Death Actually Page 5

  “Guess who I saw today?” he called out.

  Maggie carried on working as she waited for the answer. It was rare for her son to say more than a few words at a time, let alone actually seek her out and chat, and she didn’t want to put him off.

  “Tim James, the movie star,” he said, looking up from the laptop. “You remember he’s here for that action movie being shot up the Dart? The poor guy was driving through town around lunchtime with a line of cars following him, each one packed with photographers. He couldn’t even stop to get petrol without those guys leaping out and taking pictures of him filling his tank. Felt a bit sorry for him till I remembered how much he makes. Odd that he had to get his own petrol, isn’t it? You’d expect he’d use a driver.”

  With the hairdryer on cool, Maggie fluffed up Betty’s hair into its familiar style, and then used gallons of spray to ensure not one hair dared move out of place and ruin the hard-won effect. Betty had said she wanted to look as lifelike as possible.

  Once her hair was done, Maggie laid her make-up brushes out on the trolley beside her. “He’s quite good-looking, isn’t he?” she said.

  “Some people think so,” said Nick. “Starting to look a bit past it if you ask me. He must be nearly forty by now.

  “Ouch.”

  “You don’t look forty, Mum, you look great – better than him, anyway.”

  “You are hungry, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe. Talking of food, you should see this woman I deliver to now. She is huge, I mean, absolutely enormous.”

  Only half listening, Maggie gently massaged cream around Betty’s neck and face. When she’d finished she took some wadding and pushed this into Betty’s cheeks to help take away that “just-had-cancer” look, and then put her false teeth back in.

  “Today I delivered six extra-large stuffed crust pizzas and six two-litre bottles of coke. Every day she eats that many pizzas and more and drinks all the coke. The woman can barely move she’s so big – honest. I don’t think she’s left her flat in years. God knows what would happen if there was a fire, because she’d be stuck. No one could get that woman down the stairs without a crane. Elka told me she used to be a skier in the olden days when you were young, but I can’t see it. There isn’t a tow on the planet that would’ve had a hope in hell of getting her up a mountain.”

  Maggie stood back and looked at Betty. That foundation isn’t right, she thought. Taking a cotton pad she started wiping it off, and chose a lighter colour from the box.

  “That’s Lizzie Martin. We were at school together. I thought she’d gone up north.”

  “Yip, Lizzie Martin. Enormous and not very nice with it. Whoever said fat people were jolly has never met this one. This morning I was forty-five minutes late with her delivery. There was a problem with the ovens. When I got there and before I could explain, she was yelling and throwing things at me. If this was the best service I was capable of she would bleep-bleep take her order bleep-bleep someplace else,” he mimicked. “On and on she went, until she got a whiff of the food, that is. Then right in front of me she grabbed the boxes and started wolfing the first one down while I was standing there. Not a pretty sight.”

  Maggie finished the foundation, pleased she’d changed it, and slipped the eyecaps out of Betty’s eyes. She got out her tweezers and did a quick eyebrow tidy up and then applied a light brown powder to make them more visible. Betty had said green eyeshadow and lots of it. She wanted colour, and Maggie duly obliged before adding a thin layer of mascara to her lashes and slipping the caps back in place.

  “Surely you’re exaggerating. Lizzie would have won gold at the Olympics if she hadn’t been hit by a car. She was beautiful and very fit. She wouldn’t let herself get fat.”

  “No, it’s her. Both you and Elka have confirmed it. Unless this fat person has eaten the real Lizzie and has her trapped inside her body. She could be a zombie.”

  “Uh huh,” replied Maggie, concentrating on painting Betty’s lips in the colour she’d chosen to go with her casket. Betty had joined an online Coffin Club as soon as she was told the treatment wasn’t working, and had asked Jim to build one for her. She had made the lining herself – pale pink with shocking pink frills – and had then bought a lipstick to match.

  Nick finished another hand of Patience. “The worst of it is, despite her being so nasty and rude, she is actually helpless – angry and horrible, sure, but totally helpless. I meant what I said about a fire. She would be so cooked.” He laughed, but Maggie could tell he was also concerned.

