A Beginner’s Guide to Murder

by Rosalind Stopps

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nina

  Christmas – two months earlier

  Nina occasionally saw Shaz in the distance, although she was never sure. She always turned and walked the other way. By the end of term, she had almost forgotten her. There was college now and new friends and so much to think about and the memory of their brief time together made Nina feel uncomfortable. She remembered her grandmother saying that seeing magpies and crows made her feel as if someone was walking over her grave and that was how it was for Nina with thoughts of Shaz. Something nasty, something unclean.

  So she didn’t miss her, and she didn’t think about her, and when Shaz was waiting outside the sixth form college gates one December afternoon as Nina came out, her first thought was that she didn’t want her new friends to see her. It was easier to greet Shaz and walk off down the road with her than to stay and explain and introduce. They walked quickly up on to Blackheath, where the wide open spaces and the windswept grass gave an illusion of privacy. Nina sat down on a bench and they watched together as a man tried to fly his kite.

  ‘How have you been?’ Nina asked.

  There was an edge to her voice, she knew there was, because she really didn’t care how Shaz had been. That old Nina who was so insecure and lonely had gone now. Nina had aced her GCSEs, all A stars except maths despite being a looked-after child. She was enjoying her A levels and her sixth form college and she felt as though she had a future. She had decided to study psychology, to try to get some kind of understanding of the people around her and her mother and to maybe try to help looked-after kids, something like that. Nina was going places.

  ‘OK,’ said Shaz.

  She kept looking over her shoulder in a way that made Nina uncomfortable.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ Nina said.

  Shaz stood up and sighed in an exaggerated way.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Jeez, can’t a girl even look around without being picked on?’

  And that, Nina thought, is why I don’t want to be around you and your mysteries and your weirdness any more. She got up and started to stroll off.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Shaz, ‘I didn’t mean anything.’

  Something about the desperation in Shaz’s voice stopped Nina in her tracks. She wanted to get rid of Shaz, not to hurt her feelings.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Nina said, ‘it’s just, you know, I’ve got a lot of work to do. Course work. I can’t stay.’

  ‘Don’t go yet,’ Shaz said, ‘it can’t be that urgent. I mean, you came up here, didn’t you.’

  Nina sighed and sat down again. She wished that Shaz would stop gnawing at her nails. They were bitten down to tiny stubs and the noise of her nibbling at them set Nina’s teeth on edge. The heath felt still, and Nina thought there might be rain on the way.

  ‘Five minutes,’ she said, ‘then I’ve really got to go.’

  ‘They’re right,’ Shaz said. ‘You actually do think you’re better than me, don’t you?’

  ‘You don’t really think that, do you?’ said Nina. ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘You’ll find out,’ Shaz said. ‘You’ll find out soon enough. Bye. And sorry.’

  Shaz got up and walked away, and as she did a man and a woman came towards Nina. They looked intent, and Nina thought that they were going to ask her for directions but they didn’t, they just kept on coming closer until Nina realised that she had left it too late, that she couldn’t get up, that they were blocking her on both sides.

  Nina looked for her friend to ask for help and then realised that Shaz was standing just a few metres away, and that whatever this was, she knew about it and was part of it. She had an envelope in her hand, a big brown one. I’ve been sold, she thought.

  ‘Shaz,’ she shouted, ‘what’s happening?’

  Shaz turned away as the man and the woman took one arm each and hustled Nina towards a small van waiting at the side of the heath. Nina wasn’t sure, but when she thought about it later, she could have sworn that Shaz was crying.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Grace

  After midnight, Wednesday, 27 February

  I could still smell the trouble when we got into the car but it drifted away the faster I drove. I wasn’t sure whether Meg and Daphne were scared by my crazy driving but they didn’t say anything. There was so much more to worry about. We’re gangsters now, I thought, outside the law. Sisters doing it for themselves. Me and Meg and Daphne. I couldn’t think about Daphne, not yet. I knew we were doing the right thing, mad as that sounds. I could see Eleanor, the Eleanor she never got to be, the big grown one, and she was clapping and waving. I tried to assess things in my head while I drove. I’d made a pact to kill a bad man with two almost-strangers so that we could rescue that young girl who could be our granddaughter. It had to be the right thing. And did that make me less angry? No, I’m afraid it didn’t, I’m afraid I went on being angry, driving faster and faster until I thought I might explode with it. If that man had stepped out in front of the car on the way back I would have enjoyed running him down.

