Out Late with Friends and Regrets (37 page)

As seven o’clock approached, Fin Bluetacked her ops sheet to one of the wall cabinet doors, a meticulously calculated timetable of what to put in, and on, and precisely when.
 
The house looked inviting, if still a little sparsely furnished, and the faint breath of sandalwood joss sticks flavoured the air.
 
She checked the table, slightly adjusted the tiny candles of the centrepiece, and reviewed the troops along the kitchen counter: gin, tonic, lemon, two bottles of opened red (White wine and water jug in fridge), soup plates, dinner plates (put in oven two minutes before serving), small glass dessert dishes (better see if the pear mixture firm enough to scoop into dishes and put in the fridge), cafetiere and coffee cups beside the kettle. Oh, and her mother’s old clockwork pinger by the cooking chart.

In the last quarter of an hour she stalked the rooms, humming and touching, checking and adjusting, three times resetting the background music to track one. When the knocker finally sounded at four minutes past seven, she leapt at the door, and wrenched it open so hard she almost fell backwards.

“Started early, I see,” commented Ellie, thrusting a shiny bottle bag in her direction and enveloping her in a smothering hug.

“Sham, but no pain,” said Rachel, handing over the bubbly, further producing a box of intensely dark Italian chocolate.
 
Fin relaxed, as her guests voted in favour of the not-exactly-champagne rather than gin and tonic, and she joined them in toasting the new house.
 
The bottle slid down in no time at all, during which she showed them round the house, explaining what she wanted to do in the way of changes and improvements.

“Don’t forget to take pictures before you start,” said Rachel.
 
We’ve got some amazing pictures of our place, which we took before we did it up.”

Fin’s eyes met Ellie’s for a fraction of a second, and she said, “That’s a good idea, Rachel.
 
I always meant to do it at the cottage, but never did.
 
Anyone for G and T, or shall we start on the wine?”

“Wine, please. So what’s the latest on the stalker?” said Ellie, “any more sightings?”

She gave them the latest as they drank, before retiring to dish up the soup. This appeared to go down well, interrupted at intervals by the shrill summons of the repeatedly reset timer.

“Like clockwork,” Fin smiled to herself, ticking off the instructions on her cheffing list, and serving up the main course.

“That was absolutely wonderful,” said Rachel, replacing her cutlery on the plate, and helping herself to another large glass of wine before Fin could reach it and offer.

“Erm,” she said, wondering if she could get away with accepting all the credit.

“Nope,” said Ellie, “it’s no good coming the old Nigella with us, Fin.
 
We didn’t float up the river on a rhubarb leaf.”

“You rotter.”

“Marks and Spencer or not,” said Rachel, “it was beautifully cooked and presented, and the soup you made was fantastic.
 
You want to try it with a knuckle of ham in it, in the winter.”

“Can’t wait for pudding!” said Ellie, with a sly grin.

“Actually, I’m so full I’d like a rest before pudding, if that’s possible,” said Rachel.

“It’s a cold dessert, so we can take a few minutes, no problem,” replied Fin, feeling easy with the flow of the evening.

“So has Annette Harney sorted out the funding for her trip yet?” she asked Ellie, simply as a conversational springboard, rather than out of any particular interest.

“Oh, you heard about that? My word, woman, for someone who’s moved in five minutes ago you seem to have tapped into the college grapevine all right.”

“Oh, I just ran into June the other day, after I’d been to the police station, and she mentioned it.
 
It must be maddening, after what must be a long planning stage.”

“Don’t assume she won’t prevail, in the long term.
 
Our Annie’s pretty formidable.
 
Did you know she was a nationally notorious political activist in her day?”

“No! How interesting!”

“Oh yeah, the papers loved Red Annie.
 
She had this bright ginger hair, all combed up into a kind of afro – they say it looked as if she was on fire, from a distance.
 
President of the Student Union, a real bolshie feminist, and one of the first really high profile lesbians around...”

She always seemed such a quiet woman, when I met her,” said Rachel.

“Just google her,” said Ellie.
 
“There’s a great archive photo of her bawling at a policeman –it’s ver-y scary, even after forty years.”

“Remind me to be even more respectful, if I see her again,” said Fin, laughing.

“Ah, the ginger tom is quite a pussy-cat now,” replied Ellie, “they may have an open relationship, her and June, but she’s actually nuts about the woman.”

“Ah, that’s really nice,” said Rachel.

“So how did you and Dave get together?” asked Fin.

“Oh, quite boring really, we were on the same team at work, and people get really close when they’re doing a difficult job together.
 
There was a lot of mixing and matching, in those days.
 
But Dave and I...” Rachel actually blushed. “We were soul mates. Can’t imagine life without each other.”
 
She giggled.
 
“Silly, really.
 
Very old-fashioned of us.”

“Hey,” said Ellie, actually serious for once, “don’t knock it.
 
