The Dead Dog Day (10 page)

‘Where do they go, the rest of the year?' Cora wondered idly, smiling at the scrubbed faces under the navy hats. As she headed down the Promenade, she found herself humming along. Her hastily rearranged Christmas with Rosie and Nicole was going to be lovely. And, now that she didn't have to fork out for the expensive new games console Justin had been angling for, she could afford to splash out a bit more on her
real
friends.

She stopped outside WHS mith on the High Street and scrutinised her list again. It wasn't too bad actually. She'd already exchanged bottles of perfume and champagne with Wendy and Sam in London, and family presents had been posted off a few weeks ago – Cora's parents were spending Christmas abroad and she and her sisters had agreed they'd all do their own thing this year. Nathan's present was alive and on its way – two ridiculous-sounding but very sweet Ginger Nut Ranger chickens for the growing menagerie at his Gloucestershire cottage, to be delivered after New Year. He'd be thrilled, thought Cora happily. He and his boyfriend Gareth were becoming a right pair of domestic goddesses. For antiques freak Scott she'd found a World War One compass in a little curio shop in Yorkshire a few weeks ago when they were on a story, although he'd been so miserable recently she wasn't entirely sure he'd appreciate anything she chose for him this year. And for Rodney, a pair of green and white checked golf trousers. Rodney didn't play golf, but she knew he'd adore them. Both presents had been delivered days ago, with strict warnings not to open them till tomorrow. The children she'd just done, so that left Nicole, Rosie, and their husbands. Easy.

As she folded the list back into her jeans pocket, a familiar face caught her eye in the shop window behind her, and her cheeks suddenly burned again. Benjamin Boland's face smouldered at her from the cover of this week's
OK!
magazine. Urgh. Could she
never
get away from that man? Standing on a ski slope, dressed completely in black, he looked devastatingly gorgeous, and despite her mortification Cora suddenly felt a tiny flicker of desire. That moment when he'd slipped his arm around her, the way their eyes had met …

‘Oh shut up, you complete cretin!' she said out loud, to the surprise of an elderly man who was standing quietly in the shop doorway lighting his pipe. He glared at her.

‘Oh – I'm so sorry – I was talking to myself, not to you …' The man continued to glare and, flustered, Cora backed away from the shop, straight into somebody coming the other way.

‘Oh gosh, I'm so sorry …

The woman she'd crashed into tutted and stalked off.

Crikey, this wasn't going very well, was it? Oh well, on with the shopping, if you can manage that, you blithering clumsy moron, she muttered to herself, as she made her way through the revolving door into the welcoming warmth of the big department store. And shaking her head, she pulled out her list again, and headed to the handbag department.

‘Just a note to say I love your hair. I was wondering, if I may, whether when you go to the hairdressers you ever keep any of the old, cut hair? I am building up a small collection of organic matter from television personalities and would love to add some of your hair to it …'

Did they ever stop? Slumped on her sofa, exhausted and surrounded by carrier bags, Cora was astounded as she read the latest email that had pinged on to her BlackBerry.

‘I mean, someone who collects
organic matter
from TV presenters? What sort of nut job does that?' she thought. It wasn't unusual for presenters to
receive
‘organic matter' from viewers – and the less said about that the better – but she'd never heard of it happening in reverse. She dreaded to think what else he – and it was always a ‘he' – had in his collection.

She sighed. It was already nearly dark outside, and through the window she could see Christmas tree lights twinkling and flashing in the apartments opposite. She looked at her watch and heaved herself up again to fetch the champagne she'd put in the fridge before her shopping trip. It was something her mum and dad had always done, a Christmas Eve tradition that she'd planned to share with Justin this year – wrapping presents while sipping champagne and watching a good old festive movie. Now, she was determined to carry on the tradition by herself, and
The Sound of Music
was about to start. She flicked the TV on just in time to catch the opening scene, and as the familiar music swelled and the helicopter camera zoomed in to Julie Andrews twirling on the mountain top, Cora sipped the cold bubbles and felt almost happy for the first time in days.

