by Andy Monk
“Very unwell…” Furnedge nodded vigorously, “but as you say, a terrible shock.” He continued to stare, his clammy hands still gripping hers, before adding in a blurted torrent, “I found her this morning, I was taking her morning coffee up, she hadn’t called, which was unusual, but, I didn’t think anything of it at the time… I went in and there she was… quite dead.”
“What happened?”
“A heart attack, according to Dr Rudi… I don’t know, but that’s what he says,” he squeezed her hands more forcefully.
“Poor thing…”
“I will manage, in time…”
Molly had meant his wife, but didn’t correct him. She was more concerned with getting her hands back.
“I’m sure, but we will all miss her, she was such a… a character!”
“Yes, she was that, I – did you know her?”
“Well, I couldn’t say that we were close, but I always enjoyed talking to her.”
“I didn’t know you’d even met her?”
“It’s a small town.”
She’d run into Lorna Furnedge in the saloon on a couple of occasions. It turned out they had shared a common interest in hard liquor and bitching about their husbands.
“I suppose it is, strange that you can share your life with someone and not even know a thing like that.”
From what Molly remembered Lorna saying about her husband the only thing they’d shared had been a mutual loathing for each other, although, to be fair, Lorna might well have gone away with much the same opinion about Tom and her.
“I would ask you to stay, but some of Lorna’s friends are here; they are quite emotional, I’m afraid.”
“No, no,” Molly shook her head, “I don’t wish to intrude, I only popped in to offer you my condolences.”
“And it is much appreciated.”
Molly took a step back from the door, though her hands were still firmly ensnared by Furnedge; the last thing she wanted was to spend the afternoon surrounded by Lorna’s friends. From what she remembered Lorna’s opinion of them hadn’t been much higher than that of her husband.
“Well good day and if there is anything I can do?”
Furnedge looked like he was going to blurt something out, but managed to contain it with a nod and a smile.
“That is very kind… though I hope I will soon be able to do something for you.”
“For me?”
“Once my late wife’s affairs are settled… well, shall we say it will alter my own circumstances somewhat.”
“Really?” Molly smiled thinly, not at all sure what the little man was getting at.
“I can’t say too much, but I hope I’ll be able to help you out of your predicament.”
“You think you can persuade the Mayor after all? There’s really no need to worry about me at the moment.”
“I worry about you constantly Molly, really I do.”
“Why… thank you…”
“I will come to see you soon, when matters are at hand. Then everything will be resolved.”
“That will be a great relief.”
“To us both Molly, to us both!”
Molly tried to extract her hands from his grasp, but Furnedge was having none of it and, instead, raised her right hand to his lips and kissed it as lightly as a starving dog would a bowl of offal.
“Until then,” Molly managed to say, she badly needed to rub her hand on her skirt now.
Furnedge reluctantly released her hand, and she turned and managed to get the front door open before he could slobber over any other part of her.
“Good day Mr Furnedge, I hope you manage to come to terms with your loss.”
Furnedge smiled. It was not the kind of smile she normally associated with the recently bereaved.
“I assure you everything will be quite tickety my dear.”
As the door closed, Molly caught sight of Amy peering out of the window, the curtain falling back the moment Molly glanced at her.
If she’d stayed at the window a second longer, the girl would have seen Molly almost running down the garden path.
The Songbird
“Do you have to do that!” Monty Jack hissed, throwing his hands out in exasperation.
“I did warn you,” Cece replied, favouring him with one of her sweeter smiles.
“Just cut it out, it’s bad for business!”
“That’s the first guy I’ve had to slap tonight!”
“Plus the three last night, and the five before that!”
“See.”
“See what?”
“Less every night. They’re learning, by next week I bet I won’t be getting pawed at all!”
Monty glared at her; Cece suspected he was worried the reduced pawing opportunities might hit his takings.
“You’re welcome!” She beamed, and slid away from him before he could give her any more customer relations advice.
She made her way back towards the piano, her break was almost over. The saloon was as busy as it seemed to be every evening. It was a small town, and there was nowhere else the locals could go to drink themselves into oblivion, gamble away their earnings and fondle fallen women under one roof, and all now with the added bonus of having their drinking/gambling/groping accompanied by Cecilia Jones and her swanky new piano.
It didn’t seem her patron slapping had had any more detrimental effect on Monty’s customers than her refusal to wear more appropriate attire for a saloon had. Cece had quickly worked out “more appropriate attire” was Monty speak for “dress like a slut.”
She took her stool and sipped some water, the novelty of her first few appearances had worn off and there would be no silence to fill with her voice anymore, though the general hubbub at least dropped below its normal level, which was usually somewhere just shy of raucous.
She was grateful the Mayor was not present, his visits to the saloon appeared to be more fleeting and irregular than most of the men in town; he did have Felicity to keep him entertained of course.
Her visit to the Mayor’s ranch had revealed as much as she had expected it to; there was undoubtedly a lot of resonance, but she would need to get much closer. Which meant going back alone.
