‘Don’t.’
‘What?’
‘I smell. Oh, Ray.’
‘Come here,’ he put his hand on my elbow, led me to the sofa and sat me down.
Tears spilt down my cheeks, ran into the corners of my mouth. He put his arm around me and I let my face sink into his chest. I was grateful and embarrassed but mainly I was horribly, endlessly sad. He held me while I told him the story, a jerky account in fits and starts. Then I cried some more.
‘I’m sorry,’ I’d finally stopped and I pulled away. I shuddered. ‘Your shirt’s all wet.’ I stroked the wet cotton. Felt his heart bump, the heat of him. I glanced up. He had a peculiar look on his face. I felt a rush of desire, physical, tightening, dizzying. I wanted him to touch me, undress me, kiss me, make love to me. His lips parted. I moved my hand away. I could see the pulse in his throat. The moment hung in the air like a promise. His eyes were fixed on me, dark eyes, the pupils huge. Like a well to fall into. He moved his head a fraction towards me. Gentle pressure on my back. My breasts were against his ribs, my nipples were tingling. I took a breath. My stomach plunged. Oh, Ray.
‘Sal,’ he whispered. His voice was thick. He wanted me. His lips grazed mine.
Oh, Ray. I mustn’t. It was wrong.
‘Could do with a drink.’ I stood up, unsteady. It was like being in a dream, tilting into a different scene. ‘Something strong. Brandy.’
Emotion flashed across his face. Anger, disappointment, relief? I couldn’t tell. Please, I thought, don’t say anything. Please, pretend it never happened. Nothing happened. Nothing.
He regarded me for an age. Then, ‘Ice?’
I smiled and worked hard at not crying again.
We both had a tumbler of the stuff and I filled the space with more details from my evening, aware that Ray was listening but also that he was watching me closely, daring me to admit the attraction there now was between us, an edge of intensity in his gaze and I was conscious of him, every time he shifted the glass in his hands, the shape of his hands.
‘I said I’d be here tomorrow, to give a statement. There will be an inquest – with it being sudden death.’
‘I can do school.’
‘Don’t need to pick them up,’ I remembered. I told him about the arrangements. ‘It’s really late,’ I drained my glass. ‘I need a soak, get warm.’ Try to get rid of the smell.
‘Okay.’ He stayed where he was while I got up. Watching me unashamedly. I felt clumsy and so confused. Punch drunk. The moment’s intimacy coming on top of the horrors I’d witnessed had knocked me sideways.
I ran the bath, adding rose and lavender oils, inhaling the sweet aromas in the steam. Soothing, it claimed on the label. Ray and I were friends, companions, house-mates. He had a steady girlfriend, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t fancy him, I’d never fancied him, not really. He had a moustache. I didn’t rate moustaches. He wasn’t my type. And even if he was it would be wrong to get involved. Who’d started it? Was it my fault? Crying all over him and needing comfort? Comfort not anything else. It was when I touched his chest. That heat. I wanted to pull open his shirt, press my palms flat against him, hold my cheek against his ribcage. Drink in his heartbeat. I pulled away from the fantasy. What was his excuse? A momentary aberration? Knee-jerk reaction to having a woman in his arms? Didn’t make sense. He didn’t play around, he’d never cheated on anyone in all the years I’d known him. And he’d never made a move on me before. We already had a relationship and sex was no part of it.
The water was hot, raising goose bumps on my skin at first. Hot. I never wanted to be cold again. My insides were still chilled through. We didn’t do anything, I told myself. Not even a kiss. Semantics. If I’d listened to my body and not my mind we would have gone on, a kiss and more … that look in his eyes, sullen with desire. Oh, God! Why had it felt so wrong? Because it might mess everything up?
I leaned back and let the water soak my hair and fill my ears. I sat up and slathered on shampoo, fell back and rinsed it off. I used the loofah to scrub at my arms and legs. Now and then my mind rolled back to the Smiths’ house. A collage of what I had witnessed and the terrible narratives I imagined to account for their deaths. I tried not to resist, to let it roam where it needed and begin the process of recovering from the shock.
