A Confusion of Murders: There's murder on his mind...

by Marina Johnson

‘Stay away from the shed. It’s dangerous.’

  ‘I’ll stay away. Now stop worrying and go and eat your tea.’

  ‘Promise me.’

  ‘I promise Dad. Honestly you don’t need to worry.’

  He’s looking at me but I can tell he’s not listening. Since we came back to his room he’s been agitated and upset. I thought maybe it was because of the meeting, but he hasn’t even mentioned it. He didn’t seem that bothered when we were in there – didn’t even ask what the meeting was for. He’s been complaining of being cold, so I told him I’d bring some jumpers in and that’s what started it. He doesn’t want me to go to his house, keeps saying there’s danger there.

  I give him a hug. ‘I’ll see you soon Dad.’

  ‘Stay here. With me.’

  I laugh. ‘I’m not allowed Dad. Besides they don’t have any spare beds.’

  ‘You can have my bed. I’ll sleep in the chair. It’s safe here.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, stop worrying.’

  ‘Danger. There’s danger. Betty agrees with me. She’s very worried about you.’

  The clairvoyant’s message from Mum comes back to me. It’s just nonsense. Isn’t it?

  ‘I’m fine Dad.’

  ‘I don’t think you are, you’ve got a lot to think about and that’s what worries me. You’re not concentrating and that’s when it’s most dangerous, that’s when it happens.’

  ‘What happens Dad? What do I have to be careful of?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ he almost wails, ‘I just know that there’s danger, it’s all mixed up but if I could just think clearly I could tell you, but it’s so hard.’

  He’s looking at me intently, I almost tell him that I’ve already opened the shed and it’s empty but stop myself; it might make him worse.

  ‘Look I won’t go. I’ll wait until Nick’s back at the weekend and go with him.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise. Now go and get your tea before it’s all gone.’ I have my fingers crossed my fingers behind my back.

  He doesn’t move and as I walk out of the ward I look back and he’s still watching me. I put my hand up and wave, but he doesn’t move. I carry on out into the car park but don’t look back again.

  Once outside I pull my mobile out and ring Nick; he’s still in Paris but I promised him I’d ring as soon as the meeting was over. He answers on the first ring.

  ‘Hi Sis, how did it go?’

  ‘Horrible. I didn’t expect so many people to be there.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, there was the psychiatrist, psychologist, Sister Kathy, the liaison officer and even the care assistant, Liz.’

  ‘Bloody hell, that must have been intimidating.’

  ‘Well no, it wasn’t really, they were all so nice. They asked Dad in to start with and asked him how he thought he was getting on. He said he thought he was a bit better, especially now he’s got his old cabin back. He said he hoped it wasn’t going to take too long as he had to get back to work.’ Dad had looked so old and frail when he came in, hard to believe he could age so quickly. I just wanted to scoop him up and take him home.

  ‘So he doesn’t think he’s in a hotel anymore?’

  ‘No. He thinks he’s in the Navy and he’s on a ship. Mum is also on a ship off the coast of Africa and uses the ship’s radio to talk to him every day.’

  ‘Christ. Where does all that come from?’

  ‘I don’t know. He couldn’t remember who I was to start with but then he did after a while. He asked where you were, I told him you were abroad and couldn’t get away.’

  ‘I wish I could have been there.’

  ‘I know. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, just telling you how it was. He also said you were getting married.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Yeah, said you were getting married to a policewoman.’

  Nick laughs. ‘Where does he get it from?’

  ‘Tom’s world, I don’t know. It’s weird, he seems to pick stuff up somehow and then jumble it up. I haven’t mentioned that I’m seeing Gareth or that you’re seeing Linda but somehow he knows, but gets it all mixed up.’

  ‘I’m not...’

  ‘Don’t bother denying it. Anyway, our loves lives don’t matter, it’s just strange how on some level he seems to know stuff that he shouldn’t.’

  ‘It is weird, I’ve noticed it before on other things.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say, ‘as he’s losing his faculties other senses take over. I don’t know.’

  ‘That’s a bit deep, Lou.’

