{"id":812,"date":"2017-04-12T11:45:44","date_gmt":"2017-04-12T11:45:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sophiehannah.wpengine.com\/?p=812"},"modified":"2024-04-19T10:34:39","modified_gmt":"2024-04-19T10:34:39","slug":"the-dwelling-a-charlie-zailer-christmas-story","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sophiehannah.com\/the-dwelling-a-charlie-zailer-christmas-story\/","title":{"rendered":"The Dwelling: a Charlie Zailer Christmas story"},"content":{"rendered":"\n[et_pb_section bb_built=”1″ admin_label=”section” transparent_background=”off” allow_player_pause=”off” inner_shadow=”off” parallax=”off” parallax_method=”on” custom_padding=”0px|||” make_fullwidth=”off” use_custom_width=”off” width_unit=”on” make_equal=”off” use_custom_gutter=”off” custom_css_main_element=”background: #85ddd4; \/* For browsers that do not support gradients *\/|| background: -webkit-linear-gradient(#85ddd4, #ffe6bf); \/* For Safari 5.1 to 6.0 *\/|| background: -o-linear-gradient(#85ddd4, #ffe6bf); \/* For Opera 11.1 to 12.0 *\/|| background: -moz-linear-gradient(#85ddd4, #ffe6bf); \/* For Firefox 3.6 to 15 *\/|| background: linear-gradient(#85ddd4, #ffe6bf); \/* Standard syntax *\/|| “][et_pb_row admin_label=”Row” make_fullwidth=”off” use_custom_width=”on” width_unit=”on” use_custom_gutter=”on” allow_player_pause=”off” parallax=”off” parallax_method=”on” make_equal=”off” parallax_1=”off” parallax_method_1=”off” parallax_2=”off” parallax_method_2=”off” gutter_width=”2″ custom_css_main_2=”margin-top: 60px;” custom_padding=”||0px|” custom_margin=”||0px|” background_color_2=”rgba(255,255,255,0.5)” padding_top_2=”40px” padding_right_2=”3%” padding_bottom_2=”3%” padding_left_2=”3%” padding_2_tablet=”0px|0px|0px|0px” padding_2_last_edited=”on|tablet”][et_pb_column type=”3_4″][et_pb_post_title admin_label=”Post Title” title=”on” meta=”off” author=”on” date=”on” categories=”on” comments=”on” featured_image=”on” featured_placement=”below” parallax_effect=”off” parallax_method=”on” text_orientation=”left” text_color=”dark” text_background=”off” text_bg_color=”rgba(255,255,255,0.9)” use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid” title_font=”|||on|” title_font_size=”50px” title_font_size_last_edited=”on|phone” custom_margin=”||20px|” custom_margin_tablet=”||0px|” custom_margin_last_edited=”on|tablet” title_font_size_tablet=”42px” title_font_size_phone=”36px” \/][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_4″][et_pb_sidebar admin_label=”Sidebar” orientation=”left” area=”sidebar-1″ background_layout=”light” remove_border=”on” header_font=”|on||on|” header_font_size=”32″ header_line_height=”2.5em” body_font_size=”24″ body_line_height=”1em” body_text_color=”#000000″ body_font=”|on|||” disabled=”off” disabled_on=”on|on|” \/][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row admin_label=”row” make_fullwidth=”off” use_custom_width=”off” width_unit=”on” use_custom_gutter=”on” custom_padding=”0px|||” custom_margin=”0px|||” allow_player_pause=”off” parallax=”off” parallax_method=”on” make_equal=”off” parallax_1=”off” parallax_method_1=”off” background_color_1=”rgba(255,255,255,0.5)” padding_top_1=”40px” padding_right_1=”7%” padding_bottom_1=”7%” padding_left_1=”7%” parallax_2=”off” parallax_method_2=”off” gutter_width=”2″ padding_1_tablet=”4%|7%|7%|7%” padding_1_last_edited=”on|tablet” background_color_2=”rgba(255,255,255,0.5)” padding_2_tablet=”0px|7%|3%|7%” padding_2_last_edited=”on|tablet”][et_pb_column type=”3_4″][et_pb_text admin_label=”Text” background_layout=”light” text_orientation=”left” use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid”]\r\n
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This story first appeared in The Spectator<\/em><\/h2>\r\n

Illustrated by James Weston Lewis<\/strong><\/p>\r\nCharlie Zailer wasn\u2019t sure if she\u2019d won or lost. On the victory side of the equation, she\u2019d managed to avoid spending Christmas Day with her sister, and she\u2019d successfully blamed it on work. Her \u2018Sorry, but I have to go in for at least a few hours\u2019, delivered in a tone that suggested it was the fault of someone intransigent in a position of authority, had been accepted without question.\r\n\r\nOn the defeat side, here she was: at work, by choice, with a cold steak-and-potato pasty in her bag as a Christmas dinner substitute, struggling to communicate with a stranger who\u2019d judged her to be not worth speaking to. Was it her karmic comeuppance for avoiding her so-called loved ones at Christmas? If Charles Dickens had written her day, that was what this encounter would turn out to\u00a0mean.\r\n

