Page 51 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
‘So the Church can’t help him, you can’t help him.’ Ivy mentally added Trish and then Fred to her list. She sat up a little straighter, scanning the cheap decorations as if they might offer some kind of revelation. ‘Whatcanhe do, Sue? Where else can he turn?’
Sue gave her a tight-lipped smile, one of those smiles that said, ‘I’m doing my best, but don’t get your hopes up.’
‘You could try reporting the rumours to the police,’ she suggested gently. ‘But without solid evidence, it’s unlikely they’ll take action.’
Ivy stared at the fake snowflakes on the window. They had seen better days. Another dead end.Where else could she try?
Slowly, Ivy rose, trying to shake the disappointment from her bones. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Sue. I’ll keep looking.’
‘If anything comes up, let me know.’ Sue cleared her throat, her face softening, ‘I’m not sure how helpful this is, but your best bet might be to find out what’s really happening at this Fowler Foundation. If your friend’s right and something shady is going on, get some solid evidence and take it to the Charity Commission. If they open an investigation, it won’t prove your friend’s innocence outright, but it might distract the real culprits long enough to stop them hounding him. And who knows, theinvestigation could uncover that they’ve fabricated the evidence against him.’
Ivy left, the door clicking shut behind her with a hollow finality. Another problem unsolved. Another man left to face the world with nothing but a rumour and a shattered reputation. And Ivy, once full of answers, was now stumbling along like the rest of them.
She drove home. As soon as she opened her front door, Jez charged at her like a tiny, furry hurricane. He slid across the floor, missed his footing and ended up bellyflopping into Fred’s ghastly vase. It wobbled but righted itself. ‘Nearly, Jez. Better luck next time.’
Ivy picked up Jez’s empty food bowl, then remembered she needed kibble, so she clipped on his lead and set off to the shop. The chill in the air had that crisp, earthy bite to it, a sharp reminder that winter had arrived. Jez tugged her past the village green where the Christmas tree stood, garish as ever, blinking in a disorganized flash of multicoloured lights. It wasn’t the most tasteful display, but it did the trick, making her feel unexpectedly cheerful. Brambleton looked like a present wrapped in gaudy, sparkly paper. It was showy but also peaceful. A reminder that some things never changed.
They passed Number 27 with its inflatable snowman, where Jez lunged at the bushes. ‘For heaven’s sake, stop!’ She yanked the lead just as he made a beeline for a particularly interesting looking shrub. He growled – no doubt convinced it was protecting Ivy from something nefarious – and she nearly tripped over her own feet trying to keep him in check.
As she rounded the corner, the village shop came into view, its bright lights cheerful against the grey afternoon. A large wreath decorated with pinecones, holly berries and a dusting of artificial snow crowned the door. Ivy caught Jez just as he attempted to leap into the bin. ‘This isn’t an obstacle course, you littlehooligan,’ she muttered, tethering him to a hook.
A bell chimed, delicate and hollow, its whisper swallowed by the relentless cheer of ‘Santa Baby’.A sweet, yeasty scent suggestive of something rich and golden infused the shop. Ivy was here for kibble, but the sight of Helen stopped her cold: dark-blonde hair catching the fairy lights, one hip canted against a display of handmade ornaments.
What about involving Helen? Omar had expressly told her not to, yet every avenue Ivy explored had petered out into a dead end. Her fingers grazed the edge of a shelf, her mind processing her options. Ivy never broke a confidence, but she reassured herself she wouldn’t be, provided she found a way of involving Helen without revealing Omar’s past, or mentioning his sister.
With a resolute breath, Ivy made her purchase, and, clutching her dog food, stepped outside into the sharp air, feeling the chill seeping through her gloves, making her skin prickle. She unhooked Jez, who tugged at the lead, dragging her toward the nearest lamppost with determined energy.
‘Jez, stop that,’ she squeaked, bracing against the pull as the puppy sniffed at the base of the post, tail wagging furiously.
Ivy shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the cold creeping up her legs. She cast a glance back at the shop, willing Helen to hurry up. As she waited, her mind churned.
A few minutes later, the bell jingled, and Helen stepped into the biting evening air, her hair bouncing round the faux-fur collar, a paper carrier bag in one mittened hand. Ivy tensed. Then pounced. ‘Helen, wait. Do you have a moment?’
Helen’s eyes widened. ‘Ivy?’
‘That man I keep seeing you with, at the Christmas market, at the pub. Who is he?’ She let the question settle between them; was Helen going to tell the truth?
‘His name is Robby. He’s the CEO of the charity I used to work for.’
‘And why don’t you like him?’
Helen froze. For a long, stretched out second, the only sound was Jez’s paws scrabbling at the pavement at a leaf a few inches beyond his reach. Then, at last, Helen exhaled – a slow, measured breath, as if she’d been waiting for this. ‘I was wondering when someone would ask,’ she murmured, her voice tight with something Ivy couldn’t quite place.
Ivy’s stomach clenched. ‘Well?’ she pressed.
‘I’m not who you think I am,’ said Helen.
‘You’re not a teacher?’
‘No. I mean, yes, I am a teacher, but ...’ she glanced away for a second before meeting Ivy’s eyes. ‘I was sent here, to keep an eye on Omar.’
The truth hurt, knowing this woman had hidden in their midst chatting to them in the café and helping make Christmas wreaths, all the while spying on one of them. But part of Ivy felt relieved. Helen was at least being honest with her.
‘I know that sounds awful, but Robby told me that Omar was involved in drug smuggling, and he asked me to find him – I didn’t expect that to be as easy as it was – and to convince him to return to Kabul. Robby said he had contacts in the Taliban, and he could get the charges dropped, and that anyway he’d face more leniency there than in our own prison system. I’d only met Omar briefly in London once, but now I’ve got to know him, I can tell that it’s not true. He’s not involved in drug smuggling! But Robby is certain he is guilty.’
If only Helen had stopped there, but she rushed on, as if she felt compelled to make a full confession. ‘It doesn’t really add up, does it. Is there something more going on? Omar claims there’s something dodgy going on at the Fowler Foundation, and I’m starting to think he’s right. I want to help.’ Ivy stiffened. Helen was offering help, exactly what she needed. But the risk assessment ran through her mind like a checklist: What if Helenpressed for details about Omar’s family? What if Ivy’s judgement was still as flawed as it had been with the Church hierarchy? ‘I’m sorry, Helen, I have to go.’ Ivy pulled on the lead, and Jez yapped. Helen’s voice followed her down the pavement. ‘You know, don’t you! Tell me. Let me help. I can’t help if I don’t know what he’s hiding.’
Ivy didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. She kept walking with deliberate, measured steps. The puppy whined, resisting the leash, his paws scrabbling against the concrete, but she barely noticed. Ivy wanted to involve Helen; her instincts were telling her it made sense. But she’d trusted her instincts once before and paid the price. Better to be cautious. Better to think it through properly first. Ivy yanked the puppy closer, clutching the lead like it was the only solid thing left in her life.
