side; he never wore it like that. His mouth turned down giving him a glum expression. He looked older.
She wasn’t allowed to touch him, they’d explained to her. The body had yet to be examined. The sheet covered everything but his head. No sign of what had been done to him. The viewing room was cold. A faint anti septic smell percolated from somewhere as though the hard vinyl floors had just been mopped.
Lesley turned to Emma and the detectives. ‘I’d like a few minutes on my own?’
They nodded and withdrew. She hitched her little knapsack over one shoulder and pressed her hands against the glass of the viewing window, tears running from her eyes. ‘Matthew,’ she whispered, trying the name in her mouth. The sound resonated in the stark room. But what could she possibly say? There were no words. His eyes were closed. It looked as though they had sunk a little. She imagined them drying up, the fluids leaving his body. He would never gaze at her again. His eyes a stunning blue. Hers brown. What will our children look like? A game she had played when it was still a possibility.
The thought brought a sob to her throat. She didn’t know how to say goodbye, didn’t know that she even wanted to. So she turned and left him.
In the corridor Emma was crying too. Lesley hugged her sister. ‘Oh, Emma,’ she cried, ‘who would do such a thing?’ Suddenly a wave of nausea swept through her, she pulled away from Emma, covered her mouth.
Janine Lewis realised what was happening. ‘This way.’ She led Lesley to the Ladies, waited while she went into a cubicle. Impossible not to hear the noise of her vomiting. Janine leant against the wall and tilted her head back trying to squash the rising queasiness. Blame the pregnancy – anything would set her off.
*****
In The Parkway pub on Princess Parkway, nineteen-year-old Ferdie Gibson, his head cropped so close that his scalp was visible, a badly executed tattoo of an eagle on his neck, rolled up to the bar and ordered two Stellas. The giant-sized TV screen above broadcast Man U’s fixture. Ferdie sauntered over to the corner where his mates were. He passed Colin his drink.
‘Ow yer doin’, Ferdie?’ someone said.
‘Aright.’
‘Tosser,’ one of the lads screamed at the screen. ‘Did you see that?’ He swung round challenging the others to share in his indignation. ‘Total crap. They ought to cut his legs off.’
Ferdie sat down, took a swig of his drink, the eagle on his neck rippled. Ferdie waited for the right moment then leant forward. ‘You lot, you heard the news?’
‘What?’
‘Bout Tulley? Someone’s done him. He’s history.’ Ferdie Gibson gave a wide grin. ‘Down the allotments, he was. Knifed they reckon. They took him away in a body bag. He’s dead.’ Ferdie’s eyes gleamed. ‘Come on, you lot, I’m buying.’ Ferdie flourished a twenty pound note and winked at Colin. ‘We,’ he announced ‘are going to get plated.’ Laughter swirled around the group but Colin glanced away, uneasy. Then Beckham scored and the whole place erupted.
*****
‘I just need to lie down,’ Lesley said. Her voice was shaky; even her skin felt tight and tired.
‘Okay.’ Emma said. ‘Anything you want? Tea?’
‘No, I’ll go up, try to sleep.’
Lesley reached the door and rested there a moment. ‘It’s like a dream, Emma. I keep thinking I’ll wake up,’ her mouth quivered and she turned away.
As she walked into the bedroom she tried to comprehend the fact that Matthew would never be here again. Not here, in this room, not in this bed, not in this house. It was a life she could not imagine. To be without him every hour of every day for the rest of her life. She closed the heavy blue woven curtains, removed her earrings and her clothes. The room was warm but she shivered and she pulled a long, soft, cotton night-dress from her dressing table drawer. She lay down at her side of the bed. How long till she took his pillow away?
She wasn’t allowed to touch him, they’d explained to her. The body had yet to be examined. The sheet covered everything but his head. No sign of what had been done to him. The viewing room was cold. A faint anti septic smell percolated from somewhere as though the hard vinyl floors had just been mopped.
Lesley turned to Emma and the detectives. ‘I’d like a few minutes on my own?’
They nodded and withdrew. She hitched her little knapsack over one shoulder and pressed her hands against the glass of the viewing window, tears running from her eyes. ‘Matthew,’ she whispered, trying the name in her mouth. The sound resonated in the stark room. But what could she possibly say? There were no words. His eyes were closed. It looked as though they had sunk a little. She imagined them drying up, the fluids leaving his body. He would never gaze at her again. His eyes a stunning blue. Hers brown. What will our children look like? A game she had played when it was still a possibility.
The thought brought a sob to her throat. She didn’t know how to say goodbye, didn’t know that she even wanted to. So she turned and left him.
In the corridor Emma was crying too. Lesley hugged her sister. ‘Oh, Emma,’ she cried, ‘who would do such a thing?’ Suddenly a wave of nausea swept through her, she pulled away from Emma, covered her mouth.
Janine Lewis realised what was happening. ‘This way.’ She led Lesley to the Ladies, waited while she went into a cubicle. Impossible not to hear the noise of her vomiting. Janine leant against the wall and tilted her head back trying to squash the rising queasiness. Blame the pregnancy – anything would set her off.
*****
In The Parkway pub on Princess Parkway, nineteen-year-old Ferdie Gibson, his head cropped so close that his scalp was visible, a badly executed tattoo of an eagle on his neck, rolled up to the bar and ordered two Stellas. The giant-sized TV screen above broadcast Man U’s fixture. Ferdie sauntered over to the corner where his mates were. He passed Colin his drink.
‘Ow yer doin’, Ferdie?’ someone said.
‘Aright.’
‘Tosser,’ one of the lads screamed at the screen. ‘Did you see that?’ He swung round challenging the others to share in his indignation. ‘Total crap. They ought to cut his legs off.’
Ferdie sat down, took a swig of his drink, the eagle on his neck rippled. Ferdie waited for the right moment then leant forward. ‘You lot, you heard the news?’
‘What?’
‘Bout Tulley? Someone’s done him. He’s history.’ Ferdie Gibson gave a wide grin. ‘Down the allotments, he was. Knifed they reckon. They took him away in a body bag. He’s dead.’ Ferdie’s eyes gleamed. ‘Come on, you lot, I’m buying.’ Ferdie flourished a twenty pound note and winked at Colin. ‘We,’ he announced ‘are going to get plated.’ Laughter swirled around the group but Colin glanced away, uneasy. Then Beckham scored and the whole place erupted.
*****
‘I just need to lie down,’ Lesley said. Her voice was shaky; even her skin felt tight and tired.
‘Okay.’ Emma said. ‘Anything you want? Tea?’
‘No, I’ll go up, try to sleep.’
Lesley reached the door and rested there a moment. ‘It’s like a dream, Emma. I keep thinking I’ll wake up,’ her mouth quivered and she turned away.
As she walked into the bedroom she tried to comprehend the fact that Matthew would never be here again. Not here, in this room, not in this bed, not in this house. It was a life she could not imagine. To be without him every hour of every day for the rest of her life. She closed the heavy blue woven curtains, removed her earrings and her clothes. The room was warm but she shivered and she pulled a long, soft, cotton night-dress from her dressing table drawer. She lay down at her side of the bed. How long till she took his pillow away?
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