The House Party

by Mary Grand

  ‘Didn’t Kathleen do all the ordering and stock control?’

  He paused, and Beth saw the lines of worry deepen on his forehead.

  ‘She did and, because she was so good, I left her to it. I shouldn’t have done that. I tried to explain that to the inspectors. They gave Kathleen quite a grilling on Thursday. I didn’t think that was fair.’

  ‘So, this was her fault?’

  ‘She may have made mistakes, but it wasn’t intentional. I did my best to reassure her.’

  Beth gasped. ‘Could this be the horrendous mistake she said she made?’

  ‘Not if she said the mistake was before Christmas. The errors appeared from January onwards.’ Sami gave a half smile. ‘Which I have to say is a relief. I would hate that to have been on her mind. She had enough to worry about.’

  Beth leapt on his words. ‘What do you mean, enough to worry about? What was this personal problem she had?’

  He took two mugs off the mug tree. ‘It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I can’t tell you.’

  Beth knew that once Sami closed down like this there was no point in pushing him, but it was annoying, and so in retaliation she snapped, ‘When Kathleen said everyone keeps secrets, I thought to myself, but not Sami. I was wrong, wasn’t I?’

  Slowly Sami unscrewed the lid of the jar of coffee. He seemed to measure each grain into the mugs.

  Finally, he answered. ‘I have no idea what she was talking about.’ He poured in the boiling water, added the milk and brought the mugs to the table.

  ‘I’ll be going up to King’s tomorrow as usual. The students will be expecting me. They have exams coming up.’

  Beth looked over, saw a flash of pain shoot across his face, and felt a wave of compassion. ‘It’s been a terrible day, hasn’t it?’

  He looked down at his mug. ‘I’ve been trying to look after people all day, be philosophical, tell people, “These things happen,” but inside it hasn’t sunk in at all.’

  ‘I know. If someone walked in now and told me it was a mistake, that Kathleen was fine, I think I could believe them.’

  ‘I keep thinking about Patrick,’ he said. ‘Yesterday he had his wife. Today she’s gone. I don’t know what I’d do if that was me. Me and the kids would fall apart without you. You are our safe place.’

  Beth was too moved to reply, but Sami gave a weary smile and said, ‘Takeaway?’ He pushed himself out of his seat, went to get the menu out of the drawer. ‘Kebab?’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘You go and turn the TV on. I’ll bring you a glass of wine.’

  When the kebabs arrived, the whole family sat round the TV, eating. Curled up on the sofa, Beth sat with a glass of wine in her hand, pushing away the events of the day. On TV the detective programme was doing a recap of the past few episodes: the highlights you need to remember to make sense of what was coming up. She realised that was happening in her head. Images of Kathleen talking to her, then the end of the garden cordoned off with tape, the police looking like aliens in their hooded overalls, then Kathleen’s cold, dead body, and now what? What happens now?

  Beth put down her glass, picked up her tapestry, a cottage on a sunny day, but held the needle in mid air. Tonight, there was no escape.

  6

  Down at Castleford Primary School, the headteacher, Imogen, packed her things into her briefcase. She needed to go home. It was gone ten and it had been a very long day. The news about Kathleen first thing that morning had shocked everyone. It was a small community and everyone had worn a stunned look as they went about the day. As Imogen stood up and leant forward to switch off her laptop, she felt a spasm in her back. She took a painkiller from her bag.

  Most of the school had been shut down by the caretaker but he had left the light on for her. She unlocked and then relocked the one door she needed to get out of the building. It was all highly irregular. She’d been told there was no insurance covering her if anything was to happen, but she wasn’t worried about that. She loved having the place to herself: no disruptive pupils being brought to her, no parents grumbling at her, no teachers breaking down under the pressure. Once they’d all gone home, she could get through admin at twice the rate she did in the day. She could phone people, find them at home, sort things out. After that, she could allow herself the luxury of making plans, dreaming dreams for her school, and she had so many. It was exhausting for her staff, but if she had no vision then where would her school go?

