Chapter Text
The comforting smell of cigarettes wafted nearby, dogs barked rhythmically outside, and the trees rustled, their leaves heavy and drooping with the weight of fresh snow. When Pauline had woken up the room was unfamiliar, the air cold but the duvet around her warm. Medium-sized, coy, sort of a wine-mum type of bedroom. Four patches of golden sunlight on the wall to the left of her reminded her she was alive and on earth, a small yawn to the right of her reminded her she was in Bernice’s bedroom.
Her eyes widened in sudden realisation. She’d thought she had dreamt the evening before. Pauline turned on her back, combing her hair through with her fingers and rubbing her eyes, expecting black smears of leftover mascara. There were none - then she remembered, Bernice wiped it off in the bathroom with gentle hands and a makeup wipe. More events were coming back to Pauline now, they had sat outside, huddled together in a blanket, looking up at the stars and pointing out which ones looked like objects. Pauline had found one that looked like a pen, and whilst Bernice playfully argued it was a cigarette, it was really just a line of stars. Everything they did together that night was better than real life, though. Like it happened in a movie, or a dream you wished you could go back to sleep and continue. They had gone upstairs, closed the curtains and did things neither of them had done in a long time. Not even with another person, let alone each other.
And, oh, it is such a horrible feeling waking up at 7 A.M., hearing someone you’ve just spent the night with that they have to go to work and they’ll see you later, when later meant in 7 hours or, most of the time, never. It wasn’t the case for Pauline. Bernice told her yesterday evening about the mice that came in and scattered up hard-to-reach places and dusted them with their furry bellies so she didn’t have to do it herself. Pauline asked how she knew this, and Bernice said she had heard them while preparing Christmas decorations for the church, but Pauline doubted that was the full story.
“Morning,” Bernice said in a whisper.
Pauline turned her head to look at the person next to her, and smiled. “Good morning.” She reached her hand out, and Bernice handed her the recently lit cigarette. Her hair had been tied into a small ponytail at the back; locks of dark brown curls spilled out at the front, and she wore a deep purple pyjama top with its buttons undone. She didn’t look as pale as when she has her makeup on - her cheeks bloomed red at the tops and her eyes were tired, but a smile broke out.
Pauline gave the cigarette back after she had inhaled and sat up, reaching behind her to prop the cushions up. The curtains had been drawn open slightly, explaining the panes of sunlight she’d first seen when wakening. On Bernice’s lap was an ashtray littered with cigarette butts. So, she had been awake for some time.
“Sleep well?” Pauline asked, almost adding a term of endearment at the end of her sentence, but stopping it short before she embarrassed herself. Still, she didn’t think she could embarrass herself more than last night. Though, she looked back on it with a smile instead of a grimace.
“Yeah. Bastard crows woke me up though,” Bernice said, a small smile tugging her mouth as she looked at Pauline. “I forgot to ask you- you’re not doing anything today? Forgot to ask last night.”
“Don’t think I’m doing anything…” Pauline trailed off, thinking about life back on earth as it were. A scene appeared in her mind, one of her flat, one of the dimly lit interior of the church, one of Mickey, and one of a small notepad, its pages open on a confession. Then Ross’s piggish face stared up at her.
“Oh, shit, Ross,” Pauline hissed, darting out of bed, and the warmth. Of the safe bubble of Bernice’s world. The pyjamas were off in a rush, a pair of pink silk trousers landing on Bernice’s head, and her tracksuit spotted and put on. Pauline stopped to giggle as Bernice picked the pink trousers off her head with a fake gross expression on her face. She folded them neatly and laid them next to her. “God, he’s been gone for Lord knows how long- sorry, Reverend, but he needs to get himself sorted out. He better not be in some nightclub in Bolton off his rocker on drugs.” This earned a chuckle out of Bernice.
“Ross, Ross, Ross. When will we see the end of him, eh?” Bernice reached a hand out, and Pauline took it, receiving a kiss. “Be careful. Take care of yourself. You can come to me when things go wrong.”
“You didn’t tell me that before,” Pauline said in a half whisper.
“I thought you knew.”
Pauline gave a timid smile and kissed Bernice’s hand, gathering her folded pyjamas and leaving the bedroom. She took a step to the stairs when she turned and entered the bathroom, catching a glimpse of the other woman’s lipstick. Standing in front of the mirror at her ruffled self, she applied it neatly, and kissed the mirror’s cold surface leaving a precise outline.
