Crazy Paving (30 page)

‘Oh why not?’ grumbled Joanna. ‘Look at him. It’s obvious what’s gone on. He’s a burglar. And a tramp. Just look at him. Probably thought we were easy
pickings. Now my mum’s going to get done for murder.’

‘He’s still a person love.’ said Bob. ‘Poor little sod.’

‘Oh, I know.’ Joanna folded her arms. ‘Do you know what they do, the tramps, or at least what Tom said they do? I don’t know if it’s true. He said they steal dogs,
to use as hot water bottles. They cuddle up to them at night, then when the dogs die and get cold they go out and get another one.’

‘Maybe that’s why he wanted your mum.’

‘Well he got more than he bargained for,’ said Joanna. ‘Here, pass me that tea-towel. Let’s see if we can soak up some of this blood before it ruins the
linoleum.’

‘Odd grapes,’ gibbered Mrs Hawthorne, ‘from Surrey Docks. Half an hour, you could have a bag. Jam or biscuit.’

‘Oh shut up you mad old bat,’ said Joanna.

Bob put his coat back on and went to ring for the emergency services. ‘Which one do I ask for?’ he said to Joanna, stopping at the door on his way out.
‘I’ve never done it before.’

‘The one that deals with violent, psychotic old ladies,’ said Joanna, tying his scarf round his neck for him. ‘They probably have a specialist service for that these
days.’

After he had gone, Joanna went back into the kitchen and gazed down at Benny. He had fallen on his front but his head was turned sideways. His eyes were open and his face wore a resigned
expression. He had dirty, stubbled cheeks, as if there wasn’t enough nutrition in them to grow a proper beard – a face like a wasteground, Joanna thought. Bob’s right, you are a
poor sod. I wonder what your name was. I wonder if there is anyone who’ll even notice you’ve gone, let alone care. She sighed. The sash window was still open and there was a cold breeze
blowing in. It was only when she turned to close it that she realised that Mrs Hawthorne was now stiff and silent on the kitchen chair. Joanna stopped and stared. Then she said, out loud but
softly, as her lower lip gave the faintest tremble, ‘Oh, Mum . . .’ She leaned over and prised the bloodied saucepan from her mother’s rigid fingers.

The heart that had withstood a world war, widowhood, a hysterectomy, the amputation of a finger and the loss of her beloved dog Pip – had finally given out. Mrs Hawthorne’s last
words had been, ‘Cake. Fruit cake. More absorbent than Victoria sponge.’ But Joanna and Bob had been in the hallway so there had been no one there to hear.

When Bob returned, they made a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table to wait. Bob sat in his usual place, near the window. Close to his feet was Benny. Joanna had covered
him with the old rug from the hall cupboard, the one they had bought in Walton on the Wolds. Joanna sat opposite her husband, sipping her drink, while her mother’s rapidly cooling corpse sat
at the end of the table, sagging slightly in its chair.

‘Another cup of tea Mum?’ said Joanna.

‘Joanna!’ scolded Bob.

Eventually, the police arrived. Bob let them in. Two young officers followed him into the kitchen, regarded Mrs Hawthorne and nodded sympathetically at Joanna, who was dabbing
her eyes with a tissue.

‘I thought the ambulance would be here first,’ Bob remarked, neutrally. ‘Thing is, the old lady’s copped it too in the meantime.’

One of the policemen went over to Benny and lifted the rug to peer underneath it. He winced.

The other police officer removed his peaked hat to smooth his hair back over his head. ‘I’m afraid the ambulance service is a bit stretched tonight sir,’ he said.
‘They’re mostly up at Victoria.’

Joanna lowered her tissue and looked at him. ‘Victoria?’

‘Middle of the rush hour, day before Easter.’ The policeman was shaking his head.

Joanna looked at Bob. ‘Oh God . . .’ she said.

The last day before a bank holiday always had an end of term feel, but to William that Thursday afternoon on the second floor of the Capital Transport Authority’s
Victoria offices felt more like the end of the world. All the other surveyors seemed to be out on visits. Even Raymond, who was mostly office-based, had disappeared after lunch wearing a
self-important smile. It was towards the end of the afternoon that Richard came out of his office and beckoned him over. William was a little startled. Richard had been so quiet that he
hadn’t even realised he was in the building.

