Chapter Ten
Nellie was still in the gay boys’ bedroom, staring out of the window. She’d been rooted to the spot and had no inclination to move ever since the men had left. But she’d have to soon. She had plans to make, other people to get rid of. Except things had gone awry, and she had to work out what to do next. Once she’d killed Matilda—and it had been easier than she’d thought—she’d left via the back, the same way she’d gone in. She hadn’t crossed the street in plain view going there or back, instead preferring to walk around the rear of all the houses so there was less chance of her being seen. Everyone who lived at this end of the street was at work during the day, only Matilda being at home. Nellie’s entrance and exit had been more or less safe.
But she hadn’t expected one of Matilda’s grandchildren to turn up over the road while Nellie had been booking the gays in. When the men had left and she’d looked out of the window and had seen the bike, she’d known her plans had gone wrong. No one usually visited Matilda until after eight at night, to check and ensure she was okay. So why had that grandson arrived? Was Matilda even dead? Had she managed to come back to life and phone for help?
I’ll be caught.
Nellie’s stomach churned. The last thing she needed was to spend the rest of her life in prison. That would be typical, too—nothing had gone the way it should have for her, so why would now be any different?
She watched as another police car turned up. Two men got out, one in uniform, the other in a suit. The suited one went into Matilda’s house then came out again and headed towards Nellie’s pub.
Matilda’s told them it was me. She’s alive.
A streak of fear went through her so quickly and violently she staggered a bit and gripped the windowsill. The man turned and called out to the other officer, who followed him. Knowing what she had to do, Nellie dashed downstairs as fast as she was able and went through the pub lounge.
“What’s the hurry?” Leonard leant forward to place his pint glass on the table.
“Shut your bloody face,” she said. “Be quiet—and I mean quiet. Silent.”
She strode to the front door, locked it, then rushed to close all the curtains. Once done, she went out the back to secure the door there. She stared at the strawberry patch through the glass.
“This is all your fault,” she said, narrowing her eyes and homing in on a shrivelled piece of fruit sitting on top of a withered, yellowing leaf. “You didn’t bring us up properly, and now look what’s occurred. I have to do things a person shouldn’t be doing, and it’s sinning, me doing them. Sinning.”
She snapped the blind closed and returned to the lounge, out of breath, her heart hammering far too madly. Deep breath taken, she collected a roll of duct tape from the drawer beneath the bar and popped it into the pocket on the front of her apron. One of the twigs crackled in the grate, and she took it as a sign that she needed to get a move on. She may not have done what she wanted with her life, but it was clear she was being directed. Small signs like that twig popping had guided her all along, she just hadn’t acknowledged their importance until now.
Patting her apron pocket, she went around the other side of the bar and walked to the fire. Picked the poker up. It was heavy, a nice, nerve-steadying kind of weight, and she prodded the embers, hoping they’d heat the metal to a satisfying degree. She rested the poker on the grate, the tip still in the orange glow, and went to sit beside Leonard.
“Remember what I said.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Be quiet.”
Someone pushed at the front door. Nellie held her breath, feeling as if she could be seen even though she’d closed the curtains. Her blood ran cold through fear of being stopped before she could start what she needed to finish.
Go away. Just for a little while.
A loud rap on the door almost had her shrieking with anger, but she held it in. She didn’t dare look at Leonard, who, in her peripheral vision, stared at her, whittling his shirt collar with his spindly little fingers. How she hated those fingers, those knuckles. They were twinned in her mind with donkeys and women of the night. Leonard was no better than those gays, what with him loving to watch that nasty sex business.
The door was banged again.
Half an hour, that’s all I need, then you can come in.
Nellie sat in silence beside Leonard for five minutes, then got up to push one of the curtains aside and peer out. The policemen had gone, and she peered over at Matilda’s to see what was what there. Another police car had arrived. Crime scene tape had been attached to the fence. It flapped in the breeze where it hung from the hedge. Happy the police were busy, she let the curtain fall back into place and bustled over to the fire.
“You know, Leonard,” she said, picking up the poker and making sure it was firm in her grip, “I did what you suggested earlier, and it went wrong. I knew I should have ignored you, but I went out to speak to Mum and Dad and got myself all annoyed. I visited Matilda, thinking that if she was gone I could then sort the rest of her family out and we’d get all the business
