T H E S U N D A Y P H I L O S O P H Y C L U B
9 1
Hen stared at her. “You were there? You saw Mark fall?”
“I’m afraid I did.”
Hen looked behind her for a seat and sat down. She looked down at the floor, and for a moment she said nothing. Then she raised her eyes. “I don’t really like to think of it, you know. It’s only a few weeks, and I’m already trying to forget about it. But it’s not easy, when you lose a flatmate like that.”
“Of course. I can understand.”
“We had the police round, you know. They came and asked about Mark. Then we had his parents, to come and take his things away. You can imagine what that was like.”
“Yes I can.”
“And there were other people,” Hen went on. “Mark’s friends. Somebody from his office. It went on and on.”
Isabel sat down on the sofa, next to Hen. “And now me. I’m sorry to intrude. I can imagine what all this is like.”
“Why did you come?” asked Hen. It was not said in an unfriendly way, but there was an edge to the question that Isabel picked up. It was exhaustion perhaps; exhaustion in the face of another interrogation.
“I had no real reason,” Isabel said quietly. “I suppose it’s because I was involved in it and I had nobody to talk to about it—
nobody connected with it, if you see what I mean. I saw this thing happen—this horrible thing—and I knew nobody who knew anything about him, about Mark.” She paused. Hen was watching her with her wide almond eyes. Isabel believed what she was saying, but was it the whole truth? And yet she could hardly tell these people that the reason why she was here was sheer curiosity about what happened; that, and a vague suspicion that there was something more to the incident.
9 2
A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h Hen closed her eyes, then nodded. “I understand,” she said.
“That’s fine with me. In a way I’d like to hear about what actually happened. I’ve imagined it enough.”
“You don’t mind then?”
“No, I don’t mind. If it’s going to help you, then that’s all right with me.” She reached out and touched Isabel’s arm. The sympathetic gesture was unexpected, and Isabel felt—unworthily, she thought—that it was out of character. “I’ll make some coffee,”
Hen went on, rising to her feet. “Then we can talk.”
Hen left the room, and Isabel leant back into the sofa and looked about her. It was well furnished, unlike many rented flats, which quickly develop a well-used look. There were prints on the wall—the landlord’s taste, presumably mixed with that of the tenants: a view of the Falls of Clyde (landlord);
9 3
one day about quotations which were entirely apocryphal but which could be attributed to people who might have said just that.
She had been staring at the Vettriano and now looked away and through the door. There was a mirror in the hall—a long dress mirror of the sort more usually found on the back of wardrobe doors. From where she was sitting she had an unimpeded view of it, and at that precise moment she saw a young man dart out of a door, cross the hall, and disappear into another room. He did not see her, though it seemed as if he was aware of her presence in the flat. And it seemed, too, that he had not intended that she should see him, which she would not have done, save for the strategically placed mirror. And he was quite naked.
After a few minutes Hen returned, carrying two cups. She placed the cups on the table in front of the sofa and sat down next to Isabel again. “Did you ever meet Mark?”
Isabel was on the point of saying yes, for it seemed to her, bizarrely, as if she had, but shook her head instead. “That was the first time I saw him. That night.”
“He was a really good guy,” said Hen. “He was great. Everyone liked him.”
“I’m sure they did,” said Isabel.
“I was a bit unsure to begin with, you know, living with two people I hadn’t met before. But I took the room here at the same time as they got it. So we all started off together.”
“And it worked?”
“Yes, it worked. We had the occasional argument, as one would expect. But never anything serious. It worked very well.”
Hen picked up her cup and sipped at the coffee. “I miss him.”
