by Sam Hepburn
Doreen wasn’t the only person in Saxted who’d got their knickers in a knot about Norma. She’d heard in the shop that there were reporters going door to door, trying to rake up gossip about the murder. We’d just loaded up the car when a sleazy-looking bloke came down the path, flashing a picture ID with ‘Press’ stamped across it, saying that he’d heard Doreen’s mother had worked for the Clairmonts and did Doreen have any photos or stories she wanted to sell. Doreen slammed the car door in his face and drove off, which was a shame. I could have done with picking up a few investigation tips from a pro.
Doreen dropped me outside Elysium at exactly eight o’clock. She didn’t seem in much of a hurry to leave, and watched from the car as the gates swung open and I walked down the floodlit drive. If she was hoping for a glimpse of Norma she was out of luck. A big bloke, with a golden tan, cropped blond hair and a sharp suit opened the front door. I wasn’t sure if he was a butler or a bodyguard. Either way, I wouldn’t want to upset him, which was a problem because, judging by the look on his face, I already had.
‘I’ve got Miss Craig’s dinner,’ I said.
He paused, just long enough to make me think I’d got the wrong day, before forcing out the words, ‘Come in.’
Talk about a makeover. The hall was cleaner than a disinfectant commercial, glittering with light and full of sweet-smelling flowers that made me sneeze. I glanced down the corridor to the cellar, wondering if there was much in the way of butlers and flower arrangements where Yuri had ended up.
Tan-man pushed open the door to the lounge and music flooded out; a bloke with a throaty voice singing an old song about windmills, spirals and half-forgotten dreams, I remembered Mum listening to it on one of her ‘Hits of the sixties’ CDs and singing along. The sound added to the creepy feeling I had that I was stepping back in time and made me think of Nan’s photos and the way Elysium had looked in its pre-murder glory days.
I stood in the doorway and took it all in. The dust sheets and cobwebs had gone. The walls were painted, the leather couches cleaned, the curtains replaced, and the wooden floors polished. All the pictures of Norma had been dusted and straightened, and a row of little wall lights filled the whole place with a soft warm glow. Mum would have loved it.
A tall, slim woman was standing by the fireplace with her back to me, holding up a glass of wine that sparkled in the firelight. She turned slowly as I entered and, for a split second, it was like seeing a negative of the portrait behind her. Her hair was piled up in a similar way only it was white not black, and her long, floaty dress was black not white. The slanty eyes were just the same though, and they were scanning me inch by inch, just like Mum’s used to do when she knew I was trying to hide something.
Norma Craig. She had to be well over sixty by now. No way did she look it. She must have seen I was shocked.
‘What were you expecting? A crone?’ Her voice cut the silence, husky and scornful.
‘Er, no, Miss Craig.’
It looked like her lawyer had warned her I’d be doing the delivery because she didn’t seem at all surprised to see a kid standing there with her dinner. I held up the heatproof carry box. ‘What shall I do with this?’
She lifted the glass and took a long sip. ‘Raoul! Take him through.’
Raoul marched me across the hall to the dining room. Those Queens of Kleen had done a pretty good job in there as well. The chandeliers were glittering like disco balls, splashing blobs of light on to the walls and floor, and all the furniture had been polished to a gleaming shine. The big long table was set out with candles and wine, but laid with just one place. Sad or what? The double doors down the end of the room had been left open and I caught a glimpse of a sort of office with a big old-fashioned desk in the middle. But there was nothing retro about the massive computer, the bank of phones or the huge plasma screen she’d had installed.
Raoul took the lid off Doreen’s salmon terrine and stood there holding out the dish like it was a used potty, and throwing me sneery looks.
‘You got a problem?’ I said.
‘I have been cooking for Miss Craig for ten years and my food has always given complete satis . . .’
Norma swept in with a newspaper tucked under her arm. I turned to leave.
‘I’d like you to stay!’ she said.
I hovered at the other end of the table, not sure where I was s’posed to stand.
