Telling Lies to Alice (19 page)

A sharp crack somewhere above my head made me jump. Floorboards. I shoved the address book in one of the dresser drawers and started deboning the remains of the coq au vin for Eustace’s breakfast. Another crack, further over—I held my breath and shut my eyes tight.
Don’t. Come Down. Just. Don’t. Come. Down.

Stop the world, I thought, I want to get off. I’ll leave a note on the kitchen table telling him to get lost and then I’ll go back to bed.

I was searching for a pencil when I heard the postman. Eustace galloped out to bark at him, and Ted gave him a biscuit, which he spat out. “Charming! There you go—just the one today.” He handed me an envelope.

“Thanks. Ted . . .” I stopped, not sure what I’d been going to say.

He looked at me expectantly. “Did you want to ask me something?”

“No, just—no, it’s okay. Nothing, really.”

“Wait . . . You all right?”

“Yeah . . . just tired.” I smiled at him.

“You sure?”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“Okay . . . See you, then.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

I stood in the doorway and watched him go. I wondered about running after him, but couldn’t think what to say. I mean, I hardly know the man, beyond saying good morning, and it wouldn’t be fair to involve him . . . it was just . . . wanting to talk to somebody, but then I thought,
where would I start?
It’s all so freaky, he’d probably think I was mad or something. Making it up. Hitting on him, even, and I could definitely do without that. Anyway, he had his job to do. I can always go into the village later, I thought. Have to, anyway, to sort out the phone. There’s probably a waiting list . . .
Oh, God.
Can’t deal with that now. Sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep.

I was about to take the letter upstairs when I remembered that Jack was up there, so I went back to the sitting room instead. The fire had burnt itself out, and all that remained was the blackened spool in the middle of a pile of ash. I glanced at the familiar writing, then hooked a finger under the flap and ripped open the envelope. Newspaper. Big black headline.
BODY FOUND IN PORNO FLAT.
Half a page with a grainy photograph of a tall terraced house.

BODY FOUND IN PORNO FLAT
. . . Yesterday morning. Crumpled newsprint in the bin outside the village shop. Of course. The paper Jack hadn’t wanted me to see. I’d gone in to pay for it, and when I’d come out, that headline hadn’t been on top anymore.

“What’s that?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Jack was standing in the doorway. He’d changed his clothes—a mauve shirt, buttoned in the wrong holes, hung, untucked, below a crumpled linen suit.

“Just a bill.” I stuffed the envelope and cutting into the pocket of my jeans. “I’d like you to go now,” I said. “You can walk into the village and call a taxi from there.”

“You’ve burnt the film, haven’t you?” He nodded towards the fireplace.

“Yes. Jack, listen to me. I want you to go.”

“That’s what Val did.”

“
What?
You showed it to
Val
? You actually showed
that
to your wife? How could you?”

He opened his mouth, looked at me, and then shut it again.

“How low can you go, Jack? Are you going to tell me she
enjoyed
it? I can’t believe this—you’re not even ashamed, are you? You bastard. You complete and utter
bastard
! You’re selfish and vile and you don’t give a toss about anyone else, not even your
wife,
just so long as you can get your kicks. I’m surprised she didn’t kill you—I’d have bloody murdered you. How could you
do that
? You’re just . . . you’re . . . I can’t even put it into words. You disgust me. Just get out of my house and out of my life and stay out, okay?”

“It was Lenny as well, remember?”

“Don’t try and hide behind Lenny, Jack. At least he had the decency not to make me watch that . . . that . . . filth! At least he was ashamed enough to—”

“So am I.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“You don’t understand, Alice.”

“You can say that again! I don’t understand how you can have a threesome with that whore and make a film of it and take it home and— What was it, Jack, a special treat for the Missus? Saturday night at the flicks? Did you buy her a box of chocolates as well? Too right I don’t understand. But then I’m probably just too stupid to get it, because that beats me, all right, how you can—” I stopped. The words I’d been about to say hung in the air between us.

“How I can live with myself?” Jack asked. He held out his handkerchief. I snatched it and blew my nose. “Alice, you’ve got to believe me. It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, really? What was it like? Did somebody put a gun to your head? God Almighty, Jack, you’re something else, you really are. . . . When Val said . . . no wonder she didn’t want to know . . . I can’t even bear to look at you.” I shook my head, lost for words.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Forget it. Just go.” I started to turn away, but Jack caught hold of my upper arm and jerked me back towards him.

