My pulse thunders at my temples. I tiptoe closer. Is someone in the room, ready to jump out at me? Or will I just find my daughter, still sedated? Or worse?
I reach the door, every cell in my body tensed with anticipation.
The room is empty.
The sofa is bare.
I peer down and see a small hairgrip with a football on the end peeking out from a creased fold of sheet. Ruby was wearing this earlier.
She was here and she has been taken away.
I hurry to tug back the curtains, letting in light from the streetlamps outside, then I storm around the flat, turning on lights, peering into the big cupboard in Graham’s grubby kitchen and tossing aside the dishevelled duvet on his bed.
There is nothing that suggests where Ruby might be now. A terrible desolation fills me. If only Harry were with me. He would have known what to do. I am completely lost.
Why isn’t Ruby still here? How on earth did Graham know to move her? Christ, perhaps he took her away as soon as he made the video – or told someone else to. There’s certainly no way he could have got here before me from Sheila’s house. I should have known. This is PAAUL, an organised body with links and resources. What was I doing to think I could outwit them? They killed Harry yesterday. A grown man. What chance does my poor Ruby stand against them?
I sink onto the sofa, devastated, the little football hairgrip in my hand. Is Ruby even still alive? Perhaps Graham killed her straight after filming her. The thought roots itself around my heart, squeezing the life out of me.
No. That’s not logical. If PAAUL kill Ruby, they have no leverage over me. And, so far, I have done exactly what they asked. They have no reason to murder her. I stare at the spot next to me, where I saw Ruby on the video, then up to the purple-and-white curtain behind the sofa. A framed photograph propped up on the table next to the window catches my eye. It shows a puffy-faced Graham from about ten years ago, some sort of silver trophy in his hand. The resemblance to both his brothers is striking: Graham looks very like Perry around the eyes and nose, though his face is rounder. And he resembles Dad even more strongly: the same chiselled jaw and slightly arrogant tilt of the head.
My eyes settle on Graham’s wrist, in the foreground along with the trophy he’s clutching.
I gasp. He’s wearing the same watch that Harry found . . . that Harry was killed for. I peer more closely. Definitely the same watch.
As I snatch up the photo my phone rings. Lucy again.
I answer, feeling dazed.
‘Francesca, where are you?’ She sounds close to tears. ‘I’ve been ringing and ringing. You tore out of Auntie Sheila’s like a demon. I’ve been so worried.’
‘I thought I knew where Ruby was,’ I say, my head still whirling. ‘But she isn’t here.’
‘Where? Where are you?’
‘Lucy, is there any way Uncle Graham could somehow be involved in PAAUL, maybe even carrying out the murders for Uncle Perry?’
‘What? No, I mean I know he was violent to Auntie Sheila when they were together, but he’s the last person who’d do anything for any religious—’
‘What about for money?’
‘I don’t know . . . I guess, maybe . . . why are you asking this?’
‘There’s a picture of him here wearing a watch just like the one you put in the storage locker, the one Harry was . . . attacked for and—’
‘Francesca, where are you?’ Lucy interrupts. ‘How come you’re looking at a picture of Uncle Graham?’
‘I’m in his flat.’
‘What?’ she shrieks. ‘How? Why?’
‘I found the spare key and let myself in. Lucy, the curtains in the video of Ruby are the same ones here in Graham’s living—’
‘Please, Francesca, I’m begging you. Whatever the truth, Graham will kill you if he finds you snooping about. Get out of there now.’
‘Okay, but I’m taking all this straight to the police.’ I put the photo of Graham into my bag.
‘Hurry,’ Lucy urges. ‘Francesca, I know you’re in a state about Ruby but you can’t take risks like this. Please, come home, to ours. I’ve just got back and – I should have said this first – there’s a note I didn’t see before, it’s from Daddy and according to that he will be back soon in the next half hour or so. I know Sheila won’t help but we can talk to him, you and me. Get Dad on board before we go to the police. Maybe even get him to confront Perry about where Ruby is, like you wanted.’
