Criss Cross

by Caron Allan

  I slept like a log.

  Sun 14 April—10.20pm

  A surprisingly good run down this morning. I may have been a teensy bit late, and although he was a little irritated, I noticed he didn’t dwell on it. By 11.15 we’d been on the road for half an hour and he was in a good mood again.

  I know I shouldn’t make comparisons, but Thomas could sulk for hours when he put his mind to it. Matt seems to just let things wash over him and roll off the other side. Of course Matt is six years younger, and has a bit more of a happy-go-lucky con-merchant sort of way with him. If Matt had a motto it would be something along the lines of ‘you win some, you lose some’. He’s a bit more laid back than Thomas, I suppose. Not that we’re involved in any way, God no! But I was just thinking how interesting it is that people can be so different, people one likes, not just one’s husband. Both attractive but so very different.

  And I have been in such a good mood all day—couldn’t wait to see the new house, and I felt so excited as we got nearer. And when we finally arrived (and Lill and Sid were there on the door step, beaming all over their faces! I was so happy I barely even noticed Sid’s filthy vest.) I felt as if I had finally come home. There was such a feeling of recognition when we came into the drive. I was quite surprised how familiar the house seemed when we got there, on an emotional plane, I mean. It was the most wonderful feeling. I feel so full of optimism and hope for the future.

  I’m astonished at how quickly Lill and Sid have got to grips with things—my bedroom and bathroom are immaculate, the main sitting room downstairs is exactly right, and even the other rooms are already beginning to take shape. Immediately we arrived and had a bit of a chat and some lunch and a look round the place, Matt and his parents set straight to work once more.

  At first I felt a bit awkward and on the edge of things, but once again, they were so good to me, they very craftily drew me in, first by popping out to the terrace to ask me how I wanted a particular chair, or where I wanted a certain picture, and soon I was inside, sleeves rolled up and getting on with it right there with them, showing them where I wanted everything put.

  Now, it occurs to me for the first time that I am very much in danger of acquiring a family. These Hopkins’s are so clever at managing me, I hardly know things are happening until it’s all too late. Perhaps Jess was right after all? But no, I know they would never hurt me or take advantage in the way Jess was afraid they might. I mean, they might sneakily move half their relatives into my attic, but I know I can trust them.

  Anyway, it’s far too soon to be thinking along those lines, I’m just being silly. And Matt and I are just friends that’s all, his parents work for me, he knows it’s handy and useful to help me out and keep on my good side—after all he’s got a roof over his head, hasn’t he? I must remember not to let my imagination run away with me. Anyway, he’s a working-class ex-con, for God’s sake!

  Decided I would go out for a while and leave them to it. I felt overwhelmed, it was all a bit too intimate somehow. Couldn’t tell from their expressions how they felt about my decision, but it doesn’t matter, I don’t need their permission to go out, I’m allowed to get on with my life.

  But later, I felt a bit guilty, so I brought back some wine and flowers. Lill had made a lovely, comforting stew, and warmed some rustic bread in the Aga, which she already seems to be completely at ease with. The house was full of tempting scents and I ate far more than I ought to have done. I’ll soon be the size of those hippos we saw at the zoo if I’m not careful!

  I spent a quiet evening on my own in my upstairs sitting room, putting books and CDs on shelves and generally relaxing, music playing in the background, and Tetley had somehow made it upstairs against my better judgement and was lying sound asleep on the newly-positioned sofa as if she’d been doing that for years. It was all very calm and pleasant.

  I might redecorate my sitting room. I could see myself lounging here happily against a backdrop of lime green walls and brilliant white woodwork etc. All bright and fresh and clean. I’m a bit fed-up with so much delicate peach and sensible neutrals.

  Same day: 1.55am

  I’m downstairs, in Mrs H’s kitchen, clasping a mug of chamomile tea as if I need to suck all the warmth out through the china and into my still-shivering body.

  I woke up. Nothing weird about that. I didn’t hear a noise or anything, I wasn’t frightened, not then. I just—woke.

