Love You Dead

106 Friday 13 March

Tooth had to wait nearly four hours for Jodie Carmichael to return. The neighbourhood was quiet. A few cars pulled out from driveways and returned a while later. He saw a man emerge in Lycra, on a racing bike, and pedal off. A red post van stopped at each of the houses in turn, the driver keying in gate codes and then running in with the day’s mail. Around 11 a.m. he saw a vehicle that didn’t fit, an old, beat-up-looking Volkswagen Golf driving slowly, the driver wearing a baseball cap low over his face.

With a stab of anxiety he wondered, for a moment, if it was an undercover police surveillance officer. But from the slow speed the car was travelling at, and the way he drove past his car without paying him any attention, he ruled that out. A burglar casing the area? he wondered.

Finally, shortly before 11.30 a.m., a taxi pulled up at the top of Jodie’s drive. When she emerged, holding several grocery store bags, he noticed she’d had her hair done. Tooth followed her on the cameras as she entered the house. She emptied the bags, putting most of the stuff, including a bottle of champagne and a bottle of wine, into the fridge, then went up to the bedroom, dialled and ordered another taxi for 12.15 p.m. Then she began to take off her clothes.

Another taxi?

Drive your car, lady, drive your goddam car!

How long was he going to have to wait here before she drove anywhere?

Seething with anger and frustration, he watched her slip off her underwear. At least she was giving him a show. She had a good body. He’d had no sex for weeks and he was starting to feel aroused. Long, slender legs, a flat stomach, large but firm breasts.

She sat down naked, provocatively, theatrically, in front of her white dressing table. She was behaving almost as if aware she had an audience, and was deliberately flaunting herself.

His arousal was deepening. Rays of sunshine lay across her white flesh. He looked at his watch. 11.40 a.m. The last flight today out of this freezing shithole country and back to the US was in just under five hours. If he left soon he could make that flight. He could slip in through the front door now, up the stairs, fuck her, break her neck and be gone in ten minutes. In plenty of time to make the flight.

The bang on his window sounded like a gunshot.

He turned his head, startled, his body instantly coiled for action, his laptop sliding on his dress and wedging against the steering wheel.

Peering in through the window he saw a severe-looking elderly lady in a tweed coat and a Tyrolean hat. He snapped shut the computer lid and hit the button to lower the window. She leaned in and said in a booming voice, ‘I’ve seen you’ve been here for a while. You haven’t noticed a small black and white dog — with pointy ears — have you?’

Tooth, gathering his composure, gave a sweet, Thelma Darby old-lady smile and shook her head.

‘His name’s Bonzo and he’s a rascal. Just a puppy, you see. Must have got out of the hole in our fence — I’ve been on at my husband to fix it for ages.’ The woman was looking at him oddly. Had he missed something with his make-up,? he wondered.

He gave her another sweet Thelma Darby smile.

‘No, well, thanks anyway!’ she said.

As he raised the window, there was another sudden sharp rap on it. He lowered it once more and she peered in again. ‘By the way, I’m the local Neighbourhood Watch coordinator. I’ve had a few calls from people who have noticed you. It’s a free world, of course, but we like to keep an eye on strangers. Just so you know.’

She walked on. As he raised the window once more he heard her call out, loudly, ‘Bonzo! Bonzo! Come along! Bonzo!’

Angry at himself for being so careless, for not noticing her approaching and allowing himself to be startled like that, Tooth started the car and drove for several minutes before stopping again, this time in a lay-by on the main seafront road. He was angry that he’d fucked up.

He didn’t do fuck-ups.