The Afterparty

by Leo Benedictus

  ‘Yes, I think so. Although Mike saw him first, didn’t you Mike?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Mike said, but hanging back. ‘He was just lying there.’

  ‘I see. Had he seemed unhappy or depressed to you at all?’

  This thought had not occurred to Hugo before. And it tempted him. Worried about his work, humiliated probably by Mellody, too much to drink … Young men often did commit suicide. Or think about it on roofs. Would Calvin’s suicide be better for him than an accident, or worse?

  Mike just shrugged and looked unhappy.

  ‘Well,’ Hugo said. ‘He seemed fine to me, but I didn’t really see much of him, and I suppose you can never tell. He mentioned he was quite anxious about going on tour to Korea, I think. But we’d only met once before tonight.’

  ‘Oh, all right. Famous is he?’

  ‘Yes. Quite. He was on The X-Factor. I don’t think he won.’

  ‘The X-Factor, eh?’ The older officer seemed to think this was important.

  ‘Yes,’ Hugo said.

  ‘He’d been hanging out more with Mellody,’ Mike added, in answer to an older question.

  ‘I see.’ A mild inflection was just detectable in the black officer’s voice. The most delicate pointedness. And was that, as he noted down Mike’s answer, was that also an eyebrow being raised?

  ‘My wife did spend quite a lot of time with him tonight, I think,’ Hugo agreed. ‘I don’t know what they talked about.’

  Near the front of the roof, the older officer was distastefully examining a Marc Quinn bronze.

  ‘Sorry, would it be OK if you came a bit further back?’ Hugo beckoned him away. ‘I think we can be seen from the street over there.’

  It was true. You had to go close to the edge, but if you did, and somebody was looking, then they couldn’t miss you. Hugo and Mellody had half-heartedly applied to raise the wall, but then the ‘fucking British planners’ got involved and began objecting by the inch.

  ‘Calvin … Vance, was it?’ The black officer snapped a page back in his notebook, hunting for a surname.

  ‘Yes,’ Hugo said.

  ‘I think I remember him actually. And have his family been informed?’

  ‘Someone’s working on that now.’

  ‘I see. I see.’

  For a time – it seemed a long time – the officer said nothing and made notes.

  ‘And at what time exactly would you estimate that Mr Vance fell?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Hugo said, and he didn’t. ‘Maybe half an hour ago? It feels like longer.’

  The officer looked at Mike, who was slow to notice.

  ‘Sorry, yes, something like that,’ he scrambled out eventually.

  ‘But after he fell you went straight down to call 999?’

  ‘Uh-huh. I think so.’

  ‘Well, we ran down to check on him first,’ Hugo supplemented this, ‘and then I went back inside and called the ambulance.’

  The time of the call would be recorded, of course. As would the call itself. Someone has fallen off my roof. Was that what he’d said? He could not remember exactly. Or was it ‘just’? Someone has just fallen off my roof? He should have taped the call. The villain would have taped the call.

  ‘Thank you, sir. Could we take a look in the garden now, please?’

  ‘By all means,’ Hugo said, with too much courtesy in retrospect.

  Through the open kitchen door, as they marched along the hall, Michael could see that Mellody had gone. Just the jilted kettle now put life into the room, a thermal of declining wisps curling from its spout. He did not want to go back into the garden again, to talk it through again, and feel his cheeks betray his lies. Though Hugo, naturally, seemed unconcerned. He led them briskly down the stairs into the media room, where the extinguished television glowered silently and grey. On the drinks cabinet an almost empty whisky bottle sat, and on the floor beside the table, two glasses, unnaturally abutting, as Michael had arranged them while he wiped the surface clean. Suspiciously clean, he guessed now, glancing at it nervously, if one was experienced and looking. But suspicious of what? If Calvin died through their delay, was that a criminal matter? Or Michael’s silent creeping and his sudden shout, were these already crimes? He had meant no harm by them. Not physical, at any rate. In his mind, the crime was this. The ambulance not called, the police deceived. Obstructing justice, or perverting its course. It was not right. Of that he was quite sure. Yet he had done nothing to prevent it. Was still doing nothing. Besides trying not to lie.

