All Things Nice

by Sheila Bugler

  When they drew apart, Nick Gleeson wrapped his arm around the woman’s slender shoulders and they walked away from Abby, looking every inch like the perfect couple walking into the sunset at the end of a dreary Hollywood romcom.

  * * *

  ‘That’s the secret girlfriend?’

  Ger stared at the image on Ellen’s laptop as if she expected the face in the picture to morph into someone else.

  ‘Looks like it,’ Ellen said.

  ‘The pictures were taken outside the block where Gleeson has his apartment,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m sure someone mentioned that Kieran used to go running around there. He must have seen them coming out, taken the photos and then used them to blackmail Gleeson.’

  ‘Which would explain what they rowed about the day Kieran was killed,’ Ellen said. ‘I just can’t believe he’d be so stupid. What was he thinking? She’s the same age as his own daughter.’

  Ger snorted. ‘He’s a man. They’re all stupid when they let their dicks rule what they do.’

  Ellen caught the look of mild outrage on Alastair’s face and was about to say something to annoy him further when her phone started to ring.

  ‘Ellen.’ Abby sounded breathless and excited.

  ‘What is it?’ Ellen said.

  ‘You won’t believe this,’ Abby said. ‘Gleeson’s just had lunch in a pub by the river. The Gun in Coldharbour. Do you know it? Beautiful location right on the curve of the river.’

  ‘Abby.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Abby said. ‘He’s with a woman. They came out of the pub and started kissing. I mean, really proper kissing. But you will never in a million years guess who she is.’

  Ellen glanced at the frozen image on the screen in front of her. A pair of hands, a man’s and a woman’s, holding onto each other the way couples did.

  ‘Cosima Cooper,’ Ellen said.

  Abby started to speak, asking how the hell Ellen could possibly have known about Nick and Cosima before she did. Ellen wasn’t listening. She was remembering what Raj had told her about Pete Cooper and how protective he was of his only child. She remembered, too, Loretta’s face in the interview room when she finally revealed who Nick’s girlfriend was.

  ‘I have a horrible feeling Cooper’s about to find out what’s going on,’ she said. ‘We need to get to Gleeson before that happens.’

  Nine

  ‘I hate having to be so secretive all the time,’ Nick said.

  ‘And so do I,’ Cosima said. ‘But we don’t have any choice.’

  ‘We have to tell him sometime,’ Nick said. His voice came out harsher than he’d meant it to, and he regretted it immediately.

  She turned her face away.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  Still she refused to look at him. He wondered, sometimes, why he did this. She could be such hard work.

  ‘Cosima,’ he said. ‘I really am sorry.’

  She looked at him then and when he saw the tears in her eyes. He could have kicked himself for being such an insensitive bastard.

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said. ‘It’s just so difficult, Nick. Ever since my mother left us, he’s never been the same. I can’t explain it to you without making him sound mad. And he’s not. He’s just a lonely old man who is confused and scared of losing the only person he has left.’

  ‘You can’t stay with him forever,’ Nick said. ‘It’s not healthy for either of you.’

  It was pointless. They’d had this conversation so many times and it always ended the same way. Stalemate. Of course she was scared of hurting her father. Nick understood that and respected her for it. Her father loved her. And who could blame him? She loved Pete, too, of course. In her own way. Hadn’t Nick himself been the same once? Continuing to love his old man even when it was evident to anyone with half an eye that the man he’d spent his entire life looking up to was nothing more than a pathetic dreamer.

  He tried to think how he’d feel if Freya went out with a friend of his. He doubted he’d be happy about it. Not at first. But if the man loved his daughter, really loved her the way he loved Cosima, then Nick thought he’d get used to it in due course. Let’s face it, anyone would be an improvement on the last bastard.

  ‘I just want everything out in the open,’ he said. ‘I can’t bear this secrecy any longer.’

  ‘Well you’ll have to,’ Cosima said. ‘I need more time.’

