The Look of Love

by David George Richards

  “Thanks for the advice,” was all she could say. She turned to leave, put her suitcase down and reached out to grasp the front door handle.

  “Does your boyfriend love you?”

  Victoria paused at his words but didn’t reply.

  “Do you know how to tell?”

  Still no answer.

  “It’s the look,” David went on. “When someone loves you, you can see it in their eyes. It’s a sort of yearning. You don’t realise how to recognise it until you’re older, sometimes much older. Some people never recognise it, or if they do, they don’t care. If you can recognise it when you’re young, then you are indeed fortunate. But what counts is doing something about it. Being loved by someone is one thing, catching it and nurturing it is another.

  “If someone loves you, and you know it, you have to respond in kind. You have to give love to go on receiving it. It has to be mutual, shared. And the more you give, the more you get back. If you don’t do that, if you don’t give back the love you receive, then eventually it dies. Some people chose not to do that. They are selfish with their love; they keep it for themselves, and steal more from others. They say ‘I love you’, but they are just lies. They take without giving, until the love of those they take from turns into hate.”

  David began to walk towards her as he spoke. “Others give love to those who don’t want it. They heap more and more on the object of their desire even in the face of rejection. But this is also fruitless, and eventually their love also dies and turns to hate.”

  Now he was right behind her.

  “People get married all the time. They think they’re in love, but they’re not. For them it’s merely sex, and when the lust fades they’re left with nothing. After a few years they split up. Some don’t even get that far. And that’s because sex and lust have no future, in marriage they merely become repetitive. A true relationship is built on love, a love that’s above sex and lust, a love that’s given in response to love that’s received. Love that’s selfish isn’t love, and love that isn’t returned is only an obsession. Mutual love, shared love, this is the only thing that counts.

  “If your boyfriend loves you, if he has the look of love in his eyes when he sees you, then go to him. But if he doesn’t, then remember what you leave behind.

  “Rosie has told me all about you and Louise. From what she says it’s quite obvious that Louise loves you. But I don’t need to tell you that. You’ve seen her eyes when she looks at you. You know. As for gender, well, love transcends gender. It always has. Only society puts limitations on love. You just have to have the courage to break those limitations. Love between two people isn’t about society, or about gender. So if you’re worried about other people, about what they say, or what they think, then remember this: Everyone and anyone can tell you how to live your life. But when tragedy strikes, it is you that suffers and not them. And when your time runs out and your life is over, none of those who were so quick to advise you will climb into the coffin and take your place.”

  There was a deafening silence when David had finished speaking. Victoria let go of the front door handle and turned slowly and stared at him in amazement.

  “Where did you get all that from?” she asked in a whisper.

  David smiled. “Burt Bacharach and Reader’s Digest.” He turned quickly and walked to the door of his flat. A moment later and he was gone.

  Victoria stood by the front door with her bags in her hands. She looked up the stairs at the door of Louise’s flat. She hesitated a moment, as if undecided. Then she slowly turned and opened the front door.

  Outside, Zach was leaning against the garden wall. He was not alone. There was a young girl with him. She couldn’t have been much over sixteen or seventeen. She was wearing tight blue jeans and a short, light blue cropped top. The outfit left her stomach and midriff exposed. Over the short top she wore a black denim waistcoat. She was very pretty, with short light brown hair.

  Zach was talking to her. Chatting her up more likely. Victoria couldn’t hear what he was saying. The girl laughed. Zach must have told her something funny. As she laughed, Zach reached out and pulled on the bottom of her cropped top. He must have said something else that was funny, because the girl laughed again, and this time, Zach slipped his hand on to her side, squeezing her waist and stomach.

  She had probably just been passing by.

  Neither of them had noticed Victoria, so she quietly closed the door and turned to lean against it.

