Grave Consequences (10 page)

Through each song he stared straight into the thin foam that remained on the top of his half-emptied beer. His hand was clenched around the glass so tightly that I thought he would shatter it. Finally, even before the song was finished, I watched him slip silently out of the pub, unremarked by anyone else, closing the door silently behind him.

The applause as she finished was exuberant. Jane, flushed with effort and pride, launched into a Billie Holiday lament. She finished that to utter silence, followed by immediate cries for more. People were pressing her to go on, to sing another song, when the door opened again and slammed against the opposite wall, and this time everyone was aware of it.

A young man barged in. “They’ve just found Julia Whiting!”

Instantly the mood of the pub altered to disbelief. The blood drained utterly from Jane’s face.

“My God, where is she?” was the variation of the question everyone was asking.

“They found her in a skip on the construction site, the new block of flats on Leather Street—!”

“What’s a skip?” I whispered to Greg, who’d gone white.

“A waste container, a—what do you call them? Dumpster.”

“Is she okay?” someone called.

“She’s dead!”

And for some reason, every pair of eyes returned to fix on the ashen face of my friend Jane.

I
AWOKE WITH A JOLT THE NEXT MORNING
. I
GLANCED
at my watch, and with a heavy sigh, slumped back into my pillow: it was just seven o’clock. There was plenty of time to consider the events of the previous evening before it was time to get ready for work. But…maybe just another half hour of sleep first. Ten minutes, even. I was in no way ready to go out and face all that I knew was out there.

Just as I’d scrunched back down under the covers and achieved the optimum balance of warmth and darkness, with a little tunnel for fresh air, there was a brisk rap at the door. For nearly ten seconds, I managed to convince myself that the knocking was on someone else’s door, Andrew’s, maybe, but then was forced back to reality by Jane’s voice, crisply calling, “Morning, Emma! You up yet?”

“No,” I said into the pillow. Then, louder, “Yes, I’m up.”

Taking that as an invitation, Jane came in. She was dressed in a smart gray tracksuit and had a bag over her shoulder. “Still up for that run?”

I sat up and looked at her in disbelief. “Well, I just thought that since—”

“If you’re too tired, I’ll understand,” she said, a concerned look on her face. “Actually, we got to bed pretty late last night, maybe you should just have a lie in, today.”

“I’m fine,” I said, annoyed. I swung my legs to the floor and rubbed my face. “Just give me a minute.”

“Great! I’ll see you downstairs.” Jane banged the door shut and I could hear her bounce down the stairs with far too much enthusiasm. If anyone should have been in need of a lie in, especially after last night, shouldn’t it have been Jane?

I dug through my suitcase, found my running stuff, and pulled myself together. Down in the kitchen, I saw Greg feeding Hildegard, his morning ritual. His face was haggard and he was preoccupied—or pretended to be so—and barely looked up as Jane said good-bye and we left.

True to Jane’s promise, we stopped for a coffee at the cafe. Aunty Mads brightened at our arrival, then, when she saw that Greg wasn’t with us, her face fell and she became almost sulky. I wasn’t surprised when Jane asked if we couldn’t please have our drinks to go.

“I was trying to figure out by the buildings,” I said, when Aunty Mads handed us our coffee, “which side of town was older. I’m having a hard time deciding because everything on both sides of the river looks like pretty new construction.”

“That’s the war,” Mads said. “Both sides got hit hard during the bombings, because of the factory, so it was all rebuilt after. But across the river is older; the abbey was built because there wasn’t any room on the other side, and then the town spread around it, see.”

“Sounds like you’ve got an interest in local history,” I said, lapping up the extra coffee that had spilled onto the lid of the paper cup.

“Well, now, I wouldn’t say that. No, I wouldn’t say that at all,” Mads objected. “That’s what they told us in school, about the abbey and the town, and it stuck with me. I never open a book, if I can help it, except for biographical ones about film stars. And as far as history goes, I think it ought to be let lie.” With a pointed look at Jane, Mads turned to the
case full of sandwiches and began to reorganize them into neat rows with some asperity.

Jane shot me a look that said, “Thanks for bringing
that
up,” and we left.

Walking down the street, the coffee, burnt as it was, convinced me that the world wasn’t really such a bad place, I tried my hand at more serious conversation. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be: all it took was caffeine. I’ve often thought that if chimpanzees had discovered coffee, they’d also have worked out speech too.

“Greg seemed pretty quiet this morning,” I offered. It was my way of bringing up last night’s revelations.

