The Ladykiller

by Martina Cole

  He had been caught as the train pulled into Chatham station. In his excitement he had not even realised what was happening.

  And then there had been the police.

  And the questioning.

  And the arrest.

  And Elaine. A heavily pregnant Elaine, who had been taken to hospital in shock when the police had knocked on the door and told her everything.

  Elaine who had given birth to a stillborn son.

  Elaine who had for some reason stood by him throughout the trial and had sold up and moved to Essex, so he would have a home to come home to. Elaine who had visited him in prison and written to him once a week.

  Elaine who had never let him put it in the past because she hated him for it. Hated him for what he had done and for killing their child.

  Elaine who had never referred to it again, except that one day a few weeks previously when the police had knocked on the door. Elaine whom he hated and loved. Oh, he loved her because she had been the mother of his child. The only thing he had ever really wanted in his life.

  His son was dead. His marriage was dead.

  Elaine was having an affair, he knew she was. He was so certain he could taste it. He could actually see her sometimes with a faceless man, in the back of a car. See her enormous breasts heaving with excitement. See her big fat behind being lowered on to some man’s member. And it excited him. It made him want to watch them. It made him want to hide and see them doing it. It made him want to come inside his pants just thinking about it. His breathing was laboured now.

  She wasn’t so fussy now, was she? No more missionary position for Elaine nowadays. Not judging by the marks on her neck. He would like to put his hands around her neck and squeeze gently, till she expired.

  Four women were dead. But it wasn’t his fault. They had asked for it the same way that Elaine was asking for it and the girl on the train had asked for it. He had told the police that she had smiled at him, had led him on. But they didn’t believe him.

  They had believed her, and she was a whore. They were all whores.

  And he had been locked up like a criminal! A common criminal. When all he had done was given her what she wanted. What they all wanted.

  Then in the prison he had been beaten up by men who were no better than animals, and yet they put themselves above him!

  But he had sat it out. He had won in the end because he had come out and had gone to Elaine and had got himself a job and had provided. He had been a good provider, until the redundancy.

  What was it Peter Renshaw had said? Spend some time with the grandchildren . . .

  The only time he spent time with grandchildren was when they were someone else’s. George grinned to himself, thinking of Mandy Kelly, and knew that grandparents wouldn’t approve of his games.

  He lay on the bed and let the feelings of warmth Mandy Kelly had created wash over him. He was a bit sorry she was dead, because he had quite liked her. After all, Mandy was his favourite name.

  Feeling better now, he gradually relaxed.

  Downstairs Elaine was sitting at the kitchen table eating her dinner. She was seeing Hector later in the evening and she thanked God for that. Since he had come into her life she had felt as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

  The great weight was George and all he entailed.

  Kate was draining spaghetti while her mother put the finishing touches to the bolognaise sauce.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind him coming for dinner, Mum?’

  Evelyn looked at her daughter. ‘Now why should I mind that?’ She turned off the gas under the pan and went to the breakfast bar to begin laying it. Kate put the spaghetti into a buttered Pyrex dish and went to give her a hand.

  ‘Why is the table only set for two?’

  ‘Because, Katie, I’m going to bingo with Doris tonight. I’ll grab a bite to eat there.’

  ‘Oh no you’re not! He’s making you leave your own home . . .’

  Evelyn interrupted her. ‘Did it ever occur to you that I might have wanted to go out more over the years, and didn’t because I always had Lizzy to look after or had to wait for you coming home? No, I didn’t think it had!’

  Seeing the hurt look on Kate’s face, Evelyn grinned at her. ‘I didn’t mean that really, Kate. I want you and this man to have a bit of time together, that’s all. He’s buried his only child today and I think he’ll want you near him tonight. But for all that, if I wanted to stay in, I would. I’m going out with Doris because I want to go to bingo. I happen to like bingo so all in all this has worked out fine. Now, will you put the Parmesan on the table, please? I grated it earlier.’

  Kate gave her a hug and Evelyn pulled her close. ‘Don’t you be hard on him now, you hear? He needs a bit of coddling tonight. Forget all the eejity talk about the blood testing and everything, he did you a favour you know.’

  Kate nodded. She heard a knock at the door and went to answer it. Evelyn took off her apron and surveyed the little breakfast bar. It looked nice. She understood that Patrick’s house was a huge posh affair with expensive carpets and a housekeeper and all manner of frippery! Well, as far as she was concerned her Katie’s house was as good, if not better, because it had the added bonus of having herself, Katie and Lizzy living in it!

  Thinking of Lizzy made her smile. She was looking forward to seeing Peter in Australia. She had been banjaxed with excitement over it, as her mother used to say.

  Patrick walked into Katie’s hall carrying a bottle of red wine. Kate took it from him and he slipped off his overcoat, placing it over the worn banister rail. He followed her through to the kitchen and Evelyn favoured him with one of her wide smiles.

  ‘Come away in and sit yourself down. It’s enough to cut the lugs from you out there tonight!’

  Patrick grinned. He loved listening to Evelyn’s voice, it was like listening to his own mother again. He missed the Southern Irish accent. It had a musical quality about it, even when spoken raucously.

