‘Of course I will,’ he says. ‘But Nell, returning to a crime scene so soon after it’s happened … It can really mess you up.’
I roll my eyes at them and then regret it because it hurts my head. ‘Most people have no choice when they’re burgled. It’ll be fine. Besides, even if I do stay at your flat, I have to get some stuff from my flat.’
‘All right, if you’re sure,’ Zach says, not looking convinced or happy about it.
Macy doesn’t look convinced or happy about it either.
‘It’ll be fine, you two. I promise you.’
The darkness comes at me from nowhere .
It runs at me with speed, pushes me down. I’m shaken by the fall, powerless to get up. The darkness throws itself onto my chest, landing heavily. It raises its fist, brings it down to —
My eyes jump open.
And my face immediately smarts, the ache radiating down from my swollen eye socket to my jaw. I dared to look in the mirror earlier and it did indeed look like I had come off badly in a fight with someone bigger, stronger and more vicious than me.
It doesn’t take a genius to work out what that dream was about.
Zach is still asleep and wrapped around me. We went on a flying visit to my home earlier. The police had made good on the promise to have the flat secured and I told him which bags to collect – the pile by the door – so I didn’t have to go up there in the end. We rattled around his place, two people who are virtual strangers brought together by an unfortunate circumstance. And then to bed, where for the first time since I met him, sex wasn’t on the cards.
It was nice to fall asleep like that and it’s nice to wake up with him beside me. This is one of the things I’ve missed out on over the years – not having a regular companion means I rarely get to wake up beside someone, to have their warm skin next to mine, their breathing gently rocking my body.
Carefully I press my fingers against the battered side of my face. It’s painful to touch and it’s painful without being touched. I should probably get out of bed and take the painkillers they gave me at the hospital, but that would mean venturing into the darkness that extends beyond the bed to Zach’s living room. Much as I’d like to, I can’t do that. It took all my willpower not to ask him to let us sleep with the light on.
I close my eyes and sigh. Then I open them again because flashes of what my flat looked like – papers across the floor, stuff ripped off noticeboards, drawers hanging open, ornaments toppled, the gaping holes where the computer hard drives used to be – keep coming back to me.
It seemed so … violent . If they wanted the hard drives so much, why destroy the other personal stuff? That’s before I consider why they wanted the hard drives, which brings me back to the violence of it all.
So many questions, very, very few answers.
My head is banging. Beyond the pain from my face, my head is aching with trying to work out who would do this and why. I’m sure it’s linked to the mugging. But is it linked to Pope’s accident? What if Pope was right and him being run over wasn’t an accident? What if someone had tried to kill him?
And if they did try to kill John Pope, am I next in their sights? And why? To stop me hunting down the Brighton Mermaid’s identity? To stop me finding Jude? Has whoever has done this been watching me all this time? If they have, what is different about now? Am I really that close to getting the answers?
The pain intensifies with the growing feeling of paranoia rattling around in my head.
The only person who has been around all this time and has meant me harm is Pope. Which wouldn’t work, because unless he arranged to have the car drive at himself, it can’t have been him.
There is someone else, of course. Someone who has been around all this time, watching, observing, waiting until I got too close. Someone who I would never think of as capable of doing anything to harm me, but who, if they were pushed, would have to do something to stop me.
Dad.
I immediately try to erase that thought. It’s ridiculous. Despite his height and his build, despite his large hands and powerful laugh, he wouldn’t harm anyone. Even when the police beat him up – more than once – he didn’t defend himself. Despite what they said, his hands never had cuts on them, never showed any sign that he did anything but take the beating because he knew that doing anything else – including defending himself – could have fatal consequences.
When he was under attack he wasn’t violent, so how could he do anything to the Brighton Mermaid? Or take away Jude? Or do something to me? He just wouldn’t. My dad is not that sort of man.