“Umm. Yes, he was a bit.” Jane’s lips compressed as she strode down the street. We traveled the next several blocks to the gym in silence, me with the growing concern that Jane was avoiding something.

The University Athletics Club was modern, nicely appointed, and relatively—by American standards—empty for this time of morning. Just two other hardy souls working with weight machines, and, if their faces were anything to judge by, they were considering the mammalian qualities of the breakfast blonde on the television on the wall. Jane and I dropped off our bags in the locker room and found a couple of treadmills side by side. It took me a minute to sort out the unfamiliar controls but soon we were warming up. After a few moments, I increased my speed to a fast jog. Jane followed suit.

“Pretty dramatic last night,” Jane announced at last. “Bound to complicate work at the site today.”

I thought about the crowd at the pub after the announcement. After the initial shock wore off, the place was abuzz with the news of Julia Whiting’s death. We’d left soon after, all the calm attending Jane’s singing irreparably shattered. I was actually surprised that she should bring it up. “I suppose so,” I said slowly. “Lots of curiosity seekers.”

“Bloody ghouls. Even if it was too late for the morning paper, it’s odds on everyone in Marchester already knows.
Poor Julia; I hate that she’s become gossip fodder; it makes her death all the more appalling. That’s what I hate about these small towns. You can’t
move
without the news of it racing around the pub,
and
the market,
and
the post office.”

The ferocity of Jane’s words surprised me. “Why not move?”

Jane looked grimly determined. “The job, of course. I’m not about to give that up.”

“There are other jobs,” I pointed out. “It’s a good market at the moment.”

“Not when I’ve worked so hard to secure this one. I’ve got tenure, and they’re not about to shake me off now. And of course, there’s the house. It’s Greg’s, you know.”

I hadn’t known.

“His grandmother left it to him. It’s why we decided on Marchester when the job offers came; just one less thing to worry about, financially.” She sounded resentful, though I couldn’t tell whether it was because Greg removed some worry or the simple fact of his grandmother’s bequest.

“Well, it can hardly be worth it, if you’re so unhappy—”

“Who’s unhappy?” Jane jogged along, her face set. “I’m perfectly happy. I’m exactly where I want to be. My job isn’t perfect, but I’m carving into something that will be, someday. I’ve just been allocated new lab space. The site is shaping up. I’m doing precisely what I’ve always wanted. Starting to make quite a nice little reputation for myself.”

I thought about this as I trotted alongside Jane, comparing her overly upbeat words with what I’d heard about her reputation in the town, the tension between her and what seemed to be everyone else. Hardly ideal. But on the other hand, Jane spoke of her reputation as if it was a new thing, whereas, as far as everyone I knew was concerned, she was one of the top people in her field. It just didn’t make sense to me.

I noticed that the faster Jane ran, the more voluble she became. I increased the speed of my treadmill again, building up a nice, steady rhythm.

She continued. “And I’ve got more students doing advanced work than I ever have had before.”

“Julia was one of them?”

Suddenly, Jane’s face turned stony. “Yes, she was. And she nearly drove me round the twist, that girl.”

“How’s that?” The change in my friend was startling.

“Oh, well,” she said. “Well, when Julia started the postgraduate program, she was very quiet, almost withdrawn, and her work was only solidly average. But she responded to the least little encouragement and about midway through the first half of the term, something turned on a lightbulb for her and she took off like a shot—”

Based on what I’d heard from her other students, I thought it was very likely that it was Jane’s instruction that had so completely awakened Julia.

“She ate it all up. Devoured any book you cared to suggest and began working at a level that you usually expect of much more advanced students, but with equally big holes in her learning. She really just didn’t have the experience to back up what she was studying out of books.”

“Jane, that’s easily fixed. She sounds like she was having a great time of it.”

“Well, she was, but she kept haring on ahead of everyone else. Made it dreadfully difficult to conduct a seminar when it was just her and me arguing about theory. The other students always felt a bit left out and I felt compelled to rein her in a bit, for their sakes.”

“Jeez, I’d kill for a student like that.”

“Ah, well, you say so, but she never seemed to give my lectures any credence. She was always questioning me,” Jane puffed, her brow creased with concentration and memory. “Don’t get me wrong. I like to encourage bright students, especially the women—have to create a support system within the hegemony, don’t we? But her precocity did wear thin, that I can promise you.”

I set the speed for my usual fastest pace now, and noticed that Jane was monitoring my speed too: as soon as I in
creased my pace, she did the same, or even went a tenth or two faster. I rolled my eyes inwardly; fine, Jane, whatever. You win.

