Page 50 of The Temp

‘Oh. I see,’ I manage, trying hard to look normal. A siren wails in the distance, travels through the midnight air like an umbilical cord and drills into my stomach. They’re coming for me. They’ve detained Zelda, that’s why she’s not picking up. I wonder if they’ve arrested Linda too. Poor Linda. I will give a statement. I will say she had no involvement in this whatsoever. It’s a Villin crime. ‘What’s happened?’ I croak, clearing my throat. ‘Is Frank all right?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Mr Stanhope says, scratching his nose.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask, mouth drying. I throw Tom a look, his face is serious. He knows, Bella. He knows. He knows. He’s worked it out. What have I done to my family? Two weeks ago, I was a normal, forty-nine-year-old mother, wife, businesswoman, and now I’m a lying, cheating, criminal.

‘As I explained to Tom just now, he’s been missing for several days,’ Mr Stanhope says in his nasally, eloquent tone. ‘Didn’t show up at work, even though he had clients booked. Serval’s manager said it’s not like him at all.’ They’ve spoken to Jane. My mouth fills with saliva. I swallow it back. Where is he? Please God don’t let him be in the mortuary. ‘And now the police have said…’ He weaves his fingers and presses his hands against his chest as if he’s delivering a church sermon. ‘I’m sorry to call round so late but I thought you’d want to know the news as soon as.’ Sweet Jesus, Frank is the Limes Park victim. Zelda has murdered him. ‘I did try earlier but…’ Mr Stanhope pauses, coughs into his hand. ‘There was no one in.’ He looks at me in a way that suggests someone was in but they wouldn’t answer the door. ‘I heard voices not long ago. I thought it best to deliver the news myself rather than you hear it from someone else.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Tom says, face grave. ‘Thank you, Gregory.’

My eyes fill and I blink, inhale congested phlegm that is building up behind my nose. ‘Gosh,’ I manage. Tom fishes a tissue out of his pocket and hands it to me. ‘How dreadful.’ I blow my nose, then look at Mr Stanhope carefully as he and Tom discuss police procedures. Neither of them sounding very convincing.

Oh, Zelda, what’ve we done? We’ve behaved abominably. Callously. What if it was the drugs that made Frank lash out? We might’ve saved his life if we’d called for an ambulance. We’re monsters. I can just hear the judge’s sentencing now. Bella Harris, you assisted in the demise of Frank Hardy in a cruel and ruthless act. I sentence you to… Tom touches my arm, breaking me out of my reverie, asks if I’m okay.

‘Yes, I’m fine, love. Just a bit shocked, to be honest.’ I force a smile, folding my arms. In my peripheral, I see Mr Stanhope scrutinizing me with his small, round, grey eyes. I don’t think he’s ever really liked me. He looks up to Tom because he’s a professional, but I get the feeling he thinks I bring down the tone of the neighbourhood, with my north London accent and working-class background.

‘So, um…did they say why they wanted to speak to you in particular, Gregory?’

Mr Stanhope’s expression hardens. I’ve offended him. He regards himself as a pillar of the community. The unofficial neighbourhood watch.

‘What my wife means, Gregory, is why disturb our neighbours before speaking to us first. It is, after all, a family matter. Frank is Bella’s sister’s boyfriend.’

‘Oh, no, they didn’t call on me. They were just leaving your house, Bella, and I happened to be taking the bins out.’ Yeah, right, at gone nine? Snooping more like. Malc and Suzy, from next door but one, had a pest control van parked outside their house last month. Mr Stanhope was out there like a shot, disposing a carton of milk in the recycle bin.

‘I asked one of the officers if everything was okay,’ he goes on. ‘If I could help at all, explained how I knew the family well.’ The urge to slam the door in Stanhope’s face, run to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet bowl grips me hard. ‘They didn’t tell me much, mind. I don’t suppose they would disclose confidential information. But did ask if I’d seen your sister, knew of her whereabouts.’ My legs are starting to shake. I’m not sure how long I can keep up this calm pretence. ‘DC Pernice said whatever information I could provide would be most appreciated and off the record.’ Corrupt police – why am I not surprised? ‘I told them I know where Zel…’

‘Right, I see,’ I interrupt. I want him to leave now. Mr Stanhope barely knows Zelda. I think he’s seen her a handful of times, exchanged nods, said hello, nothing more. Zelda isn’t one for chitchat. ‘Well, anyway…’ My phone rings in the distance. I left it on the kitchen table. ‘I’m sorry, Gregory. I’ve got to get that.’

