by Janet Pywell
‘Mikky?’ Josephine dismisses the taxi driver with a wave and Andreas follows her up to the front door wheeling two small suitcases.
‘Josephine?’ My mouth hangs open.
‘May we come in?’
‘I thought you’d left – gone back to Dresden.’
‘I was on my way to the airport but I couldn’t leave without seeing you again. I want to speak to you. It’s important.’
I stare at her, lost for words wondering what could be so urgent.
‘May we come in?’
‘I’m sorry about Saturday night but it’s all right. There’s no problem. Javier and I can look after ourselves.’
‘Please,’ she says and I see determination in her eyes.
Over her shoulder Andreas stands like an armed guard, his face impassive, so I sigh and open the front door.
‘You’d better come in.’
The kitchen light is on but there is no smell of dinner and certainly no paella.
‘Javier?’ I call out.
‘I need to speak to you both,’ she says. ‘Is he here? I rang the bell a few times…’
I dump my bag on the floor and flick on the lamps. ‘He texted me over an hour ago to say he was home. That’s strange…’
‘Did you see the newspaper article that Karl Blakey wrote? I’m worried about your neighbour thinking you stole that painting. Did you say it was a Vermeer, Mikky?’
‘Yes but it’s a fake. We told you on Saturday. Javier hasn’t taken it.’
‘And you? Did you steal it?’
‘Me? Why? Why would–’
‘I need to know – it’s important. I must stop history repeating itself.’
‘What history?’
Andreas hovers by the front door with their bags at his feet. He seems embarrassed and unsure what to do.
‘Tell me the truth,’ she insists.
‘This is ridiculous,’ I reply.
Perhaps she’s ill and the strain of the last few months is too much for her. She looks feverish and nervous but I leave her pacing the room and head down the hallway calling: ‘Javier?’
His bedroom is empty. The bathroom is empty.
‘Javier?’
He’s not in the flat. I return to the living room wondering how to get rid of this infuriating woman but she is standing beside the breakfast bar holding a scrawled note in Javier’s handwriting.
I’m next door with Annie.
I check my watch. ‘I didn’t see any lights on, did you? She said, the removal men were here…’ I mumble.
Josephine shakes her head. She is pale and her eyes are bloodshot as if she hasn’t slept. She leans against the breakfast bar as if she needs support and I wonder if she is well.
‘I don’t want you to miss your flight,’ I say to them.
‘I’ll get another one. This is important. Where’s Javier? I must see him.’
‘Wait here. I’ll go and check next door.’
‘Is there something wrong?’ she asks.
‘I’m not sure,’ I answer but my heart is hammering and my mouth has dried up. ‘I won’t be long. Make a coffee or pour a drink.’
The street is bathed in yellow light but Mrs Green’s house is in darkness and looks empty. The windows are black and bare. Then I think I see a flicker of a shadow or is it a torch upstairs in the front bedroom?
In seconds I am over the wall and at the front door. I pause wondering if I should ring the bell but I’m surprised to find the door ajar so I push it open.
Inside, the hallway is silent and in darkness, I take a step forward and cross the thresh-hold. There’s a chill in the empty house and I shiver. Walking home I was weary but now my body is wired; taught and tense and I grasp my mobile reassuringly.
The sound of scraping comes from upstairs like something being dragged over floorboards so I take a step forward to listen. The lounge is empty. Mrs Green’s belongings are packed and gone. The leather sofa and the family photographs are all gone. The grandfather clock no long ticks whirls or chimes in the hall and even the heavy damask curtains have been removed.
A thud from upstairs startles me. My heart rate increases and I tremble as I did when I was left alone in the caravan as a child so I breathe slowly. I know fear.
As a precaution I tilt my mobile to the streetlight from the window and dial the emergency services number. Now I only have to press the green button and I will be connected immediately. I’m not going to take unnecessary risks. I pause at the foot of the stairs and concentrate on my breathing hoping it will calm the irregular beating of my thumping heart.
