Alan looked scared. ‘She’s right, Gideon.’
He drew back before Gideon had even turned to him.
‘And why would we do that?’
‘What else are we going to do?’
‘Get rid of him.’
‘We can’t.’
‘Do you think you’re going to come out of this well, Alan? Are you going to blame it all on me?’
Alan was looking at the marble lamp, still clutched in Gideon’s hands.
‘No … no, I wasn’t, but …’
‘If you ever breathe a word of this, to anyone—’
‘I won’t.’
‘I’m going to need more proof than just your word, Alan.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re going to help me get rid of him. Then you’re in it as much as me – you too, Julia.’
Julia was shaking too much to speak. Alan was still looking at the lamp.
‘Of course. Of course I’ll do it.’
‘Good,’ Gideon said.
‘We can’t,’ Julia managed to say. ‘We can’t.’
‘Take her upstairs and put her in the shower,’ Gideon told Alan.
‘I’m not dealing with her,’ Alan said.
‘You’d rather deal with this?’ Gideon asked.
Alan looked down at the bloodied mess on the living-room floor.
‘Jesus,’ he said.
‘Then get her upstairs.’
‘I’m not going,’ Julia said.
But she had no strength left to resist. He pulled her to her feet and dragged her upstairs. She hadn’t the strength to stand, as he pushed her into the shower fully clothed, and she slid down the side into a foetal position on the floor as he turned on the cold water.
‘Clean yourself up,’ he said.
She sat slumped and let the shower run over her.
‘We have to call the police,’ she said.
‘No, Julia. We do not,’ he said.
‘There’s a phone in Genevieve’s room. Gideon wouldn’t hear you.’
Hope flashed across Alan’s face, then faded. ‘You know what would happen if I did that. You know what would happen to both of us.’
She was still in her clothes when Gideon came upstairs. He turned the water to warm, then stripped her naked, without ceremony, and put her clothes into a bin liner. He washed her hair with Alan’s shampoo, rinsed her down, then turned the shower off and wrapped her in a towel.
‘You need to rest,’ he said.
‘But Brandon …’
‘I’ll deal with Brandon.’
He placed her on the bed.
‘Swallow this,’ he said.
It was one of Genevieve’s little pills.
‘That’s what killed her,’ Julia said.
‘It’s only one. You need some rest.’
She put her hand in front of her mouth. Gideon pushed it apart and forced the pill between her lips.
‘Swallow.’
She moved the pill around her mouth and under her tongue. Gideon looked at her.
‘I said, swallow.’
He knew. She swallowed.
‘Now lie down.’
He rose and closed the curtains before returning to the bed and sitting beside her.
‘I’ll wait until you fall asleep,’ he said.
He didn’t have to wait long. Drained of adrenaline, her body gave little resistance to the pull of the drug.
‘Julia, you need to get up.’
Someone was nudging her arm.
She dragged her eyes open. It was dark.
‘Is it the police?’ she asked.
She was pulled to an upright position. The lamp came on. Gideon was looking into her eyes.
‘You need to wake up,’ he said.
‘Where’s Brandon?’ she asked.
‘In the lounge.’
‘Is he …’
Is he dead? The blood, the smash to his skull, his leg ceasing to twitch. Of course he was dead. But perhaps she was confused. It had only been a fight and she’d dreamt the rest. She looked to Gideon’s face for a clue. It revealed nothing.
‘You need to get dressed,’ he said. ‘We have to move him tonight.’
The clock radio said 1.13 a.m. Gideon helped her dress.
‘Wear your trainers,’ he said.
The night was moonless. Once on the Downs they would be safe. Only crossing the street presented a problem. One insomniac, one adulterer sneaking home, would have them put in jail. But no one came to witness their laborious progress. The weight of Brandon, folded in a rug and wrapped in plastic bin liners, was nearly too heavy, even with three of them. Julia was of little help, the sleeping pill had robbed her muscles of strength.
