Homicide in Herne Hill

by Alice Castle

  Mind you, she realised suddenly, she could still have more children.

  This was quite a seismic thought. For years, she’d thought a lot of things were behind her forever. Love, certainly. More children, therefore, definitely. But if she wasn’t now ruling out the first, then should she necessarily veto the second? She blinked a few times and tried to focus on Janice, sobbing in her office, an enormous cashmere mound pinning her to the office chair. It worked. The moment passed. The sudden baby hunger died away, as quickly as it had surfaced. But inwardly, Beth was a bit shocked. Apparently, all it had taken to set her off was the idea of a tiny pink tutu. She shook her head and looked around for Ben. He was marching on ahead.

  ‘Come on, Mum, you’re so slow,’ he sang out over his shoulder.

  ‘Cheeky,’ she said, catching him up and grabbing his hand. He let her swing it back and forward once, then shook free and sprinted on up the road. It was partly his natural bounce. He did everything at twice the speed of an adult. And there was also the chance that one of his friends from school might be out and about, too. It definitely would not be cool to be seen holding hands with his mum.

  Beth knew this was important, but she did pine for the days when his hot little hand had felt for hers, unbidden. Now his hands, larger already, were cool and elusive. They’d soon be bigger than her little paws, and he’d tower over her. Well, with any luck. James had been, not a giant, but at least not a titch like her. There was a good chance Ben would get to pretty nearly six foot, but she’d still be able to see him looming above her, on a clear day, if she used a telescope. She smiled to herself.

  They’d now trotted down the least rewarding part of Half Moon Lane, lined on both sides with solid suburban houses, all worth a fortune these days, but not as fun as the shops. These were collected at the bottom of the hill, like the heavier, more elaborate beads on a necklace. Because of their position, they had suffered horribly in the flood of 2013, when a Thames Water main pipe burst and left everything three feet deep in water. Compensation claims had dragged on, but the spirit of the area remained buoyant despite the soggy circumstances, and most places had reopened. There was now even a thriving weekend market, with open air food and craft stalls doing a roaring trade.

  As they reached the shops, Beth suddenly thought of Nina and looked around more carefully. Where was the blank façade that hid her firm of solicitors? Aha, that must be it, she decided, as she spotted an expanse of frosted glass, discreetly etched with a small sign reading Potter & Co, Solicitors. Next door was the off-licence, as Nina had said. Beth had sometimes bought a bottle of wine there for one of Belinda MacKenzie’s dreadful dinners, knowing full well the woman had an encyclopaedic knowledge of all the nearby supermarkets’ offerings and would turn her nose right up at Beth’s usual tipple, which was anything that cost under £5 a bottle.

  ‘Ben? Ben,’ Beth shouted at her son, who had run on ahead and was hanging onto the lamppost at the crossing, idly swinging himself backwards and forwards like a junior Gene Kelly. ‘We’re just popping in here for two minutes,’ she said urgently, gesturing at him to come back.

  Retracing his steps, at his mother’s command, was always something that took Ben at least four times as long as the original journey. But as soon as he’d caught her up, Beth strode to the frosted door and turned the handle, sidling into a surprisingly spacious empty lobby, carpeted in thick beige seagrass matting, and with a frosted glass counter dead ahead. There were two sturdy, darker beige chairs in a little waiting area, with a spread of pamphlets on a glass coffee table between them. Beth scanned the depressing titles Making a Will and Mediation in Divorce, featuring photos of generic-looking models with mildly perplexed expressions. She moved to the counter, just as a door in the shadows beyond it opened.

  A very, very, big, powerfully-built, middle-aged man in a suit dashed forward with the same sort of energy she could imagine might emanate from Ben, when he eventually reached his forties. He was as solid as Tom Seasons, but much taller. His face was deeply tanned, like the supple dark leather of an expensive handbag. Actually, it was a bit like Belinda MacKenzie’s current favourite, Beth realised, with a tiny smirk.

  His expression was welcoming but fairly neutral, though Beth could see small white lines radiating out around his eyes, like cat’s whiskers, where the sun hadn’t reached. She supposed she might well be here to enlist his help on a horrible divorce, and it certainly wouldn’t do to be grinning like the Cheshire cat if she had a tale of woe to impart.

