Bad Blood

by Lily Hayden

  The room was flooded with daylight when she finally woke, and she lay still for a moment feeling only a slight ache in the centre of her chest as she remembered everything. With no job to wake up for, she stayed in bed until the pressure of her bladder could be ignored no longer. Methodically, Rose fetched her bag from the car, made a cup of tea and carried it back up to the bathroom to shower, but it wasn’t until the lukewarm water hit her that she felt the full force of the emotions return more powerful than ever. Hot, salty tears mingled in with the water as she finally gave into aching sadness.

  It was all such a mess, she thought bitterly as she tried to work through all her thoughts one at a time. But there were too many threads to her despondency, and she couldn’t manage to see one to the end before the next upset came to her and it was all too big and powerful for her to even know where to start. Unable to cope with the thoughts alone, she dug out a bottle from beneath the sink to add a slug of gin to her now tepid mug of tea. She gulped it down, ignoring the nasty taste, and then immediately disgusted with herself she scrubbed the cup in the sink, drying it and putting it away like that would undo her actions. She opened her overnight bag throwing her clothes hurriedly into the washing machine, even the dry-clean-only dress that had gone unworn. She switched the machine on, realising as the cycle kicked in that the tags were still in the dress and that she could have got her money back, and with the realisation that she had just thrown seventy-pounds that she could ill afford down the drain, she pulled the bottle back out from where she had hidden it. This time though she poured it into a glass.

  “I’ve just lost my father,” she said aloud as if the house was judging her.

  Rose rummaged through the cupboards for a mixer, but the shelves were despondently bare, so she slugged it back neat. The biting taste and the instantaneous heat that flooded through her centre eclipsed any shame, and she felt the cloak of fatigue on her shoulders lighten a little. She retrieved her phone from the depth of her bag holding down the power button until it sprang back to life. She glanced at the screen as it buzzed with a steady influx of messages and notifications, and as tempted as she was to turn it back off and pour another drink, she knew that she’d have to reply eventually. Rose boiled the kettle again, making a more respectable breakfast drink sans alcohol this time. It crossed her mind to pour away the rest of the gin, but she decided that that would be dramatic and unnecessary.

  I don’t have a problem, she smiled wryly at her own thoughts.

  She turned her attention back to the messages, working through them methodically. Lena had sent a friendly text enquiring about the weekend, and Rose bit her lip wondering how to reply without coming across like a complete fun sponge, as her sons would say.

  Wedding cancelled. Dad died. Police think my brother or sister might have done it. Shagged Gareth though. Smiley face.

  She chuckled to herself at the absurdity at the same time that her eyes clouded with tears. Her laughter caught in her throat and she collapsed into noisy sobs at the kitchen table, until she was red-faced and breathless feeling utterly wretched. When she was spent, she turned back to the phone determined to respond to the lovely, kind Lena who had been a consistent comfort to her over the past few months. She didn’t deserve to be left in the lurch, but Rose didn’t want to drag her down into the ugly, pathetic mess of her life. She typed and then back-spaced several times before she settled on a safe “Will call you in the week. Let me know when you’re free”. She moved on to the messages that she had received from Will and Belle, sending them both generic placeholder responses much like the one she had sent Lena.

  How ironic that she had spent the last few years desperate to forge some meaningful relationships, and now she was too completely wiped out to connect with anyone. She wondered at what curse had been cast over her for her life to be such a shamble. Everything she had wanted had seemed within reach, but it had all come at either a horrible price or been snatched away. She could hardly bear to look at the messages from Gareth. After years of a loveless marriage with Phil where sex was transactional and any self-esteem she had started with had been torn to shreds, she had never dreamed that she could be on the receiving end of a good man’s attentions. Rose had never dared to hope that she could meet someone so lovely, and handsome, and respectful.

  “Hope you had a safe journey home. Let me know when you’re home safe x.”

  She tried to ignore the fuzzy warm tingle that shot through her misery, reminding herself that it was not just foolish, but pathetic to even think that she could allow herself to fall in love with this man.

  It was probably just sex to him. Just a rebound. she reminded herself even though it hadn’t felt like that was all he wanted. He was bound to lose interest now that her family tragedy had been broadcast around the village and surrounding areas. And in his job, it would be doubly embarrassing for him. No matter how easy she was, no man of Gareth’s standing was going to risk public humiliation by standing by a jobless, fat forty-year-old’s side while her family’s collective reputations were dragged through the mud. Rose still had no idea what would happen with the will; whether it had been changed already, whether anything was due to them, or whether the uncertainty around Frank’s death would end in lengthy court battles. She knew that she couldn’t afford the distraction of emotions clouding her judgement. Even in the teeny, tiny probability that she would inherit enough to eliminate her money worries, it would be a long way off and she had a stack of crushing debts, no job and the boys to consider. It had been hard enough to juggle before she had had grief to add to the mountain.

  What could I even offer him? She grimaced as she deleted the message without responding.

  His name disappeared from the screen, and immediately she was struck by regret.

