by Sue Nicholls
‘Sorry to trouble you again Mr Thomas, we are still trying to confirm your movements when Mrs Roman disappeared.’
‘I told you last time, I can’t remember. If I could I’d look in my diary but as you can see, everything is packed now. I’m moving tomorrow.’
D.S. Bailey makes a note of Paul’s new address. ‘It seems then, Sir, that you have no alibi?’
‘Alibi for what? There hasn’t been a crime.’
‘I’m afraid there has. A forensic examination of Mrs Roman’s body suggests that she was murdered.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I don’t think he can help you.’ The balding officer’s face is impassive, and his eyes meet Paul’s sharp look.
‘Am I under arrest?’
Bailey shakes his head. ‘No Mr Thomas, but your interests will be better served if you co-operate. Perhaps you would search your boxes for the diary you mentioned.’
Paul knows exactly where to find his appointment diary; he also knows there is nothing noted in it for the Saturday when Twitch went missing. He now makes a convincing show of ripping open boxes until he ‘finds’ the box with his paperwork inside.
‘OK, here it is.’ Without turning round, he waves the diary above his shoulder at Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. ‘Now…’ He straightens up, feeling a twinge in his back from hours of lifting and wrapping. ‘What was that date?’
There follows more play-acting as he flaps through annotated pages until he is staring at the blank Saturday in question. ‘Apparently I did nothing special on that date. You’re right; I have no alibi.’ He looks up at the policemen.
‘Perhaps we can jog your memory Sir. I believe your wife asked you to look after your daughter for the day and you refused.’
Paul slits his eyes. ‘I’m not sure I refused. I had something on already.’
‘I see Sir, I’m glad I’ve helped you remember.’
‘You did. Thank you.’ Paul folds his arms. ‘I suppose you want to know what this amazing thing was that I had already booked.’
‘Yes Sir. That would be immensely helpful.’
‘A hang-over.’
‘Sir?’
‘I had a hangover to nurse. I knew I was going to have it because I was planning to get pissed the night before.’
‘I see. And where did you go for this drink?’
‘Nowhere. I was right here with a bottle of Scotch and a crate of beer.’
The officer looks sceptical. ‘Was there some reason to plan this binge of yours?’
‘None of your bloody business. If I choose to drown my sorrows occasionally, it’s up to me.’
When they have left, Paul flips the cap from one of his beers and sits for a long time among the remnants of his home.
***
Fee fights to stay calm. ‘Will. I’m sorry. We need to cancel our holiday. You haven’t booked it yet, have you?’
His voice is tinny, as it reaches her from across the North Sea. There are other voices in the background. ‘Hang on Fee, I’ll just go back to my cabin.’ He gives her a breathless running commentary as he walks along passages and through doors, while she swallows and takes deep breaths. After a faint clunk, the background noise is silenced and in the quiet of his quarters he asks, ‘OK. What were you saying?’
‘Twitch was murdered.’ She drops into a chair and unleashes her tears.
‘Fee? Are you alright?’ He sounds worried.
She shudders, ‘Not really.’
‘Look I’ll be home in a few days. Shall I come over?’
‘No, I’ll come to you.’ She is not ready to deal with introductions yet. The children have enough to come to terms with. ‘What am I going to tell the children?’
‘Talk it over with their dads and Gloria. I’m sorry Fee, I can’t help you with that one. I wish I could.’
‘You need to cancel the holiday, Will. I can’t possibly go now.’ There is silence at the other end. ‘Hello? Will?’
‘I’ve paid in full, Fee. I got a good deal for paying early. I can’t cancel now. Look. Wait and see what happens. November’s still a long way off and you’re going to need the holiday more than ever after all this.’
The holiday is the least important of a long list of worries, and Fee inhales a lungful of air. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ She breathes out. All she wants to do is sleep.
‘Take care my lovely Fee. I’ll see you very soon.’
‘OK.’ She hangs up and drags herself to the kitchen where Gloria sits staring at a crumpled tissue, her nostrils red.
‘What are we goin’ to tell the kiddies?’ She peers at Fee through swollen eyes and Fee slumps into another chair.
