The House of Susan Lulham (Kindle Single) (12 page)

Did it
have
to be tonight? Not like the house wouldn’t still be here tomorrow, when Lou might’ve gone home. You could go back, tell them this was not the time.

And Lou would go out sneering, proved right.
U get her back! Its her 4king job!!! I 8 you getting pissed about by this 4king bitch
.

Back into the hall. Three long breaths, fingering her pectoral cross, then she returned to the living room and lowered the airline bag to the white carpet, which looked damp and, worst of all, pinkish. Without closing her eyes, she cleared her throat, breathed out the old protection, St Patrick’s Breastplate.

‘…let us not run from the love which you offer, but hold us safe from the forces of evil. On each of our dyings shed your…

…light.’

Light was flashing into her eyes from the wall near the door.

Hell… the mirror.

She moved quickly across to the mirror but took care not to look into it. Would need to unhook it, bring it down and turn it to face the wall because this was what you did. She saw her raised right arm and half a hand in the glass as she felt behind it with the other hand.

‘
Ah!
’

She sprang away, letting the mirror slither to the floor. Something behind it had pierced her left wrist. In the light from the hall, she saw a trail of dark bubbles on its underside, between two veins.

Inside her head, did somebody giggle?

She was panting as she lifted the mirror by its frame, turned it into the wall, stumbled back, sucking her wrist. Her teeth found a wood splinter, she spat it out. Stood with her back to the wall, looking into the room where everything would have been photographed and videoed from every conceivable angle. On top of the white bookcase, someone had placed the DVDs and books from Zoe’s hidden library; on top was the orange and black of the
Deliverance
manual.

She transferred the books to the sofa, dragging the flat-topped bookcase to the centre of the room. Back into the airline bag for the old-fashioned boy-scout compass, which she opened up and laid on top of the bookcase, then pushed it at one end until it faced east.

Altar. She laid her palms on it, bowed her head.

She took two candles, in wooden holders, from the case, placed them at either end of the bookcase and lit them with her Zippo. Stood quite still for a while, watching the little flames form in the acrid air of Zoe’s haunted house.

Half-closing her eyes, letting the flames fall out of focus, she visualised the geography, the hill as it had been, the cathedral down there, across the city but below the horizon. The cathedral on a winter night, approaching Christmas, when it looked at its warmest: the big iron stoves, the candle haze, the glittering corona and all it represented.

But the room was as cold as if it were open to the October night, to the time when there was no roof and Grenville Morgan had gazed down the barrels of his
^—

No
.

She took five slow breaths, walked all around the dust-sheeted room and then went into the hall, closing the living room door behind her and prodding
Anita’s number into her mobile to call them in before she could change her mind.

20. Remembrance

‘…come here tonight… to remember, before God, our sister Susan… Suze. To give… give thanks for her life. To commend her to God. And in doing so, bring calm to this house.’

Keeping it conversational.

Mr Unsworth said, ‘Amen.’

No one else spoke. The detergent smell was less invasive, or was she imagining that? Nattie was looking down at her boots, Anita was gazing, glazed-eyed, past Merrily, as if wishing this over.

Only Lou was staring at her, the way she’d looked her up and down in Anita’s kitchen before saying, with a kind of defiance, ‘
Me and Zoe was best mates, she
’
d want me to be here, all right? Don
’
t you worry about me, I been baptised
.’

Merrily beckoned them into the nest of radiance around the bookcase, words coming through her, thank God, in freeflow.

‘…those haunted by dark memories and the depressed, the homeless and the broken-hearted; those who died violently and those who died as a result of injury, for those who went to the grave unable to tell their stories…’

This from an intercession in a Eucharist of Remembrance, sounding startlingly right for here and now. The build-up to the Mass. Fusion.

They’d talked, carefully, about Susan Lulham. Mr Unsworth about the visits after the death of his wife, Nattie about the energy around her in the Gloucester salon where she’d trained. Anita saying,
I didn
’
t know her as well as I should have. we don
’
t make the effort
.

