In A Deep Dark Wood: A psychological thriller

by Tina Pritchard

  ‘Shit.’ I curse under my breath. In all the commotion, neither of us had thought to lock the side gate.

  ‘And the second…?’

  ‘Ah, yes. What do I want?’ Her voice has taken on a sing-song quality. She’s either drunk, high or both.

  She leans into the kitchen island and looks around.

  ‘Very nice. Tasteful. Pretty much what I would have expected. You have it all, don’t you, Fran. Perfect home, perfect husband, perfect kids. You’re lucky. Very lucky.’

  I’m racking my brains to try to find something to say to appease her.

  ‘I know it seems like that, Mel…’

  She’s not listening. Her head is tilted back, and her eyes are closed. ‘I did almost have it all. The house, the car, my beautiful clothes, even the dogs.’

  She pitches forward unsteadily, regains her balance, then wipes away a tear with a dirty sleeve. ‘Now look at me. I’ve got nothing. Everything is gone. They’ve even taken my boy Gabe away from me. My life here is over.’

  She’s crying steadily now. Her hunched shoulders heaving. She’s lost weight. I can make out the outline of her shoulder blades through the layer of fleece.

  I almost feel sorry for her. ‘Mel, I…’

  She raises her head, and her face is contorted. ‘Do you know what?’ she sneers. ‘People like you make me sick.’

  ‘People like me? What do you mean?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She mimics my voice, specks of spittle gathering at the corners of her mouth. ‘I mean you and people like you with your cosy lives. You had it all handed to you on a plate. I had to do it all myself.’ She is beating her fist against her chest, her voice rising. ‘It’s a pity you escaped. You deserve to be in that hole they dug for you. I can’t believe that stupid bitch Tash let you go. And that idiot of a husband of hers, Alex. He went to try to find you before you froze to death.’

  The car that passed me when I was in the field at Willington. It must have been Alex.

  Her voice slows and becomes hard and edged with steel. ‘Fuckwit went to the police and told them everything. Along with your evidence, they are going to send me down for a long time.’

  My legs are starting to ache from standing, and I shift my position. Mel eyes me suspiciously.

  ‘Laurie will be back soon,’ I say. ‘He’s gone for fish and chips.’

  ‘Ooh, luverly. Ah’m starving.’ I don’t know if it’s deliberate, but her Birmingham accent has become especially noticeable.

  ‘Why don’t we sit down while we’re waiting? Then you can tell me what it is you want, Mel,’ I say.

  Ignoring me, she places her elbows flat on the countertop, then uncurls her fingers from the cuffs of her sleeve. They are white with cold. She reaches behind her and from the waistband of her joggers draws out what looks like a toy pistol. She slams it down onto the granite work surface in front of her with a muted clang. The silver body of the gun gleams dully in the afternoon light.

  ‘Your help. That’s what I want,’ Mel croons. ‘I need to get out of the country, and you’re going to help me do it.’

  47

  We survey each other across the expanse of black granite. I try not to look at the gun. I remember once reading about weapon focus. It’s where victims become so fixated on the weapon, they forget other important details relating to the crime. This won’t happen to me. Every tiny detail of this encounter is etched in my memory. There will be no forgetting if I do manage to get out of this unscathed.

  ‘And how do you propose to do that? Get you out of the country, that is?’ I say.

  ‘It’s easy,’ Mel says. ‘You are going to drive me to Hull. I have someone there waiting to pick me up. Fake ID, fake passport are all in place. Overnight ferry to Rotterdam, and I can start a new life there.’ She pats the rucksack lying across the stool next to her. ‘I’ve got plenty of cash. I might even move on from there and go to another country.’

  My phone buzzes on the worktop, and I reach across to get it. Laurie’s name is flashing up on the screen.

  ‘Sit down. Don’t answer it,’ Mel hisses, picking up the gun and waving it in my direction.

  I do as she says and wait for the knock on the door to tell me Laurie is back. He’s been gone for ages. The minutes drag by, and my mind starts to wander, imagining any number of situations to explain why he has been so long. Perhaps he’s had a flat tyre or an accident. What if he’s written off the car, and the police were using his phone to contact me with the bad news?

