Queen bee, p.1
Queen Bee, page 1
Queen Bee
Nina Manning
For Savannah, the Queen Bee of our family.
Contents
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
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Acknowledgments
Book Club Questions
More from Nina Manning
About the Author
About Boldwood Books
1
10 May 2019 – 8.15 a.m. – Gloucester Police Station
Interview with Natasha Redwood, deputy head of Helesbury Primary School
I had my suspicions from the start. In my job, I interact with hundreds of people every day, you see. Something never sat quite right with me, but I couldn’t ever put my finger on it. It was a gut instinct – you know that feeling? There was this void opening up between Evie and Miranda when they had previously been best friends, inseparable, for over a year. Then along comes Verity, and suddenly, Evie is a different person. So yes, if you’re asking were there any clues, then, yes, of course, in hindsight – oh, the joy of hindsight! I can look back now and realise that everything that didn’t add up at the time, that I pushed aside, were glaringly obvious clues. I should have said something sooner. Maybe then things would have ended differently. But you don’t, do you? You ignore the clues – you always ignore them. Even when they are screaming at you in the face.
2
Before
The woman walked along the beach, the wind whipping her hair across her face. She hadn’t wanted to come out that morning, but when Bernie, her eight-year-old West Highland terrier, had come and sat next to her feet, looking up at her with his little watery eyes, she couldn’t bear it any longer. Once in the bracing air, she hadn’t felt glad that she was out in the way that people often did; she thought only of the cosy warm embers of the fire lingering in the hearth and the tin of cookies she had baked with the grandchildren two days before, now perfectly chewy and begging to be dipped into a cup of hot chocolate. But she kept pushing forward, hat pulled firmly over her ears, scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and hands stuffed firmly in her pockets.
She watched as Bernie raced ahead, sniffing in between the small wooden boats moored away on the shore near the brambles. She never understood who owned these boats – most of them looked so old and decrepit. The row of boats came to an end and then a strip of brightly coloured beach huts came into view. The woman had been intending to turn around and head back to the main path that would lead her back home to the warm fire and chocolate, but Bernie had scampered off ahead and was already at the second beach hut, sniffing and cocking his leg. The huts ran for another hundred yards or so. Only a little further – she would turn around at the end of them and head home.
She trudged reluctantly towards Bernie, who had now thankfully stopped, giving her time to catch up with him, the wind coaxing her along from behind this time. Bernie was sniffing near one particular beach hut and so the woman presumed he would take another pee and move on, but he jumped up onto the small wooden veranda – his ears pricked up, as though he were now waiting for someone to walk right out. The woman arrived next to him and noticed that this hut was one of the shabbier ones on the block. The paint had probably been a bright, bold blue once, but had now been bleached an insipid turquoise and was peeling off in strips, revealing the austere wood behind it. It was mid-January, and none of the huts along this stretch would open until at least mid-March, when the owners began getting them back into shape again for the spring and summer season. But something about this particular hut had enticed Bernie over. He wasn’t any kind of working hunting dog, but occasionally something would grab his attention.
The woman stopped next to Bernie as he cocked his head from side to side the way he would when someone was talking to him in that high-pitched way people sometimes spoke to animals.
‘What is it then, boy?’ The woman’s breath was a little short and ragged from her exertion in the winter elements. She stuffed her hands further into her pockets, the bitter unrelenting wind thrust itself at her back, and she stumbled forward, taking the four steps to join Bernie on the veranda, who was in no hurry to move. These beach huts were worth a few quid more than the ones down at the tourist beach; people paid for the luxury to be off the beaten track and away from the masses – not forgetting the extra twelve square foot and extra-large window they got for their pound. The front of the beach hut was a glass bi-folding door with a net curtain running across it – perhaps to reduce some of the light bleaching the interiors, but more likely to stop passers-by stopping and staring in.
‘Come on now, Bernie. Whatever is it?’ The woman crouched at her dog’s side.
He cocked his head once more, left then right, as though he were following a conversation at a frequency beyond his mistress’s hearing.
