A Wife Worth Dying For

by Wilson Smillie

  The walk to the Meadows was a skoosh after his climb and he made it in fifteen minutes. The eastern end of the Meadows had the pavilion and children’s play park. Even today, with its bitter, brooding coldness, the climbing frames were full of all ages up to teens. Mums kept watch with warm coffee cups, while dads patrolled the area like the mini-me battlefield it could easily become.

  Carter saw Judith sitting on a park bench beside the Silver Cross pram. All the other mothers had buggies. He sat down next to her. Nathaniel was awake and he carefully lifted him from the covers.

  ‘I have his bottle here,’ Judith said. ‘Do you want to feed him?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, taking the bottle from her. Nathaniel guzzled at it.

  ‘He’s a strong boy, ‘she said. ‘Every day, I see him growing. I’m reminded of Kelsa when she was this age.’

  ‘What do you know of her ex-boyfriends?’ Carter asked, using the informality of the moment to get Judith talking. ‘Before I came along.’

  ‘Not much really. There comes a time in your child’s life when it’s best not to pry too deeply. She was very much an independent woman. She had to be, in this modern world.’

  ‘Any significant boyfriends that she confided in you about?’

  ‘Forgive me, Lachlan, but didn’t you two talk about such things before you decided to marry? Seems to me it would have been best to rattle the skeletons before committing yourself.’

  ‘We didn’t. It just seemed— irrelevant. At that time.’

  ‘Passion is a hard master,’ Judith said. Carter detected sadness in her words. ‘Hugo was the one I thought she was going to marry,’ she went on, with some reluctance. ‘She was quite young at the time; twenty-two, I think. You might know him if you like rugby, he played for Scotland and became a personality. Hugo Mortimer. James was tickled pink. Then he moved to France. Clermont-Ferrand, I’m sure. That was the beginning of the end of the relationship. I saw a change in her; she began to protect herself. Why do you want to know this now?’

  Carter sighed. ‘I think she might have been seeing someone else.’

  ‘You were married.’ Judith’s face revealed just how alien the concept was to her. ‘She would never do that. Yes, she was her own woman, and I’m not unaware of how difficult it is these days to be taken seriously, but she would never do that. Never.’

  ‘Did you notice any change in her behaviour after she announced she was pregnant?’

  ‘Of course. Pregnancy does things to a woman; things you men don’t understand. She got thinner, which shouldn’t have been happening, but I didn’t know then she’d stopped eating.’

  Silence fell between them. Carter had almost forgotten he was feeding Nathaniel.

  ‘You’ll have to burp him,’ Judith said, breaking the tension. ‘Take this towel and put it over your shoulder. If he’s sick, it won’t go over your coat. Now, pat him gently on the back.’

  Five minutes later, it was all over, and Nathaniel was asleep in his pram again.

  ‘It’s time for me to go,’ said Judith. ‘This conversation has upset me, Lachlan, but I’ll keep to our agreement with Nathaniel. One thing I have to know: is this interest you have in her past relationships purely personal?’

  ‘Yes, Jude, it is.’ What else could he say?

  He watched her push the pram away, but his stress hadn’t eased. Judith disappeared from view and he turned away too. Summerhall was over the road, with a reputation for an extensive selection of liquid sedatives.

  41

  Snog Marry Avoid

  Meadowbank Terrace was on the other side of Holyrood Park, a good forty-minute walk from Summerhall. If there was a bus route from Summerhall, he didn’t know and was unlikely to use it regularly anyway.

  Lesley Holliday instantly burst into tears when she saw who was at her door, falling into his arms and hugging him. ‘Oh, Leccy, it’s so good to see you,’ she blubbed through her sobs. ‘Kelsa’s father banned us all from attending the funeral. Come in, come in.’

  She helped him out of his rain jacket. She directed him to the kitchen and the table there that had accommodated them all, drinking wine and laughing at life’s ironies, for more evenings than he could remember. Happy times.

