by Paula Daly
‘About?’
His jaw tightened. He hesitated before speaking.
‘You’ve been to the police again,’ he said.
‘You’re watching me? You’re still watching me? Why? Why are you following me?’
He shrugged.
‘I’m here to ask that you leave it alone,’ he continued. ‘I’d really rather you didn’t pursue whatever it is you think you’re pursuing It won’t end well, Roz. And it would be so much better if you stayed out of it.’
‘Have the police interviewed you?’
‘They have.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I thought that—’
‘You assumed that as soon as you gave them my name and they matched my DNA to the crime scene that there would be an arrest? Won’t happen,’ he said firmly.
A pause.
‘Why did you kill him, Scott?’ I asked carefully. ‘Was it really—’
He held up his palm to silence me. ‘Wayne’s death is regrettable,’ he said mildly, ‘but I didn’t intend to do it. I didn’t go there to do it. What sort of animal do you think I am?’
‘I don’t know!’ I cried out.
‘I did it for you.’
‘For me?’
‘I had to do it.’
‘No, you didn’t, Scott. And I’d really like you to leave. I need you to leave right now.’
I went to push my chair away from the table to stand, but he reached out and caught hold of my wrist.
‘Stay there,’ he commanded.
Fear washed through me. I felt sick.
‘You’re hurting me,’ I said, and eventually, reluctantly, he loosened his grip.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I didn’t come here to scare you. I came to ask for your help. I’d like you to drop your investigation, or whatever it is, and let us all get on with our lives. There’s nothing to be gained by my admitting to what happened to Wayne.’
I stared at him. I was breathing hard.
‘What?’ he said defensively. ‘What exactly do you want me to do? Say I tracked your car, followed you there, waited until I saw you leave and then killed the guy? That’s what you want? What good will that do anybody, Roz?’
Visibly quaking now, I dropped my gaze. I shifted awkwardly in my seat and made like I was readjusting my trousers.
Scott rolled his eyes at me.
‘Pass me your phone,’ he said wearily.
‘My what?
‘Your phone, Roz. You’re not recording this. Pass it over.’
I did as requested.
‘Let’s start again,’ he said, once he’d turned it off.
I was trapped. I was alone with this killer and no one knew he was here.
‘I will not go to … I’ll not go to the police,’ I told him, stumbling on my words. ‘I’ll do whatever it is you want me to do. But please, Scott, I just want you to go.’
‘No problem. That’s all I wanted you to say. As I mentioned, there is absolutely nothing to be gained, and I think we’ve all suffered enough, don’t you?’
I nodded numbly.
‘And, honestly, you’d be wasting your time,’ he continued. ‘There’s nothing tying me to that crime scene. I made sure of it.’ And then he said, ‘It wasn’t exactly a messy business. He didn’t put up much of a fight. And it wasn’t hard to clean up after myself … or to clean up after you either, Roz.’
‘Me?’
He looked at me, perplexed. ‘You didn’t think I’d let you take the hit for Wayne’s death, did you? Bloody hell, Roz, I meant it when I told you I loved you. I’m not playing at this. Wayne explained how he’d panicked and knocked you out with the fire extinguisher. Tell me: what would you have done in my shoes? What would you have done if the person you cared about had gone through that? Any decent man would have done the same. When I heard what he’d done to you I just couldn’t bear it.’
‘You didn’t need to murder him.’
‘It was more of an accident really. And these were extenuating circumstances. The guy tells me he fucks you—’
‘He didn’t fuck me.’
‘He didn’t?’
I shook my head.
‘Oh, so he was telling the truth about that, then. Well, disregarding that, he tells me he hurts you. And then he tells me he made you go there because he has evidence of you stealing from the company.’
‘He told you?’ I said.
‘Well,’ he paused, smiling coldly, ‘I may have forced that out of him. I just didn’t get why you’d even consider doing what you did with such a lowlife. It was insulting. He didn’t want to talk at first. That’s why I ended up with my hands around his throat. I just wanted to scare him a little. But then when he told me what he’d made you do, I needed to stop him from ever breathing again. It was necessary.’
I stared at him.
‘I removed the fire extinguisher,’ he said. ‘It’s covered in your blood, by the way. It’s evidence you were there and that there was a … problem. I was hardly going to leave it behind and incriminate you.’
‘Do you still have it?’
‘I do.’
‘Why? Why keep it?’
‘I could make it reappear. And I’m more than happy to talk to the police again. Tell them Wayne was blackmailing you about the money. I think they’d be rather interested. It certainly gives you a motive for killing him.’
‘I’m not sure my blood on it proves motive for anything.’
‘Well, that’s a chance you’ll have to take,’ he said. ‘Who knows what the police will make of it? I wouldn’t like to guess. I’m sure they’d be interested to know it was you who stole the money from the clinic, in any case. Or maybe I’ll just deal with it all another way. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out George’s whereabouts. And, remember, we already know each other.’
He waited while I digested this piece of news. He had me cornered. If I did as he asked there would be no repercussions. If not—
He reached across the table and took hold of my hands.