It was time to sort Ross out.
***
“Fucking idiot, fucking dickhead, fucking shit, fucking c-” The cold cylinder of a metal pole made contact violently with Ross’s forehead. “Oh, God’s sake.”
It was now exactly 10 hours since he had ‘gone missing’. Well, gone missing to Pauline. He supposed he should feel happy; prison would not see the likes of him again (hopefully) and he could continue with his life. If it wasn’t for his frustrating father.
Ross crossed the road, approaching the lit up sign of Shebabs. Sitar music drifted out of the door propped open by a scratched glass Buddha about the size of a small dog, and the smell of lager and eye-watering curry tempted him in. He half expected everyone to shuffle around in their seats to look at him, either suspiciously or in silent admiration. He didn’t want either. He just wanted his old life back, his invisibility.
There was a sudden change of temperature, from a mild breeze to a warmth that embraced him, and a lighting change that was like living inside a dying bolt of lightning. The air stunk of smoke, food and drunk people, thick and sludgy, but he trudged through, eyes on the carpeted floor.
A pint of Bluebird beer was offered when he had found a table for two in the corner. He perched on the edge of the velvety armchair, hands clasped in front of him, before he sighed and fell back into the chair. A woman sat in a nearby chair looked at Ross out the corner of her eyes, the sandwich in her hand dripping with red chunky liquid, like she had taken a lucky dip out of the aftermath of Mr Chinnery’s failed operations on animals. She looked away, wiping a hand on a bloodbath of a napkin on her lap.
Ross’s eyebrows shot up momentarily in confusion and a hint of anger before a man approached his table. He was holding the tray on the tips of his fingers, with a single beer threatening to spill over, and his waistcoat had that unnatural shine of fake fabric and patterns. Realising Ross wasn’t going to emerge from the cocoon the chair had offered him, the waiter set the glass down and vanished off amongst the tables. Ross was about to sit up and take a sip when an abnormally loud but friendly voice started at the entrance of the restaurant.
“So- t’Englishman, right Mike, ‘ad cherries. And Brian, the Scotsman ‘ad plums. And t’funniest bloody part was t’Irishman ‘aving pineapples. Imagine that! ‘N after all that, he were goin’ to die, anyway. Right, where we sittin’?”
Anyone in Vasey could recognise that voice from a mile away. Or, even more than a mile if Geoff Tipps was having one of his meaningless arguments. Ross’ head flared up where he had banged it, and he put a hand to his head. He could feel a lump on his forehead already; Geoff and his mates were walking to the back of the room so he swept his hair over his eyes. He could just about see Geoff’s ecstatic smile, and Mike and Brian’s look of bewilderment.
“Oi, three Bluebirds!” Geoff called up to no-one in particular, and sat down on the plush chair opposite Ross. A chorus of scraping wooden chairs from Mike and Brian joined Geoff’s exaggerated sigh as he spread his legs out, crossing his feet and popping his hands behind his head.
“Geoff - maybe a coke will do. It’s only quarter to 9,” Brian said timidly, a hint of accusation in his voice. “In the morning,” he added, in case Geoff didn’t get the memo.
“Yeah, work’s not gonna like it if we show up half-cut,” Mike joked, siding with Brian like he always does.
“Don’t matter ‘bout that- this ones on me,” Geoff said nonchalantly, looking Ross over curiously like a puppy with a new friend.
Ross stopped his mouth before he said something too hostile. He knew he could be rude, maybe only a bit, but he didn’t want to drive them away completely. Ross was the toy maker, and people were for his entertainment. At least it would kill time before he had to face Pauline again. He felt the part of his brain used for solving problems and thinking deeply had been numbed in Pauline’s long-term presence back at the flat that a little bit of drama wouldn’t hurt.
“What are you doing here?” Ross asked, sipping his beer.
“Geoff dragged us here because he heard about your-” Brian exclaimed, looking exasperated, before he was interrupted by Geoff.
“Brian, first of all, Geoff did not drag you here. And secondly, Geoff did hear about Ross’s case but Geoff can confirm that’s not the only reason why he’s ‘ere. This,” his gaze averted to the waiter coming over with three beers, “is why he’s ‘ere.”
