Peggy opened the front door of her building and then closed it again. Cookie reversed course ungracefully, pulling his paw back over the threshold a split second before the door closed.
‘Oh heavens!’ Carole clapped. ‘Is John Major out there again? I’ve got my knitting needles – I’m ready for him. You know he’s in league with the Pope. If I’ve told them once, I’ve told them a thousand times – I shan’t be joining—’
‘No!’ Peggy snapped, causing Carole to flinch. Peggy instantly regretted her tone. ‘I’m sorry, my love. It’s bloody snowing – that’s all. I don’t trust my hips not to fail me on slippery ground. Or my ankles, for that matter.’
Carole jabbed her fists into her sides. ‘We can’t not go! I promised JFK I’d make cabbage rolls for the school bake sale.’
Peggy inhaled. ‘I know, my love. I’m only getting my scooter. You can ride on the back if you like.’ Her scooter was stored under the communal stairs, out of the way.
The caretaker had tried to tell her the space needed to be kept clear as it was the fire escape route. Which was bloody ridiculous. No one had any need to be under the stairs at any time – much less during a fire. She’d continued parking there. And he’d eventually given up on shoving notes under her door.
Snow was falling. The greenery – trees and hedges and a few patchy bits of lawn – was blanketed in white. Where the snow landed on concrete, it became a filthy brown muck. A slippery, treacherous, deadly brown muck.
Carole hopped nimbly onto the back of the scooter, and tapped Peggy on the shoulder. ‘Mushy peas! Onwards to battle!’
Peggy obliged and closed her fingers around the accelerator.
Most of the time, Peggy was proud of the way she’d aged, refusing to conform to society’s bizarre notions of how a woman should age – much as she’d declined to participate in the patriarchy and all its stupid gender roles. She’d done womanhood her own way all her life. And now she was doing her senior years her own way too.
But every now and then Peggy cursed her body for its failure to remain the waif she’d been for so long. Until well into her sixties, she’d been nimble and agile, strong and flexible. And now look at her. Using a mobility scooter for a walk of 100 metres. All because she was afraid of falling. She disgusted herself.
No! She refused to sink to such unworthy levels. She was using all the tools in her arsenal, same as always. That was all. If the mobility scooter made her more stable and restored her freedom, then she would use it. Because she, Margaret Persephone Trent, was growing old disgracefully and she was not ashamed of that fact.
By the time they arrived at the café, she felt strong and capable, ready to take on the world. Ready to tackle whatever nightmare was befalling these poor folks.
As Peggy parked, Baz pulled up on her own scooter – a newer, higher-end model. ‘Morning, girls. Ooh, it’s slippy out here today, eh?’
Peggy carefully climbed off the scooter, cane in one hand and clasping Carole’s proffered hand in the other. ‘And nippy. I could do without this cold.’
Baz chuckled as she swivelled in her seat, bracing herself to stand up. ‘Having spent forty years living with winter temperatures of minus thirty, I think I can cope with the occasional minus one. But I’m worried I’ll slip and fall on my arse.’
Carole offered Baz her free right elbow. ‘Build it up with stone so strong. Dance o’er my Lady Lea.’
Baz gripped Carole’s arm and the solidity of her scooter to pull herself to her feet. The three of them – well, four with Cookie – carefully made their way to the door of the café. To give him due credit, Cookie seemed to take extra care to make sure the women were okay walking on the slush-covered pavement.
Peggy acknowledged Sarah with a grunt and a wave before making her way to their table, where Madge was just taking her seat.
Ten minutes later, they were all settled and the tedious greetings and inevitable chatter about the weather had been got out of the way. Sarah had arrived with the drinks and they’d all helped themselves. It was quiet in the café, so she stayed to chat for a minute before returning to her station.
Tea in hand, Madge looked up. ‘Well?’
Peggy pulled her laptop out and opened the file she’d prepared the night before. ‘I did a bit of research into this Fifi Galore. That’s not just her drag name, by the way – it’s also her real name. She changed it by deed poll back in 2013. She’s a trans woman. Her social media is an open book, so I was able to find a fair amount on her.’
