Six Dead Men

by Rae Stoltenkamp

  Madie looked nothing like the rest of the family and Frankie never let her forget it. You could guarantee that whenever guests came over the photo albums would find their way onto the coffee table and Frankie would make it a point to mention Madie’s angular bone structure and miniature stature versus the buxom, statuesque physiques of her sisters and other female relatives. When Madie was eight or nine and Frankie had extended the comments about her looks to the school playground, Madie became convinced she was adopted. Being a forthright child she confronted her mother.

  “Ma, I think it’s time you told me about my birth mother.”

  “What do you mean Madie?”

  “Well it’s obvious I’m adopted. I don’t look like you or da, or anyone else neither.”

  Her mother had not laughed at her childish notions. She had sat down with her on the front steps.

  “I carried you beneath my heart for nine months Madie Bricot. Unlike the other three, you never caused me a moment’s bother. I had no morning sickness, or cravings like when I was carrying Allie. And when I was pregnant with Frankie I had the most awful back-ache. With your baby brother it was swollen feet. But you... nothing. Sometimes I completely forgot I was pregnant until someone stood up on the bus to let me have a seat. Then I'd stand there trying to figure out why they were being so polite."

  Her mother chuckled at the memory. She tucked one of Madie's braids behind an ear and ran her thumb over the outer ridge of Madie's ear. Madie leaned into the caress. She loved it when her mother stroked her ears in that way. Her mother continued speaking. "And, as a baby, you were the most contented thing anyone had ever seen. Believe me darling when I say — you were conceived in love and you carried that love with you from my womb into this world. You have big love Madie Bricot.”

  Then her mother cupped Madie's face and kissed her on the lips gently before returning to the house of squabbling children.

  I shouldn't care about what Frankie thinks about me and Calvin. Her men never stick around and she's got a whole host of fatherless children but she's always ready to play relationship guru.

  Calvin was not the first man who had kissed Madie, but he was the first she had dated more than once. The others never called back. When Cal called for a second date Madie just about hid her surprise. But when he called for a third date she was downright astounded. After that the dates came thick and fast, the phone calls and texts increased till they were almost a daily occurrence. That is until two nights ago and the sudden lack of contact. Allie had said to wait - men sometimes needed to go to their “caves to reacquaint themselves with what it was to be masculine.” She had quoted that one verbatim from the latest book on male/female relations. So Madie was waiting. It’s weird not hearing from him. I'm so used to him calling and texting to check where I am. It makes me feel good. I know Allie's always phoning, she's family and that doesn't really count. Cal calling... that's different somehow. I’m not even sure what I feel for him. I like him and I like that he likes me. How am I supposed to feel? What does it feel like to love someone? Why can’t those questions be answered? Allie says I’ll just know. Just know.

  Why does Cal want to spend time with me? Why do I want to spend time with him? He’s different. More grown up than guys down here. He seems so stable. He's always such a gentleman, taking my arm to cross the road, opening doors for me. When he kissed me the other night I think I felt... something. The last time I felt sort of like that was when I was in Year Ten. No, that was completely different, so ... intense. But that didn't end so great. Madie pushed away the memory of her first love. It was so long ago but it still made her throat constrict a little. Maybe Cal's gone off me. He's always telling me how different I am to the girls in Sheffield. Maybe he doesn't want different any more. Madie chewed on the inside of her cheek and two furrows ploughed the ridge of her brow as she paid for her coffee at the counter on her way out. Maybe I feel more for Cal than I thought.

  *****

  When Madie saw the police car outside the house she assumed her nephew, Junior, was in trouble again. That boy is always hanging out under the railway bridge with undesirables and finding himself in scrapes. Frankie isn’t going to put up with it much longer. Junior was just a big kid and all his antics were from thoughtlessness rather than malice.

  “Hey Frankie. Junior been up to his tricks again?”

  “Madie. It’s Calvin.”

  “Calvin’s in trouble? What’s he done?”

  “He’s dead Madie.” Frankie had her hands on her hips in her classic no nonsense gunfighter stance.

  Madie laughed. She thought Frankie was playing one of her tasteless jokes like when they were still in their teens and Frankie would do anything in her power to convince Madie that the latest urban myth was the gospel truth.

