by Shears, KT
The circumstances of the incident are still under investigation, but police have revealed they are treating it as suspicious.
The Westwall family say they are devastated by the loss of their bright, darling daughter and sister, and have appealed for privacy to grieve their loss.
Suspicious? Like murder? I had assumed she had died in a car crash, or of an illness. But this? This was awful. I went back to the search results and clicked on the next entry, desperate to know more, but simultaneously not wanting to read the horrible details.
Police have confirmed that the death of 24-year-old Leila Westwall, who was found dead in her in flat in Madrid last Thursday, is being treated as murder. The British citizen, who moved to Madrid just six months ago, is believed to have suffered severe head injuries. Police are enquiring for any witnesses to contact them immediately, but have stressed there is no cause for general alarm as it is believed to be an isolated crime.
I closed down the window. That poor family. I felt my anger at Matt trickling away. No wonder he said he was a wreck when his sister died. Who wouldn’t be? I couldn’t imagine someone I loved being taken away from me on purpose by another human being. It was just monstrous.
Matt arrived back in the office in the early afternoon, evidently straight from the airport as he was clutching his suitcase as he came through the door. He saw me sitting there and immediately looked awkward, but I smiled at him. After what I’d just read about his sister, I couldn’t bear to be cold with him, even after what had happened the other night in Spain. I thought he’d suffered enough in his life.
‘Welcome back,’ I said. ‘Good flight?’
He seemed surprised by my friendly demeanour, but nodded, setting his case down.
‘Yes, it was fine thanks. Mum didn’t want me to go, of course, but I had to get back here. I’ve got so much work to do.’
I nodded sympathetically. ‘I’ve moved around as much as I can, but I can’t get rid of Sarah.’ I threw up my hands to indicate I had tried and failed. ‘She’s determined to see you today.’
I’d had a succession of blunt emails from her – evidently now even talking to me face-to-face was too much to bear – telling me this meeting was vital and could not be rearranged. She also assured me Matt would want it go ahead.
He made a face and I could tell he wasn’t in the mood for it. I should have tried harder to put it off.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I should have been more forceful.’
He shook his head.
‘Don’t be silly, I know Sarah can be a bit pushy.’ He stopped and stared at me, looking awkward. ‘Look…’ he began, haltingly. ‘About what happened…’
‘Say no more,’ I said, breezily. ‘You were right. What happens in Spain, stays in Spain.’
‘Oh.’
Was it my imagination, or did he seem disappointed?
‘As long as you’re sure…’
He definitely looked disappointed, I thought. What did that mean?
‘Let us never speak of it again,’ I said solemnly, which at least raised a smile from him.
‘Well, ok. I’ll go round and see Sarah now.’
After he left, I opened up Google again and looked at the articles. There was a picture of his sister, the same one I’d seen in his apartment. I clicked on it to enlarge it. Who could have wanted to kill her?
I closed the stories down. Suddenly, my exposé felt extremely seedy and I didn’t want anything to do with it. I still didn’t know why Matt had apparently spent three years in prison, but the brutal death of his sister was enough of a tragedy to put me off the whole thing. Could I keep it hidden from Barry? Maybe I could leave that job and just stay here, working as a PA? I shook my head. I loved writing too much, I couldn’t work here forever. But Barry would surely sack me if I came back with nothing to offer. Or at least make my life so awful, I had no choice but to leave. How could I have let myself get so deep into this? I’ve met Matt’s mother, for Christ’s sake.
I felt miserable, suddenly, and angry at myself for getting embroiled in one of Barry’s madcap schemes. I was going to need to do some serious thinking about how to get myself out of this increasingly messy situation.
Matt came back in the office an hour or so later, looking weary.
‘Why don’t you go home?’ I asked. ‘There’s nothing left in the calendar for today.’
‘I might just do that,’ he said. ‘I’m exhausted.’
I smiled sympathetically.
‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘How was Annie when you left her?’
‘Better,’ he said, blowing his cheeks out. ‘She’s still upset, obviously, but she’s throwing herself into practicalities. She’s sorting through my dad’s clothes at the moment and making piles for the charity shop.’
