by A J Waines
‘But Erica was out, then – at the library.’
‘Exactly...’ He blinked slowly as if his eyelids were heavy and difficult to lift. ‘I think the neighbour must have been mistaken.’
‘Or the visitor had a key?’
He shook his head straight away. ‘No one else had a key, just the two of us.’ He toyed with a loose strand of cotton on the chair arm.
‘Did the neighbour give a description?’
‘He said the visitor was wearing an anorak with the hood up, jeans and flat boots. He reckoned it could have been anybody, male or female – he couldn’t be sure.’
‘Did the police find anything else?’
‘They came to re-examine the house and discovered brown marks on the skirting board at the top of the stairs. They think it’s possible there was some kind of scuffle. Apparently they’re trying to match samples of shoe polish.’
‘Really? From nine months ago?’
‘My wife…we never wore outdoor shoes around the house, it’s always been slippers. I’d painted upstairs the week before she died, so the marks could only have been made since then.’
‘I see.’
‘If you want all the details, there’s a police report,’ he said dismissively. ‘That’s about as much as I can tell you.’ He looked weary, his buttoned jacket rumpled with heavy folds at the front, like a teddy bear that’s lost half its stuffing. He seemed to lose interest in talking to me after that so I got up to leave.
‘I’m very sorry,’ I said again, and thanked him.
He dragged himself to the hall to show me out and I glanced up at the staircase. It curved round at the top and the bottom with an extensive flight in between; it must have been a long tumble all the way down.
He was about to shut the door behind me when he said one final thing: ‘She was holding a blank card when she died. She must have been about to send it to someone.’
‘A card?’
‘Yes. It was the last thing she’d touched, so I kept it. Silly, really.’ He sighed, avoiding my eyes. ‘It wasn’t signed; there was nothing written on the envelope and it didn’t have a stamp on it. Just a simple greeting card with a little dried flower on the front.’
My breath caught in my throat and I swallowed hard. I tried to think straight.
‘You think Erica was going to send the card to someone…but could someone have sent it to the house, instead?’
He puffed out his bottom lip. ‘The police didn’t think so. The letterbox needs mending; there’s a faulty spring on the inside that always leaves a dent in the mail. The envelope wasn’t marked. In any case, why would anyone give Erica a blank card?’
He was starting to sound tetchy.
‘Do you mind if I take a look at it?’
He sighed, but ambled down the hall and came back holding an envelope.
I knew what it would look like even before I opened it. My fingers were hot and trembling as I dragged the card into the light. A dried red rosebud and Thank you written in silver printed letters. Exactly the same as mine, except this one was blank inside.
I wanted it to be a coincidence, but I knew it couldn’t be. It was too distinctive. I saw the design differently this time: the delicate flower in its prime, not captured forever, but flattened against its will, all the life squeezed out of it.
I handed it back. ‘Keep this safe. Don’t let it out of your sight. I think the police will want to speak to you again.’
I rang them as soon as I got to the gate, explaining about the identical card Rosie had sent me. I said I’d hand over the card she’d sent me within the hour. It was at work with all my other correspondence from patients, safe in my office at the back of a drawer.
All I could think of was Rosie. Unstable Rosie. Terrifying Rosie. One of life’s lost souls. I felt sure now. Erica’s death hadn’t been an accident at all – and Rosie was the one who’d pushed her.
Chapter 43
Sam
I flagged down a cab and went straight to St Luke’s, telling the driver to wait outside while I dashed in and out of my office.
With Rosie’s identical card in my bag, I asked him to drive like a runaway train to the police station on Earl’s Court Road. I had to wait ages before someone would see me, but by then I was piecing everything together.
Rosie must have returned to Erica’s after her consultation. Mr Mandale said there were no spare keys…and yet…
Suddenly it hit me.
How could I have been so stupid? Rosie had been getting into my flat, too. It explained why, for a few weeks now, certain things weren’t where I’d left them and others had gone missing altogether; it wasn’t absent-mindedness, Rosie had been there.
I thought back: ironing folded away, dishes cleared, vases emptied. Rosie had been coming in and tidying up for me – how bizarre! And the missing bra, the belt, the comb, my boots, my pale-blue scarf? She must have pinched them, stolen my keys at some point when I wasn’t looking and had them copied. Unbelievable!
After I’d handed over Rosie’s card to the police officer, I explained all this and she suggested I get an emergency locksmith to change my locks. There was no concrete proof Rosie had been getting in, so that was all I could do, she told me. It didn’t seem enough.
Levi, from ‘Loxenkeys’, wasn’t as burly as I would have liked. With a crinkly round face and a few wisps of hair, he stood only an inch or so taller than me and gave the impression that he’d missed the boat to retirement some time ago. While he chipped away at the doorframe, I scoured every room. Given her past performance, I wouldn’t have put it past Rosie to be already inside, hiding somewhere.
Even after Levi left and I had a shiny new set of keys in my hand, I still felt jumpy. I had a nagging feeling that keeping Rosie out of my home wouldn’t be enough to end our connection. She was too persistent and I was convinced that she wasn’t going to let things rest as they stood.