  The waiting policeman was frowning at Madie sternly, behind him in equally unyielding posture stood his silent colleague. She looked from one discreetly bullet proofed individual to the other and stopped laughing abruptly. She clutched her book to her side so hard the metal edge of her bookmark sliced into her thumb. She heard only white noise. Aware on some level that she had hurt herself, Madie looked down and saw her blood dripping on the top of her shoe. It broke through her trance. The lead policeman and Frankie spoke at the same time.

  “You need to come down to the station with us miss.”

  “You’re bleeding all over the new carpet Madie!”

  Madie merely nodded.

  The second policeman handed her a wad of kitchen paper to stem the bleeding before escorting her out to the waiting patrol car with his colleague. Madie’s blood swamped the paper. She was hypnotised by the pulped red mass. Her thumb was throbbing now and she could hear the drumming of her heart pulsating in her inner ear.

  *****

  No patrol car ride for the journey home. Madie sat at the bus stop waiting for the number 45 bus. She missed two. Calvin’s dead. Really dead. Not alive any more. Someone else I cared about gone. That makes four dead people in my life. Mum, dad, Curtis and Cal. Maybe an absentee father doesn’t count. There was a tremor in Madie’s limbs. How can Cal go from being so alive one minute to being just dead the next? I only spoke to him two days ago. It’s the kind of thing that only happens in a story. Isn’t it? Now we'll never be able to see Lee Mead in Joseph .

  Madie had assumed the police would take her to a mortuary for the identification, but it was just a picture of Cal’s face. She had felt a shudder of anguish when they showed her the head shot. Oh God, that photograph. Why did they have to show me that photograph? I suppose it’s better than seeing his body. Would I want to see his body? I wouldn’t look before mum was cremated. She stared blankly at Detective Inspector Deed’s card. The dark letters and numbers danced around the white oblong. How is any of this possible? She remembered the intense look Deed had given her as they parted. He thinks I'm answerable . He thinks I was with Cal when he died. He thinks I did something to Cal. And he thinks I know something about that list of names. I felt it in that jolt of electricity when our fingers touched. And his eyes looked right through me, like he knew every bad thought I’ve ever had. But why does he think I’ve got anything to do with that list? Madie’s eyes wandered back to the business card and she dropped the little rectangle into her bag as though its touch burned her. Oh God! The news that Calvin was dead, the sudden knowledge of Maxie’s death and the reminder of Curtis’ fatal accident, flashed around in her brain like a salmon trying to swim upstream. Every time she thought she had grasped the information, it would slip back into a confused stream of consciousness in which she felt somehow responsible.

  The warmth of the end of August sun departed behind a cloud and Madie shivered. She pulled a cardigan from her rucksack and tried to snuggle into it to reduce the sudden chill she was feeling. The repeated beeping of a car horn finally penetrated through her state of shock. It was Luis, Allie’s husband.

  “We were worried about you. Frankie said the police came round about Calvin. We've been tryin
g to call your mobile." Luis leaned over and opened the car door for her.

  Madie slid into the car seat wearily. "They made me turn it off."

  "Is it really him Madz?”

  She nodded. "I had to identify him..." His skin looked so blotchy. Was that blood at the corner of his mouth? I thought they were supposed to wash the bodies. Madie’s stomach churned at the memory and she swallowed down the bile she felt rising to her mouth. If I sit really still maybe I won’t feel so sick. Somehow she found she did not want to mention she had also been questioned like a suspect.

  Luis looked sombre. He reached across and squeezed her shoulder then turned the volume on his car stereo down so the door speakers no longer vibrated through the seats. Not before Madie noticed it was a track by The Black Eyed Peas, one of Calvin’s favourite groups. A tear slid down Madie’s cheek. Her grief confused her. It wasn’t as though she and Calvin were madly in love. But a part of her was aching deeply. She looked out of the car window but barely noticed the graffiti scrawled landscape. She fought hard to control her voice before she spoke.

  “Thanks Luis... for coming to get me. I just missed a bus.” Madie looked steadfastly out of the car window and pulled her left cardigan sleeve over her hand and wiped away the wetness from her eyes and nose. Oh Ma, why did you have to die and leave me on my own!

