Sudden Death (16 page)

There is nothing left. I see you in the light and you wave. I know what we must do.

We must be together and we will. Tonight we will be together in the storm.

The light spins faster now. Do you feel it too?

I have the razor. We will do it together, as you said.

The sweetness and slickness of the metal slicing through my virgin flesh. The wrist is easier than the shoulder. And the knowledge that each cut brings me to you makes the pain more deliciously sweet than any before.

The darkness is being pushed away – do you feel it? I know you do, you feel me now. We are joining.

It is warm now. Warmth flowing from each open vein. It is no longer cold out here in the sea. Do you feel it now? Are you there? I thought it wlld be cold but it warms me …

I slep

My keys are sowet, soak…are yo ut here??/

Ar thevf/

Pleaseeee

Ans

Red

***

Karen gasped and Erasmus felt the years and the chaos melting away. At that same moment there was a crash from upstairs, the sound of something heavy landing on the floor. Karen pushed him away. Her eyes widened.

‘Rebecca!’

She was moving and out of the door before Erasmus understood what the bump may mean. He ran after her, following her up the stairs, pulling up his trousers.

At the top of the stairs she turned, running along a narrow hallway then started hammering against a bedroom door.

‘Let me in! Now!’

She was crying and a look of panic and fear was on her face, a look that Erasmus had last seen on the face of one of his toughest sergeants in Afghanistan. A look that said something terrible had just happened.

‘Rebecca!’

She saw Erasmus.

‘It’s locked can you – ’

Erasmus was already running and he put his shoulder to the door before she had completed the question.

CHAPTER 20

The drive from Watson’s Point to their unit in Surrey Hills was one that Ella Logan thought she would never tire of. Even now, fifteen years after she had arrived in Sydney with a backpack, a student visa and £400, she still felt the differences, the strangeness, less pronounced for sure, but still she would always notice them, she reckoned, even when she had lived here longer than the place she still called home.

She breathed in the salty air and the sweet fragrance of eucalyptus and geraniums. Maybe it was the fact that the memories and experiences you had as a child burned deeper and left more long-lasting grooves in your personality, she thought. Maybe that was why the place she had lived in for twenty-three would always be home and not here. Or maybe that was just sentimentality brought on by the fourth glass of Chablis she had had at the Fisherman’s Restaurant where she and Clive had spent a leisurely, summer’s afternoon enjoying a long and boozy lunch.

Clive smoothly steered the Mercedes through the light, early evening traffic and she tried to remember how many beers he’d had – was it four or five? There was a time when this would have been the cause of a row between them, but not now, now she was ‘with the programme’ as Clive liked to say. Clive liked to say a lot of things he had heard on TV or at the golf club. A pang of old resentment, not sufficiently dowsed by the wine, made itself known in her stomach.

Clive turned to face her and winked. For a second he was transformed into the boy she had met fourteen years ago at the Orient Hotel on the Rocks. It was the same stupid grin underneath the same, admittedly thinning, blonde shock of hair that had approached her as she played pool with a friend, and asked her if she thought it was appropriate for a girl as attractive as her to be playing a game suited to bludgers and brickies.

She swallowed her resentment and put a hand on his forearm.

Maybe things could get back to the way they used to be? They had said they would try. And hadn’t the counsellor said that he had thought they had every chance? If only she could stop these little pains and pangs that lived in her stomach and digestive system and seemed to perform an act of revolution every time she told herself that things would work out, that she deserved to be happy.

She smiled at him. Of course, it wasn’t true though, was it? Despite the calls for honesty, to trust in their feelings, and to share those feelings. Despite her insistence that he tell her everything, his innermost thoughts, fears and desires, she hadn’t been honest. How could she be? She didn’t deserve to be happy.

They were nearly home now. Maybe she would open a bottle of wine when they got in; keep the mood going, drown the nagging voices. Maybe they would make love like they had before Melanie came along, when making love was something they did as naturally as breathing.

Clive steered the car up the small drive of their house and turned off the engine.

‘Clive?’

