Authors: Elizabeth Corley
Katherine stopped at the local Handishopper on her way home after choir practice. It was customary for her to do this for one of two reasons: either because she had had a particularly
good day, in which case she gave herself a treat to make it even better, or because it had been a particularly bad day, when she treated herself anyway by way of compensation. Today it was obvious to Sandy, who served on the checkout in the evenings, that Miss Johnstone had had an excellent day.
‘Good day then, Miss Johnstone?’ said Sandy, who had left Downside at sixteen with three GCSEs – a failure for the school, which had a good academic record, but an extraordinary success for Sandy.
‘Yes, Sandy, excellent. You’ll never guess what, but Octavia Anderson has agreed to come and take the soprano part in our performance of Verdi’s
Requiem
.’
Sandy looked blank; she had not been gifted with an ear for music.
‘You know, the opera singer who used to go to Downside School, in my year as it happens.’
‘Oh yeah! I think I remember now – we did something on her in music when I was at school. That’s good then, innit?’
‘It’s excellent, Sandy. Couldn’t be better – and a cause for celebration. Now, do you have the latest delivery of Sheba in yet?’ This was the cats’ favourite food and Miss Johnstone had seen the new flavour advertised at the weekend. A generous and good-hearted woman, she wouldn’t have dreamt of indulging on her own without the cats benefiting too.
‘Ooh. I’m not sure, miss. I’ll go check, boss’ll know.’
Whilst Sandy went off to investigate, Miss Johnstone searched the shelves for inspiration for her own indulgence. She was tempted by the luxury ice creams but the weather was already changing and the thought of the chilled dessert made her shiver. In the end, she bought a small rump steak, a mixed green salad, a pre-packed slice of lemon cheesecake and as decent a bottle of claret as the shelves would furnish. To finish off, she picked up a box of shell-shaped pralines and placed them on top of the basket. By this time Sandy had returned.
‘No luck, I’m afraid, but we’re promised some Thursday.’
Miss Johnstone decided that the cats could wait until Thursday to share in her good fortune.
‘I’ll pick them up Thursday evening then, Sandy. Could you be sure to have some put by for me – say half a dozen packs? I don’t want to disappoint them.’
‘Rightyera, then, miss. I’ll do that. That’ll be twelve pounds sixty-two pence, please. Looks quite a treat!’
Miss Johnstone said goodbye to Sandy, confident that the cats’ food would be there for her later. She may not have been a bright girl but Sandy was diligent and thoughtful and would not disappoint. As Miss Johnstone left the shop and walked along Copse Lane, she was shocked to see Melanie White on the back of a large black motorbike.
By Wednesday, the weather had changed completely and raincoats and jumpers were pressed into service by pupils and teachers alike. As she left the staff room after the last period, not even the weather and the fact that she could do little in her garden could dampen her spirits. A letter from Octavia was due any day confirming her commitment to sing and there was a meeting of the Organising Committee that night. Downside School had significant influence in local musical events and in the annual cathedral concerts of the county.
The committee meeting, held at the school, went on until nearly 7.00 p.m. This year, given the reputation of the soprano, the organisers were confident of attracting other excellent soloists and part of the reason for the long meeting had been a discussion on whether the other soloists should be ‘upgraded’. The matter remained unresolved, as was the idea of having the performance recorded, which Kate Johnstone agreed to pursue with Octavia Anderson.
The storm broke during Thursday. By mid-afternoon Kate was regretting her decision to ignore the early signs of a chill that morning and come to school. She should have stayed at home and nursed her cold but the thought of choir practice spurred her on. Now in her final lesson, the same thought prevented her giving in and returning home at once.
At the end of class Kate hurried to the common room in search of the various remnants of cold remedies that usually haunted the coffee station along with herbal tea bags, branded sweeteners and indigestion tablets. She had just about given up hope when she spotted a sachet of lemon cold relief half hidden by a tray. It’s my lucky day after all, she thought, remembering at the same time that she had to stop later and pick up the cat food.
‘Kate, you look awful; what are you doing still here?’ Robbie, the deputy head, entered the room with a stack of exercise books.
