The Heatwave

  ‘No! of course not. I want to go home now. You’re scaring me.’

  He moved forwards quickly and grabbed her by the shoulders, staring into her eyes. ‘We don’t have much time, Jasmine. Things are going to happen, things you won’t understand. I just want you to know I’m not the bad guy here. He was a bad person and he deserved what happened to him. People like him don’t deserve mercy. They deserve to die.’

  ‘Please take me home,’ she begged, tears streaking her cheeks. The strangest look appeared on Tim’s face, a new expression that she hadn’t seen before, desperate somehow, almost pleading with her to understand. He let go, shaking the unfamiliar expression off and putting on a face she recognised.

  ‘I’m sorry. I never meant for any of this. This isn’t what I wanted. I’ll take you home.’

  She walked ahead to the car, glad to be away from the cliff’s edge. Why bring her to this place? If it was sex he wanted from her, then he had had ample opportunity in the past. For the first time he had let his mask slip though. One way or another she was going to find out what he wanted. She was going to get into the guest house and see what he was hiding.

  When the engine turned over she was finally able to take a breath. As they stopped the car at the traffic lights she could see him watching her; she didn’t want to face him right now but she could feel him imploring her to. The road was empty, the light was green, but he didn’t move. She turned towards him. He could have pushed her off the cliff, no one would have seen it. Instead he looked her in the eyes, tears hovering at the edges of his, the truest face he had shown her yet. He seemed so sad, so completely bereft. She didn’t believe that you could fake that.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Now

  I never make it to the woods, instead I seek out a pub and console myself in there. My mother worked here over Christmas once, I remember; they asked her to fill in for a sick member of staff as she was a regular. She would tell stories of how much fun it was, but I think she thought it was beneath her. I think she thought lots of things were. Being in here makes me feel closer to her, or at least a version of her.

  The television on the wall is playing the news. There’s lots of speculation on why Hannah and the soldier were buried in the woods together – were they having an affair that went wrong? Hannah’s father was being interrogated, as the woods are near his house. But the woods are near lots of houses – this town isn’t that big – so technically the woods are near every house here. It wouldn’t take many people longer than ten minutes to get there by car. One of the stories circulating is that he found out this man was sleeping with his daughter and killed them both in a fit of rage. That sounds quite far-fetched to me, but the media are running with it. I find a newspaper on the counter with a picture of Hannah on the front. Mandy Green has already been relegated to page seven. As she moves further back in the newspaper more and more people will forget about her, save her mother, who will never be able to move on.

  My phone is ringing. I look at the display and see it’s Chris. I haven’t called him in days, resigned to the fact that he has finally come to his senses and decided to get rid of me. This place has a way of making me forget time. Is it wrong that I hadn’t thought about the children for several hours, maybe even longer?

  ‘Chris?’

  ‘Hi,’ he says softly.

  ‘I didn’t think you were speaking to me?’

  ‘I wasn’t. I’m sorry.’

  ‘How are you, how are the kids?’

  ‘We’re good. Do you still want us to come down? We can if you want us to.’

  ‘It’s a long way. You don’t have to. I’m almost done here now anyway.’

  ‘I saw on the news that they found an old body buried in the woods. Was it the girl you knew?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love.’

  I start to cry and I’m not sure why; it’s not like I was good friends with her. ‘It’s good for her family to have closure now,’ I say, even though her father is a suspect, even though I know more than he does. I could tell the police things that would shift their focus entirely.

  ‘We’ll head down in the morning, OK?’

  ‘It would be good to see you. I love you,’ I say and hang up before he has a chance to not say it back.

  A clock has been started. I need to find out the truth about Mandy’s disappearance before my family come, before her body turns up. I need to purge the old me again and become the wife and mother I was before; she wasn’t perfect, but she would be a good place to start. I just need one more drink first.

  It’s getting darker when I go outside. I have lost count of the number of drinks I have had, and I stumble forwards in in the half light and grab for a tree planted in the pavement to stop me from falling. More memories surface of my life before I left, but I push them down. It all goes back to that one summer. Being here has made me realise all the other people I miss. Like my mother. How can I move forward without confronting the devils of my past?

  As I walk unsteadily forwards I hear an engine rev nearby. I look around but I can’t see anything. I know it’s there, though, I can hear the gentle hum of the engine like the breath of a stalker. The car headlights in the street are all dark and my vision is blurred, my temples throbbing. I don’t know why I can’t control myself here, it’s never just one glass. I don’t do this at home.

  I keep walking, my destination programmed into me. I feel my knee stinging so I know I have fallen at some point. I perch on the edge of a garden wall, the ever present sound of a car engine nearby. I wonder if it’s just in my head, swirling around with the rest of my cacophony of thoughts. When I start to walk again, muscle memory takes me in the direction I need to go. I walked this hill many times in the past, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends, sometimes sober, sometimes drunk.

