Page 67 of Murder in the Winter Woods
‘Youwere called Egg?’ Julia asked gently, trying to keep the surprise from her voice. ‘I thought perhaps Lydia Barrow was Egg.’
‘Lydia? From the butcher’s?’ said Margaret, her eyes narrowed. ‘She wasnotEgg. Not at all. I was Egg!’ She paused, and muttered, ‘Never liked that Lydia.’
‘Aunt Margaret!’ said Pippa, appalled. ‘YoulikedLydia! You made us take her a bottle of your special medication for her bunions.’
‘She gave me the bad chops. Nasty, skinny ones with gristle,’ said Margaret, smiling somewhat incongruously. ‘She shouldn’t have done that, should she?’
Julia tried to move the conversation away from Lydia and the quality of chops, and back to the band. ‘So you were in the band, Margaret? The Red Berries? You were Egg?’
‘Hecalled me Egg,’ said Margaret. She sounded proud.
‘Who called you Egg?’
‘He’s gone now.’
‘Who’s gone, Margaret?’
‘Matthew. It was his nickname for me. Margaret. Peggy. Peg. Egg. That’s how he got to it.’
‘Matthew Shepherd?’ Julia asked.
Margaret flapped her hands in front of her face, as if she wanted to wave the question away. Although she didn’t answer,her agitation told Julia that the name was the right one. She tried another gentle tack.
‘I heard that you had a wonderful voice, Margaret. David, the record producer from London, told me you were extraordinary.’
A small smile lit Margaret’s face. ‘David? I remember David. He said that? Oh, how I loved to sing.’
Much to Julia’s surprise, Margaret started to sing quietly:
‘As white as the snow
The Christmas trees glow
And now I must go
Hoooooooommmeee.’
It was the same song that Hester had sung – the big hit that had nearly achieved fame and fortune for the band, but in Margaret’s voice, it somehow achieved a mysterious and sad beauty. The song that before had seemed like an extremely weak attempt at seasonal rhyming was now an aching melody about having to leave.
‘As red as the holly
The holly is jolly
And now I must go
Hoooooommmeeee.’
Margaret stopped after the chorus, looking quietly pleased with her efforts.
Julia swallowed a lump in her throat.
Pippa got up to let in the dogs, who were scratching at the kitchen door. Julia suspected that she was similarly affected, and was taking a moment to deal with the lump in her own throat. Jake and the puppies came in, their nails clicking onthe kitchen tiles, and their cheerful canine energy lightening the mood.
‘How lovely to hear you sing, Aunt Margaret. You should sing more often!’ said Pippa, sitting down next to her aunt and taking her hand. ‘Mum always said you got the singing genes for both of you.’
‘Ah well, your poor mum couldn’t hit a note, but I could. I can hold a tune.’
‘David said you were the real talent in the Red Berries,’ Julia added. ‘In fact, what he said was, “She was something really special”.’
