The Nurse(43)

Since I’d been meeting Carol for lunch, I’d made a bit of an effort with my appearance. But there was only so much I could do with my limited wardrobe. I saw Mrs Wallace’s eyes drift over my charity-shop navy T-shirt and the Asda cotton trousers I’d bought on sale a few months before. I saw the moment when she decided exactly where I stood on the social stepladder – a subtle change in her expression, from the narrowing of her eyes to the tightening of her lips. Very subtle, but the overall effect was a switch from open and welcoming to shuttered, almost defensive. She shifted position too so that she was behind the edge of the open door, ready to slam it in my face should the situation require such drama.

She needn’t have worried. My plan had never been to offer violence. It had been mere curiosity to see what she looked like in the flesh. Photographs could be deceptive, they did, after all, simply catch a moment in time – not the precursor or the consequences.

It was time to follow through with my rather lame plan to ask for Sally Prior, or had I decided on Park? I couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter because standing on the doorstep, being looked at so dismissively, I knew I wanted more than this brief unsatisfactory meeting.

I had always been a quick thinker, nurses needed to be, so when a completely different idea jumped into my head, I went with it. I lifted my hands and laid them against my mouth, shaking my head slowly at the same time and taking a step backwards.

Dropping my hands, I made my lower lip tremble hoping it looked a natural reaction to intense overwhelming sorrow. ‘I can’t,’ I said, taking a further step away. I met her suddenly intent gaze and shook my head again. More frantically this time. ‘I thought I could, but I can’t do this. I just can’t.’

Without another word, I turned and ran down the steps, across the driveway and through the gates. Unsure how far she could see from where she stood, I kept running until I halted, only slightly out of breath, at the end of the road.

My head was spinning as I walked back down Lansdown Road and turned down Upper Hedgemead Road to cut through the park. It had been an interesting day, starting with that meeting with Carol. I still couldn’t understand why she unsettled me. I knew little about her apart from where she lived and that she lived with her parents. She’d never offered any more personal details, and I’d never asked. Nor had she asked me. What an odd pair we were.

I pushed Carol from my head to concentrate on the much more interesting plan that had leapt into my head as I’d looked at Oonagh Wallace. I didn’t know much about property prices but that house on Lansdown Road must be worth millions. When Mr Wallace took his last trip to wherever he believed in, his widow would be left a very wealthy woman. I guessed it wouldn’t be long, she was going to make certain of that.

If my plan worked, she wouldn’t be the only one to gain from the poor man’s death.





30





Late afternoon, the day was still excessively hot, and I was clammy by the time my bus arrived.

Back at home, I changed into more comfortable shoes and headed for a walk along the river. Walking near water always seemed to help clarify my thinking. My plan, to blackmail Oonagh Wallace with what I knew, was crazy. It meant letting her get away with killing her husband for the money, but I was hardly one to sit in judgement. I’d killed Olivia for the same reason. That the money hadn’t been for me wasn’t relevant.

If I had more money it would guarantee my mother’s care for as long as she lived. I could even think about giving up nursing. The thought made me smile for a second, a fleeting pleasure before reality swiped it from my face. What would I do instead? Spend more days in the nursing home with my mother? I’d been a nurse all my working life. Although I’d not made much of my career, it was what I did, what I was.

I could get a bigger apartment. The thought didn’t appeal, I didn’t want more space, more stuff. Where I lived, the cosy comfort of it, suited me.

The only downside to it was my landlord, Theo. I’d seen him watching me. At first, I’d given him a friendly wave, said good morning or whatever was appropriate. When I realised my greeting was met with a stare and nothing else, I stopped speaking, and eventually dropped my pathetic wave too. However, I found it impossible not to acknowledge him in some way and resorted to an uncomfortable jerk of my head in his direction. He never responded but I felt his eyes following me as I walked away. I could feel them, boring into my back. Sometimes, if I passed his house, I could see a curtain twitch and knew he was there, looking down at me.

There had been no issues with my accommodation that needed his attention and as a result, I hadn’t needed to speak to him. It struck me that I’d not seen him for a few days, nor had he been at his window, staring at me.

Should I be worried? He lived alone; he was elderly and grossly overweight. Maybe he’d died alone, as my father had done, and was lying in his house, eyes wide and vacant staring at the ceiling. His body would slowly decompose as maggots made a meal of him.

I imagined his body putrefying. The noisome stink of it.

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I could go back, ring his doorbell. And if he answered? Hi, I’m just checking that you’re alive.

I barked a laugh that frightened birds from the nearby hedge, they flew up, squawked, then settled down again.

No, I wouldn’t ring his doorbell. But I could check his letter box. If he was lying dead somewhere in the house, the tat that was constantly being delivered, the flyers for this that and the other, would have built up.