A Beginner’s Guide to Murder

by Rosalind Stopps

  Daphne stood up. She felt shaky but going back was the right decision, she knew it was. They might be glad to see her, they might need her. And so much better than going home alone and thinking again about… about the bruise. There had been a bruise on Nina’s arm; Daphne wasn’t sure if anyone else had seen it but it was there. It looked angry, and dark, a storm cloud of a bruise. It was possible, just possible, that Nina had knocked into a piece of furniture in the dark or crashed into a tree when she was out for a run but Daphne had seen a bruise like that before and she knew what it was. Her own shoulder ached in sympathy. If Daphne had looked closer she knew she would have seen finger marks, darker circles against the grey.

  Daphne thought about the bruise and she was right back there, eighteen again, and in her first term at York University. All the other students were white, and although that had been OK at school, somehow it wasn’t OK here. Every room she entered, every lecture she went to, everywhere she was, she felt awkward. People smiled but they were distant, too busy consolidating their own positions to make friends with the brown girl. Nowadays, Daphne thought, students would probably be vying to make friends with the student from the ethnic minority to improve their street cred, but in 1968 life was different. People in York shops spoke to her slowly and carefully in case she didn’t understand and at freshers’ events Daphne sat at the side.

  There was the odd question, mostly people trying to show an interest by asking where she came from. ‘Hull,’ she always said, but she could see that was not what they wanted to hear, that she had disappointed them. If anyone had asked further, she could have explained that her mum was from Ceylon but all she knew about her dad was that he was white and rich, but no one ever asked more than that first question. Perhaps they all ask each other where they’re from, Daphne thought. Perhaps she was being oversensitive.

  She had been there for three weeks when she met Andrew. She had noticed him, it would have been hard not to, but she couldn’t believe that he actually spoke to her, and not to ask her where she came from either. Daphne had developed a way of walking by then, head down and moving fast, no meandering, no looking around. She wore plain clothes, dark colours and nothing to draw attention. Andrew, on the other hand, wore a military jacket and striped flares and seemed to be lounging around whenever Daphne caught a glimpse of him, propping up walls or drinking pints. She had never seen him with a book. He was a handsome boy, very handsome, and Daphne had watched other girls openly admiring him.

  ‘Hey Jude,’ Daphne sang to herself now in the quiet street.

  She hadn’t thought about it for ages, but that was the song she had loved when she first met Andrew, she was sure of it. Andrew. The heart-throb of the university, and he had chosen her. Marked her out. Daphne still wondered why, what she had done, how she had stood, what would have made him think she was the right one. She tried to remember exactly how they had met. She’d been late for a lecture, that was it, the trunk with her clothes in hadn’t arrived and Daphne had spent ages trying to make herself look OK in the same outfit she had been wearing every day since term began. She could have brought more clothes with her, but her mum had read somewhere that everyone sent a trunk on when they went to university. Hers was the only one that hadn’t arrived, so she had sponged down her skirt and scrubbed the underarms of her blouse with a toothbrush and hand soap. It had taken ages to get rid of the soap marks and she was late, standing outside the lecture theatre with her arms clamped to her sides to hide the wet armpits. She was frightened to go in and frightened to stay out.

  Thinking about it made Daphne shiver even now, standing in the street almost outside Meg’s house. It was a long time ago, she reminded herself, he’s probably dead now. If there’s any justice in the world he’s dead and if not, perhaps he is terribly unhappy or tormented by dementia. Yes, that would be good, that was a cheering thought, holes in his brain like a colander and unable to remember his own name. In fact, Daphne thought, in fact if that was the case, she wished she could go and visit him. Call in with the sort of chocolate he had always hated, the dark stuff with hard little nuts for punishment.

