Chapter Five #2
I nearly broke. Suddenly, I wanted to unburden myself, to tell Mrs. Billings what had happened the night before, how it wasn’t my fault and how James had made me help him hide the body.
I wanted to have her forgiveness and her reassurance that it wasn’t that bad, I wasn’t to blame and everyone would forgive me.
Even Lennie’s family. In fact, I wanted her to say we’d all end up the best of friends.
But she’d only just heard about Lennie, and she’d need time to come to terms with it.
Plus she thought he was only missing. It would be quite a leap for her to come round to the fact that he was dead and buried, on our estate, and we all had to move on.
She might not be ready to take such a pragmatic view; the initial shock might cause her to do something foolish, like telling the police.
An action she’d come to regret, I was sure, but not as much as I would.
So, I kept my guilty conscience to myself; I’d wait until she’d learned to live in a world without Lennie.
And anyway, the previous night James had risked everything for me.
I was the one who had run Lennie over, I would have been in the firing line if we’d been caught, but he had taken control and saved me from myself.
After all, I’d been about to call 999. It would be ungrateful of me to let the cat out of the bag and get us both in trouble. I couldn’t just think of myself now.
Instead, I said, “Yes, yes. Still a bit tired from last night, heavy night.” I corrected myself: “No, it wasn’t. I didn’t drink. A late night last night. Late, but not heavy.” We fell quiet as the radio presenter warned us of busy traffic and delays.
Mrs. Billings looked at me for a moment, then said, “You’re looking peaky if you ask me. Maybe you should go for a rest.”
“Maybe.”
Drained from the stress of the morning, I left Mrs. Billings to finish her tea and biscuits, although I was usually there to the end, willing her to stay and chat longer. I took Lennie’s bag to my room and shoved it to the back of the wardrobe.
Next I took a pottery cherub out of Mrs. Billings’s drawer of loot and carried it through to the lounge, where I put it on a small table behind the sofa. Then I turned the TV on and waited, staring at This Morning without hearing a word as Mrs. B bustled her way around for a couple of hours.
While I waited, I realized where James’s phone might be.
The last place I had seen him with it was in the mausoleum, just before we hauled Lennie’s body in.
I thought he had put it in his pocket after that, and I remembered him leaning over the corpse for a while.
The chances seemed high that he had dropped it in the mausoleum.
Which got me to thinking about Lennie’s phone.
At that very moment it could be on the premises, emitting its little rays for the police to come and track him down.
At any minute it could ring and that very memorable ringtone could rip through the house.
Or the graveyard, if it was in his pocket, as it had been at the party.
Could it? I wondered. Was it loud enough to be heard through the mausoleum walls?
It would terrify anyone who did, especially if it rang at night.
I didn’t want to go back to the mausoleum; I wanted to just tell James where his phone was and let him go and get it.
He could look for Lennie’s at the same time.
But if Lennie’s was in that mausoleum and it rang, I did not want to bet my freedom on the likelihood of it not being audible from outside.
And the news bulletin had said concern was growing.
It seemed fair to think Lennie’s nearest and dearest would be calling him.
Still, it might be in his bag. I waited until I heard Mrs. B revving up the vacuum cleaner, then I ran to the bedroom, where I pulled the bag out of the wardrobe and tipped the contents onto the bed.
No phone. I checked the bag for pockets and compartments.
Nothing. I shook it again. Nothing. I stared at his memoir, a set of keys, a cigarette lighter, a few pens, a blue inhaler, willing it to materialize, but it wasn’t there.
I stuffed the items back into the bag and the bag back into the wardrobe.
As I came out of the bedroom Mrs. B uttered a “Toodle-oo!” and left the building. She couldn’t have made a very good job of the vacuuming—I’d been in there less than five minutes—but I watched from behind the curtains as she and Mr. Billings left in Mr. B’s van, and I let out my breath.
Back in the lounge, the first thing I noticed was the pottery cherub. My heart sank. Putting knickknacks out for her wasn’t a foolproof plan. She’d taken something other than the sacrifice offered before now, but I was starting to think there were only two places Lennie’s phone could be.
I put the cherub back in the drawer for another day, then I took the key to the mausoleum and headed out.
Across the garden, through the copse, and into the graveyard.
I scanned the neighboring fields for farmers or walkers.
There was a tiny figure a few fields across, but it was moving away.
Lucky for me it was a weekday afternoon.
These fields were often crawling with ramblers on the weekend, and dog walkers at dawn, but now it was quiet.
I spent some time standing outside the door before I could bring myself to open it: What would Lennie be like now?
Would he have putrefied? It seemed soon for that.
Would rats be munching on him? Possibly.
Would I catch plague or something from going in there?
Also possibly. Would Lennie have come back to life and be looking for revenge?
This was the least likely of the scenarios, but it was the one that gave me the shivers and had me lingering out there taking deep breaths, standing up straight, and thinking of the ancestors, also interred in there, who would be wishing me well.
I wondered if I really had to do this, or if, in fact, I could just wait until James got home and point him in the right direction, but every time I was about to give up and go back to the house, I remembered the ringtone and stayed put. I took one final deep breath and inserted the key.
This time, when I opened the door, daylight lit the scene inside, enough to be able to see the coffins on shelves lining the walls, some intact, some buckling, and Lennie, slung on the floor between them. I stepped back.
I couldn’t do it.
I had to do it.
I looked again at Lennie, sprawled as we had left him. He looked somewhat less beatific now, his face had already begun to sink into itself. I stepped back…
I took a lungful of the spring air outside and I darted in.
James’s phone was by Lennie’s shoulder, easy to find; I put it in my back pocket.
Then I patted Lennie down, found nothing of interest, and darted back out.
I began to push the door closed but stopped.
I had to admit to myself that I hadn’t checked his pockets properly.
And I could not go back to the house and forget about it if I hadn’t done a thorough job.
It took a few goes. I couldn’t take a breath in that space, so I had to step outside every time I needed to inhale, but eventually I had been through all of his pockets thoroughly.
No phone. What I did find was his wallet and a small address book.
It seemed a bit old-fashioned, now that everything is online, but I supposed Lennie was of that generation.