“And does Geoff think that we should get going in case we get another warning at work?” Mike added with annoyance.
“Dunno. You’ll ‘ave to ask him.” Geoff replied, sipping his beer absent-mindedly. Mike and Brian looked done for the day. “So, ‘ow ya doin’, Ross?” Geoff started in almost a scared manner as if Ross was going to pop up like a jack in the box.
Ross sighed inwardly. “I’m fine.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. It had been a long time since he had spoken long sentences. No one had wanted to be around him to hear them, but that was his own choice. But what exactly did these buffoons talk about? The weather? He couldn’t think of anything more boring. He kept imagining if his boss walked in right now - not that he would pick a place as shabby as this - and saw Ross mingling with these types of people. The consequences! Surely a pay cut, or dirty looks from the windows of his office.
“Sounds good. Hey, me, Mike and Brian were just talkin’ about this joke goin’ around the Vasey Con Club. Danny Taurus - God he’s a funny chap - told us it.” Geoff smiled wistfully and looked up at the ceiling like it was a sky full of stars. “No one likes me other jokes any more.”
Brian’s smile dropped and Mike looked elsewhere. Ross acknowledged the sudden sombre tone and sat up. He took a sip of his beer.
“I don’t mind if you tell me it.” Ross said, almost coughing up his drink. His whole body cringed as the words left his lips. An amazing smile broke out on Geoff’s face. He sat up and took two hearty gulps of beer before rubbing his hands together like he was about to tell the juiciest piece of gossip. Or like a mosquito. Brian shook his head so hard at Ross his glasses nearly fell off, and Mike stared at Ross with laser eyes.
Geoff started talking, but it went so fast Ross couldn’t decipher any words. Snippets of his ramblings were made audible through Ross’s dissociation. There were these three fellas, Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman, he was told, but he didn’t know why that was relevant to the joke. Something about fruit, like cherries and plums. His attention was caught by the same woman who had looked at him earlier. She was looking at him again, over his hair, his hands clutching his beer, his clothes. He frowned at her when she rested a hand on her pocket.
Geoff stopped his dialogue momentarily when he saw Ross frowning at the woman. “Oh- don’t worry ‘bout her. That’s just Cheeky Channa. Shack’s mum, y’know, the pop star. Anyway. The Scotsman answers Mau Mau for the plums. The chief goes on and says, for the Irishman, death or Mau Mau-”
“I thought you needed to do the voice.” Brian added innocently. Geoff looked at him with a stare. Brian put up his hands and took a sip of his beer. Geoff carried on and, after dragging out the ending, laughed raucously, looking around at his peers to see if they were doing the same. Ross tried to chuckle. Mike and Brian smiled uneasily, and Geoff’s laughter trailed off. Ross considered the woman - and the meaning of her name and way she was acting all clicked. She was the kind of person Ross hadn’t talked to in a good 15 years.
The awkward silence was pursued by beer sips and sighs before Ross spoke up again. “Listen- you came here to talk about my case? You know, the whole Benjamin murder, dad blamed, my fingerprints on the gun, I’m blamed, that whole shaboodle.”
Geoff lightens up again. “Yeah, got one question that’s been keepin’ me up at night, right, is that, ‘ave you even celebrated yet?”
Ross went blank at the man opposites excited face. Mike and Brian were engaged in quiet conversation, looking like they couldn’t wait to get out of here. “Celebrated what?”
“Y’know. You bein’ found innocent. In the TA’s, when I did somethin’ I never thought I would be doin’, celebrations all around in my room! Y’know, we used to ‘ave balloons, cakes, pin-yaa-taz - the paper llamas with the whacky stick - the whole lot!”
Ross considered this. It didn’t really cross his mind to celebrate anything. Even his birthday, or a marriage. Still, there were no marriages going on in his life. He supposed he came here, for a break, to have a beer and to be in the company of people to slowly wean himself off of a life of isolation he was about to descend into again. But Geoff and his mates happened. That ‘celebration’ went out the window.
“No. I suppose not. What would you do?” Ross asked, genuinely curious, though part of him knew Geoff would respond with something stupid like doing an all nighter at the Mason’s Arms. Geoff turned around and gestured for someone to come here. The woman apparently called ‘Cheeky Channa’ stood up from her chair and came over to their table, wiping her mouth as she went. Her napkin had fallen when she had stood up and its’ contents splattered on the floor like a curry crime scene.
