The Colours of Murder

by Ali Carter

‘It’s translated from French. All about a nanny who isn’t as innocent and perfect as she seems. I’m very nearly finished so I’ll lend it to you before you go.’

  ‘My friend Sam wouldn’t like that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You lending me a book. He feels sorry for authors. It’s one less sale of very few sales nowadays.’

  ‘What about libraries then?’

  ‘I think he’d say they’re just as bad for not buying in bulk any more.’

  ‘Your friend Sam sounds a bit of a naysayer,’ said Toby in a rather irritating tone.

  ‘No, he’s not, I’m painting him in a bad light, he’s great and knows more than anyone I’ve ever met.’

  Toby’s eyebrows rose as his chest puffed out and he grew at least an inch.

  ‘Other than you, of course! Is Lucy here?’

  ‘No, you’re the first person I’ve seen all morning. Are you on for the sea?’

  ‘Absolutely, I love swimming in the sea but do you mind if I sort out a few things for dinner first?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  I put the kettle on and got tonight’s lump of beef out of the fridge. It had thawed and left a pool of watery blood in its dish. Toby started prodding it.

  ‘Oh blast,’ I moaned. ‘With all that’s happened this morning I completely forgot to go shopping.’

  ‘Never mind, we’re bound to pass a shop on our way to the beach.’

  Toby watched carefully as I cut the encasing fat from the bulk of the meat and put it in a casserole dish.

  ‘Aren’t you going to brown it first?’ he sounded confused.

  ‘Nope, I don’t believe in browning, I think it dries meat out.’

  ‘I’ve never heard that.’

  ‘If you stick to recipes you won’t have. I like to go my own way and I only ever take other people’s advice when they’ve made something really tasty.’

  ‘You must have been impossible to teach.’

  ‘Probably, but I always put in extra time to work things out for myself.’

  ‘That’s a long way to go about learning.’

  ‘Yes, but it gives me a thorough understanding of how things work, which then allows me to do what I love doing: trying to find a better and more efficient way.’ I smiled at Toby as if to say even if I fail it doesn’t stop me.

  Toby sat down at the kitchen table and began flicking through the local parish magazine. It annoyed me he hadn’t asked about Hailey’s closed case or coffee with Archie. I was longing to tell him, but I wanted him to volunteer an interest.

  By the time I’d cut up an onion, chopped garlic, searched the kitchen for any dregs of red wine, placed it all in the pot, covered it with water from the kettle and put it on the hob to boil, he still hadn’t said a thing.

  I couldn’t wait any longer. ‘Toby?’

  ‘Yes?’ he looked up motionless as if the only thing he wanted to hear was ‘it’s time to go,’ and other than that reading the magazine would get him through.

  ‘Could Hailey really have died of kidney stones?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his head remaining steady as a cucumber.

  ‘Honestly? Even though you said she didn’t when I showed you the autopsy?’

  ‘There must have been another autopsy if the police have closed the case – and I really think you should leave it all behind you. Curiosity killed the cat you know and I think if you keep digging around, you’ll blacken your reputation.’

  My face fell and he immediately got up, crossed the kitchen, tapped me on the shoulder and suggested we should be ‘on our way’.

  I didn’t get it. How could he accept this conclusion just like that and forget the case altogether? I wished we could at least talk about it retrospectively and learn from our mistakes.

  ‘Honestly,’ I said, ‘you think she did die of kidney stones?’

  ‘Honestly, yes.’

  Eeek he sounded cross and I really didn’t want to spoil (I can hardly bear to think about it) our last day together, which is why I said, ‘I’m sorry,’ and left it at that.

  Much to my delight, he pinched my arm and scampered upstairs leaving me waiting for the pot to boil. I stared into it, turning the ingredients with a wooden spoon, watching the water begin to burble. Little bubbles slowly popped up, pop pop pop, as if they were mimicking people in my mind, trying to push someone’s name to the surface.

