The Mistletoe Bride(8)

But that’s why he’s here. Why we are here.

‘Not blood,’ he says, ‘it was a sweet smell.’

‘You didn’t think it would be so bad, did you? You rolled up your sleeves – didn’t want to spoil that pullover.’

‘Oranges . . .’ he whispers.

‘You pick up the box and carry it down,’ I say, pushing him further. ‘Know you’ve got to do something before she gets back. The smell’s too bad down there. She’s bound to notice.’

‘Ten steps down.’

‘Eight,’ I correct him. ‘Quite a weight, that box. All that stuff in it. Three or four trophies, a shield with his name on it. Bowls, wasn’t it?’

He’s shaking his head, sticking to the first story. ‘Painting and a carriage clock and cuff links and the money.’

‘There all along,’ I say.

He is shaking his head. ‘There all along. Thought it was under the mattress.’ His voice drops to a whisper. ‘Why did she come back? She’d never have known. We would have been all right.’

‘The box was heavy,’ I say.

I see his expression. He’s frightened at how much I know, how much he has already told me. He is staring at me, clear brown eyes, a little yellow. Medication yellow.

‘I could manage.’

I admire his courage, but I can’t let myself be deflected. ‘You have dust on your cuffs, and that annoys you. It’s your best shirt and you need it for the weekend.’

He nods. ‘The Gaumont. Saturday night.’

‘The girl, yes,’ I say, impatiently. We are doing well, but we have to stay in the house. I can’t let him get away from me. We have to go down into the cellar, him and me. Only then will the last pieces of the jigsaw fall into place.

‘So you managed, of course you did. Strong chap like you. On the up.’ I hesitate. ‘But she came back. Called out, didn’t she?’

‘Caught me by surprise.’

‘That’s right, so you slipped. Lost your footing.’

He flushes. ‘It was dark.’

‘Of course it was. Could have happened to anyone, in the dark.’

‘She shouldn’t have come back.’

‘That’s right.’

‘She scared me.’

‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘Her fault really. If she’d left well alone.’

‘Her fault.’

I can see beads of sweat on his forehead, a sickly yellow. Skin sickly yellow. Or is that Turner? Lying on the floor of the cellar, like a dummy. One of those mannequins in Reynolds department store on the front. I pull the handkerchief from my pocket and wipe my face. He does the same – great minds think alike – and he looks better for it.

I put my handkerchief away. ‘That’s when she saw him. Over your shoulder, looking over your shoulder.’

‘Screamed.’

‘No call for it,’ I say.

He’s nodding. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt her. Tried to explain.’

‘But she starts screaming, that’s the thing, says she’s going to call the police.’

‘I reach up, just wanted to talk to her. Got hold of her ankle.’

I shudder, remembering the saggy nylons like loose skin on her leg, the sponge-like flesh beneath. Her tumbling down the wooden steps, taking us both down with her. The box and the silver plate rattling down to the cellar floor. The weight of her lying on top of me. Not waking up.

‘Banged my head,’ he says. ‘Out for the count.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I say. ‘Bad luck she came home. She didn’t have to scream.’

‘She didn’t have to make such a fuss. I only wanted to explain.’

‘You’re telling me, you’re telling me,’ I say, ‘never a truer word spoken. I like that.’ I stop. Take a breath. Let my shoulders drop. ‘I like that.’

I start picking at a thread on the sleeve of my jacket, a heavy twill much too warm for our room. There’s blood on the sleeve, that’s the thing. All that money. All that money stashed away. Thought it was under the mattress in Number Three. He found me looking. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but Turner went for me. Pushed him. Hit his head. Down he went. Taking him down to the cellar, knew he’d be safe there. Mrs Nash never went down there, couldn’t manage the steps.

If she hadn’t have come back, she’d never have known.

‘Never a truer word spoken,’ I say.

There’s a noise at the door. The sound of the key being turned in the lock and the bolt being shot back. We are out of time.

The orderlies come in. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, we call them, on account of their size.