  I hear the engine again, closer this time. I shake my head to try and get the sound out but it stays. I look to the road behind me but there’s nothing there. As I turn back a full beam of light shines straight in my eyes, and I hear a voice, a voice I thought I had forgotten, a voice I am not sure is even really there. In my mind I have replayed this voice often, trying to cling onto any kindness. It’s different in my memory, softer somehow. Now it sounds jarring and desperate.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come. It’s not safe for you here,’ it says, so familiar.

  The light is so bright I can’t see anything but white. I look up to the sky and fractals of light remnants bounce around my head, the dizziness taking over. I stumble backwards and start to run. I don’t stop until I can no longer hear cars or see the road. Moments later I am behind the street on a bench under a willow tree, I don’t know how long I was running, all I know is that I am fast. Even under the influence, I can move faster than my pursuer and I know the car can’t get into this park. I lie back on the bench, my vision returning to normal. If I can just close my eyes for a second, I can regain my strength and try again. The moment of clarity comes and I stand. I’m stronger than this. I am getting closer, I can feel it. The only thing left is to find out the truth I was so afraid of knowing all those years ago. I need to find the driver of that car. I need find out what happened to Mandy.

  Chapter Forty

  Then

  Watching from the window, Jasmine waited for Tim to leave. The more she thought about his erratic and inexplicable behaviour on the clifftop the more she knew she had to get into his rooms. She waited what seemed like an eternity before she heard the guest house door open. She saw him checking that no one was around before leaving with his backpack slung over his shoulder. She pulled back from the window a little as he glanced upwards. Her room was dark, and she was sure he couldn’t see her, but if he could then he showed no sign of it. He left by the back gate and she jumped out of bed.

  Downstairs Jasmine went straight for the key, then peered outside to check that Tim’s car was gone. It was that time of day when everyone was either still in bed or had just left to complete errands
and a bizarre silence descended on the neighbourhood. She couldn’t even hear the neighbour’s kids with their relentless trampolining. It was now or never.

  As Jasmine pushed the key in the lock, nausea crept over her, as though she were crossing a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Every part of her knew he wouldn’t be amenable if he found her inside his house; the way he had reacted when he caught her at the threshold before had shown how he felt about her being inside there. Still, she pushed forward. There was no more time; she had to get to the truth.

  Moving slowly and carefully through the property, Jasmine noticed how untouched everything was. The first room she came across was a small lounge with the sofa from their last house in it, and a wave of nostalgia hit her. But there was no television – in fact, aside from the items her parents had decorated the room with, there was no furniture at all.

  Jasmine walked through to the bathroom. A bar of soap, toothbrush and toothpaste sat on the sink. In the cupboard was a tin of something called pomade; she didn’t know what that was.

  In the double bedroom there was just enough room for a metal-framed IKEA double bed, and the back wall was fitted with slatted louvre doors to hide the clothes rail and shelving. There was nothing in Tim’s bedroom. The bed was bare, with no sheets. Instead, there was a sleeping bag in its sleeve on the chair and a pair of binoculars on the sill. Had he ever even lain on the bed before or did he just sit in that chair, watching the house from the window? All those accidental meetings in the garden were no accident at all.

  It would have taken Tim less than five minutes to clear this house of all his belongings, if you could even call a sleeping bag and some personal hygiene products that. Jasmine walked past Tim’s bed, which looked brand new and untouched with the plastic wrapper still on the mattress. Her uneasiness grew, the mystery around him increasing. The first wardrobe was empty, as were the second and third. Where were his things? There were two more doors left. Her palms got sweatier as she reached for the handles. She opened the doors and saw a T-shirt and jeans on the shelf. Just one spare outfit? Did he keep things in his car still? Maybe that was it. Her father had told her that Tim had lived out of his car – maybe he just couldn’t make the transition. She paused before she opened the final door, terrified of what she might find in there. A weapon? A body? He could be hiding anything. She closed her eyes as she pulled the handle and then opened them again to see it was an empty shelving unit at a first glance, but when she bent right down, she could see the messenger bag he had tried to hide from her before, pushed deep into the corner. She reached down and pulled it out. She could already tell from the weight of it that it was full of papers. She let out a breath, relieved it didn’t contain a severed head or anything equally distressing.

  Perched on the edge of the bed, Jasmine lay the bag down next to her. Carefully pressing the sides of the plastic clip that locked the bag she released the flap and reached inside, a part of her anticipating that something might bite her. She ran her fingers along the surface of the contents as if somehow she could discern what they were without actually having to look at them, as if this was somehow less of an intrusion, as if that in itself was forgivable. Her fingers dragged on the paper and she knew it was a photograph. Aware that time was no longer on her side, she pulled the photographs out of the bag.

  The first photo was of a place. It was familiar to Jasmine, but she didn’t know why. It showed the front of a building, painted green and run down, with cracks all over the front. She had seen it before but she had no idea when, or where, or why. The next photo was more familiar.

  It was her parents’ bedroom.

