‘Was it just you and your brother?’ Paula almost hadn’t asked, but Cara was so refreshingly blunt, why should her approach be any different?
‘There was a baby in between us. Brenda. Me first. Then two years later Brenda turned up. Didn’t survive the week. And then Sean arrived two years after that.’ Her eyes grew distant. ‘Mum still talks about Brenda. Constantly wonders where she would be in life if she had survived. Would she have gone to university? Would she have kids?’ Cara looked at Paula. ‘I think that’s a dig at me, cos I don’t have any yet. She’s desperate for a grandchild.’
‘Has one ever been a possibility?’
Cara snorted. ‘Never really had a reason to trust men. My dad was a shit. Mum’s subsequent boyfriends were all shits.’
‘In that case, any guys you meet can only win by comparison.’
Another snort. ‘Turns out I have similar taste in men as Mum.’ She grew serious. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I have plenty of male friends who are good, decent men, it’s just when my ovaries get involved everything becomes very, very messy.’
The waitress floated past. Cara attracted her attention and ordered a couple of coffees.
‘What about you, Paula? Happy you stuck with the one kid?’
‘I often wonder about that. If having more kids would have helped with Christopher’s loss? But to answer your question, one son was what life gave me.’ She closed her eyes as they began to sting with tears. ‘Being an only child, I wanted a houseful. We did try for other kids, but no more came along.’
Paula ran over Cara’s words in her mind. Felt the old, yet still new loss of Christopher.
‘Remind me,’ Paula said, despite herself. ‘How did Danny describe what … happened to my … to Christopher?’ She coughed to cover up the crack in her voice.
‘They were only supposed to frighten him…’ Cara’s eyes were less accusatory in this re-telling, more empathic. But she held nothing back, repeating everything that she’d said before. She was clearly keen to know the whole truth and being careful would only harm her purpose. ‘Then when Tosh Gadd eventually caught up with Sean…’
Paula studied Cara as she spoke and saw that she believed this story completely. And she couldn’t stop the image that popped into her mind. Thomas. Her Thomas. His shirt spattered in blood as he stood over a bloody and broken young man.
And she thought back to Thomas’s behaviour in the days and months after Christopher died. Yes, he was angry. Furious. But could that description of violence be applied to Thomas? Wasn’t his anger part of his passage through grief? Or was he, as Cara was accusing, capable of torture and murder?
29
Dislocation.
The word filled her mind, each syllable crouching on her tongue, behind the bars of her teeth. She was a human being, but apart from everyone else. Alone. Who could possibly understand what was happening here?
The very idea was ridiculous.
But.
How she made it home she had no idea. But somehow she got there and even managed to get upstairs to her bedroom, where she threw herself fully clothed on the bed. Mercifully, darkness overtook her exhausted mind and she fell into a troubled sleep.
Thomas was in that restaurant. He was telling her he loved her while wearing that smile that turned her stomach to liquid. Then he faced a waiter who was in the action of placing a plate of food in front of him, picked up a knife and stabbed it through the young man’s hand, pinning it to the table top.
Paula’s scream was so loud it woke her up.
She sat up in bed, momentarily confused. Her breathing was loud in her ears and she was uncertain where she was. Then with the help of the streetlights –coming in between the open curtains she recognised the outline of the door into the hallway, the chair to the right of it, and Thomas’s dressing gown bundled over it.
How long had she been asleep? She got home, what, around four p.m.? This was late autumn so it got dark early. It could be the middle of the night for all she knew. If she could reach her phone she could check, but she didn’t have the strength to move, so she allowed herself to fall back down onto the plump pillow with a loud sigh. It felt, simultaneously that she’d been asleep for minutes and for hours. Should she get up, or should she get herself into her pyjamas and turn in for the night?
Thinking about her phone, she realised that she hadn’t had a silent phone call for a few days now. Thank God that had stopped, she thought. But then she couldn’t help wondering why. Would it start again? Would something else happen?
There was a crash from another part of the house.
She sat up, adrenaline sparking all over her body.
‘Who’s there?’ she asked in a tiny voice. Every cell commanded that she find somewhere to hide. Under the bed? In the wardrobe?
Another noise. A loud bang as if something had fallen.
‘Who’s there?’ she asked again, this time louder.
Nothing.
Her phone. If she could remember where her phone was she could call the police. It would be in her bag. Where had she dropped it when she returned home? She looked to the side of the bed and the space there was empty.
Silently, she slid off the bed and moved to the doorway, alert to every sound. There was the slight drone of a passing car outside. Then another. A child’s laughter on the street outside. A father’s shout of warning. Then more laughter.
Rapid footsteps inside. Just down the stairs. In the hallway?
Recalling what happened to Kevin and Elaine, her anxiety fired up. She could run to the window, open it and shout to the people she’d heard outside to call the police. But she was unable to move. She was frozen with fear.
More movement inside: drawers being opened in the kitchen.
And the chatter from the father and child faded into the distance. No, she felt like shouting. Come back. But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.
No. This was not good enough, she told herself. This was her home. Hers and Thomas’s, and if she could survive his passing she could face up to anything and anyone. All she needed was a weapon. If she had something heavy and she made a lot of noise as she went downstairs, maybe the burglar would take fright and run for it.
