Drown My Books

by Penny Freedman

  When I go into the bathroom, I start to feel shaky. There are four toothbrushes in the rack and Alice’s comb and makeup sit on the shelf. Why haven’t the police been in and seen this? I want to rage, except that what I know, chillingly, is that time is not of the essence here. Simon won’t have abducted Alice and be holding her tied up somewhere, will he? If she disappeared on Monday night, more than three days ago, without her phone or her toothbrush, then she is dead, isn’t she?

  I go downstairs and take another look round. In the kitchen I see Alice’s anorak still hanging on the back of the door; in the living room, I see a copy of May We Be Forgiven lying on the floor; by the front door, I see her leather boots, lined up neatly below the coat pegs. The long, grey coat, though, is not there. But you could wrap a body in a long coat, couldn’t you?

  All of a sudden, I can’t wait to get out of the house. I turn and blunder through the kitchen, sending the cat skittering away. I go out of the back door, lock it from the outside, then go shoulder-deep into the cat flap again to shove the key back into place. I position my offering of leeks outside the door, go out through the back gate, bolt it and carry my chair back home. The clock on my oven tells me that I have been away for nearly half an hour.

  I lay the mobile phone on the kitchen table, strip off my filthy trousers and put them in the washing machine, wash my hands, make a cup of coffee and settle down with it to work out how to use the phone. It is not actually all that difficult here in the safety of my own kitchen. I manage to wake it up and then find the message icon. It is Alice’s phone; the last two messages are about a social arrangement for the boys – an arrangement they have missed, apparently. Dated yesterday, the last message reads, Hi Alice. What happened to you? Was expecting the boys this am. Have I got it wrong? Jenny x Yes, Jenny, you have got it wrong, I’m afraid, wronger than you can imagine.

  What do I do now? I shall have to ring Paula, shan’t I? If Simon has killed Alice, then he killed Kelly, too, didn’t he? And attacked Eva. And possibly killed Lily, if Jack’s right. And surely I have to be next, don’t I? When he finds the phone gone, he will know I have it, won’t he? And, anyway, as Paula so cogently put it, I am the most completely bloody infuriating person in the group.

  I really should eat some breakfast first, though, because I feel pretty shaky and coffee is probably too strong in the circumstances. I make a piece of toast, but as I start to butter it, the burnt toast and cat food smell of Alice’s kitchen revisits me and I think I’m going to throw up. I drink a glass of water and take some deep breaths. Caliban gets the toast.

  There is nothing for it but to ring Paula, and I can’t feel any worse than I do already, so I reach for the phone and, as I lay a hand on it, it shrills into action, making me fumble and drop it.

  When I retrieve it, a voice says, ‘Are you all right, Gina?’

  For a moment, I don’t know who it is, because I am, stupidly, expecting it to be Paula. ‘Yes,’ I say cautiously.

  ‘It’s Lesley here,’ she says. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘No – no, I’m fine. I just… dropped the phone.’

  ‘OK. Well, I’ve got good news. It’s fixed.’

  ‘Fixed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry, Lesley. What’s fixed?’

  ‘The appointment.’

  What is she talking about?

  ‘With Farid,’ she says.

  How could I have forgotten? I pull myself together and try to sound brisk and competent.

  ‘That’s terrific, Lesley,’ I say. ‘I’ve got the diary right here. If you can give me date and time, I’ll —’

  ‘This afternoon,’ she says. ‘Two-thirty.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I don’t think – I mean, I’m not really —’ I expected a long wait – time enough, perhaps, to talk to Andrew. With this morning’s discoveries, I’m just not ready for this.

  ‘Gina!’ she says, and her voice is unexpectedly sharp. ‘Yesterday it was a priority – you had to see Farid urgently. I’ve had two quite difficult conversations with the IRC, pushing them for an appointment as soon as possible. Have you got something more important to do this afternoon? Because if you don’t go this afternoon, I can’t guarantee that you’ll get another appointment. I’m certainly not doing any more negotiating. You’re on your own.’

