by Gemma Rogers
‘Mum said you might need some stuff.’
‘I always need clothes, there’s no washing machine at the bedsit.’
‘Did you bring your things? Go and put them on, love, there’s an hour wash-and-dry setting if you need them done quickly.’
‘I was going to take them to the launderette.’
‘Don’t be daft!’ she berated.
I nodded gratefully and got up to use the machine. The washing powder and fabric softener still under the sink where they’d always been. I smelt the silky pink liquid, it reminded me of Mum’s dressing gown.
‘What are you doing?’ Helen said, frowning at me as my nose was hovering above the open bottle.
‘Nothing,’ I replied, hastily putting the lid on and returning to the sitting room.
‘There’s lots of your things in my wardrobe for you to take whenever you want,’ Mum said, trying to control a tremor in her left hand. I leant over and held it, interlocking our fingers.
‘Is there anything you need, Mum?’ I asked.
‘No, we’re fine thank you. I provide everything she needs,’ Helen butted in.
I rummaged in my pocket and pulled out the hundred pounds in five twenty-pound notes I’d rolled up earlier, handing it to Mum.
‘This is for you, both of you, I’ll bring some more. Even if you don’t need anything, treat yourselves to something. Get your hair done, or a takeaway, anything.’
‘Where’s that from? You been up Kings Cross?’
‘Helen!’ Mum interjected.
‘No, it’s my wages.’ I gritted my teeth, struggling to contain my temper.
‘For goodness’ sake, you two, always at each other’s throats. Why can’t you just get along. You weren’t always like this!’ Mum sighed and Helen lowered her eyes, abashed.
Mum was right, we hadn’t always fought. I knew I was a difficult teenager and Helen, as the oldest, had to clean up my messes. She hated that I was wild and uncontrollable when she was studious and relied upon by Mum. It turned to resentment in the end and me going to prison would always be the stick she’d beat me with.
‘I’m going for a fag,’ I announced.
Helen came to join me in the back garden after some raised voices from the sitting room, where I guessed Mum was giving her what for. She took one of the cigarettes when I offered her the packet and we sat on the wall facing the house.
‘She been in touch with you? That Ashley?’ Helen asked.
I shook my head, not since the letter anyway.
‘At the start, she was round here every bloody day, doing the shopping, helping out, like it was her penance. Convinced the whole thing was her fault. So much so, I thought she might have been driving the car?’ Helen raised an eyebrow at me, and I gave a little shake of the head.
‘No, I was driving.’
‘You never did tell us what really happened.’ Helen narrowed her eyes, I could tell she was suspicious.
I sighed and gave her the abridged version of events, the one I’d told so many times I’d almost convinced myself there was nothing more to add. ‘They were arguing in the back, Ashley and Eddie, and I took my eye off the road.’
‘Hmmm.’ Helen sucked on her cigarette.
We smoked in silence until the sound of the washing machine going into full spin mode echoed. It wasn’t until we stood to go back into the house that Helen spoke again.
‘Why were they both in the back?’
‘My passenger seat didn’t work properly, don’t you remember, the adjusters, they wouldn’t lock into place and kept sliding backwards and forwards. I was going to get it fixed before the next MOT.’
‘Yes, I remember,’ Helen said thoughtfully before continuing. ‘What I don’t understand is neither of them were wearing seat belts, were they?’
‘No.’
‘Then why was only Eddie thrown through the windscreen?’ It was a rhetorical question which didn’t require an answer, so I stayed quiet.
‘Just going to grab my stuff from your wardrobe, Mum,’ I called when we came back inside before disappearing up the stairs.
Mum’s room was tidy, her bed made and hoover marks still apparent on the grey carpet. In her wardrobe was a large plastic box of things from the room I shared with Helen. As though I’d been packed up and put out of sight. Every inch of me removed. As well as clothes, there were trinkets, jewellery, photos, old make-up and a few books.
