by Anita Waller
Heather went back to her own room, and it was just as she was falling asleep, exhausted by her clandestine activities, that she remembered she hadn’t told Claudia about her theories regarding Marilyn. Heather’s mind drifted away, and she slept.
By Sunday afternoon, Will was feeling frustrated and angry. His Mr President seemed to have disappeared completely; he’d tried texting and when there had been no joy with that, he had rung. He hoped that stupid bitch of a wife of his hadn’t caused him any more grief; Will had been aware for the past week that James had been preoccupied with events at home.
He switched on the television and picked up the menu, figuring he might as well eat while he waited for some sort of communication from James. Will ordered a take-away pizza, picked up a file containing some letters from Leeds voters that needed urgent attention, and settled back on the bed to await delivery.
When he finally turned off his light, he still hadn’t heard from James, and his frustration and anger had escalated, followed by disbelief that James would ignore him, having made so many protestations of love.
Will Monroe had kept his homosexuality a secret from his fellow councillors, occasionally mentioning dates he had fictitiously had with assorted girlfriends, but he knew he wasn’t interested in women.
He had become deeply interested in James Bell though, and the fact that he was a married man with two children had added to the excitement. Will was now, for the first time in his life, considering going public; they had discussed it at length. It seemed the only way to be together properly, after nearly six years of clandestine meetings. The main drawback had always been James’s family.
But it appeared that even that had been taken out of the equation; the wife had gone.
And so had James. For the first time since they had shared a bed, Will had gone thirty-six hours without speaking to him, and he sensed something was wrong. Out of his control.
There was still no message when Will’s alarm disturbed his troubled sleep, and he knew he had to go to Sheffield. He’d never been to James’s house, but that wasn’t going to stop Will finding his man.
The obligatory Monday morning council meeting was non-obligatory for him, on this rainy troublesome day; he needed to see James. He was no longer angry, he was simply worried. He was guessing that James was ill, but to be unable to send a text meant the illness was pretty severe. Will’s imagination presented him with a stroke, food poisoning and a number of other things that could prevent James communicating with him. He wouldn’t allow himself to think that death might be one reason.
Will’s first sight of the house showed him James’s Kia Sportage parked on the driveway. He left his own car standing half on the pavement and half on the road, then walked up to the front door. He rang the bell and waited. Pressing the bell for a second time, he said a small please.
Bending down to the letterbox, he called James’s name. And then he listened. No sounds were evident, so he walked around the side of the house until he came to the back door. He looked through the kitchen window but couldn’t see any sign of the missing man, or anybody else.
Will knocked loudly, then stepped away from the door and threw a couple of pebbles at one of the bedroom windows. He had no idea where James slept, he just hoped he could hear that someone was there, if indeed he was ill and unable to get out of bed.
Puzzled and uneasy, he headed around to the front of the house once more. He skirted the high privet hedge and walked up the drive next door. There was a car parked on it at an awkward angle, and he tried to remember all that James had told him about his neighbour, the one he had found dead at the bottom of the stairs. Drunk out of his mind, and possibly unable to park his car properly? Will guessed this was the house. He only knocked once and when there was no answer knew he had guessed correctly.
He walked to the dwelling at the other side of James’s, but there was no response there either.
Sitting in his car, Will knew he had a difficult decision to make. Should he compromise both him and James by going to the police, or should he simply drive away and let things happen without his intervention?
His hand grasped the gear lever; he put the car into drive and moved slowly down the road feeling utterly lost.
Heather woke early and showered. She felt she needed to scrub every part of her, get rid of the horror of the previous evening, wash everything away. When did she morph from being a housewife with a husband and a job she loved, to a murderer? Yes, it had been accidental with James, and it was self-defence, but if she was brutally honest she hadn’t attempted to hold on to the suitcase that had catapulted Owen down the stairs. She had simply opened her fingers.
She was towelling her hair when she heard Claudia call her.
‘Heather? Can I have a shower?’
‘No.’
‘What? Why not?
‘You want me to list the reasons?’ Still towelling her hair, she popped her head around Claudia’s bedroom door and then moved into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘One, you have a dressing on that very painful area on your leg; two, you have a bloody great dressing on your shoulder and underarm; and three, I’d get wet through trying to help you. Enough reasons?’
Claudia looked disgruntled. ‘Don’t be so clever. I just feel…’ She shrugged.
‘Mucky?’ Heather offered. ‘Then give me ten minutes, and you can have a bed bath. You really can’t go in the bath or shower yet. I’ll help with your back and your legs and arms, you can do all the other bits. Then I’ll wash your hair. You’ll feel better after that.’
Heather’s head dropped a little as she tried to find the right words for what she needed to say next. ‘Claud, we need to talk.’
‘What have you done?’
Heather looked up, guilt written all over her face. ‘Erm… nothing. Well, I suppose I have really. I went on the Leeds website.’
Claudia waited.
‘I found Marilyn.’
‘But we didn’t find her the other day.’
‘I know. We looked in the wrong place. We looked at the women councillors.’
There was a heavy silence, while Claudia digested what she was hearing.