I hesitate. An hour ago I’d have said yes but I’m past the point of being able to think straight, let alone talk. Unless I’m talking to someone who can get Ruby back. And I no longer believe Dad will be able to make that happen. Whatever is going on with PAAUL, with Perry, with Graham . . . it’s far bigger than Dad can control.
‘I’m going to the police,’ I said. ‘I should have done it hours ago.’
‘Wait, Fran—’
I end the call and walk over to the lamp by the window. As I switch off the light a key turns in the front door. I spin round, heart hammering again. Is that Graham come home?
Footsteps pad across the hall. My breath catches in my throat as the living room door opens and a dark shadow falls across the threadbare carpet.
LUCY
For Pete’s sake. Francesca hung up on me! This is all going totally wrong. Once again she’s getting scarily close to working out the truth. I mean, she’s off by a measure as well, but she’s getting close. Too close.
I know you will deal with it. I just hope you know what you’re doing. You’ve certainly messed things up so far. How careless to leave clues like that curtain. Things should never have come to this. My poor darling niece should not be in this position. And I can’t bear seeing Francesca so frantic. Not that she hasn’t asked for this, she’s part of the reason it all started in the first place.
But this is mostly about you. Your weakness. Your uselessness.
Your crimes.
When I saw you with Mummy that afternoon something died inside me. Neither of you noticed me, you were so intent on each other. I stumbled away, back to my bedroom. I could barely breathe. I felt dirty. Ashamed. Utterly betrayed.
I sat on the bed for a few minutes, unable to get the vision of the two of you out of my head. Then I stood up. I had to get out of the house. I hurried downstairs, covering my ears so I wouldn’t hear any more sounds from the spare room. I rushed outside and ran across the road, not looking before I stepped out, not caring in that moment if I lived or died. I kept going until I reached Holland Park. It was emptier than usual considering it was a hot summer’s day, though at the time I didn’t notice. I’d completely forgotten about the terror scare earlier.
I tore through a patch of undergrowth and found a dense group of bushes where I sank down. The earth was cold and hard under me, the bushes scratched at my bare arms. I didn’t care.
I didn’t care about anything any more.
I lay down, my face pressed against the damp ground. The air grew more and more humid, the sky overcast. Soon it started to rain. I lay still, raindrops pattering through the bush and onto my head. I lay there for hours, absorbing what I’d seen.
Thoughts flew like furies around my head:
How dare Mummy do this – she was married with two children?
How dare she do it with you? It was disgusting.
How did she do it with you – she was old and had wrinkles and a saggy stomach, how on earth had she got you to look at her with such desire?
Why wasn’t it me you wanted?
Why hadn’t I told her what you did to me? That would have taken the bright, adoring look out of her eyes.
The rain grew heavier and the sky grew dark. Hours must have passed. If I’d stopped to think at all I would have realised that by now I’d be missed at home, but all I could focus on was the hot, hard, resentful anger that swelled inside me, frightening me with its power. I wanted to expose you. I wanted to stop you.
I wanted to kill you.
And I kn
ew, even as I fantasised about the shock-waves I would send through our entire family and the knife I would plunge, butter soft, into your heart, that I would do none of those things.
And my cowardice led me to despair and my anger turned inwards and as night fell around me I started to plan my own suicide.
This would show them. This would make them stop.
I would sacrifice my life to end the pain of your betrayal.
It had stopped raining but the humidity still lingered and the air was thick with heat. I wasn’t cold but my whole body was stiff and sore. I had no idea what time it was. Late. The park was closed.
I was free to die.
I closed my eyes and, as hours more passed, I must have fallen asleep. I dreamed of darkness, an unending night. And then, as I dreamed on, a light appeared. Distant at first, it drew closer and closer and instead of the shapeless energy I realised the light was emanating from a woman dressed in a long blue cloak, her pale face shrouded in a hood.
‘Mary.’ I don’t know whether I spoke aloud or not. But I knew it was the Virgin.
The light shimmered, somehow over me and beside me and inside me all at once. Mary smiled as she raised her hand, a gesture of infinite gentleness. ‘Lucy . . . Lucy . . . listen to me, for your name means “light”.’