  Tatiana’s name quickly sunk to the bottom for the very fact it would have been easy for her to slip a poisoned mushroom into Hailey’s first course and she didn’t. Tatiana could have murdered Hailey another way but there are too many irons in the fire to introduce more. Charlotte, heavy Charlotte, was also not rising to the surface. She’s Hailey’s friend and the last person I’d suspect. Then there’s Victoria Ramsbottom’s questionable innocence simmering away, but it’s going to be very difficult to prove her guilt without trampling over her vulnerable state. I longed for her to be innocent and so wanted her sudden exit to be a result of snitching the photograph frame, not placing a poisoned glass of water by Hailey’s bed. George, large and slumbering, wanted to get Hailey drunk but certainly, I’m sure, didn’t want to kill her. And then there’s Daniel who’s been hot on communication, as if enjoying the trickery of the situation. His insistence that Archie didn’t do it makes me think perhaps he has an inkling of who did. Combine Primrose’s family’s broken business ties with the Wellinghams, and her and Daniel’s reason to be jealous of Hailey, and we have two possible suspects bubbling on the surface, jostling with Archie and Stanley in their stripy pyjamas, and Charlie with his burgundy jumper.

  ‘Right,’ said Toby, giving me a fright. ‘I’ve been looking at the map and reckon we drive directly east to the beach. It’s not far.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ I said scooting past him to get my stuff.

  He insisted on driving, which was actually quite a relief. I was feeling the effects of having woken early and once we were in the car the breeze passing through our open windows was the only thing that stopped me from nodding off. And as I mindlessly focused on the distant horizon its uninterrupted solitariness intensified the loneliness inside me. I’m now the only one pursuing the cause of Hailey’s mysterious death and with my bikini on under my dress I was looking forward to the sea taking this unsettled weight off my mind.

  ‘Those are special,’ I said alluding to Toby’s very red sunglasses.

  ‘You like them do you?’ he replied, cocking his head but keeping his eyes on the road.

  ‘They have a style of their own.’

  ‘They’re my sister’s, I nabbed them off her years ago and surprisingly she’s never asked for them back.’

  ‘That is surprising,’ I said with a laugh.

  ‘Sunglasses are for posers anyway and as I don’t use them for anything other than driving it makes no difference to me what they’re like.’

  Toby’s lack of vanity gave him a good dose of old-fashioned masculinity, something I like in my men, and if it were not for the fact he was always cleanly shaven, his unruly hair would have suggested he never looked in a mirror.

  We’d reached the coast in no time but, being Norfolk, we had a lengthy walk from the car park through sand dunes and salt marshes before reaching the sea. And by the time we did, we were both hot and eager to whip off our clothes and get straight in to the water.

  There were enough other people around to lighten the atmosphere, a family of four building sandcastles and a scattering of lugworm hunters. Toby stripped down to his shorts and announced a race. But he beat me to the surf by miles. I was left behind struggling to get my dress over my head without my bikini riding up in all the wrong places.

  Breaking his front crawl, he turned and waved, smiling and waiting for me to catch up. And as I waded in towards deeper water, I felt thankful that the sea was perfectly calm. I’m a real wimp when it comes to big waves and I didn’t want to drop my guard this early on.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked as I swam towards him, struggling to smile witho
ut getting a mouthful of salty water.

  ‘Isn’t it bliss?’ I called out between breast strokes.

  ‘Are you up for a bit of a swim?’

  ‘Of course.’

  We set off side by side, gliding through the water, parallel to the coast, nattering almost all of the way.

  ‘You must swim in Sussex, don’t you?’

  ‘All the time. There’s a long pebbly beach between two craggy spits just twenty minutes from my house. It’s great there as the coastline slopes straight in to the water so it’s deep enough to swim very close to the edge.’

  ‘Afraid a shark will come and eat you?’ he joked.

  ‘Always!’

  When we turned to swim back our small pile of belongings was a tiny pea in the distance and by the time we reached them I was beginning to get cold. Toby was keen to stay in a bit longer so I left him to it and went to get dry.

  I lay flat on my back, wrapped up in a towel, enjoying the heavy du’ doom of a heartbeat that needs to settle. I looked up and released my thoughts into the vast blue void of Norfolk sky, letting them float free and disperse. Sending them away for a bit until I was ready to think Hailey’s death through one final time.

