Waiting for Wednesday

drank.
    ‘When I asked, “How’s it
going?” I was asking about you,not just the bathroom. But I
want to say that I’m going to start paying for all of this. You can’t afford
it.’
    ‘Is fine.’
    ‘It’s not fine. I’ve been
thinking about myself too much. I know that you were close to Mary Orton. It was very
sad for you, I know, what happened.’
    ‘I dream of her,’ said Josef.
‘Two times maybe four times. It’s funny.’
    ‘What do you dream?’
    Josef smiled. ‘She was living in
Ukraine. In my old home. I tell her I’m surprised to see her living. She talk to
me in my own language. Stupid, no?’
    ‘Yes. Very stupid. But not stupid at
all.’
Darling Frieda – It’s too late to
phone you. I’ve just checked out the link you sent me. Who is this fucking Hal
Bradshaw anyway? Can we do something about this? One of my oldest friends is a
lawyer. Should I have a word with her?
    But I hope you know how highly
you’re regarded by all the people who matter – your friends, your colleagues,
your patients. This story is just a vicious charade that makes no difference to
that.
    I’ve had an idea for the
summer – we can hire a longboat on the Canal du Midi. You’d like that. I went
on one before and they’re very cosy (some people would find them oppressive;
not you. They are a bit like your house, except they move). We could drift along the
waterways and stop for picnics and in the evenings go to little brasseries. Of
course, in my mind it’s very sunny and you’re wearing a sundress and
drinking white wine and you’ve even got a bit of a tan. Say yes! Xxxx



NINETEEN
    ‘We were all so shocked,’ said
the woman sitting opposite Munster and Riley. ‘I can’t quite believe it. I
mean, Ruth was so …’ She stopped and searched for a word. Her face screwed
up. ‘Down to earth,’ she supplied eventually. ‘Cheerful. Practical. I
don’t know – not someone who things like this happen to. I realize how stupid that
sounds.’
    They were in the low-rise modern building
from which Ruth Lennox had worked as a health visitor, sitting in a small room off the
open-plan office with her line manager, Nadine Salter.
    ‘It doesn’t sound stupid, said
Chris Munster, after Riley had failed to respond. He looked a bit dazed this morning:
his face was creased as if he had only just woken up. ‘It’s what most people
say about her. That she was a friendly, straightforward woman. How long had she worked
here?’
    ‘About ten years. Mostly she was out,
seeing people, not here in the office.’
    ‘Can you show us her desk?’
    ‘Of course.’
    They went into the large room, past desks of
avidly curious people pretending to work. Ruth Lennox’s desk was scrupulously
tidy, which was what Munster and Riley had come to expect – her folders, her notebooks,
her work diary, her correspondence and her stationery had been put away in the drawers.
Apart from the rather old computer, the only things on the surface were a small jug of
pens, a little pot of paper slips and staplers, and a framed photo of her three
children.
    ‘We’re going to have to remove her
computer and her correspondence,’ said Munster. ‘For now, we’re just
interested in the Wednesday she died. April the sixth. Was she here?’
    ‘Yes. But just for the half-day. She
always had Wednesday afternoon off. We have a general staff meeting in the morning, at
about eleven, and then she leaves after that.’
    ‘So she was in the office that day,
not out on visits?’
    ‘That’s right. She came in at
about nine, and left again at midday.’
    ‘Was there anything different about
her that day?’
    ‘We’ve been talking about that.
She was just her normal self.’
    ‘She didn’t mention anything
that was troubling her?’
    ‘Not at all. We talked about how awful
it is for young people trying to find jobs, but just in a general way – her kids are too
young for that to worry her. Poor things. And she gave me a recipe.’
    ‘Did you see her go?’
    ‘No. But Vicky, over there, was having
a cigarette outside. She saw her getting into a cab.’
    ‘A black taxi?’
    ‘No. As I said, a cab.’
    ‘Do you know which firm?’
    ‘No, I don’t.’
    ‘Hang on,’ said Riley.
    He walked over to Ruth Lennox’s desk
and came back with a small card, which he handed to Munster. ‘This was pinned to
her board,’ he said.
    Munster looked at the card. C & R Taxis.
He showed it to Nadine Salter.
    ‘Would she travel by cab on