I Spy (Short Fiction)

Mother was always too wrapped up in herself to notice what I was up to so it wouldn’t have occurred to her that I knew what was going on. I used to watch her and Uncle David having sex in the conservatory while she, if she thought of me at all, imagined me safely tucked up in bed. Dad was away lecturing in France and she thought the coast was clear. Every night I watched them and wrote down how many times they did it. I kept my diary well hidden.
    I so wished Dad would arrive home unexpectedly and catch them: but he didn’t. He returned as planned and loaded up with presents. He’d bought her a hand embroidered silk kimono and a bottle of her favourite perfume — something unpronouncable and disgustingly expensive. She was all over him, gushing ‘oh, you do spoil me, Frank!’ until I wanted to vomit. I got a music box and some really cool pink trainers. I hugged him and he looked really pleased to be home. I watched them both and felt anxious, sensing how much he loved her and how little she valued that love.
    Things seemed to go back to normal but I kept my eye on her. I found it hard to be civil sometimes and hardly spoke to her if I could help it. Not that it bothered her. She shrugged it off as teenage moodiness. But the secret was burning me up. Dad should know, I decided.
    I didn’t see much of Uncle David for a while. Maybe he was wary of visiting too often. I could only guess at what went on while I was at school and Dad was at The Institute. I got depressed about it and the headaches started. One day I had a really bad one — flashing lights and tunnel vision — and they sent me home from school. They phoned the house but no one answered so they tried Dad’s number. He came straight away.
    Uncle David’s car was in the drive. From the hallway, we could hear noises from the bedroom. Dad ran up the stairs and back down again within seconds, his face white. He didn’t say anything but handed me two paracetamol from the medicine cabinet. I went into my room and left them all to it. I’d done my bit.
    That all happened on the Friday afternoon. By the Sunday morning, Dad was found dead.
    He’d parked behind the golf club and taken a pot of pills washed down with his best single malt. It was obvious to me that finding his wife and brother like that had destroyed him. They’d as good as murdered him. I boiled with a mixture of grief and hatred but knew I’d best bide my time.
    While Mother, playing the part of the grieving widow, pulled the sympathy vote — she even lost some weight for the role — I kept my festering feelings to myself. Naturally, Uncle David came to the funeral but didn’t come back to the house afterwards. I wondered about that — had their affair finished or were they just being subtle?
    Last Thursday, I bunked off school and hung about in the town. I knew where she usually parked and, around three o’ clock, her bright yellow MG swung into the library car park. She wasn’t dressed for shopping. I followed her to the Carlton Hotel. After a couple of hours, they came out together — her and Uncle David. I watched him kiss her goodbye.
    It was already quite dark and the library car park was almost empty. It’s so poorly lit she didn’t see me in the shadows. I hit her with a piece of metal pipe and she gave a funny sort of yelp as she dropped to the tarmac. I took her bag to make it look like a mugging, then walked home the long way.
    The Police were nice at first. The WPC seemed really concerned for me — what with my dad committing suicide and now my mother being killed. It wasn’t hard to act shocked. I kept remembering the look on Dad’s face when he discovered his wife and brother had betrayed him.
    Then it all changed. The policewoman suddenly wasn’t friendly any more. They’d found a diary — not mine but Mother’s. I’d crammed her bag in a rubbish bin and had only taken out the cash and credit cards. The WPC pointed to the last entry — written the day before she died. ‘Katherine’s been spying on me again. She thinks I don’t notice. David says she’s just jealous but I think it’s more than that. I suspect she’s planning something.’
    “Have you anything to say about that?” The policewoman gave me a hard stare and waited.
    I burst into tears, figuring it would gain me some time. The WPC sighed and passed me a wad of tissues. I didn’t really want to drag out all the sordid details but it was, after all, a job only half done. “I did spy on her — she was having an affair with my Uncle David. When my dad found out, he killed himself. I think she was having an affair with someone else, too. Uncle David suspected she was and they had a row. I heard them arguing in the car park but I didn’t see...” I broke off and did a bit more sobbing for good effect.
    The WPC patted my arm. “O.K., Katherine, I get the picture.” Then she spoke into the microphone clipped to her lapel. “Think I’ve got it sussed, Sarge. Sounds like another love triangle. Send a car to bring in David Willis for questioning. He’s probably our man.”
    I held the tissues to my eyes. It was very hard not to smile.