I Know What I Saw

The light as it shines through the room, its angle, its intensity, tells me that it must still be early in the morning. If I am to make any use of the day, I need to get going.

After washing I dress quickly and creep downstairs as quietly as I can. There’s no sign of Seb, who must still be asleep or already at work. My, his, coat is on the newel post where I left it and I slip it on. It has already begun to mould itself to my contours so that it feels like my own thing. The velvet collar is soft against my skin. The shoes I don’t recall removing are there in the hallway. I put them on and leave quietly, pulling the front door softly shut behind me.

Outside the February weather is cold. Something in the air gives a memory from a long-forgotten Guy Fawkes night, even though we are months on from November. There is a hint of fog and the slightest trace of sulphur in the air. I walk to a bus stop and the reality of what happened at the police station on Thursday night marches along with me. A charge of wasting police time. All I had done was to report a crime, a murder, and yet they had referred my case to the CPS to charge me.

I still can’t understand how he managed to slip past them like that. I wipe a hand over my face and wait for the bus. When it comes I board it with Seb’s pass and find a seat at the back, wrapping my coat around me for comfort. Out of the window I see another bus draw alongside and momentarily I have the sensation of giddiness as our bus appears to slide into reverse. The narrow advertising strip on the side of the other bus pulls away with the bus. Ariel 3-in-1 pods. I shut my eyes against the memory but it invades anyway.

The day that I met him.

Grace wanted me to meet him. I think she thought it would make me feel better about him. It didn’t.

‘Ah, Xander, I’ve heard such a lot about you,’ he said to me when I walked into his yoga workshop. He sandwiched his hands around mine. They were warm and tanned. He was wearing white linen and floated about like a beatified ghost as I stood stiffly next to him in a black herringbone suit.

‘Ariel,’ I said, lifting my voice. I was there to give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘Mabel loves you,’ I said, my heart sinking immediately. ‘I mean the yoga.’

I switched my gaze to Grace and saw her cheeks flush.

‘Mabel?’ he said with a half-smile, looking at us both.

‘Oh,’ I say, irritated with myself. ‘Sorry – pet name.’

‘Pet name, eh? She’s an enigma, that one,’ he said smoothly then and stared into her eyes. A second too long.

I became conscious of my smile tightening. The air suspended around us and for a minute we all found ourselves looking at each other with fixed smiles.

‘So, Ariel. That’s an interesting name. Puts me in mind of—’ I said before he cut me off.

‘I know. I know. Ariel, the Lion of God,’ he said, dismissively waving his hands in the air. ‘I get that a lot but I prefer—’

‘Actually, I was going to say detergent,’ I said and then before he could answer, I stalked out of the hall. A second later Grace came marching behind me, whispering angrily at me.

‘Couldn’t you just for once—?’

‘What?’

‘Not be an idiot?’ Grace said, catching and then overtaking me on the street.

‘I came, didn’t I?’ I said, running behind her.

‘Well, if you were planning on sulking like this, you needn’t have bothered.’ She stopped in the road to hail a cab.

‘In my defence, I wasn’t planning on it, it just happened.’ I caught hold of her arm but she shrugged it off as a cab came squeaking to a halt beside us. As the taxi pulled away, she stared silently out of the window. For the whole journey she said nothing and all I could think was that we were heading in the same direction but that she was moving further and further away.

I press the bus bell and alight. The air here feels different, conditioned and cleaned, as if in Mayfair the very air is sanitised. I walk until South Street merges into Farm Street and within a minute I am standing there at number 42B. I stare at the glossy black door. Even now, in the bright morning light, the place gives me a chill. She must be in there somewhere.

I can get the police to believe in me if I get evidence. If I find more out about him.

But now I’m here, uncertainty bleeds into me. I cross the road so that I can see the house better. The master building is a large red-brick Victorian terrace with the door to 42B tucked away beside the main run of steps. I sweep my eyes upwards and see that the sash windows above the door are shut, curtains drawn against them all. I walk a few doors along on the opposite side until I am at my earlier watch-post.

There’s nothing out of place here.

There’s still no police presence.

No police tape.

No sign of anything ever having molested the peace of this road.