“My side?” Laura laughed, a scornful, brittle sound. “I don’t have a side.”
But you could have, Miriam wanted to say. You could have an ally. It could be us against them! Those people who think they have all the power, who think that we have none, we could prove them wrong. We could show them that we can be powerful too. You up here in your shabby tower, me down there on the water, we may not live in elegant homes, we might not have expensive haircuts and foreign holidays and good art on the walls, but that doesn’t make us nothing. So many things Miriam wanted to say, but she had to be careful, she had to approach this thing slowly, she couldn’t rush it.
A slight change of tack, to test the ground. “Do you happen to know anything about his family? Daniel Sutherland’s family?”
Laura shrugged. “His mum’s dead. She died quite recently. She was an alkie, he said. He has an aunt. I met her at Irene’s.”
“Irene’s?”
“My friend.”
“Who’s your friend?” Miriam asked.
“Just a friend. None of your beeswax.” Laura laughed. “Look, it was nice to have a chat and everything, but I think—”
“Oh, well,” Miriam cut her off. “I know quite a bit about Sutherland’s family, and I think you might find what I know quite interesting.” Laura was leaning against the counter now, picking at her nails; she wasn’t even paying attention. “The thing is, you see, I think it might have been her,” Miriam said.
“Her?” Laura looked up.
“I think his aunt might have had something to do with it.”
Laura’s brow crinkled. “With what?”
“With his death!”
Laura gave an abrupt bark of laughter. “His aunt?”
Miriam felt her face redden. “This isn’t a joke!” she snapped, indignant. “I saw her there, I saw her visiting him, just like you visited him, and I believe that something happened between them.” Laura was watching her, a crease at the top of her nose. “I think,” Miriam went on, “and this is the important thing: I think that her husband—her ex-husband, I mean, Theo Myerson—I think he might be trying to cover the whole thing up, because . . .” Miriam kept talking, but as she did, she could see the girl’s expression change, from skepticism to disbelief to suspicion; she could see that she was losing her trust. How could this girl be so obtuse? Couldn’t she see, at the very least, that it was in her own best interest to point the finger at someone else? Wasn’t it obvious that Miriam’s theory was beneficial to her? “It may sound far-fetched,” Miriam said at last, “but I think you’ll find—”
Laura smiled at her, not unkindly. “You’re one of those people, aren’t you?” she said. “You like to get involved in things. You’re lonely, and you’re bored, and you don’t have any friends, and you want someone to pay attention to you. And you think I’m like you! Well, I’m not. Sorry, but I’m not.”
“Laura,” Miriam said, her voice rising in desperation, “you’re not listening to me! I believe—”
“I don’t care what you believe! Sorry, but I think you’re a nutter. How do I even know that you’re telling the truth? How do I even know that you saw me at the boat? How do I even know that you’re telling the truth about finding him? Maybe you didn’t find him at all. Maybe he was alive and well when you went down there! Maybe it was you stuck a knife in him!” Laura sprang toward Miriam, her mouth wide open and red. “Hey,” she laughed, prancing around the table, “maybe I should be calling the police right now?” She mimed making a call. “Come quick! Come quick, there’s a madwoman in my house! There’s some psycho hobbit woman in my house!” She threw her head back and cackled like an insane person, she danced about, she was up in Miriam’s face, invading her space. Miriam struggled to her feet and lurched away from Laura.
“What is wrong with you?” But the girl was laughing, manic, lost in her own world, her eyes glistening, sharp little teeth shining white in her red mouth. Miriam felt tears stinging her eyes. She had to get away, had to get out of there. Horrible laughter ringing in her ears, she walked, with as much dignity as she could muster, from the flat. She shuffled exhaustedly down the walkway and down all those stairs, legs heavy as her heart.
* * *
Miriam was tearful by the time she arrived home, which was a dramatic overreaction to unkindness from a stranger but not unusual. She overreacted to slights, that’s how she was, and knowing a thing about yourself didn’t stop it from happening. Miriam had lost the talent for friendship when she was young, and once gone, it was a difficult thing to recover. Like loneliness, the absence of friendship was self-perpetuating: the harder you tried to make people like you, the less likely they were to do so; most people recognized right away that something was off, and they shied away.