  I have a horrible feeling that I’m going to cry.

  ‘Sorry, Lesley,’ I say, and I hate the pathetic wobble in my voice. ‘I’ve had a bit of a shock, um… and I’m not quite —’ Should I tell her about Alice? Something tells me not to. ‘This afternoon will be fine,’ I say. ‘Thank you for organising it. Sorry if it was difficult.’

  She relents. ‘It wasn’t that difficult,’ she says. ‘They just do their best to make it difficult.’ Then she asks, ‘Would you like me to come with you? I’m going into Dover later this morning. Lorna and I are going to get fingerprinted. We were planning to do a bit of shopping and have some lunch afterwards. I could meet you at the IRC at two-fifteen, and give you a lift home afterwards.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry. There’s no need. I —’ Then I stop. ‘Actually, that would be great,’ I say. ‘I mean, because you know the ropes and so on…’

  ‘I’ll see you there, then. Do you know how to get there?’

  ‘I’ll find it.’

  ‘OK, then.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll need to have your passport with you.’

  ‘Jesus, Lesley. They’re not going to try and deport me, too, are they?’

  ‘For identification. To prove you are who I’ve said you are. They’ll have done a background check on you. Mainly, they want to make sure you’re not a journalist, I imagine. I would normally say bring your driving licence but I assume you haven’t got one of those?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you do have a passport?’

  ‘Somewhere. If I can find it.’

  ‘Find it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  I sit down at the kitchen table and rest my head on my folded arms. The urge to cry has passed but I feel incredibly tired. Ariel the cat, who rarely takes an interest in my feelings, jumps onto the table and nuzzles at my hair. I guess she is alarmed at my apparent collapse because she fears I may not be strong enough to feed her.

  ‘It’s all right, cat,’ I mumble. ‘I’m not dead yet.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  RITES OF PASSAGE

  Friday 21st February 2014

  Lesley

  ‘Lesley Harper,’ she said, for the second time. ‘I phoned yesterday to make an appointment to see Farid Khalil. I was making an appointment on behalf of a fr-colleague, Mrs Virginia Gray – or Sidwell.’

  There was a silence at the other end. Then the voice, thin and nasal, said, ‘Well, which is it? Gray or Sidwell?’

  ‘I explained yesterday – and I’m pretty sure it was you I spoke to – Gray is her married name but she is divorced and, informally, she now uses her maiden name. She hasn’t changed it officially, so any documentation will be under Gray. There is nothing sinister about having the two names.’

  She heard – and was intended to hear – a sigh. There was a rustling of papers.

  ‘I can’t find your name anywhere here. Harper, you said?’

  ‘Yes, but the appointment isn’t for me. I explained that yesterday, too.’

  ‘There’s no need to take that tone, Mrs Harper. We’re dealing with these calls all the time. There’s nothing special about you.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, injecting as much pleasantness into her voice as she could manage. ‘I realise that you are very busy.’

  ‘Anyway, why doesn’t your colleague ring for herself?’

  ‘As I said, I’m a social worker. I’ve had dealings with the IRC before. She wasn�
�t sure what to do. And you’re not the most user-friendly of institutions, are you? You’re used to the place, but just looking at it scares most people.’

  ‘What do you want? You want us to have Open Days, do you, with tea and cakes?’

  ‘Great idea.’

  He sighed again. ‘Khalil, was it, you wanted to see?’

  ‘Well not me – Mrs Gray.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  The rustling of papers had stopped and she detected, as she heard him say, ‘O – kay… Khalil… Farid’ that he was now looking at a computer screen.

  ‘Yup,’ he said. ‘Hold on.’

  She listened intently. He seemed to have moved away from the screen and was talking to someone. She thought she heard him say, ‘Gray, probably.’