‘Oh, dodn’t,’ she sniffed, ‘I’ve god de choir todnight.’
‘Well, let Judith do it, she can cope. Go home and look after yourself.’
‘Perhaps I will.’ Katherine wandered over to the large cork board to which were pinned notices to members of staff and any personal messages. There was one for her, in Judith Chase’s handwriting.
Kate, sorry,
it read.
I’ve had to go home. I’ve got a stinking cold – can’t stop sneezing. I know you’ll be able to cope. See you tomorrow (I hope). Judith
.
‘Oh no, Judith’s god it doo. I’ll have do go.’ Kate’s shoulders sagged.
‘Never mind. Make it a short one, then go home and wrap up. See you tomorrow – I hope.’
His words echoed those in the note. Kate shuddered involuntarily. Outside the rain lashed the windows, splattering broken twigs with fragile new leaves against the glass, leaving them there marooned until the next gust whipped them away. No piano playing tonight!
The choir clattered off early, before 5.30 p.m., leaving the school deserted except for Miss Johnstone and the caretaker. In the music block Kate diligently collected and stacked the music and checked that all the windows were secure. They were all locked upstairs and she switched off the lights. From the semidarkness of the upstairs room she glanced down on the shrubs that were being tormented by the storm winds. It was amazing, she thought, how, as soon as you looked at shadows, they took on real shapes. There, out in the bushes, that could be the shape of head and shoulders behind the nearer rhododendron, losing the last of its fading flowers to the wind. The more she looked, the more she became convinced it
was
a person, a man, hiding in the bushes, waiting for her. She was not a fanciful woman but the thought refused to leave her mind and began to assume the weight of reality.
She froze perfectly still and stared at the spot with eyes that dried as she tried not to blink. The shadow didn’t move. It became neither more nor less of a man. In irritation she blinked and shook her head. When she looked again it had gone.
‘Stupid woman,’ she said out loud. ‘Just get home and get to bed.’ She walked boldly down the steep wooden steps, her high heels clattering on the bare boards. At the bottom she checked first on the changing room, making sure that the door to the old assembly hall was locked. It was, the key sitting securely on a peg by the side of the door. She walked back into the piano room, noticing a chill draft as she did so. Not bothering to switch on the light she crossed to the small window and found it ajar. Strange. Kate closed it firmly and secured the latch.
Finally, she walked back to the foot of the stairs, head, neck and shoulders aching with cold. She sneezed twice, violently, jarring her whole body. Sluggishly she changed into her walking shoes and put her smart courts into a shoe bag. Finally, stepping outside, she made sure she had her umbrella ready and sorted out the music-room keys.
Outside in the holly bush by the door he waited. Dressed completely in black, even to blacking around his eyes, he blended totally into the shadow. There had been a moment, minutes before, when he was sure she had seen him. He had frozen as her pale face seemed to stare right at him from the upstairs window. Then she had looked away and he had taken that moment to flit to the next dark pool of cover. Now he waited calm but alert, poised for action, the charge of adrenalin focused and controlled.
He had decided on a simple plan: kill her on the threshold of the door and drag her inside, locking the door after her. The weather was in his favour. He had been prepared to knock out the caretaker during his rounds, to be sure of no interruptions but when he had checked on the old man he had found him wrapped up snugly in his den with a Thermos and radio, obviously settled for the evening. There was no one else around.
He heard her steps on the stairs and mentally followed her through the downstairs rooms. He had hoped she would not play the piano tonight; he was eager for the deed to be done. His hands would suffice, they were his deadliest weapon. He had a knife for backup, just in case, but he doubted it would be necessary. He would break her neck with one simple blow; the spinal column would snap, and she would die without uttering a sound. Then he would do what was necessary to make this look like a random robbery and sexual assault gone wrong, perhaps perpetrated by an addict. Remembering this detail, he took the syringe out of his pocket and dropped it to the ground beside his feet.
The lights went off and he heard her sneeze, twice. He tensed, ready for action.
