27
Paula woke up the next morning feeling angry. Angry and sore. In front of her bathroom mirror she assessed the damage. Some swelling similar to the time she had a wisdom tooth removed, and some bruising. She should get some frozen peas on to the swelling and some concealer and foundation on the bruising.
But there wasn’t a lot she could do about her anger, unless she happened to bump into the little shit who stole from her. And then it occurred to her that she had no idea what size he was, or even if it was a he. It had all happened to fast. She was struck, pushed into the boot and then he/she was off.
Thank God for Anton.
Imagine just stopping where his café was. How lucky was that? Or how weird? Her life had become increasingly strange since Thomas died.
She thought of Joe.
Kevin and Elaine’s deaths.
The notebook.
And now, her mugging.
The anger she’d woken with was now quickly replaced by fear. All this couldn’t be unrelated, could it? Again, Kevin’s words rang in her head: I’m fucked … we both are. Perhaps she wasn’t being serious enough about the double killing. Was she at risk? And from more than just passing thieves? Should be taking her security a more seriously?
How would she even do that? Employ a security firm? Get her own personal guard?
She looked into her eyes in the mirror. She desperately wanted to scoff at the notion. To shake herself free of the apprehension gripping her. But she couldn’t.
Two people really were dead. That she knew of. Could there be more? Was Thomas’s heart attack something more?
As she pulled on a robe, holding it tight around her waist, and walking down to the kitchen, she was reminded of Cara’s allegations.
Stuff paid for by Thomas’s illegal acts? She looked around the kitchen. Thought about this house: warm, safe luxurious. Was all of this tainted?
She couldn’t believe it. Could she? She’d found out so much these past few days.
She put her hand on the coffee machine. New, top of the range. And a pang of guilt made her turn away. She’d have a drink of water instead. But why should she feel guilty? She’d done nothing wrong! Surely Thomas had done nothing wrong either.
Feeling a flare of anger, she threw the glass of water into the sink. It hit the aluminium and broke into several pieces. Swearing at herself she reached in and gathered them together before throwing them into the bin. And as she did so she noticed her breathing was a little erratic. She forced herself to exhale. Long and slow. Calm, she told herself.
Calm.
But there were so many questions and no one had any answers as far as she could see.
Cara Connolly. Should she entertain her claims? Ask her to take her to the guy who made those ludicrous allegations. There was no way her Thomas would torture and kill someone.
She might at least find out how weak the accusations were.
Paula leaned on the work surface, elbows on the granite, forehead resting on her hands. This was a mess. A confusing mess.
Pushing herself upright, she tried to work out what she knew. She’d start there.
She picked up her phone, and dialled Joe’s number. But when it rang through all she got was his voicemail.
‘Hey, Joe…’ she made an effort to inject some lightness into her tone. ‘Just to say morning, and I love you, you daft big lump. Call me back, eh?’
Next number she tried was Cara’s. It rang out.
She looked down at the rectangular object in her hand. It was weird that neither Thomas’s phone nor his iPad had turned up. Had someone stolen them at the restaurant? Or did one of the medical staff help themselves?
She should try the restaurant and speak to the owner. There was more chance of things being stolen there. With all the confusion of someone suffering a heart attack, perhaps someone had taken advantage.
The phone in her hand rang.
It was Cara Connolly.
‘Sorry, I missed your call,’ Cara said.
‘That’s okay,’ said Paula. She paused. ‘In fact, I’m really not sure why I called you.’
‘You’ve had some time to think and now you’re worried your husband actually was a murderous arsehole.’
‘What the—’ Paula rang off. She wasn’t listening to that. She rung for answers, not insults.
The phone rang again. Cara. She sighed, picking it up.
‘Sorry, that was out of order,’ said Cara, in a warmer, careful tone.
Paula didn’t reply. She didn’t trust herself not to scream.
‘What did you want?’ Cara asked. ‘I’m happy to talk if you want.’
