Murder-De-Sac

by Jim Bennett

  ‘I’m the problem then, am I?’

  ‘Well he answered the door, didn’t he? It was only when he saw you that he bolted'.

  ‘Right’. Mrs McGrath walked towards Julie with such vehmance that she would have knocked her over if she hadn’t moved out of the way at the last second. The banging that Julie had witnessed up to this point was a gentle tapping compared to the onslaught that Mrs McGrath was now subjecting Mr Taylor’s front door to.

  ‘Mrs McGrath', Julie shouted, but the old woman took no notice. She moved closer and repeated herself, but again there was no response. She seemed to be in a mania, totally past the point of appreciating how extreme her actions were.

  It was only when Julie physically pushed her shoulder and put herself between the door and its assailant that she finally stopped the banging. Even then, the look in Mrs McGrath’s eyes made her think that there was still a real danger that she would attempt to go through her to continue in her frenzy.

  ‘What are you doing? He’s going to call the police!’

  ‘Need to talk to him, don’t we?' she said, her voice as steady as it ever was.

  ‘He’s a little old man who barely ever goes out of his house. What is it that you think he’s going to be able to tell you?'

  ‘Never know do you. Sometimes it’s the quiet ones'.

  ‘And that’s justification for scaring him half to death, is it? Almost knocking his door in because he’s too scared to talk to you'.

  Mrs McGrath gave her usual shrug that she reserved for when people pointed out her inappropriate behaviour.

  Julie felt something past simple annoyance now. Mrs McGrath felt like a low consistent hum that had been building in her brain slowly over time to the point where her noise was now on the verge of splitting her head open. She was so incensed that she couldn’t speak, couldn’t even take the time to consider how she could make this ridiculous old coot understand how mad her view of the world was.

  It had all become too much. Without saying another word, she walked around Mrs McGrath and back towards her own house.

  ‘Fine', Mrs McGrath said, following her. ‘We can leave him until afterwards'.

  Julie didn’t trust herself to speak. She just kept walking.

  ‘Got to be off first thing though. Can’t be waiting around for you to get out of bed'.

  Still Julie said nothing.

  ‘Had a look on the maps and it’s about 200 miles I reckon'.

  Julie turned on the spot. By the time Mrs McGrath had followed suit, they were less than a foot apart.

  ‘What are you on about?'

  ‘Liverpool. That’s where you said he was from, wasn’t it?'

  It was all so absurd that it made Julie feel like she was the mad one.

  ‘I’m not going to Liverpool with you, she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you'.

  ‘Who else is there to talk to around here after him? Got to go back and talk to your lad over the road when he gets home but that’s about it. And he didn’t know anyone else around here, did he? So it’s got to be someone from back up north'.

  ‘Don’t you get it?' Julie said a bit too loudly. ‘I’m done. I’m not traipsing around the country asking a group of people random questions just so you can get a look at them and decide if they might be a murderer'.

  ‘That’s not right', Mrs McGrath said, ‘we’ve all got a duty to see right done'.

  ‘What duty?!' Julie positively bellowed in her face. ‘Who do you think you are? I think we’ve safely established that you’re not a detective. Why don’t you just go home where you belong?’

  ‘It’s not for you to tell me where I belong’, said Mrs McGrath indignantly. ‘I’ve still got a part to play'.

  ‘And what is that part? The crazy old woman who scares half the neighbourhood to death. Go back to your house. You’re making us both look silly'.

  Even after this tirade, Mrs McGrath managed to keep her features entirely impassive. It was so unnerving that Julie started to feel properly afraid. She had seen what the old woman could do to a front door, and Julie had no reason to think that she wouldn’t be willing to subject her to the same treatment. Just as she had resolved to turn tail and run, Mrs McGrath strolled past her back to her own house as if they had been discussing the most trivial of matters and not engaged in a public shouting match. Julie was left on the street, still trembling slightly in her fury.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was 8.15 when Julie finally arrived for her date with Mike. She hadn’t wanted to arrive first and be forced to sit agonising about the evening ahead. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, a natural extension of their enjoyment of one another’s company. Getting ready that evening though, she had felt sick with anxiety. By the time she had made it into town, she was feeling almost lightheaded with unease.

