Jack by the Hedge (Jack of All Trades Book 4) (25 page)

‘It wouldn’t last,’ he said.

‘It might.’

He’d never considered getting back together. Not seriously. They always rowed. It was a pattern. The way they were. Blame v blame.

‘Would you like to come to Brighton for the weekend?’ she said.

‘Are you serious?’

‘I think so.’

Did he want to? You can’t step into the same river twice, said some clever dick at AH. He was two years on. Older, but wiser? That was the question. And there was Mia to consider. The Fat Controller was throwing his switches. Which track to where?

‘I’ll come,’ he said. ‘Best behaviour.’

‘Ditto.’

Part Four:

The Big Day

Chapter 50

Liz gave Zar a shout in the morning to wake him. She informed him she’d left a clean towel in the bathroom. To help himself to toast, eggs, yoghurt or whatever. But wash up afterwards. She had to open up the park and get going. Busy day.

Left alone, he might’ve slept till noon. The night before, he’d found the pavilion floor hard, and, when he’d finally got to sleep, been woken up by Rose and Man Mountain. And though grateful for her company, she did chatter. Death and autumn. She was rather a loony, but he liked her. And she’d got him this bed tonight.

He mustn’t call friends loonies.

As he showered, he wondered whether he could persuade Liz to make this permanent. He’d have to be a model guest. No mess, no noise. That wasn’t his style anyway. And he didn’t have any lovers to bring back. Eddie who might have been, wasn’t.

No screwing of witnesses.

Somewhere to live came first. He would be so nice to Liz today and hope. Pay the rent and housekeeping of course, without any argument. The others might think it peculiar, him staying at Liz’s place. He’d need to come out as gay. But then Liz knew, Rose knew. Amy was gone. That only left Bill. And he’d moan whatever Zar was.

He went down to the kitchen. It was as tidy as his mother’s. What were they saying about him at home? Nothing much, he suspected, once they’d blown their tops. Probably just glad he was gone and so couldn’t disgrace them. At least, not in their house. Not so that the community would know.

He’d never cooked at home. Nothing more than toast, that is. The kitchen was his mother’s realm. So he’d have a go now. Tea was just a tea bag in a cup. No problem. Toast in the toaster, simple enough. Dare he try fried egg?

Zar put too much oil in the pan. He broke the two eggs badly. They fried greasily, popping and spitting. He was glad Liz was out at work and so wouldn’t witness his haplessness. He made the atmosphere worse by frying a slice of bread in the swimming oil. The kitchen steamed with greasy odour.

Zar ate hungrily. Then washed up, scrubbing the frying pan. He opened the window to release the smell. It was a warm, sunny day. Great. There was the builder already at work.

Jack was coming out of the yard with a wheelbarrow of bricks when he bumped into Liz. He stared at her for an instant and would have ignored her, but she spoke.

‘Sorry, Jack.’

He almost charged off, but instead stopped.

‘That was a bitch thing to do,’ he said.

‘For which I can only apologise.’

She was in her overalls with a clipboard in her hands, her fingers grimy with peat.

‘Did you eat death stalks?’ he said.

‘Change the subject,’ she said.

‘It’s the only subject.’

‘Then I didn’t.’

‘And did you kill Ian?’

‘No.’

‘So erase the conversation in the rose garden, erase what you said in the kitchen?’

‘Yes,’ she said, holding his gaze. ‘I was depressed. I said crazy things. I’m fine now.’

‘You look well,’ he said.

She smiled at him. ‘Wait till you see me in my suit.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Oh, I must rush. Such a lot to do before the nobs come. See you later.’

He watched her stride down the path to her greenhouse. Not knowing what to think. What she’d said, what she was. He’d agreed in the early hours to go down to Brighton to stay with Alison. Well, that could be cancelled. If anything happened here.

All this hedging of his bets. It was too Tony.

He unloaded the bricks by the wall, and went back with the wheelbarrow to the yard to make up the mortar. Rose was coming in. She gave him a peck on the cheek, so she wasn’t mad at him either. So maybe he wasn’t judged so badly. Or had Liz had a word with her?

She told him Mr Swift had overdone the bricklaying yesterday and was having a lie in. So he’d have no mate. And then she rushed off. Zar came across the lawn and hailed him. Even Bill had a good morning. Jack noted that Zar went out with the leaf vac. The lawn was priority. Bill had a two wheeled barrow of white, yellow, purple and red flowers. Primulas, he said. And had gone off to plant them.

