Devil in Disguise

by Julian Clary

  ‘He did, I tell you. Joey doesn’t like me.’

  ‘He doesn’t know what he likes,’ snapped Lilia. ‘He doesn’t have an opinion, any more than the carrots you’ve just wolfed down for your dinner.’

  Molly took a deep breath. She’d come to a decision earlier, while smoking her cigarette, and now she had to tell Lilia. ‘I think I should leave. Tomorrow.’

  Lilia turned the television off and threw the remote control onto the floor.

  ‘Leave? Don’t be absurd!’

  Molly held up a hand. ‘I’m really grateful to you for all you’ve done for me, but if I’m making Joey unhappy, it’s not fair for me to stay. His life is miserable enough as it is without me making it worse.’

  ‘I am transforming you into a great artist. You cannot simply get up and leave because you imagine that pot plant I married has taken a dislike to you. It will ruin everything. You are not ready yet.’

  ‘I’ve decided. Your bruises must have healed by now, and we can both get on with our lives. I’ll pack my things and go in the morning.’

  ‘Go where? You have nowhere to go!’

  ‘I can stay with my friend Jane, I expect. If you give me back my phone, I’ll call her.’

  ‘No—’

  ‘I’ve made my mind up, Lilia,’ Molly said obstinately.

  Suddenly the fire drained from Lilia’s eyes and her shoulders slumped. ‘Have you? Then I will not waste any more energy. Kit-Kat Cottage is not a prison. You are free to leave whenever you choose. I do not lock the doors.’

  ‘I have to go. It’s not fair on Joey,’ said Molly. ‘I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’ve done, I really do. But I know what I want.’

  ‘Very well. I shall return your phone to you first thing in the morning.’ Lilia stood up and walked silently out of the room, Heathcliff at her heels.

  Molly was surprised to find tears rolling down her cheeks. In her heart, she did not want to leave. Lilia had taken over responsibility for her life and, bizarre as the last month had been, she felt as if she was heading towards a future of some kind. Lilia had faith in her, she had a plan. To walk away now meant she would never fulfil Lilia’s dream. True, she felt hungry all the time and was heartily sick of the cigarettes and brandy, but the results were plain to see. She was getting thinner every day and she loved her new kook. She was suffering for her art and felt the pay-off was within reach. Her voice was, indeed, sounding grittier and lived-in — far more distinctive than the musical-theatre trill she’d had a few weeks before. With her slim figure, husky voice and dramatic straight hair, she was becoming a new woman. For the first time in her life she felt exotic and rather beautiful.

  But go she must. The supreme effort that poor, defenceless Joey had made to tell her to ‘go away’ rang in her ears. She respected him. She could not go against his wishes. She would not be a cuckoo in Joey’s nest.

  Molly went to her room and packed her things. The atmosphere in the bungalow was sombre, so she kept to her room and went to bed early.

  It was four in the morning when Molly was awoken by terrible screaming. She leapt out of bed and stumbled down the corridor into Lilia’s room where she found her in bed, reaching over her husband. ‘Joey! Joey! My Joey!’ she cried, then wailed some more.

  ‘What is it, Lilia?’ asked Molly, rushing to her side. Joey was still in bed, lying on his back as usual, and Lilia was in her blue-flowered nightie on top of the covers beside him.

  Lilia stared up at her with wild, frightened eyes. ‘I don’t know, but look at my darling!’

  Molly rushed to Joey’s side of the bed and looked at him properly. He was deathly white, his mouth and eyes wide open, his tongue lolling out to one side. Molly felt his cheek. It was barely warm. ‘Quick,’ she said. ‘I’ll give him the kiss of life. You call the ambulance.’

  Lilia seemed paralysed with distress and didn’t move.

  ‘Now, Lilia!’

  Whimpering with distress, Lilia dragged herself away from Joey and left the room. A moment later Molly heard her quavering voice on the phone in the hallway, giving the details to the emergency services. Meanwhile, Molly struggled to recall everything she was meant to do when attempting resuscitation. Check the airways are clear! she thought. She tipped Joey’s head back, opened his mouth and put a finger inside. It was clear, so she held his nose, took a deep breath and lowered her mouth to his. She exhaled as hard as she could three times, willing her own warm breath to fill the old man’s lungs and bring him back to life. She pulled away, counting to ten and watching anxiously to see if his chest would rise. ‘Come on, Joey, two, come on! Three!’ she said urgently. ‘Four … five …’

  Lilia returned to the bedroom and stood shivering, her hands covering her mouth to stifle her cries. ‘Oh, no,’ she repeated. ‘Oh, no, no, no!’

