by Alice Castle
It felt very odd to be retracing her steps to Herne Hill, and she instinctively chose the other side of the road to walk down, though she couldn’t resist glancing over at the frosted glass door as she passed the office. There was nothing there now to show that a tragedy had taken place so recently. No crime scene tape, no police officer on guard. She supposed the office had just been locked up once the body had been removed, and that was that. She couldn’t help her mind flashing, yet again, to the sight of Potter sprawled over the desk. Thank God she hadn’t been able to see his face. She still had the key to the office in her bag, but there was no way that she would ever willingly go back in there again, after what she’d discovered that morning.
She picked up her pace and tried a bit of an unconcerned saunter. But she needn’t have bothered. People were going about their business as though it were a perfectly normal day – and for almost everyone, it was. Even those who knew the Potters well had to get on with things. And for the vast majority of humanity in south east London, nothing had changed when Paul Potter had sat in his office last night and drunk the bitter dregs from his Dad mug.
Beth shivered and gave up on the saunter. She knew exactly where she was going, and the sooner she got there, the better.
Her destination was in the little pedestrian-only shopping area close to Herne Hill Station itself. She looked around quickly, found the shop she wanted, and went in, wincing slightly as a bell rang when she opened the door. It could have been the twin of the one in Potter’s office. She went up to the counter, where a girl with long dark plaits was wearing a white overall with a little insignia on the pocket.
‘Can I help you?’ she smiled.
‘Oh yes, I hope you can. Paul Potter sent me to collect the report you had for him?’
The girl looked confused, which wasn’t good. Beth’s heart sank. Her little plan relied entirely on this girl believing everything she said was the gospel truth, and as usual she had precious little in reserve should the girl turn out not to be a total fool. Flying by the seat of her pants didn’t even cover it. It was more like flying with a thong, not that she’d ever attempted such a thing. Although, assuming Harry didn’t dump her flat after this escapade – and there was still radio silence from his end – maybe she should reward him by giving one a go? She shook such thoughts away and tried her widest, most guileless smile.
‘Mr Potter said it would be all ready. And, um, I’m a bit pressed for time.’
The girl looked doubly unsure. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m new here. Intern, you know, I just started this morning, I don’t know where anything’s kept. If you leave your name, I could probably email you later?’
She almost rubbed her hands in glee at the intern bit, but the emailing? Not so much. Beth didn’t quite snort in disbelief, but she put her head on one side and gave the girl a bit of a mummy look. She knew when someone was trying it on. It was like the times when Ben insisted he’d cleaned his teeth while she’d been in the shower. And his toothbrush, on inspection, turned out to be drier than the Gobi Desert. No way would this girl be searching around on her behalf later on. Once Beth left the shop, her query would vanish from her mind like – well, like cheese and onion crisps disappearing into Nina’s face.
The girl’s resolve crumbled, aided by the jangling of the bell as another customer came in behind Beth and shifted noisily from foot to foot, signalling plenty of very useful impatience. ‘Um, look, I’m sure I shouldn’t be doing this, but as you’re a good customer…’ Beth nodded and tried to look as though she was never out of the shop. ‘Well, I don’t suppose you’d know where this letter actually was, would you, so I can serve this gentleman?’ said the girl, stepping out of the way so that Beth could slide round to her side of the counter.
Beth didn’t need asking twice. She was there like a shot, and began leafing through a pile of ready-stamped envelopes which should, no doubt, have already gone into the post, if someone had been more efficient. Meanwhile, the girl fixed the next customer with her best smile.
Beth pounced on a white A4 envelope, and only just resisted giving a whoop. It was addressed to Paul Potter in a scruffy hand. She folded it quickly, stuffed it into her handbag, and was thanking the girl and out of the shop before the door had time to shut.
Thinking about things later, Beth realised this was the moment when all the pieces had really fallen into place for her. There’d been moments before, when she’d had a feeling that she was missing something, that there was a scheme afoot that she just couldn’t quite see. But this envelope, as far as she was concerned, was the first real proof that pointed her in the right direction.