  The Italian restaurant was filled with all the normal types. A few married couples on dates identifiable by the token effort they had made for their one night out a week and the absolute lack of conversation passing between them. The obligatory long table of teenagers not quite yet old enough to spend a birthday in a pub or somewhere a bit more exciting. She was happy to find that Mike had taken the initiative to book a table and was shown to her seat by a young, blonde waitress who possessed the artificial cheer necessary to work in a chain restaurant.

  ‘Can I get you something to drink while you wait?' she asked once she had shown Julie to the table.

  Julie felt as if the whole restaurant was looking at her. There was an overhead light which she was sure illuminated her drab clothes and every blemish on her face. The wrap that she was wearing across her shoulders now felt silly and something that her grandmother would have chosen.

  ‘Oh, is there a list or something?' She barely had time to finish the sentence before the waitress had passed her the laminated card that had been in the middle of the table. Julie scanned it but couldn’t take the words in. She was aware of this young woman’s impatience. Her irritation that it was in fact her job to be polite despite it being the last thing in the world that she wanted to do.

  ‘I’ll have one of those please’, Julie said pointing at something that had vodka and some fruit juice in. The waitress's features contorted slightly as she reviewed Julie’s choice.

  ‘That one is quite...elaborate. Are you sure?'

  Julie wasn’t sure what point she was trying to make, but she didn’t like her tone. ‘Yes thank you', she said in a voice that she hoped conveyed that she was just as adventurous as the next person and if she wanted an exotic drink then she’d bloody well have one.

  ‘Alright then', the waitress said. ‘I’ll be back in a moment with your cocktail'.

  Julie took out the food menu in an attempt to distract herself. What had she been thinking? She'd only been on a handful of dates since Greg died, and they had all been absolute disasters. Friends of friends with the same dreary dress sense and a personality to match. She reminded herself that she knew Mike and he wasn’t like that. But what if it didn’t work out? She finally had someone who made work a little more bearable. It was no longer just her and poor Mr Peg.

  Sitting there waiting for her drink, Julie’s thoughts circled around and around. She should just leave, there and then before Mike could see her. She’d phone him when she was in the taxi home, and explain that she’d had some sort of emergency. With reassurances that they would definitely schedule, she’d pretend that she was busy until he lost interest.

  But was that what she really wanted? It didn’t seem right that going out with a nice man should make her feel this overwhelmed. If Julie was honest with herself, her morning with Mrs McGrath had affected her more than she would like to admit. Yes, the old woman had been acting like a crazy person, but what else was new? If she wasn’t willing to put up with some outlandish behaviour, then why had she gone in the first place? Up until now, she had surprised herself by how well she had been dealing with Jack’s death. Maybe she was having
a delayed reaction. You would be hard pressed to find anyone who didn’t think that Mrs McGrath deserved a public dressing down and Julie was sure that anyone would forgive her for being fraught as of late. However, even in the most extreme of circumstances, it was very hard to justify shouting at an old woman in the street.

  It didn’t matter what the reason was, she just couldn’t be here. She couldn’t face an evening of polite conversation and the prospect of the painfully awkward situation that it would inevitably result in when this all went wrong.

  After a few false starts, she had finally made the decision to leave when the waitress reappeared at the table. There was something mocking about her smile. ‘Here we are', she said. It was only then that Julie’s eyes panned down and saw that she was carrying. On a tray that was buckling under the weight of the liquid was a huge container full of a florid substance with a scattering of straws around the edge, interspersed with cocktail umbrellas.

  ‘What’s that?'

  ‘The party punch bowl'.

  ‘I didn’t ask for the party punch bowl’.