Paula couldn’t help accepting the offer. ‘This is just all so confusing … My head is all over the place. The stuff you said about Thomas … and then you were at the offices the night Kevin was killed? I guess you’ve heard about that, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, I have.’
What was she doing, calling this girl? thought Paula. What did she know? ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you…’
But before Paula could cut the connection, Cara said: ‘You’re not buying the suicide murder thing either then?’
‘Nope. The more I think about it the more ridiculous it sounds.’ Paula sat down. Something about this woman’s tone was persuasive. ‘It would be good to talk to you. For whatever reason, you’re connected to all of this. Whatever this is. It would be good to talk about it all to someone who is…’ But she couldn’t think of the right word. ‘Want to meet up for lunch?’
There was silence.
‘Okay,’ said Cara eventually. ‘Twelve-thirty. I have a meeting in the centre of town, so somewhere there would suit.’
‘Right. Twelve-thirty it is. Two Fat Ladies? The restaurant?’
‘I know it. See you there.’ Cara hung up.
Paula took a table near the front of the restaurant so she could see everyone coming and going. She felt faintly ridiculous. Wasn’t that what people in crime movies did?
Cara appeared on time, her hair combed back off her face in a severe style, and wearing tight, dark-blue jeans and a cerise top. Her smart work clothes, Paula thought.
‘See anything you fancy?’ asked Cara, cocking her head at the menu in Paula’s hand as she took a seat.
‘Nice top,’ said Paula, wanting to put both of them at ease. ‘Suits you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Cara with both a small frown and a smile.
They both studied the menu in awkward silence. The sound around them was a happy babble. The low hum of conversation, with occasional bursts of laughter, and the sound of pop jazz coming over the PA system. It was just Paula’s kind of place; stylish, with clean lines and a modern feel. If she had been here in happier times she might have enjoyed it. Paula could see why Thomas might like to bring a client here.
‘Wasn’t this where your husband had his heart attack?’ Cara asked at last, as if she’d just read Paula’s mind.
‘You must think I’m weird,’ Paula replied as she clasped her hands in front of her. ‘I had to see the place, you know? And I couldn’t just be here on my own.’
Cara nodded, her expression one of genuine empathy. Paula had to turn her eyes away. And Cara changed the subject, as if she felt it was too soon to pry.
‘What are you going to eat?’
‘The chicken,’ Paula replied.
‘I’ll go for the risotto.’ Cara offered a grin as she caught the eye of a waitress.
‘What can I get for you guys?’ the young woman asked with a large smile.
With a look to Cara, Paula ordered the risotto and the chicken. ‘And if I could speak to the manager, please?’ she added.
The waitress’s smile slipped. ‘Oh, is there anything wrong?’
‘No, dear,’ replied Paula, struggling to give the young woman a reassuring smile. ‘I’d just like a quick word … about something I think was left here’
She nodded an okay and walked off.
‘Patronising much?’ sai
d Cara with a smile.
‘What?’
‘No, dear.’ Cara said, in a gently mocking tone.
Paula found herself suddenly warming to Cara. Perhaps she could trust her. ‘You’re like an annoying little sister,’ she said. ‘I’m wishing I’d ordered some wine now.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ Cara laughed. ‘But I’ve got some work on this afternoon. Wouldn’t do to be meeting with the children’s panel stinking of wine.’
‘Children’s panel?’ Paula grew sombre. ‘Bet you hear some stories.’
Cara raised her eyebrows. ‘You don’t know the half of it. I get to see the very worst, and the very best of people in this job.’
‘What made you go into that field?’ Paula asked.
The waitress arrived and they both smiled their thanks as she poured them each some water from a carafe, and then told Paula the manager was with someone but would speak to her shortly.
‘I started working as admin in local government, straight out of school,’ said Cara once they were alone. ‘From there I got a job with an advocacy company and saw how vital it was. Did all the necessary exams and here I am.’
