by Penny Kline
In the doorway of a secondhand bookshop a well-dressed man was bending over, groaning, doubled up in pain. I paused, wanting to help, but wary in case it was a ruse to force me to go closer so he could snatch my bag and run.
‘Are you all right?’ I kept my distance, hoping someone else would come along.
The man attempted to move away, then stopped, steadying himself against the wall. He was wearing a brown suede jacket and light-coloured trousers, and was rather good-looking, even though all the colour had drained from his face.
‘Are you all right?’ I repeated, jumping back, but not quickly enough, as he threw up, spattering vomit across the pavement. I thought I felt a few specks splash against my leg but it could have been my over-active imagination.
From the outside the sign — a silvery moon and stars against a blue-black sky — appeared to be the most attractive aspect of the place. The pub was on a corner, next to a United Reform Church. A stone clad building, with latticed windows, peeling frames, and two dingy brown doors, it could have done with several new coats of paint. A sign in the window announced that it was a Good Food Pub. I peered at the faded writing on a curled up menu attached to the glass — steak, fries and salad. Lasagna, fries and salad — and wondered if the day would come when no one cooked their own meals. Would Charlie’s generation be as horrified at the thought of peeling a potato as I was at the idea of replacing a broken zip?
Opening the door on the right I was met by a seething mass of bodies and a game of darts that was just visible through a cloud of smoke. A woman in a shiny raincoat squeezed past me.
‘I should try the other one, dear. They’re practising for the tournament. The noise is something awful.’
The saloon bar was silent apart from the faint beeping of the fruit machine. The landlady had her back turned, polishing glasses with a cloth, and two youngish men sat together talking in low voices. It was twenty to six, just about the time Nikki might have dropped in for a quick drink before returning home. Had it been a quick drink or had one thing led to another until she ended up spending most of the evening there?
I sat on a bar stool, ordered a drink, and gazed round at the rather lurid decor, trying to think of something complimentary to say.
‘Nice and warm in here.’ Falling back on the weather was as good a way as any.
‘Cold out, is it?’ The landlady made an effort to smile.
‘Not too bad. Looks like rain.’
She nodded. ‘Should bring the customers in then.’
‘Yes.’ There was nothing wrong with the place but, with all the trendy wine bars Nikki could have picked, I was surprised she had chosen somewhere so downmarket. Perhaps that was precisely what she liked about it.
‘I tried the other bar,’ I said, ‘but it was packed out.’
‘Live round here, do you?’
‘Cliftonwood, but I’m staying further out at present while my flat’s being repaired.’
She nodded, unwilling to get involved in a conversation about my domestic arrangements.
‘I’ve been away from Bristol for a time,’ I continued, ‘but I had a friend who said she used to come here quite often. Nikki Newsom.’
‘Nikki?’ The woman searched her memory. ‘Can’t recall …’ Then her expression changed and her hands moved up to her heavily made-up cheeks. ‘You don’t mean Nikki who —’
‘I worked with her a year or two back. Terrible thing to happen, wasn’t it.’
The two men, sitting together near the fireplace, had stopped talking. One of them stood up and walked towards the bar, holding their empty glasses in one hand. He glanced at me but said nothing, turning away to give his order to the landlady. ‘Same again please, Linda.’
‘This lady knew Nikki. Malcolm, I said this lady knew Nikki.’
‘Yes, I heard.’ The man called Malcolm had two rings in one ear and four in the other. His hair had been cut very short and dyed ash blond, almost white, so that the pink of his scalp showed through. ‘Haven’t caught who did it yet, well not as far as I’ve heard. Thought it’d be the husband, usually is.’
‘I suppose the police questioned all her friends,’ I said.
‘I suppose.’ Linda leaned her elbows on the bar. ‘But we never saw sight nor sound of them. It’s the kid I felt sorry for, must be too young to make any sense of it.’
Malcolm snorted. ‘Can you make any sense of it? Nikki was all right, bit crazy but so what, most people are so bloody boring.’
