‘On your power,’ said Beverley.
‘I swear on my power,’ I said.
Beverley grabbed a beer, hopped onto the sofa, found the remote and started channel-surfing. ‘Can I on-demand a movie?’ she asked. There followed a three-way argument over what we were going to watch, which I lost at the start and Lesley won in the end by the simple expedient of grabbing the remote and switching to one of the free movie channels.
Beverley was just complaining that none of the pizzas had pepperoni when the door opened a fraction and a pale face peered in. It was Molly. She stared at us, and we stared back.
‘Would you like to come in?’ I asked.
Molly slipped silently inside and drifted over to the sofa, where she sat next to Beverley. I realised that I’d never been this close to her before; her skin was very pale and perfect in the same way that Beverley’s was. She refused a beer but tentatively accepted a piece of pizza. When she ate she turned her face away and held her hand so that it obscured her mouth.
‘When are you going to sort out Father Thames?’ asked Beverley. ‘Mum’s getting impatient and the Richmond posse is getting restless.’
‘Richmond posse,’ said Lesley, and snorted.
‘We’ve got to find him first,’ I said.
‘How hard can it be?’ said Beverley. ‘He’s got to be close to the river. Hire a boat, go upstream and stop when you get there.’
‘How would we know when we got there?’
‘I’d know.’
‘Then why don’t you come with us, then?’
‘No way,’ said Beverley. ‘You’re not getting me up past Teddington Lock. I’m strictly tidal, I am.’
Suddenly Molly’s head whipped round to face the door, and a moment later somebody knocked. Beverley looked at me but I shrugged – I wasn’t expecting anyone. I hit mute on the remote and got up to answer. It was Inspector Nightingale dressed in the blue polo shirt and blazer which I recognised as being the closest thing he ever got to casual dress. I stared at him stupidly for a moment, and then invited him in.
‘I just wanted to see what you’d done with the place,’ he said.
Molly shot to her feet as soon as Nightingale came into the room, Lesley got up because he was a senior officer and Beverley stood either from some vestigial politeness or in anticipation of a quick getaway. I introduced Beverley, who he’d met only briefly when she was ten.
‘Would you like a beer, sir?’ I asked.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Call me Thomas, please.’
Which was just not going to happen. I handed him a bottle and indicated the chaise longue. He sat carefully and upright at one end. I sat at the other end while Beverley flopped into the middle of the sofa, Lesley sat slightly to attention and poor Molly bobbed a couple of times before perching right on the edge. She kept her eyes resolutely downcast.
‘That’s a very large television,’ said Nightingale.
‘It’s a plasma TV,’ I said. Nightingale nodded sagely while out of his sight Beverley rolled her eyes.
‘Is there something wrong with the sound?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I have it on mute.’ I found the remote and we got ten seconds of Beat the Rest before I got the volume under control.
‘That’s very clear,’ said Nightingale. ‘It’s like having your own cinema.’
We sat in silence for a moment, everyone, no doubt, appreciating the theatre-quality surround sound.
I offered Nightingale a slice of pizza, but he explained that he’d already eaten. He asked after Beverley’s mother, and was told she was fine. He finished his beer and stood up.
‘I really must be on my way,’ he said. ‘Thank you for the beer.’
We all stood up and I walked him to the door. When he left I heard Lesley sigh and flop back on the sofa. I almost shouted when Molly suddenly slid past me in a rustle of fabric and slipped out the door.
‘Awkward,’ said Beverley.
‘You don’t think she and Nightingale … ?’ asked Lesley.
‘Ew,’ said Beverley. ‘That’s just wrong.’
‘I thought you and her were friends?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, but she’s like a creature of the night,’ said Beverley. ‘And he’s old.’
‘He’s not that old,’ said Lesley.
‘Yes he is,’ said Beverley, but however many hints I dropped that evening, she wouldn’t say any more.
The Puppet Fayre