Millie's Game Plan (24 page)

Sacha was agog when I told her about my date with Josh. ‘So you’re gonna rev it up with the reverend, eh? I told you, didn’t I? He only had eyes for you.’

‘Don’t get carried away. I’m just doing him a favour.’

‘Yeah, and I’m just helping Marcus with the harvest.’ We both giggled. ‘He is quite hot though, don’t you think, Mills? Dog collars aside.’

‘Even in the dog collar…’

‘Really?!’ she shrieked. ‘I knew it. You’ve been having sneaky little fantasies about the vicar.’

I grinned. ‘He is really nice, though. I mean, funny and kind and…’

‘Seriously hot. You can say it.’

I couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from my face. We giggled some more.

Later, when we were making pasta carbonara, she asked, ‘What if it works out with you and Josh? Like…do you want to be a vicar’s wife?’

I stopped chopping the ham. ‘That would be a bit of a challenge, I have to admit.’

‘Not exactly the high life, is it? Think of all that hymn singing and flower arranging. And you’d have to look really interested during his sermons. He might even practise them on you.’ We both pulled a face. ‘And no more Sunday lie-ins. You’ll have to sit in church with a massive hangover.’

‘When was the last time I had a lie-in?’

‘You’ll have to stop swearing, too. And you can never be grumpy to anyone, ever.’

‘True. I’ll go to the ball – just for the experience – then I’ll dump him.’

‘No you don’t. Not before you’ve had your wicked way with him.’

I gave her one of my disapproving looks – one I’d learned at my mother’s knee.

‘D’you think he’ll want to put a ring on your finger first?’

‘I think you’re getting a teensy bit carried away now.’

‘It could lead to that, eventually.’

‘Well, right now, I’m just looking forward to spending some nice time with a decent guy.’

‘Hot guy.’

My tummy gave a little flip and I set about chopping the ham again.

On Thursday, I left the office at seven and shot into town to check out the options for a ball dress. Sexy but modest is a hard brief to fulfil but I found a sassy little number in kingfisher blue. It was stylish without being too revealing – one assumed one didn’t do revealing when escorting the clergy. It fitted so well, I nearly wept. It had a fish-tail skirt so I could dance without looking constipated; a double strap over one shoulder and tiny beads scattered across the bodice, which was engineered to mould my mini boobs into a flattering but not too showy cleavage.

I tottered back into Bridgeman Villas, soon after ten, to be met by the detritus of a partially consumed Indian take-away for two. I heaped it all together on a tray and parked it by the sink.

Marcus’s shoes were abandoned by the sofa, his grubby denim jacket was flung down beside them and a copy of
FHM
was on top of that. I’d also noticed our supermarket shop now regularly included a twelve pack of lager. It’s not that I minded buying drinks for guests but we used to buy lagers on a monthly basis not twice a week.

I sat down to watch the news but nodded off and woke with a crick in my neck around one o’clock. I forced myself through my cleansing ritual, hung my suit in the wardrobe and slid into bed. With any luck, I would sleep like a squirrel in winter. And I might have done, if Sacha hadn’t been so eager to bring me a cuppa on her way to her early shift.

‘Whaaa?’ I croaked as she sat on my bed.

‘Millie, I’ve got to tell you something,’ she hissed. ‘Wake up.’

‘Goway.’ I grunted.

‘Millie. It’s about your man, the vicar.’ She shook my arm. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘Don’t care. G’night.’

‘Please listen. He’s been arrested for that robbery. He was in on it.’

!*!*!*!

It had to be a dream – a nightmare.
My mate, Josh. He, who had kept my spirits up throughout that dreadful night, couldn’t possibly…

I forced my eyes open. Sacha was still there and, by the set of her shoulders and the gape of her mouth, deadly serious. ‘Marcus told me. It’s something to do with drugs.’

Drugs.