  “Oh, bollocks!” she announced, and dropped her bags.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Softening Up

  Shawcroft returned to the Headly house that afternoon, and found Henry Billing waiting for him. As before, Scott and his father refused to let Shawcroft and the three uniformed men he had brought with him across the threshold. But this time they were far less vocal and hostile in their resistance. Shawcroft noticed other subtle differences too. This time Max was in the hallway with Billing. He looked very frightened. Next to him was Mrs Headly. She also looked frightened, but her expression also held a stern and resigned look.

  As the pushing and shoving started, Billing held out his hand and shouted, “Give me the warrant!”

  Shawcroft handed it over, glaring at Scott who was nose to nose with him. “You’ll find everything is correct this time,” he said.

  Scott glared back at him. “Who are you after this time? Me, or Max?”

  Billing answered him. “Both.” He glanced at Mrs Headly and nodded. She immediately whimpered and put a hand to her mouth.

  It was like a signal of defeat. Scott and Mr Headly immediately backed off, and Billing said, “We’re all coming with you. I will accompany Max, but I must insist that no questioning of either brother takes place unless I am present.”

  And that was that. Max and Billing went with two policemen in one car while Scott went with Shawcroft in another. Their parents followed in their own car.

  Shawcroft looked across at Scott as they drove to the police station. They were both sitting on the back seat of the police car, and neither of them had spoken since leaving the house. Shawcroft stared forward again.

  “I’ve been to the Shere Khan,” he remarked.

  “I’m not answering any questions,” Scott quickly replied.

  “I’m not asking any, I’m telling you answers. Max made a big impact at that restaurant. He was angry and vocal. The waiters remember him. They even remember what he was saying.”

  Scott was unmoved. “Pity you can’t get him in a line up, then, isn’t it?” he said.

  Shawcroft shrugged. “Don’t need to,” he said. “You see, they all remember John King, too. He’s on the scene, by his own words, and by witnesses. He even paid the bill with his credit card. And all the waiters remember him arguing with someone called Max.”

  Scott glanced briefly across at Shawcroft. “They were mistaken,” he said without much conviction.

  Shawcroft turned to face Scott. He could see that his remarks had shaken him. It was obvious that the use of his brother’s name in the restaurant hadn’t occurred to him. But its consequences now did. Shawcroft pressed on.

  “We’re going to put you both away, Scott. Your brother for murder, and you for perverting the cause of justice.”

  Scott refused to give up. “Keep dreaming,” he said stubbornly.

  Shawcroft smiled. “John King,” he said simply.

  Scott was puzzled. “What about him?”

  “He isn’t as tough as you, Scott. You should see him sweating when we interview him.”

  Scott looked even more unnerved. “John will be alright. You can’t pin anything on him and he knows it.”

  “Oh, but we can,” Shawcroft said, nodding. “John King is the only one we can categorically prove was at that restaurant that night. He knew what Max was upset about. Christ, he could see Joanne across the road in the other restaurant as plainly as Max could. He must have known what Max was going to do. For all we know, he may even have been
there when it happened.”

  “He wasn’t!” Scott insisted, his voice raised for the first time.

  Shawcroft kept his cool. “Doesn’t matter,” he said calmly. “Even if he was totally oblivious to what was going to happen, once Joanne’s death was known to him, he became an accessory after the fact. An accessory to murder.”

  “It wasn’t murder!” Scott insisted. He was getting angry.

  Shawcroft leaned towards Scott and spoke in a grim voice. “One of you left that restaurant, waited for Joanne, and killed her. That makes it premeditated murder. And when John is facing going to prison or telling the truth, he’s going to crack.”

  “John won’t change his story!”

  “Why? Max isn’t his brother. Do you really think he will let you both walk free on a technicality while he goes to prison?”

  Scott’s expression hardened and he turned in the seat to face Shawcroft. “You’re just pissing in the wind! This is all just guesswork! You can’t prove a thing and you know it!”

