Be Careful What You Wish For: Three women, three men, three deaths (Kitty Thomas)

by Sue Nicholls

  ‘A few days. They will be in touch. Oh, and by the way, we are treating the death as suspicious.’

  Maurice blinks his eyes and raises them to find the policeman watching him.

  ***

  The body in the lake belongs to Twitch. There was never any doubt in Maurice's mind, but the news still has the power to give him a jolt. Now at home, he sits in his favourite armchair and stares with dry eyes at the fireplace.

  Murder. Such a blunt word, and so out of place here, in middle England. Thank God he did not have to identify her. The police took DNA samples from the children and matched them to Twitch's body.

  The children, they are another thing to be coped with. Gloria is fantastic, comforting and everything, but of course Josh and Sam want to be with Maurice as much as possible. They are missing their mother. He is ill equipped for emotional situations. Unable to find the words to make them feel secure. And the cooking! He may be adept by now at a few things, but he cannot match what Gloria's been conjuring up for them. Yesterday they asked for fish stew. Good grief!

  Maurice pulls himself together. They will need to be collected from school soon.

  During the journey to school, words scud through his mind, phrases to soften the news he has to deliver. Of course, he has imagined this moment before, has prepared for it, psychologically. At the school he is disgusted by the crush of cars across gateways and double parked. Women! After parking his car some distance away, he strides to the school gate and positions himself awkwardly among groups of gossiping mothers. Across their heads he notices another lone man, a stay-at-home father possibly, with his right hand resting on a push chair. Their eyes meet and Maurice nods at him but is in no mood for small talk. The two men remain silent amid the gossip and complaint.

  There is a muffled ringing from inside the school, and a few minutes later children filter out. Mothers, eyes only for their beloved children, depart asking loud, proud questions about the events of their children's day.

  'Hello Dad.' Sam is surprised to see his father today.

  'Hello Sam-boy. Have you had a good day?'

  'The boy searches his father's face. 'What's wrong?'

  Maurice does not want to say anything yet. He needs to get them home and tell them together. 'Something's happened love. I'll tell you when we get home.'

  'Daddy!' Josh rushes up looking delighted to see his father on this unexpected afternoon. He holds his arms up for a hug and Maurice stoops down to squeeze him tightly.

  'Careful Daddy, I can't breathe.’

  Sam interjects, ‘Can we go on the wagon again, Dad?’ The boys have not forgotten their brilliant day on Callun Hill.

  ‘Sorry son.’ Maurice lifts Josh onto his shoulders and holds out his hand to Sam. ‘Someone stole it from the garden.’

  ‘Is that the thing you wanted to tell us?

  ‘No, Sam. Something else.’

  They trail back to the car ignoring disapproving whispers: 'He's spoiling that child.'

  'He'll never walk if he’s carried everywhere.'

  ***

  The children are weeping and Maurice, sitting once again in his armchair, holds them awkwardly, worrying what to do next. He needs help here; he is not equipped for this. In fairness, nobody is equipped for such a situation, but some would deal with it better than he. Gloria for instance, or his mother. Women, in fact, certainly those in his life, are better at the hugging, comforting stuff. Maurice's instinct is more practical. What can he provide to help? Nothing. Can he work harder to make things better? No. So he sits and waits for the kids to calm down then pushes them gently to one side and squeezes to his feet saying brightly, ‘OK, who’s for a McDonalds?’

  He does not get the response he is hoping for. The boys remain huddled together in the chair. Sam shuffles towards his small brother and wraps his arms round him. Josh has his thumb poked deep between his lips and is sucking hard. The little boy’s eyes are beginning to close, a mercy in the circumstances.

  Maurice’s heart constricts. Poor boy, poor sweet little love. He has been through too much in his short life. ‘Come on Sam. Let's take him to bed then you and I can snuggle up and watch something on television.’

  ‘No Dad. Keep him here with us. He might wake up and be scared.’

  Such a wise boy. Maurice gathers up the sleepy Josh while Sam finds something on the television, then the three of them settle onto the settee.

  Chapter 62

  ‘It’s murder,’ announces Gloria from the driver’s seat.

  Fee’s stomach lurches. ‘What is?’

