‘Neil! Good to see you. Come on in.’
‘How are you, Josh?’ Neil looked around. Something about the flat was subtly different, and then he realised – the cushions had gone, the crystal vase – anything that could be described as “the feminine touch”.
‘Your wife hasn’t come back to you, then?’
‘No. In fact – she’s filed for divorce.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well … life moves on. And, you know, I told her about the assault and she said I had only myself to blame. That’s not the sort of person you want as a lifelong partner, is it?’
‘No. Actually, Josh, it’s that I’ve come to talk to you about.’
Josh looked at him warily. ‘You promised me you wouldn’t …’
‘Andrew Bryson has confessed to the assault and has been charged with it. That means it won’t go to trial, Josh. He’ll be taken to court for sentencing, and then to prison.’
‘My God … how did you get him to do that?’
‘It came up in connection with another matter he was being questioned about.’
Josh laughed. ‘Typical cop, hedging the question. But … thank you, Neil. That’s really good news. And it means a lot, that you would do that for me.’
‘That’s perfectly all right. I was just … doing my job.’
‘Were you? Well … thank you anyway. You know, this calls for a celebration. Will you stay and have a drink with me? I’ve got wine, beer, spirits, anything you fancy.’
Neil hesitated. ‘Well, maybe a small glass of wine. Thank you.’ He sat down on the couch while Josh poured the drinks.
‘Here you go.’ Josh sat in the armchair opposite and raised his glass.
‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’
‘You know, I remembered something about Katie Campbell, if it’s still of interest.’
‘Yes?’
‘I did see her that afternoon – the thirteenth. I just caught a glimpse of her. I’d left work early, and I was walking back from the bus stop when I saw her turn into Peddlers’ Lane. She was struggling with a suitcase.’
‘You mean, it looked heavy?’
‘No … it was lopsided, I think one of the wheels had come off. Anyway, like I said, that was it, just that brief glimpse.’
‘Did you see anyone else that you knew from the flats, following her?’
Josh frowned. ‘No … I don’t think so … anyone in particular?’
‘Andrew Bryson.’
‘No, I didn’t see him – in the street. But I did see him … now where was that? That’s right – as I turned in from the street he was coming back from the bin area. He had a foul look on his face, so I stopped, pretending to read a message on my phone, until he’d gone inside. Every time he saw me he’d start moaning about something, you know? People using his rubbish bin, exterior lights not working … I don’t know what he expected me to do about it. Well, at least all that’s stopped – he avoids me like the plague now.’
‘Josh, I think you’ve just given Bryson an alibi – in a murder enquiry.’
‘Have I? Damn! Well, you could always forget I ever …’ He saw Neil’s eyes widen. ‘No, of course not. Sorry to have ruined your investigation.’
‘Well … you get used to setbacks in this job.’
‘I suppose you do. It must be awfully depressing, only seeing the dark side of human nature?’
‘There are plenty of bright moments too. I don’t just mean arresting the bad guy.’ He struggled to think of a recent example. ‘Finding a lost child is always very uplifting.’
‘Mmm.’ Josh swirled the contents of his glass, then drained it. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about the last time you were here.’
‘Have you?’ Neil looked at him, found himself staring at the opening in his shirt, the hollow at the base of his throat. He felt a momentary giddiness, and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them Josh was looking at him intently.
Josh rose and came over to the couch. ‘Let me take that,’ he said, taking the glass from Neil’s hand, and placing it on the coffee table. He was sitting very close, Neil could smell his cologne, the fragrance subtle, exotic, and very masculine.
‘Um … Josh …’
‘I was thinking of grabbing a bite to eat then going on to a club. Would you like to come with me?’
‘That would be very pleasant, Josh, but I have someone waiting for me at home.’ He felt compelled to add, ‘A very beautiful young woman who I am shortly to marry.’
‘Blimey … that was quick.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Last time you were here you said how lonely it was being by yourself.’
‘Did I?’
