Page 34 of Murder in the Winter Woods
‘Seriously? Heavens, it must be forty years since…How did you come across them?’
‘I was visiting a friend, my next-door neighbour, in fact. She had a photo album of her husband’s, he…’ Julia dug in her bag and pulled out her phone. ‘Hang on a minute, I’ll show you…’
The photograph Julia had taken at Hester’s house was the most recent on her camera roll. She pushed the phone across the table to David.
‘I can’t believe it. That’s them. And hang on, that’s me!’ he said, pointing to a lanky fellow in the back right of the photo dressed in black, with black-rimmed glasses, sporting a preposterous moustache. An enduring look, it seemed. He held the phone close to his face, pinched at the screen to enlarge the photo, and looked at it in disbelief. ‘That’s me. Goodness, what a long time ago this was. This is bizarre! So it turns out Christopher was right about us having something in common, although he wouldn’t have known about this crazy coincidence.’
‘It’s completely mad! What are the chances? So, David, speaking of the band, there’s something…’
Julia was interrupted by thetink tink tinkof a fork on a wine glass. Peter stood between the two tables, beaming over the assembled gathering, and then turning his warm gaze to Christopher. Peter was a practised speaker, and he spoke amusingly and lovingly about the birthday boy, but Julia struggled to keep her attention on his enumeration of Christopher’s many fine qualities. She was impatient to interrogate David about the Red Berries. To her shame, she was similarly distracted during Christopher’s reply to Peter, but stood with the others and toasted his good health with her full heart, before turning her attention back to David. She had been about to tell him the sad news of the two men’s recent deaths, but she stopped herself. Something told her that she would get more honest information if he didn’t know. Although, now that she thought about it, it was odd that it was thought unseemly to speak ill of the dead, who were beyond caring what was saidabout them, but quite acceptable to talk badly about people who were actually living and breathing and capable of being hurt.
‘David, do you remember when this picture was taken?’
‘Actually, I do. I had heard the band at some club somewhere. I was always out and about in those days, scouting, looking for the next big thing. They were rough, musically inexperienced. Kids, really, but they had something. I brought them to London. I wanted to hear them in studio, and I’d got a record label lined up to hear them. This picture was taken the day they came up to London. We’d done good work in studio, the record label was keen and we were celebrating.’
‘Do you remember Matthew, my next-door neighbour? He was one of the guitar players. Bass guitar.’
David shook his head. ‘Only vaguely. It was a long time ago, and there were so many bands. Everyone with ten fingers was a guitar player. And some guys with nine or eight fingers.’
‘And a guy called Lewis? This one.’ She pointed at the man at the drums.
He shook his head, frowning, trying to make it all come back. ‘I’m not great with names at the best of times. I remember the girl, though. The singer.’ He tapped at the screen, looking at the girl on Matthew’s lap. ‘Wow, she was really something. The real deal. I wonder what happened to her. What was her name, now? Peggy…Milly…Sally, maybe?’
A waiter came by and put a small plate in front of each of them
‘Egg?’ Julia said.
‘It’s cheese, I think. Looks like burrata,’ David said, poking at the food in front of him with his knife.
‘I mean the girl’s name. The word “Egg” was written underneath the picture. Maybe it’s someone’s nickname?’
‘Egg! That was it! Can’t blame me for not remembering that one! It was all the rage for musicians to have ridiculous one-word names – all thought that they were going to be Sting or Prince.’ David picked up a piece of sourdough toast, spread the gooey cheese on it, and chewed, contemplatively. When he’d swallowed the rather large mouthful, he said, ‘It was the girl who scuppered the whole record deal. The morning after this picture was taken, they were supposed to be in the studio again. The guys from the label had heard the tape I’d made, and they were there to work with them, with a view to signing them. Their song was set to be a Christmas hit. They were good to go, pens at the ready. The band arrived, hungover to the teeth and looking ropey as hell. As for the singer, she just didn’t pitch at all. Without the girl, the band was just…average. The song was actually quite awful, but when she sang it, it somehow changed. And her being absent, it made them look unreliable. The record company pulled out.’
‘How sad for them all. A golden opportunity, thrown away.’ Julia decided not to mention that she had recently heard the song, and agreed that it was, indeed, terrible.
‘It happens all the time. A lot of people have talent, but they don’t have the temperament to make it work. Sometimes it’s drugs, or booze. Sometimes it’s burnout. Or the fame goes to their heads and it all falls apart. I’ve seen it a hundred times.’
‘I can imagine. It’s strange though, to think how different their lives might have turned out. Instead of being a taxi driver and a beekeeper, Lewis and Matthew might have been rock stars.’
‘You know what, Julia? Chances are things worked out better for them, all in all.’
‘That might well be true. I don’t know how lives as rock stars would have panned out for them, but they both lived ordinary lives, quite happily as far as I can tell. Until recently, that is.’
‘Lived? Recently?’
‘Well…Sadly, in the last few weeks, they’ve died.’
‘What, both of them? What happened?’ David looked incredulous, like he thought he must have misunderstood.
Julia wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. David waited.
‘Hit-and-run. Run down in our little village of Berrywick.’
‘How awful. Were they crossing the road together?’
Julia thought carefully about how much she should say. ‘No. In fact they died separately, within a couple of weeks of each other.’
‘Good God. That really is a weird coincidence, isn’t it? Hard to believe, really.’
