by Ian Edwards
‘Hi,’ she called out as she stepped into the hall.
‘In here,’ James called out.
Amy wandered in to the lounge. James was slumped on the sofa watching television. He looked up as she entered the room.
‘You’re home early,’ she said.
James instinctively looked at the clock on the wall. 11.30pm, not too late, but not really that early either.
‘Did Alan get booed off, or did they run out of rotten fruit to throw at him?’ She teased.
‘Actually,’ James began, ‘He went down really well, and that Harry Hodges fella was actually quite funny. Alan is writing for him now, you know. There were a couple of dreadful acts after Alan, including that slimy Giles Monroe bloke, so I left early. It is a school night after all.’
‘Really?’ Amy said cynically.
‘You should have come, you would have enjoyed it. Rosie was there, and Jayne,’ James added.
Amy held on to the sofa whilst she slipped out of her shoes. ‘You didn’t say they were going.’
‘I didn’t know. But you said you couldn’t go anyway, you said you had a thing after work.’
Amy sighed. She had gone out for birthday drinks with Freda, Stretton’s secretary, and he had paid for the drinks all night. Still, she thought, it would have been good to have had the opportunity to quiz Jayne first hand.
‘Did you have a good time?’ James asked.
‘Yes, I did. It was a nice evening actually. Just a couple of drinks,’ Amy lied. ‘Do you want tea?’ she asked.
‘Please,’ James said, and went back to his TV programme.
‘Did you find out anything more about the Oneway investigation?’ Amy called out from the kitchen.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’ he called back.
‘There’s no need to shout.’
James turned round to see Amy standing in the doorway holding two mugs. ‘I just asked how the investigation was going,’ she said.
James sighed. It really annoyed him when Amy started watching a TV programme half way through and then spent the rest of the show asking questions about the bits she’d missed.
‘They’re sending in the FBI,’ James told her, with one eye on the TV.
‘What? The FBI?’ Amy uttered in disbelief.
‘Yes, the FBI,’ he replied, trying not to show his irritation at her question.
Amy swallowed hard. ‘Why the FBI?’
‘He was apparently very well connected, friends in high places. You know the kind of thing.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Amy mumbled
‘Apparently,’ James explained, ‘the FBI can do a test which can tell who has been in a room even if they didn’t leave any fingerprints.’
‘Anyone?’ Amy asked.
‘Apparently so. It doesn’t matter how careful the murderer thinks they’ve been, this test will identify them, so if they’ve done the crime they’re going to do the time.’
Amy felt her stomach flip over and was pretty sure it wasn’t down to the bottle of wine she’d drunk earlier.
‘Anyone who has been in the room?’ she asked, seeking clarification.
James shrugged. ‘That’s what I heard them say. I don’t really understand it, but they’re the experts.’ He turned back to his television programme, the conversation apparently over.
‘I’m going to bed now,’ Amy said, leaving the lounge before the combination of excess alcohol and the crawling fear over the latest developments in the Oneway investigation made her throw up.
James mumbled a goodnight and rewound the TV show he was watching to the scene before Amy had started asking questions. He recognised the scene as it revealed that the FBI could use a test that could identify anyone who had ever visited the crime scene. He had thought Amy would have stayed to watch the end of the show, but she seemed disinterested in the plot as soon as he had explained it to her. He didn’t think it was that bad a plot. Maybe he hadn’t explained it properly. Anyway, it was irrelevant now, he thought to himself as he picked up his coffee mug and settled back to watch the rest of the show.
*
Amy lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Another sleepless night stretched out in front her. She had hoped the bottle of wine she had polished off after work would send her to sleep or better yet, pass out, but she hadn’t factored in James’s revelation that the FBI were being brought into investigate Oneway’s death. As far as she was aware there was no record of her finger prints or DNA on any police record, but she couldn’t be sure how much this test could reveal.
If these new tests created an image of her face Jayne would surely recognise her and there’d be SWAT teams surrounding her before she could say Prisoner in Cell Block H. She had to do something, be proactive. There was no point waiting for the FBI to knock on the door. She needed a plan and quickly.
*
James glanced at the clock on the classroom wall. In just two hours half term would officially start and he would have a whole week without having to listen to tone deaf kids who turned playing music into a hate crime. All he had to do was navigate through the next couple of hours without incident. He was fully prepared to overlook virtually every breach of school rules to avoid having to hand out a detention.
He had his whole week planned out, and it involved doing absolutely nothing at all. He was sure Amy would probably drag him around the shops at some stage, but aside from that his plan was to do nothing. He wondered idly if they could take Charlie the llama to the shops with them, maybe use it like a shopping trolley. James made a mental note to visit the pet store to see if they had llama saddle bags.
‘Any plans for the break?’ Mary Mitten said, interrupting James’ train of thought.
‘Nope. Not a thing,’ he replied as he checked his pigeonhole one final time.
‘Won’t you get bored?’
James sighed. ‘Intelligent people don’t get bored. I’ll sit quietly and do some contemplating.’
‘I’ve got to come in,’ she said. ‘Monday or Tuesday.’