‘Come back to me,’ he whispered.
I stared at him. Tried to mask my horror.
‘Why not?’ he said, affronted by my response. ‘It was good, wasn’t it? We were really good together.’
‘You were paying me, Scott.’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, dismissing my reply. ‘That’s the other thing I forgot to mention about our friend Wayne. He would have made you do it again. And again.’
‘I told Wayne I would do it once, and he agreed to that.’
Scott made a gesture with a flick of his head as though what I had said was nonsense. ‘With someone like that,’ he said, ‘you give them an inch and they take a—’
‘Did he tell you he planned to do it again?’ I said.
‘He didn’t need to.’
I pulled my hands from his. ‘Go home, Scott. You’ve said what you came to say. I’ll do as you ask. I’ll stay away from the police, because I have no other choice, but it’s time for you to go.’
He nodded.
‘I miss you,’ he said, slipping his arms into his jacket.
I tried to smile. Tried to look as though, Yes, I miss you, too, psycho, whilst at the same time edging away from him. He was insane. Completely isane.
‘Don’t hate me,’ he whispered. ‘I only did what I did to help. I’m not a violent person. It’s just men like Wayne, they never give up. He would have hounded you for ever. He would have made your life a misery, and you don’t deserve that, Roz.’
‘No,’ I said quietly, keeping my head low, pacifying him in the best way I could.
Coat on, he asked, ‘What are your plans now?’ as though we’d just had a business meeting.
‘Carry on as I was.’
‘You’re not going it alone in the physiotherapy business? That seems a shame.’
‘It’s not really doable after all.’ I was hovering by the kitchen door. A few steps, and I could bolt out the back. ‘I thought I
could set up independently,’ I rambled on, ‘but … well, you know how it is.’
‘Let me help.’
‘It’s okay, Scott.’
‘My offer still stands. You don’t need to work at all. I can look after you. Let me look after you.’
I didn’t answer.
‘Why won’t you?’ he said, angrily now. ‘I don’t see the problem. Someone offers you their help, wants to make your life a little easier, and you throw it back in their face. Why?’
‘Because you can’t buy people, Scott,’ I said. ‘It’s not normal. It’s not what people do. In fact, it’s fucking weird. Why did you choose me anyway?’
‘I didn’t choose you.’
‘I feel as if you picked me out as part of some elaborate plan. And now that I won’t conform to whatever that plan is, you’d rather destroy me than let me go.’
‘Oh, Roz,’ he said, spreading his hands wide. ‘We don’t get to choose who we love. Love chooses us. I have no more control over the way I feel for you than I do over the tides, or the weather. That’s what happens. I don’t want to love you. I don’t want to put myself in this compromised position. It is what it is.’
Love? He was out of his mind. Who pays for sex expecting that person to fall in love with them? What kind of deluded sicko do you have to be?
‘You made it all seem so random at the beginning,’ I said.
‘I repeat: I didn’t have a choice.’
‘Why not just come on to me like a normal person?’ I asked. ‘Why involve money? Why not just start an affair?’
He gave a short, sarcastic kind of laugh. ‘I did come on to you, and you rejected me, remember? You were too highly principled for an affair. So I used what I had. You were desperate for money, and I had plenty. It seemed like the most logical thing to do.’
‘You should go.’
He said, ‘Yes,’ but he didn’t move.
‘Let’s not leave it like this,’ he pressed. ‘I can’t stand to think of you hating me.’
‘I don’t hate you,’ I lied.
‘Come here,’ he said.
I stayed put.
‘Roz, I’m not a monster,’ he said.
He advanced my way and I took a step backwards.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like … Do you want me to hurt you? Is that it? Do you need me to put my hands around your throat, to justify to yourself that I am a monster?’
I stayed silent. Terrified.
He strode across the floor and took hold of my right hand. He squeezed it tight between his. I remained motionless, confused. ‘You’re sure about this? You’re quite sure about this, Roz?’ he shouted, levering my thumb back as far as it would go.
‘What are you doing?’
Pulling me towards the kitchen, he held my thumb against the door jamb. Then he grabbed hold of the door handle with his other hand, threatening to slam it on my flesh.
‘Is this what you want?’ he yelled at me.
‘Don’t,’ I whimpered.
‘Is this what you want me to do? Put an end to your shitty little career?’
‘No,’ I said, crying now.
My hands were my instruments. My livelihood. I was next to useless without them.
‘I paid you because I loved you,’ he shouted. ‘I had no other choice. So don’t you dare look at me with such disgust! Don’t you dare!’
He increased his grip. I could no longer feel my fingers.
He said, ‘I could end you right now if I wanted to. I could destroy you right now.’
Suddenly, I flared at him.
‘Well, do it then! Fucking do it! I give up. If you’re so head-fucked that this is what you need to do, then do it!’
And his breathing became hard and ragged.
He scanned my face for clues, as if he didn’t understand.