‘Yes?’ He looked worried now; an animal sensing the first signs of danger.

She leaned across and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Thank you for today.’

His smile was more one of relief than of happiness.

They held hands as they walked to the front door of the house, and then giggled as Clive struggled to find his key. Five beers, decided Ella.

He opened the door and the stillness that seemed to be waiting in the quiet house leaked out, enveloping them before they had even stepped over the threshold. Despite being a warm evening, a chill ran down Ella’s spine.

Clive seemed oblivious to the strange, heavy quiet and walked into the house while Ella hesitated at the threshold,

‘You want a drink, honey?’ shouted Clive from the kitchen.

She ignored him and took a deep breath, exhaled and walked into the house. The revolutionaries in her stomach charged, a fighting column of bile rising in her throat causing a violent retch. She gasped for air. It was the stillness, quiet yet the air charged with violence, like the moments before an electrical storm. The hairs on her arms leaped up as though seeking a way out.

‘Wine it is then!’

Ella didn’t go into the kitchen. With a dread so heavy that she felt like her limbs were made of stone, she slowly walked up the mahogany stairs and then to the door from which behind the silence and dread seemed to emanate.

She shouted her daughter’s name, the pet name they had given her as a child and which had stuck ever since.

‘Red!’

She knew before she pushed open the door and the blazing rays of the evening sunset – bloody crimson and orange – blinded her momentarily.

She knew before she screamed. Before the sound of the bottle smashing downstairs.

She knew before she saw the pale figure, prostrate on the bed, her beautiful long red hair splayed out like a corona on the white sheets, the sheets that below her neck were now stained a bloody red. She knew before she saw her daughter lying in a butcher’s lake.

She knew.

She knew that her daughter was dead.

***

The door gave way easily to Erasmus’s muscled fourteen-stone frame and his momentum carried him through and into the bedroom. He tripped on something soft and smashed into a bearded man. The man made a dull noise as air was exhaled forcefully due to Erasmus’s bulk landing on his ribcage.

Erasmus was aware of blood and screaming. The screaming was from Karen, he was unsure of the origin of the blood that smeared his face.

The figure below him began writhing.

‘Oh my God!’

He looked up. Karen was standing over him.

He looked down and saw that what he thought was a bearded man was actually a plastic mask and that what he thought was a man was very much a woman.

Karen leaned down and pulled up the mask. A pretty girl with dark, angry eyes was underneath. She seemed to be snarling.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ she said, spittle landing on Erasmus’s face.

‘Are you OK, honey?’ said Karen, the emotion clogging her voice.

‘Of course I’m OK!’

‘But the blood?’ said Erasmus.

‘Have you seen your face? Now get the fuck off me!’

Erasmus got to his feet and gingerly put a hand to his lip. Blood was pouring from a gash on his cheek, presumably obtained during his subtle entrance.

‘Why didn’t you answer the door?’ said Karen.

Rebecca propped herself up on one elbow. She rolled her eyes and pulled a cable that dangled from her ear.

‘Ever heard of earphones?’ Her chin jutted forward as a challenge.

‘The bang?’

Rebecca shook her head and reddened a little.

‘I was trying to put those – ’ she pointed at an upended plastic storage box, and now Erasmus noticed that the floor was covered with stuffed toys and animals ‘ – up there and I dropped it.’

There was an open wardrobe in the corner of the room and a box upon which Erasmus guessed she had stood on when trying to jam the box on the top of the wardrobe.

‘And who is he?’

It was Karen’s turn to blush.

‘This is Erasmus, he’s an old friend. Erasmus meet Becky.’

He put out his hand, which Rebecca ignored. She didn’t take her flashing eyes off her mother.

‘So, this is what happens after Dad leaves, is it?’

‘It’s not like that,’ said Karen.

Rebecca snorted.

‘Oh yeah, it’s not what it seems, isn’t that what they all say? It’s well sordid, Mum.’

Karen ran her hand through her hair.

‘I was worried. I am so worried about you.’

Rebecca looked away.

‘You’ve got nothing to worry about.’