  I’m almost afraid to think about what I thought.

  But, it was just that—I had—forgotten.

  So I turned to his side of the bed, and he wasn’t there and for just that nanosecond, I thought, oh, he must be in the bathroom.

  Then memory flooded in, ten seconds too late, taking my breath, my joy, my warmth and I remembered. He wasn’t in the bathroom. And he wasn’t coming back. Not ever.

  And I feel so—betrayed—by my memory because the few seconds following that brief moment when I thought he was just ‘in the bathroom’ were far, far worse than any I have ever I had in my life. Because it was so ridiculous, so mundane. Insignificant. And it’s been months now, and that’s the first time something like that has happened,

  And now I can’t sleep. At least, I’m afraid to. Now it feels as though at any moment my memory might betray me again with that blissful forgetfulness followed by a gut-wrenching misery that makes me rush to the bathroom and vomit.

  For one moment I thought Thomas was still alive.

  Tues 16 April—00.40am

  At about eleven o’clock, my phone rang. It was my mobile, not the house phone which, due to the utter incompetence of my telecoms provider, won’t be up and running for three whole days! They just don’t seem to realise some of us actually have a life! Anyway…

  The screen showed ‘unidentified caller’ and as soon as I answered it—which wasn’t very quickly as I dithered about a bit because I wasn’t sure whether to answer it or not—the person at the other end hung up.

  At least, after a moment they did. First there was a longish silence, like someone was listening at the other end, and like a complete moron I was saying ‘Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?’ Which I always think is a ridiculous thing to say. I mean, in movies, the woman always walks through the darkened house towards the strange noise and she always says something pointless and pathetic like ‘Hello, is anyone there?’ thus giving any murderer worth their salt the opportunity to pinpoint her exact position, and when it’s a dodgy phone call, they keep pressing the receiver rest down—we haven’t had those kind of phones for sixty or seventy years, but people still do it—press, press, ‘hello, hello?’ press, press, press, ‘hello, is anyone there?’ I mean, what are they going to say at the other end? ‘Oh hi, it’s your killer speaking, just thought I’d give you a ring, let you know I’m hiding behind the sofa…’

  Actually I’ve got a feeling there is a whole series of comic horror movies that take exactly that view.

  So I felt utterly foolish, and a little frightened by the long silence and then the line just going dead like that, and I could hear the uncertainty in my voice as I said, ‘Is anyone there?’ I felt like a child afraid of the dark calling for her Mummy. It was humiliating. And very unsettling.

  I kept telling myself it was probably a simple wrong number or something. But I couldn’t forget that long silence, and over and over in my head I kept hearing myself like a fool. ‘Hello? Hello, is anyone there?’ And that thread of fear in my voice.

  I went to bed twice. The first time was at about ten past midnight. I read for a while but felt fidgety and irked, what with the odd phone call and everything, so I got up and went down to the kitchen for a hot drink.

  Some of the first things Lill had very kindly unpacked a couple of days ago were my chamomile tea bags and my favourite little Spode teapot and the matching mug that I always love to drink my herbal tea from—it feels a bit more special, somehow. Ritual is so comforting, isn’t it?

  The kitchen was in darkness, though, as all the various Hopkinse
s had retired to bed, obviously, and I couldn’t blame them as they really have done so much this last few days.

  I fumbled for the light switch and pressed it and for a second or two it seemed like nothing was going to happen. I almost, being a bit tense already, I almost panicked, but then there it was and the room filled with lovely light, warm and reassuring, and I felt okay.

  So I sat for a while thinking about how lucky I am. Especially to have the Hopkins’s with me. They have been wonderful. As usual. I seem to have said that a lot lately. I hope they never decide to leave me and go somewhere else.

  Five minutes later

  Would it be weird if I got involved with the ex-con son of my housekeeper and chauffeur?