  He stooped to pick up his jacket, which had somehow wrapped itself around a chair leg. A familiar density bumped against his chest as he swung the left sleeve on. His phone in the pocket. And he had a text.

  It was from Sally, sent at 1:41 a.m.

  Ah, well we’re all self-indulgent bores deep-down, it said. Say hi back to him from me if you ever ACTUALLY meet. x

  If he let himself, Michael knew that he would cry.

  ‘Excuse me, sir.’

  He wanted to go home.

  ‘Mr Knight?’

  ‘Yes?’

  The older policeman was peering at him from outside.

  ‘Just a couple more questions.’

  ‘Sorry, of course.’

  Standing sideways with his arms outstretched, the man was indicating that he was expected to join them.

  ‘… that he was really badly hurt,’ Hugo was saying. ‘Isn’t that right, Mike?’

  His tone was friendly, cheerful even.

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘The officers want to know what happened when we saw him, so I was just saying that we thought he was badly hurt and needed an ambulance. We were a bit stunned for a while, though, weren’t we?’

  The rocks were coated darkly with a liquid skin that pooled down from an overlap of footprints in the earth. Only in one or two places, where sunlight nicked the surface, did Michael spy luxurious glints of red. It bothered him, for some reason, more than Calvin’s body had.

  The whole thing was an accident, he would say. I might have startled him, the words would be indelible once said to the police, and I panicked. You don’t know what it’s like. Until it’s you, you don’t know what it’s like. We were going to call the ambulance straight away, but when we came down and saw him … it was such a big fall. And Hugo was worried about Mellody. She was upstairs, with old friends. People who might have drugs. There, he would have said it. With everything she’s been through, we just didn’t want her to get into trouble. Her friends left and we called 999. It must have been five or ten minutes. If you’d seen his body. Michael was trembling. Now was his chance. If you’d seen him lying there … He opened his mouth.

  ‘Yeah, it was a big shock,’ he said, and because the policemen seemed to wait for more: ‘He was lying in a really, sort of, unnatural position.’

  ‘I see.’ The older man seemed to be in charge now. ‘And was he conscious? Moving around at all?’

  ‘No, that’s why we were worried.’

  ‘Did you attempt to revive him?’

  ‘I …’ Was this what he should have done? Was this a test? ‘No, I mean, he looked really hurt. I didn’t want to move him. I think I said his name a few times.’ It sounded so feeble now. And had he even done that?

  ‘Did you try to establish a pulse?’

  A raw synthetic rasp cut through the radio on the young policeman’s shoulder. ‘Roger that,’ he said, having somehow understood it. ‘I’m just making the assessment now.’

  ‘I will make the final assessment,’ his colleague corrected him, with weight and age. Then, ‘Sorry, sir, can you remember if you tried to establish a pulse?’

  ‘No,’ Michael said. He was becoming upset. ‘I don’t know how to do it. I just thought we should call an ambulance as quickly as possible. And Hugo said he wasn’t breathing.’

  ‘Did you examine his breathing?’ The man turned to Hugo.

  Had Michael said too much? He didn’t care.

  ‘Yes, I forgot that,’ Hugo said,
extending a placating palm. ‘When we found him I ran inside to get a mirror, but I couldn’t see any breath on it when I held it against his mouth. Is that the right thing to do?’

  The policeman ignored the question.

  ‘And that’s when you called 999?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A door – it seemed the front door – slammed inside the house, jerking all heads in its direction.

  Mellody? This was Michael’s worried thought. She had looked exhausted, so getting up to leave implied a sudden sense of purpose. And she would be seen, of course, and photographed and questioned.

  ‘We’ll need to seal off this area,’ the young policeman said to Hugo. ‘And the roof as well.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And I’ll need to ask that you both remain here until the investigation team and the SOCOs arrive. They will probably be a few hours, so you may want to get some sleep in the meantime.’

  ‘Sorry, the sockos? I don’t know what a socko is.’ Hugo’s voice was tauter.

  ‘Scene-of-crime officers. They collect forensic evidence. Please don’t touch anything until they get here.’

  ‘I see.’ Now it was buttery. ‘And they’ll search the whole house will they?’

