The Shape of Snakes (3 page)

The reality was rather different. England had changed into New Labor's "Cool Britannia" during the time we'd been abroad, strikes were almost unknown, the pace of life had quickened dramatically and there was a new widespread affluence that hadn't existed in the '70s. We couldn't believe how expensive everything was, how crowded the roads were and how difficult it was to find a parking space now that "shopping" had become the Brits' favorite pastime. Hastily the boys abandoned us for their own age group. Garden fetes and village cricket were for old people. Designer clothes and techno music were the order of the day, and clubs and theme pubs were the places to be seen, particularly those that stayed open into the early hours to show widescreen satellite feeds of world sporting fixtures.

"Do you get the feeling we've been left behind?" Sam asked glumly at the end of our first week as we sat like a couple of pensioners on the patio of our rented farmhouse, watching some horses graze in a nearby paddock.

"By the boys."

"No. Our peers. I was talking to Jock Williams on the phone today"-an old friend from our Richmond days-"and he told me he made a couple of million last year by selling off one of his businesses." He made a wry face. "So I asked him how many businesses he had left, and he said, only two but together they're worth ten million. He wanted to know what
I
was doing so I lied through my teeth."

I took time to wonder why it never seemed to occur to Sam that Jock was as big a fantasist as he was, particularly as Jock had been trumpeting "mega-buck sales" down the phone to him for years but had never managed to find the time-
or money?
-to fly out for a visit. "What did you say?"

"That we'd made a killing on the Hong Kong stock market before it reverted to China and could afford to take early retirement. I also said we were buying an eight-bedroom house and a hundred acres in Dorset."

"Mm." I used my foot to stir some clumps of grass growing between the cracks in the patio, which were symptomatic of the air of tired neglect that pervaded the whole property. "A brick box in a modern development more likely. I had a look in a real estate agent's window yesterday and anything of any size is well outside our price range. Something like this would cost around Ł300,000 and that's not counting the money we'd need to spend doing it up. Let's just hope Jock doesn't decide to visit."

Sam's gloom deepened at the prospect. "If we'd had any sense we'd have hung on to the house on Graham Road. Jock says it's worth ten times what we paid for it in '76. We were mad to sell. You need to keep a stake in the property market if you want to trade up to something reasonable."

There were times when I despaired of my husband's memory. It was a peculiarly selective one that allowed him to remember the precise details of past negotiating triumphs but insisted he forgot where the cutlery was kept in every kitchen we'd ever had. It had its advantages-he was easily persuaded he was in the wrong-but once in a while it caught me on the raw. At the very least, he ought to have remembered the weeks of abuse that followed the inquest into Annie's death...

"It was my choice to leave," I said flatly, "and I don't care if we end up living in a caravan, it's one decision I'll never regret. You might have been able to stay on Graham Road ... I certainly couldn't ... not once the phone calls started anyway."

He eyed me nervously. "I thought you'd forgotten all that."

"No."

The horses kicked up their heels for no apparent reason to canter to the other side of the field, and I wondered how good their hearing was and whether they could pick up vibrations of anger in a single word. We watched them in silence for a moment or two, and I put money on Sam backing away as usual from the period in our lives that had brought us to the brink of divorce. He chose to follow a tangent.

"In purely financial terms Jock's probably right, though," he said. "If we'd kept the house and let it, we'd not only have had an income all these years but we'd have made a 1,000 percent increase on our capital to boot."

"We had a mortgage," I told him, "so the income would have gone straight into paying it off and we'd never have seen a penny of it."

"Except Jock says..."

I only half-listened to Jock's views on the beneficial effects to borrowers of the galloping inflation of the late '70s and early ' 80s and how the Thatcher revolution had freed up entrepreneurs to play roulette with other people's money. I hadn't had much time for him when we lived in London, and from Sam's reports of the conversations he'd had with him via the international phone network over the years, I could see no reason to change my opinion. Theirs was a competitive relationship, based on vainglorious self-promotion from Jock and ridiculous counterclaims from Sam, which anyone with an ounce of intelligence would see straight through.

