Nearing the house, Ted saw the
living room light was on. And Marjorie
had decreed that the front room was to be used for special occasions only.
In other words, when they had visitors, so
perhaps Bamber was with her this very minute, telling malicious lies.
His
hand shook as he turned the key in the lock.
‘I’m back!’ he called out, trying to sound normal.
There was no reply.
He dropped his bag next to the hallstand and
listened for a moment. It was very
quiet. He pictured them both, she and
Bamber, eyes glued to the door, waiting for him to enter.
Waiting to make him squirm.
Fearing
the worst, he eased the door open. But
he was surprised to discover the room was empty, bathed in the over-bright
glare from Marjorie’s teak and gilt chandelier.
He noticed there were three sherry schooners and an empty sherry bottle
on the coffee table.
Puzzled,
Ted switched the light off and went stealthily upstairs, hoping Marjorie might
be asleep by now. He spent ages in the
bathroom, scrupulously cleaning his teeth, and closely examining his face in
the mirror, as if searching for his ambivalent feelings in his relationship
with Donald.
Unable
to delay a minute longer, he tiptoed to the bedroom door, took a deep breath,
and entered. Marjorie was sitting up in
bed, reading one of her Mills and Boon books.
She peered over here reading glasses at him.
‘You’re
later than I expected. I suppose you’ve
been to the pub.’
‘Mmm,’
he muttered. ‘Has, um, has anyone...have you had any visitors tonight?’
‘Alec
and Freda turned up. Didn’t even phone
to say they were coming. Just turned
up.’
‘Anyone
else?’
‘What
d’you mean, anyone else?’
‘I
just wondered if there’d been any other visitors, that’s all.’
She
snapped the book shut crossly. ‘Of
course not. Were you expecting someone.’
He
breathed a sigh of relief.
‘No,
no. I just wondered if...’
He
sat on the edge of the bed and started to take off his shoes.
Marjorie folded her arms, and her voice cut
into the night like an oracle of doom.
‘We’ve
got to get to the bottom of that phone call you made to Alec and Freda.
They still swear blind you called them in the
morning, as if you knew I was going to be ill.
So why did you phone and cancel when you did?’
Ted
avoided her stare. He caught sight of
the title of the book she was reading. The
Prophet of Love. Prophet! It brought
him the inspiration he so desperately needed.
‘I’ve
a confession to make, Marj. I kept it to
myself because I didn’t think you’d believe me.
I knew you were going to be ill that day.
I had a premonition.
A glimpse into the future.
It’s hard to explain.
I think I might be clairvoyant. That’s why I
rang Alec and Freda. To save them a
wasted journey.’
Marjorie
was frowning hard, trying to take in what he was telling her.
‘But
why didn’t you tell me?’
Ted
smiled, suddenly very sure of himself.
‘Be honest. You’d never have
believed me. Not in a million years.
But I think it’s possible I might have secret
powers.’
She
looked him up and down and shuddered.
‘I’ve always known you were a weirdo, Ted, but this sort of thing gives
me the heebie-jeebies. I don’t like it.’
He
shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, but...’
‘I
think you’d better sleep in the spare room for a while.
In case you get any more of these...’
‘Premonitions,’
prompted Ted.
‘Yes.
I’d never feel safe in my own bed.
Not with you next to me.
It’d give me the creeps.’
Ted
took his pyjamas from under the pillow.
‘Well, as long as you’re sure.’
‘Oh,
I’m sure alright,’ she said, and picked up her book again.
He
went to the door. ‘I’ll, er, see you in
the morning then, Marj. Night.’
‘Night,’
she muttered without looking up.
As
soon as he was outside the door, he did something uncharacteristic.
He raised two clenched fists soccer-style and
shook them triumphantly.
*
Maggie sat and watched a
particularly bloody episode of The
Sopranos, and drank three quarters of a bottle of Chardonnay.
She glanced at her watch.
Gary
should have been home long ago. The chip
shop would have closed well over an hour ago and it didn’t take that long to
drive back from Maidstone.
She
switched the television off and topped up her glass.
She tried ringing the chip shop but, as she
suspected, there was no reply. She began
to smell a rat. She slammed the phone
down and knocked back her drink, spilling some down her sweatshirt.
She swore loudly.
She was on her way to the breakfast room to
get a piece of kitchen roll when the doorbell rang.
Through the mottled glass of the front door
she could just about make out the dark, distorted shape of a uniform.
Suddenly
her world began to seem unreal.
She
opened the door to a young WPC.
‘Mrs.
Branston? Can I come in and have a word
with you?’
‘It’s
Gary, isn’t it?
What’s happened to him?’
‘I’m
really sorry, Mrs. Branston. Your husband
was involved in a road accident.’
‘Oh
God! When?
I mean, where?
Where was this?’
‘On
the AshdownForest.
I’m sorry to have to tell you, Mrs. Branston,
but – when they got to him – I’m sorry – there was nothing anyone could do.’
Maggie
fought back the tears. She laughed
suddenly.
‘No,
you’re wrong. It can’t have been
Gary.
He was in Maidstone
tonight. Why would he have gone to...’
The
realization stopped her.
‘Was
there anyone else in the car with him?’
The
WPC nodded gravely. ‘We haven’t
identified her yet. We wondered if you
could...’
‘Go
to hell!’
Maggie
slammed the door and collapsed in tears.
IN EPISODE TWENTY ON TUESDAY
More problems for Mike and his
family and Maggie learns the sordid details of Gary’s
death.
