The Sister(92)
After a few minutes spent searching the other rooms and hall, he finished with a quick scout through the kitchen cupboards and the bathroom cabinet; there he found an array of medication. He noted that Kennedy senior was on Beta-blockers. Better not to wake the old git up. I'd not want him to have a heart attack.
When you tune in to an environment, a sudden silence acts the same way as a warning shout. One of them had stopped snoring. He strained his ears. A creak. Movement! Someone was getting out of bed; he cleared out of the bathroom into the spare bedroom with seconds to spare. He heard the soft fall of feet on carpet, then the pad of naked feet on the vinyl in the bathroom, followed by the sound of urination, a hawk and a spit, then the padding of feet again. Five minutes later, the old man’s tongue was choking him in his sleep again.
Finally, he found Kennedy junior’s room. It was a shrine to someone who had not died, someone who was perhaps expected to arrive back home from college any day now. Baseball posters covered the walls and the shelves stocked with youthful memorabilia, racing cars, figurines from Marvel comics and Star wars. He opened the wardrobe and a stale smell of uncirculated air wafted out, the smell of clothes that needed airing and old shoes; he crinkled his nose as the scent caught in his nostrils. Satisfied he had all he needed; he opened the window and climbed out. He reached back in as an afterthought, to retrieve an object that rested against the wall by the window. Pulling the window behind him, the friction hinges held it closed.
Chapter 74
Late afternoon, Wednesday, 7 March
Theresa Hunter saw the road works traffic build-up just too late to turn off. She cursed herself under her breath. Why didn’t you pay more attention to the advance warning signs when they went up! The date just had’nt registered. Now she was in the wrong lane, the other was moving faster – she craned her neck round and seeing a gap hopped the car into it, almost slamming into the back of the car in front. The lane she was in started moving ahead. If she’d have stayed where she was, she’d be ten cars further down by now and still it kept moving. She remained stationary. Damn!
Determined to keep moving, she indicated to change lanes again. No one would let her in. Her temperature began rising. There was a slight opening a few cars back; she could see the lorry driver looking at a map or newspaper. The gap widened further, and she geared herself up to cut into it. She always used to be so critical of other people that lane-hopped, for the first time she understood how saving even a few seconds seemed worth the extra risk.
Terri would soon arrive home from college, and she didn’t want that to happen until she was there. If she could have, she’d have picked her up from the college gates, or even a pre-arranged point round the corner, but to do so, would have alerted her to the fact that something was wrong, and the poor kid had had enough to put up with since her father died.
She switched in front of the lorry and congratulated herself on her perfect timing. The lorry driver let her know he didn’t agree with a sudden deep, bass blast on his horn and thundered up close behind. She put her slender hand out of the window, and lifted it to say sorry, hoping the realisation that she was a woman would persuade him to back off.
He remained inches from her boot lid, uncomfortably close, intimidating her. The rumbling engine noise and diesel fumes invaded her car, making her wish she’d stayed where she was. Having made his point, he dropped back. With a sigh of relief, she opened the other windows to allow the fumes out.
Ahead, a car had broken down. Beyond that, both lanes were moving steadily. She realised she’d been holding her breath. Emptying her lungs, she inhaled long and deep.
Never one to let problems build up, somehow since the burglary and the subsequent wrong decisions made, she’d done exactly that. For the sake of a quiet life, to shield Terri from any involvement, knowing the anxiety she would feel, she succeeded, but only amplified the effect on herself. She found herself thinking about the past two weeks.
Was it really only two weeks ago? Is that all it was? It seemed as if an eternity had passed since she walked in that evening. It wasn’t so much that anything was obvious; there was no sign or clue anything was amiss. The only odd thing she recalled now was that her mother’s old tin had been turned around. Joey, the blue and yellow budgerigar whose picture adorned the tin, was facing the wrong way.
She thought about her mother, how she’d always told her from when she was a little girl that while the bird faced outwards, he was looking out for us. Theresa would watch as she reached up to the tall shelf where 'Joey' lived and after she’d taken money from the tin; she was always so meticulous about putting it back exactly as it was. That way, she could tell if her no good husband had gotten his hands on it. Sometimes, a terrible row followed, and he’d say, ‘I never took no money out, I was only looking to see how much—’ and her mother would retort, ‘If you ever as much as look at that tin again,’ She let the words trail, the rolling pin she brandished completed the thought for him.
Her mother would never have left the tin like that. Now that it was her turn to look after it, she’d never have left it like that, either. She was obsessive about things like that. And Terri wouldn’t have, either. She too, was obsessively compulsive. It was a big problem for her.
Standing on a chair, she stretched up to get the tin. She lifted the lid; it was all there, no cash missing. How strange, could it have been a mouse? Shuddering at the thought, she put the tin back and faced it the right way. She continued to think about it and it played on her mind. Maybe she did borrow a bit of cash without telling her and then put the money back without putting the tin back properly. No, she’d never have done either of those things; she definitely would have put the budgie back facing the right way. It was like having her mum looking out over them. ‘No way!’ she said it aloud, hoping to break the circle of repetitive thoughts; they retreat for a moment before regrouping in her head.