by M. A. Hunter
She leans in and kisses Charlie on both cheeks, and officially introduces herself, before bouncing towards me, stooping to kiss my cheeks. I’ve never felt comfortable with excessive shows of affection, particularly between people who don’t know one another, but I do my best to hide my disdain.
‘Has that brute of a husband of mine not offered you a drink?’ Morag says, loud enough to interrupt Angus and Charlie’s talking. ‘Where are your manners, Angus?’
He offers me an apologetic nod, before returning to his conversation.
‘What can I get for you?’ Morag says, still stooped towards me. ‘Pimms? Wine? G and T?’
My eyes fall on the large wine glass in Morag’s hand, condensation forming around the lipstick stain on the rim. I’m salivating at the thought of the cool nectar flowing over my tongue and catching on the back of my throat. I can almost taste it, and it takes effort to force my eyes away. ‘I’m not supposed to consume alcohol with the painkillers I’m on,’ I say.
In truth I haven’t wanted to since… whisper it… since what happened. I ask for a glass of water instead.
She gives me a confused look, but then her mind catches up, and she nods at the chair, rolling her eyes in self-deprecation, and heads back towards the house.
‘Here you go,’ she says when she returns, placing a dripping glass on the corner of the table ‘Shall I push you over?’
‘I can manage,’ I say, willing my hands to the frame of the wheels, and hoping my arms have enough to push me, but my left hand slips, and I lurch forwards.
Morag immediately rushes over, and I feel her grip the handles behind me. ‘Allow me.’
She has pushed me over to the table before I can protest, and as I look to Charlie for help, all I see is the back of his shirt.
Morag drops into a vacant chair near me, and I can feel her watching me as I straighten back into the chair. ‘So fortunate for us to run into one another in Waitrose,’ she says, but the exuberance has gone. ‘I was hoping I’d get the chance to speak to you again, Jess. I feel like there will be so many things we have in common.’
The knot in my stomach tightens further, and I have no doubt in my mind now that she knows what Daisy told me at the park.
Chapter Seven
Before – Morag
Thick smoke drifts across the patio, and I can see Jess is giving the impression it’s all too much, coughing and spluttering while Angus turns the meat. I’m busy preparing salad to accompany the burgers and steaks Angus insisted on cooking.
‘You want us to make a good impression, don’t you?’ he’d said before they’d arrived.
I suppose he’s right; I don’t want to give her any further reason to unpick the version of our life we’ve carefully knitted together.
Although I’d told them not to bother bringing anything, it would have been courteous to have ignored the suggestion, wouldn’t it? If they’d invited us to their house I probably would have brought flowers and maybe a bottle of wine. Maybe that’s the difference between us. I know I was raised to be gracious to guests.
I silently chastise myself for this thought. I need to play nice.
My linking them to him is purely circumstantial at the moment. Jess being at the park and then coincidentally this morning at Waitrose could be just that – coincidental. But then I’ve made that mistake before; assumed everything was fine, only to be bitten later. I hate feeling so on edge all the time. What I’d give for the freedom to just accept people at face value, rather than constantly trying to see through the façade. You can tell a lot about people from their behaviour and tone of voice. I read all about it after the first time I was tricked into believing someone’s backstory.
I continue to watch her, fanning away the smoke with her hand, making no effort to engage with Angus or her own husband, if that’s who he really is. She keeps glancing back towards the house, like she’s sizing it up. She can’t see me from there because of the angle of the sun. I know because I’ve sat in that exact spot before. I feel a bit sneaky watching, but I daren’t take my eyes off her for a moment.
Realistically, if she is somehow – as improbable as it may seem – working for him, then maybe that wheelchair isn’t even necessary. For all I know she’s perfectly able, and only using it to lull us into a false sense of security.
‘You’ve got that look in your eyes again,’ I hear Angus say.
It startles me, as I hadn’t even realised he’d come inside.
‘And what look is that?’ I ask as casually as I can manage, my flushed cheeks betraying me.