  I felt Toby’s presence even before he reached me and I wondered if Hailey had known her killer.

  ‘Susie? Are you in there?’ he said shaking his head above me, spraying what water was left in his curls. ‘It looks like you’re away with the fairies.’

  ‘You should try lying down and staring straight up at the sky, it’s so wonderful to see only one colour.’

  Toby placed his bag between us, rolled out his towel and joined me in my view.

  ‘From an artist’s point of view how many shades of the sky do you reckon there are?’

  ‘Several hundred thousand.’

  ‘Nah, no way! It’s blue, grey, off white and that’s about it.’

  ‘Red in the sunset.’

  ‘And yellow at sunrise,’ added Toby. ‘But that’s nowhere near several hundred thousand.’

  ‘Well, last year, every day at ten o’clock in the morning I painted a four-by-four-centimetre square of the sky. Three hundred and sixty-six squares later, leap year up, and no two were the same.’

  ‘What a great idea! I’d love to see the picture? Where is it now?’

  I turned my head to face him. ‘It’s in the Tate Modern.’

  ‘Really?’ he pushed himself up on his elbow.

  ‘It was way beyond my wildest dreams to have a picture hanging in their collection but somehow it found its way there.’

  ‘You’re so modest Susie. I can’t believe that. Congratulations!’

  Toby sat up, fumbled in his bag and gently threw a cling-filmed sandwich onto my bare tummy.

  ‘Oh, wow. Thank you so much, I’m famished.’

  ‘Swimming always makes me hungry too. I hope you like avocado and bacon? I toasted the bread a bit to stop it going soggy.’

  We sat, staring out to sea, chatting about nothing in particular. I was finding it hard to tell if Toby is one of those wanderers who enjoys dipping in and out of other people’s lives or whether his sand-crusted toes wriggling as he spoke suggested he did actually have stronger feelings for me. I wished I had Lucy’s natural ease with the opposite sex as that way I’d find it far easier to make the first move on Toby. But I’m just not the sort and my inhibitions were holding me back.

  ‘Toby,’ I said leaning over his bag longing for him to notice and come towards me before I had to finish my sentence.

  ‘Yes?’ he got up to roll away his towel.

  ‘Nothing.’ I brushed away the thought and began packing up.

  He held out his hand for me to hold and as we walked barefoot in the warm sand he kissed me softly on the cheek and drew away.

  I had absolutely no idea how to play this. No man I’ve fancied has ever kissed me on the cheek without going further. And now the moment was gone, he’d trotted in front and picked something up. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  ‘A razor clam?’

  ‘Spot on.’ He handed me the dark-grey shoehorn-shaped shell. ‘Have you ever caught one?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We should try sometime. We’d have to get to the beach very early and follow the tide out looking for holes in the wet sand. Then, as soon as you see one you pour lots of table salt into it and dig with a trowel as fast as you can. The hope is that you’ll catch them as they come to the surface.’

  ‘Really? That works?’

  ‘I’ve never actually succeeded but I’ve tried lots.’

  I smiled, longing to say ‘Great! When shall we go?’ but instead I dropped the grey shell to the ground and clenched my fist in frustration at the most maddening internal dialogue I had going on.

  Toby was the one who’d kissed me but it was such a quick peck, I didn’t know if he was testing the water and wanting me to make the next move or had just done it for fun, on the spur of the moment, without any pre-thought or afterthought.

  We were now out of step, him making for the edge of the marsh and me dawdling wondering if I’d missed the opportunity to tell him I really like him. As I looked ahead I longed to pull my fingers through his salty hair, hold onto his hand and run up and down the dunes as fast as we could.

  ‘Look.’ I pointed in to the marsh. ‘That’s samphire. We should get some for dinner.’

  ‘Great idea.’

  I was up to my ankles in the squelch trying to pull it up.

  ‘Here, take this.’ Toby handed me a penknife and with my bottom in the air I gathered a good bunch.

  ‘It looks like legless stick insects doesn’t it?’