‘You mean she’s a man?’
Heather nodded. ‘I think so. And it would explain so much. James’s change of personality, his treatment of you – I suspect he’s been struggling with his sexuality for a few years. I think Marilyn is Councillor Will Monroe.’
‘As in Marilyn Monroe. No-o-o-o. Tell me you’re making this up, Heather.’
‘Sorry, Claud, I think I’m right.’
‘But he had sex with me on that Saturday morning! Forced me to have sex!’
‘I know. As I said, I think he’s been struggling. He doesn’t know whether he wants you or this Councillor.’
Claudia pulled the pillow up to her face, hiding away from the world while she thought through what Heather was saying. A man? She felt sick at the thought.
Heather waited patiently, without speaking, until Claudia surfaced from her cocoon.
‘Show me,’ Claudia demanded.
Heather stood and went to get her laptop. She brought up the website on which she had spent so much time, then passed it across to Claudia as Councillor Monroe’s face filled the screen.
‘If you can’t believe it, Claud, ring James’s work number and ask to speak to Marilyn. I bet there isn’t one.’
She handed Claudia’s mobile phone to her. ‘Go on, try it. He said she was a staff member who was learning the job, didn’t he? Said she rang him to check everything she was doing? Let’s either prove it or disprove it. If there’s no Marilyn in his office, we’ll move on to Councillor Monroe. If Marilyn does answer, just cancel the call.’
Heather watched as Claudia rang James’s work number, and then heard her ask for Marilyn. There was a brief pause. ‘You’re sure you don’t have a Marilyn? Somebody who’s fairly new?’ Again a pause. ‘Okay thank you, I must have got it wrong.’
She disconnected and lo
oked at Heather. ‘Okay, smart-arse, you’re right. No Marilyn. I’m going to have to contact James and ask him. My health could be at risk here.’
Heather looked at her for a moment without speaking, and then they both burst out laughing. Hysterical laughter that only friends can share.
‘For pity’s sake, Heather, get me locked up, will you? I’ve probably got cancer, and heaven only knows where, and I’m worrying about where James has had his dick! Kill me now, just kill me now.’
Heather hugged her, careful not to catch any sore parts of her. ‘You’re a star, Claud, an absolute star. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Let’s get you washed down, and maybe we can go out somewhere. Fancy a run out into Derbyshire? Feel up to a walk through Bakewell market? Feed the ducks?’
‘You don’t think I should try to contact James then?’
‘No, I don’t. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to steer clear of him, and to keep him from you. I think you’d be creating issues for yourself if you get in touch now. Let’s leave him to stew. He knows we’re aware of Marilyn anyway, because I said it that Saturday when he turned up at the cemetery.’
‘He wasn’t there this Saturday then?’
Heather laughed. To her it sounded forced. ‘No, and I could have done with him there to help me when I cracked my head on the headstone. That’s James being James, isn’t it? Never there when you want him.’
Chapter 15
During the week Claudia had two texts from Zoe, asking if she knew where her father was, as his car was on the drive, but nobody was at home. The second one sounded as though Zoe was seriously worried.
Car not moved. Dad still not there. Have you heard from him?
Claudia’s response to the second one was brief and to the point.
If his car is at home and he isn’t he may have gone away for a break.
She heard nothing else, and despite sleeping more than normal, she was starting to feel much improved. She took a couple of painkillers in the morning, and then didn’t need any more until she went to bed. She attended a check-up appointment and they removed the large padded dressing from her underarm and put a smaller, more comfortable dressing on it, sending her home with fresh ones.
She beamed as she came out to Heather, drinking coffee in the hospital’s coffee bar. ‘I can have a shower,’ she said, triumphantly waving the bag of dressings at her friend.
The Western Park appointment the following Monday was intense. She had tests and scans for every part of her, and by the time they left at just after one, she felt exhausted.
‘You want to go for some lunch, or straight home?’ Heather asked, trying desperately not to be afraid for Claudia. She looked dreadful.
‘I’m sorry, Heather, would you think me a proper wimp if I said I needed to go to bed? And we’re back here again on Thursday.’
Heather hugged her. ‘We’re over the worst. Thursday is simply results day and we can then start to live again. Come on, let’s get you home.’
‘Claudia Bell?’
Claudia stood and grabbed Heather’s arm. They followed the nurse into the consultant’s room, and he shook their hands.
‘I’m Paul Quentin, your consultant. We’ve now moved you out of Mr Robson’s care as your treatment will be at this hospital.’
‘Treatment?’ Claudia swivelled her head to look at Heather, and once again clasped her hand.
Heather felt inadequate. Fear was oozing out of Claudia, and as her best friend she should be comforting, soothing her.
‘Yes, Mrs Bell. Can I call you Claudia?’ He stood and walked to the light boxes on the wall, already loaded with scan pictures. He flicked the switches.
‘The cancer, I’m sorry to say, has spread.’ He pointed to the first picture. ‘This is your liver. There is a mass here.’ He outlined the shadow with a small pointer.
‘Can it be removed?’ Heather could hear the panic in Claudia’s voice.
