Читать книгу The Little Village Christmas: The #1 Christmas bestseller returns with the most heartwarming romance of 2018 - Sue Moorcroft - Страница 12

Alexia let herself into her house and found Jodie once again lying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling while Family Guy blared out from the TV.

Alexia hung her jacket on the doorknob and flopped into an armchair, scooping up the remote to switch off the TV, too heartsick and hollow to worry about niceties. ‘We need to talk.’

Slowly, Jodie turned to look at her. ‘I was watching that.’

Alexia declined to get involved in an argument about what constituted ‘watching’. She suspected that even the most optimistic of girlfriends must by now be seeing the writing on the wall but was unsurprised Jodie was putting off reading it. She wasn’t exactly one of life’s copers. ‘Gabe and I have been to give our statements to Detective Constable Fitzhugh at Bettsbrough police station.’

Jodie’s eyes shimmered with sudden tears.

Compassion triumphing over her own grey mood, Alexia hauled herself up and went to kneel on the floor beside her friend. She softened her voice. ‘Have you been able to reach Shane?’

Jodie shook her head and a tear skated from the corner of her eye.

‘The police have confirmed they’re looking for him, Jodes. I’m so sorry. According to a neighbour’s CCTV his truck made several trips to and from The Angel between eight and ten on Sunday morning. It was fully loaded each time it left. Shane and Tim don’t seem to exist, according to the police national computer, so DC Fitzhugh wants you to see him to provide what details you can. Give him pictures of Shane from your phone, and his truck’s registration number.’

More tears followed the first, plunging down Jodie’s cheeks. ‘I don’t remember his number plate.’ Her mouth stretched around a sob. ‘Shane’s my boyfriend. I’ve been with him for months, he almost lived here—’

‘About that.’ Alexia clasped her aching forehead. ‘You know some of the money in the community account was cleared by cheques paid into a few different accounts?’

Jodie gave the tiniest of nods.

Alexia stroked her friend’s arm through her dressing gown. ‘Gabe and I have an appointment with the bank tomorrow and we’re hoping you’ll come.’ She cleared her throat miserably. ‘The thing is … the cheque numbers relate to the cheque book we keep here so a likely scenario is that …’ About to say as he got so close to you she looked at the misery and pain on her friend’s face and changed it to, ‘as we let him pretty much run tame here, he had access to it.’

Slowly Jodie’s face crumpled. ‘How could he?’

Although she knew Jodie was beseeching her to explain how Shane could treat Jodie that way, Alexia shied away from any discussion that might lead to the conclusion that Jodie had been a mug. ‘The DC said it’s possible Shane’s a confidence trickster. Obviously time’s been invested in pulling together his plan and it probably won’t be the first time he’s done it. By sharing space with you he got access to your laptop, your security gadget from the bank and the cheque book.’

With a howl, Jodie lost what was left of her composure. ‘All the cheque books. My private bank accounts are empty too-oo-oo!’

Shock swept through Alexia. ‘Oh, no! Oh, Jodes. For some reason that hadn’t occurred to me. Have you called the police?’

‘Noooo-oo-oo,’ Jodie bawled, flinging her arms around Alexia and burying her head against her shoulder.

‘Then tell DC Fitzhugh when you go and see him. And you’ll have to notify the bank.’ She slipped her arms around Jodie’s quaking body. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘Yes plea-ea-ease!’

It was some time before Jodie stopped howling. Alexia hugged and patted her and passed her tissues, stunned by the cruelty of her friend’s humiliation. Ben’s disappointing behaviour paled into insignificance when compared with the cynical way Shane had used Jodie.

‘Th-thank you for not being cross,’ Jodie hiccupped eventually.

‘Of course I’m not cross. You’re the sister I never had, remember?’ Alexia referenced the phrase they’d used as teenagers. Jodie, older by two years, had always been ready with teenage wisdom at important moments, such as Alexia’s ‘first time’. At the end the boy goes ‘ruuuhhhhh’ and falls on you but he’ll be OK after a minute.

In their twenties it had been Alexia who’d blossomed, following her star despite not being able to complete university, determined not to stagger from one financial crisis to another like her dad, nor to rely on a man, like her mum. Jodie, less driven, had been content with working in cosy coffee shops popular with customers who liked a chat as well as a well-risen scone.

Alexia had been surprised when Jodie agreed to join with Gabe to run The Angel Community Café. Responsibility didn’t feature large in her comfort zone – in fact it was a prime cause of anxiety for her – but probably Gabe, with his innate good sense and decades of financial experience, had made it seem nice and safe.

Now everything had gone wrong. Alexia and Gabe were struggling for a grip on the nightmare of being the victims of crime. Jodie had gone to pieces. Christopher Carlysle, who’d only ever lent his good name to The Community Café fundraising account, was making it plain he had not expected to be dragged into the fallout from theft by deception.

And how the hell was this whole ugly mess to be explained to the villagers? So many had joined in the fundraising—

Jodie thumped the sofa cushion, jolting Alexia out of her unhappy reverie. ‘You’re supposed to be the businesswoman, Alexia!’

