The Perfect Widow

by A. M. Castle

  Pete’s family hadn’t meant any harm. They weren’t bad people. And for anyone else, the lunch wouldn’t have been such a trial. But for me it had been hellish and all I could do was thank my stars that it was over.

  I wanted to stop wallowing in this tragedy, to regroup, sort myself out, activate Plan B. But it was hard to gather myself together, push myself onwards. To the extent that Patrick kept walking past, without me even noticing.

  Until, one day, curiosity got the better of him.

  Why does it always work this way? Why is neutrality, or even indifference, so much more seductive than neediness? I suppose we’re all a mass of wants, underneath our veneers. More of the same would be overload. But someone who’s not bothered. That’s a challenge.

  Patrick was a typical 20-something man. If you’d cut him in two, you’d have seen the testosterone fight its way to the surface. But that didn’t stop me from worshipping him. On the contrary, I found his maleness hugely attractive. I was momentarily distracted by the pain of loss, that was all.

  It hurt more deeply than I’d imagined possible. Pete had been such a nice guy. There was no denying his kindness, his patience. He’d more or less taught me a new side of human behaviour that I hadn’t seen before – a relationship based on gentleness and yes, respect. I’d never, ever seen this in play, let alone experienced it. Life with my mother had not braced me for love.

  For now that Pete had left, I saw that was what it was. Or had been. Even the cushions on my sofa mocked me. The whole place looked a whole lot more, well, normal, since his first startled visit. By that, I mean it looked more like other people’s houses – a bit of clutter, maybe the odd dirty coffee cup in the sink. Not the forensic cleanliness which had been such a comfort but which I now felt I could relax. A bit. I’d even splashed out and bought a small portable telly for him to watch football on. Luckily my concentration skills were honed enough to tune out the drone of the commentators and roars of the crowd while I read with my head in his lap. Growing up with paper walls will do that for you. And if I did get bored, well, he’d been easy to distract from even the most crucial games.

  There was a framed photo of me and Pete on one of my Billy bookcases now. Us, having brunch of course, smiling soppily at each other. A waiter had taken it for us on Pete’s fancy camera – no selfies or smartphones back in those dark days. Pete had got it framed for me as a surprise present. A natural homemaker I was not, not back then at any rate, but I was getting to grips with it, studying the art properly.

  Pete had also bought me some silly stuff like a teddy bear, sexy dressing gown, mugs with hearts on, scented candles that I had never lit. The teddy I’d chucked in the bin as soon as I made it back from his mum’s, together with the candles. The rest of the clobber, including the photo, I was in two minds over. For now, I’d put our grinning faces under the bed as an interim measure.

  It was this I’d been mulling over when Patrick sauntered past. I must have been looking unusually wistful. And of course, I was taking no notice of him. He did a bit of a double take and came back to the desk. ‘Cheer up,’ he said. ‘Might never happen.’

  As any woman will tell you, there are few things more irritating than a man telling you to perk yourself up, mask your legitimate feelings, put on a smile just for his pleasure. I flashed him a look that could have scorched paint. But it was Patrick. What was I to do? Not much choice. His limpid baby blues held my cross stare. I melted, and sighed just a little.

  ‘Seriously, everything all right, babe?’ Patrick couldn’t have been more attentive.

  Was this all I’d had to do? If I’d known lovelorn was what he was after, I would have kept a ready-peeled onion under my desk all along, to get the tears flowing just as he prowled past.

  I smiled tremulously. ‘Yeah. Just been a bit of a difficult day, you know?’ I wasn’t sure how far to push this. My low mood seemed to have triggered some sort of chivalry in him, but would he tire of this new game if I laid it on with a trowel? Or would I miss my moment if I pulled myself together too quickly? I thought about it. Here I’d been, sitting with a pert smile on my face forever, and I’d got absolutely nowhere with him, aside from those few flirtatious chats, which had meant everything to me and nothing to him. Now I was showing signs of distress, he was all over me – relatively speaking – like a rash.