Alan wouldn’t look her in the eye during the hour and many rests it took to haul Brandon up the hill. Gideon had come there earlier in the evening and chosen the spot in a small copse, far enough off the path for the disturbed earth to go unnoticed. He had left three shovels and set up three torches.
‘You’re going to have to dig too, Julia,’ Gideon said. ‘We need to finish by dawn.’
‘We can’t do this,’ she said.
‘You want to go to prison? Come out an old woman, with no friends or family’?
She didn’t reply. Gideon threw her a shovel. ‘Dig.’
Her first and second strike sent shudders through her body. But with each blow she became stronger. Her shoulders and back ached, but they belonged to another person, the old Julia who hadn’t killed someone. This Julia ignored pain, she was an automaton and kept digging. Shovel after shovel of earth piled high. Only Alan’s occasional ‘Is it deep enough?’ interrupted their labour.
Eventually Gideon agreed that yes, it was deep enough.
Gideon and Alan pulled the plastic towards the hole and rolled Brandon into it.
‘It’ll be light soon. We need to work fast filling it in,’ he said.
Julia looked into the hole. The black plastic was barely visible in the dark.
‘We should say something,’ she said.
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. A prayer?’
‘Don’t be fucking stupid,’ Gideon said.
Later, stumbling down the hill, filthy and too exhausted to even lift the shovels dragging behind them, they looked up to see a red glow starting to stretch along the ridge above. Dawn was breaking.
‘Hurry up,’ he said.
At the bottom of the hill, she managed to haul herself over the stile, only to tumble down the slope on the other side and fall face down in the road, her fingernails bloodstained, her mouth and nose clogged with dirt. She could have fallen asleep there and then, not caring if she were seen.
A hand reached under her armpit and hauled her to her feet.
‘Keep moving.’
What was the point in moving or any attempt at concealment? He wouldn’t lie buried for ever. Someday, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week or next year, someone would find him.
Julia looked up at Downsview Villa. For a moment she thought she saw a light glint at the top of the house in Genevieve’s room. She looked again, and it was gone. The wisp of a shadow moving across the window. Impossible. It must have been the reflection of some distant headlamp and her own imagination. Genevieve was dead. Brandon was dead. The bedroom was empty.
Chapter 67
1995 – Flaxley, Worcestershire
Audrey’s chicken and sweetcorn soup had gone cold. Julia wondered if she could throw it out of the window of her childhood bedroom and onto the rose bushes below, without being noticed. She wasn’t sure. The wind might simply blow it onto the window underneath hers and how would she explain that to Audrey? If she attempted to throw it down the toilet, Audrey would hear. Julia wasn’t allowed to go to the bathroom alone, even though all the razors had been removed. So, Julia sat and stared at the soup she’d had little desire to eat warm, let alone stone cold.
Homemade soup was Audrey’s cure-all. From broken bones to broken hearts, chicken a
nd sweetcorn, leak and potato or carrot and coriander was the remedy. Julia couldn’t face any more liquids. Perhaps Audrey denied her solids in the belief that even blunt dinner knives would prove too much of a temptation. She needn’t have worried – blood turned Julia’s stomach. When she woke at night, shaking, her nightdress warm and wet, her first thought was that it was soaked in blood. Only when she switched on the light did she realise it was sweat.
Audrey didn’t know, couldn’t fathom why her daughter had tried to throw herself from a North London bridge. And Julia could never tell, not her mother, not Pearl, not anyone. But they would find out soon, when the Wells received their letter.
Audrey came in and took the tray, placing it on the chest of drawers, without noticing the full bowl of soup.
‘Now where is it?’ She looked around, picked up a comb and started to tug at Julia’s hair. Julia pushed her away.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, irritated.
‘It’s a real tangle,’ Audrey said.
‘I can do it myself,’ Julia said. ‘I’m not an invalid.’
Audrey watched her, assessing the comb’s lethal potential and whisking it away the moment Julia had finished.