  I can’t just ignore him like that, she thought as panic ballooned in her chest. He’s still a police officer. He might think it’s a sign of guilt, or I’m hiding something…

  She stared at her phone, feeling less like a grown woman and more like a clueless teenager. For a moment, she wished she was sat in the oppressive office of XZ Finance; Lena would have known what to do for the best.

  Maybe I’ll just be friendly, but not too keen. She tapped her finger against the table. Then if everything works out ok, I haven’t cut off my nose to spite my face.

  She tried to force her mind to imagine the best-case scenario; one where the will paid out, she had no money worries, a relationship with her siblings, and Gareth fell madly in love with her. It wouldn’t change anything, or bring her dad back though, she thought as she slumped against the chair.

  Still, it was the sensible thing to do to keep her options open. If only to afford her little bursts of escapism in her head. She typed and retyped until she felt the message sounded natural, and not borderline unhinged like she actually felt.

  “Sorry, my battery died and I was so tired last night I fell asleep without checking my messages. Thank you for being so kind.”

  She was placed her phone down, unsure whether to turn it off when it began to ring facedown on the table besides her making her startle. Rose turned it over, already tormented whether to answer or let it go to voicemail when she saw her brother’s name flashing up on the screen, and she was so relieved that it wasn’t Gareth that she answered it without considering whether she wanted to speak to him right now.

  “Hi Tim.”

  “Hi,” Tim sounded more uptight than usual. “Belle has just been on the phone to me. What’s this about CCTV?”

  Rose’s heart sank. She had pushed the conversation with Belle immediately out of her mind, more concerned with packing up and getting out of Hampton Dale.

  “Oh, she did mention that she thought that there might be some security cameras,” she replied. “But I don’t remember there being any. I think it was one of those cheap fake jobs to be honest, or the police would have noticed. There’s no way Linda wouldn’t have brought it up…”

  “There was a camera,” he cut her o
ff. “I took it down. The day before the wedding.”

  “Why would you do that?” Rose felt her blood run cold at the implication.

  “Linda asked me to,” Tim sniffed haughtily. “Why else would I? We had the ladders out for the gazebo, and she asked me to take it down while I was there. It was hanging by a thread, and she said it didn’t work anyway.”

  “Oh!” Rose heartrate slowed a little. “Well, that’s fair enough.”

  “Don’t you think that looks bad though?” He pressed her with an urgency that alarmed her. “What if it did work, and now she’s got some footage of me taking it down?”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Has anyone mentioned it to the police yet?” Tim asked, ignoring her question.

  His tone made her stomach knot a little, but she tried to sound calm when she answered. “Ummm, I’m not sure. Belle mentioned it to me, but I completely forgot about it.”

  “Well, Linda would have known there were none,” Tim sounded mildly placated. He cleared his throat noisily and when he spoke again, he seemed back to normal. “Well, if you hear anything let me know.”

  “Ok,” she was about to ask him when they could expect an update on the cause of death, but he had hung up without even saying goodbye and she was left speaking to herself.

  Tim

  Panic tightened around his chest leaving him breathless and feeling utterly out of control as he struggled to calm the chaos of this thoughts. He should have felt relieved after speaking to Rose, but the missing security camera was just another complication to add to the long list of worries.

  Why is this happening to me?

  Never in his life had he felt so powerless and for a moment, he embraced the physical pain, wondering numbly if a heart attack would be a pleasant alternative to facing up to the fallout. No matter how he tried to spin the situation, he just couldn’t picture an outcome where he came out on top. Defeated, he sank down onto a park bench, head in his hands. They had checked out of the hotel as soon as the children woke up, and he had promised himself that he would speak to Eleanor once they were home but he just couldn’t seem to find the words. He had left the house on the pretence of going for a run, unable to bear the tension in the air. His phone felt heavy in his pocket, and he took it out wincing at the string of messages from Emma.

  His mind flickered to the meeting scheduled for the end of the week, and he felt the second wave of panic lock its steel jaws around his chest. The outcome was pre-determined, and he knew that there was no way he could back out without rousing suspicions, but he needed to do something.

  Think! He implored himself desperately, but his head was too jumbled. He just couldn’t summon the strength to untangle one problem at a time.

  His phone buzzed as another phone call from Emma flashed up on screen. Tim knew that he couldn’t afford to anger her, but even in his desperation there was still a part of him too arrogant to allow her to force his hand. He sent the call to his voicemail, and within seconds a short, angry text message came through.

  She’s a liability, the rational, risk-adverse side of his brain reminded him.

  He knew that she had to be dealt with as a priority. She was the one at the centre of each strand of the chaos; if he could just get her under control then everything else would follow. He straightened up on the park bench to read the chain of increasingly furious messages, trying to ignore the flare of anger he felt at her thinly veiled threats. Her phone call to him the evening before his father’s death had been the catalyst for the mess he was in, but he knew that he had only himself to blame.