  Toby laughed. ‘Here, stuff it in my bag.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  It was only half past three when we got back to the car – plenty of time to eat a Mr Whippy sitting on the bumper of the open boot.

  Toby went into a humorous monologue about the ‘types’ you get in these upmarket villages, ‘DFLs’ (down from Londoners) as he said they were known. And as I laughed I wished he’d pause and give me a proper kiss but, when he announced, ‘let’s head’, I knew unless I could man-up and take charge, it wasn’t going to happen.

  On our way back, we stopped at a farm shop. I left Toby milling about outside reading the newspapers on a stand next to the dog-water bowls while I went in and grabbed the things I needed. The vegetable display alone looked like a work of art, all sorts of colourful round things piled high, making one reluctant to pluck at them for fear of a landslide. A bar of dark chocolate with sea-salt crystals caught my eye at the till and even before the cashier’s encouragement it was in my basket with the thought that if we stayed up late tonight it would go down well.

  Ry Cooder played in the car all the way home but unfortunately it was set loud enough to excuse the no talking. If I had it my way we’d be discussing our families. I wanted to know more about Toby’s sister who lives in Spain, what his upbringing was like and how much he saw of his parents. Little details like this interest me. It’s part of what makes us who we are. But, because Toby rarely asks a direct question, I thought it best to hold back.

  The silence sent me off, theorising about his impersonal side. Maybe he has something to hide? Or maybe he grew up in a family who didn’t discuss things and simply doesn’t have the skills to know how?

  It upset me to think Toby might be bearing the emotional strain of having buried episodes from his life deep within and I wished he knew he was safe with me. What he was yet to realise is that nothing in his life would put me off – as long as I heard it from him first.

  My hands were full of shopping and when I edged open the kitchen door with my foot I found Lucy sitting at the table eating crackers, nonchalantly allowing Red-Rum to lick up the crumbs. As soon as she saw me she grabbed the packet and offered me one.

  ‘No thanks, but I could do with some water.’

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Lucy jumped up towards the sink and Re
d-Rum leapt the distance to the counter. ‘Where’s Toby?’

  ‘I’m not sure, I thought he was behind me. We’ve just come back from the most wonderful swim in the sea.’

  ‘It’d be good for me to do that sometime but I can never be bothered to walk around all those watery parts.’

  I laughed as I peered out the door to look for Toby. ‘Smile Susie,’ he called out and quick as a flash, his camera snapped at me.

  ‘Oh dammit!’ I drew my head back inside as I heard him shout, ‘You look great with your tousled hair.’

  ‘Sexy, that’s why he likes it,’ said Lucy as she handed me a glass.

  I put it on the table whilst I fished the samphire out of Toby’s bag and dropped it into the sink.

  Lucy leant over me, ‘Gads, what is that? Is it alive?’

  ‘No,’ I laughed. ‘It’s samphire for dinner tonight. It’s a delicious crunchy green vegetable we picked down on the marshes.’

  She stuck her hand in the sink and pulled out a strand.

  ‘Don’t eat it now,’ I yelped. ‘It tastes filthy raw, but will be delicious once I’ve cooked it, just you wait.’

  Lucy dangled it in front of Red-Rum’s inquisitive nose. It set him off clawing at her wrist and as she gently cuffed him round the head he sprung to the floor and scampered out the door.

  ‘What time’s dinner?’

  ‘We could eat at eight if that suits you?’

  She laughed as Toby came through the door.

  ‘Why are you giggling?’

  ‘We’re going to eat at eight!’ exclaimed Lucy.

  Toby smiled. ‘Either of you know if there’s a garage near here? I need to buy some oil for my car.’

  Lucy jumped at the chance to answer, ‘The closest one is left out the drive, first right, join the dual carriageway and you’ll see it on the left. There’s a bridge soon after that will get you back on to the other side of the road.’

  ‘Perfect, I’m going to head down there now. Anyone need anything?’

  ‘No thanks,’ we both said at the same time.

  Lucy offered to help me in the kitchen but other than find the electric beaters there was nothing more for her to do. So off she went to ‘get on with the final rounds of horsey stuff for the day’ and I set to making cherry fool.