One of Us Is Dead

48 Tuesday 4 October 2022

It was dark outside the restaurant window. Tonight was an ebb tide, the shimmering lights on the bitumen-black water of the Adur were steadily disappearing as the emptying river turned into a mudflat.

Flat.

That was how Paul Anthony felt at this moment. Flat as the Champagne now tasted. What the hell was wrong with the young woman sitting opposite him? He stared at her. Across the silence, across the table that now seemed as wide and dark as the river outside. Across their untouched starters, hers getting warm, his going cold.

He’d thought she would be so happy, be all over him. Instead she sat in silence, back to the window, looking as dark as the night outside behind her. She just sat, endlessly pushing a piece of mozzarella around the bowl with her fork, without raising a morsel to her mouth. She seemed at the moment like a total stranger.

Wasn’t this what she had wanted? Had she forgotten their recent conversation? Because he sure as hell hadn’t.

‘Could you shoot that bastard, Llewellyn? I’m not sure I could, however much I would like to,’ she had said.

‘What if I could produce someone who could?’

‘You mean a hitman?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I don’t think so, no. I guess that’s not in my DNA. I don’t think I could live with having paid someone to murder him, however much I hate him, however much I want him dead — or however much I’d like to cut his dick and balls off and shove them down his throat.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said suddenly, quietly, so quietly it was almost a murmur. ‘I... don’t know.’

‘He was a total bastard,’ Paul Anthony prompted, the three grilled sardines on the plate in front of him untouched.

She continued staring at the piece of mozzarella on her fork, without answering. Seemingly deep in thought.

‘Shannon?’ he prompted.

She gave him a rather sad smile. She looked stunning tonight, he thought. She was wearing a simple black dress, a gold chain-link necklace, and the way she was wearing her blonde hair, long, falling either side of her face in twists, suited her so well. She reminded him more than a little of the actress Margot Robbie. So smart, so beautiful.

And yet tonight, so remote.

Suddenly, as if making a decision, she popped the piece of mozzarella in her mouth, followed by a slice of tomato and chewed that too. Then, decisively, she raised her Champagne glass and held it up. Paul Anthony raised his. They clinked.

He said, ‘Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’

She smiled. A smile that melted him. ‘Casablanca?’

‘Right.’

‘My favourite movie. The only thing is, my name isn’t Louis.’

‘And mine isn’t Lee Oswald.’

‘Yeah, and maybe it isn’t Paul Anthony, either,’ she said sarcastically, unaware she was actually right about that one. ‘Maybe this whole relationship isn’t real. Maybe I’m not actually involved with someone who creates fatal accidents.’ She stared hard at him. ‘Do you know what I wish right now?’

‘What do you wish?’

‘I wish we could go back and change what has happened.’ She tilted her head back, tossing some of her hair away from her face, revealing her long, slender neck. And at that moment, he was suddenly crazy with desire for her. He wanted to kiss that neck, wanted to hold her slender wrists in his arms, wanted to take her with him to the ends of the earth and back — as long as she stayed onside.

‘Shannon, babes. That professor was a piece of scum, a pervert who deserved to die. You said so yourself.’

‘Yes, but...’ She was searching for the right words. ‘I just wish you’d been clearer when you suggested what you were going to do.’

‘I thought I was pretty damned clear. I thought you were onboard with it. Jesus, Shannon, the man raped you. And I’m sure others too. Did I tell you what I found hidden in his office — in his fridge of all places? The underwear?’

She nodded. ‘You did.’

‘That night you told me you’d been raped by Llewellyn, I asked you how you’d feel if he were to die an accidental death? Do you remember?’

She nodded slowly.

‘Do you remember what you said?’

She was silent for a long time, before she nodded again. ‘I do. I said I’d feel the world had been rid of one piece of vermin.’

‘And now it has. So what’s your problem?’ He smiled gently.

‘I don’t know — I—’ She fell silent again. ‘I guess I didn’t know how I would feel if he actually died.’

‘And how do you feel?’

She frowned. ‘I thought maybe I’d feel great.’

He smiled at her. ‘So feel great!’

She looked at him for a long time. ‘I guess — I guess — we can’t change what’s happened, we can only change how we react to it, right?’

‘Right.’

‘So, yes, he was a rapist and a pervert and a liar. So, maybe, good riddance.’ She gave an uneasy smile. ‘Maybe. Perhaps I’m just overreacting. Maybe I should treat it as an act of chivalry!’

‘That’s more like it! He was a piece of shit.’

‘Be careful, Paul, I could pick up on a few of your faults too, you know,’ she said teasingly.

Feeling the ice thawing, if not actually melting, he said, ‘Well, nobody’s perfect!’

‘You’re good on your movie quotes, aren’t you? Some Like It Hot, right?’

‘Very hot,’ he said.

Her face broke into a smile and she winked at him, seductively. Then, as if it was the punchline of an inside joke only the two of them shared, she said, ‘And maybe a little waspish.’