4 Death at the Happiness Club

Death at the Happiness Club

Digital Edition

©Cecilia Peartree 2012

All rights reserved

Chapter 1 Maisie Sue helps herself

Maisie Sue flung down the book in a rage. It fell on top of a pile of similar self-help manuals, which caused the whole lot to topple off the little glass-topped table on to the floor, knocking over a cup of coffee as they did so.

She sat helpless, watching as 'Men and Women are People and that's all there is to it' soaked up the coffee. Oh well, at least it was good for something.

The old Maisie Sue would have rushed to mop up the spillage before Pearson noticed anything, using kitchen towel to blot the liquid followed by carpet cleaner to get rid of the smell and any lingering stain on the rug. Pearson had eagle eyes, and a nose like some other animal with an excellent sense of smell - a dog?

She started to picture him as a dog - perhaps a bloodhound - snuffling his way round the living room until he tracked down the source of the unusual smell and then the perpetrator of this hideous spillage, barking and baying at her accusingly until she gave in and told the truth.

But Pearson wasn't around any more, so she didn't have to listen to all that. She didn't have to do anything, just sit there for the rest of the day, purposeless, lost without a man to clean up after and cook for. The self-help books didn't agree on anything much, but they all seemed to say the same about your own happiness depending on another person: it doesn't!

This was so contrary to Maisie Sue's whole upbringing and the way she had led her life up to now that she simply couldn't accept it. There had to be a self-help book somewhere that told you how to go about replacing a man when the first one had unaccountably gone off to Gdansk with some blonde floozy.

She heard the post come through the letter-box. It was weird and, in her opinion, invasive, the way the postman came right up to your door to deliver letters. And sometimes he even rang the bell! She hoped he wouldn't do that today, since she was still in her baby-doll pyjamas and she suspected she might have chocolate spread all over her face after binging out on toast first thing this morning. Not a good look.

Thinking of looks made her wonder if a visit to the local beauty salon, Clips, Snips 'n' Dips, would help her feel better. The self-help books were divided on the wisdom of this kind of thing, and some didn't even mention the possibility of improvements to your looks at all, which was kind of strange. But now Maisie Sue came to think of it, she hadn't had her hair done for quite a while now. After all, Amaryllis and Mrs Stevenson seemed to get along fine without taking too much trouble over their looks. On the other hand, did she really want her future to take on the same shape as theirs? She shook her head in denial, got up and walked over to the phone to make the appointment.

On the way back from the phone to the sofa - yes, they could fit her in at eleven this morning, which was even sooner than she had expected - she detoured into the hall to pick up the post. It was probably all for Pearson. Since he hadn't left a forwarding address in Gdansk, she usually just shredded it all for convenience. He hadn't taken his big industrial strength shredder with him: it stood in the spare bedroom, and whenever Maisie Sue became particularly cross she would spend a while in there shredding all the old letters and photographs that had anything to do with him. Once that phase was past, she planned to try and sell on the shredder to Amaryllis, who must have some secret stuff she wanted to destroy.

There were two of the official-looking letters that came every day for Pearson, a gas bill and a letter for Maisie Sue herself.

She sat down again before opening the letter. It was in a long white envelope of good quality, and looked like something legal. Maybe she should have another cup of coffee before reading it. Or something stronger. But Maisie Sue didn't drink alcohol at this time in the morning, even when extremely stressed. That was one unbreakable rule in her life. No way was Maisie Sue MacPherson in any danger whatsoever of becoming an alcoholic. No way…

Her resolution faltered somewhat as she read the official phrases in the letter.

'…will be obliged to leave the United Kingdom on or before… Should you have good cause to remain… notified in writing on the appropriate form… personal danger or the interests of national security… children receiving education… dependants requiring constant care… temporary visa…. Expiration date…'

She flung the letter on the floor on top of the pile of self-help books. None of them had said anything about what to do if your visa ran out either. She vaguely remembered a not very encouraging conversation she had had with Amaryllis a few months before about this same subject.  Maybe Amaryllis would be more helpful now that it had come to the crunch. For heaven's sakes, the woman had smuggled people across borders between warring countries before. Surely she could forge some documents, or find a safe house for Maisie Sue. How difficult could it be?

Maisie Sue got up and went into the spare room. As well as the shredder, Pearson had left his secret stash of Scotch in a box in the built-in wardrobe. She brought a bottle back into the living-room with her, considered whether to go into the kitchen for a glass, decided against it, and settled down to drown her sorrows.

After one slug from the bottle, she remembered she didn't like whisky. And in any case, she had to get to her hair appointment in an hour, and she needed to be awake and alert for that in case they did something silly while her eyes were closed. She didn't want to wake up and find they'd straightened her hair, cropped it too close or turned it ginger.

She allowed herself fifteen minutes to get to the salon in case she met anyone she knew on the way. It was only a short distance from her house - Pitkirtly was such a ridiculously small town, with all the buildings huddled together as if sheltering from storms. Looking at the place from the point of view of an outsider who might not be there much longer, she wondered why she was so determined to stay. Then she remembered Pearson's mother, and gave a shudder. Bad enough having the woman on the same planet, but Maisie Sue knew she could only cope if there was an ocean in between them.

'Morning, Maisie Sue!' called Penelope Johnstone, hurrying across the road to accost her.

'Is it Cosy Clicks day?' Maisie Sue asked her, worried that she had lost track of the days of the week.

'No, don't you remember? Jan's away on holiday so we're having a couple of weeks off. I've just come through to do a bit of shopping.'

