Tales of the Unexpected Read online

  Her eyes waited on him for an answer, a smile, a little nod, but he made no sign.

  ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I’ll get you some cheese and crackers first.’

  ‘I don’t want it,’ he said.

  She moved uneasily in her chair, the large eyes still watching his face. ‘But you must have supper. I can easily do it here. I’d like to do it. We can have lamb chops. Or pork. Anything you want. Everything’s in the freezer.’

  ‘Forget it,’ he said.

  ‘But, darling, you must eat! I’ll fix it anyway, and then you can have it or not, as you like.’

  She stood up and placed her sewing on the table by the lamp.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Just for a minute, sit down.’

  It wasn’t till then that she began to get frightened.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Sit down.’

  She lowered herself back slowly into the chair, watching him all the time with those large, bewildered eyes. He had finished the second drink and was staring down into the glass, frowning.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  ‘What is it, darling? What’s the matter?’

  He had become absolutely motionless, and he kept his head down so that the light from the lamp beside him fell across the upper part of his face, leaving the chin and mouth in shadow. She noticed there was a little muscle moving near the corner of his left eye.

  ‘This is going to be a bit of a shock to you, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘But I’ve thought about it a good deal and I’ve decided the only thing to do is tell you right away. I hope you won’t blame me too much.’

  And he told her. It didn’t take long, four or five minutes at most, and she sat very still through it all, watching him with a kind of dazed horror as he went further and further away from her with each word.

  ‘So there it is,’ he added. ‘And I know it’s kind of a bad time to be telling you, but there simply wasn’t any other way. Of course I’ll give you money and see you’re looked after. But there needn’t really be any fuss. I hope not anyway. It wouldn’t be very good for my job.’

  Her first instinct was not to believe any of it, to reject it all. It occurred to her that perhaps he hadn’t even spoken, that she herself had imagined the whole thing. Maybe, if she went about her business and acted as though she hadn’t been listening, then later, when she sort of woke up again, she might find none of it had ever happened.

  ‘I’ll get the supper,’ she managed to whisper, and this time he didn’t stop her.

  When she walked across the room she couldn’t feel her feet touching the floor. She couldn’t feel anything at all – except a slight nausea and a desire to vomit. Everything was automatic now – down the stairs to the cellar, the light switch, the deep freeze, the hand inside the cabinet taking hold of the first object it met. She lifted it out, and looked at it. It was wrapped in paper, so she took off the paper and looked at it again.

  A leg of lamb.

  All right then, they would have lamb for supper. She carried it upstairs, holding the thin bone-end of it with both her hands, and as she went through the living-room, she saw him standing over by the window with his back to her, and she stopped.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he said, hearing her, but not turning round. ‘Don’t make supper for me. I’m going out.’

  At that point, Mary Maloney simply walked up behind him and without any pause she swung the big frozen leg of lamb high in the air and brought it down as hard as she could on the back of his head.

  She might just as well have hit him with a steel club.

  She stepped back a pace, waiting, and the funny thing was that he remained standing there for at least four or five seconds, gently swaying. Then he crashed to the carpet.

  The violence of the crash, the noise, the small table overturning, helped bring her out of the shock. She came out slowly, feeling cold and surprised, and she stood for a while blinking at the body, still holding the ridiculous piece of meat tight with both hands.

  All right, she told herself. So I’ve killed him.

  It was extraordinary, now, how clear her mind became all of a sudden. She began thinking very fast. As the wife of a detective, she knew quite well what the penalty would be. That was fine. It made no difference to her. In fact, it would be a relief. On the other hand, what about the child? What were the laws about murderers with unborn children? Did they kill them both – mother and child? Or did they wait until the tenth month? What did they do?

  Mary Maloney didn’t know. And she certainly wasn’t prepared to take a chance.

  She carried the meat into the kitchen, placed it in a pan, turned the oven on high, and shoved it inside. Then she washed her hands and ran upstairs to the bedroom. She sat down before the mirror, tidied her face, touched up her lips and face. She tried a smile. It came out rather peculiar. She tried again.

  ‘Hullo Sam,’ she said brightly, aloud.

  The voice sounded peculiar too.

  ‘I want some potatoes please, Sam. Yes, and I think a can of peas.’

  That was better. Both the smile and the voice were coming out better now. She rehearsed it several times more. Then she ran downstairs, took her coat, went out the back door, down the garden, into the street.

  It wasn’t six o’clock yet and the lights were still on in the grocery shop.

  ‘Hullo Sam,’ she said brightly, smiling at the man behind the counter.

  ‘Why, good evening, Mrs Maloney. How’re you?’

  ‘I want some potatoes please, Sam. Yes, and I think a can of peas.’

  The man turned and reached up behind him on the shelf for the peas.

  ‘Patrick’s decided he’s tired and doesn’t want to eat out tonight,’ she told him. ‘We usually go out Thursdays, you know, and now he’s caught me without any vegetables in the house.’

  ‘Then how about meat, Mrs Maloney?’

  ‘No, I’ve got meat, thanks. I got a nice leg of lamb, from the freezer.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I don’t much like cooking it frozen, Sam, but I’m taking a chance on it this time. You think it’ll be all right?’

  ‘Personally,’ the grocer said, ‘I don’t believe it makes any difference. You want these Idaho potatoes?’

  ‘Oh yes, that’ll be fine. Two of those.’

  ‘Anything else?’ The grocer cocked his head on one side, looking at her pleasantly. ‘How about afterwards? What you going to give him for afterwards?’

  ‘Well – what would you suggest, Sam?’

  The man glanced around his shop. ‘How about a nice big slice of cheesecake? I know he likes that.’

  ‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘He loves it.’

  And when it was all wrapped and she had paid, she put on her brightest smile and said, ‘Thank you, Sam. Good night.’

  ‘Good night, Mrs Maloney. And thank you.’

  And now, she told herself as she hurried back, all she was doing now, she was returning home to her husband and he was waiting for his supper; and she must cook it good, and make it as tasty as possible because the poor man was tired; and if, when she entered the house, she happened to find anything unusual, or tragic, or terrible, then naturally it would be a shock and she’d become frantic with grief and horror. Mind you, she wasn’t expecting to find anything. She was just going home with the vegetables. Mrs Patrick Maloney going home with the vegetables on Thursday evening to cook supper for her husband.

  That’s the way, she told herself. Do everything right and natural. Keep things absolutely natural and there’ll be no need for any acting at all.

  Therefore, when she entered the kitchen by the back door, she was humming a little tune to herself and smiling.

  ‘Patrick!’ she called. ‘How are you, darling?’

  She put the parcel down on the table and went through into the living-room; and when she saw him lying there on the floor with his legs doubled up and one arm twisted back underneath his body, it really was rather a