Louise Welsh - Death is a Welcome Guest

The basement was as far as the staircase descended. There was nowhere to go except upwards, and so he followed her, his mind numb, into the deserted hallway of the main house and then through another unmarked door in the wallpaper and up to the attic storeys. She led him into a room that had been converted into an artist’s atelier. The north side of the ceiling and much of the wall was composed of panes of glass. But it was not the room’s bright contrast with the murk of the basement or the unbroken view across the countryside that drew Magnus’s breath.

Images of death danced over the walls, across a landscape that drifted between green countryside, seas that raged then shone glass-calm, and towering cities in skyscraper-wonder. There were cramped suburbs of identical houses and ancient monuments: the pyramids, the Coliseum, Stonehenge. Sometimes death took the form of the laughing skulls that had decorated bags, T-shirts, scarves, even children’s clothes before the sweats. But it also came clothed in flesh, in the shape of beautiful women, bare-breasted mermaids and aged crones. A hooded figure equipped with an hour-glass and scythe crept a steady path through the scenery, touching people on the shoulder, proving that death is no respecter of age, piety, wealth or beauty.

At first Magnus thought all the images had been cut from books and magazines, but then he saw that some of the figures had been painted. The style was naïve, with little concession to perspective, but somehow that intensified their effect.

‘Did you do these?’

‘I used to make collages from photographs I cut out of my mother’s fashion magazines when I was little. I got quite obsessive about it.’ Belle smiled. ‘Sometimes I’d see a picture I liked, a beautiful model, or an amazing building, and tear out the page before she’d read it. I knew I’d get into trouble, but I couldn’t stop myself.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I thought I’d grown out of it.’

Belle had seemed like a spoiled child-woman bemused at her sudden lack of advantages in the post-sweats world, but the images on the wall formed a map of sweltering pain. Magnus stepped closer. He recognised the origin of some of the photographs, others he guessed: here was a smile culled from a toothpaste commercial, here a child that had been used to advertise cereal, here a rose that had once blossomed from a garden centre catalogue. He ran his fingers lightly over the collage, feeling the roughness of the pictures’ edges. It was all there: the pain of loss, the petty frivolousness of things he missed, the hopes — some of them so ludicrous it was strange to think of them now — that would never be realised.

‘It’s amazing.’ It was obsessive too. How many hours had it taken to find and clip the images? How many more to piece them together in a way that made such skewed but perfect sense? Magnus turned and looked at Belle for the first time since they had left the cellar. ‘Did you kill Henry and Jacob?’

Belle gave a small snort of amusement. ‘I wondered if the collage looked a bit serial-killer’s bedroom. I guess I know now.’

The girl sank on to the floor, among a mess of discarded books and magazines. She winced, pulled the gun from her waistband and set it on the floor at her right hand.

Magnus kept his eye on the gun. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

Belle’s voice was incredulous. ‘Are you serious?’

‘You said you killed Melody.’

‘I had nothing to do with Jacob’s or Henry’s deaths but yes, I feel responsible for Melody’s.’

Magnus’s relief was tempered by a snap of irritation. The confession had been a piece of melodrama. He sensed time draining away, like sand in one of the hourglasses that decorated the wall.

‘You didn’t actually kill her.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Magnus sat on the floor beside her. He knew he should formulate a plan, but he was weary to his bones.

‘Someone close to me drowned himself. It’s a long time ago now. The guilt doesn’t go away, but I didn’t kill him. He did it to himself.’

‘Did you see it happen?’

‘No, he was on his own.’ The sweats had not cured Magnus of his horror of how alone Hugh must have been.

‘Melody was a mess. She was sweet and kind and beautiful, but the sweats had fucked her up.’

‘Raisha thought you were jealous of her.’

Magnus had expected Belle to be angry, but instead she smiled. ‘Maybe I was a little. Like I said, Melody was beautiful, but I wasn’t jealous of her demons.’ She picked one of the magazines from the floor. ‘Raisha brought me some of these. She’s a strange woman, maybe we’re all strange now, but she cares. It’s a shame you let her go.’

It was in Magnus’s mind to say that Raisha had never been his to keep, but instead he said, ‘They’re going to kill Jeb soon. Is there anything in all this that might lead me to Jacob’s killer?’

‘I doubt it.’ Belle took his hand in hers. ‘Was your friend in pain?’

‘He must have been, but I didn’t notice.’

He had not seen much of Hugh in the weeks before he killed himself. Magnus had been waiting tables at the Kirkwall Hotel and trying to get a French student who was working there for the summer into bed. He was not sure what Hugh had been up to. His cousin had phoned the week before he walked into the sea, but the tourist season had been drawing to an end and Isabelle had been due to return to Nantes.

Magnus would exchange the opportunity of reliving all his audiences’ laughter and applause for a second chance at his cousin’s phone call. He had told Hugh he was busy and that he would catch him later.

Belle said, ‘Melody was in agony.’

‘Was she sick?’

‘Not physically, but in herself, yes. We were all depressed of course, still are, but Melody took it to another level. Raisha gave everyone happy pills. I swallowed mine down like a good girl. I think the others did too, but Melody refused to take any. She said she needed her emotions to be authentic. I told her the pills don’t stop you feeling bad. She just needed to look at Jacob or Will to know that. All they do is take the edge off things and make it possible to think without falling apart.’

The long night was catching up with Magnus. In another life it might have been pleasant to sit on the floor of the art room holding Belle’s hand and swapping failures, but he had to think about how to free Jeb. He said, ‘You couldn’t force her to take them.’

‘I thought about putting them in her food. I wish I had now. Melody was in so much agony it hurt to be with her. We went swimming in the river together once. She always wore jeans and men’s shirts with long sleeves. I should have guessed the reason, but it was such a hot summer I thought she was covering up against the sun, or that maybe something had happened to her that made her wary of showing her body. When she took her shirt and trousers off, I saw the slashes on her arms and legs. Melody said cutting herself made her feel better.’ Belle gestured at the collage. ‘I make these pictures for the same reason. It hurts, but I’m in control of the pain.’

The light was stinging Magnus’s eyes. He closed them. ‘You couldn’t have predicted what would happen.’

Belle’s voice was small. ‘She wasn’t dead when I went into the barn.’

Magnus kept his eyes shut. He could feel sleep coming for him. ‘Raisha told me about that too. I know Jacob tried to revive her, but that’s the kind of man he was. Even when it was hopeless, he wouldn’t let death win without a fight.’

‘I didn’t tell Raisha everything.’ Belle took her hand back and something in her voice made Magnus open his eyes and look at her. ‘Her feet were still twitching. The chair she had stood on to reach the beam was standing next to her. I could have climbed on to it and supported her weight until someone came to help cut her down, but I didn’t.’