“Yes, men?” She announced with a firm voice. Geoff said something to her in a low voice, which she nodded at.
“Ross- we’re just goin’ over there, to the toilets. Come with us.” He said to Ross, not looking him in the eye as he fiddled with his inside blazer pockets.
“Why would I do that?” Ross was slightly regretting his decision of staying here.
“Because, young man, there’s a present that dear Geoff here needs to give to you. And it just won’t do if it’s in public.” Channa leans over the table. Ross can see her face clearer: her brown eyes crusted with old mascara, and messy nude lipstick. “Trust me. Everyone would be jealous.” She tapped her nose with a sly smile.
Ross stared deeper into her eyes, almost challenging her in a way, before leaning back and smiling.
“Okay. Fine.” Ross, who half believed the present was ‘The Bleedin’ Tube’ from Lance Longthorne’s joke shop, and half believed it was what Pauline said he would be off his rocker on. He slightly hoped it was the latter.
***
Going back home for Pauline felt like cheating on someone then coming back to an ex the day after. Her front door didn’t look different. The same old dark door that opened into her little world. Until Ross came and invaded it. But it was either that or having to clean. She liked the first option more. Thinking about Ross now, she considered the possibility that it was a bit lonely without him. No one to boss around, no one to sneer at. She kind of missed it.
Not as much as she missed Bernice. It felt like she was tearing her heart out of her chest alive when she left Bernice’s house and called Bab’s Cabs for a taxi to her own home. She wished Bernice would come and stay with her- live with her. Or Pauline herself could live with her. But there was an obstacle wedged in the way. Stopping all of that happening. And its’ name was Ross.
She shut the front door behind her, and the chill was immense. She felt the radiators - stone cold. Tossing one of the blankets around her arms, she pattered into the kitchen and boiled the kettle, pouring a cup of tea. Pauline made a deal with herself that if Ross didn’t come home, here, by 3 P.M, she would call the police and file him as a missing person. As much as that sounded like she cared about him - wanting him in a warm home within Pauline’s reach - all she wanted was to have a juicy argument about the diary she had found in his office.
The living room still smelled of them, of late nights accompanied by bottles of wine and the muffled ambience of the shopping channel through the haze of their drunkenness, of bright mornings with Ross dragging his bare feet to the coffee pot at 6 A.M while Pauline snored upstairs. It felt like Pauline was looking at a movie set that had been there all her life, and now she was the only actor to return to it.
But now she wanted to move forwards. Wanted to forget this silly situation that involved the two of them. Now thinking about it, none of this was actually her fault, it was whoever killed Benjamin. She knew who that was now, she thought, smirking to herself. Though she didn’t have a clue how Ross would react to Noah actually being the murderer. Would he have expected it? Been angry, disappointed, sad, joyful, even? When Noah was first jailed, he seemed his normal self. Boring, that is.
Before she could take a sip of her tea, a chorus of firm knocks reverberated through her flat’s walls. They came in a sequence of a melody, and continued for about half a second until the person stopped abruptly. She could hear shuffling outside her door. As she went up to her door and opened it, she hoped they weren’t those ‘sodding Germans’ that Judee dragged on about, but instead saw Ross. His eyes were wide, his pupils reflecting the sun overhead like white orbs. Pauline opened her mouth to say something, she didn’t know quite what yet, when Ross broke out in a song.
“JOY TO THE LORD, THE WORLD HAS COME,” he started, so loud it echoed in the street, until he continued in a whisper with his eyes shut, “rocking around the Rudolph tree, have a happy Christmas day, my dear Pauline.”
To have Ross seemingly happy was one thing, but to have him sing was an entirely different situation. There was definitely something wrong with him, if his wide eyes and trousers tucked into his underwear didn’t indicate that already. He took one deep breath and spat out a string of words. “Bloody hell- it’s boiling out there. In the TA’s Geoff used to have ice baths. C’mon, let us in and let me run one.”
“It’s not even Christmas any more-” Pauline started, half to herself as Ross sped past her and zoomed to the stairs, taking the first step and plummeting onto the ground. He laid there, half on the steps and half on the ground, then leapt up onto his hands and feet, doing push-ups.
