Who Wants to Live Forever? (7 page)

“I’m up for that,” I answered, perhaps a little too eagerly.

“Me too,” said Debbie. “After all, there’s nobody at home waiting for me, so the company would be nice.”

We all looked at Gail. “My husband is expecting me. He’s flying to Stockholm first thing in the morning — it’s his work, you see — and there’s a lot to do.”

“We won’t be out long,” said Trish. “Surely you can spare a half-hour. Besides, I thought you said he wasn’t going off anywhere while the course was on?”

“Oh, he wasn’t supposed to, but these things happen when you’re a high-flying executive. He’s only away for a few days this time, else I’d have gone with him.”

“Whereabouts do you live?” I asked.

Gail looked a little perplexed, before answering, “I hope you don’t think I’m being awkward, but I
never
tell anybody my address. We live in a very exclusive area, and if somebody innocently let it slip that we were away, well, I’m sure you know what I mean. There are a lot of envious people in this world.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I said. “I was only going to suggest that if you didn’t want to join us because you had a long way to travel home afterwards, I could always go and get my car and give you a lift.”

“Oh, I see, Ethan. Well, thank you, but there’s really no need for that. But I do appreciate the offer.”

“He’s very gentlemanly,” said Debbie. “He even offered to carry my bag for me.”

“Why didn’t you let him, then?” asked Trish. “What’s the good of a man if you don’t take advantage of him?”

“I know, but, like I said before, I’m kind of attached to it and I don’t feel comfortable if anybody else carries it.”

“Fair enough. Okay, then,” said Trish, looking at Gail, “are you going to join us for a drink?”

Eventually, Gail agreed to come with us; I think she was a little worried about missing out on some of the chat, and that was what finally swung it for her.

“Good,” said Debbie, “but just one rule, eh? I’m like you, Trish, with all these gory details running round my head, so let’s agree — no talk about the class or the cases. We’ll just have a quiet evening getting to know each other. Okay?”

We all agreed, although I was a tad disappointed as I really wanted to discuss what we had just heard; in particular I wanted to know what the others thought about Louise exhibiting almost obsessional tendencies, as if she was determined to solve the case. But I was happy enough to go along, and when we entered the lounge bar of the local pub I went to get the drinks.

“Just a small sherry for me,” said Gail. “I mustn’t stay out too late.”

The three women found a table in the corner, and I carried over the tray containing the drinks — Gail’s sherry, two glasses of red for Debbie and Trish and a pint of lager for myself. There were half a dozen other drinkers in the bar, which I supposed would be fairly normal for a Tuesday evening, and it afforded us the chance to have a nice conversation without having to shout to make ourselves heard. I took a mouthful of the lager and emitted a hum of satisfaction. “I needed that,” I said, rather unnecessarily.

“So what
are
we going to talk about?” asked Gail. “I mean, if we aren’t going to discuss the class at all.”

“Why don’t you tell us about your husband’s trip?” suggested Trish. “After all, it seems like it’s the most interesting thing that is happening around here at the moment.”

“Oh, it isn’t
that
interesting,” she replied. “In fact, it becomes a bit tedious after a while, always having a suitcase packed in readiness for the next journey.”

“So how often is he away?” I asked.

“He’s away most weeks, although usually he’s just at Head Office in London. But once a month he’ll fly to Chicago to meet the other international organisation heads, and every now and then he flies to Stockholm for a European summit meeting. I always go with him to Chicago, as he’s usually there for a week, but I don’t go with him on all of the European visits. To tell you the truth, I get a little fed up of all the travelling. An airport is an airport after all, and after a while they all look the same. Sometimes I can’t even tell if I’m at O’Hare or Landvetter. They’re the main airports in Chicago and Stockholm,” she added in case we needed clarification. I was about to say something, but Debbie was already talking.

“I thought you said he had no long trips lined up while the class was on, but if he goes to Chicago every month, that has to clash surely?”

“No, as it turns out, not at all. We were away in the first week of September, and we fly out to O’Hare again on the twenty-first of this month — I won’t miss a class because it’s half-term. We come home at the end of October and fly back again in early December.”

