by M. J. Trow
Morley nodded and dropped a few paces behind as they approached the front door.
Jacquie parked the car and reached into the back for her bag. ‘Hang on a minute, Jason, would you?’ she said. ‘I just want to ring home, see how things are going.’
Politely, he got out and waited on the pavement. It was at times like these he wished he still smoked; it would have given him something to do with his hands.
She chose ‘Home’ in contacts and waited while it rang. After a moment, it was picked up.
‘The Maxwell residence,’ said a voice that sounded as though it was squeezing its way through a mouthful of marbles.
‘Mrs Troubridge?’ Jacquie’s heart contracted. ‘Is everyone all right?’
‘Nolan is all right,’ Mrs Troubridge answered, ‘as am I. I can’t speak for Mr Maxwell, because he isn’t here.’
Jacquie heaved a sigh. She knew he had been there, because he had sorted out Nolan with Plocker’s mother and Mrs Troubridge, but where the devil was he now? ‘Has he left a message, Mrs Troubridge?’ she asked. ‘He will have left it on the whiteboard in the kitchen.’
‘I’ll go and check,’ she wheezed. ‘Nolan, talk to Mummy while I go and check.’
‘Hello Mummy.’ Jacquie could just picture Nolan, sitting on the arm of the chair, phone in both hands. ‘We’ve come round to get my jamas.’
‘Jamas, darling? Why?’
‘Daddy came round and said could I stay and Mrs Troubidge said yes…’ Nolan could still only manage one of the ‘r’s in Troubridge – it varied which one. ‘And so now, I need my jamas.’
‘Of course you do, poppet. Don’t forget to feed the Count while you’re there. Did Dads say anything about where he was going?’
‘No. Just could I stay over.’
‘Right. Darling, is Mrs Troubridge on her way back from the kitchen?’
‘No. She had to come back for her glasses.’
‘Okay. Sweetie, can you go and…’
‘There are two messages on the phone. Would one of those be Dads, d’you think?’
‘Clever boy. Can you play them for Mummy, please?’ As soon as she said it, Jacquie regretted it. What if the message was not suitable for little ears? But it was too late. There was a click and a whirr and a mechanised voice said, ‘You have two new messages. First new message. Message received today from caller withheld their number at thirteen twenty. Mrs Maxwell. As someone who has expressed an interest in soft furnishings…’
Jacquie raised her voice so Nolan could hear. ‘Skip this one, sweetie.
Another click cut off the furniture salesman in full flow. ‘Second new message. Message received today from,’ and the voice turned into Jacquie’s own for a brief moment, ‘Sylvia Matthews,’ then back to mechanised, ‘at sixteen twenty. Max, Jacquie,’ Sylvia’s voice sounded strange, as though she were whispering in a huge space, with no ambient noise to give a clue, ‘I missed you at school I think. Look, I’m very worried about Charlotte. I’ve spoken to Andrew and he’s been very cagey, to say the least. I know he’s lying about calling her last night. I don’t know why he doesn’t tell me what’s going on… Oh, hold on, he’s come back. Speak later. Message ends. To hear this message again, press one. To save it, press two. To delete it, press three.’
‘Press two, darling,’ Jacquie said.
‘What was the matter with Sylvia, Mummy?’ Nolan’s voice was a bit wobbly and Jacquie ached to hug him.
‘Nothing, poppet. It’s a joke, I think. Look, off you pop with Mrs Troubridge and Mummy and Dads will be home soon.’
‘Will you come and get me when you get home?’ he asked.
‘Of course we will,’ she promised. ‘Tell Mrs Troubridge we will knock when we get back. Don’t forget, will you?’
‘No, Mummy. Mummy…’
‘Yes, poppet?’
‘I love you.’
‘I know that, sweet stuff. Now, take care of Mrs Troubridge and the Count and we’ll be home soon, okay.’
‘Mrs Troubidge is back now, Mummy.’ She heard him hand over the phone and the marbled tones of her neighbour filled her ear.
‘No message, I’m afraid, Jacquie,’ she said.
‘Not to worry, Mrs Troubridge,’ Jacquie told her. ‘Nolan will tell you our plans for tonight. I must go. Bye bye.’
She got out of the car and leaned on the bonnet to gather her thoughts.
‘Jason?’