  Shawcroft sat back. “That’s true. Not against you and Max, not yet. But John King is another matter. He said it was you with him that night. But the waiters all heard him call his friend Max. So either he was deliberately using the wrong name that night, or he was lying when he made his statement. No matter how you look at it, there’s a lie in there somewhere. So whether it was you or Max doesn’t matter, we’ve already got John King. And when the waiters at the Shere Khan all identify Max as his dining partner, John King is going to crack. And when he cracks, you all crack.”

  Scott was silent for a moment. He sat back in his seat.

  “I killed her,” he suddenly announced.

  Shawcroft raised his eyebrows. “Confessing are we?”

  “Yes. I’ll even sign a statement.”

  “Can’t accept it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Two reasons. First, any brief worth his salt will have it thrown out of court before the ink is dry. And second, because we both know it’s a bare-faced lie.”

  “It’s the truth!” Scott shouted.

  “Is it?” Shawcroft shouted back. “Is that what your mother believes too? Is she happy that it’s you and not Max? Or did you finally tell her and your father the truth after my visit?”

  Scott finally lost his rag. He sat forward on his seat and began to push at Shawcroft, shoving him back. “You leave my parents out of this!” he shouted angrily.

  Shawcroft grabbed Scott roughly by his collar and pushed him back in his seat, slamming him hard against the door of the car.

  “How can I?” he shouted back. “You didn’t! You involved them with your lies! You lied to us, and you lied to them! It was you they heard coming back early that night, not Max! But they didn’t see you did they? And when Max told you what happened, you knew what to do!”

  Scott looked mesmerised as Shawcroft pinned him against the door of the car. But the policeman hadn’t finished yet.

  “This morning your father thought you were both innocent! Even your poor mother believed that! She was scared, but she believed you! This afternoon that had all changed! Your parents know one of you killed Joanne! You must have told them the truth! You had to! After my visit and what your solicitor explained over the phone, your mother must have realised the truth anyway! One of her sons is a murderer! So which one did you all decide it was going to be? Hey, Scott? You? Or Max? When we question them both again –and we are going to question them, Scott, we have to– who are they going to say they heard coming in early that night? Who, Scott? Are they going to tell the truth? Or are they going to continue the lie you started and face the consequences?”

  Scott’s reply was almost a whimper. “Leave my parents out of it.”

  “It’s not up to me, Scott. It’s the law, and its murder. And you’re all in it! You, your parents, Max, even John King, all of you, in it up to your necks.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Seeing the Light

  Louise couldn’t find Victoria anywhere at the University. She had ended up wandering around the campus, searching the corridors and the open spaces, and going from room to room. She even went to the library and back to the refectory. And at the end, she even stared secretively through the window at her own class. She saw Angela, but no Chrissy, and no Victoria.

  Finally, she had given up. She felt so sick and depressed she decided to go home again. She would go home, go to bed, and cry until she slept.

  As she sat on the tram on the way back home, she dwelled on the disaster that had been her day. Why had they bothered to go into class that day? Oh, how she wished she had listened to Victoria! Why didn’t they just stay at home? If they had, everything would have been alright. Instead everything had gone wrong. She wanted to die.

  It was all that Zach’s fault! Oh, how she hated him! Why did he have to laugh at Victoria like that? And the things he had said. Louise could still feel his hands on her. He was evil. She wanted to kill him. It was such a strong thought, such a physical need, that if he had been there on the tram with her, or if she knew where he was and could reach him, she could have killed him then and there.

  But it wouldn’t bring Victoria back.

  But it wasn’t Louise’s fault that things had got out of hand in the refectory. It wasn’t her fault that Victoria had got so upset and ran off. Or was it? If it hadn’t been for her relationship with Louise, Victoria wouldn’t have had the fight with Zach in the first place. It was a chilling thought. Could Victoria blame her? Did Victoria blame her? Is that why she had run off and hadn’t gone back to their flat? The cold realisation made Louise feel even more depressed.

  Victoria hated her. She hated her and had left her.

  Then another thought occurred to Louise. Everybody would know about her too. She would have to face them the next day. They would all stare at her, and whisper to one another about her. It was the one thing she had dreaded the most. Everyone would despise her and avoid her. And now she would be alone.