I roused myself when Sam fell silent. "Jock Williams has been lying about money since the first time we met him." I murmured. "He latched on to us in the pub for the sole purpose of getting free drinks because he claimed he'd left his wallet at home. He said he'd pay us back but he never did. I didn't believe him then and I don't believe him now. If he's worth ten million"-I bared my teeth-"then I've got the body of a twenty-year-old."

I was doing Sam a kindness although he couldn't see it because it would never occur to him that I might know more about Jock than he did. How could I? Jock and I had had no contact since our strained farewells on the day Sam and I left London. Yet I knew exactly what Jock was worth, and I also knew that the only person likely to lose sleep over it was Jock himself when his braggadocio lies finally came home to roost.

Sam's gloom began to lift. "Oh, come on," he said. "Things aren't
that
bad. The old bum's spread a bit, admittedly, but the tits still hold their shape."

I gave him an affectionate cuff across the back of the head. "At least I've still got all my hair."
 

POLICE WITNESS STATEMENT

Date: 16.11.78
time: 18:27
Officer in charge: PC Quentin, Richmond Police
Witness: Sam Ranelagh, 5 Graham Road, Richmond, Surrey
Incident: Death of Miss A. Butts in Graham Road on 14.11.78

On Tuesday, 14.11.78, I reached Richmond station at about 7:30. My friend, Jock Williams, who lives at 21 Graham Road, was on the same train and caught up with me as I passed through the ticket barrier. It was raining heavily, and Jock suggested we make a detour to the Hoop and Grapes in Kew Road for a pint. I was tired and invited him back to my house instead. My wife, a teacher, was at a parents' evening and was not due home until 9:30. The walk along the A316 takes approximately 15 minutes, and Jock and I turned into Graham Road at around 7:45.

I have lived in Graham Road for two years and knew Ann Butts well by sight. On several occasions in the last six months I have come across her outside our house, staring in through the windows. I have no idea why she did this although I believe she may have been trying to intimidate my wife, whom she called "honky." In view of the bad weather, I was surprised to see her there again on Tuesday night (14.11.78). She moved away as we rounded the corner. She was clearly drunk and when I pointed her out to Jock we both used the word "paralytic" to describe her. We were reluctant to approach her because she seemed to have a strong dislike of white people. We crossed the road behind her and let ourselves into my house.

Jock remained with me for approximately one-and-a-half hours, and we spent most of that time in the kitchen. The kitchen is at the back of the house and the door to the corridor was closed. At no point did we hear anything from the road that would suggest an accident had occurred. Jock left at approximately 9:15 and I accompanied him to the front door. I had completely forgotten seeing Ann Butts earlier and it did not occur to me to look for her again. I watched Jock turn right out of our gate toward his own house before going back inside.

I was shocked when my wife came rushing in fifteen minutes later to say Mad Annie had collapsed in the gutter and looked as if she was dying. I ran out with a torch and found her body between two parked cars outside number 1. It seemed obvious to me that she was already dead. Her eyes were open and there was no pulse in her neck or her wrist. I made an attempt at mouth-to-mouth resuscitation but gave up when there was no response. An ambulance arrived shortly afterward.

I regret now that I made no attempt to assist Ann Butts back to her house at 7:45, although I am convinced she would have rejected the offer.

Signed:
Sam Ranelagh
In the presence of:
A. Quann

Letterfrom Libby Williams--formerly
of 21 Graham Road, Richmond-dated 1980

39a Templeton Road
Southampton
Hampshire
UK

May 20, 1980

M'dear!