Tucked up in bed I listened to the familiar sounds of the house and for the first time in all the years we’d known each other I wondered whether Ray would come to my room. And what I’d do if he did.
Chapter Eighteen
I woke early with a dry throat and a stiff neck. It was only a matter of seconds before images from the night before flooded through me: the bloated corpse, buckets of human waste, I’m scared, Minty’s call, bit of explaining to do, haven’t you, the smell of onions, animals, they go for the soft tissue. Ray! A swoop of guilt in my stomach out of all proportion. An awkward moment, that’s all. I probably misread it all, I was in such a state. Nevertheless I stayed in bed avoiding him and only surfaced to kiss Maddie goodbye when she came looking for me.
‘You’re going to Katy’s for tea.’
‘Aw.’
I hadn’t the capacity to deal with any more of her messing about. ‘It’s all arranged,’ I said firmly, ‘Tom’s going to Adam’s so Ray and I will both be working; we can’t pick you up.’
I had a shiver of anxiety as she disappeared, my fears slopping over from work to taint the everyday areas of life. I squashed the impulse to run after her – she needed consistency, not to be burdened by my lurches of emotional insecurity. I came to regret my restraint. Things might have turned out so differently if I’d gone after her, given her another hug, that extra chance to say something. Changing that moment might have had a ripple effect on everything else. That day and the ones that followed might have taken another and less damaging course.
After a childish breakfast of coddled eggs and soldiers and freshly squeezed orange juice I got myself dressed. I put on the local radio station and caught the news. Nothing about the Smiths. It was a gloriously sunny day but the easterly wind persisted and I kept the central heating on. The forecast was for change by the end of the day, warmer wetter weather to replace the record-breaking cold spell we’d had.
When I heard knocking I assumed Ray had forgotten to take his key and tried to assume an innocent, practical, girl-next-door look. I needn’t have bothered. Two men in suits stood on the doorstep, detectives. They wanted to talk to me about the previous evening. I let them in, ushered them past the clutter of boxes in the hall. They looked round the lounge with quite blatant curiosity. I had a flash of the old TV detective Columbo doing the same, finding out all sorts of damning information from someone’s knick-knacks.
I offered drinks, which they refused.
‘Have they done the post-mortems?’ I asked the older man. He had a froggy look to him, wide mouth, bulging eyes. He swivelled his eyes my way. Frowned.
‘The officer last night, I can’t remember his name, he said it might take a couple of days.’
‘What time was this?’
‘I don’t know exactly. He had a bit of a stammer.’
There was an awkward pause. The frogman looked at the other one who was pointy and anaemic looking.
‘No signs of violence,’ I said, elaborating for them. ‘But someone had broken in the back. They couldn’t be really sure until they’d done the post-mortems. I don’t know how fast they do them.’
Another uncomfortable silence.
‘What’s wrong,’ I said, ‘was it murder? Oh, god, was there someone upstairs?!’
The pointy man cleared his throat. ‘You were in Old Landsdowne Road last night?’
‘Yes.’ I was puzzled. ‘Just before I found them.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Why?’
‘We’ve received a complaint. You were trespassing and when you were challenged you became abusive and made threats.’
Heat flooded my cheeks and my temper flared. Mr Neighbourhood Wat
ch.
‘That’s ridiculous, the man assaulted me, he jumped on me – did he tell you that?’
‘Have you reported it?’ Pencil Nose said dryly.
‘No. He half-strangled me.’
‘But you—’
‘I was rather busy dealing with two dead bodies.’
That shut them up.
But not for long.
‘What were you doing at Old Landsdowne Road?’ Froggy growled.
‘Calling on a friend,’ I said baldly. I didn’t want to explain any more; things were complicated enough.
‘This friend’s name?’
‘Minty.’
He waited.
‘I don’t know her surname.’
He pursed his fleshy lips.
‘She’s a new friend.’
He looked at his buddy then back to me. ‘This friend,’ he put it in inverted commas, ‘can vouch for you then?’