  Meanwhile, she realised, she was standing outside Meg’s house exactly as she had stood outside the lecture theatre that day. Stuck, unable to move and dithering over what to say. Fifty years, more or less, fifty years and a moderately successful career, but no change. She was still poor Daphne, Paki Daff, Daffy Pak. On the outside, like she always had been, watching other people. You have nothing to fear except fear itself, she thought. Daphne knew this wasn’t true. Whoever had first coined that phrase, Shakespeare or Kennedy or Roosevelt or whoever it was, they had obviously had a nice life. Nothing scary, just the odd confidence issue. Daphne wondered what her life might have been like if she had never had anything concrete to be scared of. She took a deep breath and rang Meg’s bell. She hoped that Grace was still there. It’s not about you, she said to herself, it’s about that poor little girl. The bruise, she thought, think of the bruise.

  Grace opened the door.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Daphne said. ‘I was thinking maybe I could help. I mean, maybe I have ideas which might be, you know.’ Her voice tailed off and she stared at the ground.

  ‘Well, if you’ve got even one idea that’s one more than me,’ Grace said, ‘so you’re welcome here even though it’s not my house. I’m glad to see you back. Did you bring the milk?’

  Daphne remembered that getting milk had been some kind of excuse, that she had left offering to shop and intending to flee.

  ‘Erm, no,’ she said, turning her hands from front to back and then again, as if they might have produced some milk out of thin air.

  Grace looked at her as if she understood and Daphne blushed. What a wonderful woman, she thought.

  The scene inside was pretty much the same as it had been when she had left. Daphne wondered how long she had been gone, whether it was a moment or an hour. It was impossible to tell. Nina was sitting in an armchair, her feet tucked up under her, hugging herself. Daphne wanted to put her arms round her.

  ‘OK,’ said Meg, ‘good that you’re back, I think we need a plan.’

  Daphne nodded and she could see Grace nodding too. Only Nina stayed still, staring at her knees.

  There was silence.

  ‘Oh,’ said Meg, ‘I didn’t think, I mean, I wasn’t sure, shall I speak?’

  Daphne realised that Meg might be shy too, and it made her feel less alone.

  ‘Yes, fire away,’ Grace said.

  ‘A short-term plan and a long-term one,’ Meg said. ‘Is that OK? Erm, first, I think Nina should stay here. Whatever is going on, I’m not convinced that she’s safe. Nina, is that OK with you?’

  Nina shrugged her shoulders and Daphne thought that she might be holding back tears.

  ‘I don’t want to get you guys into any, you know, maybe it’s best if I just go back,’ Nina said. ‘I’m worried about my friend, she’s sick.’

  Daphne could tell that she didn’t want to leave, and her heart went out to the girl for being brave enough to pretend. She thought of the black car, and how menacing it had seemed.

  ‘Nina,’ Daphne said, ‘just in case, so that we can keep an eye out, that man, the one who’s looking for you – what kind of car does he drive?’

  Nina shrank even further back into the chair.

  ‘It depends,’ she said. ‘He’s got loads, but the one he usually uses is a big black thing, high up off the road, I don’t know what they call it.’

  Nina looked as if someone had told her she had failed something important.

  ‘I should, shouldn’t I?’ she said. ‘I should know the number plate and everything, I never thought. I’m so stupid.’

  All three women jumped to reassure her but Grace spoke first.

  ‘Girl, if we all did everything like we were in some kind of film, or a story book, the world would be a different place. Everyone’s got to do a little bit of what they can, and a little bit more than they can if they can, and the
n live with themselves afterwards.’

  Daphne decided to remember that. A little bit of what I can, she thought. Bring it on.

  Chapter Five

  Grace

  Monday, 25 February

  I am so pleased to see Daphne when I open the door. I want to hug her and tell her she’s been missed but I know a thing or two about people and I do not think she would be comfortable with that. I’ll tell her that one day, I think, and I can’t believe I feel a little smile of pleasure inside, like I’m not the hard frozen bitch everyone thinks I am. She reminds me of someone from back home, from Jamaica, and I don’t know why. There’s a light around her, that’s what, and I know that sounds fanciful.