Wide-eyed, awestruck, I stared at her. A great warmth filled me. And even then I wasn’t scared because I recognised the warmth as love.
‘Your life, all life, is precious,’ Mary whispered, her words and the light she made manifest ebbing and flowing inside me. ‘Your life, all life, has purpose. Your purpose is to find a way to bring light out of the darkness of your sins.’
I nodded, shame suffusing me. Of course. Mary could see everything. Know everything. She knew I had committed an abortion. She knew I was a murderer, a taker of innocent life.
‘It will take courage. It will mean sacrifice. But if you succeed yours will be a life lived in love. For God and his goodness is in all of us.’
The shimmering vision flickered and faded. Suddenly I was aware of the hard, cold ground beneath me. Was I still dreaming? I opened my eyes. Above me, through the bushes, the moon was vanishing behind a cloud.
‘Please, don’t leave me,’ I whispered.
‘Remember.’ Mary’s voice echoed in my head. ‘Seek to protect those who sin against you, for they know not what they do . . .’
She was gone. The moon disappeared. I sat up, wide awake.
Courage . . . Sacrifice . . . A life lived in love.
Mary had come to me. I had experienced an actual vision in my dreams.
The Virgin had spoken to me, given me a message, offered me guidance. I clasped my hands together, kneeling to give thanks in prayer. Despite my cold, stiff body I was brim full with joy and hope. The world was a huge place, a glorious place and my own private hurts and dramas only a tiny part of the whole. I would rededicate my life to the good works Father Gabriel had spoken of in that first week after my abortion was revealed. Only now I would be carrying them out in the sure and certain knowledge I was bathed in God’s eternal love.
I left the park and hurried home to find that it was almost 11 p.m. and Mummy was frantic with worry and on the verge of calling the police. I told her I had gone for a walk in the park this afternoon, stopped to rest in the heat and somehow fallen asleep. The lie jarred as I told it, but I reminded myself that Mary had told me to protect those who sinned against me. And in lying I was protecting Mummy from the terrible consequences of her affair with you becoming public knowledge. What you and she were doing was a terrible sin against me, but I armed myself with God’s love and felt His grace help lift me above any need for vengeance.
Driven by my yearning for inner purity I cleared my room of childhood toys and books and had the walls painted white. I decided to wear white myself from now on and to live as simple a life as possible. I bought the crucifix that still hangs above my bed and which caused Francesca to have a conniption when she saw it. As usual, she misunderstood. Because the crucifix was not so much a way of giving myself up to God as a way of providing me with a constant reminder of Him after so many years of worshipping you.
Even now, after so many years since the scales fell from my eyes, it still helps. Even now I spend too much time reflecting on the past and how I once adored and idolised you. At least I’m not the only one. Even now many people are still under your spell.
And I am still protecting you, bringing light out of the darkness of my sins, living a life of love.
FRAN
I hold my breath, heart beating wild and hard, as the dark figure turns to the light.
My cousin stands in front of me, brows furrowed with concern.
‘Dex?’ I put my hand on my chest, almost giddy with relief. ‘Oh, thank goodness it’s you. But . . . but I thought you had the boys?’
‘I asked the neighbour to babysit.’ Dex shoots me a typically sardonic glance. ‘What the hell is going on, Dumpy? You sounded mad earlier, ranting on about Dad and the police. I’m worried about you.’
I stare at him, not knowing how to begin to tell him everything I’ve found out.
‘So what is it?’ he goes on. ‘I called Lucy on the way over, who wouldn’t tell me anything. Then Ayesha, who wouldn’t shut up but clearly has no clue what’s really going on. She kept saying it was something about Ruby, the kids . . . but didn’t seem to know what exactly. So tell me. What is happening? Why are you here?’
‘I . . . I can’t . . . I . . . don’t . . .’ I stop, unsure what to say. I was told to say nothing to anyone and have already crossed that line both with Lucy and in a futile attempt to get Auntie Sheila on my side. There’s no way Dex will be able to help me, like Sheila potentially could have done, but the urge to confide in my cousin, my oldest friend, is huge.
Too huge to resist.
‘It’s Ruby,’ I blurt out. ‘They’ve . . . oh, Dex, she’s been taken.’
