“Fuck me, I’m busted,” he said.
“I know – we probably should just sleep for about a week.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“How about I make us some coffee?”
“Yes please Vicky, that’d be awesome.”
His gaze fell onto the pile of documents sitting in a heap in the corner of the room. Paperwork, clippings, photographs.
Richard’s documents.
We had only burned a couple of sheets and photographs for effect; the rest had just been scraps of paper. It was our insurance for a ‘Plan B.’ I’m not sure we were exactly clear on our ‘Plan A.’ Whatever it had been – we hadn’t expected it to finish up with Richard blowing his head off.
I followed his gaze and asked, “What’re we gonna do with all that?”
“I dunno, I suppose we’d better find somewhere safe.”
“Not Ikea,” I said wrinkling my brow.
“No.”
***
There were no news reports about Richard on until the early afternoon. I had dragged myself back to my own house by then. Despite it being Spring – the place smelled musty and it was cold. I put the heat on and filled a kettle for a hot water bottle. Then I went for another shower and stayed in it for a long time. I was wrinkling up, by the time I thought it was safe that outside would have warmed up enough. I had slipped into a pair of my favourite jammies and set myself in front of the television. Soon enough I came across a report. It named him and reported that he had died of a ‘suspected suicide’. Mike phoned minutes after and we reassured each other that it would be okay. I craved a rolly, but decided I needed to knock the chain smoking on the head. I shortly made a spliff instead.
Two steps back?
I turned off the T.V and went and sat at my keyboard. It felt to me the strangest period of my life. It was like that odd time in-between Christmas and New Years where nobody knows quite what to do with themselves. Only multiply that by a billion. I put on lamps, set a hot tea down and my half smoked joint in an ash tray. I took off the protective plastic cover and ran my fingers over the noiseless keys. In that moment I promised myself that I would complete my jazz album. It might take a whole year, it might take even longer. I might need to work on it every day.
Why do we feel this need to create?
Are we trying to please a parent figure?
There would probably be nobody who would ever listen to it except for me, but I would do it anyway.
***
The following days were dreamlike. I didn’t go out much. I hid away at home. I tried not to smoke too much, but I probably did. I saw Mike a little, but mostly I just stayed by myself. I was okay, though very nervous. It was hard to not be obsessed waiting for news reports and Googling and refreshing local news sites every few minutes. I was kind of resigned, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But it didn’t.
There was a fair amount of media interest in Richard’s death. It was reported from close sources that he had had money troubles. In the tabloid press there were even inferences that he could have had something to do with Ivan’s death on holiday. It looked from the press conferences I’d seen online that the police from Lanzarote were in no hurry to shut this down. I suppose it was better for them if a murder had been committed between a foreign couple, rather than a tourist killed by a local. It was surreal to watch this all play out in public and to be completely detached from it. Then a few days later it was reported that police were officially investigating possible links between Richard, Ivan and the deaths of so called career criminals in Lanzarote. And still there was no knock on my door.
Maybe they will make a Netflix True-Crime documentary about it sometime.
I fucking hope not.
52
After about a week, I decided that I couldn’t just put my life on hold forever. My confidence was growing, as still nobody had come near us. Me and Mike had met up a few times, but I hadn’t really seen anyone else. Mike had gone back to work. There were no gigs booked for me for another week. I drove out to Hillsborough to see my Auntie. I got nicely dressed up, did my makeup good and grabbed a few choice CD’s for the journey. Most of my favourite albums, you can’t get on Prime or Spotify. Maybe I’m just old-school. I listened to a really nice Bill Evans piano trio live album on the way down. It was mellow and had some really great playing. I enjoyed it, and the drive too. It was a mild day, the sun hanging high up in the sky.
Then it struck me – maybe I could do this.
Maybe things could still be alright.
I swung into the car park and flicked off the stereo. I checked my makeup in the mirror. It was alright. The swelling had all gone down and any cuts not fully covered could just be put down to a botched makeup job. My body still had plenty of other cuts and bruises that hadn’t healed yet – but I knew that they would.
Given time.
As I was locking the car I spotted my cousin pulling out of a space across the other side. I jogged across to her window and waved my arms for her stop.
“Vicky? I almost hit you!”
She switched off the ignition, flicking her hair. I caught her rolling her eyes.
“I’m sorry. But how are you? I just wanted to catch you when I saw you there. How’s Auntie Grace doing?”
I tried to keep my tone nice and the defensiveness in her face dropped away.
“She’s doing better. Mum was eating a good lunch there,” she paused.
