Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 by Sue Nicholls (primary phonics .txt) 📕

Paul’s expression was shocked. ‘How the fuck did it get there?’

46 KITTY

In a pew beside Paul and Maurice, Kitty’s calm face masked her churning brain. Mindlessly, her thumb rubbed the smooth surfaces of Cerys and Paul’s wedding rings, in her pocket. Behind her, the congregation shuffled and murmured, but she did not hear them. The murder case occupied her mind, along with her worry that Cerys’s reasons for marrying Paul might not be honourable.

Pulling herself back to the present, she squeezed the rings in her fist and decided that whatever Cerys’s motives, and whoever killed Mummy, today was her father’s special day. She turned to scan the crowded church. Since their engagement, Cerys had cultivated a gang of neighbourhood friends, and Kitty searched among them for faces she recognised. Alice and Freya, wearing identical outfits, were glaring at each other. Their husbands, Jack and Lewis, sat between them, to form a human shield. On the next pew, Mick and Lucas had taken this time, away from Churchills where the reception would be.

Beside Lucas was a girl Kitty had not met. In fact, now she came to think of it, she had never seen Lucas with a girl. Judging by the way they leaned into each other, whispering and laughing, this girl, lithe and blond, must be Luc’s date. In the second row, directly behind Paul, Maurice and herself, Sam met her eyes, his expression as pensive as hers. They had agreed that for the sake of harmony, it would be best to wait until after the wedding before tackling Maurice about the asterisk on his calendar.

Sensing someone’s gaze, Kitty turned to find Mick looking at her. There was a smile on his lips, but his eyes were an expressionless black. She turned away, wondering whether Mick was worried for Paul too.

The waiting organist plunged his fingers among the keys, and the familiar notes of the Wedding March burst from its ancient pipes. Sound filled the vaulted space, and Paul, after glancing over his shoulder to make sure his timing was right, hunched his jacket straight and stepped forward to meet his future. He took his place at the front of the church and Cerys began her measured progress towards him.

Kitty watched him, weighing him up, reaffirming her trust in him. During her childhood, Paul, when under pressure, would often release his rage in an explosion of aggression. His behaviour on one occasion, had shocked and frightened her to such an extent that she had retreated to the safety of her calm, even cool mother and refused to see him. When that anger stopped? At a guess it was when he was absolved of Mum’s murder. She could remember no anger after that and asked herself why. Why, when he had wasted so much time and energy proving his innocence, when he had lost the woman he loved and was left to care for his small daughter alone; why was he not still angry?

Cerys drew alongside the front pew. She was a poor substitute for Fee. No elegance, no refinement in either speech or dress. The secret gown that had forced Paul to the sofa, hung over her swollen belly in volumes of petticoats, its style unsuited to a pregnant woman of diminutive stature. Gazing at her, Kitty was reminded of one of those cylindrical skirted dolls from her childhood, that hid the toilet roll in Nanny Gloria’s Putney home.

Behind Cerys came an equally frothy Anwen in pale green satin and net. The colour did not suit her, but she looked so proud and excited that Kitty had to smile. Cerys handed her bouquet to her sister, and Paul stepped forward to stand next to his bride to be.

Kitty gave the moist rings a rub with a tissue. Her wariness of Cerys stemmed from a sense that Paul was reluctant to marry. And she could not shake off the suspicion that Cerys had become pregnant on purpose; that the woman was not honourable. There was that word again: honourable! She nearly laughed out loud at herself. Surely her skill with words was better than that. For a while now she had toyed with the idea of giving up journalism, or at least taking a year’s break to write a novel. Something with beautiful words and a riveting storyline. Her years in the newspaper industry had exposed her to many a good plot.

Something distracted her from her reverie. The minister had stopped speaking, and the groom and best man were staring at her with lifted eyebrows. The rings! They were waiting for the rings. She passed the precious items to the vicar and caught Paul’s eye. He looked up to the vaulted roof and shook his head as if to say, ‘You didn’t have much to do for goodness’ sake.’

When the vicar said, ‘I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.’ The couple looked into one another’s eyes and embraced, and at last, Kitty realised that love did exist between them.

Endless photographs followed in the churchyard. Kitty and Anwen were the only family members and were soon released from the effort of forcing smiles. Kitty moved a short distance away from the crowd and watched the female photographer deftly controlling the excited gathering. In her sleeveless, mannish shirt, Kitty clasped her upper arms and shivered in the chilly air.

A jacket landed on her hunched shoulders in a waft of its owner’s shower gel. ‘Thanks,’ she said without taking offense at his chivalry.

‘No problem,’ said Sam. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Looking forward to a drink.’

Sam glanced at her. ‘Are you driving?’

‘Yeah. I’ve got the bike.’

‘Be careful.’

Kitty experienced a surge of irritation. ‘I can look after myself,’ she flashed, then at the sight of his face, ‘Sorry. Bit of a short fuse today.’

Sam gave the wisp of a smile, his eyes on the camera girl. ‘No problem.’

There