  Her stubbornness irritated him. In his darker moments, it made him doubt she was serious about him. Even though he knew she was. She made it crystal clear how she felt about him, how much she wanted him. All the time.

  He didn’t think he’d get through the afternoon without having her. If he could, he would take her right now. Drag her down the alley beside the pub, push her against the wall, pull her skirt up over that fucking perfect arse and …

  Her phone rang. The sound cut through the fantasy, made him jump. She looked at the caller’s name on-screen and diverted the call without answering it.

  ‘It’s him,’ she said.

  The image of Cosima with her skirt up disappeared in a flash.

  Nick looked around. Terrified for a single, mad moment that Pete was here somewhere. Watching. He shook his head. He was being paranoid. He pressed against her again, breathing in her soft, flowery smell.

  ‘Not here.’ Gently she moved his hands away. ‘I have work to do. My exams are coming up. Let me get through those and then we’ll talk about how to tell my father.’

  ‘You promise?’

  It was a stupid question. He knew she’d never do it and he knew he’d stay with her anyway. He’d never met a woman like her. Never even dreamed he could be this happy. She held all the cards and he was helpless to do anything about it and, most of the time, he didn’t care because having her in his life was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe telling Pete wasn’t such a good idea. He could be a nasty bastard when he wanted to be. More than once, Nick had watched him in action, thinking he wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of that.

  Still … Pete had to be told. Nick loved her, wanted her like no other woman he’d ever known. She was his everything. He adored her and would do anything for her. If that meant standing up to her bully father and declaring his love openly, then so be it. She was worth it.

  * * *

  Charlotte walked to the restaurant. Usually she would jump in a taxi but she needed to clear her head. Without the help of a drink, walking was the best way to do that. It was a cold, grey day and she walked fast. When she was young, she used to walk everywhere. Walking was her escape. Leaving behind the stultifying, suffocating, sadistic atmosphere of home and out into the open countryside.

  Growing up, home was an elegant Georgian detached house in its own grounds outside the village of Berwick St James, a small hamlet near Salisbury in Wiltshire. The village nestled in beautiful countryside. All around her, Charlotte was surrounded by rolling green fields and wide skies.

  Her mother approved of walking, it was exercise, after all, and therefore a way of maintaining the extreme skinniness her mother deemed so important. She wasn’t allowed to get dirty when she walked, which was difficult given that she walked through fields and woods. But she kept a pair of boots in the scullery by the back door and her mother never saw these, the kitchen and scullery being areas of the house that didn’t interest her whatsoever.

  Mrs Evans, the woman who came to cook for them, knew about the boots and told Charlotte it was okay to keep them there. Said the boots could be ‘our little secret’. Over the years, as Charlotte’s feet got bigger, the boots got bigger too. It was always a surprise to her how a new pair would be there waiting for her, just when she needed them. It was only years later, when Mrs Evans was long gone, that Charlotte realised the kind woman must have been buying the boots herself.

  The boots weren’t the only secret. There were the picnics that Mrs Evans used to make for Charlotte to take with her. She would pack the food small so that Cha
rlotte was able to fit it into the shoulder bag she carried with her everywhere.

  The shoulder bag was for pens and paper. As a girl, Charlotte wanted to be a writer. A dream she carried with her for years, along with the bag. Until the day her mother found out about it and that was the end of the dream.

  She walked fast, her body remembering the rhythm of all those country walks from long ago. Across the heath, over Charlton Road and into the park. Curving down the western edge, past the tennis courts and down the steep hill towards King William Walk. All around her, people – men, women, children – were walking, running, playing, laughing, talking. She felt separate from it all. Like a spirit, drifting unnoticed through the mess and vitality of other people’s lives.

  The restaurant was in the heart of Greenwich village, on the corner of Nevada Street and Crooms Hill. Charlotte remembered the pride she’d felt when Nick bought it. At the end of the first night, after all the customers had gone home, she’d stayed late with Nick and his staff, watching them celebrate with glass after glass of Moët. She was pregnant and stuck to mineral water. She’d never been so happy in her entire life. If only she’d known then that that was the happiest she would ever be. That one month later, her daughter would come along and everything would change.