‘Mischievous,’ he chuckles. ‘Like you’re lost in your head, making plans to conquer the world.’
‘I’m just washing the tomatoes,’ I say, raising my fingers out of the stream of tap water.
He looks down at my hands, filled with the juiciest red cherry tomatoes. ‘Yeah, but I reckon after the first minute of you holding them there they’d be clean enough. The extra few minutes are only going to make them lose colour.’
Have I really been standing here that long? He’s probably just teasing, but I suppose I did get distracted by Jess. There is something enigmatic about her, despite the tired eyes, frumpy face and mess of hair. I imagine she was probably once quite the beauty queen, attractive in a way I never was. It seems such a pity that she’s let herself go.
I quickly drop the tomatoes onto the bed of lettuce and cucumber, and carry them outside, placing them on the table, and sitting myself into the chair closest to Jess.
‘Sorry about all the smoke,’ I offer. ‘Do you want me to move you further into the garden? Or maybe inside until the meat is ready?’
She appears to wave away my concern. ‘A little smoke never hurt anyone.’ Her smile looks forced.
There is a pause when our eyes meet. ‘Not strictly true, that.’
Her brow furrows. ‘What isn’t?’
‘That smoke never hurt anyone,’ I explain. ‘It’s smoke inhalation that kills most victims of house fires. People always assume that it’s the flames burning the victims to death, but more often than not, smoke inhalation kills them first.’
She is blushing now, as am I. I hadn’t meant the comment to be so blunt. I seem to have forgotten myself for a moment.
An awkward silence descends, and I’m relieved when Angus lifts the lid on the barbecue and announces the meat is almost ready. As a fresh cloud of smoke drifts across the patio, I temporarily lose sight of Daisy and Grace. They’re no longer on the trampoline, and I’m relieved that their bouncing didn’t result in any bumps or sprains. They’re now at the foot of the garden, playing in the play house Angus insisted on buying for her. It’s the only purchase we’ve made in this house that we won’t be able to take with us if we leave. Hopefully, she won’t grow too attached to it.
Birds are chirping somewhere nearby. The play house is in the shade of two large sycamore trees that sit just inside the tall fence panels. It really is a beautiful garden, and I wish I was more green-fingered to keep it up to this standard but, alas, it will probably turn to ruin like the rest of us.
Angus and Charlie join us at the table, and at first I’m grateful when Angus starts talking. ‘Morag tells me Grace and Daisy are going to be starting school together,’ he says in Jess’s direction.
Her eyes are tearing slightly, but she blinks them away. ‘That’s right.’
‘It hasn’t been easy for Daisy, having to leave her friends behind and start afresh, but at least she’s young enough to start over. Not so easy when you’re older.’
I fire a glare in his direction, a warning not to reveal too much about what brought us here. It’s too late though.
Jess’s interest is piqued. ‘Morag said you moved here from Aberdeen?’
He nods, avoiding my eye contact. ‘Aye, but we’d actually being living in Wolverhampton for the best part of a year before we packed up.’
Jess sits up, looking engaged for the first time since she arrived. ‘Oh really? What were you doing in Wolver
hampton?’
Poor Angus will see her interest as friendly, but he can sometimes be as naïve as me.
‘Work,’ I say, ending the conversation. ‘Now, Angus, you’d best get those steaks off the grill before they’re hard as bricks. Does anyone else want another drink?’
Nobody responds to my question, but Jess is staring intently at Angus. ‘What is it you do for a living, Angus?’
His brow has dampened, and I think he finally realises he should be more careful about what he is saying. I’m sure the couple of beers he’s already had aren’t helping his judgement.
‘The best way to describe it is logistics,’ he finally says. ‘I drove articulated lorries for years, until I couldn’t do it anymore, but my boss didn’t want to lose my experience, so he brought me into a behind the scenes role. I’m responsible for planning routes for our drivers, and ensuring that the jobs they’re given allow sufficient downtime in between. Not as exciting as what your Charlie does.’
