The Bamboo Mirror (10 page)

What made people change? Was it the death of our child? I know Susan had been depressed for years after, but I thought she’d got over it, as we never spoke about him now. I realised she’d let herself go. The slovenliness and the weight gain. She seemed far older than her years; she was younger than Rebecca but acted ten years older. She wasn’t the woman I’d married and I’d tried. Oh God how I’d tried! But I wanted nothing of her now.

Rebecca had given me a new purpose in life. She’d put a ‘spring’ in my step. I knew she was the reason I had a certain look in my eyes. Had Susan noticed? I doubt it; she noticed nothing else about me these days. And thinking about it, there was nothing for her to notice anyway and maybe never will be. We had never discussed leaving our spouses, nothing even remotely like that.

I turn over, thinking about tomorrow. I feel a shaft of fear go through me. Will she be there?

Leaving the house the next morning, I hasten to the park. All is quiet and lonely. There is no sign of either Rebecca or Megan. I let Bomber sniff around his favourite haunts, my hands deep inside my pockets, my back hunched over.

Is this what it is like to lose someone? Will it always be like this from now on? My heart aches to hear her voice. My mobile rings.

Feverishly dragging it from my pocket, I punch in the receive button.

‘Hello.’ Hoping, praying that it is Rebecca.

‘Is that John?’ A masculine voice enquires.

I am snapped back to normality in a trice.

‘Detective Inspector Roberts here,’ he carries on. I am instantly alert.

‘I gather you knew Rebecca Chalmers?’

I freeze at his words.
Knew?

‘Yes.’

‘I’m afraid there’s been a terrible accident. We need to speak to you. Can you come down to Guildford police station?’