Lou had glowered, muttered something.

Evil bitch, you ask me
.

Both Nattie and Anita staring at her as car lights penetrated the drawn curtains and the detergent smell returned like a thin wire through your senses.

‘On the night before he died he had supper with his friends and, taking bread, he praised you. He broke the bread, gave it to them and said: Take, eat; this is my body…’

Distribution of the wafers.
God
’
s gift
. Jane said her mate Rhiannon reckoned Jonathan Mahonie thought he was God’s Gift to women and girls.

Jonathan… go away. I’m sorry, go away.

‘
…
which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’

She gazed into the candlelight, summoning the heat of the distant candles lit by Huw Owen in his greystone mountain church. Backup. And more. Let it all in. Felt that gentle pressure in her chest and arms.

‘…When supper was ended he took the cup of wine. Again he praised you, gave it to them and said: Drink this, all of you; this is my blood of the new covenant
,

Blood. The blood from the mirror was flowing under her sleeve. Too much blood for a splinter. Dear God, if it ran into her hands as she fumbled the chalice … if it dripped into the chalice itself…

From the corner of the room came a swish. A sibilance, soft as a dress falling to the floor in a honeymoon suite.

Whatever it was, Merrily shut it out.

‘…which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.’

Then high laughter ripped at the air, and the altar was pushed into Merrily’s knees. A candle flew up out of its holder; hot wax stung her hands.

‘Oh fuck!’ Lou Dixon was backing away, clawing at her wine-red hair, rearing up before a flush of colour on the walls and the ceiling. ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck,
oh fuck!
’

Lou’s hand flying to her mouth wafting the remaining flame into oblivion. But the room was not dark.

‘
The old-fashioned cut-throat
…’ Low yet bubbly, a voice coming out of laughter. ‘…
gets a man terribly excited, if a little frightened
…’

Anita Wells was gasping, Mr Unsworth standing very still, hands by his sides.

‘….
especially wielded by a woman
.’

The chalice slid through Merrily’s fingers and she saw the sixth person in the room, the laughing person, black-eyed and liver-lipped, holding out her razor, its open blade wild with light.

21. Video

‘Zoe, you’ve said you wanted to tell me what happened when your husband died.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I need to go over some things, so you know where you stand. You realise you’ve been charged with his murder.’

‘Yeah.’

‘
And you
’
ve denied that charge
.’

‘
I
…
yeah
.’

A froth of medical dressing emerging from one sleeve of her pale sweatshirt, nothing around her face. Her face shone.

‘And you’ve been told that it would be irregular for us to ask you any more questions at this stage. The next time you face questions should be in court - if you wish to give evidence in support of your plea.’

‘Whatever.’

‘And you’ve told us you don’t want your solicitor. Is that correct?’

‘Yeah.’

DC David Vaynor, known as Darth, said,
‘Zoe, at approximately three o’clock this morning, you started screaming in your cell. Do you want to tell me about that?’

‘Must’ve been dreaming. Must’ve had a dream.’

‘According to the officers here, you were screaming for quite some time. What was the dream about?’

‘Don’t remember.’

‘Of course she remembers,’ Merrily said.

Frannie Bliss nodded. They had the interview-room video on the TV in his office in Gaol Street. His call had been waiting for her on the machine when she’d got home around seven am, and she’d driven straight back to Hereford. She wasn’t tired. She wouldn’t sleep now. Bliss had told her that when he’d arrived, around five am, Darth and Zoe were already closeted. Darth wore the full suit and tie and a focused expression, as if he’d been waiting up all night in case he should be called in. A policewoman Merrily didn’t recognise was sitting next to him.

Darth looked almost inappropriately young, but he was relaxed, fully in control. A local boy. He nodded.

‘When you’d calmed down, Zoe, you said you wanted to speak to me and it was suggested to you that you should think about this again in the morning. Is that correct?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why didn’t you want to wait?’

