Love. Lies. Dying.
Page 18
For now though, she listens. To the back door swinging open, then shut. To voices out in the garden. To the sound of creaking floor boards and running water. What are they doing? Making tea? To the sound of the cellar door squeaking on its hinges and the quiet snap of the light switch.
They come down the stairs, two of them. Both male, both convinced by their conversation that Katherine is not in the house.
Katherine, hidden behind her barely open door and oily curtain, what is that for?, hears them take bottles from the rack, comment on the vintage inside and lament the fact that it probably may never get drunk.
“Seems a fuckin’ shame.” One of them says, “all this just sitting here.”
“Yeah and sitting here is where it’s going to stay, sunshine, so don’t go getting any ideas. Marsh will have your balls for cufflinks if she finds you pilfering and it’s probably crap anyway. Stuff like this usually is. Give me a beer any day.”
There is hoarse, male laughter. They agree beer is better and the wine no doubt tastes of expensive vinegar. Katherine thinks them uncultured Heathens and wonders what the police force is coming to if this is the kind of person they recruit.
There is a clink of bottles and footsteps circumnavigating the room. Katherine really does hold her breath. She wants to close the door, to leave no room for them to spot even the slightest suspicious thing, but she is worried this time the door will squeak as she pushes it shut, even though it has never done so in the past and so she leaves it as it is.
They reach the wine rack she is hiding behind and pause.
Katherine’s heart thuds in her chest.
“Will ya look at this!” One of them says.
Katherine nearly passes out. They’ve found her! How the fuck have they found her?!
“1842.” The voice continues. “Would you drink bloody wine brewed that long ago? Christ, must taste like fuckin’ piss!”
Katherine nearly passes out again. This time with relief.
“Probably worth thousands though.” The second voice states. “Bloke the other day paid nearly a mill for some crappy old bottle of red. I mean, why would you do something like that? A million quid for one measly bottle! It’s fucking criminal!”
“Good job you’re a copper then. You can go arrest him.”
More laughter. These two are certainly happy in their work.
“Yeah I’d make him pay a hefty fine just for wasting fuckin’ money. Come on, she ain’t down here. Let’s get upstairs and get a brew going, I’m bloody parched.”
They leave the cellar, these two fine wine buffs. Katherine, remembering at last to breath normally, collapses on her bed and sips from her bottle. That was close or rather it wasn’t. They didn’t exactly undertake a thorough search, being more interested in the wine, but still, having the police n the house is a worrying prospect. What if they leave someone behind to keep an eye on the place? She won’t be able to leave the bunker at all!
Although isn’t that kind of the idea? She asks herself.
It is, but she kind of liked having her options open. Now she might not have one at all.
The police finally leave, or she hopes they all do. Once they’ve left the cellar and she’s got over the shock, Katherine cracks the door open a little wider and listens harder. Footsteps sound a little longer and the kettle boils twice, she also things she hears Megan’s voice but can’t be sure, yet still decides that if it had been her, she was so fired!
Now her clock said eight am and on bare feet, Katherine pushes the door fully open and steps into the cellar. The floor is cold beneath her feet, the air chilly. She hopes opening the window has not spoiled some of the vintage wines by chilling them down too much, but decides its too late to worry now.
Slowly she creeps towards the staircase leading up to the rest of the house and climbs it as quietly as she can. She hears nothing.
The kitchen is empty. There are slightly muddy footprints on the floor and rinsed cups, four of them, have been left upside down in the washing up bowl.
The hallway is similarly devoid of life aside from the ticking of a clock. She looks out of the side window beside the door, but sees no cars in the driveway. The lounge is also empty as is her office, although they’ve clearly had a good root round in here and taken her laptop.
Upstairs is the same as downstairs. There is, thank God, no one in the house.
Then a thought strikes her and she hurries back down to lock the front door properly.
Oh bliss on a stick.
How wonderful it is to sit in a bath!
It’s foolish she knows, the police might come back, or Megan or even Alex, who no doubt is in therapy right now, having panicked herself into a complete state of mental breakdown, but she’s willing to take the risk.
She wonders how the magazine is fairing without her, then realises she doesn’t really give a damn. Alex can have it if she likes, or the loathsome Claire Swallow. She doubts if she’ll ever return. So what is she going to do? The bunker is a God send but she can’t stay cooped up forever. She has limited funds and supposes her bank account has now been frozen. Which leaves her with what? A few thousand in cash, no car and no chance of getting a job.
There is nothing else for it.
She will have to turn to a life of crime.
The idea makes her smile. There will be no ‘turning’ here. Not when she is already there.
She has killed. She is a killer.
She is, ladies and gentlemen, a Muurrddeerr.
She draws the word out slowly in her mind. There is no going back from it. No redemption. She doesn’t care.
Instead she slips beneath the soapy bubbles and closes her eyes, loosing herself in the comforting sensation of being immersed under warm water.