But back at the house with Nina that afternoon, Beth was faced with a decision. She had to discuss everything with Harry. It was going to mean coming clean about what she’d been up to all holiday, but in the interests of justice, it absolutely had to be done.
That didn’t mean she was looking forward to it one little bit.
With a heavy heart, she packed Ben off for a last airing at the Sunray Gardens playground and then a final session in front of Nina’s jumbo telly. After today, Beth promised herself, she’d devote herself to Ben. There’d be no more cartoons. There might even be some practice exam papers, which was not going to make her the most popular mummy on the planet. But there would certainly be quality time, and what was more, she’d buy all the Christmas presents she’d so far neglected as well. Quite how she was going to get Ben’s presents when they were going to be joined at the hip, was something she hadn’t sorted out yet.
She rang the familiar number as she walked back home from Herne Hill, not surprised when it went to voicemail. Harry was bound to be swamped. But as she rounded the corner into Pickwick Road, her heart sank. There, outside her house, was the familiar car, windows steamed up. Damn and blast. Harry had beaten her to it. He was sitting in the car. They hadn’t got to the key stage. Maybe now they never would.
Her steps dragged as she made her way up the little path, noticing despite the cold that the weeds were wriggling their way into the gaps in the crazy paving. She was going to have to get at them. She could never bring herself to use a spray, just in case Magpie broke the habit of a lifetime and sauntered round to the front of the house and, unlikely as it seemed, finally deigned to eat something that wasn’t her preferred stratospherically expensive cat food.
Beth was just fitting the key into the lock, realising that she was trying to distract herself from the looming encounter, when she sensed Harry behind her. One look at his granite face told her everything she needed to know.
She’d been counting on having time to get in, sort herself out, maybe even look at the envelope in her bag before they had to have this… whatever it was going to be. A dressing down. A shouting match. A possible dumping. Well, she hoped not that, but she was braced.
‘Harry,’ she said. ‘I was just ringing you.’
‘Were you now?’ he said, still wearing the expression he’d had at the police station. Disbelief, disappointment, hurt, anger. It was like a Pick ‘n’ Mix of horrible emotions. She felt for him, she really did. But she’d had her reasons. If only she could make him understand.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said sadly.
It was twenty minutes before they were through the worst of it: twenty minutes when Beth had sat silent, while Harry had paced up and down the small kitchen, alternately shouting, trying not to shout, or speaking in a low, insistent voice that was a shout in everything but decibels. Finally, Beth had had enough.
‘Look, I’m sorry if you feel let down, upset, worried, whatever. But the thing is that I don’t have to run all my decisions past you. Why would I? Even if we were married—’
‘God forbid,’ shuddered Harry.
‘Well, thank you, but even if we were—’
‘Which we are not!’
‘Well, at least we’re agreed on that,’ said Beth, pretty exasperated herself now. ‘But I don’t have to ask your permission to do anything, now or at any
time in the future. Yes, I could have discussed things more with you, told you a little of—’
‘—your crazy, hair-brained, deluded plan…’
‘Yes. Maybe. But I’m not under any obligation to. And as you seem to think I’d be safest sitting at home doing a bit of needle-point, and even then, ooops, I might prick my silly little finger, why would I risk all this bullying behaviour by letting you in on what I was up to?’
Harry gave Beth a look from under lowered brows. ‘Look, I don’t want to come over as bullying. It’s the last thing I am or want to be. But I do want to keep you safe. And I’m not going to apologise for that.’
Beth looked up at him and shook her head.
Harry sat down at the table, his hand reaching across for hers. Feeling childish, Beth got up, removing herself from such close proximity. Part of her wanted to feel the lovely reassurance of his touch. But quite a lot was still angry, and very determined to assert her right to act as she saw fit.
