by Gould, R J
The Reunion – R J Gould
Chapter 26
Bridget called David to wish him a Happy New Year on the dot of midnight as Jools Holland was finishing the countdown. Sam and Rachel were still up watching the television show; David left them in the lounge and took the phone into the kitchen. There would be no mention of the concert and no need to say anything about Mary. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d done anything wrong – all the chasing had come from her. “I’ve missed you,” he said.
“Missed you, too.”
Although responding to the first kiss was just to be polite, he had been a tiny bit aroused. But that was no more than a man’s normal physiological reaction. “When do you get back?”
“Late tomorrow evening.”
Yes, Mary had looked great. But there was nothing wrong in appreciating another woman’s attractiveness. “When can we meet up?”
“Sunday. Come over round tea time. There’s something I need to tell you.”
That was good news; he would be seeing Bridget before having to deal with Mary back at work. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Mary, but he knew how he would act. Polite. Professional. Friendly. Detached.
The second kiss had been very enjoyable; in fact if he were truthful the whole evening with Mary had been enjoyable. “Great, see you then.”
“Bye.”
“Bye, Bridget.” But not nearly as enjoyable as being with Bridget.
~
They sat on a sofa in Bridget’s lounge drinking peppermint tea. A Sade CD was playing. He edged closer and kissed her. Her response was a little clipped; he sensed tension which matched his own because he was considering owning up about Mary.
Bridget pulled away just as Sade sang ‘I will be your friend until the end of time, I will be your friend I'm here to make you smile.’
“Will you be my friend until the end of time?” David asked.
“There’s something I need to tell you, David.”
“But will you?”
“Listen please.”
“I am listening,” he said as he stretched across to kiss her again. A New Year, a new, more assertive approach to cementing their partnership was his tactic.
“This is important, please stop,” Bridget ordered with a raised voice.
A surprised David edged away, switching his gaze to her anxious face. “I am listening,” he repeated solemnly.
“There’s something you have to know. Roland didn’t die in an accident, I killed him. You’re in the same room as a murderer.”
David expected a smile but she remained serious. She had a great sense of humour, dark and cynical. The punch line to a joke was about to follow. He allowed the pause to build up, but nothing ensued. He broke the silence. “Don’t be silly, Bridget.”
“I’m not. It’s true. I killed him and I was lucky not to get caught. I can thank my dad for that.”
“You’re telling me you murdered Roland and your father helped you do it? I don’t believe you.”
“Well my father wasn’t there when I did it, but he made sure I got off scot free. Let me tell you what happened.”
David nodded, still half anticipating an amusing twist.
“You already know a bit about what Roland was like; not all the nasty details because there’s no need to. And dad and mum were aware of how unpleasant Roland had become, they saw it every time I visited. They’d never liked him in the first place and warned me off marrying him, but who listens to parents about things like that.
“One day when I went to see them they could tell I’d been crying, not much detective work needed for that. The night before Roland hadn’t come home and when I’d asked what was going on, he told me he’d been with one of his students. He did some part-time teaching at the art college and seducing students was his favourite pastime. I’d had enough – I told him that was it between us and he let fly. My mum eked out the sordid details of our relationship and I admitted that our marriage was a complete joke. They were worried that a separation would be awful for their grandchildren.
“What I told you the first time round about what she and dad suggested is true. They volunteered to look after Andy and Kay and to pay for a holiday to see if there was any chance of sorting things out.
“I had no enthusiasm to go along with their idea because to my mind we were finished, but they urged me to try one last time and I relented. I searched the web and came across a lovely cottage in the Scottish Highlands by the sea. I booked the flights and the car. By then our social lives were pretty well apart, but it didn’t need much persuading to get Roland to come along. He was always ready to grab something given to him for free.
“I decided I might as well be positive, to make an effort to rekindle something. But it was hopeless from the outset. Starting with the train journey to the airport, he was as unfriendly and deriding as ever, and I knew being stuck together in a relative wilderness for ten days would be a nightmare. True to form the first week was hell and I counted down the days to get back to London. Roland was probably doing the same. There were four days left.”
~
“My turn to drive, Roland. Let’s head north, the guide book says there are stunning views a few miles away.”
“I don’t want another fucking walk. I never thought I’d say this, but can’t we find somewhere with shops or a cinema or even a bowling alley?”
“Tell you what, let’s make this the last one then head back to Inverness tomorrow and spend some time there.”
“I don’t fancy this, I’m knackered.”
Bridget grabbed his hand in an act of friendship, but he pulled away. “Come on,” she urged. “The last walk. Tomorrow we’ll book the fanciest hotel in Inverness, one with a spa. Then we can lie around relaxing for a few days.”
In silence they collected their boots, rainwear and the packed lunches Bridget had prepared. Their phones remained where they had put them on the first day, on the kitchen table. Since there was no reception there was no point taking them.
Bridget drove while Roland cursorily flicked through the guide book. He looked thoroughly miserable. “Where the hell are we heading?” he asked after they had been travelling for a little under half an hour.
