by Gayle Curtis
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘You better sit down.’
‘What?’
‘Magda’s dead.’
Elise placed her glass on the kitchen counter, trying to take in what Nathaniel was saying. ‘How? What happened?’
‘I’m not really sure. I was passing and popped in for a coffee. I think she might have committed suicide.’ Nathaniel swallowed hard. ‘I need to take these clothes off and get in the shower.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Elise frowned. ‘Are you telling me you just found her?’
Nathaniel snatched the glass of wine from the table and downed it in several large gulps. ‘Well done, Sherlock.’
‘Please tell me you’ve called someone, Nathaniel.’
‘No, I haven’t, and I don’t intend to.’
‘You can’t do this.’ Elise pulled at his arm. ‘We have to call someone – emergency services. Oh shit, what about Liam, and Alistair? You can’t leave them to find her.’
Nathaniel grabbed Elise by the arms. ‘Listen to me, Elise. After everything we’ve been through, all the shit that’s been written about us in the papers, all the lies that have been told, can you imagine what people will say if I report that I’ve been to Magda King’s house and found her dead? I don’t even know if she killed herself – it could be the Suicide Watcher for all we know, or I could be implicating myself in a murder. Sorry, but this is the only way.’
‘Why do you think it might be the Suicide Watcher?’ Elise’s skin prickled at the very thought.
‘Because she was sitting at her kitchen table with a bullet through the side of her head.’ Nathaniel pulled his top over his head and threw it straight in the washing machine.
‘But you can’t leave her husband and son to find her. Or anyone else for that matter.’
‘Well, I’ve fucking seen her and I’m okay. Sorry, Elise, but it’s tough luck. I’m not putting my neck on the line for anyone, not after all we’ve been through. Magda is dead, and if she did kill herself, she would have been expecting Liam or Alistair to find her.’
‘Are you sure she was dead? Nathaniel, we should call someone, she might need help.’
‘Elise, her lips were blue, eyes opaque. She’s definitely dead.’ Nathaniel pulled the rest of his clothes off, placing each garment into the washing machine and setting it on a hot wash cycle.
‘Do you honestly think it’s anything to do with the Suicide Watcher?’
‘I don’t know, but I wasn’t going to hang around to find out.’
‘Why are you washing your clothes?’
‘Like I said, I don’t want to be implicated in anything.’ Nathaniel swigged some wine from the bottle. ‘I’m going up for a shower.’
‘What were you doing round there?’ Elise followed him up the stairs to the new shower room they’d recently had fitted.
‘Just a visit, nothing specific.’
Nathaniel was being evasive and, knowing him so well, Elise was sure he was hiding something. She decided not to press it and left him to his shower.
Having topped her wine glass up, she waited for Liam’s phone call telling them he’d found his wife dead. Suicide. A note saying it was over. Given their mutual history, they would be the first he would call.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Each person was chosen by me because I wanted them to play a game. Whoever accepted a conversation with me on the train was meant to, and I remember every single one of them. I also recall the ones that declined my invitation, who didn’t want to make the connection to what I was offering. They would ignore me by reading their newspaper or would move into another carriage. This didn’t happen often – most people will chat to a stranger, probably more freely than with someone they know. Everyone has talked to someone in a queue, in the supermarket or at the bus stop.
One potential participant who ended up becoming a friend, a kindred spirit if you like, instigated a connection with me first. Gerald stepped on to the train and sat opposite me; we had the most interesting conversations.
My first question to him, the one that attracted his attention after we had talked generally about the weather and delayed trains, was if he had days where he felt like he might die. He looked at me for a while, stared at me as though I was a long-lost friend he’d been yearning to find for years. ‘Yes, yes I do,’ he said. ‘Often.’
We talked for quite a few months on that routine train journey he took every morning. Gerald said he found great comfort in our conversations.
He lived this life, you see, one that many deniers follow, as though someone was controlling him, a force bigger than himself, or so he thought.
