The Couple on Cedar Close

by Anna-Lou Weatherley

  My heartbeat increases and the broken-bird image flutters into my mind again. I think I know what’s coming next.

  ‘They couldn’t save the twins. Both of them died inside her – her torso took a lot of the impact. They had to be cut out of her at the hospital. A girl and a boy. She called them Milo and Nancy.’

  An icy shiver runs through me. Car accident. Dead babies. Rachel.

  ‘She never recovered fully. I mean, physically yes, more or less, but mentally, emotionally…’ She shakes her head. ‘I mean, who could recover from that?’

  I swallow hard and nod. Who indeed?

  ‘And after?’

  Monica shakes her head again, her expression pained. ‘She spiralled into depression, as you might expect, poor girl. The death of those unborn babies… I think it sent her…’ She pauses, choosing her words carefully. ‘The psychological impact on her was huge. I know – I witnessed what it did to her, the complete and utter devastation. She unravelled completely. She was under medical supervision, put on antidepressants, sedatives and a cocktail of prescription drugs, all sorts. She had severe post-traumatic stress disorder and became suicidal. She also began self-medicating’ – Monica glances up at me from across the table with lowered eyes – ‘with alcohol. She developed a bit of a dependency, though I wouldn’t say she was a full-blown alcoholic, just someone… someone who couldn’t cope with the pain. Laurie had a lot of therapy, and grief counselling too. She still sees a therapist, I think. She couldn’t go back to work, obviously, and Robert had to take time out to look after her, to help her get back on her feet, literally, because she couldn’t walk for a few months.’

  She snorts, a little contemptuously. ‘He was cut up about the accident, so he says, although he rarely mentioned it, not to me anyway. I found him rather cold and callous after it all happened. Laurie swore me to secrecy about it when they arrived at Cedar Close. She didn’t want the neighbours to know, couldn’t bear being pitied. She just wanted to disappear. I understood that… I do understand that.’ Monica says this with a hint of melancholy, as though she has reasons of her own to be invisible. ‘It’s a horrible, tragic story, Detective. How she suffered, it was—’

  ‘But they began to rebuild their marriage? Laurie and Robert? They moved to the close and started afresh? Was that the idea?’ I’m trying to piece it all together, make sense of their sad and tragic story.

  Monica gives a sarcastic laugh. ‘Hmm, yes, well, that was the idea. Or so she thought. I suggested they move nearer to me, so that I could help take care of her, help her convalesce. Like I said, we’re practically sisters and she really was there for me after Dougie died; the least I could do was to return the favour. So when the house opposite came up for sale they decided to buy it. He’d told her, Robert that is, that it would be a new beginning and promised her, again, that things would be better. Only what he hadn’t told her was that he was still seeing his mistress, Claire. Must have skin like a rhino whoever she is, and no bloody conscience, bitch.’ She spits the last word venomously. ‘Seems he was just biding his time until Laurie’s mental and physical well-being had improved, and that once she was up on her feet properly and off most of the medication, he was going to leave her. Just couldn’t seem to keep away from that little tart—’

  ‘But he had already left, hadn’t he? He was no longer living at the house… he was initiating a divorce.’

  Monica looks surprised by this statement – she smiles in fact. ‘Oh, was he now? Callous bastard,’ she hisses. ‘Yes, well, he had to bring his nasty little plan forward somewhat because Laurie discovered he was still involved with Claire and that, worst of all – and this absolutely crushed her – Claire and Robert had had a baby together. A secret love child. A girl: Matilda. That’s the little bastard’s name.’

  Monica’s rage and disgust is evident, and she’s not bothering to hide it. ‘She thought he was probably planning to divorce her in the end, and ultimately leave her the house as a parting gift: a kind of guilty trade-off, in my opinion, so he could go and begin a new life with Claire and the bas— and the baby.’

  ‘How did Laurie find out?’ I ask. ‘When did she discover this?’ My guts are churning because I know that everything Monica is telling me is enough for a very clear motive. Some might go as far as to say Laurie Mills had good reason.

