Beach cat blues, p.1
Beach Cat Blues, page 1
BEACH CAT BLUES
ALISON O’LEARY
Published by RED DOG PRESS 2021
Distributed by Bloodhound Books 2022
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Copyright © Alison O’Leary 2021
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Alison O’Leary has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
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This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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Paperback ISBN 978-1-914480-10-2
Ebook ISBN 978-1-914480-11-9
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www.reddogpress.co.uk
CONTENTS
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Acknowledgements
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For Carol Jean Nash
1
Toby glanced around him with an air of studied nonchalance. He flicked his lighter across the end of his cigarette and drew in a lungful of smoke. A prickle of sweat dampened his armpits, and he inhaled deeply as the gratifying swirl of nicotine hit his brain. To the left of him stood the small, nondescript red brick office. Tucked away among the court buildings, he had almost missed it. He leaned back against the wall and watched for a moment as a small elderly woman walked around the corner and entered the building, her head bowed and her shoulders hunched against the light wind that had sprung up.
He hadn’t needed to come today, in fact he almost hadn’t, but at the last minute he had changed his mind and now he was glad that he had. He wanted to be ready when the time came. He pulled out his phone and ran quickly through the list again. He’d done his research. Medical certificate, birth certificate, NHS number, his own ID. As long as nobody poked their nose in and started asking questions, the plan was practically fool-proof. The only weak point was the witnesses, but he’d find somebody. There was always somebody who would help out. For a price.
Tossing his cigarette end to the ground, he walked slowly back towards the town centre. It couldn’t be much longer now. And once he’d registered the death, he could make a start on probate. All he had to do was keep his nerve.
“So how did it go today?”
Molly put down her iPad and looked up as Jeremy entered the room, stepping sideways to avoid tripping over Aubrey and Vincent, who ran across to greet him. Apart from the fact that they loved him dearly, he had the endearing and always to be encouraged habit of carrying a few cat treats in his pockets.
“Very good.” Jeremy sat down and leaned back with his hands behind his head. “Although I must admit, it feels quite weird. Poacher turned gamekeeper.” He smiled suddenly. “Her Majesty’s Inspectorate. It sounds like a tune from a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. Or a contagious disease. Oh, doctor, I think I’ve caught a touch of Her Majesty’s Inspectorate. I can’t think where I got it from.”
Molly smiled.
“It’ll feel different once you start doing your first inspections. Have they given you any indication yet?”
Jeremy nodded.
“Yes, today. They’re sending me out as part of the team to inspect some posh private school. They think that it will be good experience.”
“I didn’t realise that private schools came under the umbrella of Ofsted?”
“Well, they do and they don’t,” said Jeremy. “They come under the auspices of the Independent Schools Inspectorate, but it’s still overseen by Ofsted. So how was your day?”
“Fine. It was good. I’m still feeling a touch of the new girl syndrome, but it’s wearing off. One of the residents had a bit of a meltdown, but other than that it was mostly sorting out a load of admin. Oh, and a new admission. George. Nice old bloke, but very ill. According to his medical notes, he probably hasn’t got much longer. He told me that he misses his cat. The Lodge has got a visiting pet scheme so I might take Aubrey in to keep him company for a bit.”
Aubrey glanced across at her. He hoped that she didn’t think she was going to start farming him out to all and sundry because, much as he adored Molly, there were some things up with which a cat should not put. On the other hand, if this George was lonely, he supposed it wouldn’t kill him to lend a helping paw. Also, there might be benefits involved. He couldn’t think what exactly, but he’d often been surprised, usually in a good way.
“No regrets?”
Molly shook her head.
“No. So far so good.”
“How are you getting on with the manager?”
“Well, he’s a bit different from Gavin. At least he doesn’t think he’s starring in an episode of L A Law. Honestly, how Gavin managed to wring drama from a routine conveyance, God alone knows. Anyway, Thomas is very friendly. Helpful.” She thought for a moment. “A bit bumbly, like the sort of school teacher that the kids would have laughed at but the first one they’d go to if they were in trouble. He wears those chunky cardigans with football buttons. In the old days he would have had a pipe. He told me that he spends his days off fishing.”