Sitting on the floor, I went through the box, taking items out in turn and examining them before spreading them out on the carpet around me. There were four books I wanted to take but hardly any of the clothes. They all looked like they were from the wrong era. If I turned up at work looking like a Belieber I’d be laughed out of the place.
I found a pair of Ashley’s sunglasses, the enormous ones she’d bought from Primark which looked ridiculous on her tiny face. Next, I lifted a printed scarf out of the box and a load of photos slipped out from the fabric. Most of them were from my schooldays, and some of me and Helen as children. I took a few, sliding them into the pages of Harry Potter. A strip of Ashley and I from a photo booth was stuck down the side of the box. We looked so young, crazy smiles; ridiculous fake eyelashes bought from the local chemist. God knows where we were going. To a party probably. We were always partying; life was too short, that was our motto. Until it turned out, it actually was.
I slid the photo in between the pages of the book, my chest caving in. I so desperately wanted that again, to have Ashley back, my life back. Those years I’d missed.
Everything had changed and now I’d gone and done something stupid again. Like I’d never learnt the first time. I crunched down on my molars, jaw aching. Karla’s voice ringing in my ears ‘hold your nerve, Jess’.
16
I left Mum’s after I’d painted the door. I found a half-used tin of red paint in the shed, the lid crusted. Probably from the last time the door was painted. It should have been thrown away, but it would do for the cover-up job. I spent ten minutes sanding down the flakes and the words before wiping it clean and applying a coat, trying to avoid covering myself in crimson.
The washing had finished, and I made myself a quick sandwich before making my excuses. The atmosphere in the house was oppressive and Helen’s beady eyes watching my every move put me on edge. I should have been buoyant, with the money hidden at the bedsit. Initially there’d been the idea of shopping for new clothes and getting a haircut from someone not wearing standard-issue prison joggers. Instead, after leaving Mum’s, I went home via the local shop and picked up some supplies, a couple of meals, chocolate, milk and cigarettes. The graffiti had been the icing on the cake.
Back in the bedsit, I listened to the rain as it pelted onto the roof, and once I’d hung up the clean clothes, I changed into my pyjamas, deciding I was in for the day. Whatever I did, however long I cleaned or pottered, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d forgotten something at Bright’s. I’d left something of Karla’s or mine behind and any moment now there would be the telling thud of police at my door.
Karla was right. Terry was a pig, a monster who took advantage of the vulnerable. Exploited us just because he could, but he had a wife and a child he’d never see grow up. She would be at home worrying about him, no idea she’d never see him again. I had stolen her right to bury him, to mourn him, instead all I’d done was leave his family with questions they would never know the answers to. He’d be a missing person forever. It was a life sentence I’d delivered and it weighed heavily on me.
The shadow of remorse hung over me all weekend. I found myself skittish, every noise outside sent me loopy and I was exhausted from being on high alert. The only thing that helped was the vodka, which I was now running low on. I was drinking to block out Terry and to pass the time.
As much as I didn’t want Monday to come around, I had to know if the incinerator had done its job. Whether Bright’s would be crawling with police. I knew it was my imagination overreacting and I wished I could talk to Ashley. She woul
d always be the one to talk me down off the ledge when I got worked up about something.
I texted Karla late Sunday.
See you tomorrow
She responded with Sure, 8:20 but nothing more.
I slept fitfully again. My dreams sent me back to Bronzefield, queuing for breakfast and watching a prisoner spit in my porridge before dumping it in my bowl. I woke in a cold sweat, hearing footsteps, only to realise it was those bloody pigeons. I’d have to ask Stuart if he could put some rat poison on the roof as their tap dancing was starting to annoy me.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Terry, my stomach hollowed out with guilt. We should have gone to the police. I should have taken my chances, told the truth and let the scales of justice decide. Instead I’d roped in Karla and then followed her blindly. She’d come up with everything – the incinerator, dumping the car, even the alibi. She was the smartest of us and I’d let her take control, begged her to help me, but now I wasn’t so sure we’d done the right thing. I’d risked both our freedom.