‘A social conscience is good in the young,’ Paula said, regretting it instantly.
‘Patronising much,’ Cara said again, with a grin.
‘Oh, please,’ said Paula, but couldn’t help smiling too.
‘I understand you’re looking to speak to the manager?’ A tall slim woman in a black suit and with long black hair was standing beside the table.
Paula looked up. ‘Oh, yes please.’
‘That’s me. Anna,’ the woman said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘This is sort of delicate,’ Paula said in a quiet voice, glancing over at Cara.
The woman bowed her head.
‘My husband had a heart attack in here a couple of weeks ago and I…’
‘You’re Mrs Gadd,’ Anna said, and then her hand went to her mouth. ‘Tommy’s wife.’
‘You knew my husband?’ Paula tried not to bristle but wasn’t entirely convinced she was successful. This woman knew her husband, and Paula had no idea she even existed.
‘Oh, Tommy often brought his clients in here for lunch. So much so he had an account…’
‘He did?’ Paula asked, and then reading the genuine distress in the woman’s eyes she modified her tone. ‘I had no idea that he came here, until … after.’
Anna leaned forwards again and touched Paula’s forearm. ‘It was such a shock. One minute he was … the next…’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs Gadd. Tommy was a real character.’
‘He certainly was.’ Paula responding to the sight of the woman’s tears with tears of her own. She sniffed and swallowed in an attempt to control her emotions. And for a second regretted coming here. She hadn’t been prepared to hear about how much of a character Thomas was from a stranger. She paused as she wondered how to ask her question, worried now that it might look strange.
She gave Cara another look, and taking strength in the calm, quiet expression on her face, decided that, if there was any time in her life when she couldn’t care less about what people thought of her, it was now. ‘I’ve been looking through my husband’s things and can’t find his techie stuff – his phone and iPad? I wondered if, in all the … melee … whether it could have been left behind?’
Anna looked down at her, lips pursed as she thought back to that day. ‘Nope, no phone or iPad. Not that day. Which is a surprise really,’ she added as if it had just occurred to her. ‘You rarely saw him without them.’
Paula felt her face twitch. Anna really did know Thomas. Then a question formed in her mind and she asked it without thinking. ‘Do you happen to know who he was dining with that day? It’s just that I never found out.’
‘Oh,’ Anna said evidencing surprise. ‘The guy was so like him, he had to be family. Maybe more grey in the hair? Did Tommy have a brother?’
‘Two,’ Paula managed. ‘He had two brothers.’
More grey.
It had to be Bill.
So why did he never mention he was with Thomas the day he died?
28
After the manager left the table the two women sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Paula pushed the food around on her plate while Cara ate with gusto. When she’d finished her meal she placed her knife and fork on the plate.
‘What am I really doing here?’ Cara asked as she leaned forwards. ‘Am I just an excuse so you could come in and get your husband’s iPad?’
‘As I said…’ But then Paula reined in her irritation. They’d been getting on so well. ‘For whatever reason you seem to be involved in all the confusion that has surrounded me since Thomas died. I need some answers. I thought you might be able to help.’
‘Can you handle it?’ Cara asked. ‘Really?’
Paula looked down at her plate of food, pushed at a piece of chicken with her fork and her stomach gave a small churn of nausea.
‘I’m sure most of your friends are already busy sanitising Tommy’s memory. That’s not what you’ll get from me,’ Cara continued. ‘What I’ve got ain’t pretty.’
‘The truth, as you call it, might be difficult,’ said Paula. ‘But I’ve had enough of lies. I need to know what’s going on. Those … deaths. They’re bothering me.’
Cara’s face suddenly shone as if she’d just had an important thought. ‘Here, you don’t think Tommy’s death was suspicious, too, do you?’
‘Myocardial infarction,’ said Paula. ‘It literally means death of heart muscle. I looked it up.’ She studied Cara across the table. Looked at her empty, sauce-smeared plate. ‘Unless his brother, or that waitress slipped some poison into his lunch that would mimic a heart attack, what killed him was natural.’
