‘If that coach gets stuck’ – Rita put her hands on hips – ‘it will be a disaster.’
‘It won’t,’ Thom said. ‘And if it does, we’ll carry the bride. Just like Richard Gere.’
Rita sighed deeply. ‘You are all just brilliant, do you know that? And me, I’m just bloody exhausted.’
‘Go in and have a rest, Mum; we won’t be long now. And I’m insisting on a takeout tonight, no cooking for anyone and I mean it,’ Thom insisted.
Rita’s mobile rang. ‘It’s the hospital.’
‘Take, take it.’ Thom gesticulated.
‘OK, OK, great, what, right now? OK, no problem. Your granny is ready to come home. Sorry, Thom, but do you mind? You might be better taking the Land Rover as I’m not sure if she’ll be able to get out of that Porsche of yours.’
‘Mum, we are talking about Granny Hilda here; she’ll probably be wanting to scale Everest tomorrow.’
The crunch of tyres on the drive made them both turn.
‘Bugger,’ Rita muttered. ‘I forgot all about the boys in blue.’
A police car eased into the yard, coming to a slow stop.
‘Do you want me to put them off until tomorrow?’ Thom asked.
Rita shook her head, resting a hand on her bump. ‘No, it’s fine, darling. Let’s get it over with. You get off and collect Granny. Hopefully by the time you’re back they’ll be gone and I can help sort her out.’
‘As long as you’re sure.’
Thom rested a hand on his mum’s shoulder. ‘I’m so happy for you and Jago. New life in the family, it’s a beautiful thing.’
FORTY-ONE
Rita placed a pot of tea and three mugs on the table, the familiar comforts doing their best to soften the unfamiliar sight of two police officers seated at her worn kitchen table.
One was a man in his forties, neat and watchful. The other was a woman, younger, blonde hair swept into a bun, with kind eyes and a voice Rita recognised instantly. She was the same officer who had stood in this very doorway and gently told her that Archie was dead.
Rita pushed a blue tin of shortbread towards them.
‘Please, help yourselves.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Jory,’ the woman officer said softly. ‘That’s very kind, and I’m sorry to hear you’ve had this happen to you, after what happened before, you know.’
‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that,’ Rita sighed, trying to push the memory of that dreadful conversation down with a swig of her decaf tea.
‘We’ve spoken to Mark Evans,’ the male officer, who introduced himself as DS Grainger, said, setting his cup down. ‘And we’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right.’
Rita nodded. ‘Of course.’
The woman officer reached into her folder and turned a tablet towards Rita. ‘We’ve been reviewing the camera footage that you sent us.’
She paused the grainy image of the hooded figure mid-frame. ‘Do you recognise this person?’
Rita leaned closer, squinting, trying to pick up anything, something she might be able to hook onto this time around, but nothing came. ‘It does look like a woman, now I look closer,’ she said. ‘My son thought that too.’
The officers exchanged a glance.
‘Can you tell us what you know about the Brimble family, Mrs Jory?’ DS Grainger asked, wiping biscuit crumbs from his mouth.
‘Yes.’ Rita sat back, folding her hands in her lap. ‘I had dealings with Chloe Brimble.’