* * *
Kate walked out of the doorway and bent down to the lock. As she did so, she felt rather than heard a rushing noise behind her, and at exactly the same moment, was taken by a huge sneeze that rocked her body, nearly doubling her in two. In a nightmare of horror and confusion, the sneeze took shape, an arm went about her middle, another missed her neck by inches as her head jerked in the sneeze. She couldn’t understand what was happening to her as a heavy weight crushed into her back, knocking her into the doorframe and jerking the door open. Her mind refused to work, numbed in terror and shock, but a basic primitive instinct urged through every nerve and muscle. On her knees on the muddy step she remembered her umbrella, still in her hand.
Lashing out and back, a lucky blow caught the man in the groin and she managed to tear herself away from his grasp. He kicked out at her, missing her head but catching her hand against the stone of the step. She heard the crack of bones but no sense of pain penetrated her adrenalin-soaked mind.
Whimpering she shuffled, half crouching, half crawling, into the changing room. She remembered the key on the nail by the door to the assembly hall and lurched forward, arm outstretched, to find it and so open up a possible escape into the room beyond. Kate had forgotten her shattered hand. As she tried to close her fingers around the key, pain spurted up her arm, setting her shoulder on fire, breaking her momentum. For a precious second, she fought down the sickness in her throat and fumbled for the key with her left hand. Just as her fingers closed on the cold metal he rammed into her from behind, throwing her on to the floor, bruising her knees hard on the concrete.
She tried to hide under the slatted benches, among the discarded socks and dirty boots, but he grabbed her ankle and yanked her back into the middle of the room. She struggled harder, realising now that she was fighting for her life. She twisted away from him, trying to break his grip on her ankle and grab hold of a bench, anything that might become a weapon.
The bench was bolted to the floor, immovable. Kate hung on to the iron frame, jerking her leg in a last desperate attempt to rid herself of his fixed hold on her ankle. It was useless: he was impossibly strong. He ignored all her struggles and silently flipped her on to her back on the cold concrete floor. There, exposed and looking up into a wild, inhuman face she finally started to scream. He put his hand over her mouth and forced her head back. All that she saw of the blade was a thin flash from the corner of her eye as it fell down in a tight arc. Warmth flooded her body, then an icy chill.
He held her tight as her screams became a low gurgle and she started to drown in her own blood. Her body went into spasms, arms and legs thrashing around. He held on to her mouth and head, avoiding the flailing limbs.
As her consciousness faded, she found herself praying, asking God why. Then, he bent and whispered a name into her dying ear and she knew that retribution had come.
At the Handishopper, Sandy became increasingly concerned about Miss Johnstone. The half-dozen cans of cat food were there, ready and waiting, but by six o’clock, her customer still hadn’t arrived to collect them. In her slow and steady way Sandy knew that something had to be wrong. It was completely out of character for her ex-teacher to forget an arrangement or go back on plans she had made, and the unlikelihood became unthinkable where her cats were concerned! Sandy consulted her boss, the store manager, but he dismissed her fears, assuming that the teacher had been given a lift home from school because of the bad weather. He was irritable and short with Sandy, miserable at the unseasonably low level of takings and prepared to blame anything on the appalling storm.
In the White Lion, Ron, Melanie White’s boyfriend, was becoming increasingly amorous. The heated couple only had one problem, where to go to allow their hormones full rein.
‘You must know somewhere, Mel. This is ridiculous, I can’t go home like this.’
‘What about your mum and dad’s? That’s been OK before.’
‘Yeah, but my brother’s home tonight, with his football mates. There won’t be a moment’s peace there.’
‘Well, where else can we go? All our usual places will be no good in this rain.’
‘That’s what I was asking you, you daft cow. I’m randy as hell and I can’t take another night of not doing it just because
the bloody weather’s bad.’ To prove his point, he grabbed her hand, which was resting on his knee, and thrust it against his swollen crotch, painfully constrained by his skin-tight jeans. Melanie, who still thought of herself as a good girl really, looked around quickly; she was almost sure nobody had seen them.
Withdrawing her hand she responded with an acerbity unusual in their relationship. ‘Well, I
can’t
think of anywhere just now. Why don’t you get us another drink and cool down?’