She’d thought getting Sye to ride with her would provide a plausible excuse for being out on the grass, though she hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to slip away from him to work. It was lucky the grass was long enough for her to hunker down out of sight during her toilet break as that was the only time he left her alone.
What had she expected?
He followed her around so doggedly she’d considered taking a bone with her to throw for him. He was harmless enough, by the standards of Hawker’s Drift at least, but a whole day of him had been tiring. Still, if people thought they’d been out riding and spent the day cavorting in the grass that was preferable to people asking questions about exactly what she had been doing.
She wasn’t sure he’d have been any help if the Mayor’s men had decided to do much more than keep an eye on her. At least she now had an idea why the Mayor was showing an interest in her and had her followed that first day she’d gone out riding.
Though how could he have known?
It wasn’t supposed to have been like this; she was supposed to blend in, be unremarkable, not attract attention to herself while she did what she needed to do. She wasn’t sure whether or not singing in front of several hundred people every night quite fitted in with that brief, but what else was she supposed to have done? It counted as initiative in her book.
Get a job and become part of this community she’d been told. She didn’t know if she’d been naive about the kind of employment opportunities that would be available for a young woman here, or whether she’d been the butt of someone’s idea of a joke. There were plenty who’d argued this was no work for a woman in the first place.
Idiots!
Monty was making a circular motion with his finger. Break over.
She’d pretty much exhausted th
e repertoire of songs she knew by heart and was reaching the bottom of the ones she could muddle through, although it wasn’t as if anyone was going to know if she got the words wrong anyway. Apart from the Mayor at least.
She tried to push that particular thought from her mind, though it was one that kept resolutely bobbing back up to the surface. Just who the hell was he, and, more to the point, how had he got here?
There were several possible answers and none of them were particularly palatable, but she had to find out.
As she sang she noticed Sye appear from the crowd, he looked wistful and doe-eyed. She fought down the urge to slap him.
Instead, she caught his eye and smiled; he looked like he might explode with happiness.
She let her eyes slide back to the keys, ignoring the slight twinge of guilt that echoed inside her. She didn’t want any emotional entanglements, they weren’t recommended unless required to complete the job, and she had no physical itch that needed scratching. But he could be useful so she would use him as required; that was what they’d taught her after all.
You’ll be travelling light, so learn to live off the land and use any tool that comes to hand.
Besides she was still engaged, technically she supposed, even if Quayle was an awful long way away, and if she ever saw him again there was no guarantee he would be the same man she had left.
She thought of him standing on the beach, that last night, the waves pounding the shore on the edge of a quicksilver sea. A fucking beach under the moonlight; that was just so typical of Quayle. They couldn’t have just said goodbye over a drink, like other people did. No, she’d had to fall for the last romantic fool on the planet. Goodbye had to be a statement – look at what you’re leaving behind. Silly girl.
She’d started playing a mournful ballad without even realising it. Monty didn’t like her playing sad songs; he insisted they were bad for business.
Monty was an idiot.
The Mother
It was late.
Kate hurried along the Low Avenue, taking the less direct route home via the side streets. Best not to be seen; she didn’t want anyone gossiping in Ash’s chair about his wife scurrying home in the early hours.
She wished she could have stayed till dawn, that would have been even more exciting, creeping home as the sun came up after a whole night of… she smiled and pulled her light summer shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
What a wicked woman...
John had whispered that in her ear, among other things, several times; each hoarse, breathlessly whispered word thrilling her more than the last.
Kate had long since stopped asking herself what she thought she was doing; it excited her so far beyond care that it didn’t actually matter anymore.
She’d only been seeing John for six months, but she couldn’t remember what her life had been like before that clearly, and the things she did remember she didn’t like terribly much.
The slow, repetitive drudgery and routine of the loyal little wife and doting mother. So selfless, so supportive, so commendable, so unutterably, soul-crushingly dull.
Now her life had excitement and colour in it. Yes, she liked having a life with a little colour in it… and she liked having a little colour in her too…
Kate laughed out loud and looked about in embarrassment; no, nobody had seen the crazy giggling woman sneaking home; the crazy, giggling, adulterous woman sneaking home.
There were raised voices somewhere in the distance, a husband and wife’s bedtime squabble probably, but otherwise the world was quiet and the town deserted.
It was a stupid risk to take, but it had been worth it. God, it had been worth it. The things that man did to her, the way he made her feel. Her legs hadn’t quite solidified again yet; she still feared they might yet buckle and deposit her in the dirt; a squealing, giggling and immensely satisfied mess.
The closer she got to home, however, the more the excitement was tinged with apprehension and unease. What if Ash’s poker buddies had called their game off? What if Ruthie had thrown up her dinner and Mrs Milligan had brought her home? What if Emily had been unable to sleep and had come down in search of hot milk?
Her mind played over all the things that could have gone wrong, they made her heart pound a little faster with each step. Strangely that seemed to make the excitement more intense, as if her fear were somehow focusing the excitement, the way a magnifying glass might focus the sun’s rays till they were strong enough for flames to erupt.
