Michelle’s voice had risen. Not only were all of the friends staring at her but everyone else in the restaurant too.
‘Evidence,’ she continued, banging her hand on the table. ‘When you charge someone with murder it’s because you’ve got fucking evidence. That’s why Alfonso’s banged up in Brixton nick. Fucking evidence.’
Her words were not exactly slurred, but there was something wrong with the manner of her speech, her diction not as clear as usual. Karen wondered at first whether the blow to her face had affected Michelle’s ability to speak clearly. But Ari, being more familiar with the effects of drink and drugs, suspected otherwise.
‘Look, don’t upset yourself, we all want to help you,’ he began, trying to sound as soothing as possible.
‘Don’t upset my fucking self! You all want to fucking help, do you?’ Michelle spat out the words, her voice louder than ever. ‘How can anyone fucking help? I’ll never get a man now, never have a fucking baby...’
Tears formed in her narrowed eyes and began to run down her face. Her mouth twisted in anguish. The men around the table were almost squirming with embarrassment. Tiny reached for Billy’s hand. Bob and Greg exchanged bewildered glances. Ari wished the meticulously distressed floorboards of Johnny’s Place would part and swallow him up. Indeed swallow the lot of them up. He now regretted having organized this meeting, this impossible attempt at a reincarnation of a past which was gone forever.
Karen stood up, walked round to Michelle’s side of the table and wrapped both arms around her.
‘It will be all right,’ she persisted. ‘It will be. We will get through this. All of us. And most importantly we will look after you, make sure you get through it.’
Michelle began to sob loudly. All eyes in the room were now fixed upon her. The tears did not last long, less than a minute certainly, but it seemed like forever to the rest of the group.
Then she stopped crying, as suddenly as she had begun, and sat up straight in her chair, obviously making a huge effort to regain her self-control.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Whisky mixed with painkillers, I’m afraid. Quite a cocktail, eh? I knew I’d had too much of both. I knew I shouldn’t have come. On the other hand, the only reason I’m here is courtesy of the whisky and the pills and the Dutch courage they gave me. Now all I’ve done is make a fool of myself.’
‘No, you haven’t. And yes, you should have come, you really should,’ said Ari. ‘I mean it.’
Michelle smiled wanly. ‘Order me some coffee, will you. Strong coffee.’
Ari asked a waiter for a double espresso, which was delivered with alacrity. No doubt the staff were eager to see the restaurant return to something approaching normality. Johnny was playing the piano again with a loud thumping rhythm, far removed from his usual sensitive touch on the ivory keys. You could feel the tension in the air, no longer just at the Sunday Club table, but throughout the restaurant. Ari wondered what it would be like not to feel anxious any more. Indeed he wondered if he would ever stop feeling anxious. He suspected the rest of them around the table were going through the same thing, and like him they had forgotten what it was to wake up in the morning without a feeling of apprehension at what the day might bring.
Michelle drank the coffee in one go and asked for another.
‘Tiny and Billy were just telling us a bit of good news when you came in,’ said Ari, who, having instigated an occasion which was in danger of turning into a circus, was desperate to maintain at least a semblance of ordinariness.
Michelle uttered one high-pitched shriek of mirthless laughter. But there was to be no repeat of her earlier hysterical outburst.
Instead she fixed a cool stare on the boys. ‘Really?’ Her voice was enquiring but icy.
Tiny fidgeted. It was left to Billy to repeat the account of the post-mortem results.
Michelle did not respond. Ari supposed that given what she had been through, and indeed what they had all been through with Marlena’s murder and Alfonso’s arrest, the fate of two dogs was of small concern. It had seemed curiously significant to him though.
Billy carried on speaking, as if he didn’t know how to stop, filling the silence.
‘There’s more.’ He turned to face George. ‘Did you know that your Chumpy was poorly, George?’ he asked.
George shook his head, as if puzzled.
‘Apparently he had cancer of the liver.’
‘He never showed any signs of being ill,’ said George.
‘Well, he soon would have done,’ Billy went on. ‘According to the autopsy, Chump would have died within weeks. I don’t know whether that helps, but I thought you’d like to know.’
George stared at Billy for several seconds before answering.
‘Thanks, mate,’ he said eventually. ‘I think it does help a bit. Yes.’
‘At least you know he didn’t have long to live anyway. That’s the problem for Tiny and me: Daisy was so young, barely four years old. We feel we should have protected our little girl, been able to save her.’
Michelle continued to stare at Billy in that icy way.
‘And do you think maybe you should have protected Marlena?’ she asked, her words clearer now, her voice quieter. She seemed suddenly quite calm. Ari found that even more disconcerting.
‘Maybe even protected me,’ Michelle went on. ‘Or is it just the bloody dogs you’re concerned about?’
Billy flushed. Tiny squeezed his hand. His voice too was very quiet when he spoke.
‘You know better than that, Michelle,’ he said. ‘Billy and I would have done anything in our power to protect you and Marlena, to save her life, to prevent your attack. And we are well aware that losing our dog must seem a very small thing compared with all that’s happened to you. Of course we realize that it pales into insignificance compared with the loss of human life. Any human life, but particularly our friend, dear Marlena. But Daisy meant a lot to us, and we were just glad to learn she didn’t suffer the way we thought she had. That’s all.’
Michelle’s face softened. ‘I’m sorry, Tiny. I do understand really, it’s just hard to...’ She broke off, started again: ‘Like I said, I shouldn’t have come. I’m going to leave now. I’m so sorry.’
And with that she rose abruptly from the table and half ran towards the door.
‘But you haven’t eaten anything,’ Ari called after her.
‘At least let me take you home,’ shouted Bob.
Michelle stopped in the doorway and turned to face them all.
‘No, no, I want to be on my own,’ she said. ‘Just leave me alone.’
Johnny stood up from the piano. ‘I’m putting you in a taxi,’ he said firmly.
The remaining friends watched in silence. They all knew Johnny would do that for any of his clientele whom he felt needed help. But Michelle was special to him, no doubt about that, and he had made no secret of how upset he had been by what had happened to her.
Johnny put a protective arm around Michelle’s waist. She did not protest. He steered her towards the stairs, where she turned and glanced towards the Sunday Club table one last time.
And then she was gone.
Sixteen
Back in her little studio flat Michelle went to bed, even though it was not long after eight o’clock, and cried herself to sleep. She was still under the influence of her earlier excess of whisky and prescription drugs, and both her mind and body felt empty and exhausted. Fortunately, sleep came with merciful ease and speed.