by Joan Smith
‘Stay there.’
He left the door ajar. Loretta heard him run up the stairs, and the sound of the bathroom cabinet being opened; she was still calculating whether she had time to reach the front door and draw back the bolt when he reappeared.
‘Turn your head.’
She did as she was told and felt a piercing pain which made her cry out as he applied a damp cloth to the site of the wound.
‘Keep still.’ The pressure ceased and he unscrewed the bottle of TCP, pouring it on to the cloth. Loretta clutched the arm of the sofa, gritting her teeth as the antiseptic stung the wound.
‘You’ll be all right,’ he said a second time. He dropped the cloth to the floor and returned to his seat on the other side of the room. ‘Thank God,’ he added in a low voice, but Loretta hardly heard him; she was looking down, horrified by the stains on the cloth. So much blood. . .
‘Don’t look.’ Neil took a deep breath, held it, then let it out in a long sigh. ‘Whatever you think, I didn’t come here to. . .’
‘To hit me with a hammer? You must be mad.’ Loretta looked up, speaking in a low, angry voice. Her head was clearing at last, perhaps with the shock of the antiseptic.
Neil said: ‘I’ve suffered. I have suffered.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He looked away, turning his head towards the window. ‘Have you ever loved somebody? Really loved them – so you’d do anything for them?’
Loretta didn’t say anything, more and more convinced he was deranged.
‘I loved my wife,’ he said, still not looking at her. ‘You have to understand – it’s the key. . . From the moment I set eyes on her – she was only sixteen. She was so – it doesn’t change anything, death, you know. You still –’
‘But you killed her,’ Loretta interrupted him. ‘Didn’t you? That’s why you’re here. You broke her glasses and made her get into the car. Did you have a hammer that night as well?’
‘No,’ Neil said wonderingly, turning back to her. ‘It wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean to hit her, I lost my temper – it’s not – I went after her, I tried to stop her. . .’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Loretta suddenly felt brave. ‘You say you loved her –’
‘I didn’t – you’ve got to understand.’ He was pleading with her again. ‘I know that’s what they’ll think, the police ... I should’ve put them in the car, it would’ve looked like they’d broken in the crash – I didn’t think. . .
‘She was alive, you know – when I got to the car. She looked at me, she was making a noise ... I couldn’t – there was nothing I could do.’ He shuddered. ‘I wanted to die, do you realize that? Can’t you see what I’ve been through? What it’s cost me to...?’
‘What you’ve been through?’
Neil looked down at his hands. ‘It was the first time I’d seen her since – something came over me, I couldn’t stop. . . I put up with so much. I took it – the other men, I knew about – that was her other life, as long as she kept it. . .’ He lifted his head. ‘You think that’s pathetic, don’t you? But it was the price, what I had to – I didn’t want to lose her. Think of it as a sickness, an obsession,’ he said with unusual clarity. ‘Does that make it better?’
Loretta said nothing.
‘But then she got her hooks into Felix –’
‘Felix?’
‘Shocked, are you? Her own son. I knew there was somebody last summer, she was restless, she stopped –’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘I didn’t guess. How could I? She took him to a hotel, can you believe – He left his tie ... a parcel came, I shouldn’t have opened it – but I’m not so sick I didn’t know what to do,’ he finished defiantly.
‘You mean you accused her –’ Loretta began incredulously, thinking of Paul Fleming.
‘I told her I wanted a divorce,’ Neil said, not answering the question. ‘I cut off her allowance, told her to stay away from the kids. She kept ringing me, I told her to keep away. . . She was on the phone on New Year’s Eve, as soon’s I got back. She said all right, I could have the divorce, but she had to see me. I thought – I actually thought she might be sorry.’ He paused. ‘And do you know what she wanted? Money. Money in return for the divorce. I couldn’t ... I didn’t mean to hit her.’ He dropped his head into his hands.
‘When I saw her in the car, I wanted to die. . .’ He was mumbling, Loretta had to strain to hear him. ‘Only the children –’
Suddenly he sat bolt upright in his seat and stared at Loretta. ‘I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. You understand? I loved her.’