  As far as his mahogany tan went, Beth would have diagnosed a recent skiing break, but didn’t people usually wear goggles on the slopes? Maybe he’d just been to the Caribbean? Somewhere hot at any rate, and that meant spending plenty of money at this time of year. Beth didn’t go on many holidays herself, but she certainly recognised the signs of a recent luxury break, on display year-round in these parts.

  He put his hands down on the counter and Beth heard a clunk as his expensive gold watch connected with the surface. He was wearing a tie in a vivid turquoise and blue key pattern, the only man Beth had seen with one in an age, apart from the Wyatt’s headmaster. And Dr Grover wore them as a semi-ironic flourish. ‘Can I help you?’ Mr Mahogany said. Even his voice sounded expensive, prep school, public school, top-flight university and years of pricey legal training oozing from every syllable.

  ‘I was just looking for Nina,’ said Beth.

  Immediately, the wattage of the smile in front of her dimmed even further. ‘She’s not here today, you can catch her at home or probably tomorrow,’ he said briskly, with no offer to take a message or pass anything on.

  Beth, feeling put in her place, said thank you, though for what she wasn’t quite sure, and rounded Ben up. In a few moments, they were out on the cold pavement again.

  ‘What was that about? Why did you want to see Wilf’s mum?’ said Ben in a rare moment of curiosity. He’d inherited a lot from her, but his blithe lack of interest in the mundane came straight from his father.

  Beth wasn’t sure she could really have given him an answer, even if she’d tried. ‘Oh, it’s not important,’ she said. ‘Quick, let’s get to the station before we miss our train.’

  Inside the office, Paul Potter stared at the door Beth had just walked through, without seeing it or anything else. Now there was no-one around to observe him, his face had fallen, sagged even. The smile lines seemed a ghastly irony around eyes that looked lost and helpless. Below them dangled pouches large enough to contain any amount of excess baggage.

  Had he had anything real to smile about for years? But no, that was harsh. He loved the kids, he loved Letty. It was just… so difficult. She wanted so much: to live in a certain way; to bring the kids up right. He couldn’t argue with any of it – he’d been through it himself at their age, the piano lessons, the tutoring. He hadn’t loved it, and much of it had been a stupid waste of money – he couldn’t so much as play Chopsticks now. But wasn’t it a parent’s duty, as Letty was always saying? To discover and develop their kids’ talents? Even if it looked as though they didn’t actually have any? No, that was unfair.

  They were good kids, certainly beautiful to look at, with their pale skins and blonde hair, just like their mother. But they were… ordinary. Bright enough, reasonably sporty, healthy for sure. Just not exceptional. Yet. It was the ‘yet’ part that Letty stuck to like glue. For such an ethereal woman, she had surprising tenacity, he had to admit.

  When he’d first met her, he’d been bowled over by her fragility, her gentleness. She was like a beautiful long-stemmed bloom, she needed careful handling, the utmost attention. He’d have to spend a lifetime protecting her, he’d decided, and he’d been happy with that. He’d dedicated himself, his whole life, to keeping her safe, loving her. He’d felt almost like a medieval knight on a quest, and she was his fair lady. He had never once told her this, in case she laughed at him, which made the quest all the more sacred in a way.

  Time hadn’t altered the way he felt about
her, but over the years he had realised that in some ways she was the strong one. She had survived childbirth, which he’d feared would kill her, and she fought like a tigress when her children were threatened. She was a wonderful mother, home-maker, wife. He was a very lucky man. But… but. It did all come at a price.

  That was the problem, the circle that couldn’t be squared. Money. Maybe if she’d gone back to work or would even contemplate it now… but he knew how dedicated she was to bringing up the children the right way. It was something they both believed in, had discussed, right from the start. Latch-key kids, the strain of both parents being busy, dealing with the pressures of careers – they saw it among their friends’ families (or heard about it happening somewhere near) and they agreed it wasn’t pretty. Truancy, drugs – it didn’t bear contemplating. Though he privately thought half her fears were a little absurd. After all, despite recent events, that sort of thing didn’t really happen in Dulwich, did it? Not to people like them.