Peggy tossed her espresso back and then leant forwards to return the little mug to the table. ‘She’s a drag performer, mostly working in and around south-east London – but she’s done the odd gig elsewhere too. Not only does she perform under her own name, she’s also part of an all-drag Bananarama cover band, Goddesses on the Mountain Top.’
She took a breath then continued. ‘Moved from Portugal at some point in the early 2000s. No date of birth that I could find, but she looked to be around forty-five in her latest post – which stopped in May 2021. All her social media accounts just went silent. For the next year or so, it was just friends and fans, saying they hoped she was all right. Someone called Alba still replies once every few months saying she hopes Fifi’s okay. Might be a sister.’
Baz looked over at Peggy. ‘Both Eddie and Wilson have immigration issues – but if Fifi was here before Brexit, she should have settled status, no?’
Peggy picked up her glass of water and took a sip. Sitting back up, she wagged a finger at Baz. ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Alas, the heartless bastards who run this country have other ideas. They never run out of ways to screw over the little folk.’
Madge frowned. ‘Skip the political lecture. Just tell us what you mean.’
‘It seems she returned to Portugal for seven months in 2015/2016. At the time, we were still in the EU, so it wasn’t an issue.’ Peggy had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from going off on another rant about the colossal act of self-harm that was Brexit. But she knew her friends didn’t need to hear it. ‘When she applied for settled status, they rejected her application.’
Madge’s knitting needles stopped. ‘Because of that trip?’
Baz’s jaw fell slack. ‘But she’s lived here for twenty years.’
Peggy rolled her eyes. ‘The system – the bloody awful system – allowed for absences of up to six months. They said people were allowed one instance of up to twelve months’ absence for an “important reason”.’ She used her fingers to put bunny ears around the phrase. ‘But, as will surprise no one, “important reasons” are left to the whims of the individual case assessor. I couldn’t see what Fifi’s reason was – but it got her application denied.’
Baz, who had been pouring herself a cup of tea, looked up at Peggy, aghast. ‘What? But that’s outrageous! Surely she could appeal?’
Peggy sniffed. ‘One would assume.’ She cocked her head to the side. ‘Now, bear in mind, I’m only seeing her various social media accounts; we don’t have access to her personal texts or emails. There’s still a lot we don’t know – far more than we do know, in fact.’
Madge looked at Peggy, an eyebrow raised, seemingly asking whether she was finished. Peggy nodded once.
Madge nodded back. ‘What we do have in regard to … Fifi is more than we have for Eddie or Wilson.’
Peggy looked at Madge, blinking. She made an impatient ‘carry on’ gesture.
Baz paused with her mug just below her lips. ‘Do we? How so?’
Madge inhaled and sat up straight. ‘With both Eddie and Wilson, we have no concrete evidence they’re actually missing. Or rather, that they haven’t simply left the area or gone into hiding. But this one is different. Fifi’s disappearance was reported to the police.’
As always, Madge dropped that little bomb on her friends and then left them hanging for a minute. She bent over and pulled her notebook from her knitting bag, then sat back and proceeded to flip through the pages until she found the right one. ‘I did a bit of digging too. There was a police report and an investigation under the name of—’
Peggy stabbed the air with her index finger. ‘Don’t you dare.’
Madge reacted as though she’d been slapped but then carried on as though Peggy hadn’t spoken. ‘I know you say she changed her name by deed poll but the police report was under her previous name, which was—’
Madge didn’t understand the taboo. Peggy lifted a hand and said, more softly, ‘I understand, Madge. But what I’m saying is we do not speak people’s deadnames. It’s insensitive – it conveys the idea that you don’t accept them for who they are.’
Madge’s brows knitted together as tightly as the scarf she was working on. ‘Even when Fifi isn’t here to hear it?’
Peggy fixed Madge with a glare and then let her eyes dart left to Baz for a split second. Come on, Madge – you’re a clever woman when you want to be, she willed her friend to understand.
Baz made a soft noise as the colour rose up from her chest and spread across her face. ‘I believe what Peggy is trying to say is that referring to someone by their former name conveys to the world – or at least to everyone within earshot – that you don’t believe the person when they tell you who they are. And that in turn implies to people who do hear you that maybe you don’t respect them either. There may be circumstances in which – for practical reasons – we have to know her former name – but at this stage, I don’t see that it would add anything.’
