Murder Game

by Emmy Ellis

  “Bloody hell!”

  “What’s up, Mo?”

  Mo spun at the sound of the neighbour’s soft voice. They of all people should have known what was up, having alerted her to the fact that Juno had escaped the damn garden.

  “I’ve left rice cooking. And the dog…” Mo sighed.

  “He’s over there, look.” The neighbour pointed.

  Mo followed the direction, spotting Juno’s arse sticking out from beneath a large rock. What was he doing? Digging a hole? She tutted and walked forward, briefly wondering whether the neighbour had come into the woods to help with the search. Mo felt guilty for feeling so snappish. Of course the neighbour would have done that. Always being kind, that one.

  Going down on her hands and knees, Mo took hold of Juno’s chubby body and pulled him out. He’d most definitely been digging—his front paws were filthy—and she kept a firm grip while he wiggled to be set free. Whatever was under the rock held his attention, though, and he stared, dribbling at the mouth and making a bigger attempt to squirm out of her arms. She ended up letting him go. He went straight back to digging.

  Something swiped through the air—she heard it more than saw it—landing on Juno’s back. It was another rock, smaller, but big enough to flatten her dog’s head and back. There was a resounding yelp, and while Mo tried to comprehend what had happened, to work out where the rock could have fallen from, she gawked at Juno’s bottom and fluttering back paws sticking out either side.

  Mo whimpered, trying to force her body to obey her, so she could go down on her knees and rescue her pet. That swiping sound came again, much sharper this time, then a wicked pain on the back of her head. She cried out, lifting her hands, but they immediately grew heavy and flopped to her sides. She thought of ducking her head, away from whatever had stuck in it—a branch; had a tree lost one of its limbs and she’d had the misfortune to be in the way?—but she was held fast.

  “Let me help you there,” the neighbour said.

  Whatever it was in her head was pulled free. Excruciating pain lanced her skull, her brain, similar to one of the migraines she’d endured in the hospital. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She flopped forward, hands meeting with the ground, her forehead dashing against the rock Juno was squashed under. More pain ricocheted inside her mind and coalesced with the excessive tenderness of the other. Together they created a mass of agony. Her eyes drooped. She wanted to tell the neighbour to rescue Juno but dumbness took hold.

  “Come on, you,” the neighbour said jovially, hauling her to her feet. “Up you get. I’m finding this game is a lot of fun now.”

  Fire engine sirens blared in the far distance, faint and peculiar, ghoulish wails that chilled her skin and loosened her bones.

  My house? The cooker?

  No, surely the rice water hadn’t burned dry that quickly, had it?

  Mo had no time to think on it further. She was propelled forwards, her legs gone to jelly, her knees elastic. Some time later, roughly shoved, Mo landed on her hands and knees and attempted to get back up. She had the urge to run, to get away from the neighbour, but that was absurd. Who needed to run from such a nice person?

  A breath-stealing blow to her side had Mo spinning over and landing flat on her back. She stared up at what she thought might be sky, but her vision was blurred and she couldn’t make anything out. Then her eyes were closed, the top and bottom lids of one pinched together by something cold. Metal? What was happening? Was she experiencing one of those seizures she’d apparently had in hospital?

  She strained to see with her open eye, but it, too, was clamped shut. Working her mouth and praying for sound to come out, she fought the need to cry. Her nose was clamped then, held fast by what felt like a pincer, and when her lips were grasped she knew things had taken a terrible turn. This was no seizure. This was no nice neighbour.

  Clarity came by way of a vibrant, colourful vision inside her mind. Times when she’d conversed with the neighbour flourished, images of little mannerisms that hadn’t been quite right but something Mo hadn’t been able to put a name to at the time. Words spoken that were kind yet held a hint of sarcasm—all put down to Mo’s overactive imagination, a legacy Jack had given her.

  Pain hurtled into her lips, so sharp, so hateful, Mo’s eyes rolled behind her shut eyelids. Her body convulsed of its own accord as she fought to breathe, her back leaving the ground, her heels digging into the mulch. She registered that her arms were useless, and that damp chilled her palms, fingers, the back of her head.