Josh the recovering addict…who helped homeless people…at least, he said he did. It was true – wasn’t it? My hand drifted up to my cheek. The bruising had faded but I hadn’t forgotten. ‘How – what – are you sure?’

She stroked my arm. ‘Half the village saw him driven away in a police car. I thought you’d want to know. Poor you.’

Poor me, indeed.

‘Wish I could stay with you, Mills, but Marcus is giving me a lift. Will you be okay?’

‘Where is he? What’s going to happen?’

‘Dunno. The police picked him up last night. Apparently they were asking lots of questions in the pub, too.’

I gaped at her.

‘Yeah, this is serious shit. Look, I’ve got to go but I’ll call you in my break, okay?’ She planted a kiss on my forehead and left.

I lay back, disbelief weaving through my memories…his concussion, the blood. It couldn’t possibly be true. Nobody would go to those lengths. Or would they?

Drugs.

But he’d told me about his mother, about Lucas and the homeless centre, about his calling to the church.

My mind was a muddle. I hate muddles.

I took a shower, a long shower. Soaping myself mechanically, I thought back to the morning when I’d soaked in the bath at Josh’s – three weeks ago. I leant my head against the tiles and allowed the water to massage my neck. None of it made sense.

I turned off the shower.

Wandering back and forth, from bathroom to bedroom to sitting room, it took me over an hour to get ready for work. My lovely ball dress was hanging on the outside of the wardrobe, sheathed in a clear polythene bag. Moving it to one side, I pulled out a grey, cotton dress and stepped into it. Sacha was right – this was serious shit indeed.

I needed to know more. Scrabbling in my handbag, I pulled out the leaflet PC Ryan had given me, with my crime reference number on it. I rang and waited, hoping against hope that there had been some mistake. Surely Josh had just been taken in to give more details on the incident. They’d probably call for me next…

Sadly, no. I was told by a softly-spoken girl that they were indeed talking to a suspect. Her voice came to me through a fog of disbelief.

‘Is it Josh Warwick?’ I asked.

‘I’m afraid I can’t release the identity, at present. But, as a victim, you will be informed in due course.’

‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and hung up.

As I cradled the phone in my hand, it trilled into life.

Lex.

Oh, wouldn’t it just be grand if he was ringing to crow about Josh? I decided to give him my professional greeting, ‘Millie Carmichael.’

‘Listen, I’m sorry to do this to you, Millie, but we’re dropping the Spritzah! Campaign. Charles and I are agreed, it’s not really going quite the way we intended.’

‘You mean
, you’re dropping my campaign. You’re terminating the contract.’

‘Look, don’t take it personally. You did some marvellous work. We just don’t think the product’s ready for market. I’m sure you come across this kind of thing, all the time.’

The voice that once sounded so charming, now sounded plain smarmy. ‘I see. But we’ll still have to bill you for the work we’ve done so far.’

‘Of course.
Look, must dash. No hard feelings, Millie? You’re a fabulous girl, you know.’

‘On a scale of one to ten, Lex, how fabulous?
As fabulous as the music students at Clavering?’

‘Clavering?’
There was a pause. ‘Oh, Millie, don’t be sour.’

Sour? I looked at my phone and switched it off. The only thing stopping me from telling him to get stuffed was the fear he might not pay his bill.

What is it they say – as one door closes, another one whips your tits off?

I looked at the clock, eight-fifty. Shit. I was going to be late – again.

If I hadn’t had two important meetings to go in for, I’d have pulled a sickie.

Sometimes, work is a blessing. I remember after Dad died, I’d thrown myself into work to occupy my mind. Keeping busy had been essential. So, for the first two hours in the office, I hit the phones like my life depended on it, trying to drum up more business to seal Ostler’s fate, but either nobody was in or budgets were tight. My two meetings were a nightmare; my concentration wandered, and questions I asked – just to prove I
was
concentrating – turned out to have already been asked by other people. At one point, Graham scowled at me across the table and I swear he wrote
Sack Millie
on his notepad. He’d already heard me talking to accounts about sending the invoice out to Marshal & Crowe. Trouble was, we hadn’t received a purchase order yet – without that we couldn’t invoice.

