‘No, thank you.’ Cecelia threw up her hand.
‘Of course, I’m being too much. William asked about you last night,’ Mary Ann had settled herself down to watch Cecelia eating. ‘He wanted to know if you were all right. He thought you disapproved of him.’
‘I don’t know him that well to disapprove.’
‘Yes, this was what I said.’ Again, her teeth went over her bottom lip. ‘Do you think he’s handsome? You can tell me, I don’t mind.’
‘I suppose he is. I’m afraid I am not in the best of places in my head to notice such things.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’
‘I think it’s more important that you think he’s handsome.’
‘I just wondered if you think there is any room for improvement.’
Such a peculiar question to answer.
‘He is himself and kind to you and that’s all that matters.’
‘Yes,’ said Mary Ann crossing her leg to look out of the window.
The days passed like shadows under the friendship of Xanax. Resting in bed most of the time and numbed, locked out of time all thoughts of being alive. There was a tree outside this window, birds collected there briefly as if to say hello. This was how Cecelia felt, they were her friends. Sparrows and the beautiful tricolored blackbird, a rare sighting of such an attractive bird. She drew great pleasure in their fleeting passing.
‘You have had a settling effect on me, Cecelia. You don’t know how much this matters to me,’ said Mary Ann while they shared bowls of soup again, Cecelia’s appetite still lagged, everything was an effort.
‘How’s William?’
‘William? Well, of course, he is missing me, but he’s a grown man and he can do without me for a while.’
‘Aren’t you afraid you might lose him? An attractive man like that might find someone else.’
‘Oh, my dear,’ she clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘You don’t know William, if you did, you would laugh with me. He is a very shy man; it took all his energy to meet me. He is so nervous about women. There, I’ve finished.’ She took her bowl to the sink. ‘William is taking me out tomorrow to do some shopping; I don’t care to have food delivered; they give you products which are due to expire. Will you be all right? I need to fill your prescription. I must admit, you seem a lot calmer on it.’
There was no need for a verbal answer but a nod.
Life was running very smoothly. The sedatives were wonderful, but they were a temporary measure as was Mary Ann’s hospitality, Cecelia needed to make plans for her future.
These ideas started to form during the last three days. She was now thinking about her future, and it couldn’t be done doped up and knocked out. Bravery was necessary if Cecelia wanted to claim her life back. And it had to be done without Xanax. Leaving one of her doses out, thoughts and memories which she had tried to avoid were starting to flood back.
Now with longer lengths of consciousness, the truth of what Mary Ann had been telling her over dinner pointing out the good and bad side of relationships especially about Phoebe was prone to questions.
In Mary Ann’s opinion, Phoebe had been using her. Did Cecelia really want to give up her ambition of being a writer? No, she didn’t think so. Being a florist was nothing when someone like Cecelia had skills. Cecelia was a born writer. Phoebe, to be honest, was a bad influence.
Listening, Cecelia kept her answers to herself. The passive agreement didn’t do any harm, there would be no arguments if she didn’t tell Mary Ann what she thought. Yet, in a way, Mary Ann had a point. In the big spaces of her life, Phoebe was still unknown. As Mary Ann had said, painting out a broader canvas of this so-called friend, she was a character whose surface Cecelia hadn’t penetrated.
But did she know the reason why Phoebe left England? Mary Ann nodded keeping her eyes fixed on Cecelia’s. Because she was evading prison. No, Cecelia didn’t, judging by the look on her face. She nearly killed her husband, stabbed him so close to his heart that he almost died. No wonder she fled. Not such a nice person then, was she? Mary Ann raised her eyebrow. She hated to say it, but in one way, it was just as well Phoebe was dead. Poor Cecelia to be taken in by this woman. Those startling blue eyes again upon Cecelia; let this be a lesson to you not to trust those people who come with false smiles.
But how did Mary Ann find out? Disbelief took its toll. Didn’t Cecelia remember that she had told her she lived in England for a while? Yes, she did. It was in the newspapers and on the front page. And there, you see, it was a lucky escape for Cecelia.
