better start telling me what’s going on.
Well, look, Beryl and I know each other from way back, you know, we both got drunk I think and well, Sylvia has divorced me, so….
No, Lou interrupted. I’m not asking about that. I don’t care what you do… Well, I do care, but I mean, if you want to shag everything that moves then…
What do you mean? Shag everything that moves? It’s just once. It’s not like I…
Enough! Lou shouted and I stopped. I’m not asking about her. I’m not asking about that. I’m not here for her, or that, or you. You understand? Stop it, Sylvain. I want to know what you know about Mark. And why there’s blood all over your apartment. Did you? I mean, Sylvain, I know you don’t get along. But I said follow him, I didn’t say…
How do you know about that?
Jesus, Sylvain, you did something to him?
No, no, no. All right, look. Sylvia told you, right? She didn’t reply and that was enough. All right. Well, I can only tell you what I told Sylvia. I did see him, that night, last night. I followed him into town, and then into a hotel. The Inn Street Lodge, you know it? Of course. Then I followed him there, and I followed him inside. And he met this girl there, what’s her name, Angel, you know, the one at your party, with cropped hair and those weird eyes, she was there, and I don’t know what happened between them, but then he was there and he was covered in blood and she had disappeared, and that’s all I know, Lou. I swear, that’s all I know, and that’s what I told Sylvia. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.
Lou was silent. (Now in my mind I was thinking, is that what I told Sylvia? Did I tell her all that? I’m not sure I told her the bit about being covered in blood. Shit. Keep control, Sylvain.) Beryl was there. I hadn’t seen her come back in, but there she was, in her clothes, smoking a cigarette. She looked at me, then back at Lou, then at me again, and she put her hand out as if she was going to say something, then she stopped. Then she tried again.
Who’s Mark?
Lou’s husband.
Who’s Lou?
(I nodded at Lou. Beryl took a breath). Oh. So you two aren’t…? (Letting the question hang in the air).
(Lou actually laughed) No, no, no! (very quickly).
Well, that’s a relief, Beryl smiled. Thought I may have to get my machete out for a minute. She turned to me. Sylvain, listen, mate, I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, but your flat, it’s a bit of a mess, right? I mean. Your kitchen. There’s a t-shirt on the floor, and it’s covered with blood. And then, well, there are bloody handprints that lead out of the kitchen, up those stairs and to this weird room. I mean, look, I’m not judging, but it looks like you’ve killed someone in here? You know. You should get this place sorted. I know some people, I’ll get it sorted for you. Beryl scratched her eyebrows and glanced at Lou. Can you trust her?
Yes! Yes! You don’t need to worry about her! (Lou made a strange noise and we both looked at her. She had gone very white).
She OK?
(I shook my head). I don’t know. Lou… Lou, you OK? (I gently took hold of her and led her through to the kitchen, and helped her lower herself down to the small sofa). Lou, are you OK?
B(eryl knelt down by her, looking into her eyes. She murmured something, then slapped her, hard, on the face).
(I shouted) What the hell?
Ouch! (Lou’s eyes came back to life and she stared at Beryl). What the hell was that for, bitch? (Not what I was expecting)
Concentrate. What’s the matter with you? (Lou ignored her and looked at me).
Did you kill Mark?
What? No! Of course I didn’t!
Sylvain. I’m telling you. You got jealous and lashed out at him, didn’t you? Look at your apartment. Look at your clothes. (We all glanced at the bloody t-shirt that refused to leave its place on the floor of my kitchen.) I mean, Jesus, Sylvain, I never took you for a murderer!
(Me, screaming) It wasn’t me!
(Lou, screaming) Murderer!
(Me, screaming) Take it back!
(Lou, screaming) You’ll pay!
Shut the fuck up, both of you! (Beryl shouted and we both stopped).
I…
Shut up, (Beryl hissed. She turned to Lou). Tell me why you think Sylvain is a murderer.
