At eleven o’clock, June pulled on her shoes, grabbed her bag, and stepped outside into the suffocating August heat. She made her way slowly up the hill, keeping to the shady side so she didn’t get too sweaty and make her hair even frizzier. Thankfully, Alex had told her he was going to London for the weekend, so there was no risk of him seeing her in this ridiculous outfit.
As June approached the church hall, she could hear the sound of music from inside. That was good; it must have meant the FOCL event was underway and busy already. She slowed down as she walked past, keen to get a glimpse inside.
There were only a dozen people in the room, most of whom were FOCL members and their families. Stanley was manning what must have been the raffle table, on which June could see a few bottles of wine, some homemade jam, and a miserable-looking stuffed elephant, and Chantal was sitting behind the cake stall. To June’s surprise, Vera was there too, prowling around the room with no sign of a foot injury. A large hand-painted banner was hanging on the back wall, but the ties had come loose, and all June could make out wasave chalcot libra.
Mrs.B was standing near the door, shouting into a walkie-talkie, “This is Eagle. Come in, Sparrow. The school choir will be here in ten minutes. I repeat, ten minutes. We need more fucking people!”
Was this it? After all the work Mrs.B and Stanley had put in, this was one of the saddest scenes June had ever seen. She turned and headed up the road, too embarrassed to watch any more. As she neared the bus stop, she saw a gray van parked close by, with a woman in a blue suit leaning against it, smoking. She looked familiar, and June was trying to work out what books she borrowed when she realized it was the local news journalist, Tessa something or other. She was talking to a woman who was fiddling with a fancy-looking camera.
“This is a complete waste of time,” Tessa was saying. “There’s no way we’ll get a story out of this.”
“Want me to pack up the kit?” the camerawoman said.
“We might as well film the kids singing, but we’ll go straight after that.”
The bus pulled up and June jumped on board. As she took a seat, she watched Tessa drop the cigarette on the pavement and grind it out with her foot, a bored expression on her face. This was a disaster.How were they going to save the library when they couldn’t even get on the local news?
It was almost twelve o’clock by the time June disembarked on a narrow country lane, and a bus journey spent readingRebeccahad done nothing to calm her nerves. She still had a mile-long walk to get to the hotel, and soon June felt sweat streaming off her body under the thick university gown.
Behind her, June heard thumping dance music, and when she turned around she saw a yellow convertible sports car roaring down the lane. There was no pavement, so she had to throw herself out of the way, landing face-first on the overgrown verge. June heard the car slow down, and when she rolled over it had pulled up next to where she was lying, and the driver was giving her a strange look.
“You all right, love?” he said, turning down the music. He was wearing a white singlet vest that showed off his tanned, muscular physique.
“I’m fine, thanks,” June said, trying to pull herself up in a casual-looking manner.
“I don’t suppose you know where Oakford Park Hotel is? I’m lost.”
A thought occurred to June, one so ridiculous she felt herself turning even brighter red. No, it was far too dangerous. What if she’d got it wrong? Maybe this man was a serial killer. But if he was who she suspected he was, then this could be the answer to June’s prayers.
“Erm, I was wondering... are you by any chance a... a stripper?” June said, aware her face was scarlet.
The man gave her a look of what she assumed was disapproval, but he’d clearly had so much Botox he couldn’t raise his eyebrows. “I prefer the term ‘exotic dancer,’ ” he said primly. “And you are?”
June held her breath for a moment before she replied. “My name’s Matilda. I’m going to Gayle’s hen do.”
“Oh, thank god. I’ve been driving round for the last twenty minutes trying to find this damn hotel.”
“I can show you the way if you like.”
“Great, hop in. I’m Rocky.”
June brushed the grass off herself and climbed into the passenger’s seat. “You need to turn around.”
“You sure? I just came from that way.”
“I promise. I’ll direct you.”
He executed a three-point turn and accelerated down the road. June had never been in a convertible before, and as the wind whipped her hair, she began to regret not having tied it up. Rocky started telling her about the routine he was going to do, and how he’d got a new policeman’s outfit that had been shipped all the way from America and cost more than a hundred quid.
“No one realizes how expensive this stuff is, Matilda. They think we cut up a pair of trousers and stick on a bit of Velcro, but this is professional stuff, cutting-edge design.”
June tried to keep her eyes on the road, but she couldn’t help glancing over at Rocky every now and then. His skin was the most extraordinary color she’d ever seen, mahogany mixed with tangerine, and was covered in a layer of what she assumed must be oil. At one point he reached over to get something out of the glove box and June lunged out of the way in case he brushed against her.
“It’s up here,” she said as they crossed Chalcot Bridge and drove down the Parade past the library.
“I thought it was a country hotel.”
“There was a last-minute change of venue. Take the left here, please.”