No, they couldn’t be talking about the same person—it wasn’t possible. What Phoebe told her about her husband was completely different. Seconds traveled through the conversations they had about Phoebe’s husband. There hadn’t been many, Phoebe passed over it quickly not wanting to talk about him except for the facts. He was a bully, and he beat her; no one believed her when she told them about him. She figured that he would kill her in the end, which was why she ran away. Cecelia frowned. And if you were critical and chose to look at it from Mary Ann’s way, if a man was after you and you believed that he would kill you, then Phoebe was casual. But that was what she liked about her. Phoebe never took life seriously; she was not afraid.
This shock lasted a couple of days as a new kind of grieving took hold. Loving and missing her friend now had to take second place in her life. Was it always to be like this? Choosing the wrong love and now her best friend was not who she said she was.
And yet, she still missed Phoebe or the person she had wanted her to be.
Inevitably, time moves on, sprinkling its dust behind it to cover the way back. A week with Phoebe, a few evenings. It amounted to nothing, not compared to Mr. Davis’s lifelong love for his wife.
The occupation of her time was slowly being absorbed by Mary Ann, who was tiresomely thoughtful, unobtrusive, and yet, always there. The comfortable routine of days came with dependency. It suddenly struck Cecelia that she was being swallowed up by Mary Ann, then another panic set in. She had to get away and soon before she lost herself completely.
It happened when Mary Ann went for another follow-up appointment, an opportunity for Cecelia to telephone Detective Travis and find out what was happening with the Alandra Slasher. The strangest thing about survival was that if you were still curious, you still enjoyed life.
‘How are you?’ Detective Travis was pleased to hear from Cecelia.
‘Getting back in my mind. I can’t imagine what you must have thought of me. I don’t know what exactly happened. And now, I am sensationally embarrassed.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I had a similar effect when I saw my first murder. I think it’s because we have a greater sense of self-righteousness. That’s why I became a policewoman, to serve my fellow man and woman.’
Itching to ask, wanting to know what was going on, this was the time to do it across the impersonal demands of the telephone.
‘It’s gone quiet,’ said Detective Travis. ‘It’s like the Slasher has gone on holiday. There hasn’t been another murder for over six weeks now, which is how I like it. But I would also like it if we found the murderer, perhaps even the two of them. He has an accomplice, and this is a fact. I took the notes you made from your visits to the victim’s house and they have proved to be interesting. I feel we are on to something positive. You’re at your friend’s house, Mary Ann. How long do you think you’ll be staying there for?’
‘Perhaps another week or two, no longer. Has Detective Patts returned to duty?’
‘As far as I know, they have retired him. Take care of yourself, Cecelia, and give me a call when you want.’
Her cloudy head was wearing itself clear; the fear Cecelia had of falling apart didn’t happen. She was a lot stronger than first tested. It was like Detective Travis had advised; you’ve just got to get on with your life because it’s the only one you got.
The photograph of Sarah which sat on the dresser had thoughtfully been put out of the way, not that her likeness ups
et Cecelia; it was an act of thoughtfulness. The strangest idea was why Mary Ann should keep her picture for all those years. There were no other pictures around the house, it was bereft of any other relationships. It was as if Mary Ann had been dropped from another plain without any family.
Of course, this wasn’t the right thing to do, but Cecelia was going to do it anyhow. After all, she was pretty sure that Mary Ann had gone through her things because there were a couple of pages missing from her notebook. Carefully sliced from the edges, Mary Ann must have used a knife as there were no serrated fringes.
Curious to know what it was that Mary Ann had deleted from her life, Cecelia flicked the pages backward and forward. From a sense of annoyance, her memory credited her with a few possibilities. Over and over, Cecelia exercised her mind, calling upon her memory from a fog until finally, it awoke. There were a few notes on Phoebe and the last things they did together. Had she written it or had fancy created it? No, she remembered those written musings.
