Jack of All Trades

by DH Smith

  They went through a kissing gate and up the path that led to the top of the hill.

  ‘I should’ve got a smaller telescope,’ he said. ‘This one isn’t exactly portable.’

  ‘It’s impressive,’ she said.

  ‘It cost me more than I could afford,’ he said. ‘I bought it a few months before my divorce. And didn’t she give me hell for it. Wasting money on boys’ toys.’ He stopped and adjusted it over his shoulder and back. ‘I had a cheaper one first, and smashed it when I got drunk. I thought if I get a really expensive one, then I have every incentive to stay sober.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Nope. Not in that sense. But it was just too heavy to carry when I was pissed. So maybe it worked.’

  They were progressing up a wide avenue between patches of woodland, ahead of them was the crest of the hill. He was breathing hard, thinking the next scope had to be lighter than this. It might not be as good, but it wouldn’t be quite such an expedition setting up.

  The last section was too steep for him to speak under the weight. She walked by his side, the thermos in her gloved hands, the blanket thrown over her shoulder. He wondered whether it was a mistake bringing her. She’d expressed enthusiasm for looking at the stars, but that might have been politeness. They could so easily have gone to a movie.

  At the top he set down the telescope. And stretched his arms, and wriggled his neck to get the ache of the climb out of them.

  ‘That’s the worst bit over.’

  She was looking around the top of the hill while he began setting up. The deep purple above had darkened, bringing out the glow of stars. Overhead in a ragged ribbon was the faint silver of the Milky Way.

  ‘There’s always some light pollution near a city,’ he said. ‘You have to get right away from people, out on the moors or up in the mountains to get free of it. Though the forest here is a good shield, but you can still see a ring of light round the horizon.’

  ‘There’s still a lot of stars,’ she said, turning in a circle to look into the dome over them.

  ‘Those three bright ones, there, there and there,’ he pointed out, ‘are the Summer Triangle. Deneb in Cygnus the swan. Sort of a swan. More a cross really. That’s Vega in Lyra. Nothing like a lyre. And the third is Altair in Aquila, which means the eagle – and I don’t know how you get that from those stars.’

  He wanted her to see his delight in the stars. Amaze her in the way he’d been amazed when he first began to look up.

  ‘That bright one there. That’s Jupiter – our target. It’s well placed tonight. Halfway up the southern sky, so less affected by light pollution.’

  ‘It’s bright,’ she said. ‘I’d have thought it was Venus.’

  ‘Jupiter is number two for brightness,’ he said, ‘after Venus. It’s a lot bigger than Venus, but a lot further away from the sun.’

  ‘I’m glad we’ve come up here,’ she said, pulling her scarf round.

  ‘Not too cold?’

  ‘If I keep stomping my feet, I’m OK.’ She stomped and swung her arms wide. ‘It does so clear your head.’

  ‘Stargazing can be frustrating,’ he said. ‘There might be weeks and weeks of cloudy nights. And then suddenly a clear one. And that night you are either too tired or you’ve got something else on.’

  He was angling the telescope, revolving the dials.

  ‘I picked an easy one,’ he confessed. ‘You can’t miss Jupiter. Don’t need any computerised find-me gizmos. Just point the scope and get it plumb bang in the middle. Just like that.’ He was twiddling a dial as he looked through the eyepiece. ‘Oh yes, that is it. Coming in beautifully. Oh wow!’

  The planet was centred, a bright and streaky sphere, with a few moons dotted about. This was the magic, when the genie showed you a secret jewel.

  ‘Take a look.’

  Almost holding his breath, he watched her close an eye and bend to the eyepiece.

  ‘That is brilliant,’ she exclaimed.

  His heart leapt in relief.

  ‘Jupiter is real. What a stupid thing to say. I mean, I’m seeing it,’ she went on. ‘Stripy like Dennis the Menace’s shirt. There’s a sort of bubble in the middle…’

  ‘That’s the Big Red Spot,’ he said, leaning close to her. ‘An area of storm bigger than the Earth.’