Cara looked like she was biting back a reply.
‘What?’ Paula urged.
‘I was just going to say, what with Kevin Farrell getting killed, doesn’t that make you the least bit suspicious?’
‘Of course it does,’ Paula answered. ‘Thomas was a fit man for his age, but still, you don’t get much more conclusive than a death certificate.’ She cut off a piece of meat, forked it into her mouth and forced herself to chew and swallow, as if she was forcing down that particular truth. She felt a daub of sauce sitting just under her lower lip and dabbed at it with a napkin. ‘That guy, Danny, who accused Thomas of those horrible things? What happened to him? Why didn’t he show the last time? I need to talk to him.’
‘Dunno what’s happening there,’ Cara made a face of apology. ‘I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since. It’s like he vanished.’ Cara took a sip of her water, and Paula read that she was trying to hide her disappointment. Danny had been a big part of her attempt to convince her that Thomas had been up to no good.
And another person goes missing, thought Paula.
‘That’s bad for your hips,’ said Paula, as Cara moved her seat away from the table enough to cross her legs.
Cara shrugged. ‘Sorry, Mum.’ She smiled.
‘Could go for a coffee,’ she said.
‘Me, too,’ agreed Paula, made a face at the cold food on her plate and pushed it away. ‘I’m not really hungry these days.’
‘You should eat. Keep your strength up,’ said Cara. ‘You don’t want to fade away.’
‘Never going to happen,’ Paula replied. ‘I like my food too much. Normally. You should have seen me when I was a kid. Porky Paula, that was me…’
‘You were never called that surely?’
‘My parents owned the baker’s shop so that made me popular with the other kids. I’m sure behind my back they were calling me all sorts.’
‘Wow. Your mum and dad owned a baker’s. That must have been cool.’
Paula thought about her parents. Dad with his sleeves rolled up. Mum with her hair back in a net. It almost always felt like her dad was visible only through a cloud of flour, while her mum was behind the counter, placing scones and pancakes i
nto white paper bags as she exchanged the gossip of the day with her customers.
They worked all hours and as an only child Paula was often left to her own devices. Which meant books. Books and day-old Empire biscuits. Which was not a good fitness combination, and when a pudgy but handsome boy she fancied refused to kiss her under the mistletoe at the school disco because she was ‘too bloody fat’, she decided to bin the biscuits and take up jogging. She quickly got down to a size eight and stayed there until recently. But her trousers had been so loose when she put them on that morning, she guessed she was now about a six.
She had enough self-knowledge to be annoyed, now, that it was a boy who had given her the motivation to lose weight. But that was her teenage self. That particular impulse did still surface from time to time: be the girl that pleases those around her. She saw so little of her parents as she grew up and was so desperate for their approval, while making herself as easy on them as possible, she said yes to everything.
Be still.
Yes, Mum.
Be in bed before eight.
Yes, Dad.
Stop reading and turn that light out.
Yes, Mum.
That urge to say yes to everything, even when it was in her worst interests, took a long time to fade.
‘Both my parents worked,’ said Paula, waking up from her reverie. ‘Hard. It kind of felt like I was an inconvenience to them. Meeting Thomas and his lot came as a bit of a shock. All the noise and energy – I used to think I’d fallen in love with Thomas’s big, boisterous family as much as with him.’
‘Your parents are still alive?’ asked Cara.
Paula shook her head. ‘Dad sold the business on his sixty-eighth birthday. Decided he wanted to see a bit of the world. Wanted to go to Disney.’ She smiled with fondness. ‘He died the day after he bought the tickets. Mum died a month later.’
‘I can’t remember my dad,’ said Cara. ‘He vanished. Or was thrown out. Whatever. Mum’s still alive. She’s a grafter. I think that’s where I get it from. She had five jobs at one point … before the drugs got a hold of her, that is…’
After He Died Page 18