18
It’s only money
Friday evening. It looked like it might rain, she thought, staring out onto the bleak fields. Her misty reflection stared back at her, like some kind of lonely ghost wanting to be let inside. She returned to dicing the carrot, the silvery blade flashing in the harsh glow from the kitchen light bulb.
She had a recipe book lying open before her on the worktop. To Laura, cooking wasn’t instinctive. In fact it was all but alien to her. But she could follow instructions to the letter. She could follow rules. She had spent so long doing that she never thought to question them, never deviate from what was expected of her, even in a recipe book. Everything measured to the exact ounce, timed to the exact minute. Cooking – or trying to cook – was a good way to channel the myriad streams of thought that gushed unchecked through her troubled mind. It demanded attention to detail. She could become absorbed in it, even though it was all fearfully new to her.
She sniffed, paused in her chopping, blamed the onion for her stinging tears. She scooped up the diced carrot and dropped in into the casserole dish. Next she removed the stewing steak from the fridge, took a sharp carving knife and cut the red and bloody meat into neat little chunks and tossed them into the water after the carrot. She looked thoughtfully at the slimy pink stain the blood left on her fingertips.
Casper’s white Ford Cortina pulled up outside, blurred by the condensation spreading over the window pane. His familiar form emerged from the car. He glanced up at the window, saw her and waved energetically. He had something in his hand but she couldn’t make out what exactly. The doorbell rang and she wiped the blood off her hands, walking almost mechanically to the door.
‘Hello there, Laura!’ Casper piped up. He held out a bunch of flowers for her. ‘Flowers for my flower,’ he said.
She took them. When he leant forward to kiss her she stepped aside to let him in. ‘Please, go straight through,’ she said.
‘Can I smell onions?’ he asked.
‘Casserole,’ she said blandly.
‘Is everything alright, Laura? You look – well, you look awfully tired.’
‘I haven’t been sleeping well,’ she replied. ‘Please, go on in,’ she said again.
He studied her for a second or two, smiled broadly and went through into the living room, taking off his jacket and flinging it over the back of a chair. Laura lifted the flowers to her nose, breathed in their scent, and then threw them outside onto the wet gravel. She closed the door and turned the key in the lock. She slid the key into her apron pocket.
‘I’ve got everything sorted,’ he called. ‘The clinic is booked. Mind if I fix myself a drink?’
‘Go ahead,’ she said evenly. ‘Make yourself at home.’ She went through to the kitchen and picked up the carving knife from the worktop. She set about slicing up a turnip. She heard him come into the kitchen behind her.
‘You wouldn’t believe the trouble it took, though,’ he said. ‘Lots of technical and legal things to sort out.’
‘I’ll bet there were,’ she said.
‘Then of course there are the flights and hotels to get lined up.’ He took a swig from his whiskey glass. ‘This is really good stuff,’ he said.
‘It belonged to my father. I don’t drink. My father only liked the best.’
‘He could afford to, I guess,’ he said, feeling a tad uneasy. ‘You sure you’re OK? You sound rather distant. Not your usual self.’
‘Thank you for thinking of me, Casper. It’s so reassuring to know that there is someone there who cares, looking after my best interests. You don’t know how that makes me feel.’
He saw a smear of blood on a wooden chopping board. Observed how unnecessarily aggressive she was being with the carving knife. ‘Careful,’ he warned. ‘Has that turnip done something to annoy you? You’ll end up cutting yourself.’ He came to her side, attempted to slide his arm around her waist but she pulled smartly away.
‘I’m very busy,’ she said.
‘Fine,’ he said, holding up a hand. He went to lean on the worktop, scrutinising her. He took in a breath, let it out casually. ‘Have you…’ He took a drink. ‘Have you sorted things out at the bank, Laura?’
She turned to him; she tapped the tip of the knife against the worktop, a regular, irritated pattern, almost like Morse code. ‘Oh yes, Casper. It’s all sorted. Who is Katherine?’