“I’ve got a rough idea though it hardly matters, it’s all so beautiful.” And it was – the scenery was stunning. A blue sky illuminated the patches of snow that remained in the dips below the rugged peaks; they were dazzlingly bright. Waterfalls tumbled then crashed against the rock faces. Lower down the bare grey-brown rocks gave way to meadows of purple and yellow flowers.
It was still well outside the mainstream tourist season and even the major roads were traffic free. When they turned onto smaller roads the scenery was theirs alone to savour. Finally they went along little more than a track and reached a harsh rocky terrain facing out towards the distant sea. They got out.
“Ready?” Bridget asked, her smile and light tone attempting to illicit less resistance from Roland.
“If we must,” he uttered, avoiding eye contact.
Roland strode off, head down, lost in his own dark thoughts. Bridget trailed behind, crossing the uneven ground with care. Her husband kept going, not once turning back to check on her wellbeing. No attempt to wait for her, no conversation, no interest.
“It’s over,” Bridget muttered, “it really is over.”
She stopped to investigate the discomfort on her left foot. Sitting on a large smooth rock she took off her boot and sock to see the damage. There was a painful blister on the protruding joint of her big toe. She looked back towards their starting point, admiring the rugged beauty of the cliffs behind her. Then she heard Roland call out and she turned back towards the sea.
“Look at this,” she could make out against the roar of the water. The tide was coming in, she noticed. He was smiling as he came running towards her.
“Careful Roland, it’s slippery.”
He kept going and she saw what he was holding up in his right hand, a giant crab. That
smile was well known to her. Malicious.
“Catch this,” he called out when he was still some distance away. He leant back, swung his arm and hurled the crab towards Bridget. It landed with a crunch on a rock a few paces in front of her, its shell crushed to pieces, its pincers twisted. The noise of the crab’s landing was followed by a much heavier thud as Roland toppled from the rock he had been perched on, dropping down onto the jagged terrain below.
Bridget remained seated for a few seconds, her wish for calm silence disturbed by the breaking of waves and the shrieking of gulls.
“Roland? Are you OK?” Bridget called out as she replaced her sock and boot. With little urgency she walked towards her husband and saw him lying quite still on the edge of a rock pool. He was out cold and blood was running from a gash at the side of his head, turning the water pink and sending a group of tiny crabs scurrying for safety. The left side of his face was resting in the water.
Bridget considered options as she gently shook Roland, trying to rouse him. “Wake up will you.” And one option was so easy she couldn’t resist it. She turned his head a fraction so that his face was angled downwards. Next she moved him sideways just a tiny bit until his nose and mouth were fully immersed under water. She watched as the pool reddened further and air bubbles escaped, marking Roland’s last breath.
Bridget took out a cheese sandwich from her backpack. She looked up. The tide was advancing quickly so she’d have to get a bit of a move on or else the sea might trap her. She removed the cling film from the sandwich and took a first bite as she headed back to seek the help that she knew was already too late.
~
“Much of the rest of what happened is what I told you first time round, except for what was going on in my head. Instead of any panic that I had to find help, there was relief that I didn’t need to. I strolled back to the car, though not too slowly in case someone saw me. Then I drove towards the small cluster of cottages that we’d passed on the way there. In all it took about an hour and a half before I was banging on the door of one that had smoke coming out its chimney. An old lady greeted me. ‘My husband’s out there,’ I said, pointing behind me. ‘He fell over, he’s injured and out cold.’ She phoned the emergency services then made me a strong cup of tea with loads of sugar and a tot of whisky. I acted as if I was panic stricken, which wasn’t such an act because I was getting paranoid about the chance of being found out. All those TV dramas I’d watched about the police uncovering what the perpetrators had thought was the perfect crime.
“Eventually two policemen arrived. The older one, he must have been very close to retirement, was very kind. He explained that the tide had advanced well beyond the point where I’d left Roland, by now it would have reached the cliff edge. I knew that would be the case, but I had a good go at gasping in shock. He then told me that a rescue team had already set off by boat. I carried on with my show of grief, sobbing ‘I’ve killed my husband.’ As soon as I said it I wished I hadn’t because while the one policemen was consoling me with ‘there’s a good chance the boat will have got to him’ the other one kept quiet and frowned with what looked like recognition of over acting and as a result, suspicion.”
Bridget went on to describe calling her parents. Her father travelled up to Scotland to support her while her mother consoled the children. He arrived at the cottage two days after the incident, on the same day Roland’s body was washed ashore. Bridget was in the middle of telling him what happened when there was a knock on the door and the policeman who had appeared suspicious came in to break the news. Throughout her whole time there Bridget only saw the two who had first arrived on the scene; it was that small a place.
“Can I have a word with you alone please, officer?” Bridget’s father requested and the two men went into the kitchen and closed the door behind them. Bridget heard unclear murmurings. When they came back into the sitting room her father announced he would be the one to identify the body. She questioned why and he came straight to the point. “Because I’m afraid it’s nothing more than the remains of a body, it’s best if you keep away.”
