Maxim Jakubowski - The Best British Mysteries III

‘Plus the sandwiches you get at half time…’

Alan put on a posh voice. ‘We call it the tea interval,’ he said.

Rachel eked out a dry white wine and was introduced. She met Phil Hendricks, a pathologist who did a lot of work with the police and told her a succession of grisly stories. She met a dull cardiologist whose name she instantly forgot, a male nurse called Sandy who was at great pains to point out that not all male nurses were gay, and a slimy anaesthetist whose breath would surely have done the trick were he ever to run short of gas.

While Rachel was in the Ladies, a bumptious paediatrician Alan didn’t like a whole lot dropped a fat hand on to his shoulder.

‘Sodding typical. You do fuck all with the bat and then score after the game…’

The others enjoyed the joke. Alan glanced round and saw that Rachel was just coming out of the toilet. He hoped that she hadn’t seen them all laughing.

‘Do you want another one of those?’ Alan pointed at her half-empty glass before downing what was left of his lager.

She didn’t, but followed him to the bar anyway. Alan leaned in close to her and they talked while he repeatedly failed to attract the attention of the surly Irish barmaid.

‘I don’t really know a lot of them, to tell you the truth. There’s only a couple I ever see outside of the games.’

‘There’s always tossers in any group,’ she said. ‘It’s the price you pay for company.’

‘What do you do, Rachel?’

She barked out a dry laugh. ‘Not a great deal. I studied.’

It sounded like the end of a conversation, and for a while they said nothing. Alan guessed that they were about the same age. She was definitely in her early thirties, which meant that she had to have graduated at least ten years before. She had to have done something, had to do something. Unless of course she’d been a mature student. It seemed a little too early to pry.

‘What do you do to relax? Do you see mates, or…?’

She nodded towards the bar and he followed her gaze to the barmaid, who stood, finally ready to take the order. Alan reeled off a long list of drinks and they watched while the tray that was placed on the bar began to fill up with glasses. Alan turned and opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

‘I’d better be getting off.’

‘Right. I don’t suppose I could have your phone number?’

She gave a non-committal hum as she swallowed what was left of her wine. Alan handed a twenty pound note across the bar, grinned at her.

‘Mobile?’

‘I never have it switched on.’

‘I could leave messages.’

She took out a pen and scribbled the number on the back of a dog-eared beer mat.

Alan picked up the tray of drinks just as the barmaid proffered him his fifty pence change. Unable to take it, Alan nodded to Rachel. She leaned forward and grabbed the coin.

‘Stick it in the machine on your way out,’ he said.

Alan had just put the tray down on the table when he heard the repetitive chug and clink of the fruit machine paying out its jackpot. He strode across to where Rachel was scooping out a handful of ten pence pieces.

‘You jammy sod,’ he said. ‘I’ve been putting money into that thing for weeks.’

Then she turned, and Alan saw that her face had reddened. ‘You have it,’ she said. She thrust the handful of coins at him, then, as several dropped to the floor, she spun round flustered and tipped the whole lot back into the payout tray. ‘I can’t… I haven’t got anywhere to put them all…’

She’d gone by the time Alan had finished picking coins off the carpet.

It didn’t take too long for Rachel to calm down. She marched down the hill towards the tube station, her control returning with every step.

She’d been angry with herself for behaving as she had in the pub, but what else could she do? There was no way she could take all that loose change home with her, was there?

As she walked on she realized that actually there had been things she could have done, and she chided herself for being so stupid. She could have asked the woman behind the bar to change the coins into notes. Those were more easily hidden. She could have grabbed the coins, left with a smile and made some beggar’s day.

She needed to remember. It was important to be careful, but she always had options.

She reached into her handbag for the mints. Popped one into her mouth to mask the smell of the wine. The taste of it…

As she walked down the steps into Highgate station she dropped a hand into her pocket, groping around until she could feel her wedding ring hot against the palm of her hand. There was always that delicious, terrifying second or two, as her fingers moved against the lining of her pocket, when she thought she might have lost it, but it was always there, waiting for her.

She stood on the platform, the ring tight in her fist until the train came in. Then, just as she always did, she slipped the ring, inch by inch, back on to her finger.

Lee pushed his chicken Madras round the plate until it was cold. He’d lost his appetite anyway. He’d ordered the food before the row and now he didn’t feel like it, so that was another thing that was Rachel’s fault.

She’d be in the bedroom by now, crying.

She never cried when it was actually happening. He knew it was because she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, or some such crap. That only proved what a stupid cow she was, because he couldn’t stand to see her cry, to see any woman cry, and maybe if she did cry once in a while he might ease off a bit.

No, she saved it up for afterwards and he could hear it now, coming through the ceiling and putting him off his dinner.

The row had been about the same thing they were all about. Her, taking the piss.

He’d backed down on this afternoon walking business, on her going out to the woods of an afternoon on her own. He’d given in to her, and today she’d been gone nearly six hours. Half the fucking day and no word of an apology when she’d eventually come strolling through the front door.

So, it had kicked off…

Lee was bright, always had been. He knew damn well that it wasn’t just about her staying out of the house too long. He knew it all came down to the pills.

There’d been a lot more rowing, a lot more crying in the bedroom since he’d found that little packet tucked behind her panties at the back of a drawer. He was clever enough to see the irony in that as well. Contraceptive pills, hidden among the sexy knickers he’d bought for her.

He’d gone mental when he’d found them, obviously. Hadn’t they agreed that they were going to start trying for a kid? That everything would be better once they were a family? He was furious at the deceit, at the fool she’d made of him, at the time and effort he’d wasted in shafting her all those weeks beforehand.

There’d been a lot more rowing since…

Christ, he loved her though. She wouldn’t get to him so much if it wasn’t for that, wouldn’t wind him up like she did. He could feel it surging through him as he lost his temper and it caused his whole body to shake when it was finished, and she crawled away to cry where he couldn’t see her.

He hoped she knew it – now, with her face buried in a sopping pillow – he hoped she knew how much he loved her.

Lee dropped his fork and slid his hand beneath the plate, wiggling his fingers until it sat, balanced on his palm. He jerked his forearm and sent the plate fast across the kitchen.

Watched his dinner run down the wall.

He watched them.

He lay on the grass, just another sun-worshipper, and with his arm folded across his head he spied on them through a fringed curtain of underarm hair. He watched them from his favourite bench. His face hidden behind a newspaper, his back straight against the small, metal plaque.