  Slowly and silently, she began to weep.

  Louise was a mental wreck by the time she got back to her flat. She got out her key and began to unlock the door. It was already unlocked. For a moment her heart leapt, but then she remembered that Victoria didn’t have a key. They had never had a chance to make one for her. Louise suddenly realised that she must have forgotten to lock the door when she had ran out of the flat earlier.

  Louise sighed. She was such a fool. A stupid, silly fool. It would serve her right if the flat had been ransacked while she was out. She opened the door and went in. Everything was quiet and undisturbed.

  Louise closed the door and walked over to Victoria’s bedroom. She stared though the open door. On the bed were two hold-alls and five plastic bags. On the floor next to the bed was a suitcase.

  Louise stared at them in horror and surprise. She was frozen to the spot.

  The toilet flushed in the bathroom. Louise almost ran over to the bathroom and threw open the door.

  “Vikki!” she called out.

  Victoria screamed and threw the soap in the air. She was so shocked she almost jumped out of her skin. She spun round, stepped back, caught her legs against the side of the bath, and fell in with another scream and banged her head on the wall. She ended up sat in the bath with her legs dangling over the side, a surprised and dazed look on her face.

  Louise rushed forward and began to fuss over her. “Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you, Vikki!” she said, kissing her and hugging her. “Are you alright? You bumped your head! Oh, I’m sorry, Vikki!”

  Victoria felt the back of her head. “You gave me a fucking heart-attack, Louise!” she snapped. “What did you think you were doing, bursting through the door shouting like that? I could have been sat on the toilet with my knickers down!”

  “I didn’t mean it! I just saw your bags and heard you in the bathroom, and I didn’t think! I’m sorry! Are you alright?”

  “No! I’ve got a headache and my bum’s wet! Help me up you daft brush!
” Victoria kicked her legs uselessly as Louise did as she asked, pulling her up out of the bath.

  When she was back on her feet, Victoria twisted round and felt the back of her jeans. Sure enough there was a large damp patch.

  “Oh, bollocks!” she announced. “It’s soaked through to my knickers! I’ll have to change now or I’ll feel squidgy all day!”

  Louise didn’t seem to hear her. She was staring at Victoria very intently, very emotionally, and she was hanging on to her arms as if she thought Victoria might disappear at any moment.

  “Where have you been, Vikki?” she asked in a quivering voice. “I’ve been worried sick! I ran after you at Uni, but I couldn’t find you! I came back here to look for you before, but you weren’t here! I went back to Uni again! I still couldn’t find you! Where have you been?”

  Louise got more and more emotional as she spoke, until the tears were streaming down her face.

  “Oh, Vikki!” Louise ploughed on. “You don’t hate me do you? Why are your things packed? Why are you leaving? Please don’t leave! Please, Vikki! I love you! Please, don’t leave me!”

  Victoria didn’t answer her. She was too busy staring at Louise’s eyes, staring at that look.

  Louise couldn’t stand it. “Please say something, Vikki!” she begged.

  “I love you.”

  Louise stared at her.

  Victoria grinned. “Gosh! I’ve said it now haven’t I? There’s no turning back now!”

  Louise burst into tears.

  Victoria quickly put her arms around her and pulled her close.

  “Oh, come here you big softy! What are you crying for now? It’s what you wanted to hear wasn’t it?”

  “I was so frightened!” Louise wailed, her voice slightly muffled as her head was buried in Victoria’s shoulder. “I saw your bags and I thought you were leaving me!”

  “I’m not leaving you, Louise. I thought about it, I even packed. But I changed my mind. I’ve spoken to Zach too. He wasn’t pleased about it, but he didn’t have much choice in the end. You might say I caught him in a compromising position. Anyway he knows, and he understands now. He’s out of the picture. I’d only just come back, dumped my stuff on the bed and gone for a wee when you burst in and scared the hell out of me.”