A December to Remember (92)

“Sorry, Betty,” said Star, rubbing the toe of her boot along the flagstone floor.

“Yes, sorry, Betty,” added Simone in a tone so meek that Evette did a double take.

“Well then.” Betty smoothed down her apron. “I’ll call an emergency meeting of the WI and let’s see if we can sort this out. Gilbert and his cronies are still in the pub, you say?” Patrick nodded. “We need to keep them there. You, young man, Duncan. Get yourself over there and tell Troy what’s going on. Tell him it’s imperative that Gilbert doesn’t leave.”

Duncan started to sputter, but Betty’s answering glare brooked no argument.

“I’ll be off myself,” Betty said. “Leave you to sort your sister out. Tell Maggie I need her to meet me outside the pub in two hours. You got that?” She tapped her watch. “Two hours!”

They all nodded, and Betty marched out of the shop and across the street like a woman on a mission.



* * *





After a few moments of stunned silence, Simone gathered herself.

“Right,” she said, returning her mind to the immediate business. “Okay. We can work with this. So, all we have to do is find Joe, tell him we know what he’s been trying to do for Mags, and get the two of them in a room together to sort this shit out. And as for you, dearest nephew, your mother’s relationship with Joe is none of your beeswax. What’s the time?”

“Eight fifty,” said Star, looking from the clock to the itinerary. “Plenty of time to get everything done for the festival and reunite the star-crossed lovers before the ceremonies begin.”

“Let’s do this!” Simone grinned and held her palm up to Star, who high-fived it.

“Joe’s gone,” said Patrick in a voice so small it was as though he hadn’t wanted to be heard.

“What do you mean gone?” asked Evette.

“Troy told me. He left a note and the cash for this month’s rent.”

“Well, where did he go? Did he say anything in the note?” Simone demanded.

Patrick shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“Have you tried calling him?” asked Star.

“It goes straight to voicemail. He’s either switched his phone off or he’s blocked me.” Patrick gave an awkward grimace.

“I’ll give him a try.” Star pulled up his number and held her phone to her ear. A moment later she shook her head. “Straight to voicemail.”

“Does anyone have any idea where Joe might have gone?” asked Evette. She was answered by shaken heads. “Maybe Maggie might have an idea?”

“Ahem.” Duncan, who had shrugged into his jacket and was almost to the door, stopped in his tracks. “I, um, saw Joe this morning when I was out for my run. He said he was going to France, catching the ferry.”

“France? Why France?” asked Simone.

Star rounded on him. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“He told me in confidence. He was in pretty bad shape, it seemed like the least I could do. I didn’t know the full story, only that he and Maggie had had a bust-up. He said it was his fault and he needed to get away from Rowan Thorp. His family live somewhere near Lille, I think he said. I got the impression he needed to lick his wounds. If I’d have known . . .” he trailed off.

“Did he tell you what time his ferry was?” asked Simone.

“Eleven o’clock—it was the only time he could get at such short notice.”

Simone and Star stared at each other as if communicating via thoughts alone.

“My windscreen’s cracked to hell; I can’t drive my car,” said Simone.

“I came by train,” Evette added.

“Maggie’s veg van, then?” said Star, and Simone nodded.

“You need to come too.” Simone pointed at Patrick, who shrugged his shoulders and stood.

“What about the festival?” Star said. “With Maggie out of action, we’re already one woman down and I can’t do it all by myself. You’re the organizer, not me. You’ve said it yourself enough times—I’m a shower of shite!”

“You’ll be fine,” said Simone with schoolmarm assuredness. “We’ve got the plan all laid out. You know what needs to happen. Duncan can help you when he’s finished helping Troy at the pub. Speaking of which, why are you still here?” She pointed a finger at Duncan, who jumped to attention and left without protest.

“I’m not sure I’m up to it, Simone, it’s a huge responsibility.”

“Look, one of us needs to get to the port at Dover and you can’t drive. It’s got to be me. I was wrong about you—you’re not a shower of shite. You’ve got this. Just keep calm and follow the plan. With any luck, I’ll be back with Joe way before the festival begins.”





46





Ten minutes later, after some violent complaints from Maggie’s old van as Simone got to grips with the gears, she and Patrick chugged out of the village, the engine roaring and the smell of diesel fumes in their wake.

Simone had driven vans before, but never one as old and clunky as Maggie’s. There was a pervading scent of cabbage and earth hanging in the air, despite the efforts of a pine air freshener in the shape of a Christmas tree swinging from the mirror. There were no mats in the footwells, and the interior was skeletal. The heating had two settings, roast or freeze, and in between times they had to keep the windows down to stop the windshield from steaming up. She determined to use some of the proceeds from the curiosity shop to buy her sister a new van, and then remembered that Maggie would have no need for a work van if she had no business.