Saturday 26 September1981
It had allgone pretty smoothly and to be fair quite enjoyably too. Gemma wassitting on the back patio overlooking the garden with another glassof wine in her hand and feeling pleasantly out of it. It wasapproaching mid-night and Mark, Anne and two remaining guests, theneighbours from next door but one, had joined her and were enjoyingthe surprisingly mild late summer night. Two weeks since it waslast full, there was only the slightest crescent of the waning moonapparent between the intermittent clouds that were drifting fromright to left, slowly and noiselessly but also apparentlypurposely. Although the Seadons were retired and must have beenapproaching their seventies they had kept going as long as anyoneand were telling Gemma’s mother they had had their best night outfor a very long time. As it had turned out there’d only been adozen or so there – two more couples from Lynch Lane plus a coupleof Anne’s new golfing buddies along with their husbands – buteveryone had appeared to enjoy themselves.
Gemma let theconversation and cigarette smoke drift over her. It had got to thestage of the analysing the guests who’d left and who were now beingunpicked one by one – as loud, unsophisticated, boring, along withan occasional ‘quite pleasant really’. She let them get on with it;after all, gossiping had always been her mother’s favouritepastime. Seeing Mark in action had been something of an eye-openerfor her; he really was a very smooth operator and Gemma could seethings working out pretty much as she had hoped for.
She and Markhad arrived earlier that afternoon to get the nibbles and drinksready. The idea of a buffet had appealed to Gemma’s mum but it didleave a problem for Mark. In the end he had decided to leave thefood un-tampered with as it would be too difficult to check whopicked up what, and too many bouts of unexplained illnesses mighthave been awkward to explain. However, he had kept a close eye onAnne’s drink. Somehow he had managed to spend virtually the wholenight rarely wandering less than a few feet away from her, but alsohad never looked as if he was doing anything other than minglingand hosting. Gemma had made a point of watching him filling Anne’sglass but even though she knew what he was up to she had only oncecaught him shielding the glass and fiddling in his jacket pocketfor a little extra. Of course she was pretty sure that no one, noteven her mother, knew about Mark’s past. It had been over six yearsago and there was no reason for anyone there or anywhere really tomake the link. Gemma had never had the type of mother-daughterrelationship that involved discussing boyfriends or partners. Ithad helped, too, that Anne had never shown the slightest interestin her daughter’s work with criminals, aside from wondering why sheeven bothered to work at all. As far as Anne was concerned Mark wasjust a nice, articulate and attentive man who was her daughter’snew and, given his charming manner, hopefully long-term boyfriend.She also liked it that he was a good deal older than Gemma: ithelped develop a little empathy between herself and him.
Gemma and Markhad decided to stay over in Farnham as part of the plan and alsobecause they were both well over any breathalyser limits. Mark hada thing about the morning after breakfast being a good opportunityto build on whatever he might have added to the drinks and food thenight before; a fry up provided excellent camouflage for maskingthe bitter taste of ricin and thallium, while any odd tastes wouldbe likely to be put down to the previous night’s excesses. Theyeven had a choice of rooms, too, as Ruth hadn’t made it in the end.Her excuse had been a migraine but even though Anne was apparentlyher best friend it had hardly been unexpected – it was only on rareoccasions that Ruth managed to get out of London and she seldommade any effort other than for herself.
Rousingherself from her reverie Gemma could see that her mother lookedwell the worse for wear; mind you, Mark had made sure she’d drunkplenty and given the mixtures he’d prepared her drawn look washardly surprising, nor was the fact that she was complaining of anagging stomach pain. The heavily applied make-up had worn off andwhat was left behind was less than impressive; maybe ‘haggard’ wasa bit unkind but certainly ‘gaunt’ and ‘faded’ were appropriatedescriptors. The top Anne had chosen for the previous night was toolow cut. It hadn’t been too obvious earlier on but by the end ofthe evening the revealing of protruding collar bones and below thema heavily furrowed décolletage was quite off-putting. The image inGemma’s mind resembled a re-working of Harry Beck’s famous Londonunderground map, with all the lines leading to increasinglyemaciated breasts that were drooping at an alarming angle. Gemmarealised how little she cared for her mother, and how much sheresented her, and how much she wished things had been different;the posh house and all the trimmings couldn’t make up for the lackof affection and love she had craved.
Eventually theSeadons had said their goodbyes and left. Mark had propelled hermother up to bed. In spite of her state, Gemma had heard hertelling Mark that she had had a great night and, in a drunken slur,that he was too good for her daughter.
Gemma hadcalled up to Mark: ‘Let’s have a last drink down here before wetidy up a little.’
She hoped he hadthought to bring