His theory on this, when asked, was that it had all begun when he’d started school at the age of four. Before that, he’d been – he felt he could recall – a free spirit.
School set him into a routine and he did quite well at his lessons. Talk at home was generally about what he would do with this wonderful education once he’d completed it. There was no question about whether he was going to university or if he would learn to drive when he turned seventeen. His fate was mapped out for him.
And, before he knew it, he’d met someone, got married, elevated his career, bought a bigger house, a better car, tried for a family, and so it went on. The more he had, the harder he worked, and the harder he worked, the more he accumulated.
Every day, he got on the train and made the journey to and from his high-powered job. The job that he had to maintain to afford all the things he never actually wanted. It dawned on him one day that they were what someone else desired and he’d just gone along with it, never once asking himself what he’d like to do.
It’s common for deniers to be easily led and I understand, even with my line of thinking, that his story is in no way unique. But he’d begun to wonder, and the wondering made him stand out from everyone else.
In these moments of deep contemplation whilst on the train, he’d started to think about what it would be like if he took his shoes and socks off and walked into the sea and never went home. Other days, he just felt like taking off his shoes and socks and stepping in front of a train. I never got to the bottom of the meaning of the shoes and socks, and I often ponder it. Maybe it just represented freedom for him.
His life was suffocating, stifling, a never-ending perpetual routine that he had conducted without realising it. Going home and telling his wife how he felt filled him with such fear and anxiety, he couldn’t talk about it. So I asked him a question, telling him beforehand that he would have just sixty seconds to answer, with the condition it was to be truthful and not what he thought anyone wanted to hear. I asked him what he would do if I gave him a gun with one bullet loaded in it and he had to choose if his wife received the shot or he did. Without hesitation, he said he would shoot himself. Four months later, I asked him the same question again and he changed his answer.
What caused the change in his thought patterns, I have no idea, and I never asked him. Perhaps just being able to tell someone that occasionally he felt like dying was an unburdening and unfurling of further truths.
When I saw Gerald again, he told me he’d purchased a gun that he kept hidden in the drawer of his bedside table. When his wife was asleep, he would get the gun out and hold it in his hands. The weight and the chill of the metal made him feel safe.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THEN
Nathaniel wasn’t sure if Magda would answer the door. It was, after all, an awkward situation – her son had been questioned over Ida’s attack. He had only been asked to come to the station to answer some questions and not arrested, but even so, Alistair was possibly the last-known person to see Ida conscious and the police had found her laptop in his bedroom.
Banging on the door with the palm of his hand, Nathaniel abruptly stepped away and looked up at the windows before turning to leave. Magda opened the door just as he reached the gate. He turned to see an unfamiliar woman, with puffy eyes and dishevelled hair. They’d been fr
iends for years, ever since Magda had taken over the support group. Set up for victims affected by suicide, it was mainly full of people who believed their loved ones had been victims of the Suicide Watcher, and it was where Elise and Nathaniel had previously rekindled their relationship, having seen each other at the group for the first time since they’d been at school together.
In all the years he’d known Magda, he’d never seen her cry or ever imagined she did. She always appeared to be so organised – one of those people who took everything quite seriously but would surprise everyone with remarks that seemed out of character. Liam, her husband, had been her personal trainer, and Elise and Nathaniel had been shocked when they’d met him; he was so much younger than her. They’d imagined a much older man, grey hair, intellectual type, and had giggled about it afterwards. There was no doubt Magda didn’t look her age, and was extremely attractive for a woman in her late fifties who’d had a child when she was in her mid-forties.
‘I didn’t think you’d answer.’
‘I almost didn’t. I thought it was a bloody journalist.’ Magda gave him a wry smile and they embraced one another. ‘Come in, I’ll make us some tea. Is there any news?’
Nathaniel shook his head. ‘How’s Alistair? Is he here?’
‘No. Liam’s taken him to the gym to do some boxing, focus his mind. He’s absolutely broken.’