Loretta nodded slowly. There was silence for a moment.
‘Could you make some tea?’
‘Some tea?’ Loretta was so astonished she repeated the words as if she had not understood them.
‘Yes. Go on, see if you can stand up.’ His voice was gentle, encouraging.
‘I – all right.’ Loretta wondered if it was some sort of trick. She rose slowly to her feet, swayed, then edged towards the door. Neil slumped forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. She reached for the door handle and turned it awkwardly, pulling the door inwards without ever turning her back on Neil. Then she slid round it, wondering whether she dared close it as she prepared for her flight down the stairs.
‘Shut the door.’ Neil’s voice, still calm, came from inside the room.
Loretta obeyed, then tiptoed towards the front door. She put out a hand to the bolt, heard a noise in the drawing-room and froze. She had left the hammer behind, was he about to come after her? She waited, straining to hear what was happening; Neil was moving about, there was no doubt about that. Then – silence. Loretta stood very still, holding her breath. A minute passed, then two. She eased the bolt back, now more puzzled than afraid. Why hadn’t he called out, asked what was happening to the tea? The tea – it was a ludicrous request. Loretta went back to the drawing-room door, listened, then threw it open. She paused on the threshold, took a couple of steps inside –
Tom Neil was no longer in the room. Loretta’s mouth fell open and she glanced behind her into the hall, still afraid of a trick. It was only when she turned back that it struck her that one of the sash windows had been thrown up and the curtains were blowing inwards in great gusts of cold air. He’s escaped, she thought incredulously – climbed down the drainpipe that runs parallel to the window-frame. She hurried across the room to the telephone, slowing as the pain started up again in her head, and dialled 999.
‘The police,’ she said urgently when the operator asked what service she required. ‘And an ambulance. . .’
She heard a squeal of brakes outside in the road and put the phone down on the table. Going to the open window, she saw that a car had come to a swerving halt a few yards up the road from her flat. The driver was getting out, leaving his engine running and the car door open. His passenger followed, shouting unintelligibly, and there was more braking and hooting as a van travelling in the opposite direction performed an emergency stop. The two men from the first car were running towards her, and Loretta’s first, irrational thought was that they were coming to her aid. . . She leaned out of the window to shout to them, then realized that they hadn’t seen her, after all – were too intent on something at street level, directly below her. With a sick horror she looked down, anticipating by a split second the sight that met her eyes – Tom Neil’s body impaled on the railings, two black spikes pushing up through the back of his old sports jacket in the centre of a dark, spreading stain.
‘Hello?’ The operator’s voice sounded tinnily behind her. ‘Hello? Is anybody there?’
Coda
Loretta sat down by the window, not taking off her denim jacket. She undid the scarf she had tied round her head, folding it up and placing it neatly on the table beside her. The flat was cold and airless, and there was a thin layer of dust on the surface of the table. She pulled the edges of her jacket together and reached across with a gloved hand to activate the answerin
g-machine.
‘Loretta, I’ve just heard the news. I’m – I can’t believe it – I guessed you wouldn’t be there, but the radio didn’t say which hospital ... If you get this message please ring and let me know – they said head injuries. . . This is Sally, by the way. . . Please ring, I’m so worried. . .’
‘Loretta, this is Susie Lathlean from Vixen Press, calling on Tuesday. I tried to get you at work just now and they were very mysterious – said you wouldn’t be in for a while, but wouldn’t say why. Is everything all right – you haven’t been sacked or anything?’ She laughed nervously. ‘Give me a ring when you get the chance, I need to talk to you about money. Bye for now.’
‘Hello there, Mrs Lawson, you don’t know me – Gordon McKay from the Sun. I’ve been trying to get you at the hospital but you know what they’re like. . . I’m very keen to talk to you about your ordeal – can you ring me back on this number?’ He read it out. ‘That’s a freephone number, won’t cost you anything. It is a bit urgent, love.’
