Blue Monday

Chapter Thirty-four

Seth Boundy called Kathy Ripon’s mobile. He listened as it went to voicemail. He left another message, although it only said what his previous messages had: call me at once. He checked his emails again, to make sure that she hadn’t contacted him in the few minutes since he’d last checked. He went through his junk mail just in case her message had ended up there. He was irritated. He couldn’t think properly about anything else. What was she playing at?

His wife knocked at the door of the study and came in before he could tell her he was busy. ‘It’s lunch,’ she said.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘I thought you were going shopping. You haven’t done any of the things you said you were going to. Are you expecting me to buy something for your sister?’

‘I’ll do it later.’

‘We’re only three days from Christmas. You’re on holiday.’

Boundy gave his wife a look that made her back off and close the door. This time he rang Kathy’s landline. It rang and rang and nobody picked up. He tried to remember: she lived in Cambridge, of course, but where did she go during holidays? Where did her parents live? He vaguely remembered her talking to him about her background, but he hadn’t paid proper attention. Yet there was something snagging at his memory. What was it? Something about cheese. That cheese-rolling competition in her home town. He Googled cheese-rolling and immediately came up with dozens of entries on the cheese-rolling competition that took place on Cooper’s Hill in Gloucester every year.

Seth dialled Directory Enquiries and asked for the number of Ripon, he didn’t know the first name, in Gloucester. It turned out there was only one. He dialled. A woman answered. Yes, it was Kathy’s mother. No, she wasn’t there. She was coming home for Christmas but she hadn’t arrived yet. No, she didn’t know where her daughter was. Seth Boundy put the phone down. What had started as irritation had turned into puzzlement and now was turning into anxiety. That woman, Dr Klein, why had she needed to contact him so urgently? Why couldn’t it have waited? He had been so excited about the idea of this fresh, undiscovered pair of twins that he’d hardly thought about it. What had he done? For a few minutes he sat in his chair, frowning heavily. Then he picked up his mobile once more.

The high thin sound had gone long ago; he didn’t know how long. There weren’t any days any more; everything was endless night. But it had only been with him for the time his mother used to take to read a story to him at bedtime, when he used to be Matthew. Red Riding Hood, but she was gobbled up by the wolf. Hansel and Gretel, but they lost their way in the woods and their father never came to find them. There had been panting, snuffling, shrieking, roaring, like a rusty machine that has gone wrong and is chopping itself up. Then quickly the horrible sounds had gone and left him quiet again. Just rustling in the corner and drip of water and scamper of heart and foul smell of himself. His body had run out of him. He was lying in the remains of himself. But he was alone. He had kept his promise. He hadn’t made a sound.

Frieda paced up and down her room, aware of Alan sitting outside. She didn’t want to talk to him until Karlsson arrived. She’d got enough wrong already. The phone rang and she snatched it up.

‘Frieda?’

‘Chloë! I can’t speak now. I’ll ring you later, OK?’

‘No, no, no! Wait. My dad’s going to Fiji at Christmas.’

‘I’m busy.’

‘Don’t you fucking care? What am I going to do? He was supposed to take me somewhere, not his bimbo girlfriend. I’m going to be shut up in our squalid rat hole all Christmas with my mother.’

‘Chloë, we can talk about this later!’

‘I’ve got a razor here, you know. I’m sitting in my bedroom with a razor.’

‘I’m not going to be blackmailed!’

‘You’re my aunt. You’re supposed to love me. I’ve not got anyone else to love me. He doesn’t. And my mother – she’s just a head-case. I’ll go mad. I will.’

‘I’ll come round this evening. We can discuss it then.’

‘But can we come to yours at Christmas?’

‘Mine?’

‘Yes.’

‘My house is tiny, I can’t cook, I won’t have a tree. And I hate Christmas.’

‘Please, Frieda. You can’t just let me rot here.’

‘OK, OK.’ Anything to get her off the phone. ‘Now I’m going.’

Frieda was impressed by Karlsson. He seemed able to do several things simultaneously: speaking urgently on his phone to someone back at the police station, issuing orders in a clear, clipped voice, steering her and a bewildered Alan out of the building and towards his car. Karlsson held the door open. ‘I’d like you and Dr Klein to come with me. We’ll explain on the way.’

‘Have I done something?’ Alan said.

Frieda put a hand on his shoulder. Karlsson sat in the front seat of the car. She heard fragments of his barked orders: ‘Keep them separate,’ he said. And then: ‘I want them to go through every fucking inch of that house.’

Meanwhile Frieda talked to Alan as clearly and calmly as she could manage. As she did so, she had the strange feeling that she had told the same story to the same face and she couldn’t help comparing the two. How had she not noticed the difference? Their expressions were similar but with Alan everything seemed to come as a blow. Halfway through, he whispered, ‘I’ve got a mother. And a twin brother. How long have you known?’

‘Not long. Just a few days.’

He took a long, shuddering breath. ‘My mother …’

‘She doesn’t remember anything really, Alan. She’s not well.’

He looked down at his hands. ‘Is he very like me?’

‘Yes.’

‘I mean, is he like me?’

Frieda understood. ‘In some ways,’ she said. ‘It’s complicated.’

Alan looked up at her with a sharpness she had only seen glimpses of previously. ‘This isn’t about me, is it?’ he said. ‘Not really. You’re using me to get at him.’

For a moment Frieda felt ashamed but she was almost pleased at the same time. He wasn’t just whimpering and collapsing under the news. He was fighting back. He was angry with her. ‘That’s not what it’s really about. I’m here for you. But there’s …’ She gestured around her. ‘… all this.’

‘You reckon he was acting out what I wanted?’

‘It may be that you have some feelings in common,’ Frieda replied.

‘So I’m like him?’

‘Who knows?’ Karlsson said from the front, making Alan jump. ‘But we’d like a statement. We’d be grateful for your co-operation.’

‘All right.’

As they approached the police station, they saw a group of men and women gathered on the pavement, some with cameras.

‘What are they doing here?’ Frieda asked.

‘They’re just camped out,’ said Karlsson. ‘Like gulls round a rubbish dump. We’ll drive round the back.’

‘Is he in there?’ asked Alan, suddenly.

‘You won’t have to see him.’

Alan pressed his face against the glass, like a small boy peering in at a world he didn’t understand.