  I always remember Eleanor with a light around her. There’s something about Daphne that makes me think of a morning on the beach with Eleanor. She’s standing there on the doorstep looking sad and I can practically see the waves lapping round her feet. I ask her about the milk she said she was going to get, then I think what a fool that makes me look. It was obvious there was never going to be any milk. She must think I’m having a go at her, pointing out something she’s embarrassed about. She takes a deep breath, though, and I notice how brave she is.

  ‘Is she OK, the girl?’ she asks me.

  ‘She’s not fine,’ I say. I want to tell her how worried I am, how scared the whole thing makes me but I look at her and I think, she’s holding it together but it’s worse for her. I don’t know why I know that but I do, and I want to protect her almost as much as I want her to protect me.

  ‘On the other hand,’ I say, ‘she’s got us, and we can try to keep her safe.’

  ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I can help.’

  She seems to be shaking. Messed up, that’s how she looks. She starts to take a step and she winces, so I look and see there’s a hole in her jogging pants and her hands are a bit bloody. She sees me looking and she blushes, for goodness’ sake.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she says. ‘I fell.’

  I can tell there’s something more than that, something she doesn’t want to tell me. She’s got a closed look. I have seen that look before.

  ‘Anything we need to know?’ I say and she looks so damn miserable.

  ‘I might have seen the car. The car he drives. The man who is after…’ She gestures indoors.

  ‘Whoa,’ I say. I know it sounds as if I don’t believe her and I hate that, that’s not what I meant at all. A memory flashes into my head and it’s Eleanor on the telephone, telling me that she’s fine. I haven’t thought about that phone call for years. I knew later that she hadn’t been fine, and I swore never to miss a clue again but I did, I missed another one and two is enough.

  ‘I don’t know though,’ she says. ‘I mean, I’m not sure enough to raise an alarm or anything. Big black cars, I don’t know, there are a lot of them.’

  ‘There are,’ I say.

  I’m aware I sound like I’m not at all interested but I am trying to think this through. No more mistakes, Grace, I tell myself. The truth is that this whole situation has got to me. Daphne looks at me and smiles and it’s such a lovely smile.

  ‘Can I help with your knee?’ I say.

  ‘It helps that you’re here,’ she says.

  Such a remarkable thing to say. Neither of us knows what to do next. I move my hands, open them and close them, and she shuffles forward a little, then back. The sun decides it’s been around long enough and the street darkens. We both look up and then at each other and then we smile. Something weird is going on, and I can tell that she knows it too.

  ‘We should go inside,’ I say and then I can’t help laughing because of course we should go inside, it’s mad standing on the doorstep and it’s me that’s blocking the way.

  ‘Thank you,’ we both say at the same time.

  I wish that I could hug her.

  Chapter Six

  Meg

  Monday, 25 February

  I’m not particularly perceptive, but I could see why Daphne took off. I knew it wasn’t about the milk. A person didn’t need to be deep or psychic or anything to get that she was scared. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in that, I would have liked to tell her. I would have gone myself if it wasn’t my house, and I thought about it even though it was. I was glad when she came back. I trusted them, both of the women. You’re too trusting, Henry used to say. He had a nerve, because he was one of the people I trusted that I shouldn’t have, when all is said and done. I hope he understood that in the end.

  Maybe this time things will be different, I thought. More straightforward. I think I can trust these women. So I thought and I hoped that Daphne would be back and she was, and there we all were, sitting round the table, looking at each other like someone was supposed to take the lead, come up with a plan.

  ‘Maybe we’re overreacting,’ I said. ‘Has anyone thought of that? Is it really as bad as we think?’

  I don’t know why I said it. I think I was hoping everything would be OK, that nothing bad would happen. I suppose I’d had enough difficulty recently, what with Henry passing and all that entailed, but still, it was a stupid thing to say. I knew as soon as I said it that it was the wrong thing.