  So I’m glad when we get back to Meg’s house intact, and I’m tired. Anger is always tiring so as soon as we get inside I want to go to sleep, pass out, get away from myself and everyone else. Maybe except for Daphne but I can’t think of that now. I want to sleep and then wake up and find this is all a dream, like the stories my year seven children used to write. And then I woke up and it was all a dream, they used to put when they couldn’t think of anything else to write. They were always so proud, as if they were the first story writers to think of such a neat way of finishing. Maybe I was hard on them, I think now; maybe that is the only kind way to end a sad story.

  ‘Sit down,’ Daphne says.

  I’d like to say, no, no, we’ve got a job to do but it’s a welcome idea and I sit on Meg’s nice grey couch.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I haven’t driven for a while.’

  It’s not the right thing to say, I know it isn’t, but it’s the best I can do. I don’t need to say the rest. I can see in her eyes that Daphne knows it, knows the pain and the anger, and feels it too. Even Meg, even Meg is on the same page as we are even if she doesn’t understand all of it. I can hear her muttering, ‘Stay safe, stay safe,’ under her breath like an incantation. She probably doesn’t know she’s doing it.

  They both nod and agree and sympathise and no one mentions the actual killing, the nitty-gritty. My nose tickles with the smell of trouble and I feel desperate but it really does help to know we’re in this together. It’s not a cliché. Stronger together, I think, however different we are, however dire the situation, we’re stronger together. Old and bold, I think, old and bold. Strange thought for a strange day. It keeps hitting me afresh, that we’ve made a pact to kill. It almost feels strange that I have never thought of it as a solution before – lord knows there have been people in my life who might have benefited from being bumped off.

  ‘I’m going to make a cup of tea,’ Meg says.

  Daphne perches on the arm of my chair while Meg is in the kitchen. I put my hand on her arm, to comfort her or me, I’m not sure which. Both, maybe.

  ‘It’s the right thing, isn’t it?’ I say.

  ‘It is,’ she says. ‘We have to save her, and we have to do it quickly. I’ve met people like him, and I know a little about that world. He wasn’t bluffing, I can tell you that.’

  ‘How on earth are we going to find someone?’ Meg says. ‘It’s not like they advertise in the local paper.’

  She puts the tray of tea down on the coffee table. It seems so incongruous with its plate of biscuits and little milk jug, so strange to balance it there in the middle of a murder plan. So English. I think we all feel that because we stare at the tea tray as if it is something peculiar.

  ‘Let’s think,’ I say. ‘There has to be someone somewhere.’

  I don’t want to tell them that I’ve got absolutely no idea where to find someone either. It wouldn’t be good for morale. I think so
hard my head hurts, but my creative powers don’t seem to be functioning as well as they usually do.

  ‘I don’t know many people,’ says Meg, ‘and also I’m pretty bad at forward planning. I’ve got no common sense at all.’

  Jesus, I think, that woman drives me mad when she puts herself down like that.

  ‘Meg,’ Daphne says, ‘I don’t know who’s told you such a load of nonsense but it’s not at all helpful to you just now. Or us. Or Nina. We need you. We need all of us, and we need us to be as tip-top as any group of pensioners has ever been. A lot depends on it, and I think we’re up to it. But we all need to think as hard as we can to try to come up with a viable plan.’

  Wow, I think, you go, lady. She could persuade anyone to do anything, I am sure of it. She could certainly persuade me. I think as hard as I can.

  ‘I don’t know many people under sixty-five,’ I say, ‘and I don’t know anyone right now who’d do that sort of… who’d kill a person.’

  As soon as I’d said it I realised I sounded very prim. It was true though. I’ve led a quiet life.

