by Welfare, Sue
‘What about Ryan? Where is he? What’s happened now?’ she asked, torn between relief at not being immediately arrested, and a great rush of panic. ‘Where is he?’ she said. ‘Is he all right?’
‘Just take it steady,’ Woody said calmly, beckoning her closer.
‘You told me he would be safe,’ she said, as she crossed the hall. ‘You promised me that you take care of it. You said…’
Woody turned towards the officers. ‘Ryan got himself into a bit of trouble a few months ago. He was beaten up pretty badly. It was really nasty. I said that I’d keep an eye on him. Keep him out of trouble. He’s always been a bit of a handful. Great guy but always – well you know. ‘Woody smiled. ‘Bit of a lad.’
One of the officers, the male one, nodded. ‘We’ll need some details, Sir, if you don’t mind.’
Woody nodded too. ‘Yes, of course, although Ryan was a bit sketchy about exactly what happened to him. Your lot seemed to think it was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Didn’t they, Sarah?’ he said, turning to her for confirmation.
The officer made a little noise of acknowledgement. ‘I’m afraid it sometimes happens, Sir.’
‘So what’s happened to him this time?’ Sarah pressed. She didn’t like the way they were talking to each other and not to her. The way they were talking over her head. ‘Where is he now? Is he okay?’ She sounded shriller than she intended.
No one quite met her eye, and then Woody said, ‘Why, don’t we go into the kitchen and I’ll put the kettle on.’
Before anyone had chance to move, Sarah snorted. ‘Don’t do this to me, Woody. He’s my brother. I don’t want to go into the kitchen; I want to know what’s happened to Ryan. Tell me. Where is he? What’s happened to him?’
She saw the look that passed between the three of them and felt icy fingers track down her spine.
The female officer cleared her throat. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Ahmed. There’s no easy way to say this. His body was recovered from the Cam first thing this morning. He was found by two women while they were out running.’ She spoke in a low, even voice. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
Sarah stared at her, ignoring what she heard ‘So is he in hospital?’ she asked. Sarah saw the look again. The one that passed between them and excluded her, as if she was mad or fragile, or a child.
‘I’m afraid that your brother is dead, Mrs Ahmed.’ the woman said.
The officer had been right; there was no easy way to soften the blow, no words that would make it easier or untrue. The breath caught in Sarah’s throat, and when she finally opened her mouth to speak a noise spilled out, a soft, long, low keening sound, that rolled up from deep down in her belly and seemed to fill her whole head.
‘No,’ she whispered, ‘No, no, no. That can’t be right. It can’t be.’ Woody caught hold of her arm as her legs folded under her and as he pulled her close she could smell perfume on his clothes – perfume and cigarette smoke.
Her eyes widened.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘So very sorry.’
Sarah rounded on him. ‘How can he be dead? How? You said you’d take care of him. You were with him last night. How could this happen? You went for a drink, you said that he’d be safe,’ she said, accusingly, the words tumbling out of her mouth unchecked. ‘You said. You promised me.’
‘I know, I know,’ Woody soothed. ‘And he was fine when I was in the pub with him, Sarah, absolutely fine.’ She knew from his tone that he was saying it not just for her benefit but also for the two officers. ‘We were at the Raven. He left before I did. He told me that he was coming straight home, said he’d promised you that he’d be home early. He said he’d got to get up for work. I stayed for a bit longer. I got talking to some people.’
‘Some people?’ Sarah stared at him. ‘Who?’ she said, before she could stop herself. ‘Who were you with?’
Woody’s gaze didn’t waiver. ‘Just some people,’ he repeated. He glanced at the police officers. ‘I can give you their names if it’ll help.’
Sarah hesitated. The policewoman was already eyeing her up like Sarah was some kind of crazy. ‘So where was Ryan when you were talking to these people?’ she pressed.
‘I don’t know,’ said Woody. ‘He’d had a bit to drink, but he seemed fine to me. He said he was coming home. And then a bit later he rang me but hung up before I could take the call. I assumed I’d see him today so I didn’t bother ringing back. I thought if it was something important he’d leave a message or text me.’
‘How do you know it was Ryan?’ Sarah asked, swinging round to confront the two officers.
