‘Hey,
Nance,’ someone called her from behind. Nancy turned to confront Danny Wheeler,
landlord of the Hatchet Inn. The big man’s small features seemed to gravitate
towards the centre of his face, leaving large areas of space around his dimpled chin.
‘What
a mindblower, eh?’ he gruffed. ‘Our Cora, the Cinderella who flew off when the
clock struck twelve.’
Nancy’s
tone came out sharp. ‘What are you on about?’
‘Our,
Cora,’ he repeated as though Nancy wasn’t keeping up. ‘She was the one with
Jonas when the limo crashed. She’s your mate, ain’t she? It’s about bloody time
a local face put this place on the map!’
Nancy
stalked from the shop before Danny could add something. Her pistonning legs
conveyed her straight across Bedworth shopping centre. She sought out the bulk
of Tesco superstore where Nancy knew Cora did her Sunday shop. The broadcast
was probably live but Nancy could wait. She could wait all afternoon.
In
a dazed cocoon, she made a meander towards the magazine section and plucked a
copy of the Daily Mail. The front
bore a huge picture of the crash site. In the café, Nancy absorbed the Mail’s
take of events, a freak accident, according to Rob Stillman the managing editor.
He wrote,
‘…the
black limo sedan suffered a double tyre blowout before it skidded for nearly
two miles. The vehicle then plummeted from the Eastcote Lane Bridge. The
driver, Leon Fairchild, PA to tycoon and Nexus nightclub chain, Vincent Jonas died
instantly.
Mr.
Jonas himself remains critically injured but stable within an induced coma.
Police are now trying to track down a woman who was photographed leaving the nightclub
with Mr. Jonas before the crash. Until the subject comes forward for
questioning, police have suppressed the pictures under privacy law.’
Nancy
knit her lip. The story had evidently been printed before Cora had made the
decision to don her makeup and milk the public eye.
Nancy
turned the page to where the story’s focus shifted to the possible causes of
the crash.
‘Repeated
kerbing is a likely culprit,’ according to Ella Kelroy, a crash site
investigator. ‘Tyre fatigue due to repeated pulling on and off the kerb is
similar to aircraft metal fatigue. A potential hidden killer, the structure
amasses fractures and stresses over a long period before breaching without
warning. As both tyres had already been compromised, it only took one blow-out
to spur another. Even new tyres can accrue stresses if kerbing is intensive and
if the road is pot-holled…’
Nancy
continued to glean. She couldn’t find the answer to the one question she really
needed to know.
A
bustle caused Nancy to glance up. Within the cosmetics aisle, a small melee
trailed a crown of gold fuzz. Nancy stuffed the newspaper into her bag and
closed in on her target. As she neared, she saw Robbie Probert standing too
close to Chantelle, next door’s fourteen-year-old daughter. Cora plucked body
exfoliater from the top shelf as though no one were there.
Nancy
got the gist from the buzz. ‘Your’e lookin’ great, Cora,’ Robbie’s rakish
friend, Strike remarked. ‘You’ve come through great considerin’what you’ve been
through.’
‘Yeah,
but the damage is on the inside, ain’t it?’ someone else countered. ‘It’s all
in the ‘ead, post traumatic, that is. Stevie had it after he got burgled.’
And
then someone else wondered, ‘what’s ‘e like, Cora? Did you flirt with ‘im? Has
he got a big cock?’
Robbie’s
simper froze when he spotted Nancy. She seemed to have that effect on people,
kill the fun; make the other feel caught out. ‘Hi, Nance,’ her ex piped. ‘How’s
your mam?’
Nancy
merely drew her eyes away and addressed Cora. ‘Can we speak in private?’
Strike
tittered without changing his expression. Cora’s eyes brushed against Nancy’s
as she dropped the exfoliater into her basket. She nudged through the small
crowd and allowed Nancy to lead her into the baby aisle.
Nancy’s
voice came out as a harsh whisper. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’
Cora
overdid the nonchalant shrug. ‘Me weekly shop. What do you think?’
‘It
wasn’t you in the limo, you lying tart.’
‘It
might have been. How would you know, anyway?’
Nancy
checked herself. ‘You had already buggered off with Bex before the shoot.
You’ll be exposed for what you really are when he starts talking.’
Cora’s
blithe expression galled. ‘Well, he ain’t talkin’,’ she asserted, billowing
chemical flora into Nancy’s breathing space. ‘No one’s talkin’. The press are gagging
for it, so I thought, why the hell not? I would have had my moment of glory and
spent my little windfall.’
Nancy could barely stand to look at her. ‘You’d stoop that low for money.’
‘Don’t
get all sanctimonious with me, Nancy. We’re all in the same boat ‘ere. Anyway, I
should take some lessons from your bloody mother, the way she scoots around in
that soddin’ chair. She’s the biggest benefit cheat around.’
Nancy’s
mouth knit. She shoved Cora against a wall of nappies behind her. Cora stumbled
too readily, her heels scuffing across the tiles. She wanted the wall to
topple, but nappies proved an efficient shock absorber.
Cora
thought she’d emerged the bigger person. She straightened herself up and jutted
out her chin. She strutted off.
No one’s talking. No one is saying a word.Next page
Previous page
Back to beginning