‘It really isn’t that exciting,’ Charlie chimes in. ‘Morag, would you mind showing me where the bathroom is so I can wash my hands?’
I like Charlie. He has a warm aura, and I find myself wanting to trust him. I assume that’s why he is so successful selling stocks and shares. He has one of those faces that can so easily convince you. The sort of friendly charm that you’d hear from a politician or second-hand car salesman. A man who could lie to you with a smile on his face.
I stand, and usher him in through the kitchen door. ‘We don’t have a downstairs bathroom, I’m afraid. It’s upstairs, turn left at the top, and you should see it.’
He thanks me, and I’m relieved to hear his footfalls on the stairs moments later. I remain near the door to the hallway, straining to hear which direction his steps go, but I soon hear the bathroom door being closed and bolted. Opening the fridge, I pull out the bottle of wine I bought this morning, now nicely chilled, and pour a large glass, which I start to gulp down. Angus has warned me about afternoon drinking, but he’s hardly one to pass judgement. I know I need to keep my wits about me, but my nerves are shot to shit right now, and if I don’t calm down I’m going to end up saying something I might regret. I finish the glass as Charlie returns to the kitchen.
‘It’s a lovely house,’ he says. ‘Much bigger than ours.’
I’ve always found it odd how people constantly compare their lives to others, trying to judge who is more successful based on material possessions like houses and cars, or holidays abroad. Granted this house is larger than we’re used to, but we’re only renting it. We don’t own it, and as far as I’m concerned it’s unhomely. I would happily swap it for our wee cottage back in Aberdeen, but that’s only a shell now; the fire and water damage left it structurally unsound. The last I’d heard, some developer was looking to tear it down and start again. If only real life was so easy.
‘Does Jess work?’
His features tighten. ‘Not at the moment. She worked for a local newspaper before… before the accident.’
My ears prick up at this word. I’d assumed that Jess had been restricted to her wheelchair since childhood, but maybe I’ve misjudged her.
‘What happened,’ I say, ‘if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Sure, no, it’s okay,’ he stammers, glancing back out the door towards Jess, who is sitting alone again. ‘Jess was pregnant with our son Luke, but there were complications during his delivery, and … he died. During the procedure, something went wrong, and she lost the feeling in her legs. The doctors have said there is a chance she will recover, but it’s been really tough on her. Between you and me, she’s really struggling with her mental health. I’m sure you can imagine the emotional impact of suddenly being confined to a wheelchair on top of losing our baby.’
Wow! I wasn’t expecting him to be so open about their life and troubles. That certainly explains why she’s let herself go, and my feelings of distrust are starting to evaporate, replaced by genuine empathy, but then I catch myself. That vulnerability is exactly the sort of trap that would be laid to catch out a former nurse.
‘Can I get you another drink?’ I ask, the fridge door still open.
‘Thanks, but I’d better not,’ he says, regaining his natural charm and warmth. ‘Do you need any help with carrying anything out?’
I nod at the basket of rolls on the counter near the back door. ‘You could carry the buns out, thank you.’
I top up my glass as Charlie heads back outside and starts talking to Jess. Angus is removing the meat from the barbecue as I join them. It is such a warm afternoon, and I can feel the wine starting to make my brain swim. There’s clearly a lot more to this family than I’d realised, and even if they aren’t connected to the man who haunts my dreams, I suddenly want to know exactly what secrets Jess is hiding, and why she seems so interested in us. Unfortunately for her, I too have ways of extracting the truth from people.
Chapter Eight
Now
Heading to the canteen on the first floor, Mike Ferry was pleased to catch up with the first responders, hunched over the pool table, one holding a steaming beaker of tea and the other chomping on a Mars bar.
