Page 30 of A Village Theatre Murder
‘This isn’t a television show. It’s someone’s actual life,’ Julia snapped. It wasn’t like her, but she’d had more than enough of Hector’s self-involvement. ‘Someone’s death and someone’s real life. Real grief. Not a scene in a play or a soap opera.’
‘Of course, of course,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to be insensitive. It’s just that an actor can’t help being an actor. I…’
Julia thought her head might explode if she heard the word ‘I’ come out of Hector’s mouth one more time. Fortunately for her cranium, Sean arrived at just that moment with a plate of food. Julia turned her back on Hector to speak to Sean. ‘All okay?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Just saying hello to a few people. Fending off bunion questions left, right and centre.’
She laughed. It was a standing joke between them that Sean could not go anywhere in Berrywick and its surrounds without bumping into a patient, and a good half of the patients he bumped into took the opportunity to ask him for a medical opinion. Very often about bunions.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re back. Should we go?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I’ll see if I can say a quick hello and goodbye to Jane and we can be on our way.’
She waited for an old man to finish giving his condolences and let go of Jane’s hand, which he’d been pressing andsqueezing as if trying to wring out a damp cloth. As he turned away, Julia stepped forward. ‘Jane, dear. How are you holding up? Can I bring you anything? A cup of tea, perhaps?’
‘Oh, no, Julia, thank you. I’m all right. Just a bit…you know…’ Jane twirled her hand at the wrist to indicate whatever it was that Julia might know, the words for which weren’t coming to her at that precise moment.
‘It’s very hard for you, and you’ve done so well.’
‘Thank you, Julia. It is. Very hard. So many people…’ Jane looked around, seemingly bewildered.
‘Well, Graham was very well-respected and loved,’ said Julia. ‘There might be some comfort in that.’
‘He was, wasn’t he?’ There was something slightly off about Jane’s tone when she said that. Julia sighed. There was no doubt that Jane had overdone it on the anti-anxiety meds.
‘Oh yes,’ Julia told Jane. ‘His staff were saying how wonderful he was. They were very upset. He must have been a good employer.’
‘Who?’ said Jane, with a frown. She really must be more careful with the meds, Julia thought.
‘Graham. A good employer.’
Jane’s woozy eyes snapped into focus. ‘I mean, who said that? Who was upset? One of the girls?’
‘Yes, one of the girls. A few of them, I’m sure,’ said Julia.
‘Afewof the work girls?’ Jane looked distressed.
‘Yes. Now, you look after yourself, Jane. Get a good night’s sleep. And I’ll come and see you during the week.’
15
When Wilma announced that it was time for tea and scones after a busy morning sorting stock at Second Chances, Julia was more than ready for a break. She’d come in on a Friday especially to help with the enormous donation that they had received from the estate of an elderly woman who had lived several miles outside of Berrywick. They’d received boxes of things from the attic of her home – including scrapbooks and clothes and toys and even a guitar covered in stickers. But it seemed that nobody had dusted the boxes or sorted the goods before sending them off to Second Chances. It always made Julia a bit melancholy to see people’s precious possessions given away without a second thought.
She washed her hands, the soapy water running grey from the dust, and put the scones on a plate. Diane made the tea, and brought three mugs to the counter. When they came out from the storeroom, Wilma was doing calf-raises at the counter, lifting herself up on her toes, then down again, her left arm with its chunky sports watch swinging at her side. She was trying to rack up more steps on the step-counter app! Diane and Juliapretended not to have noticed, and Wilma pretended she hadn’t seen them noticing. It was in everyone’s best interests.
As part of her not-noticing act, Julia gazed fixedly out of the window, taking a close interest in the passing parade while chewing a scone, contemplatively. There was an ancient man in a tweed jacket walking a Scottie dog in a matching tweed jacket. There was a teenager on a bicycle, both hands off the handlebars, sending a text message as he pedalled along. There was a couple on the far side of the road, walking slowly, heads down in deep conversation. The man was closer to Julia, and although she couldn’t see his face, she recognised something familiar about his shape and movements, even at a distance. But she couldn’t place him until he lifted his head. It was Oscar! Now there was a coincidence if ever there was one. She was pleased to see that he was out in the world – she’d worried he might have gone into hibernation in his terrible state. Pure curiosity had her follow them with her eyes until they were almost out of sight.
She swallowed her last gulp of tea, jumped to her feet and said, ‘Back in a minute.’ She left Diane and Wilma in surprised silence, their scones poised en route to their open mouths. Once she was out on the road, Julia wasn’t quite sure why she was there. She just had an instinct that she wanted to say hello to Oscar, and check up on him, but it seemed rather odd now, especially as he was with a friend. She hesitated, and watched the couple walk away from her, away from the village centre, towards the less busy periphery.
She was about to turn away when the woman tucked her hand under Oscar’s arm, and held him as they walked. It was an intimate gesture. Or was it a supportive, steadying one? Julia was pondering this when the couple stopped at a corner. The woman momentarily turned towards Oscar, showing her profile to Julia for the first time. It was, unmistakably,Jane Powell! Julia watched her say a few words to Oscar and give him a goodbye kiss. Then she crossed the road and walked away.
Jane Powell kissing Oscar goodbye the day after her husband’s funeral. That certainly wasn’t a sight that Julia could have predicted. It nagged at her, and so she continued after Oscar. He was a good way ahead of her, and even walking at a fast pace, she caught up slowly. Her breath was coming quite heavily, she was almost panting, and it was distracting her from her thoughts about Oscar and Jane.
She didn’t know what to think. Was it strange that they should be out and about together, the day after the funeral of Jane’s husband, who had died at Oscar’s hand, so to speak? Of course not. They had known each other for years, after all. And they had shared the same trauma, although in very different ways.
Earlier that week, when Oscar had been ranting and raving about being the murderer, Julia had been quite sure he wasn’t. But now she wasn’t so sure. Had it been an elaborate ruse to turn attention away from the possibility that he was telling the truth? Was there still a spark between Oscar and Jane, that he had decided to take extreme steps to reignite?