Alexia, her legs aching from crouching for so long, wobbled dangerously. She’d thought herself inured to Jodie’s lightning changes of mood but this one caught her by surprise. ‘What?’

Jodie’s face was blotched red but her mouth was set in a stubborn line. ‘You obviously didn’t check Shane out, did you?’

Alexia hauled herself to her feet, rubbing her knees to bring the circulation back. ‘One of the ways I check contractors out is to go on personal recommendation from someone I trust! In this case, the person I trust would be you. FYI, you’re also the reason he’s half-lived here, eating us out of house and home while, it turns out, he poked his nasty nose into our private things, stole anything he could get his shitty hands on including a lot of money we were responsible for, and left us to face the music.’

Though understanding it was fear that made Jodie snap and snarl like an injured animal, the attack left Alexia feeling sick and trembly. ‘I’m going to have a few drinks at The Three Fishes. Coming?’ The invitation was tacked-on with little enthusiasm.

‘I just want to stay here.’ Jodie turned her face into the cushions.

Alexia gazed at her, shoulders quivering under a mantle of unbrushed hair. ‘Do you want to phone DC Fitzhugh before I go?’

Jodie’s voice came out muffled. ‘No.’

Trying to persuade Jodie in this mood was like trying to cajole a timid dog out from under a bed – it was best for everyone to wait until she felt safe. Alexia shrugged wearily back into her jacket and let herself out of the front door. Her days didn’t usually involve being in the pub at six o’clock, but sod it. Her days didn’t usually involve fraud, theft, betrayal and a horrible throb of panic beneath her breastbone, either.

It was only a five-minute walk to The Three Fishes but it was chilly enough that Alexia was glad to push open the door into the pub’s bright warmth and make for a stool at the bar. Janice the barmaid appeared from the back regions as Alexia propped her elbows wearily on the polished wood. ‘A very big glass of Sauvignon blanc, please.’

Janice reached for a glass. ‘Your wrecking party took all our trade on Saturday night, by the way, so you’re on Tubb’s shit list.’

‘Unfortunately, the landlord being cranky doesn’t even make the top ten of “Alexia’s things to worry about” right now.’

Janice laughed as she placed the frosty glass in front of Alexia along with a tumbler of ice, not needing to be reminded that Alexia liked to pop ice into her wine no matter how well chilled it was already.

Alexia took a big gulp of wine to fortify herself before reaching for her phone. She hadn’t wanted to rub salt into wounds by checking her private accounts in front of Jodie but she was almost shaking with trepidation as she opened her banking app …

Phew. She took another big gulp of wine in relief. Both personal and business accounts were intact. Though he might have been able to find her Internet banking security device in her drawer, Shitty Shane hadn’t had the opportunity to look over her shoulder and catch her passwords as he probably had Jodie’s.

Grateful for small mercies but feeling decidedly un-chatty, she kept her eyes trained on her phone screen as she worked her way steadily down both her wine glass and her email inbox.

An enquiry about a small decorating job: lounge with garden room opening out. Two newsletters, which she deleted unread. Offer of £5 off if she took a train to London before the end of October. And an enthusiastic email from Elton about a property they were completing on in Wimbledon, The sort of thing you could so go to town on, rejigging the space for best effect and greatest profit.

The thought that she’d yet to tell Elton how spectacularly pear-shaped her project had gone made her feel queasy. Unless, she thought, regarding her now empty glass, that was due to pouring one-third of a bottle of wine into a stomach that had scarcely seen food today. She caught Janice’s eye and ordered cottage pie. And another glass of wine.

While she waited, she googled Shane Edmunds and Timothy O’Neill. If the police national computer hadn’t thrown anything up then her Internet search wasn’t likely to, but she had to try something. Predictably, all she dug up was their social media accounts, presumably as phoney as they were, and social media accounts of different Shane Edmundses and Timothy O’Neills.

Her dinner arrived and she felt better for eating it. She was just deliberating between another glass of wine or a more sensible cup of coffee when a man she didn’t know strode into the pub and came to stand just around the corner of the bar. Tubb had replaced Janice as server and he ambled over to hover expectantly.

‘I’m hoping you can help me,’ the man began loudly. ‘I’m looking for someone called Benedict Hardaker. Ben.’

Alexia gave him a second look. The man had thin sandy hair and a forehead that looked as if it saw a lot of frowns.

Tubb shrugged. ‘Sorry, mate. Don’t think I know him.’

The man’s frown dug deeper furrows. ‘He might be staying with his uncle. Gabe Piercy.’

Tubb gave his odd smile, the corners of his mouth turning down instead of up. ‘I know Gabe. Not been in here tonight, though.’

‘He’s not at home either. Neither he nor Ben seem to have been answering their phones lately.’

Tubb looked sympathetic. ‘Bad signal round here sometimes.’

‘Right.’ The man’s cheeks were mottled red. ‘Perhaps if you do see Gabe you could give him a message to pass on to Ben? It’s very important that Ben sees his brother. Tell him Imogen really needs his help, too. Oh, and we’d actually appreciate knowing that Ben’s OK.’