Frantically, she looked around the room. There was nothing but soft furnishings. She made a mental inventory of what was in the study across the hall. The only suitable thing she could think of was a silver paper knife in Thomas’s desk. The blade was blunt, but the point could possibly do some damage.
She heard more drawers being opened and closed.
Right. That was enough. She grew indignant, and fed it with her fear. This was her home. How dare they, whoever they were?
With every muscle in her body charged with fear and certainty she stomped through to the study, making as much noise as she could, and picked up the knife. Inside the small room she could see that every desk and cupboard drawer had been opened. She gasped at the realisation. While she was sleeping, whoever it was had been up here, riffling through this room. She steeled herself. And as she moved, she talked loudly, pretending that she was on the phone.
‘Police,’ she said. ‘This is Mrs Paula Gadd. I have an intruder. And if they don’t leave my house this instant I won’t be responsible for what happens.’ Why on earth did she say that? Where had that come from?
But her strategy worked. She heard the hurried slap of shoes on the wooden floorboards in the hall corridor as someone made a run for it.
The fact that they were in retreat lent Paula strength and energy. ‘Get out. Get out!’ she screamed. ‘How dare you come into my house? How dare you?’ She charged down the stairs, fear and fury firing in all her limbs.
There was a rush of noise as her front door was pulled open. Still wielding the knife, she made it to the ground floor.
‘Aye, run. And I hope you can run fast enough,’ she shouted down the hallway. ‘Cos the police will be after you.’
The door slammed shut.
Without thinking abou
t what she was doing she ran for it, and pulled it open. A man was outlined in the streetlight. But Paula struggled to compute what he was doing. If he was the intruder, shouldn’t he be running away? But he was moving towards her, arms wide in greeting as if he had just arrived and was surprised to see her on her doorstep.
His features were blurred by the strong light behind him. With a start she realised that she would know that shape anywhere. It populated her dreams.
‘Thomas?’ she asked, before she fell to the ground in a faint.
30
Paula was aware of a cushion under her head, a soft throw over her body. A male voice spoke in soothing tones.
‘Paula,’ he was saying. ‘Are you okay? Do I need to get you a doctor?’
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She was made mute by the crushing weight of her disappointment. She could have sworn it was Thomas at her door. Those familiar broad shoulders…
Of course it wasn’t him. He was dead. What a fool she was.
‘Bill,’ she managed to say at last. ‘I’m fine. Please don’t get me a doctor.’ She was on one of the sofas in her sitting room. She pushed herself up from her prone position. ‘Thanks for seeing to me, but I’m fine.’
‘What’s going on?’ Bill asked, his expression one of alarm. ‘When I got here you looked like you were about to attack someone. You had a knife in your hand.’
Her certainty that she had been confronted by Thomas, and her subsequent embarrassment had completely thrown everything else out of her head.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Yes. There was someone here.’
‘What?’ he asked. ‘But I didn’t see anyone when I arrived.’
‘In the house,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Someone. I was in bed…’ Then she had a thought. ‘What are you doing over here at this time of night?’
Confused, Bill drew his head back. ‘What are you talking about? This time of night? It’s only just gone seven.’
‘In the evening?’
Bill paused before answering. ‘What happened, Paula?’
Paula held a hand to her forehead and groaned. Bill would surely think she was losing it altogether. ‘I … you know when you fall asleep and think you’ve been under for ages, but it’s only…’
‘I do that all the time,’ Bill said with a note of kindness in his voice, but his face showed that he didn’t really know what she was talking about.
‘And yes, there was a burglar.’ Not quite believing she had actually run after him she continued: ‘I chased him out onto the street. Which is where I saw you and thought…’ She stopped. Whoever the intruder had been, he could have killed her. What was she thinking, chasing him like that?
Bill’s expression clouded over. Was he remembering that she had called him Thomas? Or perhaps he just didn’t need another reminder that his brother was dead.
‘I should check…’ Paula got to her feet. Now the danger was over, she was shaking.
They both moved through to the kitchen and Bill watched as she went through all of the drawers. ‘Nothing seems to be missing,’ she said as she assessed the contents of the room.
That was odd. Nothing had been taken. What burglar enters a house and rakes through the drawers? ‘What were they looking for?’ she said out loud.
She gasped. It must be something to do with those numbers she memorised in the notebook.
Kevin.
She’d disturbed him going through her office days before. Perhaps whoever it was had hoped to find whatever it was he’d missed.
Bill took his phone out. ‘I’ll phone the police. You need to get this on record.’
‘No, don’t,’ Paula said, not sure why.
Bill paused with his phone cradled in his hand, finger poised. ‘Why ever not?’
‘I…’ She looked around. ‘Nothing’s missing. What’s the point?’
‘What’s the point?’ Bill was incredulous. ‘You could have been hurt.’
‘Yes, but I wasn’t.’ She thought through her impulse to shout him down. It was all so complicated. If the police came she’d have to tell them everything. Explain her suspicions about the murders. The money. Thomas potentially being a gangster. Christopher…
‘Paula, what on earth is going on?’