I shut my eyes. I didn’t want them traipsing round there in their size twelve’s but what could I do? ‘Sure,’ I breezed, ‘ask her.’ Hoping they’d better things to do than take this any further. When Froggy let slip a sigh I got the impression he was with me on that.
‘There have been a number of break-ins in the area—’ Pencil Nose began.
‘And you think I’ve got anything to do with that?’ I retorted. I was furious, heat in my head and a rush of rage through my chest. And then instead of letting loose with a barrage of scathing comments I found to my complete horror that I was crying. Instead of snapping I’d burst, well, leaked anyway, and I could feel my face getting blurry and red as the two men shifted uncomfortably.
At that moment Ray came in.
‘Sal?’
Shit, shit, shit. ‘It’s all right,’ I wailed.
‘I think you’d better leave,’ Ray sounded deadly, like he’d suddenly uncovered his Mafia roots.
‘Police,’ I told him.
‘Look at the state of her,’ he accused them.
The frog man made to speak but I interrupted. ‘I’m fine.’ My shoulders soughed up and down like old bellows and I tried to stop crying. I wiped at my nose and face. The old couple in that ghastly room, this was so petty, the thought set me off again.
Ray put his arm around my shoulders. I could feel the heat of it, the weight. I wanted to move away but the police might think it strange.
‘She plays Good Samaritan and this is what she gets,’ Ray’s lips were white with rage, his nostrils wide.
‘Wrong police,’ I tried to explain.
More knocking at the door. Ray swore in Italian and went to answer it.
‘I think we can leave it there,’ the pointy man said crisply. ‘We’ll call back if there’s anything else.’
‘If I had been up to no good,’ I put in my two penn’orth, ‘and that stupid man had gone for me like he did then you’d probably be dealing with GBH now. Any self-respecting scally would have hospitalised him. He needs warning. He’s a liability.’
The door opened and another two suits appeared. They all seemed to know each other and made little grunts and gestures like a pack of dogs exchanging greetings. The first two left and the next two settled down. I had stopped bawling. Ray remained scowling by the door.
‘It’s okay,’ I told him. I didn’t want a chaperone. He didn’t budge.
I turned back to the men. ‘This is about Mr and Mrs Smith,’ I checked. They nodded.
My phone trilled and I glanced at the display. Lucy Barker. I bowed my head. Oh no. Not now. Had Benjamin caught up with her? ‘I need to take this, I’m sorry.’
She was fine, just eager to know if I’d found Benjamin yet. I told her I was still waiting to hear and would be in touch.
Back to the policemen. ‘Have they done the post-mortem?’
‘Not till this afternoon but the police surgeon is pretty sure of the cause.’
‘Murder?’ I waited, my throat thick.
‘Natural causes.’
‘Natural,’ I cried. ‘What’s natural about it?’
He pulled a face in sympathy.
I ran the loop again in my head.
I didn’t want to accept it. If it was murder, there was someone to blame, a brutal, mindless killer. Someone to catch, to punish. Without that … nothing. Who was responsible, who would bear the guilt?
‘Natural?’ I said again.
‘Hypothermia.’
Oh, Lord. My eyes pricked a little. In fashionable West Didsbury, in one of the richest countries on earth. They’d frozen to death
Chapter Nineteen
It was splashed all over the Manchester Evening News. Ray had reluctantly left, peeling himself away from the wall and asking me three times if I was sure before leaving me to complete my statement. The suits had gone by the time Sheila arrived home from lectures with a copy of the paper.
She didn’t know I’d found the bodies. She hadn’t seen me since I’d got back the night before. I managed to get through the account without bursting into tears. She made some tea and we poured over the paper together.
‘The police don’t know if they’ve any family,’ she pointed out.
‘Be worse if they have.’ The load of shame and guilt that would land someone with.
When another caller knocked Sheila went to answer the door. It was Diane.
‘Ray rang,’ she said without preamble, her eyes appraised me swiftly. ‘I hear you’ve been having a hard time of it.’
‘Sal found them,’ Sheila held out the paper. She left us to talk and I went through it all again. I knew the telling and re-telling was part of coming to terms with the trauma and disruption. Made sense to talk but I was becoming exhausted. ‘I’m all over the place,’ I concluded. ‘The shock.’
