The Easter Egg Hunt – Epilogue

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends.

February was a difficult month, with the temperature unremittingly cold and skies dropping pellets of ice at inconvenient moments. We provided hot stews and soups which the WI delivered to those in need. And if the odd sack of logs found itself loaded into a Ford Transit and dropped outside the home of those who couldn’t otherwise keep a fire going, I certainly wasn’t going to argue.
On a dark Tuesday afternoon I was battling with a set of truly complicated forms from our pension provider when Ben came in and shut the door quietly behind him. Something in the set of his chin said troubled so I saved what I was doing.
“S’up Benny.”
“We have a visitor.”
“Someone we know?”
“Nope. But he gives me the heebie jeebies. He’s very polite and all, but I get the feeling asking for the favour of a few words is rubbing him right up the wrong way.”
“Do you not want to speak to him?”
“It’s not that. I just don’t like the cut of his jib. And anyway it ain’t me he wants to talk to.”
“Now I’ve got the heebies.”
The scent of flowers with an underlay of decay announced Esme’s presence. She spoke aloud.
“It’s all right Mother. This one means no harm.”
I blew her a kiss and she was gone.
Ben sat down in my visitor chair with an audible thump.
“I really thought Esme was gone. Haven’t had a sniff of her since Cherry went to the light.”
“She’s still here, love. I think she’s just been keeping a low profile because she thinks you don’t like her.”
“I do kinda like her. Even if I didn’t I’d tolerate her because I know she loves you. I was just surprised she’s still about, and sorry if she can’t find her way to the light.”
Esme’s laugh filled the air. “I’m okay Mister Ben I can cross when I want. I’m just waiting for something.”
I think she must have kissed his cheek because he smiled and put a hand up to touch his own face.
Esme spoke in my head. ‘For a man, he’s okay.’ Then she was gone.
“Come on Benny, stop flirting with girl ghosts. Let’s go talk to whoever.”
I checked my face and fluffed my hair, following Ben into the bar where a tall, pale-skinned, dark haired man stood up from his seat at a table by one of the wide windows. He had a chiselled, handsome face, was immaculately tailored from his tie to his highly polished brogues, and felt about as human as an iceberg. I walked forward with my head high and my spine straight. He unbent fractionally.
“Mrs Beckett. I hope you will excuse my turning up here unannounced. It isn’t the way I normally operate, but my errand isn’t exactly normal.”
I inclined my head. “Shall we have tea while you explain your errand?”
I noticed the spasm of distaste that crossed his stern features at the word tea, and grinned at him.
“Are you not a tea drinker?”
“Indeed I am not?”
“Would you prefer coffee? Or something a little stronger?”
He smiled narrowly. “I’d prefer a large whisky, but, as I am driving, coffee works be more than acceptable.”
“What variety of coffee?”
“Anericano please.”
Ben went to the bar and had a brief conversation with Morgan, who showed him an uplifted thumb.
“Shall we sit?” I suggested. “Then maybe you can tell me why you have driven from wherever, on a day as foul as today, to speak to a woman you have never met.”
This time his smile was a little warmer. “They said you would be a surprise and I begin to see why.”
Ben slid into the seat beside me. “I wonder what you have found so surprising in a perfectly reasonable question.” His voice was calm, but the underlaying threat was obvious.
“I’m sorry if you found my comment offensive. But the only information I was given about Mrs Beckett was that she is a beautiful woman who talks to spirits.”
Ben chuckled. “She also runs a hugely successful business, is mother to twin girls, and swears like a storm trooper with a bunion. However…”
“However indeed. What I was expecting was someone rather more dramatic and a lot more Celtic Twilight.”
I snorted. “I’m not a Celt. And I’m not fond enough of drama to create it. Life does that for me.” Then I added my own caveat. “I can produce a genuine Romany clairvoyant if you would like to meet her.”
He held up both his hands palm outwards. “No. Thank you. I’ll pass on that experience if it’s all the same to you.”
Ben snorted out a laugh and our visitor stiffened.
Fortunately for the civility of the encounter Ellen and Morgan arrived with coffee, tea, scones, jam, clotted cream and assorted cakes.
By the time afternoon tea was laid out in front of us, Ben had controlled his sense of humour and Mister Grumpy had wound in his neck.
I loaded a scone for Ben, and did the same for our visitor. His eyes met mine, and for the first time I saw a human being under the ice.
“Eat first, talk later,” I used my bossiest tone and he complied.
Once fed and watered, our visitor felt a lot less uptight and almost like an actual human. As soon as the girls had bussed the table he spread his hands on the polished wood and I studied the black hairs that marched across the backs of those hands while he marshalled his thoughts.
“My name is not going to mean anything to you, but for the record here’s my card.” He put a square of pasteboard on the table. “I’m an advocate operating in Edinburgh. In this case I am representing a gentleman who died late last year. It is my understanding that you met him once and facilitated his communication with his deceased wife.”
“I didn’t facilitate anything. All I did was show him where his wife’s bones had been found.”
Ben took up the narrative. “The aforementioned Romany clairvoyant helped to push aside the veil for long enough to give comfort to an obviously dying man. Other than that…”
“Whatever you did or did not do, my client came here deeply troubled and the bitterest human being it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. When he returned to Edinburgh he was changed. Something had gifted him with the grace to die in quiet acceptance, instead of carrying on an unending search for vengeance.”
“For that I’m glad.” I said.
“Me too.” Ben spoke quietly.
“I wrote his will and am the sole executor. It is in that capacity that I am here today. He left a sum of money for you to put to use in a specified way.”
“What way?”
He took a sheet of paper from his top pocket and read from it: “I leave this money in the hope Mrs Bennett will use it in memory of my dear Cherry. I would ask that she arranges something bright in the place where Cherry’s bones lay. Something bright and joyful. Something where children’s laughter rings and happy memories are made.”
Ben gripped my hand and I let myself sag against his strength for a brief moment.
“I can’t refuse, can I?”
Both men spoke together. “You can if it asks too much.”
Which braced me better than any amount of ‘encouragement’ could ever do. So much so that I could immediately see what needed to be done.
“How about an Easter Egg Hunt?” I said. “Easter Sunday afternoon. With afternoon tea. And enough chocolate to ensure children on a sugar high for days. Will there be enough money for that?”
“There is ten thousand in the pot.”
“That’s all right then. Have a big party and donate any leftovers to a children’s charity in Cherry’s name.”
Ben clapped me on the back and Mister Edinburgh Advocate opened and shut his mouth like a landed pike.

And that ‘gentle reader’ is why I’m sitting in the middle of what feels like half a hundred screaming children hunting chocolate in the thin, spring sunshine and why I said if Ben hadn’t bought the orchard none of this would have happened.

If you enjoyed reading about Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.