  I jump up when I hear an insistent knock on the front door. I move towards the hall, and in a flash, Mel is behind me. I can feel the snub nose of the gun pressing into my lower back.

  My hands are shaking, and it takes a couple of attempts before I can slide the chain across and get the door open. Laurie has a carrier bag in his hand, and the aroma of freshly cooked food causes my stomach to growl with hunger.

  ‘I know I’ve been a long time. The shop shut early for some reason. I had to drive to the next village. I tried to ring to let you know… Oh, who’s this?’

  Laurie has noticed Mel standing behind my shoulder.

  Still holding the gun to my back, she increases the pressure, and I wince. Laurie looks at me in concern, but I give a slight shake of my head. ‘This is Mel Ingram, Laurie. Just do as she says.’

  Mel is ravenous. She is grabbing handfuls of chips and breaking off pieces of fish to ram down her throat before I even have time to share the food out onto the plates. She still has the gun in her other hand. Laurie and I pick at our shared portion. Before I can empty the remainder into the bin, Mel pulls the plate towards her. She stuffs the last remnants into her mouth.

  ‘Cup of tea would be nice,’ she says, her mouth full of chips.

  I put the kettle on, and while I’m waiting for it to boil, I watch as Laurie engages her in conversation. He appears relaxed and is chatting to her in the same way he would with my friends. He’s jokey and flirtatious, leaning forward as though interested in every word she is saying. If you were looking in from the outside, you wouldn’t know anything was out of place. It’s surreal.

  ‘So,’ he says, ‘you want Fran to drive you to Hull to catch the late ferry?’

  He sits upright, steepling his fingers in front of him. ‘Can I ask you, Mel, have you ever been to Hull?’

  Mel laughs out loud and twirls her hair with her free hand. ‘Nooo, I hear it’s grim. But I won’t be hanging around there for any length of time.’

  I can’t help but be impressed by Laurie. It’s a while since I’ve seen him in full seduction mode, and Mel is lapping it up. I linger on the sidelines, not wishing to break the spell. If I didn’t know him better, I might even be starting to feel a tad jealous. This is a game, though, and Laurie is good at it.

  I pour the tea, and Mel demands sugar, which neither of us take. I bend down to search in our box of essentials, and she yells at me.

  ‘Get the fuck where I can see you!’

  I emerge with two sachets of white sugar, and she snatches them both from my hand. She tears at the paper and tips one into her tea, and the other she taps into her mouth and swallows. I look across at Laurie. His face is impassive, unreadable.

  I have a proposition for you, Mel,’ he says. ‘How about I drive you to Hull?’

  ‘No, Laurie…’ I start to protest, but he waves his hand to silence me.

  ‘It’s fine, Fran. I can take Mel. It’s less than two hours each way. I’ll be back by early evening.’

  Mel looks up, and there’s a strange glint in her eye. She slides off the stool and walks towards me, holding the gun at arm’s length in front of her. Laurie starts to get off his seat, too, but she points it in his direction.

  ‘No,’ she says, her eyes narrowing. ‘I know what you are playing at. Don’t mistake me for a fool.’

  Laurie raises his hands, palms outward. ‘Okay, Mel. No worries. It’s your call.’

  Keeping a wary eye on Mel, I gather the plates and put them into the d
ishwasher. The clock on the wall is showing it’s almost three. Jenny will be bringing Buddy back soon, and I feel a rising sense of panic at the thought of her becoming enmeshed in the situation. If I’m quick, I can intercept her.

  ‘I have to go and collect Buddy, Mel. He’s with a neighbour. She’s elderly, and she doesn’t need to be a part of all this. I’ll come straight back, and then I’ll drive you to Hull. I promise.’

  Too late. I recognise Jenny’s usual knock. Tap, tap, tap.

  Mel follows me into the hall, holding the gun once again at my back. ‘Not a word,’ she hisses.

  Her breath is hot, exuding a faint chemical smell I don’t recognise. A drug, I would guess.

  My mouth feels dry, and I swallow hard before turning the latch to open the door.

