by S A Tameez
“I wasn’t sure whether I didn’t believe them or didn’t want to believe them when they told me we didn’t have long with him. Hours, maybe less. He was born dying. It wasn’t fair.”
Zoe was not sure how to react, so remained silent. She had sliced open old wounds with no way of patching them up. It wasn’t fair but then nothing about life was fair.
“Michael spent his short life in intensive care and died exactly 7 hours, 32 minutes after he was born.” He coughed to clear his throat, “That’s how long we had him for. A measly seven and a half hours.”
“Nick… I’m so sorry,” she said instinctively, “I had no idea.” Nick never let on about his past life – a life, she now imagined, plagued his mind at night. He always seemed like the most balanced person she knew. Perfect career, perfect house, perfect wife. But everyone has skeletons in their cupboards. Everyone has their secrets. She should know that there’s no such thing as perfect. Everyone was broken, some people tried to fix themselves while others accepted that everyone was meant to be broken and never meant to be fixed.
“Katie found it harder to cope than I did. I went back to work after a few weeks trying to move on, though I couldn’t. I only pretended to because I had to. Michael’s death took its toll on our relationship. It got to the point where she couldn’t bear to see me anymore. It didn’t help that I never talked to her about him. I never talked to anyone about him. She must have thought I didn’t care, or I just pretended he never existed.” He slowed as if finding it difficult to speak. “That day in the hospital, I didn’t just lose Michael, I lost Katie too.”
“I don’t know what to say,”. Zoe felt lost for words. She had never had a serious relationship – certainly couldn’t deal with losing a baby. She couldn’t possibly imagine what he went through – was still going through. And she wasn’t good at being a shoulder to lean on. She always tried to avoid conversations involving feelings and emotions. In her experience, they never ended well.
“Have you spoken to anyone about this?” Zoe asked.
“I just did,” he remarked. His voice had almost returned to normal.
“No, I mean to a professional?”
“A therapist? No, I don’t need to. That was a long time ago, and I’ve learned to deal with it. It will always be part of me, but I needed to move on – so I have.” He said unconvincingly.
“And what about Katie?”
Nick remained silent for a while. Zoe wondered whether he was going to reply at all. Perhaps this was the end of the conversation, probably best as she was likely to put her foot in it sooner or later.
“I haven’t spoken to her for a long time,” he said, “She moved back to Bristol, close to her parents.”
“You need to talk to Stacey. You need to tell her everything.” Not sure why he had to, but he just did – it somehow felt like the right thing for him to do. He needed her to know, to understand.
“I can’t,” he shook his head, “I just can’t. She’s due any day now, and I don’t want to put this on her. She’s got enough on her plate.”
“Fine, I understand that, but after the baby is born and things are back to normal, you need to tell her. It might help you deal with it. From what you’ve told me, she seems lovely and will understand how you’re feeling.”
“I’m fine. I told you, I’ve moved on.” He looked over at the Satnav, “Not long to go now. I think we should make a stop. I could do with a hot drink and trip to the gents.”
“Good idea,” Zoe said, “I’m starving.” Relieved. The promise of refreshments broke the tension. She was afraid that if they kept talking, she would become pushy and start telling him what to do without realising she was doing it. It was one of her ways of pushing everyone away from her.
After the short stop, they spent the rest of the journey in silence. Zoe thought about Michael and how the loss of a child can have such a devastating impact on a couple. She didn’t think any relationship was strong enough to withstand such a loss. A child can draw you closer or tear you apart — a universal law.
Life was simpler without that kind of pressure – life was difficult enough without the bickering and feelings and all that. She made the right choices. She lied to herself. That age-old saying, “Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all” sprang to mind. She hated sayings like that. Sayings that tried to force the idea that it is either-or and no in-between. Why couldn’t you just be? No judgement, no strings… nothing. Who was making all the rules and ideals anyway?
“This is the place, Cotgrave Lane,” Nick said, reminding Zoe why they were here. The gravelly driveway led to a beautiful house with white walls with light brown wooden doors and window frames. The kind of house found in a magazine, with its perfectly cut lawn and water fountain.
The area was quiet. Not the creepy quiet but the peaceful one. It was nice not to hear roaring car engines, inhale fumes and to see more greenery than metallic grey. But even with all its charm and tranquillity, it wasn’t a place Zoe could live. She was a city girl and lived the city life. She was used to busy. Things needed to move. Noises needed to be heard to cancel out the noises she didn’t want to hear.
“I know what you’re thinking…” Nick said as he got out of the car, “What a great place to settle down.”
“Something like that,” she grinned, “Except, I couldn’t live here. Too quiet. Dead.”
“You’ll be surprised,” He raised his eyebrows, “It’s often the places that seem like nothing’s happening that have the most happen.”
He removed his coat from the back seat, and they walked to the door. He knocked twice and took a step back. They both looked at each other hoping that the journey was worth it.
After a moment, a man opened the door. He gave them a penetrating look as if they had interrupted him from doing something important.