<\/div>\r\nThe woman standing opposite Charlie in the too-warm interview room had refused to sit, and was still wearing her coat to prove a\u00a0point, though her cheeks grew pinker by the minute. She repeated her refrain line: \u2018There must be a detective in the building.\u2019\r\n\r\nCharlie tried once again to steer her away from her obsession with the physical location of the nearest DC. \u2018First you\u2019ll need to tell me what the problem is. Then, if it turns out that we need\u2026\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018It\u2019s no offence to you,\u2019 the woman interrupted. \u2018I\u2019m sure you\u2019re great at your job, but this is something a PC wouldn\u2019t know what to do with. Even a detective might not understand, but I think there\u2019s a better chance. They must see and hear all kinds of\u2026 irregular things.\u2019\r\n\r\nShe was in her mid-forties, Charlie guessed. Married: gold band on her wedding finger, topped by an engagement ring that looked like a battleship made of sapphires and diamonds. Perhaps illogically, the ring confirmed Charlie\u2019s impression of the woman as someone who lacked a frivolous\u00a0side.\r\n\r\n\u2018I\u2019m a sergeant, not a PC. Look, it\u2019s Christmas\u2026 I assume you want to get back to your family?\u2019\r\n\r\nThe woman nodded. \u2018My husband tried to stop me coming here, but I had to.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018How did he try to stop you?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Oh, nothing like that. I\u2019m not a victim of domestic violence.\u2019 She made a small noise that was almost a laugh.\r\n\r\n\u2018All right. How can I help you?\u2019\r\n\r\nThe woman removed her coat, and sat. \u2018I\u00a0want to be watched,\u2019 she said. \u2018Can you watch me? Or\u2026 I don\u2019t know. Something.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Okay, first things first.\u2019 Charlie reached for the notepad and pen on the table in front of her. Ten minutes later, she had the woman\u2019s details: Jane Quintus, 42, a marketing director for a pharmaceutical company. Address: 8 Bevan Street, Spilling. Married to Damian Quintus, 40, an app designer. One child aged nine called Louis.\r\n\r\n\u2018When you say you want to be watched\u2026\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Yes, monitored. I want to be placed under surveillance. I don\u2019t know if electronic tagging is only for criminals, but if it isn\u2019t, that might work.\u2019\r\n\r\nWas this a wind-up? Charlie put down the pad and pen. \u2018I don\u2019t understand,\u2019 she said.\r\n\r\n\u2018I want you to be able to verify where I\u00a0am, and where I will be, between 27 December and 3 January.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Why? Are you in danger?\u2019 It felt like the wrong question. It was easy enough to ask for protection if that was what you wanted.\r\n\r\n\u2018Yes,\u2019 said Jane Quintus.\r\n\r\n\u2018From who?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018You.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Me?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Not you personally. I\u2019m in danger of being arrested for murder by you-the-police, and I have zero faith in the legal system to acquit wrongly accused\u2026\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Wait a second.\u2019 Charlie sat forward in her chair. \u2018Do I need to be recording this conversation? Have you killed somebody?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018No, and I don\u2019t intend to. But I do believe there\u2019s a strong chance a man might be murdered imminently. It\u2019s the holidays. Everyone has plenty of free time on their hands to\u2026 dwell on things. He\u2019s called Tony Stokes. The\u2026\u2019 She broke off with a shrug.\r\n\r\n\u2018The victim?\u2019 said Charlie.\r\n\r\n\u2018The hypothetical victim. Anthony Stokes. If and when he\u2019s murdered, everyone will suspect me. After 3 January, my husband and son will be back \u2014 they\u2019re going away together on the 27th, to visit my husband\u2019s family in Australia \u2014 and I\u2019m at work from the next day, the fourth. I\u2019ll be able to account for my movements and have them verified. Until then, I\u2019m going to be alone at home for much of the time. What?\u2019 she snapped. \u2018I\u00a0warned you this was an irregular situation.\u2019\r\n