‘Look, in the last few months, you’ve been burgled, hit on the head… chased by some true weirdos. I’ve sat in the hospital, wondering whether you were ever going to wake up. Do you really want to keep doing that to me, or to Ben?’
Beth flushed with anger. This was underhand. Of course, she didn’t want to put Ben through any unnecessary worry. But nor could she see things going awry in her beloved Dulwich, be sure of what was going on, and stand idly by while the guilty prevailed and the innocent suffered. What was the quote from Edmund Burke? ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ Well, as far as Beth was concerned, that went for good women, too. And the one thing that worried her about Harry – a policeman, for goodness sake – was that too often he seemed to be on the verge of letting things go. Given half a chance, he’d close a case if it was wrapped up neatly. And this current attempted murder/suicide? She was willing to bet he’d take it at face value for budgetary reasons.
She stared at him and couldn’t help letting him see how far he was falling short, in her eyes.
‘Don’t you even want to know what I’ve found out this time?’ she asked him defiantly.
Harry sighed deeply. ‘Go on, then. I suppose you’re going to tell me anyway.’
‘Not if you don’t want to listen,’ said Beth, now on her high horse. But as her highest possible horse was only really a Shetland with attitude, not the majestic Shire with fluffy fetlocks that Beth would have much preferred, Harry couldn’t help smiling at her fondly.
‘You know I think you’re wonderful,’ he said, reaching out again.
Beth, reluctantly, touched her fingers to his, and found them clasped warmly. Against her will, something in the region of her heart melted, and she returned his smile. Just a little.
Harry smiled more and said with the faintest Irish lilt that he knew she couldn’t resist, ‘Please tell me what on earth you were doing at Potter’s office in the first place. And we’ll take it from there.’
They ended up, side by side on the sofa, with a glass of wine shared between them, though there probably weren’t many countries in the world where the sun was over the yardarm. ‘You know, you could have said that there was something fishy about Potter’s business,’ said Harry, much more mildly.
‘And you would have said, “I bet there isn’t, don’t worry about it”,’ said Beth, rolling her eyes. ‘At least now you can finally find out what was going on. And why he bothered with all those fake reports that I had to type. I think it was something to do with the sheltered housing. Maybe he was ripping off his clients? Not that he seemed to have many.’
‘Yep, we’ll have to look into that. There’s usually a financial motive for these familicide cases.’
‘Familicide, what a horrible word. But I’m still not convinced that Potter is the type who’d do that. He loved his family.’
‘They usually do, Beth. They decide that the family is better off dead than struggling with the aftermath of a business failing, or whatever. Losing the house, the status they’ve all grown used to.’
‘But that’s so arrogant!’ she protested. And not that much worse than a man insisting he be kept informed of his partner’s movements at all times. But no, she thought a second later. Even if the two attitudes were on a sliding scale, there was still a yawning gulf between them.
‘Yes, terrible,’ said Harry, seemingly blind to nuances that Beth was finding as subtle as multiple slaps in the face with a wet fish. ‘If you’re right about the state of his business, then that could have been a trigger. And his wife, what’s she like?’
Beth thought. ‘Well, extremely high maintenance. Looks as though she might break if you coughed loudly in her direction. And the kids must be costing a fortune. Three of them. So, with private tutors, riding lessons—’
‘Wait a minute, riding lessons? In the middle of London?’
‘Haven’t you ever been stuck in that traffic jam on the South Circular chugging past the stables? Oh no, I forgot, you’re always dodging round that with your blues and twos on,’ said Beth, quite pleased that she was now so in with Met Police slang.
‘Only on urgent official business,’ said Harry with a careful look at her.
She peeped a smile. Heaven forfend he should ever have any fun. If she had a siren at her disposal, she’d never queue in traffic again, she thought, conveniently forgetting that she’d nearly thrown up when he’d first taken her on the terrifying dodgem race that was high speed pursuit in London traffic. But back to the Potters’ finances.
