she hurried down the long corridors and out of the hospital, she felt tears springing out and down her hot cheeks, and this time they were unforced.
¦
“This should be a bit of fun, Mrs M!” said Hazel, her natural chirpiness restored.
They parked in the multi-storey in Tresham, and walked down the main street. All the shops were closed, of course, but quite a few people were still about. They passed a group of kids standing in the wide doorway of the library. “Hi, Hazel!” shouted one of the girls, and the others turned round and stared.
“Friends?” said Lois. There was a lot she didn’t know about Hazel Reading, and she was curious.
“Just a girl I used to go to school with,” said Hazel lightly. “Now, don’t we go down here?” They turned off down a dark passage that led into a back street of terraced, red-brick houses. Some were neat and newly-painted, and others had dirty curtains permanently drawn. Lois shuddered to think what went on behind those.
“It’s down here somewhere,” she said. “A converted shoe factory, they said.”
From the scruffy, narrow street, they entered a new world. A rich benefactor had bequeathed a large sum of money to the Tresham Dramatic Society’s theatre for restoration, and as Lois led the way inside, it was as if they were entering a warm, red velvet-lined box. The theatre had a capacity of around two hundred, had raked seating, and a colourful safety curtain, hand-painted with the comic and tragic masks of drama. There was the promise of a richly rewarding evening, and Lois and Hazel sank into crimson plush seats with rising excitement.
About ten minutes into the play, Lois felt Hazel stir in her seat and lean forward, as if to get a better look. Then she heard a sharp intake of breath, and Hazel turned towards her, mouthing something silently. Lois couldn’t get it. Hazel repeated it into her ear in a very soft whisper, but not soft enough for the man in the row behind them. He shushed at Hazel, making much more of a racket than she had with her whisper, but she subsided in her chair.
Lois stared hard at each of the three cast members on stage. Two men and a woman, all heavily made up, bewigged and dressed in elaborate costumes. The audience had warmed up, and the antics of one of the men, tall and thin, with an accentuated gangling gait, brought roars of laughter. Lois looked more closely at his face under an untidy wig. There was something about it…Then he turned and looked full-face at the audience, grinning at their reaction. Gary Needham. Gary was the gawky young fool, and playing the part very well indeed.
At the interval, Lois and Hazel struggled out of the auditorium with the chattering crowd, and made their way to the bar. “What would you like?” Lois wondered if she’d remembered to put enough money in her purse for the gin and tonic she was sure Hazel would request.
“An orange juice, thanks,” said Hazel, “but this is my turn. You paid for the tickets. So what’ll it be?”
Lois said she’d have a glass of white wine, if Hazel could ever make it to the crowded bar. Finally they had their drinks and were settled at a small table in the corner.
“How about our Gary, then?” said Hazel. Her expression was serious, and Lois wondered why she did not find the spectacle of Gary making a fool of himself as funny as she did.
“He’s good,” said Lois. “Wonder why he didn’t tell us he was in it? Still, why should he, really…He’s got trouble enough with Brooms, him being the only man in a woman’s world, an’ all that. I know what Derek will say when I tell him!”
“Load o’ bloody fairies! That’s what my dad would say,” said Hazel, still unsmiling.
“Oh, come on, Hazel,” said Lois. “It’s not as bad as that! Give the lad a chance. You have to admit he’s doing very well on stage, anyway.”
“And what else,” muttered Hazel to herself, and got up from the table, saying she had to go to the toilet. Lois sipped her drink, looking round at the crowd. It was like a private club, she thought. They all seemed to know each other, and over in the corner she caught sight of Mr and Mrs Betts, the schoolmaster from Waltonby and his wife. They were in earnest conversation with another couple, and she thought she recognized the tall, straight back of the man. Then he turned, and she saw that it was Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill, and he was coming towards her.
“Evening, Mrs Meade,” he said, as if they were casual acquaintances meeting socially. “Very good performance, don’t you think? My wife and I are thoroughly enjoying it. Especially young Gary,” he said. “I expect you’ll be going round backstage to congratulate him after the show,” he added, and it sounded like an order.