I whisper a ‘yes’ down the phone. I am numb all over.

~~~~~

‘Hit-and-run,’ he says later. ‘Poor woman didn’t stand a chance. She was crossing the road with her dog.’ I look at him blankly. He returns the stare. ‘Did you know her very well?’

I swallow; it’s painful to speak with a lump the size of a pigeon’s egg in your throat. ‘No, not well. We both have dogs you see. We sometimes met and the dogs would play together.’ I stretch the truth a little, hating myself in doing so. For some reason guilt hangs over me.

‘I see. I guess that is why you rang when they didn’t turn up?’

My mind was in a whirl. They?

Finally I found my voice. ‘Megan, Rebecca’s dog was there. I saw her – I said so on the telephone.’ I blurted out.

He gives me a sad and thoughtful look. ‘They were both killed outright.’

‘No, no! That can’t be true! Megan was there. She was with me. That’s how I could ring Rebecca; her number was on the dog’s collar.’

Shaking his head, Inspector Roberts looks down at his report. ‘Couldn’t have been, the dog was hit first. Mrs Chalmers walked out to help her dog and was then driven over afterwards – a second hit. Our witness says he couldn’t see the number but he recognised it as a green Mini. There can’t be too many registered around here. I don’t suppose you saw anything?’

Shocked, I shake my head, a numbness creeping over my body.

‘Megan was there.’ I repeat in a whisper.

Walking home, my eyes are misted with tears. How had Megan come to be there? I’d stroked her glossy coat; I’d seen the light shining in her eyes. Had Rebecca sent her? As a vision to tell me, to warn me what had happened? Were our feelings so strong that even in death she could reach out to me? Reach out to me, yet when alive it had been forbidden? I’d never have known her phone number or spoken to the police if I hadn’t seen it on Megan’s collar last night.

I haven’t spoken to Susan yet. I know she’s visiting a neighbour this morning. Arriving home, I go straight to our garage and stare at Susan’s green Mini. Nausea washes over me as I see the huge dent in the bonnet. I catch a gleam of gold and I realise that dog hair is trapped in the dent.

Tears roll unchecked down my face as I stand there shaking. Susan has known all along. But what has she known? There was nothing to know, was there?

I pull out Inspector Roberts’ card and with trembling hands I dial his number.

Summer Visitors

by Faith Mortimer

Alex sat watching the birds swooping high above her head. They put on a marvellous aerobatic display that she imagined was for her alone. Soaring, dipping, their cries were faint but distinct upon the air. Alex knew little about birdlife, but could still appreciate the agility and beauty of these small warm-blooded animals. She supposed they were swallows, remembering nature classes back in junior school, or were they house martins? It didn’t matter; she enjoyed their seeming spontaneous and erratic flight. She sighed. If only she could join them and fly far away.

‘Excuse me, but do you mind if I sit here?’

Startled, Alex looked down at this intrusion into her musings.

‘Sorry to bother you, it’s just that all the other tables are full.’

Alex shook her head. ‘No that’s fine, I don’t mind at all,’ she said removing her bag from the vacant seat he was indicating. ‘Feel free.’ She did mind, she’d particularly chosen a small table hoping no one else would join her.

‘Thanks.’ He placed what looked like a double espresso on the table and sat down. Alex couldn’t help stealing a look at this newcomer: dark blonde hair, medium height, quite slim, not handsome but pleasant looking. She remembered she was off men for good. Perhaps she could try being a lesbian. She returned her gaze to the swallows.

‘Swifts,’ he said.

Alex looked back at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘They’re swifts. Aren’t they beautiful?’

‘Yes very. I thought they were swallows, are you sure?’ Without reason, the fact that he knew which birds they were and she didn’t, niggled her.

‘Swallows are small birds with dark glossy blue backs, red throats, pale under-parts and long distinctive tail streamers. They are extremely agile in flight and spend most of their time on the wing. They come here to breed, migrating south in winter. There have been recent declines in numbers due to loss of habitat quality in both their breeding and wintering grounds, which puts them on the Amber List of Endangered Species. Swifts on the other hand are a medium-sized aerial bird and a superb flier as you can see. The summer sky is often full with them, usually flying very high. Swifts never perch on wires like swallows. You might see excited screaming parties of them careering madly at high speed around rooftops and houses, especially towards dusk.’ He sat back and lifted his coffee cup to his mouth, his eyes watching her over the rim.

‘Oh.’ Alex was lost for words. She’s never imagined him to be an ardent bird-watcher, but then she didn’t know him either. He was a total stranger and a know-it-all. ‘What do you know about house martins then?’

Noting the acerbity in her voice he laughed. ‘Well – since you ask. The House Martin is a small bird with glossy blue-black upper parts and pure white under-parts. It has a distinctive white rump with a forked tail and, on close inspection, white feathers covering its legs and toes. It spends much of its time on the wing collecting insect prey. The bird's mud nest is usually sited below the eaves of buildings. They are summer migrants and spend their winters in Africa. Although still numerous and widespread, again recent moderate declines earn them a place on the Amber List.’

Alex stared. He really was a - what were they called? A twitcher! All she could think to say was, ‘You must be a twitcher! Okay then, what’s the Amber List?’

Placing his cup back in its saucer, he shifted in his seat. ‘In the UK, birds can be split in to three categories of conservation importance - red, amber and green. Red is the highest conservation priority, with species needing urgent action. Amber is the next most critical group, followed by green. It’s quite a comprehensive list and actually quite frightening. Too many people are unaware of what’s going on around them in their own country let alone worldwide. Habitat loss is one of the biggest factors in bird decline. I’m sorry to go on, but it is a passion of mine and you did ask. By the way a twitcher is a British term used to mean "the pursuit of a previously-located rare bird." Twitchers are birders who travel long distances to see a rare bird that they would tick off a list. It’s a bit of a derogatory name. I’m just a lover of the natural world.’

‘No, no! It’s interesting. I’m sorry too. I didn’t realise. I was a bit rude. Today’s not been a good day so far.’ Embarrassed Alex looked away.

‘It’s okay and I know I do go on a bit. Shall we start again? I’m Chris by the way.’ He held out a hand towards her.

Alex could hardly ignore his friendly invitation. She had been acting like a baggage. She took his warm, dry hand in hers, noticing how green his eyes were for the first time. ‘I’m Alex.’

Chris smiled and unfolded his newspaper. She was a bit taken aback after his initial conversation. She had obviously annoyed him despite what he’d just said about starting again. Oh well. She’d
never
understand men. Fine. She didn’t want to talk anyway, and certainly not small talk. She’d come here to think and with him sitting opposite her, how was she going to do that? She didn’t know whether she’d done the right thing this morning.

She’d had a particularly lousy night and an even more so early start to the day. She’d hardly slept. Damn all men! Taking a sip of her coffee she missed and the liquid spilled down onto her skirt.

‘Oh darn,’ she exclaimed grabbing a handful of tissues from her bag. Now she had messed up her work clothes and she had an important day ahead.

Chris left the table and returned with a clean wet handkerchief. ‘Here, use this.’ Indicating she should wipe off the offending stain. ‘Thanks.’ She smiled awkwardly. ‘I’m not always so clumsy. It’s just that, as I said I had a bit of bad news today.’

Chris smiled, embarrassed. ‘Keep it. I don’t need it. I only use them to give my shoes a polish when I meet someone important.’

The silence hung between them while Alex scrubbed away. She felt cross, for making a fool of herself in front of a stranger, and for putting up with Will’s behaviour for so long. She’d stormed out of her flat early that morning, not wanting to hear any more of his demands. She’d had enough. She knew he’d come looking for her and when he found her sitting with another man he would go spare. The self-righteous two-timing hypocrite!

She looked around the outdoor café, it had almost emptied and yet Chris still chose to remain seated at her table.
She
had nothing to be ashamed of. It was Will that tried to prevent her from doing things, meeting new people or going out for an evening with her friends. It was hardly worth the trouble making arrangements to see workmates after hours as when she arrived home he berated and bombarded her with a dozen questions. ‘Where have you been, who are you seeing tonight. Why them?’ As if he had the right, and now this final straw!

‘It looks okay now.’

‘Hmm? Oh yes thank you. I think it will wash out.’ Alex looked up and again noticed how green his eyes really were. Not an icy pale-green like Will’s, but deeper and soft, radiating warmth and kindness.

Dropping her gaze she looked back down at her lap.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine’, she snapped.

‘Are you sure? I don’t like to see a woman cry. If it doesn’t wash out then dry cleaning most certainly will remove it. Can I do anything?’