Drowning Rose

by Marika Cobbold

  ‘Don’t you look great. Doesn’t she look great, guys?’

  She, of course, was looking amazing in a medieval-style green velvet dress that trailed the floor. She was wearing a garland of pale yellow flowers and her Titian hair tumbled halfway down her back. Portia had gone for public-school tart in a sleeveless short black dress and sky-high gold sandals and her blonde hair was arranged in an artfully messy up-do. And Rose . . . I found myself smiling at her before I realised what I was doing, because she was so beautiful it was impossible not to. She too was wearing flowers in her hair, white ones to match her dress, that was gauzy and fitted as perfectly as if it had been stitched straight on to her.

  As I stared at her my smile died away. She was perfect and there was no boy on this earth who would say no to her. I felt the tears rise in my eyes and I muttered something and hurried off. I heard Eliza call after me but I didn’t stop until I was out of sight. The Folly was out of bounds for pupils at all times and for the evening they had gone so far as to fence it off with the kind of tape they use to fence off a crime scene. As if that would stop anyone.

  I sat there on the cold stone floor listening to the laughter and the music, which seemed to come from so far away it might have been another planet. The princesses’ planet. It wasn’t fair, I thought. Rose was not particularly clever or funny or even nice. Other than for the way she looked she was ordinary. But if you were that beautiful people forgot to look for anything else. It was like being royalty. You smiled and everyone felt like the sun had come out just for them. You spoke, and even the most commonplace of your utterances was noted and savoured and brought out again and again to impress at dinners and family celebrations.

  I don’t know how long I sat there but when I next checked it was ten thirty and the moon was high. I got up and went back into the throng of the assembly hall. I wanted to find Julian. I wanted to see him so badly it hurt but I couldn’t see him anywhere. On my way out again I spotted the princesses huddled in the corner by the door. I realised they must be going over their plan, their stupid, unfair, bad plan. Next, Portia peeled off, going off towards the dance floor. It seemed I wasn’t the only one looking for Julian. Rose and Eliza waited a couple of minutes before going outside. Another few minutes went by and then I too left, following them.

  Thirty-eight

  Eliza

  Three weeks after the incident at the garage Ruth went off to stay with her late mother’s cousin in the country. ‘But don’t worry. I’ll be back in a couple of days.’ She raised her hand out of the car window and gave a little wave as she drove off.

  It had taken her several days to be able to tell me exactly what had happened. It was the old story. She had found a receipt in the pocket of a pair of his chinos she was washing. As often as that seemed to happen it struck me that the first rule of conducting an affair would be to do your own laundry. The receipt was for a pair of pearl ear studs. Ruth didn’t have pierced ears. This, added to her earlier suspicions aroused by his furtive manner around his mobile and his many work ‘dos’, convinced her that her husband was indeed guilty. That evening, when Robert got home, she informed him that she was going to stay the night with a friend from work. A friend who could do with some company. ‘Her husband’s been having an affair,’ Ruth told Robert, enjoying the sight of his little old boy’s face appearing to crumple and shrink.

  Of course, Ruth was not going anywhere. Instead she had collected a blanket, a thermos of coffee and a bag of Devon cream toffees, and gone to hide behind the wheely bins. There she waited. She waited for what seemed like a very long time – how long she wasn’t sure as it was too dark behind the bins for her to be able to read her watch. Finally the silver Mercedes drove up with a woman Ruth recognised but didn’t know, in the front passenger seat. The woman had the kind of short perky hairstyle given to middle-aged women on makeover programmes. Now Robert was not the kind of man to leave his car out overnight when there was the prospect of rain, so the woman, who had brought an overnight bag, got out to open the garage door. But the door was stiff and heavy and Robert had to get out to help her. That’s when Ruth had sprung out from behind the bins and leapt into the car with a speed and agility that had taken even her by surprise.

  She didn’t regret having given them a fright, she said. But she did mind having driven over a very handy thermos flask. Apparently it matched their cold-box. ‘The trouble is,’ Ruth had told me, ‘that they don’t sell them any more, not even at John Lewis.’

  I managed to persuade her to see her doctor. He had referred her to a counsellor and already she was much more like her old self.