  ‘The day of the barbecue in August, just gone.’ Monica crosses and uncrosses her legs almost provocatively, even in sloppy leggings and flip-flops. I notice she has a small tattoo of a lizard on her foot. ‘We have an annual barbecue every summer,’ she explains, animated as she speaks. ‘The whole close gets together and we have this big cook-up – food, drinks, music, games for the kids, dancing… It’s really good fun. Each year a different household gets to organise it, to host it. This year it was mine and my Dougie’s turn. Only he wasn’t around for it, obviously, so I organised it by myself.’

  ‘So what happened at the barbecue? There was some kind of altercation between Laurie and Robert, wasn’t there?’

  Monica’s green eyes widen and she leans forward across the table. She’s stopped crying now. ‘It was pretty awful,’ she says. ‘Robert was DJing at the party. He was pretty good actually,’ she remarks, as though this is relevant. ‘Anyway, Laurie had made it to the barbecue. For some people on the close, it was the first time they’d properly met her in six months, maybe even seen her. Like I say, she was practically agoraphobic. She seemed in good spirits that day though – chatty, happy. At some point Robert disappeared; he’d gone back to the house. Laurie went looking for him.’

  I nod. ‘And then?’

  ‘So, back in the house she hears him talking on the phone to someone upstairs, so she hides behind the door and listens. It’s her. Claire. And they’re talking about Matilda, about a first tooth or something, and the penny drops. She confronted him, so she says, and he confesses, you know, that the baby is his, and they have this major stand-off in the house. Anyway, he comes back out to the party. Gets straight back on the decks like nothing’s happened, all smiles for the crowd. Laurie starts drinking, hits the Prosecco hard. She’s visibly drunk the next time I see her. You’ve seen how tiny she is, Detective. Well, she was knocking them back like no one’s business, started dancing and making a bit of a show of herself. I tried to stop her. Kept asking her what was wrong, what had happened. But she was only interested in throwing alcohol down her neck. Next thing, she’s gone behind the decks where Robert is and grabs the microphone off him, pulls the plug on the music and starts giving this drunken speech to the whole street about how it’s so wonderful to be part of the neighbourhood, how she’s grateful to us all for being so welcoming. She starts talking about Robert, saying stuff like, “I suppose you’ve all met my wonderful husband here, especially the female fraternity,” or words to that affect. Well, that remark certainly got everyone’s attention because she said it in a snarky way, you know, and that’s when she starts telling everyone about the affair. About Claire and how he’d been cheating on her when she was pregnant with their twins. Called him a lying, cheating scumbag and a—’ She pauses, looks at me a little awkwardly. ‘A cunt. Actually says it in front of everyone, kids and all. This caused a few gasps let me tell you. The couple at number 56, the Phillipses, started ushering some of the children inside…’

  Lying, cheating scumbag. The exact words that had been written in the mirror. I imagine the scene in my mind. The hushed silences of the neighbours as they look on in intrigue and horror at the drunken spectacle Laurie’s making of herself.

  ‘Go on…’

  Monica, raises her eyebrows, coughs into her fist. ‘He – Robert – he tries to wrestle the mic out of her hands but she’s having none of it. And they’re grappling with it. He looks furious. She’s upset, crying, drunk. That’s when everyone starts to think, uh-oh, big domestic about to blow up. But it was also, well, you know how it is, gossip, other people’s business… you don’t want to watch but you can’t help yourself.’

 
I raise my eyebrows. ‘And?’

  ‘And then Laurie starts telling everyone about the accident, telling us all about the twins… how this was supposed to be a fresh beginning for them but that she’d just heard him on the phone to his mistress again and that, in fact, they had a child together… It just all came tumbling out in a drunken rant, this horrible, horrible story. I was shocked – I mean, dumbfounded. I knew all about the affair of course, but a child, a baby? It was news to us both. Shocking news. She was crying, swearing, calling him names, hysterical, and said she—’ Monica pauses again, looks at me earnestly. ‘She said she was going to kill him, that she wished he was dead, or would die, or something like that.’

  ‘Okay—’

  ‘But she said it in the heat of the moment,’ Monica quickly adds. ‘She was beside herself. Drunk. Really obviously very, very upset as you can imagine. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I twice attempted to get her off the stage but she’s stronger than she looks and she pushed me away. I think it was Reg from number 19 who eventually gently took the mic off her. Then she fled back to her house. Robert went after her. Everyone was just standing there in a hushed silence, open-mouthed. It totally killed the buzz for a bit. Everyone was horrified you know, by the story, and by the showdown.’