‘You need help, Scott. You’re deranged. You are fucking deranged. Don’t you see? Don’t you see what you’ve become? You’re an animal.’
And he tried to speak but couldn’t.
He was a man lost. A man adrift. With no idea how he got here.
Two Months Later
43
IT WAS NOW late October. Almost three months had gone by since George’s accident, the crash, and our time was filled with hospital appointments, visits from friends, the general day-to-day things that I once took for granted. That night, the night Scott broke into my home, he didn’t smash my thumbs to pieces as I thought he might. As he thought he might. And after holding me hostage for what felt like hours, eventually, Scott let go of my hand.
He regarded me with a deep, deep sadness, and I told him it was over.
I told him I did not love him. That I would never love him. And no matter what he decided to throw at me, I would not change my mind. If he wanted to send himself insane by continuing to pursue me, that was his choice. But I could never be persuaded to want him.
So what did I do next?
I kept my head down and got back to normality. Scott still had me over a barrel so there wasn’t really a lot of choice. Maybe a better person than I, a stronger, more resourceful person, someone with more grit, more staying power, could have found a way to bring him to justice for killing Wayne. But I’d reached my limit. I made a choice to put it behind me and move forward with my life.
George and I lived simply. After much balancing of the books and realistic examination of the household accounts (and without the old debts hanging over me), I found I was able to cut my hours spent at work. I told the clinic I could do twenty-six hours maximum and they could take it or leave it.
They took it.
Something of Henry Peachey must have rubbed off on me because I found that, with more time available, I did in fact spend less money. I was better prepared, and instead of life being one frantic whirlwind, meeting myself coming backwards, throwing cash at things just to get through, my days were more manageable. Peaceful. There was happiness to be found in doing the simple stuff.
Winston and I had a talk – the Talk – which had been more than a long time coming. I told him his period of playing out was over. That if he couldn’t step up to his responsibilities as a parent in the financial sense, then I would move to be near my parents, far enough away that he would see far less of George. Ultimately, I told him I needed help. I couldn’t do it alone any more. And Winston, being Winston, said, ‘Sure, Roz. No problem.’ Like if only I’d asked earlier, he would have happily obliged.
And finally, after a great deal of procrastination, I also wrote an email.
It’s amazing the self-deception that comes when you needing to get something written down. Suddenly, it was very important that the pile of ironing, which had been sitting in the corner of the bedroom for months, be dealt with.
I sorted through my kitchen cupboards, under the pretence of being organized for the approaching Harvest Festival, so that George didn’t have to turn up to school with some out-of-date English mustard, and a packet of cornflour.
I made dental appointments for half-term. And then, when I couldn’t find another thing to put in the way of my bottom being in the chair and staying there until it was finished, I did it. I looked up his address and I wrote the thing.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Us
Dear Henry
I’ll try to keep this short and to the point, though there is much I want to say.
I’m not sure if I ever said sorry, so I’ll begin with that. Sorry. It’s not enough, I know, and I can picture you reading this, rolling your eyes, deeply offended, with a strong urge not to read any further.
The truth is, I miss you. And I can’t help wondering if we’d met at another time, under another set of circumstances, things could have turned out differently for us.
George gets better every day and is very close to losing his crutches.
And if you think I’ve mentioned George to try to make you
soften a little towards me, then you would be right.
Thanks to you, I seem to be getting my life in some kind of order. I’ve been reading books on how to stay debt free, how to work less and spend less, how to enjoy life without being a slave to commerce. And if you think I mention this to flatter you, you would be right about that, too.
As soon as I met you I tried to bring the arrangement with Scott to an end. Desperation led me to accept that offer, but meeting you helped me see what an absurd arrangement it really was, and that there had to be an alternative way of doing things.
I say again, I miss you. I am trying not to write nonsense like There are so few people we feel a connection with.
But that is what I want to say. And if I could find a better way of saying it, I would.
If you ever find yourself thinking along the same lines (even for a moment, even with the spectacular mess I made of everything), then know that I’m here, waiting for you.
Yours
Roz.
And while I waited for a response from Henry, slowly, bit by bit, George and I were rebuilding ourselves. That night, the night of Scott’s visit, had marked a strange kind of turning point.
Sometimes, I found myself wondering about Scott; about what made him tick, why he did as he did, and whether it was possible that he really was motivated by love?
What exactly pushed Scott over into that other realm – murder – the realm where so few of us go?
Perhaps winning was the same as love to Scott. Perhaps the two things evoked the same emotion in him and he couldn’t tell them apart.
Or perhaps he simply had no fear and felt free to do as he pleased.
And he was free.
That was the tragedy. Scott had not been held accountable for Wayne’s death because he’d been steadfast in his belief that he could get away with it. He had no remorse, because, in his mind, he had no alternative but to kill Wayne. Wayne, a disposable human being. Someone who was just going to get in the way of what Scott wanted. And I could do nothing about it because, if I did, Scott was fully prepared to try and fit me up for the murder and tell the police about the money I’d taken – or, worse, he would harm George.