Jeremy smiled.
“He sounds rather nice.”
“He is. Actually, he’s good company. He’s got a kind of dry wit. Apparently, he was a mental health nurse, over at the old asylum before they closed it down.”
“Good experience for the dementia wing then?”
Molly nodded.
“He’s always very calm and he does really seem to care about the residents. In fact, if he spent as much time on paperwork as he does sitting around and talking to them, he probably wouldn’t need an assistant manager.”
“It must seem strange after Donoghue’s.”
Molly nodded.
“It does. But in a good way. At Donoghue’s it was all pretty much routine. At Lilac Tree Lodge I have no idea what’s going to happen—every day brings its own surprises.
They were silent for a moment and then Jeremy said,
“Do you think that you’ll miss working in a legal office?”
Molly shook her head.
“No, not really. I did enjoy it, but after everything that happened at Fallowfield…”
The silence returned. The murder that had taken place in the village of Fallowfield, and the dreadful story that had unfolded as a result, had shaken everybody. The charming cottage that they had been living in as part of Jeremy’s exchange year at Ferndale School had started to feel distinctly less than charming, and they had all secretly longed to get back to their old house.
Molly continued.
“I really wanted a complete change. I think that we all did. And what could be a nicer change than living by the sea?”
Aubrey agreed. When they’d first started talking about this sea side business, he had been totally bemused. It felt like no sooner had they got back home and he’d settled in again with his mates, than Jeremy had started applying for jobs and they’d been on the move. But it had been great.
The beach thing that he had been secretly dreading was less than ten minutes stroll from their new house and it was like one huge garden, only with that sand stuff instead of grass. And the rock pools were a thing of joy. The first time he’d spotted one he had spent all morning just dipping his paw in and out and nobody had even tried to stop him. And there were the caves, too. Big, dark cavernous spaces tucked below the cliffs. Perfect for a cat to go hunting and exploring. There were even scraps to be had from the people in the beach huts who seemed to spend a lot of time eating outside on their little verandas.
But the greatest thing about the move, the best of all, was that they had taken Vincent with them. He glanced across at his friend who had draped himself across the window sill, his sleek black fur glossy in the early evening sun, ostensibly asleep but in reality, clocking everything that went on outside.
They didn’t ever talk about it, but he knew how shaken Vincent had been that night when his owners didn’t return. For three consecutive days, Vincent had waited patiently for the sound of his owner’s car. And for three consecutive days it had failed to appear. The house had remained empty. Nobody had come in and nobody had gone out. At first, he had refused Aubrey’s offer of a shared food bowl, but eventually hunger had driven him to it. Molly, catching him in the kitchen one night, had started putting down two food bowls. To this day, Aubrey wasn’t sure what had happened to Vincent’s owners but he had overheard the word ‘tragedy’ and while he wasn’t quite sure what it meant, he had a fairly good idea.
When the time for the move came, it was obvious to all concerned that Vincent was coming with them. His only regret was that they hadn’t been able to take little Moses too, but Moses was happy enough chasing butterflies and eating as much, and sometimes more, than his round little tummy would take.
He looked up as Carlos came into the room. Even taller now, and showing every sign of turning into a handsome youth, he loped across the room and scooped Aubrey into his arms.
“How’d it go today, Molly?”
Carlos flopped down next to Jeremy on the sofa and leaned back, one hand rhythmically running the length of Aubrey’s back.
“I was just telling Jeremy. So far, so good. How was college?”
Carlos dipped his head and tickled Aubrey’s neck.
“Good. Yeah, good.”