  ‘Oh no, sir!’ The policemen shared a laugh at the very idea. ‘Just the immediate vicinity of the incident, to gather evidence for the investigating team. It is standard procedure in cases of unexplained serious injury for…’

  ‘Unexplained?’ A momentary loss of Hugo’s cool squeaked out. ‘We just explained it to you.’

  ‘I understand that, sir, but for the purposes of an inquest or any future criminal investigation we need to collect all the evidence at the scene of the incident.’

  Now it was the kitchen door that opened and shut. A twice-reflected sting of sunshine from its window caught Michael in the eye. And emerging, as his sight recovered: a figure. A woman, not Mellody, in heels and a business suit, stabbing rapidly across the lawn.

  ‘Good morning, officers,’ Renée said.

  ‘Good morning, madam,’ they replied together, like class-mates.

  ‘I’m Renée Santos, Mr Marks’s business manager. I hope you’ve been given everything you need?’

  ‘Thank you madam, yes.’ The older policeman sounded keen to please.

  ‘I don’t wish to interrupt your work, but I’m sure you understand that we have a developing situation out front with the gentlemen of the press. Your superintendent has kindly agreed to set up a security cordon on the pavement and to station officers at the gate, but I need a few minutes with Hugo so we can work out how best to control things, if that’s OK? Nobody wants this to get out of hand.’

  She had taken out a notebook of her own, and made ready to write in it.

  ‘No, madam,’ the policeman agreed, gulping something down.

  ‘So with your permission, I’d just like to talk to these guys inside for a few minutes. Is that OK?’

  ‘That’s fine. We need to tape off the scene of the incident anyway.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Renée wrote this down. ‘This is my card. Call me if you or your men need anything at all.’

  She gave them one smile each, and turned back towards the house.

  Michael followed, gratefully.

  ‘Hi Renée,’ Hugo said, as they approached the kitchen door. ‘Thanks for coming. And that was really nicely done. I think we need to get in touch with LA, pronto. Someone should still be awake. This is no big deal, but you know what jittery fuckers they are, and we need to make sure they hear about it from us before …’

  ‘What the living fuck is going on?’

  She shut the door and stared at them both.

  A pristine slap of newspapers lay across the table.

  ‘Hullo?’

  Mellody had picked up her cellphone and said the word before she knew what was happening.

  ‘Mellody, hi. It’s Rebekah Wade. From the Sun. Is everything OK?’

  ‘Mmmm?’

  She must have fallen asleep. The kitchen counter rolled solidly beneath her.

  ‘Rebekah from the Sun. Sorry, did I wake you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry about that. It’s just that I’m hearing stuff about an accident at your place. Are you OK?’

  Calvin! Calvin!

  ‘Is everything OK, Mell?’

  The ambulance guys had taken him away. The cops. Where had everybody gone?

  ‘Is Calvin dead?’ Mellody said.

  There was silence on the line.

  ‘That’s not what I’m hearing at the moment.’ Rebekah’s voice was quiet, not encouraging. ‘It is head injuries, they say. Are you at home?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘OK. I’ve had to send some guys down to cover this, of course. I’m sorry about that. But they’re going to behave themselves. The other papers … I don’t know.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Mellody remembered Rebekah’s big red hair. She trusted her slightly.

  She stood up.

  She sat back down.

  ‘You’re going to have TV down there all day, I’m afraid, until something happens. If you like, I can have a word with Rupert about Fox and Sky’s coverage when New York wakes up, but I doubt we’ll get much joy on that, and the BBC will still give it everything, of course. As will everyone else, I expect. Are you and Hugo going to do a statement, or …?’

  Mellody stood up again, steadier. The skin on her arms was dimpled by the cold.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. Rebekah’s questions were floating around her. ‘Er … I don’t know.’

  ‘OK. It doesn’t matter. Listen, I was calling to make a suggestion. Tell me to get lost if you want, but we keep this very quiet cottage for people to use in emergencies. And I thought, maybe you already have your own plan, but if you want it for the next few days, it’s yours.’

  ‘A cottage?’ Why were they talking about a cottage?

