Wink Murder

by Ali Knight

  ‘When he took my bike out of the van he said, “Stop and give me a backy sometime.”’

  ‘Mate! I hope your chat-up lines have improved since then!’ Pug shook his head as Jessie sniggered.

  Paul fought back. ‘Well, she was wearing this straw hat—’

  I clamped my hands across my eyes in shame. ‘Oh my God—’

  ‘A boater! You went to college in a boater?’ asked Jessie.

  ‘No! My mum bought it for me as a leaving present. She thought that’s what college types actually wore! I thought it was sweet. It was just a straw—’

  ‘What were you thinking!’ added Jessie, scandalised.

  ‘Give me a break, I was eighteen—’

  ‘Oh dear me!’ We all laughed and as Paul went to get some drinks Jessie did her eyebrow-raising ‘where have you been hiding him?’ look. Later Paul and I sat at the bar, flirting and doing the banter thing for half an hour before he casually mentioned that he was married. As if it didn’t matter. I felt so crushed I couldn’t speak and he drained his pint to cover the awkwardness.

  ‘Where’s your wife?’ It was such a strange word to use. He was twenty-eight, when I look at photos of him from that time he looks shockingly young; in fact, none of look old enough to deal with the emotions we were about to unleash.

  ‘At a party for work. She doesn’t think pubs are that great.’ He toyed unhappily with a beer mat. Ten minutes later I was in the toilets and Jessie had followed me in.

  ‘Who the hell’s that?’ her eyes were blotters, ready to soak up scandal.

  I held up my hand to stop her right there. ‘He’s married.’

  She sagged against the sinks, mirroring my disappointment. ‘Fucking typical.’ She spun around and a moment later was reapplying lipstick. ‘Oh well, fish and seas and all that.’

  My love for Paul remained my secret from then on. Jessie had fixed moral boundaries back then, they’ve blurred as she’s aged, and she assumed I would move on, pick someone else. And I thought I could, that I would really be able to pull that off. Paul stopped flirting with me after he told me about Eloide, as if that would kill his feelings and mine. Big mistake. Huge. It made things even worse because it meant we had to talk.

  Groups are contradictory; they are public and private. Our nights out were always stuffed with people coming and going, the shifting hordes of twenty-somethings downing pints and wine, and sometimes pints of wine, popping pills and blithering about everything and nothing as people pulled up chairs and roamed in packs. It was a great cover for Paul and I, squeezed together on benches too short, shoved arm to chest in a club queue or taxi. Among so many voices and loud jokes the nuances of our conversations were hidden.

  My infatuation with Paul might well have remained just that if two things hadn’t happened. First, Jessie and Pug started arguing. I began to hear warning signs from Jessie on the phone after a weekend or when we went to the cinema midweek. ‘Pug’s really rude to waiters,’ or ‘Pug’s always moaning at me for being late, he’s so unforgiving.’ They would break up soon. One night in the pub they had a stand-up row about tights versus stockings, of all things. I caught Paul looking at me. Time was running out for us. Once they finished there would be no easy excuse for us to meet.

  Second, Pug’s work colleague Steve fancied me, flirted outrageously and invited me to a tremendously posh black-tie affair that his friend who worked in PR had got us all extra tickets to.

  In a way I was almost glad. My fantasies of getting together with Paul had been long exhausted: I’d survived a thousand disastrous earthquakes with him in which his wife had died; I’d hiked up Mont Blanc on every path in a white-out and found him in the refuge near the summit; I’d had sex with him in every location and every position every night for nearly a year. I was growing tired. I needed a distraction and Steve was it. Besides, Paul would be there with Eloide and having to pretend all night that I felt as little for her husband as I did for Pug seemed like too much hard work. But at the last minute Eloide was called to Paris because a relative was sick. The stars were moving into alignment.

  That night has an epic feel in my memory, colours are more intense, my friends more scintillating, I am – for once – beautiful. We all got completely bladdered on free champagne, I won twenty-five pounds on the roulette wheel, Jessie lost a fortune at craps, I bought fags from a cigarette girl and was twirled around the dance floor by a famous singer. Steve and I had hysterics about that as we fell drunkenly on each other, champagne splattering in all directions. I was twenty-seven years old, high on youth and fresh experiences.

