Until It's Over (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-nine

Leah lived in a terraced house in Kentish Town. It was smaller than the house in Maitland Road but it still looked too big for one person. As I let myself in, I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Could there be lodgers? House guests? But I knew there weren’t. She’d talked about living alone. Miles had talked about her rattling around in her huge empty mansion. How could she afford it? Where did these people get their money from? Rich parents, probably. It didn’t matter. I had other things to think about.

I looked around her hallway. I needed to find something heavy. Astrid wasn’t like Ingrid de Soto. She was tall and strong, stronger than me, probably. But a blow from a heavy object would take anyone down.

Leah was in the process of moving out. Paintings had been taken down and were leaning on the walls ready to be hung in Maitland Road. I walked through to the kitchen at the back of house. There was a small patio behind. I pulled open a couple of drawers and found a breadknife. That would do for afterwards. But I couldn’t find the right heavy object. I walked back and into the living room. A rug was rolled up. On a coffee-table there was a piece of lined paper headed ‘To Do’, followed by a list of items, each one neatly ticked off. Bloody Leah.

On the mantelpiece I found what I was looking for. There was a small symbolic-looking sculpture, a rock with a hole in it and in the hole was a bronze figurine. I weighed it in my palm, felt its cool, rough mass. It was perfect.

I returned to the hallway and sat on the stairs. I placed the breadknife on the step and balanced the sculpture in my hands, moving it from one to the other, and waited. I could feel my heart beating fast, I could feel it in my chest and arms and legs and throbbing through my ears. All it would take was this one decisive act, the removal of the person who could betray me, and I’d be free.

I had little sense of time passing, but it felt quicker than I’d expected when I heard footsteps outside and saw an outline through the frosted glass of the front door. I stepped forward, holding the sculpture in my right hand. There would be a ring at the door, I’d open it with my left hand from behind the door so Astrid wouldn’t see me, she’d step inside, push the door shut, a single blow.

But the bell didn’t ring. I heard some fumbling and then there was the rattle of a key in the lock. I froze. I was unable to think or move. The door opened and Leah stepped inside. She shut the door, turned, saw me, and gave a start that was almost comic. Her eyes widened.

‘Davy?’ she said. ‘What…?’

She couldn’t even think of an adequate question to ask.

I started to babble. ‘I found your keys,’ I said. ‘I brought them back.’

Even as I spoke, I knew it made no sense, that it wouldn’t stand up to more than a moment’s consideration.

Leah spoke to me like someone in a dream. ‘I’ve a spare key,’ she said, as if she needed to explain. ‘But what are you doing here? Why the…?’

And then she saw the sculpture and she never finished the sentence. I brought it round with the force of all my anger, at Leah, a bit, for coming here and ruining everything, but also at life, at the world, for being so messy and complicated. The granite caught her on the side of the temple, full on, with a crunch. Her knees gave way and she fell down sideways, scraping against the wall as she did so. She lay on the ground, her legs flapping noisily. It seemed like a mercy to bend down and hold her throat with my gloved hands to make it stop and go away. I reached for the breadknife and marked her face, as I’d planned to do to Astrid. It was the first time I’d seen how pretty she was.

At that moment, of all moments, I started thinking in the funniest way. My mind was both clear and unclear. I saw myself, as if from above, standing over this dead woman with bubbling red incisions on her face. People would think of the person who had done this as a madman who killed women and mutilated them. A psychopath. But it wasn’t really like that. That’s not who I am.

I couldn’t work out what was best to do. Should I wait for Astrid and go through with my plan? I considered the knife. No. I laid it down carefully. I looked around. Was there anything I needed to take away with me? Had I brought anything? I couldn’t remember. Was it better to take the knife or leave it? I picked it up again. I ran to the kitchen and rinsed it under the tap. I ripped off a few sheets of kitchen roll and wrapped them round the blade. I put the bundle into a plastic shopping bag and rolled it up. Was there anything I was forgetting?

A dim fragment of my plan came back into my mind. Melanie. For my alibi. I needed an alibi, especially now. I stared blindly about me, my mind churning uselessly, and then I saw on the hall table a shallow, dark-blue cardboard box lined with pink tissue paper. Leah had been buying herself expensive lingerie. I snatched up the box and held it against my chest, taking a last look at Leah, who was staring at me glassily. Was I imagining it, or was there a contemptuous curl on her lips? I kicked at her, then went through the front door and outside. Astrid could arrive at any moment, but I had no thought now of staying to watch her. I had to get away. Was there blood on my clothes? I made myself look. Not that I could see. Just leave. Slowly. Walk, don’t run.

