Plender (24 page)

I put my glass down on the table.

“You think I planned it,” I said. “You think I told you what I knew hoping that . . .”

She smiled at me. The smile was unbearable. So full of pity, sadness, sympathy, And disbelief. But a disbelief that to her, was unimportant; it didn’t matter what my motives had been. I was insignificant. Just someone to be sorry for.

“No,” she said. “You did what I asked you to do.”

I couldn’t stay there in the room with her any longer. I walked over to the door and opened it. But before I went there was something I had to know.

“About what I told you,” I said. “What are you going to do?”

She shook her head.

“I need time to think,” she said. “And don’t worry. Whatever I do won’t involve you. I shan’t tell Peter where I got my information from.”

I closed the door behind me.

I went out of the house and got in my car and drove out of the drive and along Corella Way and took the first turning left and kept on driving until I found myself on rough ground at the river’s edge.

I stopped the car and got out.

The wind had turned colder now and the river was like chopped gold in the afternoon sunlight.

I stared across the river at Brumby. I could see the square tower of St. Mary’s rising behind the oaks on Beck Hill. And beyond Beck Hill the sunlit line of Westfield Road, with Susan’s house on the brow of the hill, and beyond it, a little to the right, nearer to the river’s edge, the quarry where Eileen’s body lay.

KNOTT

I went to the Ferry Boat instead of going straight home. Plender had told me that the man called Froy sometimes went there for an early evening drink.

I sat on a stool at the bar and stared out of the window at the night. Across the river I could see the lights of the main road of Brumby. I wondered what my parents were doing. Probably my father would be in the lounge, asleep, his feet resting on the stool I’d made in woodwork at the grammar school, and my mother would be sitting at the kitchen table, smoking, the washing up draining on the sink unit. Nothing would have changed. Just the same as it had been twenty years ago, and would be till one of them died. I wished that I could intrude on the scene, walk into the kitchen and sit with my mother the way I used to do when I was a boy, spend a while talking to her until it was time for the pictures.

But now I was waiting in a pub on the other side of the river, on the off chance that someone I’d never met would come into the bar, because of the fact that somewhere a girl was lying dead. Lying dead.

What had he done with her? Had he buried her? Put her somewhere under the ground, covered her with earth and left her to rot? He must have done. What else? I began to imagine what she must look like at this moment, what was happening to her clothes and her hair and her face. All because of me.

Quickly I finished my drink and slid off the stool. I had to stop thinking. I had to get home, to surroundings that had some kind of simple reality that would neutralise the vividness of my imaginings.

I drove as quickly as I could. I was home within ten minutes.

There were no lights on in the house.

At first I thought that perhaps Kate was watching T.V. in the dark. She sometimes did that. But then I realised that the hall light was off too, and we always kept that on so that anyone approaching the house would be able to see where they were going.

I hurried into the house but I knew what had happened even before I found the note.

The note said:

Peter,

I have gone to my father’s with the children. I need to be away from you for a while. Don’t come to see us. That would only make matters worse. I’ll phone you in a few days’ time when I’ve made up my mind what to do about the situation.

Kate

After I’d read the note a few times I sat down on the settee and looked round the room. The house rang with emptiness. The curtains to the lounge windows were open and the black night stared in at me. The furniture seemed to scream silence at me. And my eyes kept moving back to the blackness of the windows, as if I was waiting for the dead figure of a girl to appear and illuminate the night.

I scrambled the phone towards me and dialed Plender’s home number.

At first I thought he must be out because there was no answer for a long time but then I heard his voice say, “Brian Plender speaking.”

“It’s Peter,” I said. “Are you busy?”

“Peter, old mate,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

“Are you busy?”

“Not particularly. Why?”

“I wondered if I could see you.”

“Problems?”

He’d find out sooner or later so I said, “It’s Kate. She’s gone.”

There was a slight pause before he said, “Gone? Where?”

“To her father’s. She’s gone to her father’s for a few days.”