‘Honestly?’ Paula answered as her shoulders sagged. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Okay,’ Bill said as he took her by the shoulders and guided her to a stool. ‘Have a seat and I’ll make us a coffee.’
She snorted. ‘Coffee? I think I deserve a very large gin.’
Bill laughed, and as he did so Paula got the impression that the noise of it surprised him. As if he hadn’t laughed for an age. ‘Gin it is,’ he said. ‘And while I get the drinks you can tell me everything that happened.’
As he moved to the correct cupboards to fetch the glasses and the gin, part of her mind wondered how he managed this without being told. But she didn’t say anything and instead told him everything that had happened since she got back from her lunch with Cara Connolly.
At the mention of her name he started. ‘Where have I heard that name before?’
‘Thomas never mentioned her?’
He narrowed his eyes as he searched his memory, but Paula got the impression it was a fake response. She shook her head. She was reading something into everything tonight.
‘Thomas and I weren’t talking much of late,’ Bill said, making it sound like an admission of guilt. He placed a tumbler full of gin and tonic in front of her.
‘Thank you,’ she said and had a sip. She recoiled from the glass. ‘Jesus, did you put all of the gin in here?’
Bill smiled. ‘I thought you said you deserved a large drink?’
She reached for the tonic and topped up her glass. ‘Yeah, but more tonic than gin is the way I usually take it, thanks.’ Then a question occurred to her. ‘Not that I’m not glad to see you, Bill, but … what are you doing here?’
‘You said I should pop over and get some of Thomas’s stuff? His golf equipment?’ He looked small as he spoke, as if now that the moment was here he was ashamed to taking his brother’s belongings.
‘Of course,’ Paula said as she remembered their last conversation. ‘Sure, whatever you want, please take. It will just go to charity shops otherwise.’ And she gave a little groan internally at the thought of that task – gathering all of Thomas’s belongings, bagging them up and lifting them out of the house.
Bill read her thoughts and placed a hand on the back of hers. ‘When you’re ready to gather everything together, give us a shout. Me and Daphne will give you a hand.’
They sat in silence and sipped. Paula felt the alcohol warm her belly and noted that Bill wasn’t drinking quite as fast as she was. But then, he was probably driving.
By the time she finished her drink, she noted that her shaking had stopped and the fear her burglar had induced was all but gone, leaving her with an oddly buoyant mood. She’d faced down fear and won. She was a super-woman. And then it occurred to her that her moods were all over the place. It was a reaction to the shock. Perhaps she should try to get a hold of herself.
‘Madam would like another drink, sir,’ she said to Bill, trying to sound relaxed.
‘You sure that’s a good idea, Paula? You just had a bit of a scare.’
‘And I survived. That calls for a drink. Another one,’ she corrected, hearing a slight slur in her words. ‘Not so heavy on the gin this time, please.’
Bill performed the necessary task and slid a glass over the work surface to her. She sipped and groaned with the small pleasure of that initial wet chill and notes of juniper in her mouth.
‘That’s how we get past it, Bill. Small victories, eh?’ She looked at him and tried to judge how he was coping. ‘How are you anyway?’ she asked.
His cheeks twitched in an almost smile. ‘Been better, thanks, PG.’
PG. She’d forgotten about that. From the tea bags. That was the nickname Bill and Joe gave her when she and Thomas firs
t got married, and she felt a warm rush of affection for her brother-in-law – something she’d not felt in a long time.
‘We need to do better, eh?’ She offered him a conciliatory smile aimed at asking for forgiveness for her part in their long family estrangement. ‘Perhaps something good could come from Thomas’s … you know?’ She couldn’t quite say it. ‘You, Daphne and Joe are all the family I have.’ She felt her eyes spark with tears. Her throat tightened. ‘Can we try, Bill?’
‘Oh Jesus,’ he managed after a moment. He wiped at his eyes. ‘You’ll get me started now.’
They both laughed. The sound was weak and tinny in the vastness of the kitchen, but laughter nonetheless.
‘Hey,’ Paula jumped to her feet. ‘You like whisky, don’t you? Thomas has this amazing whisky…’
‘But I’m driving.’
‘For goodness sake, Bill,’ Paula threw over her shoulder as she moved to the other side of the kitchen. ‘Leave the car and we’ll order you a taxi.’ She looked under the sink, ignoring the slight spin of her brain as she did so.
She located the box and pulled it out. It was a handsome container, grey-blue, with a ribbon, and heavy. She got to her feet and moved across the kitchen to the island and placed it on the work surface.
‘Nice,’ said Bill, and his expression changed as if he’d just made the decision that he could indeed leave his car and order a taxi. He wiped away some dust and grime from the top of the box and opened it, and they both instantly noticed that the seal was broken and the bottle was missing one large measure.
‘Looks like my husband had a special occasion all to himself,’ Paula said, while thinking that, at one time, he might have shared it with Bill. She regretted that change on Bill’s behalf. On Thomas’s too.
But then she frowned: if they were estranged, as she thought they were, why were they together on the day Thomas died? She opened her mouth to ask, but what Bill said next threw all of that from her mind.
After He Died Page 19