I’m being silly. Panicking because I’ve been hurt. Lashing out with stupid, damaging theories because I’m scared. My dad wouldn’t do that. I know him. We haven’t been close in years, but he wouldn’t do anything to Jude, he wouldn’t have murdered those other girls. It just isn’t in him.
Gently I take Zach’s arm and pull it over my body. I want him as close to me as possible. I need him to remind me that I’m all right and that I don’t need to start thinking ridiculous things just because someone attacked me. Zach moans gently then snuggles closer to me, nestles his face against my shoulder. ‘Hmmmm,’ he groans softly.
I close my eyes and focus on him. On being here. On being far, far away from all the rubbish that is starting to make me, for the first time ever, doubt my father’s innocence.
Macy
Friday, 27 April
I’m better now. I think seeing Nell in hospital shocked me out of whatever state I was in before. It really is all getting too much, though. The thing with Clyde and his other family, the thought of what might happen if I tell anyone what I know about Jude.
The thing is, no one ever asked me. Not ever. It was like I didn’t exist in that house; no one officially told me that she was missing and no one ever asked if I had seen her. Considering how close they knew Nell and Jude were, like sisters, you’d think they’d maybe ask Nell’s actual, real-life, blood sister if she knew something. I might have told then. It would have been awful, given everything that went on without any real knowledge on the police’s part, but it might have been an idea to ask me.
At that time I was mostly ignored. I think that was another reason why I was desperate to marry Clyde. He noticed me, he loved me, and he only ever wanted to be with me. I’d be with him now if I’d been willing to leave the children with my parents and take off. But how could I leave them with my folks, knowing what I knew? They were never with Mummy and Daddy unless I was there, too. I don’t think anyone, not even Nell, has noticed that. Besides, I wouldn’t leave them unless I had to. Unless it was best for them. Sometimes Shane hints – or even outright says – that the things I do are not good for the children. That my obsessions and rituals and anxieties will rub off on them, will make them grow up into anxious people, too. I know he’s right and I know I don’t want these feelings and behaviours for Willow, Clara and Aubrey. I want them to grow up safe and happy and secure. More than anything I want them to be secure in the world. To look at me and know they can implicitly trust me.
Sometimes, when Shane says stuff like that, it doesn’t have the effect he thinks it will, it doesn’t make me want to stop – it makes me want to leave. It makes me think the children will be better off without me.
But not today. I’m not going to leave them today. I watch them walk into school and I know I’m not going to leave them today. I just need to get a grip on everything. I need to stop obsessing over Clyde being a father to someone else’s kids, stop worrying over whether to tell about Jude, stop thinking that something is going to happen to Nell.
Shane slings his arm around my shoulders, drops a kiss on my neck. We don’t often do the school run together nowadays. Both rushing for work most mornings. But I used to love it when we’d all pile into the car together, talk loudly all the way there, often quizzing Willow on French or history or maths for her test that day, Clara reciting poems, Aubrey chattering about what went on in class the day before. They’d t
umble out, happy and ready to face their school day. Shane and I would then slink off for a coffee together, or even home for a quickie before work. We’ve lost that.
‘How’s Nell?’ Shane asks as we walk back to the car.
‘She’s fine. Her boyfriend’s looking after her very well from the sounds of it.’
‘Good, good, I’m glad.’
He doesn’t colour up at the thought of Nell with another man any more. He actually seems unbothered by it. Maybe it isn’t fake, the way he behaves nowadays about her; maybe they have properly sorted it out and he isn’t planning on leaving me for her.
I still haven’t had a go at him about giving Nell a ‘client’ number. I mean, what in the holy hell? He agrees with me that she shouldn’t be focusing on that sort of thing, that the sooner she gets back to work the better, and then he goes and does that!
‘Did the police say anything about catching them or getting her stuff back?’
‘No, she said they were calling round tomorrow to get her full statement when she goes home.’
‘OK, cool. Do you fancy a coffee, Mrs Merrill-To-Be?’ he asks.
