The Lost Bookshop

Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

MARTHA

‘W hat has you looking like the cat who got the cream?’ Madame Bowden asked while I dressed her bed. It kept happening – I’d be in the middle of the most mundane task and I’d think about Henry kissing me and my cheeks would hurt from smiling so much.

‘Just happy, I guess,’ I replied.

‘Nonsense. The only reason a woman blushes like that is a man. It’s the scholar, isn’t it?’

After the bookshop, he had taken me back to his B if I went with him now and took whatever punishment was coming my way, I could try and escape again. If I was still able. How was I back in this situation? He kicked my legs out of the way and walked into the hallway. Suddenly, I could see a future of this careful planning, weighing up the least dangerous ways of living a life with this man. My life was reduced to surviving Shane’s violence.

‘If Mitch hadn’t been with me last night when I saw him kissing you, I would have murdered that guy with my own bare hands.’

‘Henry? Please say you didn’t hurt him!’ I had visions of Shane attacking him on his way home last night.

‘Henry? What the fuck sort of name is that?’

He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me up, but I stayed on the floor.

‘You’re my wife, Martha. You belong to me!’

‘I belong to myself,’ I said, tired of placating him. What did it matter anyway? Whatever I said, he would always be this angry person. I could see now that I wasn’t the cause of it.

‘I don’t remember inviting you in,’ came a voice from behind us. Oh Jesus, Madame Bowden. I wanted to die rather than have her see me like this. A victim.

‘I told you already, her mother has cancer and wants her home.’

‘You damn liar!’ I found my voice again. ‘How could you lie about something like that? And even if my mother was on her deathbed, I wouldn’t go back there.’

He hesitated but only for a moment.

‘I’m taking you home, now.’

‘She’s not a potted plant,’ Madame Bowden said with a sarcasm that hardly fitted the situation. She would get both of us killed.

‘I’m not going with you,’ I said, scurrying backwards on the floor and shielding Madame Bowden. I didn’t trust my legs to hold me upright.

Shane shook his head in disbelief.

‘You ungrateful bitch … I’ve given you everything.’ He stepped towards me and began pulling me by my hair, but I grabbed on to the bannister of the stairs.

‘Why are you doing this, Shane? Why do you want me back? We’re not happy together – if we were you wouldn’t hurt me like this,’ I said, pointing to the blood on my face.

I’d never asked him before. Never had the courage. My voice sounded detached from my body. It must have worked, because he stopped for a moment, his hands still gripped around my wrists.

‘You push me, Martha, you know you do.’

I was the scapegoat for everything that had gone wrong in his life. So he never had to face up to anything. Even now, he was blaming me, calling me everything under the sun. I turned my head towards Madame Bowden, but she was no longer behind me.

‘You just keep pushing—’

And then something did push him. Something pushed him so hard that he broke through the wooden spindles of the bannister that led to the basement flat. The sound of wood breaking was like a volley of gunshots, followed by a sickening thump and crack.

‘What happened?’ I asked. The hallway was dark around and I had the sudden feeling that I was alone. The silence was terrifying. I couldn’t move. My vision grew blurry.

‘Is he dead?’ My hand flew to cover my mouth once the words were spoken.

Finally, I heard the sound of her walking stick against the floorboards. She looked down into the stairwell for a long time, then turned around and asked me if I were all right. I felt as though I were in a dream. The noise of people outside told me that the world was still turning, but I felt like it had ended. I crept up behind her and looked over her shoulder. Down, down, down and there he was. Splayed on the floor with one of his legs trapped underneath him at an impossible angle. The bone was sticking out of his skin. I thought I would vomit and so kept my hand over my mouth. Letting my eyes reach his, it became clear that his head wasn’t right either. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t make sense of it.

‘I want you to get your coat and go down to the shops for me.’

‘W-what? What are you talking about?’

Madame Bowden looked unnervingly calm.

‘I’ll need a round roast for this evening and a nice bottle of that French Beaujolais I like.’

‘Are you serious? Have you seen what’s happened?’

I looked back down at Shane. It was strange to have our roles reversed like this, me standing over his injured body. I looked for some glimmer of recognition in his eyes – maybe he was still alive. But there was nothing. I began to shake all over.

‘Martha,’ she repeated, placing her hand on my shoulder. ‘I want you to leave the house and do as I ask. All will be well on your return.’

* * *

I walked down the street unseeing. Outside, I could almost believe that it hadn’t happened. I’d had some kind of episode and imagined the whole thing. I did exactly as she asked. I went to the butcher and asked for a round roast. I went to the off-licence and found the wine she liked. And yet all the while, the same words swam around in my head. Had she pushed him ?

I walked up and down Ha'penny Lane a dozen times with the handles of my shopping bags digging into my fingers. How could I go back in there? And what did Madame Bowden mean by ‘All will be well’? Was she calling a doctor or an ambulance? There was no sign of anything on the street. I could just leave, I thought to myself. I could just walk away now and never come back. But what about Henry? I had to get my phone and see if he was okay, and my phone was in the house.

I used my keys and let myself back in. The hallway was brighter now. The flowers in the vase were in full bloom and the broken stairway had been repaired. I left the shopping bags on the floor and forced myself to look over the edge. Shane was gone.

* * *

‘I’m afraid your husband was pulled from the river last night.’ A detective was standing in front of me, his small black notebook open, pen poised. ‘His mother had declared him missing over a week ago. Did you have any contact with him during this time, Mrs Winter?’

‘No.’ I was no actress. I was still in a state of complete shock.

‘Am I right in saying that you have been separated for some time?’

I nodded and bit my lips to stop them from trembling.

‘I see.’ He looked past me into the hallway. ‘And can I ask you your whereabouts on the afternoon of Thursday last?’

‘Yes, um, Thursday afternoon is when I do the shopping.’

‘Anyone who may have seen you?’

‘Of course, yes.’ I gave him the names and addresses of every shop I’d gone to that day.

I caught sight of myself in the hall mirror. I’d put thick makeup on my cheek, but I didn’t know how long it would hold.

‘I have to call home, let them know what happened,’ I said and he mercifully closed his notebook.

I shut the door firmly behind him and walked back into the living room to where she was waiting for me. I leaned against the doorframe and looked her squarely in the eye.

‘What did you do?’

‘I didn’t do anything. I simply arranged to have the matter taken care of. And I suggest you take the accusatory tone out of your voice.’

‘We’ve broken the law! I think.’

‘Which law? The one that says you cannot take a violent man’s dead body out of your basement and place it elsewhere? I’ve saved us both a lot of bother. It wouldn’t hurt you to show some gratitude.’

‘Is this what happened to all of your husbands?’ I shouted, no longer sure who or what I was angry at.

‘Emotions are running high,’ Madame Bowden said, slowly getting up from her chair. ‘I will pretend I didn’t hear that.’ With that, she made her way up the stairs and to her bedroom.

I slumped down on the couch. Ever since that day she had taken care of me. She had prepared my meals and encouraged me to eat when I felt I couldn’t. She had reassured me that what happened to Shane was not my fault. It was an accident. Convinced me that telling the police the truth would only raise suspicion and make me a suspect with motive.

‘We were both here,’ she said, patting my hand. ‘We both know what happened. It was an accident.’

‘Yes, an accident,’ I kept repeating after her. ‘We were both there.’