  ‘Keepin’ the house clean.’ Gloria turns her eyes from the road and looks aghast. ‘Oh Lord. Sorry Fee. I wasn’t thinkin’.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Gloria. I’m a bit on edge.’

  ‘Of course you are dear. Is there any news?’

  ‘Not yet. They’re doing the post-mortem today.’

  Fee shifts her aching hand on the grab handle, her eyes riveted to the road.

  ‘Gloria?’

  ‘Yes?’ Gloria frowns at the windscreen, her hands gripping the steering wheel, positioned carefully at ten to two.

  ‘I want to tell you something.’

  The engine whines as the car drops a gear and comes to rest in front of a red traffic signal.

  ‘I’ve met a man.’

  Gloria’s head twists to the left, a beam stretched between her ears. ‘I thought you were goin’ to tell me to leave.’

  ‘Gosh no. I told you before, I need you.’

  ‘I’m happy for you Fee. Tell me all about him.’ Gloria is as inquisitive as her late daughter-in-law was.

  A horn beeps behind them and Gloria’s attention returns to the junction, where the lights have turned green. She raises her hand in apology and leaps off in the direction of Watco, telling Fee to carry on with her story.

  Fee describes Will in vague terms. ‘He works on the oil rigs. He’s a good cook and he keeps his flat clean, and he’s just finished decorating. It looks nice.’ She knows what Gloria will be interested in. ‘The thing is,’ she takes a breath, ‘He’s asked me to go away with him for a couple of weeks in November. Do you think I should go?’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She is being disingenuous. ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Then go. You don’t get chances like that too often. You got to grab them. I’ll be fine here with the kiddies. They’ll be at school most of the time and their dads can help, can’t they?’

  ‘I hope so.’ Fee turns her eyes to the side window. She is uneasy about the whole idea of a holiday now that Twitch’s body has turned up. Thank goodness it is in November, still a couple of months ahead.

  ***

  It is the following weekend and Gloria has gone home again, ‘Just to check things are all OK. I might rent it out, what do you think of that?’

  The men have decided to have their children, and Kitty is the last to go – and the slowest.

  ‘Kitty, come on, Daddy’s waiting for you.’

  ‘Where are my trainers Mummy?’

  ‘Where you left them, I expect.’ Fee looks apologetically at Paul as they stand at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not in a hurry.’ His body language contradicts his words but that cannot be helped. Fee gestures to the kitchen.

  ‘I wanted to have a word with you anyway.’

  Judging by the thuds from upstairs, Kitty is emptying everything she owns onto her bedroom floor.

  ‘Mummy.’ She appears at the top of the stairs. ‘Come and help me’.

  ‘You’ll find them darling. You should put things away then you’ll always know where they are.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ smirks Paul, and Fee flashes a wry smile. ‘I know it falls on deaf ears, but I can’t help saying it. Coffee?’

  He nods.

  She shouts up the stairs, ‘Keep looking Kitty, Daddy’s going to have a drink,’ and leads her ex-husband into the kitchen.

  He settles at the breakfast bar. ‘How’s t
hings?’ There is genuine concern in his voice.

  Fee reaches for two mugs and places them in front of him, then turns away to grind the beans. ‘Oh, you know.’ The grinder roars, making further conversation impossible. When the noise has died away, she taps clinging grounds into a jug and goes on, ‘I don’t know what I’d do without Gloria. She runs the house like clockwork, and the kids love her…’ She fixes her eyes on the boiling water slopping into the coffee jug as she says, ‘Paul?’ When she glances over her shoulder, he is all attention. She presses the shining plunger through the black sludge in the jug and carries it across to him. Averting her eyes, she continues, ‘I’ve met someone.’ Coffee streams into the mugs and its rich smell gives the kitchen a homely atmosphere, to Fee at least. She dares to meet his gaze. ‘I haven’t told Kitty yet. I thought you ought to know first.’ She slides a mug across the counter. ‘Still black with no sugar?’

  ‘How long?’ Paul’s voice is strangled.

  ‘Oh, a while now. The thing is,’ she drizzles milk into her mug, ‘We want to go on holiday, and I may need to call on you to have Kitty while I’m away. Just in case of emergency.’