Richard had a little job for him. William sighed inwardly, glancing out of the office window at the light rain which speckled the glass with white and silver.

‘Richard, I’m not sure anyone will be there. There isn’t a site phone so I can’t check. Can’t it wait until Tuesday?’

Richard looked at William coolly. A word came into William’s head. Blank. Richard’s face was completely blank. ‘I need it done this afternoon. I know it’s late. I’d
like you to go now.’

Annette was also thinking about the bank holiday weekend. It was not going to be easy. Holidays never were. She would sit at home and picture William buying a chocolate egg for
his young son. How they must draw parents together, those small acts of giving, the mutual treats. Very bonding, they must be. She had no plans. It would be like four days in the wilderness but
perhaps, at the end, she would emerge whole: redeemed. At least, for four days, she would not be sitting at a desk wondering whether or not William was about to walk around the corner.

William walked around the corner. ‘I’ve got to go out on site,’ he said. ‘I’ve put my phone through.’

Joan was sitting at her desk, opposite Annette. She looked up. ‘Have a good Easter, if you don’t come back.’

‘Thanks, you too,’ William said. ‘Bye Annette.’

‘Bye.’

After he had gone, Joan picked up her handbag and said, ‘I’ve just got to nip over the road and get a pint of milk. I won’t be a minute.’

‘Take your coat, it’s raining,’ said Annette.

Annette pushed herself back from her desk. Less than an hour to go. The phone rang. It was Reception. The third floor was empty and everyone in Finance had gone as well. Their department was the
only one with people left in the building. They were going to lock up and close the front door. After she put down the phone, Annette realised Joan would have to use the code to get back in. She
began to tidy up her desk, put her stapler and holepunch away, gather up scattered biros and drop them into the red plastic carton next to her computer. Half-way through, she remembered that she
had borrowed a calculator from Dennis round the corner. She took it round but their section had all gone home. Their offices were deserted. They had turned the lights off. She took the calculator
back to her desk and locked it in her drawer.

The telephone rang again. Annette answered. ‘Good afternoon, building section.’

The woman’s voice on the other end of the phone sounded strained, slightly distant. ‘I’m trying to get through to William Bennett.’ Automatically, Annette reached out for
a biro. ‘I’m sorry, he’s out on site at the moment. Can I take a message?’

‘When will he be back?’

The tone of the question – anxious, alert – froze Annette’s hand, the biro poised above her notepad. ‘I don’t know, I’m not sure whether he’s coming
back this afternoon.’ She allowed a slight pause then repeated, with an edge of insistence in her voice, ‘May I take a message?’

The pause was echoed on the other end of the line. ‘It’s his wife.’

I know, thought Annette. I know who you are. And what’s more, you know who I am too.

‘I’m sorry . . .’ Alison said, then there was a scratching sound as she placed a hand over a mouthpiece. In the background, there were muffled male voices. Then the
high-pitched tones of a child. The hand was removed. ‘I’m sorry,’ repeated Alison, ‘but I have to get hold of my husband. Now, as soon as possible. Is it possible to contact
him on site?’

Annette thought her own voice sounded unnaturally normal. ‘He’s got a bleeper. I could try paging him. You can’t send a message though, it just bleeps and he rings in to the
office. I don’t know if he’ll have it turned on.’ She allowed herself a moment of pleasure at her superior knowledge of William’s habits. ‘He forgets
sometimes.’

‘Will there be a phone where he’s going? Can you tell him to ring me straightaway?’

‘It depends. If he’s on the tube it won’t go off until he gets above ground. If he’s still on route he might just turn round and come back to the office.’

‘Well, when he does,’ Alison’s voice had become very measured, ‘tell him to ring home immediately. It’s an emergency. Tell him it isn’t Paul. He’s fine.
We’re both fine. But it’s an emergency.’ She paused, then added, as if she was afraid that Annette would not believe her, ‘The police are here. Tell him to ring home
straightaway.’

‘Yes. Of course.’

There was a pause. Annette waited. Then she heard movement in the background. Alison said briskly. ‘Thank you,’ and hung up.

Annette put down the phone. She opened her drawer and drew out her list of pager numbers.

She had just paged William and put down the phone when she looked up to see Richard in front of her desk, standing very still with his arms by his side. She started slightly. She had not seen
him all day. She thought he might have gone home without telling her.

