The Lipstick Killers

with Sharon, Peter and Susan huddled together on the sofa. Outside, it had started to rain.
    ‘I’d better be off soon,’ said Margaret. ‘Friday afternoons on the motorway are crazily busy, and it’s pouring with rain.’
    Sharon nodded, and Frankie called out, coming in from the kitchen, ‘anything to eat or drink before you go?’
    Margaret shook her head. The fact was, she couldn’t wait to get away from the house full of sadness. She berated herself inwardly for the thought. ‘It’ll be good to see Roxie again,’ she said as she got her coat.
    ‘How long has it been?’ asked Sharon, still slumped on her sofa.
    ‘Ages. Birthday and Christmas cards, but that’s it for almost two years.’
    ‘We were going to go out to Spain to see her this summer, the whole family…’ Sharon started to cry.
    ‘Be strong love,’ said Frankie. ‘For them,’ she said, gesturing towards the kids cuddled up to Sharon, ‘if not for all of us.’
    ‘Sorry,’ said Sharon, fighting back the tears.
    ‘I’ll be going then,’ said Margaret, and found her keys in her pocket.
    ‘Drive carefully,’ said Sharon. The words hung heavy in the room.
    ‘I will.’
    Frankie followed Margaret outside, and they stood in the shelter of the porch. ‘It’s been bloody awful,’ she said. ‘Tears and more tears.’
    ‘Get used to it,’ said Margaret. ‘There’s plenty more where they came from.’ The words slipped out before she had a chance to stop them and she cursed herself inwardly.
    ‘At least Roxie might cheer the place up. You know her. It’ll be so good for us all to be together again,’ Frankie said, forlornly.
    Margaret nodded, kissed her sister on the cheek and picked her way through the rain to her car.

14
     
     
     
    The drive from Guildford to Gatwick Airport was grim. Margaret couldn’t get last night’s thoughts out of her head, and the rain, which got progressively worse, didn’t help. As usual, the Friday afternoon traffic was monstrously heavy, huge trucks throwing up spray that threatened to drown her windscreen wipers. There was an accident at one point which narrowed the road and brought her speed down to single figures, so that a drive that should have taken an hour took more than two. It was past four o’clock when she finally dumped the Porsche in the short term car park at the airport. Once upon a time, her warrant would have allowed her to park anywhere, but times had changed, she thought ruefully, as she made the long walk to the arrivals lounge for European passengers.
    She spotted Roxie right away. Her hair was even more blonde now, cut into a stylish bob her face tanned, and she had a flash looking mobile stuck to her ear. ‘Oi,’ said Margaret, smiling at her baby sister. ‘Long time no see.’
    ‘She’s here,’ said Roxie into the mouthpiece. ‘See you later, bye,’ and she cut off the phone and stuck it in the pocket of her immaculately tailored jacket. ‘Mags,’ she said, brightly, a huge grin on her face. ‘Oh Mags. It’s so good to see you. No. No. Not like this. You know what I mean.’
    ‘You too Dolly,’ said Margaret, using everyone’s special name for the baby of the family. ‘I haven’t seen a smile for a long time.’
    ‘I’d better knock it on the head then,’ said Roxie. ‘What’s it like at Sharon’s?’
    ‘About as bad as it can get.’
    ‘I don’t know what to say.’
    ‘No one does. So no one speaks much.’
    ‘How are the kids?’ Roxie asked, frowning.
    ‘Shellshocked. They remind me of how we were when mum passed.’
    ‘Yeah I remember, even though I was only little at the time. How’s Frankie doing? She was always close to Sharon and Monty.’
    ‘Being mum as always. Holding everyone together.’
    ‘Typical. That’s what she does best. And what about you? Still going for cop of the year?’
    ‘You know me Dolly. Skating on thin ice as usual.’
    ‘How’s work for Her Majesty?’
    ‘Not good. I’m on the shit list. That’s why I could get away easily. I’ve been suspended.’
    ‘What, you – super cop? I don’t believe it. What happened?’
    ‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it over a glass of Pinot Grigio some time. Anyway, you look well.’
    ‘And doing well,’ Roxie lied. ‘The salon’s going a bomb. All those old ex-pats wives wanting to look seventeen again. I’m doing Botox, chemical peels, fillers, the lot.’
    ‘I’m glad to hear it. Well come on then, let’s go and face the music,’