‘Think of it this way, Madge,’ Peggy added. ‘People call you Mrs Dixon, right?’
Madge inhaled slowly, realisation dawning on her. ‘Yes.’
‘They don’t call you by Norman’s surname anymore.’ Peggy looked pointedly at Madge. ‘Do they?’
‘They most certainly do not.’ Madge sneered before composing her face. ‘I understand. Thank you.’ She turned to look at Baz directly. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to give offence.’
Baz’s eyes glistened as she leant over and touched Madge’s hand. She might have been about to speak but the moment was interrupted by the door chime. A very tall, very large Black man entered the coffee shop.
Peggy wrinkled her nose at the man’s overpowering cologne – something simultaneously fruity and woodsy and distinctly masculine. It seemed to have the opposite effect on Baz, whose nostrils were twitching and whose eyes were brightening.
In his velvety smooth baritone, he called out, ‘Good morning, Sarah.’ Then he ducked through the doorway – bending almost double – and stepped into the café’s second room. He bent again and kissed Madge softly on the cheek.
When he stood up, he addressed the others. ‘Good morning, Peggy. Good morning, Carole.’ He approached Baz and held out his ham-sized hand. ‘Good morning. You must be Barbara. It’s lovely to meet you finally.’
‘Erm, hello?’ Baz’s hand was entirely engulfed in his.
Madge looked up from her knitting. ‘Oh, good heavens. I completely forgot you two haven’t met yet. Baz, this is Chukwuma. He’s an immigration lawyer. I asked him to assist Clive with his immigration application. Chukwuma, this is my friend Baz. She’s a transgender woman.’
Peggy dropped her head. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Madge.’
But Baz waved her off with a small chuckle. ‘It’s fine.’
Chuk pulled up his trouser legs and squatted down to say hello to Cookie. And, of course, Cookie knew full well there were treats to be found in Chuk’s coat pocket, so he immediately began performing his full repertoire of tricks.
When Cookie had been given the appropriate payment for his performance – and determined that no further treats were forthcoming – he retreated to his position under the table. Chuk dragged a chair over to join the women. Peggy was surprised his huge form didn’t crumple the chair into non-existence.
Sarah popped into the room with a big bowl mug. When she had set it on the table, she hugged Chuk. They chatted for a few seconds before another customer walked in the door and she left again.
Madge fixed Chuk with a stare. ‘Are we expecting Clive to join us here, then?’
Chuk waved her question away. ‘No, I’m meeting him in an hour. But as I had to be in the old neighbourhood, I thought I ought to pop in and see how you’re getting on.’ He motioned at the space around him. ‘Sarah’s doing brilliantly, I see.’
The beginnings of a smile tugged at Madge’s lips but it was Baz who said, ‘Oh, yes! This place is wonderful, isn’t it? She’s done a marvellous job. And it’s always very busy.’
‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘And how have you been keeping, Mags? All well, I trust?’ Only Chuk got away with calling Madge ‘Mags’.
‘Indeed, very well. Thank you.’ Her hands continued their work but she looked at him when she spoke to him. ‘Cheryl’s daughter has just brought my fourth great-grandbaby into the world – a little girl. Born on Christmas Day. The baby’s called Layla.’ She set her knitting down and retrieved her phone, then began thumbing through it, presumably in search of a photo.
Chuk put his hands together and beamed. ‘How wonderful! Achebe’s recently given me my own second great-grandchild.’ He pulled a phone from his coat pocket – not the treat pocket, much to Cookie’s disappointment – and held it up. On-screen, a baby who looked like a wizened, brown-skinned alien smiled for the camera.
In Peggy’s defence, all babies looked like small, wizened aliens.
Madge finally found the image she was looking for. She proudly held the photo aloft and Peggy saw Baz do a small double-take at the image on-screen. This small, wizened alien creature had paper-white skin, a fine dusting of blond hair, and brilliant blue eyes.
