Free 7 A Tasteful Crime by Cecilia Peartree Page A

programme to start. Only Dave was allowed to stay, and that was only because, flying in the face of good sense, Jemima had nominated him as her assistant. Jock wished he could have taken part in some way, perhaps by acting as Tricia Laidlaw’s assistant. He assumed Tricia’s son Darren or one of her female friends was filling that role. Probably not Jan from the wool-shop, about whose culinary abilities he now recalled hearing rumours. Maybe she had just been going to Tricia’s to wish her luck, he thought.
    As he wandered away from Jemima’s house, kicking the kerb as he went like a mutinous teenager, h e mulled over what role he would like to play in Tricia’s life. Of course, he realised that as a mere man it wasn’t up to him to decide that. But it would be nice to mean something to her – or would it?
    For heaven’s sake, he had definitely been spending too much time with Christopher! He couldn’t remember ever being so woolly and indecisive in his life.
    He turned his steps firmly in the direction of Tricia’s house. He should have gone there in the first place, if only to show moral support. After all, he wasn’t exactly on Jemima’s side, no matter how long he had known her. And Tricia’s practice cake had been just as good. The one thing he was determined about was that he wouldn’t go near Penelope’s attempts to bake ever again, even if her creations turned out to contain some magic ingredient that would result in anybody who ate them developing super-powers and living forever.
    He laughed to himself as he walked along, unaware that two teenagers had just crossed the road to avoid him, and that a dog being taken for its morning walk had dug its heels in and refused to pass him.
    As he approached Tricia’s house, he thought he heard a voice in the hedge. Maybe laughing to himself had just been the start of it. Hearing voices seemed like a big and rather sudden step towards senility, though.
    The hedge parted slightly and Darren Laidlaw’s face appeared, surrounded by leaves which did nothing to make his square freckled face any more attractive. But Jock knew the boy well. He worked hard at Rosie’s cattery, loved animals and was fiercely protective of his mother. He had come a long way since setting fire to the village hall.
    ‘Hey, Mr McLean,’ hissed Darren. ‘Are you going to see my mum?’
    ‘That’s the idea,’ said Jock. ‘What are you doing in there?’
    ‘Sssh, keep your voice down! They’ll hear you and come out.’
    ‘Who’s that, then?’
    ‘Those TV people. They’re waiting to film her. They won’t let anybody else in the house except that stupid Eric man. They’re waiting for him just now.’
    ‘Can’t we get in after they’ve finished?’
    ‘They said not even then... I want to see my mum – I know she’s nervous.’
    ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Jock. ‘Anybody would be.’
    ‘ If we can get them to come outside for a minute we can sneak in the back door. Maybe you could raise a fire alarm or something, Mr McLean. Just to get them out of the way.’
    Jock stared at Darren ’s earnest face. He shook his head. ‘You’re an evil influence, Darren Laidlaw.’
    In the end they compromised. Jock would ring the front door-bell and play the part of an irate neighbour whose car was blocked in, while Darren sneaked round and opened the back door. Jock would run round to the back once he had finished play-acting on the doorstep, and they would both get into the kitchen while the television crew were moving their car. It was so scrappy a plan that Jock didn’t think it had a hope of working, but at least he felt as if he was doing something to help. If indeed it would help Tricia to have her son in the kitchen for a few minutes. That was a matter of opinion.
    ‘Right, then,’ said Darren once they had worked this out. ‘Cleared for lift-off, Mr McLean?’
    ‘I wouldn’t put it like that,’ said Jock, who had been thinking along the lines of ‘Thunderbirds are