‘Yes’m?’
‘I think we may have a bit of a situation here. Listen up…’
Maxwell’s hand was still raised to grab the knocker when the door swung open. Andrew Baines stood there and this time he didn’t even feign courtesy.
‘Max. Does this qualify as stalking? And you’ve brought a friend again. How nice.’
‘Andrew,’ Maxwell said in a conversational tone. ‘This is Guy. He is Sylvia’s very significant significant other and we were wondering if you knew where she was.’
‘I saw her at school this afternoon. Other than that, I have no idea where she might be. Shopping?’ Baines showed his teeth but it couldn’t be called a smile. ‘The ladies do love to shop, don’t they?’
‘I believe so,’ Maxwell said. ‘The thing is, we can’t find anyone who saw Sylvia after she came looking for you. She didn’t sign out.’
‘Nor did I,’ Baines preened himself in the doorway, catching his reflection in the hall mirror. ‘Back way, past the tennis courts. Saves trouble. I try to keep away from whatshername, Sarah. She’s always hated me since I turned her down at the Christmas party.’
‘I don’t go to the Christmas party,’ Maxwell remarked.
‘No.’ Baines was unimpressed. ‘So I’ve heard. Look, Max, it’s lovely chatting, but I have a date. I must get a bit of a move on. Can’t keep the little ladies waiting, can I?’
Guy Morley had been coming to a slow boil since Baines had opened the door. Already a gentleman when they met, Sylvia had honed him over the years to be almost as near to being an honorary woman as Maxwell was. And Maxwell had a trophy from the textiles department to prove it. Now, he burst into Baines’ hall and pushed him in the chest with a flat palm.
‘Look here, you little shit,’ he said. ‘If I find you’ve laid a finger on Sylvia, I’ll knock you from here to kingdom come.’
‘Hands off,’ Baines shouted back at him, recovering from the shove and squaring up to the bigger man. ‘No one pushes me around, you arsehole. I wouldn’t lay a finger on Sylvia, to use your phrase. Not that she hasn’t made it more than clear that she wouldn’t mind what I laid on her, if you know what I mean?’ Baines couldn’t help running his fingers through his hair as he taunted what he saw as an old bloke, well past it and Morley was in like a rattler, punching the PE teacher full in the face with all his weight behind it. There was a sickening crunch as Baines’ nose broke and the blood spurted in all directions.
‘Nice one,’ muttered Maxwell. He had always sensed a hidden power in Guy – it was just that the only example of it he had ever seen was that time when he had opened a very problematical jar of Branston.
‘You’ve broken my nose, you bloody maniac,’ Baines screamed, albeit rather indistinctly. ‘I’ll have the police on you, you…’
‘Maniac.’ Maxwell leaned forward. ‘I always find a bit of repetition at this point lends weight to the insult.’
‘Shut the fuck up, Maxwell,’ Baines said, his hand across his face. ‘I’m suing you as well, for bringing this whackjob here to beat me up. All my cosmetic procedures will be on you, believe me. You’ll be bankrupt by the time I’m done. He broke my bloody nose.’
‘Never mind,’ Maxwell said soothingly. ‘I understand it isn’t even your second best feature. You’ll probably have the girls at your feet with the plaster and everything. You know how the girlies love a wounded hero.’
Baines’ eyes flickered. There might be something in what the mad old bugger said. But meanwhile, he just wanted them out of his face. ‘Just get out,’ he snarled. ‘I’m calli
ng 999 and not just for an ambulance. I’m calling the police as well. They’ll throw the book at you. Both of you. And it won’t help the little woman’s career, will it, Maxwell? Having her old man done for GBH.’
Maxwell held up his hands. ‘I haven’t touched you. And I have restrained Guy, haven’t I, Guy?’
‘You certainly have, Max,’ Morley agreed, stepping back. ‘You did your best.’
‘But on the other hand,’ Maxwell said, ‘I am old and past it, so what could I do, in the end?’
‘Nothing,’ Guy said. ‘Nothing at all. You couldn’t even stop me when I pushed this little shit over,’ and he suited the action to the words, ‘and searched his house, to see if he has anyone here he shouldn’t have. Such as Sylvia.’