  The girls involved in that incident at the College School, well… he didn’t want to cast aspersions, but maybe their parents hadn’t been quite as vigilant as he knew Letty was. He couldn’t fault her on that. Or on anything, for that matter. And if she knew the real situation, he was sure she’d reign things in… but he couldn’t tell her. Could he?

  In all these years, he’d been the dependable one, the one who’d held the centre when she had one of her meltdowns – all perfectly justified, he was sure. Bringing up children was a stressful business. Even tiny suggestions – Sainsbury’s not Waitrose; Clarks not Lelli Kelly – were met with tears, incomprehension, and accusations of mental cruelty. It was so tiring, so distressing – for him. It was easier to play along; it always had been. And he couldn’t turn on her now, could he, when she was always so vulnerable? He had so much to lose. More with every passing year.

  This was no good. His thoughts were becoming gloomier and gloomier. He recognised the pattern, needed to break it. Rapidly, he wiped a hand across his face and seemed to gather himself and remember where he was. He took a paper out of his pocket and read it through again. And again. As though he could scarcely believe what he was reading, though he’d read it so many times now. He shook his head, rubbed his hand over his eyes again. Was there moisture gathering there?

  But if he’d learnt anything at all those fancy schools of his, it was that big boys don’t cry. He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and stuffed the paper back in his pocket. As his fingers touched the cool silk lining, he shook his head. A fall-back option, safety net, whatever you wanted to call it. Coward’s way out, maybe.

  He shivered. Not yet. No, there was still a chance. So much to play for. He squared his shoulders. Yes, they – and he – bore a heavy burden, but that was the price you paid for love, wasn’t it? Was it worth it? He couldn’t even ask himself that question. He was gambling everything on the fact that it was.

  Chapter Five

  It wasn’t long before Beth and Ben were tramping the dank underground tunnel which connected South Ken tube station with the museums. They passed the entrance for the V&A, and Beth had another pang. She was being really silly, she knew, but she couldn’t help thinking that if she’d had a girl, they could have looked at costumes and jewellery all day.

  Beth stopped herself. That was terrible pigeonholing. Ben would probably be quite happy there, she was sure. To him, museums were mostly about lots of space, not the small print on the display cases. But as she looked at him, running on ahead as usual, doing aeroplane arms and swerving from one side of the tunnel to the other between knots of bemused tourists, she decided today wasn’t the day to try it. They’d stick with the tried and trusted dinosaurs at the Natural History Museum.

  There was nothing like a Tyrannosaurus Rex to inspire awe in both boy and diminutive mother, she decided later as she craned her neck to look at the display. How many seconds would she have lasted, back then, if people had been around at the time of the dinosaurs, when she only came up to this T-Rex’s toenails? At least the beast wouldn’t have been able to spot her, with his tiny eyes so many metres above her. She would have spent her entire life hiding under leaves and waiting for the baddies to go away.

  She smiled. Sometimes life in Dulwich still felt like that. Things were getting better and she was growing in confidence all the time, but there had been moments, at the school gates, when a handy bit of foliage would have felt like quite a refuge. Why was it that standing up to Belinda MacKenzie and her ilk always seemed so much harder than venturing into dark alleyways in search of murderers? Oh well, at least Ben would never suffer her crippling nerves. There he was, right now, making friends with another boy who was similarly transfixed by the dinosaurs.

  Beth smiled tentatively at the boy’s mother and got a slightly worried glance back. Judging from the woman’s pristine Burberry and the small mountain of luggage parked by the information board, they were tourists who’d stopped in at the museum en route for other parts.

  Beth gazed round at the hall, with its high ceilings and intricate brickwork. She did love the Victorians for building these great palaces to knowledge. For her, this part of Kensington was just chunk after chunk of wonder, places stuffed with treasures to delight, entertain, and educate. Of course, half the time it hadn’t quite been theirs to take, which reminded Beth of Thomas Wyatt’s cavalier ways. The chutzpah needed to amass this stuff seemed to be allied to huge insensitivity over where it came from and who rightfully owned it.

