by Rick Adams
‘Late.’
‘What are we wearing?’
I was still inflamed. ‘Night dress.’
‘Who should open the door at this time when someone knocks with the ferocity you just managed?’
‘The man,’ I exasperated.
‘And you still haven’t put two and two together?’
‘That I have,’ I persisted, ‘and I think I’ve got it right.’
‘Then go look in the dining room.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Just have a peak. Please.’
I huffed.
I looked in the room.
A blown-up bed with ruffled duvet and alarm clock to its side was positioned beneath Cynthia’s picture.
What the hell was Matthew doing staying over at Cynthia’s?
And then the familiar cycle started.
If Cynthia was head honcho of this champagne theft, and if Matthew was staying with her, then Matthew really must be in it up to his neck too.
It was incredible how quickly the concern about their physical relations now became in my mind one related solely to their criminal machinations.
Of course Matthew and Cynthia weren’t sleeping together.
She was an old woman, he a young lad.
And she’d appeared on the staircase.
Nowhere near the dining room.
What a stupid mistake to make.
It made much more sense that they were planning their next heist up here.
And so I went on the offensive about that.
Straightaway.
Without a second thought.
I just ploughed on further through my own vapid ignorance.
‘Why are you doing it?’ I said when I returned to the kitchen.
‘We’re not,’ smiled Matthew.
‘Stealing the champagne,’ I said flatly.
‘What?’
‘The pair of you. What’s in it, what’s the gain?’
‘Emily,’ said Cynthia with great concern.
‘Why are you doing it?’
‘We’re not stealing it,’ said Matthew moving towards me, ‘and you know that because we caught Carol red-handed, on the bracelet, last night.’
‘You could have altered the feed.’
‘But I didn’t.’
‘How do I know?’
‘Look, Emily, it’s not me. And it sure as hellfire isn’t Cynthia.’
‘It’s you,’ I said desperately, ‘you’re doing it.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘I didn’t hear anything until I met you. Then Carol plays me back my words, that I said to you, the shop opposite speaks to me, about you, and the couple on the bus…’ This time I did look desperate. ‘It’s a mirror, but it’s not making me look good. It’s reflecting back upon me, all my imperfections. What are you doing, Matthew? And
how on earth are you doing it?’
‘You’re in love with him,’ said Cynthia gently.
We both stared in her direction.
‘And you with her,’ she continued.
We both stared at each other.
‘That’s what love is. You’re both looking through a dark glass. It’ll get clearer as your journey together continues.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Love is placing your imperfections before you. Its perfection, expressed through your feelings for one another, is cleansing you of your faults.’
I didn’t know whether to laugh or take her down the asylum.
I looked from her back to Matthew. ‘Is it happening to you?’
‘Of course. But it’s just an intensification.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My mother,’ he said, ‘she separated from my father when I was very young. He died a while back now, so it really has just been me and her, for a long time.’
‘But you hate…I mean, you’re like chalk and cheese.’
‘We learn just as much from them both,’ opined Cynthia.
‘I don’t get it.’
‘Those we dislike, or who rub us up the wrong way, are just as effective at making us self-aware as those who we cherish greatly.’
‘Then why has this never happened to me before?’
‘It operates permanently,’ she explained, ‘but at low levels the force is virtually undetectable. You have said already you love your family – that amount of familial affection is usually enough to help you grow without thinking about it. But when the sense is intensified, to either end of the love hate spectrum, the lessons from the emotion become more evident to your waking conscious.’
‘Are you alright, Cynthia?’
‘Surely it is I who should be asking you that question, Emily? You have come here thinking I’m the champagne thief, then on sight concluded Matthew is involved also, and not just with my pilfering. You have weaved together the very finest detective stories, and made them quite the jumbled mish mash in your head. Matthew is right – you already know who the thief is.’
I considered her words.
I thought hard about my ruminations preceding this exchange.
I turned to Matthew. ‘Did the argument with your mother worsen?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that why you’re staying here?’
‘Cynthia was kind enough to offer.’
I swallowed. ‘How can I be getting it so wrong?’
‘Perhaps something has happened,’ suggested Cynthia, ‘in the interim, since Carol closed the shop this morning.’
‘I went over to Leafy Hollow’s,’ I said, ‘Ginger and Tabatha were setting up the attic for a party, with the missing champagne!’
‘Tabatha.’
‘I started thinking she was the mastermind.’
‘Surely not?’
‘Yes. She’s been behind the whole thing since the start.’
‘I think not,’ said Matthew.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you have identified the thief.’
‘But Tabatha could be her accomplice.’
‘I think not.’
‘Why? Isn’t it possible?’
‘Possible, yes,’ said Cynthia, ‘probable, no. The violence with which Carol sacked her yesterday does not tally with such an eventuality.’
‘But they could have been play-acting.’
‘Why would Tabatha be up in the attic of the opposition shop organizing a party?’ asked Matthew.
‘I have a fair idea,’ she said looking at her picture.