  ‘I can see some moons,’ she said. ‘Tiny pinpricks. Three of them.’

  ‘They’re the Galilean moons. There’s four in all, but you don’t often see all four. There’s usually one or two hidden behind the planet.’

  ‘Did Galileo discover them?’ she said, her eye still at the scope.

  ‘He did,’ said Jack. ‘He had one of the first telescopes, and watched them over a number of nights. And realised they were going round Jupiter…’

  He cut himself short. He mustn’t lecture.

  She came off the eyepiece and blinked her eyes for a couple of seconds.

  ‘I feel like an astronaut, just back from outer space. I bring a gift from the Jovians.’

  And she took a bar of chocolate out of her pocket.

  ‘Let’s have a cuppa to celebrate your return,’ he said.

  ‘Swiss Jovians,’ she said, breaking the bar in half.

  They nibbled the dark cubes and drank tea, cuddling their hands round their cups.

  ‘All those stars, all that distance,’ she said looking into the heavens. ‘We’re on a pinprick in all that infinity.’

  ‘I could never get Alison to look through the eyepiece,’ he reflected. ‘Though she was sick of me by then.’

  ‘How about Mia?’

  ‘Oh, she loves it. Especially the moon – the craters. She knows the names of some of the big ones. Plato, Archimedes and Copernicus. Let’s try M31. It’s what they call a globular cluster. It’s in the constellation Hercules. There. That chap up there with the boxy barrel chest…’

  He spent some time searching, and after five minutes wished he’d set up his goto mechanism. And then got it. They gazed at the tight ball of stars that comprised M31. Drank coffee, ate chocolate. And then he handed over to her and let her scour the skies. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular but whatever took her fancy. Finding clusters, double stars and a reddish, wispy nebula he couldn’t name and would have to look up when he got home.

  At the end of her tour, on request, he returned them to Jupiter and its moons.

  After a little more viewing, he said, ‘Let’s pack up.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said a little deflated, ‘nothing more?’

  ‘You have to stop when you’re winning. I can get so boring if I don’t stop myself.’

  She laughed, taking his hand. ‘I won’t be greedy. Jupiter is more than enough for one night. I didn’t know what to expect. Was I going to have to pretend? I’m so glad I didn’t have to. It’s been a beautiful surprise.’

  Part Three: The Arrest

  Chapter 49

  Joanna was watching television when the doorbell rang. She looked up to the small CCTV screen that showed who was at the porch, and recognised DI Henderson. She thought, what can be so urgent this time of night?

  She went to the door.

  ‘Good evening, Inspector. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I know it’s late, Mrs Ward, but I was passing, saw your light on… and wondered whether you might answer a few questions that have been worrying me.’

  ‘Come in,’ she said, and led him into the lounge.

  She turned off the TV.

  ‘I hope I wasn’t disturbing you,’ he said looking about the room.

  She shook her head. ‘I was only half watching a very dull programme. What do you want to know?’

  She settled on the sofa, Henderson an armchair. He took a notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped over a page.

  ‘I’ll jump straight in,’ he said.

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘Are you and Mr Bell having an affair, Mrs Ward?’

  She sighed, having half an idea where this might be going. ‘Depend
s what you mean by affair.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s exactly what Mr Bell said.’

  ‘Then you already know.’

  ‘I’d like it confirmed,’ he said.

  ‘We slept together last night for the first time. And whether we’ll ever again – I really can’t say. Does that count as an affair?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘I’m not sorry my husband is dead,’ she said. ‘I make no pretence. My husband and I had got to the point when divorce was the only solution.’

  ‘Might murder have been another one?’

  She laughed. ‘More likely he would have murdered me.’

  ‘Do you think he was contemplating it?’

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  ‘What do you know of the fifty thousand pounds Mr Bell was given?’

  ‘By my husband,’ she said. ‘I believe he was trying to frame Mr Bell for my murder… But he got interrupted by someone. I have no idea who.’ She smiled wryly.

  ‘Are you sure the money came from your husband’s account?’

