For One Night Only

by W W Walker

  “Mrs Butler would get a good price for that place.”

  “How much do you reckon? It’s only small, their house.”

  “She’ll still get about twelve thousand for it. Nice little place like that.”

  “Right next to the gate too. You know, if we downsized and bought that, I’d be directly opposite Kiki’s house.”

  “Keep an eye out for her, you mean?”

  “Yes, I do. An attractive young girl like that with no man to protect her. Shame!”

  They sat down and tucked into their steaks. “After tea, I’ll go over and see Constance. May as well keep an eye out for her too. Just until Kiki gets back from work.”

  Later, after tea, Marigold had left via the back, where double French doors were always left unlocked. It was hardly a security risk. No one ever intruded on their gated community, so it was safe to be lax. Whenever Marigold talked to outsiders about their estate, she always spoke with reverence, since Seaview was completely exclusive and private. “We don’t have to worry about things other people on the west coast worry about. We haven’t had one burglary in the two years we’ve been there. ‘And not many people can say that these days,’ she’d often add.

  Chapter Six

  Inside the high walls, Drake Fisher crouched behind the bushes, keeping out of sight of the heavy traffic that seemed to be entering Seaview. He watched the first white Cortina go up along the eight, then another car, and then the one he’d been looking out for all night long, Kiki’s. He was glad when the headlights were turned off so that he could hide in the darkness. If anyone had seen him come in, his plan would have been over before it had begun.

  He kept his eye on Kiki, while the others entering the estate held no interest for him. Not yet.

  He recalled the time earlier when Kiki told him he was to go up to Lang’s office. He thought he was in for a promotion since she’d given him a nice kind smile. More fool him. She was like all the rest. A dirty, scheming scumbag. And a woman to boot. Drake didn’t mind what gender his victims were. ‘People’ in general were his enemy and he would kill anyone for just being ‘them’.

  He watched Kiki get out of her car. Just after she’d closed the front door, a woman dressed in slacks ran across the road, pulling her cardigan around her while her breath looked as if she was smoking. The woman rang the bell. Even from that distance behind the bushes, he could tell by Kiki’s face she wasn’t happy to see the woman. But she let her in anyway. That was people all over. They did things they shouldn’t do. Not like him. Everything Drake did was precise and right. He’d made good choices.

  He’d kept his nose clean all that time, apart from that one unfortunate occasion when he was twenty five when he met Jane. She was the love of his life, even though she was reluctant to reciprocate his affection. She was shy, Drake realised, so he’d taken the matter in hand and got her over her shyness. She was a mess when he buried her out on the moors, but he made up for it by giving her a posy of pansies in her hands, crossed at her bloodied abdomen as if she had been interred properly. It was the least he could do for the love of his life.

  Now, as the night was drawing in and the temperature was dropping, he realised he needed to find a place to stay warm before someone saw his breath rising from the bushes like a cloud of smoke.

  The house nearest the gate was No.8.

  Earlier, when he’d hidden outside the estate on the other side of the road, he’d seen the old lady come out. A cat had made a flowerpot crash to the floor and made a ruckus doing it. She’d gone back inside and then a man came sprinting towards her house as if he was the cavalry. He had a look around and eventually found the broken pot. Drake had watched him as he walked to the back door and entered the house. Then two minutes later he left.

  Now, as Drake darted past the broken pot on the path, he noticed it had been filled with pansies. It served to starkly remind him of Jane and the posies she’d held in her hands in death.

  Ahead of him, at the side of the house, near the back garden, he saw a greenhouse. He slipped inside as he thought about Jane, then, under the cover of darkness, he hit himself on the face, three times on the left and twice on the right.

  Chapter Seven

  Kiki was over Marigold. She needed to get her out of her house before she screamed. The woman had made herself comfortable in the lounge in front of the electric fire. She’d kicked off her shoes and even had the audacity to bring along a pair of slippers. She put them on her feet with a sigh. “That’s better,” she said.

