Every Second Counts

Chapter Fifteen

I HONESTLY DON'T REMEMBER much after that because I was hyperventilating and crying and Floppy came racing into the dining room and snarled at everyone and I had to yell at her, 'Stop Floppy!' because it looked like she was about to bite Polly's leg off.

When there is some form of normality I ask, 'What happened? Did he have a car accident?'

'No. It wasn't a car accident. I'm afraid he was murdered.'

'Murdered? Who would want to hurt Damien? He was...' and then another round of convulsive crying.

Polly has her arm around me saying things like, 'there, there,' and she waits until I stop crying and then she says, 'We thought you would have heard about his death.'

I wipe at my eyes with another tissue and place it on the coffee table with the other tear snivel-soaked tissues. 'No,' I say. 'I haven't heard anything. I don't understand why Mrs. Heslop didn't get in touch with me.'

'Actually, it was Mrs. Florence Heslop who found his body. I guess she's been beside herself. Hasn't thought to contact anyone,' Rutherford says.

'Oh no. Poor old Florence,' I mumble. 'How is she?'

'Not good. Maybe you could visit her?' Polly asks.

'Yes, yes, of course.' It stumbles out of my mouth before I have my head into gear. 'No. No, I cant. I don't ever want to go back there again. I can't believe it. Another death? How? How was he killed?' I ask.

'Stabbed. Kitchen knife,' Polly says.

'OMG!'

It is only now I wonder why two officers have come to tell me the most heinous of news and reading my face, Rutherford answers my unverbalized question. 'Athena, we heard you were close friends with the deceased. And what with your parents and everything, we want to make sure you're alright.'

'What do you mean, all right? Why shouldn't I be? Surely you don't think their deaths are connected, do you?'

He sighs. 'We certainly hope not. But, you know, another death in little old Cottonsdale? It's been such a quiet safe little village for over 25 years, now.' He gets out his note book. 'When was the last time you saw Mr. Crowder?'

I puzzle. 'I'm not sure. I think it was three weeks ago. I can check in my diary if you like.'

'No. That won't be necessary. How was he? Did he seem his usual self?"

Tears spill as I remember the last time we talked. He'd stared into my eyes with his beautiful dark eyes and said, 'Athena, I'm pretty keen on you. You know,' and he took a moment to compose himself, took my hand in his and murmured, 'like I want to get to know you a hell of a lot more.'

And here I am, being told he had been murdered. It is only now that his phone call enters my head. 'We were going to meet up in a couple of days-time, on Sunday. I was going to Cottonsdale and he was going to take me to the Chrystal Plumber Restaurant.' By now I'm snivelling as the full weight of what Damien's death means to me. I had so high hopes for him and me, with or without my green lenses. And now, he's dead.

I am mortified.

* * *

Rutherford and Polly leave and for the first time on a Thursday I am not completely consumed with my impending session with the girl in the dark room. I chuck up throughout the day as per usual, but I know it's because I am so upset about Damien. I cannot believe he is dead. Someone murdered him. Why? Although I do not think it is connected with my parents death, I have the nagging feeling that when he talked to me last week he was very interested in my mother's jewellery and asked about the history of a pair of earrings. And he hinted I may have a sister. How the fuck did that enter his head? What if it is all connected? What if the murderer wanted something from him...something relating to me?

* * *

I cry a lot. I drink a lot. And I ring Lila.

She doesn't answer so I have to leave a message on her phone, 'Lila, it's awful. Damien has been murdered. I need you. Please say you can come back to England for a few days. I need you.' I'm thinking it went something like that. I hope so. I hope I haven't spent half an hour ranting and raging.

At 9.p.m. without any conscious decision I am getting ready to go out on the prowl. Bag myself a man. Bag me some sex. By now I'm pretty numb with marijuana and alcohol but I have the sense to book a hotel room and then dial a taxi.

Sex that night is a blur. He is a blur. I am a blur. Hours later as I head back to Red's apartment in a taxi, the only thing I can really remember is drinking several shots with a young man with red hair, a bit like mine. Then a distorted image of us grabbing at each-others clothes.

When I get back home I'm staggered to see Lila sitting on the steps outside Red's apartment block. I rush into her arms and it's not until we are up in my apartment hugging I get some sense of curiousness.

'How come you got here so quickly?'

'I made arrangements as soon as you rang,' she tells me.

'What? Got your own jet plane, have you?' I say.

'What are you on about? I tried to get here earlier, but it's kids school holidays and most of the flights were booked. This is the earliest,' she said.

'But, I only rang you this afternoon.'

Lila's expression is full of anguish. 'Darling, you rang me days ago... on Sunday night.'

* * *