  ‘I know, tell me to shut up.’

  ‘Shut up. Have they decided on a diagnosis? Can they treat him and get him better?’

  ‘Well, after he’d gone they told me that they’ve been observing him and doing memory and cognitive tests on him, oh, and also they’ve done a couple of scans which I didn’t know about to rule out a physical cause.’

  Nick is silent, so I carry on. ‘They said he has Parkinson’s, but I‘ve never noticed Dad shaking or anything like that but they said he has symptoms of it. And they can’t give a definite diagnosis as there’s no test for it, but they’re pretty sure he’s got a form of dementia. Something called Lewy Bodies.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Exactly. There isn’t really any treatment for it, apparently people with that type of dementia don’t respond well to medication.’

  ‘Makes them worse,’ says Nick, ‘can even be fatal.’

  ‘What? How do you know?’ I’m shocked, ‘I’ve never even heard of it.’

  ‘Been Googling Dad’s symptoms and it all fitted; delusions, seeing things, not recognising people. Rapid onset. I was hoping like hell he didn’t have it, but I’m not surprised.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me what you thought? You never said anything.’

  ‘Could have been wrong, couldn’t I? And to be honest Lou, what was the point? I’ve read so much about dementia and I wish I hadn’t because there’s fuck all in the way of treatment for Lewy Bodies. Nothing to slow it down. Nothing.’

  He’s right. That’s pretty much what the psychiatrist said. No treatment. No hope. Oh, they tried to paint a more optimistic picture but realistically Dad’s only going to get worse.

  ‘So what happens now? What do we do?’ Nick sounds desolate.

  ‘We don’t have to do anything yet. They still want to monitor him, make sure of their diagnosis. If they confirm it, they’ll have to draw up a schedule of his needs as he obviously won’t be able to go home but he’ll need to go to a care home that can cope with him. They haven’t given us a deadline or anything. They said not to concern ourselves at the moment, they’ll give us plenty of notice.’

  ‘Poor Dad.’

  I don’t say anything; I’m too choked to speak. A snapshot of the future; Dad in a care home, getting worse and worse. Unbearable. And the practicalities of it all, the house and everything in it – what are we going to do with it all? I push it to the back of my mind, one thing at a time.

  ‘Okay. Look, I’ll be back the day after tomorrow, so we can decide what we’ll do then. I think we should just try and get our heads around it and not think ahead too far or we’ll drive ourselves mad.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say in a small voice.

  ‘Are you going home now?’

  ‘Yeah, just have to pick Sprocket up from Linda’s.’

  ‘Maybe you should stay there, not be on your own. You’ve had a shock.’

  ‘I won’t be on my own.’

  ‘Why’s that? Is there something you’re not telling me?’

  ‘You’re a crap liar, Nick.’ I laugh.

  ‘What?’ he says, affecting mock innocence.

  ‘I know you’ve been talking to Linda, so you know all about Gareth.’

  ‘Yeah, can’t lie. What’s he like then, this plod? Is he good enough for my sister?’

  ‘He’s gorgeous and he’s definitely good enough.’ I feel warm and fuzzy just talking about him, the memory of Tuesday
night still fresh. How can one part of me feel so happy and the other so miserable? Perhaps that’s what I should do; compartmentalise my feelings. Three compartments: one for the happy Louise, one for the sad Louise who’s losing her Dad inch by inch and, one box for the dead Louise. Maybe I could put that one away and never get it out again. Forget about it. Bury it. Perhaps I could get myself hypnotised and delete it.

  ‘I need to meet him, check him out.’

  ‘You will.’

  ‘Perhaps this weekend?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ I say. ‘He might not be about, he’s running a murder investigation.’

  ‘It’ll take more than murder to stop me from meeting him. But seriously Lou, I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Me too.’

  I hear voices in the background, someone calling Nick’s name.

  ‘Gotta go Sis, Frogs are calling. See you Saturday.’

  ‘Yep, see you Saturday.’

  I start to put my phone in my bag then remember that I didn’t tell Gareth about my sighting of Suzanne Jenkins. Probably not important at all as it must have been about a week before she went missing. But still. Should report it. I call Gareth’s number and it goes straight to voicemail.