  “Her home help arrived just as I was leaving. She was worried because Lizzie hadn’t answered her phone. I had to tell her this was because the phone was in pieces on the other side of the room. Lizzie got me to pick up the bits for her. And then that new doctor arrived just as I was leaving. Gave me a filthy look when he saw me and realised I had brought food.”

  “Why would he be horrible to you? He doesn’t know anything about you.” Betty was done and looked as though she could wake up from a nap at any moment. The family, especially Susan, would be pleased. Maggie tidied everything away and took off her gloves.

  “Mum, this woman is enormous, and I’m one of the people taking her bloody pizzas and coke every day. The doc looked at me as though I was her drug dealer. Maybe I am.”

  “Really? Bit strong, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. When I saw her this morning, so upset because her delivery was late, it made me think. She’s addicted to food, actually sugar, in the same way other people are addicted to drugs. The last thing that woman needs is food.”

  “But if she didn’t get it from you, she would get it from someone else. Everyone has to eat and food is legal, Nick.”

  Maggie held a mirror up to Betty so she could see how she looked. “You look great,” she whispered.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing, just talking to Betty. Come and see how she looks.”

  Nick looked around the corner and nodded appreciatively. “She looks exactly the way she would want to. Great job, Mum.”

  Maggie pushed her friend back into the cabinet, and after shutting the door took off her apron. “It’s a hard one, Nick,” she said. “I don’t know what to say, but you have to feel OK about it and if you don’t then let someone else do her orders.”

  Nick squirmed. “I sort of feel OK and I sort of don’t. That’s the problem. And to make matters worse she gives the best tips and I need the money.”

  “Ahhh, I might have known there would be filthy lucre involved, corrupting my innocent child.” Maggie put her hand on Nick’s shoulder.

  “On the one hand she gives great tips, and on the other hand, giving a fat lady something you know is killing her makes you feel bad. And on the third hand, what right have you to tell a grown woman she can’t have what she wants and has paid for?”

  “If it helps,” said Maggie, “she was my friend at school and I wouldn’t have wanted to get between her and something she wanted, ever. We were in the same class for a while but she left to train in France. No one saw her for ages but we heard all about her. After winning the World Title she became New Zealand’s golden girl of skiing. And she deserved it. She was a fantastic skier and would have won gold at the 1988 Olympics if she hadn’t been injured.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Nick. “That huge enormous woman wasn’t just a skier, she was a world champion?”

  “Brilliant sportswoman – totally fearless, and beautiful too. Everyone loved her, until the accident. Stepped out in front of a car late one night in France. The rumours were she’d been drinking and got a bit aggro with someone. The car completely shattered her right leg and she was lucky not to lose it completely. No one heard anything about her for ages, until she came back to New Zealand ten years ago. She didn’t want anyone to know she was back. Someone recognised her and told the press. The papers tried to make a big thing of it, golden girl returns in tragic circumstances, but she wouldn’t have a bar of it. Even hit one reporter w
ith a crutch after he stuck his camera in her face when she answered the door – Jonathon Bramble, I think. I thought she’d gone to ground up north somewhere. But obviously not.

  “Right it’s been a long day and I’m starving, but I don’t want to hear the word pizza. Your story has put me right off. Do you think Kate has cooked us anything, or are we going to have to defrost something I prepared earlier?”

  “I suggested she cook but she ran out of the room and slammed the bathroom door.”

  “I hope she hasn’t picked up a bug somewhere. You’ll work out what to do about Lizzie. No one from her past ever managed to tell her what she could or couldn’t do. Not even her parents, poor things. Maybe talk to her, get to know her a little better? And another thing, don’t take any stick from that doc. If anyone is supposed to help her, it’s him, not you.”

  Maggie turned out the lights and locked The Stables’ door, an act that always amused her, considering the building’s inhabitants weren’t going anywhere, and a less likely place for a burglar she couldn’t imagine. They walked towards the light of the warm house across the yard, Nick thinking about his problem with Lizzie and Maggie thinking again about how much she missed Betty. She would have known exactly what to say to Nick.