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\r\n
\"AdTech<\/a>Charlie realised she\u2019d been shaking her head slowly. \u2018Who is Anthony Stokes?\u2019<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\u2018A teacher at my son\u2019s school.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018And in your opinion, Mr Stokes needs police protection?\u2019\r\n\r\nShe looked surprised, as if it was an outlandish question. \u2018I don\u2019t care what he needs. Yes, probably, if you want to save his life, which I don\u2019t. I\u2019d be thrilled if he died, and at least three people know that, three people who would also love to see him dead though they won\u2019t admit it. I won\u2019t kill him myself because I don\u2019t want to waste my life in prison. And I can\u2019t relax, knowing that if he is murdered, everyone will think I did it and I could end up in jail whether I\u2019m innocent or not. I won\u2019t be able to pretend I\u2019m sorry he\u2019s\u00a0dead.\u2019\r\n\r\nSilently, Charlie counted to five before speaking. \u2018Mrs Quintus, do you know what I\u2019m going to say to you next? I think, deep down, you must do. You seem intelligent.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018You want to know why I hate him so much?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018No. Saving lives whenever we can is what the police do. Monitoring the movements of people who are happy to see others murdered so that, when it happens, they won\u2019t be suspected of those murders\u2026 that\u2019s something the police never do. And never will. If you\u2019re serious and this isn\u2019t some kind of weird seasonal joke\u2026 why not hire a private detective? Pay him enough, I\u2019m sure he\u2019ll happily film and photograph your every movement between 27 December and 3 January.\u2019 You crazy cow.\r\n\r\n\u2018That\u2019s\u2026 actually not a bad idea.\u2019 Jane Quintus was on her feet with her coat half on before she thought of the downside. \u2018Private investigators won\u2019t be in their offices at Christmas, will they? Not any local ones.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018You\u2019d be surprised,\u2019 said Charlie. \u2018Before you go, I\u2019ll need the three names.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Pardon?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018The three people who\u2019d love Anthony Stokes to be murdered, apart from you.\u2019\r\n\r\nJane Quintus shook her head. \u2018Sorry. It\u00a0wouldn\u2019t be fair. No one\u2019s harmed him yet.\u00a0There\u2019s no onus on me to reveal any names.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018And if one of the three murders him, you\u2019ll hope they get away with it?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Yes. I will.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Has it occurred to you that by coming here, you might have sabotaged this murder you so want to happen?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018I came here because of my own anxiety\u00a0\u2014for myself. I wasn\u2019t thinking about him.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018What\u2019s he done that\u2019s so terrible?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Why don\u2019t you ask him that while you\u2019re offering to protect him? Ask him if he thinks a father awarding a prize to his own son is a conflict of interests.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018What prize?\u2019\r\n\r\nJane Quintus sighed. \u2018The trouble is, when you try to explain to someone who hasn\u2019t lived through it, it sounds so petty. Goodbye, Sergeant.\u2019\r\n\r\nShe was through the door before Charlie had decided what to do. Should she follow her?\r\n\r\nToo late. And what was the point, when she\u2019d just explained to Jane Quintus that she couldn\u2019t help?