“Mr Holmes?”
“Yes. Who are you?” His tone was not welcoming.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr Holmes, can we have a quick—”
“You’re gonna have to speak up. I can’t hear very well.”
“Sorry,” Nick raised his voice, “I am DS Nick Bailey, and this is DC Zoe Hall.” Nick showed him his warrant card. “We were hoping to have a word. Is that OK?”
Mr Holmes walked back into his house without saying a word. Zoe looked at Nick who looked perplexed.
Mr Holmes returned a moment later with a thick pair of glasses. He placed them on the bridge of his nose and asked to see the warrant card again.
“You can’t be too careful,” he said in a kinder tone and then gestured for them to come in.
“So, what do you want to know.”
“We wanted to ask you about Vanessa Holmes, your daughter,” Nick braced himself for the man’s reaction.
“I’ve already told the Police everything I could to help.”
“Yes, and we appreciate that very much. But we needed to know something that might be able to help us with our investigation.”
“You’re still investigating the murder of my daughter?”
“We are investigating another murder and trying to find out if there is a link between the two.”
“I see,” he said and leaned back in his chair.
“Mr Holmes, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine this is easy. We don’t want to bring it all back up.”
“It never left,” he said in a quiet voice, “No man should have to bury his daughter. Perhaps if she had gotten ill and died naturally, it might have been easier… but what happened to her, the way it happened… as if she meant nothing to anyone.” He stood and picked up a picture frame from the shelf, “She meant everything to me.” He put the photo frame back and turned to face them. “How can I help? I want him caught. I owe it to her.”
“We are doing everything we can.” Nick said, “We need to know whether Vanessa wore a watch.”
“A wristwatch?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. She did. But she lost it a week before she…” He fell silent.
“Can you describe the watch?” Zoe said as she removed her black notebook.
“Yes, it was a gift from her mother, an Art Deco white Enamel Watch.”
“1930’s?” Zoe asked.
“Yes. It was something her grandmother gave to my wife, and she gave it to Sarah before she died.”
Zoe glanced at Nick, trying hard not have an I told you so expression.
“I have a photo of the watch if it would help.”
“That will be very helpful,” Nick smiled, “Thank you.”
Chapter 16
I watch you.
But you don’t see me.
You never see me.
I watch as you walk on the train. I watch as you sit, tears dragging your mascara down your cheeks. This was the real you – the you that no one else sees. Not the girl sat in Starbucks, bubbly and laughing. The girl with many friends, the girl with the perfect face, perfect smile, the girl without a worry in the world.
I watch you.
I see you for who you are. Who you really are.
I will free you from the shackles that incarcerate you to this false life.
I will free you… so you can return what is rightfully mine.
After
Sarah got off at Monument Station and typed the postcode into Google maps. St Dunstan's Hill was approximately 5 mins away, and the rain wasn’t stopping. She would be drenched by the time she got there, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t care how she looked, nor what anyone else thought.
She walked with her head down, not concerned about the people around her or the water draining into her shoes from the puddles. Her mind replayed the strange things occurring in her life. It didn’t matter what she did – whether it was all the right things or all the wrong things, she still ended up here. Her life was a maze with many routes and illusions but no way out. The result would always be the same – her, alone, isolated.
Everyone either hated her or felt sorry for her – she didn’t know which was worse. Her mother jumped to conclusions and the one person she felt understood her, her uncle Mickey, was now on her mother’s side. Perhaps he was always on her side and just felt sorry for her. What did it matter anyway? Her friends were turning on her one by one. It would just be a matter of time before Melisa did the same, and then she would have no one. Her memories of her childhood friend Justin would now be shadowed by what had just happened.
She hurt him. She didn’t want to hurt him, she wanted to hurt herself. She was the one who deserved a smack in the face. She was the one who should feel pain.
She could have kept walking to the end of the earth if the navigation app on her phone didn’t tell her to stop.
Saint Dunstan in the East Church Garden.
Like many other places around London, she had never been here – yet it felt strangely familiar. She had read about the ruined church that was transformed into a gorgeous city park. It was delightful – not just the gloomy stone walls and overgrown greenery growing out from every corner, but beautiful in its overwhelming serenity. It felt as if she had suddenly teleported out of the city into another dimension – one that removed the hustle and bustle. She imagined that this was probably only due to the rain. Had this been a sunny day, the place would be packed with people and noise.
But for now, it was just the wind, the rain, the silence.
She walked down the wide steps and saw the familiar faded blue hooded top. He sat on a bench unphased by the rain. She floated towards him, unable to stop herself. She was not afraid, yet terrified. Was she an animal walking into a trap? Or was this something strange like fate? Not that she believed in fate. If she did, she would have many qualms with it.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. She had time to turn back. Run back to the hole she crawled out from.
But she couldn’t. It no longer felt possible.
She sat on the bench beside him. He didn’t face her – his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the heavy raindrops rippling mesmerizingly in a small puddle by his feet. They sat silently as they did on the train. Silent but not awkward.