‘You knew her then,’ I said. ‘Listen d’you mind if I join you for a moment?’
He looked a little reluctant. ‘Only knew her to say hello. What was it you wanted?’ He jerked his head in the direction of his companion. ‘Rhys talked to her more than I did.’
I followed him back to his table and pulled up a chair.
‘She knew Nikki,’ said Malcolm flatly, ‘wants to ask us a few questions.’
‘I wondered if she had any friends she came here with,’ I said. ‘People from her office? I think there was someone called Ronnie?’
The two men looked at each other. ‘You say you used to work with her?’ said Rhys.
‘A holiday job, in a restaurant.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, well she was the type who talked to whoever was around at the time. What was it you wanted to know exactly? As far as we were concerned she was just … I suppose McGhee knew her best.’
‘McGhee?’
‘You don’t know him?’ Rhys made it sound as if not knowing McGhee disqualified me from being a close friend of Nikki’s. ‘Still, I sometimes got the impression she liked to keep the different parts of her life as separate as possible, all in their own little compartments.’
‘I knew a man once,’ said Malcolm, ‘used to come in every evening for a quick one, then make a big thing of how he had to rush home to his wife and kids. Turned out he lived on his own. No wife. No kids.’
The man called Rhys was making me feel uneasy. He kept staring at me, then looking away, smiling to himself.
‘Anyway,’ said Malcolm, making it clear the conversation was at an end, ‘McGhee’s the person you should be talking to, not us. At the time he was obsessed with finding out who killed her. Still, I reckon he’d been screwing her so it must’ve come as a bit of a shock.’
‘Does he come in here most days?’
‘Depends. He was here earlier on, but he wasn’t feeling too good. Stomach bug or something.’
‘What does he look like?’
Malcolm turned to Rhys. ‘How would you describe him?”
‘Tall, well-built, grey crew cut. Used to work for local radio, and before that he was an actor, or so he keeps telling us. Still thinks he’s God’s gift. Had his own show till he turned up pissed and they had to pull the plugs on him. If you give us your phone number we could ask him to get in touch.’
I hesitated. Did I really want ‘God’s gift’ phoning me up with a few anecdotes about how he had chatted up Nikki in the pub. On the other hand, I had no wish to keep dropping into The Night Sky, just on the off chance, and if Nikki and this McGhee had really been having an affair he could know something important. I scribbled my number on a beer mat, then added ‘Jean’, a name as far away from my image of myself as I could conjure up.
‘Jean what?’ said Malcolm.
‘Doesn’t matter. Just Jean will do.’
‘You look like a “Jean”,’ said Rhys.
*
Twenty minutes later I pulled up outside the annexe, switched off the engine and started searching around on the floor for the books that had slid off the passenger seat. The nearest street lamp was some distance away and its flickering bulb provided very little light. Letting my car door swing open without bothering to check, I almost hit a passer-by, and when I started to apologise I realised it was the woman from a house three or four doors down, out exercising her dog.
‘I’m sorry,’ I called, ‘I should have looked.’
‘No harm done.’ The white terrier was on
an extending lead the woman had started to haul in. ‘I hope you’re settling in all right. Missing being in your own home, I expect.’ She bent to try and calm the dog. ‘I’m Gayle Hedley.’
No point in introducing myself then. She knew all about me already and expected me to know about her too.
‘I believe you knew the previous tenant in the annexe,’ I said.
She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Tanya, of course I did. She moved to Cornwall, had relatives there, a sister and her husband, or was it a brother and his wife?’
‘Oh, I thought she’d changed her job.’
‘Did you? No, I don’t think she had another one to go to, although I’m sure there are always opportunities for someone with her experience.’
‘Anyway, the reason I mentioned it, someone phoned, wanting to speak to her.’
‘Really?’ The dog was sniffing at my shoe. Mrs Hedley tried to pull it away but without much success. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t a phone number, or even an address. Still, I’m sure she’ll let her friends know where she’s gone. I don’t expect he’ll bother you again.’
