Chapter 25

Buying a sufficiently large and sufficiently thick plastic bag was less easy than he had thought. There was nothing available astough as the one he had taken from the firm's warehouse‑ why had he been such a fool as to cut it up and throw it out? ‑ and he had to be satisfied with a cot mattress cover, designed to be urine‑ proof. All the way back on the bus he was thinking of the smell of Danila's body as it began to decay. The weather wa swarmer again. On some days it had been up in the twenties Celsius. Just the same, he knew that burying Gwendolen's body in the garden would be impossible. As he was walking round the DIY supermarket he had felt shooting pains begin, little stabs like tiny knives pricking his spine. He could disable himself for life, he thought, if he attempted putting a spade to that concretelike clay.

The body he had wrapped in one of her own threadbaresheets. It lay in his little hallway. He took the mattress cover out of its packaging and saw at once it wouldn't do. It was too thin and‑ he shuddered‑ too transparent. If he used it hewould be in the same mess as he'd been in last time‑ worse, because eventually there would be a search for old Chawcer. All he could do was wait until tomorrow and try to get a stronger, thicker bag.

The pain in his back had returned. He shouldn't have dragged that much heavier body up all those stairs. But what choice had he? And he was going to have to drag it farther in case something happened to make it impossible for him to refuseentry to anyone who needed to come into the flat. As well as the pain he had a sore ankle where that cat had scratched him. The whole area was red and swollen and he wondered if Otto's claws were infected with nasty bacteria. But his life was more important than pain, he thought, and he lugged the bodyi nto the living room, where he dropped it in a corner and pushed the cocktail cabinet across to hide it.

Its presence there haunted him and he had to move first into the kitchen, then the bedroom. How could you relax in a room with a body, however disguised, rolled up in one corner? In the bedroom it was better, a bit better. He lay on his bed and thought, tomorrow I'll find somewhere to buy a thicker, stronger bag and then I'll put her in it and under the floorboards. After that, I'll put it out of my mind, I won't thinkabout it anymore.

Nerissa was out with her father. She was his only daughter and his youngest child and though he couldn't have said he loved her better than his sons, he loved her differently, partly because she was the girl he had longed for and partly because her skin was almost as dark as his. His sons had their mother's features and skin lighter than his own. They were tall and handsome and successful at what they did and he was proud of them, but they didn't look like members of his tribe‑ its women were famouslybeautifu‑ l‑ as Nerissa did and his old mother did. So, f or no religious or ritualistic reason but just because they always did, he took the day off and he and Nerissa went to thes heltered housing in Greenford where his mother lived and, also for no particular reason except that they always did, took her a flowering plant from Africa and the best mangoes they could find (not, alas, sun‑ ripened and with juice‑ dripping golden flesh) and a bunch of pink and red and gold banksias rom the Cape, though this was not her part of that continent but the best they could do.

In the car on the way Nerissa tied up her head in a wonderful white and pink and emerald turban because this was what, in Grandma's eyes, women who dressed properly went out in, and she wore an emerald green caftan with a ruby border and looked like a chief's wife. " When they had made Tom's mother happy and in her company had eaten and drunk all sorts of things Nerissa knew she would have to compensate for by starving herself, they got back in the car and drove to wherever they were going for their day out. Somewhere different each year. Last time it had been the Thames Barrier and the Maritime Museum at Greenwich and this time it was Hampton Court Palace. Before they got there Nerissa unwound the turban, tied her hair back in a ponytail and put on big sunglasses so that she wouldn't be recognized. She kept the caftan on.

While they were walking round looking at things, the day having turned out to be warm and fine, Nerissa told her father, the words coming out in a rush, that she had fallen in love withDarel Jones.

" But you don't know him all that well, do you? " said Tom.

" I suppose not. I haven't seen him since we all went therefor dinner. But I know. I know I've been in love with him for years and years. Ever since they came to live next door. "

" Is he in love with you, my darling? "

" I wouldn't think so, Dad. Not for a moment. If he was he'd do something about it. He wouldn't just ask me to dinner with all you lot there as well. "

They had lunch in an Italian restaurant in Hampton, discovered by Tom who was good on restaurants. " While theywere eating their zabaglione‑ or Tom was eating his and Nerissa was pretending she couldn't finish hers‑ he told her that as she was so beautiful and he, personally, thought she was pretty nice as well, neither her appearance nor her characte rcould be responsible for Darel's indifference.

" I suppose it could just be a case of Dr. Fell, " said Tom.

