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

that of her mother, and Kitty grinned.
‘Hello Anwen. I love the new haircut.’
Anwen flicked her sleek tresses. ‘Thanks… Kitty?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I wondered if you could help me with the computer. Cerys hasn’t got a clue, you know.’ Anwen’s eager smile slipped for a moment. ’I’m so ignorant about everything.’
Kitty understood. At Anwen’s age, when blending in at school was important, her own face and those of her family, appeared regularly in newspapers and on television. A murdered mother and a father in custody made her the subject of unwanted attention in the street and at school. Her response had been to build a tough, proud shell around her heart. A shell that kept out not only strangers, but to some extent her friends and family. Through this investigation and the memories stimulated by it, her defenses had begun to dissolve, releasing a mixture of feelings she was finding difficult to deal with.
She smiled at Anwen. ‘Any time poppet,’ she said, and her use of Fee’s endearment took her by surprise. With a small frown, barely perceptible, she offered, ‘After school one day?’
Anwen beamed. ‘Thanks Kitty. Monday would be fantastic.’
‘Monday it is.’ Kitty pushed her workload from her mind. ‘Shall I come here, or would you like to visit me at the flat?’
‘Ooh, your flat please. I could bring my laptop.’
‘Lucky you. A laptop.’
‘I need it for school, and Snapchat.’
‘Ah, Snapchat. That’s important, but I think you might need a phone for it. We can try, though.’
It would be Anwen’s first visit, and to make up for her hitherto neglect, Kitty said, ‘Perhaps we might go for an ice cream afterwards. There’s a fantastic new place in town. I’ve never been but I’ve seen the ice cream sundaes through the window.’ The thought sparked a memory: herself and her mother at the seaside, buying cheap toys, eating chips and sharing a knickerbocker glory. The memory had stuck because it was so out of character for Fee to allow Kitty so much junk food. Perhaps she had had things on her mind.
27 LUCAS
‘Dad?’
‘Yes Son?’ Mick was gazing over the heads of nodding party guests at Kitty and Anwen.
‘About the girl at the tennis club.’
Mick’s attention snapped to his son and his face brightened with hope. ‘What about her?’
‘Well, I won’t be seeing her again.’
‘That’s a shame. Not wife material then?’
‘Not exactly. I’m not sure I’ll ever find someone to be my wife, actually.’
‘Not find a wife? I’m sure you will. The right girl will turn up, eventually. Just give it time.’
‘Yes, Dad, but I need to prepare you...’
‘OK son. I won’t expect any grandchildren just yet.’
Lucas took a slug of vodka. ‘If ever, Dad. I’m trying to tell you I may never have children.’
‘Whatever makes you happy.’
Lucas gave up and changed the subject. ‘I’ve been thinking about Mum a lot, lately.’
His father looked confused. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes. I find I want to know more about her. Do you mind me asking about her?’
Mick frowned. ‘It’s not the best timing, is it? But if you feel the need.’
‘What was she like?’
Mick’s face expressed tenderness. ‘She was tiny, much smaller than me, and she had a mind of her own.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She knew what she wanted, and she went after it.’ Mick shrugged. ‘Even if that meant hurting those closest to her.’
‘Are you talking about yourself?’
‘Yes, me, and you children, and Nanny Gloria.’
‘What did she do that was so wrong?’
‘She wanted to have a job and neglect you children.’
‘Was that so bad - having a job I mean?’
Mick let his breath hiss between his teeth. ‘Now, I recognize that she was no different from any other woman, but back then I didn’t want her to go out to work, and neither did Nanny Gloria.’ He frowned. ‘If I’d been more understanding, she might have stayed with me, and be alive today.’
‘You can’t know that. Don’t blame yourself.’
Mick shook his head and stared out of the window without comment.
‘Where did she learn to cook?’ Sam asked.
‘From me, mainly. She loved food, especially spicy food. She knew plenty of Italian recipes from her family and had learned traditional British cooking at school, but I taught her about spices. Where to buy them and how to use them. She had an amazing palate.’ Mick looked at his son. ‘You got that from her.’
Lucas’s lips curved into a smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘As soon as she had the knowledge, her cooking took off. I’d come home and the house would smell of coriander or roasting fennel seeds, and she would present me with some marvellous meal, a hybrid of her Italian childhood and my Ghanaian one.’
‘I wish I could remember that.’ Lucas stuck his thumbs into his jean pockets and tried to swallow a blockage that seemed to have put itself in his throat. ‘What happened to her? I know really, but may I hear it as an adult?
‘You sure?’ Mick looked at Lucas’s face. ‘I’m not convinced that this is an appropriate time.’
‘I suppose not, but would you mind?’
‘She went to the restaurant very early in the morning. Nobody could work out why - perhaps she couldn’t sleep - but her bed hadn’t been slept in.’ Mick hesitated before continuing, ‘There was a gas leak.’
‘You’d think she’d have noticed that the day before.’
Mick nodded. ‘You would, wouldn’t you? Perhaps it started after she left the evening before, or the cooking smells disguised it. Gas must have trickled out all night. The fire investigators decided the spark from a light switch ignited it.’
‘I remember the restaurant afterwards. The roof blew off, didn’t it?’
Mick took a long slug of his beer. ‘You ready for another?’
‘In a tick. Do you think it was an accident?’
Mick frowned. ‘It was undoubtedly