  A moment later, Paul had his hand on my arm and was pulling me away. ‘You don’t fancy him, do you?’ he said, his eyes dark and dangerous.

  ‘Yes I do.’ I had been pining for months for something I could never have and this was my moment to punish him.

  He grabbed my elbow and fought his way through a packed dance floor and out of a fire door. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Don’t play with me.’

  ‘You’re the one playing games, you’re fucking married!’

  ‘He’s not right for you . . .’ he trailed off.

  ‘Well too fucking bad!’ I was hitting him, really punching him. The moment of revelation that I’d hoped for, pined over all those months, made me mad. He was trying to catch my hands.

  ‘Listen to me, you idiot! Eggy, please!’ He was very drunk.

  ‘So you can tell me how you want to have your cake and eat it?’ He had me pinned against the fire-escape wall, the physical contact I’d yearned for all those months a paper-width away.

  ‘It’s not working; my marriage isn’t working.’

  ‘Then try and fix it.’

  He laughed sourly. ‘I don’t want to fix it.’ He shook his head. ‘Because I’m in love with you.’

  ‘Stop fucking with my head!’ I was shouting and raving and he was pleading and I wheeled out of the club door and straight into the path of a taxi. I actually got run over. I’m not lying, that’s how Paul and I got together. Well, it was more that I got knocked to the floor in a crowded backstreet by a taxi going about five miles an hour. I was probably half falling anyway, unsteady as I was in my platforms, but I remember lying on the tarmac with Paul calling my name dramatically. Everyone made far too much fuss about it. I remember someone actually screamed. I started crying for real with the shock until the ambulance came. It was really one of my fantasies come to life. They checked me over in A & E, I had a badly bruised hip and that was it. ‘Your girlfriend’s going to be fine,’ the doctor said, and a shiver passed right through me. I knew Paul was staring at me but I couldn’t meet his eye, the moment was too intense.

  He took me home in a taxi and I had to lean on him heavily to get up the stairs to my flat. It was 4.00 a.m., we said nothing to each other as I struggled into the bedroom. He sat on the end of the bed, his elbows on his knees. I started blubbing again, maybe from shock or the painkillers they’d given me at the hospital, I’m not sure.

  ‘You look so beautiful when you cry.’ He said it matter-of-factly. ‘What a fucking mess.’ He hung his head in defeat, his conscience winning what seemed like a monumental battle. ‘I should go. I’ll get you some water.’ He went to the kitchen and I heard him opening cupboards and testing the taps. The sound of him in my flat, in my life, was just beautiful and I held my breath to catch every movement. I watched him walk back across the bedroom towards me, the glass in his hand.

  The film of my memory flicks off its spool as the front door opens.

  15

  Paul finds me on the sofa, my feet tucked under my bum. He does a double take at my swollen eyes and livid cheeks. It seems like years since I saw him, not just this morning.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I wail.

  ‘Are you OK?’ He sits down in the chair and kicks his shoes under the coffee table, rubbing the tension headache across his forehead. He doesn’t wait for my answer before launching into, ‘You wou
ldn’t believe the day I’ve had—’

  ‘I called and called—’

  ‘Yeah, I saw. Sorry, honey, I haven’t had a moment. Who could have believed it about Gerry! I’m hoarse with all the interviews I’ve given today. They’re trying to shoot the messenger—’

  ‘Where were you!’

  ‘Stop shouting! I was at the office. I had to listen to Raiph bawling me out, he’s panicking in case this reflects badly on CPTV, on him personally, he doesn’t give a stuff about—’

  ‘Paul, the police were here!’ His hand stops moving across his brow and I can’t see his face. ‘They were looking for you. They wanted to know where you were on Monday night.’

  His hand drops to the chair arm and he swivels to look at me. ‘So what did you say?’

  I’m clutching a cushion tightly over my stomach for protection. ‘They were here about murder, Paul! Here in this house, sat on this sofa, asking questions—’

  ‘Oh, Kate, you’re being dramatic, calm down.’ He throws his hand down by his side, trying to make light of what I’m saying.