“What do you do when you’re out there? I mean, doesn’t it get a bit boring while he’s at work?” asked Trish.

“Oh, no, not at all. Chicago and Stockholm are beautiful cities. I love shopping in Gamla Stan when in Stockholm — that means ‘the old town’ — and when we’re in Chicago, we try and get to the baseball whenever we can.”

“You like baseball?” I asked. “I’ve never been to a game, but I used to watch it when it was on Channel 5.”

“Oh, yes, we both love it, but my husband is a Cubs fan while I follow the Red Sox. It’s a pity that neither of them are in the World Series this year. Who do you follow?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I got it wrong. I thought you meant basketball.”

“Oh, no, baseball is America’s national sport, not basketball. And there’s nothing like going to Cellular Field to watch the Sox. I suppose my husband feels the same when he’s down at Wrigley Field watching the Cubs.”

“It must be something to be at one of their games. You must be a real fan,” I said, before taking a deep swig of my lager. “Can I get you all another drink?” I asked.

“We can’t have you getting the drinks in all the time,” said Trish. “Unlike the class, this is 2011, not 1911.”

“Hey, we said we weren’t going to mention the class,” said Debbie.

“I’d get the drinks,” said Gail, standing and picking her coat up, “but I really do have to go. I’ll see you all next week.”

After Gail had left, Trish turned to me. “Fancy a man getting mixed up about sport, not knowing the difference between baseball and basketball. Even I know that,” she said, mockingly.

“As it happens,” I replied, “I do know a lot about baseball. More than a lot, in fact. I might not have attended a game live, but I used to stay up until four a.m. on a Monday morning watching the televised games, even when I had work the next day. I know more than Gail does, it appears.”

“Why? What do you mean?” asked Debbie.

“I don’t want to be unkind, but she made a few basic errors. She knew where they play but she got the name of
her
team wrong. It’s the
White
Sox in Chicago. The Red Sox are from Boston. It’s as if she’s swotted up on the subject but doesn’t know it intimately. Similar with the airports she was talking about. If she was flying to Stockholm, she’d most likely use Arlanda. There are several other airports that serve the city, but Landvetter isn’t one of them — that’s the main airport for Gothenburg.

“Okay,” said Trish, “let’s get this right. You’re saying that Gail has been getting basic facts mixed up, over both airports and sport. But why would she do that?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t.”

“No,” said Debbie, “neither do I. Perhaps she just got confused?”

“Or maybe she’s just trying too hard to impress us and tell us what she thought we wanted to hear?” added Trish.

“Could be,” I said. “If so, though, she didn’t say what
I
wanted to hear. I was interested in learning something about Gail herself, but I don’t think I know any more about her now than I did before. I don’t mean I wanted to know her complete life story, but a potted history would have been nice.”

“Come to think of it, Gail’s story did sound a little like she was reciting some facts that she’d learnt parrot-fashion. You know, a bit like used to happen at school, when you’d have to recite, say, the periodical table. I knew the symbols and elements, but that didn’t mean I knew anything about chemistry.”

“Yes, but, unlike school, it sounds as if Gail learnt the wrong facts,” said Debbie.

As it was getting late we decided to call it a night. “Next week, though,” said Trish as we were leaving, “let’s all of us tell our ‘potted histories’, as that’s clearly what Ethan wants to hear.”

“I will — on condition that Ethan tells us his tale as well,” insisted Debbie.

“If I must,” I added. “It will make for a long night, especially if we can persuade Gail and Emma to join us as well.”

We said our goodnights and went our separate ways home, with the prevailing thought in my head being that I had a date — of sorts — after class next week.

Chapter Five

Amber — Friday 7
^th
October 2011

She carefully applied the foundation to her cheeks, laying it on thickly to try and mask the discolouration; the last thing she needed now was for somebody to notice the change. She was almost certain that nobody had, so far, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

For some strange reason, it was always the left side of her face that showed the signs first, so she applied an extra layer there. She tutted as she saw a couple of wrinkles, but quickly set about masking their appearance as well.

