The Last Party (DC Morgan #1)(76)

‘Good start,’ Yasmin mutters. Jonty has taken the champagne, and she’s about to fetch more when Mia re-emerges from number three carrying a silver tray. On the tray are two glasses and a bottle of champagne, around which is tied a gold helium balloon in the shape of a heart.

‘Special instructions from Bobby,’ she says, when she sees the others staring. ‘He wanted to surprise Ashleigh.’

Bobby. Ashleigh. Why is the cleaner on first-name terms with these people, when Yasmin hasn’t even met them yet? She and Blythe exchange glances.

The man who gets out of the driver’s seat is instantly recognisable as Bobby Stafford. He’s in his early forties, with a nose so broken it points in three different directions, and teeth too white and straight to be God-given. He’s small-framed, and, as he leaps around to the passenger side to open his wife’s door, he could still be in the ring from which he retired a decade ago.

Ashleigh must be a foot taller than him. She’s in tracksuit bottoms and glaringly white trainers, with a tight band of Lycra passing as a top.

‘She’s so stunning,’ one of the twins murmurs. Yasmin looks at Blythe and flashes her eyes wide for a split-second.

‘You wanna sort that driveway out, mate,’ Bobby says, striding towards them. He looks at Rhys. ‘Lloyd, right? The place looks mint, but that’ – he points down the drive – ‘is a fucking liability.’

‘It’s all in hand, I assure you. Welcome to The Shore!’ Rhys can’t match Jonty’s easy confidence, but Bobby shakes his proffered hand, while Ashleigh snatches a glass of champagne from the cleaner’s tray. She takes a selfie, the gold heart balloon bobbing behind her as she boomerangs the glass to her lips and down again.

Bobby takes the remaining glass from the silver tray in one hand, and the balloon-festooned bottle in the other, then he plants a kiss – a kiss! – on the cleaner’s cheek. ‘You’re a diamond, Mia, that’s what you are. Did the shop arrive?’

‘All packed away. I wasn’t sure if you’d have eaten, so I did you some sandwiches – they’re in the fridge.’

‘Star. Okay to do the beds and that when they need doing?’

‘Course. Just pop me a text.’

‘Legend. Come on, babe, let’s take a look round the new gaff.’

‘Hopes pinned on the last neighbour for a bit of a class, then,’ Yasmin says drily, as they disappear into number three.

‘Mum!’ Tabby says. ‘Did you even look at Ashleigh Stafford just now?’

‘I tried not to.’

‘Omigod I can’t even!’ Felicia rolls her eyes. ‘Her eyebrows were on point – we should ask her where she gets them done.’

‘I think we have different ideas about what constitutes class.’ Yasmin pours herself and Blythe more champagne.

‘I’m with the twins on this one,’ Rhys says. ‘I thought she was very nicely put together.’ He’s staring at Dee Huxley’s lodge, his brows knitted together.

‘She’s not made of Lego, Rhys.’

Everyone looks up at the sound of another car, and, as an ancient BMW barrels over the potholes, Yasmin feels her dreams slipping away.

If Ashleigh Stafford really were made of Lego, Clemence Northcote would be built from Duplo. Short and dumpy, she has multicoloured hair and the dress sense of a toddler at a birthday party.

‘Call me Clemmie,’ she says, when she’s been introduced. ‘Everybody does!’ She nudges her son forward. ‘A dyma Caleb.’

‘Mum, give it a rest, will you?’

‘You speak Welsh?’ Blythe says. ‘Gosh, how terribly impressive.’

The woman flushes. ‘I’m learning. Introductions, hobbies, that sort of thing. I can work from anywhere, and Caleb’s college course is online, so we’re planning on spending a lot of time here. I want to try wild swimming, and of course learn the language and—’ She looks at Rhys, apparently seized by an idea. ‘Maybe you could run a conversation class here at The Shore? I read in the papers that Bobby Stafford’s bought a lodge, and you know he has Welsh roots? We could make it a regular thing!’

Rhys looks utterly horrified by the idea. ‘Shall I show you around your lodge?’

‘So lovely to meet you!’ Yasmin lies, giving Blythe the look which means she’s to follow her for a debrief, stat.

The two women are about to disappear when Dee Huxley’s door opens.

‘Any problems at all,’ Jonty’s saying, ‘just call.’

‘Thank you so much, dear. Now, I think I’m going to put my feet up and have a snooze. That was quite a drive.’

Next door, at number four, Rhys is opening the front door for Clemmie and Caleb. She’s talking to him in Welsh, and he’s faffing with the suitcases and clearly trying to get in and out as quickly as he can, which means he doesn’t see what Yasmin sees.

Dee Huxley, standing in her open doorway, staring at Rhys as if she knows him. Really knows him.

Staring at him, Yasmin realises, with a shiver, as if she hates him.





THIRTY-FOUR




JANUARY 7TH | LEO


Leo doesn’t know what to do with Ffion, except keep his arms around her. Her whole body shakes with silent sobs, and he holds her until she’s still. ‘Shhh,’ he says. ‘It’s okay.’