Until It's Over (13 page)

‘Are you Astrid Bell?’ a voice said.

I looked round. The speaker was a man in his early sixties, wearing a grey suit, a tie and black shoes. He was balding and wore glasses.

‘That’s right,’ I said.

‘You were the last person who saw my wife,’ he said.

I was going to say, ‘Not the
last
’ but didn’t, because it sounded like heartless quibbling over words.

‘Are you…?’

‘I’m Joe Farrell,’ he said. ‘Peggy’s husband.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I was so shocked and upset by what happened.’

‘You see that lad over there?’ he said, pointing at a teenage boy who was trying on an old Walkman Dario was selling.

‘I don’t know him,’ I said.

‘I don’t either,’ he said. ‘But I know who he is. He’s one of the gang who robbed my wife after she was dead.’

‘The ones who broke into your car?’

‘That’s right.’

‘How do you know?’

‘They called me into the police station and showed me photographs. He was one.’

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose loudly. Knowing who he was, I looked at him searchingly. His face was grey with grief, if that wasn’t my imagination. He had missed a patch of stubble along his jawline with his razor, now that there was nobody to notice for him. I dimly remembered that he had been brought in for questioning, not just as a witness. Did the police think he might have murdered his wife?

‘They only charged them with theft,’ he said. ‘They’re out on bail now, would you believe it? And now here he is. What do you think about that for a nerve?’

I couldn’t think what to say. Everything seemed wrong. I could have said that this was where the boy lived and that it wasn’t so surprising, but that might seem unsympathetic. ‘It was terrible what they did,’ I said. ‘There’s no excuse for it. But they weren’t involved with your wife’s death. They didn’t know about it. They were stupid kids breaking into a car.’

‘That’s what the police told me,’ said Farrell. ‘How do we know they’re right? They could have mugged her in the street, left her for dead, then come back and broken into the car when it was dark.’

‘Did the police consider that?’

‘I don’t know. I told them about it and they said they’d investigate but I don’t think they paid much attention. They mainly asked me about how often my wife and I argued and whether I suspected her of being unfaithful. I knew what they meant. They even got me to talk to a bloody psychiatrist. He asked me about my mother.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I met him as well.’

Farrell paid no attention to what I’d said. It was clear he just needed somebody to talk to. The words gushed out as if they had built up in the weeks since his wife’s murder.

‘What’s all this?’ he said, looking at the frenzied scenes in front of us.

‘Most of us are moving out,’ I said, ‘so some of the guys in the house decided to have a clear-out.’

Farrell gave a loud sniff. ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ he said. ‘I’d get out of this area if I could. I’ve lived here for more than thirty years. They say it’s coming up. But scum like that are still here.’

I didn’t speak. I was a bit worried that the boy he was talking about might hear and there’d be more trouble.

‘Peggy was old-fashioned,’ said Farrell. ‘She believed in being a proper neighbour. That’s why you all knew her, isn’t it?’

I murmured something unintelligible in response. I didn’t want to tell him that I hadn’t known his wife. That the first time I’d heard her full name had been when she was dead.

‘She noticed things,’ said Farrell, ‘and she believed in getting involved. Those kids from the flats, they go around late at night kicking bins over and breaking windows and jostling people in the street. Other people ignored it but she used to say things to them and she rang the police about them. Not that they did anything. But those kids knew she wasn’t someone who would just let something go. So they did something about it.’

‘I hope the police find who did it,’ I said.

‘They’ve given up,’ he said. ‘I keep phoning up and they say the investigation is proceeding. But when did you last see a policeman down here?’

I didn’t answer because I thought it would only confuse matters.

‘Look at that kid,’ said Farrell. ‘He’s pocketing that radio. I’m not going to let him get away with it.’ I clutched at his sleeve to stop him.

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘He’ll get it home and then he’ll discover it doesn’t work. That’ll be punishment enough.’

Farrell looked at me awkwardly. He was clearly about to go. ‘If you ever want to pop round for a cup of tea,’ he said, ‘you know, to talk about things, I’m usually in in the evenings. And at weekends. Before you move away.’

‘That would be lovely,’ I said.

‘Biscuits as well,’ he said.

‘Great.’

He moved away. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said, and I watched him edge his way through the crowd and walk alone along the pavement.

Suddenly I wanted to get away from the bustle and the noise, so I went back into the house, where I met Leah in the hallway outside Miles’s bedroom.

‘I didn’t know you were here,’ I said.