  I spent the rest of the morning, a Saturday, working in my studio. At lunchtime I made my usual cheese sandwich and sat down at the kitchen table with the papers. I was just thinking how nice it was to have silence (Ruth liked to have the radio on right throughout the day) when I heard it: a loud piercing scream and it sounded like Annie. I jumped to my feet and ran towards the front door. There was another blood-curdling scream and I hurtled outside, down the path, out of the gate and on to the square, running towards Number 12. I didn’t see the car until it was almost on me.

  I came around to find myself on my back on the cobblestones, my head resting on something soft. My neighbour, Jacob Bauer, was kneeling over me, prodding at me, bending my right leg at the knee then twisting it gently at the ankle.

  I winced.

  He gave me a quick smile. ‘Sorry.’ He stared into my left eye and then he stared into my right eye. He raised my head very slowly a couple of inches off the ground and rested it back down again.

  I remembered. ‘Is Annie all right?’ I tried to sit up but he stopped me.

  ‘Annie? Why shouldn’t she be?’ He leant down and peered into my eyes again, as if checking for leaks. ‘At least she was a moment ago. I asked her to go and fetch a blanket.’

  ‘But she’s OK? She was calling for help.’

  His dark eyebrows knitted together. ‘Annie is fine. How is your vision? Blurred at all?’

  ‘No.’ I tried to shake my head but it hurt.

  ‘You hit the back of your head when you fell.’

  ‘It was Annie. I’m sure of it. And she was calling for help.’

  ‘How many fingers?’ He raised his right hand and held up three, no, four fingers. It was a well-formed hand (you learnt to study hands at art school as they were amongst the most difficult parts of the human anatomy to depict). Both hand and fingers were covered in fine dark hair and the nails were clean and very short.

  ‘Three,’ I said.

  He nodded, then he turned round. ‘Ah, there she is.’

  Moving towards us at a stately pace down the Bauers’ garden path was a large white cloud with Annie’s head on top. I tried to sit up but was stopped yet again by her father. As the apparition got closer I realised that it was only Annie carrying a large duvet. Her father relieved her of her burden.

  ‘You couldn’t find anything larger?’

  Unaware that she was being teased, she shook her head. ‘No. This is the biggest and softest.’

  He gave her a quick smile before growing serious once more. ‘Annie, did you yell out for help just now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Only Mrs . . .’

  ‘Eliza,’ I said. ‘Eliza Cummings. I recently moved into Number 2.’

  ‘That’s a good sign, isn’t it, Daddy? That she remembers her name and where she lives?’

  ‘Absolutely. Anyway, Eliza says she’s sure you did.’

  ‘Oh.’ Annie shifted from one sandalled foot to another. ‘Maybe, then. Maybe I was playing.’

  ‘Ah, playing.’ He glanced up at her while taking my pulse. His hand was dry and pleasantly cool.

  ‘I might have been playing Muggers.’

  ‘God in heaven, Muggers? Is that a game?’ He rolled his eyes. They were rather beautiful eyes, I thought, as he let go of my wrist. Grey-brown, deep-set and very clear, and his gaze was straight on steady. I was beginning to see why
Gabriel liked him.

  ‘Goodness gracious me, that was a lucky escape.’ It was Archie Fuller steaming towards us, breathless with excitement.

  I gave him a broad smile, ‘Well, hello, Archie, how nice of you to join us.’

  Jacob Bauer swallowed his obvious irritation over the arrival of our neighbour and gave him a curt nod before saying to Annie, ‘Remember the little boy who cried wolf?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was looking at her feet and kicking at a small stone but her cheeks were colouring and I had a feeling she was near to tears.

  ‘Well, then, remember it better. Mrs Cummings had a nasty accident, running to your rescue.’

  ‘If you hadn’t managed to brake,’ Archie Fuller said. He shook his head emphatically enough for me to fear it might come off and roll down to lie next to mine on the cobbles.

  I managed to sit up. ‘Don’t make her feel bad,’ I hissed at Jacob.

  ‘Lie back down, please. Anyway, why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘She’s upset,’ I mouthed. ‘Don’t make it worse. You mustn’t make her feel guilty.’

