David Peace - 1980

I close my eyes, saying: ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…’

‘Don’t worry,’ she smiles and turns off the light.

I pick up the box.

Back in the front room, Helen is still sat on the sofa, the cup balanced on her knees, Laws still watching the road.

‘We best be getting back,’ I say.

Helen Marshall stands up, her eyes red raw from tears.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ asks Mrs Hall.

I’m sorry,’ says Helen, looking at me. ‘I’m not sleeping well.’

Mrs Hall is shaking her head: ‘Isn’t that just the worst kind of hell?’

‘I’ll be OK. Thank you,’ says Helen at the door.

‘Thank you for the tea,’ I say. ‘Goodnight Mr Laws.’

‘Goodnight,’ he replies, not turning from the window.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ I say to them both and follow Helen Marshall back down the drive.

At the car she stops, staring back up at the house, Laws staring back down at her.

I put the box in the boot -

‘What did he say to you?’

‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Your wife’s been calling,’ says the man behind the desk at the Griffin.

‘Thank you,’ I say, taking my key.

‘I’m going to go up,’ says Helen Marshall.

‘Sure you’re all right?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.’

‘Don’t fancy a quick drink?’

‘Not particularly,’ she says, nodding towards the bar -

I look over and see Alec McDonald, Mike Hillman, and some of the Yorkshire lads, all the worse for wear -

‘I better go over,’ I say.

She nods and says: ‘Don’t forget to phone your wife.’

‘I won’t. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

I walk over to the bar just as Bob Craven gets another round in.

‘You having one, chief?’ he says.

‘Go on then,’ I say. ‘A quick one.’

‘Looks like you had one of them already,’ says one of the Yorkshire blokes, watching Marshall getting into the lift.

‘Steady on,’ says Alec McDonald, leaning across the table, drunk. ‘That’s out of order, that is.’

‘Looks fine to me,’ laughs Craven.

I take the Scotch from him: ‘Thank you, Bob.’

‘Mention it,’ he smiles.

‘Where’s John?’ I ask Alec.

‘Murphy? Fuck knows, sorry.’

‘You get much done?’

‘Aye,’ he slurs. ‘Fair bit.’

‘Bird, Jobson, that Ka Su Peng girl, Linda Clark,’ nods Hillman.

‘Kathy Kelly?’

‘First thing tomorrow.’

‘See we got another roasting,’ spits Craven, chucking an Evening Post at me:

Clueless -

‘Not very nice that, is it,’ says Alec McDonald, trying to hit the top of the table.

I put the paper back down on the bar and ask him: ‘You heard anything over here about Dawson?’

‘Just that they’re charging him.’

‘Thought he were dead?’ says Craven, over my shoulder.

Me: ‘Who?’

‘John Dawson?’

‘John? No, this is Richard.’

‘Right, right,’ says Craven. ‘His brother.’

Fuck -

I say: ‘You knew John Dawson?’

‘Who fucking didn’t.’

Fuck -

‘Who fucking didn’t,’ he says again.

Upstairs in my room, almost midnight, I dial home: ‘Joan? It’s me.’

‘Oh, Peter. Thank god…’

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Come home, please.’

‘Why? What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve got such a terrible feeling, Peter.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘An awful feeling that something bad’s going to happen.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know Peter, just come home please.’

‘I can’t, love. You know that.’

Silence -

‘Joan?’

‘Oh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

‘What is it, love?’

‘Just this feeling.’

‘When did it start?’

‘This afternoon. I’d had a nap and I had this nightmare…’

‘What happened?’

‘I can’t really remember. There was a girl in a bath and…’

‘What?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’

‘A baby?’

‘No. Look, I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘I’m sorry, love.’

‘It’s OK.’

I say: ‘I’ll ring you in the morning, first thing.’

‘OK.’

‘You go to bed.’

‘OK.’

‘I love you.’

‘Me too. Night-night.’

‘Night-night,’ and I hang up thinking -

Close my eyes for ten minutes then I’ll start on Eric’s files, then remembering they’re still back in the boot of my car, thinking I’ll get them soon, my eyes too tired, my eyes too bloody tired.

Yrotcaf htaed, in blood above the door .

The moon was shining through the skylight and I was gazing at her lying in the bath. Thin and pathetic, in a shroud-like garment, lips crooked into a faint and dreadful smile, her hands pressed tightly over her heart. And all around us, people were singing hymns, people with no face, no features, machines. Then she suddenly sat upright, hands still across her heart, and she shrieked with the gulls:

‘Sti rip sll iwl lik Hunter!’

at six fifteen AM today Sunday the twenty ninth of may nineteen seventy seven the body of a woman was found at the rear of sports changing rooms on soldiers field roundhay road near to west avenue leeds with severe head injuries a cut throat and stab wounds to the abdomen description twenty to thirty years five feet seven inches long dark hair medium build wearing a blue and white checked blouse brown cardigan zip up front with yellow two piece cotton suit fawn three quarter length suede coat with fur down the front brown calf length boots she was wearing tights and two pairs of panties one pair of panties had been removed her right leg was out of her tights and the panties that had been taken off had been stuffed down her tights she was struck three times on the head with a ball pein hammer with such severity that a piece of skull penetrated the brain he then stabbed her in the throat and in the abdomen with an equal severity such that her intestines spilled out the three quarter length suede coat was draped over her buttocks and thighs her brown calf length boots were draped neatly over her thighs her handbag was nearby and there was no indication that anything had been stolen from it unlike the previous bodies her brassiere had not been removed tests indicated that she had had sexual intercourse some time in the twenty four hours before her time of death was thought to be around midnight this woman has been living in the leeds area since October nineteen seventy six when she came up from london where it is believed she worked in hotels she was reported missing by her husband from blackpool in november nineteen seventy five love me e walk into the red room the numbers upside down you cannot speak no do not do that there is no need for that we have met before stretching back black nail varnish on your toes the meat no need for that we have met before stretching back black nail varnish on your toes the meat between your teeth e know this face love me the men at upstairs windows without smiles underneath her the dew and the grass this spring day on a sports field in leeds the damp dew and the flattened grass the boots to come and the boots that have been tall trees watching multiple fractures of the skull displaced clothing and mutilation of the lower abdomen and breasts with a knife or screwdriver a clear badge of identity a signature the brown cardigan blue and white checked blouse yellow jacket and skirt did not quite match what is the matter the jogger asked the woman on the ground at the rear of the sports pavilion when they removed my suede coat they saw the massive fracture of my skull from the three blows to my head with the hammer they saw me lying face down with my hands under my stomach and my head turned to the left with my brown hair of which e was always so proud my brown hair washed in my own blood my bra still in position but my skirt had been pulled up and e was wearing tights and two pairs of panties one pair of panties had been removed and my right leg was out of my tights and the panties that had been taken off had been stuffed down my tights for e had been menstruating menstruating for the last time and the coat e had been wearing was draped over my buttocks and legs in such a way as only my feet were showing and when they picked it up they saw my brown calf length boots had been taken off my feet and placed upon my thighs and then they turned me over rolled me over in the grass and they saw e had been stabbed in the neck and throat and had three stab wounds in the stomach all savage downward strokes so severe that my insides were outside the numbers upside down the rooms all red