by Penny Kline
TWENTY-FIVE
Jane’s anxiety had reached a peak. She hoped it was the peak. It was as though her life was on hold, and would be until she discovered the truth. Never a big eater, she had lost her appetite almost entirely but, at lunchtime, had managed to force down a poached egg on toast. Washing up afterwards, and putting her plate and cutlery away, was more satisfying than eating because it provided order, moved things on. During the last few days she had made copious notes – writing things down sometimes had a soothing effect – but any information she had acquired was vague in the extreme, and possibly untrue.
Gus had been taking photographs at some unspecified location. Dave had been at an auction. Corinne had been at a lingerie party, whatever that was supposed to be. And Willa claimed she had been at the shops. Jane’s fear that Eddie had pushed Noel over the balcony was growing by the day.
Pursing her lips, she attempted without success to recreate the sound she had heard. Whoosh. Sh. Pushed. Everyone with a motive had an alibi. Not a good one since she had no means of checking. And there was Brian, who could have found out about Noel and Willa, and confronted Noel while he was checking the balcony. Part accident, part foul play. If Jane had managed to open the parcel and re-wrap it, so could Brian.
No opportunity to talk to him at home so she would have to make another appointment at the health centre and that might take several days to arrange, although, as it turned out, the receptionist – the friendly one, who smiled rather than behaving like the keeper at the gate – said Dr Molloy could fit her in at five-fifteen. What would she tell him was the problem? A bad back? Stiff neck? Both symptoms where the doctor had to take the patient’s word for it. No, there was no need to lie. She would say she was suffering from insomnia. If he reached for his prescription pad, she would ask if he had any other suggestions, a milky drink at bedtime – guaranteed to get you up to go to the loo – or whale music – how ridiculous – or an audiobook – more sensible. But, knowing Brian, he would say it was another psychosomatic symptom, this time brought on by Noel’s death.
The waiting room was full of silent patients, apart from a small girl who had found a copy of Country Life, with its pictures of working dogs, and shooting jackets, and was enjoying scribbling on the pictures with a red crayon, while singing Baa, baa, black sheep. Jane smiled at her and she put out her tongue, and Jane responded in like manner. People said children were not sufficiently disciplined these days – true in the case of the Tidewells – but as far as Jane could remember they had always put out their tongues, provided their parents were looking in the other direction.
A tall man, with rounded shoulders and ill-fitting trousers, was studying a poster for sexually transmitted diseases. He looked a bit past that kind of thing, but one could never tell. How old was Gus? Older than her or roughly the same? She could ask him and, unlike her, he probably had no objection to divulging his age.
‘Jane?’ Brian was smiling, but looked done in. Was he suffering from lack of sleep, too? They could commiserate together but, in spite of his wish for her to “get her feelings out in the open”, Brian gave little away, either in his personal or professional role. Not that she knew him that well, although Arthur had told her rather more than he should. Mum shouts at him when he leaves his pants on the bedroom floor and he loses his temper and says if she’s nothing better to think about she ought to get a job.
Jane hurried to join him, rehearsing in her head what she was going to say, but there was no need since Brian spoke first and it was not to ask how he could help, but to say how shocked he had been about Noel.
‘Yes, we all are. Such a tragedy.’
‘How did it happen, do you suppose?’ He drew his lower lip over the ends of his neat moustache. ‘Leaning over to check something? Leaned too far and lost his balance?’
‘I imagine so.’
‘And it was you who called the ambulance.’ His fingers were intertwined. ‘What a blessing you found him. I mean, what a blessing it wasn’t Dave’s daughter. How long did the ambulance take? It all depends ...’
‘They were in the area. Quite close by.’
‘Good, good.’ His voice shook. Not from grief that Noel was dead. Tiredness, overwork, or was it fear?
‘I talked to him – you’re not supposed to move people are you – but I think I knew it was hopeless. It’s such a long drop from those loft conversions.’
Something was going on in the waiting room, raised voices, shouting, but Brian appeared oblivious. Since the slot only lasted ten minutes he ought to be asking why she was there, but he looked as though he was more in need of a doctor than she was. He had a tic in his left eye, and the hands that fiddled with a pen on his desk trembled.
