Be Careful What You Wish For: Three women, three men, three deaths (Kitty Thomas)

by Sue Nicholls

  ***

  Fee pulls open the front door, her head light, her senses heightened. A policeman stands before her in the watery dawn. He is young, with a smooth, lively face and dark wavy hair.

  She offers, 'Coffee? Tea?' He declines, so she sits in an armchair facing him and explains the situation.

  The P.C., Allen by name, leans towards her. 'I know this is worrying, Mrs Thomas,’ he says, his sympathetic face bobbing up and down, ‘But most people turn up unharmed within forty-eight hours, so try to relax.'

  ‘I hope you're right.' She wants to cry. 'It's hard not to worry.’ She takes a steadying breath. ‘What will you do if she doesn't come home?'

  'If Mrs Roman doesn't return by tomorrow, I'll talk you through the procedures. As I said, it probably won't come to that.

  Fee fixes her attention on the young man, as if the act of listening will contribute to Twitch’s return.

  'It depends on how seriously we view the risk to your, er, friend.' His face takes on a deeper hue of red.

  Fee ignores his discomfort and waits. He clears his throat, and his manner becomes business-like. 'Perhaps you would explain more about your domestic arrangements.'

  Fee describes their circumstances, and the policeman seems to relax.

  'So, Mrs Roman's husband may be able to shed some light on the situation?'

  'Maurice? I suppose he might. He doesn’t know about this yet.' Fee gives her head a hopeless shake, 'This is really unlike Twitch, that's why I'm so worried about her.'

  P.C. Allen explains, ‘If Mrs Roman hasn't turned up in twenty-four hours, we’ll escalated enquiries: ask local people, search the house and garden.’ He pauses with a sympathetic smile at Fee’s gasp, before continuing, ‘There may be a chance of some video footage on the roads in the town. We’ve had an experimental group of cameras set up in this area for a year or so now. His face puckers. 'Do you have a photograph of Mrs Roman - Twitch, do you call her? If you could find one before we come back - if we come back - it will save time.’

  Fee leaps up. ‘I’ll have a look now.’ She runs upstairs to Twitch’s room, feeling like an imposter. There is an air of waiting about the room, as if it’s holding its breath. Feeling uncomfortable she opens the wardrobe and the smell of Twitch's perfume wafts out. Twitch, please be alright. Fee slides her hand along the shelf above the rail and finds slippers and scarves, but no box of pictures or photograph album. She stands on tiptoe in the middle of the room and cranes her neck to see the top of the cupboard - nothing up there at all. Under the bed, in the drawers, it is as though Twitch had no life before coming to Crispin Road.

  Back in the lounge she picks up a framed photo from the window ledge. It was taken at the beach hut. Twitch is arm in arm Millie - their wide smiles are hard to look at. ‘I have this,’ she says, holding it out, otherwise you could try Maurice.’

  The officer takes the photograph from its frame and slides it into a plastic sleeve. He makes a note on his pad of Maurice’s contact details along with those of Twitch’s doctor and dentist.

  When he has taken his jingling leave, Fee closes the door and leans on it for a moment listening to the thick silence, then she picks up the telephone.

  Chapter 50

  Yesterday evening was tolerable, even though Maurice had expected a night alone in front of the television. He took the boys to the cinema, having first fed them on KFC. After the film they indulged in outrageously priced ice cream in the foyer and Josh fell asleep as soon as he was strapped into his car seat and remained fast asleep, hanging like a hefty rag doll over Maurice’s shoulder as he was hauled up the stairs, threaded into pyjamas and tucked under his duvet. Maurice and Sam sat in front of the television for half an hour before Sam too went to bed.

  Now, at the breakfast table, Josh fills his mouth with toast and strawberry jam, dried daubs of the previous evening’s chocolate ice cream still decorating his face. Sam pipes up, ‘What shall we do today Dad? Can we go swimming?’

  Swimming, especially at the weekend when the sultry building is crowded and noisy, is not an appealing prospect. The slimy floors of the cubicles will be littered with soggy tissues and lost sticking plasters, and the bins will be overflowing with used nappies. The last time Maurice took the boys there they were called from the water because a baby had defecated in it. They stood around waiting until two members staff appeared with a long-handled fishing net and simply scooped out the offending ‘floater’ before announcing that they could re-enter. The experience led Maurice to insist that future visits are limited to week-day evenings. This does not stop Sam trying to change his mind at every opportunity.