  “Pegs,” the neighbour said. “Now maybe you’ll understand the reason why it’s important to use the right ones for the right job. Plastic ones are better for white washing. Everyone knows wooden ones can leave a stain if they’re left outside like yours are—left out to get dirty and wet. And these pegs, nice metal ones, they’re not widely used but are damn good for holding jeans on the line so I’ve been told.” A laugh. “Good for holding body parts together too, I see.”

  Mo’s lungs strained. No air was getting in at all. Her body felt as if it were about to implode—then explode, scattering lumps of her throughout the forest. Her thoughts reeled. In her mind’s eye she saw Jack leering, Juno squashed under the rock, her mother with her back turned, the nurses frowning, Julia weeping, Ben screaming…

  Then she saw nothing. Nothing at all.

  Chapter Eight

  Julia stood on the path with Ben in his pushchair, tears streaming down her face. It seemed colder than when she’d been out earlier. Her coat wasn’t really up to the job of keeping the chill at bay, but she was reticent to go back inside. The fire engine blocked most of the road, and the crew were in Mo’s house, the thick pythons of their hoses obese with pumping water.

  Earlier, Julia had nipped round to Mo’s as planned and found a note on the door. It had said she’d gone out to find Juno, but that was a while ago now—more than half an hour. A flicker of flame had caught her attention as she’d been mid-turn on the path, ready to go back home. Her heart had thumped so hard she was pushed off balance for a second or two. The smoke alarm had trilled, throwing Julia into panic, and she’d danced about on the path for a moment, unsure what to do. Common sense kicked in, and she’d telephoned the emergency services on her mobile.

  Neighbours from the last two houses in the row of five were standing where the right turn led to the lane. One family were in pyjamas and dressing gowns—early but not unheard of on winter nights—while the young couple who lived at the end wore T-shirts and jeans. Julia turned the opposite way. Folks from the other street, the row of eight, had gathered on the corner. News of the commotion had probably been spread by Ted Gancy, the old man, and he was holding court on the pavement outside his house. Anything out of the ordinary and he was on his doorstep, or on someone else’s, knocking their doors to discuss the latest events, starting with a “Here, did you know…”

  Mrs Johnson, Julia’s elderly neighbour, came and stood beside her. Julia contemplated taking her to the corner with her to see if anyone had seen Mo. One look at the old woman told her not to bother. Mrs Johnson was shaking, staring down at the gutter. Her coat, so much like a sleeping bag, gave her the appearance of a fat caterpillar with a small, human head and thin, rickety legs sticking from the respective ends.

  “Are you all right?” she asked her.

  Mrs Johnson lifted her head and stared at Julia through glazed, wet eyes. Light from the street lamp gave her skin a parchment pallor. A gust of wind zipped through the wispy strands of her hair, a style different to the usual old lady, who preferred rollers and setting lotion. It must have escaped its bun, if she’d even had it in one in the first place. Julia had been too concerned about Mo and the fire to take much notice before.

  “My things…”

  Julia gritted her teeth, not caring about anyone’s bloody things. She gripped the pushchair handle until the bones in her fingers hurt. “Yes, your things will be okay, you’ll see.” She flicked her gaze to Mo’s hous
e. “The flames are out, see? We’ll just have to wait for the all clear then we can go back home.”

  “Mum?”

  Julia turned to find the old woman’s daughter, Katherine, face bleached, lips a strange colour mix of burgundy and grey, owing to the amber streetlight. Her dark hair was short, a ‘lesbian style’ as Gerry had once called it, and she was just as thin as her mother.

  Katherine stepped forward. “Thank you for waiting with her.” She squeezed Julia’s arm.

  “Not a problem.” A measure of relief soughing through her, Julia took the opportunity to leave the women to it.

  She crossed the road, heading for the group that included Ted Gancy, and walked straight up to him, the pushchair between them. He was poking the air with his cane and talking animatedly to the other five residents.

