fifty-four

The area was desert, the ground consisting of dry earth and the odd piece of discarded machinery. There were no birds here, no insects, no sound, except for the ever present hum of London’s traffic, like a Greek chorus. The only movement was pieces of litter and old newspapers that fluttered in the wind. The sky above was white and unforgiving. From inside the bag on my back, I could hear the dead man’s thoughts whispering to me, to the hesitant rhythm of my walk.

What I thought was flat land to the river turned out to have a slight dip in it which was invisible until I was upon it. In the small ash-white valley two youths and a woman were boiling a saucepan of water on a wood fire. They had set up home here: makeshift tents and boxes and empty cans were strewn about them. Through the flickering flames of heat the river shimmered like a mirage.

The group stood up as I approached.

‘What have you got there?’ the young woman asked.

Her voice managed to sound intimate and insolent at the same time. She had too much space in the centre of her forehead – enough room for her cunning and stupidity.

‘A dead body,’ I replied.

They laughed, and, suddenly disinterested, returned to watching their fire.

Ten minutes later I had reached the edge of the river. The group of teenagers had disappeared out of sight again into the dip behind me. The water was black and glittering as if scattered with diamonds. With a last surge of energy, I hurled the bag far into its depths, and watched it gulped down. The simplicity, the order to the deed struck me.

I returned to Kensington Gardens, ecstatic but tired, and quickly bathed and changed again. I could not bear to be dirty or feel unclean: the blood-spattered flat strangely did not bother me.

Lethe lay curled in the corner, thin and neglected. I was conscious, since the murder, of moving with more grace. I put the photograph of Justine up on the mantelpiece, next to the doll and underneath the portrait. The blood on the photograph was proof that I had done what had been requested. Jack’s blood represented Justine’s life. I picked up the doll and turned her upside down: she made a mewing sound.