Julia chapter 12/13

Julia looks at me with a resigned face.

‘What you do about your relationship with Geoffrey is up to you, it isn’t my business.’

‘What about Brian?’ she asks. She is still concerned about Geoffrey’s potential involvement in Brian’s death and despite the fact that I still can’t get my head around anything so bizarre I can’t dismiss her question.

‘Do you really think Geoffrey was involved in that?’ I ask again.

‘When I found out what he had done about the money, I just thought, anything is possible.  I read a book once full of letters from guards at a concentration camp, letters to their families. They were killing people in the most awful ways and then writing these perfectly charming letters home as if nothing was happening! People are married to mass murderers and they don’t know it, they invite pedophiles into their homes who play with their children and they aren’t aware of it, no one really knows anyone else do they?’  Valerie was now shaking and she began to cry.  I hold her, and it is like holding my mother, another human being is in my arms but that is all.  I cannot think of anything else to say except.

‘Then don’t go home.’     

 

 

Chapter 13 

 

Mother is watching TV when I walk into her room.  She doesn’t appear to see me, she is engrossed in some programme about moving to Australia. 

‘I’ve brought you a tea.’  She doesn’t move.  I put the tea on the side. The family who want to move to Australia are picking holes in a property they are being shown.  The children seem to be running the show and their parents look disinterested.

‘Tea’ I say again. She turns her head.

‘I had a bad night’ she says.  Not even a ‘hello.’  I am definitely a servant.

‘Why?’ I ask.

‘Because of the noise.’

‘What noise?’

‘Banging and screaming. Who was doing that?’ she demands.

‘Lucy thought she heard an intruder’ I reply.

‘And did she?’

‘She said she couldn’t see anyone.’

‘That girl is not normal’ replies mother.  ‘She can’t speak English you know.  I didn’t think they were allowed into the country if they couldn’t speak English.’  I don’t answer her.  I have decided upon a policy of non-engagement. It is a tactical strategy in this war of attrition, one that is designed to preserve my strength. I have come to the conclusion that she will never change and I haven’t the energy to waste trying to change her.  My plan involves visualizing Munch’s  ‘The Scream.’ I have decided that every time she winds me up I shall just bring it to mind and let the painting do what I would otherwise do verbally.  This I do and I bring the picture to my head.  It is very satisfying and seems to work at least for the moment.

‘Is Valerie up?’ asks mother with a snap in her voice.

‘Yes’ I reply.

‘She hasn’t been to see me yet’ she continues.

‘I’m sure she will once she is dressed and has had breakfast.’  Mother huffs.

‘Breakfast doesn’t come very early in this house’ she complains. 

‘Do you want me to get you something?’

‘Don’t bother’ she replies ‘that girl needs to do something for her money.’ I had not considered the matter before but the matter of her wages now comes to mind. Who is paying her, and how much? I need to talk to Valerie she would know. There is no point in raising the subject with mother who will only get even more surly if she thinks about Lucy depriving her of her savings.  Mother is watching the television again so she has no more time for me. I leave the room.

 

      

There is a knock at the door.  I am in the conservatory and go to pick up my crutch when Lucy appears and takes over.  I hear the muted conversation and gather it is an unexpected visitor.  Moments later Lucy appears with a smartly dressed man and a policewoman.

‘This gentleman want to see Mrs.’ Lucy always calls mother ‘Mrs.’ The man leans forward slightly and offers his hand.

‘Detective Sergeant Rose’ he says ‘and this is constable Garrett.’  Detective Rose is lanky and has a thin face and fine mousy hair that will disappear whilst he is still young. Constable Garrett is the opposite, she is dark haired, short and round and I imagine she would burst out if she unbuckled her protective waistcoat.  If I were to paint them I would do so with them standing together like ‘American Gothic’ by Grant Wood.  I would call it ‘Early Gothic’ for they would be the younger versions of Wood’s puritanical farmers. 

‘I’m Mrs. Spenser’s daughter, Julia.’ I point to the seats and ask them to sit down.