‘You’re not kidding.’
I hadn’t said anything about Ray. I told Diane everything, no secrets. It kept me sane. But I was nervous. What would she say? Would she laugh? Would her reaction help me deal with my muddled feelings?
‘Ray rang you,’ I broached the topic.
‘He sounded worried.’
‘When I got in,’ my stomach began to knot, ‘he was still up and, well, I was devastated, and …’ I stuttered to a halt. Diane regarded me closely. Loud knocking made me jump. I cursed. Let my head sink into my hands.
‘Shall I go?’
‘Send them away, whoever it is. I’ve already had to deal with two lots of police today.’ A thought flashed into my mind as she was going. ‘If it’s someone from the papers I’ve gone away for a few days.’
Word of mouth is good publicity for my job but having my face splashed about the papers is not. I flexed my shoulders aware that the stress was seeking out my weak points. My neck was rigid, my left shoulder humming with slow, nagging, burning pain. I heard raised voices. Diane and another woman. Before I could respond the door flew open and a woman burst in. Blonde hair, curly, slight physique. Minty. Though her face was almost unrecognisable, a mess of cuts, swellings, red and purple marks.
‘Oh my God!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Diane had obviously tried to stop her barging in.
I held my hands up, a gesture of surrender more than anything.
‘Sit down,’ I said to Minty. She took a perch on a chair, she looked broken, humiliated.
Diane was confused but realised it was my call. ‘Tea?’
I nodded.
When Minty and I were alone I studied her injuries. One eye swollen shut and a vicious gouge across her eyebrow, her nose looked misshapen, the flesh puffy and shiny, her lips blue, a cut in one corner and a streak of dried blood running from one ear.
Inside things were clawing at my guts but when I spoke I sounded quite calm. ‘What happened?’
She kept looking at her hands using one nail to pick at the remnants of pink varnish on her nails. Why was she here? She had called me last night – was that before this had been done to her?
‘Have you seen a doctor?’
She gave her head a tiny shake.
‘Was it the same man?’
Mute.
There were clumsy pauses between my questions. I wasn’t functioning well myself. What did she want from me?
‘I came last night after you rang. To the house. There was no answer.’
She gave a little shudder. She wore a wool jumper, three-quarter length sleeves. The hairs on her arms were erect, her skin raised in goose bumps. She was cold. I saw Mrs Smith, cold to the bone, the chill creeping up her legs, along her arms, seeping into her back and her belly and her mouth. Hypothermia. He must have died first, the animals had got to him. My stomach plummeted as I wondered if he had already been dead when I’d stopped Mrs Smith as she trudged to the shops.
‘Is there someone I can call? Caroline perhaps?’
She flinched. Wrapped her arms about her waist.
‘Is she at work?’
‘Don’t.’
‘But …’
‘I need a refuge,’ Minty said.
I thought I’d misheard, I stared at her, slow on the uptake. I got there eventually.
‘Oh, sweet Jesus!’ I couldn’t hide my revulsion.
‘Caroline did it.’
Are you sure, I wanted to ask. Stupid. As if she could be mistaken.
Diane came back with a tray, mugs of tea, some of Sheila’s homemade parkin.
Why hadn’t she told me the first time? First Lucy now Minty. Everyone playing me false.
‘Can I stay here?’
No way. My gut response. I’d enough on my plate without taking in an abused woman. But I felt a flush of shame, too. You can’t say no. Ray’s words when I’d set out after Minty’s call.
‘Women’s Aid,’ I mumbled.
‘I can’t go there,’ she gave a little laugh, tears in her voice, ‘we know some of the staff.’
Christ. I thought of all the friends at Chris’s party, all the networks, the circles in the city and beyond, overlapping.
‘Are you a client?’ Diane was trying to make sense of the situation, she handed round the drinks.
‘We met by chance,’ I told Diane. ‘She’d been hurt, I thought she’d been mugged. Minty rang me last night but I didn’t get there in time.’
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