Chapter 6
Standing in the shower, suds from the shampoo slowly meandering down her body, DS Lizzie Johnson closed her eyes, tilted her head back and felt the warm water splashing against her face and neck.
She dried herself on the large fluffy cream towel, wrapped her hair in a smaller one and took the matching bathrobe from the hook on the door.
Barefoot, she padded along the dimly lit landing, descending the stairs to the cosy living room with its open plan kitchen.
Putting her arms around him, she gently kissed the back of his neck.
“What are we having?” she asked him.
Turning, he put his arms around her waist, kissing her forehead as he did so. “Special recipe. Pappardelle with petit pois, broad beans, finely chopped bacon and pecorino finished off with fresh mint and a side salad.”
“Hmmmm, sounds nice! But you’ve cheated and got dressed,” she playfully chided him.
He kissed her lips. “Yes, well, seeing as the mint’s in the front garden, I thought it would frighten the neighbours less if I put some clothes on.”
She laughed, kissed his cheek and wandered over to the worktop looking for something she could taste. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Mum and Dad have invited you for Sunday lunch. It’s Auntie Lydia’s birthday. Say you’ll come.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll wear my new elastic-waisted trousers.”
“Do you remember the first time? It’s hard to believe it’s over a year ago.”
“I’ll never forget it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous,” he smiled then added, “and get your fingers out of that! It’s the salad dressing. It’s not finished yet.” She laughed again and wiped her finger down his face.
****
The previous May had been bright and pleasantly warm with pink blossom clinging to the trees as he stood in front of a deceptively large house.
Set in its own grounds in the popular and sought after area of Mossley Hill, it was red brick with bay sash windows; Edwardian he’d thought. The small vestibule on the side of the house, in which stood the bright red entrance door, appeared to have been added almost as an afterthought.
Taking the three tiled steps up to the door, he pulled the white ceramic knob from its circular holder. The sound of a real bell.
The door was opened by a young man, about sixteen years of age, who smiled pleasantly at him, then shouted over his shoulder “Mum! There’s a strange man at the front door!” Lizzie dragged him out of the way.
“Mind me jumper! I paid for this meself,” he protested.
“I’m sorry about my idiot brother,” Lizzie smiled sweetly. “Come in and meet the rest of the family.”
She turned, striding off down the long carpeted hallway, shoving her protesting brother in front of her hissing, “Alex, what did I tell you before?”
He followed and was led to the big atmospheric kitchen at the rear of the house. After introductions, a cold beer was thrust into his hands.
“Come on, I’ll take you to meet Pops,” Lizzie’s Dad grinned. “I think he’s destroying something in the garden shed.” He opened the kitchen’s French windows leading him out along the old block paved pathway and across the lawn.
“So, let me get this right, I’m not sure if I heard correctly,” Thurstan asked. “You’re Desmond. Your wife is Florence and the twins are Desmond and Florence too?”
Lizzie’s Dad laughed. “I know, you’d think we could show more imagination, but it’s worse than you think.” They stopped at the open door of the shed from where he could see an elderly gentleman beating the living daylights out of what appeared to have once been some form of metal container.
“Pops! Pops! Take a little break. I’d like you to meet Lizzie’s Boss.” The old man looked up, placed the large hammer he’d been wielding onto the old wooden workbench, wiped his hand on his trousers and proffered it for a handshake.
“Thurstan, this is my Dad, Desmond,” Desmond junior said with a big smile on his face.
Back in the kitchen, Lizzie’s Mum stood up from peering in the oven. “Coming along nicely,” she declared. Wiping her hands with the tea towel, she placed it carefully back onto the oven’s door handle. “He seems like a very nice man,” she said catching her sister’s eye.
“He’s a good Boss, Mum,” Lizzie replied.
Mum tweaked Lizzie’s cheek playfully. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Auntie Lydia tweaked her other cheek and said, “Oh, she so knows it!” and, chuckling, ambled off to adjust the pans bubbling away on the Aga.
Minutes later, Lizzie strode back in from the garden and announced, “Gramps says he hasn’t a clue where Thurstan’s gone.” She looked worried, then seeing her father emerging from the cellar with two bottles of wine, she hissed, “Dad! What have you done with him?”
Calmly placing the bottles on the table, he replied, “I left him with your Nana in the Library. They’ll be having a nice little chat.”
Lizzie looked horrified. “Oh, my goodness! Heaven knows what she’s telling him!” She scuttled off as Desmond looked blankly at his wife, who tutted, shook her head, and said, “Desmond! You know she tells her Nana everything.”
Leaning out of the kitchen door, Mum shouted, “Pops! Get out of that shed now! You can finish that later. Your dinner’s ready.”
After an extremely satisfying meal, Thurstan pushed his plate away and sat back in his chair. He would have liked to have undone his trousers, but he knew this was definitely not the time and place. They took coffee in the living room.
Eventually, he felt it was time to make his excuses and leave. As the women busied around him, finding his jacket, wrapping sweet potatoes in aluminium foil, filling a plastic container with spoonfuls of upside-down chocolate pudding, Pops tapped him on the arm and beckoned him to a side room. After closing the door, shutting the hubbub outside, he produced an open bottle of Appleton Estate twenty-one-year-old rum and two glasses from a display cabinet.
Ten minutes later, Lizzie was getting anxious in the hallway. “Where on earth has he gone now?” She’d wanted to find a moment to suggest something to him before it became lost in the family’s goodbyes.
Thurstan and Pops emerged from their hiding place with conspiratorial smiles. “Oh, there you are,” she said, trying not to appear flustered.
He bade them farewell and walked to his car accompanied by Lizzie, who carried the plastic bag containing his rations. Placing them inside, he closed the boot and stood, awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do next.
“Would you like to go for a walk?” she blurted out.
He smiled, grateful she had suggested it. “Yes, that would be nice. Where were you thinking?”
“Sefton Park? It’s not far. Just over half a mile,” she said with a hint of uncertainty and excitement.
He nodded. “Sounds perfect. It might help to work off some of that splendid meal.”
“I just need to get something,” she beamed and, desperately trying to avoid breaking into a skip, went back to the house emerging seconds later buttoning up a grey cardigan.
Her excitement had not been missed. He was thankful she’d made the first move.
“You’ll have to lead the way, Lizzie, because, quite frankly, I’m not sure where Sefton Park is from here.”
She looked behind her and seeing they couldn’t be seen from the house, with regained confidence, she took his hand. “Well, in that case, you should hold my hand all the way there in case you get lost and I’ll let you buy me an ice cream. Come on!”