  ‘I haven’t traced it yet, but then I haven’t really looked. My husband had any number of offshore accounts. I just hope I can find them all.’

  ‘Who do you think killed him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘In business, he took no prisoners. He’s been scattering hatreds for years.’ She stopped and added carefully, ‘Are you looking into his property portfolio?’

  ‘We have begun,’ he said. ‘Did you know quite how downmarket he went?’

  ‘Slums,’ she said.

  ‘A lot of them,’ conceded Henderson. ‘Somewhat cavalierly run.’

  ‘I didn’t know anything until this morning,’ she said. ‘And what a can of worms that’s proving to be. It will take some sorting out.’

  ‘The press are buzzing about,’ he said.

  ‘What should I say to them?’

  ‘All I can say is – don’t lie. They’ll find you out and jump on you. Beyond that I can’t advise.’ He closed his notebook. ‘That will do for the time being, Mrs Ward.’

  She was surprised at the shortness of the interview and looked at him quizzically. What was he like with his clothes off? Could she be bothered to find out? A cop might be an interesting notch. Or might not.

  ‘You didn’t come all this way to ask those few questions,’ she said. ‘They could easily have waited till morning.’

  ‘I was passing,’ he said.

  ‘I think you came for another reason,’ she challenged.

  For a few seconds neither spoke, sizing each other up. It was the make or break moment. She knew what she could do. She enjoyed the risk.

  ‘Like what?’ he said at last.

  She smiled at him and stroked her thigh slowly.

  ‘You knew when you rang my bell, that my husband is dead, that I might be alone. And that I might be up for it.’

  ‘I knew that.’

  She stretched out, hands behind her head.

  ‘Take your jacket off, Inspector. And then you might like to remove my boots.’

  Chapter 50

  Why did she do it? It wasn’t a lot of fun. Mechanistic and wet.

  Because she could say, I had a Detective Inspector. Because she could. Because there was a long night ahead.

  There lay the flesh. A cop. His naked back to her, half his bum showing. She’d known really as soon as she saw him at the door, what he’d really come for. Those questions, he’d asked them all before, more or less. And she had nothing new to tell him. Simply, he saw an opportunity, as she had in a way.

  Use and abuse.

  The why of it emptied her. She was a performer. It had got her a long way. But she was no good at making friends. Her weakness. Women didn’t trust her because she fucked their men. And how could a man befriend her when their relationship was only sex?

  Keep them coming. Change, change. Don’t stop moving.

  She’d started writing the fairy books because there was no sex in them. The attraction. Whatever the fairies, elves and gnomes did to each other, sex was forbidden. It was a relief for a year or two, once she’d taken on board the rule. They could be friends, pals of the woodlands, but no rolling in the hay. No pregnancies, STDs, or rape. No worries about contraception in fairyland.

  Until she got sick of them, the silly games and plots, as she was getting sick of sex. And that was the terror. That she would be totally alone with nothing to do. This man next to her, who really was an unreadable footnote, had in his heat said words, almost of love, that she could almost believe. Until he was spent. And then he lay like a doll, a battered manikin, while she was wide awake thinking: how do I go on?

  The same way.

  She had become. She was set. This was her. True, she would age. And men wouldn’t simply come when she beckoned, unless they wanted her money. And what a gaunt, useless figure of fun she would be then. Paying for gigolos.

  How do you make friends? How do you love?

  Such baby questions. Who could she ask them of? In this dead time, with a lover asleep and she awake. With Leon battered to death, and her feelings only of relief.

  The detective beside her stirred, looked at his watch and groaned.

  ‘I’ve got to get going, sweetheart.’ He threw himself out of bed. ‘I could be in big trouble for this.’

  She thought, wife or boss. Or both.

  He piled into underpants and trousers, like the adulterer in a play terrified the husband is imminent. But all that was coming was day. The muffled horses of morning.

  She rose, put her dressing gown on. She’d watch the end of that movie. The detective was standing by the door dressed, apart from his tie.

  ‘You won’t say anything about this – will you?’

  She could smell his fear across the room, stronger than sex.

