The Fethering Mysteries 11; The Shooting in the Shop

One Classy Lady. “Her autobiography. No way I’d get away with not stocking that in here. But fortunately she’s devoted to her grandchildren, so we might be able to leave them with her and come to your party for a while.”

“Well, be great to see you if you can make it.”

“We’ll definitely try.” Lola looked at her watch. “Actually, I’ll ask Ricky straight away. We’re just about to go up to London for a lunch thing. Christmas ‘do’ for one of the record companies he’s worked for.” She looked across at a woman busy dealing with purchasers behind the counter. “Got to be on my way, Anna.”

There was a slight tug of resentment at the corner of the woman’s mouth as she took in this information, suggesting to Carole that maybe Lola made rather too frequent demands on her to hold the fort. The assistant was probably early fifties, with thick make-up, cupid-bow lips, sculpted eyebrows and ash-blond hair. Marilyn Monroe gone to seed, or perhaps Marilyn Monroe at the age fate never allowed her to reach.

Carole realized with a slight shock that she did actually recognize the woman, though she was used to seeing her with her hair covered by a hat or scarf. Anna was one of Fethering Beach’s regular dog-walkers. She had a small West Highland terrier with a little Black Watch tartan coat. If Carole took Gulliver out a bit later than usual in the morning, around half past seven, she would quite often pass the woman. Being Carole, of course, she had never spoken to her, just given the abrupt ‘Fethering nod’ of acknowledgement which was customary at that time in the morning.

“All right,” the woman called Anna replied to Lola, contriving to keep the irritation out of her voice. “Will you make it back before closing time?”

Lola Le Bonnier’s lower lips jutted forward doubtfully. “Try to. But when Ricky gets chatting to his music industry mates, it’s sometimes hard to drag him away.”

“We are open till eight tonight.” Again the woman put her argument into the words rather than intonation.

Lola was busy reaching behind the counter for a violent-pink fake fur coat and a bag shaped like an upmarket leather coalscuttle. “I’ll try and get back before you close. But you and Bex will be OK. You’re a star. Bless you, Anna. See you, Jude love – hopefully on Sunday.”

And, without allowing time for any responses, the owner of Gallimaufry swept out of her shop. Anna exchanged a look with a teenager whose fringe was purple-streaked, and who Carole reckoned must be Bex. The expression of sullen boredom on the girl’s face suggested that not much help would be coming from that quarter. Anna would effectively be managing the shop on her own until eight o’clock.

? The Shooting in the Shop ?

Four

Jude was already away cooing at the array of discounted goods that Gallimaufry had to offer, so Carole thought she’d better join in. She was still slightly upset by her neighbour’s reaction to her proposed presents for Gaby and Stephen, but at least she’d show willing by looking for alternatives.

“Perfect!” squealed Jude as her friend approached. She had perched a tinsel crown on her head, and she was holding up a box whose contents were a sudoku jigsaw puzzle. Carole thought it was a pointless present. Her mental workouts were with words rather than numbers. Now, if they made a jigsaw of The Times crossword, that might have engaged her attention. Except, of course, you could only answer the clues once, and when you’d done that, all you’d be stuck with was a jigsaw.

“It’s the perfect present!” Jude continued.

“For whom?”

“Georgie.”

Carole had a rule with herself, that she would never ask for information about her neighbour’s friends. If such information was volunteered, fine, but she didn’t want to appear curious. It was a rule she broke frequently, as she did now, asking instinctively, “Who’s Georgie?”

“Former client of mine. Came with a terrible pain in the neck.”

“And you cured her of it. You healed her?” asked Carole, failing to keep her distaste out of the word.

“Well, she got better. I think getting divorced probably was more effective than anything I did for her. Her husband was the real pain in the neck. Anyway…” Jude rattled the box – “Georgie’s hooked on numbers. She’ll love this.”

Carole couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Well, I wouldn’t like it.”

“Nor would I. But that’s the point about presents. They aren’t meant to appeal to you. They’re meant to appeal to the recipient. And this particular jigsaw will suit Georgie down to the ground.”

“Good,” said Carole flatly. Then a new thought came to her. “Is Georgie going to be at your open house?”

“Possibly. I think I invited her.” Yet more inappropriate vagueness about the serious matter of giving a party. “But I’m spending Christmas Day with her. First one she’s had without the husband around. Which in one way makes her quite ecstatic, and in another way worried about being lonely. So I said I’d join her.”

This was new information. Jude had said she was Christmassing in Fethering, without being more specific about exactly where in Fethering. But Carole didn’t comment, instead focusing her attention on the potential presents on display. She couldn’t see anything that came within a mile of suitability for either her son or daughter- in-law. Who could possibly want a wind-up skeleton? Or an apron in the pattern of a Friesian cow? Or a Russian Father Christmas doll, inside which was a smaller Russian Father Christmas doll, inside which was an even smaller Russian Father Christmas doll, inside which…? Yes, Gallimaufry really was a place for people with more money than sense.

On the other hand, the discounted prices were not bad. Assuming, of course, that there was an appropriate price for something you wouldn’t give houseroom to.

“Oh, look, these are great!” Jude enthused.

“What on earth are they?”

“They’re finger puppets of famous philosophers. Look!” And in no time one of Jude’s hands was playing host to Socrates, Spinoza, Descartes, Nietzsche and Wittgenstein.

“But what use are they? Who could possibly need anything like that?”

“‘Oh, reason not the need!’” Jude quoted. “King Lear got it right, you know. If we stuck only to what we needed, life would be a very dull business. It’s the things we don’t need that make it bearable.”

“I thought you were supposed to have green principles.”

“What on earth gave you that idea?”

“Well, come on, Jude, you’re into healing and wind-chimes and essential oils and joss sticks and crystals and – ”

“And all other kinds of New Age mumbo-jumbo?”

“Now I didn’t say that.”

“No, because I saved you the trouble.” There was the shadow of a grin on Jude’s rounded face. She enjoyed these sparring sessions with her neighbour. For her they contained a strong element of teasing, and even Carole didn’t take them quite as seriously as she used to. “Anyway,” Jude went on, “just because I believe in some things you don’t believe in, it doesn’t mean I believe in everything you don’t believe in.”

“So you’re not worried about saving the planet?”

“Yes, I am, but not to the exclusion of everything else. I don’t want to save a planet that ends up dull because nobody allows themselves any kind of indulgence. It’s the little embellishments of life that make it worth living. And those embellishments needn’t be expensive. There’s an old Chinese proverb – ”

“Is there?” said Carole, with a sniff that summed up completely her view of old Chinese proverbs.

“Yes. It says, ‘If I had one penny left in the world, I would spend half of it on bread, and the other half on flowers.’”

Carole sniffed again. “The penny isn’t legal tender in China. It never has been.”

“I think the proverb may have been translated for English audiences.”