Nicci French - Blue Monday

‘I don’t know,’ said Boundy. ‘It feels important, though.’ Now he shook her hand. ‘I hope we’ll meet again soon,’ he said.

He stood and watched as she climbed into the van and as it trundled down the drive, narrowly missing a parked Mercedes that belonged to the Master of Professor Boundy’s college. After he closed the front door, he still didn’t join the guests. He stood in thought for a few moments, then walked back to his study and shut the door. He picked up the phone and dialled.

‘Kathy? It’s Seth. What are you doing?… Well, stop and come over here and I’ll tell you about it when you get here… I know it’s Christmas, but Christmas happens every year and this is once in a lifetime.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Half an hour?… Fine. I’ll be here.’

Boundy put the phone down and smiled, listening to the hum of conversation and chink of glasses in the room beyond.

Frieda got back into the van and Josef turned off the radio. He looked at her expectantly.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said. ‘And give me your mobile. I’ve got a call to make.’

But there was no signal for a few miles. When at last a single bar appeared on the mobile screen, she ordered Josef to stop.

‘I smoke,’ he said, and climbed out of the van.

Frieda called the police station. ‘I need to speak to Detective Inspector Karlsson. I know he won’t be there on a Saturday and I know you won’t give me his home number, but I’ll give you this mobile number and you can tell him he has got to phone me at once. Tell him that if he doesn’t call me within the next ten minutes I am going to ring up the newspapers and give them the information about Matthew Faraday that he is refusing to listen to. Tell him those exact words.’ The woman at the other end started to speak but Frieda cut her off. ‘Ten minutes,’ she said.

She watched Josef. He looked very peaceful, sitting by the side of the road under a tree that was leafless and bent out of shape after decades of wind blowing across this flat landscape. The sky was white and the ploughed field looked like a frozen brown sea.

The mobile rang.

‘Frieda here.’

‘What the fuck are you on about?’

‘We need to meet at once. Where are you?’

‘At home. It’s the day I have with my children. I can’t leave.’

‘Where do you live?’ She wrote down the address he gave her on a scrap of paper. ‘I’ll be right there.’

She opened her door and called Josef over. ‘Home?’ he asked, as he climbed back into the van.

‘Can you take me one more place first?’

Karlsson lived just off Highbury Corner in a Victorian semi-detached house that had been divided into several flats. As Frieda went up the steps to the raised front door, she could see through the window just beneath her into the lower ground flat that was his. As she looked, he crossed her field of vision carrying a tiny girl, her arms and legs wrapped around him like a koala bear.

That was how he came to the door. He hadn’t shaved and was wearing jeans and a thick blue cardigan. The girl had yellow curls and chubby bare legs. She was sobbing, her wet cheek pressed against his chest. She opened one gleaming blue eye to peer at Frieda and closed it again.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Football traffic.’

‘This isn’t a good time.’

‘I wouldn’t be here at all if you hadn’t ignored my calls.’

The large living room was strewn with toys and children’s clothes. A boy sat on the sofa watching cartoons on the television and posting popcorn into his mouth. Very carefully, Karlsson unwound his daughter’s arms and legs and placed her beside her brother. Her wails grew louder.

‘Just for a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll take you both swimming, I promise. Give her some popcorn, Mikey.’

Without taking his eyes off the screen, the boy held out the tub and she took a fistful and pushed it into her mouth. Fragments stuck to her chin. Frieda and Karlsson stood at the other end of the room, at the large window from where she could see Josef in the van. Karlsson was slightly behind her, as if he was shielding his children from her.

‘Well?’

Frieda went through the events of the past days, and as she did so, Karlsson’s posture stiffened and the expression on his face changed from irritated impatience to fierce concentration. When she had finished, he didn’t speak for a moment. Then he picked up his mobile.

‘I’ll have to get someone to look after the children. Their mother lives in Brighton.’

‘I could do it,’ said Frieda.

‘You’re coming with me.’

‘How about Josef?’

‘Josef?’

Frieda pointed to the van.

‘What?’ said Karlsson. ‘Are you insane?’

‘He’s a friend,’ Frieda said. ‘He’s been looking after a colleague of mine. He’s actually a builder.’

Karlsson looked doubtful. ‘You can vouch for him?’

‘He’s my friend.’

She went out to Josef.

‘Home?’ he said once more to her. ‘I am cold and also now hungry.’

‘I need you to look after a couple of little children for me,’ she said.

He didn’t seem at all surprised. He nodded docilely and climbed out of the van. She couldn’t tell if he had understood her.

‘They might be upset. Just – I don’t know – give them sweets or something. A friend will take over.’

‘I am father,’ he said.

‘I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can.’

Josef wiped his boots very thoroughly on the doormat. Karlsson appeared, already in his coat and carrying a bag. ‘Let me introduce you to the kids,’ he said. ‘Their mother will be here in about an hour and a half. Thanks for helping out. Mikey, Bella, this man is going to take care of you until Mummy comes. Be good for him.’

Josef stood in front of the two children who stared up at him. Bella’s mouth opened: she was about to howl.

‘I am Josef,’ he said, and made his slight, formal bow.

There was a ring at the door. Dean Reeve didn’t even turn his head. He was expecting it. He stood, and ran up the stairs to Terry, who was painting the little room in clumsy white strokes. She had almost done: just a few square feet were left unpainted. He stroked her hair. ‘All right?’ he said.

‘Course.’

‘You’d better be.’

‘I said I am.’ The bell rang again. ‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’

‘They’re not going away. You get that finished. Quickly now.’

He walked down the stairs and opened the door. It wasn’t who he was expecting. Standing on his doorstep was a young woman. She wore rimless spectacles and her brown hair was tied up with just a few strands spilling over her forehead. She was dressed in a black suede jacket with blue jeans and leather boots that almost reached her knees. She was carrying a leather briefcase. She smiled. ‘Are you Dean Reeve?’ she said.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m sorry just to barge in on you. My name is Kathy Ripon and I’m here to make you an offer. I work for a university and we’re doing research into people we choose virtually at random. All I want to do is to give you a questionnaire and go through it with you. It’s a simple personality test. It would just take half an hour of your time, a bit more maybe. I’d do it with you. And then we would, of course, recompense you for your time. My employers will pay you a hundred pounds.’ She smiled. ‘All for filling out a simple form. Which I’ll help you with.’

‘I haven’t got the time for this.’ And he started to shut the door.

‘Please! It won’t take long. We’ll make it worth your while.’

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘I said no.’