She was quiet.
For a long while.
‘Though it was an event of great pain for me,’ she said at last, ‘there were, as with all experiences in life, lessons that I learnt from it. Strange to say, but at the most agonizing moment of all, when one of the attackers was about to plunge his knife into my husband’s front, my eyes were upon him, yet my gaze on the other assailant whose expression I shall never forget as long as I live.’
She took a chair and sat down.
Something about what she said struck a chord.
‘He didn’t want any part of it. His companion, I mean. He didn’t want to be there. He was disgusted, horrified even. And yet he stayed, watched, did nothing to stop this person whose company he kept, and yet whose association he so evidently found utterly repellant.’
She paused.
‘He was a prisoner of this man’s personality.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said again, feeling stupid now.
‘Some people have strong characters,’ she said softly, ‘and some strong personalities. Some, of course,’ she smiled, ‘have neither, or in rare instances both. The person of strong character doesn’t always need to be heard, nor followed, but those are the two requirements someone with strong personality demands, and if that man or woman has weak character to boot, then he or she will demand them all the more, so that they can fill up the void at the centre of their own soul.
‘Again,’ she smiled, ‘the two are not concurrent. One can have a lot of life experienc
e, and still be very stupid, because unless you use these,’ she said pointing to her ears and then placing her hand on her heart, ‘more than you use these,’ gesturing to her mouth and her eyes, ‘you will alone seek to instruct others upon topics and subjects you have but little learnt yourself. But that is to take us away from our own area of interest.’
‘Carol,’ I said.
‘She has force of personality,’ added Matthew.
‘She owns the shop. Well, owned it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s given it to Adrian.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘She has. She told me. She told me,’ I sighed. ‘It’s a lie.’
‘She’s pathological,’ he said, ‘and anyway, she loves that shop. She’s invested her whole life in it. Mum helped her with the purchase, way back when I was young. The way Carol talked about it, as though it was some antidote to Shrimp.’
‘Who?’
‘Her old boyfriend. The Australian. The guy she loved and lost, who gave her that inspiration.’
‘This is unbelievable,’ I said, ‘next thing I know you’ll be telling me there’s someone called Barbie involved in it all.’
‘Yeah,’ he smiled, ‘and her boyfriend Ken, who’s been swiping the champers so he can treat her to the good life she deserves.’
We both laughed.
Cynthia looked upon us warmly.
‘So Carol’s got the personality,’ I resumed, ‘and she’s, what did you say Cynthia, she must have, because she sure as hell hasn’t got much character, she must have a massive void to fill.’ I looked up. ‘It’s like a black hole, isn’t it?’
‘My goodness,’ continued Matthew, ‘she’s sucking everyone in.’
‘Tabatha,’ I said counting on my fingers, ‘Ginger, Adrian, your mum, you…’ I studied him, ‘but she hasn’t got you. She hasn’t. Has she?’
‘Not yet,’ he grinned
‘Nor me, nor Marilyn. Nor you, Cynthia.’ I rolled my eyes heavenward. ‘But I’ve been gleefully sending you that way because, my God, I’m going in there myself.’
‘The power of personality,’ said Cynthia, ‘and all the more potent if unchecked by strong and virtuous character.’
‘But what do we do’ said Matthew, ‘how do we stop her?’
‘We can’t’ I said desperately, ‘she’s got them all at her beck and call. They’re setting up the bloody attic for tomorrow’s party. We have no hope. We’re lost.’
‘Emily,’ Cynthia chided me, ‘a little more courage in adversity would do wonders for your soul.’
‘Well what do you suggest we do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What!?’
‘Do, nothing. Let them get on with it. But watch what they, do.’
‘Then we’re definitely lost.’
‘When did you last watch them, Emily?’
‘I…’
‘Think, carefully.’
I cast my mind back. ‘I haven’t,’ I said, ‘I mean, well, I’ve just been caught, off-guard really, since yesterday. I haven’t watched anything at all. To be honest, from the way I’ve been surprised time after time, it feels like I’ve been the one being watched, and that constantly.’
‘But when have you watched?’
‘The bracelet,’ interjected Matthew. ‘That’s when we discovered Carol was the thief. That’s the only clear evidence we’ve had.’
‘And since then?’
‘It’s been a fug,’ I sighed, ‘one confusing gloopy mess which has got thicker with each step I’ve trodden in, and through.’
‘You’re trying too hard,’ Cynthia rejoined, ‘you’re putting in too much effort. Sometimes you have to sit back to see the bigger picture unfold.’
‘But she’s going to get away with it.’
‘I don’t think so. In my experience, and in the long run, villains usually give themselves away.’ She looked at her painting. ‘They caught them both,’ she said vaguely, ‘I suppose they would have done eventually given the severity of the crime. But the murderer, the one who knifed my husband to death, he was found bragging about the deed in some grotty pub, and well, an informant shopped him to the police. And what did he do to try to cut a deal?’
‘He ratted out his accomplice,’ offered Matthew.