‘That’s true,’ Maxwell said. ‘But I will admit to having followed you, to make sure that you don’t do any damage.’ He pushed past Baines and managed to bash his face against the wall again. ‘Ooh, that must be painful,’ he said. ‘If I were you, I’d sit down for a while.’
Baines crept down the hall towards the kitchen, his face a mask of blood and his eyes blurred with tears and Maxwell watched him go. The chances were that there was a back door but he didn’t see Baines as a flight risk. He was too careful to play the injured innocent for that. As he disappeared into the gloom of the kitchen, Maxwell noticed something which made him go in for a closer look. It was a metal staple on the door jamb. And on the door, a hook. Maxwell looked at it for a moment, puzzling out its purpose. He and Jacquie had changed the hook on the bathroom door into one like this, high up, when Nolan had started to walk. It was to stop him locking himself in the room when he was by himself, but this had the look of keeping something in, not a safety precaution.
Bells and whistles started going off in Maxwell’s brain and he called to Morley. ‘Guy, come down here a minute. I think we need to make sure Mr Baines doesn’t go for a walk. Don’t you, Mr Baines?’
‘What are you talking about, you mad bugger?’ Baines’ voice sounded muffled and strained. ‘I need a doctor. I’m calling 999. The police.’
Guy stepped over the broken hall table and into the kitchen. Baines was at the kitchen door, struggling with a bolt. It was hard with one hand, and the other was busy pressing a handful of paper towels to his gushing nose.
‘Surely, your phone is in here, isn’t it, Mr Baines?’ Guy said, swinging him round. Suddenly, the man who could still, after all these years, make Sylvia Matthews’ world spin faster, gave a grunt and went down like a felled tree. Baines stood there at bay against the door, a bloody carving knife in his hand.
‘I really shouldn’t leave these things around, should I?’ Baines said to Maxwell, taking a step forward around the table. ‘I hate untidy people as a rule, but I just haven’t had a minute to clear up. I keep it nice and sharp. My dad taught me how to keep things nice. Nice and clean. He was a bit of a perfectionist, my dad.’
‘No! Really?’ Maxwell had never seen a textbook case walking towards him with a bloody nose and a bloody knife. He was thinking fast. He knew Guy was alive, but he could hear his breath coming as tortured wheezing and knew too that he probably had a punctured lung. Sylvia would know the proper term, no doubt. So running wasn’t an option. Before he got to the door, Guy would be dead from another knife wound and Sylvia would be condemned to join him. Because Maxwell was convinced she was in this house somewhere and the chances were she wasn’t alone. But meanwhile, Baines was advancing, step by slow step, knife held out although his hand was trembling.
‘I knew you’d be a sarcastic bastard, Maxwell,’ Baines said. ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, did you know that? Of course you did, because you know everything, isn’t that right? Charlotte, when she told me she was up the spout, she wanted to talk to you. “What a shame Mr Maxwell isn’t here”.’ He mimicked the girl, cruelly. ‘You don’t even know her name. You don’t care about her. I cared. I bought her flowers. All that stuff. And in the end, she wanted to leave me. Not to have my baby. She couldn’t get enough of me, then she didn’t want my baby growing inside her. Bitch!’ He choked on some blood dripping from the back of his ruined nose and gagged but didn’t take his eyes off Maxwell.
‘It was easy to get her out of the hospital. I visited in the afternoon and got her worked up. Then, I slipped in and got her to come back here with me. She was scared, but she came. She can’t resist, you see. Can’t resist the old Baines charm. That’s what my dad used to say. He used to bring women home with him when my mum was out at work. They can’t resist the old Baines charm, he’d say to me. He used to lie there in the bed and I used to have to see them out.’
‘That must have been difficult for you,’ Maxwell said softly.
‘Not at all,’ Baines shouted, and coughed again, spitting the blood on the floor. He looked down at the mess. ‘One of the bitches can clean that up.’
‘Any one in particular?’ Maxwell asked, listening to Guy’s breathing getting more ragged, more uneven.
Baines shrugged. ‘Charlotte. Sylvia.’ He looked at Maxwell, appraisingly and stepped forward, two, three steps but the fencer buried deep in Maxwell was ready for him and he kept the distance between them the same.
‘April?’ the Head of Sixth Form asked.
‘Yes. April. She’s puking up, though. Not as far along as Charlotte. She might not be up to it.’
‘What about Mollie and Josie?’