  “You brought slippers?”

  “Well, you know what we’re like when we get started. I end up staying half the night.” She laughed as if it was a shared joke.

  “What about your Wilbur? Doesn’t he want your company?” Please say yes, Kiki pleaded, silently.

  “Oh, no. Our Wilbur’s all right. Besides, he’s gone down the pub to play darts.”

  “Well, that means he’ll be back when the pub closes around eleven, so you won’t want to stay here beyond that.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I’m keen on having an early night.” She couldn’t be any clearer than that.

  “I tell you what, I’ll disappear around about eleven-thirty and let you get some peace and quiet.”

  “That’s good of you,” Kiki said, sarcastically.

  “My pleasure.”

  Kiki Cutter had long ago learned to tolerate people like her neighbour from next door. She was a ‘human cliché’ as she liked to call them, having met several people like her over her lifetime.

  Kiki had been raised by an alcoholic father. He was a good man, a hard worker, but at night, when he came home, he hit the bottle hard and the family suffered for it. She couldn’t help loving him for the man he was by day, but by night, her childish optimism was often shattered by the dreaded drink.

  He was a whiskey man. One bottle a night. But at weekends he doubled that and was often found passed out on the sofa, drunk beyond all drunkenness. There was no word for it. It was his infinity, his bottomless pit, his own private hell. No one knew the cause of his self-destruction -he would say there wasn’t one- but it was something Kiki had always tried to get to the bottom of, hoping that one day, even while she was still young, she would find the answer and make him well again.

  She’d suffered at his hands many times, but his biggest and most supreme weapon were his words. He destroyed her with them, her two brothers too, not to mention their mother. He had a gift for dragging people down to his own darkest depths. He would lift them one minute and destroy them the next. He was unpredictable when he was drunk, but unlike her brothers, Kiki learned how to use that treatment to her advantage.

  Later in life, someone told her that children of alcoholics were highly skilled in recognising body language and micro-expressions; the look on a face; the light in an eye; a sleight of hand, all from imperfect strangers. She had developed the gift very early on, the result of her living with a verbally and physically aggressive abuser, she was told at the time. It was the mind’s natural defence system, a mechanism used to protect herself, premeditating the abuser’s actions, defending her mind and body from verbal and physical torture.

  She’d harnessed the skill when she turned eighteen.

  It was her first boyfriend. He was a cad and a cheater, but she thought she was in love. She knew his movements, his cheating ways, his lies, just by his body language and the excuses he made, the look in his eyes when he lied to her, and at the end of two years, she finally caught him out. She was standing at the bus stop and a girl stood next to her. They’d caught a glance at each other, and Kiki noticed a look in her eyes that she called ‘curious’. She saw the girl again at a nightclub when she was talking to her cheating boyfriend, and then Kiki knew. Just by that single expression at the bus stop, Kiki had realised that she was the girl he had cheated on her with. It had befuddled her, as she wondered how she could possibly know something just by looking at them. It had never made sense, until she realised, s
he was inherently skilled at non-verbal communication and micro-expressions.

  She dumped the boy!

  Now, as Kiki was about to lose her rag with Marigold, the telephone rang. She went into the hall to answer it, closing the door behind her, leaving her intruder on her own, where she deserved to be. “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Hey!”

  “I’d like to see you.”

  “Everyone wants to see me.” She took a quick glance towards the door leading to the lounge. She hoped Marigold didn’t have her ear up to it.

  “Hmm?” Tyrone muttered.

  “Nothing. Just being sarcastic.”

  He paused. “I thought I’d come over tonight.”

  “After what happened last time?”

  Kiki had been seeing Tyrone on and off for over a year. He had once worked at Philips as an office manager, but he left after an unfortunate incident on the shop floor.