She’d fought the idea of ending our sessions and acted very strangely in the Lake District, but was I actually in danger? In any case, shouldn’t the police be questioning her about Erica by now?
As I turned on the taps for a long soak in the bath, I silently urged the police to hurry up and find sufficient evidence to stop her. I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake letting her into my life. She was like a snake, wrapping herself, oh so tenderly, around my neck then slowly starting to squeeze.
I scattered a handful of expensive bath salts into the gushing water and watched the bathroom fill with sweet-smelling steam. Then I stripped off and sank into the water. I shut my eyes and willed my limbs to relax.
It was then I heard it. A soft patter like a book falling. I shot up, straining to listen, urging the rush of disturbed water to settle, but I couldn’t hear anything above the loud thudding in my chest.
I stepped out of the bath and wrapped my bathrobe around me tightly, before creeping barefoot into the hall.
The door of the sitting room was wide open and nothing stirred inside. I dashed towards the coffee table and picked up my mobile, then turned to the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, so I stood outside trying to listen. I could hear a tiny fluttering sound followed by louder slaps as if someone was checking through my wardrobe.
My jaw snapped shut. I’d gone into every room when Levi was here, even checked the shower cubicle, but he’d called me just after I’d looked under the bed and I’d been distracted. The wardrobe was the one place I hadn’t checked. Rosie must have darted in there when she heard me approaching.
I gave the bedroom door a gentle shove and waited for it to swing inwards, my ears and eyes on full alert, my muscles crackling with anticipation. A movement made me jump; the curtains flapped against the wall, the sash window standing wide open. I jerked my head to the left; the wardrobe was open too, clothes dropped on the floor – but there was no one there. I checked under the bed again, but the chill in the room told me the window had been open for some time.
Rosie was long gone.
I
leaned out of the window and looked down below. At ground level, a wheelie bin was on its side, wrappers and empty tins spilling onto the path. Rosie must have climbed down the drainpipe like a cat burglar, but which Rosie? The sweet, eager one, wanting to take care of me or the resentful one, keen to show me how much I’d hurt her?
My mind kept returning to those few awkward moments in the woods before the gamekeeper found us. What if…?
I ducked back inside and slid the window shut, flicking the flimsy catch at the top. Maybe it was time for a full security upgrade. I turned round, about to flop onto the bed with relief, then I froze. Instinctively, my fingers gripped the collar of my bathrobe pulling it up around my neck.
Rosie had left something.
Lying innocently across my pillow was a single red rose.
Chapter 44
Rosie
I’m meandering aimlessly across the Common near Sam’s flat, not caring that it’s started to rain.
Sam’s keys are no use to me any more. I hid for a while after she came back to the flat, but she had someone with her. When he started hammering and clattering away, it was obvious she was getting the locks changed. To double-check, I sneaked out of the wardrobe to take a peek and I was right. Oh, well. She must have realised I was coming in. Leaving the rose on her pillow just now would have told her that, anyway. It was only a matter of time. Now I need to think of another way to reach her.
A dog darts out of the bushes and yaps at a boy holding a ball and I think of Rupert, the dog I used to see at Erica’s.
I can remember every detail of what happened when Erica died. I walk on and let the scenes roll, hoping they’ll take my mind off how upset I am about Sam.
Erica’s house in Chelsea was big and stately. I loved going there; it was like walking into House & Home magazine. My feet didn’t make a sound on the carpet and all the furniture was plush and comfortable. She used to take me to a room at the top of the house; a small box room in the eaves. She insisted we had to traipse up there, even though her foot was sore after the operation and she found the stairs difficult. I don’t know why we couldn’t have chatted in the fancy drawing room downstairs instead.
Erica was kind enough, but she was a bit long in the tooth and I don’t think she ever really understood me. I didn’t feel that much of a connection with her. I said I did – to make her like me – but it wasn’t true. She didn’t have the same depth that Sam has. Sam seems able to see right inside me; although I’ve learned that’s not always a positive thing.
The last time I saw Erica, she was cold and off with me. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong and she didn’t tell me. I think she’d decided I was too much trouble in the end and wanted rid of me. Just like everybody else. She had a long list of well-rehearsed excuses, of course – about how it might be good for me to see someone new, about how we hadn’t made much progress recently. I started to boil. It wasn’t fair. Why did people say one thing and mean another? Why did they claim they were interested when they bloody well weren’t?
When the session was finally over – our last session, she’d decided – I didn’t want to say a nice, friendly goodbye. She held the door open for me, ready for our sad little farewell – after eighteen months – but I stormed out without a word and didn’t look back. I bet that gave her a shock.
I did go back, of course. She didn’t know I’d copied her keys and had been popping in for regular visits.
Rupert, the little dog, didn’t seem to mind me turning up. He barked the first couple of times, but after that he knew who I was. He was old and spent most of the time curled up in his basket in the hall, anyway. He used to lift his head at the sound of the key in the lock, sniff the air and go back to sleep again. Her husband was never around during the day and Erica had got into a little routine of going to the library just after our session, every week. I’d watched her, followed her and knew how long she took.
