8.32am Friday 13th December
Matilda Edgely was doing her best to iron the creases out of her blue shirt, while keeping half an eye on the toaster, hoping that her breakfast wouldn’t burn. The cheap plastic clock on the wall of her basement flat ticked loudly, reminding her not to be late for work.
Matilda, or Tilly as her friends knew her, had worked at Ashton’s Bookshop for six months. As a university student at Jesus College in Cambridge, she was working part-time to fund her education.
Since she was very young, Tilly had known she wanted to become a vet and had worked extremely hard at school to achieve the results she needed to make it all the way from Devon to Cambridge University. Her parents, who were proud as punch, helped as best they could but were not in a financial situation to do very much. Tilly, who loved her mum and dad, was more than happy to knuckle down and do what needed to be done by herself. She had always been independent. Being born without a silver spoon in her mouth had taught her how to stand on her own two feet and fight for what she wanted.
Frustrated that despite her best efforts the creases were not coming out of her cotton shirt, Tilly unplugged the iron and sat down to eat her Marmite on toast, while watching the breakfast news show. That December morning felt no different to any other. The only noticeable thing was the light covering of snow on the ground outside. Tilly groaned when she realised it would be better to walk to work than cycle, like she normally did, on her trusty old red Raleigh.
Still in her dressing gown, Tilly picked up the still wrinkled shirt and took it into her small bedroom to get dressed. She shared the flat with one other student; a Chinese woman who was studying economics. They were friends but, in truth, Tilly found Yuki slightly irritating. Especially when she cooked Cantonese food that made the whole flat smell of shrimp paste. Yuki was also not so good at keeping the kitchen clean, and Tilly often found herself trying to scrub soy sauce marks off the kitchen surface.
After dressing, Tilly tidied away her breakfast things before reaching for her coat, bobble hat and gloves. It looked cold outside and the walk from her flat on Maids Causeway to the bookshop on Trinity Street would take her fifteen minutes.
She presumed Yuki was still asleep, since her door was shut, so Tilly closed the front door softly behind her. Then she set off to work, her breath leaving cloud trails as she walked briskly along the icy pavement, being careful not to slip.
On that Friday morning, Cambridge was quiet. A number of schools had closed because of the snow. The weatherman had warned of more to come. It would be all most people could talk about. The British loved discussing the weather.
Putting her headphones in, Tilly made her way along King Street towards the Market Square and listened to Florence and the Machine. She’d seen them play at Glastonbury once and had been an avid fan ever since.
Sinking her gloved hands into the pockets of her duffle coat, she felt the keys with her fingers knowing that at the same time next week, she would be at home in Devon with her parents, preparing to celebrate Christmas.
Although she liked Cambridge very much, it was a world away from Ilfracombe, the seaside town her family now lived in. She missed being by the sea and loved returning home. Tilly told herself that once she had become a vet, she would return to that part of the world and start a small practice of her own. It was the dream she’d had since she was eight years old and it had not lost its appeal over the last seventeen years.
As she turned onto Trinity Street, she stopped for a moment to look at the wintery scene. Large flakes were falling from the sky and the university buildings on her left looked glorious in the snow. It was as if time had stood still. Tilly could imagine students throughout the ages walking those same cobbled stones, on their way to classes. The thought filled her with warmth. She liked the idea of a simpler era, before smart phones and the Internet. It was one of the reasons she loved Ilfracombe so much: it was untouched by time.
Snapping out of her daydream Tilly hurried along the street to the shop, not wanting to be ticked off by her boss for being late. Although it was her job to open up the shop, she never arrived before Dennis, who was always sitting behind the counter when she got there, even if she was early.
But as she approached the door, she realised something felt different. Inside, the lights were off and as she went to open the door, she discovered it was already unlocked. The room was dark, and Tilly called out, ‘Dennis? Are you there? Sorry if I’m a few minutes late.’
She turned on the light switch and saw the body of her employer hanging from a rope. But Tilly didn’t scream. She turned the lights off and turned and walked out of the shop. With a shaking hand, she pulled off one of her gloves, removed her phone from her bag, called 999, and asked to be put through to the police.
