Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1

with dirt after her dash to the car. She pulled down the visor and checked her short, blond hair. It too was damp. She combed through it with icy fingers.
‘Turn up the heater if you’re cold.’ offered Liz. ‘I should have thought before. I don’t feel it anymore.’ She stole a glance at Kitty. ‘Age.’ She grinned.
‘Age? That surprises me. I thought hot flushing stopped in your fifties.’
‘Don’t you believe it. It’s better than it used to be, but I still get warm.’
‘Sounds terrible.’ Kitty pulled a sympathetic face, although she found it hard to imagine life in Liz’s boots, or she should say, sensible shoes. Liz’s feet, jumping between accelerator, brake and clutch, were shod in low, silver court shoes.
The women lapsed into silence while Liz concentrated on negotiating the traffic.
Kitty had no enthusiasm for the upcoming party. Her dad would be on her case about her ‘disappearing act’. He would subject her to a barrage of questions about her whereabouts over the past weeks. She decided to avoid answering by making obscure reference to confidentiality; that should keep him quiet. The last thing she needed was for Paul to get wound up about Max Rutherford. But she hated lying to him.
‘It will be super to see the young ones again.’ Liz’s voice interrupted Kitty’s thoughts. ‘I feel like I’ll be intruding, though. Are you sure Paul and Cerys won’t mind me being there?’
‘The invitation said me plus one. You’re my plus one. I don’t have to ask permission.’ Liz’s brow crumpled into a worried frown, and Kitty said, ‘Liz. Honestly. Cerys will be busy fussing over the food and drink, and Dad will hardly remember you. The others will love to see you. Don’t worry; it’ll be fine.’
Cars lined the curb outside Paul and Cerys’s home and between the curtains, heads bobbed in the living room.
They hung on to their drinks and squeezed between guests, many of whom Kitty did not recognise. Across the room, Paul caught sight of her and grinned, and soon he had her smothered in a fragrant hug. ‘Pops!’ Paul said.
‘Hello Pop.’ It was their small joke. Paul had called her Pops since she was a toddler. It was a diminution of Fee’s endearment: Poppet. Kitty returned the affection by calling Paul Pop, which might change to Alcopop if he was drunk, or Popcorn in response to an awful joke.
She said, ‘You smell good.’
Paul looked sheepish. ‘Aramis. Cerys likes it.’
‘Me too. A distinct improvement on sump oil.’ Kitty turned from him. ‘Pop. I’m not sure if you remember Liz. She used to work in the restaurant with Millie.’
Paul’s arms tightened a little round Kitty before he released her and shook Liz by the hand? ‘Hello Liz. This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘So lovely to be here, Paul. I hope you don’t mind me coming. Kitty insisted. I’ve missed all the young ones since…’
‘It’s great to see you,’ Paul interrupted with a brief smile, and his eyes swivelled from Liz to scoot around the room.  ‘The children must be in the kitchen.’ He waved a hand in the direction of the door and was already moving away as he murmured, ‘If you’ll excuse me…’
Kitty took Liz’s arm. ‘Come on.’ They squeezed past Mick and Maurice and Liz smiled at them, but they were talking together and did seem to see her.
The ‘children’ had congregated by the sink. Kitty called a greeting. ‘Look who I found. Remember Liz? From Feast?’ She pulled Liz towards them.
After a brief silence, Livvie threw herself on Liz. ‘Oh God. I can’t believe it.’ Tears rained down her cheeks, her emotions rendering her speechless. Liz held her tight and stretched hand to Lucas over Olivia’s shoulder. ‘You’ve turned into a fine young person, Luc.’ She pushed Livvie back to study her blotched face. ‘You too, Olivia. Beautiful.’
‘Why are you here, I mean how did you find us?’ Livvie was asking Liz but her eyes were on Kitty.
‘Part of my ongoing search for truth,’ Kitty answered. ‘After Sam came up with Liz’s name, I did some ferreting.’
‘Well done.’ Livvie beamed at Kitty and hugged Liz again before handing her to the others, who were more restrained, but happy to see her.
The evening romped on, but Kitty, alert for new reminiscences, kept her beers to a minimum. On her way to the fridge for a top-up, her eyes drifted over the kitchen; so organised and pristine. Cerys managed Paul well. There were no car parts in the sink or black fingermark smudges on the paintwork. Kitty wondered what kind of person this made Cerys. A nag, bossy or manipulative?
In the room's neatness, the lid to the recycling bin sat at an incongruous angle, with a quake of paper protruding from its top. Kitty lifted the metal lid to tidy the stuff inside, but the muddle of corners refused to be tamed. Determined to restore harmony, she gathered up a handful of bills and newspapers and tapped their edges on the counter. Something small and heavy slid to the bottom - a booklet, written in a hand she recognised. Without hesitation she pushed the notebook up her top and wedged it under her waistband then put the, now unimpeded, lid back into place. Keeping her eyes from other guests, Kitty muttered that she needed to pee. After retrieving her bag from where it hung over a kitchen chair, she sauntered to the cloakroom.
When she emerged, with the booklet secure in her bag, the others had re-grouped. The boys were in the lounge - Sam and Josh with their fathers, roaring in mirth at something Paul was saying, and further away, a strained Lucas in deep conversation with his own father, Mick. Kitty looked around for Liz, but Anwen intercepted her.
‘Hi. I haven’t been able to talk to you all evening, like.’ Her Welsh accent was less irritating than