  “I said that woman would come a cropper, didn’t I?” he said, jousting away. “She’s all too comfortable with getting to know people that she doesn’t pay attention to the things she should be paying attention to. Like minding her own business.”

  Sarah Blessing, mother of two girls and wife to Michael, snorted.

  Julia agreed with her sentiment.

  Nora Pritchard strolled up the road and stood behind Ted, next to Sarah. She looked weary, as though she had a load on her mind. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Fire in Mo’s,” Ted said. “And now she’s gone and got herself trapped in her burning house. She’ll be dead by now, you mark my words.” Joust. Joust. “The smoke will have got her if the fire hasn’t. And her dog. Juno. What kind of name is that, I ask you?”

  Julia grabbed the chance to speak while Ted paused for breath. “So you think Mo’s inside?”

  Ted nodded, lowering his cane to tap the rubber end on the ground, the dull thuds a second apart. “Well, she left your house—I saw that when I was out here clipping that bush there—and went to hers. I could smell curry. Always making curry, that one. It drifts into my house and permeates everything. I’ve told her about it, asked her to keep her windows closed when she’s making the bloody stuff, but no, she doesn’t listen. Or should that be didn’t listen. Past tense and all that, considering she’s undoubtedly snuffed it.”

  Sarah snorted again.

  Nora, one of the nicest people Julia had met, dug her elbow into Sarah’s side. “Pack that in.”

  “Snorts of derision,” Sarah said. “Not against Mo.”

  “Who against, then?” Ted asked, narrowing his piggy eyes at her.

  “Life. The way it works out.” Sarah glared back at him—unusual for her, considering she was usually as nice as Nora and didn’t like to rock the boat where Ted was concerned. “It isn’t fair how things work out, how some people can cause so much hurt.” She continued to glare. “And if snorting is a concern of yours, Ted, something that bothers you, maybe you shouldn’t stand near someone who snorts.”

  What’s wrong with her?

  To diffuse the situation, Julia said, “There’s no point in us all falling out. It’s Mo we should be worrying about. Whether she was your cup of tea or not, it’s a life that could be lost, and she was good to me. Helped me see that Gerry—”

  “Is a bastard?” Ted supplied, raising his eyebrows, tap-tap-tapping his cane. A lock of white hair lifted off his brow then flopped back down again. “Any one of us could have told you that. And it just goes to show, if a newcomer can spot it, well, it must be highly obvious. Still, they always say the wife is the one with rose-coloured glasses, the last one to know.”

  Mortified to have her life discussed with such a large audience—three more members of Ted’s row were huddled behind Nora and Sarah—Julia turned the pushchair to face her street and began walking away.

  “Went, didn’t he, your Gerry,” Ted said, his smug tone carrying behind her.

  Julia stopped. Stared at her home. At Mo’s house. The fire engine. Firemen coming out onto the pavement.

  “Last night,” Ted said. “Off to his fancy woman. Heard the argument. Tending to the garden and whatnot—hear quite a bit when I do that. Not that I’m listening on purpose.”

  No one said anything. The rumble of the fire truck swamped Julia’s ears. The thud of her heart joined in. Her vision misted by tears of frustration and unfairness. Ted was such a…such an old bastard.

  “No, never on purpose,” she called over her shoulder. “Not you, Ted.”

  She shoved the pushchair forward, aware her sarcasm wouldn’t be lost on him, and expected a slew of rumours to whip up and down the road by this time tomorrow. And she didn’t care if they did. Approaching a fireman who removed his helmet then swiped his brow, she was suddenly stumped for what to say.

  Instead of asking the obvious question, she looked at him and said, “My friend?”

  “As far as we can tell at this early stage, no bodies in the house,” he said. “Give it ten minutes and I’ll check whether you can go inside yours. Should be fine. Two doors away, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Julia glanced at her house, at Mrs Johnson’s, both untouched. Mo’s was… A lump sprouted in her throat. “She left a note on her door, something about going after her dog. He’d got out of her garden and—”

  “The dog’s in the garden,” he said. “Not a pleasant find, I must say, but we’ll deal with that shortly.”

