The Mysterious Disappearance of Marsha Boden - Chapter 36

I can’t post today’s instalment without mentioning the loss of HM the Queen, who died on 8th September at the age of 96.  She will be sorely missed and having grown up with her at the helm of our great nation, the sense of loss is deep and humbling. 

In the words of Paddington Bear, “Thank you Ma’am, for everything,” and in true British tradition, I am carrying on as normal, as HM did so many times during her lifetime, and was such a wonderful example to us all.

Rosy

Kate Bursford was spitting feathers.  It had been almost two weeks and still, no witness protection scheme was in place for her and the boys.  Since the evening of the argument when Zelda had made her feelings clear, the couple had been giving each other the silent treatment and the strains on the relationship were huge and hung in the balance. 

When Kate ended the call with PC Della Carlton she was speechless and all the colour drained from her face.  She turned to Zelda who was scrolling on her phone. 

“Looks like we’re not going to Australia after all,” she eventually managed to say. 

Zelda stopped what she was doing.  “What’s up?”

“Apparently the police don’t think that my life is in enough danger to warrant putting me and the boys in a witness protection programme.”

“Well, at least you won’t be sent to the other side of the world now.  Look on the bright side.”  There was a note of sarcasm in her voice.

“Thanks, Zeld.  That’s just what I wanted to hear,” she said flatly, getting up from the sofa and heading towards the sink to fill a cup with boiling water from the tap.

“Do you want a cuppa?”

“Go on then,” came the distracted reply. They were both still smarting from the tiff.

“I must let Stephen know that we won’t be coming to Oz.  He didn’t seem too keen on the idea anyway.  He always was a selfish bastard.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Zelda stated.  “He was only trying to protect his family.  You would probably have done the same if the situation were reversed.”

Bringing two mugs of tea over on a tray with a plate of custard creams, Zelda’s favourite biscuits, Kate felt it was time for a heart-to-heart.

“Here you go,” she said, passing one of the mugs to Zelda, who looked tired and had a strained look around her eyes.

“So, where does that leave us?  I guess you’ll want to move on.  Do you have someone lined up already?” she asked, nodding towards Zelda and surmising all the activity on the phone was a dating app.

“Ouch.  That hurt.”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?  We haven’t said two words to each other since you stormed out and then came back with your tail between your legs and ever since then, you haven’t had your nose out of your phone.”

“Look, Kate, it was a lot to take on board.  I needed time to think things through.  Besides, if you are going to stay put, then perhaps we could mend what’s broken between us.”

“I don’t think so, Zeld,” Kate said coldly.  “I think too much water has passed under the bridge.  Don’t you?”

The moment Lucy walked into the office at Ashcroft’s she knew she had been sent to Coventry.  Nobody asked her about her break or what the reason was for her sudden absence, which Alex had referred to as ‘an urgent family matter’.  She put on a brave face and decided to ask Alex when the show home at Meadow Bank would be ready; she couldn’t wait to get out of the strained atmosphere which had been made worse by her deep, mahogany tan and she could almost feel the daggers being sharpened behind her back.

“At least another few weeks, Lucy.  I know things are tough out there, but you just have to get on with it.”  Even Alex’s warmth had chilled to just above freezing and Lucy resolved to make as many appointments out of the office as she possibly could.  She even toyed with the idea of moving jobs but her salary was so good that she couldn’t afford to take a drop, which she inevitably would if she relocated to another firm. 

“So.  How was your trip?” he asked a note of sarcasm in his voice.

Lucy wasn’t sure how to answer and decided to offer an olive branch.  “Alex, that night when I invited you round.”

“Forget it.”

“No, I want to explain.  Billie just turned up out of the blue and rang my doorbell.  What was I supposed to do?”

“I said, don’t worry about it.  It’s done.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and went back to her desk.  At lunchtime when she went out for some fresh air and to escape from the horrible atmosphere, she scrolled through the BBC news website and felt physically sick when she read the headline about a British man being found drowned in the Cayman Islands.  The article reported that the man’s name hadn’t yet been released until his family had been informed but she knew who it was. What a fucking mess.  She tipped the hommus and vegetable wrap in the litter bin next to her, untouched, and walked aimlessly around the town not seeing or hearing anything.  She found herself at the front entrance to the Georgian building which housed her apartment and went upstairs to think things through.  She couldn’t give a flying fuck what the witches in the office would say.

Ann Jones was getting her feet well and truly under the table, having wheedled her way back into Guy Boden’s affections.  She enjoyed his company and spending seven or eight hours each weekday in his employ meant she saw him a lot.  When Tom, her husband, was busy with whatever new scheme he was launching in the shop, she could sneak out on weekends sometimes and was rarely missed.  Their marriage had reached a stage where both were indifferent to each other and almost didn’t care what the other one did.  But they were still husband and wife and kept up the façade of being ‘happily married.’  She didn’t feel bad about her affair with the Funeral Director.  There had been no love lost between her and Marsha, whom she knew was having an affair with the farmer, Lloyd Peterson.  That’s life.  It gets complicated but needn’t be on a base level.  Guy needed affection and she was happy to give it, in bucket loads.

To be continued.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

(The fantastic image at the top of this post is by Jr Korpa on Unsplash)