‘How old is she? I’m only asking because I think the caller may have confused —’
‘Tanya? D’you know, I couldn’t tell you. She was one of those people who could be anything between about twenty-eight and forty. A quiet, self-contained kind of person, kept herself to herself, but not unfriendly, no, I’d never say that. Sometimes I thought she looked a little depressed, but I expect that was because of losing her husband.’
‘He died? I thought —’
‘Oh no, just the usual, went off with another woman. That’s why she moved to the annexe. They had to sell their house and share the proceeds, not that she was one for complaining, talking about the past, but little snippets came out in dribs and drabs. I used to ask her in for a coffee sometimes, on a Monday when she had a day off from the shop, or in the early evening sometimes if my husband was out.’
‘She never mentioned any nuisance calls?’
‘Nuisance calls? You don’t mean cranks?’ She could hardly contain her excitement. ‘What did he say, dear? You can tell me — I won’t be shocked. They ask what colour knickers you’re wearing, but you mustn’t tell them or it just encourages them and —’
‘No, nothing like that. Just someone who didn’t realise she’d moved I expect.’ I bent to stroke the dog but it sprang back as if it thought I was going to give it a good whack.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Mrs Hedley in the kind of voice people use with an over-indulged child, ‘she’s a nice lady.’ She gave me a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t worry, when he knows you better he’ll be all over you.’
*
When the phone rang my elbow jerked, knocking over my glass of wine.
‘It’s me again,’ said the voice.
I felt my pulse quicken but made an effort to sound bored. ‘Look, this is really stupid. What is it you want?’
‘It’s a mistake, you know it is, carrying on like this when —’
‘I’ve already told you, I don’t know who you are and it’s a waste of time phoning like this unless you explain what you want.’
There was slight pause, a faint whistling sound like someone drawing in breath, then a soft click as the caller replaced his receiver.
Chapter Four
My new client was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. A good-looking woman in her late forties, with anxious eyes, she looked as if just reaching the building had been an ordeal and she wanted the introductions to be over as quickly as possible.
‘Mrs Hobson?’
She managed to get a grip on herself. ‘Yes, that’s right. You’re Dr McColl?’ Once in my room she relaxed a little, but sat with her knees pressed together and her handbag on her lap. ‘Do I speak first or do you? The reason I’m here, it’s boringly ordinary. My husband left me a year ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’
A nervous smile left her face as quickly as it had appeared. ‘You must hear stories like this every day of the week, only I wondered, is there some special technique, some way of coming to terms with being on your own? You see, I thought it would get better. Well, it did for a time, but recently I’ve found myself going over and over what happened, wondering if there was something I did wrong, something I could have done to prevent it.’
‘You’re feeling very depressed?’
Her shoulders twitched. ‘Not depressed exactly, sort of unreal. It’s as if the twenty-odd years we spent together meant nothing, have just been wiped out, destroyed, with no happy memories, just a feeling I must have been living in a fool’s paradise. I’ve done various part-time jobs in my life but I’ve never had what you’d call a career, so now … You see, my husband was a doctor, is a doctor, not that being a doctor’s wife is like it used to be but …’ She fidgeted with the catch on her bag. ‘It’s no good, I’ll have to tell you. I haven’t lied, not about my husband, but Hobson was my maiden name, my married name’s Newsom, Isabel Newsom. I’m Eric’s mother.’
I was thinking fast. She had chosen to see me precisely because I knew Eric — he must have mentioned my name — but it was all going to be far too complicated. Even if it really was her own problems she wanted to talk about she would have to see either Martin or Nick.
Aware of what I was thinking she leaned forward, imploring me with her eyes. ‘I know what you’re going to say but please, this is different.’ Then her expression hardened. ‘Anyway, if you won’t see me there’s nothing I can do about it, but I certainly don’t want to see anyone else.’
‘Did you tell Eric you’d made this appointment?’
‘Eric? Good heaven’s no. You won’t say anything? Everything I told you about myself is true — perhaps Eric’s told you about Ted and Deborah — but it all seemed so unimportant, after Nikki died. You know about Nikki?’
