Everything is Beautiful

by Eleanor Ray

  ‘I hope you told the police what happened,’ said Amy.

  ‘I’ve just got a caution,’ said Chantel. ‘It wasn’t worth making a fuss.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re OK,’ added Tim.

  ‘Right,’ said the officer. ‘A quick word with you, ma’am,’ he said, looking at Chantel. ‘Then you can all go.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Amy. She took Tim’s hand and watched as the policeman spoke with Chantel, handing her a small piece of paper. ‘I can’t wait to get to bed,’ said Amy.

  ‘I need a little something to calm me down,’ whispered Tim. ‘It’s been quite a night.’

  Tim went straight to the Beatles tin in the living room when they got back to the flat, removed a tiny clear plastic bag and gave it a little shake. ‘Just enough left,’ he said.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Amy. ‘You’ve given up.’

  ‘Special situation,’ said Tim. ‘Tonight was pretty stressful.’ He got up and fetched the guitar-shaped ashtray from the bedroom before settling down to roll up.

  ‘Brilliant idea,’ said Chantel, watching him.

  ‘Terrible idea,’ said Amy. ‘Chantel, drugs got you into this mess.’

  ‘Spike got me into this mess,’ countered Chantel. ‘Can you believe him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tim. ‘He’s an arsehole.’ He lit up and inhaled deeply.

  ‘He’s got some making up to do,’ agreed Chantel, reaching for Tim’s joint.

  ‘You can’t be thinking about taking him back?’ said Amy. ‘Chantel, you need some self-respect.’

  Chantel took a deep drag and watched herself blow smoke rings in the mirror. ‘We’re not all Little Miss Perfect with fine arts degrees and bright futures,’ she said. ‘Some of us are massive screw-ups.’ She passed the joint to Tim. ‘Aren’t we?’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Tim. He leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. Amy grabbed the joint from his hand and stubbed it out in the ashtray before it singed the cushion. Chantel calmly picked it up and lit it again.

  ‘No lectures,’ said Chantel, throwing herself down on the sofa too. ‘I can’t face it.’

  ‘You need to break up with Spike,’ said Amy. ‘You’ll have a criminal record now.’

  ‘They just gave me a caution,’ said Chantel. ‘It’s no big deal.’

  ‘It is a big deal,’ said Amy. ‘And can you please put out that joint? It’s making me feel sick.’ She reached out to take it but Chantel held it out of her reach.

  Tim’s eyes opened. He grabbed the joint from Chantel and stubbed it out in the ashtray. ‘Amy was meant to be painting tomorrow morning and then going to work, but she still got up in the middle of the night to come to your rescue.’

  ‘We both did,’ said Amy. She reached out and took Tim’s hand, still holding the ashtray. His hand felt warm and comforting under her own.

  ‘I wasn’t going to let you go alone,’ said Tim. They both watched as a small wisp of smoke danced upwards. Tim used his other hand to stub out the joint completely, twisting it against the ashtray. He leaned over and gave Amy a kiss.

  ‘You were the one who lit that joint,’ grumbled Chantel. ‘And seeing you two coo over each other like lovebirds is not what I need right now.’

  ‘What you need is to leave that drug dealer,’ said Amy, turning her attention back to Chantel but leaving her hand with Tim. He gently stroked her thumb.

  ‘He’s not really a drug dealer,’ said Chantel. ‘You’re exaggerating.’

  ‘He deals drugs,’ replied Amy.

  ‘Yes, but it’s not like he’s a gangster,’ said Chantel.

  ‘He stitched you up,’ said Amy.

  ‘True,’ said Chantel. Amy could sense victory was close. ‘But I don’t want to be alone,’ said Chantel.

  ‘He’s not the only option,’ said Amy. ‘There are plenty of nice guys out there.’

  ‘Like Tim?’ asked Chantel. He’d nodded off on the sofa, his mouth open.

  ‘Easy tiger,’ said Tim, briefly coming back to life. ‘I’m a catch.’

  ‘I was joking,’ said Chantel. ‘You’re great. Everyone is great compared to Spike,’ said Chantel. ‘Even bloody Dean Chapman.’

  Amy laughed. ‘He’s married now,’ she said. ‘Did you hear?’

  ‘No way,’ said Chantel. ‘He was my back-up. Now even he’s taken and I’ll be sitting on the bloody shelf with a criminal record.’