‘We really need to be getting back now.’ She patted his head and thought of the last log she had put on the fire before she left the house; it would be burnt down by now. She braced herself to stand – she wasn’t putting up with this nonsense any more – but as she went to turn, she saw a flicker of something move in the corner of the window at the same time as Bernie let out a little bark. She stayed looking at the front of the beach hut; the bi-folding doors were on a latch, but there was no lock. This time, she dropped again to her knees. Then, just as though she had summoned it, the net curtain twitched. Then it moved a centimetre. And then a small hand pulled the curtain to one side, revealing the face of a child, pale faced, perhaps five or six years old. Their hair was cut jaggedly short so that it was impossible to tell if they were a boy or a girl. The woman gasped, stood and staggered backwards.
‘Is your mummy or daddy there?’ the woman said loudly to the window, looking around the empty beach for a sign of anyone who could claim this child as theirs. The child shook their head.
‘Are you all alone?’ The woman tried again.
The child nodded.
The woman grappled in her pocket for her phone and without hesitation dialled 999.
3
Dinner at mine, seven thirty? X
I pressed send on the text and waited for the reply. Anabel was eating her spaghetti and David was still at work. I had little else on that day, so I had time to wait for the reply to come back from Evie. We had made a loose arrangement to see one another that evening; I’d been having trouble finalising the specs on the recent set of candles I had created, and Evie was so good for bouncing ideas off. She was a busy mum – like we all were – but she always found time for me. Like, always. In the year since we’d met, I could count on one finger the number of times Evie had ever cancelled, and that had been with good reason – her daughter, Juno, had been throwing up all day. At forty-three, I finally felt like I was in a proper friendship – as sad as that may seem. The time and effort I had poured into female relationships in the past, only for them to turn out to be merely masquerading as friendships, was thankfully a distant memory. Pity I’d had to wait until it all blew up in my face before I discovered that. But that was then. This was a new life; this was what real companionship felt like, not one based on superficial hugs and praise.
The last year has been a new beginning for me, and I wanted to celebrate one whole year living in the tiny village of Helesbury, and who better to do that with than my best friend, Evie. I had never before referred to a grown woman as my best friend. It had always felt a little childish – adults didn’t parade around announcing to the world that they were best friends. But I knew Evie felt the same way as me. We were both incredibly grateful to have one another.
Evie’s reply came through just as my daughter, Anabel, sucked up her last piece of spaghetti.
Perfect, Miranda, looking forward to it x
I felt my heart swell with happiness.
‘Well done, sweetheart,’ I said to Anabel as she took her empty plate to the dishwasher. Anabel had always been a good eater. From the day she had taken her first bite of solid food just over eight years ago, I had known she was going to be one of those kids who didn’t make a fuss with her food, and I’m not ashamed to admit there had been jealousy from other mothers who struggled to get anything remotely healthy inside their kids, whereas Anabel was wolfing down every fru
I turned out the light in Anabel’s room and blew her a final kiss just before seven thirty, and then heard the familiar light knock on the front door. I arrived downstairs moments later and looked at my beautiful friend, her cheeks flushed from the walk over here in the late March wind. She pulled off her beanie hat and her bobbed blonde hair was ruffled, yet she still managed to look chic. We greeted one another with our usual kiss and a hug. She smelt faintly of vanilla or coconut – I was never sure which and had never asked her what product it was, as though asking may suddenly alter its presence in some way.
She un-swaddled herself from her oversized scarf and draped it over the banister. ‘I’m so desperate for summer now.’ Evie laughed in that hoarse throaty way she always did, which I found so endearing. ‘I am so sick of these layers.’
I chastised David for leaving his coat flung on the banister every day when he arrived home from work, but Evie doing it felt comforting, like she was familiar enough with me and being in my home to leave her belongings where they found themselves.
We walked through into the kitchen. ‘Well, I’ve created a little piece of the Mediterranean here tonight – a little prelude to the summer months to come.’ I held my arms out to emphasise my efforts.
‘Oh wow!’ Evie gushed at the array of colours and textures laid out on the table. Chorizo, artichoke, yellow peppers and sun-dried tomato hummus. ‘This is so beautiful. Thank you.’
She handed me a bottle of wine, still chilled, and I took down two glasses from the cupboard. ‘No, Evie. Thank you.’ I popped the cork and poured. ‘You’ve been such a great friend to me this last year. I don’t think I would have managed it without you.’
