Chapter Fourteen

 

Wednesday 30th April – 2.00pm – Poet’s Attic Room

 

It’s two o’clock and the afternoon stretches out before me like a super highway, the horizon unreachable.

For horizon read gig, as for the first time since my early nervous days, I have no idea how I am going to do it tonight?

To say that good old Dougie caught me at a weak moment is an understatement of nuclear proportions, but I should still have been strong enough to tell him to sod off.

But that’s my style isn’t it, with all crashing about me, what do I do?

Book a gig of course, what else?

No decisive action for me, oh no, let’s play a gig, sing some songs and read some poems, that’ll fix the world and its problems, no trouble.

I’m even sitting at my laptop now trying to compose another epic of instantly ignorable psychobabble, when I should be trying to solve a murder or down at The Cat telling Dougie what a manipulative arse he is.

Dedicated or moronic?

No contest.

Still, some good news, it was nice of that policeman to call this morning to tell me that Julius might be released soon.

I remember how my heart sank when I saw him on the doorstep, afraid he wanted to go over my statement again, or even worse ask me about Rhiannon; perhaps someone else saw her?

But no, he’s definitely one of the good guys as far as I am concerned despite my long held suspicions about our boys in blue. The music industry with its notorious excesses has never been easy bedfellows with the constabulary.

But he’d just asked me how I was, how I was coping before going into serious mode.

‘Fresh evidence come to light’ he said

‘No promises, but things definitely look rosier for your mate’ he said.

Surely there is no way he’d have said anything at all to me if it wasn’t a foregone conclusion?

Think positively for once, he’ll definitely be out soon.

I wonder if they are any closer to catching the real murderer or have just ‘eliminated him from their enquires’ to quote the popular phrase beloved by TV cops?

I think of Rhiannon and the knife and shudder.

Despite his friendliness if that policeman knew what I knew then I’d be taking Julius’ place in the cells pretty sharpish, withholding evidence and the like.

But it can’t be her that murdered Grinder, got to be another explanation; I know I should have told the police what I saw that night, Julius would probably be out already if I had.

I will tell them, have a quiet word with the one that just called, but I’ve got to ask her about it first.

But what if she is a killer, I mean how much do I actually know about her? Not a lot as I previously established.

But if she is, and she knew that I knew…………………?

No, if by any chance she was responsible it had to be an accident or a momentary loss of control, no way that Rhiannon is a cold blooded murderer. No way.

I hear footsteps on the stairway; what’s Lydia doing back this early?

She’s supposed to be working until four then picking up Mae from home work club at the school.

I turn my chair around from the small desk to greet her.

The door opens and in walks Rhiannon.

The smile that I had ready for Lydia is firmly in place and despite my astonishment; I can’t seem to shift it.

Rhiannon smiles back, looking lovely as ever in a mustard coloured woollen dress belted at the waist over black sparkly tights and the ever present ankle boots; a look she obviously favours, and suits her.

‘Hello, I did knock; the door was off the latch so I came in and followed the noise’

I am straining to stop my smile morphing into the Guppy as I realise that she is talking about ‘Night swimming’ by REM that is playing softly on the mini system next to the laptop.

She must have damn good hearing, we are three floors up?

I can’t have shut the door properly when I put the rubbish out, not the first time.

She sits down on the only other chair in the bedroom, a hard backed affair that is thankfully not draped with clothes as is usual.

I have still not spoken, and her exquisite features take on a worried look.

‘I’ll go if you’d rather, I don’t want to embarrass you or cause a problem with your wife’ She sounds earnest.

I feel some semblance of control returning and briefly consider the ‘trouble’ I would be in if Lydia caught her here. The word is woefully inadequate if I know Lydia at all.

‘No, please, sorry, I would, no need………………’

She interrupts, thankfully rescuing me from my gibbering.

‘I feel terrible about what happened and how your friend got involved and I just had to see how you were coping?

Two in one day, I must be popular?

I can smell delicate perfume and what I believe to be vanilla scented body wash, a heady mixture in this confined, intimate space.

Got to make an effort to sound half-sensible.

‘I’m fine thanks; I had some good news about Julius this morning actually, sounds like he might be released soon’

This is the best that I can do when really what I want to say is ‘why are you in my bedroom?

She smiles, tosses her hair and I catch a brief glimpse of the small scar now nearly healed.

‘That’s great; I can’t understand how they could have suspected him in the first place? Her voice indignant.

Well perhaps kneeling over the body holding a knife had something to do with it, I think? But I know that she is just trying to say the right thing so don’t reply.

However one obvious question is burning on my lips and I wonder if now is the right time to ask it?

