by Graham West
“So you see the problem we have,” Rob finished. “Jenny’s brother killed my wife and five-year-old girl, and now he says he’s sorry.”
Kayla’s eyes shifted from her father to Jenny. “I don’t know what to say,” she said in barely more than a whisper. “It’s just so sad.”
Jake poured himself another glass. “So what do you think? Does he deserve to walk back into the family he virtually destroyed?”
Josie’s eyes flashed. “Jake! That’s hardly fair.” She turned to Kayla, who looked shell-shocked. “Take no notice, sweetheart.”
Jenny pushed her glass away. “I’m done with that, otherwise I’ll end up saying something I’ll regret.”
That was enough. Kayla burst into tears. “It’s all my fault,” she sobbed. “Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? Why?”
Josie placed a comforting arm around her shoulder as Jenny stood suddenly.
“I’m going to go upstairs,” she muttered. “I’ll sort some more clothes out for Kayla.” She turned at the door. “And tomorrow, I’ll be travelling back to London with her. I need a break from you lot!”
***
After a quick glance over Kayla’s car, Jenny decided it might be better if they took the trip in her the Mini Clubman. She wasn’t quite sure if the old Ford would make it that far south.
“I think it only just managed to scrape through its last MOT,” Kayla said, looking relieved as she climbed into the passenger seat.
Jenny fired up the engine and keyed in the address on the sat nav.
The journey was going to be long—miles of motorway broken by several coffee stops and, unless they were lucky, a few hours stuck in traffic jams, too. She pressed the play button on her car sound system and moved off as the first chords of an Ed Sheeran song cut through the silence.
Jenny wondered if this had been such a good idea. She could still see those scars, the tattoo. She could still feel everything. They made small talk, mostly about music. But it was only five minutes in, just as they hit town, when Kayla leaned across and lowered the music.
“Can we talk?” she asked, sounding apologetic at having taken control of the volume. “It’s just that this is…distracting.”
Jenny nodded. It sounded serious. Ed Sheeran was only there to keep them company, in case the conversation dried up. “Sure. About anything in particular?”
Kayla nodded. “Family stuff.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t want this to get messy. I’m worried that you might end up resenting me.” Kayla paused, trying to find the words. “You have a bond with your father. It will always be there, and I can’t compete with that.”
Jenny stared out at the road ahead, listening in silence.
“I don’t even know him. Not really. It’s gonna take a long, long time, and he’ll probably never feel the same way about me. Not the way he feels about you, anyway.”
Jenny wished she could feel sorry for Kayla, but it was good to hear those words, even though the feelings of relief tumbled in on a wave of guilt.
“It’s going to be hard for me, too. I just want us to be able to talk—starting now.”
“Me too,” Jenny replied.
“And I’m sorry about yesterday, as well,” Kayla continued.
“Yesterday?”
“Yeah, I kinda caused a bit of a ruckus, didn’t I?”
Jenny laughed. “It’s not your fault. Jake and Dad just can’t come to terms with the whole Darren thing.”
“It must hurt.”
“It does.”
Kayla closed her eyes. “I can’t imagine how it must have felt—finding out that he was your brother. After what he did.”
Jenny’s defences rose. “It was an accident, and he’s sorry.”
Kayla smiled and nodded. “I know. We all make mistakes.”
Now Jenny wanted to hug her. “Exactly. Why can’t Dad see that? Why can’t Jake?”
Kayla looked thoughtful. “Maybe two voices are better than one.”
“What?”
“Well, to be honest, I’d quite like a brother. Maybe I could just let that slip, sometime.”
The music was still low, and a silence fell between them. Kayla obviously had something else on her mind, and as they pulled off the motorway, she looked across at Jenny. “All those men and women…” she began. “I hated it! Even the better looking ones—I hated all them all. Except for one.”
Jenny spun round. “You actually liked a client?”
Kayla looked pensive. “Her name was Brenda. She was an accountant. Quite posh. But she seemed to care. Sure, she wanted sex, but she was gentle and kind and…”
Jenny waited, suddenly wishing she’d stayed at home.
“I was always relieved when she walked through the door. We would talk for a while. She’d tell me about her day—about her husband. That’s why she came to me. She wanted to stay married, but she had needs.”
“And you enjoyed having sex with her?”
“I can’t explain it. I just felt comfortable with her.”
“How comfortable?”
Kayla blushed. “I felt something—you know—sexually.”
Jenny kept her eyes fixed on the road, relieved that she hadn’t had to make eye contact. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Because I saw it in your eyes last night. I saw the way you looked at me.”
Beads of perspiration formed on Jenny’s neck. “I felt sorry for you,” Jenny lied. “I care, that’s all.”
“It wasn’t pity,” Kayla said fondly. “But it doesn’t matter. You love Jake, and you make an awesome couple. But sometimes we feel things we can’t explain and we get mega stressed. But it’s cool, honestly. Nothing needs to change.”
Jenny pulled up at the traffic lights and leaned over, turning up the music. She thought about Jake. They had promised to be truthful. They had promised to tell each other everything. But some things, she would take with her to the grave.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Jenny’s heart sank as she stood in the paved square looking up at the rows of apartments rising above her. The concrete walls, decaying window frames and balconies that served as nothing more than a place to drape the weekly wash. She tried to sound upbeat. “You live here? This is, well…nice.”
Kayla gave her a weary grin. “Don’t lie. It’s a shit hole. This is where I ended up because of mum. You should have seen the place we had in Ireland. It was only small but the views were awesome.”
“What are the neighbour’s like?” Jenny asked, watching a woman on the third balcony hanging out a faded old towel.
“You keep yourself to yourself here. Best not get involved with any of them. My aunt has lived here for ten years and she’s still alive so I think that’s the best you can hope for.”