‘Taken?’ Dex says, clearly shocked. ‘What do you mean? Like, kidnapped?’
‘Yes. It’s this organisation called PAAUL. Religious. Terrorist, basically. Like Harry said. Except it’s not Dad who’s behind it, it’s Uncle Perry and . . . and I think your dad’s helping him.’
Dex laughs. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘I’m serious. They’ve killed abortion doctors. Including, oh God, including my Caspian and . . . and yesterday they murdered Harry Elliot, that journalist, because he was investigating them.’
Dex stares blankly at me. He’s not smiling any more. ‘I thought Harry lied about all that PAAUL stuff? Are you sure he’s dead?’
I moan with impatience.
‘Yes, they killed him to stop him . . . and as a warning to me. Look, it’s too complicated to go into right now, but Harry’s dead and Ruby’s been taken. Look.’ I fumble with my phone, scrolling to the video of poor Ruby.
Dex takes the mobile and stares at the screen.
‘Oh, Christ,’ he says.
‘You can see she was held in this room.’ I point to the curtains. ‘Which means your dad must have brought her here. But now he’s had her taken somewhere else and I don’t know where.’
Dex frowns. ‘Franny, there’s no way Uncle Perry or my dad could be behind this . . . That’s not our family. I don’t know how but it must be someone else.’
‘It’s them. You don’t know what they’re capable of,’ I say, voice rising. ‘Seriously, Dex. They are monsters.’
‘Hey.’ Dex opens his arms, still holding my phone. ‘Hey, come here.’
I let him hold me for a few seconds, his hands stroking my back. But I’m in no mood to be soothed or comforted. I pull away, taking my phone back and staring down at Ruby again. Where on earth is she? Fear seizes my insides, twisting like an ice rope. Is it possible Graham has already killed her?
‘You do believe me, don’t you?’
‘I guess.’ Dex frowns. ‘Though I still don’t understand why my dad—’
‘For money?’ I say.
&
nbsp; ‘Oh.’ Dex nods slowly. ‘Fuck.’
‘I know.’ I take a breath. ‘Do you see now? I have to go to the police.’
Dex nods. ‘Look, there’s a station about five minutes away. I had to pick Dad up from there once after a caution. I’ll take you, come in with you.’ He squeezes my shoulder. ‘Whatever our family has done, it’s still you and me, Dumpy. Always has been, always will be.’
I gratefully agree. As we leave the flat I show the photo of Uncle Graham to Dex. ‘Do you know anything about this watch?’ I ask. ‘Like when or how your dad got it?’
‘Sure,’ Dex says as we go outside. The air is cold on my face. ‘It’s from Granddad. He gave one to each son: your dad, my dad and Uncle Perry.’
I nod. This ties in with what Lucy has already told me. And it explains why Perry kept his brother’s watch in his safe. Graham must have been wearing it when he carried out one of the killings. The bloodstain presumably came from a victim and therefore ties Graham himself to the murder.
‘It’s leverage,’ I mutter. ‘A way for Perry to control Graham.’
Dex doesn’t hear me. He’s striding along the pavement towards his car, which is parked snugly behind my own.
He reaches the BMW and opens the front passenger-side door.
‘In you get, Dumpy.’
I glance over at my own car.
‘Don’t even think about it.’ Dex wags his finger at me. ‘No way are you driving in this state. Just get it into your head that I’m here and I’m looking after you.’ He grins. ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in that rust bucket of yours anyway, you can come back later and pick it up if you must.’
I smile, in spite of myself. Dex has always had the ability to find light in the midst of darkness. It’s a quality that Caspian, with his earnest views and solid presence, never had. Harry did though. As I slide into the comfort of Dex’s leather upholstery my guts wrench at the thought I will never see him again.
I gulp down the sob that rises inside me as Dex starts the engine. I need to pull myself together so that I can talk to the police. I glance around the car. Considering Dex must have had the kids in here earlier the car is remarkably clean and tidy. Dex passes me a half-empty water bottle from the holder between us. ‘When did you last eat?’ he asks.
The Black Sheep Page 26