  Patrick took the corkscrew Kate handed to him, and opened the bottle of wine. He poured them all a glass. Evelyn took hers, and after a large gulp said, ‘It must have been terrible for you today, Patrick. You just sit yourself down and get something hot inside you. Food always makes people feel better.’

  Patrick looked down at his shoes.

  Kate was making a salad. As she washed the vegetables, Evelyn kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m off then, Katie. Goodbye, Patrick, I’ll probably see you later.’

  ‘Let me run you round to Doris’s, Mum.’

  Evelyn held up her hand. ‘I’m quite capable of going by shanks’s pony, Kate. You get your food down you while it’s hot.’

  Patrick smiled at her and watched her putting on her coat, scarf, woollen hat and thermal boots. She had them all laid out in the front room. Giving them both another wave she left the house, a large leather bag clutched to her chest.

  ‘She’s a lovely woman, Kate, you’re lucky to have her.’

  ‘Don’t I know it! Why don’t you put some of the dishes on the breakfast bar, this salad’s nearly ready.’

  Patrick set about helping. As they worked they chatted amiably about little things. The distraction of doing mundane everyday tasks took the edge off his misery. It had not occurred to him until today that he had not really grieved for his child because he had not really believed she was dead. It was only the lowering of her coffin into the earth that had brought it home to him. Finally and irrevocably.

  Kate placed the garlic bread and salad on the laden surface and sat opposite him.

  Patrick picked up his wine glass and held it in the air. ‘To us?’ It was more a question than a statement.

  Kate picked up her own glass and touched it against his. ‘To Mandy, may she rest in peace.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’ Patrick sipped his wine, and then putting down his glass began to help himself from the dishes. He did not feel particularly hungry, the day had taken away any appetite he had. In fact, if he had not be
en going to see Kate, he would have got blind drunk.

  ‘This is the first time I’ve eaten Greek salad with spaghetti bolognese, Kate.’

  He shovelled a mouthful of salad in as he spoke.

  ‘I know. But they complement each other. I think so anyway, and as we’re in my house we’ll eat as I think fit.’

  The ice was melted completely now, and they chatted together as they ate. Nothing important or heavyweight, that type of thing could wait for the time being. Tonight was an interval. It was to be the night when Patrick’s trouble and Kate’s involvement in that trouble could be set aside. They were a couple of friends comforting each other.

  Patrick ate. He watched as Kate sucked in a piece of spaghetti, and he smiled. He knew that when the pain was gone, he would always associate Kate with his Mandy. He would always think of them together, first Mandy and then Kate. She was the one good thing that had come out of it all. He knew that if he had been left alone tonight he would have cracked. He needed company, but the company of someone he cared about, not a casual sexual encounter. If he had gone for that he would have felt he had cheapened his daughter’s life. Trying to forget her and come to terms with her burial with a stranger, would have been like an insult.

  After the meal, when they had taken the remainder of the wine into the lounge, their lovemaking began quietly. Kate allowed her clothes to be removed and lay on the floor with a tapestry cushion beneath her head, watching Patrick undress.

  The thrill of watching him started as a heat, deep in her loins, and gradually engulfed her whole body. She saw that he was already aroused and was glad. She wanted no foreplay tonight. She wanted something hard, and sweet, and fast.

  When Patrick collapsed on top of her ten minutes later, she felt the tension slipping out of both of them and held him to her breast, stroking his hair, while their heartbeats gradually returned to normal.

  ‘Oh, Kate, I needed that.’

  She kissed him on the mouth, gently at first and then hard, pushing her tongue between his lips.

  ‘I know that, Pat. I’m glad you came to me.’

  Kissing her breasts, he rolled from her and lit them both a cigarette. He lay back on the floor beside her and placed a large glass ashtray on her stomach.

  ‘Oh, you! That’s cold.’

  Patrick smiled and lay back, putting one arm under his head. ‘I ain’t lain on a floor like this for years, have you?’

  ‘Oh, we do this all the time at the station. You should see us some days in the canteen!’

  Patrick laughed softly.

  ‘You’re crazy sometimes.’

  ‘It’s all this screwing.’

  He glanced at her profile.

  ‘I don’t call what we do “screwing”, Kate. I call it making love. There’s a difference, you know.’

  She turned her face slightly and looked into his eyes. ‘You’re very romantic, Patrick. What’s brought all this on?’

  But she knew what had brought it on, they both did. Losing his child had made him realise that happiness was there for the taking, and when you took it you had to grab it with both hands tightly, because you never knew when it was going to be taken away again.

  Taking her cigarette he placed it in the ashtray with his own and put this on the hearth. He pulled her into his arms.

  ‘I love you, Kate. I know we haven’t known each other that long, but admit it - admit you feel the bond between us?’

  Kate searched his eyes. All she could see was honesty and caring. She felt an absurd lump in her throat.

  ‘Tell me you love me, Katie, make me happy.’ It was a plea. Patrick needed words of love from her tonight; he needed to resolve the feelings that had been gradually welling up inside him since he’d first laid eyes on her. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he had met her under any other circumstances he would still have wanted her. It wasn’t the fact that she had been there from the first, at the worst time of his life, that attracted him to her. It was the attraction of two kindred spirits they had here, heightened by the heartbreak each had experienced.

