Unless youre interested in Haywards Heath in the 1970s, which I am going to assume youre not.
People love a murder, whatever they might say in public, so Ill give it a go.
Like whoever it was who wrote that diary about Holmes and Watson.
Yes, that Ron Ritchie, so that was something else exciting.
Thinking about it now, I fitted right in.
I suppose there had been a vacancy, and I was the new Penny.
I was nervous at the time, though.
Elizabeth had formed the Thursday Murder Club with Penny.
She wasnt really supposed to have the files, but who was to know?
After a certain age, you’re able to pretty much do whatever takes your fancy.
No one tells you off, except for your doctors and your children.
Also, I think that Penny and Elizabeth just thoroughly enjoyed it.
A few glasses of wine and a mystery very social, but also gory.
It is good fun.
They would meet every Thursday (thats how they came up with the name).
Whoever Elizabeth and Penny thought might be able to help them with some query or other.
Ibrahim had soon joined them.
Or was a psychiatrist.
Or still is, Im not quite sure.
I would never have therapy, because who wants to unravel all that knitting?
Not worth the risk, thank you.
Either way, Ibrahim no longer plays bridge, which I think is a shame.
Ron had all but invited himself, which wont surprise you.
She soon spotted his key strength namely, he never believes a single word anyone ever tells him.
When I first walked in, there was a two-thousand-piecer of Whitstable harbor, missing a letterbox of sky.
Once youve done the oysters, theres no real shopping to speak of.
We all have a sob story, but we dont all go around killing people.
Elizabeth told me to shut the door behind me and come and take a look at some pictures.
Ibrahim introduced himself, shook my hand, and told me there were biscuits.
I told him he was preaching to the converted there.
Ron took my wine and put it by the biscuits.
He nodded at the label and commented that it was a white.
He then gave me a kiss on the cheek, which gave me pause for thought.
The only men who kiss you on the cheek are sons-in-law, or people like that.
So I had Ron down straightaway as a quick worker.
We all crowded around the autopsy photos.
The poor girl, and that wound that should never have killed her, even back in those days.
He had given Penny a belt for her troubles too.
If you hit women, you hit women.
Even if he hadnt run off, I suppose he would have got away with it.
I know you still read about these things all the time, but it was even worse back then.
The Thursday Murder Club werent about to magically bring him to justice; I think everyone knew that.
So Penny and Elizabeth never really got their wish.
All those murderers remained unpunished, all still out there, listening to the BBC Shipping Forecast somewhere.
They had got away with it, as some people do, Im afraid.
The older you get, the more you have to come to terms with that.
Anyway, thats just me being philosophical, which will get us nowhere.
That Thursday was the first time it was the four of us.
Elizabeth, Ibrahim, Ron, and me.
And, as I say, it seemed very natural, as if I was completing their jigsaw again.
I will leave the diary there for now.
There is a big meeting in the village tomorrow.
I help to put all the chairs out for these sort of things.
I volunteer because it makes me look helpful, and it gives me first dibs on the refreshments.
The big meeting is a consultation about a new development at Coopers Chase.
Ian Ventham, the big boss, is coming to talk to us about it.
Hes all the things that can go wrong with men if you leave them to their own devices.
From now on I promise to attempt to write something every day.
I will keep my fingers crossed that something happens.
Copyright 2020 Richard Osman.
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