‘Why yes, Mr Maybe-Okorie-To-Be,’ I reply.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I am not taking your name, so don’t even joke about it.’
‘Yes!’ I blurt out as I shut the car door.
‘Erm, I don’t think so, Macy – what would your dad say?’
‘I mean, yes, I will marry you.’
‘What? Really? Really? ’
‘Yes, really.’
Shane lets go of the seat belt he was about to clip in and instead leans across to bundle me up in a hug. ‘I’m so happy, I can’t tell you,’ he says. ‘I’m so happy. I wish I had parents or a family that I could tell.’ He hugs me close. ‘I love you so much, Macy. I’m so happy. So happy.’
I am, too. I know if I do this, it will stop me losing it over Clyde. It will give me something to focus on and it may well take my mind off the anniversaries that are fast approaching. I have a bad feeling about those two dates, so I need to focus on something else. Something good. Something that will help get us through the coming months unscathed.
Nell
Saturday, 28 April
After three days away from the devastation, the flat looks worse, not better. There’s an odd smell, like something has spoiled somewhere hidden, and there’s an even stranger atmosphere. Almost as if the flat doesn’t like that I abandoned it after something so awful happened to it.
I wanted to go back straight away because I knew the longer I stayed away the harder it would be to return, but I couldn’t move. Zach kept looking after me, making me drinks, cooking for me, plumping up my pillows, letting me watch whatever I wanted on television. Like the sleeping-together-without-sex thing, I haven’t really experienced this much devotion before. If I was being cynical I would think he is feeling guilty about something. But that’s my paranoia from many, many years of having to deal with John Pope coming to the fore.
Zach is a good guy and he is looking after me. He had to nip to school a couple of times to take care of lessons and meetings he absolutely couldn’t miss or couldn’t get someone to cover for him, but mostly we’ve spent our time together in his flat, talking, reading, watching television and playing card games.
I almost lulled myself into a sense that he and I could stay like that for ever. But this morning, when Macy didn’t ring at 5.17 a.m., I accepted that my life really is broken and I needed to go home and face up to what happened.
It’s only stuff , I told myself as I pushed open the door, try not to get upset about what’s happened because it’s only stuff .
It is my stuff though. Things I’ve worked hard to buy and the way someone treated them feels personal. As though they have taken out the rage they feel for me on my belongings. They can’t smash me so they smashed my stuff.
Zach makes a start in the living room while I go to the main bedroom to start putting things back together in there. I’ll have to wash everything, of course. The fact that whoever broke in went through my underwear drawers, emptying them out, and basically touched items that are intended to touch my private parts, makes me feel dirty.
I stare at the bundle of black lace and black Lycra I’ve moved to the bed. A flash comes to mind of the shape of the darkness, standing over my underwear, sneering as it throws the items on the ground. I have to shake my head to get rid of that image – it has been conjured up by my imagination and most likely never actually happened.
I wish I could afford to bin them all. Remove them and the thought of the burglar’s touch on them. I know most people would think I’m being ridiculous. It’s not as if you were actually wearing them at the time , they’d tell me. But I feel like burning everything because not even cleaning everything down with bleach will erase the marks of this violation.
The intercom goes as I’m looking at the pile of knickers and bras on the bed, still wondering if I can possibly afford to replace them. I can’t replace the flat, but maybe with something like this I will be able to.
‘Do you want me to get that?’ Zach calls from the kitchen.
‘Yes please,’ I reply. I grab the large wicker laundry basket that usually sits in the corner by the window, which was kicked over, and sweep the whole pile into it. I’ll have to settle for washing them on a boil wash and not thinking about it. I am quite good at not thinking about things.
Zach appears in the bedroom doorway, looking sheepish and ever so slightly worried. ‘It’s, erm … it’s the police.’
