Do Me No Harm

by Julie Corbin

  ‘It’s in the bag on the floor there, but it’s all wrapped up in tissue paper so better not take it out until we get home.’ I glance across at Robbie who’s in the passenger seat next to me. ‘We have to pick up your suit,’ I say to him. ‘I’ll stop on the yellow lines outside and you run in. It’s all paid for.’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘We’re not having that conversation again. I know you don’t want to wear it, but you’d look completely out of place in a grungy T-shirt and jeans.’

  ‘Oh my God, Mum!’ Lauren cries out. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

  I look in my rear-view mirror and see that she’s torn a small hole in the tissue paper and is fingering the silk.

  ‘Don’t get any marks on it, love, will you?’

  ‘I won’t. I promise.’ She leans back in the seat and closes her eyes. ‘This is going to be the best night of my life so far. I can feel it.’ She places a hand over her heart. ‘I can’t believe they’re sending a car for us.’ She sighs as if she’s just stumbled across the gateway to heaven. ‘Amber says it will probably be a stretch limo with a DVD player and a bar. Do you think it will be?’

  ‘I doubt it, Lauren. The council’s budget won’t stretch to that.’

  Robbie rolls his eyes.

  ‘Don’t,’ I mouth towards him. ‘Don’t spoil it for her.’

  I’m itching to ask him about Tess Williamson but can’t do it in front of Lauren. She’s had trouble sleeping these past two weeks and most nights she has found her way into my bed. She’s ten times more worried about Robbie’s near-miss with death than he is, and no amount of reassurance has helped, mostly because we don’t have an explanation for what happened. While Robbie can just shrug his shoulders and accept whatever life throws at him, Lauren needs to be able to understand the reasons behind each action, whether it’s something simple like jealousy between friends or the complicated machinations of her parents’ divorce. Much as I’ve not been looking forward to this award ceremony – my short speech is burning a hole in my handbag – I know it’s been a great diversion from the other stuff and has given Lauren the boost she needs.

  When we arrive home, she’s through the door like a shot. ‘I’m first in the shower!’ She runs off up the stairs and, seizing the moment, I follow Robbie into the kitchen. He dumps his school bag at his feet and opens the fridge door.

  ‘Robbie, do you know someone called Tess Williamson?’

  He pours himself a glass of milk and drinks it down before answering. ‘Don’t think so.’

  ‘She’s not at school with you?’

  ‘Not in my year.’ Now he’s in the cornflake packet, grabbing messy handfuls and chewing fast. ‘What does she look like?’

  ‘Short. Little bit plump. Brown hair, flat grey eyes. No remarkable features to speak of.’

  ‘Well then I’m hardly going to notice her, am I?’

  ‘Maybe you blanked her or were rude to her or something?’

  ‘How can I have done that when I haven’t even met her?’

  ‘She made an appointment to see me at the surgery. But she was only pretending to be ill.’

  He pauses his chewing.

  ‘It was all very suspicious.’ I can feel myself frowning. ‘I think she might know something.’

  ‘I see what’s going on here!’ He points a finger at me. ‘You’re turning into Miss Marple!’ The thought amuses him so much that he laughs and sprays some half-eaten cornflakes on the floor in front of him.

  ‘Robbie!’

  ‘All you need is a lilac cardigan.’ We both watch as Benson moves in to hoover up the crumbs. ‘And some brown lace-up shoes.’

  ‘Funny, ha, ha.’ I take my mobile out of my handbag and check for messages. Still nothing from O’Reilly. ‘I’d just like some closure on this thing, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘We might never get closure on it.’ He shrugs and gives me one of those looks that makes being a mother worthwhile. It’s a kind, almost indulgent look, and underneath it I can see that he loves me. ‘Mum, seriously, you need to stop worrying. It can’t be good for your health.’

  ‘Thank you for those words of wisdom, but it’s common knowledge that the moment you have your first child you can wave goodbye to ever being worry-free again.’