‘It’s Susie Lathlean again. Someone’s just shown me the Standard – I feel dreadful about my last message – I had no idea! I gather you’re being kept in for observation, whatever that means ... I didn’t want to bother you at the hospital, so I thought I’d ring your machine again – we’re all hoping you’re all right, and if there’s anything we can do – don’t worry about the book, don’t give it a thought till you’re feeling better. . .’
‘Loretta – I don’t know what to say. This is Bridget, I’m back in Oxford. . . I’ve just seen the Six O’Clock News – they said head injuries. . . I’ll have to try and find out the name of the hospital – I wonder if the BBC would tell me, who would I ring? Sorry, I’m not thinking straight – perhaps you won’t get this message. . . Ring me if you can – lots of love.’
‘Loretta? It’s Robert ... I didn’t really expect you to be there – I’ll try and find out which hospital you’re in. It’s Tuesday evening, by the way.’
‘Jesus Christ, Loretta, what the hell’s going on? I’ve only just heard, Bill Reevell from Foreign phoned – says some guy jumped out of your window. Jesus, what am I supposed to – maybe I should ring the airport. . . I’ll try your mother. Why the hell hasn’t anyone been in touch – we’re not divorced yet, I’m still your next of kin!’
‘Loretta – I’ve spoken to the hospital but they say you’re not well enough to come to the phone. . . This is Robert again. If you do get this message, please give me a ring. It’s Wednesday afternoon.’
‘Hello Miss Lawson, I hope you don’t mind me calling you at home ... I write for the women’s page of the Sunday Herald. . . This is nothing to do with John Tracey, by the way. . . I’m putting together a feature on women who’ve been attacked in their own homes, whether it’s changed their feelings about where they live and so on, and in view of what happened on Monday night. . . My name’s Sylvia Raines, by the way. I’m sure you’ve got the Herald number – I’m on extension 6366.’
Loretta shook her head and thought it was just as well Sylvia Raines hadn’t succeeded in getting hold of her.
‘Hello, this is Mrs Beach from Lady Diana Florist’s, St Paul’s Road. We’ve been trying to deliver some flowers to your flat but you’re always out, and your neighbour doesn’t seem to be there during the day, either. Could you let us know when it would be convenient to deliver? Thank you so much.’
‘Ah, Dr Lawson, Shirley Potter from Connell Potter, Upper Street. Just letting you know that the young lady downstairs let us into your flat, as per your instructions, and we’ve measured up. I’m putting a copy of the details in the post to you, the only thing I haven’t got is the rateable value. If you could get back to us as soon as possible, I’ve already got several people wanting to view. . . We’re doing our best to weed out sightseers, but in view of the recent unfortunate incident. . . The asking price for the property is £89,950, as agreed. Thanking you.’
‘Mrs Beach again, Lady Diana Florist’s. If you could contact us. . .’
‘This is a message for Dr Laura Lawson from the coroner’s office, St Pancras, calling on Wednesday the twenty-seventh of January. I haven’t had a reply to my letter of the twenty-second, requiring her to attend as a witness at the inquest into the death of Mr Thomas Edward Thornton Neil next month ... I understand there’s some question of head injuries, and I’m just ringing to advise that a doctor’s certificate will be necessary if Dr Lawson is unable to attend. Thank you.’
‘Hallo, Loretta, you come back today, yes? This is Shahin. I am coming home at six o’clock tonight, but do not wait to collect your pussy cat. He is very well, but he misses you, I think. Bye bye.’
This was the final message, and the machine began winding back. Loretta remained in the chair, staring into space, and jumped when the phone rang.
‘Hello?’ she said tiredly.
‘Loretta? It’s Derek. Sorry to trouble you. How’s the head?’
Her hand went up to it automatically. ‘Well, it looks a bit of a mess, especially where they shaved the hair. . . I’m still getting headaches, but the hospital says I’m very lucky – I’ve got a thick skull, apparently. There’s no fracture. . . The beret helped, of course.’
‘Yeah, so I heard. The papers didn’t get hold of you in Oxford?’