I pushed the door shut but it wouldn’t close. Something was resting against it, blocking it. Leah, of course. I wasn’t good at this any more.

My forehead prickled with sweat and I felt dizzy and slightly sick, so I when I got to Regent’s Park I stopped for a few minutes and sat on a bench just inside the gates. A busload of small schoolchildren swarmed by, chattering excitedly. Presumably they were on the way to the zoo. I stared at them as they passed, holding hands with each other, swinging their plastic lunchboxes. I felt tears stinging my eyes. It was all right for them.

I made myself revisit what had just happened. Had I left anything incriminating behind? No, I didn’t think so. Could I have done anything else? No. It wasn’t my fault Leah had come home. She had said she was going to work, hadn’t she? I couldn’t have known she’d change her mind like that. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I could feel the beginnings of a migraine stirring. That was all I needed. First, having to kill Leah like that, and now a bloody headache that would prevent me protecting myself properly. I pulled myself up from the bench, squinting against the sunlight, which jabbed into me, and made it across the road to a pharmacy where I bought some tablets and a bottle of water. I washed down three pills with several gulps of water, then splashed more water over my face. I tried to breathe calmly while I waited for the pain to recede. I didn’t have much time.

It didn’t take me long to get to Melanie’s gallery. Laura was there with a middle-aged man whose popping eyes made him look as if he was being strangled by the ridiculous cravat tied round his neck.

‘Davy?’ Laura looked at me with barely concealed displeasure. She was wearing a shirt with ruffles and a skirt with a large bow tied at the waist – like a parcel done up for Christmas.

‘Hello, Laura.’ I tried to smile at her, felt my lips dragging back over my teeth. My head was pounding viciously. ‘Is Mel here?’

‘She’s in the back room. She’s quite busy, as a matter of –’

‘Thanks. I know the way.’

I pushed past them both and into the back, where Mel was sitting in front of the computer. She was frowning slightly and her lips were pursed, but when she saw me she jumped up hastily, pushing her hands through her hair and smiling anxiously. ‘I wasn’t expecting…’

‘Sssh,’ I said. I laid the box on the small table, walked up to her, put my arms round her and kissed her full on the lips. I was definitely feeling sick now. Sick, clammy and feverish. I kept my eyes fixed on a point over her shoulder. ‘I’ve been thinking of you,’ I said, when I let her go.

‘Oh, Davy!’ She stared at me, biting her lip and putting up a hand to brush my hair from my forehead. I forced myself not to flinch. ‘I’ve been worrying about you.’

‘No need. See? Instead of going to work this morning, like I should have done, I went shopping. Take a look.’ I handed her the box.

Her eyes widened. ‘Lolita’s?’ she said. ‘You’ve bought me something from there? Why, it must have cost you a fortune.’

‘You’re worth it,’ I said.

She lifted the lid, gave a little gasp, and drew out a lacy black négligée. Definitely not her style.

‘Why, it’s –’

‘Do you like it? Hang on. You don’t want to know the price!’ I leaned forward, snatched the receipt out of the box and crumpled it in my hand. I was definitely slipping. She could have looked at it and seen it wasn’t bought today, after all.

‘Like it? Nobody’s ever given me anything like this before.’

‘I should hope not. You’re my girl.’

She threw her arms round me once more, but I disengaged myself. ‘I should go,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in trouble at work as it is.’

‘You mean, you’ve just come to give me this and now you’re going all the way back?’

‘I wanted to see you,’ I said. ‘Shall we meet later?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said exultantly. ‘Yes. Thank you, Davy. I’m bowled over, honestly. I can’t believe it. And just when I was thinking you’d gone off me.’

I left the gallery. One more thing. I passed several shops, then entered a pâtisserie I had noticed earlier. There were fruit cakes, birthday cakes, cakes with teddy bears and cartoon characters. All the sugar and bright colours made me feel nauseous. I chose a chocolate cake, heavy and rich and thick with shavings of chocolate on top; chocolate with added chocolate. Just the thing for a celebration.

Chapter Forty

When I arrived home, Miles was there, which was definitive proof that there was a God. Or definitive proof that there wasn’t a God. One of the two. He was sitting in the kitchen writing urgently on a scrap of paper. He looked up absently. ‘Hi, Davy,’ he said.

‘I thought you and Leah were at work,’ I said.