  Once at home Frankie’s frowning and lip chewing seemed like false commiseration. It washed over Madie like cold water on a greasy pan. Allie hugged her but Madie drew back from her eldest sister's attempt to comfort her. Allie wasn’t her mother. She could feel herself beginning to collapse in on herself but was not sure how to stop. Madie looked round the living room and kitchen. She saw the usually rambunctious puppy-like Junior crouched silently on the sofa staring at her with what seemed a reproachful look. No sour looks from you Junior, not today little nephew. Madie turned away from his sullen face and took in the kitchen. The setting sun bounced off an unwashed stainless steel pan in the sink and she knew what she had to do. She reached for the rubber gloves and the washing up liquid. I need to do something familiar. She also insisted on cooking dinner hoping all the manual tasks would still the turmoil raging inside of her. There were vehement protests from the family; at one point Madie and Frankie had a tug of war over the dirty saucepan. It was only after Allie intervened that Frankie stomped out of the kitchen.

  Madie set the dinner ingredients out with more than usual care. She removed spices and condiments from the cupboard and lined them up alongside the cooker. Then she placed all the raw ingredients next to the chopping board. Two onions, four cloves of garlic, eight carrots, a small bag of new potatoes, lamb . As she prepared the pots and pans she repeated her actions to herself, the choreographer of her own kitchen ballet. She chops and sautés stirs and blends. Now she adds and mixes, then she’ll serve and garnish. And all through her litany of domestic action Madie felt as though she was walking through impenetrable fog.

  Madie was vaguely aware her family watched her controlled and measured kitchen waltz with concern. I’m the talker in the family, the joker, the one with the quick quips and speedy come-backs. This tight lipped silence is alien to them. It probably makes them afraid. But this is what I need to do right now.

  Much later, alone, except for the breathing of Frankie’s youngest, Madie lay in the dark pretending not to be afraid. The shadows from the ornaments on the side table and her dressing table became demonic and the baby’s sleepy sighs were magnified and turned into the heavy nasal breathing of a man fighting for air as he dug his way out of a freshly covered grave. Madie sobbed in fits and starts for the three men she had barely known.

  *****

  Madie waited until she heard Frankie leave with the boys. She had pretended to be asleep when Frankie crept in to collect and dress the baby. Frankie even shushed the baby when he gurgled. Now puffy eyed and stuffy nosed Madie shuffled into the hallway. She wanted to mourn for Cal but that damn list of Detective Inspector Deed kept intruding on her thoughts. In the halloween hours of the morning she had dreamt of that list.

  On an old envelope from the recycling box, she wrote down the names from memory. She looked at Calvin's name in her untidy scrawl. She wasn't even aware she was crying again till the ink became a wet splodge on the page. In an attempt to master her emotions she crossed out the second name.

  Calvin Burry

  Maxwell Fraser

  Maxie, suave, cocky Maxie with his easy good looks . She liked but never felt able to trust him. She never did know why. Perhaps it's the way he wears his designer jackets — there's just the smallest hint of a mafia boss in his style. Was... was. she reminded herself. The change of the verb tense haunted her.

  Max had kissed her at Beebo's wedding. He had said he needed the taste of cherry before he went off to Jamaica for his hols. They had been dancing to the classic R and B record, Reunited. He was drinking Bacardi and Coke. She had always liked that song, but now the knowledge of his death would give her pause when she heard it and make the taste of Bacardi and Coke sour in her mouth from now on.

  “Damn girl, is that the taste of your lip-gloss or is it you?” He had been licking his lips after the chaste peck Madie had allowed him.

  “Maxie, your baby-mother-to-be is just over there in the corner. Don’t you think it’s time you grew up a little?” She was concerned for Max's girlfriend, Shari. Some men would just never grow up and Max had a cheekiness about him which made him likeable despite his wily ways.

  He had kissed her again, without warning, his lips crushing hers, pushing his tongue possessively into her mouth, the taste of Bacardi biting at her tongue before she had shoved him away, her easy good humour turning to irritation and annoyance. She had glanced quickly towards Shari, hoping that the expectant mother had not seen Max’s antics.

