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Turns out the guy was British. I heard his booming voice resonate through the entire house as he guffawed at something with George. I was on the first floor, they the third. Maybe I didn’t need the coffee after all.
Still, I trudged upstairs with my double espresso and wondered what I was getting myself into this time.
The guy was kicked back on my bed, completely relaxed. I know he wasn’t physically touching it, but it still made me cringe. I was definitely sleeping in a guest room tonight. He was telling some story whose main characters seemed to be a daiquiri and a certain appendage of his. Heroically, George tried to avert his eyes, but to no avail. Sighing, I jumped in to rescue him.
‘Alright, who are you?’
Little rude, but I was severely lacking in sleep, remember?
He turned to me, looked me up and down, taking in my bedraggled appearance and pretty unicorn mug. Then, he turned back to George and continued his story.
‘If you’re going to ignore me, get the hell off my bed.’
‘I’m trying to finish a story here,’ he cawed, shaking his head. ‘Jeez, she’s like my wife. I told you about my wife, didn’t I, Johnny?’
‘Sure, why not?’
‘And I probably told you about Dave, too?’
‘That...also could have happened.’
‘Right. So, as I unzipped my-’
Thankfully, he halted his story to glare at me, as if I was the offender here.
‘Is she always like this?’ he groaned in disgust. George blinked.
‘Uh, are you?’ he asked me, completely baffled.
I wasn’t certain how much coffee I put in my cup, but I guess it was way too much.
‘His name is George, not Johnny. And I’m not like anything. So, for the last time, who the hell are you? And if you don’t answer, get out of my house. I’m giving you five seconds.’
Surprised by my outburst, he raised his hands in placatory gesture and backed off the bed toward George. George looked longingly at the balcony, presumably wanting to throw himself off again.
‘Whoa. Alright, no need to get your knickers in a twist. I was only having a little laugh with Johnny- Jerry?’
Johnny-Jerry-George nodded, accepting the baptism of the lucy.
‘See? No harm done. Now, we appeared to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Name’s Ronald, you can call me Ronnie if you like. Only person to call me Ronald was my wife, and she was- well, I thought she was only a cheater, but it turns out she’s a killer, too.’
Now, we were getting somewhere. I settled into my armchair, resigned to the state of my poor bed, and listened to his tale of woe.
‘We’d been married almost thirty years. Both lived in Hackney, never left the place, et cetera. I was a stockbroker; a really good one, actually. Made a lot of money. She was- Angela was a kept woman. She showed no interest whatsoever in getting a job, and why should she? I was making enough money for the two of us. It was all fine and dandy until it wasn’t.’
‘What happened?’ I asked, reaching for my trusty notebook.
‘She met someone else. Thirty years I’d been working my socks off, not taking holidays, taking all the overtime, and for what? I was getting ready to retire-’
‘Wait, how old are you?’ I interrupted, scrunching my eyes as I checked his face. He didn’t seem to be retirement age yet.
‘Fifty-one.’
‘Man, I should’ve gone into stocks instead of history,’ George sighed, shaking his head. ‘Doesn’t matter now, I suppose.’
Ronnie gave him a sympathetic look.
‘Right. You were saying?’ I prodded, leading him back to his story.
‘Of course. I was about to retire when I started seeing the signs. New perfume, suddenly wearing makeup again. Her whole appearance changed, but she didn’t change. It was clear that she was hiding something.’
‘Maybe you were wrong?’ George suggested, reaching out to pat his knee. He balked as his hand went straight through.
‘Could’ve been a mid-life crisis,’ I added, trying to save him from that awkward moment.
‘Could’ve been, indeed, but it wasn’t. When you’re married to someone for that long, you know them. You know what’s going through their mind, and when they’re not really thinking about you anymore, but someone else. You’ll understand when you’re older. Well, you won’t,’ he said to George.
‘Thanks for that.’
‘You’ll have to come to terms with it sooner or later, mate.’
‘I choose later. So, did you confront her?’ George asked, getting back to the story.
‘No. It would’ve been rather foolish, since I had no proof. There was still a niggling doubt in all of this, somewhere at the back of my mind, that maybe I was wrong. I’d spent my whole life focused on my work. I took loads of trips away, leaving her at home. Maybe she’d always dressed like that and I simply hadn’t noticed before.’
I was starting to see a different side to Ronnie that he hadn’t exactly advertised. He gave off the impression of being a brash, bolshie guy; someone I really couldn’t get along with. Now that he knew we could help whatever his predicament was, he was calmer. Gentler, even.
He obviously loved his wife, that much anyone could see. And she’d done him in. His story was about to get a whole lot murkier.
Ronnie cleared his throat and sat up straight. They couldn’t feel anything physical, but some lucies preferred mortal movements.
‘About three months ago, we booked a fortnight in Miami. It’s a place she’d always wanted to go, and my retirement was a sure thing. For me, it was a last-ditch effort for the marriage. I planned to talk things through and forgive any of her transgressions, if they existed. She had other ideas,’ he finished, gesturing to his ghostly body.
‘She killed you?’
‘Yup. One whack to the back of the head with a champagne bottle and a push off the pier. Nice end to a beautiful holiday.’
