Lying in Wait ONE LYDIA My husband did not mean to kill Annie Doyle, but the lying tramp deserved it. After we had overcome the initial shock, I tried to stop him speaking of her. I did not allow it unless to confirm alibis or to discuss covering up any possible evidence. It upset him too much and I thought it best to move on as if nothing had happened. Even though we did not talk about it, I couldn''t help going over the events of the night in my mind, each time wishing that some aspect, some detail, could be different, but facts are facts and we must get used to them. It was the fourteenth of November 1980. It had all been arranged. Not her death, just the meeting to see if she was genuine, and if not, to get our money back.
I walked the Strand for twenty minutes to ensure that there was nobody around, but I needn''t have worried. The beach was deserted on that particularly bitter night. When I was satisfied that I was alone, I went to the bench and waited. A cruel wind rushed in with the waves and I pulled my cashmere coat around me and turned up the collar. Andrew arrived promptly and parked not far from where I was seated, as instructed. I watched from thirty yards away. I had told him to confront her. And I wanted to see her for myself, to assess her suitability.
They were supposed to get out of the car and walk past me. But they didn''t. After waiting ten minutes, I got up and walked toward the car, wondering what was taking so long. As I got closer, I could hear raised voices. And then I saw them fighting. The passenger door swung open and she tried to get out. But he pulled her back toward him. I could see his hands around her throat.
I watched her struggle, mesmerized momentarily, wondering if I could be imagining things, and then I came back to myself, snapped out of my confusion, and ran to the car. "Stop! Andrew! What are you doing?" My voice was shrill to my own ears, and her eyes swiveled toward me in shock and terror before they rolled back upward into her head. He released her immediately, and she fell backward, gurgling. She was almost but not quite dead, so I grabbed the steering-wheel lock from the footwell at her feet and smashed it down onto her skull, just once. There was blood and a little twitching and then absolute stillness. I''m not sure why I did that. Instinct? She looked younger than her twenty-two years. I could see past the lurid makeup, the dyed-black hair, almost navy.
There was a jagged white scar running from a deformed top lip to the septum of her nose. I wondered that Andrew had never thought to mention that. Her jacket had been pulled off one arm during the struggle, and I saw bloodied scabs in the crook of her elbow. There was a sarcastic expression on her face, a smirk that death could not erase. I like to think I did the girl a kindness, like putting an injured bird out of its misery. She did not deserve such kindness. Andrew has always had a short fuse, blowing up at small, insignificant things and then, almost immediately, becoming remorseful and calm. This time, however, he was hysterical, crying and screaming fit to wake the dead.
"Oh Christ! Oh Jesus!" he kept saying, as if the son of God could fix anything. "What have we done?" "We?" I was aghast. "You killed her!" "She laughed at me! You were right about her. She said I was an easy touch. That she''d go to the press. She was going to blackmail me. I lost my temper. But you .
you finished it, she might have been all right ." "Don''t even . don''t say that, you fool, you idiot!" His face was wretched, tormented. I felt sympathy for him. I told him to pull himself together. We needed to get home before Laurence did. I ordered him to help me get the body into the trunk. Through his tears, he carried out my instructions.
Infuriatingly, his golf clubs were in there, unused for the last year, taking up most of the space, but luckily the corpse was as slight and slim as I had suspected, and still flexible, so we managed to stuff her in. "What are we going to do with her?" "I don''t know. We have to calm down. We''ll figure it out tomorrow. We need to go home now. What do you know about her? Does she have family? Who will be looking for her?" "I don''t know. She . I think she might have mentioned a sister?" "Right now nobody knows she is dead.
Nobody knows she is missing. We need to keep it like that." When we got home to Avalon at quarter past midnight, I could see by the shadow from his window that the bedside light was on in Laurence''s bedroom. I had really wanted to be there when he got home, to hear how his evening had been. I told Andrew to pour us a brandy while I went to check on our son. He was sprawled across the bed and didn''t stir when I ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead. "Good night, Laurence," I whispered, but he was fast asleep. I turned out his lamp, closed his bedroom door, and went to the bathroom cabinet for a Valium before I went downstairs.