" Who'sDr. Fell? "

" 'I do not love thee, Dr. Fell,

The reason why I cannot tell,

But this one thing I know full well,

I do not love thee, Dr. Fell. ' "

" I hope not, " said Nerissa, " because if that's it there'll be no putting it to rights. "

" Love's a funny thing. Your mother was beautiful, still is in my opinion, but I don't know why I fell in love with her, and God knows why she fell in love with me. Your grandma would say things were a lot easier when the suitor and the girl's parents arranged the match and the chap got a flock of goats and some bushels of corn with his bride. "

" Darel couldn't keep goats in Docklands, " said Nerissa, " and I don't suppose he'd know what to do with bushels ofcorn. He did say that if got harassed by that man who's stalking me I was to call him and he'd come. Any time of the day ornight, he said. "

" Are you being harassed? " Tom sounded anxious.

" Not really. I haven't seen him for a week. "

" Well, if you do, call Darel and kill two birds with onestone. "

Nerissa thought about it. " I don't want to actually look forward to the guy coming back. "

" Think again, " said Tom. " Maybe you do want to. "

Early next morning Queenie and Olive met at St. Blaise Houseand held a two‑ woman conference. Both were indignant that Gwendolen had gone away without letting them know. They sat in the drawing room, having spread two clean table napkins across the seat of the sofa, drinking an instant coffee brew that Olive had made and eating pastries from the confectioner's box Queenie had brought with her, neither of them much fancying food that came out of Gwendolen's kitchen.

" This room is filthy, " said Olive. " This whole house is filthy. "

She had sterilized the cups with boiling water and Dettol before filling them with coffee.

" Well, dear, we know that but we don't have to live here, thank goodness, and if you're thinking of having a whole house clean‑ up while poor Gwendolen is away, I wouldn't. You know what she was like when we tackled her kitchen. I think we should mind our own business. "

" I can't understand her going away at all. In all the years I've known her she's never been away. "

" And she's never mentioned friends in Cambridge. "

" No, but the professor may have known people there. In fact, it's quite likely. "

" That may be, " said Queenie, " but why has she never said? And, you know, dear, people of her age" ‑ Gwendolen had been ten years older than she and twelve years older than Olive‑ " take absolute ages to prepare themselves for going away to stay anywhere. I remember my dear mother when she was in her eighties taking a good two weeks to get herself ready and she was only going to my brother. And she discussed the pros and cons every day before she finally went. Should she leave in the morning or the afternoon? Which train should shecatch? Could she ask my brother to meet her or would he do that anyway? You know the sort of thing. And Gwendolenwould be just the same. No, she'd be worse. "

" Well, I don't know. Drink your coffee before it gets cold. "

" I'm sorry, Olive, but I can't. It tastes of disinfectant.

Do you think she's got an address book about anywhere? Wecould look in that. She must write down people's addressessomewhere. "

They walked about the room, remarking on the grime and the cobwebs, and were pulling books out of the bookcase and blowing dust off their spines when Mix came down into the hallway. He had been on his way downstairs, starting once more on his quest to find a thick stout plastic bag, when he heard them come into the house. At first he had retreated into his own flat, then, later, decided it would be best to confront them and, most importantly, ask them to return the house key.

A few moments before he entered the drawing room, Olive had found Gwendolen's ancient address book in a drawer among scraps of paper, broken pencils, safety pins, elastic bands, antique 15 amp electric plugs, and about fifty used checkbooks inwhich only the stubs remained. When Mix came in she lookedup from the entries under B, which was as far as she hadreached, and said, " Oh, good morning, Mr. Cellini, " in an unpleasant tone…

" Hiya, " said Mix.

" We were just wondering if you happened to know the name of the friends Miss Chawcer is staying with. "

" No, I don't. She didn't say. "

" We're very anxious to know, " said Queenie. " It's so unlike her to go away without a word. " She gave Mix one of the smiles that had been so winning when she was eighteen, and laid her hand on his arm. After all, he was a man. " We thought she might have confided in you. "

He made no answer. " Can I have the key back? "

" What key? " Olive said sharply.

" The key to this house. You won't need it now she's okay. " Yes, we will. We need to come in and see to the place while she's away. And another thing. I shall give this key up to Miss Chawcer and no one else. Is that understood? "

" Okay, keep your cool. " Mix turned away and said over his shoulder, " You don't want to send your blood pressure up at your age. "

This was unwise of him, though Olive appeared to react not at all. She said nothing to him or to Queenie even when she heard the front door close behind him but sat down on the napkin‑ covered sofa by the table and continued to turn thepages of Gwendolen's address book.

" What a terribly rude person he is, " said Queenie.

" Yes. There's not a single Cambridge address in this book, Queenie. ".

