Towers of Silence

Chapter Forty Eight

I don’t often abuse alcohol for sustained periods of time but I spent that Christmas in a protective haze of Gin and Tonics, wine and whisky, depending on the time of day.

I wept a lot, which is very easy to do with all the schmaltz on the box. Ray was annoyed with me again which I thought was a bit rich. After all, I had done the self-defence course and I had used what I’d learnt to great effect. Ursula would be proud of me. It was hardly my fault that Eddie Cliff chose to attack me when the kids and Laura were around. If I was a vicious, manipulative, psychopath I’d have chosen a better moment, but honestly…

Connie Johnstone had rung my mobile when I failed to appear at the office. There was no answer. She tried my home number and Ray, not knowing who she was of course, told her that I’d been in an accident and was in Wythenshawe Hospital.

As there was a beds crisis, flu sweeping the nation and affecting staff as well as patients, they didn’t even keep me in overnight. I didn’t need a bed anyway, I would only have used it to sleep in. My wounds were cleaned and stitched, needles stuck in me, painkillers prescribed. I was told to rest my voice.

The police wanted an initial statement which I supplied with the sort of numb indifference that comes after a trauma. Well, indifference alternating with hilarity which is a disturbing combination. They wrote it down and told me I’d be seen again.

Would I press charges?

Too bloody right, I would.

I told them I’d already seen a detective at Elizabeth Slinger. That I’d tried to report a man for suspected murder. The same man who had just tried to kill me. They nodded. I gave them the policeman’s name. They wrote that down. I told them about the abuse inquiry too, in Devon. They nodded, made another note. And went away.

I had to talk to Connie Johnstone. Once I got home I rang her and asked if she would come and see me.

“You sound awful,” she said. “Are you sure? Your husband said there’d been an accident.”

Wrong on both counts.

“I’m sure.” I had to get it over with. I had to tell her before the police called round or there was anything in the papers.

“Don’t bring Martina or Roland.”

“All right.” She sounded worried.

It felt strange, clients in my living room.

“Good God,” Patrick exclaimed. “What’s the other fella like?”

“Patrick!” Connie was shocked.

So was I; bit inappropriate cracking jokes before he knew what the “accident” had been.

“Sorry,” I realised he was tense. He knew something heavy was coming. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he apologised again.

“It’s all right,” I said. “He’s worse than me; dislocated hip, fractured knee, lacerated eye, plus he’s looking at a long stretch inside.”

“Blimey.”

“Please, sit down.”

They settled on our sofa, side by side. “Roland told us,” Connie said, “about meeting Horace.”

“He thought that was what had set Miriam off,” Patrick added. “Poor lad had been tearing himself apart with it. But apparently the meeting Roland had set up never happened. You spoke to Horace?”

“That’s right.”

“If only he’d said something. But I know why he didn’t.” Connie gave a rueful smile.

“I’m glad he’s told you himself. He was so worried. Has he said anything about keeping in touch with his father?”

“I think he will,” Connie said. “We don’t all feel the same about it, about the past. Roland wasn’t even born when he walked out on us. But he knows there won’t be any comeback. If that’s what he wants. He’s old enough to decide for himself.”

“He’s been a lot more relaxed,” Patrick added.

She nodded.

There was a pause. I looked at them. My stomach lurched. I took a breath. Felt the room sway a little. “I found out what happened to Miriam. I’m so sorry, Connie, it’s a terrible thing.” I held her gaze, my hands clamped tight on the chair arms. My heart skipping beats and trying to get away. “She didn’t jump, it wasn’t suicide. It was Eddie Cliff,” I said.

Connie stared at me, her eyes wary, her mouth tightening. “Eddie?”

“He did it, Eddie, he killed her.”

What? Her mouth formed the word but she made no sound. She turned to Patrick then back to me. Her eyes beginning to dart here and there, head shaking, denying it. Not admitting.

“He tried to shut me up,” I felt an eddy of fear at the thought. I spoke over it. “Eddie killed her. I’m so sorry.”

She raised her arms, fists balled, as though she would fight the truth. Patrick caught at her. She hit him, his chest, crying out, “No, no, oh, God, no.” He pulled her closer, ignoring the blows, holding her in her grief, his own face creased with emotion.

I stared at the lights on the tree, the stars of light blurring and streaking as my eyes filled up.

Some time later she spoke again. Turned her eyes full with pain to mine.

“Why?” She said thickly. “But why?”

I leant forward in my chair and began to explain.