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His insides froze on hearing her voice. He threw the leather into the footwell, slammed the car door shut. He glanced awkwardly up to the windows of his house. ‘What the hell are you doing here, Kat?’ he said, anger flashing across his features. He grabbed her by the arm and all but dragged her down the street, away from his house in case his wife should see her. ‘What do you think you’re doing? You never come near me, near my house, near my wife, you understand? I told Felix I’m finished with your fucking schemes.’

‘Where is he, Martin?’

‘What?’

‘You heard me; where is Felix?’ She yanked her arm free of his grip, rubbing the point where his fingers had grasped her.

‘How the fuck should I know? I don’t care where he is. He can go to hell for all I care.’

‘He’s gone missing,’ she said.

‘None of my business,’ he said abruptly.

‘I’ve not seen him for weeks.’

He gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. ‘So? Like I care.’ He moved close to her face. His breath pumped out in clouds. ‘You keep away from me and my wife. You come round here again…’

‘And what? You’ll beat the shit out of me like you used to?’

His jaw set hard. ‘I’m different now.’

‘A leopard and its spots, and all that,’ she said. ‘Like fuck you’re different. Let me tell you, Martin, you’re involved in this whether you like it or not and it’s me that’s calling the shots this time. I’m not afraid of you any more.’

‘Why do you care about him anyway? He doesn’t love you. People like that are incapable of it.’

‘You should know. Have you laid into her yet?’ She nodded towards
Caldwell
’s house. ‘Does your wife know what you’re really like, what things you’ve done in the past? Does she know about your relationship with our friend in the north, Ray Steele, and his part in things?  How he helped you out of a tricky situation? Or have you fed her a load of bollocks, created a different kind of Martin Caldwell that isn’t a violent, murdering bastard?’

He held up a fist but thought better of it. ‘Get out of my sight, Kat, or I swear you’ll be sorry.’

‘Just as I thought; the old Martin isn’t far away, is he? All your stories, your false past, your bogus qualifications, your supposed new life, it can’t cover who you really are.’

‘Have you ever thought that Felix might simply have taken Laura’s money and run? Yes, he told me how much he stood to gain. He could buy ten of you with that amount of cash, Kat. Your
kind is
cheap. I know it from past experience.’

‘He wouldn’t do that. He loves me. That’s not something you’d know anything about, Martin, love.’

‘You really think he loves you? You’re as deluded as that bitch in
Devereux
Towers
. Felix drove a white Ford Cortina, right?’

‘So what?’

‘So the police found a white Ford Cortina abandoned in Langbridge a fortnight ago. Appears it had been stolen from
Coventry
. They’d no idea who it belonged to or why it was there, but we both know, don’t we?’

‘You’re lying.’

‘Am I? Check out the Langbridge Gazette. It was mentioned in there. Seems like he simply upped sticks and left. He’s probably sipping cocktails at some fancy fondue party in
Capri
, whilst you’re here pining for a two-faced slimeball.’
Caldwell
sneered. ‘It’s not nice, is it, Kat, being on the other side of the fence? Being the one who’s shit upon instead of doling it out. Face it, he’s dumped you.’

‘If you’ve done anything to him…’

‘That a threat, Kat?’ He laughed hollowly. ‘You made your bed, so now you can lie on it.’ He pointed a rigid finger at her face. ‘You never come near me again, and if any of this ever gets out, I swear I’ll kill you.’ He stomped away, but stopped, turned and came back. ‘I don’t care if he’s lying face down in some ditch or other; truth is that’s what I’d like to hear. He deserves all he gets. You both do. You want my advice? I’d start with that crazy bitch he was screwing.’ He grinned. ‘Shame he didn’t know everything about Laura Leach before he went in there all guns blazing.’

‘What do you mean everything?’