  Ten minutes later

  I suppose it would be if it all went sour. I might even have to find a new housekeeper. And I wouldn’t want to have to do that, Mrs H—Lill—is wonderful. No man is worth having to break in a new housekeeper. And I’ve got a soft spot for Sid too, quite apart from how useful he is. Thing is, it could all go horribly wrong. And then things definitely would be a bit weird.

  Fifteen minutes later

  But he is gorgeous-ish. And so sweet. And he did take me to the zoo. And buy me an ice-cream. And a fluffy tiger. And it takes quite a clever chap to scam that much money out of tourists, even if he did get caught.

  Sixteen minutes later

  No, it would definitely be a bit odd. And what would my friends say? Or Jess? ‘One can’t get involved with the help!’ She even warned me, months back, that I was getting too intimate with them. And that was before Matt came along—so what would she say now? What would any of them say? What would Thomas have said if he had known?

  Sixteen and a half minutes later

  But I really like him!

  Eighteen minutes later

  I’ve finished my drink and I’m feeling quite comfy and relaxed, so going to wander back upstairs, get into bed, read a few pages of my book. Lay down to go to sleep, and hopefully this time it will work and I’ll drift right off.

  Wed 17 April—11.30am

  Coming back to last night once more, no sooner had I closed my eyes than I thought I heard a sound. I couldn’t tell what it was, or even whether it came from inside or outside the house. It was just too faint, barely there on the fringes of my perception. Well, I told myself calmly. What do you expect? It’s only your second night in a new house, there are going to be all kinds of sweet little charming noises to get used to. A lovely new house, with a lovely new character to adapt to and get to know, delightfully unfamiliar and quirky on these first few nights.

  I closed my eyes again and told myself I was going to sleep. A moment later, there was the softest of sounds downstairs somewhere and then suddenly I was falling out of bed with terror at the blaring of the burglar alarm, like a claxon, screeching out down in the hall below.

  Fingers in my ears, I ran out onto the landing without pausing to grab my robe. Sid and Lill emerged on the landing above me, putting on the light (Sid in traditional ‘Dad’ pyjamas in navy and brown striped cotton on a white ground, struggling to meet around the middle, Lill surprisingly pretty and young-looking in pale peach satin), and right behind them, Matt just in black stretch-cotton boxers which even in that terrifying moment I found rather too sexy for comfort. (He’s got a little patch of hair in the middle of his chest, and he’s got MUSCLES!). After previous incidents, I was wearing my new up-to-the-neck-and-down-to-the-floor giant cotton pyjamas, and even in the confusion of the situation Matt found a spare millisecond to smirk at me about them. Bastard.

  We were all confused and saying stupid things like ‘How do you turn the bloody thing off?’ and ‘I didn’t even know we had an alarm.’ Sid and Matt charged downstairs to look around and to turn off the system and they tried to figure out if anyone had genuinely attempted to gain entry or if there was just a loose wire or something.

  Lill and I stood close together on my landing, and she was asking me if the police would be called out automatically by the alarm being triggered, when suddenly the noise ceased and my response of ‘Buggered if I know!’ was deafening in the clanging silence.

  My nerves were now completely shredded. Once Sid had called up to say all the doors and windows seemed to be locked securely and there wasn’t anything obviously wrong, Lill and I went downstairs to the kitchen where she put the kettle on to make drinks yet again. Matt dialled the number to report the false alarm to the security company. He asked them to send someone over in the morning to check the system.

  By then it was almost two in the morning. I felt exhausted but too edgy. The Hopkins trio sat at the kitchen table and chatted happily over their cups of tea whilst I sat a little apart, hunched over mine, staring at invisible ghosts and trying to force myself to relax. I kept telling myself it was just the kind of annoying little trifle that occurs in a new house from time to time. But I just couldn’t seem to calm down.

  Matt went back up to bed. Then Lill. Finally I felt I might as well go upstairs as sit in the kitchen worrying, and so once again I went upstairs and left Sid to check the doors and windows once more.

  I reached my room as the little sitting room clock chimed two o’clock. I paused momentarily in the doorway. The room was in darkness, but something was wrong. I immediately sensed something was definitely wrong, but couldn’t quite think what it might be.