‘I just got in,’ she said. ‘That’s a squalid little scene out there.’

‘I think it’s quite fun,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t believe the things people have bought.’

She frowned. ‘Oh, by the way, Astrid, Miles brought a bag of my clothes over this morning. Have you seen them?’

Chapter Seventeen

I contemplated making a dash for it, but Leah was standing in my way and to get past her I would have to knock her over.

‘I don’t know anything about a bag,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been here, you see. Hardly at all. Can I come by now?’

She shrugged and stood aside, and I charged past her. As I got to my room, I heard her clipping across the hall and opening the front door. I sat on my bed and picked up my new blouse, pressing my face into its softness. It had a familiar, expensive smell. I sighed and waited for the hubbub to begin.

It wasn’t long. First there was a shout, ‘Hey!’ in a voice I didn’t recognize, then a truly ear-splitting shriek of rage.

I stood up, laying my shirt carefully on the pillow.

Then lots of voices shouting, I couldn’t make out the words, followed by a crash and more screaming.

Very slowly I went down the stairs. The front door was wide open and through it I could see a wild scene taking place. Both tables seemed to have been pushed over, and the objects that had been on them were scattered across the front garden and even on the pavement. Youths were rummaging through everything in a kind of frenzy and more people were pouring in through the gate. As I looked, a very large woman, wearing tatty jeans, an old sweater and over it a glorious orange silk shirt that was several sizes too small, rushed past. There was a further yelp. I thought I recognized Pippa’s voice, but she was out of sight. Somebody was laughing and clapping.

Perhaps, I thought, I could go back into the house without being seen, creep downstairs into the basement, from there get into the garden, then sneak up the alley and be away. But even as I was thinking this, I was stepping outside and gazing at the wreckage that lay before me. The boys from the estate were picking up as much of the debris as they could hold and as I watched two started having a tug of war over the old lampstand. A group of girls were parading around with lacy knickers – Leah’s, I assumed – on their heads, taking photos of each other with their mobile phones. Leah was in the corner, wrestling with the large woman whose orange shirt was now ripped from armpit to hem. Davy was with them, hopping from one foot to the other and occasionally trying to pull them apart, but although he’s fairly strong, their rage was stronger and he didn’t stand a chance. A few residents of the street stood in a bewildered huddle, some clutching bright garments, and stared at the mayhem, while out on the pavement a crowd was gathering. A boy hurtled past me, holding the lampstand, followed by his rival.

I turned to Leah, who now had the remnants of her shirt in her hands and was striding towards a small group of bewildered middle-aged women standing near the side alley. ‘Hand them over,’ she said.

They looked at her as though she was mad and backed away. ‘My clothes,’ said Leah.

‘We bought them,’ said one, nervously.

‘Yes, proper money,’ said another. ‘This cost me five pounds.’ And she held up a military-style jacket with a red lining.

I felt a nudge as Davy arrived at my side. He was panting and there was a scratch on his cheek. I tucked my arm through his. ‘How did this happen? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. Pippa and Dario.’

He didn’t reply.

‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to say. Let’s try and sort this mess out.’

I walked over to Leah and the women, stepping over a boy who was scrabbling on the ground for scattered bits of jewellery. I tried to adopt an official tone. ‘I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding, and those clothes you have aren’t for sale.’

‘We bought them.’

‘It was a mistake. You’ll get your money back.’

‘I don’t want it back.’

‘That’s right.’

Leah made a strangled noise beside me. I could feel the heat rising off her.

‘Just return the clothes, we’ll return your money. Simple.’

‘What about the others who’ve already left with theirs?’

‘I’ll get the money,’ I said. ‘Five pounds for each item, right?’

Again, Leah gave a whimper of rage.

‘Where’s the money, then? Davy?’

‘What?’

‘All the money, where is it?’

‘Money?’

‘The takings,’ I said, as patiently as I could.

‘It was in a box,’ he said, looking around desperately. ‘On the table.’

‘Right.’

‘And then… you know.’

‘Right.’ The front garden was littered with rubbish and people. There was still an audience on the pavement and among them, Owen was clicking away as if he was in a war zone. His camera was like a talisman, shielding him from any involvement in the disaster. I looked back at the house and saw three faces gazing out of a second-floor window: Dario, Pippa and Mick.

‘So we’ve sold off the contents of the house,’ I said, ‘and Leah’s wardrobe. And the money’s gone.’