Raoul dumped a slice of terrine on her plate, and looked dead surprised when she flicked her wrist and told him to leave. He didn’t like that at all. On his way out he glared at me like I was some devil child come to nick the silver. There was enough of it, that was for sure.
Norma Craig gave me a smile that was about as friendly as a crack in a tombstone. ‘Joe Slattery, correct?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, Miss Craig. I’m Doreen Trubshaw’s nephew and . . .’
‘Yes, my lawyer told me. I understand you’re new to Saxted. How are you finding it?
‘Um . . . fine, thanks.’
‘Very different from your life in London, I should imagine.’
I put my hands in my pockets, feeling dead uncomfortable. ‘Just a bit.’
‘So what was it like?’
‘What, Miss Craig?’
‘Your life before you came here.’
What did she care? ‘You know, ordinary.’
‘Tell me about it. I crave a little diversion while I eat.’
So have your dinner in front of the telly like any normal person.
‘Well?’ She was staring at me, like I was in court or something.
I didn’t see why I had to tell this total stranger the ins and outs of my life just because she was bored and I knew Doreen wouldn’t be too pleased about it either. But I could tell that Norma was used to getting what she wanted, so I rattled on for a bit about Farm Street (leaving out the worst bits) and Mum’s dreams of a proper singing career and how it was just the two of us after my father left . . .
It was like chucking petrol on a bonfire. She burst into a fit of fury, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring, chest heaving.
‘Would you be that cruel, Joe Slattery? Would you trample on a woman’s love and leave her to pick up the pieces?’
She was barking mad. I backed towards the door. ‘Um . . .’ What was I s’posed to say? I’d never even had a girlfriend, except for Chenisse Bains and I wasn’t sure that one snog in the ASDA car park really counted as a meaningful relationship.
‘Well?’
‘I know this much, Miss Craig. I wouldn’t run out on someone and leave them with a kid. I saw what it did to my mum.’
That seemed to halt the meltdown.
‘Was she very unhappy?’
‘Off and on.’
‘Betrayal leaves terrible scars.’ She frowned and for a moment I thought she was actually feeling sorry for Mum. But no, five seconds later she was off on what was obviously her favourite subject: herself.
‘Betrayal destroyed my life.’
Her fork clattered on to her plate and her whole body froze. Doreen’s cooking had a similar effect on me but I got the feeling that food was the last thing on Norma’s mind.
‘Are you all right, Miss Craig?’
She just stared at the table. I was weighing up whether to make a dash for the door or try a comment about Doreen’s ‘amazing’ terrine when she said in a hard voice.
‘Do you know what happened out there in that hallway?’
Whoa, this was way off Doreen’s list of approved conversation topics.
‘Um . . . kind of.’
‘Can you imagine how it felt to discover that the man I loved had tried to kill me?’
‘No, Miss Craig.’
‘What kind of man could tell a woman he loved her while he was plotting to kill her in cold blood?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’ll tell you what kind, a monster.’ She spat the word and glared at me like I’d put Clairmont up to it. ‘A cold, pitiless monster. And they won’t let me forget. Every few months there’s a s
ighting of him or some cheap tabloid tries to dig over the ashes of my life.’
She flung the newspaper across the table. It was open at an article headlined ‘NORMA CRAIG RETURNS TO HOUSE OF HORROR’ above a picture of her and Clairmont looking young and glamorous. Her voice went flat and she stared into space as if she was repeating a speech she’d made a thousand of times before.
‘The murder took place on a Friday, the day before our anniversary. At two that afternoon Greville went to a London florist and purchased a rare and beautiful orchid, one he knew I’d adore – then he went on to the bank and took out some family jewels for me wear at our anniversary ball the following evening.’ Her eyes refocused and as they drilled into mine her voice switched from flat to angry. ‘But it was all a front! A cover to hide his real intentions. Six hours later he returned home, put the orchid in the greenhouse then walked into this house and killed my housekeeper because he mistook her for me. And neither he nor the Clairmont emeralds have ever been seen since.’