  I stepped over the threshold and the door closed softly behind me. Just like in the films, but hilariously unfunny, something cold and hard jabbed my neck. A soft voice broke the silence.

  ‘Come in, Cressida. Don’t make a sound, will you, or I’ll have to blow your head off, just like I did to poor old Thomas.’ Monica said.

  I hardly dared to move. I felt her free hand hard and rough on my arm as she pulled me into the middle of the room, pinching my flesh through the sleeve of my pyjama top. I still couldn’t see her properly, she was just a darker shadow in an unfamiliar room full of shadows. But I could see the soft glint of the gun she held in front of her, and I had no doubt she would use it. I wondered vaguely which particular pub she had gone to in order to obtain it, and what calibre it was and how much she’d had to pay for it.

  I felt I had to speak, to say something, anything, to try to keep the communication channels open and give myself time to think of some way out of this situation. Not surprisingly I wanted to delay the apparently inevitable outcome as long as possible. I seized on the first thing that came into my head. It wasn’t very profound.

  ‘How did you get in, Monica?’

  She laughed softly. Her old laugh, familiar but it made me cold.

  ‘It was child’s play,’ she said and then stopped. ‘But this isn’t one of those old movies where the heroine keeps the villain talking until help arrives or the heroine manages to catch the villain off guard. No one is going to find you until the morning, and obviously by then, it’ll be a wee bit too late. And, FYI, you’re the villain, not me. I’m the avenging angel. I’m the heroine, the victim of the piece. You’re just some calculating bitch who killed my husband.’

  There was another short silence, and I was wondering what to say. My mind seemed to have frozen. Why was she just standing there, watching me? I knew I had to say something, anything, but I couldn’t think. Then I felt her do a little shrug movement and she said in an indulgent voice, warm and breathy, as if she was smiling in the darkness.

  ‘Oh, all right then, I’ll tell you. What harm can it do? Though I think you’ll be a bit disappointed at how ordinary it was. I took a key labelled ‘new house back door’ from your housekeeper’s handbag in the kitchen when I was there the other day helping you prepare for the party, took it away, got a copy made quite quickly and cheaply in a place not far from your old house. You should be pleased, I know how you love to support independent local businesses. Then it was absolutely a doddle to slip the original back into her bag on the night of the party. Wasn’t quite as drunk as you’d hoped, was I? And obviously I’d already seen the listin
g from the agent—I simply grabbed it, toddled off to the loo, took a photo of the address with my phone and slipped the paper back later. Then, when I got home, I did an internet search. Great location. Easy to find. Nice area. Quite the bargain. Lucky. Old. You.’

  ‘So how did you come to set off the burglar alarm?’ I asked. She tsked. I felt her shake her head impatiently.

  ‘Oh, that was just your stupid system—I didn’t realise it was one of those where you have to key in a code within twenty seconds of unlocking the door or the alarm goes off. And of course, I didn’t know the code. All I could do was to dive into the cloakroom and wait until I heard the alarm turned off and everyone trundle into the kitchen for a cosy little chat and a nice cuppa. By the way, you are getting rather intimate with the help, aren’t you? I suppose it’s because you fancy the son. And in all honesty, Darling, I can see the appeal, I rather fancied him myself, but really Cress, they are the Staff! I mean, he’s been in prison, for God’s sake! Have you no self-respect? I bet Thomas is turning in his grave right this minute at the very notion of you slumming it! And him only dead for eight short months! But I digress.

  ‘Anyway, then I nipped upstairs and waited for you. And now here we are. Best Friends Forever and all that crap. I must say, Cress, this really is the most lovely home. I can’t wait to have a proper look round.’ Her bleached teeth flashed white in the gloom as she smiled.

  ‘I suppose I don’t need to ask why you’re here,’ I said, still trying to remain calm, still frantically trying to keep her talking until I thought of something more effective. She didn’t notice I was no longer keeping my voice down. She snorted.