‘No, I mean, are you OK?’
I shrugged.
‘Does anyone else know you’re here?’
‘No. Pat had an alibi for the rest of today but I don’t know what it was, we’d just come from a… job.’
‘Cool,’ he said.
I snorted.
He slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, Cool, no one will come looking for Pat today…’
‘No, I know.’ I indicated my head back at the kitchen. ‘You two gonna start wearing friendship bracelets soon?’
‘What, and replace yours? We were just hanging out. Same country is a novelty for us, you know.’ He eyed my leg. ‘We’re going to have to take you to hospital, I’m afraid.’
‘Will he be all right here?’
‘He’s going to call some of his family.’
‘Ha, they still use that term?’
‘No, literal family.’ He laughed. ‘They’re his brothers. Wait here, I’m just going to look…’
I remembered that I had Pat’s cheque in my pocket, and rested my forehead on my hands. With him dead it was useless to me now. That was all I had got out of this in the end: a cheque that I couldn’t cash and, as Daisy had said, a pointless body count.
Mark came back from the kitchen, shaking his head. ‘God… That’s going to take some puppetry. Your fingerprints and blood must be all over the place, so we’re either going to have to clean the fuck out of this place or pull some major strings.’
Katz had followed him; he had a mildly amused expression on his face that I hated. He stood beside Mark with his hands in his pockets, looking as though he was in the midst of a pleasant sightseeing trip.
‘Is that what you would call, in your country, a Shakespeare tragedy?’ he asked me.
‘Only if you find it entertaining,’ I replied.
‘You have an art for a scenic mess.’
Mark stood up and said something in Russian. They made a lot of gestures, towards the kitchen, towards the front door, at me. At one point Katz’s tone softened and he almost smiled. Mark smiled back at him and said something that sounded like banter in return.
I cleared my throat.
‘Roman’s going to take you to the hospital,’ Mark said.
‘Seriously?’
The sarcasm came out before I could stop it, but Katz didn’t look offended.
‘We only have his car.’ Mark spread his hands. ‘Nic, you know better than anyone that I do this all the fucking time. This isn’t his job and I’m more use to you here than sat in A&E.’
I couldn’t think of anything worse than spending one-on-one time with Roman Katz, but I nodded anyway. ‘Fine.’
‘I’ll come meet you when we’re done here,’ Mark said. ‘Not soon, I imagine.’
Katz offered to take my arm around his shoulders but I insisted on standing for myself. I didn’t look back at the kitchen again. It’s not as if anything would have changed.
‘I know what you want me to say,’ Mark said. ‘But I’m not going to tell you this isn’t your fault.’
I didn’t answer him on my way out.
35
I thought it would have been serious enough to warrant a queue-jump, but apparently, now that the bleeding had stopped, we could afford to wait. Not surprisingly, we didn’t have much to say to each other.
In front of us on another row of seats, two old ladies were talking. One of them, in a pink coat, had her left arm in a cast. Her friend, a taller, thinner woman wearing a blue cardigan, was talking her through her treatment.
‘They’ll have to cut those rings off,’ she said.
‘They’re not taking my wedding ring.’
‘They have to. If they don’t, you’ll lose your fingers, Lou. It’s the swelling.’
‘They’re not taking it.’
‘Why does it matter? You can still keep it.’
‘But it’ll look like I was never married.’
They lapsed into silence.
As long as I didn’t move my leg I could ignore the pain with relative ease.
‘You knew the woman well,’ Katz said. ‘That is what Mark said. I am sorry.’
‘What do you actually do in Russia?’ I asked, ignoring the statement.
‘My family own restaurants. We own some here too, that is why my family are here for Christmas. Obviously, we do not only own restaurants…’
I nodded.
‘What are you doing for Christmas Eve?’ he asked. ‘Apart from… convalescing? Recovery?’
‘Dunno. When is it?’
‘It is today.’