The guy looked so forlorn, I felt real bad for him. I’d met many a lucy who’d died at the hands of their family or close ones, and couldn’t figure out why. Knowing they’d been killed for money is usually the worst. And when they see their killers crying crocodile tears in public and laughing in private, it almost kills lucies all over again. They’ve known these people for decades, and turns out they never really knew them at all.
‘I’m sorry,’ I told him.
‘It’s alright. I’m just annoyed that she got there first.’
‘I know how hard it can be, and how the people you love most can hurt you,’ I went on before something registered. ‘Wait, what?’
‘I went on that bloody holiday to kill her myself! She wasn’t getting a penny out of me. I planned to do it the next day. She was allergic to nuts, so that’d be simple enough. I had a bottle of peanut oil in my suitcase and I was going to pour it over her calamari. It would’ve been perfect. The bitch had to ruin it.’
Unable to make a sentence, I looked to George for help. He was staring at me open-mouthed, pretty speechless too.
‘What?’ I repeated. It was the only word I was capable of right now.
‘You don’t stay with someone for thirty years without thinking of a few ways to kill them,’ he shrugged.
‘But what was all that about talking things through? And forgiveness?’ I spluttered, seriously annoyed. He laughed.
‘Well, let’s call that Plan A, shall we? To be honest, I couldn’t care less about her. I’d been sleeping with a coworker for almost three years now.’
I stood up and began pacing up and down, trying to sort myself out. The notebook slipped to the floor but I didn’t bother picking it up. I hadn’t written anything down, and I certainly didn’t plan to now. To think I felt sorry for the man only a second ago.
Some lucies are absolute victims. They didn’t deserve such an end, or to have their life snatched away from them for no goddamned reason. Some lucies had made mistakes, and wanted to repent.
And then, there were lucies like Ronnie.
‘You’re a jerk,’ I told him. He nodded.
‘Yeah, probably. So, can you help me or what?’
‘Who said I can help you? Just because I can see you and communicate-’
‘Johnny said you could.’
I glared at George.
‘Thanks, Johnny.’
He cringed away from the both of us.
‘Sorry! I thought he really needed help. I didn’t realize he’d be an ass.’
Ronnie chuckled again, unoffended.
‘Not the first time I’ve heard that. Can you put the telly on?’
I blinked at him. He nodded towards the TV.
‘No, I can’t. My dad is sleeping. It’s past 3am,’ I informed him. Frowning, he jumped off of my bed and took a stroll around the room, peering at my bookshelf as George had.
‘That’s a shame. I haven’t watched a match in months.’
‘Have you been walking around the country this entire time?’ George asked, dumbfounded.
‘Afraid so. It took me a day or two to realize that I was dead and Angela had gotten away with it. I overheard the hotel manager gossiping with a waiter. She’d made up a story that I’d gone off with a younger model.’
‘It would hardly have been a made-up story, would it?’ I retorted.
‘True, very true. What have we got here? History, law, photography. What sort of kid are you?’ he asked, rounding on me in disgust.
‘A cultured one.’
‘She’s never read them,’ George sighed.
‘Suppose you’re not all bad, then,’ he snorted, much to George’s chagrin.
I cursed the day I bought those books. I should’ve filled the shelf with stuffed animals and junk instead. At least then I wouldn’t have been repeatedly insulted by random lucies.
‘What did you want?’ I sighed, so ready for the day to be over.
‘How do you feel about murder?’ he asked blithely.
‘Very strongly against,’ I snapped, to George’s amusement.
‘No way I can sway you?’
‘Absolutely not. I’m not an assassin.’
‘Not even for a million dollars?’
I looked pointedly around my room, not impressed.
‘I have a balcony on my bedroom. What would I do with a million bucks?’
‘You’re not even interested as to how I got it?’ Ronnie pouted.
‘Nope.’
‘I am,’ George yelled, putting his hand up for some reason. It was the enthusiasm Ronnie needed to bounce back onto my bed and tell another godforsaken story.
‘I’d been saving for bloody years. We’d planned to buy a beach house and retire to Miami, obviously before she betrayed me.’
‘And you, her,’ I coughed under my breath, slumping back on my chair.
‘So, I pretended to go through with the plan anyway. I left her to sunbathe that day and went to the nearest bank to withdraw every penny I’d saved. Bit awkward having to go through all that, but I’m glad I did. I put it all into a briefcase and hid it on a beach. If you kill her, it’s yours.’
‘You do realize that if I kill her, she’ll be with you forever like this?’
Ronnie paled as he thought of it. Okay, little white lie, but no amount of money would make me kill anybody. He groaned.
‘Okay, scratch that idea then,’ he shuddered. ‘Will you at least find my body and put it to rest? And maybe make her life a living hell? Also, you’ll need to get the money before she finds it. Oh, and can you inform the police that she killed me, too?’
‘You don’t want much, do you? Fine. What beach?’ I asked, picking up my notebook. I could solve one issue right away.
‘I can’t remember.’
Or not. George found it funny but I was seriously annoyed.
‘She hit me pretty hard! All I know is it’s in a briefcase buried in the sand. I think,’ he added, thinking furiously.
I’d had enough. The day had taken its toll and meeting Ronnie had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Everything after that had served to break the camel’s spine and spirit, too.
‘Okay. I’ll deal with it all tomorrow. I’m going to bed. George, would you mind keeping him company?’
‘No way-’
‘Thanks, George.’
I waved them goodbye and trudged off to the nearest guest room.
At least I had Miami to look forward to.