  Before they married, this kitchen was a different world for him, inhabited by Lesley, Kelsa and a cohort of thirty-something women. Women for whom men were sheep at market. Gossip was the currency, and Lesley was Kelsa’s go-to girl, the long-term girlfriend she confided in when she felt the need. She was the first friend of Kelsa’s he’d met, and Lesley instantly loved him for being so besotted with her.

  ‘Jim will be here soon. You’ll stay for tea? You can stay the night if you want. Must be lonely for you up there in Liberton.’ Lesley stopped speaking and brushed the tears from her eyes.

  ‘I can’t stay,’ he said, suddenly stumbling over his words. ‘But I want to ask you some questions.’ The kettle clicked off and the boil died away.

  ‘As a policeman?’

  ‘Something like that, but it’s mainly for my peace of mind.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ The worry on her face was genuine.

  ‘There are some things about her past I need to understand.’

  ‘Why, what’s going on?’

  ‘We met on the first of April 2017,’ he ignored her counter-question. ‘At the Dome. A few weeks later, she brought me here for a barbie in the back green, so you could interrogate me about my intentions. Just the four of us. The sunshine lasted less than an hour before the rain, so we came inside and sat at this table, drinking wine.’

  She continued the ritual of making tea while speaking. ‘Yes, I remember. She was radiant, I hadn’t seen her like that for a long time. You were so good for her.’

  A mug appeared in front of him. She sat opposite.

  ‘Did Hugo Mortimer get the same treatment?’ he asked.

  ‘I never met him.’ Lesley re-composed herself after the initial shock of the question. ‘Kelsa and I weren’t that close when Hugo was on her scene, but I was there for her through the aftermath. It was about two years before she was ready to face the world again.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He found a new life in France. He’s got kids now.’

  They both waited for the other to continue.

  ‘Long after Hugo,’ Lesley said eventually, ‘Kelsa sat where you’re sitting and said she wasn’t sure she wanted another relationship. There were six of us around this table, and each of us had had a bad experience. But most weekends we glammed up, got out there and on occasion we got lucky.’

  ‘And before me?’

  ‘She was fussy. She knew the type who’d get the thumbs down. Of course, that didn’t stop her having a fling now and again. Girls have needs too.’

  Carter studied Lesley carefully. It was clear she was wrestling with something, so he let her take her time.

  ‘Something heavy was going on in 2015. She was coy, and there was fire in her eyes, but then it faded. It started up again, then faded months later. I asked her, but she wouldn’t tell. I kept probing. She wanted to confide, but something was holding her back. It was somebody at work, she said, but it seemed very on-off. You know her job meant travel down south, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, training and consulting for senior managers in corporate business and government.’

  ‘I thought she might have been having an affair. She never mentioned names, and frankly, nobody cared all that much as long as she was happy. Whatever it was, it went away. Then you arrived.’

  Carter decided to change tack.

  ‘Remember I called you one weekend in March last year?’

  ‘I barely remember yesterday,’ Lesley said, dismissively. ‘It’s a benefit of the wine.’

  ‘She was going out for drinks with you and the girls. She’d not come home on the Saturday. I called you—’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember now.’

  ‘Did she confide in you beforehand?’

  ‘No. I thought sh
e was with you. We did our usual George Street run.’

  ‘If you know anything, it might help? You didn’t bump into her, or anything—’

  ‘Honestly, Leccy, the first I knew there was a problem was when you called me.’

  Carter got up to leave. There was nothing to be gained by badgering a friend.

  ‘Are you saying she was a victim? After Hugo, she grew up. She took responsibility for her life, so don’t beat yourself up. Only you know what went on between you. But I know this: she loved you. 2015 was history once she met you.’

  At the front door, she hugged and kissed him. ‘Don’t be a stranger.’

  ‘If anything comes to mind,’ he said. ‘Call me. Please.’

  42

  A Magical Place

  On London Road, he caught the number 5 going into town. He settled down and almost immediately received a text message. He knew it was from J before he even looked: his heart skipped a beat.

  What was next? Not being able to reply was what he found frustrating, even more than the messages being deleted not long after reading. It was like solitary confinement with no parole.

  [2019-01-20:2006] Your Baby is such a bad girl but you don’t know the half of it. Are you angry or are you playing it cool? The Balvenie is finished. Get another one will you? J.