‘There’s no honour amongst people like that,’ she continued, ‘and your Manager is one of them, even if her crime is larceny, not homicide.’
‘Well,’ grinned Matthew, ‘technically, it’s not larceny. She’s stealing from herself, not someone else.’
‘She’s stealing from Leafy Hollow,’ I corrected him, ‘if what she says about giving him Sheila’s is true.’
‘There you go,’ said Cynthia.
I smiled. ‘Wondering, not watching.’
‘Why don’t you get some sleep? You too, Matthew.’
I looked at him.
We both reddened.
‘You’re welcome to stay,’ Cynthia said to me, ‘you don’t want to trek all the way back into town at this time of night. And we can revisit all this in the morning, with three clear heads rather than one confused one.’ She started off.
‘Shall I use one of the spare rooms?’ I croaked desperately after her.
‘That,’ she said with all the kindness in the world, ‘is up to you.’
And with that she was gone, out of the kitchen, across the massive hall, up the marble staircase, and into her huge bedroom.
And we were left together, Matthew and I, alone, silent, standing beneath Cynthia’s painting and above his makeshift bed.
Thank God, he sat down first.
‘Are you alright, Em?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said sitting beside him, ‘it’s just, it’s been so hectic.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Yes,’ I smiled, ‘you can tell me why all this blew up the moment I first met you yesterday. Since then, it’s just been crazy.’
‘But it’s only been two days. Not even that.’
‘Time seems to have compressed,’ I began to explain, ‘condensed.’ I exhaled in frustration. ‘Did you notice Ginger?’
‘Well I had…’ he began, grinning.
‘Not like that,’ I bridled, ‘her behavior. Her reactions. Both times Carol’s lost the plot, she’s folded quicker than one of Tabatha’s half-eaten sandwiches left on the boardroom table.’
‘I can’t say I’ve noticed.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I’m being insensitive.’
‘Someone’s acted aggressively towards her,’ he whispered, ‘maybe that’s why she acts the way she does.’
I moved closer. ‘But you don’t.’
He shied away, but I kept looking at him, and in the half-light of the room, as he gazed back with a wounded gleam, something joined us together, our connection deepened, and I fully expected him to now open up to me and tell me all about his pain.
‘Would you like to go to bed?’
Men!
Only that look had done it.
That second when something intangible had nonetheless tied us together as tightly as if we had told each other every last thing about ourselves, that fraction of an infinitely small moment which in its intensity had quite blotted out the entire portion of time I’d just lamented…
Oh forget it, Em, just give yourself to him.
Go to bed with the boy, and stop thinking.
Make love with him.
Twine your soul with his.
Become one.
You deserve it!
Now that was a voice I wanted to hear.
And so I obeyed it.
We lay together.
We kissed.
We cuddled.
And as his hands moved over my body, caressing me ever more intimately, I gave myself up to the sensations, the pleasure, the increasing passion of our union, forgetting slowly, and then entirely, the mess that had been today as the waves that surged through my body carried me away and out to
the deep, fecund sea which soothes and softens us all.
I didn’t feel alone.
I was with someone.
And someone I liked.
Until he hugged me, rolled away, fell asleep and started snoring!
Though even that, I found myself smiling about.
And as it turned out, I drifted off soon afterwards.
Satisfied.
Fulfilled.
Tomorrow was going to be a better day.
I was sure of it.
Chapter 12
SAME OLD…
Matthew was awake first.
He brought me a cup of tea.
I sat up smiling, and took it from him. ‘Thank you, David.’
David!
Oh my God!
I went bright scarlet.
He laughed. ‘You’re welcome, Sarah.’
‘Who’s Sarah?’
‘My ex-girlfriend.’
‘You’ve had, a girlfriend?’
‘Yes, I, have. Is that allowed?’
‘Well, yes, of course. But I didn’t think, you know…’
‘That I’d ever have had a girlfriend. Thank you, Emily.’
‘I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t. Now I feel bad.’
‘No you don’t,’ he grinned, ‘you feel embarrassed.’
I play punched him. ‘You’re horrible, Osgood.’
‘Well at least I didn’t make the first blunder, in that regard.’
‘Why, what other blunders have you made, Matthew?’
‘Many,’ he grinned again, ‘but none of them that involve you.’
‘Good answer.’ I drank some tea. ‘Do you want to know?’
‘What?’
‘About David.’
‘No, not really. Unless you want to tell me.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘there’s probably not much you can add to what I’ve gathered already.’
‘What do you mean, ‘gathered’? What have you found out?’
‘He’s Carol’s ex-husband,’ he laughed, ‘and my mum is one of Carol’s best friends. I’ve known him since I was a child.’
Of course he had.
What on earth was wrong with me?
‘You still are a child.’
‘Says you,’ he smiled wickedly.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Last night, you said hugging me was like hugging your teddy bear!’
‘I did not.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘I did not. And anyway, how would you know? You were out like a light once you’d had your fun.’