Tubb began to move off to serve a customer. ‘If I see Gabe I’ll try and remember the gist.’ He didn’t look as if he’d try very hard. Probably the man ought to have at least bought a drink before demanding favours.

Alexia pinned her gaze to her phone screen. Should she speak up and say that Ben was fine – if you didn’t count being moody and changeable? But Ben might be hiding out in the woods for a reason.

On the other hand … the messages had sounded as if they could be important.

The ‘buts’ continued to circulate in her mind while the man drummed his fingers on the counter then turned and left.

Tubb paused in front of Alexia on his way to the till. ‘Have you seen Gabe today?’

She nodded. ‘Think he was going out this evening.’ He’d been going to see Christopher – they’d taken one awkward interview each: him Christopher, her Jodie – so maybe he was still there.

‘Gabe’s nephew is the wizard in the woods, isn’t he?’

Alexia nodded, unsurprised. Tubb knew a great deal about the village and everyone in it.

Tubb grunted and went to the till, frowning. Alexia had known Tubb since she was a child being brought into the beer garden for lemonade and crisps on a summer’s afternoon. Despite his often dour façade he had a code so far as his pub was concerned. It was the village’s oasis and people deserved to be able to relax there unhounded. Ben was a prospective customer by virtue of having chosen to live in Middledip, even if on its very edges, whereas the man asking after him was an outsider.

In following the possible workings of his mind, Alexia found herself making a decision. ‘I’ll make sure the nephew gets the message. I can ring Gabe.’

‘Thanks.’ Frown disappearing now that someone else was taking responsibility, Tubb moved on to another customer without even making the anticipated complaint about the Middledip Wrecking Party taking all his business last Saturday.

Alexia fished out her phone and dialled Gabe’s number, but the call went straight to voicemail. She sighed.

What now? Nobody would blame her for filing this under ‘not my business’ and simply passing the messages to Gabe tomorrow, but something about that solution didn’t sit well. She had a strong feeling Ben should be warned about the man looking for him. Maybe it was because the man had sounded closely connected with the family and Alexia remembered what Gabe had said about everyone who Ben loved letting him down.

Also … her conscience kept nudging her that her remark about the condom had been malicious and, from Ben’s expression, hurtful.

They were both aware that when she realised neither of them had a condom, she’d been so frustrated she could have screamed. Actually, she had screamed, just a tiny bit, and he’d laughed and applied himself to relieving her frustrations in ways for which no condom was required.

She glanced behind her to the window. Twilight. She sighed and gave up on the idea of coffee.

If Ben was surprised to hear a knock on his door in the middle of the evening he was downright astounded to open it and find his caller to be Alexia Kennedy.

‘What an unexpected pleasure.’ He was aware of sounding sarcastic but this afternoon’s interchange had stung.

‘I came to tell you something.’

He looked past her into the darkness. He hadn’t heard the approach of a car. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve walked here.’

‘OK. But I’ve had two large glasses of wine so I didn’t drive.’

It was hard not to notice how she hugged her thin jacket around herself. He took a tentative step back. ‘Do you want to come in to tell me?’

Equally as tentatively, she stepped inside.

As she seated herself in one of the armchairs he shook from his mind the image of the laughing, eyes-dancing Alexia lounging on the floor on Saturday evening, back propped against the same chair as she drank whisky. And, later, naked and glistening Alexia exploring his body with inquisitive hands.

Glad he’d already lit the fire in view of the way she extended her hands to it, he took the other chair. ‘What’s up?’

She wasted no time on small talk. ‘A man was looking for you at the pub. He said it’s important that your brother sees you, that Imogen needs your help, and that “we”, whoever that is, would like to know you’re all right. I decided that some of those messages might be important and as I don’t have your phone number I came over.’

‘Thank you for going to the trouble.’ Part of him wanted to consider why she had. Her collar, he noticed, bore small white polka dots, an unexpectedly frivolous detail of the same otherwise no-nonsense outfit he’d seen her in earlier.

She narrowed her eyes as if trying to measure his muted reaction. ‘The man was in his sixties with thin sandy hair—’

‘I know who he was.’ He rested his head on the chair back, knowing he had to prioritise. ‘It is possible that one of those messages might be important.’ Not the one about his brother, Lloyd – or, at least, he doubted it would prove to be anything new.

But Imogen …

‘Would you mind hanging on while I make a quick call?’ Without waiting for an answer he jumped up and made for the kitchen. There, he opened his contacts list and tapped on Imogen.

She answered after two rings, voice breathy with surprise. ‘Ben?’ She sounded so familiar that for an instant he felt as if the past had slipped into the present, as if he might be calling to say he could get home on Friday so they could go out to dinner. He could almost hear the reply she would have made: Or we could stay home, just the two of us … and then you never know what you’ll get on the table, her slight Berkshire burr caressing the words ‘could’ and ‘never’. He’d have laughed and lowered his voice to suggest …