Aubrey and Vincent exchanged glances. A good friend to both of them, particularly when it came to extra rations and allowing them to sleep on his bed, it was a matter of some relief that Carlos had settled in so well. Although having left school and now, in theory, being of an age where he might live independently, the issue of him setting up home elsewhere had never been raised. As far as Molly and Jeremy were concerned, they had taken him in after Maria, his mother, was murdered and his home was with them.
2
Toby paused outside the door and looked around him. Every time he came here, he was struck again by the subtle comfort of the place. With its plushy carpeted corridors and subdued lighting, the heating constantly on at a warm soothing temperature, this place was more like a luxury hotel than a residential home. His mouth tightened. George had all this, while he was still living in a shitty little borrowed caravan on the Happy Campers Caravan site. And he only had that until the season started up again in the spring. God knew what George was paying for this place, it must be costing a fortune. A fortune that should have been his. Well, some of it anyway. Without bothering to knock, he grasped the door handle and walked in.
“George, how are you? Settling in okay?”
The elderly gentleman turned and looked at him, his pale blue eyes cold.
“What are you doing here again?”
From their position on the end of his bed, Aubrey and Vincent stared across at the visitor. Initially slightly reluctant to accompany Molly to work, they had quickly discovered the up side to the arrangement. There were plenty of residents to give them treats and always somewhere warm to stretch out, and George was turning out to be a top bloke. Some of the other residents were, it had to be said, slightly less accommodating. As they had discovered when they had been forcibly ejected from two of the most comfortable chairs in one of the residents’ sitting rooms. However, as Vincent had said to Aubrey after their first outing as part of the visiting pet scheme, you had to take the rough with the smooth and by and large it looked as though they were on to a winner. Especially after they discovered the run of small balconies attached to all the rooms. As long as a window was open, it was Access All Areas.
The visitor looked back at them with obvious dislike and then glanced up at the display of photographs on the wall, pushing down a spike of irritation as he did so. The framed images of jolly family holidays with golden sands and buckets and spades, and tinsel-lit Christmases with roaring fires and wall to wall Christmas cards, all dating from well over half a century earlier, was a world away from the endless run of soon to be condemned council flats and damp rented rooms of his own childhood. And it was difficult not to notice that there were no images of himself among the family groupings. Not so much as a school photograph. But much as George might try, he couldn’t just airbrush him out of existence. He was here, whether George liked it or not.
He stared for a moment at the pictures of George’s mother, with her stupid little frilly apron, standing smiling over the Christmas pudding, all stiff permed hair and frosty blue eyeshadow. Who could blame their father for wanting a bit on the side? Any man would if he had to go home to that old bag every night. And that ugly little troll with the gingham dress and ribbons—the spitting image of her mother—she was a nasty piece of work too. Last he’d heard, Beth was in America having fallen out with both her parents and George, although she hadn’t despised them so much that she felt able to refuse the money that their father had continued to send her right up until he had died. George had put a stop to that as soon as he came into the estate.
That was typical of George. Never willingly do a good turn. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t done well out of the old man. He’d seen the will. Their father had left almost his entire estate, including the business, to George. Beth had received the small holiday cottage on the Isle of Wight and a hundred grand while he, Toby, had received only a paltry twenty thousand pounds in recognition, as his father had expressed it, of his younger son’s existence. What the fuck did that even mean? And George would have had that off him too, if he could have. Anyway, how far did twenty thousand pounds get you? Not far, was the answer. By the time he’d paid off a few debts and taken a holiday, it was gone.
He moved further into the room and sat down opposite his half-brother, leaning forward with his hands resting on his knees.
“So, George, how are you settling in?” he repeated.
George remained silent; his face impassive.
“How are you feeling?” he persisted. “Is there anything you need? Anything that I can get you?”
George screwed his face into a scowl of contempt.
“No. And I don’t want you coming here again. The neighbours should never have told you where I was.”
The younger man paused and then, with what was clearly an effort, assumed an amiable expression. “George, we are brothers. Half-brothers. And let’s face it, we’ve only got each other now. We could at least try to get along.”