‘I don’t know Gloria. The thing is, we can’t hide it once it’s in the papers, they’re going to find out from someone at school. And the press will be round here with cameras. It might be better to come clean and then face the media before they become a nuisance.’
A look of horror traverses Gloria’s face. ‘I hadn’t thought about reporters. You see them on the telly, crowdin’ round people when they come out of their houses. That’s goin’ to be awful.’
Fee says, ‘Maurice will be here soon, we can talk it through together.’
***
This must be someone else’s life. Fee stands on the pavement outside the police station, shoulder to shoulder with Maurice, amid the locust-clicks of a plague of cameras, and the snake heads of microphones that jab at their faces.
With an air of authority, the Chief Constable, immaculate in dark serge, his large feet planted in shoes bright enough to dazzle, steps forward. His intake of breath brings silence to the waiting crowd. ‘The body of a woman has been found in Downham Lake, in Little Callum Woods. She has been identified as Ms Sabrina Roman, a resident of Chelterton and mother of two young children. The police are treating her death as suspicious and would ask anyone who was in the area of Chelterton, or the lake, or anywhere in between on the afternoon or evening of 12th May, to come and talk to us. We are particularly interested to find the route of a woman riding a bright blue bicycle, but if you saw anything out of the ordinary please give us a call. We would also like to know how the bicycle ended up in a ditch at the far side of a field on the A243, outside Chelterton, at some time during the following week.
‘Ms Roman leaves her ex-husband - father of her children, Maurice Roman. And housemate, in loco parentis, Fee Thomas.’ The cameras clatter into life as the officer continues. ‘Mr Roman and Ms Thomas ask that members of the press keep their distance at this sad time, for the benefit of the children.
‘There is uproar.
‘Ms Thomas, can you tell us about your relationship with Ms Roman?’
‘Maurice, look this way.’
‘How are the children taking the news?’
‘Fee. Over here.’
They dive back into the police station and wait while two uniformed officers clear the area.
Chapter 63
Paul clenches his teeth against the screech of the electric drill and screws up his eyes to avoid the rust-coloured dust that bursts from the hole he is boring in the wall of his new garage. He pushes a plastic plug into the gritty recess and offers up the body of a wall phone. This morning has been passed, connecting the phone to the telephone system inside his new abode. With a concluding turn of the screwdriver he blows dust from the receiver and picks it up. The dial tone purrs, strong and clear. Excellent.
He has fixed metal shelves along the space’s length, and rows of tools hang from brackets above a work bench at the rear. The garage is in better order than the adjoining house, where bare rooms await pictures and curtains. Still, he, Kitty and the dog have everything they need.
Kitty has pranced back into his life, happy that he has moved away from the unpleasant, drug taking neighbours. She will not discuss her feelings about Twitch, and Paul decides it is wisest to go along with his daughter’s pretense that, while she is with him, everything is as it has always been.
The investigation
into Twitch’s death seems to have stalled. He has not spoken to a policeman for weeks. After Twitch was found, the press engaged in a frenzy of speculation. Newspaper headlines changed daily, ranging from TRAGIC DEATH OF LESBIAN MOTHER, to EX-HUSBANDS IN MURDER MYSTERY. This latter carried pictures of himself, Mick and Maurice with the question, ‘Guilty?’ Now, the gutter press has other victims to torture.
Paul twists the drill chuck and pokes the bit into its clip on the wall, then cocks his head at a sound from outside. Several male voices carry through the metal door and in the hallway, his doorbell rings. He pushes the bottom of the up and over door and ducks out. ‘Hello?’
From the concealed area beside the garage, several uniformed men burst from his front porch and barge past him into the workshop. They mill past his motor bike and through the door into the hallway, leaving behind one officer.
‘Hey. What do you think you’re doing?’ Paul tries to run inside but the officer restrains him.
‘Mr Thomas, we have a warrant to search these premises. Please remain here until the officers have finished.’
‘What are you looking for?’
In the house, many feet clomp up the bare stairs, and a male voice issues authoritative instruction.
‘I’m not at liberty to say, Sir but if you keep calm, we’ll soon be out of your hair.’