" Perhaps she knows it so well she doesn't need to write it down. "

" At her time of life you forget your own name if you don'twrite it down. "

Olive closed the book. " What are we going to do? We can't just leave it. I thought Gwen was looking very unwell when I saw her on Sunday. She looked as if she ought to have been inbed. And the next thing we know is she's gone off first thing next morning to stay with people no one has ever heard of inCambridge. In a taxi? When did Gwen ever go anywhere in a taxi, always supposing she knew how to order one. "

" Well, dear, I wouldn't trust that man Cellini an inch. "

" Then what were you doing smirking at him in that flirtatiousway? "

He should have been out, calling at DIY places and hardware stores, but he was afraid to leave those two old hags at large in the house. They would be bound to search it. And what if old Chawcer had kept a key to his flat? He'd never inquired and, to his knowledge, she hadn't been in there while he was out. On the other hand, she had never told him she possessed a key to his place and he'd never asked. If she had one they would find it. He dared not take the risk of going out.

Outside his flat he sat on the top step of the tiled flight and listened. He heard them come out of the drawing room. He could hear their voices, twittering to each other shrilly. Like birds of prey, he thought, ravens or whatever those creatureswere that you saw pecking at dead things on motorway verges. Dead things‑ his comparison reminded him of the body that lay, inadequately wrapped, behind the cocktail cabinet not many feet away from him. It was very warm in the flat. He remembered what had happened to Danila's body when it got warm and he went about, opening windows.

It seemed those two had gone into the kitchen. He crept down a floor, twinges running through his back. From there he could hear them banging about in the kitchen and wash house. What were they looking for? They came back into the hall andhe went back to halfway up the last flight. Not that there was much chance of their seeing or hearing him. Their lumbering progress up the stairs was too slow for that as they puffed and panted and took rests, clinging, he guessed, to the banisters. Ofc ourse they were making for old Chawcer's bedroom, and their presence there made him more uneasy than ever. From the top landing, through the banister rail, he watched them go into the room. To his relief they didn't close the door. He heard them walking about in there, moving small pieces of furniture, shifting ornaments about. One of them coughed, no doubt from dust released when a curtain was lifted or a shelf searched.

He didn't like them being in there. That was where he had killed her and he still wondered if he had left behind some evidence of his presence and his activities. Then he rememberedh e had taken the top sheet off her bed to wrap her in. A wash of heat flooded over him. Old women would be bound to spo tthat, it was the kind of thing they noticed. He found himself trembling all over, his hands shaking and out of control.

But they came out of the room after about ten minutes andhe heard Ma Fordyce say as they went down the stairs, " I feel sure there's something we've missed, Queenie. It's just a feeling I have. "

" So have I, dear. There's something in this house that if wecould find it would tell us at once where she is and whatshe's up to. "

" I'm not so sure of that. "

The rest of what Ma Fordyce said he could no longer hear. By that time she was down in the hallway and all that was audibleto him was the twitter of their voices. He listened for thefront door to open and close.

Putting her coat on, Queenie said that the weather was getting hot again. There was something unnatural about it, didn't Olive think?

" Global warming, " said Olive. " I expect the earth will burn up but at least we won't still be here to see it. "

" Now isn't that being a wee bit morbid, dear? "

" Just realistic. I've been thinking about that missing sheet.

Gwen is such a peculiar woman, perhaps she never used a topsheet, just a blanket and an eiderdown. "

" Oh, no, dear. I don't mean she's not peculiar. I absolutely agree with you there. But as to not using a top sheet, I know she did. I distinctly remember seeing one when we used to go in to her bedroom before she went into hospital. Very grubby it was, too. "

" Then where is it? " said Olive as they closed the front door behind them and went down the path into St. Blaise Avenue.

It was the middle of the afternoon before Mix succeeded in buying a sufficiently large and stout plastic bag. The pain in his back which had eased a little that morning now came back with stabbing shafts and a very unpleasant kind of prickling like red hotneedles being dragged up and down his vertebrae. Once the principal aim of his errand was satisfied, he had meant to go into the Job Centre, but he was finding that he could scarcely walk upright and the negligible weight of the plastic bag was almost too much for him. If he went into the Job Centre like that they'd think he'd come in to apply for incapacity benefit. At this rate, maybe it would come to that…

Once he was home again, a little comforted by a large BootCamp‑ he had run out of gin‑ he braced himself to take thebody out of its sheet wrapping and transfer it to the bag. He crawled toward it on his hands and knees but, as he pulled himself up by holding on to the cocktail cabinet, he knew he would be unable to move even so relatively light a piece of furniturewithout injuring his back perhaps beyond cure, and there was no other way of getting the body out from behind it, for thetwo rear corners of the cabinet were close up against the walls that met at right angles.

Panic took hold of him. Tears started in his eyes and he drummed on the floor with his fists. After a while, doing his best to control himself, he crawled into the kitchen and, once more hauling himself up, took four strong ibuprofen and swallowed them down with the Boot Camp dregs.