‘Police, what’s your emergency?’
Tilly froze suddenly, unable to talk. What should she say?
‘Hello?’ The responder asked down the phone.
‘I…’ But the words wouldn’t come.
‘Miss?’
‘Trinity Street.’ She managed finally. ‘Ashton’s Bookshop. Come quick.’ It was all she could say before she felt her legs go from under her and she found herself sitting on the pavement in the snow.
Staring down at the phone she held in her hands, Tilly suddenly wondered if she was having some sort of episode and had imagined the whole thing. Had she? Was Dennis really inside? But she knew it wasn’t her imagination, and that what she had seen was very real, and the moment she let herself accept it tears began to stream down her cheeks.
It had never occurred to her to ask for an ambulance. It was as clear as day that Dennis Wade was dead. No living human had that skin colour.
She’d never seen the body of a dead person before. Her experience was limited to the corpses of animals as part of her course.
Still unable to stand, Tilly sat crying in the snow while the cold wetness soaked through her black trousers. Her whole body began to shake as the shock set in. Her mind was whirling, trying to process what she’d just seen. Her boss was dead. Her boss had killed himself. Her boss had left her to find his body.
In the distance, she could hear the sound of sirens approaching and although she hoped it would help her to feel better, the noise only represented dread.
Trinity Street, which was normally a pedestrian zone, soon emptied as the police car came screeching down the narrow street. Early morning shoppers dashed out of its path, stopping to watch the drama unfold.
The Mercedes hatchback stopped right in front of Ashton’s and two uniformed officers got out, both wearing high-vis jackets. The female officer, who was noticeably short, approached Tilly and bent down on her heels.
‘Are you the woman who called it in?’ she asked, her Peterborough accent recognisable to Tilly.
‘Yes,’ Tilly answered in a daze.
‘In there?’ The officer pointed. Tilly nodded. ‘Help her up…’ The female officer turned to her male colleague. ‘She’ll catch her death.’
The male officer, who was younger than his female counterpart, did as he was told and guided Tilly to the car, where he helped her into the back seat and got out a foil blanket.
Tilly watched as the woman removed a small torch from her belt and slowly opened the shop door.
Minutes later she reappeared looking pale and shook her head solemnly before reaching for her radio. ‘Deceased male at Ashton’s Bookshop. We need forensics and this building needs to be cordoned off,’ she spoke into the radio.
The male officer stood leaning against the car with his arms folded trying to retain some warmth.
‘Suicide is it?’ the male officer asked.
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Huh?’
‘Well, he’s strung up high and there’s no sign of how he got up there,’ the female said seriously. ‘Has she said anything?’ She signalled to Tilly.
‘Not a word. The girl’s in shock.’
‘An ambulance is on the way.’ The officer turned to look at the shop. ‘We need to keep the public away,’ she added, referring to the crowd of onlookers who had gathered nearby. ‘Bloody nosy parkers.’
The male officer, who had a neatly trimmed beard, went and stood in the bookshop doorway and again folded his arms. No one was getting past him unless he said so.
Tilly sat in the back of the car watching it all unfold. All she could think about was Dennis Wade’s wife. She’d never met the woman, but she’d often heard Dennis speaking fondly of her. Tilly was sure they had children too. The thought made her stomach churn.
As the passenger door opened, Tilly looked up to see the kind face of the officer.
‘Can you tell me how you know the deceased?’
‘I work in the shop. He is…’ Tilly paused, ‘…was, my boss.’
‘I see.’ The officer smiled sadly. ‘What’s your name?’
‘I’m Matilda Edgely. I was meant to open up but he was always here before me. He loved the shop.’ Tilly swallowed hard.
‘I need you to give me his name and address, please.’ She removed a small note pad from her luminous jacket pocket.
‘Dennis Wade. He lives in Balsham with his wife.’ Tears pricked her eyes. ‘I don’t know the address.’
‘That’s very useful information. Thank you.’ She closed the car door and returned to jotting on her notepad.
Watching passers-by looking at her sitting in the back of the police car, Tilly began to feel like a criminal. She sunk down into her seat and wished she were back in bed. The day had not started the way she had intended.