  I put my phone away. I’ll tell him later.

  I walk back to the car and get in and start it up.

  But hang on, I’ll forget. How many times have I been going to tell him and forgotten?

  I’m sure it’s not important but I should tell him. I pull my phone out of my bag and ring him. It goes straight to voicemail, so I leave a message.

  There. Job done.

  But there’s still that niggle.

  Something else. Something just out of reach that vanishes when I try to catch it.

  It’ll come back to me.

  ‘How did the meeting go?’

  We’re sitting in Linda’s kitchen, Sprocket and Henry are snoozing under the table and Linda and I are tucking into cheese toasties.

  I tell her.

  ‘Oh. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. Your poor Dad.’

  I nod.

  ‘At least your mum’s been spared it, although I know that’s not much consolation. And you say he doesn’t seem unhappy?’

  ‘No, he’s not unhappy, seems quite content in his own little world. The psychiatrist said that his world is as real to him as this one is to us; he only seems to get distressed when he pops back to our world for a while. He can’t make sense of it.’ And eventually he’ll forget everything, all about the abduction and I’ll be the only person in the world who knows the truth.

  I have a sudden urge to tell Linda everything; the abduction, my death certificate, the lot. Unburden myself. But I don’t. ‘He’s got so frail, the weight’s dropping off him. Says he’s feeling the cold. And it’s not even cold, it’s summer.’

  ‘Is he not eating?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s got a good appetite, but the weight is still coming off, the doctors say that’s all part of Lewy Bodies, but it doesn’t make sense to me. If he’s eating why is he losing weight? Eventually he’ll just waste away.’

  ‘I know it’s trite but if there’s anything I can do?’

  ‘Thanks. You do enough for me already looking after Sprock.’

  ‘That’s no hardship, he’s company for Henry.’

  Two furry heads look up from under the table.

  ‘They heard,’ I say.

  ‘More like they got a sniff of a cheese toastie.’

  I hold out the crust to Sprocket and change the subject. ‘I spoke to Nick earlier.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘You’re a worse liar than him,’ I say. ‘I know you’ve been chatting.’

  Linda shrugs and smiles. ‘Yeah we have, spoke last night. He says he wants to meet Gareth. Says how about you come on a double date with us?’

  ‘Really?’ I say in surprise. ‘He must really like you.’

  She blushes, ‘I really like him.’

  ‘About time he settled down.’

  She blushes even more. ‘Well I don’t know about that.’

  ‘Well,’ I say, ‘according to my Dad, you’re getting married.’

  I rummage through the chest of drawers and select a few lightweight jumpers for Dad. I feel sad hunting through his belongings. He won’t be coming back to the home that was his pride and joy. He loved this house, Mum did too. What are we going to do with the house, with all the stuff in it?

  I pick up a photograph from the dressing table of him and Mum on their wedding day. They look impossibly young and fresh faced and so happy. I tuck the photograph in the holdall with the jumpers, he can have it on his bedside table. On impulse I pick up the one of Nick and I when I was three and Nick was a baby and add it to the bag. We’d obviously both just had haircuts before the picture was taken and my hair is so short I could be mistaken for a boy. I pick up the bag and turn the light out, it’s only eight o’clock but the sky is dark and full of rain.

  A newspaper folded over to the crossword is on the bedside cabinet. I pick it up and see the familiar blue pen that Dad always used. Only one clue has been answered but then scribbled out. Dad used to do the crossword every day and proudly claimed that he always completed it. He still has the paper every day, but he doesn’t read it, says the letters won’t keep still on the page. I put it back on the bedside table, unwillingly to throw it away.

  As I come down the stairs a feeling comes over me that I’m not alone, that there is someone else in the house. I give myself a mental shake, Dad’s frightened warnings about danger have obviously spooked me more than I thought. I should have brought Sprocket with me for company.