I needed to be calm. Andrew was trembling all over. "Jesus, Lydia, we''re in serious trouble. Maybe we should call the police." I topped off his glass and drained the bottle into my own. He was in shock. "And ruin Laurence''s life forever? Tomorrow is a new day. We''ll deal with it then, but we must remember Laurence, whatever happens.
He mustn''t know anything." "Laurence? What has it to do with him? What about Annie? Oh God, we killed her, we murdered her. We''re going to prison." I was not going to prison. Who would look after Laurence? I stroked his arm in an effort to comfort him. "We will figure it out tomorrow. Nobody saw us. Nobody can connect us with the girl.
She would have been too ashamed to tell anyone what she was up to. We just have to figure out where to put her body." "You''re sure nobody saw us?" "There wasn''t a soul on the Strand. I walked the length of it to make sure. Go to bed, love. Things will be better tomorrow." He looked at me as if I were insane. I stared him down.
"I''m not the one who strangled her." Tears poured down his cheeks. "But maybe if you hadn''t hit her ." "What? She would have died more slowly? Or been permanently brain damaged?" "We could have said that we''d found her like that!" "Do you want to drive back there now and dump her, call an ambulance from a pay phone, and explain what you are doing there on the Strand at one o''clock in the morning?" He looked into the bottom of his glass. "But what are we going to do?" "Go to bed." As we ascended the stairs, I heard the whir of the washing machine. I wondered why Laurence had decided to do laundry on a Friday night. It was most unlike him.
But it reminded me that my clothes and Andrew''s really needed to be washed too. We both stripped, and I set aside the pile of laundry for the morning. I washed the sand off our shoes and swept the floors we had passed over. I deposited the sand from the dustpan in the back garden, on the raised patch of lawn beyond the kitchen window. I studied the ground for a moment. I had always thought of having a flower bed planted there. When I slipped into bed later, I put my arms around Andrew''s trembling form, and he turned to me and we made love, clawing at and clinging to each other like survivors of a terrible calamity. Andrew had been a very good husband until just a year previously.
For twenty-one years, our marriage had been solid. Daddy had been very impressed with him. On his deathbed, Daddy had said he was relieved to be leaving me in good hands. Andrew had been Daddy''s apprentice at Hyland & Goldblatt. He had taken Andrew under his wing and made him his protégé. One day, when I was about twenty-five, Daddy had telephoned me at home and told me that we were having a special guest for dinner and that I should cook something nice and get my hair done. "No lipstick," he said. Daddy had a thing about makeup.
"I can''t stand those painted trollops!" he would say about American film stars. Daddy''s views could be extreme. "You are my beautiful daughter. No point in gilding a lily." I was curious about this visitor and why I should dress up for him. I should have guessed, of course, that Daddy was intent on matchmaking. He needn''t have worried. Andrew adored me right away.
He went to enormous lengths to charm me. He said that he would do anything for me. "I can''t stop looking at you," he said. And indeed, his eyes followed me everywhere. He always called me his prize, his precious jewel. I loved him too. My father always knew what was best for me. Our courtship was short and very sweet.
Andrew came from a good family. His late father had been a consultant pediatrician, and though I found his mother a little contrary, she raised no objections to our relationship. After all, when Andrew married me, he would get Avalon too--a five-bedroom detached Georgian house on an acre of land in Cabinteely, South County Dublin. Andrew wanted us to get a house of our own when we got married, but Daddy put his foot down. "You''ll move in here. This is Lydia''s home. Don''t look a gift horse in the mouth." So Andrew moved in with us, and Daddy gave up the master bedroom and moved to the large bedroom on the other side of the hallway.
Andrew grumbled a little to me. "But, darling, don''t you see how awkward.