Finally, she looked at her reflection in the mirror; she spent a lot of time looking in mirrors these days. There was barely any resemblance to the woman who had stood in Alan Ingleby’s bathroom eleven years earlier; Amber clearly was no more.

The mark was barely visible; it would pass inspection as long as nobody came too close. Not to worry, there were still a few days before she’d be back in that environment, and she knew from previous experience that in these early days any blotches often disappeared overnight. And if it was still there on Tuesday evening — well, it wasn’t that unusual to have a little bruising, was it? She could always come up with a believable explanation for how it happened. Why, it might even gain her a sympathetic ear; it might make her task that little bit easier.

The others had accepted her story without batting an eyelid. Her duplicity came easily with experience. Men, especially, never thought to question her. Despite her initial misgivings, this was turning out to be quite straightforward. More than three weeks had passed already. She only had to live the lie for another seven and a half. And, if things became awkward, she could always take a break. There was nothing that said she had to spend time with them in between, only that she had to be there at the start and at the finish. She considered whether it might be wise to drop out of sight for a few weeks.

Less than two months, and it will all be over
.
Then I can start to live
. She took one more look in the mirror and nodded. You could barely see it now. It would pass. Satisfied, she turned from the mirror and picked up her things, ready to go back into the outside world.

Chapter Six

Week 4 — Rochdale — Shooting

Tuesday 11
^th
October 2011

As it seemed possible that the Tuesday night sessions were going to focus on a different case every week, without bringing each preceding one to a satisfactory conclusion, I decided that this time I would do some research of my own. The following day, I went to the reference library in Blackpool and spent a few hours trying to find out anything I could about the two murders we had discussed. I soon realised that it would have been easier to look for the tiniest needle in the largest haystack.

I looked at plenty of books in the local history section, but neither of these cases warranted a mention. After several fruitless hours, a kind librarian offered to help, as she had noticed my growing exasperation. She suggested I try looking on the library computers, and when I explained that I didn’t really know how to use them she helped me search for information about Enid Rodgers, Eve Rhodes, Len Phillips or Bea Ashmere. The search turned up a very basic entry about the death of Enid Rodgers and an even smaller piece that mentioned Len Phillips. Neither of the articles provided any new information, and there wasn’t a single reference to either Rhodes or Ashmere. I began to wonder how Louise had managed to find out so much about each case, but then realised that she had doubtless spent much longer than a day in the reference section during her investigations.

I left the library feeling a little downhearted, knowing that — if anybody — Louise was the one person who could fill in the missing blanks.

***

Trish collared me as I walked into college for the start of the fourth week of the course. “Guess who I saw last Friday night,” she began.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m hopeless at guessing games.”

“Spoilsport,” she pouted. “All right, then, I’ll just have to tell you. Oh, wait, here’s Debbie. I might as well tell you both at once. Hi, Debbie. I was just going to tell Ethan who I saw on Friday night, in McDonald’s.”

“Go on, then, tell,” she replied.

“Gail and her husband.”

“What’s so unusual about that?” I asked. “She told us he was only going to be away for a few days. He was probably back from his management meeting by Friday.”

“Management? Her husband clears away the leftovers. The only management he’s involved with is managing to keep the tables clean. I was at the next table, but she had her back to me and didn’t know I was watching — and listening. I walked past Gail’s table when she went to get a paper napkin, and I spotted her bus pass lying next to her plate. She told us she was fifty-two, remember, and she has a
pensioner’s
bus pass. Oh, and her name’s Smith, not Smythe. It looks like you were right, Ethan, she’s all fur coat and no knickers.”

“Are you certain she didn’t see you there?”

“No, at least I don’t think…shush, she’s coming. Hi, Gail, nice to see you.”

Gail looked at the three of us and seemed a little puzzled at the way we were looking at her, but before she had a chance to say more Louise entered the room, followed closely by Emma; after the way she had left so abruptly the week before, I hadn’t been sure if Emma would come back. She took a seat slightly away from the table, so she was able to see all of us clearly but we needed to make a conscious effort to turn to address her. Perhaps her body language was saying,
I’m here, but don’t any of you try and engage me in the conversation
. I gave a mental shrug and turned my full attention on Louise.