Nicci French - What to Do When Someone Dies

MICHAEL JOSEPH

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First published 2008

Copyright Joined-Up Writing, 2008

The moral right of the author has been asserted

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ISBN: 978-0-14-195994-8

To Rachel, Callum, Jack, Martha, Toby and Cleo

Moments when your life changes: there will always be a before and an after, separated, perhaps, by a knock at the door. I had been interrupted. I was tidying up. I had cleared up yesterdays newspapers, old envelopes, scraps of paper, left them in the basket by the grate ready to make a fire after supper. I had just got the rice bubbling nicely. My first thought was that it was Greg and he had forgotten his keys, but then I remembered he couldnt have because he had taken the car that morning. Anyway, he probably wouldnt knock but shout through the letterbox. A friend, perhaps, or a neighbour, a Jehovahs Witness, a cold call from a desperate young man trying to sell dusters and clothes-pegs house-to-house. I turned away from the stove and went through the hall to the front door, opened it to a gust of cool air.

Not Greg, not a friend, not a neighbour, not a stranger selling religion or domesticity. Two female police officers stood in front of me. One looked like a schoolgirl, with a block fringe covering her eyebrows and jug ears; one was like her teacher, with a square jaw and greying hair cut mannishly short.

Yes? Had I been caught speeding? Littering? But then I saw an expression of uncertainty, even surprise, on both their faces and felt the first small prickle of foreboding in my chest.

Mrs Manning?

My names Eleanor Falkner, I said, but Im married to Greg Manning, so you could say My words trailed away. What is it?

Can we come in?

I led them into the small living room.

Youre the wife of Mr Gregory Manning?

Yes.

I heard everything, I noticed everything. I saw how the younger one looked up at the older one as she said the words, and I noticed she had a hole in her black tights. The older officers mouth opened and closed but didnt seem synchronized with the words she was speaking so that I had to strain to make sense of them. The smell of risotto reached me from the kitchen, and I remembered that I hadnt turned the ring off and it would be dry and ruined. Then I remembered, with a stupid dullness, that of course it didnt matter if it was ruined: nobody would be eating it now. Behind me I heard the wind fling a few dry leaves against the bay window. It was dark outside. Dark and chilly. In a few weeks time the clocks would go back. In a couple of months it would be Christmas.

She said, I am very sorry, your husband has been in a fatal accident.

I dont understand. Though I did. The words made sense. Fatal accident. My legs felt as if they didnt know how to hold me up any more.

Can we get you something? A glass of water, perhaps?

You say

Your husbands car left the road, she said slowly and patiently. Her mouth stretched and shrank.

Dead?

Im very sorry, she said. Sorry for your loss.

The car caught fire. It was the first time the younger woman had spoken. Her face was plump and pale; there was a faint smudge of mascara under one of her brown eyes. She wears contact lenses, I thought.

Mrs Falkner, do you understand what we have said?

Yes.

There was a passenger in the car.

Sorry?

He was with someone else. A woman. We thought Well, we had thought it might be you.

I stared dumbly at her. Did she expect me to produce identification?

Do you know who that would have been?

I was just cooking supper for us. He should have been home by now.

Your husbands passenger.

I dont know. I rubbed my face. Didnt she have her bag with her or anything?

They couldnt recover much. Because of the fire.

I put a hand against my chest and felt my heart beating heavily. Are you sure it was Greg? There might have been a mistake.

He was driving a red Citron Saxo, she said. She looked down at her notebook and read out the registration number. Your husband is the owner of the vehicle?

Yes, I said. It was hard to speak properly. Perhaps someone from work. He sometimes took them when he went to visit clients. Tania. I found, as I was speaking, that I couldnt bring myself to care if Tania was also dead. I knew that later this might disturb me.

Tania?

Tania Lott. From his office.

Do you have her home number?

I thought for a moment. It would be on Gregs mobile, which was with him. I swallowed hard. I dont think so. It might be somewhere. Do you want me to look?

We can find out.

I dont want you to think me rude, but Id like you to go now.

Have you got someone you can call? A relative or friend?

What?

You shouldnt be alone.

I want to be alone, I said.

You might want to talk to someone. The younger woman pulled a leaflet out of her pocket: she must have put it there before theyd left the station together. All prepared. I wondered how many times they did this in a year. They must get used to it, standing on a doorstep in all weathers with an expression of sympathy on their faces. There are numbers here of counsellors who can help you.

Thank you. I took the leaflet she was holding out and put it on the table.

Then she offered me a card.

You can reach me here if you need anything.

Thank you.

Will you be all right?

Yes, I said, more loudly than Id meant to. Excuse me, I think the pan might have boiled dry. I should rescue it. Can you let yourselves out?

I left the room, with the two women still standing awkwardly in it, and went into the kitchen. I took the pan off the hob and poked at the sticky mess of burnt risotto with a wooden spoon. Greg loved risotto; it was the first meal he had ever cooked me. Risotto with red wine and green salad. I had a sudden clear picture of him sitting at the kitchen table in his shabby home clothes, smiling at me and lifting his glass in greeting, and I spun round, thinking that if I was quick enough I could catch him there.

Sorry for your loss.

Fatal accident.

This is not my world. Something is wrong, askew. It is a Monday evening in October. I am Ellie Falkner, thirty-four years old and married to Greg Manning. Although two police officers have just come to my door and told me he is dead, I know that cant be true because it happens in a world meant for other people.