“1, 2, 1, 2. 1, 2, 3, 4! Ask no questions, tell no lies, I saw a policeman zipping up his flies-” He huffed out, getting inexplicably red in the face, and tried the stairs again. He succeeded this time, but a series of thumps and bangs followed as he, Pauline guessed, threw himself around. A door creaked open and the taps started running for the bath. She deduced he wasn’t drunk; he would be swaying and unlikely to be standing up straight. Was this a distraction to avoid telling Pauline where he went? If it was, she didn’t think he’d go this far with it. She was starting to think that what she said to Bernice was true, that he indeed was mad on drugs, but in a pub in Vasey.
She started up the stairs, making her way to the bathroom. Even if Ross did need medical attention, not that there was any way Pauline cared that much to call an ambulance, she was not having her bathroom messed with. A sudden blast of rock music greeted her as she entered the bathroom. Ross was still in his suit when he stepped in the tub, and noticing the water was an inch away from overflowing, she turned it off with an exhale of relief.
On the shelf near the tub was home-made jugs stacked with pens inside, all different shades of blue with individual ocean-themed charms hanging on by a necklace-thin chain. Pauline was quite proud, it had taken her visits to at least 15 shops in the country to find those. Ross kicked at the water as he danced to the music, the radio placed precariously on the side and his hand reaching for the jug. She swatted his hand away and turned off the music.
“Ohhh, I love that song, Pauline, why would you do that?” Each of Ross’ syllables were pronounced so clearly you would’ve thought she was deaf. Ross gasped. “I know why. You know… you know everything… they know everything too…”
Pauline rolled her eyes and drew up a chair. “What the fuck have you been doing?”
Ross grinned. “It’s Geoff.”
“‘Course it’s bloody Geoff.” Ross was never going to listen to her in his state if she brought up the diary. But these sorts of things couldn’t wait. She didn’t mind slapping him in the chops if it meant he would listen. “Now, I know you’re a bit- I know you’ve taken something, some drugs, right-”
Ross sat down in the bath and shook his head viciously. “They know everything… they know everything…”
Pauline didn’t know what to say to this. She nodded awkwardly. “Right. But I need to tell you something. I’ve got something that could help. It’s about Noah.”
“Noah. Noah… He knows everything I’ve done, but I won’t tell him, I say, I won’t tell him. You know, he doesn’t even want to get out of prison. He likes it there. Says its 5 stars. 5 Michelin stars. He didn’t do it. Kill Benjamin, I mean. He’s not like that. Never has been. Never will be. He’s amazing. And he’s my dad.”
“I don’t care about all that. I’ve found something, and I’m so sure that it could put Noah in prison for longer. You… don’t want that do you?” Pauline asked carefully. She knew Ross thought it not ideal for Noah to be in prison, but it was hard to tell, he showed so little emotion. The diary pages could be such strong evidence that Noah did murder Benjamin, and he could be in prison for so much longer. But it all came down to Pauline.
Ross was bopping his head like the music was still playing, and moving his legs up and down in the water, splashing Pauline.
“You know what, I would be such a good merman. What colour tail do you think I would have? Blue? Green? Or pink? Pink sounds good. I would be a mer-king.” Ross babbled on childishly. He was starting to sound like Mickey when he had too much coffee. “But, where did you find these dear old pages, diary pages?”
Pauline inhaled quickly. “In an office. Used to be yours, now mine.”
Ross’s head snapped around. “You… went into MY office? And did not ask me first? Right, YOU are going to pay for this.” He started to arise from the bath, his glasses discarded, water pouring off him and out of his soaked clothes. Pauline stood too, a flush of panic rising in her cheeks. Ross couldn’t fight, she knew that, but could Ross ‘fight’ fight?
She popped the pipe out from under her sink, holding it with two hands as he outstretched his arms like a zombie, feeling his way around the bathroom. “I know about it, I know, I know, I know about the diary. I saw it, he put it there, he didn’t tell me but I knew it was at the bottom of that drawer.” Ross continued, grabbing a hold of Pauline’s wrists and digging his fingernails in.
Pauline swung the pipe around his head with a metallic ‘clong’. He dropped to the floor, just inches away from hitting his head on the bath’s side, she noticed, and stirred, before falling still. After a minute, his chest picked up and his breath rattled out of him steadily.
She didn’t ever think she would be glad that Ross was still alive.