  ‘Is the ambulance on its way?’ asked Molly, not looking up from her task. She bent down to breathe into Joey’s mouth again. Still there was no response.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lilia. ‘Please help him — please don’t let him die.’

  ‘He’s not breathing. I’ll have to try pumping his chest.’ She put her two hands crossed on his chest and pressed down. Then she went back to force another breath into his lungs. She was at the limit of her knowledge of artificial respiration now. Breathe in, watch for the chest to rise; if it doesn’t, push down to expel the air, and keep going. In her heart she knew it was hopeless. With no warmth or response in the body, there was only one outcome.

  Lilia let out another cry and turned away, the sight of Joey’s lifeless body too much to bear.

  Molly kept on with the mouth-to-mouth, followed by the pumping down on his chest, but after a few minutes more she stopped, panting. She felt something in her mouth and tried to spit it out. Then she put her fingers in and pulled out several coarse dark hairs that looked like Heathcliff’s.

  ‘Damn! It’s no good, it’s not working!’ she said, her eyes filling with tears of frustration. She turned to Lilia and said softly, ‘I’m so sorry, I’m afraid he must have been dead for a while.’ She didn’t want to distress Lilia further by telling her that Joey was already cool to the touch and beginning to stiffen. She pulled the sheet over him because she couldn’t bear to kook at his gaping, open mouth, then turned to Lilia, who fell heaving with dry sobs into her arms. Molly cried gently, her heart aching for poor Lilia, whose sobs soon turned to the high-pitched monkey-like screams of primeval distress. An ambulance siren, like a silverback gorilla wailing in response, sounded in the distance.

  Molly pulled away from Lilia and led her out of the bedroom into the lounge. ‘Come in here, love,’ she said. ‘Sit down and I’ll deal with everything.’

  A few moments later, the siren was right outside the house and the blue emergency light, showing purple through the cerise curtains, flashed round the walls. Molly gave Lilia a final squeeze and left her still whooping with grief on the sofa while she opened the door to the paramedics.

  Two men dressed in green stood there, both holding medical-equipment bags and wearing serious expressions.

  ‘Miss Lilia Delvard?’ said the younger one, urgently. ‘Ambulance service.’ He was about thirty with dark hair and looked like a librarian. His colleague was in his fifties, with a ruddy complexion and a sombre demeanour.

  Molly threw open the door and led the way to the bedroom, talking rapidly as she went. ‘No, I’m Molly, a family friend. I’ve sat Lilia in the lounge, but come in here. This is where Joey is. It must have been a heart-attack, I think.’ She stood in the bedroom doorway and let them rush past her, wrapping her arms round herself for comfort.

  The paramedics immediately removed the sheet from Joey’s face. The younger one lifted his pale, thin arm and tried to take his pulse while his older companion pressed his fingers to Joey’s neck. They glanced at each other and stopped, withdrawing their hands simultaneously.

  ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ said Molly, needing to hear it confirmed by professionals.

 
‘Yes, he is, I’m afraid,’ said the man holding Joey’s wrist. ‘I need to speak to the gentleman’s wife. Could you take me to her, please?’

  Meanwhile the older paramedic stood up, turned away from Molly and began to speak into his radio. From what Molly could make out, he was requesting that the police attend.

  A crackling reply came back, but Molly heard no more as she led the first ambulance man in to see Lilia in the lounge.

  The old lady was sitting quietly now, her face buried in her hands, as if she was trying to keep the screams inside, just the occasional squeak escaping, as she juddered up and down with pain.

  ‘Lilia, my name is Steve.’ He squatted in front of her and put a hand on her arm. ‘You won’t mind if I just see that you’re all right, will you? Only you’ve had a nasty shock.’

  Lilia lifted her head and revealed two dry but bloodshot eyes. She peered at Steve, sniffing. ‘This dry eye is agony,’ she said. ‘I want to cry but I can’t.’ She clutched at Molly’s hand and said, with surprising calm, considering that only moments ago she’d been howling like a banshee, ‘He’s gone, hasn’t he? Expired in the night, like a hibiscus.’