“No, what did you just say about Val? You’ve talked to her, haven’t you?”

“Take your hands off me.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Jack, I’m warning you—let
go
.” I tried to push him away, but he grabbed my other arm and shouted into my face.

“Tell me!”

I winced—couldn’t help it—but I wanted to show him he didn’t scare me, so I said, “What if I have?”

“She doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Oh yes she does,” I said triumphantly. “I told her. Last night. There’s a phone on the village green. Now get
off
.” I tried to shove him away but he tightened his grip.

“You stupid,
stupid
bitch! Who else?”

“No one.”

“Who
else
?”

“Only Jeff. No one else.”

“Who—oh, your ex-husband. Did you phone the police?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Alice.”

“I’m not. I thought about phoning the police, but I didn’t do it—okay?”

He looked at me intently, trying to work out if I was telling the truth.

“Come on, Jack . . . if I
had
phoned them—this was last night, remember? They’d be here by now.”

He said nothing.

“Wouldn’t they?”

“Val . . . She’ll tell them.”

“No she won’t. I didn’t, did I?”

“No, but—” The world—and my head—exploded: There was a knock on the back door, Eustace opened up like a machine gun, barking and thudding against the panels, and Jack slapped me across the face so hard that I lost my balance and tripped over the coffee table.

I tottered to the nearest armchair and sat down, clutching my cheek, barely aware of the racket. My face stung like hell; even my eyeball felt boiling hot, as if it was about to pop out of its socket. I hunched over, stunned, then Eustace quieted down for a moment and I heard a girl’s voice, “. . . not here,” and a boy saying something in reply. I raised my head. Jack put a finger to his lips. “Not the police,” I whispered. “The Boyles.” He looked at me blankly. “Trudy. The girl we met yesterday. In the lane.”

“What does she want?”

“How should I know?” I got to my feet like an old woman. My face was throbbing and my legs felt unattached, as if my thighs had melted. I started towards the door, but Jack pulled me back.

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why?” I wrenched my arm free and yelled, “Be with you in a minute!” as loud as I could.

Trudy called back, “No problem,” and then, “Okay if we give the ponies a drink? We left them in the lane.”

“Help yourself. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“What are you playing at?” Jack hissed, grabbing hold of me again.

“Will—you—leave—me—alone?” I jabbed my elbow into his stomach and stumbled into the kitchen. Eustace trotted up to me, confused because there were people outside waiting to make a fuss of him and I wasn’t letting them in. “It’s all right, I’m coming.” I followed him back to the door and was about to open it when I heard Jack’s voice behind me, very quiet.

“Don’t move.”

I ignored him and released the latch. “I mean it, Alice. Don’t open that door.”

“Oh, for God’s sake—” I glanced round. He was standing in the doorway, something in his hand. I turned away—blinked—realised what I’d seen—then turned back to look again. He was pointing a gun at me.

I almost laughed. It looked like a toy. He must have had it in his pocket, but the suit was in such bad shape I hadn’t noticed the bump.

“You’re joking.”

He shook his head. “You’re going to do exactly what I say, Bunny Alice, because if you don’t . . .” He took a couple of steps towards me and stopped. Everything seemed to have slowed right down to zero and my brain was a big, empty space. Somewhere in the middle of it, I heard an oily, metallic click. Saw his thumb press down—same as I’d seen in films. The hammer. He’d pulled the hammer back.

The gun—and Jack—came closer. Eustace bounced at my feet, desperate for me to open the door. I looked down at him—at the gun—at Jack’s face—and saw, in a flash, the idea I’d given him, and—too slow—made a dive for the dog. Jack was faster. He grabbed Eustace’s collar and dragged him backwards. The dog’s growls turned into choking noises as Jack twisted the leather to tighten his grip. “No, Jack, please!”

“Shut up.” Eustace scrabbled at the flagstones, trying to get away, as Jack dug the barrel into the back of his head. The dog’s eyes, terrified and pleading, locked on to mine.

“It’s all right, darling, it’s all right,” I whispered. “Jack, look at him . . . you can’t.
Please
. . . he’s all I’ve got.” I could hardly get the words out.