‘Let’s say she’s not the most level-headed of women is our dear Laura. She’s got issues. Fucking big ones. And do you know, I sort of forgot to tell him how fucked-up she was. That must have slipped my mind for some reason.’ With that he turned on his heel and left her, sliding into his car and smiling at her as he drove past.

It was evening, the end of another long day. Vince unlocked his bicycle and flicked on his lamps. Caught in its beam was a smoky cloud of drizzle. He trundled the bicycle across the uneven stone flags of the Empire’s yard to the open gateway and was startled to see a thin shadow separate from the wall.

‘Edith!’ he said. ‘You scared the living daylights out of me. What are you still doing here? You should be on your way home now.’

She stood in the lamplight, her hair already damp from the light rain. ‘Sorry, Vince,’ she said. ‘I was waiting for you.’

‘For me – why?’

Edith jerked her shoulders. ‘Would you walk me home, Vince?’

He frowned. ‘Why?’

She looked up at the night sky. ‘It’s dark,’ she said.

‘It’s never bothered you before. Anyhow, you only live ten minutes away.’

‘It’s not out of your way,’ she observed. ‘I’d feel a lot better if you walked me home tonight.’

He felt he had no choice. And she looked so helpless, frail and wet. ‘OK,’ he said resignedly. ‘But we’ll have to walk fast or we’ll get soaked.’

They left the Empire behind. There was the hiss of the odd-car passing them on wet roads, hardly another soul on the streets. They spent a few minutes lost in private thoughts.

She asked out of the blue, ‘Do you like Mr Caldwell?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said and then he shook his head. ‘Not really. Do you?’

‘He’s got a handsome face, sure enough, but I don’t think he’s a nice person inside. Where do you suppose Monica is?’

‘Dunno,’ he said quickly. ‘Don’t care either. Why?’

‘I heard rumours about Mr Caldwell and Monica. She used to brag to the other cleaners about stuff. Dirty stuff.’

‘Well she’s not here now so she doesn’t matter anymore, does she?’

‘You didn’t like Monica either, did you?’

‘So?’

‘She was nasty to you.’

‘Monica was nasty to everyone. That’s just how Monica was.’

They ambled along in silence. Vince tried to hurry Edith along but she seemed to be dragging her heels. He was getting very wet.

‘Vince, do you think I’m pretty?’ she asked rather sheepishly.

Vince’s sense of unease went up another notch or two so that it flashed an amber warning. ‘I guess so.’

‘You’re just saying that to please me.’

‘No I’m not,’ he protested. ‘Yes, I suppose you are pretty.’

She smiled. ‘So you think I’m pretty?’

‘Just said so, didn’t I? What’s with you tonight, Edith? Is everything alright?’

Edith stopped. The water glistened on her face. ‘This is my street, where I live,’ she said. ‘Thank you for walking me home.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘You’d better get inside; you’re wet through.’

‘You can kiss me if you like,’ she said, stepping closer to him. Lamplight sparkled in her large eyes.

‘What?’

‘You can kiss me. I’ll let you.’

‘Why?’

‘You said I was pretty.’

‘Well yes, but – ‘

‘You did mean it, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I meant it,’ he said, getting all flustered.

‘So why won’t you kiss me? I like you, Vince. I like you very much.’

‘I must be ten years older than you, Edith…’

‘That doesn’t matter. I’m not a little girl. I’m a young woman with a young woman’s feelings.’

‘You shouldn’t go around throwing yourself at men like this. You never know where it might lead.’ He put on his cycle clips and sat astride his bicycle.

‘I only said you could kiss me,’ she said. ‘I thought…’

‘You thought what, Edith?’

Her smooth brow furrowed. ‘You’re still obsessed with that Laura woman, aren’t you, in spite of what I said? What has she got that I haven’t? Is it because she’s rich?’

He didn’t know how to respond. Her full, red lips pouted enticingly and he felt urges he was afraid of. ‘Go home, Edith,’ he said, pedalling away like mad and aware of her stare hot on his back. He didn’t dare turn around.