  He’d pursued Kiki relentlessly, but she’d refused to go out with him, stating quite categorically, that she would never have relations with a colleague. It had been a difficult decision since he was extremely good-looking. One day he’d been walking along the factory floor when he’d almost been knocked down by a forklift truck. He told her the tale after the event, saying he’d had a narrow escape. Later, he’d claimed it wasn’t an accident. That, just a week before in the distribution depot, he’d almost been crushed by a crate falling from twenty feet up. It had missed him by inches. Another time, he’d been working in his own office on the second floor, when a brick came hurtling through the window. He’d been covered in glass, and after he got back on his feet, when he looked outside, there was no one there. He’d said the incidents had been extremely odd and that he couldn’t think of one person who would want to harm him. After an investigation, it was discovered that the one driving the forklift truck was none other than Drake Fisher. Of course, Fisher said he hadn’t seen him, and that maybe Ty should stay in his office rather than risk his life on the shop floor. The unions agreed. A week later Ty resigned after realising that putting his life in danger for the sake of a job, wasn’t worth it.

  The following day Kiki had discovered that he was in love with her and if he didn’t work at Philips, she would agree to go out with him. But Kiki went the other way. She’d suddenly lost respect for a man who would abandon his position just because of some silly coincidental accidents.

  One day he’d caught her at a low point, and she agreed to go to the pictures with him. The Blues Brothers was amazing, and afterwards she’d been on a major high. She’d blamed the music.

  That night she’d slept with him, the beginning of their affair.

  “What happened last time?” Ty was now saying on the phone.

  “One of the neighbours saw you leave.”

  “So what?”

  “I told you before,” she whispered. “These are small minded people who live small lives. You have no idea.” She looked once again at the closed door and hoped Marigold wasn’t listening.

  “I’ll make sure no one sees me,” he said. “I’ll be out early.”

  “Well…I’ve got one of them here now. She’s hard to get rid of, but she’ll be gone by eleven-thirty. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds good to me. Can’t wait to see you, baby.”

  Kiki hung up the phone. God, she thought, the guy always sounded so damn desperate.

  The evening went slowly. Marigold kept the conversation going while Kiki tuned out and stared into the fire. That was until Marigold said something a lot more interesting than anything she’d said so far.

  “I don’t know whether I should say anything.”

  Kiki’s ears had pricked up. “What about?”

  “What happened at our anniversary party last summer.”

  “Which was?”

  Suddenly Marigold wasn’t keen to divulge her gossip. “No, forget I said anything.”

  She was drawing it out, using the story to gain Kiki’s attention and to prolong the evening. “I’ll get you another drink.” She brought her a glass of port. Marigold took it and sniffed it. “It’s port,” Kiki said.

  “Ah, I wondered why it was in such a small glass.” She took a sip and nodded her approval. “This stuff usually sends me to sleep.”

  God willing, thought Kiki vowing to get in another bottle. “What were you saying about your ‘do’?”

  “You were there, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were with a rather handsome young man.”

  “Tyrone.”

  “That’s right. Very friendly.”

  Marigold was staring right at her, trying to read her thoughts. Kiki looked away, but she knew she had to say something. Marigold expected her to exchange confidences instead of going it alone as she normally did. “He stayed over. There’s nothing going on. He’s just a friend.”

  “Of course.”

  “So, what happened at your party?”

  “It’s a bit delicate.” She said slowly as if she cared. “Wilbur went down to the shed to get another tin of Party Seven. He stores them down there in a little fridge he rigged up. We went through four of them that night. That’s twenty-eight pints.” She chuckled. “What a hoot.”

  “Anyway, he opened the shed door, and there was a couple on all fours…doing it.”

  Kiki’s eyes widened. “Who was it?”

  “That the awkward part. You’ll have to promise to keep it to yourself.”

  “Of course.”

  “It was Roger from No.5.”

  “With Eva?”

  Marigold shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she rushed, “Not that I think Eva would ever be found in a position like that.”