I nodded. ‘Only what Eric’s told me.’
‘I found her, did he tell you that? Charlie and I had come back from a day at the zoo and —’
‘Charlie was with you?’ I was shocked.
‘I tried to protect him, to stop him seeing, but he wouldn’t go away, just stood in the doorway, staring. It was such a lovely day, clear blue sky, warm breeze. We got back at — I forget the time exactly but …’ She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut, picturing the scene, remembering. ‘You will let me talk to you. I don’t see how it could do any harm. I’ve always thought it a little odd that psychiatrists and psychologists give treatment without ever meeting the important people in their patient’s lives. I mean, how can they know if what they’re being told is right? They could receive an entirely false impression.’
‘Yes, it can be a problem.’
She gave a surprised smile as if, for the first time, she had actually said something right. ‘I don’t know if Eric’s told you, I don’t suppose he would, but he was only eighteen when Charlie was conceived, far too young to get married and have a child, although he and Nikki seemed happy enough, only I suppose it was the sex they liked, although being pregnant spoils all that. Do you have any children?’
‘No.’
‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I wasn’t being nosey, I just … Anyway, they rented a couple of rooms in Stockwood, then a few weeks before Charlie was born they moved to a furnished flat in Brislington. The trouble was it was still far too small, they were too much on top of each other and then, with the baby and everything.’
I wanted to stop her, but another part of me wanted her to carry on talking. If she told Eric she was coming to see me would that make it all right? Eric had given the impression Charlie was fond of his grandmother, not that it was my job to help Charlie, but listening to Mrs Newsom and learning more about the family, more about Nikki, might make it easier to understand his muttered remarks.
‘You’ve talked to Eric,’ Isabel was saying, ‘so you must know he couldn’t possibly have killed her, only until the real killer’s found they’ll never leave him alone.�
�
She was so literally on the edge of her seat I was afraid she might fall off.
‘You will help,’ she begged, ‘At night, lying in bed, with everything going round and round, and Ted … But I have to be strong, for Eric’s sake, and Charlie.’
I should have told her there was nothing I could do. Instead I asked about Nikki, what she was like, whether there was any reason Isabel could think of why someone would have wanted to kill her.
‘No, of course not,’ she protested. ‘She wasn’t an easy person but that doesn’t mean … I tried to like her, in a way I did like her, but she was so … so … At the time they met she and Eric were both in their last year at school, only she was so much more experienced then he was, more worldly-wise. I think it was the baby she wanted, not Eric. I mean, these days people don’t get pregnant by mistake. What fun it would be buying a cot and a pram and all those little sleepsuits and tiny denim jackets. Of course reality soon impinged, even earlier than I expected, as a matter of fact, and by the time Charlie was three months old Eric had taken over and Nikki was back at work.’
‘I think you should tell Eric you’ve been to see me.’
‘No, I told you.’ Her eyebrows met in an anguished frown. ‘That would ruin everything. Please, not yet, couldn’t we wait just for a week or two? You don’t think he did it. I know you don’t or you’d never have moved into the annexe. Even if the police give up it will hang over Eric and Charlie for the rest of their lives. Someone’s got to prove he’s innocent and the only way is to find the real killer.’
‘I’m sure the police are doing everything they can.’
Her face fell. ‘You won’t help then.’
‘Nikki could have been killed by a stranger, someone who —’
‘I know.’ She was breathing hard. ‘That’s what I think too. Someone pretending he was there to read the meter or whatever, and she let him in without bothering to check his credentials, except I never know why people bother — after all it must be easy enough to forge something like that. Knowing Nikki she might even have offered him a cup of coffee or, if he was reasonably presentable … No, that’s not fair. You know, in spite of all her boasting about how badly she’d failed all her exams, anyone with half a brain could tell she was bright, just had no motivation to do school work. The man could have threatened her as soon as she answered the door, pushed her back into the hallway and slammed the door behind him.’