Waiting for Wednesday

TWENTY-SEVEN

Yvette and Karlsson walked together from the Lennoxes’ house to the Kerrigans’. It took less than ten minutes. Yvette struggled to keep pace with his long stride. She had a bad cold: her throat was sore, her glands ached and her head throbbed. Her clothes felt tight and itchy.

The house was smaller than Ruth and Russell’s, a red-brick terraced building up a narrow side-street, with a tiny front garden that had been gravelled over. Elaine Kerrigan opened the door before the chime had died away. She stood before them, a tall woman with a long, pale face and fading hair caught up in a loose bun; glasses hung round her neck on a chain. She was wearing an oversized checked shirt over loose cotton trousers. The sun caught her as she gazed at them, and she raised her hand – wedding ring and engagement ring on the fourth finger – to shield her from its dazzle.

She knows, Yvette thought. Her husband must have sat her down and told her.

She led them into the living room. Sun streamed through the large window and lay across the green carpet and the striped sofa. There were daffodils on the mantelpiece, doubled by the mirror. Yvette caught a glimpse of her own face there – flushed and heavy, with dry lips. She licked them. Elaine Kerrigan took a seat and gestured for them to do the same. She laid her long, delicate hands in her lap and sat up straight.

‘I’ve been thinking about how to behave,’ she said, in a voice that was low and pleasant, with a faint burr of an accent that Yvette couldn’t place. ‘It all seems unreal. I know I’m the wronged wife, but I can’t feel that yet. It’s just so …’ She looked down at her hands, lifted her eyes again. ‘Paul doesn’t seem the sort of man someone would choose to have an affair with.’

‘When did he tell you?’ asked Yvette.

‘When he came back yesterday. He waited till his tea was on the table and blurted it out. I thought he was joking at first.’ She grimaced. ‘It’s mad, isn’t it? It can’t be happening to me. And this woman’s dead. Did he say that I was the one who told him about it? I saw the story in the paper? I thought she had a nice face. I wonder if she thought about me when it was all happening.’

‘We know it must be a shock,’ said Yvette. ‘Obviously we need to establish people’s movements on the day that Ruth Lennox died.’

‘You mean my husband? I can’t remember. I’ve looked in the diary but the page is blank. It was just another Wednesday. Paul says he was definitely here at the time but I don’t remember if I came home from work first or if he did. I can’t remember if he was later than usual. If something unusual had happened, I suppose it would have stuck in my mind.’

‘What about your sons?’

She turned her head. Following her gaze, Karlsson and Yvette saw the photograph next to the daffodils of two boys, young men even, both with dark hair and their father’s broad face. One had a scar above his lip that pulled his smile slightly awry.

‘Josh is at university in Cardiff. He hadn’t come back for Easter by then. The other, Ben, he’s eighteen and he takes his A levels this year. He lives at home. He’s a bit vague about dates. And everything else. I haven’t told them yet about the affair. After that I can tell them about the murder. That’ll be fun. How long was it for?’

‘Sorry?’

‘How long had the affair been going on?’

‘Your husband didn’t tell you?’

‘He said it was more than a fling, but he still loved me and he hoped I would forgive him.’

‘Ten years,’ said Yvette, calmly. ‘They met on Wednesday afternoons. They rented a flat.’

Elaine Kerrigan sat up even straighter. Her face seemed to loosen, the skin grow slack. ‘Ten years.’ They could hear her swallow.

‘And you didn’t know?’

‘Ten years, with a flat.’

‘And we will also need to conduct a search here,’ said Yvette.

‘I understand.’ Elaine Kerrigan’s voice was still polite, but it had become faint.

‘Have you noticed nothing unusual in his behaviour?’

‘Over the last ten years?’

‘Over the last few weeks, perhaps.’

‘No.’

‘He hasn’t been upset or distracted?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You didn’t know that several hundreds of pounds have been disappearing monthly from your husband’s bank account to pay for the rooms he rented?’

‘No.’

‘You never met her?’

‘The other woman?’ She gave them a tired half-smile. ‘I don’t think so. But she lived near here, didn’t she? Maybe I did.’

‘We would be grateful if you could try to find out exactly what time you and your husband came home on the Wednesday – ask colleagues at work, perhaps.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘We’ll see ourselves out.’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

She didn’t stand up as they left, but stayed sitting upright on the sofa, her long face blank.

‘Do you want a drink?’ Yvette asked Karlsson, trying to sound casual – as if she didn’t care one way or the other. She heard her voice grate.

‘I’m taking the rest of the day off and I won’t be in tomorrow so I …’

‘Fine. Just a suggestion. There was something I wanted to mention. Frieda rang me.’

‘What about?’

As Yvette described the details of Frieda’s police interview, Karlsson started to smile but finally he just looked weary.

‘I said she should talk to you about it, but she said you’d probably had enough of her. You know, after that last time with Rundell.’

‘What is it with her?’ said Karlsson. ‘There are nightclub bouncers who get into fewer fights than she does.’

‘She doesn’t always choose them.’

‘Yes, but they seem to happen wherever she goes. Anyway, she rang you. You’d better make a couple of calls.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you with it.’

Karlsson hesitated, looking at her flushed face. ‘I didn’t mean to snap. I’m spending the time with my kids,’ he said gently. ‘They’re going away soon.’

‘I didn’t know – how long for?’

He found he couldn’t tell her. ‘Quite a long time,’ was all he could manage. ‘So I want to make the most of this.’

‘Of course.’

Mikey had had his hair cut very short; it was like soft bristle; his scalp showed through and his ears stuck out. Bella’s hair had been cut as well, so it was a mass of loose curls around her face. It made them seem younger and more defenceless. Karlsson felt too tall and solid beside them. His heart swelled in his chest and he stooped down and held them against him. But they squirmed free. They were excited; their bodies throbbed with impatience. They wanted to tell him about the flat they were going to live in, which had balconies on both sides and an orange tree in the courtyard. A fan in every room, because it was very hot in the summer. They’d got new summer clothes, shorts and dresses and flip-flops. It hardly ever rained there – the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. There was an outdoor pool a few streets away and at the weekends they could get a train to the coast. They would have to wear a uniform to their new school. They already knew some words. They could say, Puedo tomar un helado por favor? And gracias and mi nombre es Mikey, mi nombre es Bella.

Karlsson smiled and smiled. He wanted them never to leave and he wanted them to be gone already, because waiting to say goodbye was the worst thing of all.