Say You Never Met Me

by Martin Yallop

  “Susanna? Is everything all right?”

  “Yes Mum. Sorry. I dropped the ‘phone.”

  “Be careful, please. That’s a new telephone, you know.”

  Susanna needed to get away from her mother’s cloying company to clear her head and get Sue’s accusations into perspective. And George would be here any minute. She needed time alone before seeing him.

  “Mum! I’m just going to the shop. Is there anything you need?”

  “No, but don’t be long. George will be here soon.”

  “I’ll be straight back.” She closed the front door more loudly than she had intended and hurried down the garden path, her head down. There must be something behind Susan’s tales even if she would exaggerate whatever she knew for maximum effect. Who could George have seen in London? Should she ask him about it or hope that he would tell her and it would all be innocent? As she turned to cross the suburban street, she became aware of the roar of a car engine accelerating hard. There was a deep thud, a crunching, screaming pain and nothing.

  Chapter 19

  George saw the blue and white police tape across the street as soon as he turned the corner. Taken by surprise, he pulled up and sat, with the engine idling, wondering what to do. He did not notice the black hatchback that pulled into a parking space a hundred metres behind him. The policeman at the barrier strolled from the tape and signalled to George to wind down his window.

  “I’m sorry sir. This road is closed.”

  George just sat and looked at him for several seconds. “Oh! I just wanted to get to my… my girlfriend’s house down there. What happened?”

  “There’s been an accident sir. What was… what is your girlfriend’s name?”

  “Susanna. Susanna Parson, Why?”

  The policeman stepped back with the obvious intention of suggesting George get out of the car. As he did so, he noticed the deep dent in the offside wing.

  “How did that happen, sir?”

  “It’s a hire car. It was like that when I got it. Look, has something happened to Susanna?”

  “Would you turn off the engine and step out of the car please, sir.” Reluctantly George did as he was told. “What’s your name, sir?”

  “George… Hawthorne. What’s this about? Can you please tell me if something has happened to Susanna?”

  “That’s a nasty bruise on your head, Mr Hawthorne and it looks quite recent. How did you get that?”

  “Yesterday. Last night. I was… in an accident. Would you please tell me what has happened here? Is Susanna hurt?”

  “She’s been taken to hospital, sir. I think I’d like to take some more details from you. It would be better if you could come down the station. We shall have more news of Miss Parson there, too.”

  “Is that really necessary? Shouldn’t I go straight to the hospital? Does Susanna’s mother know what’s happened? She’s just had an operation… a mastectomy. That’s the house down there.”

  “It really would be better if we could deal with this at the station. Mrs. Parson is being looked after. I’ll get someone to deal with your car. If you would just get in the back seat of the police car here, please sir.” It was clearly an instruction, not a request, despite the polite tone and the professional deadpan of the policeman. ‘Hell’s teeth! I’m going to get myself arrested’, thought George.

  The two policemen sitting across the table were still far from friendly but George sensed that some of the hostile suspicion had gone.

  “Interview resumed at fourteen forty-five hours. Officers present, as previously. Let me remind you that you still have the right to have a solicitor present. Do you want a solicitor now?”

  “No! Thank you. I haven’t done anything to need one.”

  “Right. Well, we’ve checked your story about the car and the car hire company confirms that it had the dent before you hired it this morning. The Met at Kensington Police Station also confirm that you received the bruise on the head last night as the result of an assault. However, what I still need to understand is why you gave a false name yesterday and to my officers earlier today.”

  “It’s not crime is it? Surely I can use whatever name I like?”

  “It can be an offence to give a false name to a police officer and there may be questions of deception if you gained anything by not using your real name. I assume that the name on your passport and drivers license is correct? Please consider your reply carefully. I don’t need to remind you that Miss Parson is dead and at the very least this is a question of causing death by dangerous driving and failing to stop. It may be a murder enquiry.”

  “Murder! What do you mean, murder? I thought this was a hit and run accident!”

  “There are no tyre marks showing that the vehicle tried to stop. You would expect that if it was an accident, wouldn’t you? Still, as I said ‘may’… We are still making enquiries.”

  “I see. I didn’t realise…” George’s surprise was obvious. “Yes, I understand. Of course my passport is correct and I’m sure you’ve checked. I’m not any sort of criminal… I’ve no record or anything.”

  “We have and you are right, sir but it still doesn’t explain the use of a false name.” George had been thinking about that while waiting in the cell.

  “Okay. Look. This may sound a bit silly… a bit melodramatic but you will have gathered that Susanna and I have… had a… a close relationship. In fact, I had left my wife for her some months ago and we had been living in Greece since then. As I told you before, Susanna was only back here because her mother was ill. I was coming to join her but I think my wife is trying to find me and it just seemed a good idea to be a bit discreet, to cover my tracks, so to speak. Does that sound silly? There’s nothing sinister at all, I promise you.”

