notice. “Mrs Wright said she thought a jumble sale was a good idea,” Mrs Dutton said. “But do you know what she said? She said she didn’t want any old books. I said some old books are very good books. We shouldn’t sniff at books that are going to take a child to Lourdes, I said.”
“ I had to sit through that film once, with Jennifer Jones,” Peter muttered. “I had to go with the school. It was supposed to be a treat.”
“ Jennifer Jones?” his father said, cupping his ear. “I saw it during the war. Lovely.”
At last the Duttons left. Peter’s parents marched back into the room. At once his father said “What’s this we hear about someone’s being murdered in your road?”
Don’t correct him! Cathy pleaded with Peter. But he seemed determined to liven up the conversation, for he said “In our house, you mean.”
“ Oh no,” his mother said. Her anguish sounded close to hysteria.
His father held up one hand, to hear all the evidence. “Exactly what happened?”
“ He was queer. Someone caught him in the hall and cut him up. Zz-it! Skatch! Ss-kack!” he said like one of his comics, and brandished an invisible razor. “Well, you did say exactly.”
His parents frowned at him, as though someone had made him up or perhaps as though they were imagining his excesses, which would fade away for lack of attention.
“ We weren’t aware you were living among homosexuals,” his father said.
“ Oh, he was a very warm and wonderful human being.”
“ If they weren’t making everything legal these days there’d be less trouble.”
“ You reckon if you make something illegal people don’t do it?”
Peter was reaching in his pocket. Cathy made to grab his wrist. His mother said plaintively “You’re going to move, Peter, aren’t you?”
His hand emerged empty, since the argument had changed. “What for? It’s a good flat, and the rent’s low. We wouldn’t get another like that.”
“ Yes, and now we can see why the rent’s low,” his mother said.
“ You could live here until you found somewhere decent, if money’s the problem. We’d look after you.”
Was it an accident of words, or was she criticising Cathy? Peter glanced at Cathy as he said “We’re all right where we are.”
“ You do what you think best,” his father said. (Rather than consulting Cathy?)
“ But it can’t be doing you any good to live there, among all these drug-takers that we read about.”
Peter stood up. His grimace might have been a suppressed grin. “Where are you off?” his mother said mechanically.
His footsteps clumped upstairs. “You can see we’re right, can’t you,” his mother told Cathy. Not that Cathy disagreed – but if she had, they would have blamed her for his obstinacy. She was beginning to glimpse their view of her.
His mother took framed photographs from the sideboard, where they interrupted ranks of plates. “That’s Peter when he was little.” Cathy hadn’t seen these before; his mother must have a large stock, so as to be able to change the display. She was treating Cathy as she might have treated any visitor – in order to avoid hearing her thoughts about the argument?
Peter’s childish face beamed smugly out of its frame. Did his parents cling to this image of him so as not to see what he’d become? Perhaps they still saw this image in him – perhaps they ignored the rest of him, as they’d ignored his living with Cathy before they were married. If they suspected anything about him, no doubt they blamed her for it.
Peter reappeared, and saw the photographs. “Oh Jesus, put that stuff away.”
Cathy tugged his beard playfully. “We’re just delving into your guilty past.” His mother frowned as though that were an insult.
“ Well, don’t,” he snapped, and turned to his father. “Anyway, what’s wrong with people taking drugs? Just because they aren’t legal yet – ”
“ Subject closed,” his father said: refusing to be distracted, or determined not to have an argument disturb his home? “I think we’ve made our feelings plain about your living there,” he said. “I hope you’ll take them to heart. In time you’ll see we’re right. I only hope it won’t be too late.”
Silence filled the room, oppressive as humidity. It made Cathy nervous, and she rose. “Where are you off?” said Peter’s mother.
She dawdled in the bathroom, surrounded by the scent of air freshener. A pink fluffy cover disguised the toilet as a large stumpy flower or a toy with a soft head. The room seemed almost intolerably polite.
She trudged downstairs, past miniatures like windows on a better world. Below her in the hall, something fell with a thud. Momentarily the stairs were steep and dizzying. Then she saw it was the newspaper, delivered at last. She hurried down and grabbed it; it might help break the awkward silence. “Here’s the paper,” she called.
RAZOR KILLER CAUGHT
At first she hardly dared read on. She hadn’t been able to read any of the reports of Mr Craig’s death. But if the headline meant what it seemed to mean – Her gaze snatched nervously at the words. By the time she reached the living-room she was smiling. “They’ve caught him,” she said.
All three stared silently. “The man who did the killings,” she stammered, excited. “The police have got him. They’re sure he’s the one.”
“ Well, fine. About time,” Peter said.
His parents were less easily convinced. They read the report together, frowning. Eventually his father looked up. “That does seem satisfactory, I’ll admit.” His relief prompted him to say “Shall we have a game of whist?”
Peter’s mother shook her head at her son; her forehead stayed pinched. “It still isn’t a nice area. I don’t like to think of you living there.”
“ We aren’t going to stay there forever. But Christ, nothing else is going to happen.” He grimaced at her, annoyed by her concern. “Nobody else is going to be killed.”
Chapter XVI
RAZOR KILLER CAUGHT
The man responsible for the slashing to death of three Liverpool men has been caught, police announced today.
They gave his name as Harold Nickelby (28) of Toxteth, Liverpool.
Confession
According to a police spokesman, Nickelby was seen by a young policeman loitering near a public lavatory known to be frequented by homosexuals.
When the policeman, who had noticed his resemblance to the identikit picture recently issued by police, asked Nickelby to accompany him, Nickelby is alleged to have said, “Don’t bother checking. I am the man you want.”
When cautioned, he is alleged to have said, “I’ll be glad when it’s over. I need to be put away.”
Preying
Nickelby is being held by police in connection with the killings of Tommy Hale on 16 November, Norman Roylance on 24 December, and Roy Craig on 9 January.
Nickelby, who is unemployed, is said by police to have a history of unprovoked violence.
According to the police spokesman, Nickelby said he was “glad to be stopped” because the killing of Craig