  Belle bringing up the security camera had added to his worries. Without that being thrown into the confusion, he knew that one phone call to Emma would have cemented his alibi. Even knowing how volatile Emma could be, he knew she would have handled the conversation. There was no chance that he could cut ties with her completely when he needed her to remain on side until this was all over. The only way to keep Emma sweet would mean losing Eleanor for good, and the thought tore at his heart in a way that his father’s death could never. There was no outcome that didn’t result in him losing something that mattered to him. For the first time, he envied his siblings for their uncomplicated lives as well as the bonds they’d forged over the last few months. It had crossed his mind to speak to them, to share the burden of the whole mess that he was in, and not just the part that Belle knew about. But to do that he’d have to trust them.

  It’s bad enough that Emma has got all this control, he thought as he reluctantly dialled her number to face up to the inevitable outburst. The last thing I need is to pour my heart out to them and end up getting myself in a bigger mess.

  Belle

  “I don’t know how you can get any sleep in here,” Stephanie said as she watched Belle carefully folding away the blankets from her makeshift bed on the sofa.

  Belle stretched her aching back as she smiled at her friend. “Honestly, it’s fine,” she lied. She had barely managed more than an hour at a time the past few nights, but she was grateful for a place to stay until she tied up all her loose ends. And anyway, she thought as she gratefully accepted the proffered cup of tea, I don’t think I’d be able to sleep in a king-size bed in a five-star hotel with everything on my mind right now.

  “I’m so glad that you’re staying,” her friend said. “I didn’t know whether you’d change your mind with everything that happened.”

  “Me too, to be honest. But even with my dad…” Belle trailed off, her voice catching with emotion. She cleared her throat before she trusted her voice to continue. “Even with everything, it still feels like the right thing to do.”

  She held back from saying that she felt strangely closer to her family when she was there, knowing that it made no sense. Her family were further away than ever, and her father’s sudden death had opened a whole new can of emotions for her to contend with.

  “We love you, Belle,” Stephanie leaned down to hug her and Belle let herself melt into her friend for a moment before pulling away cautious of not allowing herself to get tearful when there was still so much to do.

  The school at Hampton Dale had a place for Toby, so she had arranged to stay with Steph until her new house was ready. She had no reason to go back to London, so Will had collected her belongings from Eleanor’s garage. It was left unspoken that he’d have to return for the funeral, but after that she had no idea when or even if she’d see her siblings again. She pushed the thoughts away, unwilling to add another layer to her sadness, but she couldn’t quite shake the heavy feeling in her heart even as she strolled along the high street later that day with Toby and Steph’s daughter Harley skipping along beside her.

  It wasn’t the first time that things had felt like they were finally going right for her just to come crashing back down, she reminded herself determined to find a positive in the mess. She smiled at the sound of Toby’s excitable chatter as she glanced back to check that the children were in sight. Back in London, she’d have been clutching his hand terrified of the never-ending traffic or the dubious characters lurking on corners. Here, they were always within a stone’s throw of green spaces, and everyone knew everyone.

  “Annabelle!” As if on cue, Brenda Howells stepped out from the hair salon almost ploughing Belle to the ground with her ample bosom. “Oh, sweetheart!”

  She hadn’t set eyes on the neighbouring farmers for sixteen years, but in Hampton Dale time meant nothing, and she felt herself swept into the woman’s arms.

  “I’m so sorry about your dad,” Brenda clucked when she finally released her, taking a step back to regard Belle sympathetically. “But look at you! All grown up. Oh, your mother would have been ever so proud of you.”

  It was such a cliché, and under any other circumstances Belle would have had to force herself not to roll her eyes, but she had fond memories of Brenda turning up at the house with heavy, warm pots laden with casseroles when her mother was poorly and she was aghast to feel her eyelids prickle with s
piky tears.

  “Do they know what happened?” Brenda continued not waiting for a response. “Terrible, terrible tragedy.”

  “We’re waiting for the coroner’s report,” she replied politely.

  Brenda made another clucking noise of sympathy. “Awfully sad. Are you staying at the house with Linda? If I’d known I would have stopped by.”

  “No, I’m staying with Alun and Bev’s daughter Steph,” Belle tried not to flinch at the thought of being back in the house where Frank had died. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that Linda would be there, but of course she would. After all, it had been her home for the past six months.

  “How’s Linda?” Brenda lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I was just saying to the girls,” she nodded her head back towards the salon. “That I wondered what would happen now with the place.”

  “We’re not sure,” Belle glanced over her shoulder partly out of habit to check on the children who had their faces pressed up against a shop window and partly to break Branda’s steely gaze. “I, uh, need to speak to Dad’s solicitor at some point, but it’s all very fresh still.”

  “Of course,” Brenda nodded her head solemnly.

  Belle was preparing to seize the opportunity of the brief lull in the conversation to make her escape when Brenda’s eyes flickered to a spot behind her, and she saw the woman’s whole body stiffen. She glanced behind her curious as to what could have unnerved the unflappable farmer when her eyes settled on the bottle blonde stalking towards them and her blood turned to ice.

  “Linda,” Belle felt her pulse quicken at the grim expression on her almost-stepmother’s face. Frank’s familiar saloon car was idling at the curb, and Linda was crossing the pavement towards Belle with purposeful strides. It was clear from the narrowed eyes and puckered mouth that she hadn’t pulled over to exchange pleasantries.