‘Shit, right…’ It hadn’t even occurred to me. Days of the week had meant nothing recently. ‘Probably just go home, hang out with Mark, maybe some other people if he’s planned something. He’s probably planned something or other… How did you meet Mark?’
Mark had never told me how he came to be working in Russia after his Oxford education. Despite the years we had known each other there were still a lot of holes in our respective histories.
‘We met not very long ago – two years. He was working for friends of mine in Moscow.’ Katz looked at his nails and I noticed, now that he had unzipped the coat with the fur-lined hood, that his shirt was inside-out. ‘He is godfather to my youngest, Alex. My children like him very much.’
‘Your shirt…’ I gestured.
It only took one hesitation, but it made him human. It was the first time I had seen any evidence of it.
‘Oh, I did not notice. When you are working fast you…’ He trailed off, but didn’t have enough of a natural grasp of English to turn it into a lie.
‘No, I get it.’ I nodded as the insight clicked into place. ‘I don’t mind, Mark sees whoever he likes.’
I wasn’t sure what I thought of it, but I was surprised. He didn’t seem like Mark’s type, who, more often than not, tended to be male models. It seemed to bother Katz though. He frowned as he searched for the right phrasing.
‘I believe in the sanctity of marriage.’
‘So you’re a non-practising believer?’ I smiled. ‘Don’t worry, my family call themselves Catholics and we couldn’t count a dozen Masses between us.’
I wondered why Mark hadn’t told me. It wasn’t as if he was discreet with anything or anyone else. Maybe it was because he knew that I didn’t like Katz? Or because I knew Katz was married? Either way, it was still odd.
‘Don’t worry, I don’t care, I wouldn’t tell anyone,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’
The two ladies in front of us were still sat in silence. The one on the left was looking at her wedding ring, almost hidden by the purple skin.
‘I wouldn’t say I believed in marriage,’ I said. ‘But I’ve just seen the worst fucking advert for it, that’s for sure. It’s just… dangerous, getting to know someone that well, isn’t it?’
After a while, I sat back in my chair and felt my pocket, reminding myself that the cheque was still there, thinking of the money that Clare had waved in my face.
My phone started vibrating.
I tried to stand up to answer it, but Katz stood up instead to give me some privacy.
‘Hi, Harri,’ I said.
‘Hi, how are you? Whatever. So, Mum and Dad want to know if you’re coming over for Christmas.’
‘Are you there now?’
‘Practically moved back in, haven’t I. Well?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Why don’t they ask me?’
‘I don’t know. I’m just the fucking go-between.’ She sighed. ‘Are you coming?’
I watched Katz reading the chlamydia leaflets pinned to the wall. Beside them were some posters about coping with diabetes, and another about the dangers of unprotected sex.
‘Probably not, to be honest,’ I said. ‘I’m in A&E. My leg is a bit… stabbed.’
‘Huh, surprise. But you’re coming to the funeral, yeah?’
‘Yeah, of course.’
‘Sorry I was a dick to you… Last tim
e, I was a bit of a dick. Dad was just on my back, you know. Made a change to see him disembowel someone else for once.’
‘You shouldn’t let him shit all over you, Harri. That’s why he does it.’
She snorted. ‘And you are such a classic example of that. The way you ran away last time, that was scathing, I mean, he couldn’t get over it. I watched you, running away, and just thought, “There goes a guy who doesn’t let people shit all over—”’
‘OK, fuck off, you’ve made your point.’
Even on the phone she reminded me of Daisy. It was unnerving; the two of them had almost morphed into the same person in my head.
‘What are you going to say at the thing?’ she asked. ‘If you don’t do it then I’ll have to say something and we all know that no one wants that…’
‘Oh, fuck no, I’ll play Rock Paper Scissors for it at the church?’
‘No way, if I’m getting lumbered with throwing confetti all over his rose-tinted life then you definitely have to do it too.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you all right? You sound a bit… weird.’