So, shortly after that last time, I let myself back in to the house. Rupert didn’t even look up. I wandered through all the rooms and sat down in every single chair. I sank into the cushions, handled her ornaments. I wanted to belong inside that house – for it never to forget me, even if she did. I smelt the flowers, took away the dead leaves, shifted a few items round here and there to leave my invisible mark.
I found her file of notes about me in the filing cabinet in the study and read through chunks of it. It upset me. Hateful words, critical, tearing my personality to shreds. She’d never liked me; it was all a farce. Nice little earner, taking money and not caring a jot. I thought she was my friend! I felt crushed and devastated; I ripped out sheet after sheet and stuffed them in my bag.
Next, I went into the bedroom. I’d used the shower in the ensuite before, but this time I thought I’d have a lie down instead. I could tell which side of the bed she slept in; her familiar tiger-striped reading glasses and a ladies’ handkerchief were on the bedside table. I rolled back the duvet, took off my boots and got into bed. It was a mistake. I must have been tired. I didn’t hear her come up the stairs, slowly, one at a time in her slippers.
‘Rosie?!’ She stooped over me, sounding cross. ‘How the hell did you get in?’
I sat bolt upright, still half asleep, taking a moment to remember where I was.
‘What are you doing? How dare you?!’ she shouted at me. Can you believe it? She really shouted, like I was a common thug. Her true colours were shining through now, good and proper.
‘Don’t worry, I’m going…’ I said, squashing my feet into my boots.
‘Did you break in?’ she asked sharply.
I held up the keys and dangled them in front of her face. ‘Duh…’ I said.
I was pissed off by then. She was totally overreacting. She knew exactly who I was and how harmless I’d be. We were friends, almost, for goodness’ sake. I wasn’t doing any harm. In fact, I’d been helping her out around the house for weeks, if only she’d put two and two together.
‘I think you need to give me those keys and leave,’ she barked, holding out her hand. ‘This is totally unacceptable.’
‘Totally unacceptable,’ I mimicked, my hands on my hips. I jerked towards her suddenly to see what she’d do and she recoiled, dragging her bandaged foot, nearly losing her balance. She was scared.
I laughed.
‘Silly cow! What do you know about never being properly loved through no fault of your own? How can you know what’s it like to never belong?’
She didn’t have a clue and I despised her for it.
She started backing away from me, heading towards the phone. ‘This is a matter for the police,’ she huffed, snatching at the handset.
She was about to press numbers on it, so I went straight after her. She was forced to turn round to see her way to the stairs and lowered the phone, more concerned, now, about getting away from me.
Her chest was heaving under her lacy blouse and cashmere cardigan. I always hated her clothes; so old-fashioned. She got to the top of the stairs and held on to the newel post with her free hand, then she swung her good leg onto the top step and let it take her weight.
I was right behind her, but she was going so slowly, I decided to squeeze past and get to the front door first. I thought if I left without any further fuss and nothing was damaged or stolen, she wouldn’t report me.
I barely touched her. In fact, it was an accident really, her foot got caught up with mine and my heel jammed against the skirting board for a second, before she let out a whimpering cry and tumbled forward.
By the way she landed near the bottom of the stairs I knew straight away that she was dead. Her limbs were kind of limp and floppy and the light had gone out of her eyes. Rupert down the hall didn’t even stir from his basket.
I thought it would be better if I put the phone back, but she was lying on it, so I lifted her shoulder and rolled her over a fraction to find it. She bumped down another step when I let go of her; it gave me a hell of a fright.
I took the phone bac
k upstairs, wiped my fingerprints off it and put it back on its cradle by the bed. Erica’s eyes were open staring at the wallpaper as I came back down. I didn’t want to touch her again, or take her pulse or anything. I just wanted to get away.
There was no point hanging around after that. Before I left, I opened my bag and slid out the pretty Thank you card I’d always kept tucked away, ready for the right time for me to give it to her.
I was going to leave it on the doormat, but I decided I might as well hand it over in person, so I left it in her hand, making sure I didn’t have any contact with her lifeless fingers. I wasn’t feeling particularly generous at that point, but it seemed only right, under the circumstances. I hadn’t got around to signing it, but it hardly mattered now that she was dead.
On my way out, I called over to her, ‘It’s been a real pleasure, Erica. You taught me to stand up for myself, so I hope you’ll see it’s all been worthwhile.’
So, I suppose she got her proper goodbye after all.
Chapter 45
Sam
I plucked the rose from my pillow, not knowing what to do with it. It was just like the ‘signature’ rosebuds Rosie had dried and pressed on the cards she’d sent to Erica and me – only this rose had thorns. I carried it at arms’ length into the kitchen and dropped it in a plastic bag, my jittery mind telling me I should keep it as evidence.
I went back to the bedroom to see if anything else was out of place, but there was nothing obvious. I got changed, pulled on the nearest clothes from the pile on the floor.
I didn’t know what the ‘gift’ implied. Red roses are a symbol of love, but they’re also traditionally tossed into a grave at a burial. Knowing how abruptly Rosie could swing from one emotional extreme to another, I could imagine her having both interpretations in mind.