  I put the holdall on the floor by the front door and a noise from the lounge makes my stomach flip. I stand still and listen; I can definitely hear something. Is there someone in there? Shall I just open the front door and go? Don’t be so stupid; of course there’s no one in there. Anyway, I’ve left my handbag in there and my car keys are in it, so I have no choice. I take a deep breath and slowly push open the lounge door with my foot, I can’t see anything but can still hear that noise. I walk in slowly and pick up my handbag from the sofa where I left it. What is that noise?

  Relief floods me as I look over at the window, a bee is buzzing up and down between the net curtain and the glass frantically trying to get out. I walk over and open the window and shoo it out, smiling to myself. I always did let my imagination run away with me. What an idiot. I close the window and go back out into the hall and pick up the holdall.

  I’m just about to open the front door when the doorbell rings. Damn, who is that? I stand very still, hoping that whoever it is will go away. The bell rings again and the letterbox is rattled. The shadowy silhouette of a head through the opaque glass in the door looms larger and I take a quick step backwards as a nose is pressed up against the window. I quietly lower the holdall to the floor.

  They won’t be able to see me, will they? I feel stupid now and wish I’d just opened the door. The nose is unpressed and I breathe a sigh of relief. The letterbox rattles again and I realise with horror that whoever is there is going to look through. I swiftly step forward and duck down and hold the internal letterbox flap shut and I feel the pressure of fingers pressing against it as they try to force it open. After what seems like forever the pressure is gone and I hear the clunk of the letterbox being dropped and the light in the hallway changes as whoever it is walks away.

  I hold my crouched position until my legs start to ache and then walk backwards into the lounge and park myself on the sofa. What an idiot, why didn’t I just open the door? Whoever it was is certainly nosy. I sit back and close my eyes, if I leave now whoever it was will see me and I’ll feel even more stupid.

  I’m pondering as to why I care what some random person might think of me when the doorbell rings again; whoever it is they’re back. I could hide in here, but I feel embarrassed by my own behaviour, so I go out into the hall and open the door.

  ‘Hello Louise.’ It’s the
next-door neighbour.

  ‘Oh, hello Simon. Did you ring earlier? Only I was upstairs sorting stuff out and thought I might have heard the bell but wasn’t sure.’ Doesn’t even sound convincing to my own ears. I’m sure my face is glowing beetroot red too.

  ‘No, wasn’t me,’ he says. ‘Saw your car and just called round to see how you are and how Tom’s getting on?’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine, Dad’s not too bad.’

  ‘Eileen said they’re still doing tests or something. Is he any better? Do you think he’ll be coming back home soon?’

  ‘Probably not for a while, it’s still early days,’ I lie. I don’t want to tell him or discuss it. I don’t want it to be true, or real.

  ‘If there’s anything Eileen and I can do you’ve only to ask. We can keep an eye on the house, cut the grass and suchlike.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you but don’t worry about the grass, Brendan’s offered to do it.’

  ‘Oh, has he, okay. Not sure what Tom would say – you know he’s not keen on him.’ He seems put out, annoyed. This pleases me, but why? Because I don’t like him, I suddenly realise. I don’t like him or his wife very much – never had a lot to do with them but they’re odd. I always found Simon a bit smarmy and insincere and Eileen, well, she’s just odd. A cold and strange fish. I know Dad saw a lot of them, Simon in particular, but I’ve never had much to do with them.

  ‘Brendan offered, it would have seemed rude to refuse.’

  ‘Of course, no problem, just though I’d offer. Not got your dog with you today?’ Why doesn’t he go away?

  ‘No, not today.’ Sprocket never took to him; you can’t fool a dog, they know when someone doesn’t like them. For some reason I notice that Simon dyes his hair, it’s a strange orangey brown. Apricot. That’s it, apricot. Perhaps Eileen does it for him.

  ‘Give Tom our regards, won’t you? Let us know when he’s up for a visit and we’ll pop and see him, cheer the old fella up.’ He brushes his hair back from his forehead in a nervous gesture. His hands have freckly, bumpy skin and are covered in fine hair. There’s something repellent about them, they remind me of a baby orangutan.

  ‘Yes, I will.’ I smile. ‘Thanks.’ Go away.