‘I’ve been sleeping badly, Brian. No, not just since the accident. Before that. I go to sleep quite easily but wake at two or three and it’s a time when things prey on your mind. No, I don’t want medication, it’s addictive and makes you feel drowsy the following day. And I like to keep my wits about me.’
He opened his mouth, possibly to tell her there were newer, better drugs, but she came in quickly again. ‘It’s because I’m old, isn’t it? Old people don’t need so much sleep.’
He picked up a large plastic apple that bore the name of a well-known pharmaceutical company. An apple a day keeps the doctor at bay. Or was it “away”? Doctors like Brian no longer sat behind a desk. They sat next to it. To put the patient at his or her ease, no doubt. Jane preferred a clear separation, doctor and patient, not a combined attempt to solve the problem. ‘How’s the rash?’
‘Oh.’ The sharpness in his voice had made her jump. ‘Gone. Disappeared.’
He nodded.
‘The problem is, Brian, when I’m lying awake I start wondering if it really was an accident.’
She expected an exclamation of surprise, even if it was feigned, but he sat up straight in his chair and cupped his face in his hands. ‘Willa’s gone.’
‘Gone?’
‘To her sister in Devon. No, Cornwall. On the border.’
‘I see, I thought ... I expect she needed a break, will be back in a day or two?’
He shrugged, picking up his prescription pad and putting it down again. ‘That parcel you dropped off at our house. Did she mention what it was?’
‘No.’
‘Just wondered.’ His attempt to sound casual was pitiful. ‘She’s a very sensitive person, easily upset, up and down. No, I don’t mean bi-polar, nothing as extreme as that.’
‘She was fond of Noel?’
‘Fond of him, why d’you say that?’
‘We all were. Well, perhaps not all, but he brightened up Faraday Road with his anecdotes. And antics,’ she added, although saying it made her flinch. Jumping up and swinging on the scaffolding, running down the street, with a hop and a skip. Perhaps it really had been an accident.
Opening a drawer, Brian took out a dog-eared sheet of paper. ‘Tips for getting to sleep at night.’ He began to read and Jane pretended to listen. A warm bath before bedtime. Did he want her to admit she had re-wrapped the parcel? A good mattress and thick curtains. A milky drink, not coffee or tea. Not something he was likely to mention, but apparently sex made you sleepy. Or, as the handy hints sheet was unlikely to suggest, if you lacked a partner, masturbation.
‘Were you around on Saturday, Brian? I wondered if you’d seen Noel going into the house next to mine. Gus was out, taking photographs and Dave was at an auction.’
‘Saturday?’ He scratched his chin. ‘Ah yes, where was I. I know, I went for a long walk. Good for the lungs.’
‘With Willa?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘She’s not a great walker, says she’d walk more if we had a dog. I needed the exercise.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Spend all week sitting listening to people. Need time to unwind.’
‘Did you go somewhere nice?’
‘The woods.’ He licked his lips. ‘No, come to think of it, Willa did accompany me.’
Willa had t
old Jane she was down at the shopping centre.
‘Or was that the weekend before? One week runs into another. I’m sure it’s the same with you.’ He glanced at his wall clock, relieved no doubt that her allotted time had overrun. Like Gus, he was not prepared to tell her where his walk had been. ‘Relaxation, Jane, not looking at screens immediately before bedtime.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ She stood up. So did Brian. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, ‘ you do look tired and all these patients, most of them with silly little problems like mine.’ Now he would say, “your problems are never silly, Jane”, but he was miles away and the lines between his eyes had deepened. What was he thinking about? She would love to have known.
To her surprise, Gus was in the waiting room, sitting next to one of the builders, the young one she thought was called Lee.
‘Cut himself.’ Gus pointed to an improvised bandage wrapped round the young man’s hand. ‘Thought it’d be better than A and E, not such a long wait.’
‘Oh dear, how did it happen?’
‘Screwdriver slipped. Blood everywhere. I offered to bring him here.’
‘That was good of you.’