He was glancing over towards Joan’s desk. He turned back towards her. He was wearing a slight smile. Annette opened her mouth to explain that Joan had not left, only gone over the road for
a pint of milk, but he interrupted her. ‘Annette . . .’

‘Yes?’ She was trying to work out what it was about Richard that was bothering her. Then she realised. He was motionless. He was not gesturing with his hands or moving his head as he
spoke. It was as if he was doing something rehearsed – very, very slowly.

‘Time you were going,’ he said, still wearing the slight smile. ‘I’ve decided to close the office. No point in you hanging on here when everyone else has gone. Why
don’t you get off now?’

‘Yes,’ said Annette, uncertainly. She wanted to wait until William came back, to find out what had happened. She couldn’t possibly leave yet. Richard was staring at her. She
kept her voice calm and casual. ‘Yes, I’ll just make sure all the PCs are closed down.’

He stepped closer and leant slightly towards her. His voice sounded heavy. ‘I would make a dash for it if I were you,’ he said, ‘the rush hour has already started.’

He turned and left.

Annette frowned. She looked around her desk. It was almost tidied away: not much excuse to stay. She opened her locked drawer and pulled a few things out that she could pretend to be tidying if
he came back: her date stamp, her stapler, the ornamental paper-cutter that was used for opening the tender envelopes.

Helly looked up. Richard stood beside her desk. She leant back in her seat, trying to look relaxed to the point of boredom. Behind her rib cage, her heart thumped away like an
Easter bunny metamorphosed into the mad March Hare.

‘Do you mind if we have a little chat?’ Richard said, not meeting her gaze. ‘Nothing heavy. I just want to get a few things straightened out.’

She shrugged. He stepped back and lifted his hand in the direction of his office. She rose slowly from her seat.

Annette had re-arranged the items on her desk several times. She had cleaned the keyboard on her computer. She had over-watered the plants. There was nothing else she could
think of as a delaying tactic.

She went round to Helly’s desk. It was empty. She stood, rubbing her lips together. Helly would not have gone home without saying goodbye. She stepped out from the alcove and looked down
the office. It was dark and deserted. The secretaries had lowered the blinds before leaving and turned the lights out, although there was still daylight filtering through in narrow stripes. The
computers sat on their desks, vague hulks underneath grey plastic covers. Someone had gone round tucking the chairs in neatly, ready for the weekend cleaners. Behind the nearest desk was a small
arrangement of sagging, deflated balloons which were Sellotaped to the wall, left over from somebody’s birthday a few weeks ago. There was the eerie, unidentifiable silence of a place which
was usually full of noise.

Slowly, gradually, she began to feel uneasy. Where the hell was Joan? She went back to her desk and picked up her coat from the hook on the wall. She slipped it over her shoulders and moved
swiftly across the office to the back stairs.

In Richard’s office. Helly was sitting in front of his desk while Richard stood with his back to her, looking out of the window. ‘So,’ he was saying. ‘I
just thought we might come to some sort of compromise. You’re a clever girl, and you’ve got guts. I admire that.’

He had been talking for several minutes and the whole time, Helly had not responded. He turned from the window and looked at her.

‘Richard,’ she said, turning in her seat. ‘This is bullshit. What did you really want to say? Get it over and done with because it’s Easter and I want to go
home.’

Richard looked at her, then raised a finger. ‘Hang on a minute.’ He crossed the office swiftly and opened the door. Very briefly, he turned the corner and glanced around the office.
Annette had gone. The office was empty, and dark. He went back into his office and closed the door behind him. Helly looked up as he came back in. She had not moved from her seat. He came and stood
very close to her and looked down. She froze. He bent down, so that his face was very near to hers. At the same time, he removed a large cotton handkerchief from his pocket and held it up to her
face. ‘Put this in your mouth,’ he said.

Helly sat very still. Then, she began to hyperventilate. ‘What . . . for?’ she asked breathily, in a last ditch attempt to pretend that it was not about to happen.

‘Because I’m going to hurt you,’ he said.

She sprang up from her seat. But she had left it too late.

As Annette opened the front door to John Blow House, she saw Joan standing on the steps outside. ‘Oh thank God you came out,’ she said. ‘I’ve been
standing on these steps like an idiot. I didn’t know they were going to lock up, did you?’ She stepped inside, brushing rain off her shoulders. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, not
a pint of milk to be found. I went all the way up Strutton Ground.’