Her hand breaks through the gently popping surface and massages her breast. Her fingers glide over her nipple until it stands to attention. Cupping the ample mound she lifts it and cranes her neck forward until she can get the nipple in her mouth. It is an awkward manoeuvre and she can only manage it for a few seconds but it achieves the desired result and a tingle of desire races to her groin.
Her other hand follows it, gently parting the bubbles that lay upon her stomach. Her naval is a reservoir of foam. Finding the edge of her slit she runs her finger around it, edging slowly towards her clit. The water laps her thighs and warms her breasts and she holds her breath, anticipating the sensations yet to come.
The rattle at the window shocks her to the core and water slops over the side of the tub as her hands fly to grip the sides of the bath and her mouth opens in surprise.
She stares and through the beveled glass sees a distorted head appears, followed by shoulders and a hand that slaps a cloth on the glass and starts to wipe. It is the window cleaner! Still turning up despite no one being here.
Bloody Megan!
There is no point in trying to pick up where she left off, the moment has passed, shattered by the appearance of the formless person outside the window, but she doesn’t move. She daren’t. If the window cleaner spots her and the police later question him, although why they should do this she has no idea, she doesn’t want him giving the game away. She better not pull out the plug either. At least not until he’s gone.
The window cleaner moves on and Katherine climbs quietly out of the bath to drip on the mat. The towel she wraps around herself is chilly and she rubs goose bumps from her skin before climbing into a pair of clean jeans and a dark red sweater. Her dirty clothes she has stuffed in the middle of the laundry basket. She isn’t sure yet whether she dares run the washing machine. She isn’t sure if she knows how it works.
It is ten o’clock. What to do with the rest of the day?
Dissolutely, she wanders the house, tutting at the way the police have left things but not daring to tidy up in case someone notices. Her office is
a mess. They’ve been through the drawers and the book cases and there is paper, designed for drawing, everywhere. Someone, she notices with amusement, has nicked the paperweight that looks like a tit. She bets it was one of the prats who were clomping round the cellar.
The lounge looks ‘used’ and one curtain is drawn whilst the other is pulled all the way back. She itches to redress the balance but again wonders if it is some kind of trap and whether, in a few hours or days time, the police will drive by to check the formation of her curtains.
She is bored and she doesn’t like it. It has been years since she has had this kind of enforced inactivity thrust upon her and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. Holidays are not the same, they are planned, anticipated and she has given herself the chance to work up to accepting that she will not be working for a given period of time. This, however, is different. She may never work again and if caught she definitely won’t. Not unless she can secure a cushy little number in prison.
God, she doesn’t want to think about that!
She needs to plan. Ideally she needs to leave the country.
She needs a bloody drink.
The night club is hot and crowded. In the far corner, furthest from the bar and surrounded by dozens of pink and white balloons, the DJ keeps the clubbers throbbing with an endless stream of dance mixes whilst the bar men cool them down again with condensation coated glasses and iced bottles.
Katherine, wearing her blonde wig, heavy eye make up, red lipstick and a black dress that just about skirts her backside, descends into the throng with icy coolness. She looks nothing like herself. She feels nothing like herself.
It has taken her ages to decide whether to come.
Temptation, however, arrived in the free newspaper this afternoon, in the form of a gaudy flyer that slipped onto her feet as she picked the paper up from the doorstep, fully intending to just flick through it carefully before putting it back on the mat.
She almost didn’t read it. Almost slipped it back inside the paper to instantly forget, but then her eye caught the word ‘lesbian’ and she snatched it back out again, reading with interest the grand opening of a new nightclub for gays and lesbians - opening tonight!
The bar is crowded, noisy. The mirror behind reflecting dozens of dancing, snogging, gyrating bodies. The barman who serves her is called Dan, according to the name badge pinned above his breast pocket, and he delivers her vodka and tonic with practiced ease before wishing her a fantastic evening.
Katherine takes her drink, this one is complimentary, and works her way around the outskirts of the dance floor. There is the usual smattering of overtly gay men, dressed in the customary garb of black leather and facial hair, but there are also a few exceptionally good looking guys who would make any straight girl weep.
Finding a table, she sits in the semi gloom and tries to look confident. And she is, mostly, but there is still that little fear, that small thread of doubt that tells her someone is bound to see through her disguise sooner or later and then all will be lost. The police will come, she will be arrested. The nightclub will have the kind of publicity it never dared dream of and it will be her face splashed all over the papers..
Her drink is sweating and she runs her finger though the thin layer of condensation, creating tiny puddles at the base. The ice cubes inside are embossed with a capital A for the club’s name of Attitude. She doesn’t like it. It is too confrontational for her tastes.
She is aware of a presence joining her at the table, but she doesn’t look up, preferring to watch the dancers and worry about recognition. Again, she asks herself why she came? It was a stupid idea really.
“Hi.”
The fact the presence has spoken forces Katherine to look around.
A dark haired, slightly punky looking girl is smiling at her. She has pierced ears and nose and another threaded through her eyebrow. But she is pretty and her eyes are very blue and Katherine finds herself smiling back.
“I like your dress.” The girl says, throwing Katherine completely off balance.