  Jenny is balancing a greetings card and a plant in one hand and holding onto Buddy’s lead in the other. Before I have time to say anything, he jerks on the lead, dragging Jenny into the hall. She crashes into me, dropping the plant and card as an overexcited Buddy jumps up at Mel, knocking the gun out of her hand. It spins across the floor in wide arcs, heading inexorably in my direction. Adrenaline has sharpened my senses, and I drop into a squat and snatch it away before Mel has time to retrieve it. It feels heavier than I expected. I hate guns, but fear is making me reckless, and I wave it in Mel’s direction. From out of the corner of my eye, I see Jenny. She is pressed up against the wall, holding Buddy tight to her chest. I can hear her breathing in short, sharp gasps. There’s no sign of Laurie, and I feel the panic rising. I wonder if he has gone to phone the police, leaving me to deal with Mel, who by now has staggered to her feet. She advances in my direction, holding out her hand.

  ‘Give it back to me, Fran. It’s fully loaded, and you have no idea what you’re doing. We don’t want anyone to get hurt now, do we?’ Her voice is low, wheedling, as though she is talking to a child.

  I stand firm despite the fact that my whole body is quivering. Hooking my index finger, I rest it on the trigger, sweat slicking my hands.

  ‘No one is going to get hurt, Mel. We all just need to keep calm,’ I say, my voice husky with anxiety.

  The familiar smirk is back on her face, and I’m flustered. Why isn’t she concerned? It’s a loaded weapon. Does she really think I won’t fire it?

  She’s less than two feet away, and I feel sick at the thought of what will happen if I’m forced to shoot her.

  ‘I’ll do it, Mel. Don’t think I won’t.’

  Without warning, Mel kicks out at me, knocking me off balance. As I fall backwards, I instinctively tighten my grip on the gun. Mel is crouching over me, and I point it upwards.

  ‘You can’t do it, Fran. I know you. You’re prissy and moral. You won’t shoot me. Your stupid moral code won’t allow it. A bleeding heart, that’s what you are. You won’t cross that line. I know you won’t.’

  In the infinitesimal unit of time that passes before I step over that invisible threshold, I realise beyond any doubt that Mel is beyond redemption. I close my eyes and squeeze the trigger.

  There is no flash of light, no loud explosion. I look up in confusion, to see Mel grinning down at me. I try to get up, but she pushes me back. Reaching for the gun, she prises it from my trembling fingers. She steps away from me, then swings from side to side theatrically. Adopting the two-handed stance I’ve seen so often in crime films,she lowers her head, closing one eye as though lining me up in her sights.

  In that split second, the only thoughts I have are that it’s over and I will never see Laurie or my kids again. Buddy lets out a little yelp as a reminder he has been held too tightly for too long.

  ‘Bang!’ I hear Mel’s wild, shrill laugh.

  ‘See, Fran, the safety is on. I can’t have anything happen to you. You’re my ticket out of here.’

  Over Mel’s shoulder, Laurie appears, silhouetted against the light coming through from the kitchen. Mel senses his presence and goes to turn, but before she can, he grabs her arm, the one holding the gun, and twists it behind her back. She struggles and cries out in pain. He tightens his grip until she sighs deeply and relaxes against him as though in submission.

  Laurie must have activated the panic alarm. Already I can hear the wail of sirens in the distance.

  We wait for the police to arrive. A still and silent tableau in the darkening hallway.

  Epilogue

  Two Years Later

  The views across the valley are breathtaking. Soon after we arrived, we bought a wooden bench and placed it by the back door of the cottage. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is, there’s always something interesting to see. Today a lone red kite performs leisurely sweeps of its territory, pausing only to momentarily beat its wings and utter a shrill, whistling cry before climbing in an elegant curve to soar high above on the thermals.

  The cottage is a squat, single-level dwelling, dressed in local stone with a slate roof. A former dairy and milking shed, it’s small in comparison to our last house, but perfectly adequate for the two of us. We spotted it on a walk to visit some Neolithic standing stones a short drive from Laurie’s parents’ house and immediately fell in love with its higgledy-piggledy quirkiness. It had been empty for a year, and it’s taken us another year to restore it. It’s located half a mile up an uneven farm track. I like that it’s possible to see any approaching vehicle from every window.

