Ariadne's Thread

by Marie Treanor

  “Okay, move toward the door—Gavin, you’re with them.”

  “Johnny,” Tammy protested, though far from confidently.

  “Don’t bother,” Gavin sneered. “He’s clearly gone over the edge. Again. Johnny, I’m not going anywhere. Get used to it. Tammy and I are getting married. And I’m the one who’s going to get you out of your financial mess, remember?”

  He bent, began to pick up the envelope.

  “No,” Johnny warned. “Out.”

  “He means it,” Shug snapped. With Jim and Malky’s aid he had struggled to his feet and was now suffering the humiliation of having his gun confiscated by the law.

  “I take it you don’t have a license for this?” Dan enquired.

  “Fuck off,” said Shug.

  He glanced back at Gavin who, grasping the envelope in one hand, was straightening and staring in apparent amusement at Johnny.

  “A word to the wise,” Shug observed. “Don’t mess with the gun.”

  Gavin smirked. “Guns don’t kill people, people do.”

  “Aye, well that one’s done it before, so don’t mess with him, either.”

  “Johnny? He’s never killed a fly in his life.”

  Addie couldn’t breathe. Those swirling swarms of dust seemed to dance before her eyes again. She felt cold, and it seemed to have nothing to do with the wind blowing in the open front door.

  A smile flickered across Johnny’s face, but his hands remained steady on the shotgun, now pointing directly at Gavin.

  “Apart from his wife,” Shug said contemptuously. “You’re on your own, mate.”

  “Not proven, eh Gavin?” Johnny said.

  “Not proven. Never will be.”

  Tammy, almost as white as Shug, took several steps back from him. “What does he mean? Johnny…”

  “Gavin killed Julia,” Dan said quietly. “Probably because she refused to divorce Johnny. If he’d had to give Julia half the house, Johnny would have had to sell, and Gavin would have got his health farm.”

  “But the house isn’t just Johnny’s,” Tammy objected.

  “Actually it is. I’ve read the wills concerned. You all keep up the myth that it belongs to all of you, but it doesn’t.”

  “But…but Gavin can’t have killed her!” Tears poured down Tammy’s cheeks, but she didn’t seem to be aware of it. Addie had the curious idea they weren’t even for Gavin, not really. They were for Julia and all the shit they’d all had to go through at her murder and the trial. She hated it and yet couldn’t leave it alone, first marrying the investigating officer, and then when he proved unfaithful, going straight from his arms to those of a suspect. She was one mixed-up kid.

  “I can’t prove he did,” Dan said. “But I thoroughly discourage you from marrying him.”

  “Are you really that desperate to get her back that you’ll slander me like this? I’ll have your arse in court, Inspector. Especially if you do nothing about disarming that madman.”

  “It’s in the police rules. Never try to disarm madmen singlehandedly.”

  Tammy let out a choke that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. But there was no time for Dan to enjoy his triumph because all hell broke loose.

  From nowhere, a large vase landed on Gavin’s head and shattered.

  “Take that, you bastard,” screamed the cracked old voice of Lady Maxwell from the landing. He might have heard her before he fell like a stone.

  At the same time, the dust dancing before Addie suddenly swirled harder and faster, whooshing into the shape of Julia, flying with incredible speed at Tammy.

  “No,” Addie yelled, leaping after it. But too late, it swept right through Tammy who stood stock still and wide-eyed as if she’d been shot.

  “What the…?”

  “Christ,” whispered Johnny, finally lowering the shotgun, and, bewildered, Addie followed his gaze. “Julia, no…”

  Julia was on Gavin. Something that looked like her elongated mouth was fastened to his, drawing and sucking the life out of him.

  “What’s going on?” Shug demanded uneasily. No one answered him.

  “Julia,” John shouted in anguish. And this time, it seemed to make a difference.

  The beautiful shape of Julia seemed to detach itself from the rest, floating away from the prone figure on the floor. She hovered as if gazing at Johnny and seemed to smile. Then she faded, became fainter and fainter until there wasn’t even dust.