  Imogen walked out of the front of the building. The caretaker, who had a house next to the entrance to the school, waved over at her.

  ‘Goodnight, Mrs Parker-Lewis.’

  It wasn’t far to drive home but once she’d gone through the gate into the wood, she felt she’d entered another world. Her parents owned a smart detached house in Surrey with manicured lawns and despaired of what they called her wooden hut in the woods, but she loved it, living here, in the heart of the forest: her refuge.

  She was pleased to see from the cars parked that William and her daughter, Elsa, were home.

  The house was warm, with a comforting smell of cooking coming from the kitchen.

  William came out of the living room to greet her and, as always, the fact that this rather startlingly handsome man lived in her house and, in fact, had been married to her for five years warmed her. That thick brown hair, gentle smile with neat designer stubble, the beautiful tailored suit that he wore so well, still took her breath away.

  ‘You’ve come home,’ he said, wrapping her in his arms.

  ‘I’m shattered. How was your day?’ she asked.

  ‘Awful. I had patients come into me in tears over Kathleen. It’s shaken the community.’

  ‘We said prayers for Patrick and Conor at school. It was surprising how many of the kids knew her.’

  ‘Come on, I’ve a casserole in the oven. Me and Elsa have eaten but there’s plenty left. I’ll pour you a glass of wine.’

  Imogen hung up her coat and put down her briefcase, taking out her phone. The furniture was second-hand but good quality, comfy. There were a few beautifully bound books on the bookshelves, enough to give off that smell she loved.

  William spooned delicious smelling casserole onto a plate, brought it over to her and spoke in a low voice. ‘Elsa is strung up about what happened with Kathleen. Be careful what you say.’

  ‘She talked to you about it?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a shock at that age, isn’t it, to lose someone, even if you were not that close, and in such a traumatic way?’

  Imogen patted his hand. ‘You handle her so much better than me.’

  At that moment Elsa came down. Eighteen years ago, Imogen, on finding herself pregnant by a partner who her parents disapproved of, had moved to the island. Her partner, as prophesied by her parents, quickly abandoned her, but she had determinedly brought up Elsa on her own while at the same time pursuing a career in teaching. Meeting William had brought her parents back into her life, and they were the ones who persuaded her to allow them to pay for Elsa to go to the local private school for her sixth form. The influence of that and a generous allowance from her grandparents had given Elsa a new air of confidence and sophistication, but Imogen felt an innocence and childhood had been left behind prematurely. This evening Elsa came down dressed in a ‘preppy’ way, with an expertly made-up face with large eyebrows painted on.

  ‘How are you? Such sad news about Kathleen,’ said Imogen.

  Elsa stood biting her nails. ‘It’s awful.’ Her red eyes filled up.

  Despite what William had said, Imogen was shocked and rather thrown by the level of emotion her daughter was expressing: she hadn’t known Kathleen that well, after all.

  William stood next to Elsa. ‘Come on, Elsa. I’ve made you some hot chocolate. Of course, it’s terrible but we talked about it. Accidents happen and as awful as it is for everyone, we three have each other.’

  Elsa sniffed, but her eyes brightened. ‘We do, don’t we?’

  ‘How was it at school?’ asked
Imogen.

  ‘OK, but over there not many people knew Kathleen. I tried to contact Conor, but he doesn’t want to talk.’ She looked at William.

  ‘It is going to be hard for him to process. It’s a difficult day for a lot of people,’ said William.

  Imogen saw him pour another large glass of red wine. She left her meal and went over to him. A man passionate about his work, she was used to seeing him stressed. Sometimes she’d hear him mumbling about a patient, trying to find words of comfort, or struggling with a diagnosis.

  ‘It’s been a difficult day, are you OK?’ She smiled as he wiped his eyes. ‘Not going down with a cold, are you?’

  His face broke into a reassuring smile. ‘Sorry. You have to hold it in, don’t you? I hate seeing people so upset.’

  ‘Your patients would never guess how much you care.’