  I did the only thing I could. I thought hard of Pete, and particularly that horrific, humiliating Sunday lunch, and a tear was soon trickling its way down my cheek. It wasn’t hard to cry, it still hurt. I looked mistily up at Patrick, and the perfect drop fell onto my counter. I wiped it up automatically. He looked back into my eyes, and I could almost feel his heart twist.

  ‘Tell you what, babe. Got to get to my desk now but why don’t I take you for a drink later, cheer you up? Can’t have my favourite girl so sad, can I?’

  I nodded my head, not trusting myself to speak, and then had to stop myself from going on nodding, like one of those toy dogs in the back of a stuffy family car. With a final wink, he loped away.

  As soon as he was out of sight, I flopped back in my chair, clutching my empty coffee mug, feeling as though I’d run a marathon.

  Chapter 26

  Now

  Becca

  ‘Look, Becs. We can’t arrest someone on the basis of the number of plates they have on their table. I sometimes think you’re not quite the full … I mean, get real.’

  ‘I’m not saying that, I’m not. But don’t you see? It proves something. She knew. She knew he wasn’t going to be back. She knew what was coming.’

  ‘It doesn’t prove a thing! You’re being ridiculous. He could have rung her, said he was going to be late, was going to grab something on the way home. Or maybe he had an evening do he had to go to. These businessmen, they’re always entertaining clients.’

  ‘Is that what you call it?’ said Becca darkly.

  Burke waited a beat then shook his head. ‘Do I even want to know what you mean by that? You’ve got such a downer on that case, haven’t you? I don’t know why you can’t just accept it for what it is. The man died. End of.’

  ‘It’s hardly that though, is it? I mean, the circumstances? You couldn’t call it clear-cut, could you? Come on, with all your experience.’ Here Becca crossed her fingers, hoping the flattery would get her past Burke’s mental block about the lovely Louise. ‘Surely you’ve never seen a death quite like this one before?’

  There was a pause. Becca, despite herself, peered hard at Burke. He looked as though he was thinking things through. To her astonishment, he started indicating left, then pulled the car over, flicked the ignition off and turned to her. Trust him not to want to do two things at once – cogitate and drive. She waited, holding her breath.

  ‘All right then, say you have a point? What do we do then?’

  Becca, bubbling with elation like a shaken bottle of Tesco’s Finest Cava, tried not to show her excitement. This was major. He’d finally admitted that Louise Bridges, perfumed and perfect though she was, actually stank to high heaven. ‘Well, we can look into it, can’t we?’

  Burke’s pitying glance was like a torrent of cold water on her head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, girl,’ he said pityingly. ‘Too late now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Becca was on the edge of her seat.

  ‘It’s already gone upstairs. My mate Johno. CID.’

  And just like that, the fizzy feeling was back.

  Chapter 27

  Then

  I’d only gone and done it. A date with Patrick. I was light-headed. I badly needed to splash some cold water on my face. Who was I kidding, I needed to take a bath in ice. I wasn’t sure if it was euphoria, or the fact that, again, I’d scarcely been able to breathe when he’d been near. I’d have to get that sorted, or I’d pass out on our evening together. All thoughts of Pete were relegated to the very back of my mind – for now.

  Date! There was so much I needed to do, and so little time. Plus, I was at work. The phone would kee
p ringing; clients would keep arriving. Didn’t they know I had far better things to do with my time? A date with Patrick, and I was stuck in these clothes and with this nail varnish and hardly any make-up and I hadn’t even washed my hair, shaved my legs, plucked my eyebrows … My to-do list was endless and none of it involved my job. I cursed the way I’d listlessly decided to skimp on my routine this morning, little realising that smidgeon of lovelorn laziness would come back to haunt me.

  Before I could spiral out of control, I gave myself a talking-to. Men never noticed clothes, or hair, or make-up. It was bodies that got them going. And it was my job to make sure that Patrick saw enough of mine – but not too much. Not on a first date.

