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“That’s Dr Speight with Paul Atkinson isn’t it?” He thought he might as well pick Stanley’s brains. It would be more useful than being quizzed about his own lack of faith.
“Yes. And his wife Rachel.”
“I don’t recall seeing them last Sunday.”
“Not exactly regular attendees.” Stanley’s voice hissed with disapproval. “It’s amazing how a couple of deaths in the congregation can suck the back-sliders back into the fold.”
Mullen opened his mouth to ask more, but he felt a hand on his upper arm.
“Hello, Doug. Just the man I was hoping to see.” Rose Wilby was wearing a green short-sleeved top and trousers of a darker green, and her curly hair was more out of control than usual. “Excuse us, Derek.” She led Mullen away until they were in the south aisle, enjoying some sort of privacy. Mullen had a moment of déjà vu — a week before he had been hiding behind this very column with Janice.
Mullen assumed Rose had something important to say to him, but for several seconds she stood in front of him in silence. She was breathing fast and chewing on her bottom lip.
Mullen wasn’t sure if he owed her an apology or vice versa. Their last meeting really hadn’t ended well. He knew that. But he didn’t think it had been his fault. Quite the opposite. Rose had obviously been put out by the fact that Becca had been there. A case of good old-fashioned green-eyed jealousy.
“Chris and I were not lovers,” she said suddenly. She continued to chew furiously at her lip. “I want to make that absolutely clear to you.”
“OK.”
“We were friends. Very good friends considering the few weeks we had known each other. But it was nothing more than that.”
“It wouldn’t matter to me if it was. That would be between the two of you. The only reason I asked was because I was trying to find out more about Chris’s death.”
“Which I told you to stop doing.” Her voice was sharp. “I hired you with Janice’s encouragement and now I have released you from your obligations.” She moved closer to him, but not for intimacy. “Don’t you see? The more you hang around church and the more you ask questions, the more people will look at me and wonder what went on between Chris and me. I’m the youth worker here, don’t you understand? My contract is due for renewal this autumn. So it would be best for me if you were to disappear from the scene. Then everyone here would soon forget about Chris and stop speculating about our relationship and I would be able to get on with my life.”
“I see.” Mullen didn’t like it, but he really did start to see. “So you want me to stay away from St Mark’s.”
“I certainly do.”
“I’ll try to.”
“Thank you.” She had stopped chewing at her lip. She looked up at him from under her hair. There was half a smile on her lips. “Sorry if I interrupted your conversation with Derek.”
“I think you rescued me, actually.”
“Derek can be a bit intense. Devoted to Mummy, of course. I fear she rather exploits that and gets him running errands for her all over the place.” Mullen didn’t want to talk about Stanley so he changed the subject. “I’ve started The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, you know.”
“Oh!” She was clearly surprised.
Mullen hated to be patronised. Did Rose think he was incapable of reading? Did she think he was stupid?
“Lucy has just gone to Mr Tumnus’s house for the second time and has found it ransacked,” he said, to prove his point.
“It’s a horrid moment.” She frowned. Her thoughts were elsewhere. “How is Becca?”
“She was fine when I last saw her. Which was the same day I last saw you.” And gossiped about the Reverend Downey he could have added. He looked towards the church door and saw her standing talking to someone he didn’t recognise, a woman with red hair who was laughing.
“Sorry. It’s none of my business whether you are seeing each other.”
“And this may be none of my business, but I am going to ask you anyway. Is the Reverend Downey a lesbian?”
Rose flushed an angry red. “You’re dead right. It is none of your business.” She turned and moved away a couple of steps, before glancing back at him. She was chewing her lip again. “You can keep the book when you’ve finished it.”
Mullen watched her go, marching purposefully down the aisle, but if she had hoped to escape from the church she was to be disappointed; a huddle of girls intercepted her. Mullen sighed. As an exercise in burying the hatchet, it had been a disaster. He cut through the pews to the nave. He still hadn’t had a coffee. He glanced around, looking to see where the Speights had got to, but he couldn’t see either of them. Paul Atkinson had moved to the exit where he had ousted the red-haired woman and was talking to Downey. He had taken her right hand with both of his and seemed to be clinging on to it for dear life.
Mullen got his coffee and looked around. It would have been interesting to encounter Speight again. He rather doubted the man would admit to knowing him, but even so it would have been amusing to see how he reacted. However Speight was not in sight. He scanned further, looking for someone he could talk to. Margaret Wilby was advancing determinedly down the nave. She was heading, he suddenly realised, directly towards him.
She gave him a curt nod of greeting. “I couldn’t help noticing that you were talking to my daughter.”