The house is silent as if the soul has gone, leaving bare walls and hollow floorboards.
I’m about to call out but murmuring voices caution me then a man groans.
Roy? Javier? Where is Annie?
I tiptoe upstairs and peer around the banister and I am reminded of the night I crept in and stole the Vermeer but this time, in the large bedroom at the back of the house, footsteps echo on the wooden boards as someone paces backwards and forwards. A dim light casts strange disproportionate shadows on the wall like an illusionists trick so I take another cautionary step forward. Inside the bedroom Annie is leaning against the wall. I open my mouth to call out but then she turns away and her hair is tangled and matted. Her shirt buttons are torn and blood drips down her cheek. Clutching my phone I inch forward my hand resting reassuringly on the wooden banister.
Roy’s shaking voice crackles through the darkness. ‘Annie, I swear you’ll never get away with this.’
I step forward, the floorboard creaks and Annie spins around her green eyes blazing like headlights.
‘Mikky? Thank God you’re here! I was going to call you.’
I move warily into the room.
Roy’s head hangs on his chest. His hands are bound behind his back and his ankles tied to the legs of an upright chair. There is a large wound on the side of his temple and blood drips down the front of his denim shirt.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Don’t!’ Annie shouts and as she holds out a poker that I recognise from the hearth downstairs, Mrs Green’s large diamond ring glistens on her blood stained fingers.
‘Why is Roy tied up?’
‘He attacked me.’
‘You can put that down now, Annie. I’ll call the police.’ I hold up my phone to show her what I’m about to do.
She wipes perspiration from her forehead onto the back of her sleeve and glances from me to Roy. Her breathing is laboured and her voice shakes. ‘I haven’t got his confession yet.’ She backs away from me and circles Roy like a predatory barn owl studying its prey before the kill. She flexes her fingers around the handle of the poker.
‘Annie, stop. You can’t do this.’
Roy spits blood from his mouth. ‘Stupid bitch! Why would I kill my own mother?’
‘For the painting.’ Annie circles him.
‘It’s not real. It’s a fake.’ He speaks slowly shaking his head as if words are an effort.
‘But, you didn’t know that, did you?’ Annie moves closer to him. ‘You thought it was the original. You wanted her money.’
‘I’m going to call the police, Annie. This is wrong.’ I raise my mobile but quicker than a bolt of lightning the poker cracks down on my wrist. The bone splits and I scream. The pain is unexpected and I slump to my knees gasping and holding my hand while my mobile crashes to the floor.
‘You stupid woman.’ She leans over me and shouts in my ear. ‘Stupid, stupid, woman! Why did you make me do that?’
‘She’s nuts.’ Roy shakes his head.
I’m dizzy and my throbbing wrist makes me want to vomit.
Roy shouts, ‘Don’t Annie!’
She turns away and spying my mobile she stamps on it and kicks it in across the room. I reach out but she boots me in the shoulder, knocking me off balance and sending me flying backwards against the wall. Pain is reverberating through my body and as I shuffle to sit up I am holding my wrist and weig
hing up my options.
‘Where’s Javier?’ I demand.
‘She’s killed him,’ Roy replies. ‘You see what she’s like. She charmed you but this is the real Annie.’
‘Shut up – let me think.’ She whacks his arm with the poker and he screams.
‘No!’ I shout.
‘I tried to warn you.’ Roy coughs. His face is twisted in pain. ‘I didn’t want her in your house – painting for you.’
Annie steps forward and with the tip of the poker she slowly lifts his chin, tilting his face to one side. One of his eyes is completely swollen and closed. ‘You’re not so brave now are you, Roy Green? You thought that by taking Max away from me, you would control me.’
‘I took Max away from you because you scare him.’
‘Liar!’
‘You frightened my mother too! With your stupid stories of murder and death.’
‘She was a slow old woman.’
‘She was my mother.’
Annie cracks the poker on the back of his chair and I jump.
‘I’ve only just started on you,’ she hisses in his ear. ‘You haven’t even begun to suffer yet.’