  But the thing she left behind, the cold malevolence Addie had already felt twice, was still feeding from Gavin. As if it relished his evil. As if it was strong enough now not to need Julia’s frail spirit.

  “Jemima,” Johnny called, unable to drag his gaze off the terrible thing. “Jemima, how do I stop it?”

  “You don’t,” said Lady Maxwell with unexpected clarity. And that was when she fell down the stairs.

  As one, everyone leapt to try and save her. John, Tammy, Dan and Addie. Even Malky abandoned Shug in an instinctive gesture quickly reined in by Shug’s growl.

  The old lady lay on the bottom step, curiously graceful now her tumbling was done. She looked like a fragile doll of old that some naughty boy had thrown down the stairs to annoy his sister.

  “Gran,” Tammy said piteously, throwing herself down beside her. “Gran, why did you do that?”

  “There, it’s time,” the old lady wheezed. “More than time. We all know it.” Even with her voice so weak, her personality infused the words with bite. But her claw-like fingers grasped on to Tammy’s.

  “Dan, get my mother,” Johnny said, and without a word, Dan ran upstairs, two at a time.

  “No point,” Jemima whispered. Her other hand reached out and grasped Johnny by the wrist. “It’ll go when I go. It’s my badness…”

  “Not just yours, I think.” John’s voice was steady.

  “No. But mostly. It’s been a happy house, a good house…mostly. And Johnny, Johnny…” She pulled him closer, her strength incredible. “It’s for the living.”

  She fell back, still holding Tammy’s hand, but her gaze was no longer focused so close. It had gone beyond her great-grandchildren, beyond Addie, looking for something, for someone.

  Addie glanced back over her shoulder. The burglars stood like a frozen tableau in the middle of the floor. She could see them quite clearly through the shimmering image of Christopher Maxwell.

  “Tammy.” Johnny was tugging his sister back.

  “Why? I can’t just leave…is it him?”

  Johnny nodded. Christopher moved right through them, but they stepped back anyway.

  “You,” the old lady whispered. “I knew you’d be there.”

  Christopher knelt by her side. “I only ever loved you.”

  “I only ever loved you, but you made it so hard to forgive…”

  “It’s yourself you have to forgive, Jemmy. As I forgave you long ago.”

  “I killed you!”

  “We’ll live again, Jemmy. We’ll both live again.”

  They were both silent. The old lady lay cradled in the arms of the ghost, who slowly, inexorably faded. At the last moment, he seemed to turn his head and look right at John Maxwell. Addie thought he said, “So long.”

  Slowly, John bent and took the old lady’s wrist in his hand, feeling for her pulse. Helen came running downstairs in her dressing gown, Dan at her heels.

  Tammy whispered, “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  Johnny straightened, putting his arm round his sister. He nodded, and Addie saw with inexplicable shock that his haunted dark eyes were wet.

  “Is she happy at last?” Tammy asked brokenly.

  Johnny nodded again.

  From across the hall, Malky said flatly, “He’s deid.”

  Pulling herself together, Addie strode across to Gavin. There was no sign, no trace of the malevolence. Jemima, who’d been responsible for its existence, had killed herself to get rid of it. But not before it had killed Gavin. And maybe that, too, was a kind of biblical justice. A life for a life
.

  Life. Back in Glasgow there was life. There was Kate.

  “Let’s go,” she said low, and she and Malky began to follow Shug and Jim out of the house.

  “Sorry,” Jim said awkwardly, aiming his words somewhere between Johnny and Helen.

  John Maxwell glanced back over his shoulder. For an instant, his grieving gaze met Addie’s, and the urge to comfort nearly sent her flying across the room to him. Only the knowledge that she was unwanted and unnecessary kept her back. He had his mother and his sister, and true friends who had never hurt him.

  Her throat closed up so that she couldn’t even say the words of condolence.

  He turned away to put his arm round his mother and, blindly, Addie followed the others out of the house.

  I’ve only ever loved you.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kate stared at the stage, totally rapt.

