Pretty, in other circumstances.
‘Alex,’ I said. ‘I live next door.’
I looked past her. From here I could not see the sink, though I could hear the tap running in the kitchen. I could see the source of the crash, though. She had pulled a drawer out of its mount, and the sides had come away from the base as it landed. Impractical slivers of stainless steel were strewn across the kitchen floor. I guessed that the flat ones were knives, the curved ones spoons. The forks seemed to have only two prongs.
The words Crime Scene flashed across my mind.
She doesn’t know.
‘I was making a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘Trying to. Would you like one?’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I can’t.’
She stood, uncertain, as if waiting for me to say more.
Don’t go in
.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry to ask you this, but you have spoken to the police?’
She nodded, and pushed the corners of her mouth inwards. ‘But not since the night. Not been feeling very sociable. Haven’t been charging my phone.’ There was a glassy look to her eyes, and I could see she badly wanted not to cry.
‘I don’t think you should be in there just now,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Why not?’
Because the police think I might, just possibly, have killed your brother.
‘Did you force the lock?’
She nodded. Etiolated, I thought. You wouldn’t think there was enough strength in those narrow shoulders.
‘I think the police fitted it,’ I said.
‘I slightly realised after I’d done it,’ she said. ‘Stupid, isn’t it, what grief makes you do?’
She looked at me and smiled, as if that explained it.
‘I think you need to turn off the tap and leave.’
‘Couldn’t you just come in while I get myself sorted out?’
‘I’m sorry, no. Is that your bag?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘You can come and sit with me, if you like.’
Mr Ashani must have been watching. He sprang from his house, and had his hand on my arm before I reached my front door.
‘Mr Ashani.’
‘Mr Mercer, I must speak with you.’
‘I’m a little busy just now, Mr Ashani.’
‘I wish to discuss with you what kind of man this was.’
Leave us alone.
‘I’m expecting his sister for tea. Perhaps we could talk later?’
‘This is a discussion we must have, Mr Mercer.’
For a while I didn’t think she would come. I made coffee and tidied up a little. I could still hear the tap running through the wall, and I guessed from the tiny scraping sounds that she was picking up the cutlery and trying to replace the drawer. Eventually she turned off the tap, and a minute after that she was sitting at our kitchen table.
Her name was Rose, and her hands shook as she drank her coffee. Her lower left arm was covered in silver bracelets, which glinted as she moved: a soft metallic sound, like breath. Why hadn’t I noticed before?
I suggested she speak to the police. I hoped they wouldn’t reveal that I was under suspicion, because there was something genuine about her, and I wanted her to like me. Even in her grief she was sweet and self-deprecating and funny.
‘Was it you who found him?’ she asked after a while.
‘Yes. And my son. We were looking for the cat.’
She nodded as if that explained it.
‘Thanks.’
We sat and drank coffee in silence. Then she asked if I minded if she smoked. ‘In the garden, I mean. Would that be OK?’
‘You don’t need to go in the garden.’
She produced a packet of Kensitas Club and offered me one. She took out a silver lighter and tried to light my cigarette, hand shaking.
‘You’re not really a smoker, are you?’ I said.
‘It’s that obvious?’
‘Girls like you don’t smoke Kensitas Club.’ I sniffed the cigarette in my hand. ‘And these are stale. You nick them from a party?’
The sadness lifted from her, and she smiled, making light.
‘Busted.’ A glint in her eye. More than just a nice English girl, then.
‘Want a proper cigarette?’
‘Yeah,’ she said.
‘Alex,’ I said. ‘I live next door.’
I looked past her. From here I could not see the sink, though I could hear the tap running in the kitchen. I could see the source of the crash, though. She had pulled a drawer out of its mount, and the sides had come away from the base as it landed. Impractical slivers of stainless steel were strewn across the kitchen floor. I guessed that the flat ones were knives, the curved ones spoons. The forks seemed to have only two prongs.
The words Crime Scene flashed across my mind.
She doesn’t know.
‘I was making a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘Trying to. Would you like one?’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I can’t.’
She stood, uncertain, as if waiting for me to say more.
Don’t go in
.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry to ask you this, but you have spoken to the police?’
She nodded, and pushed the corners of her mouth inwards. ‘But not since the night. Not been feeling very sociable. Haven’t been charging my phone.’ There was a glassy look to her eyes, and I could see she badly wanted not to cry.
‘I don’t think you should be in there just now,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Why not?’
Because the police think I might, just possibly, have killed your brother.
‘Did you force the lock?’
She nodded. Etiolated, I thought. You wouldn’t think there was enough strength in those narrow shoulders.
‘I think the police fitted it,’ I said.
‘I slightly realised after I’d done it,’ she said. ‘Stupid, isn’t it, what grief makes you do?’
She looked at me and smiled, as if that explained it.
‘I think you need to turn off the tap and leave.’
‘Couldn’t you just come in while I get myself sorted out?’
‘I’m sorry, no. Is that your bag?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘You can come and sit with me, if you like.’
Mr Ashani must have been watching. He sprang from his house, and had his hand on my arm before I reached my front door.
‘Mr Ashani.’
‘Mr Mercer, I must speak with you.’
‘I’m a little busy just now, Mr Ashani.’
‘I wish to discuss with you what kind of man this was.’
Leave us alone.
‘I’m expecting his sister for tea. Perhaps we could talk later?’
‘This is a discussion we must have, Mr Mercer.’
For a while I didn’t think she would come. I made coffee and tidied up a little. I could still hear the tap running through the wall, and I guessed from the tiny scraping sounds that she was picking up the cutlery and trying to replace the drawer. Eventually she turned off the tap, and a minute after that she was sitting at our kitchen table.
Her name was Rose, and her hands shook as she drank her coffee. Her lower left arm was covered in silver bracelets, which glinted as she moved: a soft metallic sound, like breath. Why hadn’t I noticed before?
I suggested she speak to the police. I hoped they wouldn’t reveal that I was under suspicion, because there was something genuine about her, and I wanted her to like me. Even in her grief she was sweet and self-deprecating and funny.
‘Was it you who found him?’ she asked after a while.
‘Yes. And my son. We were looking for the cat.’
She nodded as if that explained it.
‘Thanks.’
We sat and drank coffee in silence. Then she asked if I minded if she smoked. ‘In the garden, I mean. Would that be OK?’
‘You don’t need to go in the garden.’
She produced a packet of Kensitas Club and offered me one. She took out a silver lighter and tried to light my cigarette, hand shaking.
‘You’re not really a smoker, are you?’ I said.
‘It’s that obvious?’
‘Girls like you don’t smoke Kensitas Club.’ I sniffed the cigarette in my hand. ‘And these are stale. You nick them from a party?’
The sadness lifted from her, and she smiled, making light.
‘Busted.’ A glint in her eye. More than just a nice English girl, then.
‘Want a proper cigarette?’
‘Yeah,’ she said.
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