‘You can have it all. You can have everything.’
‘You’re a liar.’
‘So what are you going to do, murder me? Is that the plan?’ Roy’s breathing is harsh and when he coughs a spasm of pain flickers across his face. ‘You were going to kill me and make it look like self-defence, but now what? You can’t kill us all.’
‘Where’s Javier?’ I shout.
In the scant light I see a flash of cold steel as Annie pulls a knife from the waistband of her trousers. Her eyes are cold and calculating as she raises the blade at Roy.
A sense of calmness and determination descend on me and as she plunges the weapon I move quickly unfolding my legs and lunge myself at her. Roy senses my attack and with the bound chair strapped to him we both hurl ourselves at Annie and in one quick, deft movement we all collide in the air. It’s like slow motion as my cheek crushes Roy’s shoulder, my hip bounces against something hard and I spin away falling backwards. Annie’s flailing arm catches my chin and the knife spins from her grasp. There’s a crack and a thud as Roy and the chair collapse in a heap and the poker smacks on the wooden floor. Someone moans then it’s quiet. My feet are trapped under the weight of their bodies, something sticky trickles down my leg, my wrist throbs and my chest heaves.
‘Mikky?’ A man shouts from downstairs. ‘Javier? Oh, my goodness, Mikky?’ Andreas appears in the doorway.
Andreas is surprisingly strong and he works quickly, dragging Roy and the chair off my legs. He unties his hands and lays him gently on the floor then he lifts Annie’s hips and I slide my numb foot away and kneel beside her motionless body.
Andreas feels her pulse and shakes his head, his eyes are wide in disbelief.
Roy is groaning and blood covers the floor.
Outside sirens whine in the street and voices call out.
‘Upstairs!’ Andreas shouts back. Then he turns to me and says more quietly. ‘It looks like she hit her head. She’s not moving.’
I stand up holding my throbbing wrist and I lean on his shoulder, wiping blood from my face onto my arm. ‘I must find Javier.’ I push past him and stumble out onto the landing, throwing open doors, calling his name until I reach the front bedroom where the Vermeer was hanging. Now the room is empty; the bed, curtains and carpet are all gone but Javier is lying curled up on the floor with his back to me.
I slide down onto the floor and turn his body toward me. The room swims. My head is fuzzy with white noise and my vision goes dark as I lose consciousness.
When I open my eyes a colourful eagle with a large beak flutters before me, I am flying through the air but gentle and firm hands touch my throbbing wrist and through my hazy vision I recognise a familiar face.
‘I know you – this has happened before,’ I mumble, struggling to recall the details.
‘You’re right,’ she says cheerfully. ‘I hope this isn’t becoming a habit. You called us a few months ago. You saved an old lady who live here…’
Javier is alive. When I hobble into the street they are loading him into the ambulance. I push past Josephine and Andreas and throw myself at him just before the door closes.
‘You look worse than me,’ he says.
I hold up my left wrist for him to look at. ‘The bitch hit me with a poker.’
‘She smashed my leg and cracked a few ribs.’
‘At least she left your handsome face alone.’
The ambulance girl with the tattoo has a syringe in her hand. ‘Painkiller,’ she says.
I ignore her and Javier says. ‘I’ll be out of action for a while but at least my hands aren’t damaged. I’ll still be able to paint.’ He holds up his scraped and bleeding knuckles.
‘What happened?’
‘I’d just arrived home and Annie phoned. She told me Roy was threatening her so I went round but Roy jumped me.’
‘Roy?’
‘He still thinks I have the Vermeer–’
‘So, how did–?’
‘She smacked him on the head. I think she knocked him unconscious. It’s all a little fuzzy but Roy’s first wife killed herself and he turned to gambling. Annie was a croupier. Is she alright?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I say.
‘Where are they? Where’s Roy?’
‘In another ambulance.’
‘And the painting? Where do you think it is, Mikky? What do you think happened to it?’