  The journey in the car could take for ever as far as Lauren’s concerned. ‘It’s just so awesome!’ There’s no DVD or mini-bar but the seats are leather and the windows tinted and it’s far more upmarket than the cars either Phil or myself drive. ‘Nobody can see in but we can see out.’ She smooths her dress down over her lap. It’s a raspberry pink chiffon with a swirl of sequins across the skirt. ‘This is the nicest dress I’ve ever had. Amber said she’s never seen a dress as pretty as this.’ She grins at Robbie. ‘You look really handsome. You don’t even look like my brother.’ He goes to swipe at her head and she ducks out of the way. ‘Don’t touch my hair!’

  The ceremony is taking place in the Assembly Rooms, and when we arrive we have to pause for a photograph taken by the Edinburgh Courier photographer. ‘We’re celebrities!’ Lauren exclaims, her enthusiasm infectious, and soon all three of us are smiling into the camera lens.

  Upwards of three hundred guests are gathering in the ballroom which is about fifty metres long and has large casement windows facing on to the front street. The room is painted in two shades of blue with white woodwork and opulent gold cornicing. Three massive chandeliers hang from the ceiling and the mirrors at either end reflect them into infinity. ‘It’s like a palace, Mum, isn’t it?’ Lauren says.

  ‘It’s a veritable glitter-fest,’ I say.

  Martin Trimble, who runs the centre, comes across to us. ‘Hello everyone. You all look lovely.’ His eyes home in on mine. ‘We need to work the floor, Liv. I’ve just seen William Nash go through into the drawing room at the end.’ He’s breathing fast, excited because there’s so much money in the room and it’s the perfect time for us to secure more funding. ‘Why don’t you tackle Nash and I’ll find Elizabeth Upton? I know she’s looking for a charity to support.’

  ‘Will do,’ I say. William Nash owns half a dozen timber yards around the city and we’ve heard on the grapevine that he’s keen to get involved in a good cause. I catch Robbie and Lauren’s attention. ‘Listen, you two,’ I say loudly, raising my voice above the hubbub around us. ‘I’m going to have to circulate. It said on our invites that there would be food and drink in the break-out rooms at either end. Help yourself and make sure you stay together.’ I look at Robbie. ‘Don’t leave your drink unattended.’

  ‘Mum, nothing’s going to happen to me here!’

  ‘Better to be safe than sorry.’ I kiss his cheek. ‘And look after your sister.’

  I watch them walk away, Lauren skipping and Robbie sauntering, and feel a swell of love for them both. William Nash is more than amenable to talk about contributing to the centre and I give him a rundown on what we do and where more funding is needed. ‘I run a clinic two evenings a week,’ I tell him. ‘A lot of my work involves directing clients to the right services. We could use a part-time paid member of staff to organise follow-ups, as often clients just disappear back into the world and we don’t hear from them again.’

  He agrees that this sounds like an efficient way to spend money. We talk some more and then I move on to another donor, and another, until an hour has gone by and I’m in need of something to eat. Waiters are circulating with -champagne and I’ve already swallowed too much of it. I look around to locate Robbie and Lauren, who have teamed up with another couple of children and are happily tucking into the buffet. I’m at the other end of the long table and I choose a couple of mini-quiches and some smoked-salmon blinis and put them on my plate. Over the past year, when I’ve been reluctantly socialising, I’ve felt an acute absence of Phil, like the fourth wheel came off the car and I can’t move forwards without it, but this evening I’m not missing him. Progress! I smile to myself.

  ‘Share the joke?’

  I swivel towards the v
oice and do a double-take. It’s DI O’Reilly.

  ‘I’m not stalking you,’ he says, handing me another glass of champagne. ‘My ex-wife’s up for one of the awards. She trained as a social worker and has been director of a kids’ project in Wester Hailes for the last five years.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ I aim a friendly punch to his shoulder, and it’s his turn to do a double-take. ‘Sorry!’ I cram a vol-au-vent into my mouth. ‘Too much drink and not enough food.’ I swallow the mushroom filling. ‘And nerves.’ Then a lump of puff pastry. ‘And now I’m talking with my mouth full. Anyway . . . fantastic that you’re on such good speaking terms with your wife that she asked you along.’

  ‘I expect it was one of my two daughters who forced her to ask me.’