  “Not a pleasant find?” Julia’s mind raced with words and images she couldn’t latch onto. She felt sick—

  DON’T THROW UP WITH TED WATCHING

  —an extra layer of anxiety plastering itself over what was already there.

  “Got itself stuck under a bit of the rockery at the end of the garden,” he said.

  “Is the dog all right?” she asked, knowing it was a stupid question. Not a pleasant find coupled with dog stuck under the rockery was answer in itself.

  “No, unfortunately.” He nodded at Mo’s house. Two more firemen emerged. “I’ll just chat with the others a second.”

  He walked away. Julia stood gripping the pushchair handle, idly aware Ben was still fast asleep despite the racket of the engine. She guessed Ted was talking up a storm about Mo being dead.

  Mo—maybe she’d popped out to the local Tesco Express.

  Where the hell is she?

  Julia had no time to think about it. She was given the go ahead to return to her house. Inside, she left Ben in his pushchair. She caught sight of a piece of paper held fast under one of the wheels. She stooped down, picked it up, and recognised Mo’s block-capital handwriting immediately. This was the third time she’d seen it. The first had been when Mo had sent invitations out for a barbeque at her house after she’d first moved in. The second, the note on the front door. This one wasn’t something Julia had thought she’d ever read.

  I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE. I HAVE TO GO.

  Alarm racing through her, Julia squeezed between the pushchair and the black bags containing Gerry’s clothes, out into the front garden. The run down her path felt like a wade through syrup, but she made it onto the pavement, standing there searching for the fireman she’d spoken to. There he was, winding the hose, his cheeks soot-blackened, hues of red on the skin beneath his eyes.

  She ran to him, thrusting the note out. “This…this was posted through my door. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. I…” She thought about what she’d been doing. “I have black bags in the hallway. Maybe it got wedged, then when I went back in it fell to the floor. I don’t know, whatever, but the note, it was there just now and I…”

  He took it, and Julia was relieved. It meant she could stop rambling. He lifted his head to look at her.

  “It’s Mo’s writing,” she said. “But I have no idea why she would have to go, or where she’d go to. She was so happy. She was…my friend.”

  * * * *

  Nora shook her head. She shouldn’t have bothered coming to join everyone. Ted was getting worse as the days went by, giving her more reason to dislike him. Not only had he purposely upset Julia, but he was going for it now by having a go at some
one else.

  “You need to watch how you speak to me,” he said to Sarah Blessing. He tapped the side of his nose with one gnarly finger. “I know things. You should know I know things.”

  Sarah opened her mouth to bite back, but before she could say anything, Nora stepped in. The less secrets that were let loose in this street the better.

  “Look, it’s like Julia just said. We shouldn’t be falling out. All these little gripes we have with each other—they’ll lead to murder, believe me. We need to stop irritating one another and get along better.”

  “Murder?” Ted let out a rancid laugh. “What, we’ll all get that bad we’ll start bumping each other off, is that what you’re saying?”

  Nora closed her eyes for a moment then opened them again to look at Ted. She had the urge to smack him around the face. He could be so…so cruel sometimes.

  “No, it’s just something you say, isn’t it?” She sighed, then, “Like: Oh, I’ll bloody kill you if you keep on. I didn’t mean… Forget I said anything, okay? You all want to argue amongst yourselves, go ahead. I need to get ready for work. It’s been a tiring day for some of us.”

  She walked back down the road, wanting to tell her boys about Ted but realising she couldn’t keep harping on about the people in this street to them. They were young and didn’t need her yabbering all the time. The thing was, she was lonely—she could acknowledge that without being bitter about it—and only really had her lads or Sarah to talk to. Maybe once she didn’t feel so tired she could think about doing something with her life. Being someone. Start a new career, not just be a mother who struggled to make ends meet.

  Feeling better for her thoughts, she went inside her house and managed to resist automatically going upstairs to do exactly what she’d told herself not to.