Take Two

CHAPTER 89

Richards arrived at Carolyn’s house just before mid-day. Jenny let him in and made coffee for him in the kitchen. ‘You’ll never guess what I found last night,’ said Jenny as she slotted a pod into the coffee maker.

‘Amaze me,’ said Richards.

‘An old photo album,’ she said. ‘It’s in the sitting room. Bring it in, will you?’

Richards went through to the sitting room. There was a large leather-bound photo album on the coffee table. He picked it up and took it back to the kitchen. Jenny put two cups of cappuccino on the table and sat down. Richards joined her and opened the album.

‘I had no idea Carolyn had this,’ said Jenny.

The first photograph was of a pretty brunette in a hospital bed holding two babies swathed in white cotton.

‘I think our father must have taken that.’

There were dozens of snapshots of the babies with the mother but only a couple with the father, a tall man with a piercing stare. In one picture had had the two babies clutched to his chest and there was a look of confusion on his face as if he was unsure how he should be holding them.

‘Carolyn never talked about your father,’ said Richards.

‘He wasn’t a good dad,’ said Jenny. ‘Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t abusive, he never hurt us or anything, but he was cold.’ She shrugged. ‘If it had been more of a family, I probably wouldn’t have run away to Australia.’

‘Is that what you were doing? Running away?’

‘Pretty much.’

Richards turned the page. There was a photograph of the two girls in school uniform, black skirts and grey blazers and matching satchels. ‘You were good-looking kids,’ he said.

‘We got that from our mum.’

‘She’s still around?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘She died a few years after that picture was taken.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We ought to be going,’ she said.

She let them out of the house, setting the burglar alarm before they left.

‘How did you know the code?’ asked Richards, as they walked towards the Porsche.

Jenny frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The burglar alarm code. When you went into the house the first time, why didn’t the alarm go off?’

Jenny laughed. ‘She uses her date of birth. So it’s not a number I can ever forget.’

‘When is your birthday?’

‘She uses the year,’ said Jenny. She wagged a finger at him. ‘And no, I’m not telling you the year I was born. We girls have to keep something to ourselves.’

Richards unlocked the doors to the Porsche and they climbed in.

The supermarket was in South London, about a forty-five minute drive from Carolyn’s house. Richards still thought of it as Carolyn’s house, even though she was dead and it was Jenny who now lived there. When they arrived, there were several hundred people — mainly women and children — standing at the entrance. ‘Oh my God,’ said Jenny. ‘They’re not all here to see me, are they?’

‘I think so,’ said Richards. The car park was pretty much full but he managed to find a space eventually and walked with her towards the entrance.

‘What do we do?’ asked Jenny.

Richards chuckled. ‘I’m a virgin at this, too,’ he said.

A middle-aged man in a dark suit hurried over, accompanied by two young women. ‘Miss Castle, I’m so pleased to see you,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘Bob Harris.’

Jenny shook it and didn’t correct him over the name. ‘I see you’ve got a mob,’ she said.

‘We’ve never had a turnout like this,’ said Harris. ‘I’m the regional manager and I do these all over and this is the best I’ve seen.’

‘Shows you how popular the show is,’ said Richards.

The man looked at Richards, obviously wondering who he was.

‘I’m sorry, this is Warwick, a friend of mine,’ said Jenny.

The manager smiled dismissively and then turned his attention back to Jenny. ‘We’ve got a tape set up and a pair of scissors.’ He waved at one of the girls and she produced a pair of shears from behind her back. ‘If you could just say a few words about how pleased you are to see the new supermarket here, how it’ll be an asset to the community, and perhaps mention that ten percent of today’s receipts will be going to charity.’

‘No worries,’ said Jenny.

Richards realised she’d slipped back into her Australian accent and he coughed pointedly. She looked over at him and he mouthed ‘accent’ at her.

She bit down on her lower lip and nodded, then smiled at the regional manager. ‘That’s a nice idea, giving money to charity,’ she said. The Australian accent had gone.

‘Then we’d like you to pose for photographs with a dozen of our shoppers. We ran a competition on our website and the prize was to be photographed with you.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Jenny.

‘And then if you’d like to sign a few autographs, that would also be fine. I gather we have you for two hours, so as soon as you want to go just give me a wave and I’ll bring the proceedings to a close.’

‘I’m in no hurry,’ said Jenny. ‘I never forget it’s the fans who make the show what it is.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Right, let’s go.’

The regional manager put his arm protectively around her shoulder and led her towards the crowd, which began to buzz with anticipation.