  The waitress scowled momentarily before placing the tray on the table. She reached for the drinks menu and passed it to Julie again. ‘There you are see', she said, pointing at the drink that was listed under their ‘cocktails to share' section and began to recite from memory. ‘Great for any special occasion. Best shared between two to three friends’.

  ‘Right okay, if I’d realised that it was served in a fishbowl then obviously I wouldn’t have ordered it’. The waitress ignored this comment and began to move the condiments to one side of the table to make space for the immense vessel. To Julie’s horror, she reached into her apron and took out a handful of sparklers.

  ‘No actually, I’m not sure I want this'.

  ‘I’m sorry?' the waitress said with the lighter in her hand.

  ‘I said I don’t want this drink'. The couple on the table next to her were staring unashamedly as if Julie was some sort of bizarre after dinner entertainment.

  ‘But we’ve mixed it already'.

  ‘I can see that. But I thought it was just a glass of something'.

  ‘I did warn you that it was something usually ordered by a group of people'.

  ‘I think what you actually said was that it was elaborate, which could cover anything from a piña colada to an Agatha Christie novel'.

  ‘Right', the waitress said with forced politeness. ‘So you don’t want the drink?'

  ‘No thank you'.

  ‘I’m going to have to speak to my manager then'. She slapped the unlit sprinklers on the table and walked away from Julie in a huff.

  A few minutes later, the waitress reappeared with a slightly older manboy at her heel.

  ‘This is her', the waitress said. She folded her arms and looked smugly at Julie like a nasty playground informant.

  ‘Emma says that you ordered this drink but you don’t want it anymore’, the manager said and then added ‘madam', at the end for good measure.

  ‘That’s right'.

  ‘All sales are final', he said but wasn’t able to meet her eyes.

  ‘Why would I buy a drink that was obviously designed for an 18th birthday party? Clearly I’d made a mistake'.

  The manager turned to the waitress. ‘Did you tell her that it was a party drink?' The waitress nodded and he turned back to Julie. ‘There you go then. All sales are final'.

  Julie thought about debating the definition of the word ‘elaborate', again with this new youth, but it just didn’t feel worth it. Even before she’d made this decision, the little boy manager was half way back across the restaurant from the direction he’d come from. ‘I’d like to pay then', Julie said, feeling emboldened by her self righteousness.

  ‘We can add it to your bill at the end of your meal?' The waitress said, all false smiles once again.

  ‘I’m not staying', she said, picking up her handbag and securing her wrap around her shoulders. ‘If you’ll bring me the bill, I’ll pay now'.

  ‘But what about your party punch bowl?’

  ‘I don’t bloody want the party punch bowl’, Julie said in a voice loud enough that several other diners now turned to watch. The waitress gave her a look as if she couldn’t comprehend anything as alien as not drinking a beverage that you were going to have to pay for. Having realised that they couldn’t depend on Julie for any further custom, the bill took a maddeningly long time to arrive. ‘Service isn’t included', the waitress said, placing the metal dish in front of her. Julie almost let out a little laugh.

  She began to rummage around in her handbag for her purse and was irritated to find that she didn’t have any cash on her. After a wait of another five minutes, the waitress returned to the table only to have to leave again to find a card machine. The customers on either side of her were watching her building irritation keenly, clearly hoping for another outburst. Julie had been following the progress of the waitress across the room so attently that a man’s voice saying ‘Julie, I’m so sorry', made her jump violently. She rapped her knees painfully on the bottom side of the table and gave a little cry of pain. The contents of the party punch bowl slopped dangerously from side to side.

  Mike was standing before her in a wrinkled shirt looking almost as unkempt as she felt.

  He folded his enormous frame under the table and his legs collided with Julie’s. ‘Oh shit, sorry', he said, moving them to one side.

  ‘I’m so sorry I’m late. I had it in my head that I was supposed to be picking you up from your gaff. But then I realised that I didn’t know where you lived and I didn’t have your number. This was about half past seven. I thought Mr Peg might have it, but he’s been missing in action since all that sand business with the Wilkins the other day. So then my next bright idea was to go over to the garden centre and see if I could find your number in the files there. Anyway, I was halfway through a stack of paper as tall as you like when I realised you were probably already at the restaurant, so here I am'.