Some hours later Olive came back to St. Blaise House, bringing her niece Hazel Akwaa. She felt she needed the support of a sensible younger person. The sun was setting and crimsonlight lit up the sky over Shepherd's Bush and Acton when the two women went out into the garden. On the other side of the wall, where the fairy light palm tree rivaled the sunset, Mr. Singh was throwing down handfuls of corn for his geese.

He said, " Good evening, Mesdames, " with exquisitepoliteness.

" I love your tree, " said Hazel. " It's gorgeous. "

" You are very kind. In the absence of a gardener, my wife and I felt the place needed a soupcon of beautifying. How is Miss Chawcer? "

" She seems to have gone away to convalesce with friends. " It was the middle of the afternoon before Mix succeeded in buying a sufficiently large and stout plastic bag. The pain in hisback which had eased a little that morning now came back withstabbing shafts and a very unpleasant kind of prickling like redhotneedles being dragged up and down his vertebrae. Oncethe principal aim of his errand was satisfied, he had meantto go into the Job Centre, but he was finding that he could"

To the countryside, I hope? That will do her good. "

Olive was looking round for Otto. " D'you know, " she said, " I haven't set eyes on that cat since the day before yesterday. "

" Now you mention it, " said Mr. Singh, " nor have I. Not, I must say, that I find this a matter for regret. It is such a predator that I fear my poor geese may meet the same fate as my guinea fowl. "

Throwing a final handful of corn, he gave Olive and Hazel akind of court bow and went off into his house. The geese cackledand gobbled.

" Have a look at that flowerbed, " said Hazel. " Doesn't it look as if someone's been digging a grave? "

" You've got too active an imagination, Hazel. "

" If I have it's because when I'm round here I always think of the murderer Christie. He only lived a stone's throwaway. I was a baby when it happened but when we were little kids we used to go around to Rillington Place and stare at his house. "

" I remember it well, " said Olive. " First they renamed it, then they pulled it down. I don't remember that happening anywhere else a murderer lived. "

" Like what the Romans did to Carthage. They razed it t othe ground, Tom told me, and plowed over the site. Christie buried several of those women in his garden. "

" Well, no one's buried Gwendolen. That earth's been turned like that quite a while ago. Thistles are starting to grow on it. But I do wonder what's become of that cat. Whatever Gwendolen says, I'm sure she's quite fond of it and if it's missing when she gets back from wherever she's got to, no prizes forguessing who gets the blame. "

It may have been the effect of the pills or the strong spirit or both, but after Mix had slept for a while he awoke feeling dizzy, the pain still tere but weak like the memory of a past backache or the anticipation of one still to come. When he first lay down and closed his eyes, it was with an uneasy feeling that something had happened earlier that was vitally important but thatfor some reason he hadn't recognized for what it was. It nagged at his mind but drifted away when sleep came. Now, as hisdizziness subsided, his mind seemed to clear. He knew what had happened earlier and understood perfectly what it would have said to him if he had been open to receive it.

Ma Winthrop had touched his arm, his bare arm, with one finger. It was when she was asking him if old Chawcer had confided in him. Her finger had touched him and it had been warm, as warm as the skin it touched. And that should have told him, but told him only now, that old people weren't cold to the touch, their temperature was the same as in young ones. So if old Chawcer was ice‑ cold it was because she was deadalready.

She had been dead before he entered the room, before he looked at her, before he touched her. That was why her skin felt like ice and why she hadn't struggled when he held the pillow over her face. Sweat broke out across his face and the palms of his hands, yet a great chill passed through him. He had killed a dead woman. It seemed to him an awful thing to have done and a stupid thing. He had killed someone who was already dead.

In a way it was like what Reggie did. No wonder the ghost had seemed sympathetic to him. Of course he hadn't touched her like Reggie did‑ the horror of that brought him out in a fresh sweat. But there had been points of resemblance. Was h eunder Reggie's influence, then? Had the ghost directed him?

He got up and walked across the room to where the body was. He put his hands on the top of the cocktail cabinet andl eaned on it. Gradually it was coming to him that if he had known, if only he had realized, he could have simply looked ather, touched that cold skin and left her there. She couldn't have said anything to the police. She was dead. Instead, he had held a pillow over her face while counting to five hundred. He hadpulled a sheet from her bed and wrapped up in it a woman who had been dead for hours. It must have been hours for the bodyto be so cold.

In doing so he had incriminated himself, for who would now believe she had died a natural death? He had taken awayher body and hidden it, he had removed a sheet from her bed, perhaps left some of his DNA‑ he was vague about this adheringt o her skin, told those two old women she had gone away, said he had seen her waiting for a taxi. And now he had her body up here. Would the police be able to find out she died naturally? Would a coroner? It mustn't come to that.

Whatever it might do to his back, even if it crippled him for life, he had to get it into the bag tonight and stowed away under the floorboards. His ankle felt more painful than ever, a pulse throbbing under the stretched purplish skin.