  ‘Holiday?’ His tone is as she had expected.

  ‘Not until November. Hopefully all this investigation will be finished by then. I know what you’re thinking,’ she meets his eyes again. ‘And I don’t blame you, but I need a break. The pressure of the last few weeks has been huge. And the police…’ She tails off, bowing her head and looking at the coffee again.

  ‘What about the police?’

  She shrugs. ‘I think they suspect me.’

  ‘You?’ Paul barks out a laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. What do they think you did, lure Twitch away on her bicycle and poke a stick between the spokes?’

  ‘I suppose, because of Millie - it is a bit of a coincidence.’ She falters.

  ‘So, you’re going to run away.’ Paul’s statement conveys his disapproval.

  ‘No, not at all. Will has been asking me for ages. Until Gloria was established, I couldn't - wouldn’t go, but now, I know it doesn’t look great, but I need something to look forward to. It’s only for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Two weeks? Two weeks.’ Paul launches onto his feet, and his stool rocks. ‘You’re going to leave Kitty, not to mention Josh and Sam, who have just lost their mother, for a fortnight?’ He raises a clenched fist to shoulder height and brings it down. The edge of his curled hand halts about a centimetre above the shiny worktop and bounces silently up again like a bungee jumper.

  Fee starts to close down. ‘Paul, please be quiet, Kitty will hear you.’

  ‘Oh, here we go.’ Paul thrusts his face towards hers, his top lip raised to expose teeth the colour of ancient piano keys. ‘Mzzz Perfect. Never flustered, never out of control.’

  If he only knew.

  ‘We’re not married any longer, Paul.’ Her voice is low. ‘Please don’t talk to me like that. I’m telling you as a matter of courtesy, not asking your permission.’

  He compresses his lips, and his eyes drill into her, but the sound of Kitty thumping down the stairs prevents further debate.

  ‘Are you shouting about something Daddy?’ Kitty aims a look at her father that is so like her mother’s, it is scary.

  ‘Who me? I’m Mr Tickle - he never shouts.’ He grabs her and probes fingers into her ribs, eliciting squeals of laughter.

  When they have left, Fee sits back on her stool and raises her coffee mug to her lips with shaking fingers.

  ***

  The ringtone of Gloria’s mobile sounds in her handbag and she runs to fetch it from the hall. It has not rung for a while, possibly because Gloria has just discovered that it was set to silent. She rummages between her purse and make up bag, eager to fish it out. ‘Hello, who is this please?’ She holds the gadget in both hands, breathing fast.

  A male voice she does not recognise floats down the line to her. ‘Is that Mrs Adu?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you; I’ve been trying for a while.’

  ‘Who is this?’ She is not about to buy anything over the telephone from one of those telephone selling people.

  ‘You don’t know me. My name is Will.’

  ***

  Following the lead of his friends, Maurice has treated himself to a mobile phone, and now, it is ringing.

  ‘Mr Ro…, this is Lym…er p…lice.’ Maurice holds the phone to his ear and ducks into a passage between two shops, to block the rumble of the traffic on the main road. He covers the other ear with his palm.

  ‘I’m sorry, this isn’t a good signal. You’re breaking up.’

  The flow of dialogue stammers on, and the words Post Mor… emerge for a second, like an English word in a Welsh sentence.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Maurice shouts, trying to stem the unintelligible stream. ‘I can’t hear you. Give me a few minutes and I’ll come into the station, I’m only round the corner. OK?’

  Who knows if she understood? The voice stutters some more and Maurice hangs up on it. Bursting from his shelter he runs along the pavement, dodging shoppers and jumping over obstacles.

  ***

  He recognises the policeman - a balding fellow who came to the house when Twitch first went missing. The man’s expression in the pallid light from a small metal-framed window high on the wall, fills Maurice with foreboding. The officer switches on a tape recorder and reaches for a pen and bound notebook from the grimy window ledge.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Bailey interviewing Mr Maurice Roman.’ He gives the date and time.

  ‘Mr Roman, we have completed the post-mortem on your ex-wife and as we expected, her death was by drowning.’

  Maurice waits in silence. What can he say?’

  ‘Given some other injuries to her body, we are treating her death as murder.’