  Inside, the restaurant was quiet. Too late for lunch, too early for dinner. Only a few tables occupied. People dragging boozy lunches through the afternoon and into the evening. A group of office-workers, rowdy and happy. In the corner, a middle-aged couple, heads close together whispering to each other. They looked happy and Charlotte thought they were probably having an affair. Not married, that was for sure.

  Nick’s office was at the back of the restaurant. She walked straight there, pushed open the door without knocking and went inside.

  ‘Charlotte.’

  Loretta was sitting at Nick’s desk, working on his laptop. She looked surprised to see Charlotte, and slightly shifty too, as if Charlotte had caught her doing something she shouldn’t. Like sleeping with Charlotte’s husband.

  ‘Where is he?’ Charlotte asked.

  Loretta shook her head. ‘I don’t know. He went out for lunch. Didn’t tell me where he was going. I’d expected him to be back by now but …’ She shrugged.

  The adrenaline that had carried Charlotte out of the house and across the heath evaporated. Suddenly, she felt drained, exhausted; unsure how much longer she could remain standing. She grabbed the side of the door, holding tight for support. Loretta’s face, staring up at her, went in and out of focus.

  Through the mist, Charlotte saw Loretta stand up and walk towards her. Felt Loretta’s hand on her arm and let the other woman lead her to a chair.

  ‘Sit down,’ Loretta said. ‘You look awful. Let me get you a drink.’

  Charlotte shook her head, or tried to at least.

  ‘Tea,’ Loretta said. ‘And something to eat. Tea and toast. You look as if you need it.’

  Charlotte was vaguely aware of Loretta going to the door and calling for things. Then Loretta was pulling up a chair and sitting beside her, holding Charlotte’s hand.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Charlotte pulled her hand away. ‘What sort of question is that? My daughter’s boyfriend and my best friend have been murdered. The police think I killed them. Of course I’m not okay.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Loretta said. ‘Ah, here’s our tea. Good.’

  A fabulously handsome man with dark skin and sparkling eyes came into the room carrying a tray. He smiled at Charlotte as he put the tray down on the table in front of her.

  ‘Mrs Gleeson,’ he said. ‘Good to see you. Enjoy the tostada.’

  He spoke with a Spanish accent and she remembered meeting him once before. She’d had too much to drink and couldn’t remember his name. Remembered he had a boyfriend, though. Michael. Funny she could remember the boyfriend’s name but not the waiter’s.

  ‘Sugar?’ Loretta asked.

  Charlotte nodded. She never took sugar with her tea or coffee but right now she needed it. She didn’t speak until she’d drank a full cup of tea and eaten two slices of buttery toast with homemade raspberry jam.

  The sugar and carbohydrate acted like an amphetamine. With each mouthful she could feel the energy returning, warming her, clearing the mist and sharpening her mind.

  She chewed the final piece of toast, swallowed and looked at Loretta. The woman was attractive enough, Charlotte supposed, although she had the sort of looks that wouldn’t last. Fair, freckled skin that would wrinkle early and take on that papery texture you so often saw with woman of that colouring.

  ‘Did you love him?’ Charlotte asked.

  The horrified look on Loretta’s face was gratifying.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake,’ Charlotte said. ‘Is that all you can say? Sorry for what? For sleeping with him? For taking me for an idiot? What exactly are you sorry for, Loretta?’

  ‘I’m not sleeping with your husband,’ Loretta said.

  ‘Not now,’ Charlotte said.

  Loretta shook her head. ‘No. We … okay, I’ll be honest with you. I did sleep with him. But it was only a handful of times, Charlotte. And it never meant anything.’

  ‘Sleeping with another woman’s husband never meant anything?’ Charlotte said. ‘Charming.’

  She couldn’t believe the way she was speaking. So confident and knowing. More like Ginny than poor, pathetic Charlotte. She imagined Ginny watching her, smiling her approval. Normally, she’d rather die than have a conversation like this. Now, she thought she might die if she didn’t face up to it.

