Page 18 of A Village Theatre Murder

The second worry in her fluttering flock was the question of how Sean and Jono were doing. She had not spoken to Sean since he’d left her house with his son and Leo and a car full of clobber on Sunday evening. The atmosphere had been tired and tense, and future plans uncertain. Sean, until yesterday his own man, unencumbered by dependants, now had a troubled adult son living with him. It wouldn’t be an easy transition for any of them.

Julia had sent him a message around lunchtime on Monday:Hope all’s well there and Jono settling in. Bring him for supper sometime this week. Chat soon? Xx

His reply had been brief and uninformative.

All fine. Thanks again for having Leo. X

It was now Tuesday. No phone call. Not even a message. Julia was determined to give them their space, but even so, it was unusual for Sean to be so absent, so uncommunicative.There was usually a ‘Good morning’ message, or a forwarded article, or a cartoon he thought she’d like.

‘Julia Bird, you are being very silly,’ she told herself in a stern voice that made Jake look up, worriedly, lest he be in some sort of trouble. She addressed herself internally for the remainder of the conversation, telling herself that Sean was just very caught up in moving Jono and his belongings into his little house and getting the young man settled. He’d be in touch when he was ready.

That settled, Julia decided to turn her attention to her word games. Before she could find her phone, it pinged from somewhere in the bedclothes. It must be Sean, she thought with relief, patting down the duvet in search of the phone. Funny how thinking about someone sometimes seemed to summon them. Her hand found the phone and freed it from the tangled bedding.

It wasn’t Sean. It was a message from Roger Grave on the WhatsApp group that he’d created for the South Cotswolds Players involved in the production, cast and crew. The group was named ‘SCP production notes’ and the rules expressly forbade banter unrelated to arrangements, rehearsals and other matters directly related to the play.

Please come to an all-hands c&c meeting, 11a.m., to discuss the way forward for our production after the tragic accident. RG, dir.

Julia always found it amusing that he signed off thus, even though his name appeared in the message app and besides, everyone knew he was the director of the play. She also noted his ‘c&c’, which referred to cast and crew. He loved all the theatre lingo, and used it with a flourish, which, again, she found amusing. But right now, she was in no mood to be amused. She was too astounded by the content of the message.It was astonishing to her that there was any discussion to be had on the subject. Someone haddied. Onstage. Killed by one of the props. Surely Roger didn’t think that they might proceed with the play, under the circumstances?

Clearly, she was not the only person to have had that thought, because three morepingsarrived in quick succession.

Surely, under the circumstances, the play is over?

Discuss what???? RIP Graham Powell!!!

Ping.A third message arrived, consisting only of six crying emojis.

The show must go on!!!!

Roger replied:This is not the forum for such a decision. Please come to the meeting. We will discuss it then.

So much for Julia’s pleasant day with nothing in the diary. Now, she had a meeting. And if the excessive punctuation and emojis was an indication, it would be one contentious meeting.

She scrolled through the messages, just in case she’d missed something from Sean. Nothing.

She picked up her phone, determined to at least enjoy her word games.

RATED, one of her handful of Wordle starter words, earned her four yellow squares. Four correct letters, each in the incorrect position. Only the R had to go.

She played with the other four in her mind, trying to think of possible solutions. The ED ending was off the table, which narrowed things down significantly.

DEATH, she typed in, and watched as the five squares turned green. ‘Well knock me down with a feather,’ she said to Jake. ‘It’s like the phone knows something, isn’t it?’

Ordinarily, Julia would be delighted to get the correct answer in two goes, but the stark white capital letters in their green blocks rather gave her the shivers.

DEATH.

Jake looked up at her with a dim, friendly expression that said, ‘I have no idea what you’re on about, but whatever it is, I think you’re fab!’

‘DEATH, Jakey, I ask you,’ she said, swinging her feet to the floor with a thud. ‘DEATH. That’s just great.’

Julia’s chat with Jake about Wordle was again interrupted by her phone – this time with the insistent purr of a FaceTime call coming through. There was only one person who FaceTimed Julia, and so she swung her feet back up onto the bed, and settled down for a chat with Jess.

‘Mum, Mum, Dylan’s told me all about what’s going on. Are you okay?’

Julia had forgotten about this aspect of her daughter’s relationship with village local, Dylan. Whereas Julia might have decided to shield Jess from the drama playing out in her life, Dylan had no such reservations. She sighed. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about, darling. But very upsetting, of course.’

‘Mum, you always pretend to be tough, but Dylan says that you were doing the costumes for the show. That you and Tabitha both handled the gun, and that Tabitha actually was the last one to touch the gun before the shooting.’ Julia saw Jess give a dramatic shiver on the small phone screen. ‘Is she okay?’

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