Authors: Debbie Viggiano
‘Well what are we waiting for?’ Morag leapt to her feet.
‘Let’s get over to Maxwell’s now.
I know exactly where it is.
Swanky as you like.
Let’s hope we catch
Stevie and Selina together.
You can film them on your mobile phone Cass.
If nothing else
,
you’d then have proof to show Jamie that lies were told about being with a woman called Laura.
That has to count as some sort of starting point
,
before putting the cat amongst the
partnership pigeons.
’
I looked at my watch.
‘It’s nearly half past three.
Stevie and Selina have proba
bly long gone from Maxwell’s.’
‘Well we won’t know if we don’t check it out.’
Morag grabbed her car keys.
‘What about the boys?’ I leapt up
,
but dithered.
Looked anxio
usly from Morag to our babies.
‘Leave them with me,’ said Nell, ‘they’ll be fine.
Go!’ Nell heaved herself out of the armchair
and
shooed us to the front door.
‘Don’t forget your mobile phone Cass,’ she pressed it into the palm of my hand, ‘and make sure you keep me updated.
Gosh, this is quite exciting.
I’ll have to ca
ll you both Cagney and Lacey!’
‘Showing your age there Nellie-Wellie,’ I gave her a grim smile
,
and hastened
after Morag.
Morag’s Galaxy didn’t take the corner of Nell’s cul-de-sac on two wheels, but
inside the vehicle it certainly felt like it.
As soon as we hit the M25
,
Morag floored the accelerator.
‘W
here exactly is Maxwell’s Equestrian Centre?’ I asked
anxiously.
We had now merged
on to the A21
, and appeared to be heading towards
Hastings
.
‘
Sevenoaks.
Don’t panic.
We’re not going that
far.
That was rather c
lever of Selina
, booking
somewhere off the beaten track.
So Detective Cagney
, h
ow are you feeling after your f
oray into the world of drugs?’
‘The headache has gone.
Although my forehead
,’ I touched it gingerly, ‘
feels a bit tender
,
thanks to the table bashing.’
‘Yes.
Next time you get out of it, stick to
table dancing.’
‘It’s not funny Morag.
In fact, the more I think about
it, the more furious I feel.’
‘I wonder what she slipped you,’ Morag pondered.
‘Do you know, in
Pharmacology drugs have two names
– a trade
and
a
generic name. For example, the trade name of Amoxil is also called Amoxicillin
.
A
nd Advil is also called Ibuprofen.
I heard,’ Morag swung the Galaxy past a lorry, ‘
that
Big Pharma
has been looking for a generic name for Viagra.
’
I gave Morag a sideways glance.
‘Are you being serious?’
‘Perfectly.
After careful consideration
,
a team of government experts
has
settled on the generic name of Mycoxafloppin.
’
‘Oh ha ha.
Very funny.
Not.’
‘Other considerations
were Mycoxafailin, Mydixadrupin
and – of course – M
ydixarizin.
’
‘
Morag t
his is no tim
e to joke, I could have died!’
‘But you
must
joke about it Cass.
It’s therapeutic.
If you don’t
,
you’ll go barmy.’
I stared out the window.
Morag had a point.
I couldn’t change what had happened.
Laughing
it off was a coping mechanism.
‘Well for your information
,
I actually read that Viagra will soon
be available in liquid form.’
‘Really?
Are
you
joking?’
‘Straight up.
No pun intended.
Pepsi Cola are going to market i
t
as a
power beverage
mixer.
So it will literally be possible for
a man to
pour himself a stiff one.’
Morag snorted with laughter.
‘In which case they will no longer be
able to call it a soft drink.’
‘Exactly,’ my lips twitched, ‘gives a whole new
meaning to cocktails
and
highballs
.’
We both convulsed as the Galaxy shot off down a slip road.
Suddenly we were in very green belt.
We
whizzed along winding roads
,
pas
sing
farms and
bleak
fields
.
I
began to think
our foray
in
to Sevenoaks was nothing more than a wild goose chase.
The
winter afternoon was rapidly turning to dusk.
Before our very eyes a
feeble sun was sliding behind stark trees
.
Pale
light
was
grey
ing
with every passing second.
‘This is Maxwell’s
.
’ Morag swung a
n abrupt
left
, and w
e bounced
down a dirt track.
‘Geez,’ I muttered
,
nearly hit
ting
my head on the Galaxy’s roof, ‘I thought yo
u said this place was swanky.’