I realise that I need more time.

‘Do you want some coffee? I stand up as I ask.

‘Yes, that would be lovely, thank you’ he reply is immediate, no hesitation, as if she was waiting for the question.

I brush past her and trot down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen, my mind a whirlpool of twists and loops.

I don’t remember making the coffee as five minutes later I make the reverse journey, still no clearer in my head than I was on the way down.

I enter the bedroom to see her sitting at my laptop scanning the screen.

She smiles her radiant smile and moves over to the other chair again.

‘I hope you don’t mind’ she nods to the screen ‘is it going to be a poem or a song?

As I remember less about what’s on the screen than I do about the coffee making, this presents something of a problem, so I take the easy option.

‘I’m not sure as yet; it’s just an idea really’

I gaze at the four completed verses and realise that this might not be very convincing, but she doesn’t press the point.

The table holding the laptop is the only available surface so I place her coffee on the corner within easy reach.

Steam is still rising from its surface and she does not pick it up.

I wish I had not made it so hot, a few sips each would help to break the ice; I also realise that I have made hers the same as mine, white with no sugar, without asking.

‘Sorry, I didn’t ask how you take it’ I gesture towards the cup.

‘That’s fine thanks’

She crosses her legs as she replies and I try to avert my gaze as the dress rides up to mid-thigh.

It’s no good, I’ve got to go for it; I know that she did not like being questioned at our last encounter but dammit she is in my bedroom, in my space, so I’ve got a right to…………….?

Got a right to what……?

Here I go again, too much bloody thinking, just ask the question.

‘On the night when it happened’ I look carefully at her as I begin, and she shifts slightly on the chair.

‘I was sitting on the floor by the back wall when you came out of the corridor’ I can’t believe I just said that, no hesitation, voice firm?

I pick up my coffee and take a tentative sip feeling the hot liquid burn at my throat.

She uncrosses her legs, placing her hands into her lap then looks down at them. They are both clenched into fists, the knuckles white.

‘Do you think that I did it? She does not raise her head.

God, no preamble with this one I think, straight to the point.

A weariness comes over me and I feel my own head droop.

‘I honestly don’t know what to think? Is the unequivocal truth.

We look up at the same time and our eyes meet.

‘Is that why they are releasing your friend’ she does not look angry, just sad ‘because of what you told them?

But I feel an anger surge up inside me; how could she think that I would……………..?

But then again how could she know………………….?

‘I’ve said nothing about you’ I answer truthfully ‘I know what I saw, but I thought I’d ask you first’

Her head drops again and I realise that for the first time, I may actually be in control of this encounter.

‘Thank you’ he eyes shift up again to meet mine.

She picks up her coffee and takes a sip before taking a deep breath and speaking.

‘I had gone to the toilet and when I came out Chloe was sitting on the floor with a knife close to her and Grinder was dead’ she relates the obscene event in a quiet monotone.

‘There were some lads in the corridor as well, and I think the knife belonged to them, but then Chloe picked up the knife and stared at it, I’ll never forget the look on her face’ her whole body shakes and I ache to hold her as she continues.

‘The lads bolted out of the corridor and she dropped it back on the floor and began to make……… that sound, oh God that sound’ another shiver. I stand and put my arm around her.

I can feel her press into me as she continues the story.

‘I must have been thinking clearly I suppose because I realised at once that Chloe’s finger prints would be on the knife. I heard the police sirens so I just picked it up and went into the lounge’ she looks up at me.

‘You know the rest? I nod and before I can stop myself, kiss her softly on the cheek.

She moves her face around and suddenly we are kissing properly and she is pressing up to me her hands now on my hips.

I break away but she pulls me down to her again, eager, her lips moist, my resistance fading.

Without breaking contact we move to the bed and collapse together, her on top of me. Then I feel her stiffen and she removes her lips from mine, head cocked to one side.

‘Are you expecting anybody? Her voice breathless and urgent.

The question fails to register as I try to pull her closer to me again; then I hear the footsteps; still on the first stairwell I surmise from long experience.

My glance at the half-opened door also tells me that I failed to shut it when I returned with the coffee.

We both roll off the narrow bed and are just standing up as there is a swift knock on the door and a figure appears around it, half in and half out of the small bedroom.

All my grating, heightened senses have prepared me for Lydia and it takes a second or so to register the face of my mother-in-law Phoebe. Her initial smile vanishes as she looks from me to Rhiannon and then back again, her expression now completely neutral as she walks back out of the door.

Her footsteps echo on stairwell for ten long seconds before I hear the door to her bedroom slam shut.