  ‘I’ve got a friend,’ Daphne says, ‘who used to be in prison. He’s called Des and he lives in my street. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not a bad man, not at all, but he might know people who could be just bad enough to help us.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ I say, ‘Daphne, you are the real deal. That is amazing. Will he mind? Being asked?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Daphne says, ‘we’ve got a bit of history. I’ve helped him a bit with job applications and he mended my tap, that sort of thing. And we both like films that make you cry.’

  I make a mental note of that, decide to ask her when we’ve got more time. I love The English Patient.

  ‘Let’s get started,’ I say. ‘Can you ring him, Daph? We need to get her back.’

  I’m not so tired any more and I stand up and give Daphne a quick hug, then one for Meg too so that she doesn’t feel left out. It feels good to be doing something.

  ‘Hang on,’ Meg says, pulling back, ‘is he, you know, is he safe?’

  She looks around her pale front room and I look at her and realise that Meg is frightened. That she’s worried about more than her possessions, she’s scared for her life. I can see it on her and I can see that she too has scary things in her past, this nice middle-class Englishwoman. I feel sad for her.

  ‘Yes,’ Daphne says, ‘I’d trust him with anything. He’s my friend.’

  She looks surprised as she says this and I think, what made you not trust yourself, lovely Daphne?

  ‘I understand why you are worried, Meg,’ I say.

  Daphne and Meg become very still. I’m aware that they are listening to me.

  ‘Go on,’ Daphne says.

  ‘It’s a worry, using another person. Getting someone else involved. Always scary to let someone else in. But look at us, we’re not so young.’

  I hold my hand out, complete with age spots and wrinkles.

  ‘I reckon,’ I say, ‘that between the three of us, we could have sorted this out with no problem when we were thirty. Done it ourselves. But we ain’t, ladies, and we’re going to need a bit of help.’

  ‘And we’re going to be so careful,’ Daphne says. ‘We’re going to find exactly the right person. I wouldn’t suggest my friend if I didn’t think he would be able to help us, I promise.’

  ‘OK,’ Meg says, ‘I guess I trust you. We’re all in it together.’

  I’m surprised at how quickly Meg can appear calm. Something happened to you, I think, made you learn to keep it all under control, not let anything show. I guessed it was something to do with that husband of hers.

  ‘I’m going to ring my friend,’ Daphne says.

  She leaves the room and I can hear the murmur of sounds as she speaks.

  ‘Please,’ I can make out, and, ‘we really need some help.’

  I hold Meg’s hand.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I whisper, ‘she’ll do the right thing.’

  Meg nods but I can hear from her breathing that she’s crying. She seems to be pulling at something, as if she’s pulling a door shut. I try so hard to stay awake but the sofa is comfortable and I must have closed my eyes for a moment, because the next thing I know there’s a person knocking on Meg’s French windows, the ones that face on to the garden. I go into defence mode and pick up my handbag ready to swing it but Daphne is back and she shushes me down.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she says, ‘it’s my friend, we thought it best to avoid the front door. Don’t worry.’

  Meg opens the garden door and Des steps up to the sill. I don’t know who I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t him. He is Asian, and tall, and his smile lights up the night. I feel like I know him from somewhere. He stands there, seemingly unable to step into the room.

  ‘Come on in,’ Daphne says.

  ‘No disrespect to anyone, but I’m not sure about this,’ he says.

  Meg and I look at Daphne.

  ‘Please come in anyway,’ she says. ‘We won’t expect anything, but we need some help. Could we just talk?’

  I’m not sure Daphne has got it right this time. This can’t be our person.

  ‘OK,’ he says but he still hovers on the edge until Meg realises what’s bothering him.

  ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘your shoes. It’s OK, I don’t mind.’

  ‘But,’ he says, and he lifts up one foot after another as if he is executing the opening moves of a dance.

  ‘I know,’ Meg says. ‘Take them off, that’ll be fine.’

  He looks relieved at the idea and my heart goes out to him.

  ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘yes, thank you, I will do that.’

  I look at Daphne to show my concern but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s worried too.