Emeralds! My skin went hot then cold. I stepped back, shaking. Emeralds like the bracelet, necklace and earrings I’d seen in Yuri’s Oxo tin? I tried to tell myself it was a coincidence, only it really didn’t feel like one.
Cool it, Joe. Look away, breathe, sneeze, scratch, yawn, anything. Just don’t let her see you’re agitated.
Very slowly, an explanation I could deal with floated up through the scary mess of possibilities. Yuri must have found the emeralds hidden in the house. Yeah, that would be it. But if they really were the Clairmont emeralds and the cops caught him trying to flog them he’d be in a lot worse trouble than he was already. I tuned back in to Norma’s voice and it was like she was talking to herself.
‘Why did he do it? Was there corruption in the Clairmont blood? A streak of madness?’ She let out a sob. ‘He left me with nothing. No life at all.’
What was she on about? She was alive and healthy and rolling in money. Which was a lot more than could be said for her housekeeper or my mother. The way she whinged on about herself the whole time was really winding me up.
‘The murder was pretty tough on Janice Gribben too,’ I said. The words came spurting out before I could stop them but instead of going off on one she said very softly, ‘Janice. My poor Janice.’
She was at it again! Her poor Janice.
‘And terrible for her family,’ I added.
She looked up. ‘She didn’t have any family.’
I couldn’t stop thinking about that tiny blurred photo of Janice in the papers and the way the press had practically ignored her, just like they’d practically ignored Mum. It really riled me.
‘Just because people aren’t famous it doesn’t mean they don’t matter,’ I said. ‘You should have stepped in and given the papers a decent photo of her.’
She stared into space, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t have one. Janice hated having her photo taken. The minute she saw a camera she’d disappear.’
It was like Janice Gribben had never existed. No family to miss her, no grave to put a headstone on, not even a photo for anyone to glance at and go oh yeah, that’s Janice, I remember her.
Norma’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Janice was devoted to me. Don’t you worry about a thing, Miss Craig,’ she used to say. ‘You concentrate on being beautiful. Leave the rest to me.’ And I did. Everything from the food and the guest lists to running the staff. She used to come to my room at night to lay out my clothes for the next day and we’d talk and talk. I had no secrets from Janice.’
I couldn’t take much more of Norma Craig’s crazy mood swings. I wanted out of there. I glanced at the food Raoul had left on the sideboard.
‘Your dinner’s getting cold, Miss Craig. Doreen’s done you sautéed duck. She said to tell you that the um . . . flavours in the sauce are . . . um . . . a “subtle fusion of—”’
‘What do I care about food? Guilt drains the pleasure out of everything – eating, thinking, even dreaming.’
If Norma didn’t fancy the duck I was tempted to ask if I could take it back for Oz, but she looked so miserable I said, ‘You can’t blame yourself for the murder.’
‘Murder?’ Surprised, she looked up at me with those big slanty eyes. ‘Believe me, Joe, there are far more inhuman crimes than murder.’
I didn’t have the nerve to ask what she meant but to stop her working herself into a state again I said, ‘My mum wrote this song once about regretting it when you mess up and how people should try to be understanding about it even if they can’t totally forgive you.’
Norma mulled that over. ‘Did your mother have many regrets?’
‘A few.’
She shook her head and tears splashed down her face. ‘I’ve lost the only chance I ever had for forgiveness or understanding. Regrets are all I have. That’s what happens when you do something truly terrible. The need for secrecy poisons your whole life. The lies, the pretence, the guilt, they eat away at you until there’s nothing left. Half a lifetime ago I turned my back on this house because of Greville Clairmont and I hoped that by coming back I might have a chance of salvaging just a little of what might have been. Of picking up the pieces of my life.’
She’d lost me, totally.
‘Er . . . so why don’t you go out, have some fun, look up some old mates?’ It was the kind of thing I used to say to Mum when Eddy was giving her grief. I got the same reaction.
A single tear trickled down her cheek. ‘If only it were that simple.’
Her eyes fixed on mine. I shifted my feet and gave her a nervous smile. Her whole body stiffened and her face went stonier than one of her statues.