Bridget had burst out crying, an unexpectedly genuine feeling of sadness for Roland’s state. Later her father explained he had deliberately elicited grief to allay any distrust the policeman might have ahead of the regulatory autopsy.
Her father was a forensic scientist and knew what was needed to prevent the coroner’s suspicion. He made a point of befriending him ahead of the session, reminiscing about past gruesome cases and the substantial differences between working in Oxford and rural Scotland. Bridget was briefed on how to act during the post-mortem, in particular to describe everything as accurately as possible until the point when she had moved Roland’s head into the water and held him down. If asked about their relationship she was to avoid indicating all was fine, even admit to difficulties if pushed, in case a decision was made to call outside witnesses.
Accidental death by drowning was recorded and a relieved Bridget followed her father back to Inverness where they deposited their hire cars and flew back to London together.
~
“What do you think of all that, David?” Bridget asked. “I’m a murderer.”
“Hardly. Even if you’d done nothing more than leave him there, he would still have drowned. It’s not as if you would have been able to carry him to safety.”
“Maybe not, but I made sure, didn’t I? And the whole thing still hangs over me.”
David moved closer and put an arm around her. “I can understand that, but in case you’re worried, it doesn’t affect how I feel towards you.”
Bridget smiled her first smile of the New Year.
The Reunion – R J Gould
Chapter 27
Four women were central to his life and problems with each of them were piling on the pressure. To cap it all, there was the possibility of a massive transformation to consider – quitting his job and opening the café. How things had changed from the pleasant simplicity of a couple of weeks ago. The unfulfilled night with Bridget, but with the certainty that it was only a matter of time before they were in a relationship. A tyrannical boss making the case for leaving the local authority clear cut. His increased confidence in being able to cope to all effects and purposes as a single parent.
Bridget topped the pressure list. She had asked him to leave as soon as she had recounted the events around the death of Roland. ‘Death’ was his choice of word, she continued to use ‘murder’. She was adamant he should have time to think about the impact of knowing this. He declared there no need – that the death didn’t influence his feelings towards her. She wouldn’t have it so he relented and agreed to call her the next evening. On the drive home he switched on the radio to dismiss his emerging feeling that perhaps there was an issue after all.
There was a discussion about deceit and infidelity on Radio 4 which allowed him to switch his thoughts to Mary. While there had been no infidelity in this case, maybe not telling Bridget about Mary’s involvement during the evening of the concert could be defined as deceitful. He had no idea what to expect tomorrow, the first day back at work after the Christmas break. On arrival he’d go straight to Jabulani. He was undecided whether to raise the topic of Mary, but he’d certainly find out more about the drugs raid. At least then he’d have a topic of conversation with Mary to distract her from talking about the ‘other thing’. He wasn’t convinced that all the flirting had come from her, perhaps he had contributed. It was all down to their tongues meeting during that last kiss. If her tongue had journeyed into his mouth then she was solely to blame and there would be nothing to tell Bridget. If he had extended his to meet hers half way then it was a shared responsibility. He still wouldn’t tell Bridget, but he would be being deceitful.
Tomorrow was also the start of the new school term for the children, Rachel’s return following her drunken escapade. After the visit to his mother she had spent the rest of the holiday revising for forthcoming examinations, refusing to answer any questio
ns about her personal life. David heard earnest whispered conversations when he passed her bedroom. He assumed they were with her boyfriend. With school starting they would be together again and there was nothing David could do to stop it. Though why should he? Sixteen year olds date. But what was this boyfriend like and how well did he treat his Rachel?
And then there was Jane. It was the week when they had agreed to sign the financial settlement papers ahead of completing their divorce. This thought generated a bizarre cocktail of relief, remorse, regret, joy and failure for David.
Unable to sleep, he sat in the lounge drinking wine. Putting the women issues aside he focused on the café. For a man usually risk averse, quickly he made a bold decision. The way he saw it, the choice was between sitting at a desk surrounded by spreadsheets for the rest of his working life or setting up a coffee bar offering music, films and poetry. It had to be the coffee bar. Even if the end result was to be remembered as the man at the council who helped citizens to get funding to care for elderly relatives at a time of economic austerity, or the man who set up a coffee bar with great vision but insufficient customers for it to be a success – he’d still opt for the café. He wanted to make something of his life and this was the opportunity. With the decision made the detailed planning needed to begin.
He finished his third generous glass of Merlot and got ready for bed, hoping the wine would ease him into restful sleep. But as soon as he lay down he thought of Bridget. This was a common pastime in bed for David, but tonight’s line of thought was somewhat different to usual. From their first meeting at the reunion onwards he’d been enchanted by a woman who seemed to possess unlimited serenity and kindness. This perception had been challenged by Bridget owning up to murder. Mind you, it was only slightly a murder – Roland would have died anyway. But the concept of ‘slight murder’ didn’t make any sense and it certainly wouldn’t to the police, a lawyer, judge or jury.