  Nothing happened for a long time. She could hear movement, though – footsteps, odd bangs, the occasional word. She watched the kitchen clock. She would give it five minutes exactly. If he hadn’t got back to her by then she would decide he was just playing a power game with her, hang up and tell Gina she’d have to sort things out for herself. After four minutes and twenty seconds, he returned.

  ‘You still there?’ he asked.

  ‘Is it still Friday?’ she answered.

  ‘Oh, a joker,’ he said. ‘That’s all we need.’

  She waited, saying nothing.

  ‘This afternoon,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘This afternoon, your friend can come in. Khalil is seeing his lawyer at two, so he’ll be in the visitors’ centre already. Tell her two-thirty and she can have twenty minutes.’

  ‘But don’t you need to check —’

  ‘She’s been CRB checked, your Mrs Gray. She’ll do. Tell her to bring her driving licence with her.’

  ‘She doesn’t drive, actually. Will a passport do?’

  He gave a laugh that came out as a sort of strangled shout.

  ‘British passport, is it?’

  ‘I assume so.’

  ‘Well, tell her not to wave it about then. They’ll rip her apart for one of those up here.’

  Resisting the temptation to say, A joker. That’s all we need, she said, on impulse, ‘I’m CRB checked myself. Does that mean I could go in and see him, too?’

  She thought she could hear him sucking his teeth. ‘No more than two at a time,’ he said, ‘so don’t bring your friends.’ Then the line went dead. And you have a nice day, too, she muttered into the handset before reaching for the biscuit tin and dialling Gina’s number.

  When she put the phone down three minutes later, she allowed herself a muffled growl of frustration before putting the kettle on and diving back into the biscuit tin. Dunking a choc chip cookie into her coffee, she considered Gina. Was she drinking? She had thought she might be a couple of days ago when she called with her talk of being arrested and needing Lesley to look after the dog, and now, this morning, she had sounded so out of it. Not slurred, though. Wobbly, as though she might have been crying, but not slurred. Preoccupied, but more than that – emotionally preoccupied, somehow. Bereaved, actually. In her work life, Lesley had seen people in the first shock of sudden bereavement and she thought she recognised that disconnected tone, the effort needed to focus on the here and now. But if Gina had just had bad news, why hadn’t she said? If something had happened to one of the daughters, or the grandchildren, then Gina would need her friends and Lesley, whose warm heart had not been chilled by years of working for Social Services, wanted to take her into her ample embrace.

  She was glad, she thought, as she got up to cut a couple of slices of bread and put them in the toaster, that she had thought to ask about going in with Gina to see Farid. She had thought of it, really, because you never knew with Gina how she would behave and she was afraid that the congenital obstructiveness of the staff at the IRC would arouse an equal obstructiveness in Gina. She had seen her role as exercising restraint, but now she thought she might be needed just to see Gina through. She spread her toast liberally with butter and opened a new jar of what looked like excellent gooseberry jam. It was going to be a trying morning, she reasoned, and better tackled on a full stomach. And they might not eat lunch till late.

  Picking up Lorna half an hour later, she was amused to see how smart she was looking, in a cashmere coat, silk scarf and black patent shoes with heels. They had both had the same instinct to dress up for this visit to the police station. Lorna’s clothes, like her own, said, I am not, of course, a criminal or even a suspect. I am a public-spirited member of the community doing her bit for law and order. As though criminals couldn’t own cashmere coats.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve complicated things a bit for the journey home,’ she said as they took the coast road towards Dover. ‘Gina’s got an appointment to see the Syrian lad.’

  ‘Which Syrian lad?’ Lorna asked.

  ‘Dora’s boyfriend. The one the police suspect.’

  ‘The police have a suspect?’

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you know? They took him in for questioning and then the Border Agency picked him up and he’s in the IRC. I’m surprised Gina didn’t tell you. She was straight on the phone to me. She’s incensed about it.’

