Shadow Over Edmund Street

his ex-wife brought the children to stay after it was finished, she had lingered, admired the workmanship. ‘You’ve done a good job, Alex,’ she said, ‘but then you were always clever with your hands.’ She’d looked at him, her grey eyes large, and when the girls had gone to their bedroom—the wonderland he had created for them—she had stayed and stayed until the children were asleep. She’d taken his hand then, and led him to the bedroom, where they’d christened the apartment in a way he hadn’t expected. Fast and furious. A desperate need that still remained.

Afterwards she had whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Alex, I never meant to hurt you so badly.’

And he had asked, ‘Why did you, Bridget?’

She had turned away, picked up her things. ‘I was so young when we married, Alex. It turned out I needed more. I’m sorry, but I needed more.’

* Alex drove his car down the narrow lane at the side of the building and parked near the small apartment behind the shop, where Mr Chan lived. Mr Chan owned the block, but that hadn’t affected the way he lived; simply and alone.

The light was on inside. He knocked on the door, asked if he could borrow the dog, take him for a run. Dog, comfortable on the sofa, gave a sleepy wag of his tail, but when Alex came back dressed in his running gear he could see the reproach in the animal’s eyes.

‘It’s okay Dog, we’ll go slow,’ he said, but he wasn’t in the mood for slow. He wanted to run, hard. Feel his blood pumping and his muscles scream. He knew he wasn’t dealing with the job anymore. The tears and the pain. It used to wash off him when he had a wife to hold in bed and children to laugh with. Now it all stuck. Caught him in a web of depression. Tonight, he needed to get rid of it. Run it out. Otherwise he’d risk drowning in wine.

He jogged to the park, let the dog lie down and watch as he pounded around the track. He pushed himself until there was no more to give, until he had got the anxiety out of his system. Then he turned for home with Dog trotting behind him.

Mr Chan let them in. He refilled Dog’s bowl and put a pot of tea in front of Alex.

‘Made with leaves that are meant to restore health and peace of mind. Well, if you believe my granddaughter, Jessica. Sit and drink. I can see your mind is in need of restoration.’

‘For sure.’

‘Bad one?’

‘Incomprehensible.’ Alex took a sip of his tea. Fragrant, musky. Calming. ‘Jessica’s right. It’s good.’ He sipped more of the tea while Mr Chan pulled dumplings out of the steamer.

‘Supper. Special ones made for the new restaurant. Try. Tell me what you think.’

It didn’t matter Alex was slick with sweat, his T-shirt sticking to him. He picked up one of the dumplings with chopsticks, inspected it. He always inspected Mr Chan’s offerings before he ate them. It was part of the ritual. Part of the game. Dumpling case light not sticky. Shape scalloped to perfection. Colour rich cream. Alex put one in his mouth and felt the explosion of flavours, the light melting texture of the meat and vegetables.

He nodded. ‘Perfection. New chef?’

‘Yes. Very creative. From Hong Kong. We’re thinking of opening a few dumpling houses. They’re the new “in thing” you

know.’

‘Are they indeed? I didn’t know.’ He polished off the rest, finished with more tea.

‘I tell you what, when the case is over, come for a meal. I’ll do a full spread.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ Alex gave Dog a goodnight pat. He was sure the dog smiled as it turned its back on him, settled into sleep.

‘The thing is, Mr Chan,’ Alex said, his hand on the door handle, ‘I might be dead before this one is cracked open.’

* Rose cried that night. Not for Edwina, but for herself. The knock at the door had brought it all back. Slammed it into her face. Just when she thought it was fading. Just when she thought she’d hobbled the beast. She sat on the floor in the corner of her bedroom, knees bent up to her chin and let it out in huge gulping sobs that left her gasping for breath.

The two of them had been kids when Jeremy had been offered an engineering job overseas, straight out of university. ‘Come with me,’ he said, ‘let’s get married. Our chance to see the world.’ She loved him and she was pregnant. He didn’t know, not then. When she told him, he’d pulled her close. ‘Destiny,’ he’d said. ‘It was meant to be.’

For fifteen years they had laughed, fought, cried and loved their way through five different countries—twins born in Malaysia, a science degree finished in Indonesia, a master’s degree in Singapore, a language learnt in France and a Diploma in Science Education in Scotland. Until that day.

There’d been four of them on that cold windy day in Aberdeen. Three men and a woman. She knew as soon as she saw their faces. Four people who would rather have been anywhere but knocking on her door.

Rose hadn’t known a person could experience such anguish. She’d had such a blissful life before she hit the brick wall. Now there she was, one adult with two teenagers, a dead husband, a smashed heart and a long way from any place she could call home. A horror show.

She heard the front door close, a giggle cut off, a shush from her son. The creaking of the wooden floorboards. They should have been home earlier on a weeknight, but what did it matter? What did anything matter when fate could pick you out of a line-up and stomp on you?

Rose felt a surge of anger towards Edwina. Damn her. Why did she have to get herself murdered, open up raw wounds. Why did her life have to intrude so brutally on theirs? She tried to