‘Mother is upstairs in bed.  She’s semi-invalid nowadays.  Can I ask what this is about?’ Sergeant Rose nods as if expecting the question. It is probably the phrase he hears most often in his day to day work.

‘It’s about the death of her husband, Mr. Brian Spenser.  You probably already know that Mr. Spenser died under suspicious circumstances?’  I tell them that I do of course.

‘We have a strong suspicion that vital information relating to Mr. Spenser’s killer may still be found on the property and have a warrant to search the it. We also need to ask your mother a few questions, to get a better picture of the last few days before he died.’ Lucy is loitering on the edge of the room so I ask her to go upstairs and tell mother that the police are here and if possible get her to turn the television off.  Lucy looks pale and her eyes stare wildly at the police officers. I am in a state of shock at the implication that there might be some essential clue hidden in the place.  

‘Mother has become addicted to the television, it is very difficult to have a sensible conversation with her whilst it is on. She is also not as ‘on the ball’ as she used to be.’  The Sergeant and the WPC both smile.

‘We will try not to cause her concern. Whilst we are waiting it might be a good opportunity for us to ask you a few questions if that is alright?’ Why I suddenly feel threatened I don’t know. A feeling of uncertainty comes over me for his request has taken me by surprise. 

‘Of course’ I say. The sergeant opens a notebook and clicks his pen. 

‘You don’t mind if I take notes?’ He asks as an afterthought. I say I don’t mind but I am not at all sure I want him to.

‘Did you know Mr. Spenser well?’

‘No, I didn’t.’  The sergeant is obviously expecting me to say more but I have nothing else to say. He continues to have that ‘American Gothic’ look on his face.

‘How often had you met him?’

‘Once’ I reply.

‘Once?’  The sergeant looks confused.

‘Yes, just the once.’

‘But I thought your mother and Mr. Spenser had known each other for quite a while and had been married for……..’ he rustles the pages of his notebook to look something up  ‘seven months before he died?’

‘Yes, I believe that is true’ I reply ‘but in recent years we have not been a particularly close family and I only met him a couple of months ago on a flying visit to the Island.’

‘I see.’  The Sergeant goes to put his notepad away and then stops mid action.

‘How did you get on with Mr. Spenser?’ he asks.  I get that dull weight of discomfort in my stomach that has become part of my life in recent months. 

‘I didn’t.  We didn’t hit it off.’

‘Any particular reason?’ 

‘Lets say he was not my type of person.’

‘How would you describe him then?’

‘I’m not sure I’m qualified to describe a man I only met once for no more than half an hour.’  The sergeant looks at me and says ‘I understand.’ I am not sure he does. Lucy comes to save the day by saying that mother is awake and the television off. The Sergeant and his WPC leave for her room.  He turns.

‘Thank you for your time’ he says.

 

They are gone at least thirty minutes and Valerie appears half way through their interview to tell me that judging by the things she is saying about Brian it is a wonder they aren’t taking her into custody.  It doesn’t surprise me at all.  The old adage ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ has always applied to mother but has become even more so in recent months.

‘This is awful’ I say.’ Suppose they can go through our things with their warrant?’ 

‘I believe so, but I get the impression they have been directed to look in a particular place.’

‘But what on earth do they think they can find here?’

‘I’ve no idea, perhaps something Brian left behind?’

‘Did they say if they had any leads?’ I ask.

‘No, they didn’t.’

‘So Geoffrey isn’t in the picture then?’ I say mischievously and without thinking.

‘Julia! Don’t. It’s not funny.’ I realize it isn’t actually funny, and apologise.  Somehow my mind cannot take in the thought of Geoffrey killing anyone.  I dislike him, but that is for his attitude towards money and other people and for his arrogant bombastic ways but I have always had a healthy disrespect for him in my mind that puts him in his place.  Despite his six foot two frame, to me he has always been a ‘little man’ because of his narrow bigoted views.  He has never scared me in the way he does Valerie because I have never relied upon his approval and would have no problem disabling him should he even try to touch me.  I wonder now whether I am intellectually blocking the possibility of his involvement in Brian’s death, whether it is skewing my ability to see the deeper truth.  As Valerie quite rightly said, you never know who people really are or what they might do, even those closest to you. 