Chuk took the phone from her and zoomed in on the image. ‘She’s just the spitting image of your Cheryl – don’t you think?’
Carole, not one to miss out on the action, retrieved her phone from her handbag and proudly displayed an image of her latest grandchild – this one having moved past the shrivelled look and into the Winston Churchill stage of infant development. ‘Of course, this isn’t actually Harvey Junior Junior. They wanted to capture him inside the lightbox for me, but I’ve been very insistent that he should be allowed to develop normally. I caught the nurses trying to swap him out for a woodland fairy creature – but you can rest assured I was having none of that. And I won’t let them go replacing his growth hormone neither.’
Chuk drank the last of his coffee and nodded solemnly. ‘Good for you. Someone’s got to look out for these precious babies.’
A look of disgust past over Carole’s face and, for a moment, Peggy worried she was going to spit at Chuk. ‘Don’t you dare patronise me, Eugene Kaminski! I’ve got your number. Just because you lost your third wife to these so-called fundamentalists is no reason to try it on with me.’
Carole leant close to Peggy and grabbed her sleeve. ‘I won’t go down to the cellar with him. Please don’t let him take me.’ She shuddered and began to cry.
Peggy all but tossed her computer on the floor as she hauled herself to her feet. She took her lover in her arms and held her close. Peering over Carole’s shoulder at Chuk, she whispered back, ‘It’s all right, my love. I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to happen. No one’s taking you anywhere – I promise.’ She stroked her hair.
When Peggy felt Carole’s breathing begin to slow to normal levels, she loosened her hold. Leaning back to look Carole in the eye, she said, ‘All right, that’s better. You’re back in the room with us now, yes?’
Carole looked up at Peggy as though just spotting her. ‘Hello, Peggy! When did you get back?’
Peggy winked at her. ‘Oh, I’ve been here a while. I’m going to take my seat now, okay?’ She released Carole.
When she was back in her chair, the other four were engaged in an entirely predictable game of photo-swap with all their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The Lord knew, Madge alone could play that game for hours on end. Peggy had lost track of how many grandkids she had – though she was fairly certain she had a total of six children.
Peggy pulled out her laptop and focused on her book. It was due to go for copy-editing just over a month from now and she wasn’t quite finished with the first draft. It would take her a few more days to wrap it up. But then came the hard part – she always found the second and third draft took more out of her than the first. She flexed her fingers and began typing.
Kitty smiled. ‘I might use that in my next play.’
Will opened his mouth wide. ‘You wouldn’t. I’m using it in my next play. I already told you that.’
Kitty batted those long eyelashes that Will never could resist. ‘Then you’d better get writing. If I get to it first, it’s mine.’ He leant in close and touched Will lightly on the nose.
Peggy was so absorbed in her work that two people had walked into their sanctum and approached the group before she even noticed them.
‘Morning, Granny,’ said Peter as he ducked into the room. Something about the look on his face made Peggy suspect this wasn’t a social call. But then he spied Chuk and a broad grin brightened his face. ‘Grandad! I hadn’t expected to find you here. Is everything okay?’
Baz showed a flicker of surprise at that. But only a flicker. When it came to other people’s lives, she was pretty much unflappable. Peggy wished she showed herself as much grace.
The big man stood up and embraced his grandson. ‘Peter! I didn’t expect to see you either. I’m in the area on business, so I stopped in for a chat. I suppose you’re living the police officer’s dream, eh? Patrolling every coffee shop in the area?’
Peter grimaced at his grandfather but didn’t reply. His new partner was a young woman with a round face and tufts of blond hair sticking out from under her uniform hat. She stood in the corner of the room with her hands tucked under her stab vest, looking awkward as all get out.
Chuk took Peter by the elbow and steered him into the café’s main room. ‘Come on, son. Only teasing. Let me buy you a coffee and we can chat before I have to dash to my appointment.’
‘I’m here on official business actually.’ Poor Peter – he actually tried to stop walking.
‘Nonsense,’ said Chuk in that velvety smooth bass voice of his. If he ever gave up on the law, Peggy would hire him to narrate her audiobooks. Peter was whisked along into the main room.