  I choose another vol-au-vent and try to eat it more gracefully this time, the alcohol in my bloodstream leading me off into my imagination where I picture what O’Reilly’s wife might be like. My thoughts run the gamut from small and willowy with an enigmatic smile, to tall and substantial with a bawdy sense of humour.

  ‘I take it the other Dr Somers isn’t here?’ O’Reilly says, surveying the array of finger foods.

  ‘He would have to bring his new woman with him.’ I let my eyes roll with exaggerated disapproval. ‘They’re joined at the hip.’

  ‘As are my wife and her new woman.’

  I lean towards him, not sure that I heard correctly, the laughter of the man next to me drowning out his words. ‘Her new woman?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Ah . . .’ I make a sorry face. ‘Well, I’m sure it was nothing you did – or didn’t – do.’

  ‘It’s quite common now, apparently.’ He tips an oyster into his mouth and swallows it down. ‘Women in their forties becoming lesbians.’

  ‘Is it? I thought sexuality was an absolute.’

  ‘Not any more. It’s the modern “We can all make ourselves up as we go along” attitude.’

  ‘Talking about making things up,’ I say, ‘any luck with Tess Williamson?’

  He nods. ‘Bullworks spoke to her earlier this evening. In fact, he’d spoken to her already because she was in the pub that night.’

  ‘Really?’ The man beside me is still guffawing and I move a foot in towards O’Reilly so that I can hear him better. ‘So what’s her story?’

  ‘She was out for the evening and was sitting at an adjacent table with some friends of hers. CCTV and witness statements confirm this. None of them knows Robbie personally, but when they were leaving the pub, they saw him lying on the pavement and the paramedics arriving to treat him. She said it upset her and that she wanted to follow it up.’

  ‘Does that ring true to you?’

  ‘There’s no reason to suspect her or any of her friends of anything sinister. They all came forward without prompting.’ He spears a tiger prawn with a cocktail stick. ‘Have you asked Robbie whether he knows her?’

  ‘He says he doesn’t.’ I take a sip of champagne then think better of it and put the glass down on the table. ‘And it still doesn’t explain why she lied about where she goes to school.’

  ‘Everyone lies to their doctor, don’t they?’

  ‘About how much they smoke and drink, maybe, but she brought the subject of school up.’ I take a glass of water from a circulating waiter’s tray. ‘I really think she knows something. She bolted from my consultancy room like her life depended on it.’

  ‘Her behaviour is odd, I agree.’ He shrugs, as if it’s all a mystery to him. ‘There’s something going on with her, but it may well have nothing to do with the case.’

  I glance along the table to where Robbie and Lauren are still standing talking to the other children. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re here.’ I raise my glass to him. ‘I automatically feel safer.’

  He tips his head at the compliment.

  ‘I know I’ve been a bit pushy,’ I say.

  ‘On the contrary, I’ve begun to look forward to our daily chats.’

  ‘I bet you say that to everyone.’

  He gives me an unreadable look that makes me wish there was a thought bubble coming out of his head. Leila’s right, he does have a sort of craggy attractiveness that several glasses of champagne have only amplified.

  ‘My friend Leila thinks you look like a young Sean Connery,’ I blurt out.

  ‘I’ve had that before.’

  ‘I don’t suppose the comparison does you any harm.’

  He steps back and looks at me from my feet to my eyes. ‘Good dress, by the way,’ he says, knocking back another oyster. ‘You’ve been hiding quite a figure under that doctor’s coat.’

  ‘I don’t wear a doctor’s coat.’ His eyes are smiling and I feel the hot coals of attraction glow in my stomach. I’m not dead below the waist after all, then. Leila would be proud of me. The thought makes me laugh and I say with narrowed eyes, ‘Detective Inspector, we’re not flirting, are we?’

  ‘Dear me, no. I wouldn’t trust myself with a woman like you. Too brainy for the likes of me.’ He makes a regretful face. ‘And I can’t imagine what you’d want with a crusty old copper like me.’

  The champagne has made me bold and I hold O’Reilly’s eyes as I imagine quite a few things I’d like to do with him; things that would warrant a private room, warm hands and detailed attention to parts of the body that don’t normally see much daylight.