‘It is.
The road
is
pot-holed for safety purposes.
Maxwell’s don’t want cars whizzing along here and cannoning into their horse
riders.
See!
Look at those riders ahead,’ Morag nodded at two large bay horses trundling back to the yard.
‘If I’d been going fast I could have crashed straight
into those horses’ hocks and–’
‘It’s them!’ I shouted.
The colour drained from my face.
‘That’s Stevie.’
Morag dropped a gear
.
The Galaxy was now virtually
crawling.
‘Are you sure Cass?
Both riders
are wearing
hard hats
and have
their backs to us.’
‘I spent more years than I care to remember being married to Stevie.
I’d recognise those shoulders anywhere.
And note his riding companion is female.
The person might have a hard hat on
,
but
observe the
long dark hair
.’
I pointed at the woman’s locks trailing
down
her
wax jacket.
‘
I would bet my last lottery pound that
i
s Selina.’
Both riders
had now reverted
to single file
, allowing us
to
overtake them
.
‘Stevie doesn’t know my car
,
so I’m okay to pass them,’ Morag said
.
‘However, I’d rather not risk
them
recognising
us
.
You’d better jump in the back Cass.
The rear passenger privacy glass will hide you.
Hang on,’ Morag
touched my arm
, ‘before you leg it,
have a
quick
rummage in the glove box.
There’s a baseball cap in there
,
and a pair of sunnies.
I need to hide my face.’
I scrabbled frantically in the glove box, found a pair of Ray-Bans and pulled out a Burberry baseball cap.
The Galaxy was almost at a standstill.
The horses most certainly were.
Stevie’s hack was swishing its tail
impatiently
.
I prayed
he
wouldn’t look over his shoulder.
Morag
shoved
the cap
on her head,
rammed the Ray-Bans on her nose
, and
pulled down the Galaxy’s sun visor for good measure.
I launched myself over the handbrake and landed in a heap
on the floor
.
‘Stay down,’ Morag hissed
.
T
he Galaxy lurched
forward again.
‘A
nd you forgot this
.
’
S
he tossed my mobile after me.
‘Get ready to film.’
I reached for the mobile.
Oh bloody hell.
I’d never even used the camera on my Android phone, never mind the video.
I stabbed the screen randomly.
No I did not want to set up a Google Account.
Nor use the calculator.
What the hell was a Cardock?
The screen was now requesting me to turn on my Wi-Fi and connect to a network.
I gnashed my teeth in frustration.
Livvy
had ridiculed me for wanting a S
martphone.
‘You’ll never learn to use it in a mill
ion years Mum,’ she’d guffawed.
Rebelling furiously, I’d upgraded and told myself I
would
catch up with technology.
Tomorrow.
Or the day after tomorrow.
But most definitely next week.
None of which had ever come to pass.
The Galaxy was speeding up again.
I bounced around in the back f
eeling slightly motion sick.
‘I’m going to do a three point turn in a minute Cass, and then head back the other way.
Are you ready to
film them passing us head-on?’
‘No
!
I mean
,
yes!’
I sighed with relief
at
an icon labelled
Camcorder.
God
’
s sake.
Why couldn’t they have labelled the button
Video
for the likes of technophobes like me?
Suddenly I was all fingers and thumbs.
The screen changed and the phone instantly displayed the Galaxy’s floor mats.
Hoo-flippin’-ray.
Lights, camera, action.
‘Camera’s rolling,’ I squeaked and hauled myself up.
‘Oh Lord
.
’
M
y bowels lurched as Selina appeared to look straight at me
.
‘A
r
e you sure they can’t see me.’
‘They might be able to make out your shape
,
but that’s all.
Apart from anything else
, the
daylight is rapidly receding.
Even if I wasn’t wearing my sunnies and cap, I don’t think they’d see my features that clearly.
Are you managing to pic
k them up okay on that phone?’
‘Yep
.
T
he picture is a bit grainy, but good enough.’
I held the mobile up
and l
et it play over Selina’s face
, then let the picture drift to
Stevie.
They were both talking to each other.
Selina was laughing about something.
One could detect the sexual chemistry between them at five paces.
I clung on to the phone, terrified of dropping it
.
I didn’t want to miss this
golden opportunity of catching
out
my nemesis.
The filming continued to roll without incident.
The Galaxy bumped past the horses
,
and suddenly they were both behind us.
I let out a shaky breath and hit the red button.
‘It’s a wrap.’