‘Why?’
‘To count the basketballs. A stock check.’
‘Can’t you do that now and have the week off?’
‘I asked, but the stock check forms aren’t available yet.’
James nodded. This was par for the course for the school. He was constantly amazed OFSTED didn’t recommend replacing the admin staff with a Filofax. The danger with that of course, would be the Filofax would have more personality. And would be more likely to get a round of drinks in.
‘JAMES!’
James instinctively looked around to see who had called his name. Across the staffroom a short man in a multi coloured coat waved at him.
‘Oh fuck,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Don’t look round but Butlins is on his way over.’
Mary looked across the room and saw the whirl of colour coming towards them.
With all the subtly and colour of a migraine the man barged between James and Mary. ‘Hello darlings,’ he said.
Aubrey Ringsaw was the school drama teacher, and was universally known as ‘Butlins’ on account of his overtly camp image. James claimed responsibility for the nickname, but it had been around for so long no one could remember if this was true. Aubrey had been appointed as the drama teacher on the sole basis of once having a walk on part in “The Bill” and equally as importantly, that no one else wanted the job.
‘Hello Aubrey,’ James muttered, barely looking at the man.
Mary took the opportunity to slip away, mumbling that she had to supervise the delivery of a new rounder’s bat and left a quietly fuming James to deal with Aubrey alone.
‘Why are you wearing that coat?’ James asked the multi coloured eyesore now standing in front of him.
‘In the middle of rehearsals. Joseph and his Technicolour Dream Coat,’ Aubrey explained as he danced a pirouette, hands in the air.
James eyed the multi coloured coat up and down. ‘And what part are you playing?’
‘For the purposes of
the rehearsal I’m playing Joseph. But I’m the director, darling. In the performance itself, Joseph will be played by Warren Taylor.’
James furrowed his brow. ‘Isn’t that the colour blind kid from year nine?’
Aubrey nodded in confirmation.
‘That explains the coat,’ James grinned.
‘He doesn’t have my theatrical experience of course, but I suppose I can teach young Taylor a thing or two about the delights of being a thespian.’
‘I bet you can…’
‘Anyway, I’ve come to ask you a favour. I understand that you have a llama.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Never mind. I assume by your somewhat aggressive response you do have one?’
‘Err…yes, I do as a matter of fact. Why?’
‘I’d like to borrow it, darling.’
James looked down at the garishly dressed man. ‘Why?’
‘I was going to put him in the Christmas nativity play,’ Aubrey explained.
‘What as?’ James asked.
‘One of the Donkeys, of course.’
‘He’s a llama.’
‘We’ll sit the year sevens in the first row. They can barely tie their own shoe laces, they won’t be able to tell the difference between a llama and a donkey.’
‘OK, I’ll ask him. See if he’s free.’ James said straight faced.
Satisfied, Aubrey minced off in a flurry of colour.
*
‘Schools out…’‘James sang as he opened the front door.
The house was silent in response. Usually he was greeted with some kind of noise, even if it was only the sound of the TV. He knew Amy was home because the door was unlocked, and he thought she would be thrilled at the thought of a week off.
James dropped his keys in the bowl on the hallway table. As he made his way along the hall, he heard a muffled voice coming from the kitchen. He carefully put his ear to the closed door to hear what was being said, but the words were indistinguishable. He pushed the door open and stepped into the kitchen.
Amy sat at the table, deep in conversation. Startled at James’ sudden appearance, she pressed a button on her phone and hastily dropped it on to the table.
‘What’s wrong?’ James asked. ‘Have you been crying?’
‘Of course not. I just have a bad cold,’ she lied. ‘I left work early and was just on the phone to Stretton.’
‘Oh, OK,’ James said, wandering over to the kettle. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea, Coffee, Honey?’
Amy shook her head. ‘No, it’s OK, I had something when I got home.’
James made himself a cup of tea whilst he listened to Amy snuffling away as she dabbed at her phone. He considered pointing out that if you drunk as much as she did you lowered your immune system, and were likely to catch very bad colds. However, he decided to err on the side of caution and decided against mentioning the benefits of sobriety. Besides, he was hardly one to talk.
‘I’m going upstairs for a bit. Give me a shout if you need anything,’ he offered.
Amy nodded and watched as her husband left the room. She knew he was on his way to the spare room or his “den” as he liked to call it. She also knew that within minutes he would have his headphones on and be lost in whatever CD he was currently obsessed with.
Amy knew her husband’s habits well. James slid the headphones over his ears, turned the CD player on and let Bruce Springsteen tell him that he was Born in the USA. If James had delayed putting the headphones on for just a couple of seconds he may have heard his wife’s sobs.
*
James stirred and pulled the duvet back over his head. The first day of the school holiday still excited him. A whole week stretching out in front of him, with no responsibilities, no commitments, and no bloody school. He decided he was not getting out of bed until at least lunchtime.
He turned over and reached for his wife, only to find that he was alone in bed. He glanced at the alarm clock and concluded that, despite having a bad cold yesterday, Amy had probably gone to the gym. He was definitely not getting up until lunchtime now, he thought to himself as he drifted off back to sleep.