  Kiki chuckled. “You mean in that predicament? Not position!” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

  Marigold suddenly caught on. “Ooh,” she hooted. “That’s definitely what I meant.”

  Kiki leaned forward. “Tell me, then. Who was Roger with, in that awkward predicament?”

  “I don’t know her name. She had dark skin…oriental looking…a foreigner, anyway.”

  “I remember her. Jade! Her husband’s name was Jack. He was talking to Ty most of the night.”

  “Yes, friends of the family apparently.”

  “Well, what do you know? Poor old Eva.” Kiki couldn’t help enjoying the gossip. Now she could watch them and read their thoughts. A great source of pleasure.

  “Speaking of which, you’re going to Eva’s cocktail party tomorrow night aren’t you?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m not into ‘all girls’ parties.”

  “Go on. It’ll be a laugh. All the men will be away on their golfing weekend. Tine to let our hair down a bit.”

  “At a six o’clock cocktail party?”

  “Well, we could keep it going. I’d be happy to have everyone round my house.”

  Kiki’s eyes darted to the clock. “It’s quarter-to-twelve.” Now she was worried that Marigold and Ty would clash at the front door.

  “I should get off then,” Marigold said placing her empty glass on the side table.

  At last, Kiki thought.

  He arrived just after Eleven-thirty. She turned off the lights before she opened the door to let him in. He grabbed her and kissed her, deliciously. He was tall, with broad shoulders. She knew he went to the gym a lot. His face was handsome, but it was also perfectly pretty, and she didn’t like that. Thus, she kept her eyes closed when they kissed.

  “Where did you leave your car?”

  “Outside the gates, just along the road a bit.”

  “Good. You remembered the code.”

  “I’m an office boy, I always remember numbers.”

  They went through the lounge to the kitchen where she poured him a glass of port. If she knew him, they’d be in bed inside of ten minutes.

  “Something strange just happened,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The gates opened and as I walked near to th
e light outside your house, I heard someone gasp.”

  “What do you mean, gasp?”

  “You know, like…” He made a gasping noise. “As if someone recognised me.”

  “Damn! Could have been one of the neighbours. They’re a strange bunch.”

  He shrugged. He acted like he’d been spooked. “I’m not sure. I didn’t see anyone, but I thought I saw something in the bushes next to the house on the other side.”

  “That’s No.8. The old couple. My neighbour told me that her husband had to go over there tonight, but it was just a cat…or something. I wasn’t really listening”

  “Cats don’t gasp.” He walked towards her with a smile on his lips. “But I know someone in the immediate vicinity who does.” He had a passionate look in his eyes. She knew it wouldn’t be long before he took her up the stairs to bed.

  “All the neighbours would be gasping if they knew you were here at midnight.”

  He chuckled. “Let them. Who cares? It’s the eighties, a new era.”

  “Tell them that.”

  “Well, Kiki Cutter, since I don’t work at Philips anymore, and you have no more excuses, will you go out with me?”

  “It’s fortunate that you left when you did. We had a few redundancies this week, one of them from your department.”

  “Good timing for me then.”

  “Yes, but you missed out on a potential redundancy payment.”

  He leaned into her and kissed her neck. “No problem. Money means nothing to me.”

  His comment had almost turned Kiki off. Who didn’t care about money? But now he was wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her towards him, breathing whispery kisses on her neck.

  Yes, she was keen to get him into bed now, so any doubts she had about his morals regarding money would have to be put at bay.

  Just for one night only.

  Chapter Eight

  Friday night still wasn’t over for Constance. They had just finished dinner and Eddie had settled his mother into a comfortable chair in the lounge. From there to the kitchen, sliding glass doors divided the rooms, so she could see them watching the television. BBC2 was showing live coverage of the inauguration of Ronald Reagan as the fortieth President of the United States. Constance wondered what the Americans were doing voting for an actor? It seemed odd to her.