The mortar made up in the yard, Jack took a barrowful outside and began today’s bricklaying. The courses they’d laid yesterday were even. He simply had to keep to them with the spirit level. His action with the trowel had improved from watching Mr Swift. And he hit a rhythm.

Every so often he saw Liz, in and out the marquee with plants from her greenhouse.

He was surprised to see Amy. She came in the other gate, past the playground, and must’ve seen Rose there, but she didn’t go in. Bill and Zar gave her a wave, she waved back, and went to talk briefly to Bill. And then went into the marquee.

She was in there, perhaps ten minutes, and came out weeping.

A closed lorry came into the park. Jack had to move his wheelbarrow for it to get by. Folding tables were taken from its interior into the marquee, along with plastic chairs and a large open box of white tablecloths. The two men were leaving the marquee when Liz came out yelling at them. Jack could hear her from where he was. Telling them how short staffed she was and she’d report them if they didn’t set things up.

She won. But then he knew she would. He’d seen her in action a few times. The men went back into the marquee. He could still hear Liz, but muffled by the canvas.

He checked the course with the spirit level. Going well. Matching up at both ends. He should be finished by noon. Push on. Make up more mortar. He looked at the sky, with luck it should stay fine.

He was sitting on the wall for his tea break when Liz came along the drive in her suit.

‘What d’you think?’ she said, doing a twirl.

It was a navy blue dress suit, well cut to her figure. She wore a red scarf round her neck and was wearing smart flats on her feet.

‘No six inch heels?’ said Jack.

‘I can’t stand them,’ she said. ‘Useless to work in. Kill your feet. Scandalously overpriced.’

She’d put on light make up and a little perfume. Jack looked in admiration; she almost frightened him. What clothes can do. She’d leaped out of the working class.

‘I prefer you in overalls,’ he said.

She lifted her nose snootily. ‘I’m in manager mode. Ah!’ She indicated the gate. ‘That’s the Mayor’s limo. I’m the reception committee too.’ She wandered further up the path as the vehicle drove slowly in.

Over the next half hour, a few other vehicles came, and various less privileged pedestrians who’d left cars outside the park. Several remarked on the quality of his bricklaying, including the soon to be ex Member of Parliament, who Jack thought quite nice for a Tory.

The marquee was bustling. There were waiters and waitresses with trays of drinks to hand out to the besuited throng. Every so often, between people, he noted Liz chatting. She seemed at home, in demand.

Zar rushed past him into the yard.

‘Liz wants me to come in. She wants me to talk about the Tree Map.’

He came out of the yard a minute later, indicating clean hands, and then ran towards the marquee. Deciding about ten yards from it, that he’d best walk. Jack saw Liz immediately draw him in and then he was out of sight in the mêlée.

He’d brought out the last of the bricks. There was enough mortar to see him through. He was on the top course, laying the bricks crosswise to finish off. A little later, he noted there was hubbub and motion, guests were streaming out of the marquee and heading towards the avenue. It was mostly men, but some women, all with high heels except Liz in her sensible shoes.

Every so often, as he worked, Jack looked over to the Mayor’s avenue, but with the milling of people could see little of what was going on. There was a TV camera, the operator dancing about, here and there. The tree planting, Jack assumed, but could see only a wall of suits. Speeches too, he guessed, a few dainty shovels of soil from the chrome plated spade – and back to the marquee for a drink or two.

Though some with tight schedules were already heading off to meetings about budgets and personnel. The Mayor came past in his limousine, off to his next port of call. The MP went, telling Jack to keep up the good work. The TV people had nothing to stay for, but had a drink or two and grabbed some sausage rolls and were off to another assignment.

Jack laid the last brick. And stood back to look. Straight and true. He’d only needed to use a few of the new bricks. And had separated them out, so they didn’t stand out. Now to clean up. And job done.

In the marquee, Liz had a small audience of those less hurried. With a glass of red wine in one hand, she was pointing out and naming the flowers and plants down the sides of the waterfall in her cascade. Answering questions, when suddenly she doubled up, the glass and wine flying out of her hand and dropping into the rapids. She staggered, bashing into the side of her structure, and collapsed onto the bottom step where the gushing pool burbled through pebbles. She sat up brushing water off her hair, her hand among lilies at the side.