  ‘I hope it makes me better at my job. Oh, by the way, I’m not sure if it was me or you who left the shower running—’

  ‘It must have been me. I showered after you. Was there steam everywhere again? Sorry.’ Imogen turned back to Elsa. ‘Is the supply working out all right for photography?’

  ‘She’s hopeless. Thank goodness I had Patrick to help with me with my portfolio. I’ll download it tomorrow and send it off to the university. The head of art said he would expect them to take me unconditionally once they’ve seen it.’

  ‘Good. She told me it was outstanding, but I’d still like to see the school supporting you better. You shouldn’t have needed to be so dependent on Patrick for it. Your grandparents are paying them enough. They’re the ones responsible for teaching you.’

  ‘Don’t ring, Mum. It’ll cause all kinds of stress. I’ll talk to my form teacher.’ Elsa sat down. ‘Have you spoken to Patrick today?’

  ‘I tried ringing, but he didn’t answer his phone.’

  ‘Layla told me Beth went around to see him. She’s so kind.’

  Imogen, ignoring the swipe, took a swig of wine and refilled her glass. ‘I was at work.’

  William’s phone rang, and he left the kitchen.

  Elsa moved closer to her mother. ‘It’s not all negative, is it? You know, about Kathleen?’

  Imogen looked up. Her eyes widened. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It will be a bit easier for us now, won’t it?’

  Imogen’s eyes widened in horror. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You must, Mum.’

  ‘No. That’s a terrible thing to say.’

  Elsa blushed. ‘OK.’ She looked towards the hallway where William was talking on his phone. ‘It’s good having him here, isn’t it? It was OK when it was only me and you but with William it’s much better, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course, and I’m delighted you get on.’

  Elsa twisted the little silver ring on her finger. ‘I don’t ever want William to leave us.’

  ‘He’s not going anywhere.’

  ‘Even if he had, you know, strayed a bit, you would forgive him, wouldn’t you? I mean, you are out so much, I expect he gets a bit fed up with it.’

  Imogen coughed. ‘For goodness sake, Elsa, all that stand by your man stuff. I thought I’d brought you up better than that. A woman does not have to put up with or make excuses for a man misbehaving.’

  ‘I know.’ Elsa dismissed the words too easily in Imogen’s mind. ‘But it’s not like we need the money now; William’s got money. I know it’s tied up or something, but you could ease up.’

  ‘My career has always been very important to me, remember that. Anyway, me and William are fine.’

  ‘But you’re never here to make him meals, or even have breakfast together.’

  Imogen’s face hardened. ‘That’s enough. I know you think I’m obsessed, but to do a job like mine you have to be totally committed to it. William understands that.’

  Elsa swung back on her chair. ‘I’m just saying be careful. Life is so much better now – even Grandma and Grandad love him and now they love us. It’s amazing looking into my account and seeing it go up. They put another five hundred in yesterday.’

  ‘I told them at Christmas they could only do this if they kept to a hundred once a month. It’s too much. I shall have a word.’

  ‘No, Mum. Leave it.’

  William came back into the room. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked, looking between them.

  ‘Everything’s fine. I was saying to Elsa though that Mum and Dad shouldn’t be putting so much money into her account.’

  ‘Leave them be. Like I said, they like to spoil her. She’s their only grandchild. They’re making up for lost time.’

  Imogen didn’t reply, too weary for another battle. Instead she left them and went upstairs. She shut the bedroom door firmly behind her, went to her bedside table, carefully removed a pile of underwear, and took out a makeup bag.

  At his house in Freshwater, Patrick held up a cut glass tumbler of whisky, and admired the way it burned amber in the light. He breathed in deeply. The police had left. He looked down the garden. The solar lights lit the path to the end; the tape left by the police fluttered in the distance. It was over. She’d gone. They said you feel numb after losing someone, but he felt numb and in agony at the same time.

  Sean came and sat opposite, leant forward and poured himself a drink. He went over to a large portrait of Kathleen and made a small gesture to it with his glass before he took a swig.

  ‘She was a rare beauty, Pat.’