‘I said I was really lonely without Steph and you said you knew how that felt.’
‘When my first wife and I separated I was desperately lonely. We’d been together for over ten years, I was so used to being part of a couple, having someone else around. That’s what I would have meant. But I also knew what a mistake it would have been to take her back, just to not be alone any more.’
Josh was frowning. ‘I don’t usually hit on straight guys, you know. I don’t usually make that kind of mistake. I thought … I saw … in your eyes …’
Neil felt he had to be honest. ‘You are an extremely attractive man, Josh, and for a moment there I … wondered.’
In answer Josh leant forward and kissed Neil on the mouth. Neil didn’t pull away, but neither did he respond, and after a few seconds Josh drew back, smiling ruefully.
‘Oh well …’
‘I’m sorry, Josh. But infidelity – that’s a line I will never cross.’
‘Not even to … find out?’
‘I’ve got to thirty-six without finding out, I think I’ll be all right.’ He stood up. ‘I’d better go. But I hope that you find someone truly wonderful, Josh. I hope that you are as lucky as me.’
Janey came out of the spare room as he went in the front door. Though – not the spare room any more – her room, her art studio. They had moved the bed against the wall to give her more space. She was holding what appeared to be a letter in her hand, and she looked extremely happy.
‘Good news?’
‘I’ve got a job, Neil!’
‘A job?’ This was the first he had heard about her going for a job. It must mean that, after all, things were improving, she was getting better. ‘That’s great! What is it?’
‘Illustrating children’s books. I showed the publisher my paintings and they really liked them, they want me on board. I’m to start on the first book early next month.’
Neil stood stock still. ‘Well – that’s just perfect. Now you can shut yourself in your room and paint to your heart’s content. No doubt you’ll communicate by computer and they’ll send a courier for the finished product. You’ll never have to leave the flat again.’
She flinched from him as if he had struck her. The letter fluttered to the floor. Her mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments, then she turned and fled into her room, the door slamming loudly shut behind her.
‘Shit!’ He went to follow her, then stopped. Where had that even come from? Whatever his frustration with the situation, she didn’t deserve that – such bitter, spiteful words. But he struggled to find anything positive in her news, unable to see how it could change the way things were.
He went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large whisky, then changed his mind and walked into the kitchen to pour it down the sink. On the bench the ingredients were laid out ready for dinner. He looked closely at them. A few were from a specialist grocer they had discovered, several streets away. Unless she’d taken a taxi, she could only have got there on foot. He went back into the lounge, picked up the letter. “Dear Ms Hammond,” it read. “Thank you for your visit to our office last Wednesday …” The company address was in Hammersmith, in West London. So not only had he accused her of not wanting to get better, he had got things completely wrong anyway. ‘Janey …�
�� he whispered. Well, he decided, he would make dinner for her, some kind of abject peace offering.
He put the meal in the oven then went and knocked on her door. There was no answer but he went in anyway, expecting to find her crying on the bed. Instead she was sitting at her easel, painting furiously, the paintbrush blurring across the canvas in savage, sweeping strokes.
He went and stood behind her. ‘That is a very angry sunset.’
‘I am a very angry woman. This was meant to be a celebration. Or do you, like your brother, think painting isn’t really a proper job?’
‘Of course I don’t!’ He moved so he could look into her face. ‘I know what an achievement this is, Janey. It’s huge. I’m really proud of you.’
‘It is huge, Neil. It’s what every artist wants. Recognition. My paintings, in books all around the country, maybe even the world. It’s … well, it’s really exciting.’
‘Yes. Yes, it is. But I … I just don’t want your life to be lived within the confines of this flat …’
‘And it won’t. I’ll have to go out, to meet with authors, designers, go to book launches. And out … there, too,’ she waved towards the window, ‘to get inspiration for my paintings. I can’t just keep painting from the same photographs over and over.’
‘And … and you can manage that?’
‘I’ll have to.’
‘You went to Hammersmith.’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you get there?’