The female officer said, ‘Your brother appears to have had his wallet and all his personal possessions on him. He had money on him, his phone.’
Sarah was too stunned to cry. Woody looked away.
‘So you’re sure?’ Sarah pressed. ‘How can you be sure?’
The woman nodded. ‘I’m sorry. We found a wallet with credit cards and a driving license which was pretty conclusive, and which rather rules out robbery. We will need someone to come down and formally identify the body.’
‘I’d be happy to do that,’ said Woody. ‘My wife is obviously very upset.’
Sarah stared at them. ‘Now?’ she said.
‘No, not now, tomorrow morning will be fine. We can send a car for you if you would prefer?’
Woody waved the words away. ‘No, no, it’ll be fine. I’ll come in first thing tomorrow. Where do I need to go?’
‘No, I don’t want you to go. I want to see him,’ said Sarah.
‘Are you sure?’ Woody asked. ‘I mean, we don’t know what sort of state he’s in.’ He turned towards the policeman for some kind of confirmation. ‘Was he beaten up? Are you looking for someone else, you know, for whoever who did this?’
The officer shook his head. ‘It would appear at the moment that it was an accident, Sir, although we’re obviously not ruling anything out. And I’m afraid there will have to be a post mortem.’
‘Ah,’ said Woody. ‘I see. Well—’
‘He’s my brother,’ Sarah said. ‘My brother.’
Woody patted her shoulder. She stared at him. ‘I know, Sweetie. Everyone understands how you must be feeling.’ And then, turning his attention to the officers, Woody continued. ‘I can be in tomorrow first thing. And if there is anything we can do, anything at all, then we will. Obviously.’
Both police officers nodded.
Woody caught her look. ‘And I’ll bring Sarah in. Of course. Obviously. She is Ryan’s sister, next of kin.’
‘What happened to him?’ she asked. ‘I don’t understand? He was only going out for a drink. What was he doing down by the river?’
‘We’re not altogether sure at the moment exactly what happened or why your brother was on the riverbank. We’ve appealed for any witnesses to come forward. First indications are that he appears to have fallen in from the towpath, although I’m afraid we don’t have any other details at the moment, but I promise you we’ll do out best to find out. I’m sorry to bring you such bad news.’ As the officer spoke he took a card out of his pocket and wrote something down on the back of it. ‘This is where you’ll need to go tomorrow, and if you’ve got any questions, anything at all, you can always contact me on the number on the other side. I was wondering if we can perhaps just ask you a few questions while we’re here?’
Sarah stared at him. He was smiling at her. It felt as if she had walked into someone else’s life. Woody was nodding, all loving husband and good citizen. ‘Yes, of course, no trouble, shall we go through?’ he said, opening the kitchen door. They followed him inside. Sarah watched them go. Woody came back for her, solicitous, gentle, taking her arm, leading her inside, sitting her down at the table as if she was an invalid.
‘We can always come back, if you’d prefer,’ said the officer, eyes firmly fixed on Sarah.
Woody waved the words away. ‘No, we’d rather do it now, wouldn’t we, Sarah? I doubt either if us will
be able to settle now, will we, Honey? Not until we know what happened.’ He switched on the kettle as he spoke, fumbling with the teapot, looking for the teabags. ‘I’m not sure that there is much more we can tell you.’
‘Here, let me do that, my colleague has just got a few questions,’ said the male officer.
While the policeman made tea, the policewoman sat down at the table with Sarah and took out a notebook. Her voice was low and even, solicitous – kind. Was Sarah up to this? Would she mind talking about Ryan, answering a few questions about him? Did Ryan have any money worries? Was he depressed? Did he have a history of drug or alcohol abuse? Sarah shook her head.
‘He liked a drink, but no more than anyone else. And no, he wasn’t very good with money – but I think things were okay at the moment, not good but he wasn’t in any trouble about money.’ She felt herself glancing up at Woody for confirmation. Woody nodded. Even as she was doing it Sarah wondered if the policewoman noticed because she wrote something down in her notebook. ‘And what about drugs?’ she asked.