Nathaniel wanted to show some concern, to say he was sorry to hear that, but to be honest he didn’t really care about Alistair’s welfare.
‘It’s not like you to miss out on some training,’ he noted as he followed her inside. When Magda wasn’t at work, Nathaniel always knew her to be in the gym working out.
‘I’ve been overdoing it and put my back out. Thought I’d give it a miss.’
‘This is difficult, isn’t it? Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it. I’m sure you’re feeling as awkward as I am.’
‘I don’t feel awkward about anything.’ Magda placed the filled kettle on the stove and lit the gas. ‘Maybe talking about it is the best thing for us all. We might piece together what happened.’
‘I guess so.’ Nathaniel couldn’t help feeling rattled. It wasn’t Magda’s child lying in a hospital bed, fighting for her life.
‘You know Alistair wasn’t arrested or charged with anything?’
‘I know. The police said they took him in for questioning.’
‘Nathaniel, I’ve always said, blood or not, if one of mine did anything wrong, anything at all, I’d shop them.’ Magda got the teabags from the cupboard along with two mugs. ‘I honestly don’t believe he has. I genuinely think he waited in the cricket pavilion for her. I’d know if he was lying, I just would.’
Nathaniel nodded, taking a deep breath.
‘I know my boy, Nathaniel. He loves Ida, she’s his best friend.’ Magda primped her curly red hair, as if it might be out of place.
‘Maybe he loves her too much, hey?’ Nathaniel couldn’t make sense of it all – Ida’s laptop in Alistair’s bedroom, the photos on her Facebook account.
It was the wrong thing to say – Magda’s face became tense, her blue eyes sharp, and she began to distract herself by tying her hair up into a ponytail with a band. An awkward silence descended for a few moments and Nathaniel wondered if their friendship would withstand this kind of pressure.
‘He’s a good kid,’ she insisted. ‘And anyway, he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise the promising future he has in front of him.’
Nathaniel nodded. ‘Is he still going to fight at the weekend?’
‘Yes. This is a huge boxing match for him. It could lead to bigger things. His heart isn’t in it right now, but we’ve told him he’s got to carry on regardless. I’m sure that’s what Ida would want.’
The observation about his daughter jarred Nathaniel somewhat. ‘I’m sure she would.’
‘How’s Elise? Any change with Ida? What about the rest of the family?’
Nathaniel peered out of the window, hoping to find some inspiration, some words to describe what state they were in.
‘No change with Ida. And as for us lot, I’m not sure.’
‘Sorry, silly question. You know we’ll have Miles and the baby for you, give you all a break? Miles loves Alistair, and I know he’d like to see him.’
‘Thanks, they’re with Nick and Karen – trying to keep things as normal as possible. I’d better get back. Miles has an interview at the police station this afternoon.’
‘Nathaniel, my son isn’t violent. I sat with that boy and questioned him just as much as the police did and there’s no way he did anything to hurt Ida.’
Nathaniel stood up and pushed his chair in. ‘Look, Magda, I understand this is difficult for everyone concerned, and it must be hard to see or even accept that someone so close to you could do such a thing . . . but I think that’s the point, Magda. You’re too close to be able to have an objective opinion about it all.’
‘Sit down a minute, Nathaniel.’ Magda got up and poured hot water in the mugs. ‘When your mother died all those years ago, what was the initial conclusion? What did it all look like?’
Nathaniel was a bit surprised by her questioning, which seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
‘You know what happened, I’ve told you before.’ It wasn’t a memory Nathaniel wanted to dwell on, especially at a time like this. Visions of his mother, Anna, swirled in his mind along with Ida, blood pouring from her head, stirring his nausea again.