“So what’s so terrible about that?”

“She may not come back.”

There was an even longer pause this time.

“Well,” he said, “I feel for you, mate, I really do. I mean, she’s a bit of all right, is old Kate. Sorry to see her go. But I can’t quite see what I can do about it.”

“No,” I said, “what I mean is, I’m alone.”

“And?”

“And I wanted . . . to be with someone.”

“So you phoned your old mate, Brian.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Nice to know you feel you can,” he said.

“Can you see me?”

“Sure. Where?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Well, that makes things a bit difficult, then, doesn’t it?”

“What I mean is, could you come over? To my place?”

“You want me to come to your place?”

“Yes. I’d like you to. We could have a drink, talk . . .”

“Sounds like a nice idea,” he said. “Yes, I’ll do that. What time shall I come over?”

“Can you come now?”

“Well, I don’t know. I can be there by about nine, if you like.”

“Yes,” I said. “Nine. Or earlier, if you can.”

I put the phone down and got up and drew the curtains and switched on the television. Then I poured a drink and sat on the settee and stared at the screen until I heard Plender’s car turn into the drive.

I hurried to the front door and opened it and watched him stroll towards me, into the light. He smiled at me as he got to the door.

“I’m glad you could come,” I said.

He walked past me and into the lounge without speaking.

I made him a drink and we sat down opposite each other.

“So you’ve got the place to yourself,” he said.

I nodded.

“Yes,” I said. “I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“Never can tell with women,” he said. “One minute one thing, the next another. Inconsistent.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Just carry on living. She’ll be back.”

“She won’t. I know it.”

“No, she’ll be back. I know women. She won’t want to chuck all this out of the window.”

I stood up and went to the cocktail cabinet and brought the bottles over to the table.

“I had to phone,” I said. “I can’t be on my own right now.”

“How come?”

I stared at him.

“But you must know why,” I said.

“Oh,” he said. “Yes. Yes, see what you mean. You’re . . . er . . . you’re getting a bit jumpy, are you?”

I nodded.

“You should take my advice,” he said. “Forget it. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“I can’t forget. I keep thinking about her. About the girl.” Plender didn’t say anything.

“Look,” I said. “I know you’ve said you won’t tell me, but I must know, it keeps praying on my mind. Maybe I’ll feel better if I know what you did.”

Plender smiled and shook his head.

“Just tell me what you did with her. You don’t have to tell me where.”

“How do you mean?”

“Is she . . . did you bury her?”

Plender smiled again and took a drink.

“What do you think I did with her? Just left her lying around somewhere so that somebody could trip over her?”

I buried my face in my hands.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”

“Well, all right,” he said, “I’ll tell you. She’s under the ground in a nice safe place. She’ll be well on the way of all flesh by now.”

“Stop,” I said. “Don’t.”

“You asked me,” he said. “I didn’t think it would make you feel any better.”

“Just tell me everything’s going to be all right,” I said. “That’s all I want to know. That everything’s going to be all right.”

“I keep telling you that, don’t I, mate?” he said. “But I just seem to be wasting my breath.”

“I’m frightened,” I said. “You must realise that.”

He nodded.

“Yes, well,” he said, “why don’t we change the subject? Take your mind off it.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I was only thinking about it the other day, actually. Remember that time old Pondy caught us scrumping in his orchard?”

I nodded—a numbing sickness was spreading through my body.

“Christ,” he said. “That was a laugh. Remember, I got caught and you and Dreevo . . .”

PLENDER

I woke up with the sun shining on my face. I opened my eyes and looked round the room. It looked even better by daylight. Beautiful in fact. Everything just so, everything designed and decorated to the last detail.

I swung back the sheets and put on the dressing gown Knott had lent me. Even that seemed to blend with the décor of the room.

I went into the corridor and looked in Knott’s room. He was still asleep. I went into the kitchen and made some coffee and took it into the lounge and sat down on the settee where I’d been with Knott’s wife.