Sarah felt tears trickling down her face. ‘How can he be dead?’ she whimpered. ‘How?’
The woman nodded and turned to Woody, who sighed. ‘I’m not sure what I can tell you really. I think he occasionally smoked the odd joint, you know, recreational stuff, but nothing harder as far as I know.’
‘And was this a regular thing?’
Woody shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. I don’t think so.’
His hand dropped down over Sarah’s. She stared at him; her first instinct to pull it away, but how would that look? She hated the weight of it and the heat of it. As if reading her mind Woody’s fingers tightened around hers, something that from anyone else, and anyone watching, might be interpreted as a gesture of comfort but Sarah knew without doubt was a warning.
‘You said you and Ryan had been out for a drink yesterday, Mr Ahmed?’ the policewoman said. ‘Can you tell me how Ryan seemed to you?’
Woody bit his lip and took a breath, apparently considering his reply. ‘He seemed fine to me. We’d both had a bit to drink. Nothing particularly heavy. It was a week night and he told me several times that he couldn’t be late because he had work today. When he left I assumed he’d gone home and gone to bed.’
‘Do you know what time that was?’
Woody pulled a face. ‘Not really, not that late. Half past ten, maybe a bit after? I can check my phone if you like?’
The woman nodded and made a note. ‘So, you didn’t go with him?’ she asked.
Woody shook his head. ‘No.’
‘And what about emotionally? How would you say he was?’
‘He’s my brother,’ Sarah interrupted.
They all looked at her. ‘We know, Sweetie,’ he said. Sarah felt Woody’s fingers tighten around hers, and then he continued. ‘He seemed okay. He said he’d got a bit of work on at the moment. He and I had been talking about maybe finding somewhere to do up. A project we could both get involved in.’
‘So you’re a builder too, are you, Sir?’
‘No, no not at all, but I’ve got some business expertise. And we were keen to work together.’
The woman nodded. ‘And how would you describe your relationship with Ryan?’
‘He’s my friend. Actually I knew him before I knew Sarah. In fact that was how we first met. Ryan introduced us, didn’t he?’ Woody managed a smile, which turned into a choking sob that caught in his throat. ‘Oh god, I’m so sorry, this is terrible. I can’t believe he’s dead. He’s such a nice guy. Are you sure it’s him?’
The woman made the slightest of gestures with her head. It might be tiny but it was unequivocal. They hadn’t made a mistake; they were in no doubt, Ryan was dead.
‘God,’ said Woody. ‘I can’t believe it. I was only with him a few hours ago. We’d been talking about the idea of working together – big plans – big plans.’ His voice crackled and finally broke.
Sarah watched Woody; it was a masterly performance. It felt as if she had been written out of the picture, side-lined by his obvious grief. They were talking now about Ryan getting beaten up, about how Woody thought there was more to it than Ryan had been telling people. Sarah listened, wondering how the hell he had the front to spin them a tale like that when he knew exactly why those men had been after Ryan and who they were. He could probably give the police their names and addresses.
The policeman was nodding. They drank the tea. The male officer joined them at the table.
Woody was getting into his stride now.
‘So you’re saying that Ryan had enemies?’
‘No, not enemies, just that he had more going on than he was telling us.’ He glanced at Sarah apparently for corroboration.
‘Us?’ said Sarah, unable to keep quiet any longer.
The policeman glanced across at her, but it was Woody who spoke. ‘What I mean is that I think he probably knew who those men were and kept quiet about it. He didn’t talk about it very much. In case it made things worse. I think he was afraid of the consequences of splitting on them; at least that was the impression I got.’
He was watching Sarah as he spoke. She caught the message loud and clear; it wouldn’t do for her to tell them whatever it was she thought she knew, not now, not ever.
The policeman was looking down at his notepad. ‘So, he didn’t mention any names?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘No, but he seemed okay recently. He was working. Helping out.’
‘Helping out?’
‘Yes, paying his way,’ said Woody, snatching the conversation back from her. ‘Ryan was always a bit casual about money and we had to remind him that this wasn’t a hotel, and that we aren’t a charity, didn’t we, Sarah? He could take all that kind of thing for granted, bills, helping out round the place, you know, unless we reminded him.’