She slowed her pace and took several deep breaths, forcing the memory of John away; the sound, sight, feel and taste of him.
For a moment, she thought there was a figure up ahead; loitering in the shadows near her house and a missed heartbeat returned her wits to her. Hawker’s Drift was mostly a safe town, certainly by the standards of every other place she’d ever heard about. There was law here after all, but even so, she was a woman alone at night. Things happened, even here.
She slowed her pace and stared ahead, cloud had swept in while she’d been with John and the sky was a black featureless vault, the street ahead was just differing shades of darkness, but she saw no movement and her breathing eased. It must have only been her imagination painting pictures with the shadows.
Kate picked up the pace again. Glancing at the dark silent houses of her neighbours, looking for the glow of a lamp or the twitching of a curtain, but there was nothing; each house slumbered, the windows no more alert than the blind eyes of sleeping dogs.
She paused by the gate to her own home, her heart quickening again. The house was dark and still. If someone was awake then she’d see the glow of a lamp or candle wouldn’t she?
Nobody was about, Emily was asleep, Ash was probably half drunk and still playing cards, Ruthie was with the Milligans, the neighbours were all tucked up in their beds. She’d done it, gotten away with it.
So why did she feel someone was watching her?
Though there was no chill in the air, Kate pulled the shawl more tightly about her,
She stared across the street, the houses were higher up The Tear there and they loomed over her. Anyone could be watching from a bedroom window. A sleepless child, a wife waiting for her husband to stagger back from Jack’s, someone who knew what she’d been doing…
But no, her eyes slid away from the houses opposite and rested on the corner of Grover’s house, two down from her own, where a little path ran down to Cherry Lane, was that a figure, standing there? Watching her?
The shadow was almost absolute, black on black, but it did look like a tall slim figure. Unmoving. Silent. Staring.
She jumped as something moved outside her house.
Magda, next door’s cat…
Kate forced a smile at her own skittishness and looked back towards Grover’s place. She couldn’t make out a figure anymore. Just her imagination… and maybe a little guilt?
No, why should she feel guilty? She deserved something for herself. After all those years, all those long, dry, passionless years. Damn right she did.
She hurried to her door and let herself in as quietly as possible; shutting the door behind her with only the faintest click of the latch. The house was silent and her only welcome were its familiar smells; beeswax, dried lavender, Ash’s pipe smoke. She padded through the downstairs, still half expecting Ash to be waiting for her, his usually placid face flushed with hurt, anger and incomprehension, but everything was as she’d left it.
Slipping off her shoes, she tip-toed up the stairs in the darkness, no need to light a candle, she’d lived here half her life now. She knew every crack, warp and weave in the fabric of the place. She’d cleaned it a million times; she knew well enough the position of every chair, table, rug and candlestick. There were no mysteries here. No excitements… other than when John snuck in to see her of course.
She lingered outside Emily’s door, resisting the urge to look in; she wasn’t a baby anymore. There was no sound, no light sneaking under the door, no sound of restless to
-ing and fro-ing, no questioning voice asking her where she’d been all night. She’d preferred to have heard her daughter snoring, but Emily had never been much of a snorer unless she had a cold.
Kate smiled and moved on to her room, she should wash herself thoroughly, but Ash would not be home till late morning and she would clean herself when she woke. She wanted to snuggle down in the sheets with the memory of John still on her; the feel of his lust dried upon her skin, the scent of their passion still between her legs.
She stripped slowly, far slower than she had earlier in the evening, and crawled quietly into her empty bed.
She’d done it. Nobody would know, save her and John. She thought she would lay there for hours, feeling her heart beat faster as the memories washed across the ceiling, but within a few minutes she’d drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
*
Kate awoke early and with a start. Grey light was pushing its way around the curtains; the world was muted and distant. She smelt of sex, vague and fuzzy as a dream. She stretched, smiled, thought about John for a few delicious minutes and resisted the urge to let her hand find its way between her legs.
Instead, she sat up, yawned and reluctantly pulled herself from the bed. Best she sorted herself out before Emily woke and Ash and Ruthie got home. After tidying up the clothes she’d left decadently strewn over the floor the previous night, she washed herself thoroughly with soap and a wet flannel, before pulling on a tired unfussy dress that made her feel like the dull, faithful little wife and homemaker she usually was.
She tied back her hair and patted down the loose strands till the mirror confirmed she was presentable and looked nothing at all like a wicked woman.
The house was still quiet, Emily hadn’t risen and it would be awhile yet before Mrs Milligan brought Ruthie home; Kate doubted the silence would last much longer.
Kate set about making porridge, which she’d sweeten with honey, and tried to stop thoughts of John crawling sneakily back into her head. Did she love him? No, she wasn’t that stupid. She knew John’s reputation, perhaps it was part of the reason she’d been so attracted to him in the first place. That and the boredom.