At eight-fifteen, I loitered outside Bright’s, smoking my fifth cigarette of the day, before wrapping my arms around myself. It was freezing and I couldn’t control the tremor in my hand or my stomach churning like I was on the Big Dipper.
Karla came into view after I’d been waiting a minute or so, her mass of hair taken in the wind. She didn’t smile, just nodded a greeting as she approached, cheeks pink from the cold. ‘Seen anyone?’
‘No,’ I replied.
‘Right, let’s go in.’
Bright’s access was via key code, a six-digit number Terry gave to a couple of the girls, the long-standing ones like Karla. He kept nothing much of value on site overnight. The most expensive things were the machines and they’d need an army in a lorry with a forklift to get those out.
No one was due in until nine, but still we crept in quietly, checking the office, toilets and warehouse were empty.
It was strange seeing Terry’s office; I couldn’t help but examine the closed door for any missed blood, before meeting Karla back at the incinerator.
‘We don’t have long,’ she said, lifting the viewing hatch and peering inside. She gasped, stepping aside to let me look. There were bone fragments still inside the chamber, more than I would have anticipated.
I shuddered, feeling sick.
Karla pulled a brand-new dustpan and brush out of her bag. ‘Bought it yesterday, but I think we’ll have to get our hands dirty. Let me just go and get the medical bags and some gloves.’
Her footsteps echoed on the concrete and it felt eerie standing so close to Terry’s remains. My breathing quickened and I felt the hairs on my arms stand to attention.
‘I think the ash is collected here,’ Karla said, already back and lifting the metal lid of a compartment at the side of the machine with her gloved hand.
‘How do we get it out?’ I asked.
Karla pulled a yellow waste bag from the pocket of her hoodie and motioned for me to hold it open underneath the compartment. I slipped on my gloves and got into position.
‘There must be a lever or something,’ she said, scanning the machine.
Seconds later, there was a whoosh and a cloud of ash flew into the air, causing us both to gasp. It thudded into the bag, weighing a ton. Particles swirled around before settling upon us. I wanted to shake, to brush Terry off me, but my hands were holding the bag upright. The incinerator was covered in a film of it, but thankfully most had been collected. I always imagined ash would be light, how wrong I was.
‘Shit!’ Karla said, opening the bag for me to see some more bone on the top of the pile.
I trembled, holding my breath, conscious I didn’t want to inhale him.
‘I need to sweep the chamber,’ I said, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, grateful to pass the bag to Karla and occupy my shaking hands.
Climbing up, I lifted the heavy door, reaching inside to pick out some more fragments.
‘I think we might need another bag,’ I said, saliva filling my mouth.
Hold it together, Jess, don’t lose it now.
Karla tied her bag and held open another; the bones clattered to the bottom and I brushed the smaller ones towards me. I wouldn’t have been able to tell they were human if I hadn’t known.
Filling up the dustpan twice, I found Terry’s belt buckle in amongst leftover metal scraps. I emptied the remnants into the second bag, catching sight of a small blackened gold crown from one of Terry’s molars as the contents slid out of the pan. I baulked, climbing down and lowering the lid.
‘Right, let’s go.’ Karla threw in our gloves, tied the bag and dragged both to the store cupboard, where between us we put them inside a thick black sack. Then we heaved it over by the warehouse shutters with some other rubbish.
‘We can’t leave it there!’ I said.
‘We have to. I can sling it in the bin outside the yard gates, you know the big industrial ones, but I can’t do that until the shutters are opened. The dustmen are coming today. It’s the easiest way to get rid of him.’ She was right. Karla was always right.
‘We’ve got to clean up,’ I said, staring at the film of Terry’s remains lingering on my skin, head swimming at the thought. I was spooked to say the least, but Karla was methodical.
‘Grab those cloths on the bottom shelf,’ she ordered, pointing back towards the store cupboard, ‘and a cleaning spray. We need new tabards too.’
I did as she asked; rushing back to put the fresh tabards in my locker. It was already ten to nine and some of the girls would start arriving any minute for their shift.
