The Shooting in the Shop

Eight

Carole was surprised how long she stayed at Jude’s open house. She was so busy nibbling Zosia’s exquisite nibbles, drinking more white wine and, to her amazement, chatting away easily to people (some of whom she even hadn’t met before), that she didn’t notice the passage of time. Only at the end of a long conversation with a retired geophysicist about the semantic history of the word ‘serendipity’ did she finally take a look at her watch. She was astonished to see that it was nearly five o’clock. The booze showed no signs of running out, and the crowd of guests hadn’t dwindled by much, but Carole thought it was probably time she left.

Her circuit of goodbyes took a gratifyingly long time and it was nearly six by the time she was sitting by the Aga in the High Tor kitchen. Gulliver looked up at her pathetically, hoping for an after-dark walk, but Carole was feeling selfish. She’d do the Sunday Times crossword first, and then take him out just on the rough ground behind the house to do his business. The dog couldn’t really complain; he’d had an hour’s thorough workout that morning on Fethering Beach.

Though The Times crossword was an essential part of Carole Seddon’s daily routine, she very rarely did the Sunday Times version, and its quirks were unfamiliar to her. She found her mind kept sliding away from the clues and her vision kept wandering abstractedly into the middle distance. It took quite a while for her to conclude that she was a little drunk.

But this realization did not generate the guilt which would usually accompany it. Instead, Carole felt rather mellow. In spite of her misgivings, she had really enjoyed the open house. She hadn’t had to explain herself, she hadn’t had to apologize, she had just chatted away to people. Not like Carole Seddon at all. Just like a normal person, in fact.

The mellow feeling stayed with her for the rest of the evening. She took Gulliver out for his necessary visit, and ignored the reproachful plea in his dark Labrador eyes for a longer walk. She had eaten so many nibbles that she only required a single slice of cheese on toast for supper. Then she watched some mindless medical drama on television (not feeling her customary guilt for watching something mindless) and caught up with the news headlines. She was in bed by half past ten.

Waking at about three with a raging thirst, Carole Seddon felt rather less mellow and started worrying again about Stephen and his family’s forthcoming Christmas visit. She was awake for over an hour.

As she lay there, willing sleep to return, she became aware of a light visible through her curtains. A strange, almost pinkish glow. Carole wondered if it presaged snow, and went back to sleep, dreaming of a White Christmas.

But the strange glow she had seen had another cause. The next morning Carole Seddon heard that there had been a fire on Fethering High Street Parade. Gallimaufry had burnt down.