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  They laughed slightly hysterically as Bau said; “Now we’ve just got to get Brian to agree.”

  Amy sat still with her head on one side and enquired plaintively, “Are we being serious Bau, or is this just a woman’s fantasy?”

  “Would you like it to be serious?”

  Amy wrung her hands. “Oh yes. Brian’s safe. I know I could always trust him and,” she turned slightly pink, “and I kinda like him a lot; he gave me a lovely hug.”

  Bau was staggered, “He gave you a hug?”

  “Just a hug. I asked for a hug and he gave me a hug, nothing more and nothing less. I made me feel all wobbly.”

  “Then we’re being serious.”

  Bau looked into Amy’s eyes, “I mean it Amy, you’d make a far better wife for him than I ever would. You’d be there for him, not wandering about the country seeking the buzz of live performance and the joy of a good riff.”

  Amy sadly shook her head; “It’s you he loves, not me. He likes thin, he likes your cherry lips, he likes ever move you make. You only have to look at his eyes.”

  “He likes me for what I am, that’s why I like him. He could still admire me when he’s your husband. As I said he’s besotted, he hasn’t really got his brain in gear, once he does it will dawn on him that I might be worth watching, but you’re permanently worth holding and having.”

  “But if that is true, how,” Amy asked, “can we ever get Brian to see that?”

  Bau gave a wicked grin, “Well we certainly can’t just up and spring it on him, he’d run a mile. We’ll have to get him to think it’s his idea and his choice. What we probably need to do is…”

  Chapter 9

  Creative Relationships

  His walk to the car took him past a cosmetic shop; he paused and diverted inside. He’d noticed that whereas Amy always wore some horrendous sweet smelling perfume akin to a rampant bunch of Easter lilies, Bau never wore any. He guessed this was because on a limited budget deodorant took preference over perfume. He surveyed the rows of bottles and was overwhelmed by a feeling of desperation. Salvation came in the form of young female shop assistance with an expertly applied set of make-up, who recognised the panic on his face. “Don’t know which one to buy sir?” She professionally murmured.

  “You have such a choice.” He croaked.

  She gave him a sweet smile and decided that this gullible fool might earn her some nice commission. “Let’s ask a few questions to narrow down the search shall we?”

  Brian nodded. “Right then,” she said, “let’s start with budget. Are we looking at a decent perfume, an expensive perfume or a makeweight perfume?”

  Brian raised an eyebrow; she mentally sighed. “£100 plus a bottle, around £40 a bottle or less.”

  “Then decent, but not too decent.”

  “What’s madam’s favourite flowers?”

  “No idea.”

  “Has she a favourite fruit?”

  “No idea.”

  She raised a manicured eyebrow, “Any idea of anything she likes sir?”

  “She likes guitar music.” He suddenly felt foolish, how could guitar music help?

  “Rock, Jazz, Classical, Spanish, Folk, or Country and Western?”

  “Eclectic, but mainly rock and Spanish, I think.”

  She reached out and picked up a bottle of general French Perfume. “This is a good all-rounder, it’s supposed to be evocative of an olive grove on a summer’s morning.”

  Brian eyed the very expensive looking packaging. She gave a sweet smile, “This size is £35, frankly I wouldn’t get her a bigger bottle until you have a little more idea of what the lady prefers.”

  He both winced and relaxed. They moved over to the counter and Brian’s eyes lingered on an advert. “Does that stuff really work?”

  She followed his gaze to a non-smear lipstick advert; “It’s not the best.”

  She tapped on a piece of counter three feet away. “This is the best. Once it’s on it’s on until you take it off with these specially impregnated wet-wipes. Impervious to water and alcohol, hot foods and cold surfaces.”

  Brian remembered the trouble he’d had getting Amy’s gooey cloying lipstick off of his hands and assumed that she could only afford cheap lipstick. “How much?”

  “Depends on the colour.”

  “Shocking pink, or thereabouts.”

  She raised the other eyebrow, “That was very definite sir.”