Baines laughed and spat again. ‘They’re not going to be much good at cleaning up, are they, Maxwell? Because they’re dead, see. And that other tart, the other night. Dead.’
‘Well, not really,’ Maxwell muttered.
Baines stopped his advance and lowered the knife a touch. ‘What? She’s dead. Sure to be. I’d finished when that bloody couple came barrelling out of the bushes. She’s dead.’
‘No, she’s not,’ Maxwell repeated. ‘She spent last night talking to my wife. I would be surprised if the police took much longer to get here.’
‘You won’t be in any condition to be surprised or anything else, you old git,’ Baines growled and lunged with the knife, which scored the inside of Maxwell’s arm, just above the elbow. It had been so long since Maxwell had had so much as a hang nail that the pain jolted through him and he slipped, his arm clamped to his side and his knee cracking on the wall. Baines brought his boot high into Maxwell’s ribs and the Head of Sixth Form rolled on the ground. ‘Well, you weren’t hard to bring down in the end, were you, Fantastic Mr Maxwell? The only question is, do I finish you off first or the fists of righteous harmony over there? Maxwell?’ Baines leaned in nearer. ‘Maxwell!’ He slapped his face,‘I want you to hear all this. I want you to know who killed you.’
Maxwell groaned and rolled his head to one side, his eyes slits and his mouth a line of pain.
‘It’s not everyone who is killed by someone as perfect as me, Mr Maxwell. My dad, he used to tell me, when he was in his bed, resting after he had given some slag the old Baines charm. He used to tell me, son, I’m good, but you’re better than me. He chose my mum, you see, for her looks. Not her brains, that’s for sure. Anyway, he bred me to be perfect. Like a flower, you know. Weed out all the bad ones. Keep the best. That’s what he did.’
‘You mean… he killed his children?’ Just breathing was taking its toll.
‘No! He just bred to be the best. He had other kids, but he left them. It was only me he stayed with. Because I was the perfect one. He showed me how to keep fit. And then he showed me the old Baines charm. We used to go out together when I was older. He was getting on a bit by then, but he still had it. We used to pull some right old boilers. For practice. So when I was out on my own, I could just pick the best ones.’
‘To breed some perfect children.’ Maxwell’s voice was weak and Baines slapped him round the face again to bring him round.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I found some really good specimens at St Olave’s, when I did the PE club there. But after the first two didn’t pan out, I had to move on. I
found April on the Esplanade. We got talking. She was a pretty little thing and she told me everything. God, that kid could talk. But she told me about her mum being some kind of maths genius or something. I thought I could do with some brains in the mix. Charlotte was up the spout, I didn’t count that kid. She’s all right to look at, but nothing special. She was kind of…’
‘Practice?’ Maxwell croaked.
‘Yes. I suppose you could say that. Practice, yes. So, April got pregnant, but I didn’t know. She hadn’t done the test when she was living here. I found out when her dippy mother came to visit you.’
‘How did you find that out? I don’t see much of you on my floor,’ Maxwell managed to gasp.
‘Somebody in the staff room remembered her from when she was at Leighford High. God, some of you are old! You’ve been there for ever! Catch me staying in the same job for a lifetime. Anyway, somebody said she was some kind of maths whizz who had left to have a kid. Then when I heard you’d called your missus in to talk to April, I did a bit of digging and there you are! I found out all about what the little slag was planning to do. It’s amazing what people tell me when I want them to.’
Maxwell’s eyes rolled into his head and Baines brought his face in so they were inches apart and the Head of Sixth Form could feel the PE teacher’s breath on his cheek.
‘So, I went to April’s place. I knew where she lived; like I said, she told me everything. She just never shut up. I threw some gravel up at her window. Like a cheesy romance it was – she lapped it up. She came downstairs to let me in, but I grabbed her and got her into the car. She was whining she’d left her phone behind and I admit that was a bit of a facer, but it was too late by then. Never mind, it won’t make any difference at the end of the day.’
Whether it was the final cliché or the fact that Guy Morley’s breaths were now frighteningly far apart, Maxwell never knew. All he knew was that the time had come and he took it. He brought his head up sharply and rammed hard into Baines’ already broken nose. The man shrieked, throwing up both hands to clutch his face and the knife skittered under the table somewhere, out of reach.
