As I approached the station, I had a change of plan. It wasn’t a long walk to Lansdown Road for someone as used to walking as I was, and thirty minutes later I was standing outside the Wallace house.
What I had discovered in that locked room near the kitchen was interesting but putting it together with what Carol had told me made it fascinating. Reading about true crime and the devious, infamous perpetrators was one thing, seeing a crime enacted was something else. I’d seen photographs of Jeffrey Dahmer – he’d been a good-looking man. From the photographs I’d seen of Oonagh Wallace, she too was good-looking. But with her I could manoeuvre a meeting and see her in the flesh. Maybe even become part of the story.
That fascinating thought kept me lingering by the gateway, staring up at the massive house. For the first time, I regretted I didn’t have a car. If I did, I could have sat in it and watched the house till she came out. A vague idea crossed my mind. I could ring the doorbell and explain I’d lost something the day I’d been helping Carol, and since I was passing I decided to pop in on spec to see if I could find it. Even to my ears, that sounded far-fetched. Anyway, it came with an insurmountable problem. I’d have to explain why I’d been needed. Mrs Wallace might complain to the agency, and Carol would get into trouble. Might even be suspended. And they’d need a replacement. If I could have guaranteed that I’d be it, I might have been tempted, but I couldn’t. Since I wanted to know more about the Wallaces, it was better to keep Carol in situ.
It was irritating to have come all this way for nothing. I walked past the house, turned, crossed the road, and dawdled back. So frustrating to be this close. Crossing the road again, I turned to pass one last time. I could ring the doorbell, say I was collecting for something or other, couldn’t I? No, that wouldn’t work, charity workers all carried identification. She might ask to see it.
It would be simpler to ring the doorbell, and when she answered, to look surprised and say I was looking for – I sought for a good imaginary name – Sally Prior, no, Sally Park. It’d do.
I walked to the steps leading up to the front door and looked for a doorbell. It took a few seconds to find it, hidden as it was under the ivy that slithered upward from the garden. I pressed once, my ear cocked to listen for its peal. If it did sound within though, it wasn’t audible on this side of the heavy front door.
Minutes ticked by before I decided to press again, keeping my finger on it for longer. Perhaps Mrs Wallace wasn’t home, but whichever nurse was on duty should answer.
When the door opened suddenly, it startled me, my yelp an automatic response that seemed to amuse the woman who stood framed in the doorway. She waited, one hand resting on the doorframe, her head slightly tilted in an unspoken question. I noticed her nails were short, unvarnished, her hands long and slim. She had an air of elegance about her that I instantly envied. Unlike my thin shapeless physique, her slim body had curves in all the right places. These were obviously, even proudly, emphasised by a turquoise silk blouse unbuttoned a tad too far to show the lacy edge of a similar-coloured bra. The cream ankle-length chinos were a perfect match.
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.