I fear the trials of the day will never end. I’ve just sat the kids down and told them about Monika. How do you explain such a thing to teenagers? I did my best. She was in this house on Sunday and being so close to brutality has numbed them into silence. They’ve gone to their rooms, and even James is speechless. I’m struggling to pull myself in all the different directions today requires, and I realise I shouldn’t have told Tony that he could come over. But the man is in a terrible state. He needs his friends. He’s at the door.
He wears a white shirt and tan trousers, with Ray-Bans plopped on top of his head, and he’s trying to be the Tony he was yesterday, last week, all his life, but he’s not. I can tell by his eyes that he’s broken. He’s nervous as he comes in and gives me flowers. I take them and cuddle him. His body feels like home and I stay there for a while, holding him.
I feel him relax and he pulls away and looks into my eyes.
‘I was a shit husband,’ he says.
‘Shush, Tony, stop it.’
‘I’m an arrogant prick, and karma is coming to bite me on the arse.’
‘Stop it, you’re in shock, this isn’t your fault.’
‘Try telling the police that.’
I look furtively up the stairs to see if any of my children are listening and usher him through to the kitchen.
‘You need a drink and some time with old friends,’ I tell him. ‘Did you hear about Brandon Stand? He was Ewan’s bully at school.’ I’m trying to divert his maudlin spiral.
‘Who?’ Tony asks.
I look at him oddly but can forgive him for not watching the news or listening to the radio at a time like this.
‘A local teenager died of an ecstasy overdose in the early hours in hospital. He was the headmaster’s son. Ewan had a bit of a meltdown.’
‘His bully is dead – isn’t that good news?’
The diversion works. Old Tony is back, if only for a moment.
Jeremy comes in from outside – he’s been making the pool house lounge comfortable. We plan to spend the afternoon out there rather than in the house so the children don’t overhear our conversation, which will inevitably be about Monika’s gruesome death. I busy myself with locating a vase for Tony’s flowers. The men slap each other on the back and I’m infinitely puzzled by the male ritual of physical prowess on display.
‘Drink?’ Jeremy asks Tony. ‘I’ve got some fresh lemonade from Waitrose in the outside fridge.’
The chance of these two staying sober today is about as remote as Monika coming back to life.
‘Great,’ Tony says. They walk outside, asking me to join them. I nod and promise to follow.
‘Anything to go with it?’ Tony asks. They walk out together, shoulders hunched over, carrying the weight of the world, and I compare it to the two young carefree stags I used to know. How life changes and meanders like a great river bending against the rocks. I grab a cranberry juice because I’ve got work to do later, and walk over to the pool house.
‘How is Ewan?’ Tony asks, and I look away. Jeremy answers.
‘Yeah, his reaction was intense. I guess he feels shame about wanting harm to come to him, but I’ve explained to him that it’s what we all want for our tormentors, Brandon didn’t die because Ewan wished him ill,’ Jeremy says.
I marvel at his lucidity, but then he’s using my words from how I explained it to James. I catch myself for almost believing that he could be intelligible. It’s an easy mistake.
‘Always psychoanalysing, mate,’ Tony says. It’s a moment of lightness and I settle into my seat. The pool house is shady and cool. I know I’m in for a long day. I’m itching to go and comfort my children and try to answer all their questions about Monika, but I need to at least listen to Tony, before he and Jeremy get totally inebriated, then I can leave them to it.
‘Whiskey? JD? Or plain old vodka, mate?’ Jeremy lists the intoxicating substances needed by the pair to drown their sorrows this afternoon. I stay quiet.
‘JD will do, mate,’ Tony says.
Jeremy busies himself with drinks.
‘Thanks for having me over. I need it. Between the mortuary last night, and the police station this morning, my weekend is about the shittiest I can remember.’
‘How was it?’ I ask him. It’s a simple, if trite question, but I want to at least give him the opportunity to get it off his chest. It must have been a horrific experience for him, viewing the body of his murdered wife.
‘I don’t need therapy right now, if that’s what you mean. But I will say it was horrendous. She looked ghastly.’
‘I’m sorry,’ is all I can think of to say. The rest will come later, after his throat has been oiled by JD.
‘I’m their prime suspect,’ he adds.
I hear Tony and Jeremy’s voices and they merge into one rumble as Jeremy drones on about what the police can and can’t do. I know Kingston, and Tony doesn’t really need legal advice, but Jeremy hasn’t been this animated for months so I sit and behave myself. I look back to the house.
‘What evidence have they got?’ I ask.
They both stop talking and stare at me.
‘Well, zero. I was asleep all night.’
It wasn’t really what I was asking, but I let it go. Perhaps it’s too soon.
‘So, you’ve got nothing to worry about,’ I say.
Tony sighs deeply. ‘It’s not as simple as that. Last night, when they came to my house I was… erm… with another woman.’
Tony looks at Jeremy for a reaction. I already know what a spectacular fuck up, even by Tony Thorpe’s standards, he’s made, but we don’t share all our conversations with Jeremy. We never have.
‘It looks bad,’ he adds. ‘I know, you can say it. I’m a total bastard.’
‘Come on, mate, you need this,’ Jeremy says, topping him up. Jeremy’s answer to everything.
‘Was Monika carrying on as well?’ I ask.
Jeremy glares at me.
‘Because that would be a good reason for you to seek comfort somewhere else,’ I say.
Jeremy tries to interject but he’s not keeping up. I’m crafting reasonable doubt for a potential jury. Jeremy is simply background noise.
‘Yes, she was,’ Tony says.
‘So, do you know with whom? The police need to look there.’
‘Kingston told me to leave that one until we need it.’
‘Need what?’ Jeremy asks, about three days behind the rest of the people in the room. I must go to Planet Jeremy some time – it seems infinitely simpler than here. But then I remember that he’s on it, and it loses its allure.
‘An alternative suspect,’ I tell him.