I go to walk away when he says, ‘I had to tell them about the altercation you had with Frank Hardy, Bella.’ His words drive into the back of my head like darts. My phone continues to ring. ‘It was on the eighth of March. I made a note of it in my diary, just in case.’ I stand stock-still, face burning. Just in case of fucking what? I turn on my heel, wanting to drain every ounce of blood in my body for burning my face, for making me look guilty. ‘What do you mean?’ I look at Tom. He says nothing, lips a thin, dry line, creases on his face somehow deeper.

‘I was saying to Tom, before you appeared.’ Mr Stanhope pinches the bridge of his nose, then throws a hand out. ‘I saw Mr Hardy here, Friday before last. The two of you were having words outside,’ he clarifies, and everything dims, like the lights in a theatre. ‘It seemed quite heated.’ Shut up, shut up, shut up. ‘And, if I’m honest, aggressive.’ I’m glad I managed to tell Tom about Frank turning up, but I don’t want Stanhope to think we were fighting because the police might see that as a motive. I want Stanhope to retract his story, tell the police he got it wrong. ‘I’m sorry, Bella, but I had to tell them. I’m duty bound.’

I swallow what feels like a beach pebble in my throat. ‘Gregory, that wasn’t….’ I look at Tom for support but his eyes have hardened. ‘We weren’t.’

‘Wait, what exactly are you suggesting, Greg?’ Tom thrusts his chest out and lunges forward, and Mr Stanhope backtracks, clearly intimidated by Tom. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as they blast into a heated argument about witnesses and facts and the reliability of what you actually saw and what happened. Their voices drill into my ears, louder and louder and louder. I want them to stop. Please make them stop. I clamp my hands over my ears and then out of nowhere I blurt, ‘Shut up. A man has been killed.’

And then there’s silence. They swivel their heads round and look at me, frozen. And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is the beginning of the end. It has finally hit the fan.

Chapter 47

‘Killed?’ Mr Stanhope says, face pallid.

‘Bella?’ Tom’s voice has a hint of a warning tone to it.

‘Hang on just a moment. Are you saying Frank Hardy is dead?’ Mr Stanhope asks. His manner is dark, suspicious. I don’t like it. My mind is buzzing, spinning. Is this a trick question? Why is he saying this? Frank has been confirmed dead. He just said so. Didn’t he? He’s the Limes Park victim that was on TV just now. My sister is being held in custody for his murder. My eyes dart from Tom to Mr Stanhope, and for a moment they look like giants looming over me as I shrink into myself, wanting to fade, vanish.

‘I…um…’ Stanhope and Tom continue to look at me – waiting. ‘I thought…’ And then I hear an amplified roar of laughter from the TV in the living room. Someone has opened the door, and then the warmth of another body next to me and the aroma of perfume, strong and exotic.

‘Everything okay?’ Daisy asks, taking a bite of an apple. ‘Gosh, what’s with the long faces, who’s died?’ she says through a mouthful of fruit. I look round at her pleadingly, eyes stinging. She stops chewing, swallows, wipes the side of her mouth with her knuckle. ‘Shit, has someone actually died?’

‘Look, I think there’s been some kind of…’ Tom begins.

‘It appears, Daisy,’ Mr Stanhope says firmly, cutting across Tom like an opposition MP in the House of Commons. ‘That Bella thinks Mr Hardy has been murdered.’ I didn’t say that. Why is he twisting things? Stanhope rubs his thin, dry lips with his finger, regarding me beneath knitted brows.

‘Mr Hardy?’ Daisy asks, bewildered. ‘The actor!!!? Oh my God. I love him. He’s only young. Shit, what happened? Was it cancer?’ Her hand flies to her chest. ‘Don’t tell me it was suicide. So many artists can’t take the pressure of trolling. I blame social…’

‘Not the actor, Daisy,’ Tom interjects, running a hand over his face, ‘Frank.’ Daisy frowns and her forehead creases. ‘Zelda’s Frank.’

Daisy makes an O shape with her lips, looks at me and blinks. ‘No way? When?’ She gasps, apple in hand.

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