I look away distracted by the girl with the eagle on her hand who is pushing the needle into his arm.
‘Did you take it?’ he asks.
‘Get some rest.’ I kiss him on the cheek and jump out just before she slams the ambulance door behind me.
After making a police statement and explaining my version of events I return home with Josephine and Andreas. It’s past midnight and my body is filled with dull pain and I stretch my neck and my shoulders to ease my throbbing head. My wrist is swollen and bandaged but I manage to pull a vodka bottle from the cupboard without any problem and I wave it at them.
‘Want some?’
‘I’d prefer brandy,’ replies Josephine.
‘Me too,’ says Andreas.
I pour them generous measures of Courvoisier and sliding Josephine a large glass across the kitchen counter, I say.
‘You might as well stay the night. It’s too late to go anywhere. Andreas can have Javier’s room and you can have mine.’
Andreas sips his drink. His shirt is bloody. ‘May I have a shower?’ he asks.
‘Of course.’
We leave Josephine in the lounge and I find him fresh towels and together we make Javier’s bed with clean sheets. ‘I appreciate your help tonight – thank you.’
‘I’ve never seen a dead body before,’ he says. ‘Have you?’
‘Only my mother’s.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘No, I mean about what happened tonight. I should have gone with you.’
‘You weren’t to know. Javier will be alright – that’s the main thing.’
‘You were fortunate.’ His voice and manner are both grave.
‘Well, maybe my luck is finally changing,’ I smile, kiss him on the cheek and leave him to shower and sleep.
The central heating has gone off and the room feels chilly so I pull a sweater over my head and Josephine sits shivering in her coat while we wait for the room to heat up.
‘The brandy will warm you,’ I say. ‘Go to bed and get some rest.’
The nervous energy that she had earlier in the evening when she arrived has been spent. Her eyes are bright but the dark circles under them only emphasis her grey pallor. She yawns then sips her brandy and lays her head back and closes her eyes.
‘Thank goodness Javier is all right. I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to him or–’
‘His hands aren’t damaged. That was his main concern.’
‘How awful everything is,’ she says.
‘It was a trap.’
‘Did Roy kill his mother for the painting?’
‘I’m beginning to think both of them are capable of it. I had no idea Annie was so aggressive. Mrs Green was such a dear old lady. I really miss her. She deserved better…’
‘Will he be prosecuted?’ Josephine breaks into my reverie.
‘The police have gone with him to the hospital.’
My eyes begin to close and I yawn. ‘Poor Max will be devastated without his mother. He loved her so much. He’ll be another child growing up without his mother’s love,’ I mumble.
I am thinking of another child in another country, in my other life. It will be a hard life for him. I remember the effect it had on me. Even though we didn’t get on my world turned upside down when Mama died. The smell of damp and paraffin oil in the caravan still haunts me and I remember the times I slept outside on a worn mattress under the stars looking up at the night sky listening to crickets clicking their legs in unison. They were my childhood lullaby and I am suddenly a child again overwhelmed with loneliness and I swallow the lump growing at the back of my throat knowing it’s the aftermath of shock and it will pass.
I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on breathing deeply. I’m lying hidden on an empty pew at the back of a church, my cheek resting on my hands like a pillow. The lingering smell of incense envelopes me, and the haunting tune of Pan Angelicas comes into my dream and I believe I can sing. My voice echoes in the confines of the closed, dark church and I am a lone choirboy with a falsetto voice.
A hand soothes my forehead pushing wispy strands of hair from my face and a gentle voice whispers comforting words of love: soft words of apology, guilt and doubt. The Virgin Mary looks down on me. She couldn’t protect me, any more than she could protect her son from his destiny but she knows he is The Chosen One just as she was chosen as the Holy Vessel to bring him into this cruel world. A mother’s love, a mother’s sacrifice and my pain, neglect and sorrow, are all stroked away by soft caressing hands and my soul is released – transposed into softness and joy and I sleep; finally released from the demons that continually haunt me.