We’d all like a piece of that, wouldn’t we Fin? Eventually, of course.”

“For the moment happy in our singularity,” agreed Fin, wondering if Ellie had it in her to settle down at all.

“I do feel for people who’ve been catapulted out of a relationship, though,” said Rachel,
 
“we see some terrible consequences in our work of course, but it’s so hard for anyone to handle, these days. When you lose someone-”

Rachel appeared to be getting a little maudlin, and Fin didn’t know what to say to turn the mood.
 
They could do without Rachel taking on the sorrows of the world.

“If you’re Petra, of course, you simply trawl Harford for as many fit young replacements as you can drag into your bed,” said Ellie, “and good luck to her.
 
No point in sitting at home wringing out your pillow, deciding your life is over.”

“Can I tempt either of you to try dessert?” suggested Fin, “Recipe totally untried, own risk, disclaimers apply?”

Ellie slapped the table.

“You bet!” she said with a grin, “Bring it on, I’m feeling adventurous.
 
Are you ready to risk life and limb yet, Rachel?”

“Of course! I’m quite recovered, thanks.
 
In fact, if I could just pop to the loo right now, that’ll make just about enough room.”

Fin took the four dishes out of the ‘fridge, and separated the best-looking three.
 
The consistency was a little on the soft side, rather like wet snow.
 
The colour was a bit off-putting, too, as if the snow had been well walked through.
 
She sniffed.
 
At least the smell of the fruity liqueur was encouraging.
 
She broke up the meringue, making a thick layer of it on each of the four dishes, and a generous curl of crème fraiche on top. There.
 
Quite presentable.
 
It needed -yes, Petra had left a couple of pots containing straggly herbs outside the back door, and there should be some mint.
 
It was in poor condition, so the three to go to table received only one slightly tired leaf each, but it still made the difference, Fin felt.
 
She sampled the reject, rolling the spoonful around her mouth.
 
Not bad.
 
She put it back in the ‘fridge, and took the others in.

“That looks absolutely-”

Rachel’s comment was interrupted by the warble of the telephone.

“Excuse me,” said Fin.
 
“Hello?”

Petra’s voice, unusually high-pitched, was audible to all three of them.

“Fin! Fin, can you come over, quickly? The stalker’s outside!”

“Oh, God, no!”

If she was honest, Fin was more upset by the stalker’s timing than Petra’s distress.
 
Why couldn’t he have waited till tomorrow?

“I can’t drive over, Petra, I’ve had far too much to drink – are you sure it’s the same person?”

The unworthy thought passed through her mind:
And what exactly are you hoping I’ll do about it?
 
But of course, he’s
my
stalker, and needs to be redirected.
 
Bloody man.

“Yes, of course it is.
 
He’s been hanging about up and down the street, and behind one particular tree, and keeps looking in this direction – Fin, I’m really scared.
 
Come on, you can get a taxi.”

Ellie was already calling up a number on her mobile.
 
“Got it,” she said, “tell her we’re on our way.”

“Have you called the police?” asked Fin.

“Yes, they said they haven’t got any units in the area, but they’ll check it out as soon as they can - it could be hours –
please
hurry.”

“Archer’s on her way,” said Ellie, she’s only two streets away.”

“Oh, she’ll make mincemeat of him,” said Rachel.

“I’ll get the jackets,” said Ellie, disappearing upstairs.

“OK, Petra, we’re coming,” said Fin.
 
“’Bye.”

Ellie thumped down the staircase, and threw Fin’s good leather jacket at her. Too good.

“No, I’ll wear my fleece,” she said, racing past her guests and up to her room, returning the leather jacket to its hanger.
 

“That one’s too heavy,” she said, shrugging on the fleece as she looked round the living room for her keys.
 
There was an urgent honking from outside.

Fin was just locking the front door behind her, when she remembered the puddings, out on the table.

No, have to leave them.

Damn.

“Archer, would it be an idea to stop just before we get to the corner of Petra’s road?” asked Fin.

Archer was grunting something to the effect that the stalker would be wearing his bollocks for earrings after she had delivered a mighty blow to the critical area, and appeared not to be listening.

“Yah,” said Ellie, “we shouldn’t spook him and lose him, there’s a footpath between the houses along the top road if I remember rightly.”

Fin didn’t recall seeing a footpath, but she could have missed it in the half-light, especially in her state of anxiety that night. It would certainly explain why the figure had vanished from sight.

“Perhaps just keep him in view until the police arrive,” suggested Rachel.

“Spoilsport,” commented Archer.

“Why not come in from the top end, then,” said Fin, “and drive down to The Laurels – the four of us should be able to spot the bastard, behind the trees or not.”

“Then out at the other end of the road,” said Ellie.
 
“Once we’ve pinpointed him, we don’t want him to know we’re watching.
 
We can park round the corner like you said, Fin.”

“I want to take a poke at him,” said Archer.