‘It’s always possible to remove a tumour from the liver, your body can function with only part of one, but there is another issue.’ He moved across to the second screen, which was clearly Claudia’s upper body. ‘There are small tumours, secondary cancers, which are here.’ He pointed to dark shadows in both lungs.
He took down the first picture of her liver and replaced it with a third one. ‘And this is your pancreas. There is a small shadow here,’ he pointed. ‘Insignificant at the moment, but you have developed a very aggressive form of cancer, and it will grow quickly.’
He switched off the screens and came back to his desk. ‘We need to start a hefty regime of chemo and radiotherapy.’ He spoke for a further five minutes, outlining what drugs they would use, how she would feel, how often she would need to come in for the treatment, and Claudia’s face was blank. She appeared to have switched off.
Heather sat by her side, devastated. The recovery from the operation had left Claudia feeling so much better, and they had come for this appointment expecting to be discharged back to the care of Mr Robson.
‘Do you have any questions, Claudia?’
Paul Quentin leaned forward and stared into her face. He had seen this reaction so many times and knew the questions would happen next time he saw her. He was wrong.
Claudia lifted her head, which was now feeling far too heavy for her to support it and fixed her eyes on him. ‘How long do I have?’
It was hospital policy to answer every patient truthfully and openly, and he hated it.
‘Without treatment, six months at the most. As I said, it is very aggressive…’
‘And with treatment?’
‘Nine months to a year.’
Heather gasped and tried to hide it. This couldn’t be right! Claud was looking so much better…
‘And the treatment will make me ill?’
So she had been listening.
‘Yes. We have to use an aggressive cocktail of drugs for such an aggressive cancer.’
Claudia stood and shook his hand. ‘Thank you for being honest and not sugar-coating it. Will you write to me with the next appointment?’
He picked up his pen and checked his computer. He scribbled a note and pushed it across to her. ‘Ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’
She pushed it back to him. ‘I can’t. I have a funeral tomorrow.’
‘Miss it,’ he said, and pushed the note back to her.
‘No.’ She turned towards Heather. ‘It’s Heather’s husband’s funeral.’
Paul stared at Claudia. ‘Are you always this difficult?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then can you be here Saturday morning, or do you have another funeral?’
‘I can be here.’
‘Good. Same time. And don’t be late.’
Claudia sank back into the passenger seat. ‘Take me home, Heather. I have to think.’
They drove from the hospital to the flat without speaking.
Claudia climbed the stairs while Heather put the car in the garage, and then, with trepidation hitting her from all angles, she followed her friend up into the flat.
Claudia was standing and staring out of the window in the lounge.
‘We have to talk.’
‘I’m not ready.’
‘Yes, you are. If we don’t talk now, we won’t do it at all. I have to know where we’re going from here.’
Claudia turned to face her. In a quiet voice, she whispered, ‘I’m going to die. This time next year I won’t be here.’
Seconds later they were holding tightly to each other, both crying, both unable to let go.
Eventually Heather managed to get Claudia seated with her feet elevated; the leg with the patch of skin missing was still the most troublesome part of the whole operation.
‘Right,’ Heather said. ‘We need something stronger than a cuppa. Brandy?’
Claudia nodded, and Heather brought the drinks through, albeit in wine glasses.
‘Get this down you quickly, there’s plenty more.’
Claudia sipped it slowly
at first, but five minutes later they had refilled the glasses.
Heather looked on with approval; there was some colour in Claudia’s cheeks.
‘Claud, you can’t ignore this. You have to speak to Zoe and Harry, tell them what’s happening,’ she said gently.
‘I know. They’ll be at the funeral tomorrow. I’ll arrange to go to Zoe’s place and ask Harry and Emma to meet me there, maybe Monday evening? Will you go with me?’
‘I’m wherever you want me to be from now on. Today we tell Raymond and Michael we’re quitting. I can support us.’
‘I have money,’ Claudia smiled. ‘And I also have a critical illness clause in my life insurance policy, so money won’t be a problem. The real issue is James. I have to tell him. This changes everything as far as he’s concerned, I suppose. But I want the truth from him, I need to know if this councillor is his significant other, because when I meet up with the kids, the tone will be honesty.’
Heather nodded, wondering when the honesty needed to start. Somebody, sooner or later, was going to report James as missing. And then everything would implode because there had to be traces of him in his car, and probably traces of her. Being taken into custody scared her but leaving Claudia to face the next few months alone terrified her.
The crematorium was packed. Although Owen had very few family members, he had many friends and they had all turned up to mourn him.
Heather and Claudia had shared the first car, and Claudia spotted Zoe, David, Harry and Emma as soon a she stepped out of it. She acknowledged them with a small hand wave, and she followed the coffin down the short aisle, holding on to Heather’s arm.
Once settled, she looked to the right where her family sat, and breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed James had taken notice of the ban from attending. Their next attendance at a funeral would probably be her own, and as this occurred to her, she felt the room spin and she slid to the floor. Harry moved across to help Heather lift his mother to the seat, and the vicar paused for a moment, looking over the top of his glasses at the activity beneath his lectern.