  ‘“Calm down”? A woman you know has been killed!’

  ‘Thanks for the reminder, as if I could forget!’

  ‘Paul, what happened on Monday?’ My voice is rising, anger and panic beginning to mix.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You know what I mean!’

  ‘No, actually, I’m really not sure that I do.’

  ‘You won’t tell me where you were or what you were doing!’

  ‘I’ve already told you.’ He’s irritated now, shifting in his seat and leaning forward. ‘If you don’t believe me that’s your problem. I’m too busy to argue about it any more.’

  ‘It’s not that simple, Paul. I’ll tell you what I did tonight! I told the police that you were here. That you were home with me – your wife! Since I don’t know where you were, that’s what I did.’

  He looks horrified, his eyes widening in surprise. ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘I had to do it! I didn’t know what to think, I was trying to help!’ Paul is off his chair in an instant, looming over me. ‘I know something happened on Monday. Oh, Paul, just tell me—’

  He explodes. ‘You think I killed her!’ There is a violence about him I have not seen before. ‘Why? Come on!’ He takes a long step towards me, spit raining down. ‘A crime of passion? Is that it? I killed her because I was in love with her, eh? I’d been playing away and things got out of hand—’

  ‘I don’t know, you tell me!’

  ‘Melody’s dead, Kate. A woman I worked with has died in the most horrible way,’ his voice catches in his throat, ‘and you think I did it?’

  ‘She’s like Eloide—’

  ‘Eloide?’ He takes a step back and laughs. He actually laughs. ‘So that’s it. It all comes back to your paranoia and jealousy of my ex. It’s been ten years!’ He puts his hand on his head. ‘So, I had an affair with Melody because she looked like Eloide and then I killed her. Oh, and then I made it look like Gerry had done it. Jesus, Kate, that’s pathetic. They don’t look remotely alike! Do you not think I would notice?’ He says this slowly, enunciating every word in case I’m too stupid to follow.

  I stand and grip our fireplace so hard I break a nail. No, Paul, I don’t. But I can’t explain this to him in a way he would understand. He doesn’t see what people are like. He’s a doer, not an observer. In fact he’s quite stunningly unobservant. He never notices when I cut my hair and it took him two days to notice when I once dyed it blonde; he thinks Natalie Portman is Winona Ryder; he cannot guess someone’s age. ‘You’re not even taking this seriously, are you?’

  ‘Why should I? You’re not being rational.’

  ‘I lied for you! I perjured myself for you!’

  ‘Us. You’ve perjured us! What do I do now, eh? Contradict you? Think of the consequences if you change your story!’

  I come towards him and reach out to hold his arm. I’m begging now, really begging. ‘Paul, I love you, I love you so much. I am with you all the way. You can tell me anything, anything, and I will support and help you. Just please tell me the truth.’

  ‘I have!’

  Something snaps in my head as my pleas for his confession are rejected. ‘I don’t believe you,’ I spit, marching into the kitchen and returning with the evidence, wet and clinging to my skin. ‘I’ve got your scarf, Paul. You couldn’t find it because Ava had squirrelled it away. It’s covered in blood, Paul. Whose blood?’ I hold the end in my hand, the stain now a faint brown splodge in the wool. Blood is stubborn. It comes out in the end, but it fights to cling on in fibres and hems.

  My husband is making strange noises as if too many words are trying to escape at once. He shakes his head. ‘What the—?’

  ‘It’s her blood, isn’t it?’

  He’s looking at me with an expression I have never seen before. ‘I wasn’t wearing that scarf.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Paul!’ I hold up the clammy wool, wave it like a placard at a rally.

  He tries the phrase again as if he’s just getting used to it. He’s more emphatic now. ‘I wasn’t wearing that scarf.’

  ‘I am not an idiot,’ I hiss. ‘I know you’ve been looking for something in this house that you couldn’t find. It was this, wasn’t it? Tell me the truth! You’ve been looking for it for the past week but Ava had taken it before you could get to it in the morning!’

