by P. R. Black
‘It’s not going to die,’ he had remarked, slipping it over his shoulders. ‘Not so much as a button loose. I’ll have to take it to the charity shop. And someone will buy it. And I swear to God, seeing it on someone else, walking through the street, not even knowing that it used to be mine, my heart will break. It’s that serious.’
‘You’re off out? Where are you off to?’
‘Couple of bits and pieces I want to get in town.’
‘Are you going to the fancy shop, or the regular supermarket for regular people?’
He shrugged. ‘What’s the difference?’
‘Roughly forty quid per trip.’
Seth smirked. ‘Don’t you worry. Won’t be long. I’m going to get secret stuff, to tell you the truth. For tonight.’ He nodded in the direction of the house. ‘Surprise stuff. Well, not quite surprise, now.’
‘Understood.’ She smiled. ‘How you getting there, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘I was going to borrow your car.’
‘Sure you’ll be all right to drive?’
‘I am sure. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Ah, something to do with these.’ She brandished two fingers at him, and not in the Winston Churchill or John and Yoko style, either.
‘Eh?’
‘The two fingers missing from the bottle of The Good Stuff you had last night, while I was in Zed-Land.’
‘Ah. That was just one or two. They’ll be out my system by now. It’s a short trip, anyway.’
‘Just one or two, on top of the several you’d had throughout the day. Be careful. I don’t just mean the odds of you getting breathalysed.’ Seth, a Londoner to his bones, hadn’t long learned to drive, at what most people would recognise as an advanced age. He combined lack of experience at the wheel with a certain recklessness, which had already resulted in a £600 bill from a bodywork shop that had been delighted to see them, after a scuffle with a drystone wall, on their first day looking at the plot. Inauspicious, Vonny had thought at the time. The A-roads seemed to demand higher speeds, as evidenced by the screaming passage of the boy racers Vonny sometimes heard in the night.
‘You know me. Careful is my middle name.’
‘Yeah. Double-barrelled with Reckless. Keys are in my jacket…’
‘Right-hand side?’
‘That’s it.’
Vonny waited until she heard the gate clank behind the car. Then she sprang into action.
Seth had timed it well, if unwittingly. The parcels arrived a few minutes after he left. The delivery driver was a regular, and he knew to drop the boxes off at the caravan, rather than up at the house. She had refrained from cutting open the tape, preferring to wait until… Well.
She checked out the champagne in the fridge; already a lovely new skin of condensation. She trailed a finger along its contours, admiring the liquid sheen on the green glass beneath the trail.
Vonny reckoned she had half an hour, minimum, whatever Seth was planning. She grinned. She came into her element.
She heaved the box inside the new house and closed the door. The sound of the door shutting echoed. A rattly detonation unique to unfurnished houses, sound ricocheting merrily off the flat surfaces and wide open spaces. Soon see to that, she thought.
The front room’s sofas were installed – an argillaceous brown that reminded Vonny of a picture in her grandmother’s house – although the television and its tentacular wiring had yet to appear from storage. Vonny chose the perfect spot for the tree – a false one, but a good false one – and in three satisfying clicks and twists, she had it erected, branches pulled out, sub-branches perfectly spaced.
And now, the glee of the box of decorations. All brand new, bright white fairy lights, some with a flicker control, some not. She soon had the tree garlanded with lights, though it took a couple of test ignitions before she was happy with the spacing. Next, the baubles, red and gold, with the same colour of tinsel. To look at Vonny in a speeded-up film, an observer might have marvelled at her certainty, her sure placement. This was a talent, to be sure. She visualised it; she made it happen.
It wouldn’t be right to say that she had done the same with Seth. When it came to relationships, most of these had exactly gone to plan. Vonny’s studies and her work had taken her from place to place, in the days when home working was something that was openly sneered at in businesses and offices. A stint in Manchester after university; another three desperately unhappy years in London, not unconnected to a party boy named Erik who had conned her six ways from Sunday despite seeming utterly genuine; a couple of lost years in Glasgow that had nonetheless given her a name and a reputation in interior design thanks to a newspaper column where her looks, seldom admitted to but always a factor, had worked well in her favour.