“You came,” he finally spoke. Sarah didn’t know how to respond – she didn’t know why she came. Why she trudged through the pouring rain because of a mysterious message he had sent her.
“I come here often,” he continued, “It’s the only place in the city that I can think.”
“It’s beautiful,” Sarah said wiping the rain off her face. She should ask why he had called her here, but she didn’t – not sure she wanted an answer.
“You’re bleeding,” he said looking at her knuckles. Sarah hadn’t noticed her cut knuckles. It must have happened when she socked Justin in the face earlier.
“It’s nothing,” Sarah pulled her sleeve over her hand automatically. Accustomed to hiding her wounds.
“You don’t seem like the bare-knuckle fighting type.”
“I’m not,” she said, “It was a silly thing that happened earlier. An old friend…” she fell silent, unable to find the words.
“That how you deal with old friends?”
“Of course not. He overstepped the mark and I…” she wiped her face again, “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”
“You reacted instinctively. You can’t regret that.”
“I kind of do. He’s a nice guy. Funny and smart. He has one of those amazing memories and always aced his exams in school. Complete opposite of me. You would like him if you met him.”
“I wouldn’t like him.”
“How can you be so sure? You’ve never met him.”
“I don’t like people with really good memories,”
“OK…” she laughed, “That’s strange, what’s wrong with people who have good memories?”
“Nothing,”
“So, why don’t you like them?”
“Because they make good liars.”
A strange thing to say but he was right. Sarah read enough crime novels to know that the best liars had good memories. The ability to remember the fiction they were conjuring up so they could regurgitate it accurately. It’s why Police interviews were full of repetitive questions – traps to expose the lies.
There was another prolonged silence before he spoke again.
“I don’t know why, but I feel as if I know you,” he said, staring back at the puddle.
Sarah felt the same but didn’t know how to express it. It was all so strange.
“A few years back,” he continued, “my father left us.”
Sarah felt her heart sink to the ground. Left? What did he mean left? Died? Divorced? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. It made her think about her father and that would not be good.
“He didn’t even say goodbye.” He pulled his hood over his head and put his hands back into his pockets. “I don’t know what we did that made him leave and never visit or even call. He must hate me. Really hate me!”
Sarah wanted to say that there might be another explanation – some other reason why he left and never called – that’s what people say in situations like this. Words of comfort – she had heard once that kind words could act as a sedative, but no words had worked for her. Nothing except physical pain worked for her, but she couldn’t recommend that, though it would work.
“I know about your pain,” he said and then stared deep into Sarah’s eyes – so deep that she felt he could see right through to her battered soul.
“What do you mean?” Sarah muttered. An electrifying shiver surged through her, followed by the sudden urge to urinate.
“I mean, that you’re lost and hurting. I sense it from you.”
She didn’t know what to say. She could deny it and try to change the subject, but it was true. No one else in the world could see it and yet this stranger could.
“Misery recognises misery.” He said facing the puddle once again. “I came here last year, at exactly 6.30pm with one intention. To end it. Stop the unbearable noise in my head. I came to the most peaceful place I knew in a bid to end the darkne
ss that resided… still resides in me.” He paused for a moment, “I’m not sure what stopped me in the end, but I didn’t go through with it.”
Sarah suddenly felt as if she was no longer in her body. She questioned herself on whether this was happening; was this a dream? A hallucination?
“It never goes away,” he said, “The pain. You can mask it but never get rid of it. It never goes. It haunts you until it takes over.”
Sarah felt paralysed. Unable to speak, unable to run.
“I know you want the pain to stop—”
“Norman,” A female voice emerged.
Norman’s eyes opened wide as he stared up at the blonde-haired woman walking towards them. His cheeks blushed red. Sarah wasn’t sure whether it was from rage or nervous.
“There you are,” the woman said. She looked as if she were in her mid-forties with a slim and youthful appearance.
“Mother,” he said, “What are you doing here?” Her bottom lip quivered as her eyes met with Sarah’s. She had never seen her before, but she looked at Sarah as if she recognised her.
“Are you alright?” She asked in a kind, motherly tone she hadn’t heard in a while.
“She’s fine,” Norman said, “Why wouldn’t she be?” The irritation clear in his voice.
“It’s just that you’re both sat here in the rain and cold… I think it’s best we all just go back home.”
“You didn’t have to follow me,” Norman said.
“I didn’t follow you,” she pursed her lips. “I knew you would be here. I was just worried about you.”
“You don’t have to be worried about me!” he said and then stormed away.
“Norman!” she called, but he kept walking without looking back.
She turned back to Sarah and pursed her lips.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“Yes, I think so,” Sarah gasped. Her chest was so tight it felt as if it would crush her lungs.
The woman sat next to her and stared down at the same puddle Norman’s eyes were fixated on earlier.
“He is a lovely boy, Norman,”
Sarah nodded but didn’t say anything.