  The land at the rear slopes gently and ends in a vegetable patch flanked by half a dozen or so apple trees. Al would be proud of us. Rather than cutting the grass, we have sown wild flower seed. Already cornflowers, dog daisies, red campion and cowslips are flourishing beneath the trees. In summer, I can hear the low hum of honeybees from the open kitchen door.

  ‘We can get the trees taken out if they spook you,’ Laurie said soon after we moved in.

  It was spring, and the pinky-white cloud of blossom filled the air with its heady scent.

  ‘No, absolutely not.’

  Laurie had smiled at that, knowing it was a sign that healing had begun.

  Later in the year, we arranged for Alice and Flynn to visit. Together we dug a hole in the flower bed close to the house, into which we placed Buddy’s ashes, along with his collar and favourite toy. He hadn’t liked all the changes, and at first we thought he was homesick and missing what was familiar. As the months passed, he began to slow down and become listless. Eventually he stopped eating. After trying different medications without much success, we knew he was telling us it was time to let him go.

  Rather than take him to the surgery, which he hated anyway, we arranged for the vet to come to the house. On a warm summer morning with the haze lifting from the valley floor, our devoted and faithful little terrier lay in my lap in a pool of sunlight and breathed his last.

  I sent Jenny a copy of one of the last photos we took of him before he became ill. It’s a jaunty pose, and I hope it makes her smile. He is standing on his short back legs with his paws resting on a drystone wall. His ears are flapping in the wind, and he’s eyeing up the sheep in the adjoining field.

  I don’t spend much time thinking about what has gone before. The trial was an ordeal. There was some satisfaction in knowing my evidence contributed to disrupting the chain of supply, as the police referred to the mass of arrests that were made following my evidence.

  Mel had been about to go into business with one of the most violent gang bosses in the country. He was already running the majority of County Lines operations in the region, as well as having links to human trafficking and gunrunning. Mel was well placed to assist him in acquiring vulnerable young people to transport and deal drugs on the streets.

  It turns out she had been under police surveillance even before Tyler’s death. With local police intelligence focused on her, she inadvertently led them to the kingpin involved in controlling what was an extensive organised crime operation.

  Mel got sixteen years. When I heard she had killed herself, I wasn’t surprised. Those who exploit children, especially their own, don
’t get an easy ride in prison. I can’t imagine anyone would mourn her passing, except maybe Gabe. As she said herself, everything that had meaning for her was gone. Although, if I remember rightly, her children were an afterthought, occupying a position well down on her list of losses.

  There is no doubt she was deeply flawed, and no psychologist or psychiatrist will ever get to explain why that was. Ultimately, greed and resentment were her downfall, and if it hadn’t been for Tash, she would have had me disposed of without compunction.

  By now, Tash will have returned to Poland to live with her mother, leaving Alex to serve out his sentence. DI Holmes was able to tell me which open prison she had been sent to, and I applied for a visiting order. Tash had been handed down a short sentence for her participation and was about to be released on probation. I visited her in the prison’s mother-and-baby unit soon after Zofia was born. Motherhood has mellowed and softened her edges. I almost didn’t recognise her. With no make-up and her natural, light brown hair tied back in a plait, she looked young and vulnerable. As she nursed Zofia, there was a reminder of the Tash I knew in all her vivacity. From the sleeve of her sweater emerged the edges of a blood-red petal, its intensity contrasting with the creamy plumpness of Zofia’s fingers.

  For a long time, I felt I would never be free of fear. That anxiety would blight my life forever. It’s true my heart still pumps faster when I see an unfamiliar figure in the distance, or I hear a vehicle rattling up the track to the house.

  The bad dreams, though reduced in frequency, still manifest in times of stress or anxiety. Seeing a counsellor has helped me to recognise that recovering from a disturbing experience is a process that mustn’t be hurried, and is one you can’t necessarily tackle alone. When my sessions conclude, I hope to begin my own journey, training to be a trauma counsellor. It’s my way of giving something back. A promise I made to myself on that fateful day when everything could have turned out so very differently.