And so she had come to the party, where she’d designed the sleeves of a vinyl release for a friend of hers, a jazz singer given an unexpected burst of success. And… well, there he was. The producer no one wanted to talk to. Though he hadn’t been making a huge effort in this respect, himself. Although Vonny had appeared once or twice on a home makeover show on television, where everyone assured her she had come across as a natural, she hated the spotlight and was ill at ease with the attention. Her mother had been very strict about not going looking for it, perhaps knowing that with her height, her looks, her stature, she would get it regardless. All the same, Vonny sometimes retreated into the corners at such events. In one such corner she’d met Seth.
He had mentioned straight up that he’d produced the record for her friend, then went a long way to sabotaging any notion of Vonny being impressed by this with his goofy humour. It wasn’t desperate stuff – she’d sensed he was nervous, particularly when he had been seized by his hand by an executive and congratulated on a job well done, when he had clearly had no idea who he was speaking to.
It had seemed the most normal thing in the world to give him her number. And they’d picked up where they left off, that same weekend. And had been together ever since. She’d found someone who matched her drive, who understood what it meant to push yourself. Saturday nights could be spent with him plunking around on the bass, staring into the gulfs of space with his headphones clamped to his skull, while she was hunched over the easel at the far end of the studio flat – used as intended, for once – and it wouldn’t be a chore; they hadn’t lost out, and at the end of the sessions, there’d be wine, crisps, Graham Norton, God help them.
London had kept them well for a while, as his career went from strength to strength. She had landed a job designing wallpaper, which she hated, but which paid well. One or two media roles had come along; she’d chipped away at that, getting exposure here and there. There had been talk of a spot on a new BBC2 show, looking at reinstating 1970s designs in modern houses, and maybe a one-off special to go onto BBC4. That had been delayed for a year, but the contract had finally been signed. All along, her dream had been to design her own house, and she’d gotten quite far into this fantasy when the ultimate opportunity had come up. She’d haunted forums and property websites and auction houses, searching for that bargain, the one place that would allow her to buy cheap and build the dream house. Then, her cookies had suggested the auction site, a rare example of technology intruding in the right way, for once. She entered the auction, and…
Here she was. She knew to the inch how much wiring she needed, where she wanted the belly of the curve to rest on the walls. Soon she had the lights to match the tinsel and the baubles on the tree, strong and white and red, in among the faux holly and the other ornaments. She had to go on tiptoes to place the golden star at the top. Its waving beams had a pagan look, which she liked. ‘Pagan festival after all,’ she said to herself, admiring the tree. Big, but not imposing. Tall, but not threatening the roof. In proportion. Perfect. She was tying more lights around the banisters and had almost reached the top level above the water feature when the iron railings slightly gave way.
It didn’t fall off – that would have meant a good d
rop of two-metres-plus onto the water feature below – but there was a screw loose. Vonny chewed her lip, and growled in consternation. She’d have to take that up with the new builders – whoever they might be.
As she tugged the balcony rail back in place, the key sounded in the front door below. Just visible through the door was Seth. He had a plastic bag with a tell-tale clink in his hands, a huge, puffy red and white hat that looked like it belonged on a chef rather than Santa, and an entirely gormless expression on his face as she flew down the stairs to intercept.
Vonny almost tripped and landed flat on her face as she flicked switches, desperately trying to stop Seth from seeing her handiwork. ‘Don’t… Don’t go in the living room!’ she yelled, warding him off with a palm. ‘I’ve been busy…’
Seth was in freeze-frame. He’d barely moved an inch since he’d opened the door. ‘Well. This is awkward. I wanted to stock the fridge with champagne before we moved in tonight. I thought we could maybe bring the move-in date forward.’
‘You aren’t supposed to see!’ She burst out laughing as she made a star shape, trying to conceal the lights she hadn’t quite managed to switch off in time.
