Page 27 of The Six Murders of Daphne St Clair

DAPHNE:There’s no need to be snide. I’m telling you my life story, so I’m going to describe anything I please. I deserve some respect from you.

RUTH (resentfully):Look, I’m just trying to get this done before you get packed off to the slammer, and lately everyone seems to have a problem with this podcast.

DAPHNE:Oh boohoo, it’s called ajob, Ruth. If you can’t handle a bit of criticism, just throw in the towel.

RUTH:Is that what you want? You want me to end this here and now? Make this the big finale?

[A tense silence fills the air. It lasts for an uncomfortably long time. An attendant knocks on the door.]

ATTENDANT:Here are your pills.

DAPHNE:Give ’em here. I’ll take them after my interview.

[The door closes. There’s a cough and the sound of a body shifting in a chair.]

DAPHNE (formally):Would you like to hear about Carl?

RUTH:Yes.

Carl was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. He had that black Irish look: hair as dark as coal, milky skin, and the most beautiful dark blue eyes, like denim drying in the sun. And he could dance. While other men hung on the sidelines, tapping their feet, Carl would slide across the floor, as cool and casual as if he was taking a stroll in the park. And he was always the life of the party, a whiskey in each hand and two cigarettes in his mouth.

He was the first man I was ever attracted to, the first man I enjoyed sleeping with. I usually don’t like sex, I’ve always found it easier to kill a man than have sex with him, but sex with Carl was different. We would come home late from a party and just crash through the room, aroused in that numb, pounding way you get when you’re drunk. We would roll around in bed, rough and wild like animals. I’ve lived a long life but it’s those memories that I often think about when I lie awake at night, those moments when everything seemed normal but also extraordinary. I was going by Jacqueline then, my new American name for my new American life.

We were young and good-looking and full of energy, and somehow that made it okay that we were broke and forced to take whatever tiresome jobs we could find. We fought constantly but we made up even more passionately, so I thought it would be okay. Besides I was alone in a new country and just glad to have found someone.

For one year, it felt like my life was finally (finally) beginning to turn right. I could almost feel hopeful about the future because I was happy in the present. Carl talked about traveling and making his fortune somewhere, maybe out to California, or even to South America, and I believed that I would be by his side.

Carl was wild and free and full of adventure. So, of course I got pregnant.

After I missed my period a couple of months in a row, I felt a strange mixture of fear and relief. Fear because I was finally happy and didn’t want anything to change, and relief because of all the terrible men who could have knocked me up, I was glad that it was a man I loved who had gotten me in trouble.

Carl left me on a gray Sunday morning in October. He packed his bag while I was sleeping and then shook me awake to tell me the bad news. Bastard couldn’t even let a pregnant woman sleep.

“Jacqueline, I’m leaving. We had fun but this is getting too heavy. I need to make a life for myself, not get tied down by you,” he muttered.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared blankly at the wall. I didn’t beg. I was too proud for that, even in that situation. I had suspected this would happen. He had been uneasy since he had found out the news and a coldness had appeared between us.

“Fine,” I spat, letting the anger choke out the fear. “Just go then.” The luxury of being a man where fatherhood was something you could opt out of, like canceling a magazine subscription!

Carl paused at the door, lighting a cigarette. He wasn’t even looking at me anymore, as if I’d already stopped existing.

“For God’s sake, go get that taken care of and move on,” he snapped, gesturing vaguely at my stomach. “The world has enough unwanted babies.” He slammed the door, and I heard his feet dance down the stairs, his footsteps growing lighter and picking up speed as he left me behind.

DAPHNE:Look, I know it’s strange. He treats me like shit and gets to live. Other guys treat me far better and get offed. But that’s life. Now, Ruth, why don’t you get out your phone and find him for me? His name is Carl Fitzroy and he was from Rochester, New York.

RUTH:Okay sure. [Pause] Here’s his obituary. Carl died ten years ago. In Orlando, Florida. He had three children and eight grandchildren.

DAPHNE:How ’bout that? He was in Florida. We could have run into each other. But there you go, every bastard who tells you they don’t want kids really means they don’t want kids withyou. Well, at least I outlived him. That’s something.

RUTH:It’s sad though, to think that he just walked away from you and your son. I just don’t understand how someone could ever abandon their child, how they could keep on living knowing that their family is out there, struggling without them.

DAPHNE:Well. You said that your father came back into your life as an adult, so he did try to make it right.

RUTH:Yes, but I was talking about James, not me.

DAPHNE:Sure you were. And hey, maybe your dear old dad’s listening to this podcast and is proud as punch?

RUTH:He’s not.

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