  ‘My colleague is just seeing to your husband. I’m going to check you over and see that you’re all right. Can you tell me how old you are?’

  ‘Really,’ said Lilia, crossly. ‘I may be a widow but that doesn’t mean you can molest me.’ Heathcliff, sitting at Lilia’s feet, growled menacingly at him.

  ‘All right, love. Are you on any medication at the moment?’ asked Steve, giving the dog a wary look.

  ‘Leave me alone, I’m fine,’ said Lilia.

  Molly moved to Lilia’s side and put a protective arm round her. ‘It’s all right, pet, he’s just worried about you.’

  Just then they heard a police siren, and a car pulled up outside the bungalow.

  ‘I’ll go and let them in,’ said Steve. Voices spoke in the hallway, then moved briefly into the bedroom. Lilia buried her face in Molly’s shoulder, sighing and moaning. There was a light knock on the lounge door. A remarkably short policewoman came in and introduced herself as Gail Jones. She spoke softly and kindly in a Welsh accent, and had her notebook at the ready. She had clearly been briefed by Steve and addressed her questions to Molly. She wrote down both their names and asked who had discovered Joey.

  ‘I heard Lilia’s screams about half an hour ago,’ said Molly. ‘I went to the room and tried, you know, to revive him, but it was no good.’

  ‘If I could hear it from Miss Delvard, then, please,’ replied Gail. She turned to Lilia. ‘When did you discover your husband’s condition?’

  Lilia began to sob again.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I have to ask.’

  ‘I sleep very lightly, and my dog, Heathcliff, was having a very restless night. Anyway, at some point I put my arm round Joey —as it is every wife’s right to do, I believe? — and became aware that his chest was not moving up and down. I have no medical training but something told me this was not right. I turned on the light and then I saw him.’

  ‘What did you see?’ asked Gail, determined to get the facts down on paper.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t Gary Barlow, I know that much. It was my husband and he was dead.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘You’ll be wanting the shipping forecast next. I don’t know. It didn’t seem appropriate to call the speaking clock. I was busy screaming.’

  ‘I heard Lilia screaming at four o’clock,’ offered Molly.

  ‘Had Joey been unwell?’ asked the policewoman.

  ‘He had a severe stroke several years ago and was unable to move or communicate. He was very fragile.’

  ‘I see.’ Gail wrote all this down. ‘And what position was he in when you found him?’

  ‘He was on the bed on his back,’ said Molly.

  ‘Thank you both for your co-operation,’ said Gail, when she’d finished writing. She snapped her notebook closed. ‘Let me explain to you what will happen now. A doctor needs to certify the death. If he’s happy that it’s a natural death, you’ll be able to call the undertaker and arrange for the body to be removed. If the doctor can’t establish the cause of death or has any concerns, we’ll have to have Joey taken to the hospital for a post-mortem examination.’ She asked if there were any friends or relatives they could go and stay with.

  ‘We shall stay here,’ said Lilia, determinedly. ‘This is where we belong.’ She gave the policewoman a fierce look. ‘Do you think someone could make me a cup of tea?’

  Molly jumped up immediately. ‘Good idea … I’ll make a pot for all of us. I think I need a cigarette as well. Would you stay with Lilia while I’m gone?’ she asked Gail.

  ‘Of course,’ said the WPC, leaning down to stroke Heathcliff, who was rubbing his back against her legs affectionately. ‘So you’re Heathcliff, are you?’

  ‘He seems to like you,’ said Lilia.

  ‘Well, well, you’re a fine fella, aren’t you?’ Heathcliff looked lovingly up at her as she patted his shoulder.

  ‘He likes a woman in uniform,’ said Lilia, smiling proudly at Heathcliff — just as he rolled over on to his back and revealed a huge, throbbing erection.

  WPC Jones withdrew her hand sharply and took a step back. ‘Jesus Christ! What the hell is that?’ she said, her Welsh lilt accentuated.

  Lilia suppressed a girlish giggle. ‘Put that away now Heathcliff You’re not her type.’