  ‘Murder?’ Maurice stares at the officer.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s hard to reach any other conclusion.’

  Maurice presses his straightened fingers to his mouth then hooks his chin into his palm. His neck is too weak to support his head. The man in front of him continues talking, words winging past, unheard. Maurice interrupts. ‘Sorry. I know you’re telling me things, but I can’t take this in. Why would she be murdered? Was she raped or attacked in any way?’

  ‘I can’t tell you any more than that at the moment Sir; I’m sure you understand. This is a murder enquiry. I’m afraid we won’t be able to release the body for a while.’

  ‘Could you not call her ‘The Body’? She is – was a person.’

  We’re searching the area round the lake for any clue to the identity of the murderer, and there will be a press release, appealing for witnesses.

  Maurice’s mind turns to his children. ‘Will it be on television?’

  ‘Very probably. We’ll let you know when it’s going to happen. I imagine it will be done quite soon to avoid unnecessary scaremongering.

  ‘I understand you are friendly with Mr Paul Thomas.’

  Maurice is still absorbing the word scaremongering, but he pulls his attention back to the question. ‘Paul? Yes. We got friendly when our wives left us. Mick too. The girls all lived together at that house in Crispin Road so it was natural we should join forces as well.’

  ‘Join forces?

  ‘Well. You know. Mutual support. I didn’t know how to cook. Mick taught me to do some basics so I could feed my kids...’

  The policeman interrupts. ‘Mick. That would be Mr Michael Adu.’

  ‘Yes. And Paul helped me put up shelves and mend cupboards. We go for the occasional pint together. Nothing amazing.’

  D.S. Bailey continues to take an interest in Paul, and after answering some simple questions, Maurice becomes reticent at the mention his friend’s outbursts of temper. ‘He’s a good man, and I can’t imagine him as a murderer if that’s what you’re getting at. Why would he kill Twitch anyway?’

  ‘He does have a temper though, doesn’t he?’

  The feet of M
aurice’s wooden chair screech on the floor and he finds himself glaring down at the detective. ‘Everyone has a temper if provoked enough.’ His voice echoes back to him from the walls and he drops back into his chair.

  Once he has settled, Bailey asks, ‘Can you tell me your movements on the day your ex-wife went missing?’

  ‘I took the boys swimming. Fee rang to say Twitch hadn’t come home and so we went to the pool in Chelterton.’

  ‘So, Ms Thomas rang you in the morning?’

  ‘Yes. No – hang on, that was the Sunday, she went missing on the Saturday, didn’t she?’

  ‘Indeed, sir.’

  OK. Let me think.’ He pauses to gather his thoughts. ‘Yes, I remember, Fee wanted me to have the kids, but I had some shopping to do. I went to Watco, then to the Post Office - the card bit, to buy a birthday card for my Mother.’

  ‘Do you have the receipt?’

  ‘I doubt it, it’s not the kind of thing you keep, is it? I’ll check when I get home though. It might be in a pocket.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ The officer hunches his shoulders over his pen. ‘So, when you had finished shopping…?’

  ‘I went home, made a sandwich then picked up Josh and Sam at, I suppose about 3-ish. We went to the pictures – Pocahontas, then home. I kept the boys overnight and then Fee rang while we were having breakfast.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. That’s most helpful.’ D.S. Bailey signs off from the tape ‘Interview terminated at…’

  ***

  Boxes are packed. Removals begin tomorrow. Paul has not lived in the flat long but even so rectangular ghosts on his sitting room and hall walls hint at where his motor prints have been. In his bedroom the wardrobe and drawers stand empty, and across the hall the kitchen is bereft of clutter. A loaf and a jar of coffee sit lonely on the counter beside a mug, a teaspoon and a plate, ready for breakfast tomorrow. In the fridge, apart from butter and milk, several bottles of beer pledge reward for the labours of the day.

  Topsy is at the kennels. He left her looking mournful inside her pen and felt guilty all the way home. It had to be done though, for everyone’s safety.

  When the doorbell shrills, he jumps. On the threshold, the bloody police again. He leads them into the living room, and they regard him across a packing case full of unidentifiable, wrapped objects.