  Chapter Nine

  The house on Suburb Street was crammed wall to wall with family, friends and townspeople. The shadows of sadness had lingered amongst them after the service and burial, but only until those gathered to celebrate Betty’s life had consumed one or two glasses of wine. Now they were gaily swapping Betty stories, which were getting funnier and more honest as the afternoon wore on.

  “Mum looked great,” said Susan, taking Maggie aside. “For a moment I thought she was going to sit up in the middle of the service and start telling us what to do.”

  Maggie squeezed Susan’s arm. “If only she had.”

  “I’d better go and check on Dad,” said Susan, merging with the throng of guests jostling for space in the front room.

  A young neighbour co-opted to help out was doing his best to get wine to thirsty guests, but no sooner had he appeared with a tray of full glasses than they were snatched away and he had to go back to the kitchen for more. The mourners at the back of the room were starting to feel the strain of enforced sobriety and despatched the new girl from the council planning department for supplies, with orders not to return empty handed.

  Maggie waved across heads to Kate, who was being swamped by people pleased to see her home. Like Betty, many had taken an interest in her progress. They wanted to know what she’d been doing and if she was back from London for good, hinting it was about time she found a man and settled down to have babies. Before long several of the older women had made plans for her to come to dinner and meet their grandsons.

  Kate looked exotic in a loose tunic dress made from colourful silk she’d insisted to Maggie was the height of fashion this year in London. Maggie was just pleased to have Kate home again. She felt guilty there hadn’t been time for them to sit down and talk properly about Kate’s time in London, and, more importantly, what she was planning to do next. Whenever she’d looked for her daughter it was to find her fast asleep in her room.

  Memo to self, Maggie thought. Organise lunch with Kateat Elka’s.

  She’d discovered when Kate was going through her teenage years that she could be more forthcoming about all sorts of subjects if they met in a neutral, public space, sitting side by side rather than face to face. With Elka present, Maggie hoped she’d have a better chance of finding out answers to her growing list of questions.

  The conversation around Maggie turned from Betty to Tim James, who was making his presence felt in town. Nick had seen him stop off at the local garage to fill up his 4WD, and someone else had seen him looking at paintings at an art gallery. He’d already agreed to donate merchandise from his last movie to the local school hall fund-raising effort, and the principal was swooning in her snow boots. No one had a bad word to say about him.

  Visiting movie stars usually kept to themselves, flying by helicopter from the airport to one of the lodges, where their every need was met with discretion, no matter how unusual. Sometimes the only sign that anyone famous was in town was an unmarked jet parked to one side at the airport. And if a star did venture out to a restaurant, they were always surrounded by an entourage who kept the curious at bay.

  Tim James was proving to be the exception to the rule, and as a result his popularity rating amongst the locals was at an all-time high.

  One of the men in the group was not so enamoured. Listening to the glowing talk, Bruce, a car rental agent, turned to Maggie, raised his eyebrows and gently shook his head. “Don’t believe the hype. I don’t like him,” he said quietly. “This guy is just like all the others – used to getting exactly what he wants when he wants it, and woe betide anyone who doesn’t deliver. I was five minutes late with his Audi. You know what the traffic’s like now. I tried to explain but that made him worse. He went ballistic in front of everyone on the tarmac. At least you don’t need to worry, Maggie. I doubt if he’ll need your services while he’s here.” Bruce spotted his wife and, grabbing the last glass of wine from a passing tray, went to join her.

  Maggie now found herself in a circle of men talking about who would make it into the next All Blacks test team. Having little interest in the national sport, she went in search of Elka who was predictably hard at work in the kitchen. Rolling up her sleeves, Maggie started on the dishes. The clean glasses were whisked away for refilling while they were still warm, and the nearly dry platters were loaded up again with steaming hot pastries and taken out to the ravenous guests. The pair worked together silently and efficiently, until demand slowly tapered off and they could relax.