  ‘Sorry son, you need to be back at Mum’s this morning, apparently you need new shoes.’ Josh stuffs the last piece of toast into his mouth and slides from his chair to the floor. Maurice grabs him by the arm to prevent escape and snatches the dishcloth from the sink to scrub at the chocolate and jam.

  Josh splutters from its folds, indignant and breathless. ‘Yuk Daddy. Smells yuk!’ Maurice sniffs at the cloth, which does indeed stink. He lobs it towards the washing machine. ‘Sorry Joshy. Let’s go upstairs and do it properly. ‘Come on Sam-boy, you could do with a clean too.’

  The telephone trills from the kitchen and Maurice turns back to pick up the receiver leaving Sam to deal with matters of hygiene for both boys.

  ‘Maurice, it’s Fee.’ Her voice sounds tense.

  ‘Hi Fee. How are you?’

  ‘Maurice, Twitch didn’t come back last night. I was expecting her for dinner, and she didn’t turn up.’ Fee’s wobbling voice rises an octave. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to her, but can you keep the boys for now?’ Maurice sits down on Josh’s crumb covered chair and hunches over the receiver keeping his voice low. 'Do you think she's OK?'

  'I don't know Maurice. I'm concerned.' With a wobbling voice she tells him about the events of the previous day.

  'Of course, I'll keep them here. Try and stay calm Fee. We don’t know anything yet, and let me know when she turns up.'

  There is a wet sound of Fee blowing her nose. 'Thanks Maurice. I'm about to call Mick and Paul. I rather hope they can have their children too, until I know what's what. It'll be difficult not to pass on my anxiety if they're here.’

  Swimming is now unavoidable. Brushing the back of his trousers he goes to the foot of the stairs. 'Josh, Sam. Good news. Mummy's been held up, so shoe shopping’s cancelled. Let's go swimming.’ The boys squeal and hurtle off to find their trunks.

  At the pool, Sam, already a strong swimmer, strikes out towards the deep end and is soon cavorting with school friends. Anxious Josh clings to Maurice, nervously demanding to be towed around and to ride on Maurice’s slippery back. Maurice splashes Josh, trying to give him confidence, but his thoughts are on Twitch.

  After a couple of hours, they all patter into the changing area. As the boys stand dripping and shivering, Maurice fumbles with the plastic-coated locker key, squinting with sore eyes. He loads himself up with a Crackerjack armful of bags, jackets and shoes, and directs the boys into a family cubicle.

  In the cafe the boys sip hot chocolate and pick at a pale heap of drooping chips in a polystyrene tray. Maurice watches, his gut in a knot.

  At home he parks the boys in front of the television and creeps to the hall to dial Fee.

  ‘Oh, Hi Maurice. No news I’m afraid.’

  He had not expected news - she would have called him. He asked, ‘Have you been sitting alone at home all this time?’

  ‘No. I thought I’d save time by going to the shop where Twitch bought her bike. To find the make and model and so on. I’m so unobservant, I couldn’t even remember what colour it is.’

  ‘How did you know where to go?’

  ‘I found the receipt in Twitch’s bedside drawer. I’m back home now, having a look through the rest of her things.’

  Maurice can hear Fee’s laboured breathing as she riffles through papers and books. ‘I’m looking for something about her friends or the art co
urse, but I haven’t come across anything yet. It’s as though she doesn’t want to be found. I showed her an advert in the local paper, but I don’t remember the details now. There’s been so much more to think about.

  'Maurice, the police need a photo of Twitch; do you have anything suitable?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find.’ He looks up as Sam appears at the back door. ‘I have to go now Fee. Keep me informed though, won’t you?’ He hangs up and turns to his son.

  ‘What’s up Dad?’

  ‘Nothing to worry about Sam-boy. Mummy’s a bit tired, that’s all. She needs a rest, so you two are to stay with me for a while. Isn’t that great?’

  Sam looks dubious but doesn’t argue and turns instead to help Josh reach a bag of crisps from a wall cupboard.

  The phone rings again, and this time it is Paul. Maurice lowers his voice to update Paul, whose reaction is immediate.

  ‘Come over here. I’m going to collect Kitty, now but I’ll be back in half an hour or so. I’ve got pizza in the freezer and beer in the fridge.’