In the living room, the two police officers from the other day are waiting. They said they’d be back and now here they are. Standing in my home, looking as large and ominous as they did the day they had to rush me to hospital. I don’t want them to be here. Now that Zach has miraculously cleared up the living room and piled all the paper up on the side, righted ornaments and polished things off, I don’t want any more police involvement. I’ve actually decided to forget this. Pretend it didn’t happen, act as though Zach and I becoming so close so quickly is a natural consequence of liking each other and not him taking care of me after something horrible happened to me.
‘Miss Okorie, we just wanted to conclude the interview we began the other day,’ the male officer says.
I wish I had enough guts to say it’s all been one big misunderstanding and I’m sorry for wasting their time and could they please just leave. ‘OK, fine,’ I sigh, and indicate they should sit while I sit myself.
‘I’ll, erm, I’ll just, erm, go and make some tea,’ Zach says.
I’m guessing putting right the kitchen has given him an idea of where things are. ‘I don’t think there’s any milk,’ I say to him.
‘Black tea is fine for me,’ says the female police officer.
‘Me, too,’ the male officer adds.
Tea means they’re sticking around just that bit longer. Great.
‘How are you feeling?’ the male officer asks when Zach has left the room.
‘Fine,’ I say tightly. I need to relax. I haven’t done anything wrong and they are just doing their job. It’s not their fault that as a young teenager I met a psychopathic police officer on one of the worst days of my life. ‘Fine,’ I repeat.
‘We’d just like to take you through the events of the other night, if that’s OK?’ the female police officer asks.
‘Yes. But I don’t remember much, it all happened so quickly. I’m sure everyone says that, but it’s true.’
The female officer takes out her notebook and pen. For some reason my heart starts to race when she does this. I really, really do not want to talk about it.
‘Just tell us what you do remember, Miss Okorie. What time did you come back?’
I start to talk, to explain, and I can almost see myself. Walking back up to the flat, the broken light, the realisation that the front door is open, the splintered wood, the darkness suddenly rushing towards me …
They listen patient
ly, gently asking me questions to clarify this or that. By the end of it, once the tale is told, I’m trembling. It only happened a few days ago but it feels like I am dredging up something from a long, long while ago and at the same time reliving something that has literally just occurred.
I look to the living room doorway, surprised that Zach isn’t back yet with the tea. It’s not like he had to go out to pick the leaves or anything like that.
‘Thank you, Miss Okorie. Have you had a chance to—’ The policewoman stops talking when Zach enters the room carrying a wooden tray that I’ve actually forgotten I own, with four mugs of steaming drinks.
‘Sorry it took so long,’ he says. ‘I had to wash out the mugs and boil the kettle a couple of times to make sure it was OK to use.’ Considering how quickly he tidied the living room, it’s a bit odd that he took so long to wash mugs and boil the kettle.
I look him over as he places the tray on the floor in the middle of the room and takes a couple of mugs to the officers. He seems different. Usually he’s confident, self-assured, laid-back. But now he’s ever so slightly on edge, a little nervous. Jittery.
All of us watch him hand me a mug and then take his mug and sit beside me on the sofa. In all the times I’ve seen him, he’s never been like this.
‘May I ask who you are, sir?’ the male police officer says.
Zach looks at me and I watch worry skitter across his face. It’s quick, but I notice it. This is not like the Zach I know. He looks back at the officers. ‘Sort of Nell’s boyfriend, I suppose?’ he says, looking to me at the uplift of the question. ‘Is that what you’d say?’ he asks me.
I have no idea who you are , I think. I don’t know you at all. You could be anyone. You could be the person who burgled here for all I know .
Maybe that’s why he’s been so caring – guilt that he did this to me. Maybe I’ve just spent the past few days being looked after by the man who put me in hospital in the first place.
‘I, um, suppose so,’ I mumble. Every nerve in my body is on high alert now. At least I didn’t sleep with him in the last couple of days , I think. At least I won’t be looking back and needing to give myself a mental shower every time I think of the past couple of days .
The Brighton Mermaid Page 21