  “Can I bring Kate to the restaurant for lunch?” asked Maggie, stripping off her rubber gloves. “I get the feeling she’s avoiding me. She talks more freely when you’re there.”

  “Of course you can. How about the day after tomorrow? I want to hear everything about London. Working under Chef Eric must have been incredible.”

  “It expect so, but I wouldn’t know. I’ve been so busy with Betty’s funeral, and then when I had time to talk she was fast asleep in her room. Today is the first time I’ve seen her dressed since she got home.”

  A waitress came in and with a loud sigh put an empty platter down on the bench. “That’s the last one,” she said, daring Elka to contradict her. Taking off her apron she undid her top button and fluffed her hair, before marching into the living room. Someone had put Betty’s favourite music on the stereo and the party seemed to be starting in earnest.

  Elka shrugged. “She’s one of my best waitresses. We’re so busy at the restaurant, she’s one of the few who can keep up. Anyway – Kate. She’ll be exhausted after working for Chef Eric right up until leaving. He’s one of the greats, but his reputation amongst staff is awful. And she spent eighteen months in his kitchen. Don’t be too hard on her, Maggie. Six months’ sleep might just about be enough to get over that man.”

  “It’s your world. Speaking of famous men, I have to say Tim James has never appealed to me,” said Maggie, finishing the last of the drying. “They were talking about him before. Raving over him. Well – everyone except Bruce, who said he was appalling.”

  “He does his own stunts,” said Elka. “That’s sexy. I like that he doesn’t expect other people to put their lives at risk to make him look good.”

  “I suppose. Unless you’re a stuntman looking for work. I don’t get why so many women run after him. Sue evidently made a right idiot of herself when he donated his stuff to the school. I know he looks good. Hair: check. Teeth: check. Muscles: check. Smile: Really?”

  “So, if he asked you out for dinner, you would turn him down.”

  “Absolutely,” said Maggie, bending down to put a large dish in a bottom cupboard. “Well, maybe. I would only go because I’m curious, not because I’m attracted to him. I haven’t been attracted to a man or anyone else for
years. And you know I’ve tried. Tried hard, in fact. Remember six years ago there was that fireman from Timaru?”

  As she straightened up, she saw the look on Elka’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I suppose she wants to tell you I’m standing right behind you and she thinks you might be about to say something a stranger shouldn’t hear,” said a male voice. “We wouldn’t want to breach the privacy of the fireman from Timaru, would we? Sorry – I took a short cut through the kitchen; I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Maggie shrank into the neck of her turtleneck jersey, her face flushed with colour. She turned around to look at the man standing right behind her. He was very tall, so she had to look up to see his face. Judging by his tan, and the rays of white lines sweeping out from the corners of his dark brown eyes, he had spent a lot of time in the sun. Clean shaven and clear eyed, Maggie had to admit he was tolerably good-looking, but that was as much as she was willing to concede.

  And then it struck her. “I know who you are. You’re Ben Goodman. I’ve heard about you from Betty. And others. You drive too fast and you nearly killed us on our morning walk a few days ago.”

  “I did what?”

  “You ran us off Lower Shotover Road into a ditch two mornings ago. And the ditch had water in it. Cold, deep water.”

  Ben looked at Elka. “Perhaps it’s time you introduced us, Elka? I like to know the names of the ones who got away.”

  “Maggie Potter, meet Ben Goodman – Dr Ben Goodman meet Maggie Potter.”

  “You’re the undertaker,” he said.

  “Funeral director,” corrected Maggie.

  “Exactly. Betty talked about you. She wanted us to meet. It was all she ever talked about.”

  “That’s strange. She didn’t say anything to me about you.”

  Standing behind the doctor, Elka wagged her finger at Maggie.

  “No doubt we’ll meet again, Maggie Potter,” said Ben, looking towards the door. “Not too often in a professional capacity, I hope. It won’t help me build up my practice, if patients see us together. They might think we have an arrangement.” He flushed. “Like Dr Harold Shipman, I mean,” he finished lamely.