My mind went blank on any kind of convincing lie. To me, the house I had left behind didn’t seem to have existed. Like Katz had said, the sense of loss was like a nagging ache, diluted by the shock. Lost car keys.
‘Just work stuff.’ I grinned suddenly. ‘Hey, I dare you to read the eulogy while high. Then afterwards everyone will try and work out why you stopped halfway through and became transfixed by the candles!’
‘Ha-fucking-ha! Don’t bail on me for the memorial, yeah?’
‘I won’t.’
I hung up, and managed to smile at Katz as he came to sit back down.
‘Thanks for this,’ I said. ‘You know, coming, clearing up. It’s… appreciated.’
‘It is no problem. I owe Mark many things. As I said to him earlier, when you called for help, where I come from there is no favour that we do not do for our family or our country.’
‘Sorry, we probably give the wrong impression. We’re not related.’
‘It does not matter. Mark said you are both his family and his country.’
The ladies in front of us got up to see the doctor on duty, and we were called not long after.
Katz dropped me at home after my leg had been dressed and bandaged, and Mark didn’t get back until the early hours of the morning.
I’d fallen asleep on the sofa, watching the webcam videos, at around midnight, and woke up when I heard the front door shut.
My laptop was on standby on the coffee table.
In my dream I had been sat on the floor, against the mirror in Clare’s dance studio. She had been dancing for me, back and forth, in black and white. The mirror had been cold against my back. It seemed impossible to comprehend, waking up and realizing that I would never touch her again.
I swung my legs over the edge of the sofa and rubbed my eyes as Mark sat down heavily. He smelt of bleach, and soap, and cigarettes. Mark never smoked unless he was stressed; it was one of the only ways I was able to discern problems.
‘What’s the line?’ I asked through a yawn.
‘You were never there. He killed her, then himself. That’s it.’
‘Any puppetry?’
‘Not for now. We think it looks fairly convincing, especially given their… history.’
‘Seriously, thanks.’
‘I’m keeping a tally.’
‘She wanted him to kill her,’ I said. ‘I kept thinking, why the fuck would she do that? Just tell him everything? But that was all she wanted really, she wanted one of us to lose it.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Oh, I know. She would have found a way eventually.’
‘No, I mean, you couldn’t have helped her.’
‘Well…’ I glanced at him. ‘Road’s closed. No point thinking about it now. Just need to find Matt and then I can forget all—’
‘I don’t think you should find Matt.’
He looked tired, and I didn’t want to get into a debate with him. I still hadn’t told him that I had effectively let Matt go, and I wasn’t sure I ever would. I wasn’t even sure that was what I had done… I could see the white cracks on the backs of his hands from the cleaning products. Deciding to tackle the issue later, I changed the subject.
‘So how long have you and Katz been at it?’
‘At it?’ He grinned to himself, uncharacteristically coy. ‘Mm, he said you knew. I don’t know exactly, I suppose since we met, almost, but with living in different countries we don’t see each other very often so…’
‘You happy?’
He pulled a mocking face at me and I reddened.
‘Well, I’m just checking,’ I said. ‘Being fucking nice.’
‘No offence, Nic, but…’ For the first time I could remember, he didn’t have a response, and he picked at a tuft of his hair awkwardly. ‘Just fuck off, Nic, OK?’
‘Fine, nice evasion, real smooth.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Do you believe in marriage?’
He laughed at me. ‘Bit of a loaded question, right now, isn’t it? No, not really. If you have kids then you commit to something but I don’t see any longevity in just the piece of paper. What’s to respect about that?’
‘No, I get you.’
‘And yeah, I’m happy. You make the best of what you get. The world doesn’t fucking move around how you feel, you just… make it work, somehow.’ He shrugged. ‘She wanted to die. She engineered it from the start. In fact, she probably thought you would do it for her, instead of Pat, am I right?’