‘I changed my mind. And she had to fetch something from her place,’ he said. ‘I think she was going to her office after that, though.’

Even better. He knew she was going home and nobody else did. The cardboard box containing the cake was fastened with golden ribbon that curled at the end. The knot was too tight to unravel, so I cut it with kitchen scissors. I placed the cake on a plate. Miles pulled a face. ‘What the hell’s that?’

‘I saw it in a shop window,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t resist it. People might like it with their coffee. You want some coffee?’

‘If you’re making it.’

I filled the kettle and switched it on. I had brought the knife with me and now I unwrapped it, then placed it next to the cake. I saw it was still marked with Leah’s blood. I tore off two sheets of kitchen roll. With one I held the handle and with the other I wiped it so that most of the dark stain was removed, but not all. I took the packet of ground coffee from the fridge and spooned it into the cafetière. When the coffee was made, I took two mugs to the table and sat opposite Miles. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

‘There’s all sorts of stuff to sort out with the house,’ he said. He gulped at the coffee. ‘Thanks.’

‘Where’s Mick?’ I asked.

‘I haven’t seen him,’ said Miles.

‘There doesn’t seem to be anybody around,’ I said.

I needed to know if Miles had seen anybody who could give him a solid alibi. ‘I think I heard Dario upstairs,’ he said. ‘Everybody else is out.’

He carried on writing, columns of figures, then he sighed and drew a line through them.

‘I’m sorry if I’m interrupting you,’ I said.

‘No, it’s not that,’ he said. ‘It’s the money. Maybe you can sort it out between yourselves.’

‘I don’t think I’ll be getting much,’ I said.

Miles gave an unhappy shrug. He got up and walked round the kitchen. ‘It wasn’t meant to happen this way,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know how to stop it. Everything I do seems to make it worse.’

‘Have a slice of cake,’ I said. ‘That’ll make you feel better.’

He managed a sort of laugh. ‘It’s a bit early for me,’ he said.

‘That’s not very grateful of you,’ I said.

‘Later, maybe,’ he said distractedly. ‘I mean, you know that Astrid and I have a history. And Leah’s not exactly a diplomat.’

‘While you’re over there could you cut
me
a slice?’ I said, breaking his flow.

‘What?’

‘Cake.’

Miles looked confused. ‘Oh, all right.’ He picked up the knife and cut me a slice, then one for himself. ‘You’ve tempted me.’ He took a bite and pulled a face. ‘Bloody hell, that’s rich.’

‘Good, though,’ I said.

A few minutes later Miles left the kitchen and I heard the front door slam. I wiped the chocolate cake from the blade of the knife and put it back in the plastic bag. There was no sign of Dario or Mick. Miles’s room was a mess. Leah had been moving in while everybody else was moving out. There were piles of her clothing on the floor, makeup and little glass and plastic bottles on every surface. I pulled some drawers open in Miles’s desk. The bottom one contained old photographs and postcards, a tennis trophy from his schooldays, a couple of old electric plugs. In the end, I pushed the carrier-bag containing the knife between the two mattresses, which is where people hide things in films and where they always get found.

After I left Miles’s room I phoned Melanie at work. I told her I loved her, that I wanted to see her and that she should come straight over here after work. I wanted to see her and talk to her about things. She was so happy and excited that she was almost laughing and crying at the same time. I could hear sounds coming from Dario’s room but I didn’t want to talk to anybody at that moment so I went upstairs and lay on my bed. For a few hours I had felt completely focused. Now I felt the way I did when I came back from the dentist and the anaesthetic was wearing off. For hours there had been a numbness but now there was a prickly feeling in my head as the real world forced its way in.

By now Astrid would know. The police would know. If I’d done something really, really, obviously stupid, if I’d dropped something, left something of myself, it was too late to do anything and soon there’d be a knock on the door. Now the police were investigating three murders and it was going to be a huge deal. My head hurt. There was what had happened and there was what I had made it look like. I had to keep them separate. Now experts would be picking over every detail, every thread. I had only one advantage. They would be looking for something clever, something logical, or perhaps something insane that linked them. But I wasn’t clever and I wasn’t logical and I wasn’t insane. They were just linked by bad luck. Had I blunderingly created a trail that was impossible to follow? Except for Astrid. It always came back to her.