\r\n\r\nA prize. What prize could matter so much that it would make four people want to commit murder?\r\n\r\n\u25ca\u25ca\u25ca\u25ca\u25ca\r\n\r\nTwo hours later, Charlie parked her car outside 32 Fison Road, Rawndesley \u2014 dwelling of Anthony Stokes. House, rather. She\u2019d only thought of it as a dwelling because Jane Quintus had said the holidays gave people time to dwell on things.\r\n\r\nIt had been easy to find the right school online: Hindwell Street Primary. Quintus was an unusual surname, and nine-year-old Louis Quintus had appeared once or twice in the local paper, alongside his classmates. A teacher called Anthony Stokes worked at the same school, and Charlie had found his address easily.\r\n\r\nShe rang the bell, not expecting him to be home. Her stomach lurched when the door was yanked open and a man in a brown towelling robe appeared. \u2018Yeah?\u2019 he said aggressively. Handsome, mid-thirties, lower jaw covered in dark stubble. Clearly he had no plans for Christmas Day, or they were starting late.\r\n\r\nCharlie introduced herself.\r\n\r\n\u2018You expect me to believe you\u2019re a real police officer?\u2019 he barked.\r\n\r\n\u2018I showed you my ID.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Is it you that\u2019s been following me?\u2019\r\n\r\nCharlie wondered if everyone associated with Hindwell Street Primary School was a paranoid lunatic. What the hell was going on?\r\n\r\n\u2018Calling me every five minutes, hanging\u00a0up?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018No, sir. If I could come in for a moment\u2026\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018Who\u2019s put you up to this? I\u2019ve done nothing illegal. The police wouldn\u2019t be interested in me. That\u2019s how I know you\u2019re not them \u2014 so who are you, in your fake uniform? What do you want?\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018I think you might be at risk,\u2019 Charlie told him. \u2018Ring Spilling police station and check I\u2019m who I say I am if you don\u2019t believe me. Or if you\u2019ll calm down and let me in\u2026\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018No way.\u2019\r\n\r\n\u2018You\u2019d rather do this on the doorstep? All right. If I say to you, \u201cFather, son, prize\u201d\u2026\u2019\r\n\r\nAn arm shot out. A hand grabbed Charlie by her hair. He\u2019d dragged her into the hallway and slammed the door before she thought of screaming, and now that screaming seemed like a good idea, she couldn\u2019t make a sound. His hands were around her throat, squeezing her windpipe. They were on the floor, her underneath, crushed. She couldn\u2019t get her hands between his chest and hers to push him away.\r\n\r\nShe heard a loud crashing sound and her body sagged with relief \u2014 he\u2019d have to stop now, to see what the noise was \u2014 but he didn\u2019t stop. \u2018If school finds out, I\u2019m a goner,\u2019 he spat at her, still gripping her throat. \u2018That. Will. Not. Happen.\u2019 Charlie forced herself to focus on the words.\r\n\r\nHis face was a pink blob hovering overhead as her vision started to break up. Then his face smashed down into hers and slid away and she could breathe again. It was agony, but she had air: that was all that mattered. Bright shapes exploded in front of her eyes. She heard a repetitive thudding sound. Was he running away? Working it out was impossible. Her forehead, where his had smashed into it, hurt nearly as much as her throat.\r\n\r\nAfter a few seconds \u2014 or maybe minutes, she couldn\u2019t tell \u2014 of gasping and gulping, Charlie managed to roll onto her side. She saw black shoes, black tights, and knew whose face she\u2019d see when she looked up.\r\n\r\n\u2018Mrs Quintus,\u2019 she managed to say in a hoarse whisper.\r\n\r\nJane Quintus was holding a medium-sized grey rock. It was only then, seeing those red hands and the blood dripping from the stone, that Charlie let herself notice the body. Anthony Stokes lay beside her, face down. The blood was his.\r\n\r\nSo he hadn\u2019t run away: that wasn\u2019t the thudding sound she\u2019d heard.