‘How on earth did that happen?’ she said with a smile.

An arm helped her to her feet. Liz clambered out, water dripping off her suit, her hair dank, lips trembling. She began thanking her helper, tottered a few steps as if the earth were shaking under her, and would have collapsed but a man caught her, now a dead weight, and laid her gently on the grass.

She was clutching her stomach, rocking back and forth, as the ambulance was called.

Chapter 51

Jack arrived home mid afternoon. He’d been oblivious to the fuss over Liz as he’d been in the yard, hosing down his wheelbarrow and tools. Zar came in yelling that Liz was being taken away in an ambulance.

He ran out. There was the ambulance, just beyond the wall, the back doors wide open. Two paramedics were carrying Liz on a stretcher across the grass. Rose was by the vehicle.

She said, ‘You were right all along, Jack.’

‘The last thing I want to be.’

‘She collapsed into her cascade,’ said Rose. ‘She didn’t want an ambulance, kept telling us she was alright, but it was obvious she wasn’t. By the time they got here, she was frothing at the mouth, vomiting and thrashing about. She fought them off. Can you believe that? They had to give her an injection to pacify her.’

Liz was being slid into the back of the ambulance. A small crowd had gathered. The day had clouded over; there was a chill wind.

‘I never believed you tried it on with her,’ said Rose, taking his hand.

‘I didn’t.’

‘Because she wouldn’t have rejected you, Jack. If that helps your ego.’

‘Not much.’

‘Miss,’ called a paramedic, ‘if you’re coming along then you’d better get on board.’

‘You know my number, Jack. Keep in touch.’

They embraced, and quickly parted. And then Rose was in the back of the vehicle. The doors were closed, and in less than a minute the ambulance was gone from the park; a dying siren signalling its route to the hospital.

Zar was crushed. ‘She was eating and drinking, had a crowd around her cascade, all asking her questions, when she dropped into the water. Out of nowhere.’

Bill was philosophical, as one might expect.

‘You never know what’s eating you up inside. Like termites.’

Jack had left soon after, though wondered how they’d manage the park, just the two of them and all the debris of the ceremony. The marquee to be packed up, tables and chairs collected. The playground run. Who was in charge now?

Several times during the afternoon, he’d tried phoning Rose, and had given up by the time DC Thomas arrived in the early evening. Jack invited him up.

‘I’ve only instant coffee,’ he said.

‘OK by me, Jack.’

He made them a mug each, and they sat in the sitting room, his kitchen being a tip.

Thomas was back in his smart working suit. A plain clothes cop.

‘Have you heard anything?’ he said.

‘No,’ said Jack with a shrug. ‘I’ve been ringing Rose on and off, with no luck.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to inform you that Liz died about four o’clock this afternoon.’

‘Oh God.’ Tears filled his eyes. ‘Excuse me,’ he managed, rubbing his eyes with the back of a hand.

‘Take this,’ said Thomas, handing over a tissue.

‘Thanks.’ He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. ‘I only knew her a few days; you’d think I was her brother or something. It’s just… she touched me.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with crying, mate,’ said Thomas patting him on the back. ‘I’ve met bastards who wouldn’t weep if their daughter’s head was chopped off in front of them. Let ‘em flow.’

‘Thanks,’ said Jack sniffing.

‘You were right all along,’ said Thomas.

‘You’re the second one who’s said that to me.’

‘She was so jolly last night,’ said the detective. ‘What d’you make of that?’

Jack thought this over. ‘She’d settled what she was going to do,’ he said at last. ‘Taken the mushrooms and had no regrets.’

‘We’ve had the preliminary post mortem report on Swift. And it’s confirmed, death stalk poisoning.’

‘Two in two days,’ said Jack.

‘There’s no doubt in my mind,’ said Thomas, ‘that she killed Ian Swift. Do you agree?’

‘Yes.’

‘And then she killed herself because of guilt, fear of being caught, or whatever.’

‘Or whatever,’ echoed Jack.

‘Did she tell you she killed Swift?’

‘No,’ he said. There was no point getting himself in trouble.

‘There’s one thing missing though,’ mused Thomas. ‘Motive. Why did she kill him?’