Everybody left at about nine-ish, and I did the washing-up. And now there are long nights ahead for us all.
I think I will call Joanna. I know it’s quite late, but I don’t think we really keep the same hours. I once rang her at nine a.m. on a Saturday and she gave me a lecture. I had been up for three hours already. I hope she will pick up, I just want to hear about her day, just normal things. Perhaps talk about her dad for a while.
Alan knows I am sad. He is lying by my chair, his paws on my feet, making sure I come to no further harm.
64
Ron has his arm around Pauline.
He missed her, so he texted her. She missed him, but she didn’t text back. He missed her, so he texted her again, this time a joke about a horse playing cricket. She missed him, she laughed at the message, but she didn’t text back. He missed her, so he rang her even though he knew he shouldn’t. She missed him, but she didn’t pick up.
He missed her, so he texted her about the funeral. Told her how he felt, told her he loved her and missed her. And so she took a sick day from work, dressed in black, drove to Coopers Chase, knocked on his door, kissed him, told him he couldn’t wear a West Ham tie to Stephen’s funeral, then relented when he said he had no other ties. He told her how much he fancied her in black, she told him that was inappropriate, then she took his hand and hasn’t let go since.
‘Do you think anyone’s asleep?’ Ron asks.
‘No,’ says Pauline. ‘Elizabeth will be crying, Joyce will be baking, Ibrahim will be out walking, pretending to think about something else.’
‘You think they did the right thing? Stephen and Elizabeth?’
‘There is no right thing, Ronnie,’ says Pauline. ‘No right thing, no wrong thing. If it’s what they wanted. They’ve harmed no one but themselves, and you’re allowed to harm yourself.’
‘Like texting your ex when you shouldn’t?’ says Ron.
‘Assisting in the suicide of your partner and texting your ex are maybe not the same thing,’ says Pauline. ‘And, besides, I’m not your ex.’
‘Are you not?’ asks Ron.
‘Nah,’ says Pauline. ‘We’re both ridiculous people, Ronnie. But perhaps that’s OK?’
‘I’m not ridiculous,’ says Ron. ‘You’ll go a long way before you find someone le–’
Pauline puts a finger to his mouth. ‘Shh! You’re ridiculous. That’s why they all love you, Ronnie. Your mates. You’re a lovely, big, strong, ridiculous man.’
‘Well, you’re not ridiculous,’ says Ron.
‘I’m in bed with you, aren’t I? And I didn’t walk past a queue of sensible women to get here,’ says Pauline.
Ron smiles, then feels guilty about smiling. ‘What are we going to do with Elizabeth?’
‘Just give her time,’ says Pauline. ‘Just be there, and give her time. She’ll need a couple of weeks of –’
Ron’s phone starts to ring. He looks at Pauline, who nods to him to answer it. The display says LIZZIE.
65
Ibrahim can’t sleep. He knew this would be the case. He knew he’d be up all night, and he knew what he would be thinking about.
Marius.
He has gone for a walk around the village. There is a soft light on in Ron’s window. Pauline will be there, and Ibrahim is very thankful for that. That’s what Ron needs this evening. Ron pretends he needs nothing and no one. Who does that remind Ibrahim of?
There is a light on at Joyce’s too. She has Alan with her. He will be excited to be up in the middle of the night. She will be watching repeats of something on the television and thinking about Gerry. Maybe she will have spoken to Joanna this evening. He hopes Joanna will have understood why her mother might have wanted to speak to her.
Days of death are days when we weigh our relationship with love in our bare hands. Days when we remember what has gone, and fear what is to come. The joy love brings, and the price we pay. When we give thanks but also pray for mercy. That is why Joyce is thinking of Gerry, why Ron and Pauline are in each other’s arms, and why a lonely, old Egyptian man is walking through Coopers Chase thinking about Marius. Thinking about another lifetime.
One day perhaps he will speak about him, but, also, perhaps, he may not. It is a box that, once opened, can never be closed, and Ibrahim wonders if his heart is strong enough to take it. Who would he speak to anyway? Elizabeth? Well, she would understand now. Ron? And get an awkward hug? Joyce? What if he saw pity in her eyes? Ibrahim is not sure he could bear that.
There is another light on, of course. Elizabeth’s. That light will be on for many nights now. She has all the darkness she needs.
Ibrahim thinks about the boxes. The box with the heroin inside, which has caused so much trouble. The ‘box’ with Marius inside, which contains so much pain. He supposes they will abandon the search for the heroin now. Who has it? Who knows? Who murdered Kuldesh? Whoever it is, they will get away with it.
But the box containing Marius. Dare he open it? Dare he tell that story?
A day of death is a day of love. Ibrahim knows plenty about both. Perhaps it’s time to –
His phone rings.
66
It is three a.m. and Bogdan is crying in Donna’s arms.
Crying for what he did, and crying for who he has lost.
He has been brave and strong for Elizabeth. No crying in front of her, except at the funeral. Just listening, and helping.
He and Stephen had had their final game of chess a week ago. Not a game as such. Bogdan had offered to teach Stephen to play, and Stephen had accepted. ‘Always fancied giving this a go.’
Bogdan had hoped the game might come back to Stephen as he showed him the moves, but Stephen just shook his head. ‘Not getting it, compadre.’ But they were sat either side of the board, and they chatted, and Bogdan could pretend. Stephen always knew that he was safe with Bogdan, even when he was unsure of exactly who he was. And Bogdan always felt safe with Stephen.
Stephen told him the plan. Elizabeth had already told him, but Bogdan was pleased he heard it from Stephen too. Heard the certainty. Stephen had no interest in fading out, in spinning away into space. He wanted to be in control, and Bogdan would not have denied him that right.
At the funeral Bogdan had sat with Elizabeth, and he was very glad of that. Donna had sat behind him, connected to him, and he was very glad of that too.
Donna is kissing his tears.
‘Tell me about something else,’ says Bogdan, letting his voice stop his tears. ‘Sing me a lullaby.’
Donna buries her head in his neck, and whispers, ‘Samantha Barnes was struck with a blunt object. But died from the fall down the stairs.’
‘Thank you,’ says Bogdan, lids closing.
‘Garth is nowhere to be seen,’ she continues. ‘So either he did it himself, or maybe he’s on the run from the person that did.’
‘But why kill her?’ says Bogdan. ‘Unless she had the heroin? You think she did?’
‘Who knows?’ says Donna. ‘Mitch Maxwell and Luca Buttaci have both been to the lock-up and come away empty-handed, so perhaps they paid her a visit? And Garth hasn’t been to the lock-up, so maybe he has it?’
‘Mmm,’ says Bogdan. ‘I don’t think Elizabeth will have the heart to carry on looking.’
‘She needs a lot of time,’ says Donna. ‘Do you think she had anything to do with Stephen’s death? Do you think she … you know?’
‘No,’ says Bogdan. ‘Is illegal.’
‘But come on,’ says Donna. ‘It’s Elizabeth, and I’m not blaming her, you’d understand if she had. Illegal would mean nothing to her.’