Agitation whelms in Paul, and with his pulse belting in his ears, he clenches his fists, preparing to lash out at this imposter. Then, like Jiminy Cricket, Max’s face floats through his ruby haze, and with enormous effort he draws a shuddering breath, 1, 2, 3, 4… and unclamps his fingers. Coherent thought returns and he scans through what might be in the house to throw suspicion on him. Controlling his shaking hands and legs, he strains his ears for a clue to what is going on inside.
‘Would you please turn out your pockets?’ asks the police officer, whose name is Chapman. His tone is polite but imperative, and Paul unloads an oily rag, a couple of brass screws and a squashed cigarette packet onto his workbench.
The two men stand in silence, side by side, and after about an hour, the front door opens and closes, and a tall, muscular policeman in his forties appears in the opening of the garage and gives Chapman a small shake of his head. He passes over a sheet of flimsy paper, folded so that Paul cannot make out what is on it. Chapman takes it and nods at Paul. ‘Thank you for your time Mr Thomas. There’s a receipt inside the house for any items we have removed. Your belongings will be returned to you as soon as possible.’
‘Is that it then?’ Paul jerks away from the officer and stuffs the oil covered rag back into his trousers. ‘No explanation?’
‘Sir, we have removed some items from the house to help with our investigations. We’ll be in touch if we need you again, but in the meantime, please let us know if you plan to be away from home, and, to coin a phrase,’ he grins to himself, ‘Don’t leave the country.’
Inside, on the arm of a chair, a flimsy, pink sheet of paper bears a faint copy of things they have removed. A shoe, a toothbrush, cigarette ends and a business card. Paul stares in bafflement at the list.
Chapter 64
As she folds flimsy fabric into her suitcase, Fee's emotions bounce between extremes. Her longing to escape to paradise fights with profound guilt at leaving the children. Focussing on the routine of packing, she consults her list and adds perfume and jewellery to the bag. Most of her clothes will probably hang on her like flapping laundry. She should have tried them on before now. She could have done - it is not as if she has been rushing off to work every day. She has some outfits that fit. She knows because she has bought them specially, thanks to Gloria.
Gloria must be worried about her. She has stretched her repertoire of dishes to the limit in a vain attempt to make Fee eat, and taken an avid interest in this trip, especially her packing, suggesting outfits, ‘In case you go somewhere very romantic.’
Last Saturday they all went shopping. Kitty and Josh needed new shoes again. In the store, they squeezed between parents and children and waited in resigned silence while a young assistant on black woollen knees, smoothed the tops, and squeezed the sides of sturdy school footwear.
When they escaped onto the High Street, Gloria peered into the window of the lingerie shop next door. ‘You could buy somethin’ special. Get some new underwear and a negligee.’
'A negligee?' Fee had laughed it off, but now she wonders if perhaps Gloria was right. She might nip into town and get a sexy little number. She is not sure what Will's underwear predilections are but there is only one way to find out. She surveys the open suitcase then flapping the lid loosely over the clothes, stretches her back, and heads downstairs towards the sound of the Hoover.
Gloria’s raised voice is talking to Kitty. The two have become good friends. Paul’s parents have moved to the coast, so Kitty no longer has a grandmother nearby. Gloria is a perfect substitute. Fee cannot hear what Gloria is saying, but her tone implies that she is imparting advice - in other words delivering a lecture. Gloria knows just how the world should be run, how children should behave – and their mothers. It can be irritating, but at the same time reassuring.
The roar of the machine stops as Fee reaches the hall, and she hears Kitty and Gloria whispering behind the half open door. She pushes it open. ‘What's all this?’ she smiles. 'What are you two 'children' up to?'
Kitty and Gloria leap apart, looking guilty.
‘Nothin’ dear.’ Gloria is not convincing.
‘We were just talking about Christmas.’ Kitty’s face is a picture of innocence. ‘What would you like Mummy?’
Fee is touched. ‘Ooh, I don’t know, a kiss maybe.’
‘Oh, you always say that!’
‘Well, I can't think of anything I'd like more, apart from a hug.’
Kitty runs up and wraps her small arms round Fee’s waist.
‘I'm going to need lots of hugs now. One for each day I’m away. That means fourteen.’
A fortnight is a long time, and she hopes she has made the necessary arrangements? Will the children's fathers come when they should, and will they feed them properly?