  She studied his face and realised it was for a different woman. She brought out five lipsticks, all pink. Brian easily spotted the colour Amy used, hesitated and pointed an ever so slightly less garish one. “With a pack of one hundred wipes that’s £32.” Announced the young woman.

  “£32 pounds for lipstick!” Brian exclaimed in horror.

  She gave him the sweet smile, especially sweet as she was on 30% commission for the lipstick and 25% commission for the perfume. “It is the best. Any woman would fall over to have this given to her.”

  Brian sighed in defeat and paid up. As he left the shop a second assistant came up to the young woman. “Another satisfied customer?”

  “Bottle of the French stuff we can’t shift and a stick of the indelible lipstick.”

  The assistant grinned, “Wonderful stuff, but did you tell him it tastes like Balsamic Vinegar for the first five minutes and that the wipes sting like hell?”

  “No, he didn’t ask,” she giggled. They both fell into a paroxysm of laughter.

  Verity opened the door and her eyes went from amazement to steel in a fraction of a second. “You’ve got a nerve coming here.”

  “We need to talk,” Brian said wondering if he was putting his head into a crocodile’s mouth just prior to closure.

  Verity’s eyes hardened even more. “I don’t think there’s anything to say, that is unless Bau has now gone back to where she belongs and you wish to rid yourself of Amy.”

  Her tone irritated him, it implied that Amy was a commodity or an unwanted object.

  “Actually Verity Bau isn’t going anywhere and even if she was I would not force Amy back here against her will. I’ve come to talk about something else.”

  Verity crossed her arms, “What could you possibly say that is of interest to me?”

  “That I’ve found the bodies of Lillian and Barbara Dale.”

  Her hand shot up to her mouth, she turned deathly white and leaned back against the doorpost. Brian wondered if she was going to faint. “You’ve been under the house,” she finally gasped.

  Her eyes flicked up and down the street; “You’d better come in.”

  The room she led him to was grey. Grey walls, deep grey carpet and dark oak furniture. Gloom seemed to pervade everywhere, even in that the only picture was an oil painting of a grey horse on a grey day standing beside a grave. She poured herself a brandy and offered Brian one, he shook his head. She knocked the brandy back as if it were orange juice. “Have you been to the police yet?”

  “No, and I’m not going, that is unless you want me to. I’ve completed what you started, that is a clean-up operation. Lillian and Barbara are at rest and frankly I see no point in disturbing them now. There’s no-one left to mourn and sometimes old graves should not be revisited.”

  She stared at Brian, “But the bodies aren’t there. I checked, of course I checked. If I’d found them I would have had no choice but to go to the parents. It was just a den, a boy’s underground den.”

  Brian cocked his head to one side; he’d suspected this. “I know you were there, I found your monogrammed handkerchief on the floor. What did you actually check?”

  “The two rooms, the den and the other one with the beds. John told me there were only two rooms.”

  “There’s a third,” said Brian reverently. “Dead opposite the den, but there isn’t a gap in the wall. The wall is snaked round like a tiny outcrop of bricks and hides the opening. It would be easy to miss with feeble lights or candles. Count your blessing your son did miss it, it has some rifles and a set of dangero
us knives in it as well as Lillian and Barbara.”

  She shook her head, “I never knew, I swear I never knew. Oh those poor girls.”

  She swallowed, “If I’d been more carefully would they have been…”

  “No,” said Brian firmly, “You could not have saved them. They probably took enough sleeping tablets to kill an elephant.”

  Verity nodded, “Their father owned a chemist shop and the police said there were over sixty sleeping tablets missing.”

  Her eyes became anxious, “Did they leave a note?”

  “They did and it incriminates John and his cronies as bullying them.”

  To his surprise she gave a semi-hysterical cackle. “After we moved he was bullied, new boy and all that. He took it badly.”

  Brian put his head on one side, “Why the cover-up? If you thought the girls weren’t there why bother?”