The girl is wearing black trousers and a top slashed across her chest, and Katherine imagines the last time she wore a dress, the vicar was pouring water over her head.
She nevertheless thanks her for the compliment.
“S’okay. You wanna dance or something?”
Katherine isn’t sure how to answer. She looks about sixteen, this girl. All young and eager under the façade of punk and swagger. She wonders if her parents know where she is.
“I’m ok here thanks.” She says, gesturing towards her drink. “Need a few more of these before I get out there.”
“Me too.” The girl smiles. “Even though you know no ones looking at you, I always feel so self conscious.”
“Quite.”
Katherine has no idea how to talk to his girl. No idea how to respond when she shifts to sit closer to her and places her glass so close to Katherine’s its practically touching.
“I’m Jess.” She says, extending a thin, slender hand.
Katherine takes it. It is cool and so delicate she can feel the bones beneath the skin. “Alison.” She lies. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Yeah, likewise.” Jess says then suddenly laughs. “I was gonna say, ‘come there often’, but as this is the first night I guess you don’t. Do you live local?”
“Not really.”
“Holiday then? You down ‘ere for a holiday?”
“Yes, something like that.”
“Right. That’s nice. What do you do? For a job, I mean?”
Katherine frowns and takes a sip from her drink. What’s with all the questions? She wishes Jess would go away or that she could get away. Either would do. She sets down her drink and Jess picks hers up, their fingers brush in the middle.
It dawns on her the girl is trying to pick her up. Oh, how sweet.
But she’s not interested in this slip of a thing. Jess is too young, too punky and way, way too nosy.
Still, she can have some fun with her.
“I am a talent scout.” Katherine says coolly, turning her attention back to the dance floor as though she is eyeing up potential participants. “The company I work for is searching for dancers to back an internationally famous pop star on their new tour. So may I suggest, that instead of sitting here talking to me, you get out there and strut your stuff, because you never know, do you?”
Jess is gone so fast the straw is still swirling in her drink.
Katherine smiles and waves as Jess hits the dance floor and begins dancing in a style that can only be described as chaotic chicken.
It is a relief to have her gone.
But it doesn’t last. Moments later, the seat is taken again.
“Was she bothering you?”
The question is so unexpected Katherine turns to look.
A tall woman with flowing, auburn hair and gorgeous green eyes is now sitting beside her. She is wearing a dinner suit, complete with bow tie and she looks stunning. She smiles when Katherine catches her eye and nods towards the dance floor. “Jess. Was she bothering you?” She asks again.
“Erm no, not really.” Katherine replies, “Why? Did you think she was?”
“Probably. She turns up at all the night clubs round here, hitting on woman she thinks might have a bit of money. Did you get the sob story?”
“No I didn’t. I got rid of her before then.”
The woman raises an eyebrow. “Impressive. Why’s she dancing like an over excited turkey then? That for your benefit?”
“I told her I was a talent scout.” Katherine smiles. “She thinks she’s in with a chance, bless her.”
“So you’re not I take it.” The woman says, laughing herself. “God, I don’t know it that’s cruel or clever. Anyway, I just thought I’d check you were okay.”
“Love to.” The woman says, “But I’m working, hence this clobber.”
Katherine’s frown compels her to add more details. “Security. On the door. I know I look like a weak and feeble woman, but I’ve got a killer scowl, believe me.”
“I’m sure you have.” Katherine says. “Maybe later then?”
“Sure, why not? I finish at eleven, if you want to hang around?’
“I could be persuaded. I’m still on the look out for future stars after all.”
The club is deserted and the smell of faded perfume and stale beer lingers in the air. The staff have all gone home and the bar emptied of alcohol. There is only the dimmest of lights illuminating the interior and dark shadows pool in the corners giving the room a slightly sinister feel. The floor feels sticky underfoot. So far, there are no signs of any cleaners.
Katherine, sitting at the table nearest the door marked ‘private’ and with her ears buzzing, supposes they will turn up in the morning whilst the nightclub is still shut. It certainly isn’t much to look at now, now all the clubbers have gone home and the place is left to fend for itself. It looks cheap and seedy and what looked sparkly and exciting under the glare of strobe lights and copious alcohol, now looks like its seen better days.
She imagines this is another place she won’t be coming back to again.
The door marked ‘private’ swings open and the woman steps through. She is out of uniform now and is dressed in jeans and a man’s shirt clinched in at the waist by a wide, black belt. She is wearing boots and red lipstick. Katherine wants to eat her.
“Ok?” She asks, twirling a set of car keys. “I thought my place if you don’t mind. I set my slow cooker on before I left and I’m hoping there’s a nice beef casserole waiting for me when I get home. You up for that?”
“Sounds delicious.” Katherine replies, getting to her feet. “I wish I’d known, I would have brought wine.”
“Why? When we can nick a bottle?” And reaching under the bar, she pulls out a bottle of white. “Ta da!’” She smiles, brandishing her prize. “Our very own emergency supplies. Shall we go?”