‘And how are you?’ I probed, gently. He was so worried about other people I worried that he wasn’t looking after himself.
He sighed heavily and shrugged, looking like a lost little boy.
‘I don’t know. It feels so surreal that he’s gone. I feel like I should have made an effort to go out there more often.’ He shook his head. ‘I feel like I had a lot to say to him and now I’ll never get the chance.’ He glanced at me. ‘Sorry, you probably just expected a “fine, thanks.”.’
‘No, I wanted to know how you are. I think it’s natural to have regrets.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said, smiling weakly.
‘Now away with you,’ I said, pointing to the door.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
He lingered at the door as if he wanted to say something, but then disappeared down the corridor.
Chapter seventeen
It was a busy week. Even though we’d only been away from the office for a few days, a mound of work had piled up, and Matt was running from one meeting to the other to try to catch up with all the ones he’d missed when were in Spain. I didn’t think I could ever look at him as ‘just a boss’ again, and knew that I certainly couldn’t stay here long-term. It would be too difficult, I thought. Plus I was still receiving almost daily emails from Barry, the tone becoming even less civil (if possible) and more threatening. I needed to do something soon.
It seemed like Matt and I barely had time to exchange more than a few words, as I handed over fresh documents, or he gave me a piece of paper with the details of someone he needed me to call. I reflected that perhaps that’s what he had aimed for, and felt sad that we wouldn’t have any more silly conversations, or I wouldn’t get any more doodles or limericks left on my desk. It seemed like he was burying the personality he had revealed to me underneath a strong veneer of professionalism, and I was sorry for it.
I knew it was probably for the best; the situation here was sticky enough without kissing being involved. But I was disappointed and I hoped he knew it.
During one of our brief exchanges through the week, Matt handed me a sheaf of papers.
‘I forgot all about this,’ he said, ‘but there’s an IT conference next week I want to go to. I’ve left it horribly late. Would you be able to see if there are any hotels room left? I’ll need one for me, and one for Sarah, one for Dave Bishop as well. Oh, and I’d like you to come, too. There’ll be a lot of to-ing and fro-ing and information going on, and it would be helpful to have you there.’
I was surprised by this. I had thought he perhaps didn’t want to spend any time with me.
‘Me? Are you sure?’
‘Of course, you’ve proven yourself to be quite handy. Only if you don’t mind, of course.’
‘Not at all.’
Part of me felt a thrill at the opportunity to spend time with Matt – I conveniently ignored the fact Sarah and some guy called Dave would be there – and part of me felt it would make things even harder – being so close yet having lost the special relationship I’d felt we’d been building.
I leafed through the papers. The conference was being held at one of the big Birmingham airport hotels over two days. I called them and, as expected,
they were fully booked. However, they pointed me in the direction of their overspill hotel just a few minutes away, and I was able to book four rooms. I then went online and booked us all train tickets.
My phone buzzed and I looked down. A text from Jen. I hadn’t spoken to her since Spain. I knew she would never say ‘I told you so’ or judge me, but I was embarrassed that I’d let myself start to fall for him, when I was here in a bid to further my career. Jen was a real career girl, and I didn’t know if she would understand.
‘Alice, Alice, wherefore art thou, Alice? Has thou spurned me for the love of wonder boy? Art thou now a Spanish maiden?’
I smiled at the ridiculousness of it.
‘I’m back home. I’d never spurn you, you’re too dangerous to cut loose. And you know full well I’m not a maiden. Drinks this week?’
‘Forsooth! And other such nonsense. Drinks are a yes, I’ll be in touch – work is shit, life is shit. C’est la vie. Xx’
I went to put my phone down, and then realised I hadn’t checked my e-mails. No doubt there were some gems from Barry in there.
There certainly were.
‘Viva fucking Espana. Have you got my story yet?’
‘Alice, where are you, for Christ’s sake? Don’t tell me you’ve run off with some sweaty Spaniard called Julio.’