‘Can I get you anything?’ Mike asked, approaching the vending machine and studying the contents. There was a bowl of leftover beef bourguignon in the fridge at home that he’d planned to devour with a large glass of merlot, but murder had a way of fucking up the best-laid plans. His stomach grumbles were becoming cramps, and against his better judgement he’d decided crisps and chocolate would have to sustain him until he could get to a late-night petrol station for a sandwich. When he’d first joined the service, canteens remained open until 10pm, but budget cuts now meant you were lucky to find a hot meal even at five in the evening.
‘I’m fine, Guv,’ PC Wozniak replied, sipping his tea.
Mike nodded at the larger-framed PCSO with him, who nodded as he squashed the last piece of chocolate into his mouth. ‘Same again. Ta.’
Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change, dropping it into the slot and punching in the digits for some salt and vinegar crisps and the Mars bar, and carried both over to the pool table.
‘You two were the first responders at the address in Northwood, right?’ Mike asked rhetorically.
‘Yes, sir,’ Wozniak replied, resting his cup on the edge of the pool table.
‘What can you tell me about it?’
Wozniak considered the question while the PCSO opened the fresh chocolate bar and chomped down.
‘Like something out of a movie,’ the PCSO said between chews. ‘Front door looked like it had been kicked in; hanging off the hinges, you know? Smelled musty too, like somebody had died in there. I mean, I know someone had, but I mean like someone had died there years ago.’ He swallowed, and took another bite. ‘And the blood – Jeez – definite horror movie shit.’
Mike had seen the early SOCO photographs, so that wasn’t the information he was now seeking. ‘What can you tell me about the woman you found?’
‘The cripple?’ The PCSO checked. ‘She looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights when we spoke to her. All she kept saying was, “It was an accident,” but I’m not sure how you let someone bleed out like that in an accident.’
Mike frowned. ‘There was no mention of that in your report. What else did she say?’
Wozniak turned to face the PCSO too. ‘You never told me she spoke to you.’
The PCSO loudly swallowed his mouthful, the blood draining from his face at the error. ‘I… um… I mean, she said it in the spur of the moment. I – I – I didn’t think it was important.’
Wozniak placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder and ushered him back towards the vending machine. ‘I was checking the victim while he was checking the witness for injuries. I swear he never mentioned that she’d spoken to him.’
Mike nodded his understanding, remembering the shock of the first ever murder scene he’d attended, and how the nightmares had clawed at him for over a
week afterwards. ‘Your honest opinion: did it look like an accident?’
Wozniak took a moment to compose himself. ‘Too difficult to say. The blade appeared to be from a block on the kitchen counter, which would suggest the crime wasn’t premeditated. On the other hand, there weren’t any obvious bruises on the witness, which would suggest she was defending herself. And then I keep coming back to the fact that no attempt was made to call for an ambulance.’
‘None at all?’
Wozniak shook his head. ‘I keep thinking if that was me in that situation and I’d accidentally stabbed my partner in the neck, the first thing I’d do is phone for help.’
‘Were there any other signs that a struggle may have ensued prior to the stabbing? With the door kicked in, I’m just wondering whether we’re dealing with a home invasion of some sort, or an aggravated burglary.’
Wozniak kept a straight face. ‘The one thing I did notice was a tea towel stained with blood, along with an amber-coloured cardigan, presumably belonging to your witness. At best guess I’d say both were used to try and stem the flow of blood in some way. If the victim was the aggressor, why did your witness try to sustain life after the stabbing?’
Mike thanked the two officers for their time, and peeled out of the canteen, bag of crisps in hand. There are two sides to every story, and as he wouldn’t be able to talk to their witness until the on-call medical team had given the all-clear, his only choice was to start at the opposite end of the crime: the victim.
Chapter Nine
Before – Jess
I’m feeling a bit light-headed when Charlie returns to the table and squeezes my hand.
‘The house is huge,’ he whispers, leaning closer to me. ‘I went to the toilet, and couldn’t get over the enormity of the rooms. They must have a fair wad of money too, looking at the size of the television on the wall in the living room.’