Perhaps Jane thought her words sounded too harsh; she seemed to reconsider. “I mean to say, her work was first rate. Really excellent…if a little erratic. Just a bit off the mark, simply because she hadn’t bothered to master the basics.” She was breathing heavily between sentences. “Built a foundation first. I felt like I was always trying to slow her down. For the sake of her future work. You must crawl before you can walk.”

I was becoming uncomfortable; Jane hadn’t been much of a crawler herself. There was something a little creepy going on here and I wondered if it wasn’t time to change the subject. “Apart from work, though, you’ve got Greg, of course.”

Jane’s face, lightly filmed with perspiration, was now carefully neutral. “Well, yes, of course.” She ran a few more steps. “Though that’s not entirely Edenic at the moment.”

“Oh?” I took a sip from my water bottle and returned it to the holder.

Jane nodded. “We’re just at one of those dreadful crossroads, you see. Greg wants to start a family and I’m simply not ready. Still too many things to sort out first.”

I frowned. “But do you want children?”

“Yes, of course. More important, I want his children. But I’m so newly established that I don’t want to jeopardize things.”

“And Greg doesn’t see it that way?” I knew
I
didn’t see it that way; as far as I was concerned, Jane was in the catbird seat and perfectly situated to start a family.

“No. We had the most frightful row over it, just Friday night. It was…hell, it was my birthday dinner. I hate the fact that I’m thirty-four. I feel ancient. I feel exhausted…and there’s so much more work to be done. Anyway, we went out to this place—it was far too expensive, I said, but Greg insisted—and were becoming rather twining and romantic
when he brought it up again. I’m afraid I lost patience.”

We ran on in silence for a few moments, just the sound of our pounding feet, rhythmic breathing, and the television morning show in the corner. There wasn’t another soul around now.

Jane wasn’t done yet. She took a deep breath, held it for a few paces, and let it out. “The long and short of it was, I left before dessert. Stormed out, actually. I mean, honestly. He of all people should understand what I’m going through. He’s been very supportive, but it’s only a few more years. I just want to get caught up on my reports, and get one or two more juicy articles out before we start talking about bairns.”

There is no perfect moment, I thought, never a real stopping point. There’ll always be one more thing. And a couple of years puts one rather close to the biologically decisive age of forty, but there was no way I’d say that out loud to Jane. Especially since I hadn’t ever been able to shed the “just one more book/project/conference and I’ll relax” theory myself. Yet.

“And as for last night, well. All he wanted to do was talk about Julia and I…just couldn’t. It’s still so fresh, it’s so awful, I just needed some space to get past the shock. Some people can do that by going on and on about it, till it doesn’t smart anymore, but some just need to hide themselves away. I need some time to take it in, is all.”

As if aware she might have revealed too much, Jane suddenly sped up into a sprint and, deciding that I was feeling pretty good myself, I matched her speed.

“How about a race?” she panted after a bit. “First one to finish the next half mile buys breakfast?”

“No, thanks, I hate races,” I said, breathing heavily myself. “I like it being just me and the road.”

“Suit yourself,” Jane said.

After another fifteen seconds, I decided that I wasn’t actually straining and picked up the pace a little bit. My friend noticed this and again raised her own speed.

For God’s sake, I thought. Fine, she wants a race, I’ll give
her a race. I jabbed at the touch pad accordingly.

This went on for the next few minutes, both of us pounding away, sweating rivers, neither saying a word over the mechanical rhythm of the treadmills. Then a timer beeped, announcing a cool-down period. We slowed to a fast walk, still not able to talk after the last hard push. It was then that I realized something from the way that Jane dealt with her advanced students, what she’d said about Julia, how she behaved with me. She was perfectly fine with people who were students, who were somewhere beneath her level, academically speaking, but when they started to approach that, she became nervous and pushed them harder because she was intimidated. The irony of it all was, the more Jane pushed, the better they generally became, so that she was surrounding herself with excellent students, who in turn, drove her to surpass herself.

“Nice job,” Jane gasped out after a bit. “Not bad after a late night.”

“You too.” I nodded. “You got a tenth farther along than I did.”

“Ah, well,” she replied, pleased with herself. “You’ve been jet lagged. Besides, we weren’t racing,”

“No, ’course not,” I said. “I hate competitions.”

On the way back to the locker room, however, I happened to notice that I got my breath back a whole lot sooner than Jane did.