‘So he lives here with you?’ said the policeman, glancing round the kitchen.
‘Yes and no. He lives downstairs. In a self contained flat,’ said Woody.
‘Would you mind if we took a look at it?’
‘No, not at all, would we, Sarah?’
‘No,’ she said, getting to her feet, which finally gave her the chance to pull her hand out from under Woody’s.
‘Where are you going?’ he said in surprise. Sarah wondered if he thought she meant No, they couldn’t look, and was surprised how good it felt to wrong foot him.
‘I have to go upstairs and get the spare key.’ She looked at the policewoman. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
The woman nodded.
Sarah took the stairs two at a time. They had to be wrong about Ryan. Surely she would know if he was dead. She would feel it. A few more minutes and they would all be on the basement steps, unlocking the flat and he would be shouting, ‘What the hell are you doing. Can’t you knock? I’m asleep in here. What do you want?’
She hoped that when he saw the police he had the good sense not to panic and to keep his mouth shut till they had chance to explain what this was about, not blurt anything out. Alone in her bedroom Sarah opened the dressing table drawer and rummaged through the debris, trying to remember exactly where she had put the spare keys. They had to be there somewhere; she pushed aside a tangle of earrings and cheap jewellery; maybe they should just go downstairs and knock. She emptied the drawer out onto the bed. There was no sign of the keys.
After the thing with Anna, it had struck her just how crazy it was to have the spare keys to the whole house hanging on a row of hooks just inside the kitchen door, and so she had brought them upstairs and dropped them into a tin. She’d put it into one of the drawers in her dressing table. But which drawer?
The middle one wouldn’t open; something was catching on the lip. She tried to tease it free with her fingertips. Once upon a time it had been her mother’s dressing table and Sarah had never really cleared it out, not properly, so there was an overlap of possessions. Carefully, Sarah pressed down the thing that was causing the drawer to stick, teasing it backwards and forward
s, until finally the drawer gave up and opened. Sarah smiled; it was a little jewellery box that had belonged to her mum. It had been a while since she had seen it and without thinking Sarah lifted the lid.
Once upon a time the whole thing had been covered in tiny glittering tiles and little white shells all of which had long since loosened and dropped off so that now the pattern was picked out in glue and dust, but the inside of the box was pristine. As the lid opened a tiny ballerina in a pink tutu stood up and began to turn en pointe to the theme tune from Doctor Zhivago, rotating on a stage of deep buttoned dark pink velvet, her dance reflected in a small mirror set into the lid.
The sound of the music stopped Sarah dead in her tracks. A memory appeared fully formed into her head like a snippet of film; a time when they used to dance round the bedroom to the music box, Sarah with long hair, caught up in bunches, dancing with a redheaded doll, while Ryan, just a little boy, a toddler with a mop of curls, danced, standing on his mother’s feet, holding onto her hands. Their mum would spin him around and around, until they got dizzy and they would all laugh so much, so very, very much, and fall over onto the bed, giggling like crazy, while over by the window their dad would sit in an armchair, a blanket tucked up round him, watching and smiling, the skin on his face yellow and thin as parchment and drawn tight over his skull.
The music slowed and faded, and the image died; Sarah felt a pain in her chest, in her heart, a pain so fierce and so hot that she thought for a moment that she might be having a heart attack.
Ryan couldn’t be dead. There was no way. No way. He couldn’t be dead. He was too precious, too special. Ryan was all she had. Her lips began to tremble; her hands joined it, the tremor spread until it felt as if her whole body was going to shake itself apart. She had to do something – she just couldn’t remember what it was – and then Sarah saw the pile of things on the bed and remembered the key.
Feeling as if she was coming unravelled, Sarah threw things out of the drawers, onto the dressing table top, onto the floor, onto the bed until she found the tin box and inside it the spare keys for the basement flat, for the house, for the car, for their whole life. And then she set the box down on the bed where she could see it, and with butterfingers dragged a brush through her hair, so that she looked at least a little presentable. On the dressing table the dancer watched her in silence. Sarah picked up the key, and oblivious to the chaos she had left behind, closed the bedroom door, and hurried downstairs.