  It was lucky that I was wearing a fitted blouse, in a silky well-cut satin that had cost my last pay packet. My pencil skirt clung in all the right places and my shoes were simple but deadly black patent heels. Although the current fashion was for huge chunky jewellery, I was bucking the trend with a simple strand of pearls that might not have fooled an oyster but were fine with anything further ashore. If I undid one or two extra buttons, accidentally on purpose, and leaned forward plenty, I was pretty sure that I’d have a captive audience. My earrings were discreet little pearls, surmounted by a small golden bow. The same ones I’d been wearing yesterday, but he wouldn’t clock that. Yesterday, I had been beneath his notice. Today was my lucky day. I was definitely channelling understated elegance. Would it be wasted on him?

  I prayed that he went for classy. If only I’d known more about the kind of girls he’d dated before. Then I could have copied. I wasn’t confident when I was trying to get someone to like me for myself. Well, it had never worked. It was much safer, and less painful, to give people what I thought they wanted, instead of asking them to accept me for who I was and am. Because no one wanted that person, and quite right too.

  I took deep breaths and hid my nerves away, like I always did. I focused on an easier challenge – staying pristine until the evening. I’d never treated coffee with such arm’s length disdain. As for my lunchtime crumbs, I brushed them away with all the feverish enthusiasm of one of Mary Poppin’s chimneysweeps.

  It’s safe to say that by the time the evening came around, I was a jelly. I’d done the best I could in the loos with my make-up, having nipped out at lunchtime to replenish my stocks. I’d searched up and down the high street for an eyelash curler, telling myself it was crucial, though I had one at home and nobody needs two of those beasts. I could say to myself as often as I liked that it didn’t matter, Patrick wasn’t going to care if my eyelashes sprung up at a forty-five degree angle or managed the full ninety, but that didn’t mean I was going to try for anything less than perfection when he came to collect me.

  By five, people had started to leave, and by six, almost half of his floor had gone. I was breathless again, waiting. Each time the lift opened, with that characteristic sound like a lover’s sigh, I sat to attention, then sagged as another suit walked past that wasn’t Patrick. By the time he sauntered out, I’d almost given up hope. But as soon as I caught sight of his face, I knew things weren’t good.

  He loped along, a slight frown marring that forehead I loved so well, walking fast, distracted. It wasn’t a date look. Something was wrong. Hang on a minute, he was walking right past the desk where I’d been sitting, ready and waiting, technically only for an hour and a half, but in fact for most of my life. There I was, lipstick flawless, nails hastily redone with a polish that still wasn’t quite dry, hair as straight as I could make it in the loos, waiting for him to help heal my heart, which was no longer aching nearly so much and getting back to its usual burning for him. But as I watched, he just carried on walking. Quite fast.

  He’d passed my desk by the time I came out of my horrified trance and bleated at him. There’s no other way to put it. I wanted to attract his attention, but my mouth had gone so dry with the shock of him walking away that all I could manage was a strangled yelp. ‘Hey!’

  His smooth stride faltered. He wasn’t used to being checked. He turned his head over one shoulder, eyebrows raised. What on earth was this about? Then he took in the gloss of my lips, my handbag poised expectantly on the edge of the desk, a bird about to take flight. Then the silly round ‘O’ of my mouth as I looked at him in consternation. He frowned for a second, then I could see the memory rushing in. That casual invitation, made in the moment to cheer me up, was coming back to haunt him. Regret pinched his features, then worse still, pity tiptoed in and crushed me.

  There was something in him that thought less of me for taking his offhand suggestion so seriously. Doing myself up to the nines – or the eight-point-fives, as close as I could get with the limited resources to hand – had done me no favours. I looked like an idiot. I was one. A complete loser. He sauntered back over to me, put his palms flat on my beautiful pristine marble and leaned towards me. ‘Babe,’ he said. His blue eyes were open and honest (or looked it) as he stared down at me, beseeching. ‘Babe, completely forgot about tonight. Something’s come up. Urgent. I can’t get out of it. Let’s take a rain check, yeah?’