  Pulling herself out of the unpleasantness of the memory Madie looked down at the third name on her list.

  Curtis Franks

  She dragged the pen across the name as she scored it out. He was so young.

  There were still three names on her list.

  Danny Matthews

  Anthony Brockwell

  Andrew Carson

  These three names don't mean anything to me. But... if I knew the others... maybe... Madie didn't want to finish the thought. It was disturbing just to consider knowing not just one dead person but an entire list. She was aware that avoiding thinking about her possible connection to the guys was making her mind dwell on it more than ever. It's the elephant in the room thing. She needed to know. I'd rather know than not know. But how do I find out more about them?

  The telephone rang. Madie considered not answering but eventually picked it up reluctantly.

  "Madie?" It's Luis. Allie said to check up on you. Do you want me to come round? Do you need anything?"

  "No. I'm okay."

  "I'm only round the corner at the café with some of the boys. I can swing round your way."

  "Really Luis. You don't have to."

  "Okay. Give me a call if you need me to do anything."

  Madie had a sudden thought. Maybe Luis knew one or two of these guys. "Actually Luis there is something."

  The names tripped off her tongue before she had time to decide that asking him was a bad idea. She had nothing to lose.

  Unbelievably, without even pausing Luis replied. “Danny Matthews? Well that’s DMs, you know — Doc Martins. Like the shoes. It’s his initials you see.”

  Madie wrote the initials next to the name. And she thought she saw the vague imprint of a face materialise in her mind. She was distracted because she heard someone interrupt Luis. “Heard he was dead man. He was found down by the canal I think — the one near the dump.” said the disembodied voice.

  Dead. Madie closed her eyes. “What about the other two?” She felt her throat swelling painfully.

  “The name Brockwell sounds familiar. Not so sure about that other one though. What did you say Brockwell's first name was again?”

  “Anth
ony.”

  She heard Luis humming as was his habit when he tried to access his long term memory banks.

  “Tone. That’s what the boys called Anthony. 2 Tone — ‘cos he couldn’t sing a note.” Luis was laughing heartily now. “But he had some serious moves on the dance floor. And he could draw anything. The girls were crazy about him. He was too damned good looking for a guy. Jeez, I wonder what happened to him?”

  Madie’s heart was pounding in her ears. I wanted to know. She was finding breathing difficult.

  “Damn Madie, these guys are ancient history. What you asking me for?"

  "I thought maybe they knew Cal." She put her hand to her throat, trying to ease the sense of constriction there.

  "It's hard to say Madz, maybe they did. I'll ask around okay."

  "Thanks." Madie ended the call.

  She finally opened her eyes again. Alongside Anthony Brockwell's name she wrote in his street name. The pen felt unsteady and she tightened her grip on it. Anthony Brockwell. So now you know. She was surprised Luis hadn’t remembered. 2 Tone. I never knew his name was Anthony. It was going back quite a few years but she remembered.

  The school gym was tackily decorated for the Year Ten disco. Bits of Blue-tack were still stuck to the walls where PE posters had been removed to disguise the fact this dance hall was actually the girls’ gym. They couldn’t use the boys’ gym because the smell of teenage boy body odour had seeped deep into the very walls.

  None of this mattered to Madie because a handsome sixth former called 2 Tone was all she was focused on. She had fancied him ever since she had seen him perform in the sixth form drama festival and his presence at the disco was the only reason she had bought a ticket. Frankie had let her borrow a denim mini skirt and Allie had given her some money to get new shoes from the market. She felt ready for a taste of the beginnings of womanhood. 2 Tone was watching her. He came over and asked her to dance. At the end of the evening they escaped the chaperones and headed out to the picnic tables in the courtyard. He smelt of Lynx and roll-ups and Luther Van Dross was closing off the disco. She had expected him to be all over her. He was the sixth former. But instead he had been gentle, stroking her cheek with a thumb, tucking her heavy braids delicately behind an ear and running his fingertips from the top of her spine to her tail bone. Her breath had been caged somewhere between her heart and her throat, a trapped humming bird.