  ‘Yes. It’s totally discreet, in Kent somewhere – even I don’t know exactly where it is.

  ‘Kent? Like the cigarettes.’

  ‘Yes.’ There was an amused width on the word, but Rebekah did not laugh. ‘It’s yours if you want it. I also have a great driver who is brilliant at getting out of situations like this. I mean, I know you have your own guy, but if it’s easier, we could have you out of there in ten minutes, before the TV people arrive. Then you could take the weekend, or as long as you need, and see how you want to handle things. The police can come and speak to you if they insist, of course. But no one else will find you. You have my word.’

  There was no mention of Hugo.

  ‘Um …’

  ‘This doesn’t have to be for a story. You don’t have to talk to anybody. You can just owe me one, OK?’

  Mellody could not deal with this now. She needed another hit, just to settle things. Perhaps Giles would be able to bike some over, if he could get it through the paps.

  ‘It’s totally up to you, Mell, of course. I’m just here if you need us. You’ve got my number, right?’

  She crept into the hall.

  Noise from the street.

  A sudden shadow on the front door. The sharpened slot of a key.

  Mellody swerved into the dining room just as the door began to open, scraping her shoulder on the corner of a case containing one of Hugo’s dumbfuck model boats. At first it didn’t hurt and then it did.

  The front door slammed.

  ‘Mell?’ Rebekah said.

  Renée’s footsteps, loudly unmistakable, battered down the hall.

  ‘Mell?’ the phone said. ‘Are you there?’

  In the kitchen: the smacking down of stuff, the opening and shutting of the garden door.

  ‘I’m here,’ Mellody said quietly.

  ‘Thank God. You had me worried for a moment!’

  ‘Listen, um, I just don’t know what’s going on right now.’ She watched her ghost, reflected in the glass, shrugging at its injured skin. ‘I just want Calvin to be OK …
We’re kind of trying to get in touch with his family, and …’

  ‘Do you have their number?’

  ‘No. I mean, I don’t think …’

  ‘I’ll find it and get it to you within half an hour.’

  The kindness. The motivated kindness. She heard it all day long. And yet today it did not mean nothing.

  ‘Thanks.’ The word emerged a little croakish.

  ‘And listen, don’t worry about the safe house. Call me if you need it, ignore me if you don’t.’

  When Mellody had been in rehab, reporters offered vodka at the compound fence to any patients who would talk about her progress.

  ‘But if things start getting too much, remember I can have that car over there in ten minutes.’

  They had found a dealer she did not remember who said she fucked him for a $100 bag and printed it the week her grandma died.

  ‘I’ll have the driver park round the corner just in case.’

  You never get out of bed with the press, Karl, her agent, always said. The trick was choosing when to get in.

  A wrenching of the kitchen door gave way to Hugo’s voice.

  ‘… in touch with LA, pronto,’ it was saying, just like Hugo would. ‘Someone should still be awake. This is no big deal, but you know what jittery fuckers they are, and we need to make sure they hear about it from us before …’

  ‘What the living fuck is going on?’ Renée interrupted him. She did not sound happy.

  ‘OK,’ Mellody said quietly. ‘I’ll, er … I mean, I have your number.’

  * * *

  From:leobenedictus@yahoo.co.uk

  To:williammendez75@gmail.com

  Subject: Hello

  Date: Wednesday, 30 December 2009 10:02:40

  Hi William, this is Leo Benedictus. I believe we share an acquaintance in Valerie Morrell? And unless what she told me is an extravagant wind-up, you will know why I am writing.

  When Val first put your proposition to me, I ruled it out immediately. Then I decided that the least I could do was read your book. To be honest, I think I was hoping it would be so bad that I couldn’t possibly put my name to it. (And I usually do hate things, so that seemed a safe bet.) But from what I’ve seen so far, I must admit I like it a lot – even though you have the audacity, at times, to write better than I do. So anyway, then I changed my mind and decided to come on board. Then I thought carefully about what I was doing and changed my mind back again. It has been a real case of how I used to be indecisive, but now I’m not so sure… Meanwhile, time has passed, so I thought I ought to write and say something. And now here I am, just playing for time as I try to work out what.