Nicci French - Until it's Over

When Astrid finally entered, Mel had her fingers in her ears like a toddler, blocking out what she couldn’t bear to hear. I smiled sadly at Astrid. I was the reluctant truth-teller, the loyal good friend. I was the one who saw what no one else could bear to look at.

The police arrived like an army, some in plain clothes and some in uniform, carrying bags and cameras. My hands weren’t steady so I put an arm round Melanie. My heart pounded so hard that it hurt in my chest. I could feel beads of sweat prickling my forehead and points of light jabbed behind my eyes. It was hard to make sense of the sounds around me, separate them out into words.

‘Could you show us your room, sir?’

He was talking to me. I made myself look at the face that loomed towards me. I nodded gravely. ‘Of course.’

I led him up the stairs, and his footsteps fell heavily behind me. Was I about to find out that I had made some terrible mistake?

‘Here,’ I said. My voice sounded quite natural.

‘Thank you.’

‘I – er – I’ll wait downstairs, shall I? I’m not sure how this kind of thing works.’

A hint of a smile on his stiff face. I left him and went into the kitchen. Astrid was outside with Kamsky. They were standing by her vegetable garden and she was looking up at him with the expression of frankness I knew so well. I watched her. I went on watching her as a police officer strode past me and pushed his way out into the garden. He almost ran towards them. When Kamsky stepped forward to join him, I could see his face tensing. He turned back to Astrid and said something to her, then left her there. For several moments, she didn’t move, but she put her hand against her heart as if it was hurting her. Then she walked towards the kitchen and when she lifted her head her gaze went right through me. As if I wasn’t there at all.

If you can get through a door just as it’s banging shut. If you can find the one gap in the fast-moving traffic and make it to the other side. If you can time it just right. Too soon and you’ll expose yourself. Too late and you’ll be trapped. One moment. I had to get it right.

When the police interviewed me, I could tell they weren’t really interested in me. They didn’t fire questions at me and try to trip me up. They just wanted to know stupidly easy things like my movements yesterday morning. Who had I seen in the house when I returned from my shopping expedition for Melanie? Now, let me think. Hmm. Well, I’d seen Miles. That’s right. Miles. I’d thought it strange that he wasn’t at work. What did he say? Ah, let me think: yes, he had said he knew Leah was going back to her house to get something. I was certain, yes. Was he upset? Oh, yes, Officer, he was very nervous and jumpy indeed. And that was before he heard about Leah’s death? Oh, yes, Officer, even before that he was noticeably agitated. But – sudden frown – why are you asking me that? Surely you can’t think it was Miles? Yes, Officer, I’m afraid Miles had argued with Leah. Absolutely. Yes, I don’t want to betray house confidences, but he seemed obsessed with Astrid.

Out on to the street at last, into the drizzle. Pippa was there already and we sat on the low wall. She put her arm through mine and leaned her head on my shoulder. ‘What a fucking nightmare,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ I said. I kissed the top of her head.

‘Isn’t it horrible when everything you’ve done or said becomes suspicious? I tell you what, I’ll be better at my job after this.’

So she didn’t know yet.

Owen joined us and I could tell he didn’t know either. He stood moodily in front of us, kicking bits of gravel on the pavement, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He scowled at Pippa when she reached out a hand, and moved a step backwards, then sat on the wall on the other side of me. She shrugged, stood up and pulled her mobile out of her pocket. Dario reeled out of the police station. His hair stuck up in orange peaks and his face was a chalky white. ‘I wanted to confess,’ he said, ‘just to stop them. To make it all go away. Is there a word for it, feeling guilty for something you didn’t do?’

‘Shut up,’ said Owen, who was rolling himself a cigarette.

‘Right,’ said Dario, as if Owen had given him useful advice. He started pacing up and down, muttering to himself.

Then Astrid arrived. She was pale and the spring had gone out of her step. She sat between me and Owen. Owen passed her the cigarette. I put an arm round her. She let her weight rest on me. Her hair was against my cheek. I could feel her breathing. I could feel the crisp thickness of the cash in her jacket.

‘OK?’ I said.

She just turned and looked at me.

Dario padded towards us. ‘Who are we waiting for?’ he asked.

‘Just Mick and Miles. I’m sure they’ll be out soon.’ I said it casually but Astrid jolted out of my embrace and stared at me, her eyes huge in her face.

‘Don’t you know?’

I looked at everyone else, as if they were the ones performing, not me. Mick walking down the steps towards us. People holding up their hands, shaking their heads in horrified denial, mouths open, weeping and wailing, arms round each other. I was at the centre of it. I got my arms round Astrid before Owen could, and I heard words coming out of my mouth and I thought they were the right words, the ones that wouldn’t be noticed by anyone. Mick was going on about tissue and hairs. I hugged Dario as well, feeling how sharp his bones were and how his flesh was chilly; his breath smelled of garlic. We were all wet from the drizzle. Our clothes clung to us. Raindrops ran down our faces. I said stuff like ‘Miles, Christ!’ and ‘Three women!’ It didn’t really matter. No one was listening to anyone else, we were all tottering around uselessly on the pavement, not knowing what to do next.

Dario suggested going to the pub. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t in my plan. We needed to go our separate ways now. There wasn’t much time. Everyone else thought it was a good idea so of course I agreed and we made our way along the pavement, Astrid pushing her bike. I didn’t feel so well. There was a hissing in my head and my throat was like sandpaper. My eyes ached.

I don’t know what everyone talked about. I could hear the words and I knew how to respond every so often so that it appeared I was part of the frantic emotions that were surging round the group, but I wasn’t. I was thinking. I was waiting. I was feeling the minutes tick by. I was swallowing my nausea. I was stopping myself imagining what would happen if things went wrong.

When we finished our first drinks I offered to get the next round. But I went outside first. I got my penknife out of my pocket and sliced through both of the tyres on Astrid’s bike. You won’t get home on that, Astrid. You’ll have to go a different way. I went back into the heat and the noise and the glaring light, collected the drinks and returned to the table.

Astrid was fumbling inside her jacket. ‘This is probably evidence of some kind,’ she said. ‘Before the police grab it, we should share it out.’

‘No,’ I said, blood pounding in my ears so I could barely hear myself speak. ‘For goodness’ sake, Astrid, people are already looking at us. Don’t flash money around in a place like this.’

I looked round nervously. It seemed a feeble excuse but Astrid nodded. Perhaps it provided reason for them not to let go of each other finally, not to drift apart.

‘I’ll do the maths,’ said Pippa. ‘Then we can arrange to meet tomorrow somewhere a bit more salubrious. It’ll be an excuse for another farewell drink.’

‘OK,’ I said. I was steaming in the muggy heat of the pub. Drops of sweat prickled down my neck like dozens of small flies.

At last Pippa said she needed to make a move and everyone else was standing up, putting on their jackets. Astrid was standing up. She was pulling on her coat, tying its belt. We trooped outside, into the cool night, to discover her ripped tyres. How mean is that? Never mind. Walk to the Underground. Collect it later. She said we’d all meet tomorrow. Yes. Dream on, my darling. Dream on.