Heads I Win Tails You Lose. Lynne Fox
hand book shop and its owner, I pop into the sweet shop and spend my salvaged pound.
I’ve been adding photos and cuttings to the album since my brother’s death. Matt, fifteen years old, holding me as a baby, looking for all the world more like a proud father than my sibling; Matt pushing me on the garden swing; Matt helping me balance on my first bike; Matt teaching me tennis; Matt always there; where my parents should have been and then …. No more photos, just newspaper cuttings with sensational headlines; grainy images that blur the chiselled line of his jaw and dull the startling blue of his eyes as though he was already drifting away from me, fading into that “long goodnight” from which there is no return.
I pour myself another glass of Chenin Blanc as I take some stir fry out of the fridge; it will go nicely with the piece of fresh salmon I bought on the way home. I find preparing food a relaxing, therapeutic activity, it acts as a balm to my over-active mind which at the moment is fixated upon Barry. I keep musing about how events can completely alter one’s perception of people.
For instance, Barry stands just over six feet; he has a shock of black, permanently tousled hair and the deepest, darkest eyes fringed with lashes that girls spend hours trying to achieve with layers of mascara. His skin has darkened to an attractive bronze by all the hours he spends outside and he has a lean, toned body that attracts all the college females, both staff and students, something to which I’m not immune myself.
Barry has been in my class for the past six months. Learning about art history is not his main subject, he’s actually on the Small Animal and Wildlife Course but under the ethos of our Principal, Paul Whitlow, all students are compelled to take a subject outside their main area of interest. The Principal apparently believes this will turn them into more ‘rounded’ members of society. Complete rot of course but who am I to argue.
Just why Barry chose art history became apparent one afternoon when he asked if I could give him some additional help.
Being new at the college I was keen to make a good impression and my desire to please over-rid my better judgement. As Barry and I sat in the empty classroom, his text book open on the desk before us, Barry moved his chair closer to mine and leant so close that his face was only inches away from my own. His breath smelt of sweet peppermint and his aftershave had a heady, musky base that elicited a slight fluttering of response deep in my belly.
‘You know, you have the most beautiful eyes.’
I look up into Barry’s face and calmly appraise him. ‘Thank you, Barry but you really shouldn’t say things like that. Now, what were you having difficulty with?’ I prodded the book.
‘Keeping my eyes off you, what else?’
‘I think you’d better stop, Barry, before you embarrass yourself.’
‘I’m not embarrassed. Are you?’
I pushed my chair back and stood, trying to assume some authority, which isn’t easy when you stand a diminutive five feet three. ‘Out, Barry,’ I said walking past him and opening the door.
He obediently rose from his chair and made toward me, ‘See you tomorrow,’ his smile both inviting and seductive.
I wasn’t surprised that Barry fancied me, most men do, especially as I look younger than my twenty-six years, but I was quite confident that I had the measure of him – just a cocky little oik trying it on – until now that is.
The morning after my lunchtime encounter with the tramp I arrive early for my class to find the room abuzz with excited chatter. This is a small group of only ten students and all but one are in a conclave of animated conversation.
‘So, what’s got everybody’s interest this morning?’
The group reluctantly break formation and take their seats.
‘Haven’t you heard the news?’ Terri Westacott leans forward on her desk, her long hair pooling on the surface in front of her, a shimmering cascade of barley yellow.
‘What news is that, Terri?’
‘The murder in Melsham Park.’
‘What?’ The surprise spills the exclamation from my lips and my eyes dart over to where Barry Mason is sitting. Immediately, I switch my gaze back to Terri but not before I catch a flicker of concern flit across Barry’s face.
Barry sits silent, his chair tipped onto its hind legs, but I sense his attention is focused in my direction.
‘I bet it’s that tramp that’s been hanging about the college grounds.’ This time it’s Stephen Blake who takes up the tale.
I swallow hard. ‘And what makes you think that, Stephen?’
‘Cos he’s not there this morning and he’s been hanging around for a couple of weeks now. Haven’t you seen him?’
I vaguely recall seeing a shadowy figure lurking near the woods that form the right hand boundary of the college grounds but I hadn’t associated it with the tramp that had so frightened me. ‘I think it’s a bit early to be surmising as to who it is but I’m sure we’ll all find out in time, once the police have completed their enquiries. Now, can we get down to some work please?’
There’s a resigned shuffling of bodies as books are tossed heavily onto desks.
I find it difficult to keep the lesson on track as my mind is racing. It seems I may have a murderer sitting in my class who may or may not know that I was a witness to his act. Cautiously, I observe Barry during the lesson. He seems unruffled by the earlier exchange but that could just be bravado.
A murder investigation will undoubtedly be instigated which will surely involve DCI Munroe. If the body in the park is that of the tramp, then I have a hold over Barry that could prove useful but I need to take time and think things through. Munroe has a daughter, Lily, on whom he dotes and she’s about Barry’s age. Maybe, if I can get the two together … a DCI’s daughter and a murderer. I can feel a slight smirk develop as the idea gels but first I need to find out more about Barry.
I can’t deny that the end of session bell is a relief and in my haste to leave I drop some of the papers I’m collecting up. As I bend to retrieve them a large pair of Nike trainers clamp down on top of them. Barry bends down to my level and looks straight into my eyes, a searching, penetrating stare. ‘I’ll help you with those.’ He gathers up the papers and hands them to me, holding on to them just a fraction longer than is necessary so that I have to practically tug them out of his hand. ‘Seems like it would be a good idea to stop going to the park for a while, yeah?’
‘Thank you for your advice, Barry. I’ll bear it in mind.’
I can’t think he’d be quite so cocky if he does know what I’d witnessed.
At home that evening, I review events. Let’s face it, I don’t know yet if the body in the park is that of the tramp, for all I know he may have only been stunned from the blow and I didn’t go and find out, did I? In any case, why would Barry want to kill him? Admittedly they appeared to be having an argument but that, in itself, is hardly a reason to kill.
Everyone has an Achilles heel; locate it and you have the means to manipulate.
I realise now how little I know about any of my students; they’ve simply been voids that I try to fill with the requirements of the curriculum. I need to rectify this especially where Barry is concerned.
Mulling things over, I’d bet my salary that the body in the park is that of the tramp, it’s too much of a coincidence not to be but I can’t accept that Barry’s attack upon the tramp was simply a random act; perhaps there’s something in Barry’s background that precipitated such violence. If I’m to manipulate him I need to understand what makes him tick. Just attempting to blackmail him with my knowledge of his crime may not be enough. I need to know which buttons to press.
Barry’s personnel file at the