  ***

  The cellophane wrappers from two frozen pizzas squeak as Paul balls them and presses the pedal of the bin to throw them away. Topsy’s eyes follow his every movement. Her wet nose quivers in the air then, when hope of a treat is lost, drops to snuffle along the edges of the floor. Maurice leans against the kitchen door frame, and in the small living room, the boys and Kitty are engrossed in a cartoon.

  The men wait in silence for the pizzas., and the dog extends her pink tongue every now and again to clean up crumbs.

  Paul puffs out his cheeks and blows a gentle breath. ‘You think Mick’s OK? He might need help with the kids if he's got work this w...’ He is interrupted by a shrill ring on the doorbell, and he heads along the hall, with Topsy wagging at his heels. ‘Oh, hi mate, this is a coincidence. Down, Topsy.’ He nods at Lucas and Olivia. ‘Go on in with the others, guys,’ he says and pushes open the door to the sitting room.

  The smell of basil and dough seeps through the small flat, and Paul takes the food through to the children. Topsy follows the aroma into the sitting room and lowers her bottom to the carpet, her brown eyes tailing each biscuity slice.

  'Don't feed the dog.' Paul orders with a fierce look. 'She'll get fat.'

  In the kitchen the three men pull the rings from beer cans.

  ‘How you feeling, man?’ Mick speaks quietly to Maurice.

  ‘I don’t know. OK.’

  Paul sits down at the kitchen table and stares at the two oven trays, side by side in front of him.

  ‘Fuck me, this is hard.’ He stacks the two baking trays and rubs the corners with his thumb.

  ‘Watch your language, man.’ Mick swings his leather jacket off and drops it over the back of a chair. With a deft movement he spins the chair and sits astride it, folding his arms along the heavy, brown leather. Paul shoves his hands into his armpits and turns his face to stare out of the window.

  Mick is business-like. ‘First thing we need to do is plan for the next, say, week. I’m working all hours at the moment, but I’ve been thinking about what to do with Luc and Livvie.’ He pauses. ‘I think I’ll have to give my mum a call. Maybe they can go to her for a while.’

  ‘Well, that won’t help me and Maurice.’ Paul stands and picks up the trays. ‘No. We need to find someone to look after them all.’

  ‘I could ask Ma to come up here.’ Mick is quite sure that Gloria will leap at the chance to help her only son - and interfere in the raising of her grandchildren. ‘If she’d come, that would solve everything – well almost everything. Maybe she could stay with Fee.’ Mick looks at Paul for confirmation, and his friend nods.

  'I'll call her now.' Mick pulls out a new mobile phone and the others look impressed. ‘Hello Ma…’ He goes back into the hall and out of the front door pulling it behind him until only a crack of light shows between it and the frame.

  Paul offers Maurice another beer, but he shakes his head. He needs to drive soon. The laughter of the kids in the other room filters through the closed door, as do the muffled tones of Mick’s voice, rising and falling.

  Before long, Mick returns with his thumb up. ‘She’s coming. I spoke to Fee, too. She said it’d be OK. She seems a bit out of it.

  ‘Blimey, I’ve never known that happen before.’ A look of satisfaction crosses Paul’s face. ‘What are we going to tell the kids? Maurice, what do you want to say to your two?’

  They decide that the easiest option is to stick to Maurice’s original tale: Twitch is tired and needs a rest, so she is going away for a little while. Who is to say it is not the truth, anyway?

  When Sam and Josh have finished eating, Maurice drags them home, saying he is tired after swimming and the stress of the day.

  When he has gone, Paul turns to Mick and murmurs, ‘And then there was one.’

  Back at home Maurice pokes his key into the lock, hanging on to Josh with his other hand, while Sam kicks at a stone on the path. As the door opens the phone starts to ring and he answers with a tense, 'Hello,' flapping his hand at the boys to go into the living room.

  ‘Mr Roman?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is Chelterton Valley Police, P.C. Porter speaking.’

  ‘Oh, hello Constable.’ Maurice straightens his back. ‘Have you got news about my wife – ex-wife?’

  ‘No sir, I’m sorry there's no news as yet. We'd like to talk to you though, a matter of routine. Would it be convenient for someone to call round now?’