Penelope waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the High Street. For someone who lived in Aberdour, Penelope spent a lot of time in Pitkirtly. Her whole social life seemed to revolve around the town. It was almost as if she hadn't bothered to make a life for herself in Aberdour, Maisie Sue reflected; she just slept there and commuted to Pitkirtly every day to visit with her old friends, go to Cosy Clicks and check up on her son Zak, who had been involved with a bad crowd and was now working as a summer volunteer in the Cultural Centre.

Maisie Sue had been too wrapped up in her own problems to look at Penelope properly for a while, but now she realised the other woman had dark circles under her eyes, and although she seemed just as large and jolly as ever, her words had a frantic sound to them, as if she was babbling for the sake of it.

'Are you OK, Penelope?'

'OK?' Penelope stared at her blankly.

'I mean, are you feeling all right?'

'Of course I'm all right. I'm never ill. Maybe a wee bit over-tired. I've been de-cluttering.'

'I've got to get to the hair salon,' said Maisie Sue uneasily. Perhaps she was imagining things, but Penelope's denials didn't cut much ice. She had denied things too often herself lately to miss the signs. 'Why don't you walk along with me?'

Would it be pushy to suggest Penelope came in with her for a hair-cut? Or a manicure? Or would the other woman immediately take offence and strike Maisie Sue from her Christmas card list?

'I must get round to it myself,' said Penelope, running a hand through her curls, which were indeed looking particularly tousled. 'I just never seem to have the time.'

'Why not come in with me and we'll see if they can fit you in?'

'Oh, no, I couldn't do that,' said Penelope. 'But thanks for thinking of it. I need to - ' she paused, as if thinking quickly. 'I need to get down to the Cultural Centre and make sure Zak's all right.'

'I guess so,' said Maisie Sue. She watched the woman rush off again. She didn't really have time to spare for anyone else's problems, and yet Penelope's behaviour was quite worrisome. And the boy wouldn't thank his mother for interfering when he was trying to get his life back on track. She sighed. She couldn't possibly take the cares of the world - or even Pitkirtly - on her shoulders right now, anyway.

She had hoped they would give her a glossy magazine with pictures of lovely homes to read in the beauty salon, but instead they presented her with a copy of the local free weekly newspaper, the Pitkirtly Pegasus. Apparently the glossies had all been stolen the day before. It wasn't a good start.

As she sat under the drier, hair bound up tightly with pieces of foil, fretting about whether her head was actually going to get hot enough to catch light, Maisie Sue turned the pages of the free newspaper without really reading anything. Advertisements for plumbers, builders, church service. The Happiness Club. The Golden Peach.

Wait a minute. What was the Happiness Club?

She turned back a page and there was the half-page advertisement.

'Do you want a Perfect Partner?

Or a Passport to Fun?

Leisure activities for adults looking for something different to do. Full programme of adventure weekends, coffee evenings, tea dances, days out, bingo, cinema outings.

Optional computerised matching with up to 10 potential partners.

Based on a tried and tested formula that has been a huge success elsewhere in the UK.

FREE introductory speed-dating style event.'

Well, it didn't actually say 'Possibility of finding a new partner to replace the one that's gone to Gdansk' or 'Chance of getting permanent residence in the UK if you can persuade some poor sap to marry you,' but short of spelling out either of these messages, it couldn't have been much clearer. Maisie Sue memorised the date and venue of the free introductory event. Speed-dating sounded a little unnerving, but what the hey?

'Do you fancy giving it a try, then?' said the stylist suddenly, leaning round to test the temperature on the drier.

Maisie Sue shrugged her shoulders. 'Maybe.'

'A bit chancy, isn't it? But I suppose it's free though… I can't go anyway, my boy-friend would freak out.'

It would be nice to think Pearson would freak out if he knew about it. But he would never find out. Not from Gdansk. Even with his contacts.

Emerging transformed from the salon like a butterfly from a chrysalis, Maisie Sue headed off down the High Street. She planned to go into the wool shop and check with Jan about - no! She suddenly remembered what Penelope had said about Jan being away on holiday. She briefly considered other possibilities. She could trudge on down to the Cultural Centre and see if Christopher was about, but he might be away too, and then she would have to trudge back up the hill. The weather, which had started out overcast, had developed into blazing sunshine. No sense in getting over-heated and perhaps even ruining her new hair-do. She tried to remember if Amaryllis was at home. Someone had mentioned Amaryllis the other day but Maisie Sue hadn't been paying much attention.

It struck her that she hadn't been listening to anyone very much for quite some time. For all she knew, there could have been lots of changes around town. It was definitely time to start taking an interest again.

She was on her way down to the newsagents' in the hope of seeing someone she knew there, even if it was only Jock McLean, who couldn't always be relied upon to be civil, when a poster in a shop window caught her eye.

'Coming soon - the Happiness Club!' it proclaimed. Maisie Sue stopped and read through the text, then stared at the shop window itself. The place had once been a café - she recalled it only vaguely. It wasn't the sort of place she would have set foot in, partly because it looked as if it was staffed by surly teenagers with thick incomprehensible Pitkirtly accents which she knew she wouldn't understand, and partly because the windows were always dirty. It didn't seem like a place where you would have any choice about having mayonnaise or not, either. Or cream in your coffee. They would have just slammed the food down in front of you without bothering to find out your preferences. Sometimes, having ventured accidentally into that sort of café, Maisie Sue longed with all her heart to be back in the States.

She was aware she had made a lot of inferences from the dirty windows and from the teenagers she had occasionally seen going in and out. Anyway, it was now no longer a café. A man opened the shop door as she stood there and stared.