Waiting for Wednesday

Karlsson thought
about how they knew so much about Ruth Lennox and yet didn’t know her at all. They
knew what toothpaste she used and which deodorant. What her bra size was and her
knickers and her shoes. What books she read and what magazines. They knew what face
cream she used, what recipes she turned to, what she put in her shopping trolley week
after week, what tea she favoured, what wine she drank, what TV programmes she watched,
what box-sets she owned. They were familiar with her handwriting, knew what biros and
pencils she wrote with, saw the doodles she made on the sides of pads; they had studied
her face in the photographs around the house and in the albums. They had read the
postcards she’d received from dozens of friends over dozens of years fromdozens of countries. Rifled through Mother’s Day cards and
birthday cards and Christmas cards. Checked and double-checked her email, and were sure
she’d never used Facebook, LinkedIn or Twitter.
    But they didn’t know why or how she
had managed to conduct a ten-year affair under the nose of her family. They didn’t
know if she’d felt guilty. They didn’t know why she had had to die.
    On an impulse, he pushed open the door to
Dora’s bedroom. It was very neat and quiet in there. Everything was put away and
in its proper place: clothes neatly folded into drawers, paper stacked on the desk,
homework books on the shelves above it, her pyjamas folded on the pillow. In the
wardrobe, her clothes – the clothes of a girl who didn’t want to become a teenager
yet – hung above paired, sensible shoes. It made Karlsson feel sad just to look at the
anxious order. A thin spindle of pink caught his eye on the top of the cupboard. He
reached up his hand and pulled down a rag doll, then drew in his breath sharply. It had
a flat pink face and droopy legs, red cotton hair in plaits, but its stomach had been
cut away and the area between its legs snipped open. He held it for several moments, his
face grim.
    ‘Oh!’ Yvette had come into the
room. ‘That’s horrible.’
    ‘Yes, isn’t it?’
    ‘Do you think she did that herself?
Because of what she found out about her mother?’
    ‘Probably.’
    ‘Poor little thing.’
    ‘But I’ll have to ask
her.’
    ‘I think I’ve found something.
Look.’ She opened her hand to show a little dial of tablets. Karlsson squinted at
them.‘This was in that long cupboard next to the bathroom – the
one full of towels and flannels, body lotion, tampons and all sorts of bits and pieces
they didn’t know what to do with.’
    ‘Well?’
    ‘The Pill,’ said Yvette.
‘Inside a sock.’
    ‘Funny place to keep your
contraceptives.’
    ‘Yes. Especially when Ruth Lennox had
a coil.’
    Karlsson’s mobile rang. He took it
out of his pocket and frowned when he saw who was calling. He had had two brief texts
and one message from Sadie, asking him to get in touch. He was about to let it go to
voicemail again. But then he hesitated: she clearly wasn’t going to give up and he
supposed he might as well get it over with.
    ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call
you back. I’ve been busy and –’
    ‘No. You didn’t call me back
because you didn’t want to see me again and you thought if you ignored my calls I
might just go away.’
    ‘That’s not fair.’
    ‘Isn’t it? I think it
is.’
    ‘I made a mistake, Sadie. I like you a
lot and we had a nice evening, but it’s the wrong time for me.’
    ‘I’m not calling to ask you out,
if that’s what you’re worried about. I got the message. But you need to meet
me.’
    ‘I don’t think that’s a
good idea.’
    ‘It’s a very good idea. You need
to sit down opposite me, look me in the eyes and explain yourself.’
    ‘Sadie, listen –’
    ‘No. You listen. You’re behaving
like an awkward teenager. You asked me out, we had a nice evening, we made love –
that’s what it felt like to me, anyway. And then you crept away, as if you were
embarrassed. I deserve more than that.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘I deserve an explanation. Meet me at
the same wine bar at eight o’clock tomorrow. It’ll only take half an hour,
less. You can tell me why you behaved like that, then you can go home and I won’t
call you again.’
    And she ended the call. Karlsson looked down
at the mobile in his hand and raised his eyebrows. She was rather impressive, that
Sadie.



THIRTY-FOUR
    Frieda always felt a little strange when she
went south of the river. But going to Croydon was like going