Setting her glass down on the coffee table, she spread out her wrapping paper, bows, tags and sticky tape and dipped into the nearest carrier. A leather D&G hobo bag, black of course, for Nicole. Cora stroked it. Gorgeous. She tipped out the rest of the bags. A skinny black scarf with a hint of metallic shimmer, also for Nicole. For Rosie, a soft, baby blue cashmere cardigan, delicately beaded, plus some expensive and delicious-smelling body lotion for her bump. Nicole's husband, Will, who taught science at a local secondary school and was always missing his favourite TV programmes because he had so much marking to do, was getting a box set of the latest cult sci-fi series, and she'd found a book on contemporary American furniture for Rosie's hubby Alistair, a furniture designer who was always on the look-out for new ideas.

She put the presents aside for wrapping and delved into another bag. Yum. Goodies to take to Rosie's, where she and Nicole and her family were all spending Christmas – bought, rather than made, naturally. Cora really couldn't cook, and after the time she'd suggested she bring a plate of toast to an ‘everyone bring a dish' dinner party, arguing that everyone likes toast, she'd been banned from ever ‘cooking' for her friends again. Hence her purchase of a three-pound pungent Brie, some divine-looking handmade chocolates, an apple and gingerbread loaf, some raspberry and cappuccino cupcakes from Mattino's, and of course a case of champagne, already chilling in the fridge. Gathering the food, she staggered into the kitchen, popped the Brie in the fridge, and plonked the rest on the worktop, ready to take in the morning.

As she sank down onto the sofa again, her Twitter direct message alert beeped. She clicked on to the page and her stomach turned over. The message was from her mystery tweeter,
@a-friend
.

@a-friend
@CoraBaxterMLive Cora, it's me, Justin. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I screwed up big time.

What? This
@a-friend
character was Justin? Was it really? And what did he mean, he'd screwed up? Her hands shaking, Cora stared at the screen. Then she frantically typed a reply, fingers slipping on the tiny keys in her haste.

@CoraBaxterMLive
@a-friend What do you mean? What did you do? Where are you? Why were you at TV Centre? You were on CCTV! Call me!

Breathing heavily, she waited. Seconds later, the reply flashed up.

@a-friend
@CoraBaxterMLive I'm sorry. Needed to get away. I'll be in touch soon, I promise.

What the hell? What was going on? And why on earth wasn't he just calling her or emailing her? She paused, then started typing again.

@CoraBaxterMLive
@a-friend Justin – why all the secrecy? And the police are looking for you. You have to come back.

She waited. Then:

@a-friend
@CoraBaxterMLive I know. But I didn't do anything. Please trust me. I'll talk to them soon. I'm SO sorry. Bye for now.

Frustrated and angry now, Cora banged out another message.

@CoraBaxterMLive
@a-friend Justin – I NEED to talk to you. Call me, call your family, anybody. Please.

Ten minutes later, there was still no reply. If
@a-friend
was really Justin, he'd logged out. Confused and annoyed, Cora pushed her phone out of sight and tried to make sense of what had just happened. At least she knew he was alive and, presumably, well. But why had he gone away? Where was he? Did she believe him when he said he hadn't done anything? Honestly – yes. But it still didn't explain why he hadn't come forward to the police, when he was obviously aware of the CCTV footage. But what could she do? She wasn't prepared to tell the police about this, not until she'd had a chance to talk to him properly. It might be a decision she'd live to regret, but it was the only one she felt she could make, for now at least. She sighed heavily and grabbed her champagne.

‘Right. It's Christmas. Forget Justin, forget weird murders. I am
not
dwelling on this now.'

She drained her glass, refilled it, turned the TV up, and started wrapping.

13

Monday 25
^th
December

Christmas Day, 9 a.m. Trying not to think about what her Christmas morning
should
have been like, Cora grabbed a suitcase and started packing up the presents piled in the corner of her bedroom. She added clothes, toiletries, and her hair straighteners and then sat back on her heels, looking fondly at the little pile of gifts on the bed. Nathan had arrived on her doorstep last night with a bag from himself, Rodney and Scott – and the boys had excelled themselves. Cora stretched over and picked up the beautiful Calvin Klein boots, black and white snakeskin with kitten heels, that they'd clubbed together for. She kicked off her shoes and tried them on again. Perfect. As well as the boots, the boys had each given her a useful little stocking filler – from Nathan, a big flask for those early morning in-car cuppas, a gift nicely complemented by Scott's, a box of weird and wonderful teas from around the world. Rodney, who had a torch fetish and a huge collection of them stacked neatly in the boot of his car, had presented her with a bright pink Maglite, which would be useful when they were in the middle of nowhere on dark winter mornings. She knew they were being extra sweet to her this year, and she was touched.