  The waitress had reappeared over his right shoulder carrying the card machine. ‘Hello love, pint of lager please', he said before noticing the party punch bowl on the table before him. ‘Oh sorry, are we sharing that?'

  Julie held her card out to the waitress who snatched it from her hand and pressed it against the pay terminal that she was holding. She passed it back to her and stormed away without another word.

  ‘I’m sorry Mike, but I’ve got to go'.

  ‘Shit, is this because I was late?’

  ‘No it’s not because of that. It’s because, I just have to go. We can rearrange'.

  She shuffled across the bench she was sat on. Unfortunately the gap between their table and the one next to them was impossibly small for even the most petite person to fit through. Her body now felt so bulky and she was sure that she was perspiring so heavily that she had a mortal dread of Mike feeling her pressed against him. Thinking that she had more space behind her than she did, she took a small step backwards only to bump into the man dining behind her.

  ‘Steady on love', he said with a letchy smile on his face.

  ‘Watch where you’re going', Julie replied nonsensically to the seated diner. Then, she rushed out of the restaurant, shooting the waitress one last dirty look as she went.

  Once she was outside, she took a few moments just to breathe the fresh air. She also hadn’t thought through what she was going to do next. It was too early in the evening for taxis to be in the rank and it had been years since she’d caught a bus home. Thinking about it, it had been an absolute age since she’d spent an evening out anywhere, let alone in the city centre.

  ‘Are you alright?' A voice said from behind her. She turned to find Mike with a concerned look on his face.

  ‘I told you, we can do it another time. I need to get a taxi'.

  ‘Okay, but…’

  ‘I think I have a number somewhere'. She started routing in her bag and then surveyed the square in front of her again looking for a car. ‘Or maybe I’ll g
et lucky and find one down by the supermarket'.

  ‘Julie…’

  ‘We’ll do it another time Mike. I’ve already told you that’.

  ‘Yeah forget about all that for a minute'. He moved around her so that they were face to face. ‘Are you okay?' His question was asked with such sincerity that Julie could feel her eyes beginning to water.

  ‘You’re the first person to ask me that throughout all of this'. Julie pressed the root of one of her fingers to the bottom of her eye. She hoped that it would look like she was trying to blot her make up rather than that she was desperately trying to stop herself from gushing.

  ‘Through all what?’

  ‘Oh it’s silly. I wouldn’t want to bother you with it'.

  ‘If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But I’m always here, you know'. He looked down, suddenly bashful in his earnestness. ‘If you want someone to talk to'.

  The tears came freely now. Instead of coming up against a further cruel provocation, she was met only with the innate comfort that Mike somehow provided.

  ‘That’s really nice of you', Julie said, her eyes streaming. ‘You barely know me'.

  ‘I know you’re a good person and that’s good enough for me'.

  Julie couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, she closed the gap between them and embraced Mike so firmly that she could feel the air escaping from him.

  ‘Thank you’, she said once she was stood a sensible distance away from him again. ‘For being kind'.

  ‘How about that drink then?' He said, still looking a bit shy. ‘Or we can find you a taxi if you like. No pressure'.

  ‘A drink would be nice’.

  ‘Okay great. We can have some food too if you like. Only, not in there'. He looked at her sheepishly. ‘They brought me that lager even after I told them I was going and then tried to make me pay for it. I might have been a bit rude'.

  Julie smiled at him. ‘Why don’t we start with a drink and see where we go from there?'

  A few minutes later, they were comfortably cloistered in a quiet pub on the other side of the market square. Despite the pair being decidedly middle aged, the patrons eyed them suspiciously when they ended. The old boys looked at them, certain that the newcomers were going to be standing on tables screaming karaoke within half an hour. It said something about the nature of Julie’s normal Saturday night regime that she felt especially exotic drinking the pint of mango cider in front of her.