Did my stalker stab me? Is that what this is all about?
Fiona said she loved me, she didn’t mean to hurt me. But did she hurt me anyway?
It sounds an awful lot like that, doesn’t it? Yet she never wears yellow headbands, she hasn’t got black Converse sneakers on, just dusty red Doc Martens, in case you were wondering. And she is not fleeing the vicinity like a typical killer would. Instead, she’s standing just metres from a uniformed officer, now chatting casually with two of my neighbours like she’s got absolutely nothing to hide.
It’s the couple from a few houses down, middle-aged, always smiling like hotel receptionists, just thrilled to see your happy face, and how are you today? Except they’re not smiling now, they’re shaking their heads and wringing their hands and agreeing with Fiona that it’s all just so absolutely, completely and utterly horrendous (their words, not mine).
Would Fiona just stand there and chat about my horrendous murder if she had murdered me? It’s unlikely, right? I’m just not buying it, yet I can hear those words again.
“Friend? After what you did to her? …Jesus, do you want the world to know? Is that it?”
Okay, deep breaths. Let’s not jump to any conclusions. Fiona’s probably just getting her head bitten off for leering at me once too often. This is Psycho Sarah, remember? She’d smack you down for looking at her twice.
So I’m going to let that one slide for now and follow Sarah instead. She’s closing in on the group of kids who are leaning against the side of Cass’s house, being questioned by Officer Megan.
“Oi! You! Officer!” Sarah is yelling even though Megan is now looking up and staring directly at her. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
Megan waits until Sarah reaches her, then says, calmly, “Detective Chasin has asked me to question these witnesses regarding a white van that was seen in the vicinity.”
“Not without their parents’ permission you don’t!” Sarah is still yelling, causing the copper to blanch and the kids to smirk. They’re delighted not to be at the other end of Sarah’s wrath; no doubt they’ve been there many times before.
“It’s just a few questions, ma’am, we—”
“Don’t give a shit. These ‘witnesses’”—she’s making quote marks, her fat fingers digging into the air like shovels—“are bloody kids, right? You can’t just interrogate them! What do you think this is? North Korea? You will have to call every single one of their parents before this goes any further! Got it?”
Megan has regained her colour and looks ready to argue but thinks better of it (I admire her bravery, but she is half Sarah’s size) and turns back to the teenagers with a patient smile.
“Right, kids, you heard the woman. You all need to call your folks.”
They groan loudly and reach for their phones.
While they’re tapping away, I’m sneaking back into Cass’s house. Officer Paul has finished with the neighbours (I wish I’d heard what busybody old Mrs Oliver had to say) and is now making his way inside. I want to see how my darling boy is doing and what he’s got to say about that headband. If I noticed it on Henrietta from a respectable distance many times, he must have seen it up close and personal at least once.
Paul has managed to gather the entire Jones clan around the kitchen bench, a wide piece of glossy black-and-white marble with leather and chrome stools to match. Tacky don’t ya think?
“Do you know who owns this hair thingie?” Paul asks, holding the bagged item aloft for Brenda and her precious little princesses, none of whom are wearing headbands.
Bob goes to say something, his tongue reaching towards his upper palate, when he stops and shakes his head. “Nope.”
Paul looks at him through shrewd eyes. He’d caught that too. “You sure you have never seen this before?”
Bob shakes his head again, more convincingly this time.
So he’s going to defend his girlfriend, hey? Even if it means she killed his own mother.
“Do you think it might belong to your mum for instance?”
Again he shakes his head.
“Know anyone who normally wears a yellow hair thing? Or any hair thing like this.”
“It’s a headband, actually, and it looks more like something a girl would wear,” says Brenda’s eldest, Miss Know-it-all.
Paul turns his gaze upon her. “Any particular girl?”
She shrinks back, blushes suddenly. “No. It’s not mine. I’m not saying it’s mine!”
Brenda’s eyes narrow. She glances at Paul. “It has nothing to do with us,” she says stiffly. “My girls don’t wear headbands. Hair clips, yes. Headbands, no.” She flashes her daughter a look. I can’t read it.
Paul glances from Brenda to her daughter and back and goes to say something when his phone bursts into song, breaking the tension. As he steps outside to answer it, the relief in the air feels palpable. Brenda is staring at her daughter shrewdly, and the daughter has her head down not meeting anyone’s eyes.
What’s going on? Am I reading too much into it? Why is everyone acting so weird suddenly? That is Henrietta’s headband, right?
I don’t get a chance to give it anymore thought because the officer has returned and his eyes are now firmly set on Bob.
My stomach clenches.
“Let’s forget this hair thing for now,” Paul says, his eyes moving to Cass. “Detective Inspector Chasin has some new evidence in and would like a private word with your son, if that’s okay, Mr Jones?”
No! No! Say no! I urge, but he only shrugs as Bob’s brow crinkles.
“Right,” says Brenda, almost too hurriedly. “Come on then girls, how about we head back to our rooms, hey? This is none of our business now.”
She goes to leave, then thinks better of it and turns back, leaning in towards Bob. “Would you like me to stay with you, hun?”
He shakes his head. “Thanks, Brenda. I’ll be okay.”
Still she hesitates. Then she flashes the officer a chilly glare. “Please don’t be too long. I need to get back into this kitchen at some point. I want to make Bob something special tonight.”
“Lasagne?” Bob asks, his eyes wide with expectation, and she nods.
“What else?”
Er, spag bol I want to say, but the way he cheers up at the thought of lasagne gives me pause for thought. Perhaps Brenda can’t make a decent bolognaise.
She leans down and gives Bob a hug, and this time I watch as he falls into her, and I try not to bristle too much. I suppose he could do with another cuddle. I can’t begrudge him that.
Brenda then shoots Cass a worried frown before following her daughters out of the kitchen and back deep within the house. What’s with all these worried looks and surreptitious frowns? Does Brenda’s daughter know something? Does Brenda? Is she protecting someone?
While Cass and Bob start chewing on their lower lips waiting for Chasin to show, I consider following Brenda, but she’s heading back to her bedroom alone. I haven’t got time for sympathy, so I toddle on outside. Be good to see what the Burleigh sisters are up to and if there’s blood on the streets yet.
No such luck. Sarah has remained with Henrietta who looks mortified as the other kids await the arrival of their parents. Fiona has finished with the middle-aged couple and is now wandering over to old Mrs Oliver, who is leaning on her front fence, looking both scandalised and delighted, like she’s watching the Gay Mardi Gras.
Halfway across the street, Fiona glances back for some reason, and something catches her eye. She stops and squints, and I look back too, towards Tattoo Man’s house. The shadow has reappeared just to the left of the old sedan.
Can Fiona see that black shadow by the Bombadore? Is that what she’s frowning at? And if so, what is this strange phenomenon that only some of us have noticed?
For an exhilarating moment I think Fiona is going to approach it, but then I hear a loud screech, and the shadow suddenly quivers and vanishes completely. I’m not sure if it’s been scared off by Fiona or by a sudden ball of bright light that has appeared in front of my house.
It is coming from inside a taxi, and it is shimmering white.