  ‘She was.’ Patrick blinked. ‘You know, I can still see her that day when she came into the studio with Conor. About five I think he was, bit of a handful. She wanted me to take his picture. All I could do was look at her, but I could see she was miserable.’

  Sean smiled. ‘Clever move to get her to work for you.’

  ‘I know. How I managed to pay her, I don’t know. I was struggling but it was worth it.’

  ‘You were wasted in that job. You did right to move over here. If you’d not been ill, you’d have made money quicker.’

  Patrick stood up, went to look out of the window. ‘There were dark days when we first came here. I thought we’d made a terrible mistake. We were scraping along. Then I got so ill, I was sure she’d leave me, go back to Ireland.’

  Sean poured himself more whisky and took the bottle over to Patrick who was holding out his glass. ‘You turned it around though, didn’t you? Got the all clear, and then that job. Who pays people to do their social media for them? We live in a mad world.’

  ‘If businesses want to pay me, then let them.’ Patrick looked around. ‘But what’s the point of it all now?’ Patrick sat down, and took a long swig of whisky.

  Sean sat opposite him. ‘It’s going to be hard. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone love someone the way you loved her, but you’ll do it.’

  ‘I feel completely lost. All those years I’ve been frightened I’d not be enough. In a way, I suppose I’ll never have to worry about losing her again, will I?’

  ‘She loved you, Pat. I know she did.’

  ‘I hope so; you never could tell with Kathleen.’

  ‘Of course she did. I was always telling you, and you know your family are here for you now.’

  ‘Thank you, Sean. Having you here means the world to me.’

  Sean put down his empty glass. ‘I think I’ll be getting to bed now. Are you coming up?’

  ‘Soon. You go on up.’

  ‘Not too much more of the whisky,’ Sean said gently.

  ‘Hope you sleep.’

  Sean went upstairs. Patrick sat back. It had shocked him, the police going into their room. He hadn’t thought of that. Still, they’d only really wanted to see her phone, and laptop. Well, they had the laptop: that was OK. Later, he’d better check the drawers; you never knew what Kathleen might have hidden away.

  7

  Sami had left early as he did every Tuesday. Sometimes Beth dropped him at the Red Jet; sometimes, like today, he took a taxi.

  Beth was exhausted, but she knew t
hat she had to go to work: the day somehow had to be got on with. Also, if she was lucky, she would see Imogen at work. It would be a start to talk to one of the people who was there on Sunday evening. She grabbed yesterday’s clothes and went downstairs. She pulled on wellies and coat and went out to the shed, to be greeted by the usual squeaking of the guinea pigs.

  ‘You don’t care about anything as long as you get your food,’ she said out loud to them. There was something comforting about the way they happily crunched on their fresh food.

  Reluctantly, she left them and went out with Ollie. As she walked down Castleford Shute towards the ford, she passed the thatched bungalow she’d always fantasised about living in. By the back gate were the flowers she waited for all year: the peonies were finally out: a mass of white, cream, blush, pinks and red petals with a heady fragrance. Every year she and Kathleen would walk here to see them. She stood on the bridge over the stream gazing at them and her eyes filled with tears. Kathleen wouldn’t see them this year, she’d never see them again. Ollie was waiting patiently by her side. She leant down and stroked him. ‘Ollie, we’ve lost her. She was so sweet; something soft, comforting in a cold hard world.’ Beth started to cry, at first gently, but then she sobbed.

  ‘Can I help?’ The voice was quiet.

  She turned. It was Alex, Sami’s new partner. He was a tall, thin, quiet man with a face that showed little emotion. She had met him occasionally over the past year; never talkative, he had become even more reserved since losing his wife.

  ‘I’m sorry. These were Kathleen’s favourite flowers,’ explained Beth.

  ‘It was very sudden.’ Alex started to pick the leaves off the hedge. ‘She’ll be missed at the pharmacy and I was very grateful to her for looking after Amy.’

  Beth lengthened the flexible lead to allow Ollie to walk to the ford and paddle. ‘Kathleen got on well with her, didn’t she?’