  Addie wished her attention could be so focused because the music was exquisite. But the man playing it was not just a stranger to her, no longer just a concert pianist who happened to excel in the pieces she particularly loved. It was John Maxwell, who, only two months ago, had taken her on the floor of his study, next to his great-grandfather’s piano, who’d given her a night of passion and fun that it was impossible to forget. The tendency of her mind to dwell on that as she watched his hands fly across the keys, together with frequent scans of the visible audience to make sure she recognized no one, ensured she didn’t give the music the undivided attention it deserved.

  Which was a pity, because it was Christopher Maxwell’s well known “Sonata for J”, the manuscript she’d helped to try and steal. “J” she now knew to be Jemima, and she knew, too, he played it here in honour of both his great-grandparents.

  As soon as she’d arrived at the concert hall, nervously looking around the other arrivals, she’d wondered if she’d done the right thing. Especially after she’d spotted Liz Conway at the front of the circle.

  But even if she’d never met the Maxwells, she would probably have come; she’d made a promise to Maxwell himself that neither of them expected her to keep. And she wanted Kate to experience it.

  Only the last reason mattered, she told herself with relief, watching Kate’s reactions. Her little face moved with the music, her expressions flitting and changing with the speed of light. Well, they might have to live on mashed potato for the last week of the month, but Addie was glad she’d bought the more expensive tickets, so that Kate could clearly see his hands and face as well as hear the music.

  Addie didn’t want to dwell on his hands; she tried hard not to look at him at all, but inevitably he kept drawing her gaze back.

  He wasn’t wearing the accepted standard of evening clothes for the performance. Instead he wore a black dress shirt without a tie, and he looked incredibly comfortable as he played. Almost as if he was at home, without an audience. And it was a flawless, moving performance.

  He frowned slightly as he played. Occasionally, his brow would clear, and tiny changes of expression sometimes tugged at his mouth or seemed to blaze from his eyes, but they were very small, fleeting things. It was his body that gave away his emotion. Not that he swayed about ridiculously, but he did move, and by his posture Addie knew what he was feeling.

  Or perhaps she just understood the music.

  As he stood to take his bow, the applause was rapturous. Addie delved into her handbag, pretending to look for a sweet for Kate, terrified he would somehow be able to pick her out of the sea of faces in the audience. Though why she should care, she didn’t know. He wouldn’t.

  Kate didn’t speak. She was too busy clapping madly, leaning forward in her seat with shining eyes. She smiled rapturously at her mother and seized her hand, squeezing it excitedly as Maxwell sat down to begin his second piece.

  Addie had saved money by not buying a programme, so she had no idea what was coming next.

  The opening bars told her. It was his own concerto, the other manuscript she’d tried to steal. And it was good, amazingly good. Excitedly, Addie thought it already rivaled Christopher’s best work. And for some reason, she could lose herself in it, lean forward in her seat as rapt as Kate, forgetting to scan the audience, seeing only the face of the man who played.

  And when it finished and the audience erupted to its feet in spontaneous applause, Addie threw herself against the back of her chair, smiling. She felt exhilarated, proud, as if she’d won a race. And somehow, Kate dancing up and down and cheering just made it better. She couldn’t see Johnny for the people in front, didn’t care. She had his music in her head again, and somehow, the raw, aching loss which had torn her apart over the last two months receded.

  Some of these people now rapturously applauding him had come because of his notoriety. Some had come to see him fall on his face. Others had come from pure curiosity after the publicity about further accidents in his house. But they stayed now because of his indisputable talent.

  “Come on, Kate,” Addie said when her daughter had shouted herself hoarse. “I’ll buy you an orange juice at the bar.”

  Kate, who’d never been in any bar before, was very impressed. It was crowded, of course, but with one arm grasping her daughter to her side and the other waving her money in the air, Addie muscled her way to the front and emerged victorious with two orange squashes.

  They perched on the end of someone else’s table, and Kate said for the umpteenth time, “That was so good.”