  She pauses for a moment, stares off a little as though replaying the scene in her head. ‘I felt sorry, so, so sorry for her, I really did. That’s why I went over there later, after the party had wound down, to see if she was okay. I’d seen Robert get in his car and drive off, but as I was hosting the party I couldn’t really abandon everyone and go to her. I can only imagine how it must’ve kicked off inside that house.’

  ‘So, she never said anything to you about any previous violence, domestic violence? Did their arguments ever turn physical, do you know?’

  Monica shakes her head. ‘Not that she ever told me, no, and I’m pretty sure she would’ve. I never saw any bruises or anything. I think it was more psychological abuse…’ She shifts a little uncomfortably in her chair. Uncrosses her legs again.

  ‘Monica, do you think your friend – do you think Laurie – is capable of murdering her husband, of killing Robert?’

  She lowers her eyes a little then looks up at me uneasily. ‘I suppose it’s possible,’ she says eventually, sighing. ‘Lord knows I’d want to kill the bastard if he did to me what he did to her! Metaphorically speaking,’ she adds, realising who she’s talking to.

  She suddenly lunges forward across the table. ‘You’ve got to understand what she’s been through, Detective Riley – the accident, the depression and drugs, and the alcohol. No one comes through what she’s been through unscathed. Worst thing is that I know she deeply loved him, Robert – even though he’d deceived her so badly throughout their marriage, she still wanted him back. It was a toxic relationship. I think it has sent her over the edge a couple of times. So sad—’

  ‘Okay, I see,’ I say. I feel a little deflated. Perhaps Woods is right and this is an open-and-shut case after all. Yet despite everything I’ve heard I just can’t convince myself that Laurie Mills is a killer. I don’t feel it in my guts. And I trust those guts of mine, even if they are currently grumbling to be fed.

  ‘But that’s why I’m here, actually,’ she adds. ‘That’s why I came to see you in the first place.’ Monica Lewis is looking directly at me, earnestly. ‘Because Laurie couldn’t have killed Robert.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ I ask.

  ‘Because she was with me at the time,’ she says. ‘I saw what happened.’

  Seventeen

  She’s in a car with Monica. They’ve let her go. No more time in a police cell. No more questions, for now. Everything is silent. Something Monica said has stopped the madness. The words the solicitor said to her, the words the detectives said to her as she left the police station, she cannot remember them; they are impervious, jumbled conversations lost in a river of relief. Doesn’t matter, they have let her go and she is in the car, next to her friend. She is safe now. But then she remembers that Robert is still dead. Robert is dead. And she still can’t remember what happened.

  ‘He was nice,’ Monica says.

  ‘Who was?’ Laurie answers on autopilot, still shell-shocked.

  ‘The detective. Dan something… Dan Riley. He was nice… good-looking too, for a copper.’ Monica giggles a little.

  Laurie can’t process what Monica’s saying. ‘I just want to go home, but not home home—’ Not to the place where she had found him butchered.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Monica says, ‘you’re coming home with me. They’ve said you can stay with me, that it’s okay.’ She touches Laurie’s knee, gives it a squeeze.

  Thank God Monica is here. ‘What did you say? What did you tell them?’ She can’t remember being released. Her recollection of leaving the police station is blurred at best, not quite real.

  ‘You need some rest, hon, you really do. You’ve had a terrible shock. You need to sleep, then we’ll get you seen by your doctor as soon as possible. Maybe you need some pills or something.’

  Pills. More pills? She rattles with enough of them already. Pills, the answer to everything apparently.

  ‘They let me go—’

  Monica is bent over the steering wheel, straining to view the junction ahead. ‘Yes, well they had to really.’

  ‘Why? Why did they have to?’

  Laurie feels sleepy, exhausted, like her head is about to topple from her neck. Her mind feels woozy, like it’s taking longer for the messages in her brain to compute into words.

  ‘That’ll be the Valium,’ Monica observes, watching Laurie struggle to stay alert.

  Valium? She doesn’t remember taking a Valium.

  ‘I had a couple in my bag,’ Monica explains. ‘Emergency supplies. Thank God for jellies, eh? You’ll sleep better now.’