‘Now, Julia. I don’t want you to get overexcited, but you have a visitor,’ she said.
‘Pearl or Andre?’
‘Neither,’ Audrey said, a little breathless. ‘But I think you’ll be pleased to see him.’
Gideon came in and went and sat on the bed next to Julia, taking her hand. She wanted to pull it away but wouldn’t in front of Audrey.
‘Tea, Gideon?’ Audrey asked.
‘Please, Mrs Hathersley.’
Audrey scurried from the room.
‘You should have come to me, Julia,’ Gideon said.
Julia removed her hand from his. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘You’d rather tell a stranger?’
‘I didn’t tell anyone.’
‘Not completely true.’
He pulled an envelope from his jacket, its address written in Julia’s hand. To Mr and Mrs Wells, c/o Michael Lancaster.
‘How did you—?’
‘Does it matter? It was simple enough. I was passing your house and knocked on the door to be let in. I must say, I was shocked and disappointed by what I found when I went to your room. What were you thinking?’
‘They have to know,’ Julia said.
‘And the money, Julia, what a waste.’
‘You don’t understand. I think about it all the time and I’ve no one to talk to. It’s getting worse.’ She rapped the side of her head with her knuckles.
‘You can speak to me,’ Gideon said.
‘You’re not here.’
‘I could be,’ he said. ‘I could be here all the time. Taking care of you, making sure this never happens again.’ Did he mean her suicide attempt or the envelope? ‘It was me who protected you from Brandon, remember? I did it all for you.’
Before Julia could reply, Audrey returned with the tea and a plate of biscuits.
‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ Audrey said. ‘I’ve not seen Julia so animated since she’s been here. You can’t imagine how worried I’ve been about her. If that silly Genevieve woman wanted to kill herself, she should have swam out to sea, or something. For Julia to find her was dreadful. You’d never seen a dead body before, had you, not even your grandmother’s. I wouldn’t let you come to the funeral parlour. Even though they made her look so nice, just like she was sleeping. God knows what state that Genevieve’s body was in.’
Julia flinched.
‘I’m sorry, darling,’ Audrey said. ‘But I wish I’d followed my instincts and refused to let you move into that house. I always had a bad feeling about it. I’ll never stop worrying about you, never.’
She started to weep. It was one of the few times Julia had seen her mother cry. She felt embarrassed for her.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Hathersley,’ Gideon said. He put his tea down and took Julia’s hand again. ‘She’s going to be just fine. I’m going to be taking care of her from now on.’
Chapter 68
2019 – Guildford
Winter has passed, but spring has yet to arrive. Wet squalls batter Pearl’s Mini as I trundle down the A3 towards Guildford.
Ruth lives in the same house I visited over a quarter of a century ago, two streets away from Downsview Villa. The front garden is dull and sodden. Later in the year, when the roses bloom, it will look spectacular.
It’s a Tuesday morning. I’m not working right now as I don’t need the money. I wasn’t going to sell my story to the papers, but Ralph said it was the best way to get the press to leave me alone. Also, it has meant I can repay Audrey for my legal costs and have some left over. I sold the oversized house in Dulwich, which I always hated, and bought a three-bedroom flat in Tufnell Park. Sam lives with me. He’s taking a year out before university, working in a bar. Audrey comes to stay. And I see Pearl all the time and, occasionally, Andre.
I ring the bell. Ruth answers almost immediately. I’m sure the burgundy body warmer she’s wearing is the same one I remember from all those years ago.
‘I’ve been expecting you,’ she says.
‘I wasn’t sure if I should come.’
‘It’s good to see you,’ she says. ‘A free woman.’
She leads me to her lounge.
‘Sit down, I’ll make some tea.’
There’s nothing of Genevieve’s eclectic global collection of objets in Ruth’s lounge. Everything is plain and functional. Ruth returns with two mugs of hot tea.
‘You don’t take sugar?’ she asks.
