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Then I turn to see everyone at the sad little fete watching me. Ted’s WI friend has a hand pressed to her mouth in horror. I swallow my work-related terror; I just need to finish the conversation with Keith, get the Le Maistres’ address, and get the hell out of here. I’ll worry about Suki later.
‘So, Keith, sorry about that. Um, as you’d started to say, Maude Le Maistre – any chance you could give us her son’s full name and contact details?’
Keith is now looking at me as though I’ve admitted to being a serial killer who’s trying to hunt these people down in order to stuff both their decapitated corpses into one of his homemade beehives.
‘Maybe I should give your number to Maude, let her know you’re trying to get in touch with her son.’ His voice comes out at rather a high-pitched squeak. ‘The bee club takes data protection very seriously.’
Ted tries to reason with him, we explain all about the suitcase, but Keith isn’t budging and then the guy dressed up for the guide dogs asks Keith ‘if these people are bothering him’. I end up leaving with a promise from Keith that he’ll call Maude with my number as soon as he gets home. Then I dole out the last of my cash on black butter and goat’s cheese, and compliment the author on the bluebell-shaped earrings she’s wearing, all in an attempt to make amends for my sweary outburst.
Back in the car, Ted is biting his lip, trying not to laugh.
‘What?’ I snap. I am nowhere close to laughing about this yet. Interviewing people is the one thing I thought I was good at. I don’t understand how that went so badly wrong. ‘Sorry,’ I say. Ted is the last person I should be angry with.
‘We just don’t see a lot of “fuckity fuck fuck pants” at the community parish fetes.’
‘Gah! And we were so close. He was about to offer up Maude on a plate before I cocked it up.’
I close my eyes, wondering why the universe is intent on making this so difficult. If I am destined to meet J. Le Maistre this weekend, it could just have been a very simple suitcase exchange.
‘Look, don’t worry. We have a name; she’ll be easy to find now,’ says Ted.
He reaches out to put a consoling hand on my shoulder. Now we’re looking at each other face to face, I can better see Ted’s eyes again, his facial features beyond the beard. His honey brown irises contain flecks of gold, and maybe it’s because the rest of his face is hidden, but his eyes radiate real warmth. When his hand drops from my shoulder, I feel a strange coldness, like taking off a cosy coat in a cold foyer.
‘For the record, I thought your broadcast was excellent.’
A phone starts to ring. I’m so used to it being mine, I start to root in my bag, but it’s Ted’s phone that’s ringing. His eyes flash with concern as he sees the caller ID.
‘Dad, what’s happened?’ he asks, answering the phone with one hand, the other gripping the steering wheel. I watch him as he listens, then says, ‘OK, stay there, I’m on my way.’