‘They’ve got a skiing chalet somewhere, and a holiday home in the country here as well… where was it? Suffolk or Norfolk. And they have constant holidays in very hot places, if Potter’s tan is anything to go by,’ said Beth with a shudder, remembering the dark flesh of the man’s hands splayed on the desk. She wrenched her mind back to the family’s outgoings. ‘And there will be school fees with a vengeance. Letty will do what Belinda does and Belinda is going for Wyatt’s…’
‘Ok, you’re losing me there, you’ve gone into mummy-speak, but I get the picture. Expensive lifestyle, a wife with lots of expectations and no income, and kids on top. Poor bloke. It’s enough to make anyone want to top themselves,’ Harry said, shaking his head.
Beth looked at him incredulously. ‘He could just have said, “Let’s economise.” Anyway, you’re assuming he did actually do it.’
‘It’s going to take quite a lot to convince me otherwise,’ said Harry, with a shrug.
‘Well, perhaps this will help,’ said Beth with a flourish, producing the envelope she’d picked up earlier. She felt like a magician who’d just yanked a satisfyingly chubby bunny out of a silk topper. But she hoped that Harry wouldn’t ask the inevitable question…
‘Where did you get this?’ He looked up for long enough to direct a searching glance her way, but luckily the contents of the envelope were electrifying enough to push all such thoughts out of his head. For now. Beth adopted Ben’s ‘innocent’ look: wide eyes, head ever so slightly on one side, an expression of total guilelessness. When Beth was on the receiving end of this, it was tantamount to a red alert that skulduggery was at hand. She’d just have to hope that Harry was less well-versed in the ways of mischievous boys – and their mamas.
He looked down at the single sheet of paper, covered with what looked like a printed shopping list of ingredients with tiny numbers by each one, and a handwritten comment scrawled at the bottom.
‘Good grief, is this what I think it is?’ said Harry, after staring at the paper in silence for some moments.
‘It is. Interesting, don’t you think?’
Harry raised his eyes a little reluctantly to Beth’s. ‘And it was Potter who requested this? No-one else?’
‘Absolutely. He was going to pick it up yesterday afternoon… but he got distracted. And he wanted me to get him a prescription from the chemist, too.’
‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess,’ said Harry, scrambling to his feet the moment she’d given a bri
ef nod to his suggestion.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he said.
And this time it was a promise, not a threat. He turned round and stooped to give her a tiny kiss. She felt the pressure of his warm lips. It was all too brief, but it was still a sign of reconciliation. She put her hand up to touch the place as he strode out of the house with his phone clamped to his ear.
She heard his car speed off into the afternoon, then picked up her handbag again and slung it over her shoulder. Was this, finally, going to be her last trip to Herne Hill this holiday? She couldn’t help hoping it would be.
Chapter Eighteen
The street lamps were lit, the day fading fast. As Beth watched, the sky slipped from the navy blue of her long-ago school uniform to the coal black of a Wyatt’s blazer. There might well even be stars up there, studding the darkness, but you’d never know here in Dulwich. She’d always felt so safe, as a child growing up in the reassuring yellow glow of the city, where electricity from the millions of houses and businesses provided an accidental nightlight for the anxious. Tonight, she was more conscious than ever of the passions that burned behind these curtained windows, spilling out over the edges of lives like chinks of uncontainable brightness. What had been going on at the Potters’ home?
Like Nina, she couldn’t resist making the slight detour that would take her past the house. It was a huge slab of a place, standing proud in its own grounds – one of the few along this stretch of the village to do so. It looked as though she wasn’t the only one who was curious. You’d never get anything as vulgar as a rubber-necker here, but to Beth it looked as though there was an unusual volume of people on the streets, even if one of the commuter trains at North Dulwich Station had just disgorged its load of weary wage slaves. Most seemed to be sprinting past and making for the Crown and Greyhound, though, no doubt to share an enjoyable frisson of horror for half an hour before moving on with lives that, briefly, would seem successful and happy by comparison with the Potters.