Fortunately, the boys had all rung her first thing this morning, equally thrilled with what she'd chosen for them. Nathan had been ecstatic about the prospect of two new chickens for his garden, and said he'd be spending Boxing Day fixing up his old coop in preparation for their arrival, while Scott had been so impressed with the old compass that for a moment Cora thought he might actually be a little tearful. Rodney, meanwhile, had vowed to wear the golf trousers for all of his Christmas celebrations, giving Cora a sudden pang of guilt when she thought of his long-suffering girlfriend Jodie. Overall, though, a most satisfactory gift exchange. Cora stuffed the snakeskin boots into the top of her case, zipped it up, and headed for the kitchen to pack up the food.

By the time she lifted the brass knocker on Rosie's battered, blue front door she was actually feeling quite perky for the first time in days, and determined not to let last night's Twitter encounter with Justin ruin her day. She'd already decided not to tell her friends he'd been in touch. She'd worry about the whole sorry mess after Christmas, she vowed.

‘CORA'S HERE!'

Cora laughed as she heard her friend's shriek. Moments later, Rosie wrenched the door open, Nicole thundering down the hall behind her, closely followed by Ava, Alexander, and Elliot. At the same time Alistair appeared at the top of the stairs, a broad smile on his handsome face, and Will popped his head out of the sitting room door, clutching a book and grinning.

‘Gosh, what a welcome!' Cora giggled.

‘Come in, come in! It's CHRISTMAS!' Rosie pulled her into the hall and slammed the door.

‘OK, OK! Hello, all of you. Now, is it too early for a Christmas drink? I have champagne, naturally.' Cora thrust her food bags at Nicole, kissed her and Rosie, and then climbed a few stairs to greet Alistair, who even on Christmas day looked as if he'd just come out of his workshop. She pecked him on the cheek, trying to avoid his dusty old navy jumper, but he pulled her into a hug and laughed.

‘It's only sawdust – you're not getting out of giving me a hug that easily, Miss Glamour Puss!'

Cora gave in and hugged him back.

‘Oh alright, you messy pup. Now go and get cleaned up – what are you doing working on Christmas Day, anyway?'

She slapped him on his big bottom, and he tittered like a schoolboy and raced back upstairs. Cora wiped sawdust off her black jacket and turned back to the hall. Will, tall, gangly and studious-looking as always with his little, black-framed glasses and floppy, brown hair, emerged fully from the sitting room and enveloped her in a bear hug.

‘Glad you're here, babe. It's going to be great, all of us together for Christmas.'

‘Yes, it is, isn't it? Thanks Will. And where are my favourite babies then?'

Ava, Alexander, and Elliot were still standing there, staring at her, and she crouched down so they could inspect her properly.

Elliot reached up a chubby hand and touched her hair.

‘Christmas. Santa came,' he said, beaming.

‘Ooh, lucky boy! Did you get nice presents?'

Elliot considered for a moment, then nodded solemnly. ‘Very nice presents.'

‘Very nice presents,' echoed Alexander.

Cora wrapped an arm around each two-year-old and pulled them close. ‘I'm very pleased for you both, my darlings. You must have been very good boys.'

Ava tapped her on the arm. ‘I saw you on the telly wiv a talking pig, Auntie Cora. It was funny! You look pretty, Auntie Cora,' she said shyly, and Cora let go of the boys and held out her arms to the little girl.

‘Thank you, angel. Not as pretty as you though – what a lovely dress! Are you a Christmas fairy?'

‘Yes! And now you're here we can open all our other pressies soon – hooray!'

Ava giggled and wiggled and Cora kissed her red mane and let her go. All three ran off down the hall, Ava waving her wand, the net skirts of the glittery blue dress she was wearing bouncing. Her little brother, stocky and blond like his dad, toddled after her, tiny jeans slipping down over his nappy, closely followed by Elliot, dark curls bobbing as he followed his friends into their playroom.