‘By Tube. It was horrible. I should have made a couple of practice journeys, but … well, I didn’t. I thought I was going to faint on the escalator, I had to sit for ages at the bottom until I felt okay again. Thank goodness I’d left myself plenty of time. Then when I got to Hammersmith, I … I couldn’t find the Ladies in time, so I … was sick into a rubbish bin. But I made it. The return journey was better, but not much.’
‘I didn’t think you’d been going out.’
‘I have. Every day. Forcing myself to go for longer and longer walks, putting into practice everything Zara taught me.’
‘You’ve never said anything.’
‘You’ve never asked. What, Neil? Am I supposed to stand in front of you when you get home each night, like a student reporting to her teacher? “Please, Sir, I walked three miles today,” and wait for a pat on the head and a biscuit, like a good girl?’
‘I would never patronise you. All I want is to share in your progress.’
‘So you can feel assured things are getting back to normal? It’s hard, Neil. This all started because I felt vulnerable, on show. So to cope with a panic attack in the middle of the street, to have people say, “Are you all right, love?” or have them staring at me, thinking I’m drunk, or on drugs, or-or-or mad – it’s really hard.’
‘Then share it with me. Let me know how you’re feeling. Tell me about the walks you go on, the things you see. This isn’t about me wanting a normal life back, this is about me caring for you, and wanting to understand what you’re going through, being there for you. This is about your life, as you are living it, and me being a part of that.’ He held out his hand and she took it, allowed him to draw her into his arms. He bent his head to her and kissed her. ‘Janey …’
Her arms went around his neck. She nuzzled his cheek, breathing in a faint, exotic scent. ‘That’s not your usual aftershave,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, fuck …’ He pulled away from her. ‘Janey, I’m sorry … it was just … it was nothing … it …’
She stared at him in growing confusion. It had just been a casual remark, why was he reacting so defensively … so guiltily? As the realisation hit her that it was someone else’s aftershave, she felt her anger flare again.
‘Get out,’ she said quietly. ‘Get out of this room.’
‘No. Janey, listen …’ The oven timer shrilled, making them both jump.
‘Dinner’s ready,’ he said weakly.
‘I don’t want any. I’m not hungry. Get out.’
He picked at his meal, then threw it into the bin. Janey’s he had put in the fridge. Then he went to the whisky bottle and putting it on the coffee table in front of him, quietly and steadily drank himself into a stupor.
He woke at three in the morning, still on the couch, his head thumping, his mouth as dry as sawdust. But something had woken him, and as he listened, he heard the toilet flush, water running down the sink. Janey came into the room.
He struggled upright. ‘Janey, come and talk to me. Please, we need to talk.’
She stood a few feet from the couch, looking down at him. ‘You kissed some man, and then you …’
‘No. He kissed me. He …’
‘Whatever, Neil. You had this … this moment … with this man, and then you came home and savaged me. This wonderful piece of news, and you were so … so hurtful … that’s why, isn’t it? You had to tear yourself away, do the right thing … and … and then you get home, and-and you see me, and you think, I’ve just denied myself this-this-this … gorgeous opportunity … for this? This-this-this stay at home, frump of a woman, this-this-this burden …’
‘No!’ He was on his feet, a mistake, because his head immediately started pounding furiously. He swayed, and had to sit back down quickly. Sweat broke out on his forehead.
Janey took a step back, her nose wrinkling in disgust. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘Yes! I’m drunk! I’m filthy, stinking drunk! But I’m not the one saying such vile, such ugly …’ he broke off. ‘Good. Great. Now we’re both angry. And I’m about to be very sick. So maybe, Janey, you should just go to bed, and we’ll continue this conversation in the morning.’
‘W-which bed?’
‘Oh, God, Janey, whichever one you want.’
