Having watched Peggy drink her tea scalding and orange, Iris overcompensated and poured herself too much milk. “I like a tidy ending, that’s why. If I’m swooping down on Valkyrie wings to pick up the pieces and cart them off to Valhalla, I don’t like the idea of rogue elements throwing me off balance. It puts me off my stroke.”
“This isn’t Cluedo, dear.” Peggy sniggered. Miss Scarlett was not about to be smacked about by a crowbar in the billiards room. But Peggy wasn’t to know that Sam had been menaced by avocados outside the pantry.
“Anyway,” Peggy added, “what do you mean by a tidy ending?”
“I mean, precisely, How Things Turn Out. Despite the weather, I want to be able to say, it’s turned out nice again.”
“Again?”
“This isn’t the first little drama I’ve been involved in. I’ve had more lives that you’ve had hot labia, dear.”
“And we’re approaching an ending to your involvement in this one, Iris?”
Peggy put her cup down and it struck a loud, clean note. She had wanted to ask this question and now it was out. Really she wanted to shout at Iris, or beg her to stay. Are you going? What about me? Where are all your clues leading?
Iris looked at her seriously. “I might have to go somewhere, yes. I’m sorry, Peggy. It’s the way my life always works.”
From outside in the street there came a groaning and clash of engine and gears, startling in all that enforced quiet. They rubbed holes in the window’s condensation to see a green furniture van parked outside. In his beret and trainers, Simmonds was climbing out of the cab, flanked by and busily instructing the burly removal men.
“Here comes your rogue element, Iris.” Peggy smiled.
And suddenly Iris looked as if she were indeed playing at Cluedo. Weighing the crowbar in both hands, adjusting a peacock feather in her hat, tightening the noose strung ready in the kitchen.
TWENTY FIVE
“SAM?” PEGGY TAPPED ON THE GLOSSY WHITE DOOR. “ARE YOU UP?”
In the corridor, two of Simmonds’s overalled men were removing a wardrobe. She flattened herself against the wall to let them past. “I think we’d all better get up,” she said, knocking again. “Things are happening.”
The door opened a crack and Sam slipped out in an orange kimono she had found. She laughed when he saw the wardrobe turning the corner, on its way down the stairs. “Everything’s being repossessed!”
“Iris has gone to find Richard and Mark,” said Peggy. “They weren’t in their room. It’s eleven o’clock.”
“Their room? Where’s Sally, anyway?”
“I’ll fetch her. You get yourself sorted out.”
Peggy dashed off and while Sam dressed, Bob was watching her, spread-eagled on their beautiful bed. “What’s happening? Don’t just leave me trussed up here like a dick!”
“Sssh,” she said, buckling her jeans. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Sam had a feeling that everything in this house not strapped down was about to walk off. From below there came the muffled thumps, bangs and curses of the removal men. It seemed fair enough for her to rush downstairs, leaving Bob where she knew he couldn’t run off.
On the stairway she passed by a small window and saw four of the grim men carrying the stretched tarpaulin between them like a safety net, carefully balancing the arrayed objets. Simmonds was barking at them, toddling behind in the snow, carrying the six avocados.
“This is fucking bizarre,” she said as her mother came hurrying down the stairs with Sally in tow. Language, Sam thought to herself and swiftly picked her daughter up.
“Are we moving house?” asked Sally.
“This isn’t our house,” Sam said. “But they could have given us some warning.”
At that precise moment Simmonds looked up from the van’s lowered tailgate and gave them an airy wave.
IRIS HEAVED OPEN THE FRENCH DOORS AND SNOW TUMBLED ONTO THE carpet. “Where have you been?”
Mark and Richard came running out of the garden, stumbling across snowed-up rubble. Mark was clutching a small parcel.
“What is it? What’s happening?”
She pointed across the living room, where the men were kicking back pleated mats and last night’s spilled bottles, getting a grip on the chaise longue. Richard looked horrified.
“Where’s Tony?” he asked.
“You’re a bit late asking that, aren’t you, love?”
Mark pressed his new-bought parcel on Iris. “Hold these. I’ve got to get Sally and all our stuff…”
He met Simmonds in the hallway. The old man was collecting up the sheaf of recent magazines and unplugging the phone.
“Good morning,” the old man said. “I hope we’re not disturbing you.”
“Does Tony know you’re doing this?”
“Of course he does,” Simmonds cackled. “Why, did you think I was just reclaiming everything that was mine as revenge?”
“I don’t know what you’re up to.”
“I’d be well within my rights, even if I was doing that. Even the dentists’ antique casts are mine, should I ever find them. And the Methodists’ organ in the cellar. I’m taking it all, but it’s under the instructions of your precious Tony. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Peggy, Sam and Sally appeared on the stairs.
“Dad, we’re moving house!” Sally called.
Sam broke in. “Mark, I want to speak to you.”
“Come on, love,” said Peggy as she took Sally’s hand. “I think we can still get some breakfast, if they haven’t already started on the kitchen.”
Soon there were only Sam and Mark standing halfway up the first flight of stairs. Simmonds beetled about below, but they were oblivious to him. He whistled to himself through his teeth.
“It looks as if we’re all going to have to go home today, anyway,” Mark said. He spoke hesitantly, almost politely, as if to a stranger. Sam resented this. “The trains should still be going.”
“We’ve got ourselves into a bloody mess, haven’t we, Mark?”
“You could say that.”
“Did you fuck that lad just because you found out about Bob and me?”
“Come off it, Sam. I wouldn’t do that.”
“I thought you might.”
“I wouldn’t sink that low. I couldn’t give a shit about Bob.”
“You’re a conceited bastard, Kelly.”
“How do you make that out?”
“Any other, normal man would be