‘Fuck me. This story better win the fucking Putlizer Prize.’
I sighed and typed back a message.
‘I’m back from Spain, phone didn’t work out there. Might be on right track but no concrete info yet. Will be in touch.’
I could see him now, his little piggy eyes reading that e-mail and his brow furrowing in disgust. Oh well.
Chapter eighteen
I think the train journey to Birmingham will go down in history as one of most awkward journeys of my life. We were sitting at a table that seated four; I was facing Sarah and Dave Bishop, who was a large, hairy man, and who immediately put in his headphones upon sitting down, heavy metal music blaring out, and Matt sat beside me. The ungenerous legroom, even in first class, meant I kept accidently brushing against him under the table. Sarah glowered at me from across the table, and attempted to engage Matt in conversation, flirting masterfully. Matt responded politely but not, I found myself grateful to see, with any great enthusiasm.
We arrived in Birmingham late afternoon and piled into a taxi. Matt wisely sat in the front, and I was left squished between a hostile Sarah and a very sweaty Dave Bishop.
We reached the hotel and checked in. I looked at the room keys I’d been given. It seemed we were all on the same floor, and the receptionist had told me all the rooms were the same, so I just randomly handed them out. We took the lift up together, packed uncomfortably close together; uncomfortable because of the heat and uncomfortable because I was pressed into Matt and it made me tingle.
When we emerged on the fifth floor, I realised that Matt and I were in adjoining rooms. Sarah looked livid, while Dave Bishop just ambled off in the direction of his own room. I almost felt sorry for her; I hadn’t even planned for this latest insult, but she stalked off to her room with an air of disgust. Matt gave me a small smile and said he would pick me up at 7:20 to go to the gala dinner, and then went into the room next to mine.
Once inside my room, I threw my bag down on the bed and sighed. The last week had been odd. I’d done a bit more digging on Leila, but I was pretty sure I was digging for my own interest now and not for any story. I’d found that a man had been arrested for her murder shortly after her body had been found, and he had turned out to be her boyfriend. He had been convicted of her murder, and was still in prison. The whole thing was awful and I really hoped Dave Barry never got hold of it. I thought Matt would be mortified to have his family’s tragedy dragged up in that fashion.
I showered – the conference information had said ‘dress to impress’ and I was pretty sure turning up smelling like train wasn’t what they had in mind – and then put on my dress. Jen had helped me pick it. I would have skipped the whole endeavour, personally, but Matt had insisted we all went – ‘As a new company, it’s important we’re all seen to network and be interested in meeting people’ – so I had to find something suitably glamorous for the occasion. Jen has a real eye for fashion, and within a few minutes of rummaging through the racks in our local department store, she had pounced on a teal, satin dress. Even I had to admit it suited me. It complemented my blonde hair nicely, and clung to my figure in just the right places, disguising the less desirable bits. A gold evening bag and strappy shoes finished off the look.
I spent some time painstakingly curling my hair, so it fell in soft waves around my shoulders. I wore more make-up than I would usually, taking a long time on making my eyes appear large and smoky. I surveyed myself critically in the mirror. Not bad, I thought.
There was a knock on the door and I checked the time. That was probably Matt. I slipped my shoes on, grabbed my bag, and walked over to the door.
When I opened it, I almost let out an audible gasp. He was wearing a tuxedo, and he actually looked like James Bond. If James Bond worked in IT. He seemed similarly taken aback, and we stammered over each other – ‘You look…’, ‘Wow, you look…’. We smiled, awkwardly.
‘You look stunning,’ said Matt, his eyes roving up and down my body. I felt a bit self-conscious.
‘You don’t look too bad yourself,’ I said, my eyes doing the same to his body, perfectly clad in the tuxedo.
‘Shall we?’ He gestured down the corridor and I stepped out of my room, closing the door behind me.
We walked along until we reached Sarah’s room, where Matt knocked. After a few seconds the door opened. Sarah was wearing a beautiful red dress, and insanely high heels. She looked very pretty indeed.