  His temple throbbed as the blood pulsed in his head. He gripped the phone hard. There were only two other passengers on the bus, and he wanted to scream at them, punch them, and keep punching until blood poured from every orifice. Instead, he sat there as the perfect citizen and raged inwardly. Ten minutes later, he alighted the number 5 on North Bridge and changed to the number 31. The message was erased as soon as he left the bus at Malbet Park.

  Reaching home, there were no outward signs that J had been there, and the embers of his anger now burned through his stomach. He had to put the bins out, so went down the side of the house and unlocked the back door. The kitchen was warm, the heating had come on when the temperature dropped. An empty bottle of Balvenie stood on the kitchen worktop. On the drainer, one crystal glass sat upside down. Carter knew that taking it as evidence would prove nothing.

  He fired up the kettle. It was nearly 9 p.m. The message preyed on his mind. He was always on edge, expecting something to happen at every turn. But chores had to be done, like washing his clothes, attempting to cook and all the other essential tasks that Kelsa used to take in her stride. Knowing J had been in here just made all these things seem less relevant. He contemplated changing the locks but knew it wouldn’t make him feel any safer.

  Tea made, Carter stared through the window, through the darkness of the garden, to where the lights of Edinburgh Castle winked at him. Somewhere out there, J was laughing at him. Liberton sat high with a view over the city in all its rambling glory. Kelsa had wanted to know why it had to be this house, with this view, for him.

  He’d gone for walks around Gorebridge with Papa Carter, as a boy, listening as the old man rambled on about his days in the coalpits, now landscaped and long gone. A bench had been placed high up the hill from the gas houses, where man and boy sat together gazing out at the Edinburgh skyline, twenty-five miles away. At that distance, in any weather, Arthur’s Seat and Castle Rock stood guard. On a breezy spring day, with clouds scudding in and out, it was a magical place. The city basked in the changing sun, breathing in rhythm with the light. The view from his kitchen had once given him comfort, but now it was tainted. Vectoring to a memory, he searched for one that wasn’t corrupted by treachery or death.

  Standing there, immersed in the moment, gazing out at the twinkling city, and wondering how to deal with J, a sound niggled at him. He plugged himself into the heartbeat of his home. Listening to the washing machine on its cycle, and behind it, the slush of pressurised water, the subtle tick of warming radiators. He pushed himself away from the window, cocking his head, trying to determine the source of the sound that had pricked his senses. Nothing was amiss in the dining room. Walking through the glass doors into the sitting room, he scanned the everyday soft furnishings, table lamps, TV and hi-fi. Was this how he’d left the room this morning? He hadn’t paid attention when leaving, but he thought maybe J had sat on the sofa.

  Nothing was normal. He scanned the pictures on the walls, of him and her in Las Vegas. On one, something in the bottom corner caught his eye. It was a red emoji sticker. He looked closely; it pointed at the next picture. That one had a red emoji too, and the next one. At the sitting-room door, an emoji pointed up the stairs.

  In the front door hallway, on the stairwell, each of the pictures had an emoji pointing upwards.

  J was here. In the house. Now. His heart thundered.

  There was no security system guarding their home, no visible and audible alarm to check and deter the opportunist thief. They’d relied on triple-locked, deadbolted doors and double-glazed windows, along with the fact of a constant ebb and flow of neighbours, all looking out for each other. He opened a cupboard, half-expecting to find J hiding there. He was losing it.

  As he climbed the stairs, her perfume was more potent than usual. Or was that just his elevated senses? He went into the second bathroom first– no running water and no emojis. He checked the smaller of their three bedrooms. It was a mess of his and her stuff that they’d never got around to organising. It was all supposed to go into storage. A tornado could have passed through here, and he wouldn’t have known. He stepped back into the upper hallway, gazing around, knowing he was being led.

  Her bedroom door was ajar. His heart raced faster; J was here. He grasped the door handle and pushed through warily. His left hand automatically found the light switch, but it was bedside lighting that illuminated the scene.

