Murder to Music

‘Oh, you know. Tired, uncomfortable and my feet swell.’ Jane indicated the mugs set out on the table. ‘Tea or coffee? Instant coffee, I’m afraid.’

‘Tea for me,’ said Fran.

‘And me,’ said Libby. ‘No, don’t bother with biscuits.’

They carried their mugs into the sitting room and Jane lowered herself thankfully into a corner of a sofa and swung her feet up. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she said waving a hand at the feet.

‘Why should we mind? I remember what it was like trying to get comfortable at this stage of pregnancy. Night times were the worst,’ said Libby.

‘Dreadful,’ agreed Jane. ‘I get hardly any sleep.’

‘I think it’s nature’s way of preparing for the sleepless nights to come,’ said Libby.

‘Is nature that cruel?’ asked Fran.

‘Of course. Red in tooth and claw,’ said Libby. ‘It’s also why old people get grumpy and grouchy and unpleasant, so their children won’t miss them as much when they die.’

Jane let out a peal of laughter. ‘They’ll be glad to get rid of them instead?’

Libby, pleased with this evidence of understanding, nodded happily.

‘I don’t know, Libby,’ sighed Fran. ‘You have the strangest outlook on life sometimes.’

‘Anyway, speaking of children and parents,’ Libby went on, ignoring the interruption, ‘how’s yours?’

‘My mother?’ Jane wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, she’s here. You knew that.’

‘She took some persuading, didn’t she?’ said Fran.

‘A lot. Partly because she was unhappy about Aunt Jessica leaving me Peel House and she didn’t want to live in it.’

‘She overcame her scruples, though, didn’t she?’ said Libby. ‘Once she realised she wouldn’t have to pay any rent, rates or services for the flat.’ Libby, having met Mrs Maurice more than once, was disinclined to attribute any of the nicer qualities to her.

Jane looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, yes. And she did say she’d be able to help with the baby.’

‘Really? Will she look after it if you go back to work?’ asked Fran.

‘No, I wouldn’t expect her to,’ said Jane, ‘and anyway, I’m going to work from home. I’ll only need to actually go out now and then. And while the baby’s young I can take him or her with me.’

‘Don’t know what it is, then?’ said Libby.

‘No, neither of us wanted to,’ said Jane. ‘So tell me what you’ve both been up to.’

Fran reported on her recent trip to France with Guy, Sophie and Adam.

‘And what about your Chrissie?’ asked Jane. ‘She’s pregnant, too, isn’t she?’

‘She’s being an absolute monster,’ said Fran. ‘I almost feel sorry for Brucie-baby. She just lays about on the sofa and doesn’t do anything, as far as I can make out.’

‘Well, she hasn’t gone out to work for years, has she?’ said Libby.

‘No, but at least she did the washing and cooking and kept the house clean,’ said Fran. ‘Now she won’t even do that. And she’s only four months.’

‘What about Cassandra?’

‘Oh, the cat’s the only one who understands her, apparently.’ Fran snorted. ‘It spreads itself across her on the sofa and refuses to move.’

‘It’s going to be severely upset when the baby arrives,’ said Libby.

‘I told her that when she said she wanted a baby,’ said Fran, ‘but there, she’s never taken any notice of me.’

‘What does Lucy say about her?’ asked Libby, referring to Fran’s other daughter, already mother to Rachel and Tom.

‘Scathing, as you can imagine. Actually, she’s stopped being such a pain towards me now. So much so that I’m letting her come down for a week with the children.’

‘Where’s Guy going?’

Fran looked surprised. ‘He’s staying here, of course. He doesn’t mind them half as much as I do, and, I must admit, it’s much easier with a grandma and a grandpa. They don’t wear me out so much.’

‘That’s another reason I don’t want Mum to have to look after my baby too much,’ said Jane. ‘She’s on her own.’

‘But at least she’s on the premises,’ said Libby, ‘and she doesn’t work.’

‘But she’s got her own life,’ said Jane. ‘She’s actually made some friends down here. She joined some club at the library and now she seems to be out all the time.’

‘Perhaps she’s found a new man?’ said Libby with glee.

‘Mum? Don’t be daft!’ Jane laughed. ‘Anyway, what about you? What have you been doing?’

Without hesitation Libby launched into a description of the past two days’ activities.

‘Amanda George? She’s your writing tutor?’ Jane turned to Fran. ‘Do you think she’d agree to do an interview with me for the paper? Or for our colour mag?’

‘I didn’t know you had a colour mag,’ said Libby. ‘How posh.’

‘It’s only monthly and goes across the whole group.’

‘I’m sure she would. All authors love a bit of free publicity,’ said Fran. ‘Shall I ask her?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Jane. ‘Give her my email address, would you? And do you suppose she’d let me use your investigation in the piece, too? It would be terrific local interest.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Fran. ‘In fact, if you do speak to her, don’t mention that we’ve told you anything about it. We don’t know what’s behind it, yet.’

‘No, I suppose so,’ said Jane, ‘but Cherry Ashton is a very emotive subject locally.’

‘Because of the workhouse?’ said Libby.

‘Well, yes.’ Jane nodded and turned to look out of the window. ‘And the children.’

Chapter Four

LIBBY AND FRAN LOOKED at each other.

‘The children?’ echoed Libby.

Jane turned back. ‘Didn’t you know about the children?’ she said. They both shook their heads. ‘It’s not very nice. Didn’t you look it up on the internet?’

‘Of course,’ said Libby. ‘That’s how we knew White Lodge was – or had been – part of the workhouse.’

Jane shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it didn’t come up anywhere. Even I knew about it, and I didn’t come here to live until three years ago.’

‘But you work in the meeja. You get to hear things.’

‘You used to stay with your aunt, didn’t you?’ asked Fran. ‘Did you hear about it then?’

‘No. I can’t actually remember when I first heard about it, but it comes up periodically in the office.’

‘So what is it, then?’ said Libby.

‘You don’t have to tell us,’ said Fran quickly, noticing the look on Jane’s face. ‘I’m sure we can find out some other way.’

Libby looked puzzled and Fran made a face at her. ‘We can ask Campbell, can’t we?’

Jane’s expression relaxed. ‘That’s a good idea. He’ll know.’

An hour later, after much conversation about the coming baby and viewing of the cot, Terry came home and Libby and Fran left.

‘So tell me what that was all about?’ Libby stomped off down Cliff Terrace.

‘Oh, Lib.’ Fran sighed. ‘You saw her face. Whatever it is, it’s about children – buried there, I would guess. And Jane’s hormones are all over the place. She was getting really distressed.’

‘Oh.’ Libby scowled at her feet. ‘Sorry. Yes.’

‘I don’t think you’re really insensitive,’ said Fran, laying a hand on her arm, ‘just a bit thoughtless sometimes.’