  He takes his shoes off and places them next to each other by the window. My heart hurts again when I see that his socks have more than one hole in them. Meg starts looking round her and I think, I bet you have a darning kit somewhere, woman. She reminds me of my grandmother in the countryside outside Kingston, even though Meg lives in this nice house in London.

  ‘I’m really not at all sure I can help,’ he says. ‘I understand roughly what you need and I can’t do it. I can’t.’

  I look at the other two and I can see that they are desperate for him to say something different. But they resound for me, those two words. I can’t.

  ‘OK, no worries, thank you for even considering it,’ I say.

  Daphne raises her hand slightly in my direction and I know that’s a sign for me, a sign that we should persuade him, work on him, but I don’t think that’s right. Don’t worry, the hand says, don’t worry, he’s OK.

  ‘We’re in trouble,’ Meg says. ‘That poor girl.’ She starts crying, Meg, and Des looks horrified.

  ‘I wish I could help,’ he says.

  Des examines his fingers, one by one. He looks nervous. There’s no dark side to him that I can see, no smell of trouble, and what’s more, his eyes crinkle slightly so they look as if they’re smiling even when he’s being serious. This will never work, I think. We should send him home. I’m about to say this when Daphne jumps in.

  ‘The thing is,’ she says, ‘we are in a situation. There’s a man, a really horrible man, we think he’s a possible people-trafficker and a definite pimp, and he’s got a young woman we know. She’s really young. He knows we know, that’s the difficult part, and we wanted to…’

  Daphne trails off and Meg looks panic-stricken so I jump in.

  ‘We want to pay someone to kill him,’ I say, ‘but it’s OK, we’ll find someone else, I can see that you’re…’ I’m not sure how to finish the sentence so I leave it there. Des stretches his mouth into a straight line and back again several times and everyone looks shocked. I suppose I could have put it less starkly but I don’t know how. It needed saying.

  Des strokes his chin as if he has recently lost a beard.

  ‘I’m a very non-violent person,’ he says. ‘I am more along the Quaker lines, yo
u know, not killing and all that. How old is she?’

  ‘Seventeen,’ Meg says.

  ‘I had a sister,’ Des says, stroking his chin again for all he’s worth, ‘and whilst I would never, you know, that’s not me, I do know some people. These people may be able to help you out, but I’m worried.’

  Des gets up and walks over to the windows and back before sitting down and standing up, twice. He keeps opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again.

  ‘We’re very worried too,’ I say, ‘and it’s not right for you to get involved, we’ll think of something else.’

  I look at the other two and I can see that they agree with me.

  ‘Sorry, Des,’ Daphne says. ‘Sorry to put you in a difficult position. We’ll manage, don’t worry, you’re off the hook.’

  She shrugs her shoulders and looks at Meg and me. ‘I shouldn’t have,’ she says, ‘I’m sorry.’

  I’m thinking that’s that, back to the drawing board, but I had reckoned without Meg.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Meg says. ‘Are you really, really sure? Only this girl, she’s a nice girl, a lovely girl, and the things they make her do…’

  Des redoubles the scrutiny of his hands. If ever anyone had a bubble above their head saying, ‘Thinking,’ Des was that person.

  ‘I think I might be able to help,’ he says eventually. ‘Seventeen, that’s very young. Just a kid. I really do want to help. My sister, she, erm, she was very young. Scared. I did what I could. But I’m worried because these kind of people are dangerous. Could we not go to the police?’

  Daphne starts to explain and he holds his hand up.

  ‘I’m being stupid,’ he says. ‘I know exactly why, I hope you’ll pardon my stupidity. I’m no hero but, yes, I’m at your service.’

  ‘Heroes come in all shapes and sizes,’ I say and the others nod as if I’ve said something wise.

  ‘Indeed,’ he says, ‘and you three ladies are heroes. But even heroes need a helping hand.’

  With no warning, I feel as though the room is closing in on me. I think about Nina again and I think, we can’t do this. We’re not up to it, not one of us. I’m about to say something about abandoning the whole thing and taking our chances with the police when he says something that makes me look up.