Now what had I done?
‘I’d like you to leave now,’ she said. Then she got up and walked out without saying another word.
CHAPTER 10
I ran into the hall in time to hear the last echoes of Norma’s high heels clicking up the stairs. Raoul was waiting for me, holding the front door open and working his jaw like a boxer before a fight. I didn’t hang around to say goodbye. Sprinting down the drive, I made a dash through the slowly opening gates and into the woods.
As far as wacky experiences go, that visit to Elysium had to be up there with the wackiest. But compared to tracking Yuri down and finding out if Ivo Lincoln’s visit to the KGB archive was the key to Mum’s death it was just a sideshow. So why did I feel like I was falling apart? Maybe crazy was catching, or maybe finding out about the emeralds was sending me places I didn’t want to go.
I darted round the back of Laurel Cottage, ran straight to the shed and buried my face in Oz’s warm, musty fur. I wanted Mum. I wanted to her to tell me not to worry because Norma Craig was just a batty old woman who liked winding people up.
‘Joe? Are you in there?’
The shed door swung open. I looked up. It was Doreen. Oz padded forward and took a cautious sniff at her hand, jerking back again when she batted him away,
‘I expected you back ages ago. I’ve been waiting to hear how it went. What took you so long?’
‘Miss Craig, she er . . . wanted me to hang around while she ate.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Did she enjoy the food? Come on what did she think about the terrine?’
‘She . . . she said it was great.’
‘Details, Joe, I want to know exactly what she said, what she was wearing, what the house looked like. My other clients are all dying to know.’
What about your reputation for discretion, Doreen? And anyway I didn’t get it. If she was that interested why hadn’t she delivered the food herself?
‘Come on. In the house. I’m freezing to death out here.’
What do you think it’s like for Oz, stuck in the shed, all night every night?
He pawed my leg and whined when I got up. ‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ I whispered. ‘This won’t take long. Not if I can help it.’
I could have killed for a burger and a bit more quiet time with Oz. Instead I had to make do with a slice of goats’ cheese quiche and the third degree fro
m Doreen. But I had to be careful. She’d have gone mad if she knew what had really happened at Elysium. So I had a go at filling her in on Norma’s hairdo, outfit and choice of cushion covers, and pretended that she’d loved the duck and we’d chatted about the weather. I was glad I didn’t have to describe the look Norma had given me just before she told me to leave. I’d never have found the words.
My dream that night was full of emeralds, Oxo tins, and Norma and Mum giving me the same guilt probe stare while I told them over and over that I hadn’t done anything. But the ending was just the same, the oncoming 4x4 and the screeching grind of metal. I woke up yelling for Mum, just like the time I lost her in Tesco’s when I was about five. What I wanted more than anything was the rush of relief I’d got when she came flying down the biscuit aisle to find me. But no one was going to be coming for me now. Well, no one except Oz.
When I finally made it downstairs and into the garden, he came shooting out of the shed so fast he practically did a back flip off the end of his chain. It must have really hurt him. It was a good thing Doreen was out or I’d have wrapped that stupid chain right round her scrawny neck just so she knew how it felt. I unclipped him and headed down the main street towards the river, trying to think up interesting ways of making Doreen suffer. I’d just got her strung up over a boiling vat of fish tagine, screaming for mercy, when I realised I’d turned off by the pub and doubled back towards the graveyard. Who knows why? Maybe I was feeling guilty about all the lying and stealing I’d been doing for Yuri and wanted to square it with Mum. Maybe I missed her so much I couldn’t help it. Anyway, even from the road, I could see there was something not right about her grave.
I jumped over the fence and stared down at the massive wreath lying there. It was the size of a tractor tyre; all white rosebuds and bits of ivy, mixed in with that pink and yellow stuff that smells really sweet, what’s it called . . . honeysuckle. It must have cost an arm and a leg. It had to be a mistake, meant for some other dead person. One with rich relations who cared. I snatched up the card: ‘SADIE RIP’.