I felt so tired. I just wanted to go back in time to before I’d done all this. But I couldn’t go back in time, so I would need to draw a line under it, get away and start again. Start again. Again. In the meantime, I would have to live through the pantomime once more. How would it happen? Who would find out first? I imagined that Astrid would get her one phone call and would ring up the house. Mick or Dario would answer and they would spread it with that excitement, that sparkle in the eyes, that jolt of electricity people have when they’ve got really bad news to tell you. Suddenly I realized I had to get out of the house. I couldn’t be here when the first news arrived, when people were huddling around, snatching at fragments, speculating about what exactly might have happened.

I ran down the stairs, nodding at Dario on the way. He asked me if I could give him a hand. I shook my head. I told him somebody had rung me. I had urgent work to attend to.

‘This is going so badly,’ he said.

I said I’d catch him later. As I walked away from the house, I phoned Melanie at work again.

‘You’re stalking me,’ she said.

It was the first time she had ever teased me. Was I seeming needy? Putting myself in a position of weakness? ‘Is it a problem?’ I asked.

‘No, no, course not,’ she said.

I told her I’d pick her up from work. There was something I needed to talk to her about. She left her gallery at ten past five. I had more than four hours to kill and nothing to do. The day passed in a fuzzy rush. I wandered the streets looking at passers-by, men in stained trousers drinking lager and talking to themselves, people with headphones, busy shoppers. Everybody inching their way through a crowd of strangers. What did it matter if one or two or three of them disappeared? In a hundred years there’d still be a crowd here, winos talking to themselves, busy shoppers, but they’d be new. The old ones would be dead.

I took Melanie for a coffee. I dropped hints about us all having to leave the house and she blushed and smiled and said maybe we could think of looking for somewhere together, and I nodded and smiled and said we should think about it and maybe we should head home.

As I opened the door, Dario was standing in the hall, wild-eyed. He walked over to us and spoke quietly. ‘Davy,’ he said. ‘Mel.’

At that moment I needed Melanie the way people sometimes need a cigarette. It’s not that you particularly want a smoke. It just gives you something to do with your hands. When you do all the stuff like taking the cigarette out of the packet, putting it into your mouth and playing with lighters or matches, it stops you feeling self-conscious. When Melanie was there, draped around me, doing what I said, agreeing with me, I turned into a new creature: Davy-and-Mel. So sweet, so young and in love. People stopped paying attention. Best of all, she could do the reacting for both of us. I pretended to be numbed by the news, so shocked that I couldn’t even speak. And I watched Melanie as if she was an actress giving a performance. And what a performance. Her pretty pale face flushed, tears filled her eyes, she stammered and asked questions and said she couldn’t believe it and held my arm tight and tried to remember when she had last seen Leah and what Leah had said. I stayed close, my arm round her, silent. I could smell her smooth, newly washed hair.

Pippa heard us and came out of her room. She seemed the most composed of anyone. Suddenly I saw how ridiculous Melanie looked, her cheeks streaked with black, weeping for somebody she hardly knew and couldn’t have cared for.

‘What’s going to happen?’ I asked.

‘How should I know?’ she said. ‘Miles is downstairs. Go and see him.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better if you did?’

She smiled. ‘No,’ she said.

So the two young lovers went downstairs and found Miles sitting alone at the table staring into the air. We made tea and opened tins of biscuits and sat and held hands and murmured and nodded while Miles babbled and cried and talked aimlessly. There was too much talk. It was too confusing, too much to keep in mind. I was worried I would say the wrong thing but I couldn’t think of an excuse to get up and leave him there. And then Astrid came in. She was wearing strange rough clothes: tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt that clearly weren’t hers. She looked exhausted and rumpled, yet she had the glow about her of someone who had been close to the action.

‘Was it horrible?’ I asked, then realized how fatuous that sounded and Astrid instantly told me so. Miles got up and I could see that he felt more intimate with Astrid than he had with us. He had made do with us because there was nobody else to talk to. He might as well have been talking to himself. Now, with Astrid, he let his guard down and hugged her and talked in a new, raw tone. We watched them curiously.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said, then looked round at us awkwardly and said he’d talk to her outside.

They left the kitchen and Melanie turned to me. ‘What was that?’

‘I don’t know. Let’s go upstairs.’

As we walked up, I saw Miles and Astrid in a conspiratorial huddle on the stairs. I heard – thought I heard – Astrid saying, ‘I can’t take twenty thousand in cash, Miles!’ But they looked round, saw me and feel silent. Shutting me out. We eased past them.

‘Everything all right?’ I asked.

Astrid turned away from me. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said.

‘If there’s anything…’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, thanks.’

But I saw the money in her hands.