  “And where does your wife live? Oh well, never mind. There’s no reason to hold you any longer, sir, but please make sure we can contact you. We may need to speak to you again as our enquiries proceed. Interview terminated at fourteen fifty hours. I’ll have all this typed up into a statement and when you have signed it you can collect your belongings at the desk and the hire car is in the station yard. This constable will show you the way. Please remember to keep us informed about your whereabouts. Thank you for your time.”

  George thought it better to say nothing further.

  Parked in the next street, his relief at being out of the police station evaporated, a sense of emptiness overwhelmed him. What was he supposed to do now? Where should he go? Susanna had been his only reason for coming to England at all. Come to that, she had been one of the reasons for leaving in the first place and he felt a numbing sense of being lost and alone. He sat behind the wheel in the street behind the police station and let the pointlessness of everything wash over him. Duty demanded that he go to see Valerie as soon as he could. At least that step in the rest of his life was clear and he restarted the engine.

  Susanna was everywhere in Valerie’s house. Her case was in her old bedroom, a spare set of Valerie’s car keys were on Susanna’s key ring in the mantelshelf in the living room. An unwashed coffee mug in the kitchen bore a trace of lipstick that might have been hers. Through the glass door of the washing machine George could see clothes – a blouse and underwear - that he recognised. This was horrible. One minute she had been there and now she was nowhere. Valerie was sedated. A police counsellor had been replaced by the GP who had handed the prescription to George as he arrived and departed hurriedly, stressing that Valerie was to have no more than one pill every four hours. George wandered aimlessly from room to room, picking up and carrying around things that belonged to Susanna before carefully replacing them where he had found them as if she might come looking for them. The television was on but he did not know what channel it was tuned to and could not watch any of the programmes. The floral pattern of the wallpaper and the loose covers on the furniture in front of him seemed sharp and clear while the corners of the room were misty. He wondered if he should take one o
f Valerie’s pills himself before remembering that first he had to go and find a chemist and get the prescription filled. He did not know his way around and it took him nearly an hour to find a car park and a chemist. He had looked blankly at the woman behind the counter for several seconds when she asked him for money. He heard the words but they did not make any sense at first.

  ”Oh, yes. Sorry,” he said, fumbling in his pocket for coins. “We’ve had a bit of a tragedy, you see.” He didn’t know why he had said that. The woman looked at him oddly, then smiled without interest or understanding. Presumably she was used to dealing with people who acted strangely when they came for their medication.

  Valerie was still in bed when he got back. She was staring at the ceiling and barely glanced at him when he peered around the open bedroom door. He was not sure she had really seen him. He needed a drink. The only bottle in the sideboard was a litre of gin, still more than three quarters full. It had the look of an airport purchase. George closed the cupboard door quietly on the bottle as if he did not want to wake it. He wandered into the kitchen. It was chill and smelled empty. He shivered and for something to do made a cup of tea for Valerie. Tomorrow he would have to go to the hospital and formally identify Susanna’s body. Valerie could not be expected to cope with that.

  “What are we going to do, George?” asked Valerie, as he put the tea on her bedside cabinet.

  “I don’t know. Carry on somehow, I suppose. What about getting in touch with Josie – and there must be other people who should know?”

  “Yes, there are. I don’t know where Josie is. She rang this morning from somewhere in Egypt, where they have the tombs and things.”

  “Luxor,” said George. “I expect it’s Luxor.”

  “Yes, that’s it but I don’t know how to contact her.”

  “Leave it to me. Can I use your phone?”

  “Of course. George, have you eaten? It’s nearly supper time and you haven’t had anything have you?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find something if I feel hungry.”

  “There are two dressed crabs in the ‘fridge. Susanna got them specially. She said you liked them with… some exotic fruit. I’ve forgotten.”

  “Guava,” said George. “It would be guava.” He turned quickly and left the room to hide the tears welling in his eyes. He swallowed two of the pills, swigging milk straight from the bottle. Without undressing, he buried himself in Susanna’s unmade bed and wept. Through a broken and restless night the words ‘the drugs don’t work; they just make you worse’ echoed endlessly in his mind like a tape loop while he tossed restlessly between waking and sleeping.

  He gradually surfaced from bad, unremembered dreams, full of horror and pain. He had a headache and his mouth was dry and stale. It was fully light and he could not think where he was. He felt empty and lost. He felt old. Muffled sounds of Valerie moving around in the kitchen downstairs reminded him he was in her house and he sat up abruptly. He was puzzled at first as to why he was fully dressed then it all came rushing back to him and he felt empty and cold. He must pull himself together. He had to go to the hospital to identify Susanna and he had promised to try to contact Josie. There would be other things to do.

  “I’m just going to get my bag from the car then I’m going to have a shave and a shower if I’m not monopolising the bathroom. How are you feeling?”

  Valerie turned from the sink. “You carry on George. Do you want some breakfast?”

  “Er… yes, please but just some toast or something. What time is it?”

  “Nearly nine. Will there have to be a post mortem?”

  “I don’t know. Yes, I suppose so. Don’t worry, Valerie. I’ll deal with everything. Leave it to me. I’ll just get cleaned up then I’ll contact the hospital and the police and see what we have to do.”

