Having convinced herself that she didn’t care one way or the other what happened to Aristide, Nesta hadn’t stayed for the verdict. But in the weeks that followed, travelling up and down the A1 with Lionel, she found her thoughts straying back to the tall stranger with a penchant for bacon McFlurries. Was he still out there, roaming the aisles of food courts in search of his peculiar satisfactions? Or had he been shut away, languishing in solitude with nothing but his dreams of the golden arches to nourish his soul?
Eventually, one night in a distant Travelodge, she admitted to herself that she needed to know. Leaving Lionel gently snoring in the bed, she shut herself in the ensuite bathroom with his iPad, and searched on Google for news of the court case.
It didn’t take long to find it. Things seemed to have hotted up after she’d left, and she could scarcely believe the developments that she now read. Aristide was free, but in his place Snodgrass was standing trial for the murder of Soo Meie and the attempted murder of Aristide.
Her mouth dropped open. So Soo Meie had been killed by mistake, while the real victim should have been Aristide. But why? And why Snodgrass? She had taken an interest in both men – could even be said to have ‘dated’ them. Was it possible that she was the connection? That Snodgrass had been jealous of Aristide for claiming her attention? The idea of the two men fighting over her was strangely thrilling.
She held on to the thought while she skimmed the rest of the news story. It seemed that Snodgrass was also facing charges connected with an exploding camper van, a sabotaged London bus, and the kidnap of an American Airlines passenger. None of this made any sense to her, but it sounded as if Snodgrass was in big trouble. He’d seemed such a mild-mannered chap the few times they’d met in that beer garden. But jealousy was a cruel mistress – as she knew from her own bitter experience. Could Snodgrass have been driven by rejection to carry out cruel and unnatural deeds?
‘What are you doing in there, Tiddlepuss?’ came Lionel’s voice from the bed.
Nesta shut down the iPad, wincing at the pet name he’d inflicted upon her, and made hand-washing noises. ‘Nothing, Grumblepaws,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll be out in a minute’.
Sitting on the closed toilet seat, Nesta stared at her feet and tried to face the truth. Neither of the men had been interested in her. She’d virtually thrown herself at Snodgrass and he hadn’t even bloody noticed. And it had been the same with his cousin. The only reason she hadn’t thrown herself at Aristide was that she was too scared of what he might have done to her. It was one thing pretending to talk knowledgably about fast-food perversions, but in truth she had no idea what he really meant by a bacon McFlurry. It might just have been a dodgy combination of sweet and savoury, but she suspected it was much more likely to be the codename for some unspeakably depraved physical act. And like all the other men, he would doubtless have preferred to do bacon McFlurries with Soo Meie.
So Nesta was left with Lionel. Once she faced up to the fact that she didn’t have any other choices, the prospect of ending up with Lionel became markedly less attractive. Charlie Chef might be a notch up on the social scale from Ronald McDonald, but why did her life have to revolve around one or another restaurant chain? Why couldn’t Lionel do fishing trips or garden sheds like a normal bloody man?
A tear welled in her eye. Even the man’s sperm didn’t work properly. The distinct blue line on her pregnancy test had turned out to be a false alarm. Even worse than the prospect of life with Lionel was that of spending the rest of her life on her own. If she didn’t trap Lionel into marriage soon, he could easily get bored with her and move on. She didn’t like the way he always smiled at that waitress at Sutton Scotney southbound (A34). And he’d been far more attentive than necessary to the receptionist at their last Travelodge.
With a sigh, Nesta opened the bathroom door. ‘You awake, Grumblepaws?’ she asked softly. She crossed the room quietly and slipped into the bed bedside him. ‘Does Grumblepaws want to play sausage-and-eggs with Tiddlepuss?’
But there were to be no sausages, eggs, or McFlurries for Nesta that night, because Grumblepaws had gone back to sleep.
Alternative Ending #1: Nesta and Lionel
Having convinced herself that she didn’t care one way or the other what happened to Aristide, Nesta hadn’t stayed for the verdict. But in the weeks that followed, travelling up and down the A1 with Lionel, she found her thoughts straying back to the tall stranger with a penchant for bacon McFlurries. Was he still out there, roaming the aisles of food courts in search of his peculiar satisfactions? Or had he been shut away, languishing in solitude with nothing but his dreams of the golden arches to nourish his soul?
Eventually, one night in a distant Travelodge, she admitted to herself that she needed to know. Leaving Lionel gently snoring in the bed, she shut herself in the ensuite bathroom with his iPad, and searched on Google for news of the court case.
It didn’t take long to find it. Things seemed to have hotted up after she’d left, and she could scarcely believe the developments that she now read. Aristide was free, but in his place Snodgrass was standing trial for the murder of Soo Meie and the attempted murder of Aristide.
Her mouth dropped open. So Soo Meie had been killed by mistake, while the real victim should have been Aristide. But why? And why Snodgrass? She had taken an interest in both men – could even be said to have ‘dated’ them. Was it possible that she was the connection? That Snodgrass had been jealous of Aristide for claiming her attention? The idea of the two men fighting over her was strangely thrilling.
She held on to the thought while she skimmed the rest of the news story. It seemed that Snodgrass was also facing charges connected with an exploding camper van, a sabotaged London bus, and the kidnap of an American Airlines passenger. None of this made any sense to her, but it sounded as if Snodgrass was in big trouble. He’d seemed such a mild-mannered chap the few times they’d met in that beer garden. But jealousy was a cruel mistress – as she knew from her own bitter experience. Could Snodgrass have been driven by rejection to carry out cruel and unnatural deeds?
‘What are you doing in there, Tiddlepuss?’ came Lionel’s voice from the bed.
Nesta shut down the iPad, wincing at the pet name he’d inflicted upon her, and made hand-washing noises. ‘Nothing, Grumblepaws,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll be out in a minute’.
Sitting on the closed toilet seat, Nesta stared at her feet and tried to face the truth. Neither of the men had been interested in her. She’d virtually thrown herself at Snodgrass and he hadn’t even bloody noticed. And it had been the same with his cousin. The only reason she hadn’t thrown herself at Aristide was that she was too scared of what he might have done to her. It was one thing pretending to talk knowledgably about fast-food perversions, but in truth she had no idea what he really meant by a bacon McFlurry. It might just have been a dodgy combination of sweet and savoury, but she suspected it was much more likely to be the codename for some unspeakably depraved physical act. And like all the other men, he would doubtless have preferred to do bacon McFlurries with Soo Meie.
So Nesta was left with Lionel. Once she faced up to the fact that she didn’t have any other choices, the prospect of ending up with Lionel became markedly less attractive. Charlie Chef might be a notch up on the social scale from Ronald McDonald, but why did her life have to revolve around one or another restaurant chain? Why couldn’t Lionel do fishing trips or garden sheds like a normal bloody man?
A tear welled in her eye. Even the man’s sperm didn’t work properly. The distinct blue line on her pregnancy test had turned out to be a false alarm. Even worse than the prospect of life with Lionel was that of spending the rest of her life on her own. If she didn’t trap Lionel into marriage soon, he could easily get bored with her and move on. She didn’t like the way he always smiled at that waitress at Sutton Scotney southbound (A34). And he’d been far more attentive than necessary to the receptionist at their last Travelodge.
With a sigh, Nesta opened the bathroom door. ‘You awake, Grumblepaws?’ she asked softly. She crossed the room quietly and slipped into the bed bedside him. ‘Does Grumblepaws want to play sausage-and-eggs with Tiddlepuss?’
But there were to be no sausages, eggs, or McFlurries for Nesta that night, because Grumblepaws had gone back to sleep.
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