Dishing the Dirt

Toni experienced a flash of pure rage. Yes, Agatha had rescued her, not only from a drunken home, but from several other nasty situations. But that did not give her any reason to spy on her. She doesn’t own me, thought Toni. She’s always trying to control my life. The fact that Agatha had stopped doing just that escaped her mind. Young Toni often felt the weight of all that she owed Agatha a bit too heavily. It’s better to give than receive—oh, thanks a bunch, Francis of Assisi—but say a prayer for the receivers, she mused.

Then common sense took over. If her date with Justin was important enough for Agatha to stalk her, always supposing Agatha was not jealous, and was not in the grip of one of her obsessions, then it followed that Agatha knew something sinister about her date.

When the film ended and the lights went up in the cinema, there was no sign of Agatha. Toni had suggested eating before the film, so, outside the cinema, she shook Justin’s hand, said she would be in touch with him, refused his offer of a drink and made her way back to her flat. Upstairs, she looked out of her window and saw Agatha on the opposite side of the street, just turning away. Toni ran down and called out, “Agatha!”

Looking guilty, Agatha turned round. “Why were you stalking me?” asked Toni.

“Let’s up to your flat and I’ll tell you,” said Agatha.

*

As she talked, Agatha began to feel her intuition had played her false. She had absolutely no proof of anything.

Toni listened carefully and then said, “You’ve had mad ideas before and they turned out to be right. Why don’t we go with it? I know where Justin went to school. I’ll see if I can find some of his old school friends. Say he hated Ruby, then he might have sounded off about it.”

“Maybe I should do that,” said Agatha. “I don’t want to put you at risk.”

“Don’t mother me!” said Toni sharply. Then in a softer voice, she said, “I owe you a lot, Agatha, and sometimes I almost dislike you for it. Can you understand that?”

“I’ll try,” said Agatha, although she thought of how she had battled her way to success without help from anyone.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful,” said Toni. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-six.”

*

After Agatha had gone, Toni replayed in her mind the conversation she had had with Justin. Finally she remembered he had said he had gone to St. Jerome’s School, a private school in Mircester. But he had not mentioned any school friends. Then she remembered that Simon had gone to the same school and phoned him up. After she had explained the whole thing, Simon said, “Maybe the local newspaper would have something. It’s a prep school and they always covered prize givings. How old is he?”

“Twenty-five.”

“So go to the local rag and look up prize givings for thirteen years ago. They all graduate when they’re twelve.”

*

Toni was a well-known figure at the Mircester Chronicle. She mounted the rickety wooden stairs to the editorial room and asked if she could look up the newspapers for twelve years ago. A secretary went away and reappeared with a large leather-bound book. “Not even on the old microfiche?” asked Toni.

“You know us,” said the secretary. “We never move with the times, that’s our motto.”

Toni began to search, glad that it was a weekly newspaper. She concentrated on the July publications. She found the article and photographs of graduation day. Justin had not received a prize. But there was a group photo. She only recognised him from his name amongst the others underneath the grainy photograph. He was wearing glasses. Those marvellous blue eyes, thought Toni. Must be contact lenses. She took notes of the names of three of the prizewinners, John Finlay, Henry Pilkington, and Paul Kumar.

Back in the office, she found a number for Henry Pilkington and called. A woman answered the phone. She said she was Henry’s wife and that he worked as managing director of Comfy Baby on the industrial estate. She started to ask what it was all about but the wail of a child in the background distracted her and she hurriedly cut the call. Toni sent the information over to Agatha.

*