  Maurice tells him that will be fine and says, ‘I understand you need a photo of Twitch. I’ll look one out for you.'

  He presses the button to cut off the phone and dials Paul to tell him of the latest development. He worries that the police visit will take some explaining to his small children. Paul offers to come and get them. He and Mick can entertain them for another hour or so. After making sure Paul has not had too much to drink, Maurice accepts with relief.

  Chapter 51

  Gloria, driven by Mick, arrives at Crispin Road on the following Friday, with three huge bags. After hefting them into the hall Mick dashes back to work with a promise to collect all the children from school and see them later.

  The two women appraise one another in front of the clock.

  ‘Hello Gloria.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you Fee.’

  Gloria's hand is hard and dry in Fee’s, as she announces in a crisp voice, ‘We need to get things straight from the start. I’m happy Mick asked me to come, and I’m sorry for your troubles, but this arrangement is strictly on a trial basis.’ Fee starts to interject, but Gloria ploughs on. ‘We don’t know each other. Don’t know nothin’ about one another, so let’s just take it one day at a time.’

  This is perfectly acceptable to Fee. Her overwhelming memory of Mick’s mother is of the small and smartly clothed woman, glaring from under the fish net pelmet of a pill box hat at Millie’s funeral. She decides that courtesy is the way forward. 'Would you like a cup of tea - or coffee?'

  'Tea would be lovely. I'll hang my coat up here.' Gloria tucks her brightly coloured rayon scarf into the arm of her camel coat and strains to reach the high coat hook.

  'Let me.' Fee takes it and hangs it among the rest of the family outer wear, which includes Twitch's knitted jacket, left in preference for a waterproof one on the evening of her outing.

  'I can see I'm goin' to need a ladder round here.' There is a re-assuring twinkle in Gloria's eye.

  They sit in the lounge and Gloria asks Fee how the children are coping with all the upheaval. 'I tried to ask Mick, but you know what men are like, he just said they’re not bad.'

  'He's been really supportive; in fact, they all have. They've helped with the practical things - like getting you up here. I'm so grateful Gloria.'

  'Aww, don't feel like that. I bet I’m goin' to love bein' with the kiddies. It'll be like a holiday for me.'

  Fee is staggered at Gloria’s speedy change of attitude.

 
There is something maternal and essentially comforting in Gloria’s presence. The two women chat, and Fee learns that the person sipping daintily from her china mug of sweet tea has received and returned many of life’s knocks and blows. A kindred spirit? Maybe.

  Once the tea has been drained, they hoist Gloria's bags upstairs and drop them on the floor of Twitch’s room. Lucas and Olivia have doubled up with Sam and Josh to make room for the new guest.

  'I'll unpack later.' Gloria looks round approvingly. 'Very nice.' She pokes her head into Twitch’s sparsely filled wardrobe. 'This will do me fine for now.'

  At lunch time the women continue to weigh one another up over a chicken sandwich. Fee tries to tell Gloria about the children’s routines and idiosyncrasies. ‘I am beginning to realise how much Twitch did. I keep wanting to ask her, where’s this or how do I do that?’ She shakes her head and stands to clear the table.

  When the doorbell rings, Gloria is outside exploring the garden and sticking her nose into the shed.

  Fee opens the door. ‘Hi Mick. Hello, you lot.' She smiles, to welcome the children into into the hall. 'Have you time to come in this time, Mick? Your mum's settled in and I'm sure she'd like to see you.'

  Lucas and Olivia dance out to the garden to hug Granny and drag her in to meet the others. More tea is brewed, but Fee notices that all the time he is drinking, Mick is checking his watch and tapping his fingers. Soon he is saying his goodbyes, telling Gloria he will look in again.

  When he has gone the children escort Gloria back to her bedroom, and Fee loads plates and cups into the dishwasher before following. Standing in the doorway, she watches the children 'help' Gloria unpack. Kitty takes great interest in Gloria’s belongings: her sensible shoes and contrastingly flamboyant dresses, her blurry and amateurish, framed photographs, one of Mick as a child in Regents Park, peeping from behind a tree, another of him in short trousers, sitting on a wall outside Southwark Cathedral, his feet dangling and his socks smart and straight. Last is a photo of her long dead husband, a big man with a strong resemblance to Mick. He stands proudly at the bottom of a staircase in some dingy hallway.