  “Belinda,” she said flatly. “She was shouting her mouth off about John and the others and there being a den. I thought if I covered up the den then I could discredit her story.”

  Brian frowned, “How come the police never found it, they must have been over the entire village with a fine-toothed comb?”

  “There used to be a potting cloche beside the greenhouse. In the bottom it had slats. You had to lift the slats out to find the shaft, goodness knows how John and the others found it. After the girls went missing I checked it out myself and then covered over the shaft with builder’s sand and earth. I’ve always feared those wooden doors collapsing, but we moved away before I could finish the job. When I came back the cloche had gone and there was only a flower bed.”

  Brian relaxed slightly. “The doors didn’t collapse, I went in by another way. I’ve plugged both shafts with concrete now, so the girls can be at rest.”

  Verity frowned, “Why Brian? Why not the police?”

  He shrugged, “What purpose would it serve. It was all a long time ago and there don’t appear to be any living relatives.”

  She frowned again; “Did you find the pipe?”

  “Pipe?”

  “There’s a hole in the ceiling of the big room, there was a draught coming down from it, but I couldn’t find where the top of the pipe was.”

  “Whereabouts was it?”

  She closed her eyes to remember. “In the centre near the end wall. I guess it’s equidistant from the two rooms.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Verity gazed out of the window before speaking in a listless detached voice. “It’s haunted me from that day. The day they went missing. I’ve always thought someone killed them, someone in the village. Can you imagine how that feels? John and his friends were away that weekend on a scout camp, I’ve always been grateful for that as the police never questioned them until they could agree on the story of there not being a den.” She turned her eyes towards him, “But I’ve lived in fear that he did kill them. He was a bit of a tearaway then and mothers can imagine all sorts of horrid things.”

  Tears trickled down her cheeks, “And I guess he did. They were such lovely girls and if he bullied them so that they…”

  She wept quietly and Brian didn’t move, she needed space not platitudes. She took a deep breath, “Thank you Brian, thank you for telling me and having the wisdom not to cause a fuss, the village doesn’t need it.”

  “Actually,” he said carefully, “I’ve also come about something else. Bishop Dermot has offered me this parish and the community at Knot’s Wood as a full time position.”

  “You,” she said, startled. “You? Here? You can’t be serious?”

  Colour appeared back in her face at a rapid rate. “It would be outrageous?”

  He let her simmer. “Is it that outrageous?”

  “You and that Bau woman and Amy in one house while you pretend to be an upright pillar of the community! Outrageous, truly outrageous.”

  “What would you have me do,” he said softly, “Throw them both to the dogs? Would that be Christian?”

  “She murdered her child for goodness sake. Held her lips together while she choked her to death, can’t you see how evil that is?”

  “You don’t believe she was asleep and woke up to find her dead then?”

  She made a face, “Any mother worth her salt would hear the child start to choke and wake up.”

  “Are they your words or those of the so-called expert witness?”

  “You can’t believe she is innocent. Have you seen her walking about the village flouting her disgusting prison tattoos like a badge of honour?”

  “I rather think you’re biased.”

  “Biased,” she almost yelled, “Biased! Of course I’m biased! She’s ruined my granddaughter’s life, can you understand that. She took my precious Amy and…”

  She dissolved into tears. Not quiet tears this time, but heartfelt racking sobs.

  Brian said softly, “Was it bad?”

  She flicked a tear from one eye, misery became written in every word she spoke. “She didn’t come down to tea so I went up. She was sitting on the floor stark naked tearing pages from her old schoolbooks and babbling, just babbling. I couldn’t get her to move, nor could the doctor, in fact she hit him with a rather good uppercut. After that it was social workers, police and the mental hospital. Oh Brian you should have seen her there, she was so… So lost.”

  She sniffed, ”And now that wretched woman has her in her clutches again.”

  Brian licked his lips, “Actually Verity you moved her in with me.”

  Verity shrugged, “I’d already lost her again, the minute she saw that hussy at your house she became single minded.”

  She gazed at Brian; “I’m so worried for her Brian, what if she has another breakdown, would she ever recover?”

