Thea was far less satisfactory. ‘Gosh, when I was your age all I ever thought about was fighting with Jocelyn and who my best friend should be. I did like history at school, I suppose, although it was mostly about the American Civil War and the development of medicine. That went on for years – all four of us did those same topics.’
None of which meant anything to Stephanie. Her stepmother spared little thought for the issues of the day, and consistently advised Stephanie to have confidence that everything would turn out perfectly fine. ‘They’re always changing their minds about when the end of the world will be,’ she laughed. ‘You can’t take these things seriously.’
It made a degree of sense, Stephanie supposed, and Thea had many virtues that balanced her tendency to flippancy. She did, after all, get personally involved in the search for murderers, often very bravely. Dad loved her and she made him happier than he would have been otherwise. Now it was their friends affected by a nasty mystery, and Thea could be trusted to march in and see what she could do to help.
So it was only reasonable to assume that nothing would be different this time. Ant’s mother was a nice lady, who had given Stephanie and Timmy some delicious fruit cake a few weeks ago. The occasion had been a winter bazaar in Chipping Campden, at which Beverley had been running a stall, selling bags of fudge, jars of chutney, home-made gift tags and many other products. Everything was her own work. The whole family had been there, eating the first mince pies of the season and buying presents from the well-stocked stalls. Hepzie had not been allowed in and was in the car outside. ‘Bring her round to our house tomorrow and I’ll give her a nice beef bone,’ said Beverley. ‘Percy can easily spare it.’
But they hadn’t followed up on her invitation. Drew had been too busy, and Thea hadn’t been in the mood. It was raining, and she persuaded herself the whole thing had not been meant seriously. ‘You have to phone her and say we’re not coming,’ Stephanie had urged. ‘It’s rude otherwise.’
‘She didn’t say a time, did she? Not even morning or afternoon. It’s Sunday. People don’t want visitors on a Sunday.’
When Beverley had phoned at two o’clock to ask if they were coming, Thea had been severely wrong-footed. ‘Oh, Lord – sorry,’ she had spluttered. ‘I don’t think we can make it after all. The kids haven’t done their homework, and we’ve already been out with the dog half the morning.’
Beverley took it well, but Stephanie could see that Thea felt guilty. And quite right too, she thought. As it turned out, that was probably weighing on Thea’s conscience enough to make her want to find Beverley now she was missing, and make sure she was all right.
She realised she had walked further than intended, while her mind whirred on autopilot. She had passed the church and turned right, down a small lane that was home to the little old Quaker meeting house. She ought not to go any further. There were a few houses beyond the meeting house, and then a field, but she didn’t know their occupants. She should turn back to the big cherry tree beside the row of houses with the lighted windows. It was time she got home. Even Thea might worry a bit about an eleven-year-old girl being out longer than the allotted fifteen minutes, without even the dog for company. She was going to skip the Mr Shipley plan and tell them he hadn’t been at home.
She began to feel rather brave, even intrepid, at having such freedom in a world full of paranoia. Teachers had endlessly repeated ‘Be safe’ as a mantra, all her life. The children tolerated it, chafing under the yoke of overprotection while ignorant of what real freedom might entail. Stories from the past where people aged six or seven walked two miles to school and back, or jumped on and off London buses any time they liked, were sheer fantasy to Stephanie’s generation. They were told repeatedly that there was danger everywhere, in all guises. There was a universal belief that determined abductors lurked behind every hedge, waiting to snatch an unwary passing child.
Not a single car went past, and she could hear no human voices, although she could see people moving inside one or two of the houses. In a topsy-turvy way, she felt the outdoors was a cosy, appealing place to be. The darkening sky felt friendly, the magic of Christmas Day an ever-present delight. She had no need of a dog or small brother to defend her, even if either had been anything of a fighter. Why would they need to fight anyway? Nothing was going to happen to arouse any hostility. That was a message that Thea could take credit for. All her murders had been resolved, explained and efficiently dealt with. The motives for killing were evident – greed, fear, social pressure, unhinged ideas. None of those held any threat for children. Even thinking about all this gave her no cause for anxiety. Then a voice from behind her said, ‘Hello? Is that my friend Stephanie?’
She jumped, but only slightly, and turned round to see the very man she was meant to be seeking – their neighbour, Mr Shipley, was coming from the small lane she had just traversed herself.
‘Were you behind me just now?’ she asked, with a little frown.
‘I was, to tell you the truth. I thought you might need someone at your back. Like a guardian angel, if that isn’t