  Kate was telling herself that it was the burial of his daughter that had brought all this on, that he was unhappy and needed someone, but inside her a little voice was whispering: ‘He means it. It’s written in his eyes.’

  She knew that if she voiced what she had felt in her heart since the first time she saw him, there would be no going back. He was a repoman, a violent repoman. He had fingers in more than enough dubious enterprises. But for all that, for all she knew about him, real and imagined, she wanted him.

  He could drag her down with him in an instant. Their association would jeopardise everything she had worked for and held dear. But even knowing this, she still wanted him. She had never wanted anyone so much in all her life.

  ‘I love you, Patrick. I think.’

  Her voice was low and husky, and he laughed.

  ‘Only think? Well, I suppose that will have to do for the time being.’

  Kate ran her fingers through his thick hair and traced the contours of his face with her fingertips, gradually travelling down, over his body and along his back muscles, to his rounded behind. He even felt strong. His skin felt warm and comforting on top of hers. He covered her naturally, as if he had been made specially to fit into the contours of her body. And as they kissed the shrill jangling of the phone broke their mood.

  Kate pulled herself from the floor and padded out to the hall, dragging her blouse on as she went.

  Patrick lay on the carpet and lit himself another cigarette. He felt at peace with himself, something he had not thought possible on this day of all days.

  Kate came back into the lounge and sat beside him, her dark nipples showing through the thin silk of the blouse.

  ‘That was my mother. She’s decided to stay the night at Doris’s.’ She shook her head. ‘She’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer!’

  Patrick smiled at her.

  ‘She’s a lovely person, Kate. Reminds me of me own mum. She had the same zest for life as Evelyn. It was overwork that killed her off, bless her. My one regret is she never lived long enough for me to give her a decent life. I’d have bought her a bingo hall of her very own.’

  Kate laughed, knowing that he spoke the truth.

  ‘I would have, Kate, you can laugh.’

  ‘That’s why I’m laughing, because I know you’re speaking the truth. I can just see you doing it.’

  They both grinned and then Kate took the cigarette from him and took a deep draw on it.

  ‘Do you want to stay the night?’

  Patrick grabbed her thigh and squeezed it.

  ‘I’m not that kind of boy, miss.’ He fluttered his eyelashes and she laughed again.

  He watched her and knew that if it weren’t for her, he would never have laughed again after today. Not really laughed.

  She was as good as a tonic, as his mother used to say, and he did love her. He loved her very much.

  Later on, in bed, they made love and she told him she loved him again.

  In the dark and warmth of the night, with the musky smell of each other permeating their bodies, it did not seem wrong any more.

  They talked till the early hours about Mandy and Lizzy, both exorcising their own particular ghosts. They had so much in common for two people who were, in outsiders’ eyes, so different. He agreed with her about sending Lizzy to Australia. He said that he would have done the same with Mandy. Lizzy was a girl who felt things deeply - too deeply, he said - and Kate loved him for his understanding of her situation. He seemed to have guessed that Kate felt responsible for her daughter’s troubles and tried, in his own way, to allay her fears. Finally, they fell asleep together, entwined, and stayed that way till the morning.

  It was over breakfast that he told her his news.

  ‘I sold the massage parlours, Kate. All of them. I sign the contracts in five days’ time, and then they are nothing to do with me any more.’

  Kate’s eyes widened. ‘Yo
u’re joking?’

  ‘No, I’m not. Since that girl was . . . What with my Mandy and everything, I don’t want anything to do with it anymore.’

  Kate put her hand on his and squeezed it gently. ‘I’m glad, Pat.’

  ‘It came home to me that the man who murdered my girl was like the man who murdered young Gillian Enderby - a pervert of some kind. Except my Mandy was dragged off the street and Gillian was like a baited trap, waiting to be sprung. I ain’t silly enough to think that by selling the shops it won’t happen again, there’ll always be a demand for that type of thing, but at least now I know that I have no part in it.’

  ‘I think Renée would have been pleased.’

  Patrick smiled.

  ‘Yeah. She would have. In a lot of ways you two are alike. Renée was small and blonde while you’re tall and dark, but in your personalities you’re similar. She had a brain, old Renée. She had more savvy than people gave her credit for.’

  ‘You still miss her, don’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘But not like before. The physical pain has gone now. When she died, I felt as if someone had chopped off one of my arms or legs. I feel like that now about Mandy. But with Renée I can remember her now without pain. It’s a bitter-sweet memory.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘But I’ve got you now as well, and that helps me. It helps me a lot. If Renée could see me now I know she’d approve. She’d have liked you, Kate. You’d have liked her.’

  Kate was not too sure about that but she kept her own counsel. Instead she poured him another coffee and smiled.

  ‘Well, I think you did the right thing. I don’t believe you would have been happy still owning those parlours, you know. Anyway, we start the blood testing in a couple of days and then we should start to get a result; if nothing else we can eliminate the large part of the male community, and that can only make our job easier.’