  Brian swallowed; this was not what he had come for. “How about I promise to take care of her? She’s quite safe and quite happy at the moment, but how about I promise to call you if I have cause for concern.”

  Verity stared him straight in the eyes, “Why should I trust you?”

  He said simply “Lillian and Barbara Dale.”

  She sniffed and nodded. Brian decided to push home a few points. “But you must promise not to keep stirring up trouble Verity. Letters to the Bishop and anonymous phone calls to probation officers don’t help.”

  She sniffed and nodded before blowing her nose. Brian decided that he’d caused her enough anguish for one day. “I’d better go.”

  He stood up. Verity also stood up and grabbed his hands; “You will take good care of her.”

  “The best.”

  She led him to the front door and opened it. “Thank you for coming Brian.”

  She took a deep breath, “We need to talk about you and the parish, but not now.”

  He left and went to sit in his car and think. Verity’s obvious distress over Amy did not square with Bau’s description of her. On the other hand he could quite imagine her as one of the ‘snap out of it’ brigade.’ Eventually he drove back to the rectory.

  Once back he stood in the hall and listened, the house was full of pure silence. He went upstairs and found the women lying in Bau’s bed deeply asleep with their arms entwined. He stared at them for a while. They both seemed peaceful and content as if together they could cope with the world. He crept into Amy’s bedroom and placed the lipstick on her bedside cabinet, with ‘For you’ scrawled on the little gift tag that came with it. Then he decided he’d rather like a cup of tea and some time to think. He was on his second cup when Bau walked into the kitchen. She eyed the little bag on the table. He pushed it towards you, “For you,” he said simply. She opened the bag and took out the perfume. She recognised the brand and the essence. It was not something she would have bought for herself being far too flowery. On the other hand he’d bought it and bought it especially for her. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “It’s wonderful.”

  “I hope it’s what you like, I wasn’t sure and…”

  She kissed him on the lips. “I’ll wear it every da
y. It’ll be our perfume.”

  Satisfied he kissed her back before she wandered towards the kettle. Brian relaxed; he’d scored a hit. “Bought Amy some lipstick as well, keep her happy.”

  Bau spun round, wide-eyed and anxious. “Lipstick! You bought her lipstick? What type?”

  The fear in her voice perplexed him. “The non-smear stuff, I thought that…”

  “You stupid stupid man,” she cried in total anguish as she fled towards the door. She ran up the stairs calling “Amy, Amy.”

  Brian wondered what he had done wrong; it was only lipstick. He followed Bau up the stairs and into Amy’s room. Amy was huddled up in a foetal position in the corner of the room holding the lipstick in her hands with her eyes staring at it and not moving. “Bau was by her side. “Amy, Amy,” she was saying softly, “speak to me Amy.”

  Brian had the sense to realise that the lipstick had triggered something off, but what? He squatted in front of her. “I bought it for you Amy,” he said, “but if it’s not what you want we can take it back, I’ve still got the receipt, you don’t have to have it.”

  Bau shot him a ‘stop meddling any further look,’ Brian ignored her as irrational concern for Amy flooded his body. Brian continued, “I just wanted to buy you something nice, something you’d enjoy. We can change it for your normal stuff if you want.”

  He wondered if she could hear him, had she gone off to some far place within her mind never to return. Abruptly life returned to her eyes. They flicked from the lipstick to Bau to Brian and back to the lipstick. Brian said softly, “I didn’t know what to get you and I thought I’d get you something you might like. If I was wrong we can change it.”

  Her eyes flicked to him; “I don’t have to have it?” The voice was childish, pleading, plaintive.

  “No.”

  “You won’t make me use it?”

  “No, of course not. What you use is up to you. You can use the most pinkish most sticky lipstick in the world if you want to.”

  The eyes flicked back to the lipstick and back the Brian. “You won’t take my other lipstick from me?” Again the plaintive pleading voice, it tore at Brian’s heart, just what had he stirred up within her?