  ‘It wasn’t serious,’ Loretta said. ‘Well, I mean, I wasn’t serious. I knew Nick was married and I felt awful about it. I told him it couldn’t continue. I said, if you’re that unhappy, you need to talk to Charlotte, you need to try to tell her how you feel. I suggested couples counselling.’

  Loretta smiled. Managed to make the smile bright, sympathetic and utterly false. Quite an achievement, Charlotte thought.

  ‘I don’t suppose he spoke to you,’ Loretta continued. ‘Did he?’

  A chemical reaction was taking place in Charlotte’s body. Adrenaline combining with years of being lied to, mixed with everything that had happened over the last few weeks. Turning it all into a blinding surge of raging energy that wanted to lash out and hurt someone.

  ‘You slept with my husband,’ she said. ‘That is a terrible thing to do. You slept with him and then continued to act as if you were my friend every time we met.’

  An image in her head. A snapshot. Kieran’s face over hers. She was no better than Loretta. Worse, maybe. She blinked and the image disappeared.

  ‘I am your friend,’ Loretta said. ‘It’s Nick, he’s the one who’s acted badly here. You should be having this conversation with him, not me. I mean, I’m not the person you’re married to. And I’m certainly not the only woman he’s slept with, let me tell you.’

  ‘He’s not here,’ Charlotte said, ‘but you are, so I’m having the conversation with you. Tell me about Nick and Kieran.’

  The sudden change of topic seemed to confuse Loretta.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘Just tell me,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Well, there is something,’ Loretta said. ‘But I’m not covering up for him, Charlotte. I’ve already told the police.’

  ‘Told them what?’

  ‘Kieran was here,’ Loretta said. ‘The day he was killed. He came in just after lunch.’

  ‘And?’ Charlotte said.

  ‘And they rowed,’ Loretta said.

  ‘What about?’ She braced herself. This was it. The moment she would find out the truth.

  ‘Well,’ Loretta said, ‘I’m not sure, really. I mean, the door was closed and I’m not one to eavesdrop.’

  Charlotte almost laughed. Loretta’s desk was right outside Nick’s office. Even with the door closed, it wouldn’t have been that hard to hear something if you put your mind to it.

>   ‘The row was about Pete Cooper,’ Loretta said. ‘I couldn’t get everything. Well, I wasn’t trying to, of course. But I heard Cooper’s name several times. Kieran was threatening to tell Cooper something.’

  ‘Tell him what?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘How would I know?’ Loretta said. ‘I heard Kieran saying, Cooper will kill you if he finds out. I assumed it was to do with the business. I mean, what else could it be about?’

  Loretta smiled and Charlotte realised Loretta was implying the row was about something else. Charlotte tried to think what else it could be but her mind drew a blank.

  ‘Was it to do with Freya?’ she asked.

  The smile disappeared and Charlotte felt that Loretta was disappointed in her for something.

  ‘You really haven’t a clue, do you?’ Loretta said. ‘Poor Charlotte. Your relationship with Nick, it’s really none of my business. If you think he’s seeing someone else, why don’t you ask him straight out instead of coming here and throwing accusations around the place?’

  ‘That’s not what I was doing,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m trying to find out who killed my daughter’s boyfriend.’

  ‘I’d have thought that was obvious,’ Loretta said. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  Charlotte left without saying goodbye.

  I’d have thought that was obvious. Was Loretta talking about Pete or Nick?

  Charlotte thought of all the stories she’d heard about Pete Cooper, the things Ginny had told her. Charlotte had begged Nick not to go into business with a man like that but Nick had refused to listen. Now, it seemed they were all about to pay.

  Ten

  Nick watched Cosima’s taxi drive away. He wished he could run after it and climb into the back of the car beside her. Just the two of them. Start a new life without any of the complications of the real world. Each time they parted, he experienced a sharp sense of loss, as if this might be the last time he would ever see her.