Thank God it was Friday. But no summer ball for me, tomorrow. Not unless, by some miracle, Josh’s arrest turned out to be a horrible mistake. Marcus didn’t know everything. Just because the police had asked questions and taken Josh to the police station didn’t mean he was guilty. Hell! I’d been down at the police station myself, that didn’t make me a criminal.

After work, I went straight to Marshalhampton. As I drove past the cricket green, an old chap was bumping along on a mower, an unlit pipe clutched between his teeth. I figured there’d be a rich stream of hearsay in the pub but couldn’t bring myself to go in. Instead I carried on along the lane towards the vicarage. My heart thumped as I saw Josh’s sports car on the drive. He was home. I pulled onto the verge. That must mean he was innocent.

As I hurried up to the vicarage, my sandals click-clacked along the tarmac.
I rang the doorbell.

Nothing.

I peered through the front window. No sign of life. I went back and rattled the door-knocker. Again, nothing. Thinking he might be at the church, I ran across the road and through the churchyard but the huge wooden door was locked.

For a teensy moment, I considered walking through to Marshalhampton House but that might risk bumping into Lex.

I drove back to the pub and went in. Leaning against the bar were two guys I recognised. I ordered an orange juice and leaned alongside them.

‘Hi, you’re on the cricket team, aren’t you?’ I asked.

They exchanged glances. The taller one spoke. ‘And you’re that girl who got locked in the church, aren’t you?’

‘That’s me. And now I’ve heard they might have arrested Josh for it, is that true?’

‘So they say. Who’d have thought it?’

And so the discussion continued, dripping with speculation and disbelief.
Only when a chap sitting by the window called, ‘Look out, the cops are back!’ did it stop. I was fastest to the window, peering out as the car turned towards the vicarage. Josh’s profile was unmistakable through the rear window.

‘Looks like they’ve brought him home,’ someone said.

A wave of optimism washed over me. ‘I bet it’s just a fuss about nothing.’

‘Yeah, let’s hope so,’ someone said. ‘If those crooks got Josh’s keys, they could easily have planted drugs in his house.’

‘There were drugs? In the vicarage?’ I asked.

‘Apparently.’

I bet nobody in Marshalhampton knew Josh’s guilty secret…but the police would.

Bloody hell. Bloody, buggering, bollixing hell! Josh had drugs in the vicarage. It
could
have been a set-up, especially since nothing else had gone missing. Either way, he was in it up to his armpits. I tabled my orange juice and left.

This time, there was a police car on the vicarage drive. I drew a deep breath, rattled the door-knocker and waited. Nick Ryan, the policeman who’d interviewed us, opened the door. His professional scowl lifted in recognition. I shoved stray strands of hair behind my ears and folded my arms.

‘I’d like to speak to Josh, please.’

‘I’m sorry, Millie, I’m afraid you can’t.’

‘But I need to speak to him. Josh!’ I yelled, trying to look through the window.

Nick stepped forward. ‘I’m sorry, Millie. The conditions of his bail don’t permit him to have any contact with you.’

Bail? Then they really had arrested him. ‘Why not?’

‘Because you are a witness and a victim.’

‘Are you serious? Did Josh do it?’

Nick stepped forward. ‘Sorry, love. This isn’t the place to find out.’

‘Josh is responsible for…’ I touched my cheek.

Nick pulled the door closed behind him. ‘I have to ask you to leave, Millie. You can’t stay here. I’m very sorry.’

He was being so
nice, I thought it was worth one more try. ‘I can’t believe he did it, Nick, can you?’

He stretched his neck as though his collar were too tight. The short white sleeves of his uniform shirt showed patches of perspiration. ‘Please leave, Millie. I don’t want to have to escort you off the premises.’