Well, Lou said, and she went into a diatribe about me and my personality, and how Sylvia had left me because I had no feelings and no soul, and how Mark had stuck by me as a friend even though I had gone off the deep end and tried to drag everyone down with me even though I secretly coveted his wife (i.e. her, which was completely ludicrous as she had come on to me that time and I had had to push her back and stop her doing something stupid) and despised him for being a lawyer when I was some high flying geek with my invisibility cloak and my stupid ideas and my experiments with turning my wife into a vampire and god knows what other maniac schemes I had to make myself seem better and more important when none of them wanted it. And how I couldn’t stand losing, and how I took out all my desires and frustrations on those around me, and I wrapped it up in what I called my strength and my discipline but in fact it was just my ego and my narcissism, and now it was enough. And how she had looked at Sylvia, shrinking and shrivelling under the crushing force of my own pathetic ego until she had found the strength and the courage to let go and to move on, but still despite everything, Sylvia had worried about me and looked after me, and made sure I didn’t retreat back into my own world as I had done in the past, but instead she had dragged me places and tried to get me to meet people, and how Lou had even helped.
Even at the last party I went to, at her house, they had tried to set me up with a lovely girl who even worked at the same place as me (not closely, thank goodness), but that I had seriously freaked her out and then pestered Sylvia, and when that didn’t work, I had started to come on to Lou, who had had a little bit too much to drink and was worried about Mark, and who, for some reason, ended up confiding in me. She told me about her sleep problems and how she had seen Mark get up in the middle of the night and disappear somewhere, and how concerned she was; Mark had a stressful job and was finding life really tough and she was worried he was walking the streets looking for comfort and for sanctity against the madness of the world, when all he should really do is call his best, his only friend, but of course it would be too much to ask me to take any accountability and give anything back to Mark, he who had been such a friend over the years.
And she recalled how I had begged – yes, begged her – to let me help – God knows why, she said, she should have realised then not to trust me – I said I’d follow Mark, and find out what was happening, and I’d talk to him and take him out for a drink. Please, Lou, let me do this for you, for him, I had said – apparently – I had held her hands and looked into her eyes with my false French charm and begged her. I had told her that I had stolen the invisibility cloak that I had built (of course that was a secret, but I couldn’t help bragging about it, so everyone knew) … (at this point, I have to note, Beryl looked at me again with what I am sure was a half-smile – and that I would track Mark down, and sit him down, and we would talk it through, and everything would be all right. And for all my broken promises and self-indulgence and my generally just being shit, she had thought I was being sincere and had agreed.
And then, of course, Mark had disappeared, hadn’t returned the following morning, and she knew, she just knew, that I was wrapped up in it. Every time – he had never stayed away before – yes, he had his faults, Mark, yes, he could be selfish and forgetful but his heart was in the right place – and he had always made sure, whatever the circumstances – that he got home or at the very least let her know where he was. It was me, Sylvain, who had planted the insidious idea into her brain that perhaps Mark was seeing someone else, having an affair; wasn’t, I had asked, that the most obvious explanation, wasn’t she being over indulgent of Mark…shouldn’t I go and find out what he was up to, and I would put it right –
she didn’t need to worry, I would talk to him and I would bring him back, and I would make it right. And like a fool, she had believed me. And Mark was gone and my flat was covered in blood and what was she to think? The question hung in the air like a wisp of smoke as Lou stared at me, accusingly. I didn’t know how to handle this latest development, or, honestly, understand why Lou seemed to have lost her sense of reality, and to have painted me in such a light around things that just weren’t true.
But Lou… I started, and then stopped, not sure what else to say. Beryl asked me if I had killed this Mark, better to say it now and we’ll deal with the consequences, she said, but my denials sounded hollow, even to my ears, and I wondered (for the first time?) if I could have actually killed him, if I was capable of such a thing.
So what I hear you telling me, Beryl was saying, is that you don’t know whether you killed Mark or not. You followed him and you saw him with this girl and then they both disappeared.
Yes! Shouted Lou, they both disappeared, and then he (she pointed venomously at me) – he! – turns up covered in blood claiming not to remember anything. You know that girl – she even worked at his place, she was lovely and sweet, Mark knew her as well, somehow, I don’t know exactly – but Mark said to me, why don’t we invite her to the party, it would be good for Sylvain to