Matilda and James were late. It was entirely Matilda’s fault for being late home from work. She quickly freshened up in the caravan’s upright coffin which was laughably called a shower before dressing in a smart, but casual, trouser suit. A bottle of wine bought on the way, at ten minutes after seven o’clock, they were knocking on Adele’s front door.
‘Sorry we’re late. Pooh’s fault, as usual,’ James said.
‘Don’t call me that in public,’ Matilda snapped. She didn’t mind being called Pooh in private – an affectionate nickname based on her middle name – but not when they were out, and not in front of friends. ‘It was my fault, though,’ she said to Adele, kissing her on both cheeks.
‘Don’t worry about it. Dinner isn’t even ready yet. We’ve got time for a drink or three first. Come into the living room.’
‘Is Chris joining us?’
‘No. He’s out with friends tonight. There’s a band he’s keen on playing at the Leadmill.’
‘I haven’t been to the Leadmill in years,’ James said, making himself comfortable on the sofa.
‘You’re too old for the Leadmill now,’ Matilda laughed. ‘We’re all too old for it.’
‘That’s a depressing thought.’
‘You’re not wrong, Mat,’ Adele said, opening a bottle of wine. ‘The last time I was in a nightclub, I was standing on the edge of the dance floor and felt like a teacher supervising a school dance. I must have been the oldest one there by about fifteen years.’
‘When did we get so old?’ James asked.
‘I don’t mind that I’m getting old,’ Matilda said cosying up to James. ‘I can picture us together in our nursing home, counting our wrinkles and liver spots.’
‘Well that’s something to look forward to,’ James said, pulling a sour face. ‘I intend on staying young for as long as possible. I might have to pop along to the Leadmill one night with your Chris, Adele.’
‘I’m not sure he’d like that,’ Matilda said.
‘Oh he would, around midnight, so you can drive him home,’ Adele returned. Both women laughed.
During dinner, one of Adele’s signature pasta dishes, conversation turned to the dead former celebrity.
‘I remember him from Emmerdale,’ Adele said. ‘He was a very good looking bloke in his time.’
‘And now you’ve seen him naked,’ James smiled.
‘Not how I like to see my men naked, funnily enough. His character was killed off when he crashed into the post office.’
James laughed. ‘I love how far-fetched soap operas are yet people don’t seem to mind and think they still reflect real life in Britain. I mean, how many times has that village been blown up? You wouldn’t live there would you?’
‘Was he any good?’ Matilda asked.
‘I did have a look at a couple of clips online when I came home this afternoon. He wasn’t the best actor in the world.’
‘His wife said something similar.’
‘Well, you have actors, and then you have soap actors. There’s a huge difference between the two,’ James said. ‘You get the odd one who leaves the soap and manages to shine because they are genuinely talented, but you don’t get many.’
‘Do you think his death could be linked to his acting days?’ Adele asked.
‘I doubt it. He left the show in 1995. He hasn’t acted in years.’
‘So he just happened to get murdered then?’
‘I don’t know,’ Matilda said slowly, mulling over all the possible options running around her head. Again, she kept coming back to something Judy King had mentioned earlier.
‘James, I see work has begun on the house. When do you start tearing the walls down?’ Adele asked, changing the subject once she saw Matilda’s frown grow deeper on her forehead.
Matilda tuned them out. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. She did, it was her house after all, but she couldn’t seem to switch off from work. Iain Kilbride was occupying her thoughts. It was sad how his life had panned out. She wondered if the producers ever thought about the actors they fired who no longer appeared on television, or didn’t they care? It was a sad fall from grace. Iain had lived the good life for more than a decade, but in less than a year, had collapsed.
What did he have left, especially after his daughter had died and his marriage had ended? Could he be blamed for smoking heavily and hitting the bottle hard? He was grieving, and this was how he dealt with it.
Matilda looked across at James whose eyes had lit up as he talked about a topic he excelled in – architecture. She loved him like she had never loved anyone else. He had beautiful ice-blue eyes, a killer smile, and a jawline you could cut cheese with. He was the full package, yet completely humble, which made him almost perfect. If James died before Matilda, she had no idea how she would cope. Possibly the same way Iain was handling the loss of his daughter. But what led to his early demise? That’s what Matilda couldn’t quite pinpoint. But she had the feeling she already knew.