  She sat up straight in her best dress, trying to be grown up like the well-tailored crowd around her. Addie was proud of her. And then an over-perfumed lady standing near them with a glass of wine and an expensive faux fur coat said disapprovingly to her friend, “Children just shouldn’t be allowed to come to evening concerts—they’re so disruptive.”

  Annoyed, Addie glanced at her and found both the women’s eyes on Kate. Seething, she waited until the speaker’s gaze flickered to her, then deliberately held it.

  “Aye, right enough,” she observed. “You wouldn’t want the kids listening to something that good. They might feel inspired.”

  Kate giggled and the women hurriedly turned away muttering something about rudeness.

  “You tell her, Bad Hair,” said an amused voice from her other side. Addie whipped round and found Tammy Newton grinning at her. Dark hair trendily disarrayed, she wore a rather sexy little black dress with Doc Martens boots. And by her side was her nephew Jack. Addie’s stomach twisted itself in knots.

  The boy’s face lit up with recognition. “Hello, Addie.”

  “Actually,” Tammy observed, considering her, “your hair’s looking good.”

  “Thanks. I had a job interview.” Addie felt she was muttering like a schoolgirl.

  “Yes? Get the job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any good?”

  “Nah. It sucks.”

  Tammy grinned again. “Mine, too.” Her attention shifted. “You must be Kate. I’m Tammy.”

  “Hi, Tammy,” said Kate, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

  “And this is Jack.”

  As the children said wary helloes, Addie said reluctantly, “Jack’s John Maxwell’s son.”

  Kate’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s your dad?”

  Jack grinned. “Yes, it is,” he said modestly.

  “Wow. Can you play the piano, too?”

  “Not like that.”

  “Me, neither,” Kate confessed. “I get lessons, though.”

  Addie looked nervously around to see who else was in Tammy’s wake. “So, how are things?” she asked.

  “Okay. I miss Gran, but hey, that’s life. I’m back with Dan.”

  Addie could smile at that, genuinely. “Good.”

  She wanted to ask about Johnny, but the words stuck in her throat.

  “What about you? See much of your friends?” Tammy enquired. It was inevitable, but it still made Addie cringe inside.

  “If you mean Shug and Malky, no. Kate, come on, we’d better get back to our seats
.”

  “There isn’t a spare one where you are, is there?” Tammy asked.

  Addie blinked. “You don’t have a seat?” She’d imagined they’d be VIP guests.

  “Well, yes, but I need to go and make a phone call and I don’t like to leave Jack on his own.”

  “There’s one free right beside me,” Kate offered.

  “Fab.” Tammy was already moving away, talking over her shoulder. “Just bring him backstage afterwards.”

  And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?

  Stomach churning, there was nothing Addie could do but usher both children to the seats beside her. And this time, when Johnny walked on to the stage, she thought her heart would jump out of her throat.

  He was finishing with one of Chopin’s piano concertos. Addie remembered that from buying the tickets. The rest of the programme wasn’t announced at the time. But when he started playing, it wasn’t Chopin.

  It was her music. The stuff he’d been playing while she lurked outside the study instead of summoning him to Shug as instructed. The music that had played from the tape recorder while he’d screwed her against the door and on the study floor. The vivid memory heated her body unbearably. Her heart pounded in her ears, spoiling the music until, with sheer willpower, she forced herself to be calm.

  Why should he waste his music? It was too wonderful. It had made her cry at first hearing. Polished, it was bound to be astounding…and already she no longer recognized it. It had moved on, the many intricate threads of melody gradually resolving into a new, wilder theme; and gradually, Addie relaxed and listened. And if the tears came when the main theme returned at the end, she was sure the children wouldn’t notice if she just stared straight ahead of her.

  Appreciation crashed around her. Not the euphoric applause that had followed his concerto, for this was a different sort of piece, far shorter and leaving a heart-rending sadness instead of life-affirming crescendo.

  But Addie knew that if she had even a tiny part in inspiring him to create such beauty, it was a pride she would hug secretly to herself until she died.