‘Cos I… cos I had to say what I had to say or I wouldn’t get no sleep.’

‘And what is that? What
do
you want to tell me?’

‘Wanna plead guilty.’

No hesitation.

‘You want to change your plea? You realise you’ll have to do this in court?’

‘Whatever.’

‘Do you want to explain further? It’s up to you.’

Zoe said, ‘
It was my razor. I seen the picture of her with the razor, and you
—’

‘
Whose picture?
’

‘
You know
.’ Zoe threw up her hands. ‘
Susan Lulham. You could see the make on the razor and I sent for one on the Internet
.’

‘Why did you do that, Zoe?’

‘Cos I thought she wanted me to.’

‘Who are we talking about?’

‘Her, Susan Lulham.’

‘Did you know Susan Lulham?’

‘No.’

Silence, then Zoe said,

‘But I thought she knew me.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

Silence. Darth hesitating, exchanging a glance with the policewoman, who was making notes, then turning back to Zoe.

‘Do you want to tell me how you came to kill your husband?’

‘I didn’t want to kill him. I was using it on me.’

‘The razor.’

‘Yeah. I knew he’d been unfaithful, and I wanted to… like give him a shock?’

‘Where was this?’

‘In the living room where Suze did it.’

‘So you brought the razor down to the living room.’

‘Yeah. I waited till I heard his car coming up the drive, then I started cutting myself. I hated it. The blood coming out, all over the carpet. It was so… disgusting I just… I started screaming. And then he come in and seen me, and he’s like shouting at me, You stupid bitch, kind of thing. And he’s throwing himself at me, and I like… I think I struck out at him.’

‘With the razor?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Were you angry?’

‘I was angry about the mess.’

‘So you—’

‘And then I blacked out. I don’t remember nothing after that.’

Bliss stopped the recording.

‘Well, now. I’m just trying to think how many times I’ve heard that from a suspect. Is it fifty, is it sixty? “Oh, I must’ve blacked out. Don’t remember a thing after that.”’

‘And how have many times’ve you been able to disprove it, Frannie?’

Bliss said nothing.

‘So what do you think?’

‘I think if she sticks to her story she’ll save us all a lorra time.

* * *

When she got home, she made some tea and sat in the scullery office, feeling numb, waiting for the call.

It came just after ten.

‘And how is Mrs Mahonie?’

‘Better, thank you, Mr Unsworth. More… rational. How are you?’

‘A little shaken.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘I… chaired an impromptu meeting this morning at the suggestion of one of my neighbours, Craig Buckley. Runs some sort of computer software business. A millionaire who looks as if he should still be at school, but quite sensible. His view is that, whatever happens to her, Mrs Mahonie will be selling the house.’

‘Yes, I think so, too.’

‘Young Mr Buckley thinks we should buy it.’

‘We?’

‘As many as would like to contribute. Mr Buckley doesn’t like the idea of the house being bought cheaply by another property developer. He thinks we - the estate - might all purchase it and, ah, demolish it. Turn it into amenity space which would add value to our own homes.’

‘It’s what councils sometimes do,’ Merrily said, ‘when something awful happens at a particular house.’

‘So I believe.’

‘You think it’s a good idea?’

‘I suppose it will draw a line under some unspoken things. Ensuring that they’ll remain… unspoken. If it happens, perhaps we might invite you to… do whatever you think might help. On the site.’

‘And are you planning to… say nothing?’

‘I’m an old man, Mrs Watkins. What does it matter what I say?’

In her mind, she replayed his movements, his slow paces down the room to the TV set, its black screen exposed. The swish she’d heard had been the dust sheet slithering to the carpet as the blood dripped from her wrist.

‘You saw,’ she said, ‘didn’t you?’

She hadn’t moved. She’d stood there and very steadily said the Lord’s Prayer. Didn’t know how she’d managed that.