Louise Welsh - Death is a Welcome Guest

‘I need to get Jeb out first.’

‘Why?’

Her question surprised Magnus and he stumbled a little over his words. ‘There’s no proof that Jeb killed Jacob and I wouldn’t have got this far without him. I owe him.’

Raisha leaned forward and took his hand in hers, no longer frightened. ‘The sweats have put us on the edge of a new world. Maybe we don’t need people like Jeb in it.’

Magnus pulled free of her grasp. ‘We can’t start killing people just because we don’t like them.’

‘I don’t mean we should execute him…’

‘What do you mean?’ The scent of Pentonville was back in Magnus’s nostrils. ‘We should lock people up indefinitely without a trial?’

Raisha’s smile was chastened. ‘You’re right but…’ She left the sentence hanging in the air.

‘But what?’

‘It would be nice to be like Father Wingate and believe that there was some purpose to all this. The sweats took my family, but it left people like Jeb. He’s a child-killer.’

‘He denies it.’

‘And you believe him? He went to jail.’

‘Innocent people sometimes end up in jail.’

‘Including you?’

‘I didn’t get a trial, perhaps that’s why I’m so picky about it.’

‘Jeb got a fair one and the jury found him guilty.’

Magnus tried to conjure the words Jeb had used to recount the story of Cherry jumping from the balcony with her daughter in her arms, but it was as if the experience had become his own. He saw a red-haired woman teetering on a balustrade, a hysterical child reaching towards him.

‘Jeb’s no saint, but I don’t believe he killed his girlfriend and her daughter.’

‘I’d almost rather he had.’ Raisha gave an involuntary glance at the window. ‘If you’re right, then Jacob’s killer could still be out there.’

Magnus followed her gaze. The wind was making the plants in the overgrown garden dance, tugging at the untidy hedgerows and the trees on the ridge of the valley. The garden swing rocked on its frame and he reminded himself that he did not believe in ghosts.

‘You said Henry was fond of Melody and sad when she died. How were the others?’

Raisha hugged her knees. ‘Pretty much as you’d expect. Will never says much, but after Melody’s death he shut down. We all dug her grave together, even Father Wingate took a brief turn of the shovel. It was Jacob’s idea, an attempt at keeping the community together. We talked about Melody as we dug, what she had meant to us. I don’t think Will said a word.’

Magnus said, ‘What about Father Wingate?’

‘Old people are programmed to accept death; if they weren’t they’d go mad. Father Wingate got dressed in his full regalia and led the service. You could tell he was grieving, Melody had spent a lot of time with him, but the ceremony seemed to buoy him up. By the time we got back to the house he was almost his old self.’

Magnus nodded. ‘He was like that at Jacob’s funeral, sad but energised. As if something necessary had been accomplished and we could get on with things now.’

‘It’s not so unusual. My husband’s grandmother went to lots of funerals in her later years. She was a nice old lady, but she usually came back with a spring in her step and stories about who had said what to whom.’

Raisha sank into silence, as if the memory of her husband and his relatives had ambushed her.

Magnus went to the sink and poured them both a glass of water. He wondered how long it would be before the water system gave out and they had to resort to rivers and wells. There was so much he did not know. He set the glasses on the table between them.

‘You said Melody spent a lot of time with Father Wingate. What did they do together?’

Raisha sipped her water. ‘Melody became increasingly disturbed in the weeks before she killed herself. I wanted her to try anti-psychotic medication. Will and I even hatched a plan to scout chemist’s shops looking for drugs that might work, but she refused. Father Wingate was counselling her.’

‘Is he a qualified counsellor?’

Raisha shrugged. ‘The rest of us were too stunned by our own losses to be much use to anyone else. Jacob gave Father Wingate his blessing and so the rest of us left them to it.’

‘How did Jacob react to her death?’

‘You know Jacob, he is… he was a practical man. Henry discovered Melody’s body, but it was Jacob who cut her down, tried to revive her and when he couldn’t, organised the funeral. I suppose his army training kicked in, but once she was safely in the ground he took to his room for a couple of days. I don’t think I fully understood the phrase “drowning your sorrows” until Jacob finally emerged. He stank like a distillery and looked like a dead man.’

The phrase recalled his cousin Hugh so strongly Magnus could almost feel him at his elbow.

‘Jacob’s beyond suspicion now.’

Raisha gave an upside-down smile. ‘The innocent dead.’

Magnus looked out at the garden again. The swing rocked to and fro, to and fro, and a shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the cold. He asked, ‘What about Belle?’

Raisha’s smile died. ‘Belle was jealous of Melody. Belle’s pretty, but Melody was beautiful. Imagine how that feels, so few people left and even then there’s someone better than you.’

‘Better?’

‘More desirable.’ Raisha leaned forward. ‘Belle’s fragile. She needs men to find her attractive. Have you noticed how often she mentions her dad? Girls like her need a father figure, especially after their daddy dies. Belle might not know it, but she slept with Jeb because she wanted to make Jacob jealous.’

A laugh escaped Magnus. ‘Jacob was at least twice her age.’

‘Don’t sound so shocked, it happens. Anyway, it wasn’t on the cards. Jacob preferred mature women.’

The stab of jealousy surprised him again, warm in his stomach; a twist of the bowels. ‘Women like you?’

‘Not like me. Jacob’s sort wants a woman who will look after him. Mothers they can sleep with. I was a mother to my children, not to my husband.’ Raisha’s tone deadened again. ‘Jacob thought you were misguided, looking for your family. I think you are too, but for different reasons. As long as you don’t go home you can imagine they’re alive. The rest of us know we’ve lost everyone. We’re like people who have been so badly beaten we’re no longer certain which parts of us are hurting.’

Dawn would be on them soon. The room was beginning to lighten, its colours starting to reveal themselves: warm yellows and umbers set against a backdrop of white that was not white but some cleverly calibrated pink or blue.

Magnus said, ‘For good or for bad, I need to know.’

‘Of course you do. But you also know I’m right. The real reason you’re trying to find out who killed Jacob is to avoid going home. You want to keep your family alive, in your head if nowhere else.’

Magnus got up and went to the window. The storm had almost blown itself out. The rising sun was still hidden behind the treetops, but the sky was tinged with pink and the landscape had taken on a rosy tint at odds with the heaviness in his chest.

He said, ‘You surely don’t believe Belle murdered Melody and then went on to shoot Jacob because of some love triangle?’

Raisha joined him at the window. Magnus was still naked except for the blanket and her closeness bothered him. She said, ‘Of course not. Even if it was a serious motive I don’t think Belle has it in her to kill anyone in cold blood. She’s not as soft as she looks, but it’s hard to imagine her as a murderer.’

He turned to face her. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t any of them.’

Raisha touched his bare shoulder with her fingertips. She leaned in close, as if for a kiss, and whispered, ‘Or perhaps it was your friend, the child-killer.’