  Lorna looked out of the window. ‘She did ring me yesterday,’ she said. ‘She wanted to know what had happened to the copies of The World’s Wife. She’s obsessing about them. But we didn’t talk long. I was cross with her.’

  Lesley glanced at her. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. She’d gone bouncing in to see Eva. You know she’s got this theory that we’re being picked off one by one by a serial killer, so she was grilling Eva about what happened at the library and completely wore her out. So thoughtless. And I told her so.’

  ‘She means well,’ Lesley said. How many times had she said that about people who were a pain in the neck? ‘She’s gung-ho to defend this lad, Farid, and I got her the appointment at the IRC. But the thing is, she sounded really rough when I spoke to her this morning and I wasn’t sure that she would cope, so I’ve offered to go with her, which means I won’t be ready to leave till about three. Can you fill the time with shopping or would you rather get the bus back?’

  ‘I shall go to the library,’ Lorna said, ‘and see what they’ve got new in. I shall be quite happy.’

  Having negotiated the constricted streets of Dover’s clogged town centre, Lesley drove boldly into the car park behind the police station. She was not sure whether people coming in to be fingerprinted were entitled to use it but she had always parked there when coming for work purposes and she was prepared to brazen it out if challenged. She felt bold this morning, she realised, more like her old work self, the woman who could cope with anything – the distressing, the deviant and the dangerous – and come up smiling. Being made redundant had knocked that out of her a bit but this morning, striding ahead with Lorna trotting anxiously behind her, she felt like her old self. She also felt oversized, but Lorna did that. So slight, so neat, so self-contained, she could make anyone feel that they took up too much space.

  The desk sergeant recognised her, which was gratifying, but did not help to speed up the process. They waited, making desultory conversation, in an area that resembled a tired doctors’ waiting room. Lesley would have liked to talk to Lorna about her concerns over Gina, but neither of them, she judged, was sufficiently relaxed to have that conversation, so they talked a bit about Notes on a Scandal, which Lorna had read before and Lesley had just started, and were, eventually, summoned in to have their prints taken. The young woman who took their prints was perfectly polite and took trouble to get the ink off their fingers afterwards, but Lesley could see that Lorna hated it and she didn’t like it much herself.

  Outside, they found it was raining, dashed to the car in their best coats and high heels and drove to the Marks and Spencers car park, ready for some consoling shopping. Inside, th
ough, they soon became disconsolate. February, they agreed, was the worst possible time for buying clothes. The racks were packed randomly with sale items – the bad colours, unwise patterns and odd shapes of the unbuyable and persistently unbought, and Lesley, though she knew that now was a good time to find the odd size eighteen at a knock-down price, was too proud to go outsize shopping with Lorna so sleek beside her.

  ‘An early lunch?’ she proposed, and after buying a few token items in the food hall to justify their parking, they went round the corner to a restaurant Lesley knew, which offered a substantial set lunch menu. Settled here, each with a glass of white wine, Lesley ate her way through pâté and roast chicken while Lorna nibbled at a salade niçoise. Between pâté and chicken, Lesley asked, ‘So how did you leave things with Gina yesterday?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘You said you were cross with her.’

  ‘Oh, it was nothing major. We didn’t have a row. I was just a bit short with her.’

  ‘Only she sounded really upset this morning. As though she’d had a bad shock.’

  ‘Well that won’t be me. Gina’s too tough to be upset by me being a bit cool.’

  ‘I think she’s more vulnerable than she seems.’

  ‘Oh, certainly. Though don’t let her hear you say it. But I really don’t think I can have upset her that much. Did you ask her what was wrong?’

  ‘No. I was quite cross, too, actually. I’d gone to a lot of trouble to set up this appointment at the IRC because she’d badgered me, and then she seemed to want to back out.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like Gina.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. That’s why I’m worried.’

  ‘I wonder if Alice knows what’s wrong.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Alice all week. I wondered if they’d gone away for half term.’

  ‘No. I’ve seen Simon and the boys. They’ve been into the library. But not Alice.’