SHE KNOWS IMMEDIATELY that something is wrong. It’s not anything tangible, the post is neatly stacked on the half-moon table, the flat is silent apart from the sound of seagulls mugging someone outside, the art-nouveau clock ticks serenely, set in its stainless steel sunset. But somehow Natalka knows. It’s as if the molecules have rearranged themselves.
‘Mrs Smith?’
She tries the Christian name too, although Mrs Smith is not one of the cosy ones.
‘Peggy?’
No answer. Natalka pushes open the sitting room door. The air hums with something like electricity, as if a device has been left on, but Natalka knows that Mrs Smith turns the radio on for The Archers at two and then off again at fifteen minutes past. She can’t stand the Afternoon Drama. ‘Full of self-obsessed people talking about their lives. That or time travel. It’s now six o’clock. Time for the evening call, to help clients get ready for bed. It’s insultingly early for bed, of course, but Natalka has five other clients to see so what can she do?’
She enters the room. Mrs Smith is sitting in her armchair by the bay window. She likes to look out to sea and even has a pair of binoculars to spot rare birds with or, Natalka suspects, spy on passing ships. But she’s not looking at anything today. Mrs Smith is dead. Natalka knows that even before she checks the pulse and notes the half-open mouth and misted eyes. She touches the old lady’s skin. Cool but not cold. Natalka makes the sign of the cross in the air.
‘Rest in peace,’ she mutters as she dials the number for Care4You.
‘Patricia Creeve.’ The boss is in. Miracle.
‘Mrs Smith is dead.’ Natalka doesn’t believe in wasting words.
‘Are you sure?’ Nor does Patricia.
‘No heartbeat.’ In moments of crisis, Natalka often forgets prepositions and connectives. All the linking words. ‘I’ll come over,’ says Patricia. ‘God rest her soul!’
It’s an afterthought but Natalka doesn’t think any the worse of her boss for it. It’s going to be a long night.
NATALKA SITS ON the sofa to wait for Patricia. She would never just sit down in a client’s house, unless they specifically wanted a chat and Peggy wasn’t exactly the chatty sort. She was always polite but she knew that Natalka had a job of work to do and a limited time in which to do it. Now it feels odd to be sitting doing nothing, facing the silent figure in the chair which is angled to look out over the sea. Natalka gets up and walks to the window. There’s the wide blue sea with white-tipped waves and seagulls circling in the paler blue above. It’s a picture postcard view, if you don’t look to the right and see the power station and the sinister trawlers with Russian names. Suddenly Natalka realises that she has her back to a corpse. She also has the strangest feeling that she’s being watched. She spins round but Peggy hasn’t moved.