 

There are voices on the stairs and the two police officers appear.

‘Thank you for your assistance’ says the Sergeant. 

‘I think we have all we need for the time being.’ 

I cannot resist asking whether they have any leads. 

‘Well, as you are probably aware Mr. Spenser led a complicated life and was not the most popular man as a result of that fact.  So we are pursuing a number of leads at the moment.  Our discussions this morning with your mother were largely to find out whether there were any other acquaintances of Mr. Spenser that we may not be aware of.  Unfortunately police work is 90% information gathering, 9% administration, and 1% charging criminals, unlike the TV image.’

The Sergeant goes to leave, then stops and turns.

‘Just as a matter of interest, do either of you know if Mr. Spenser owned a black BMW 5 series car?’  I look at Valerie.  He might just as well have asked me if I knew who was the England football captain, cars are not my thing.  Valerie has gone blotchy.  Around her neck strawberry patches develop like red ink on a blotter.  She tenses and tries to shake her head but her rigidity makes her whole torso sway slightly.

‘You know us women and cars’ I say ‘don’t know one from another’ I laugh, but inside I have this awful feeling that Geoffrey drives a BMW and the last time I saw it, it was Black.  The Sergeant smiles but the WPC gives me an unforgiving look.

‘Of course’ he says, and then they leave.

 

‘Geoffrey owns a Black BMW doesn’t he?’ I ask when they have left.

‘Yes’ replies Valerie.   

‘Why didn’t you tell them?’

‘I couldn’t Julia.  I suddenly saw my life taken away from me.  It terrified me.  I’m not like you, I wouldn’t be able to find something else, someone else. I’m middle aged with no job, nowhere to go, I would have no money!’  I listen but in amazement I wonder exactly which planet Valerie is on.  She has described my situation entirely but is obviously so self centred she cannot see how dissimilar our circumstances are. She has three properties, money in the bank, jewelry, Geoffrey’s share of the business.    

‘They will find out you know, that Geoffrey drives a BMW, it’s what they do.  This plodding investigative stuff is all about those details. You’ve got to face things, you’ve got to be honest or you will end up in the dock with him if he has done something wrong.’  Valerie is shaking, her hands are clasped in front of her like  Mary at the foot of the cross. And I realize that that is exactly where she dreads seeing herself, with Geoffrey being the crucified one.  Her weakness always amazes me and it frightens me.  For I know that in everything she will always take what to her appears to be the easy way out and which so often is not.  I remember my father trying to reassure me of his love by telling me once ‘Valerie is not like you Julia, you cause me problems by being out front, Valerie does it surreptitiously.’ At that time I had no real understanding of what he meant, now I think I do.

 

‘Have you decided when you are going back then?’ I ask, deliberately provoking her into facing a return to Geoffrey. Perhaps she will see then it isn’t the easy option.

Valerie looks out of the window toward the sea as if it might offer up an answer.

‘I don’t know.  Perhaps tomorrow.’ Her doubt reassures me for perhaps she will change her mind and accept that if Geoffrey is in trouble she needs to consider her position.

‘So you are no longer scared then?’

‘I’m petrified Julia, petrified of everything that is going on and the fact that I am trapped by it all. I don’t know where it will all end.’ I suddenly feel frustration welling up in me.

‘No one ever does Valerie, its called life.’ She looks at me as if I am being unkind, but I am not.  At some point Valerie will have to come face to face with reality.  Her closeted stockbroker belt existence has never been real life.  Put her on the dole and she would be dead within a week, as her Dior perfume faded, so would she.  With the last of morsel of effort left in me I speak my mind.

‘If you go back to Geoffrey then you are going to have to confront him about this Brian business or you are going to have to live with the consequences for the rest of your life.  Just consider what that is going to mean.  I know you are scared Valerie, but we all have to face our nightmares sometimes.’  Will it be enough to persuade her?  I don’t know.  At least I have tried.