Jack looked up at me. “It’s real,” he said. “If you don’t—”

“Anything you want. Just don’t hurt him.”

“Alice, you all right in there?”

Jack jerked his head at the door. “Tell her you’re coming.”

“Sorry, Trudy. I’ll be right out . . .”

Jack said, “Put your sunglasses on.”

I looked round the kitchen. “I don’t—”

“There. On the dresser. Go on . . . right, just stick your head round the door and tell her you’ve got a headache—migraine—you can’t stand the light.”

“But what if—”

Eustace yelped as Jack jabbed him, hard, with the gun. “Do it!”

“Okay. Okay, I’m doing it. Just . . . don’t . . .”

“Wait. Tell them you want a paper. There’s fifty pence on the table. Give it to them—they can stick it through the letter-box and keep the change. Got that?”

I nodded.

“Get the money, then . . .” Eustace started choking again as Jack hauled him into position behind the door and squatted down beside him, one hand on his collar, the other pushing the gun against the back of his head. The dog flattened himself on the floor, quivering. Jack looked at me critically. “Right, pull yourself together. Blow your nose. Your face could do with a wipe, as well. That’s better. Now, open the door like I told you . . . and don’t even think about it, Alice, because I mean it. I’ll kill him.”

I nodded. Eustace looked up at me with huge, forlorn eyes. “It’s going to be all right,” I said, as gently as I could, then turned away and opened the door.

Trudy and Lee Boyle stood side by side, flanked by two sweaty, irritable-looking ponies. “Sorry about that. I’m not feeling very well.”

“What you been up to?” asked Trudy.

Lee looked knowing. “ ‘Angover.”

“Something like that.”

“Did you spew up?”

“Lee-
ee
. . .” Trudy rolled her eyes. “Leave it out. All it was, Dad said to tell you the farrier can’t come Monday so it’ll be Friday instead.”

“Your phone’s not working,” said Lee. “Dad tried to give you a bell.”

“Yeah . . . it’s out of order. Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem. You got any Coke?”

“Sorry, I haven’t. Only water.”

“Nah . . .” Lee shook his head. “ ‘Sall right. Come on, Trude.”

“Could you do me a favour? Get me a paper from the shop? I’ll give you the money.”

I held out the 50p piece. “Keep the change, if you want. Then you can buy some Coke.”

Lee pocketed it. “Nice one, Alice. What do you want?”

“Mmm?”

“What paper?”

“Oh, yeah . . . sorry.” Jack hadn’t said. “The
Mirror,
if she’s got any left. Or the
Express
. I don’t mind.”

“All right,” said Trudy. “You look like you should be in bed.”

“Yeah, well . . . Thanks . . .” I started to close the door, but Lee said, “Ted told us, that bloke you was with yesterday, he used to be on the telly.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“My dad knows all them famous people. When we was in London he was always going round their ’ouses an’ that.”

“That’s nice,” I said lamely. There was a frantic scrabbling behind the door, followed by choking noises.

“That your dog?” said Trudy. “He sounds a bit funny.”

“Has he got a hangover, an’ all?” asked Lee. “Does he drink beer?”

“Who, Eustace?”

“Yeah, like that dog up the pub. That drinks beer. I’ve seen it.”

“You never,” said Trudy. “You never been in the pub.”

“Yeah I have. I seen it drink a whole pint.”

“Liar.”

“Look, I’d better make sure Eustace is okay. If you just stick the paper through the letter box, that’s fine.”

Trudy gave me a shrewd look. “You sure you’re all right, Alice?”

“Yes, honestly—a few hours’ sleep and I’ll be fine.” I smiled at her. “It’s my own fault. Shut the gate, though, won’t you?”

“Don’t worry. See you on Friday—Dad said three o’clock, all right?”

“Yeah. Great. Bye, then.” I closed the door, took off my sunglasses, and put my hands up to my face. I saw Jack through my fingers, sitting with Eustace on the floor. The dog strained towards me, whining, but Jack didn’t let go of his collar.

“When they’ve gone,” he said.

We listened to clopping noises in the yard—the click of the gate—Lee’s voice, “Cheers, Alice!”—hooves thudding on the parched ground, then fading away until we couldn’t hear them anymore.