Tiny palpitations flittered through my veins, as we first brushed each other down and then cleaned the machine as fast as we could, trying to get rid of the dust. The shiny red metal was cool to the touch. I kept having to run to the toilets to rinse my cloth out as it blackened so easily, watching the grey particles swill down the drain trying not to think they were the remnants of Terry.
Karla was sweeping the ash which had settled onto the floor under the nearest washing machine when we heard footstep approaching.
We stared at each other; eyes wide. A silent scream stuck in my throat as Karla ditched the broom and grabbed me by the hand. She pulled me over to one of the trolleys and lifted out a clean folded sheet and began to refold it. Nodding at me to do the same. I copied her immediately, but I was all fingers and thumbs. Karla tutted at my lack of composure.
‘You didn’t clock in,’ Agnes called across the warehouse.
My shoulders eased down.
‘Shit, we forgot. Too busy gassing.’ Karla giggled. It was the first time I’d seen her smile; she was a natural actress.
‘And you forgot your tabards!’ Agnes chided as we walked back to the lockers to put them on. ‘Have you seen Terry?’ she asked when we returned, now clocked in and wearing our uniform.
I froze on the spot and Karla walked into the back of me, propelling me forward. The mention of his name sent ice shooting through my veins. I was going to fold under the pressure.
Karla sent daggers at me before turning back to Agnes. ‘No, not yet. Perhaps he’s late?’ she replied.
‘He’s always here before us.’
I shrugged, not trusting my voice to remain steady.
When Agnes went to check the rota, Karla whispered to me, ‘Get your shit together. I ain’t going down for you, got it?’
I nodded, taking slow breaths to calm my nerves.
‘There’s not a new one out, it’s Friday’s rota.’ Agnes came around the corner with Hanna, who had just arrived. More of the girls started filing in.
We all stood around in the warehouse, wondering what to do. Terry had a rota which he’d leave out, who was on what machine and teamed with who. The shutters hadn’t been opened and no deliveries received into Bright’s for us to get on with. The girls were perplexed.
‘Should we call someone?’ Laura asked above the chatter.
‘Call who?’ came a deep voice, an
d we all spun around.
17
Barry turned the corner into the warehouse, the collar of his brown leather jacket pulled up to protect him from the elements. He frowned at us all standing around.
‘Terry’s not shown up,’ Karla said quickly, her hands on her hips.
‘Oh, that’s unusual. Perhaps he’s ill. Let me give him a ring.’ Barry pulled his phone out of his pocket and walked away from us, towards the shutters.
The voices quietened down as we listened to Barry leave a message on Terry’s voicemail. Inwardly, my heart was close to leaping out of my chest.
Karla eyed me carefully as I folded my arms and glanced around at the others. Concentrating on looking like I had no idea where Terry was either.
‘Voicemail,’ Barry said, eyebrows raised. He looked around at us, momentarily at a loss as what to do. ‘Isn’t there anything you can be getting on with?’
Some of the girls scattered, finding trolleys where linen needed folding and packaging, but there wasn’t much to keep us busy. Laura picked up Karla’s discarded broom and began sweeping. It was almost comical.
‘I don’t think there’s been any deliveries. We can’t open the shutters or Terry’s office. We’ve only got what was left over on Friday and, as you can see,’ Karla waved her hand around the barren warehouse, ‘there’s not a lot.’
Barry nodded, stroking his chin.
Voices came from the entrance and I peeked around the corner to see a man and a woman looking through the glass into Terry’s office before unlocking the door.
‘Barry, someone’s here?’
Karla and I lingered from a distance as Barry puffed out his chest and approached them.
The petite woman with long blonde hair and a chunky fringe was talking animatedly, the man patting her arm as though to appease her.
‘Who the fuck are they?’ Karla whispered.
I made a face. ‘Pass,’ I replied, although the woman looked familiar. I watched the three of them enter Terry’s office and continue their conversation.