Being a latchkey kid, Nathaniel had found his mother, dead on the bathroom floor, one day after school. She should have been at work; she ran a launderette situated amongst an unimpressive array of depressing shops near to where they lived. Nathaniel had burst into the bathroom that day, desperate for a pee, and there she was, leant up against the bath. He didn’t connect her with the mess up the tiles on the walls and across the floor, not to begin with, not until quite some time afterwards. He’d thought she was having a joke with him and had laughed at first. They had always played tricks on each other, having a giggle together.
A few minutes later, his older brother Richard turned up and screamed the house down, as if he were tearing the walls in two. Nathaniel remembered staring at him, wondering where the noise was coming from because it didn’t seem to be anything to do with his mouth. Then Richard stopped, and the echo resonated in his ears, the buzz, the ringing from his scream crawled around Nathaniel’s lobes, across the back of his neck, and that’s when he knew it wasn’t a prank. Nathaniel had sat on the edge of the toilet, watching her, expecting her to suddenly draw breath, explain what had happened. He stayed with her until the pointless ambulance arrived, quickly followed by his – at the time – feckless father.
‘Well, you all thought it was suicide, didn’t you?’ Magda brought him back into the room. ‘The point I’m trying to make is, it wasn’t necessarily what it first appeared to be. Your dad knew that too, and that’s why he asked for her case to be reopened.’
‘I think the police had their suspicions; they wouldn’t have just reopened it based on my dad’s opinion . . . Anyway, what has this got to do with Ida?’
‘I’m just saying, things aren’t always what they seem,’ Magda said.
‘Very cryptic.’ Nathaniel finished his tea and got up to put his mug in the sink. ‘What really made you take over the support group, Magda?’
‘You know why . . . because of my brother, Gordon.’
‘Did the police reopen his case? You’ve never talked about it.’
Magda searched his face, trying to work out what he was looking for. ‘What’s going on, Nathaniel? Why have you come here?’
‘What led you to believe Gordon was a victim of the Suicide Watcher?’
‘I think you better leave, Nathaniel. You’re under a lot of strain. Let’s not fall out.’
‘I read the article in the archives about how your brother died. He didn’t die from a gunshot wound, he died falling from some clifftops when he was on holiday. It’s not anything to do w
ith the Suicide Watcher, is it?’
Magda stood up. ‘It’s irrelevant how my brother died, and actually none of your business.’
‘Why did you tell us Gordon was shot, a possible victim of the Suicide Watcher? You went into quite a lot of detail for someone who was lying.’
Magda breathed in deeply. ‘Have you ever thought I might find it easier to lie about his death? That I want to be like you and Elise – have some sort of answer? Rather than have my parents wondering for years after, why we were all so bloody awful, so bloody unbearable, that he felt the overwhelming need to kill himself? The verdict was misadventure. I didn’t want my family to know, so I made sure the papers printed it as an accident. I lied, big deal. I didn’t want my family ever wondering if he’d done it deliberately – he’d tried to kill himself before.’
Nathaniel nodded, completely unconvinced of her explanation, which sounded practised, as if read from a script.
‘Whatever, just go home,’ Magda snapped, irritably.
Nathaniel stepped into the hall and made his way towards the front door, briefly glancing at the side table as he passed. Then he stopped and turned around. Magda quickly tried to manoeuvre him towards the door and an awkward scuffle ensued.
‘Why is there a parcel addressed to my daughter sitting on your side table?’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THEN
Elise and Sonny sat in the room where the police had sent them, blowing on insipid tea that had been brought for them from the machine. They were waiting for Miles to finish his interview, and Elise was wondering where Nathaniel was and what had been so important he couldn’t get back to be with his son.
‘I still don’t understand why one of us couldn’t go in there with him. He’s just a little boy, he doesn’t know any of these people.’
‘Elise, with anything like this, immediate family members are suspects. The police will be looking at all of us.’ Sonny shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘They asked me why you have a different name to Dad.’ Elise blew on the steaming tea, desperate to dampen her dry mouth. She hadn’t eaten for days and had been taking zopiclone on an empty stomach. It had left her feeling slightly ragged around the edges.