  Nina looked at me as though I had slapped her and I was sorry I’d spoken. Henry used to say that I opened my mouth and put my foot in it, which he thought was very funny. I’ve got to hand it to him, he was right in a way. I do say the wrong things at the wrong time.

  ‘I don’t think Meg means that she doesn’t believe you,’ Grace said.

  I nodded like mad. ‘Oh I do,’ I said, ‘I do believe you, sorry, I didn’t mean…’

  I tailed off. I was glad when Grace spoke again.

  ‘I think we need to know,’ she said. ‘I mean, just a rough outline, we don’t need chapter and verse, but it would be helpful to know what we’re dealing with.’

  Daphne nodded and I felt even worse that they were so sensible when all I could do was nod and say stupid things. Of course we needed to know what we were dealing with. I felt left out.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, as if I had been thinking the same as them all along.

  ‘Oh,’ Nina said, ‘oh, it’s difficult.’

  ‘He’s a bad man,’ Daphne said. ‘I think we can all see that.’

  We all nodded like those dogs they used to put in the back windows of cars in the sixties.

  ‘You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to,’ Grace said, ‘but how can a woman know how to fight if she doesn’t know who she’s fighting?’

  The way she said it made it sound like an old proverb, and I told myself to remember it. Think about it later. Think about all of it later, especially what it was like to be in my house with three other people, all looking to me to say something.

  ‘Why was he after you?’ I said.

  Grace and Daphne both looked surprised. I suppose they thought that I should have asked the question in a more roundabout way, but I was thinking back to when Henry used to ask me things. He’d ask me where I had been, what I had been doing, that sort of thing, but he never did it directly. Have you had a lovely afternoon, he might say, and more often than not I’d be caught out, and I’d say yes, thank you it was good, and it wasn’t really what he meant at all so it was the wrong answer. So I prefer to ask direct questions when I can.

  Nina bit her thumbnail. It was so bitten already that I couldn’t see how she could get any purchase on it but she did, with a gnawing sound that turned my stomach.

  ‘It’s difficult to explain,’ she said. ‘He thinks I owe him something.’

  We all waited. I don’t know if the others were thinking it would be better for her to say it in her own time but I thought we ought to keep going so I jumped in again.

  ‘Do you mean money?’ I said. ‘Is it money you owe him?’

  I thought for a moment.

  ‘Sorry if that’s a stupid question,’ I said.

  ‘Hey,’ Grace said, ‘there’s no such thing as a stupid question.’

 
You should have met Henry, I thought, then you might think differently. Daphne looked as though she was thinking something similar. Perhaps she had a Henry in her past too.

  ‘Not just money,’ Nina said, ‘more like my soul, really. You know, the me of me.’

  That shut me up. The me of me. I’d never thought of it like that but of course, it was exactly what Henry had wanted from me. The thing inside me that made me who I was.

  ‘Nothing changes,’ I said.

  Nina looked confused at that but Daphne nodded and said, ‘True.’

  ‘I’m guessing he’s not your boyfriend,’ Grace said.

  Nina looked like those people do on that TV show when they’re asked to eat something disgusting, a slug or the toenail of a sloth.

  ‘Ew, no,’ she said, ‘he’s like, really old.’ She blushed then and it was clear that she had realised that old might not be the correct term of abuse when confronted with three senior citizens.

  ‘I didn’t mean…’ she said, ‘I was only saying…’

  She stumbled to a halt and we all started laughing. The relief from tension was so clear you could have cut it out and framed it.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Daphne said, ‘we think he’s disgusting too. And we’re old, much older than him. We have dignity on our side, though, don’t we, ladies?’

  ‘Dignity,’ said Nina as if it was a new concept. ‘I like that. That’s what I want to be like. My friend, the one who’s ill, she’s dignified.’

  ‘Speaking for me,’ Grace said, ‘I think you’ve got one hell of a lot of dignity, and you did great to get away. Good job. So tell us a bit more if you want to, and if not, leave it for another time. I think that’s right, don’t you, ladies?’