*
Alan glanced at his watch. 9.30 am. It was far too early for anyone he knew to be up and about. ‘Give me a chance,’ he shouted at the front door as the banging increased. He quickly descended the stairs and threw the door open.
‘Is she here?’
Alan stared at his friend. He had rarely seen James look so agitated.
‘What’s up mate? Is who here?’
‘Amy, is she here?’
‘No, why should she be here?’
‘I just thought she might be, that’s all.’
‘Why, what’s going on?’
James slumped against the wall. ‘It’s Amy…she’s gone.’
Chapter 25 – Saturday.
Alan placed a mug of coffee on the table in front of James.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’
‘She’s gone. Amy’s gone,’ James snapped.
‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t know, that’s the point.’ James took a mouthful of coffee and winced.
‘Careful, it’s hot,’ Alan said helpfully.
‘She wasn’t in bed when I woke up this morning.’
Sitting opposite him, Alan asked, ‘What time?’
‘Half seven. I could see the alarm clock so I’m positive about that.’
‘Didn’t you think anything was wrong then?’ Alan asked.
James shook his head. ‘No she often goes to the gym early on Saturday mornings. She says it sets her up for the rest of the day.’
Alan shrugged, not really grasping the concept of exercise.
‘So I went back to sleep,’ James continued. ‘When I got up about nine-ish, I went downstairs and there was a note on the kitchen table.’
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and passed it to Alan.
‘Dear James,’ he read. ‘I need to get away for a bit. Don’t try and find me. I’ll be in touch. Don’t worry. Love Amy.’
‘What do you think?’ James asked.
‘Could be worse?’ Alan said.
‘How?’
‘It could have been written in blood.’
Ignoring him, James said; ‘She finishes it, “Love Amy,” not from Amy. That’s a good sign isn’t it?’
‘Mate, your wife has done a runner in the middle of the night. I don’t think ending the letter with “love” lessens the blow. It’s like the hangman apologising for rope burns to the neck.’
‘What do you think I should do then?’
‘Have you tried calling her?’
‘She left her mobile. I have no way of contacting her.’ James had another gulp of now cooler coffee and slumped back in his chair.
A chill breeze blew through the room causing Amy’s note to move across the table. Both Alan and James turned to look at the door.
James mouthed “Frankie?” at Alan who nodded.
‘What’s up with you two? Looks like someone died,’ Frankie paused. ‘Apart from me that is.’
‘Amy’s left James,’ Alan explained.
Frankie sat on a chair at the table alongside Alan.
‘Tell him I’m sorry to hear that. She is an attractive girl.’
‘Frankie said that’s terrible and he hopes it works out OK.’ Alan said, editing Frankie’s sentiments.
James nodded at, as far as he could see, the empty chair. ‘Thanks Frankie.’
‘Where’s she gone?’ Frankie asked.
‘He doesn’t know?’ Alan told him.
‘It’s the mother. They always go their mothers. That or their sisters,’ Frankie said.
‘Have you tried calling her mum?’ Alan asked.
‘No, I don’t think she’ll go there. It’s too obvious,’ James told him. ’Anyway her mum wouldn’t tell me if Amy was there. She’s never liked me.’
‘I could call?’ Alan suggested.
; James shook his head. ‘She’d recognise your voice straight away. She still has flashbacks to your best man’s speech.’
Alan put his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I apologised for that. How was I to know that she’d survived a plane crash and been forced to eat another passenger?’
‘She still can’t eat chicken you know,’ James told him. ‘At least not without lots of gravy.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Frankie asked.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ Alan said. ‘First we have to sort this problem out.’
‘Can I assume that the llama didn’t do the trick then?’ Frankie asked innocently.
‘Obviously not,’ Alan replied.
‘Are you sure that Rosie knows nothing?’ James asked, oblivious as to whether he was cutting across Alan’s conversation with Frankie.
‘I’m pretty sure that she would have told me if she knew anything,’ Alan told him.
‘Where is young Rosie?’ Frankie asked.
‘She’s working today. Won’t be home until six,’ Alan said to both Frankie and James.
‘Can we go in and see her?’ James asked. ‘Meet her for lunch. I could ask her if she knows anything.’
Alan considered James’s suggestion. It wouldn’t do any harm, and it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do today.
‘Do you know,’ he announced, ‘that’s not a bad idea. I’ll send her a text and let her know we’re coming.’
Fifteen minutes later Alan’s mobile buzzed indicating he had received a message.
‘Rosie’s off to lunch at 1.00. She’ll meet us in the canteen.’
*
‘Six quid for an hour’s parking,’ James said as he inserted pound coins into the ticket machine in the hospital car park. ‘I don’t know how people can afford to be sick anymore.’
‘You’re lucky. Rosie only gets an hour for lunch, otherwise it would cost you twelve quid,’ Alan told him.
James peeled the back off the ticket and stuck it on the inside of the windscreen.
‘OK,’ Alan said, ‘who’s hungry?’