‘You scrub up well.’ Matt said, cheerfully.
I cringed – that is not what a woman wants to hear from the man she is madly in love with.
‘You look beautiful, Sarah,’ I said, surprising myself. Her slightly crestfallen face turned to surprise; she clearly hadn’t expected me to ever compliment her. But she did look beautiful and I felt for her that Matt hadn’t seemed to notice. This was clearly all for him.
‘Thank you,’ she said, haltingly. ‘You too, your dress is beautiful.’
Matt, sensing perhaps that a small bridge had just been built, smiled at both us.
‘You both look beautiful,’ he said. ‘I’ll be the envy of the ball!’
We picked up Dave Bishop, who had squeezed himself in to a tuxedo that looked about three sizes too small.
‘It’s my brother’s,’ he told us, proudly. Evidently his brother was half the man he was – literally.
We entered the reception room together, and headed over to the seating chart. I was relieved to see we had all been placed at the same table. Knowing as little as I do about IT, I didn’t want to get cornered and asked my opinions on Apple v Microsoft, or have to make small talk.
As we reached our table, Matt pulled the chairs out for me and Sarah, and Dave pouted in mock disappointment.
‘What about me?’
‘You’re big enough and ugly enough to pull your own chair out,’ Matt said, teasingly, and we all laughed.
The food was surprisingly good, and I watched Matt as he laughed and chatted easily with the other delegates. It was impossible not to get caught up with him as he raced along, his hands flying so wildly that at one point, I had to grab hold of his wine glass. I had missed our own conversations and I was glad to see that his zest for life hadn’t been diminished by the death of his father. I still felt a pang of sadness, though, that I was now merely a spectator, his remarks and jokes no longer directed at me.
After dinner, there was an immensely boring speech about networking in the 21st century. I twiddled my napkin, trying to keep myself from falling asleep and landing face-down in the cheese platter. Matt caught my eye and winked and I blushed, embarrassed that my boredom was so evident. I felt a little glimmer of hope, though, that he had
communicated with me in a way like the old Matt would have.
At long-length, the speech was over, and we were invited for coffee in another room. We stood in an awkward four-some. As I stretched across to pick up a jug of milk, my arm brushed Matt’s and I felt him suck in a breath. So he wasn’t totally immune to the tension between us, I thought, pleased.
When we returned to the reception room, the tables had been pushed to the sides, revealing a dancefloor.
‘Oh, dancing!’ I blurted out, excitedly.
‘Do you like to dance?’ Matt asked, doing a silly little dance on the spot.
‘Well, sometimes.’ I said.
From the look of the band, this looked like serious dancing, not jigging around to the Spice Girls in some dingy nightclub with a sticky floor. I’d never really done serious dancing, and I’m not sure I wanted to start in front of Matt. I could feel Sarah staring at us, and I quickly moved away from Matt and towards a table.
We all sat down at a table at the edge of the dancefloor and watched as increasing numbers of dancers took to the floor. I was glad to see it wasn’t exactly Strictly Come Dancing, and most people just did their own thing. The theme seemed to be golden oldies, and I recognised a lot of the songs, tapping my fingers along.
Dave Bishop stood up, suddenly.
‘That’s it, I can’t take this rubbish any longer,’ he announced. ‘I’m off to bed.’ And with that, he disappeared through the crowd of dancers, shouting ‘Excuse me, excuse me, fat beardy bloke coming through.’
A handsome young man approached our table and asked Sarah if she would like to dance. After a quick glance at Matt (obviously to see if he was jealous) she agreed, and the two of them took to the floor. We watched them go and I was painfully aware that we were alone. The air between us felt loaded, and I got the impression we were each waiting for the other to say something. Eventually it was Matt who spoke.
‘Fancy it?’ He cocked his head towards the dancefloor.
‘Oh I don’t know,’ I said. On the one hand, the thought of being up close and personal with Matt on a dancefloor was extremely appealing. On the other hand, I’d already been let down once by him, and I didn’t want to put myself in the firing line again. My desire to be in his arms again was too strong, however.