  Walking back up Half Moon Lane later, the slight incline was transformed into a mighty hill for both of them by the exhaustion of a full day out and about. They were just plodding past the off licence, hampered by a brisk wind blowing down from the direction of the Village, when the frosted door of the solicitors opened, and Nina straggled out, festooned once again with carrier bags. Did she take them everywhere? Beth wondered. Mr Mahogany Tan didn’t look like the sort of employer who’d turn a blind eye to shopping cluttering his pristine waiting room.

  ‘Blimey, it’s you! Ben’s mum with the secret lover,’ said Nina loudly.

  Ben, for once, looked up from the game he was playing, jumping from paving stone to paving stone without touching the cracks, and gave his mother a suspicious glance before leaping onwards.

  ‘Oops! Sorry,’ said Nina in a now-redundant stage whisper. ‘I forgot he’s at the listening age. I could tell the world I was shagging the whole cast of Hollyoaks and Wilf wouldn’t bet an eye.’

  ‘That’s the difference between six and ten,’ said Beth a little sharply.

  ‘Don’t get the hump, hon. It’s not like he isn’t going to find out sometime, is it?’ Nina said simply.

  It was a good point. In fact, Ben already knew something was going on between his mother and the big policeman. It was just that no-one had quite spelled it out. Until now. Beth sighed inwardly. She’d probably better have a little chat with Ben tonight. Though, come to think of it, she hadn’t heard from Harry today. Maybe she didn’t need to stir things up, if there was nothing much to tell?

  But then she realised that it was she who owed Harry a call, or several, as they hadn’t spoken since Nina had gone off with her phone. He was probably feeling quite shirty and neglected.

  In her years of widowhood, she’d forgotten how tiring a relationship can be when it’s in play. Who calls whom, who makes all the arrangements, who puts themselves out more? All these little signs seemed to be ways of jockeying for power, determining who had the upper hand. The person who loved the most was vulnerable; a hermit crab minus its shell. It was a feeling she didn’t like at all. But that had to be balanced against the good things, of which there were so many.

  She’d shouldered all the responsibility for Ben for so long, with only the nominal help of her mother and brother, who really were additional passengers on the weary boat she’d been paddling upstream. She envied her mother’s Teflon-coated ability to avoid distractions and her brother’s rootless drifting, and she hoped Ben would inherit some
of their cunning propensity to live life on their own terms. But it wasn’t her own way. Having shared her life so successfully and joyfully with James, she realised that all these lonely years she had just been searching for the same again, please. Like a regular in a favourite pub.

  She wasn’t sure, yet, whether that was what she’d found. But just having someone to discuss Ben’s foibles and funny ways with was such a relief. Plus, there was all that fantastic sex, too.

  Just thinking about it brought a rosy flush to her cheeks, and Nina gave her a knowing look and nudged her with her elbow, inadvertently whacking her shin in the process with a bag full of hard, lumpy boxes of stuff which, from what Beth could see, were largely composed of breadcrumbs and batter. Delicious, she thought with a pang of hunger.

  ‘Seeing him tonight, are you? Can’t wait, by the looks of you.’

  Normally Beth would have found this ribaldry hard to take, but as it was, she laughed a little reluctantly. There was a lot in what Nina said.

  ‘Listen, hon, why don’t you come back to ours for tea? I’ve got to pick Wilf up from the childminder’s in Red Post Hill on the way, won’t take a minute. It’ll save us both cooking. Leave you a bit more energy for later, eh?’ Nina snorted.

  Beth gave her a sidelong glance and then smiled a yes. She’d never willingly turn down someone else’s offer to cook, and she was curious about Nina. There was something irresistible about her approach to life, that was for sure.

  They chatted away as they passed the newsagent’s and fish and chip shop, then the white post-and-chain fences of houses that swelled in size and importance as they approached the SE21 postcode. At the top, they turned left at North Dulwich Station, and Beth felt the first flicker of alarm. She only knew one person who lived over this way. Surely, it couldn’t be?