Southend U3A

Writing for Fun

November 2017

The Smell of Charcoal - Gerry Miller

Laura's heart sank; she had lost the argument yet again, slowly she was recognising his mean and spiteful ways. The more Laura thought about it she realised that she just had not noticed. And it served her right, her parents had warned her that pride came before a fall. But would she listen, certainly not. Jake had suckered her in hook line and sinker and of course the princess styled wedding with money no object, was simply the icing on the cake. She fell for his superficial charms, his money, and his Porsche. This was left under lock and key whilst he used his transit for work. Most of all she loved the beautiful Georgian three storey house, which included a below stairs, workshop and cellars. They made such a handsome couple with a fantastic lifestyle, what did love matter surely that would grow?

The house was called Pilgrim's Rest, a name chosen by Jake long before she knew him and as she soon found out that would never change. Laura was clear she could do whatever she liked with the house and gardens but the basement, cellars and sports car were Jakes alone. Laura loved the freedom to redecorate and whilst Jake was often away this huge project kept her busy. The first big argument came over the hats she had found in one of the old wardrobes. They were in such good condition and various styles. Her brainwave was to display these in the hallway; they would provide a lovely feature above the Edwardian hall table and by the coat stand. She could not wait to see Jake's face; with the newly polished parquet floor the finished entrance was stunning.

Jake's face was indeed a picture – he turned puce with rage and Laura daring to ask what was wrong further inflamed the situation. Lashing out he blacked her eye and sent her reeling; Laura knew from then on questions would not be tolerated. But the hats remained in the hall and Laura, seeing Jake sometimes stroke or pat one of the hats, knew he had accepted them. From then on the hats were sacrosanct and occasionally she noted an extra hat appeared. No explanation was given and she never asked.

The house was set just off the motorway and not far from the Channel Tunnel. Jake and his Transit were frequent visitors to the continent, buying wines and advising connoisseurs on wines to buy for investment. Laura assumed that one of their cellars housed a valuable collection of bottles some bought to take to clients, some to treat himself. Laura was not a drinker and had become a light sleeper, especially when Jake was due back home. She had learned to ignore the bumps and noises in the night as he returned, never daring to ask what it was all about. Laura made her own connections seeing empty and broken wine crates and pallets piled up, assuming Jake was storing his and his customer's investments.

As Laura worked in the garden she speculated as to just how much of a trophy wife she had become. Affection was seldom shown, her parents had sensed this all so quickly? Of course she had not listened. Intimacy occurred once a month at most and this was usually when he woke her up seemingly in the middle of the night. As always on these occasions he was sweaty grimy, smelling of wine and what she thought was charcoal. Laura asked nothing; just maybe to have Jake's child would be the answer, yet his menacing attitude at times left her feeling fearful. She admitted the special gifts of diamonds and jewellery that followed these incidents were always appreciated. Laura mused as she weeded the flower beds; was he rewarding himself for making an effort with her or was the reward for her putting up with him and being so compliant? She sat back on her ankles realising she now saw these diamonds as reflective of Jakes personality, cold as ice, emotionless, lacking in affection but of superficial value. Then adding to her quandaries another hat would appear, neatly hung beside the others.

Time was passing and the garden was changing, the landscape designer, William had worked hard on assisting her in bringing her dream to life. Laura loved shopping for plants and whilst William advised what sort of plant where, the choices were always her own. Emotionally the price she was paying living with Jake was growing and she argued with herself that surely this did not outweigh her satisfaction as to her achievements with both home and garden. Laura had developed a sense of belonging and pride within this beautiful home.

Then the hurricane came and appeared to shake the very foundations of the building, needless to say Jake was away yet again.

She called Eddie the builder in and asked him to make a list of repairs to be carried out, trees to be either lopped or removed, roofing tiles to be replaced, basement windows repaired and damage had been caused to the old coalhole cover. The list was becoming endless; she told him she would have to check with Jake. Laura's stomach churned, if any wine bottle was water damaged or even broken she knew there would be hell to pay. Jake was in Italy when the hurricane struck and he was short and terse with her when she had phoned him. Shouting at her to 'sort the bloody house out is that too much to ask?' He wanted no list, 'Just do it, all you have to do in your life is the house and garden.'

As he hung up on her Eddie, hearing the call throughout, said, 'I guess that's a Yes then.'

Laura smiled at him. 'Better start with the trees, I was hearing creaks and bumps all last night. I want a good night's sleep tonight.'

Eddie set to and as she walked around her garden her heart wept, so much devastation in just one night. Her mobile rang and William the landscaper said he would come over to see what needed doing. Laura put the kettle on and watched as William arrived and, joining Eddie, a frantic conversation started, they both finally turned to face the kitchen and Laura noticed the agitation that had been evident in their body language was now plain to see in their ashen faces. As they looked over to the kitchen window they waved, puzzled but smiling Laura waved back.

Turning his back to her William quickly used his mobile phone and they both slowly strolled into the kitchen. Laughing she looked at the worried pair and putting the mugs on the table asked, 'What on earth is wrong; tell me, is the roof falling off?'

The pair twisted and turned to look at each other, neither appeared to want to say anything and then the police cars arrived. A female police officer and a sergeant came in and introduced themselves, William left and went with the sergeant to the damaged coal hole at the end of the building.

When they returned Laura was arrested on the suspicion of aiding and abetting her husband and conspiring with him to commit murder. Laura's world went black, fainting she fell to the floor, smashing her head on the butler sink. It was dark by the time Laura started to come round sensing she was in a hospital bed her dad beside her with a police officer just coming into focus. Laura drifted in and out of consciousness finally as dawn broke she surfaced to her new hell. Her wrist was in plaster and she felt a bandage on her forehead; the damage had been caused by the sink and her weight had fractured her wrist.

Jake had been informed, whilst still in Italy, that she had an accident. As he disembarked at Dover he was ushered to the Customs Check side lane, stepping out of the transit he was arrested. Of course whilst he had blustered and denied any knowledge of what was in the cellar the DNA and fingerprints showed clearly he alone was responsible for what had been uncovered there.

What firstly Eddie and then William had seen was the young woman motionless and neatly posed sitting at a small table, two dirty wine glasses and empty wine bottle still in place. A beautiful summer boater was placed saucily on her head. As William and the builder had peered into the cellar the sunlight lit the wall and shone on numerous macabre charcoal drawings of dead women. All wearing differing hats each with a bottle of wine and glasses. Jake's signature was in the corner of each consecutive portrait titled Pilgrim 1, 2 etc. Remaining on the easel was a sketch of his latest victim still seated at the table. Jake had left his latest work unfinished.