Gloria looks at her as if reading her mind. ‘We'll be fine without you. It's only a couple of weeks after all. What can go wrong in such a short time?’
Fee pulls herself together. ‘You’re right. Of course you are.’ She makes her tone brisk. ‘I'm just going to pop into town.’
‘Goin’ to that underwear shop?’ Gloria winks.
‘Gloria!’ Fee aims a mock frown at Gloria. ‘You should be ashamed. I thought you were a well brought up lady. I’m not sure I should leave you in charge of my daughter.’
Gloria lets out a bellow of laughter. ‘I’m only human you know dear.’ She is still chuckling as Fee closes the front door.
Chapter 65
The tyres of Will’s car swish on the wet motorway, and Fee tries to relax. Her mind is running over things again and again: did she tell Paul how to contact the doctor? Does Gloria know about all the children's after school activities? Locations of stop cocks and the fuse box.
Will is silent, concentrating on driving through the clouds of spray kicked up by thundering waggons.
Signs for the airport loom through the murky air and Will signals his intention to leave at the next exit. The blinkers click in counterpoint to the slurp, slurp of the windscreen wipers, and he pulls into the near side lane. Then, as he is about to take the feeder road, the car gives a jolt and the tyre noise changes to a rumble. His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, and the car swerves on the wet road. Fee's hand flies to the grab handle above her door, but Will regains control and pulls onto the hard shoulder, just off the main carriageway. Cars squirt past, throwing up swathes of spray.
They climb out to investigate, shielding themselves from the spewing water. A long nail protrudes from the wall of the front, nearside tyre. A faint hissing is discernible over the noise of the traffic, and as they watch, the black rubber of the tyre spreads onto the tarmac.
/> Undaunted, Will sets to work uncovering the spare wheel, a task that requires the unloading of their cases from the boot. He sends Fee to sit inside, and she watches him kneel on the grimy tarmac and deftly undo wheel nuts and jack her up. The car rocks as he heaves on the spare wheel and tightens the nuts. When he stands up, his hair is stuck to his skull and his hands and knees are sodden and filthy.
He climbs into the driver’s seat, a roar of wet traffic following him for a moment before the door slams shut.
'Oh no, you're in such a state.'
'I can change in the gents. My hair will soon dry and my hands will wash.' He wipes them on his beige trousers leaving a gritty streak.
They cruise along the hard shoulder until a brief gap in the traffic enables them to accelerate back onto the slip road. The mishap and its potential for disaster have distracted Fee from her troubles. Suddenly her spirits lift, and she is overcome with relief that they will make it on time.
***
Mick is on his own trip – for work. He and his manager are to view a hotel in Belgium to consider its suitability as the hotel chain’s first European venue. Mick is to look at the catering side of the business and talk to staff and possibly customers, while Jack, his manager, will view the hospitality rooms, and examine the accounts.
As they cruise along the motorway, Mick reflects on how pleasant it is to be a passenger, especially in this foul weather. He watches the raindrops racing and merging on the side window and then peers through it at the distant scenery, thinking, as he often does, of the background in a cartoon. The horizon moving slower than the foreground to create the illusion of movement.
Jack is quiet; they have both had a busy morning and Jack will be mentally reviewing his task list, as indeed is Mick.
The motorway is busy here and huge aeroplanes bear down on them as if they will land on the roof.
They are passing the exit road for terminal B, not the one they want. A small tableau at the side of the road catches Micks eye and he screws up his eyes to see through the blurry glass. It looks like Fee, standing beside a car that Mick doesn't recognise. She is trying to keep her hair from her eyes with one hand while gripping together the open neck of her coat with the other. Beside her is a man, squatting to study a wheel. The weather and spray rip at their clothes, and Mick is torn about whether to ask Jack to pull over. Jack’s car has slowed down, and they are now in the nearside lane, ready to exit at the next junction. Mick presses his face to the side window. That must be the new man in Fee’s life. Mick keeps his eyes on them, craning his neck as they pass. The man seems vaguely familiar. It looks as though they have a puncture but judging from the calm look on his face, all is under control. Mick decides with relief that he can let them get on with it.