‘No. Thanks for not letting them know. I needed the rest.’
‘You should be all right now. These things aren’t even a nine-day wonder as far as journalists are concerned,’ Ghilardi said in disgust. He hesitated. ‘Look, I’m sorry – mentioning your name when I asked about the glasses, I mean. I never thought –’
‘That’s all right,’ said Loretta, not wanting to talk about it. ‘Was that all –?’
‘Oh – no.’ Ghilardi sounded relieved. ‘Couple of things – you want your keys back?’
‘My keys? Oh, you mean the ones I gave Sandra. D’you know, it never occurred to me that he had them, I didn’t even think about how he got in. . . No, we’re having the locks changed tomorrow, my neighbour’s fixed it up.’
‘Right, then. You might be interested – we tracked down the boy, the one she went to the hotel with.’
‘Oh, you did – Paul Fleming?’
‘Paul Fleming? His name’s Tony – no, that’s not who I’m talking about.’
‘I don’t think I –’
‘Paul Elvin, that’s what he’s called. He went to the same school as the son, Felix, that’s how she knew him. He was in the year above – he’s at college now.’
‘Good God.’
‘Yeah – she met him last summer, apparently. Felix brought him home – never noticed a thing. Or so he says.’
‘But what about – Fleming’s son, you say he’s called Tony?’
‘He was the previous boyfriend. She traded him in for the toy boy.’ Loretta frowned at the crude phrase, but Ghilardi continued, oblivious. ‘He’s a bit nearer her age, at least – well, late twenties. Seems to have been an on-and-off sort of thing at the best of times. In fact, if he’s to be believed, it was more or less over by the time she got the push. Sneaked on by another kid at the unit – you know what drug addicts are like. He felt bad about it, that’s why he fixed her up at the health club. Thought he was doing her a favour.’
‘So – I can’t quite take this in. What about – what about the tie? He – Tom Neil –’ Loretta had to force herself to say the name, ‘he said something about a tie. . .’
Ghilardi sighed. ‘Felix left it in her car, end of the summer term. You know what boys are like – can’t wait to get the old uniform off. This hotel, bit of a posh place – amazing she ever took him there. You have to wear a tie in the dining-room, and she remembered it was in the car. Chambermaid found it next day and they sent it back to the address she’d given – Winchester, that is. If only she’d put Balham, or Notting Hill. . . Still, that’s life, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose. . .’ Loretta thought that that was one way of looking at it.
‘You’ve got the date of t
he inquest?’
‘Yes, there was a message on my machine, and I think there’s probably a letter in the kitchen.’ Loretta had dumped the post unopened on the kitchen table before playing her messages.
‘I think that’s it then.’ Ghilardi hesitated. ‘Except, mmm – I’ve still got your book.’
‘Oh, keep it.’
‘I just wondered – you going to be in London next weekend? Not tomorrow, I don’t mean – next Saturday.’
Loretta opened her mouth, searching for an excuse. ‘I – I don’t think so. In fact, I’m pretty sure not. . .’
‘Oh well, some other time,’ Ghilardi said hastily. ‘I’ll let you. . . Bye.’ He put the phone down.
Loretta sat back in her chair, relieved he hadn’t pressed her, and looked at her watch. Ten to four. She shivered, thinking she should turn on the central heating. The light was fading and she got up, wandering over to one of the windows and looking down into Liverpool Road. A gaggle of teenagers in school uniform was walking past, and they stopped outside her flat and pointed excitedly at the building. One of the youths, taller than the rest, suddenly lunged forward and draped himself over the railings, his long arms swinging, in a grotesque parody of the events of the week before. Loretta grimaced and drew back, thrusting her hands deep into the pockets of her denim jacket. She had expected some people to take a ghoulish interest in what had happened, but even so. . . Sighing, she picked up her keys from the table and went out of the room, turning on the light in the hall before going downstairs to collect Bertie.
for Rosemary Goad
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London
WC1B 3DP
Copyright © Joan Smith 1990
First published by Faber and Faber Limited
The moral right of author has been asserted
