Page 19 of A Murder is Going Down

‘Okay,’ is all Marianne says.

I still don’t like the way she’s looking at me.

Then

When we get home, Aunty Sam and Elena are assembling, rather than making, lunch. Aunty Sam is slicing up a gigantic loaf of tiger bread, while Elena skins and slices a pair of avocados. On the table is a hunk of cheese and jars containing various chutneys, jams, mustards and pickles (one has a handwrittenMerry Christmas 2017label on it, which is a little alarming, but I’d pay more attention to it if this was a story where someone dies of food poisoning).

‘How was everything at the house?’ Elena asks.

‘Fine.’ I produce the bag with her clothes and a couple of bits and bobs, as requested. ‘I hope I got the right stuff.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Thanks, Heidi.’ She beams at me.

Patrick is too distracted for pleasantries.

‘Elena, have you seen much of your friends since Felix died?’

‘They were at the funeral. I’ve been busy with logistics. Why?’

Patrick looks annoyed. ‘The funeral. I should have talked to them then.’

Aunty Sam has the same look on her face as the time I lied about having a pupil-free day at school because Lilia and I wanted to go to Adventure World. In my defence: I was ten and only book smart, at the time.

‘I could put these clothes in your room, if you like,’ I say loudly, trying to derail Patrick, because there’s being obvious and then there’s what he’s doing. Elena doesn’t acknowledge my offer.

‘I was thinking,’ Patrick goes on, ‘maybe we should have some of your friends over. It’s so important for you to have a social support system during this difficult time.’

The look on Aunty Sam’s face intensifies, and I’m not so sure Patrick’s getting away with this the way that he seems to think he is.

Sure enough.

‘What’s this about, Patrick?’ Elena asks.

‘Just trying to be a good brother.’

‘Since when?’

I decide to live up to my promise of help and jump in with a lie.

‘It was my idea, actually. I was asking Patrick if your friends have rallied around you.’

‘They have,’ Elena says, smiling so warmly at me that I would probably buy however many green smoothies she cared to sell me. ‘They’ve been great.’

‘Maybe we could have them over here to say thanks,’ I say. ‘I never really knew Felix’s friends. I’d like to meet them and maybe talk about Felix with some of the people he was close to?’

Oof. This is, you don’t need to tell me, kind of a low blow. Am I implying that spending time with Felix’s friends might help me grieve? Yes. Am I implying this to his widow in the hope it might guilt-trip her into throwing a party I’m sure she doesn’t want? Absolutely. Do I have regrets? Only until I meet Patrick’s eyes and see the twitch of his lips.

What Patrick said earlier about not worrying so much what other people think sounded a bit like the slogan of a psychopath at the time, but there’s something appealing in it. Whatwouldmy life look like if I wasn’t scraping for approval?

‘If you think it would help you,’ Elena says, unenthusiastically.

We all look at Aunty Sam, who’s frowning, but notlike she’s mad, more like she’s thinking. ‘We could keep it simple. Wine, charcuterie, maybe a couple of cocktails.’ She looks thoughtfully at Elena. ‘Maybe it would be good to meet some of your friends, Elena. I don’t think I’ve even met the friends who were there when Felix died.’

It’s hard to tell whether Aunty Sam is motivated by concern for my wellbeing, Elena’s, or simply her love of a shindig. Aunty Sam regularly throws what she insists on callingsalonsfor her muso friends, who turn up with too many instruments, not enough alcohol, and stay too late. Falling asleep while a man called Xavier plays the bassoon on the other side of a paper-thin wall is harder than you might imagine. (‘But he’s so talented,’ Aunty Sam told me the last time I complained, like that was an excuse my maths teacher would accept for the fact I dozed off in class.)

Patrick’s grin is transparent as Elena gets out her phone, presumably to get some invitational texts rolling. Clearly, he imagines our list of suspects is being assembled.

If only it was that simple.