‘No.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t. Jenny wouldn’t even have milk, let alone sugar. Makes you fat, she said, ruins your complexion. She always had a wedge of lemon instead. I used to keep them ready sliced in my freezer for when she came. I still do.’ She puts her mug on the table. ‘I’ll always miss her.’
Ruth stares into the middle distance. Such a contrast between those sisters – but a deep, deep bond.
‘Ruth,’ I say.
‘Why did I lie in court?’ she says without looking at me.
I hadn’t expected her to be so blunt.
She smiles. ‘I was going to repeat what I told the police. That nothing was missing from the house, when you left.’
‘But even that wasn’t true,’ I say.
‘He deserved it – Brandon. He as good as murdered Jenny. I would have done it myself if you three hadn’t. I knew what you’d done. I came around to find a few of Jenny’s things. I saw you moving him. I didn’t know exactly what had happened, but it must have been his fault. By the way, you did a shocking job of cleaning the lounge. It took me two days of scrubbing to get the blood off.’
‘You knew all the time? I thought …’
‘What?’
‘When we came down from the hill, I saw a figure move across Genevieve’s window. I thought it was a ghost.’
‘Really, Julia. I never took you to be so fanciful. That’s exactly the sort of thing Jenny would have come out with. There’s no such thing as ghosts. Just overactive imaginations.’
‘Was it you who sent the text?’
‘Yes. Sorry about that. I thought I was helping you. I found you on some software company website. They said you’d moved on. I told them I was an old friend and needed to get in touch. They gave me your number without asking many questions. Really, some people’s privacy policies are terribly lax. Still, it got you what you needed, to be ready for when the police came – I thought you might not get the Surrey news. I didn’t want you to be caught unprepared and end up in prison. You should have got a medal for ridding the world of that maggot.’
I do deserve prison. Brandon didn’t have to die. I don’t say so.
‘But you changed your evidence. You told the court Gideon and Alan came back to the house with Brandon.’
‘I wanted you all to get off. Of course, I didn’t know how things would turn out. Didn’t know
you ended up marrying Gideon. And I would have tried to keep you all out of prison, until I learnt what sort of man he was. I spoke to Leanne in the sandwich shop down the road from the court. She told me everything.’
‘You know it would invalidate the trial, if they found out witnesses were conferring.’
‘I’ve no intention of telling anyone, except you,’ Ruth says. ‘That Gideon sounds just like my ex. Controlling, grasping. And Alan – so slimy.’ She shudders.
‘Did Gideon really remind you of your ex?’
‘Just like him – spent my money, even money put aside for the children, their school uniforms and things like that.’
‘What happened to him?’
She looks at me, a vacant expression on her face.
‘Oh him,’ she says. ‘He disappeared, years ago. No idea where he could have gone.’
And her eyes stray to the Downs, their tops just visible through the front window.
I drive the few streets to the foot of the Downs. A steep path takes me through the long, wet grass. By the time I reach the crest of the hill, my jeans are dirty and sodden. The wind whips around my head, my hair blinding me. It’s been twenty-five years since I was last here. The view has barely changed. And I have not changed as I should.
I’ve been a coward all of my life, taking the easiest route that presented itself. Leaving home, marrying Gideon, staying with him. After Brandon’s death, I should have been strong – done what I knew to be right and gone to the police. Even if I had served time for manslaughter, I would have been free by the age of thirty. Free to marry or not marry. To choose my career. But I took the easier path and paid the price. And not just me – Audrey, Pearl and Sam.
I kneel down and touch the muddy soil. He disappeared years ago, Ruth said of her husband. I wonder how many more bodies are buried beneath the Downs.
I slip and slide down the slope, through the wet grass and over the stile at the bottom. I brush the worst of the dirt from my jeans and climb into the car. Debris from overhanging trees is strewn across the windscreen. I clear it with the wipers, drive to the end of the road and head for the A3. I don’t look back.
If you enjoyed The Verdict then you will LOVE Someone You Know, Olivia Isaac-Henry’s first gripping thriller
The Verdict Page 31