  ‘Caviar tastes weird,’ Lauren says, appearing at my side, her cheeks flushed and her eyes buzzing.

  ‘It’s an acquired taste,’ O’Reilly tells her, breaking away from my stare.

  ‘People always say that, but what does it actually mean?’

  ‘It means that if you eat it often enough you grow to appreciate the flavours.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the MC interrupts. ‘If you would all be good enough to take your seats. The time has come for us to present our guests of honour with their awards.’

  ‘Good luck,’ O’Reilly says, and I smile my thanks as we take our designated chairs towards the front.

  I’m up against three other nominees – not O’Reilly’s wife; she’s in a different category – and the MC gives the lowdown on each of our achievements before announcing the winner. When I hear my name called, I’m aware of hugs from the children and Martin before walking on to the stage, concentrating very hard on not tripping up. My speech is short and to the point and I stare out into the sea of faces, thanking Martin, who’s given body and soul to the project, and the rest of the staff at the centre, many of whom are volunteers. The award I’m presented with is a small glass plaque on a walnut stand, and when I’m back in my seat, I give it to Lauren to hold. She traces her fingers over the raised gold script and says, ‘This is really special, Mum.’

  The rest of the evening passes in a blur of promises and congratulations. I don’t get the chance to talk to O’Reilly again but I see him on the other side of the room with a couple of girls in their late teens who must be his daughters. Twice I catch his eye. We both smile and I let myself hope that maybe, when all this is over, he’ll ask me out and we’ll get to know each other properly.

  Then, in no time at all, we’re back in the car and home again. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll drive in a limo again.’ Lauren stands at the kerb, her expression wistful as she watches the car drive away.

  ‘I think you will, my sweet.’ I kiss the top of her head. ‘I think there are many sunny days ahead for you.’

  Robbie unlocks the front door and we all go inside. ‘Where’s Benson?’ he says, missing the usual rush of dog to our feet.

  ‘Maybe we shut him in the kitchen, did we?’ I ask, trying to think back, my clarity concealed in a fog of alcohol and tiredness and – dare I admit it? – interest in Sean O’Reilly, with his knowing eyes and brusque, masculine charm.

  ‘He was on the stairs when we left.’

  ‘What’s that smell?’ Lauren wrinkles up her nose and sniffs the air.

  I breathe in deeply. ‘Smells like paint,’ I say. ‘How weird.’


  ‘I’ll follow the smell and find out,’ Lauren says, and she walks forward. ‘It’s not coming from upstairs and it’s not coming from the kitchen.’

  I kick off my shoes – relief! – and join her outside the living-room door. Robbie is calling on Benson and has already walked past us both and through the kitchen into the back garden.

  ‘The smell’s coming from in here,’ Lauren says, her hand reaching along the living-room wall to find the light switch.

  My brain is slow to engage and it doesn’t occur to me that maybe I should stop her, that this smell can’t be innocent, and that in our absence someone has come into our house and left their mark. At a flick of the switch, the room fills with bright light that catches us both frozen, open-mouthed, as we’re smacked in the face by a message written on the facing wall – MURDERER – spelt out in block capitals. Each letter is over a foot tall and written in bright red paint, the colour of arterial blood, dripping off the end of the letters, running down the wall like massive, bloody tears.

  5

  We stand stock-still and stare at the wall and then at each other and then Lauren’s face crumples and she starts to sob. I pull her in towards me and she presses her face into my chest. I hold her there, incapable of thinking straight. My brain is frozen on the word MURDERER and is unable to move past it.

  ‘Benson was shut up in the shed. He was scratching away at the door,’ Robbie shouts as he comes through the kitchen. ‘I don’t know how that could have happened. Do you, Mum?’ And then he sees my face and Lauren’s tears. ‘What’s up?’ I stare at him wordlessly and he looks past me and into the living room. ‘What the fuck?’ He walks into the room and right up to the wall. ‘What crazy psycho did this?’ He looks back at me in amazement then reaches out and touches the edge of the letter M. ‘It’s already dry. Somebody must have come in and done this just after we left.’ He stands back and loosens his bow tie. ‘We’d better call the police.’