Mystery Man (35 page)

'I was striving for effect.'

'Have you any idea how hurtful that is?' She shook her head. 'You don't, do you? You know what your problem is? You're an emotional cripple.'

'You shouldn't say
cripple.
' As an attempt at humour, it failed miserably. 'I am what I am,' I said.

'That night at the party in Daniel Trevor's house you were the life and soul, you were singing and laughing and joking and you got on with everyone. There was none of this
hate.
'

'I don't hate. I
suspect.
Maybe it's to do with what I do; when your life revolves around murder, fact and fiction, it's natural to—'

'It's got sod-all to do with what you do.'

'That wasn't me at the party. I was drunk. Do you want me to be drunk all the time?'

'It was a glimpse of who you can be, with the inhibitions down, with the paranoia in check, with your
suspicions
allayed. People aren't horrible, but you treat them like they are.'

That was, frankly,
ridiculous.
I give everyone a fair shake. The fact that they usually fail miserably is their problem, not mine.

'Well if I'm so dreadful, Alison, what are you doing here?'

She studied me. 'Because I see hope for you.'

'With you?'

'With me. Is that so strange? I think you're like a baby butterfly caught in a cocoon and you've never been able to break out.'

'
Chrysalis,
' I pointed out. 'The pupa stage of the butterfly is—'

'Shut
up,
' she said. 'I'm serious. You need to get away from here. It's . . . killing you. It's like a museum, or a mausoleum. You should . . . move in with me.'

She looked at the table. She picked up a Club. So that was what she was after. She was everything I had ever dreamed of, but still.

'I have responsibilities.'

'No you don't.'

'But M—'

'You don't have a mother.'

'Don't be ridiculous, everyone has a—'

'Stop it. Stop it now. Your mother is dead. She is your excuse for hiding from the real world. Do you think I don't know? How come she's never here? How come she never answers the phone? How come she depends on you for everything, and yet you spent days and nights in No Alibis without once going home to feed her?'

'Do you think I've
invented
my mother?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Do you not think she's upstairs now listening to every word?'

'Then ask her to come down.'

'She can't come down. She's infirm.'

'Then let me go up.'

'She doesn't like visitors.'

'Even the girl you're going to marry?'

'Especially the girl I'm going to marry.'

'She doesn't approve?'

'She doesn't approve of anyone.'

'Please,' said Alison, '
stop this . . .
I love you, and I know you love me. How often is that going to come along?'

'I
can't,
' I said.

She steamed. She blew air out of her cheeks. She pushed her coffee away. 'It's not exactly Starbucks,' she said.

'It's not even close.'

'You wouldn't have a Coke?'

'Diet?'

She nodded. I got up. I have forty-eight cans of Diet Coke in my fridge. In case there is a strike, or a plague.

When I turned with her can, Alison was no longer at the table.

'Alison?'

There had been no sound of the front door opening or closing. I hurried into the hall.

'Alison?'

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

Alison was already on the first-floor landing. She looked back at me. 'I'm going to have it out with her,' she said.

'You can't!'

'I have to!'

She hurried up the next set of stairs.

'No, Alison,
don't . . .
!'

I thundered up behind her.

'Come out, come out, wherever you are!' Alison cried, all the time rising higher, getting closer to Mother's room. She threw open every door that she passed. 'Are you in
here
? No! Are you in
here
?'

My legs are not good, and my breathing was laboured; she was young and lithe, and by the time she got to the top room, to Mother's room, she was still well ahead of me. She put her hand to the door. She hesitated. She looked back at me.

'No, Alison,
please don't . . .
'

But she was determined.

She threw the door open and strode in.

She was such a clever girl, but it was a tactical mistake.

You should never enter Mother's room alone.