‘It looks like it,’ said Davy.

‘Do you think it’s funny?’

‘No.’ He gave a little snort and I felt my own lips curl.

‘Are you laughing?’ screamed Leah, into my face.

‘Of course not,’ I managed.

I thought she was going to fly at me, the only person she could get her hands on.

‘You fucking are! You sell off my clothes and then giggle like a spiteful little schoolgirl! How would you feel if it had happened to you?’

‘It has,’ I said.

‘What?’ asked Davy.

‘My bike. I left it leaning against the house. It’s gone.’

Davy went over to the wall as if it would magically reappear if he gazed hard enough at the spot.

‘I’ve spent years putting that bike together.’

The conspirators – Dario, Pippa and Mick – were advancing towards us, wearing the same expression of innocent surprise, which didn’t suit Dario’s swollen face.

‘We were inside having a bit of a rest,’ said Dario, ‘and we heard all the noise.’

Behind us, the women dissolved away and a few seconds later I saw them jogging down the road, still clutching Leah’s gorgeous clothes.

‘Some of Leah’s clothes have been sold,’ said Davy.

‘Oh dear,’ said Pippa.

‘Oh dear,’ said Dario.

Mick shuffled from foot to foot.

‘How could that have happened? We just put out all the bags of clothes we could see.’ Pippa raised her eyebrows even higher. ‘Didn’t we, Dario?’

‘Yes.’ He put a hand over his mouth in a parody of dismay. ‘God, I hope we didn’t put yours out by mistake.’

Leah stared at them with contempt.

‘Astrid’s bike’s been taken as well,’ said Davy, but no one seemed to hear him. They were locked in their own little world of rage and revenge.

‘And the money box,’ I added.

They heard that. All heads turned to me.

‘What?’ said Mick.

‘The money box has gone,’ I repeated.

‘How?’

‘What do you mean, how? How do you think? I wasn’t here. You three ran away, Leah got into a fight, Davy tried to break it up, and Owen was busy taking pictures.’

I twisted my head to look for Owen. He was talking to another man with a camera. My heart sank further: I recognized him as one of the photographers who’d been stalking me since I’d found Ingrid de Soto’s body. ‘That’s all I need.’

‘What?’

‘We’ll probably be able to read about ourselves in the local papers tomorrow. And here comes Miles, to make the happy family complete.’

We watched him as he walked along the street. He looked smart and cool, but as he drew nearer, puzzlement appeared on his face and his steps quickened, until he was nearly running to join us. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, as he came into the garden. ‘Tell me there’s not been another –’

‘No, no,’ said Davy. ‘It was just –’ He stopped and frowned. ‘Just something,’ he said.

‘Have you called the police? What’s going on
now
?’

‘I’ll tell you what’s going on,’ began Leah. ‘And what your
friends
have been up to.’

‘Not now,’ I said sharply.

‘It was your idea, wasn’t it?’ Leah said, turning on me.

‘I’m the one trying to sort things out.’

‘It was a mistake,’ said Pippa.

‘A mistake,’ echoed Dario, nodding vigorously.

‘Can we deal with all of this first, before the post-mortem?’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get everyone out of our garden.’

‘It was just going to be a sale,’ said Miles, in a dazed voice. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘Just help me get them out. Davy, Mick?’

‘I’ll help,’ said Pippa, brightly.

‘You’ve done enough for one day.’

‘Oh, don’t you go all disapproving on me. It was a mistake.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Lots of money was in that box,’ said Dario, gloomily. ‘I can’t believe it disappeared as soon as we turned our backs.’

‘So surprising,’ I said acidly. ‘Now, why don’t you get rid of those girls there?’

‘What are you going to do?’

I didn’t reply, but walked towards Owen and the other photographer.

‘Got a bit out of hand, did it, Miss Bell?’ the man said cheerily.

‘Go away.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You heard. Go away. We don’t want you here.’

‘I’m not on your property. I’m on the street.’

‘Leave.’

‘But –’

‘Or I’ll call the police and say you’re harassing me. Don’t you believe me?’ I fished out my phone and started dialling.

‘Sparky girl you’ve got there, Owen.’

‘I’m not a girl and he hasn’t got me.’

Gradually people were dispersing. I joined Pippa and Dario, who were puffing at cigarettes amid the debris.

‘Where’s Leah gone?’ I asked.

‘Inside.’ Dario tossed his stub on to the ground. ‘She’s a bit angry.’

‘Are you surprised?’