‘Darlin’… I’ve seen the lights.’ He sniggered. ‘They look amazing. I really wish I hadn’t bought my own tree for far too much money at the equestrian shop…’
‘You didn’t!’ She came forward to kiss him. ‘Never mind. We’ve got room for two.’
‘Communication breakdown. My fault.’ He kissed her back, and she linked her hands around his neck. He was cold; the cold air was seeping in, lapping at her shins.
‘Baby it’s cold outside,’ she sang.
‘Hey – let’s do this properly.’
‘Do what? Hey!’
He lifted her off her feet; she shrieked as he backed away – none too steadily. ‘Here goes. I’ll carry you over the threshold. That’s how you’re meant to do it. Oh Christ, my back… Wait, you’ll have to fold your legs up, or whatever it is you do with them. I need to get you in the door… There you go…’
‘I’ll carry you next time,’ she said, helpless with laughter, as he sagged and deposited her on the floor.
‘Thirsty work that. Hey, I brought champagne, and some glasses. Why don’t we get cracked into it, and order a diabolically big takeaway?’
‘This is our first night? First official night?’
‘Yep. You’ll notice I built the bed. And put the sheets on.’ He waggled his eyebrows, in that way that only he could ever get away with, in a galaxy full of bad jokers and chancers.
‘On top of a diabolically big takeaway?’ she asked, not completely in jest.
‘Ah no. First we work up an appetite.’ She kissed him again.
Eventually, they made the top of the stairs. He removed his socks at last, hurling them like grenades towards the balcony, where they hung over the edge. ‘Dammit. I was hoping to drop them onto the water feature,’ he said.
‘Oh, don’t touch them! I mean, the railings,’ Vonny said, hopping towards their bedroom, one leg of her trousers threatening to hurl her to the floor.
Seth paused, clad only in his underpants and an uncertain expression. ‘They’re… not really explosive socks.’
‘No, but the railing’s dodgy.’
‘Could have told you that when it was fitted.’ He grinned.
‘Nah, it’s loose; it’ll fall away. We’ll have to screw it in properly. They’ve not done it right… Oh look, get in here before you talk me out of it.’
He was in the room in a shot, diving full length onto the bed.
Before she joined him, Vonny turned on the control panel, grinning at its bluish glare – not entirely out of keeping with the galaxy of lights surrounding it. She scrolled to Christmas classics. Slade. Wizzard. Shakey. Wham. Then she joined her husband on the bed.
The door closed over, quietly and efficiently, just the way it had been designed.
24
The next morning, Seth had gone into South Brenwood, a much bigger town about sixteen miles away from Brenwood Green. He had pleaded for an afternoon to pick up Christmas gifts – ‘Just bits,’ he’d explained, ‘I’ve already got your big present.’ Outside, low, dark clouds had come in, and with them a definite blast of winter, ice and frost covering the scene outside the windows. Hat, scarf and gloves weather, for sure. She tackled the little pieces of snagging that she felt confident enough to fix. She had planned on tightening the railings on the upper floor, but soon took something of a brainstorm, and decided to head out to the front yard to sort out some of the ragged patches out there.
It was only by pure luck that Vonny heard the bell. Despite the promise of rain in the steel wool clouds above, she had pressed ahead with a plan to strim the edges of the flower beds, irritated by the spiky intrusions out of keeping with the rest of the immaculate lawn as laid down a few days before. She’d had the front garden marked out by a fence, threaded through with privet hedging. It would take the changing seasons to bring out what she had planned for this space.
Soon there would be no fence to be seen at all; the firm she’d hired to lay the turf had been brisk and efficient, and the gentle slope gleamed in the wet. Seeing the spongy turf unravel about a week ago in thick, uniform rolls like plasticine had pleased her, as had the geometric precision of how it had all locked together, cut and dried. The thick beads of rain had remained on the new green fronds in crystal buds, taking a while to be absorbed in the new land, and that had pleased Vonny as well. The stubble around the edges of the flower bed had needed fixing and, despite the grey conditions, she had fixed it. She had stopped at the edge of the last flower bed when she heard the buzzer inside.