*  * *  *

The dry reeds made a strange, enigmatic rustling sound as the wind passed through them, their ragged dark head swaying languidly, almost as if they bent over in sadness. Water gurgled over rocks, sounding to Laura like a strangled scream that went on forever. The slow-moving stream caused the pennant-like leaves of
underwater
weeds to fid
get, not unlike
a drowning man’s groping fingers
,
and the spectral, shadowy shapes of melancholy willows lined the ban
k opposite, posing as ethereal guards that
watched
studiously
over everything.

‘This is the place Ophelia came to drown herself,’ said Laura’s father, staring at the oil-like surface of the restless stream. ‘At least, this is just the sort of place I imagine it to look like.’

Laura, the little girl, held his hand tighter and snuggled up close to him. His sombre words scared her, and a shiver of dread ran icily through her as she too stared into the liquid depths.

He did so love Hamlet, Laura thought. She almost felt her father’s presence beside her, but that could not be, because he was long-dead and she didn’t believe in any kind of afterlife, aware that it was merely her imagination being stretched on the rack of her emotions. He could no more be sitting beside me today, she thought, than Ophelia had drowned in this stream.

Yet she was, admittedly, drawn to this spot, to the softly spoken water that seemed to beckon her, tease her. A sad, lonely place she purported to own along with Devereux towers, but which in fact appeared to own her.

She so wanted to cry, but there were no more tears left inside, only a fiery anger that she could not tamp down. Her entire frame shook with it.

‘You are an evil, evil young woman!’ her father had said. ‘You are not my daughter. My Laura could never have done such horrid things. My Laura must be dead to me.’

And he had turned away from her. That was the last time she remembered seeing his face whilst he was alive. When she came back to Langbridge to see his body before its burial his expression was still the same; one of disappointment and shame.

‘He’s at peace,’ reassured the undertaker.

He did not look at peace, Laura thought. And she hoped he’d be restless for all eternity. She hoped he never found peace.

‘Your father had already made the necessary arrangements for his funeral. I can show you the casket he chose,’ the undertaker began, taking her through to another room. He pointed it out. ‘The best, of course.’

‘That will not do,’ she said. ‘Put him in the cheapest you have,’ she said.

He was momentarily lost for words; he knew how wealthy she was. ‘It has all been paid for, Miss Leach. It was your father’s wish…’

‘And that is my wish. Do as I say. You can keep the money, don’t worry; I’m not after a refund.’

‘Grief is a terrible thing,’ he pointed out. ‘Perhaps you need time to reconsider. After all, your father had a certain high standing in Langbridge society, being an important councillor, Chair of the Langbridge Civic Society, a leading light, one might say; it wouldn’t be fitting to have him sent off in our most basic model.’

‘I don’t need any time,’ she said. ‘The cheapest. No flowers, no frills. Just burn him and send me the bill.’

‘But he stipulated burial, in the family plot at
Devereux
Towers
.’

‘Do as I say,’ she said.

‘And the ashes?’

‘I don’t want them. Throw them over the roses in the crematorium grounds.’ She th
ought about it. ‘Perhaps not; I
don’t want to kill them. Do with them what you will, I don’t care.’

Ophelia was mad, thought Laura, but drowning herself was the sanest thing she did. And the bravest. As much as Laura detested this world she could not do what Ophelia did. She did not have the courage to end the torment the way she did.

She twirled the bloodied knife before her eyes. Make the hurt go away, she thought. Please make it go away. The sharp edge tinged with scarlet was but a couple of inches away from her eye. She gave a tiny shriek and tossed the knife into the water. It sank instantly into the murky depths, disappearing into a clump of waving weed fronds.

She rose to her feet, left the stream and the brooding willows behind. Ahead,
Devereux
Towers
stood like a dark block of stone, all by itself in its empty field, the onset of autumn making its stark form even more pronounced. Rolling clouds pregnant with rain appeared to brush by the single tower.