  I nodded, smiling vacuously, though inside I was in smithereens. I blinked rapidly, hoping the tears wouldn’t fall – many of them, this time, unwelcome, unbidden and each one as painful as a shard of glass – until he’d left the building. I stared out through the huge window, lost in thought, then realised he was loitering outside. Only for a moment, though. A girl came right up to him, their lips met in a smooch. She twined herself round him and laughed up into his face, and then they left. Together.

  Bitch. At that moment, if I could have run over that blameless girl with a ten-tonne truck, I would have done. Felt her limbs crack and splay beneath my wheels. Heard the sickening crunch of bone. Maybe even have smelt the bitter copper stench of her blood. And then I would have reversed back over her lifeless corpse for good measure. No one should get between me and my dream.

  But the pure waves of anger, misplaced though they were, were exactly the balm I needed. They swept away the self-pity, dried up the tears quicker than a forest fire.

  All right, I see it clearly now. It was him I should have been angry with, not her.

  At the time, all I could think was, it should have been me. I should have left the building with him, walked out confidently with just that little sway in my hips that was subtle, but somehow indicated interest, possible availability. I was sure he would have noticed. I should have glided past the glass doors with him – no, wait, he would have held one open for me and I would have smiled up at him and wordlessly drifted through, as though such gallantry was my due. Then I would have been standing outside the building with him. Mission accomplished. Well, not even nearly, but at least mission launched. I would have smiled up into his eyes and he would have, almost unknowingly, planted the first of many, many kisses on my eager lips.

  But none of that was happening, was it? Because this cow had got there first.

  I stared out at them, the anger in my eyes enough, surely, to shatter the glass. Their lips were still slobbering over one another. It was revolting. I carried on looking, my glare locked on as surely as her sea anemone mouth. I would never have made so much physical contact on a first date.

  Suddenly I was sick to my stomach.

  It wasn’t their first date – it wasn’t the first time Patrick had been out with this girl, whoever the hell she was.

  Had I been wrong all this time? Had he actually got a girlfriend? Or was my timing just really crap? It looked like I’d split up with Pete, just at the moment that Patrick was getting serious about someone else. And he’d chosen the exact same moment to get my hopes up again.

  That was when I should have started hating Patrick.

  Chapter 28

  Now

  Louise

  I’ve taken to drifting around the house when the kids are at school, just picking things up, putting them down. In anyone else, I would diagnose boredom, or restlessness. But I know that it’s my way of strok
ing this place, as though it were a large black cat, as though it were my Mephisto come back to life.

  Years before Marie Kondo told us to pare down our homes, I realised that a few loved items stood out better without background noise. It was partly fleeing my mother’s home with so little, and partly a personal preference not to be drowned in other people’s tastes.

  I’ve developed faith in my choices, since revamping that first flat. Now I’m happy for them to stand and be judged. I wander the children’s rooms, picking up the dirties, tucking away the clean. I pass by a journal on Em’s desk.

  She’s my daughter, my flesh, but in so many ways a mystery to me. What is going on, as they say, in that pretty little head? She is like a locked box of secrets. So I can’t resist sitting down and thumbing through this.

  Soon my head is bowed, and I’m unable to read through eyes that fill up faster than I can dash away the tears. I’m crying like her at last, my face wet, make-up sluiced. I hold the book away, worried that tell-tale drops will pucker the pages, alert her to a stranger’s presence here in her private world.

  It’s little memories about her dad, the things he said, the times they had. So many more than I remember, all with significances I didn’t see or ignored. I’d worried they’d forget him, so I’d dotted those pictures around. Made sure they knew they had two parents, not just one imperfect mum.

  I needn’t have worried. He’s in them, with them, every day.

  Chapter 29

  Then

  If there was one thing I’d learned from my mother, apart from all the stuff I was doing my best to forget, it was that a wingman would only slow me down. My mother had had me, and goodness knows she’d made it plain enough that my presence had wrecked every aspect of her life, from her vagina to her future.