They’d tested the security system, but never the front door and camera. She just made it, cursing the wet green-tinged footprints she left on the oak flooring to reach the console.
On screen, a tall, fair man with longish hair stood patiently, staring directly into the camera. This might have been unsettling, except he had a pleasant cast to his young, open face. He was tall and rangy and could have been aged anywhere between his late twenties and forty. He looked like he would have suited a deep tan, a shark-tooth necklace and a surfboard – a beach bum forced into exile in a collar and tie just visible underneath a smart charcoal-grey raincoat. He reached out to press the button one more time. Vonny pressed the intercom before he had the chance to hit the buzzer.
‘Hello?’
‘Ah, hi there. I wonder if I could speak to the householder?’ He had a distinct Scottish accent – maybe from the Highlands, Vonny thought. It had a rasp to it, but there was something sweet, almost melodic to the cadence and rhythm.
‘Speaking.’
‘I’m Detective Inspector Bell from the Metropolitan Police. I wonder if I could have a quick word with you?’
He presented a warrant card. The details all matched.
‘I guess so. Is something wrong?’
‘Nothing at all. Just a routine inquiry, really.’ He grinned, tucking the card into his inside pocket. Vonny hit the button to admit him through the gate at the bottom of the drive.
*
He took his shoes off at the front door without being asked, and hung up his raincoat on the stand just inside the front door.
‘My goodness, this is some place,’ he said, staring at the balcony above the main entrance hall. ‘And you won it in a raffle?’
‘Guilty as charged on that one,’ Vonny said, and then instantly regretted it. ‘I always wanted to build a big house from scratch, since I was a little kid. Guess it was our lucky day.’
‘You can say that again! Man, you could probably fit every single flat I’ve ever lived in into the bottom floor alone.’
‘Same! It’ll take a bit of getting used to.’
‘All settled in?’
‘Not quite – just got the finishing touches to apply, really.’ Vonny gestured over her shoulder. ‘I was just taking care of the garden out the front. Just the odd bit of snagging to do, no
w. The builder is coming back… Well. The builder was meant to be coming back in the next couple of days, but we ran into a problem. I can sort that out in the next couple of days. Plus, there are some bits and pieces I want to change.’ She tapped her forehead. ‘Perfectionist. Drives my other half mad.’
He smiled and followed her into the lounge. The inspector peered around at the bookcases and CD racks, set into an entire wall space.
‘Good Lord, that’s a lot of music,’ he said. ‘I thought my collection was bad! The removal men must have loved you.’
‘You should see the vinyl section, being built in the cave downstairs. And the rest of the equipment.’
‘He records as well?’
‘Oh yeah. It’s a whole home studio. Well, that’s the idea anyway.’
‘What kind of stuff does he do? He’s a musician?’
‘Yep. Well – a producer, really, but he can turn his hand to anything. Some people might call him a DJ, but he’s done a lot of stuff for a lot of different acts. Unfortunately, when it comes to physical media, I can’t persuade him to join the early twentieth century. He definitely can’t manage the twenty-first. Maybe upgrade to an MP3 player, rather than records. But old habits… you know how they go.’
‘Yep. Hard.’ He sat down in the leather sofa she indicated, crossing his legs and folding his hands across his flat stomach. ‘You have my sympathies. We like our clutter. Gives us a sense of belonging. My younger brother, he’s got these Star Wars toys from when we were kids, all lined up on shelves along the wall. Stole half of them off me, the bugger, pardon my French.’
Vonny sat down opposite him in an armchair. For the first time, she felt uncomfortable about the deep-space gaps between humans in this room. She had ordered a rug to close the gap between the sofa, the armchairs and the fireplace, but it hadn’t arrived. Again, Vonny had insisted on the best, a vast Afghan rug, meaning the hardest to source. Again, Seth had sucked his teeth and grumbled about the budget, but had agreed eventually. ‘That’s nothing to my French, when I discovered all the vinyl he’d been hiding from me when we moved out here.’