You could have knocked me down with a feather when your letter came through my door. And what great news about the baby. Seven months old, eh? Conceived in England and born in Hong Kong. Has to be lucky! Of course we must remain friends. God knows, I didn't spend hours listening to your heartache in the wake of Annie's death to abandon you the minute you move abroad. I'm just so glad you got in touch because the way things are-i.e., Jock and I aren't speaking. AT ALL!-/ didn't know how to contact you. Of course I'll help you in any way I can, although I'm a little worried that your letter seems to imply Jock and Sam had a hand in Annie's death. Much as I loathe the two-timing maggot I married, I don't think he's vile enough to kill anyone and certainly not someone he hardly knew. As for Sam! Do me a favor!

Okay, so Sam got drunk one night and admitted they lied to the police about where they were and now refuses to have Annie's name mentioned. Well, trust me, sweetheart, I don't think you should read too much into it even if I do understand how angry you must feel. Sam had no business to lie for Jock however "good" the cause. Still, that's men for you. They stick to each other like glue, but cast off their women whenever it suits them!

Re your questions: 1) Did I tell the police that Jock had been with Sam? Yes. As you know, they started knocking on everyone's doors the day after the event, wanting to know if we'd seen or heard the accident. I said I'd been alone at home watching telly and hadn 't heard a thing, so they promptly asked me what my husband had been doing and I said, "Having a drink with Sam Ranelagh at number 5." 2) Did Jock volunteer the information when he got home or did I ask for it? I asked him the night of the 14th. The little toerag came rolling in half-cut as usual and I said, "Where the hell have you been?" "Round at Sam's having a beer," he came back quick as a flash. I should have known he was lying! He always used Sam as a way out of a crisis. 3) What time did Jock get home that night? Nine-fifteenish. Can't recall exactly. I'm sure the nine o'clock news was still on. 4) Have I any idea when Jock spoke to Sam in order to concoct the alibi? Knowing Jock, he would have phoned Sam at work the next morning and told him he was on the spot and had to think up a lie on the spur of the moment. "If anyone asks, I was with you. So don't let me down, will you? " That kind of thing.

In passing, I doubt very much if Jock had been gambling again, whatever he may have told Sam. He had a floozy in Graham Road, a bleached vampire called Sharon Percy, who was little better than a prostitute. He claims he was having an affair with her but my solicitor forced him to produce his bank statements and it looks as if he was making regular payments to her every Tuesday in return for sex. He's denying the payments at the moment (but not the affair-he seems quite proud of that!) but my solicitor's confident we can drag the truth out of him if he refuses to make a reasonable settlement and we end up in court.

Anyway, the point is, Annie died on a Tuesday and I suspect Jock was rogering Sharon rather than gambling! For all I know it may have been the first time because he never bothered to explain his lateness on a Tuesday again. Or any other day for that matter! You're right. The prospect of imminent divorce is a great relief and I have every intention of taking him to the cleaners if 1 possibly can. He only produces documents after my solicitor applies thumbscrews, and he explains his purchase of a house in Alveston Road (v. swank Ł70,000 five-bedroom job within spitting distance of Richmond Park-complete with live-in blonde bimbo!) as a "long-term, heavily mortgaged investment." This, on the back of the paltry Ł10,000 he took as his 50-percent share of 21 Graham Road. Do me a favor! Do the sums add up, or do they? The best I could afford was this two-room flat in Southampton.

Feel free to ask for any help I can give you. It would never occur to me for a minute that talking about Annie might bring on "a fit of the vapors" and how very old-fashioned of Sam to come up with such an expression. No woman I know goes in for such idiocies, and I doubt if they ever did. It was yet another invention of man to undermine the onward march of female supremacy. Yes, I'm bitter, and ... yes, the whole male sex can go fuck itself as far as I'm concerned ... I've taken a leaf out of your book and have come to Southampton to train for a career in teaching. Dammit, girl, if you can make money tutoring Chinamen in Hong Kong, I can surely make money tutoring brats over here!

Love, Libby

PS For purely selfish reasons, I'm glad you're not keen for Sam and Jock to know you're asking questions! My solicitor's warned me to stay mum about how much I already know about his shenanigans, otherwise he'll bury his assets in hidden accounts and I'll never get my fair share of the booty!