Odd how curiosity claims attention to other aspects happening in life. If she hadn’t known Phoebe, what did she know of Mary Ann? Only what Mary Ann told her about herself.
You should not poke into kindness, especially when someone has done everything for you to get you well, and yet, Cecelia wanted to know about this woman whose hospitality was fathomless. Creeping in Mary Ann’s house, she knew she was doing a disservice to her hostess.
A room in this house was where an actress lived. Going into another person’s private room always came with a clause, be respectful, and don’t let her know you have entered. Cecelia opened the porthole into another life.
One side of the room was covered with mirrors: a flamboyant gesture to Mary Ann as an actress. A person who thought very well of themselves, who liked to be noticed. Thick red carpet on one side, wooden boards the other, and above the actor’s best friend, lights. What a fantasy this room was. And in here, Mary Ann was a star. An alcove was fitted with a makeup table, and a mirror framed with lights added to the glamor.
Often luck produced a star by being in the right place and at the right time. It was a shame that Mary Ann had just missed out.
But what exactly was she looking for? This was a kind of treachery on a friend who had been everything that was kind. Everyone has things in their lives they are ashamed of, Cecelia thought, looking at the makeup. Her idiotic duplicity to Mary Ann was to allow her to think she was still a virgin. When Mary Ann confessed at one of those dinners that she was a virgin, she said that she was the same. It was said to please Mary Ann. But what did it matter?
‘William is pleased I am a virgin; he tells me he is a virgin as well,’ said Mary Ann.
How naïve she was. This man was never a virgin, she could tell by the way he held her tight, his fingers measuring her waist and then slipping down to her butt. William was familiar with women. Should she warn Mary Ann of him? Perhaps not. Poor Mary Ann, to get to nearly twenty-six and not to have made love.
The small walk-in closet held a variety of clothes sectioned off. These were the daytime frocks that Cecelia remembered seeing Mary Ann in. But these? Long dresses, not the sort of gown that one would wear in everyday life, more like for a theater. But of course, again, she was an actress.
Looking from the bedroom window, a car had pulled up outside the house; there was only one person in the car. Cecelia jerked back her head, closed the open doors, and hurried back into her bedroom. Her alibi was sleep.
‘Cecelia, are you awake,’ the door opened after a tap five minutes later. ‘I’ve made us a cup of tea. Oh, you’re dressed.’ She had placed the tray on the little table and brought it across to the bed.
‘I can’t live in nightclothes for the rest of my life.’
‘And that is precisely what I was thinking, which is why I have bought you something to wear. Let me open it for you. I thought green was your color to go with your pretty brown hair. Don’t you think it’s lovely?’ She held it up.
No, this was not Cecelia; this was not her style, a long green dress, silky to the touch and exotic and open at the side.
‘It’s very nice and thank you…’
‘But…’
‘I don’t know what to say, it would come across as being ungenerous…’
‘But it’s not you, is it? I told William that you wouldn’t be comfortable in it, but he insisted. I’m sorry. I’ll take it back to the shop.’
Oh dear, she had disappointed Mary Ann. ‘No please, don’t. It’s not you, it’s me. Change is difficult for me. I like to stick to the clothes I know; they make me feel safe. But you shouldn’t have. You’ve done enough for me.’ Cecelia looked at this dress with caution. ‘I will wear this dress sometime, just give me a while to get used to it.’
‘I don’t know,’ Mary Ann held on to the dress, she wasn’t sure. ‘I don’t want to force you into any awkward decision; your friendship is too valuable to me.’
‘Mary Ann,’ began Cecelia sitting down with her for their evening meal. ‘I was thinking.’
Mary Ann looked up from her plate.
‘It’s been nearly three weeks now; it’s time I moved on with my life. I want to get back to work…’
‘What, leave? But why? You can do your work from here. Cecelia, you may feel better,’ Mary Ann held her fingers in quote marks. ‘But you have been ill, seriously ill. You’ve had a bad breakdown. Trust me, I know.’