  ‘It’s just a caution,’ said Amy. She smiled at her friend. ‘What did that policeman say to you?’ asked Amy, curious.

  ‘He gave me his number,’ said Chantel. ‘In case Spike gave me any trouble.’

  ‘He fancied you,’ said Tim, eyes still closed.

  ‘No he didn’t,’ said Chantel.

  ‘He did,’ said Tim. ‘A man knows.’

  ‘He was hot,’ admitted Chantel. ‘Bit square for me.’

  ‘Square is what you need,’ said Amy.

  Chantel paused. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said. She sat up. ‘I fancy starting over,’ said Chantel. ‘Somewhere new. I’ve always liked the sound of Wales. Rolling hills, sheep. I might get a job in a quaint little pub and flirt with the local farmers.’

  ‘I like the sound of that,’ said Tim, surprising Amy. ‘No bloody drummers throwing strops, no supermarkets with shelves to be stacked, no loans to be paid off. I could be one of the farmers in your pub. I rather fancy myself shearing sheep.’

  ‘You two wouldn’t last five minutes,’ said Amy. ‘You need the city. The buzz.’

  ‘Spike said the countryside is heaving with drugs,’ said Chantel. ‘Nothing else for people to do.’

  ‘Count me out,’ said Amy. ‘I like it here.’

  ‘Just you and me then, Timmy,’ said Chantel.

  ‘And the sheep,’ said Tim. ‘Don’t forget the sheep.’

  Amy tried to ignore the unwelcome light of dawn, creeping in through the curtains. Instead she turned over in bed to snuggle up closer to Tim. She rested her head on his chest and felt the regular thud of his heartbeat, echoing her own.

  ‘Do you think she’ll break up with him?’ asked Tim. Amy was surprised at the question. She’d thought Tim was asleep.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Amy. ‘I’ve never understood what she sees in him. And now he does this to her.’

  ‘Dangerous bad boys,’ explained Tim. ‘Women can’t resist us.’

  ‘Us?’ questioned Amy, with a laugh.

  ‘Of course us,’ he said. ‘I’m the epitome of danger: a hard-drinking rock star.’

  ‘You haven’t been drunk in ages,’ said Amy, proudly. She didn’t mention that the band hadn’t had a gig for ages either. ‘And you like coconut-scented toiletries and giggle like a baby if I tickle your belly,’ she said, running her fingers teasingly across his stomach.

  Tim emitted a shrill squeal at her touch and sucked his stomach away from her hand. ‘Point made,’ he said.

  ‘And I bet you wouldn’t throw a bag of drugs at me if the police showed up,’ continued Amy.

  ‘If I did, would you catch it?’ asked Tim, turning on his side and looking at Amy. ‘Would you take the rap for me?’

  ‘I’ve always been terrible at netball,’ replied Amy. ‘I’d probably drop it.’

  ‘I hope so,’ replied Tim, his voice serious. ‘I hate the idea of dragging you down with me.’

  ‘Don’t become a drug dealer and we’ll be fine,’ joked Amy.

  ‘I mean it,’ said Tim. ‘I sometimes think you’d be better off without me. You could really go places, Amy. Maybe I’m bad for you.’

  Amy stared at him. Even in the dim light she could see concern cloud his features. ‘You’re no Spike,’ she said. ‘You’re talented, funny and kind. And the love of my life.’ She leaned forwards and kissed him. ‘And you even stub out joints when I ask you to, into an ashtray shaped like a guitar.’

  ‘I am rather wonderful,’ said Tim, sounding happier. ‘And you’re the love of my life too.’ He grinned at her, then snuggled down into the
pillow, one arm resting comfortably across her chest. ‘Even if you can’t catch.’

  ‘Two visits in a week, Amy,’ said DCI Jack Hooper. ‘After eleven years with barely a word.’ He was sitting at his desk, but a hand rested on the mouse of his computer and his eyes were flicking back and forth to the screen as if the answers were to be found there.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you again,’ said Amy, feeling he wished she’d leave. She hadn’t even been offered water this time.

  ‘I am very busy,’ he said, typing something on his keyboard.