  The Egyptian police, under the urgings of the British Embassy in Cairo, found Josie in less than two hours. She had been sitting beside the pool of a small hotel in Luxor. By now she would be at the local airport trying to get a flight to England. Yes, there would be a post mortem examination, probably the next day; and an inquest. The coroner’s office would be in touch to explain the procedure. The police had found what they believed to be the car used in the hit and run. It had been burned out on waste ground next to an industrial estate. They were conducting forensic tests. They would keep him informed. He might be interested to know that the police in London had arrested a young mugger, known to them as Lance something-or-other. He still had George’s wallet in his possession, a demonstration of his stupidity as well as his guilt. Lance had admitted to the mugging. They would be in touch too. Valerie insisted on coming to the hospital with him and they steeled themselves to enter the mortuary. The room had bare brick walls, dark wood and heavy draperies – a sort of grim-tasteful - and it had been warmer than George had expected. Of course there had been no doubt that it was Susanna, and there she was looking composed, restful and calm, but unnaturally pale. Valerie bent over her to touch her face.

  “Your hair is beautiful,” she murmured. The hair had been carefully brushed. But not in the style that Susanna recently wore. George was wooden, icy, set, somewhere else in his head but he still noticed that Valerie was pale and deliberately composed when she left the room. And she held his arm tightly. She was handed a small carrier bag of Susanna’s possessions: more keys, a ring and other personal, such personal jewellery, small change and a purse with a five pound note and a cheque. There were no clothes; they were needed for forensic examination. There were two messages on the answering machine when they got back to the suburban house. Josie would be in London early the next morning and would get a train as soon as she could. George would gladly have driven to Heathrow to meet her, happy to have something to do and a reason to leave the house, but she did not say what flight she was taking. The other message was from Deborah. Her voice was bright and carried a hint of invitation. Obviously she did not know; how could she. Valerie did not seem to notice, being wrapped up in her own thoughts and plans about whom she had to contact. She monopolised the telephone for most of the rest of the day, making or waiting for calls. Her sister was coming to be with her and would arrive tomorrow or the next day, as soon as she could arrange time off work.

  Chapter 20

  He spent the night in Susanna’s bed again but slept better. It was Saturday. By tomorrow at the latest he would have to find somewhere else to sleep. Valerie had offered him the sofa but he did not relish that, especially as he would be the only man in a household of women, all related to each other and all grieving. He could go home, if that was what it was, to the little Greek island but without Susanna he would be empty. He could go to a hotel but that was no long-term solution. He should stay for the funeral – he wanted to - but there was no way of knowing when the body… Susanna… would be released. He still had to return Deborah’s call, and tell her what had happened. He ought to contact Nicholas and find out what was happening with the girls. Maybe Deborah would know. He ought to contact Susan and tie up the loose ends there somehow or other and there was the mugging and the inquest to deal with. Not to put too fine a point on it, he had to stay in England for a week or two at least and he would just have to manage his fears and empty sense of isolation.

  “George, I’ve gone through Susanna’s things… the things they gave me at the hospital. There may be a few things you should have… might want. Is this a door key to the house on your little island? And I don’t recognise this pendant. Did you give it to her? And I don’t know what to do with this cheque. It’s a lot of money. Did she do some writing or something for this newspaper? There’s this card, too. This person came to visit me in hospital – bought me those beautiful flowers, too. They still look lovely don’t they? Susanna said she would ring her but I don’t know if she did before… before… the end.”

  Valerie was holding out these objects as if she did not want to bring them any closer to herself, fearing some sort of contamination. George
was obviously expected to take them away from her.

  “Of course, Valerie. I’ll look after all this.” On the pretext of putting them in his briefcase, he carried them upstairs. He did not have to search for the offending newspaper. It was under the bed. With relief he slipped it into the back pocket of his case.

  He heard the telephone ring and the murmur of Valerie’s voice before she called up the stairs, “George! It’s for you!”

  “Hello!”

  “Hello, George.”

  “Susan! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you… I mean I was going to contact you. How did you know where to find me?”

  “Didn’t your piece of stuff give you my message? I would have thought she would have told you that you that you were spotted sneaking through Victoria station. You’re not invisible, you know.”

  “You spoke to Susanna? When?”

  “The day before yesterday. I asked her to get you to ring me. Doesn’t she pass on messages now she’s more than just your secretary?”

  George took a deep breath. “She’s dead, Susan.”

  There was a moment’s silence. “That’s not funny, George.”

  “No, it’s not. It really isn’t. She was killed in an accident just before I got here. This is not a good time to deal with us. I’ll contact you in a few days, you have my word, but not now, Susan, not now.”

  “George… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Goodbye seems suitable,” said George, icily and put the telephone down, instantly regretted being so unkind, but it was too late.

  He wondered which of his chores he could accomplish on a Saturday. The number on Helen Knight’s card was for a mobile telephone, worth a try. There was danger in having a reporter sniffing around and it would be better if he could kill any possibility of a story for her… an unfortunate simile, he realised as soon as it entered his head.