Page 57 of Seven Reasons to Murder Your Dinner Guests
“Shall we go and find a cup of tea?” Vivienne suggests.
Minutes later, the two women sit opposite each other in the hospital café, stirring sugar into their teas.
“What happened?” Vivienne asks.
“I only know bits. Christian isn’t saying much, unsurprisingly. They’d been to a nightclub in Chelsea and then back to his flat. He called an ambulance when he found Melvin lying on the floor. God knows how long he’d been there. Christian admitted they took ecstasy pills but claims he doesn’t know where they came from.”
“Must have been from a dodgy batch,” says Vivienne. “Did the doctor say it contained PMA?”
Mary gives her a strange look. “Yes, she said something like that,” she confirms.
“It’s sometimes sold as ecstasy but it’s much more dangerous. There have been a few PMA deaths in the news lately…”
Vivienne realizes she’s babbling.
“Will he be OK?” she asks, fearing she already knows the answer.
“I don’t think so. They say his body isn’t responding. If there’s no change in the next few days, I think they’ll suggest switching off his life support machine.”
Vivienne looks at Mary’s pale face, and it dawns on her that, since she’s still married to Melvin, it is she who must sign the forms and agree to let her husband die. This woman who has overcome cancer, accepted a cheating husband, and found the strength to keep him in her life and support him no matter what. And suddenly, Vivienne is furious. Furious at this Christian character for handing Melvin the drug that killed him, furious at Melvin himself for his lackadaisical attitude toward his number, and furious at whoever—or whatever—had invited them to Serendipity’s in thefirst place and handed them each their death sentence.
“I’m so sorry,” is all Vivienne can think to say. And it’s so inadequate.
“I’m sorry I’ve dragged you here,” Mary says, now looking up into Vivienne’s eyes. “But I thought you might be able to answer my question.”
Vivienne holds Mary’s gaze, trying to keep her breathing even, to give nothing away. But with Melvin unlikely to survive, and after everything she has been through, surely Mary deserves an honest answer to whatever her question is.
“Something happened around three years ago that changed him,” she says. “He went to a work dinner party and came back different. I couldn’t put my finger on it; it was so subtle at first, but it escalated and then everything unraveled. Christian suddenly appeared in his life—in our lives—and then Melvin finally admitted he was gay. But even after he’d left and was living with Christian, he seemed to still be losing himself. I just didn’t think he’d ever touch drugs, at his age and after being a police officer for all those years.”
So Melvin hadn’t told Mary about the numbers. How much should Vivienne say? She’s only just met Mary, doesn’t know how she will react, doesn’t even know if she’ll believe her. But she’s right: Since the dinner party, Vivienne has watched Melvin gradually lose his grip on his own life. His betrayal of his wife, his affair with Christian, the all-night partying. Every time Vivienne has seen him, he’s drifted farther out to sea, allowing the increasingly wild waves to throw him here and there. The last time they spoke,at Gordon’s memorial lecture, he told her a story of “happy ever after,” and yet he still seemed unsettled, unconvinced of the words he was saying. He tried to act like his number didn’t bother him, but Vivienne suspected that the opposite was true. She tried to warn him, tried to give him a chance to change things, but it wasn’t enough. He kept running from his number, and in the end, he was caught.
After taking a deep breath, Vivienne explains to Mary about the numbers, the sins, and the deaths.
“Now there are only three of us from the dinner party who are still alive,” says Vivienne. She lifts her tea and takes a sip, her mouth suddenly dry.
Mary looks down at her cup, wraps both hands around it, and shivers.
“So Melvin’s number is sixty-one?” she asks, and Vivienne nods.
“I know it sounds so far-fetched…” she says, then stops herself from saying more. Mary stays quiet, sips her tea, and looks out the window at the busy car park. It’s Saturday night, but try telling that to the people who own those cars: patients, hospital staff, visitors.
“If I didn’t know for sure that Christian is responsible for what’s happened to Melvin, I’d be wondering which guest was the murderer,” Mary says, her voice with a dreamy timbre. “The way you described the restaurant brings to mind the Agatha Christie novels I read during chemo.”
“Yes—it’s just like my favorite book,And Then There Were None,” Vivienne says. “I had the same thought at first.”
“And what’s your number, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I lost my envelope not long after the dinner party,” Vivienne splutters, noticing the nervousness soaking her words.
Mary raises her eyebrows and blows on her tea. “That’s…strange,” she says.
“I don’t think…” Vivienne starts to reply but isn’t sure what she doesn’t think. Anyhow, Mary’s mobile goes off. She answers it, and Vivienne watches her face drain of color. It’s over.
“I’ve got to go,” she says, standing up quickly.
“Yes, of course. Ring me if you want to talk again,” Vivienne calls, but Mary is already out of earshot, her tiny, elegant feet barely making noise as she races down the corridor to her dying husband. Vivienne knows how this will end. She breathes out and continues to sip her tea, taking in Mary’s words:which guest was the murderer… Vivienne thinks back through her investigations, the red herrings, the dead ends. The glove she found on Matthew’s office roof, Janet slicking on her lipstick as Vivienne accused her of murder. Then discovering the seven deadly sins link, her list of devils, her return to Salvation Road with Tristan, the Happy Day Bakery. Gordon’s parting words:Learn from them. Tristan’s self-fulfilling prophecy theory. Melvin’s refusal to help her and his laughter when she’d accused him.
Then her phone rings.