  ‘It’s just that I’ve found something else,’ said Amy. ‘It’s a letter. From Chantel.’ His eyes finally left the screen, and Amy felt as though he’d jolted a little. ‘You are busy,’ she said. ‘Maybe I should take this to someone else.’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve sent the email now.’ He turned away from his computer properly and gave Amy his attention. ‘What . . . ’ He paused, with uncharacteristic hesitance. ‘What does she say?’

  Amy got out the letter and passed it over to him. ‘See for yourself,’ she said.

  He grabbed the letter and studied it. ‘It’s not in great condition,’ he said finally.

  ‘It’s been in a pot for rather a long time,’ said Amy. ‘It must have fallen in when I kept it by the door, and I didn’t notice it in there when I moved the pot into the garden.’

  ‘All sorts have been eating at this,’ he said. ‘I really can’t make out what Chantel is getting at. Can you?’

  ‘Just the odd word,’ said Amy. ‘But I think perhaps it is a confession.’

  ‘Confession?’ echoed Jack.

  ‘That she and Tim did run away together. Look. Jealous. Love. Run.’

  ‘I see,’ said Jack. He looked at the letter again. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It must be that. I always told you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Perhaps this is the closure you need.’

  ‘There’s more,’ said Amy. She passed him the photograph. He took it and stared at it for a long time.

  ‘Do you know what this is?’ he asked, finally.

  ‘No idea,’ replied Amy. ‘I thought you might recognise it?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Sorry.’ He looked again. ‘I don’t see any landmarks either. It could be anywhere. Impossible to find out.’

  ‘I’m going to investigate,’ Amy told him. ‘Ask around the people we used to know. Someone must recognise it. Surely if I can find out where the photograph was taken, I can find out more about what happened. It must be linked.’

  ‘I can take care of that for you,’ said Jack, his hands on the photograph. ‘I am the professional, after all.’

  ‘I’d rather do it myself,’ said Amy, grabbing the photo back. ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Jack. He paused. ‘A word of warning, though,’ he continued. Amy looked up at him, surprised. He leaned forwards. ‘I didn’t want to tell you this,’ he said, but Tim came to me, before he left.’ He sighed. ‘He was having money trouble. You know what he was like.’

  ‘He came to you?’ queried Amy.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Jack. ‘He needed my help.’

  ‘He asked to borrow money?’

  ‘No,’ said Jack. ‘He’d already borrowed money, from people he shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Amy.

  ‘People he met through Chantel,’ replied Jack. ‘Anyway, these people wanted their money back, and Tim was worried about what they might do to him if he didn’t pay.’

  ‘You’ve never said,’ replied Amy, her voice careful. ‘Could these people have been involved in what happened? In why he went missing?’

  ‘I spoke to my colleagues at the time and it was one of the avenues they explored,’ said Jack. ‘But it didn’t lead anywhere so I never bothered you with it.’

  ‘So he might have left to escape the debt?’ Amy hesitated. ‘Or could they have—’

  ‘Like I said, my colleagues explored that avenue at the time,’ said Jack again. ‘It was a dead end. I don’t mean to worry you,’ he continued. ‘But I wouldn’t go raking around in the past. No point digging up trouble for yourself.’

  He picked up a business card and scribbled something on the back, then handed it to Amy. ‘If you need anything,’ he said, ‘anything at all, you call me directly. That’s my personal mobile number.’ He smiled at her. ‘Amy, I just want the best for you. Stay safe.’

  Amy sat at her computer screen, wishing she had never agreed to go for that drink with Liam. She didn’t have time this evening. Jack’s warning made her even more determined to find the truth. It was a new lead, and the most promising one she’d had for a long time. She needed to investigate.

  Spike. That’s who she needed to find. He’d know who Chantel knew. He might even have lent Tim the money himself. He did always have plenty of cash around.

  Amy’s stomach curdled at the prospect. She could almost smell him now, that strange stale aroma of weed, sweat, and the avocado oil he rubbed into his dreadlocks. Amy had never liked Spike, and it had made things awkward back then. She remembered how pleased she’d always been that Chantel and Tim got on so well. Amy let out a short, bitter laugh. The irony.

  What’s so funny? Amy looked at the message from Liam. He couldn’t see her desk from where he sat, so he must have seen her laugh and then hurried back to send the message. He followed up the note with a little animated image of a donkey snorting with laughter.

  Charming.

  Amy minimised the message and thought. Spike. She realised she didn’t know his surname. He’d been a one-name person, like Cher or Madonna.

