curtains herself. Now they were hard up again. .
Merrily’s little face hardened. ‘Very well. Of course, Graham. I’m sure I can find time,
Graham didn’t rise to her. Awfulness from Merrily could now only add to his serenity. ‘No, I’m sure I can afford to buy the material. Is the sewing machine working?’
‘I imagine so. I haven’t used it since we moved, so it’s still where the removal men left it.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘In the loft.’
As he climbed the folding steps and slid aside the wooden covering to the loft entrance, an unpleasant thought struck him. Suppose the light up there had been added later, an extension in modern white plastic-coated flex taken off the antiquated wiring. .
The fear was quickly resolved. At the top of the steps, he pulled himself up on a pipe which led from the hot-water tank, and reached for the switch. The naked bulb threw instant light over the draped and dusty shapes under the rafters. And revealed that the light switch dated from the same time as the rest of the house’s electrical system.
He stood astride the opening and surveyed the scene of the crime. The pipe against which he steadied himself could have been designed to conduct electricity.
He looked closely at the switch. That too couldn’t have been better. It was the old brass type with a scalloped dome. The switch had a round metal end. Red and black rubber-covered wires emerged from the rose for about four inches before they disappeared into a metal tube fixed along a horizontal rafter. Gingerly he felt the thick, stiff wire through its coating and noted with satisfaction that the rubber already showed the crosshatched lines of perishing.
He hummed contentedly to himself as he went down to the cupboard under the stairs and switched off the power. Then he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves he had found in the kitchen; they were rather tight and squeezed his hands. He picked up a large rubber-cased torch and a pair of pliers and set off back upstairs.
He didn’t need the pliers. The old insulation crumbled off the wire like pastry. Soon the golden glow of the two wires showed in his torchbeam. He squeezed them gently together between finger and thumb.
Then he unscrewed the dome of the switch, fretted away at more of the insulation inside and bent one of the wires up out of its porcelain protection until it would touch against the metal cover when he replaced it.
He screwed the top back on. The brass gleamed too much where his rubber gloves had wiped off its accumulation of dust. He reached up to an overhead rafter, scraped some of the sooty sediment into his rubber- covered palm and gently blew it over the switch. The brass turned uniformly dull.
His hum became a jaunty whistle as he bounced down the stairs to the main switches. Then, with another stroke of serendipity, he remembered what Lilian had given him for Christmas. At the time his reaction had been that the gift was rather mean and totally useless, but at the time he had not visualised needing to test the mains.
The screwdriver was still in its package, so he was able to follow the instructions exactly. The point was to be placed against the suspect appliance and the other end lightly touched. If current flowed, the neon in the handle would light.
He switched the mains back on and returned to the loft. Laying his torch on a rafter so that it was trained on the switch and holding the screwdriver tentatively between finger and thumb, he brought the blade down on to the brass casing.
Nothing happened.
A surge of anger swept through him. This was not the way it should be. Everything was going right for him, he was invincible.
Then he chuckled. Of course. Elementary electrics. He took the rubber glove off his left hand and tried again.
The neon glowed.
Methodically, he went downstairs, switched off the mains, returned to the loft and defused his booby trap. Down again to restore the power, and up again to check the switch was no longer live.
Then he climbed from the ladder to the opening again to see if there was any way the pipe could be avoided. There wasn’t. The light from the landing shone on it, and the height of the steps was such that one needed a handhold for the last pull. He might have been able to heave himself up on the frame of the opening, but Merrily, being some nine inches shorter, would be bound to use the pipe.
Once in the loft, it would be natural for her to keep hold of it. The rafters were not boarded so she would have to balance with care, and lean across towards the light switch. Even though she was lighter than he, her weight would press her hand against the live metal. The shock would pass from arm to arm, through her chest and heart.
Graham picked up the torch and screwdriver and went back down through the opening. He replaced the cover, folded the steps and put everything away. Then he sat down to watch the wrestling.
The final part was easy. On the evening of the 21st of April, Graham packed his bag for Brussels before supper and then went into his study, leaving the door ajar. He sat in the swivel chair, got out one of his pornographic magazines and studied its splayed orifices with detachment.
He was aware of Merrily’s presence behind him before she said, ‘Supper’s ready.’ He shoved the magazine into a drawer. Quickly. But not quickly enough.
‘What’s that you’re reading?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just some insurance thing.’ He rose this time too quickly. ‘Supper, good.’ He hustled Merrily out of the doorway.
‘What have you got in there, Graham?’
‘Nothing, nothing. Come on, I’m starving.’
‘Graham, there’s no point in keeping secrets from me. I’ll find out.’
‘No, you won’t.’ He slammed the study door. ‘Now, listen! I will not have you snooping in my things.’
Merrily put on her little girl pout and a voice to match. ‘Do you think little me’d do a thing like that?’
Yes. Yes, I hope so, he thought, as he said, ‘No. Of course not,’ and kissed her.
After supper, he acted restless and tense. He was getting good at acting. Only a few weeks earlier the tension had been real, but now he knew what he was doing, he felt increasing self-control.
Then, suddenly, he announced. ‘Oh, I knew there was something. I was going to get that sewing machine down from the loft for you.’
‘There’s no hurry. I’m not going to have time to — ’
But Graham had gone. With elaborate caution he went into his study and opened a few desk drawers. He contrived to be on the stepladder to the loft with his arms full of papers when Merrily was drawn by curiosity upstairs.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Oh, just having a clear-out. Taking some rubbish upstairs.’ He wondered if he was overdoing it. Under what circumstances would he take wastepaper to the loft? But Merrily’s suspicion, though rampant, was aimed in a different direction.
‘Really?’ she asked drily.
‘Yes. I thought, while I’ve got the stepladder up. . Nothing you want me to put up there for you?’
She shook her head.
‘I mean you never go up there, so if there was anything. .’
‘No. I never go up there.’ She gave him a mocking look that was almost a challenge, and drifted downstairs.
He worked quickly on the switch. He knew he was taking a risk fitting it without turning off the mains, but he had bought wooden tongs to handle the metal parts, and felt safe. Within five minutes the job was done and he received a comforting glow from the neon of his screwdriver. He used the wooden tongs to switch off the light and went back downstairs.