  She hasn’t got the strength to reply. It’s like she’s been lobotomised. She thinks of her mother then. How is she going to tell her that Robert is dead? That someone murdered him in their home. And that someone might even have been her own daughter. Why can’t she remember?

  ‘The police said they’ll be in touch. They’ll no doubt come round to ask you more questions, interview you again, and me no doubt. They’ll talk to the neighbours, fish for stuff. But you mustn’t worry.’ Monica pats her knee again. ‘I’ll take care of it all, okay? Just let me take care of it all, take care of you too.’

  Laurie manages a small smile. She doesn’t know what she’d do without Monica. She’s all she has. ‘Robert…’ His name evaporates into the air as she whispers it from dry lips. She feels light-headed.

  ‘I know, darling, I know. But it’s going to be okay.’

  ‘I’ll need to organise a funeral… tell Stan and Agnes, his parents. Oh God, maybe they’ll think that I did it. Maybe they won’t let me come to the funeral! They’ll think I killed their son and they’ll hate me.’

  ‘Fuck Stan and Agnes!’ Monica’s shriek startles her. She’s hypersensitive to loud noises. ‘We need to get you home. Get you tucked up in bed. There will probably be reporters buzzing around – you should’ve seen them earlier, bloody vultures. I’ll get rid of them all, I promise. Let’s just get you home for now. We’ll worry about it all in the morning, after you’ve had some proper sleep… and you really must eat something.’

  The thought of food gives Laurie a nauseous, watery feeling in her stomach. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to keep anything down ever again. But she would like to sleep. She can’t fight it any longer. She hasn’t slept properly since the day she discovered her husband’s infidelity and her insomnia had progressively worsened since the accident. Night terrors tormented her religiously and she hadn’t managed more than a shallow state of semi-consciousness in over a year and a half. It had been pure never-ending torture.

  Suddenly she thinks of Claire. Claire. Does she know that Robert is dead? Will the police have told her by now? Poor Claire. No more baby daddy for her. No more Robert for anyone. Panic engu
lfs her once more as Monica turns the car into Cedar Close. Her house is sealed off by yellow tape. It’s no longer her house, their home. Now it’s a crime scene, unfamiliar and frightening, a house of horrors. She will never be able to go inside her home again. There are people still milling around. She thinks she sees them in the shadows or perhaps it’s her imagination. Who are they? Are they forensics? Press? Police?

  ‘Oh God, I don’t think I—’

  ‘It’s okay. We’ll go straight in the garage and through the back way. No one will see, I promise.’

  Laurie nods. She has faith in Monica. Her eyes close as the tyres crunch over Monica’s gravel driveway; the electric gates click and hum as they shut behind them. She thinks she can see people, shadows of dark figures, through squinted eyes and camera flashes, their bright lights popping like fireworks illuminating the darkness.

  ‘Mrs Mills! Laurie! Have you been charged with your husband’s murder? Did you kill your husband, Mrs Mills? Was it because of the affair, Laurie? Mrs Mills! Laurie…’ She can hear their voices all around her and shields her face with her hands as they pull inside Monica’s garage.

  ‘Thank heavens for mod cons, eh?’ Monica remarks as the door automatically closes behind them, shutting out the intrusive din. She’s safe. For now.

  Laurie is practically a zombie, the walking dead, as Monica leads her into her guest bedroom. It’s clean and fresh-smelling – Buckingham Palace compared to where she’s just come from. The white king-sized bed looks grand and inviting. She just wants to sleep. Sleep and not wake up. Or wake up to find it was all just another one of her night terrors. She almost convinces herself of it as Monica peels back the duvet for her to climb in.

  ‘I’ll get you some PJs, get you out of those awful prison clothes, and bring you a cup of tea,’ Monica says efficiently. But she isn’t worried about either of those things right now. She’s just glad to be free, that they let her go, and to be able to sleep, finally. Yet deep inside her, past the mental and physical exhaustion, she knows, fears, that this is simply the beginning, the start of a horror show in which she has been cast in the starring role. Robert has been killed – murdered – and someone is responsible. Perhaps that someone is her, in which case they will discover this and she will go to prison for the rest of her life. She thinks about the cell she has just come from and its clinical coldness, the claustrophobia and the smell, and she thinks she’s crying again because her face feels wet.