  The policeman looked at Molly, nonplussed. ‘There’s an offensive weapon if ever I saw one,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll be back in a moment with some tea, then,’ said Molly, and left the room. While the kettle boiled she slipped into the garden and lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs and holding it there for a few satisfying seconds before exhaling luxuriously, closing her eyes. It was almost half past five in the morning and the shock of the last traumatic hour was only just beginning to hit her.

  Poor Lilia. It would be impossible for Molly to leave in the morning as she had planned. And it dawned on her that as she was only going at Joey’s behest, the reason for her departure had expired with him. Had his dislike of her distressed him to such a degree that it had precipitated his death? Was it her fault?

  She stubbed out her cigarette in the now-overflowing flowerpot ashtray and returned to the kitchen to make the tea. She heard one of the ambulance men open the front door and greet what must be the doctor before their footsteps moved to the bedroom. There were now seven people in the bungalow, but the teapot held enough for four cups. Too bad, she thought, but it was Lilia who mattered. She put just three cups on the tray and carried it back into the lounge.

  Heathcliff was now sitting up, looking a bit grumpy, while the policewoman was eyeing him warily as she sat on the sofa beside Lilia, who was leafing through a photograph album. ‘And this is Joey and me on our honeymoon. See what a strapping man he once was. You can hardly recognise him.’

  ‘That’s your husband?’ said Gail, disbelievingly, as Molly put the tray on the table and began to pour the tea. ‘It must have been a very severe stroke he suffered.’

  ‘Oh, it was,’ said Lilia. ‘Like popping a balloon. I was left with a shrivelled bit of skin in comparison with how he used to be.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem possible that he was that tall,’ said Gail.

  ‘Your tea, Lilia,’ said Molly, holding out a steaming porcelain cup and saucer.

  ‘I think, after all, a spot of brandy, for medicinal purposes,’ said Lilia, waving away the proffered beverage. ‘Gail can have that.’

  Molly swung her arm towards the WPC who held up her hand by way of refusal. ‘Thank you, but no tea for me,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll have it, then,’ Molly said, with a sigh. She was raising the cup to her lips when Lilia spoke.

  ‘Whenever you’re ready with that brandy,’ she said impatiently. ‘Someone has just lost a husband here.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, Lilia,’ said Molly, putting her cup down so suddenly t
hat some tea sloshed over the side into the saucer. She darted across to the Chinese cabinet and poured a generous amount of Courvoisier into a brandy balloon. It made a rich, glugging noise.

  Lilia pointed out another photograph to Gail. ‘And here is Joey competing in the 1948 Olympics. He was so proud of this picture! I didn’t know him then, of course. He won a gold in the javelin.’

  ‘Very handsome, very athletic,’ she said, studying the picture.

  ‘I never knew that about Joey, God love him,’ said Molly, returning with the brandy for Lilia.

  ‘We had to sell the medals to pay for his hoist,’ said Lilia, sadly.

  Just then the lounge door opened and a middle-aged Indian man entered. He smiled kindly at Lilia. ‘Are you the deceased’s wife?’ he asked. Lilia nodded and took a sip of brandy. ‘I am Dr Jabir,’ he said. ‘I am so sorry.’ He bowed respectfully. ‘I have completed the death certificate. You may go through and be with him now, if you’d like to.’

  Lilia looked bewildered.

  ‘It sometimes helps,’ said WPC Jones. ‘But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I don’t think I could bear it. I’m sorry,’ said Lilia, gulping her brandy, then pressing her free hand to her forehead. She handed her glass to Gail and dissolved into sobbing again.

  ‘Of course,’ said Dr Jabir. ‘Then perhaps I might have a word with you, miss?’ He looked at Molly. ‘I understand you were present when the death was discovered.’

  Molly followed the doctor into the hall. ‘Was it his heart?’ she asked.

  ‘Are you the resident carer?’ he asked her.

  Molly didn’t know how to reply. ‘I’ve been staying here to help Lilia,’ she said at last. ‘She did a fantastic job of looking after Joey but, to be honest, it was getting a bit much for her, so I helped as far as I could.’

  Dr Jabir nodded sympathetically. ‘It is an increasing problem for the elderly. I see so many cases where they are too proud to ask for help.’

  ‘It would be a comfort to Lilia to know that he died in his sleep. He didn’t suffer, just drifted away.’