The name took him by surprise, almost as if someone had fired a gun in the small room. But he recovered quickly. ‘Sorry – who?’
‘You heard. Katherine.’
‘I don’t know anyone by the name of Katherine,’ he said. ‘Look, what’s all this about? What’s going on?’
‘Who is KATHERINE!’ she screamed at the top of her voice.
He put his drink down, took a step away from her. She had the knife held out in front of her; she was breathing heavily, her eyes like two marble balls.
‘I don’t know what you’re getting at, Laura. Calm down, please. You’re scaring me. There’s obviously been some kind of mistake here, some kind of misunderstanding.’
‘I thought you loved me, Casper. I trusted you with everything, even my heart, and nothing is more precious than that.’
‘But I do love you, Laura!’ he said.
‘Don’t lie to me, Casper!’ she shouted again, then calmed herself down, closing her eyes tight and squeezing a solitary tear from her lid. It traced a silver line down her reddened cheek. ‘Don’t lie to me,’ she said, every single word painfully drawn out. ‘I thought we were going to get married.’
‘And we will get married,’ he assured.
‘I thought you were going to die.’
‘The operation will save me,’ he said desperately.
She took a step towards him and he backed off a little. ‘You were never going to die, Casper. You don’t have cancer. You’re not the least bit ill. And you’re not going to Philadelphia with my money for an operation. You never were. You never intended to marry me. The cancer, the operation, the clinic, everything a lie. You planned it all. We didn’t meet by accident. You didn’t fall in love with me. You never had a wife who died. The only thing you were after was my money.’
‘That’s not true, Laura,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Where have you dredged all this up from? Christ, Laura, I’m your Casper – I love you!’
‘You’re not my Casper; you’re someone else’s Felix.’
His mouth fell open. ‘I…I…’ he stammered, looking for a way to retrieve the situation.
‘Why? How could you be so heartless?’ she asked plaintively.
‘It’s someone’s idea of a big joke, that’s all…’
‘I’m the real joke, though, aren’t I? That’s what you thought, you and that girlfriend of yours, your Katherine, your Kat. I’ll bet you’ve had a real good laugh at my expense. I should call the police.’
He held up both hands. ‘Now hold on, Laura, let’s not be too hasty. This is all a lie!’
She removed the letter from her apron pocket. Held it out. Her hand shook. Gingerly he reached out, took the letter from her and began to read. His face went pale.
Laura shook her head slowly, the knife now flat against her chest. ‘You’re the lie, Casper – Felix, whatever your real name is. Preying on lonely, vulnerable, susceptible women like you do. You’re vermin, do you know that?’
Seeing the game was well and truly up he dashed out of the kitchen, down the corridor to the main entrance hall. He turned the handle of the door but it was locked. When he spun round she was right there behind him.
‘Open the door,’ he said. He swallowed hard when he saw she still had the knife in her hand. Her face was impassive, eyes frosty and lifeless. Her lips worked at something, almost as if she were reciting a prayer to herself, or silently chanting some verse or other.
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘All I need to know is why?’
‘Put the knife down, Laura,’ he said.
‘Why?’ she asked again.
‘No harm was meant.’
‘No harm was meant,’ she repeated. ‘You clearly don’t know how much I am suffering inside,’ she said, the knife point almost penetrating her blouse. ‘You don’t know how much all this hurts me. I loved you. I thought you loved me. I’d have done anything for you. But it was all a sham. Like the false diamonds you gave me, it was all worthless. You deserve to suffer, too, as I have suffered.’
‘Open the door, Laura!’ he said firmly, his voice tinged with escalating fear.
‘I opened the door to my heart, a door that had been locked shut for years, a door I thought would stay forever locked, but gave it freely to you and you abused it.’
‘In heaven’s name, Laura, it’s only money!’ he said. ‘Put the f*cking knife down!’
She stared hard at the blade, as if she hadn’t realised she had it in her hand. She lifted her head, gazed into his terrified eyes. ‘You deserve to suffer,’ she said.
* * * *