“We no longer have a son.” Jeff’s father spoke in a voice borrowed from Peter Lorre, and I tried not to flinch.
“That lying no-hoper.” Mrs Hope was more London fishwife with PMS than a Hollywood villain, although the effect was no less disturbing. She glanced around, saw the room was empty apart from ourselves and sat on a nearby chair. Her husband stood behind her. His fingers twitched, and, for a moment, I pictured him reaching for her neck.
“That’s crap.” Sue hung onto Elvis as he lunged for the Hopes. “You still have a son, and he is a lying no-hoper. That’s why we’re here. Where is he?”
I watched them closely as Mrs Hope curled a lip. “We have no idea, and we don’t care.”
“We gave up on Jeffrey many years ago.” Ben Hope drummed his fingers on his wife’s chair and then clenched his fists, and I imagined him grabbing a pistol and firing warning shots among the palm trees.
I found my voice again. “Aren’t you curious to know why I’m here? Whatever he’s done, you’re still Jeff’s parents.”
Mrs Hope narrowed her eyes. “If you’ve come looking for money, you can leave now.”
“I’m beginning to understand Jeff,” Sue muttered.
“I don’t want money,” I said. “I want to find my husband.”
“We don’t know where he is. He hasn’t spoken to us since he was twenty years old.”
I looked at Peter Lorre with Jeff’s fantastic hair and changed tack. “Jeff told me you died when he was twelve. What happened between you?”
“I came to this country from Austria when I was a boy, and my father changed our family name to fit in. I worked hard to build a good life for us, but our son didn’t appreciate it.” He patted his wife’s shoulders.
“Jeff was trouble from the start.” Mrs Hope reached up with a hand dripping in gold jewellery to slap her husband’s wrist. “Stop that.”
Jeff’s father snatched his hands away, clasped them behind his back and stood like Prince Charles. Irene Hope took up the narrative. “From the moment our son could speak, he lied. I’m not exaggerating. Jeffrey lied about everything. He told people he was adopted and that my husband was a gangster and had been in prison. Jeffrey lied about exam results. He stole from us and denied it. I would be here for hours telling you every lie he told.”
“Does Jeff have any brothers or sisters?”
“No. After Jeffrey, we had Basenjis.”
I almost expressed sympathy and asked if it was treatable, and then I remembered a Basenji was a breed of dog. Jeff’s mother looked at Sue. “Let him go.”
“I’m sorry – what?”
“Your dog. What is he, a Labradoodle? Let him come to me.”
“He’s Marnie’s dog.” Sue let go, and Elvis surged forward.
Mrs Hope held up her hand. “Sit.” Her voice was no-nonsense. Elvis sat. She stroked the side of his neck, and he gazed adoringly at her.
“Wow.” I was impressed. “Can I hire you as a trainer?”
Jeff’s mother smiled for the first time, transforming her face into that of Mrs Thatcher winning a second term in office. “We miss having dogs; we’re thinking of letting guests bring theirs. What’s his name?”
“Elvis.”
“Has Jeffrey lied to you also?” Ben Hope looked at me.
“Yes. Big time. But I only found out recently.” I couldn’t meet his eyes – and not only because of the Peter Lorre resemblance - I felt ashamed and such a fool. “He left me for a younger woman.”
“Huh, that sounds like Jeffrey.” Irene Hope smirked. “Why are you looking for him? To beg him to come back?”
“What? No! Why does everyone think that? I want a divorce.”
“He did have a schoolfriend,” Jeff’s father said slowly, “He might have kept in touch…Oliver, I think.”
“Yes, I’ve been to see him. No dice.”
“Oh, well, sorry we can’t help you.”
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The interview was at an end. Mrs Hope rose, and Elvis wagged his tail. She picked up his leash and turned to the entrance. “We’ll see you out.”
We left the visitor’s lounge in an awkward procession led by Jeff’s mother and my dog, causing the receptionist to do a double-take as we passed. Outside on the promenade, Irene Hope handed Elvis to me. “Take good care of him.”
“Jeff?” I stared, agog at this change of heart.
“Your dog.” She tutted, rolled her eyes, and marched back inside the hotel. We walked away, and Mr Hope stared at us through the glass doors until we were out of sight.
“So, d’you think Jeff was born a lying no-hoper?” Sue asked me.
“Or he had Margaret Thatcher and Peter Lorre for parents and coped as best he could?”
Sue laughed. “Nah, your high-flying parents couldn’t be bothered and left you with your gran all the time, and you’re not a sleazy, lying scumbag.”
“Thanks. Not a sleazy, lying scumbag. I might put that on my CV.”
It was true my parents had been less than enthusiastic about my upbringing and more interested in their fledgling event management business. They relocated abroad when I left home for university, and, despite flashes of loneliness, I had relished the freedom and the extra time with my gran and Sue. Maybe Jeff had felt the same.