  Simon. Simon might have his number. She remembered now. He hadn’t liked Spike either at the beginning, but he’d warmed to him once he discovered his access to high-quality hash.

  Amy got out her phone and sent Simon a quick message. Then she sat staring at her phone. Ten a.m. Neither Simon nor Spike was likely to be up at this time if their pasts were anything to go on.

  ‘Waiting for a call?’ asked Carthika. Amy looked up from her phone to see Carthika looking amused. ‘A watched phone never rings,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you for that wisdom,’ said Amy.

  ‘Any time,’ replied Carthika, thankfully turning back to her own desk.

  So drinks tonight . . . What’s your vibe? Another message from Liam, who seemed unperturbed that Amy had ignored his donkey.

  Would no one leave her alone to get on with what she needed to?

  Sorry I can’t tonight, replied Amy. She needed to focus on her investigations.

  You promised, came straight back, with a picture of a cartoon bird with enormous over-sized eyes brimming with tears. The bird reminded her of Scarlett, and Amy felt a pang of guilt, although she’d hardly consider that her agreement constituted a promise.

  Coffee instead? wrote Amy. She could do with some fresh air. A quick espresso to dispense with her Liam obligations.

  Lunch? came the reply, swiftly followed by an image of an obese man devouring a rather magnificent-looking burger.

  Fine, replied Amy, not wanting to continue a lengthy negotiation process. In the meantime she typed ‘Spike’ into Google and watched the results appear. Hopeless. Nails, dogs and a number of references to some kind of cactus computer-game character sprang back at her. No smelly drug dealers. She’d have to hope that Simon came through.

  ‘This wasn’t really what I had in mind,’ said Liam as they walked into the ‘grab and go’ section of the tiny supermarket. ‘I told you I could get us a table at Sky Rocket.’

  ‘This is good,’ said Amy, selecting her usual cheese and pickle sandwich, and adding a rather fetching plastic bottle of still lemonade and a small bag of chocolate raisins to her haul.

  ‘Shall we eat in the park?’ asked Liam, grabbing a triple-decker club sandwich with two bags of Wotsits, a Mars bar and a can of Diet Coke.

  ‘Sure,’ replied Amy, as they went to the checkout. Liam snatched her food from her, and despite her protestations, ins
isted on paying. She glanced at her phone. Still nothing.

  ‘Hoping for a better offer?’ asked Liam. Amy felt dreadful.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, putting her phone in her pocket. She tried her best to smile at him. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You won’t get one, you know,’ said Liam, rather ungraciously. ‘Oh,’ he said, as they came to the door. Rain was pouring down from the sky.

  ‘We’ll have to eat at our desks,’ said Amy, feeling pleased. ‘Still, this was nice.’

  Amy felt her phone beep in her pocket, and she couldn’t resist whipping it out. It was from Simon and contained a number.

  Spike’s number. It must be.

  ‘I’ve got to make a call,’ she said. She looked at Liam. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s an emergency.’

  ‘Next time I’m planning the date,’ he said miserably. He lifted his jacket over his head and dashed back towards the office.

  When Amy arrived at her street that evening, she discovered that Rachel, Nina, Richard and both boys were standing staring up at the enormous tree outside Amy’s front garden. Amy slowed her pace as she approached, wondering if there was a chance she could sneak past and into her house without them noticing. There always seemed to be someone lingering around the street now, waiting to make Amy’s life more difficult. All she wanted to do now was sit amongst her things and think about what to do next.

  A branch in the tree shook unnaturally and Rachel reached her arms up towards it. ‘Come down now, sweetheart. There’s a good boy.’

  Amy pushed her gate, which squeaked in an act of betrayal. They all turned towards her. ‘I told you about the vermin,’ said Rachel, her voice agitated. ‘And now poor Smudge is frightened out of his wits.’

  ‘He’s not much of a cat if he’s been scared by a mouse,’ said Amy, her patience already gone.

  ‘Oh, Amy, it’s a disaster,’ wailed Charles. ‘That poor mouse.’

  Daniel turned to her, his eyes full of tears. ‘Mickey needs help,’ he said.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Amy.

  ‘The boys saw Smudge playing with something,’ said Richard. ‘They went to see what it was, and he grabbed it in his mouth and climbed up the tree.’