‘Lee shares my interest in photography.’
‘Do you, Lee?’
‘Just family pictures.’ Lee pushed up his quiff of hair with his good hand. ‘My sister’s kids and that.’
‘Lovely.’ Blood had seeped through the bandage, a strip of cloth that looked none too clean. ‘I’m sure the nurse can help.’
‘Not as bad as it looks.’ Gus shifted irritably on his seat. He was not someone who liked to wait in a queue. ‘Not an artery, like that friend of mine I was telling you about, Jane.’
‘Anyway, Lee, you’ll feel better when it’s been dressed.’ Such a nice-looking young man, blond and with a clear skin and eyes that were almost as blue as Noel’s. Little did she know the two of them would meet again in a few days’ time – under very different circumstances.
TWENTY-SIX
She had to tell someone. She had made a decision to keep quiet, partly because she could have imagined it, and partly because involving the police would not bring Noel back. Of course, Eddie was the real reason. I thought Noel was dead, but I think he was still alive. His lips moved and he said ...I thought he said... It was with her continually, all day and when she woke in the night, startled by what she thought had been sounds in the street, a fox or the students returning from a night out. But there were no sounds, just a deathly silence.
However much she tried to put it out of her mind, it refused to go away and after dithering for almost an hour, she left the house, and rang Gus’ bell. No reply so, having steeled herself, she would have to do it all over again, later. But halfway down the stairs, his door was flung open.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Jane. Are you busy?’ She was losing her nerve, would have to concoct a different reason for disturbing him. The rubbish bin that had been pushed over, scattering ready-meal containers across the road? No, someone had swept it up, probably Mr Cardozo, a public-spirited man who kept himself to himself.
‘Come in if you’re coming.’ Gus had disappeared back into his flat but left the front door open.
‘It could wait until later, Gus.’
No answer so she stepped inside, removed some photographic magazines from a chair with an orange cushion, and sat down.
‘It’s about last Saturday.’
Gus looked tired. ‘Thought it might be.’
‘I’m worried.’
He yawned, covering his mouth with both hands. ‘ What about? Afraid Eddie may have gone in for a spot of shoplifting?’
‘There was nothing in her pockets. I checked. But I suppose she could have eaten whatever she snatched.’
‘Need something to calm your nerves.’ He was standing by the glass-fronted cupboard that contained a selection of bottles, most of them half empty.
‘Nothing for me, thank you.’ Then she saw the concerned look on his face and relented. ‘All right then, whatever you’re having but only a dash.’
‘Medicinal.’ He poured whisky into a smeary tumbler. ‘If you want my advice, you’d do well to ignore the rumours and gossip.’
‘What gossip?’ Everyone she had spoken to, with the exception of Arthur, had accepted Noel’s death as a tragic accident. ‘What have people been saying?’
Gus made an enigmatic noise in his throat. ‘How’s Corinne?’
‘I’m afraid she’s not the resilient type. I’ve done what I can, but she seems in a state of paralysis, unable to make plans and obsessed with the fact that she wanted a baby.’ Jane felt down the side of sofa, discovered a pound coin and placed it on the coffee table, along with one of Gus’ cameras, an open packet of ginger biscuits, and a screwdriver.
‘Not much chance of that.’ He gave one of his familiar snorts. ‘Noel had the snip.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Vasectomy.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘A year or two back. Turned it into one of his funny stories. Had it done at some clinic, he said, and, while they were all recuperating they were given some lunch. Meatballs. Poor old sod, cut off in his prime. I’ll miss his —’
‘I knew you were fond of him.’
‘Don’t know about that, Jane. We had our differences, mainly about his loft conversions. Know you had a soft spot.’ He grinned. ‘What you thinking then? I could have done without the loft being turned into a building site but it’s hardly grounds for murder.’
Jane drained her glass, flinching as the whisky trickled down her throat. ‘Oh, Gus, I’ll have to tell you. When I found him ... he said something. I thought he did. He did.’
‘Go on.’
‘He said he’d been pushed.’
‘So he was still alive.’