‘You’re right.’ The idea that she had only bothered with me because of my job, because she knew that I was so naturally inclined to violence, made me feel uncontrollably sad. ‘Pat never laid a finger on her in her fucking life, and even now people are just going to believe the same. He hit her, he killed her… You know she threw herself down the stairs? It wasn’t him who put her in hospital.’
Mark’s expression was serene, even with his exhausted bloodshot eyes.
‘Just let it go.’
‘I know,’ I said, touching the stitches by my hairline. ‘I just need to… get it straight in my head.’
‘OK.’ He nodded at the clock over the fireplace. It was three-fifteen. ‘Try and get some sleep, yeah?’
36
I had never heard Emma’s voice before.
It seemed a bizarre thing to realize now; I had devoted this much time to her yet had never heard her say a thing. I had never seen her in motion either, only in photos, but hearing her voice was the most surprising thing.
‘Mum, stop it. You’re being a pure bitch!’
The first thing I heard her say. She was well spoken, and her clipped rhythm reminded me of Pat.
I rewound the video, listened for any sound of Mark returning, and started again.
My phone was on the sofa next to me. A couple of hours ago I’d had a text from a number I didn’t recognize, saying, SORRY 4 BEING A MOODY BINT THE OTHER DAY. HOPE YR WELL N KICKING. DAISY X.
The Doors were playing, the same song that had been playing the first time she had danced in front of me. A red skirt, flaring with a spin, was the most vivid memory. That, and the way her mood could turn so quickly.
Would you like that?
Clare was posing in front of the webcam, adjusting the screen, looking as if she wasn’t confident with using the device yet. Her hair was in plaits. She pushed the lens down so that her arms and chest were in shot, and sat back a little, watching herself.
The lights were down and the door was shut, but I could see the rest of the living room, down to the end where the shelf was.
Clare looked at herself for a while, adjusting her hair and moving to different camera angles, and ran a small razorblade across the inside of her forearm. It was only a shallow cut, and she watched it until it started bleeding, checking how it came across on camera. There wasn’t enough blood to make much impression on the lens; the lighting blurred it.
She stood up, struck s
ome basic poses and turned a few circles. Smiling, she pulled up the hem of the dress to admire her legs.
The door of the living room slammed open, flooding the room with an abrupt onslaught of light.
‘Mum, Danny’s coming over.’ Emma was standing in the doorway with her arms folded, her hair pulled back and wearing the same boots she’d been wearing the day she was murdered.
‘OK, darling.’ Clare went to turn the CD player off, not meeting her daughter’s eyes.
‘What the hell’s this?’
‘I’m just listening to music.’
Emma looked her up and down with scorn. ‘I thought you said you’d stopped doing this.’
‘Doing what?’
‘That fucking shit all over your arm!’
Clare stood her ground but covered the cut. ‘Don’t use that language with me, young lady, not in my house!’
‘It’s so embarrassing.’
‘Don’t give me theatrics, Emma. I hope Danny’s not staying over.’
‘Mum, stop it. You’re being a pure bitch!’
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that!’ She pointed at her. ‘Don’t you dare, or don’t even think about Danny coming over!’
‘Oh, what’s the matter, can’t take it when Dad’s not here to defend you?’ Emma took a step forward. ‘You’re sad, you know that? Who do you think you are, some emo teenager?’
‘I mean it! He’s not coming over if you carry on.’
Clare walked away, looking unsteady, but Emma followed her. Seeing them this close to each other only seemed to emphasize how much Emma looked like Pat; it was as if she had rejected her mother’s genes as well as her traits and mannerisms.
I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Clare. It was painful watching someone as fragile as her being verbally dismantled by one of the only people whose opinion she seemed to care about.
‘No, you’re pathetic! Living like you’re this clichéd tortured fucking artist but you’re not!’
‘Emma, shut up.’ Clare put her hands over her eyes, spitting out the words. ‘Just shut up, go to your room…’
‘Whatever, I’m going to Danny’s—’
‘Oh no, you’re not!’ Clare whirled around, her voice becoming shrill.
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