She was going to be sorry about what had happened on that day. The Knott and Froy thing would have to be sacrificed, of course. But I could afford to wait for Froy. I couldn’t wait for Kate. The memory was too recent. The only trouble was, I’d no idea where her father lived.

The lounge door opened and Knott came in, still wearing his pyjamas.

“Hail, smiling morn,” I said.

Knott didn’t say anything. I indicated the coffee pot on the table.

“Just made,” I said. “Grab a cup. You look as if you need some.”

Knott went away and came back with a cup and poured himself some coffee.

“So what’s the plan for today?” I said.

“What?” Knott said.

“The plan of action,” I said. “Is it work, or what?”

“Oh, yes. It’s work. I have to go in to the studio.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Yes. We’re behind.”

“Much to do?”

“Yes.”

I stretched out on the settee.

“Well,” I said, “today’s the day I take things easy. Feet up and all that kind of thing. You’ll be working all day, will you?”

He nodded.

“What time will you be back?”

He looked at me.

“I was thinking,” I said, “if you’re likely to feel tonight the same way you did last night, then I may as well stick around. I’ve nothing to do this weekend. I mean, it’s up to you.”

He looked away.

“Brian,” he said. “Last night I . . .”

“Say no more,” I said, getting up. “If you’ll be all right, then there’s no point in my hanging about then, is there?”

I got as far as the door before he said, “No, I didn’t mean that. I’d like you to stay. I’d feel better if you did.”

“That’s more like it,” I said. “Tell you what, when you come home tonight, why don’t we make a night of it? Put our suits on, go down the town and have a few drinks. Just like old days. Do you a power of good.”

Knott didn’t answer.

“What do you say?” I said.

KNOTT

I drove towards town but I wasn’t thinking about the traffic. My thoughts were full of the nightmare my life had become. Waiting for the worst to happen. My wife leaving me. Strung to Plender like a puppet. Going through each day carrying the weight of what had happened, turn-ing into a staring, crouching, joyless thing. My mind was bulging with the pressure that was inside me. When I got to the studio I began work straight away, trying to keep my thoughts as mechanical as my actions, but at eleven thirty, when I was taking a break and waiting for the kettle to boil the quietness of the studio began to creep in on me, and images of what had happened there began to take shape in the silence.

I snapped off the switch of the kettle and walked into reception and put on my coat.

I had to get Kate and my kids back.

PLENDER

Steam rose from the hot water. I nudged my foot against the hot water tap and shut it off. I lay there for a while, letting the sweat and the condensation roll off me. Then I bathed myself and dried myself and stood in front of the full-length wall-wide mirror and shaved myself with Knott’s electric razor.

After I’d done that I put Knott’s dressing gown back on and went into the kitchen and made myself breakfast and read the paper. Then I lit a cigarette and began to search the house for something bearing Kate Knott’s maiden name, like a marriage certificate, so that I would be able to look up her father’s number in the phone book. I couldn’t rely on the possibility of her phoning Knott, here at the house. I was almost certain she wouldn’t be getting in touch with him other than by way of her lawyers. And what I had to tell her would make that certainty a fact.

So I began to search. I could take my time, enjoy it. I had all day.

KNOTT

I’d forgotten what the date was.

I stopped my car halfway up the drive that led to Mark Dixon’s and looked at all the cars parked outside his house. There must have been almost a hundred, many of them with chauffeurs. I closed my eyes. His bloody birthday. Why did it have to be his bloody birthday? Every year he did this, invited all his friends and his business associates and his business rivals to this party, an affair that started at noon and usually went on till the late afternoon or early evening. There were always three or four bars specially set up throughout the house and a buffet that never ran out. Kate and I were always expected to attend, to watch him play the benign industrialist, loved and admired by all.

I swore. How could I talk to Kate now? How could I get her to listen to me? I knew Kate. She’d use the crowd to screen her, to allow her to walk away from me, secure in the knowledge that I’d never make a scene, not there.