‘Yes. I don’t know. I was trying to find a pulse. I thought ... I may not have done it correctly. I was so shocked, everything I’d learned went out of my head. I called for an ambulance and ... I knew I shouldn’t move him.’
‘He was dead.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘It was a long way to fall. Yes, all right, people sometimes survive a fall like that, but not onto rock-hard patio stones. So Corinne didn’t know about the vasectomy?’
‘She can’t have done.’
‘Unless someone told her.’ He put up his hands in mock defence. ‘No, not me. Not guilty.’
‘Did anyone else know? She’d talked to Brian about the best way to get pregnant, but obviously that was confidential.’ An image rose up in Jane’s mind. Corinne confronting Noel as he leaned over the balcony to check the paint. Why did you lie to me? You knew I was longing for a baby. All in an instant, a moment of fury, a crime of passion.
Gus shrugged. ‘Brian knew about it, the vasectomy. He arranged it.’
‘But he wouldn’t have told Corinne. Although he might have suggested she talk to Noel, in the hope he would confess, so to speak. It would have put Brian in a dilemma.’
‘Doctors must have plenty of those.’
‘Yes.’ Jane’s stomach hurt. The whisky or her lack of breakfast. ‘Corinne’s not as naïve as she appears. She could have guessed and tricked Brian into telling her.’
‘Want my advice, Jane?’ He offered her a refill, but she shook her head. ‘Leave well alone.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’
‘Shock plays tricks. Shame it was you that found him. Should’ve been me. Would have been if I’d heard him shout as he lost his balance.’
‘I thought you were out, taking photographs.’
‘That’s why I didn’t hear. How’s Eddie? Does she know what happened?’
Jane shook her head. ‘Hasn’t a clue. No short-term memory and not much in terms of a long one.’ Not entirely true but Gus was making her feel nervous. ‘I’m worried The Spruces might refuse to keep her, although now they’ve increased her medication she seems calmer, at least I think she is.’
Gus returned the bottle
to the glass cabinet. ‘Business matter to attend to.’
‘Another?’
‘Same one.’
And he had no intention of telling her what it was. More than likely he had a rendezvous with the woman from number twenty-two. Who was she? Did she feel the same about Gus as he obviously did about her? The thought that he might have a girlfriend had never occurred to her. He was too old, only a year younger than she was, but it was different for men.
Later, standing in her garden, pulling up weeds, she thought she smelled a bonfire. Large ones were not allowed but even small ones had a habit of getting out of hand. In the old days no one minded, but these days you were supposed to pay an annual charge for a green bin for garden waste. Or put your cuttings in the boot of your car and drive all the way to the tip. The last time she made a trip a spider must have climbed out of the garden waste and spun a web. It stretched from her driving mirror to the knob that turned up the sound on the radio.
Straightening up from her weeding, she saw a plume of dark, acrid smoke that looked like it was coming from Dave’s workshop.
Was he there? Where was Simmy? At home or with Arthur? Simmy never went to the workshop, not as far as Jane knew. Was Dave there? He could be at another auction.
Hurrying back through the house, she rang next door’s bell. No reply, so she banged on the door. Still no answer, so she set off towards the workshop, reaching it just as Dave appeared with a hand-held extinguisher. ‘What happened? Are you all right? How did it start?’
‘Burning some rubbish.’ The pockets of his denim jacket bulged with papers.
‘And a spark set fire to the shed?’
‘Never got a hold.’
‘You removed that in the nick of time.’ She pointed to a gas cylinder. ‘It could have burned to the ground.’
‘That what you’d have liked?’
‘No, of course not. What were you burning?’ She peered at the charred remains of a photograph. The top half of a dark-haired young woman, who was holding a baby. Dave’s dead wife with baby Simmy? If she was right, why had he chosen today to dispose of it? Had Simmy been poking about in the workshop, looking for clues? Why not let her have a picture of her mother? Perhaps it was a face people would recognise. Perhaps Simmy was right and she had committed a terrible crime. ‘I was worried you might not be here, Dave. Do you go to many auctions? Eddie used to like them. She collected pigs. Small ornaments and ... I was afraid it might set the fence alight.’