  ‘Thou shalt not fuck suspects,’ she said with a thin smile.

  ‘You’re not a suspect,’ said the cop. ‘Not anymore. We’re about to make an arrest.’

  And with that he turned away and padded down the hallway. She wondered what he’d say to his wife. The wife who had gone off sex, or so he’d said. Who did it occasionally out of sufferance. Probably she’d be relieved at not being badgered.

  Joanna had done something useful.

  The front door slammed. And she went down the stairs to the lounge.

  Chapter 51

  When Jack arrived at the Wards’, the floorboards were in bundles outside the garden door. The traffic hadn’t been bad up the Chigwell Road and there were his floorboards. The day was starting well. He’d barrow them in when he was settled. Jack let himself in the garden door and crossed to the summerhouse. The sun was glinting off the side windows. Good job that. Interrupted by too much, but they were all in and done with.

  Though he might give them another coat of varnish later. He looked up at the sky. Might rain. Best bring the boards in. He went out with the wheelbarrow and loaded a bundle on the barrow. He could have shouldered them, but why kill yourself? Back trouble was the curse of the builder and he was in no rush to curtail his working life.

  On the fourth trip, Donna was waiting at the summerhouse with a coffee and a couple of croissants.

  ‘Donna, my love, why didn’t someone marry you?’ he said between mouthfuls of hot pastry and best Colombian.

  ‘I was too fussy.’ She smiled at him.

  ‘How’s your boy?’

  ‘We are getting on so well,’ she said. ‘Making up for lost time.’

  ‘I can’t understand how it happened,’ he said as he munched. ‘How you lost touch.’

  ‘Bloody lying social worker. But don’t get me on that. It’s too lovely a day.’

  ‘You seem ten years younger,’ he said.

  ‘I feel it,’ she said. ‘And you? How was your date with Carol?’

  He kissed his fingers. ‘A dream. I took her up a hill to look at the stars.’

  She blew a mock raspberry. ‘That’s an old trick. I expected better of you, Jack.
Something classy.’

  ‘She’s the classy one,’ he laughed. ‘Likes classical music and opera, would you believe? I don’t know one opera from the next.’

  ‘Well, I note she’s looking quite perky herself this morning.’ She winked at him. ‘Don’t rush things.’

  ‘Promise not to.’

  ‘Must get the laundry going.’ She gave him a wave and was off.

  Jack completed the wheelbarrowing of timber. And went into the back room of the summerhouse. His plan was to renew the floorboards room by room. Empty a room, re-board it, then bring its furniture back and work on the next.

  He began with the bed. It had been stripped of bedding. He carted the mattress next door. Then with spanners disassembled the bed and carried it out in pieces. In quarter of an hour he had an empty room.

  Now the existing boards. They did look weak in places. He wondered what was going on underneath. Well, he’d soon find out. The first board was always the tricky one, after that you could get under and lever them up easily.

  The first came out without any trouble. Too easy. And the smell hit him. Dry rot. The second plank broke as he was levering it up. And there it lay clear: a white web of fungus between the rafters, with gobbets stuck on the sides. The more boards he pulled up, the worse it got. Like clusters of white candy floss, entangled and wispy. The whole underfloor of this room was infested.

  And it wouldn’t be just this room. Somewhere there was a leak, either from the plumbing or the downpipes, going under the house. That had to be found and dealt with. In a few minutes, the whole job had changed. Previously, all he’d had to do was change old floorboards for new. Now all the flooring of the summerhouse would have to come out. Then he’d burn out the fungi with his blowtorch. And bring in the rot people to spray.

  More money. Well, she was loaded. He’d get this room’s boards up and then have a word with Joanna.

  There were just a couple of planks to do when Carol appeared at the door of the room. He smiled at her. But she didn’t smile back.

  ‘They’re arresting Donna.’

  The two of them ran across the lawn and out of the garden door. Just in time to see Donna being ushered into a police car. Joanna was at the porch of the house watching. The car door was closed on Donna by a police officer who then got into the car behind.