Preface to Murder, M Morris [best selling autobiographies TXT] 📗

‘Of course,’ said Ffion. ‘But we’ve got a lifetime of moments ahead of us, haven’t we?’

‘Sure, naturally,’ said Marion. ‘A lifetime, of course. But for now, let us live in the present. Who knows what the future might bring?’

15

The next morning was Sunday, a day of rest. As if, thought Bridget, but she permitted herself a half-hour lie-in and a leisurely breakfast (although it wasn’t the same without Jonathan’s trademark scrambled eggs) before driving to the short-stay car park at Oxford station to await the arrival of Chloe’s train from London. Her daughter had been away for three full days, and Bridget was missing her dreadfully. She had spoken to Jonathan again the previous evening, and he had helped to soothe her fraying nerves, but almost as soon as she’d finished the call, her problems had begun to close in on her again. When she was alone in the house, they had a habit of crowding in to fill the void, especially in the darkest hours of the night. She would be very glad to have Chloe back home, causing all her usual noise and disruption to the smooth running of the house, and generally helping Bridget to put her troubles into perspective.

The train came in on time and a minute later Chloe appeared, sauntering across the car park with a wide-brimmed hat on her head, laden with shopping bags, and dragging a suitcase on wheels behind her. Bridget jumped out of the car to greet her.

‘Hi Mum!’

‘Hi.’ Bridget wrapped her arms around her in a big hug, or at least as far as she could with Chloe being so encumbered with shopping. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Of course!’ Chloe was breathless with excitement. ‘I had the most amazing time.’

‘It looks like you’ve been shopping.’

‘Well, sure, Mum, that was the whole point of the trip.’

‘Let’s get everything into the car and you can tell me all about it. Just put everything on the back seat for now.’ Bridget opened the car door and stood aside to allow Chloe to shove all her gear into the back.

As soon as they were moving, Chloe reached behind her and pulled out a bag featuring the logo of an expensive footwear brand. She lifted the lid off the box and extracted a pair of patent red leather stilettos with heels like skyscrapers. ‘Look at these, Mum! Aren’t they amazing!’

Bridget stole a quick glance at the shoes, then slammed on the brakes to avoid a double-decker bus that was lumbering round the drop-off zone outside the station entrance. ‘Can you walk in them?’ she asked.

‘Of course I can. At least I’ll be able to with a bit of practice. Tamsin showed me how to do it. They’re just perfect for my dress.’

‘Are they really?’ asked Bridget, as she turned out of the station and into the flowing traffic on Frideswide Square. ‘So what’s the dress like?’

It was obvious that Chloe was bursting to tell her. ‘Oh my God, it’s just so amazing. It’s in red silk, cut on the bias so it’s really clingy, and it’s cut away at the back in a plunging V, so obviously I won’t be able to wear a bra with it, but it’s designed with hidden support at the front which gives my figure a real boost.’

‘It sounds…’ Bridget was lost for words. If she was honest, it didn’t sound at all suitable for a fifteen-year-old girl. ‘Will it be warm enough?’ she asked lamely.

‘Oh, Mum, don’t be such a frump. Who cares about being warm? Anyway, the wedding’s in the summer. It’ll be perfect. Have you chosen your outfit yet?’

‘Not yet,’ said Bridget. ‘I’m a little tied up at work right now.’ Oh God, what was she going to wear? There was no point trying to compete with Chloe in her figure-hugging, bare-backed silk gown. She might as well cover herself from head to toe in some shapeless garment that would hide the extra inches she’d added to her girth since Christmas. With luck, no one would recognise her. But that was foolish thinking. The last thing she wanted was Tamsin taking one look at her and thinking no wonder Ben had left her. She would have to make an effort, for her own sense of dignity. Maybe Chloe would be able to offer her some good advice.

She cast a sideways glance at her daughter. There was another thing – make-up. Subtly and expertly applied, but clearly visible nonetheless. It made Chloe look much older than her fifteen years. That was presumably another of Tamsin’s influences. Bridget felt her own influence slipping further and further away.

They dropped the bags off in Wolvercote and then drove round to Sunderland Avenue to pick up Chloe’s boyfriend, Alfie. After weeks of cajoling and dropping not-so-subtle hints, Bridget had finally persuaded Chloe to bring him back to the house a fortnight earlier so that she and Jonathan could meet him.

Bridget had been just as nervous as the young couple themselves, wondering what she’d do if Alfie turned out to be the unsuitable boyfriend that she had convinced herself he was. But she had been pleasantly surprised. Alfie turned out to be a delightful young man, if a little on the skinny side, with wavy dark hair that reached almost to his shoulders. He stood about a head taller than Bridget. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Hart,’ he’d said, holding out his hand to her, and Bridget had been quite charmed. ‘Call me Bridget,’ she’d replied, beaming at him.

Afterwards, she’d had second thoughts. And third thoughts. Was he too polite? Had his politeness been nothing more than a cynical act? And, most worrisome of all, was the reason she’d found him so alluring because of his striking resemblance to her ex-husband, Ben? But Jonathan, as usual, had dismissed her concerns. ‘He makes Chloe happy,’