Karen touched Rebecca’s arm but she turned her back on her mother.

Erasmus noticed that the computer screen in the corner of the room was black but that a flashing green light on the front of the laptop showed it was in use. He had a feeling if he just pressed the keyboard and brought the screen back to life it might answer some of their questions. He made a movement towards the keyboard but Rebecca stepped to the side blocking his way.

‘I want you, Mum’s friend or whatever you are,’ she sneered, ‘to leave right now.’

Erasmus looked at the computer. Becky’s eyes flickered with alarm. He took a step forward and then Karen’s hand was on his shoulder.

Karen and Erasmus exchanged a look. She nodded.

‘OK, Erasmus was just leaving anyway.’

Karen walked out of the room. Erasmus stayed where he was.

‘Rebecca,’ he said softy, ‘tell me, why were you wearing that mask?’

Still she didn’t turn around but this time her shoulder moved slightly.

‘You ever heard of Occupy, grandad? Get out!’

Erasmus nodded slowly and then left the room.

Karen was sitting at the top of the stairs. She looked older than her years and when she looked at him all the defiance, the strength, seemed to have been drained from her.

‘You better leave,’ she said.

‘Sure.’

She stood up and brought her lips close to his face. Erasmus felt an erotic charge hit him with an intensity that was almost violent.

She whispered into his ear.

‘Send her the keystroke programme.’

He wanted to hold her, tell her that he would protect her and her daughter, but she took a step back and instead he nodded.

‘I’ll tell Pete to send it tonight.’

‘And Erasmus?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’

CHAPTER 21

Wayne was playing badly and the crowd were letting him know all about it. A ball was fired down the line for him from De Marco and Wayne made an effort to trap it with his left foot, an effort he misjudged by a fraction of a second, allowing the ball to pass under his foot and roll out for a throw-in to the opposition, who today, according to Pete, were Newcastle.

A chorus of boos rang out around the stadium while Wayne looked down at his left foot as though it were a malfunctioning piece of machinery. De Marco came over to him and patted him on his back, urging him to run back and take up his position. Wayne looked around with uncomprehending eyes at the faces all around that had once loved him, which were now contorted with rage. He slowly jogged back.

Ted Wright shook his head.

‘So what have you got for me?’ he asked Erasmus without turning his head away from watching the game.

‘Wayne went way for some rehabilitation last March. I’ve been told he wasn’t injured.’

Ted’s head snapped round.

‘What the fuck do you mean? Who told you that?’

‘I can’t tell you that, I was told it in confidence but I need your permission and some key codes.’

‘What for?’

‘I want the key codes to Dr Khan’s office. I want to check a few things out.’

‘What things?’

‘I’d rather not say until I’m sure.’

Ted blew out his cheeks.

‘OK, it’s my birthday. All the codes in the club are. Silly I know, but I would forget them otherwise: 23/12/47. But I don’t believe it about Wayne. Any injury is also checked out by our doctor. I’m not stupid. I know what these kids can be like. We had a French Muslim striker. Every Ramadan, he would get injured. That’s why I don’t sign ragheads any more.’

Erasmus marvelled at the casual racism.

‘I think it’s worth following up.’

‘I believe you met Babak?’ said Ted.

‘I did yes.’

‘You know that means that another club is sniffing around. Probably want to get Wayne on the cheap, figure he will come good with a change of scenery.’

On the pitch Wayne had dribbled round a defender and he attempted a long-range shot that was athletically tipped over the bar by the Newcastle keeper. Syncopated ooos and ahs echoed around the stands.

‘They may be right. Maybe he’s just a teenager with too much weight on his shoulders.’

Ted shook his head.

‘No, the boy has no imagination and football is his life. This isn’t some angst ridden spotty student with time to waste dwelling on himself and his “feelings”. Wayne was brought up by his mum in Huyton. Introspection is a luxury people like him can’t afford.’ Ted placed his hand on Erasmus’s forearm and patted it almost affectionately. ‘There is something else. Find out what it is. I won’t let Babak have him on the cheap.’

Erasmus stood up.