  ‘Oh, Kate . . .’ his voice trails off. I wait, hearing my heart beating thickly. There is a strange pallor on his cheeks, my beautiful husband suddenly looks old, it’s as if part of his jaw has collapsed. A revelation is finally coming, the air seems to tingle in anticipation of the truth finally being revealed. ‘You wear that scarf more often than me.’ It takes a moment for me to register what he’s saying, then I’m screaming and throwing the sodden scarf at him as he backs away towards the door. ‘Kate, what have you done?’

  ‘Stop twisting things!’ I pick up cushions and chuck them at him.

  ‘Oh God . . .’ his mouth is opening and shutting but he remains stubbornly silent as I rail.

  ‘I want the truth!’

  He stands still in the doorway watching me. ‘I think you know the truth already.’ I hear the front door opening and closing as he walks away. I scream more loudly and then swallow, aware that neighbours crowd in on both sides, innocent children slumber above. Clammy pashmina hairs stick to my hands. I climb over the coffee table and pick up the scarf, ripping at it, pulling it apart with tremendous force. I start to use my teeth, biting the soft and clean-smelling wool, fibres cover my tongue and tickle the back of my throat. Guilt, rage, fear and a thudding jealousy give me extra strength. Five minutes later a fresh burst of tears leaves me shivering on my living-room carpet. I have ended the evening as I started, alone.

  16

  ‘Will I die if I fall in there?’ Josh asks, leaning too far over the rail of the boat as we chug west up the Thames.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘get back from there.’ I reach forward and pull at his arm.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lex chimes, ‘you could swim to the bank. It’d be a laugh.’

  I curl my arms tighter around Ava who’s crowded on my lap in a silent heap and kiss the top of her head. I don’t have the energy for arguing today.

  ‘It’s not like a swimming pool, Josh, there are currents that can pull you under. Water is very deceptive,’ adds Paul.

  Like people, I think as I stare at the brown water, almost the same colour as the tea Paul woke me with this morning. He was detached when he handed over the steaming mug and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘You’d better get up. It’s our trip to Hampton Court today.’

  And so here we are, the Formans with Uncle John and Lex in tow, playing happy families but without the other family – Sarah cried off at the last moment as one of the kids was ill. Paul and I are remarkably civil with each other today – the calm after the storm.

  ‘Remember, Josh, Lex isn’t a parent—�
��

  ‘As far as I know!’

  ‘So he doesn’t see the risks that I see.’

  ‘I’m not a worrier like your mum,’ he adds, inclining towards Josh conspiratorially.

  ‘You don’t need to be,’ I reply. ‘You don’t have the responsibilities that I have.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ he adds, standing up and shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets. ‘I have a company to run. That’s just as hard as bringing up the sprogs.’

  ‘How do you think this is playing out for the company? Can we be really damaged by this?’ asks Paul.

  ‘No one is doing any work because no one can talk about anything else, that’s for sure,’ replies Lex.

  A casual observer would think us a strange group as we bow our heads in unison and shake them in disbelief at what has happened so close to us.

  ‘There’s speculation in the papers that it might be a copycat killing,’ says John.

  Paul looks unconvinced. ‘We always made sure the details of how he killed his wife were not broadcast. Thank heaven for the two-minute delay.’

  ‘I’m not saying we broadcast the details, but have you done a search on the internet? It’s all just a few clicks away, the details of the trial, all the sordid stuff.’

  ‘We’re just going to have to let things run their course,’ says Paul. ‘People are in shock, you’ve got to give them time. I’m in shock! Astrid sobbed on my shoulder for about twenty minutes yesterday.’

  ‘She probably never even met the woman!’ scoffs Lex dismissively.

  ‘The police could well come and interview people at work,’ John adds.

  Lex moans. ‘Yet more distractions.’ He looks my way. ‘I can’t believe they talked to you.’

  I nod, spitting hair out of my mouth that the wind off the river was trying to stuff in. ‘I couldn’t really tell them very much, I’d only met her once.’

  ‘They haven’t been to see me yet,’ Lex adds.

  ‘You should be glad. It was horrible. They make you feel guilty even if you’re the most innocent person in the world.’ I hug Ava tighter to me and stare at the deck, wondering if I’m imagining a stretchy silence opening up.