Peter’s partner darted her eyes to the women then back towards the door. ‘Erm,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘I’ll just…’ She made to take a step forwards, then seemed to change her mind. Eventually, she took up position, standing in the metre-thick doorway between the café’s two rooms. She was short enough to stand upright.
Peggy bit her tongue to keep from chuckling.
Baz spun around in her seat and squinted at the officer’s name badge. ‘Constable Turner, is it?’
PC Turner’s eyes darted towards the front door and then back towards Baz. She relaxed a smidge – but only a smidge. ‘Yes.’ She smiled tentatively. ‘Keeley.’
Baz shook Keeley’s hand. ‘I’m Baz. It’s lovely to meet you. You’re Peter’s new partner, I take it?’
The young officer smiled more genuinely this time. ‘That’s right. I completed the gateway programme a few months ago. After… Well, Peter needed a new partner, so he’s been showing me the ropes.’
‘I’m sure he’s a very good teacher,’ Baz said.
The girl nodded. ‘He really is.’
Chuk appeared on the other side of the doorway. He bent at the waist and smiled at the women. ‘It was lovely seeing you all.’
Peggy raised a hand in farewell.
When Chuk moved out of the way, Peter ducked through the door. He gave PC Turner one of the two coffee cups he was carrying and approached the women. Then, with his free hand, he removed his hat. ‘Good morning, ladies.’ He looked at his feet.
‘Go on, young Peter.’ Madge studied him curiously. ‘Whatever it is you’ve come here to say, spit it out.’
He pursed his lips. ‘Right. The thing is…’
Peggy groaned internally. This was going to take all morning.
‘I’ve been asked to come and tell you not to—’
Madge leant away from him and glared at him over her glasses. ‘You’re going to tell Granny what she can and cannot do – is that it?’
Peggy snuck a glance at Keeley, who was biting down on her lip for all she was worth.
Peter shuffled from foot to foot. When he spoke, his voice was firmer. ‘I’ve been instructed to ask you – all of you – politely – to stop investigating.’
Madge folded her arms over her chest. ‘Why should we?’
Peter ran a hand over his tight curls. ‘Surely you can see this is police business. They’ve… That is, we’ve already run a task force looking into the missing men.’ The pitch of his voice was higher than normal – almost pleading.
Three women spoke at the same time in a cacophony of voices.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Peter said, ‘One at a time. Please.’ He pointed at Madge. ‘Granny, what was your question?’
Madge frowned. ‘Can’t have been a very effective task force if they’re all still missing – can it?’
Peter took a deep breath and turned to Baz. ‘Ms Spencer, what was it you said?’
Baz swallowed. ‘Sorry, I said it’s missing people, not missing men. Fifi Galore was a woman.’
Peter nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. Okay.’ He turned to Peggy. ‘Ms Trent, your turn.’
Before responding, Peggy studied his face for a moment. ‘This task force… When was it?’
‘Operation Wellesley ran from December 2020 to August 2021. And…’ Peter raised a hand in a stop gesture. ‘And it found no evidence of any foul play in any of the cases.’
Peggy scoffed. ‘No evidence.’ She shook her head in disgust.
Baz tugged on her ear and looked out the window for a moment. ‘So, Fifi wasn’t the first? I mean, they wouldn’t have formed a task force to investigate disappearances unless there was more than one. Do you even know about Wilson or Eddie?’
‘Who?’ Peter asked, then raised a hand, palm facing outwards. ‘No, never mind. If you have reports of people who’ve gone missing, you need to make an official report to the police.’ He emphasised the final words with nods. ‘Just … please, ladies. My sergeant asked me to have a word with you – off the record. If you don’t let matters rest, they’ll charge you with obstructing a police officer under section 89.2 of the Police Act 1996.’
He took a drink of his coffee. ‘Now, no one wants to see you charged – least of all me. So please, drop it. Okay?’ No one said anything. After a moment, he mumbled, ‘Sorry,’ then turned to the exit. ‘C’mon, Keeley. Bye, Granny. Bye, Aunties.’
Peggy could barely contain a chuckle until the door closed behind the pair. Before long, all four women were doubled over and howling with laughter.