‘All right, then.’ She turned and walked back into her room, the door clicking firmly shut behind her. Neil watched her go then went hastily into the bathroom where he was violently ill. He pressed his head for a moment against the cool tiles, then got to his feet and splashed his face. He cupped his hands under the flowing water and drank and drank. Then, ignoring the storm of weeping coming from Janey’s room, he went to bed.
Janey came into the kitchen the next morning where he was drinking his second cup of coffee, made as strong as he could stand. She had changed out of her art smock and jeans and was wearing a pretty blouse and skirt.
‘Did you sleep?’ he asked.
‘No. Did you?’
‘Yes. Not that it’s done me particularly much good.’
‘Neil …’ Her voice trembled. ‘I …’
He interrupted her. ‘I love you, Janey. I love you so much. And I am so very, very sorry. I would give anything to have last night back again, so I could do things differently. Then, when you told me your news, a huge smile would spread across my face, I’d say, “That is bloody fucking fantastic”. Then I would cover you in kisses, pluck the stars from the sky and scatter them at your feet and in your hair, take you to bed and give you a hundred orgasms. But now … all I can do is grovel miserably at your feet, and beg for your forgiveness.’
She was looking slightly stunned. ‘Neil … that’s so … that’s so … beautiful …’
He pulled her into his arms. ‘Oh, God, Janey … I’m so sorry. What you said – about me coming from … coming from Josh to you, and then thinking I’d made the wrong choice … that was so … so …’
‘So whiny, and pathetic, and full of self-pity, and such an insult to you. I’m sorry.’
He managed a faint smile. ‘All right. But the truth isn’t much better. These last few weeks, Janey, I haven’t been honest with you, I’ve been a coward. And last night all my frustration with everything came out. I said to you that you were never to apologise if you couldn’t go out some days, and so, to ask if you had – well, it felt like I would be badgering you, impatient for you to get well. And you’ve been so emotional lately … no, that’s making it sound like you’re to blame, when you’re not. I’m the one at fault. I-I-I … my thought
s get all tangled up and I … I don’t know the right thing to say. And so I say nothing. I’m sorry.’
‘I-I’ll try to talk to you more. But – I go for these walks, and they’re not … they’re not pleasant. I don’t know that I really see anything, I’m so focused on just getting through it. And I’m on edge the whole time, steeling myself not to … to leap out of my skin, or … or cry out, if someone accidentally brushes against me. It’s exhausting. I have to sleep for an hour or two when I get home. And then you get home and I … I just want everything to be normal. Because I know that as soon as I said something, I’d see the sympathy well up in your eyes, and I wouldn’t be Janey any more, I’d be the woman with the anxiety disorder. And I don’t want to be that, not when I’m with you. I just want to be me.’
‘And you are. I told you that, that nothing has changed for me. But the … the anxiety – it’s still there, isn’t it, in the room with us, but neither of us talking about it? All right, how about, when you go for your walks, you look for something, something to tell me about – something funny, or striking, or outlandish, and while you’re looking for this thing to tell me, thinking about how you’ll describe it, what you’ll say, maybe it will help to take your mind off the rest of your ordeal, make you less self-conscious. How’s that for some amateur psychology?’
She considered. ‘Yes. Yes. Neil – how clever you are! Yes.’
He laughed. ‘Well, I won’t consider a change of career just yet. Come on, you’d better have something to eat.’
‘In a minute.’ She hesitated, blushing. ‘I just … I wanted to ask … I mean … I …’
‘Josh?’ he said gently.
‘Well … yes. It’s just … well, I’m just a bit curious, that’s all.’
‘Because it was a man? It took me a bit by surprise, too.’
‘You’ve never …?’
‘Never. Well … just a bit of … er … mutual exploration with a mate in my early teens. Nothing serious.’
‘Did you like it? The kiss?’
‘Yes … I did.’ He drew her to him, ran his fingers lightly around the opening in her blouse. With one hand he deftly unfastened the top two buttons. ‘It’s one thing, though, to think about doing something, another thing entirely to actually do it.’
The Woman in the Peacock Patterned Coat Page 18