‘I’m angry too.’

‘What about?’

‘I was counting on that money.’

‘You know what I think?’ said Pippa. ‘She has to leave the house and not come back until we’re all out. This can’t go on.’

‘I certainly agree with the last bit.’

She looked at me. ‘So will you tell her?’

‘Me?’

‘It’d be better coming from you.’

‘She hates me,’ I said, ‘and she thinks I’m trying to steal Miles from her.’

‘Miles would listen to you,’ said Pippa, vaguely.

‘Anyway, why should she leave? She’s the landlord’s girlfriend, remember?’

‘Maybe Miles should leave as well. They could both go,’ said Dario.

‘Brilliant,’ I said.

‘No need to be sarcastic.’

‘I can’t go on living like this,’ I said. ‘Maybe we should move out now, sleep on friends’ floors, anything.’

‘Then she’ll have won,’ said Pippa.

‘Won? This isn’t a game. Look, why don’t you two just apologize?’

‘Apologize?’ said Dario, with a hurt expression.

‘It wasn’t my fault Miles left a bag of her stuff hanging around,’ said Pippa, primly, although she looked uncomfortable. ‘But if it makes things easier, I’ll say I’m sorry her things happened to get sold.’

The apology didn’t quite go as planned. Leah was no longer heated: she was icily calm and there was a glint in her eye that made me apprehensive.

‘Listen,’ began Pippa. ‘I just wanted to say that –’

‘No, you listen,’ interrupted Leah.

‘Let’s discuss this calmly,’ said Davy.

‘I agree,’ said Miles.

‘People are feeling anger,’ said Davy.

‘Who cares what they’re feeling?’ said Leah. ‘It’s what they’ve done.’

‘But –’

‘I don’t think you’re helping, Davy,’ said Pippa.

‘Is this a dream?’ said Dario. ‘It might be. That would explain everything.’

‘I wish it was a dream,’ muttered Miles, ‘and that now I could wake up. Astrid, what have you got to say?’

‘Why ask her?’ said Leah. ‘You all do that, the whole bloody household. It’s Astrid says this and Astrid would do that and I’ll just go and ask Astrid before I know what to think myself.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘You all talk to her behind each other’s backs. Astrid-the-ex-lover, Astrid-the-future-lover, Astrid-the-confessor, Astrid-the-best-friend. But there are still some things she doesn’t know. Aren’t there, Pippa?’

‘What’s this about?’ Pippa said sharply.

‘Don’t you know? Maybe Owen does, then. Owen?’

Owen stared at her, his expression hardening.

‘No? How odd. I would have thought it was obvious.’

‘What are you saying, Leah?’ asked Miles.

‘Don’t ask her,’ I said. ‘Don’t get involved.’

‘You don’t want to know?’ asked Leah, turning towards me.

I ignored her, getting up from the table and picking up my jacket.

‘After all, Pippa’s been your friend for ages,’ she continued. ‘I thought she confided in you, especially about her love life.’

‘Leah,’ said Miles.

‘Diversionary tactics,’ hissed Dario in my ear. ‘Pay no attention.’

‘I’m not,’ I said. I smiled at Pippa but she didn’t seem to be smiling back.

‘Pippa and Owen. Didn’t you know? They didn’t tell you about their little fling?’

I fixed a small, hard smile on my face and stared her down. ‘Why would they?’ I said.

Her air of triumph wavered slightly. ‘I thought you and Owen…’ she began.

‘Then you were wrong.’ Owen and I exchanged a glance. ‘Anything else?’

‘You’re a bitch, Leah,’ said Pippa.

‘Cow,’ barked Mick, then folded his arms across his chest and sat back.

‘That’s called shooting the messenger,’ said Miles.

‘And that’s what I always am, isn’t it, Miles?’ said Leah. ‘Your messenger.’ Then she stalked out of the room.

I put on my jacket and did it up with trembling hands. I was trying to look dignified and undistressed.

‘Astrid…’

‘No, Pippa. Don’t say anything. It’s fine. There’s nothing wrong. I just need a bit of fresh air.’

‘We were a bit drunk. It was only once.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘Are you all right?’ asked Miles, standing up and putting a hand on my shoulder, which I shrugged off.

‘For God’s sake, I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Don’t leave like this,’ said Davy. ‘Don’t you think we should talk it through?’

‘No, Davy, I don’t. Funnily enough, I don’t really feel like some group-therapy session about it.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Miles.