  Her dressing table was set as Carter had left it, but the bedroom had a different look. On each of the framed photographs on the walls, weeping emojis covered Carter’s eyes, but not Kelsa’s. The bed was rumpled, the duvet had been thrown back, the bedsheet was an untidy mess, like just after sex. Her pillow had a dent in it like she’d slept there. On his side, the shape of a large body was evident in the mattress. The ensuite door was ajar. The unmistakable gurgle of a shower running came from inside.

  On the floor of the bedroom lay a single sheer black stocking.

  43

  Proof of Dominion

  J was in Carter’s home right now. J, the one who’d left the yellow Jiffy bag on the kitchen table days ago. Adrenaline pumped through his body, rippling him with clear and present fear. He approached the ensuite carefully. The noise from the shower competed with the noise of the blood racing in his ears.

  J wasn’t expecting him to appear. He hadn’t anticipated Carter’s return home so soon. The bastard had front to be in his home at all, but to be sleeping in her bed, to be defacing his memories so blatantly, he was going to pay for it.

  Get a grip on yourself.

  Carter grasped the handle of the ensuite door firmly and pushed it open carefully. The sound of running water rose to waterfall proportions. Steam billowed past him into the bedroom, obscuring his vision. He pushed the door open, and boldly stepped in. The cubicle was wrapped in vapour. The tiled walls and mirror trickled water. His shoes caught on the wooden drainers. He reached into the cubicle, found the valve and twisted it closed. The shower stopped instantly. The mist of water and steam dispersed through the fan, and residual water gurgled into the drain.

  It was empty.

  Taking two quick steps, he opened the bathroom window. Winter air rushed in to cool the tense atmosphere. The swirling air was bitterly cold but also soothing and reviving. He began to shake and shiver and forced the adrenaline from his body. There would be no release today. J’s essence suffocated Carter in every room he’d walked through, in the air he’d breathed, the sights he’d seen and the memories he’d defaced. Yet Carter knew he would have left no forensic trace that would help identify him.

  He slumped down onto the pan, defeated.

  What had he gotten into, marrying Kelsa before
he really knew her? It was all his own fault. It was a challenge, a call to arms, a declaration of war over a woman shared. He should never have let her into his life so quickly, and now, after death, she was lashing her twisted love across his psyche with a cat-o’-nine-tails.

  How did J get into his home? No windows were broken. The garage? The external lock was flimsy, but there had been no apparent signs of mechanical manipulation.

  Who knew he would be away? Judith, of course, but he discounted her because it was senseless. Charli Garcia on Saturday, but what did she have to gain? He’d been pretty drunk on Saturday night and hadn’t checked Kelsa’s bedroom when he arrived home, but he would have heard running water.

  J’s campaign was wearing him down.

  For the next ten minutes, he forced himself to think clearly. He made another cup of tea and drank it with shaking hands. Living in a crime scene? Treat it like a crime scene.

  Methodically, he searched the house, re-checking every window and door, confirming none showed signs of forcible entry. In the cleaning basket, he found the yellow gloves, took a plastic food bag from the drawer and climbed the stairs again, warily, as if his enemy was hiding and would leap on him unexpectantly. This was a battle. Text messages first, now physical contact. What next? Maybe one of the earlier deleted messages had offered him a clue and he’d missed it.

  Back in her bedroom, Carter sat on the end of the bed, gazing at the stocking. He was back in control: for now. The emojis, the unmade bed, the running shower: all were designed to scare him. To make him feart as Charli Garcia had not been when she confronted Logan’s soldiers. On the other hand, he had been feart to come face-to-face with J and privately admitted it. J had proclaimed dominion over him-and-his, and the stocking was absolute proof.

  It was Kelsa’s; it could not belong to anyone else. He’d seen her put them on in the morning and watched her roll them slowly off her long legs at night. He rummaged through her drawers, pulling out knickers, bras, bodies, tights and stockings. He didn’t know how many of everything she’d had but that didn’t matter as much as if he found a spare one. After a time, he was certain there were no solos, concluding that the matching stocking – if it existed – must still be with J. Carter left all the underwear on the floor; she could clear it up herself if she were minded.