They were all talking. Mick sat on the bed to examine her. Pippa came in with a bottle of disinfectant. I heard myself saying things. But all the time I was thinking. I felt alert, powerful.
‘I’ll open some wine,’ I said. ‘We should celebrate being together for once.’ I smiled at them all, thinking how amazing, how glorious it was that I had killed someone and hidden her body in the cupboard downstairs and none of them had the slightest idea that anything was wrong. ‘I can’t tell you how happy I am that I’m living here with you all.’
Astrid smiled up at me from the bed, her big, dark eyes glowing. ‘Davy,’ she said, ‘you’re the perfect housemate.’
I gave a little bow. ‘That’s me,’ I said.
Chapter Thirty-one
The evening was like a dream. I was there and I wasn’t there. Surely they could see the difference in me, the glow in my eyes, the consciousness of power, the knowledge. But I realized they couldn’t, and that increased my sense of control. When Owen arrived with the food, I saw his shock at Astrid’s appearance, but all he said was ‘You get into a fight?’
He walked across to her, too close. She made an effort to seem casual about it. I went and sat beside her.
‘She’s being brave,’ I said, then felt embarrassed. Did it look as if I was competing with Owen for her attention? I had to be careful. In all my excitement, the blood rushing through my body, I was in danger of overplaying this. I had to calm down. Fortunately nobody seemed to notice. Astrid was still the centre of attention. When I started concentrating again, they were dealing out the food and comparing themselves to the Seven Dwarfs. It made me feel angry. I was forgotten as they jokingly and affectionately allocated different dwarfs to Pippa and Mick and Dario and Miles. It reminded me of those times in the playground when they had picked teams and what it felt like to be left until last, the one nobody wanted. So I made a joke about it and took Bashful for myself, the one nobody would want to be. Bashful. What did they know?
I pushed forkfuls of food into my mouth, not tasting it. I let the conversation wash over me. Sometimes I managed a sentence. I smiled at things that were meant to be jokes. I even smiled at Pippa and she smiled back. I looked around the table. These were friends, but how many of them really liked each other? I noticed that Astrid wasn’t speaking or eating. I looked at Miles, who had a sudden businesslike expression on his face.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I hate to break into this, but it’s very rare that we’re all together like this. Just the seven of us. Don’t you dare start again, Dario.’
Suddenly it all became clear to me. That was how to do it.
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘It is rare. Why don’t we have a group photo to mark it?’
Miles nodded. ‘We even have an official photographer,’ he said.
Fuck, I thought. I’d forgotten about Owen. But I’d also forgotten his arrogance. He prattled about not taking snaps and Astrid teased him about being an artist.
‘I’ll take it,’ I said.
‘My camera’s in the drawer over there,’ said Miles.
Was God deliberately tormenting me? I jumped up and opened the drawer. Miles’s digital camera was lying on top. I covered it with the stuff in the drawer, the brochures, menus and catalogues. ‘It’s not here. You must have moved it.’
‘Someone’s nabbed it, more like, and forgotten to put it back.’
‘I’ve got one upstairs,’ I said, and ran out before anything else could go wrong.
It was all so simple. I couldn’t even allow myself to think of the possibility of being caught. I opened the cupboard door, pulled off the coverings and saw the empty eyes staring up at me. I felt nothing. I knelt down, took her arm, pulled her over my shoulder and raised myself slowly, the joints in my knees cracking. I kicked the cupboard door shut, then turned to check there was nothing stupid like a hat or a handbag to ruin my perfect crime. As I moved out into the hallway I even smiled at the idea of one of the housemates catching me like this. I walked smoothly upstairs, to the first floor, then the second. I pulled out the bed a little way and laid her down behind it so that she was invisible from the doorway. That was enough. Nobody would come into my room tonight.
I ran softly down the stairs. It was so simple. Before I entered the kitchen, I stopped. The camera. I’d forgotten it. I ran back up and down so that by the time I appeared I was panting with the effort. None of them noticed, though.
After the photograph, after Miles had kindly provided the distraction of telling everyone they would be ejected from the house, after the foil containers were cleared away, the washing-up done, I went upstairs, lay down on my bed without taking off my shoes, Peggy on the floor beside me, and waited for the house to grow quiet. I heard footsteps on stairs, floorboards creaking, water running, doors slamming, toilets flushing, but by twelve thirty it had all stopped. I forced myself to be patient. I looked at my watch again. One o’clock.
An idea came to me. I felt through her pockets and found a purse. I removed the ornate little watch from her wrist and unclipped her necklace. That might make the death look like a robbery.
I glanced at my watch. One fifteen. Time was moving in starts, not smoothly. As quietly as I could, I left my room and walked downstairs. I put my ears to the various doors and heard nothing. The last was Pippa’s on the ground floor. That, too, was silent. I was free to act, but as I started up the stairs, I heard voices. They were from outside the front door. I assumed they were passers-by but then I heard the scrape of a key in the lock.
I ran up the stairs to the half-way landing, out of sight. The door opened and I heard footsteps. Pippa’s voice and someone else’s, a man’s. What was wrong with her? ‘Straight in here,’ she said, leading him into her room. ‘You want a drink? I’ll bring something up.’
I waited until she returned. I heard the clink of glasses and her door closing. I sat on the upper stairs in half-darkness. I could see the old patterned wallpaper, peeling away and showing the plaster underneath but I couldn’t make out its colour. After a few minutes I heard murmuring sounds from Pippa’s room. If I acted quickly, I should be safe. I padded back upstairs. As I stood in my room, the risks of what I was attempting became clear to me for the first time. There were six – no, seven – other people in the house. They often stayed up late, left their rooms for a drink, a bath or a piss. It would take just one. I only needed a clear couple of minutes, but would God give them to me? I hoisted Peggy over my shoulder, walked out of the room and down the stairs, feeling every creak run through my body.
I hadn’t even thought of what I would find out on the street. I eased the front door open and edged outside, hidden in the shadows of the porch. There was nobody. Twenty paces and I would be free. I stepped on to the pavement as if I was walking on to a stage, a stage surrounded by dark windows. Someone could be standing behind any of them, looking out. I counted the paces. It took twenty-seven and I reached her door. I walked down the steps to where the bins were and let her slip gently on to the cement. I pulled her behind the bins and covered her with bags of garbage. She might not be found for days.
Chapter Thirty-two
When I was still at school and went by the name of David, not Davy, teachers treated me as if I was stupid. My English teacher, who was tall, flat-chested and in love with dead writers, said I lacked imagination and my creative writing was plodding. My French teacher didn’t even know who I was. I was one of the people at the back of the class, not noticed. My science teacher called me ‘conscientious’, my Design and Technology teacher called me ‘competent’, and my maths teacher said I was ‘an average student’. Well, I wasn’t average now, not average at all. I was one in a million.