“Where are they, America somewhere?” Sue asked.
“Last phone call was from Florida. They might retire there near Gran.” I banished my parents from my thoughts and walked faster. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“Marnie.” Sue’s voice was sharp, and I stopped and looked at her. “Wait. Slow down and take a breather. We can stay a bit longer; there’s no mad rush.” She grabbed my arm and led me to a crossing. “I know the perfect thing.”
Sue left me sitting on a bench with Elvis at my feet. I looked out to sea and pondered family dynamics and wondered if Jeff had any friends at all or if he’d lied and cheated and burnt all his bridges.
“Here we go.” Sue returned with two large ice creams and one small cone. “There’s one for the boy wonder.”
“Lovely, cheers.” I took my cone, and Sue plonked down beside me and held Elvis’s ice cream for him to lick. It got messy very quickly. “Should have asked Audrey for some of her wipes.”
We ate in silence – well, apart from Elvis – and my thoughts returned, inevitably, to Jeff. I remembered our first meeting in a noisy pub, then the rush of excitement, that heady mix of lust and wondering what the future held and would he be part of mine? We laughed a lot at the beginning and had in-jokes, film references, and silly voices. It wasn’t all bad.
“I’m sure it wasn’t.” Sue fished a tissue from her bag and scrubbed her hands. “Or you wouldn’t have lasted as long as you did.”
“Did I say that out loud?” Damn. I checked that no one else had witnessed the deranged woman guzzling ice cream and muttering to herself. “I need a new plan.”
“Okay. What do we know so far?”
“Jeff’s a wazzock.”
“Ye…es. But I meant generally, in the grand scheme of your investigation.”
“Who am I, Miss Marple?” I finished my cone and forced myself to concentrate. “Okay, Jeff left on Saturday morning and didn’t come back. I visited the Bayfields and discovered he’d left his job three months ago and won a fortune on the lottery. His fancy piece turned up at my door talking about spy rings and the CIA. Then I visited Cheryl and Ollie and found out Jeff lied from our first meeting. Now we’ve met the parents, and I’m no further forward.” I stared at a seagull marching past our bench, reined Elvis in, and had an idea. “Her. Nicola X or whatever the hell she’s called. She told me she was renting a flat in Lufton, and she’d worked in the supermarket.”
“So that means…?”
“I can go and ask around, find out her real name and where she lives and see if my dear husband is shacked up with her.”
“Genius. You are Miss Marple – only younger and better-dressed. That’s why you’re the detective, and I’m the one who buys the ice cream.”
“You’re the Hastings to my Poirot.”
“Everyone needs a sidekick.”
At that, Elvis turned to me, whined, looked along the prom and then back at me. He repeated this performance, adding a small dance at the end.
“There’s nothing like a subtle hint,” I said, and then Sue and I chorused, “And that was nothing like a subtle hint.”
We walked back to the car, not discussing Jeff, his lies, and where he might be until I’d driven halfway to Lufton, and then we talked tactics for my supermarket sweep.
“I’ll play it by ear,” I said, and Sue nodded.
“If you meet someone who likes her, you do too.”
“Exactly. I’ll pretend Nicola X is a long-lost friend.” I frowned. “That’ll test my acting skills.”
“You could always ask Mr Ben–”
“No. Behave.”
“And if you find her worst enemy?”
“That could be me.”
“Her second-worst?”
“I’ll be vague.”
Sue nodded, and then her phone rang. “It’s Don. Hi, yeah, everything ok? Oh. Uh-huh. Yes, of course. No, I’m going back to Marnie’s. Yes, see you then.” She ended the call. “Oh, great.”
“Is it Colin?”
“No. Don’s latest girlfriend turned up at the house, and he invited her to dinner.”
“What’s she like?”
“Don’t know, never met her. After the week I’ve had, I wanted a quiet night and a takeaway.” Sue heaved an enormous sigh. The supermarket swam into view, sitting above Lufton like a squat, concrete castle. I imagined it repelling shoppers with vats of boiling virgin olive oil and cans of beans fired from one of those enormous wooden catapult things.
“What are you smiling at?” Sue asked as I found an empty space.
“Um, I was miles away.”
“Elvis and I will wait in the car.”
“I should buy something while I’m in there.”
“You got any gin?”
“A nearly-full bottle.”
“Get some tonic and a few lemons.”
“The essentials.” I rummaged around for a shopping bag. “All the major food groups.”
“Just the ones that matter,” Sue called out as I marched towards the automatic doors. I entered, grabbed a basket and made my way up the first aisle. Overhead, the Beatles sang ‘Nowhere Man’, and I thought of my husband, the nowhere-to-be-found-man.