  A chill ran through her as she saw her mother’s clothes laid out on the bed side by side. There were four more photographs like that one, including photos of all of Lisa’s underwear. Tim must have taken some of those photographs when he was in the house alone; others were taken at night. Jasmine tensed; she knew exactly which night. She couldn’t think about that right now; she had to focus on what she was there for. These photos of her parents’ room were like an inventory of some sort. Why would he want this?

  The next photograph stopped her in her tracks. It was Jasmine’s bedroom, her clothes, every single one of them, laid out and photographed, just like her mother’s had been. Whatever his perversion was, it made less and less sense to her by the second. She died a little when she saw he had been through her laundry and photographed it as well, including her dirty underwear. Next were more photos of inside the house, including all of her and her mother’s jewellery, with some items circled, although she had no idea why. She felt dizzy with fear. Everything was so methodical, so clinical. It was like a dossier of every part of her family’s life. The reality of the danger she was in was starting to hit home – these photos were not normal, they weren’t even normal perversion. It would almost make more sense if he had photos of them all sleeping or getting undressed. This though? This was like a mission.

  The next photos were of a different quality, much older, well-worn at the edges. The first was of the green house again, a similar picture to the one before but a much older copy. She turned the page to uncover the next photograph, catching her breath instinctively.

  The first thing she saw was red. The tones varied from bright, luminous streaks across the top half of the photograph and deep chocolatey red pooling at the bottom of the picture. Blood. So much blood. The picture showed the corpse of a young woman, in her late teens at most, barely recognisable as human. She was swathed in blood, with not a patch of her skin untouched by the red cloak of death. Who was she? Why did he have this photograph? Her mouth ran dry; she didn’t want to turn to the next picture but her fingers had started moving independently. She could tell these photos were real. They weren’t pretty or stylised enough to be anything else. She felt sick to the stomach.

  She knew, she knew from the moment Tim came into their lives he was trouble. She should have made more of a fuss; she should have made her parents kick him out then. Every decision she had made since meeting him had been wrong. He had played her exactly right. Making her doubt what she knew inside to be true. She should have told her parents about that night when they went away. She should have told her parents about the photo she found.

  The next image was of the same girl, but a close-up picture of her face. If the photo were in black and white Jasmine might have assumed she was sleeping; she looked so peaceful. But it wasn’t, and everything was red. She was a pretty girl; Jasmine could see that much. Her hair looked black, but that could have just been a trick of the light.

  The next picture confused her. The girl was positioned differently. It took a few moments to fully comprehend that it was another girl entirely. She looked through the photographs with more speed now, uncovering girl after girl lying in pools of their own blood. The pictures seemed to be taken with different cameras, which made her think they’d been taken over a period of time. Jasmine’s heart was pounding, and she could barely breathe.

  She heard the distant click of the latch on the back gate followed by the screech of its hinges. He was back. If he found her there, there would be no conversations. She would be one of these photographs – one of these girls. She had to hurry.

  She gathered the photographs quickly and stuffed them back into the bag. Why was he back so soon? She put the bag back where she had found it and then looked around for a place to hide. It was either the wardrobe or under the bed. In a split decision she opted for the wardrobe; it felt less exposed and she would feel more vulnerable lying down. She opened one of the doors and slid inside the empty compartment as fast as she could. She clamped her hand over her mouth as tears streamed down her face, closing her eyes tight as the door to the guest house opened and Tim walked inside.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Jasmine’s fingers trembled. She had never been so afraid. She tried not to breathe loudly, to give herself away. She should have just told her parents about her suspicions. Now no one knew where she was.

&nb
sp; Tim walked into the bedroom and threw his backpack on the floor. She could just about see his legs through the slatted louvre doors as he walked. She had seen what he was capable of, what he had done to all those women and maybe what he planned to do to her. As he was leaving the bedroom she let out the breath she had been holding in. He stopped and turned around, looking around the room. Suddenly, he stormed forwards, straight for the wardrobe. But it was the one next to Jasmine. Her relief was profound. Had she put the bag back exactly as she had found it? She couldn’t be sure. Her heart was in her mouth as he pulled out the messenger bag, heaved it onto the bed, then opened it.

  ‘Come out.’

  The fear crystallised inside Jasmine, acute, intense and inescapable. She was going to die.

  A second later the door to the wardrobe opened and Tim grabbed Jasmine by the arm and pulled her out into the room.

  ‘Please, don’t hurt me,’ she sobbed, her legs buckling underneath her as the fear took hold. It would be hours before anyone was home, hours before anyone found her body. She imagined her hair tangled and slick with blood. She imagined her parents finding her, or maybe he would kill them too, throw them all in the hole he had dug for her father’s resistance pool and then disappear.

  ‘I told you not to come in here!’ Tim roared, his eyes wild with fury.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ Jasmine said, shrinking and cowering beneath his towering form.

  ‘Did you find what you were looking for? Are you happy now?’ He gestured at the bed. Did he want her to lie down? Maybe this was what he had wanted all along, for her to be afraid.

  ‘Please. Just let me go. I didn’t see anything.’

  He grabbed her chin and directed her face towards the bed. The bag was open, and the pictures were spread across it. Red.

  ‘Have a good look.’