Time to Die

‘I was recording a live television show when Felicity …’

‘I know that, Christian, and this isn’t about you, so please don’t worry. I want to ask you about your cousin, Bert.’

Christian’s head snapped up, and he hastily daubed away the tears welling in his eyes. ‘Bert? Do you finally believe me that he had something to do with this?’

Je

Christian gasped, cupping a hand to his mouth. ‘There was a murder on the news … a young woman, found dead in her bed. Was that him?’

‘I can’t say either way,’ Je

Christian blew his nose and replaced his sodden tissue with a fresh one from the box on the coffee table. ‘Bert’s spent half his life in and out of mental institutions. Why do they keep letting him out? Don’t they ever learn?’

‘We’ve got your earlier statement, but can you tell me a bit more about the last time you saw him?’ Je

Christian took a sip of water from a glass on the table and coughed to clear his throat. ‘Bert used to visit our house when I was young. He made mum nervous, so she told him to stay away. Then when I was on TV, he managed to get a hold of my mobile number and began calling me night and day. He even got to a phone when he was in the institution. It carried on long after he left. That’s when I reported him for harassment.’

‘Why the fascination with you?’

Christian shrugged. ‘He’s plagued me half my life. Mother thinks I remind him of his brother, the one that died when he was a child. Can I get you a drink?’

Will opened his mouth to respond but Je

‘Readings? No. Sometimes he’d talk about his mother as if she was still alive.’ Christian sighed, recalling the memory. ‘When I was young, he’d ramble on about his blackbirds and how he used to save them from traps. Sometimes the farmers would hang out dead jackdaws on their land to keep the birds from their crops. I remember Bert telling me once that he was up all night cutting them down. He’d save a few of their feathers as keepsakes then bury their bodies in the woods. In the early days, he used to tell me his stories. He’d sit there, scratching his arms and legs until they bled. He had terrible eczema, but I was young and I felt sorry for him. To me, he was a fragile old man.’

‘Did you ever speak to his mother?’ Je

‘Aunty Grace? God no. After her husband died she isolated herself from the world, wouldn’t even allow mother to visit. God only knows what used to go on in that big old house, with just the two of them rattling around up there. She was dead for weeks before anyone found her.’

‘How did she die?’ Je

‘They said it was her heart but her body wasn’t discovered for several weeks. Bert had left, and was sleeping rough in his father’s old van. You don’t think he had anything to do with it, do you? I mean, Bert was creepy, but this all still seems a bit beyond him.’

Je

‘What should I do if he comes back?’

‘You’ve got excellent security. Be alert, and carry your phone with you at all times. If you hear from him, call us straight away.’

Christian pulled a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. He glanced up at the picture one more time before speaking. ‘Felicity would hate to see me like this. She loved the kids, you know, she’d tell me to be strong for them.’

The mention of Felicity’s name brought a fresh question to Je

‘No. What’s that?’

‘It’s like a self-help group for people who want to forget their past and begin again. Does that sound like something she could have been interested in at some point in her life?’ Je

Christian shook his head. ‘Felicity told me everything. She was a very happy young lady, and had no regrets in life.’ He stared back up at the picture as fresh tears began to fall. ‘Oh Fliss, why did you have to leave me?’

Je

‘I know. But I want her here with me, now. I miss her so much.’ Christian’s face crumpled and he folded his arms tightly around his stomach, leaning forward in the chair.

Je

Will interjected as he stood behind them. ‘Have you spoken to any of Felicity’s friends since the funeral?’

Christian stared at him, as if he had only just realised he was there. ‘No. I know it sounds selfish but I just don’t have time for anyone else’s grief right now.’

Je

Chapter Forty

Bert

Bert wrapped his fingers around the chipped mug, slowly draining the scotch and allowing it to warm the pit of his stomach. Branches tapped the roof of the van like long bony fingertips, tap tap tapping into his psyche, the pitch-black night causing him to awake disorientated and confused. But camping out in the depths of the forest was better than going home to mother, or whatever was left of her. He imagined her still sitting in her rocking chair, just as she did when he was a boy. He tried to recall a time when he felt kindness. There had been a woman … Bert gasped as the name came to him through the mists of his mind. Rosa. That was her name.

Bert had celebrated his fortieth birthday. Rosa was older than he was, but he liked the way she cared for him because she wasn’t afraid to touch his red itchy skin. He wasn’t at home, although it smelt like home – antiseptic and clinical. Memories of a hospital building … sometimes he would sit with the others and watch television, his tartan slipper dangling off one foot as he bobbed his leg in time to the theme tune. Crime programmes were his favourite, although it was hard to hear them over the spasmodic moans and shouts in the background. Rosa always made sure he had a seat at the front, and extra biscuits with his tea. Sometimes she would stand behind him and watch too, her hand resting on the back of his neck. She stretched onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek once, when nobody was looking. She said that everybody deserved a kiss on their birthday. Bert had never had a girlfriend before, and wondered what it would have been like. Rosa was small and podgy, with big bosoms that moved when she walked. He liked that.