‘Oh, you would have.’ Evie took a glass and we clinked them together lightly. ‘You’re a very strong person. Very inspiring too.’ She looked at me knowingly and I felt a flutter in my stomach. Strong was not how some would have described me before I moved here. But no one knew that side of me in Helesbury. Here, I was someone Evie looked up to. I couldn’t quite believe how lucky I had been, and I knew that it had to be luck. We live in a world where anyone could find anything out about anyone at a touch of a few buttons, and yet here I was enjoying an almost entirely new life in the countryside, no one any wiser to my past. It felt like I had been reborn; as though I had been given a fresh chance with a new friend. And this time I was going to hold on to her.
‘You’ve achieved so much in such a short space of time,’ Evie continued with her praise. ‘The move, getting Anabel settled, getting your business going. I mean, you launched the first village book club – which was exactly what was needed here by the way. I would have done it myself a long time ago, but I have been far too busy. Everyone loves you even more now. You’re quite the queen bee. And I mean that in a good way – every tribe needs its queen.’
I felt my cheeks redden. She was only being nice and trying to flatter me, but the truth was I had realised the moment that I moved here that Evie was the most popular woman in the village, adored by all. Had I really taken her spot in such a short space of time? I had certainly no intention of moving into Evie’s spot; in my eyes, she was still the most adored woman in the village.
‘I’m really looking forward to book club this week.’ I smiled. ‘I’ve got so many suggestions for titles for the next few months.’
‘Of course you do – and you always give great recommendations. I’m really looking forward to Thursday, too.’ Evie’s phone pinged from the table where she’d put it when she walked in. She picked it up and swiped the screen to open it as she continued. ‘Honestly. An absolute breath of fresh air, as I said exactly what…’ Evie was looking at her phone as her voice trailed away.
‘Well, don’t stop praising me now – I was just getting used to the compliments.’ I laughed but stopped abruptly when I could see Evie wasn’t laughing. ‘Evie?’
Evie glanced up, but she was looking straight through me.
‘Is everything okay?’ I asked.
She shook her head as though dragging herself from a daydream. ‘Yes, all absolutely fine. A client I’ve neglected, that’s all.’ She shoved her phone into her handbag.
I quickly searched Evie’s face for the truth I was sure she was trying to hide from me. What had she seen that had caused that glimmer of concern? And more importantly, should I be worried? These days a world of information was at your fingertips through a smartphone. Had Evie seen something? Something about me?
‘Anyway, here’s to wonderful you and this gorgeous house. And to one year in Helesbury!’
I was thrust back into the moment by Evie’s usual optimism. She held her glass out again, and I clinked it and felt the warmth in her voice. ‘Cheers,’ we both said in unison.
As I sipped the cool drink, I allowed myself to feel that I deserved this happiness. The past was in the past. I was here with my fabulous new friend, revelling in my new life. Things could only get better.
4
I was late for book club, which this evening was being hosted by the lovely Hatty. But I would not allow the lateness to absorb me. Back in London, no one would have batted an eyelid if I’d turned up half an hour or even an hour late – things seemed to get going a lot later there – whereas here, it was just going to be me and five other women in a kitchen in a small village on the edge of the Cotswolds. I couldn’t just slip in unnoticed. It wasn’t our first meeting, but I still felt I wanted – no, needed – to make a good impression. I felt as though I was on probation; one slip-up and things could come crashing down on me again. It terrified me because I knew how easily it could happen.
David had to drag me to Helesbury kicking and screaming but now he’d have a hard time getting me to leave. I’d settled in much quicker than anticipated – as though it was always meant to be – especially when I met my Evie. My sweet Evie. We’d met at the school gates, our daughters – both aged eight, going on eighteen – in the same class. Evie hadn’t been living here for long when I arrived, but she had already secured her popular and well-respected status. She made me realise what friends were again.
Hatty had three boys at the local primary, whom she was raising with impeccable manners, but she was also on the PTA, volunteered once a week for the Samaritans and ran a small online hamper business. The woman was a legend. Except when it was her turn to choose books for the book club, but the less said about that, the better.
Hatty and her husband lived in the old post office, the actual post office having been incorporated into the local shop. It was a mere four-minute walk from my house, so I got to wear heels and feel a little bit glam, because that’s how I like to feel. I still liked to think I had ‘it’, whatever it is. After I had Anabel, I lost all my confidence. And just as I was starting to feel more like my old self, everything fell apart and I was right back down there again. No confidence, no friends. All my own doing. And I was still repenting for those mistakes.