  ‘A little well-earned guilt never hurt anyone. Anyway, there looks to be no sign of spinal injury and I’m fairly sure you’re not concussed so I don’t think we need an ambulance. Still, Annie and I will drive you down to the hospital just to make sure. And I should call the police.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Any accident involving injuries has to be reported to the police.’ He picked up his mobile.

  ‘No need,’ Archie said. ‘You had managed to brake; a sharp swerve followed by an emergency stop, very impressive bit of driving, I must say, so in effect your car was already stationary when Eliza ran into it. I saw it all from my window. I don’t mind telling you that for a moment there I thought we were going to have a death in the square.’ He sounded so regretful that this had not been the case that I felt I ought to apologise for disappointing him.

  But he carried on, ‘If only Eliza here had been able to execute those same manoeuvres on foot, eh.’

  Jacob Bauer frowned. ‘I don’t care about that. The thing that matters is that Eliza hasn’t come to any serious harm.’

  And he phoned the police anyway. ‘May I sit up now?’ I asked him as he dialled.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  It did not take long for the police car to arrive and despite Jacob Bauer having told them it was not an actual emergency the car had its blue light flashing. I found that quite exciting. ‘ “Therefore, send not to know for whom the blue light flashes, it flashes for thee.” ’

  ‘What’s that?’ He glanced down at me, that small frown knitting his dark brows together.’

  ‘John Donne,’ I explained. ‘Or at least, John Donnish.’

  Next, a policewoman was kneeling at my side, asking me questions. She took my details and those of Jacob Bauer. She asked if there were any witnesses to the accident other than us. Archie stepped forward with the air of a sergeant major presenting his troops.

  ‘That would be me, ma’am.’

  The WPC got to her feet. ‘Right, sir.’

  Archie told his story with a great deal of dramatic flurry. ‘Shooting out of her gate . . . first-class driving . . . Angels watching . . . bump . . .’

  Annie was crying properly now and finally her father noticed and took her in his arms. ‘It’s all right, darling. It’s all right.’ He kissed the top of her dark head. ‘Don’t worry, little one. You weren’t to know.’ It made me smile. I was amazed that someone as gruff-looking could sound so soft.

  The WPC shot them an enquiring glance and I quickly explained that I had simply mistaken childish play for a call for help and had rushed blindly out on to the road. ‘It was no one’s fault but my own,’ I said. At this Archie nodded vigorously and I felt a moment’s irritation with him for being so ready to leap to Jacob Bauer’s defence, however rightly, when he had done nothing but complain about the man since the first day we met.

  The WPC looked even more puzzled and I explained further, saying that I had been feeling a bit tense of late, as I had a sick relative in Sweden and . . .

  Having established that Jacob Bauer did not wish to make a complaint about me hurling myself at his car and I did not wish to make a complaint about his car being in my way as I hurled, she left.

  Jacob Bauer helped me into the front seat of his car, having first blocked Archie as he tried to get into the back. As we set off, Annie, strapped in at the back, seemed quite recovered, going so far as to say, in the manner of a hostess handing out the sherry, ‘Well, isn’t this nice?’

  ‘How did you manage to stop like that?’ I asked him. ‘I mean you usually drive quite fast.’

  ‘Cat,’ he said, keeping his eyes on the road. ‘It came shooting out of nowhere just before you did.’ He turned briefly and grinned at me. ‘I reckon we owe that cat.’

  ‘I’ll erect a statue in the square,’ I said.

  The triage nurse greeted Jacob Bauer with a cheery ‘Can’t keep you away from the place, can we, Mr Bauer?’

  ‘Daddy ran Eliza down in his car,’ Annie informed her.

  ‘Why, thank you for sharing that,’ her father said. Annie looked offended.

  ‘He didn’t really,’ I said to the nurse. ‘At least, it wasn’t his fault. Luckily, there was a cat.’

  ‘Right,’ she said and I saw her glance at Jacob Bauer. I decided that maybe I was feeling a little tired. It had been a shock after all.

  As I was taken through to X-ray Jacob Bauer asked if he should phone Gabriel. I told him not to. I must have spoken more vehemently than I had intended because he shot me a curious look but he didn’t argue. Instead he said he and Annie would wait and take me home when I was through. ‘I’ll tell them to let me know when you’re done.’

  ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ I said. ‘I’ll get a taxi.’

  ‘We won’t hear of it,’ Annie said.

  ‘That’s right,’ Jacob Bauer said. ‘Annie and I won’t hear of it. Anyway, I’ve got some paperwork I can get on with.’

  ‘Me too,’ Annie said.

  As I waited I picked up the newspaper left on the chair next to me. It was not a paper that I usually read, preferring as I did my death and mayhem in a more respectable packaging. The front-page headline shouted, ‘Soap Star in Posthumous Murder Confession!’ I turned to the back pages to do the Sudoku – I could never manage the broadsheet ones. This one, though, I managed in ten minutes. I started to flick back through the pages, each one making an art out of highlighting the personal above the general, the minor misfortune above mass suffering. I got to the story behind the front-page headline. It turned out that the actress responsible for the ‘beyond the grave confession’ was none other than Archie’s soap star, Cass Cassidy. I wondered if I could take the paper away with me to show him. I didn’t think he usually read this particular newspaper.

  Then my name was called and I quite forgot about Archie and left the paper behind on the same chair from which I had picked it up.

  Thirty-nine

  Jacob Bauer had been right to believe there was nothing much wrong with me: some bruising to the back of my head – no concussion, though – and some more and heavier bruising on my right foot and ankle.

  I couldn’t see him or Annie as I limped back out into the reception area, when I heard a child’s voice call my name. It was Annie, of course; little mosquito girl, all eyes and knees and feet, appearing to skim the floor as she ran towards me.

  ‘We told you we’d wait,’ she shouted. ‘Daddy’s got the car ready outside.’

  It made me feel warm inside to have someone waiting to take me home.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Annie said, putting her hand in mine. It was so thin I feared my fingers might meet through the soft flesh as I clasped it back.

  ‘What are you sorry for now?’ I asked her.

  ‘For scaring you and making you run out in front of Daddy’s car.’

  ‘We’ve been through that. It’s my fault if I don’t look where
I’m going.’

  Back at the house, Jacob Bauer and Annie insisted on helping me inside. I assured them yet again that I was perfectly able to manage by myself, but he made me sit down in the kitchen with my foot on a stool. Next, he removed the bandage, and having found the freezer without asking, which was cleverer than it might sound as it was built into a kitchen unit, brought out a packet of peas and placed it on my naked foot. I winced and Annie started giggling.

  ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ I asked her father.

  ‘I’ll make it,’ he said. ‘You stay exactly where you are.’

  ‘There’s apple juice in the fridge,’ I said as I watched him move round my kitchen as if he had a map. ‘For Annie.’

  He didn’t need to ask me where anything was but just went about finding it all, mugs, milk, spoons, and he seemed to have no problem working the espresso machine. ‘Espresso? Cappuccino?’ he asked me.

  ‘Cappuccino, please.’

  ‘Yes please, Daddy,’ Annie said. At least the one he made for her was mostly milk.

  ‘You’ve done a brilliant job on this place,’ he said as he sat down. ‘It’s quite an undertaking refurbishing a house like this while retaining its character.’

  I felt ridiculously pleased at the compliment. ‘I did it together with my godfather,’ I said. ‘He’s got excellent taste. And lots of money,’ I added. Then I regretted having sounded tacky, but Jacob Bauer didn’t seem to have noticed.

  We had barely started on our coffee when the doorbell rang. Annie ran to get the door. ‘It’s Archie,’ she shouted from the hall.

  Jacob Bauer leant across the table and whispered, ‘I could say you’re not allowed visitors.’

  I gave him a quick smile and shook my head. ‘Come on in, Archie,’ I called. ‘We’re in the kitchen.’

  I asked if he would like a cup of coffee, if Jacob wouldn’t mind making him one. He told me that considering the hour he would prefer tea if there was a pot going.

  He was holding a copy of the newspaper I had been reading earlier. Following my gaze he handed it to me. ‘It’s for you. Funny how it was only the other day we were talking about her. Terrible story. Dreadful. Thought it might cheer you up. Who would have thought.’