‘I can’t impose myself on you any longer. You’ve also got your life to live and someone else to consider. William. Isn’t William unhappy about this arrangement? You hardly spend any time with him. He cares about you, but there is only so much that caring can stretch to.’
‘You are saying you have had enough of me?’
‘No, I’m not saying that. But it was never going to be forever, was it? You’ve helped me a great deal, and I appreciate your care…’
Mary Ann wasn’t taking this well. It wasn’t all about the dress?
‘My house is now free,’ continued Cecelia. Her voice became stronger as she became more resolved. ‘The people who rented it have now gone back to Europe, which means I can move back.’
‘Friendship, I thought we had a good friendship.’
‘We do. But I can’t keep on living off you; I need to get back to my life. We will still keep in contact.’
‘When were you going to tell me this? Or was I going to wake up one day, knock on your door to find you had gone?’ in short stiff steps Mary Ann left the small dining room.
She realize that Mary Ann would take it badly? But never as bad as this. An uncomfortable atmosphere stood in the way; she had been ungrateful. But why? And how much did gratitude cost? Did it mean giving up the rest of her life for the cost of a month?
‘I’m sorry, you’re right,’ Mary Ann returned to the table, this time carrying a bottle of wine. ‘It’s been a hard time for me. Having you here was a great help; it took my mind off things. The cancer is clear, which is a relief. That was another thing I had to do today. I didn’t want to worry you, you are vulnerable.’ She smiled. ‘I bought us a bottle of wine—an expensive French wine to celebrate,’ she sighed. This wasn’t going as well as she planned. ‘What I am trying to do is apologize. I’ve behaved very badly. Will you accept my apology?’
‘Yes, of course, I accept your apologies, but there’s no reason for you to apologize. It’s me who should be grateful to you. Oh, Mary Ann, you must understand that I’ve got to get out before I lose my confidence. Please understand that. My entire world has been turned upside down and I must claim it back.’ She clasped her hands imploringly together. ‘Phoebe was a very dear, dear friend to me… She was special.’
In submission, Mary Ann lowered her head, then she looked up impassioned.
‘I understand, and you are right. My problem is that I can be needy and grasping. I thought it was this which hurried you away.’
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that, Mary Ann,’ Cecelia put her hand on top of Mary Ann’s to assure her.
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‘Well,’ said Mary Ann looking down at Cecelia’s hand. ‘Let’s have a nice evening and celebrate. We need one night at least to let our hair down.’
She went to the kitchen to open the bottle.
20
When Cecelia woke, it was with a pounding headache and a scattering of fragmented memories. For those few seconds, she thought she was back home and in her own bed, but she was still there. Disturbing to find an entire night had passed without any recollection. Getting out of bed, she found herself in her nightclothes. How did that happen?
Where are the memories when you look? And what were these weird thoughts doing in her head? The sum total of bad dreams. Two of them toasting and drinking—was it only one bottle of wine? You had better take this, Mary Ann said. Now looking into her hand from that small square window in her mind was a Xanax tablet.
Slowly taking a shower, she saw a face from shadowy memories. A man watched her, standing by the shower door, and smiling. His eyes going down her naked form with admiration.
‘You are beautiful Cecelia, has anyone told you that before?’
No, this had to be a dream. It wasn’t possible. But from the shadows, something else came forward. He picked her up to take her to the bed and then he ran his hands all over her.
‘I have been waiting for this all of my life,’ he moaned.
It must be the result of the Xanax. Mixing this medication had produced some worrying effects. But when she had come out of the shower and was dressing, she suddenly felt uncomfortable pains. How could it be a dream when her insides were painful?
‘I don’t remember last night,’ said Cecelia entering the living room, Mary Ann was seated.
‘And I thought I was the only one. Do you know where I found myself this morning? Outside in the yard with my coat on. I don’t usually drink, this has never happened to me before. I found two empty bottles in the kitchen this morning.’
Cecelia bit her nails and stared at Mary Ann. ‘Was William here last night?’
Sixth Victim Page 21