\r\n\r\nLater, she and others would ask Jane Quintus how many times she\u2019d struck Stokes, and Jane Quintus would say that she didn\u2019t remember. She\u2019d meant only to knock him out so that he\u2019d stop hurting Charlie \u2014 she hadn\u2019t meant to kill him. She\u2019d picked up the rock from his front garden to smash the window, knowing there was a police sergeant in danger inside the house. Then, acting purely on instinct, she\u2019d used the same rock to save\u00a0a\u00a0life.\r\n\r\nShe would say she\u2019d been unable to decide what to do after she left Spilling police station on 25 December 2016. She hadn\u2019t known whether to go home, try to find a private detective, or confront Stokes herself \u2014 not violently, only verbally. She\u2019d ended up on a bench across the road from his house, unsure of why she was there. She would deny making hundreds of untraceable calls to Stokes\u2019s mobile phone in the run-up to Christmas.\r\n\r\nThe media would report the full story: a\u00a0form teacher who had acted as an apologist for the vicious psychological bullying by one of his pupils of four other boys, one of whom \u2014 not Louis Quintus \u2014 had attempted suicide as a result.\r\n\r\nCommentators on internet forums would express their shock that Stokes had secured the backing of the school\u2019s head to award the class achievement prize to the bully at the end of the previous school year, claiming that the all-carrot-and-no-stick approach would inspire the vicious boy to behave better in future and arguing that the four mothers who called this a disgusting injustice were compassionless and vindictive.\r\n\r\nJane Quintus could have borne the unfair awarding of the prize to the bully without wishing Anthony Stokes dead. She did bear it \u2014 until the day she walked into Stokes\u2019s office and read an email on his computer screen that filled in the missing piece of the picture: the bully was his son, though he didn\u2019t share his surname. That had been Jane\u00a0Quintus\u2019s limit: the discovery that Stokes had been motivated not by idealistic naivety or a skewed sense of right and wrong but by straightforward nepotism.\r\n\r\nAll of this would become public knowledge because Jane Quintus would give many interviews. Her motive for the murder she didn\u2019t commit, of the man she ended up killing in order to save a life, would become the most famous motive for a non-murder ever to become widely known; it would be dwelled upon at length in the media and in nearly every home in the UK.\r\n\r\nAnd Jane Quintus, who would never see the inside of a prison, would look Charlie in the eye and say tearfully, \u2018You can\u2019t honestly imagine that I planned it? I wouldn\u2019t endanger your life or anyone else\u2019s. I didn\u2019t know you\u2019d go to his house, or that he\u2019d react as he did. Hard as it is to believe \u2014 and it\u2019s hard for me too, I promise you \u2014 sometimes things work out for the best without our having to do anything at all.\u2019\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n
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This story first appeared in The Spectator Illustrated by James Weston Lewis Charlie Zailer wasn\u2019t sure if she\u2019d won or lost. On the victory side of the equation, she\u2019d managed to avoid spending Christmas Day with her sister, and she\u2019d successfully blamed it on work. Her \u2018Sorry, but I have to go in for at […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":2743,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[29],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-812","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories-by-sophie"],"yoast_head":"\nThe Dwelling: a Charlie Zailer Christmas story - Sophie Hannah<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/sophiehannah.com\/the-dwelling-a-charlie-zailer-christmas-story\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Dwelling: a Charlie Zailer Christmas story - Sophie Hannah\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"This story first appeared in The Spectator Illustrated by James Weston Lewis Charlie Zailer wasn\u2019t sure if she\u2019d won or lost. On the victory side of the equation, she\u2019d managed to avoid spending Christmas Day with her sister, and she\u2019d successfully blamed it on work. 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