It had been a stupid mistake. I hadn’t had time to think about it, I’d been in a fog of panic, and made the wrong decision. Maybe that would protect me as well. I didn’t even have a real motive. That woman was lying dead on the floor quite unnecessarily – perhaps I’d left my fingerprints everywhere. I looked warily round the tree-trunk, poised to return, and then – I guess I should have expected it, really, because it was turning into a farce – a bike came into view and, of course, Astrid was riding it. She was a distance away but I could see her face glistening with the effort of cycling up the hill, but she wasn’t panting heavily. She was used to this. She looked wonderful. Why do you always end up with the one you don’t really want? Melanie thought of me as her boyfriend. That woman was dead by mistake. That was the way life worked out.
Astrid swung off her bike in a single movement and pulled it over the gravel. It was like watching someone at school trying to solve a difficult problem. She rang the bell, then rang it again. She took out her phone and made a call. She peered through the letterbox. She’d seen something. I could watch her thinking. She looked around. I shrank further behind the tree. I heard her talking into her phone again. I couldn’t make out the words but I could hear the urgency, the hysteria almost, in her tone. This might be an ambulance or even the police. Time to go.
I edged away and walked along the other side of Century Road. Before I turned the corner I heard the loud sound of a smashing window. That Astrid. Wonderful.
Chapter Thirty-six
It wasn’t a coincidence. It was meant to be. She might not know it yet, but I did, and once I knew it the whole world looked different. I sat in the park and took out the paperweight. When I looked at it, following the lines of colour into the clear, glowing centre, it almost felt as if I was seeing my own life. I had killed Peggy, and Astrid had been there. I had killed Ingrid, and once again Astrid was there. She was my witness; my audience, and I was doing it for her. Everyone else receded and it was just the two of us. Astrid with her laughing eyes.
I don’t know how long I sat there. The sun rose higher in the sky. The colours deepened and the shadows became shorter. I wasn’t hungry or anxious or tired. I could feel my heart beating at just the right speed, and the blood pumping round my body. I clenched my fists and felt the muscles in my forearm tighten. I sat up straight on the park bench and my body felt as it was meant to be, light and powerful. I glanced around me and my eyes took in everything: the tall trees, the sweep of the path, a woman pushing a buggy with a little frown on her face, a child with a lollipop stuck into its mouth, the three ducks waddling behind, the single cloud puffing along on the horizon, the litter lifted up on a curl of wind, the man with a tattoo on his forearm. The world was entering my skull and I could keep it there. All that I saw, all that I heard, tasted, touched, could be held inside me. I smiled and felt the smile on my face. I blinked and my eyes were a camera focusing, clicking on the image I wanted to catch.
I walked from the park and into a shop where I bought a large bottle of water, which I drank on the spot, every last drop. I could feel the cold liquid running into me. I started to walk back towards the house, but I knew it would be some time before the police were finished with her, so I changed my mind and went to Melanie’s gallery instead, to kill time. She couldn’t believe it when I pushed the door open and went inside. The second day in a row! Her face lit up with a kind of dazed happiness that made her look even younger than she was. She didn’t struggle this time, even though I was rough with her. There were red marks and bruises on her skin when I’d finished. I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see her looking at me. I left before she’d finished buttoning her shirt.
They should have listened to themselves and then they’d have realized how stupid they sound. Yabber, yabber, yabber. Miles being pompous and wounded all at once, and Pippa going on about tenants’ rights. Dario whining between toxic clouds of smoke, Mick grunting, Leah putting in her poisonous remarks. Owen didn’t really say anything, but that was probably because he was so busy trying to look like a film star who’d wandered into the wrong movie and now had to sit it out. I was Mr Nice Guy, of course, but I didn’t put much effort into it. My mouth smiled, my eyes made contact with the others round the table, I nodded in agreement, frowned in thought. Every so often I heard myself saying bland, reasonable phrases, but it was all happening at a great distance from me.
Because I was waiting for Astrid. Every cell in my body was alert, each little sound vibrated through me. I heard every car that slowed down as it passed the house, every door that slammed, each footstep falling on the pavement outside.
At last it was her. Nobody else seemed to notice that the front door had opened, then closed softly. I strained my ears but could hear nothing. She must be standing in the hall, hesitating, wondering whether to go to her room or to come down and face us. Perhaps she wouldn’t come downstairs at all. I didn’t think I could stand that.
‘You’re behaving like a silly little schoolboy,’ Leah snapped at Dario.
I nudged Pippa. ‘I think I heard Astrid come in,’ I whispered. ‘Should we ask her to join us?’
‘Astrid? Is that you?’ she yelled immediately. Her voice was surprisingly loud for such a willowy girl. ‘Come here, will you? We need you.’
‘Bollocks to you,’ roared Dario. ‘You’re deliberately twisting things, but you won’t get away with it, you know.’
Her footsteps were light on the stairs. I tried not to stare at the doorway where she would appear so at first I caught only a burning glimpse of her, bundled up in oversized jeans and a large blue jumper. Like a waif. Like an orphan. I allowed myself to look properly as she came across and sank into the large armchair, mumbling something inane to cover my stare. Her face was pale, her dark eyes enormous. There was a pulse in her throat and a tiny blue vein in her temple, just visible behind her black hair. She’d never looked more beautiful; it was all I could do to stop myself going over to her and taking her in my arms. But everybody else was so caught up in the quarrel that they hardly took any notice of her. Blind, deaf fools, all of them. She just sat there, silent and blank, listening to them baying at each other. I saw how she put up one hand and brushed the hair away from her face. She had long, slender fingers, bare of rings. Her nails were cut very short. Every so often, she closed her eyes briefly. Her thick lashes lay against her smooth skin.
What was going through her head? Finally I couldn’t bear it any longer. I went over to her, squatting down near enough to breathe in the smell of her, and asked her if she was all right. She turned her head and half smiled at me. Our eyes met, and I was looking right into her, deep down, and I knew then that if she didn’t understand the connection between us yet, one day she would.
When she spoke at last, her words cut through the noise. ‘What a cunt you are,’ she said to Leah. She said she didn’t care about the money. She made everyone ashamed of themselves. And then she told them. I watched her. The way her fists clenched when she spoke. The little lights in her pupils. How she bit her lip before giving details. Everyone gathered round but I had been there first. In all the excited clamour, I let myself reach out a hand and touch her shoulder, where the jersey stopped and her skin began. Mine, mine, mine.
Sometimes it’s too easy. Like when I told Leah about Pippa and Owen. I was in the kitchen when she came in, and without asking her, I handed her a cup of coffee, black and no sugar, the way she liked it, then sliced up a mango for her: she didn’t eat things like bread or cereal, but she liked fruit, I’d noticed.