The two women passed a couple of kids, no more than six years old, who were sitting on the stone steps leading up to the second balcony with iPhone’s in their hands. Jenny smiled, looking back at Kayla. “Is your aunt expecting you?” she asked,
“Yeah—I messaged her this morning.”
“Have you got a suitcase?”
Kayla didn’t look up. She had pretty much kept her head down since stepping on to the square. “Suitcase? Are you serious. I’d only need a couple of Asda bags for my stuff!”
Jenny thought that maybe Kayla was holding out for another slice of her wardrobe so she didn’t reply. They passed an open window and the smell of stale cooking fat drifted under their noses.
“They’ve cleaned this place up a bit these past couple of months.” Kayla added, grimacing. “You couldn’t go two yards without stepping in dog shit. The druggies used to shoot up and just throw the needles anywhere and the kids used to pick them up. Then we got this new MP. Dead keen, she was. They rounded up all the stray animals and they come sweep the place up every week.”
Jenny gazed out across the square. A square that still looked as if it was about to be demolished. “So why doesn’t your aunt move?�
�� she asked.
“Oh she’s tried but it’s not easy getting out of this place, I’ll tell you. The families with kids go to the top of the housing list.” Kayla finally looked up, stopping suddenly outside a yellowing UPVC door with a tiny square window. “This is it—this is my home.” She rapped twice on the door, paused and knocked once. “It’s a kind of code we have,” she said gloomily. “Sad really, but you never know who’s calling these days.”
“Like who?” Jenny asked.
Kayla shrugged. “Sometimes the gangs come knocking for protection money, and if you don’t give them something they’ll just screw your house over themselves.”
“Shit! How can you live like that?”
Jenny heard the dead lock being removed. Then someone called from inside; “That you, Kay?”
“Sure is!”
The door opened revealing a woman in her fifties, above average weight and with greying hair tied back off her face. Tiny veins gave her a ruddy complexion, and if her eyes were anything to go by, she was no stranger to the bottle. Melissa’s sister, Jenny thought. The beauty who had caught her father’s eye and set off a chain of events that had led her here.
“Hiya, my lovely, you must be—”
“Jenny.”
“Ah, yes, Jenny. Sorry, Kay did tell me but I’m a bugger for names.”
Kayla grinned. “You ain’t kiddin’ there, Aunt Jean,” she said with an affection in her tone that suggested that as far as this woman was concerned, you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.
The flat was small and untidy, but it wasn’t dirty. That may have been down to Kayla, Jenny thought. “Would you like a cuppa?” Jean asked, pulling up her denims which were a shade too tight. “I need to lose a few pounds,” she said. “I’m too fond of the takeaways.”
“Plus, you’re a shit cook!” Kayla added, laughing.
Jenny refused the tea. “We stopped three times on the way,” she lied. “I’m pretty much okay for liquid.”
There was a half-bottle of whisky on the ring-stained wooden coffee table. So I was right—this lady really does like a drink.
Kayla noticed the bottle too and stepped forward into Jenny’s line of sight, but realised it was too late and smiled with a shrug of her shoulders.
“I’ve packed your stuff, sweetie,” Aunt Jean said, picking up two supermarket bags from the side of an old cream sofa which was coming to the end of its life.
“You see?” Kayla said, turning to Jenny. “I wasn’t kidding.”
Jenny looked at the two bags. Bags for life. Bags that were ready to expire. Was that really it?
“Are you sure you girls don’t want to stop for a bit longer?”
They both shook their heads.
“Well, looks like this is goodbye, then?”
Kayla nodded and gave her aunt a one-armed hug. “Thanks for everything. You’ve been amazing!”
Aunt Jean pulled away; a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m so pleased things have worked out, sweetie. You deserve it.”
The girls walked back down the stone steps and onto the square, each with a bag of clothes. They looked back up to where Jean was standing, waving. Kayla blew her a kiss. “I’ll come and visit!” she shouted.
Jenny smiled. They both knew she would never see this place again.
***
Over the following two weeks, Jenny and her father helped Kayla turn the bedroom into her own. They walked with her through the DIY stores, buying paint, choosing mirrors and the new carpet she really didn’t need. Now he had a daughter he could spend money on, Gordon Huxley wasn’t going to muscle in on this girl. But Jenny found herself watching them together. She’d catch them laughing over something and her heart would ache.
Kayla of course, was going to be the chief bridesmaid at the forthcoming wedding, which was going to be, according to Jake’s father, the event of the century.
They had found plenty to talk about too. Kayla had wanted to know all about the dreams, and Jenny had plenty of questions about her life in Ireland. Things had been good. Kayla had accompanied her mother to the studios where she had become the chief hairdresser to the celebrities. The pair had a good circle of friends too, until Kaplan came along.
Jenny found herself spending more and more time at her father’s house, and Jake started to get edgy about the whole thing.
“It’s like you’ve got to be there all the time,” he said angrily.
Jenny had flown into a rage. “How do you think it feels?” she yelled. “Them! Together! My father—my father and his daughter? They’re a family. A proper family! And I’m stuck here with you!”
Jake looked as if he’s just been punched in the gut. “Is that how you feel? You’d rather be there—with your father?”
Jenny sank back into the chair. “I’m sorry. I just feel torn.”
“Look, babe,” Jake said peaceably. “You always knew this was going to be difficult, and I get that. But don’t throw this away. Don’t throw us away.”
Jenny began to cry just as her phone rang. It was her father. His timing had never been that good. She picked up, clearing her throat. The last thing he needed right now was this. “Hi, Dad.” Yeah, she thought. The word Dad. It came so naturally.
But Rob Adams had some news. There was a letter addressed to Miss Kayla Ingram. “It’s handwritten,” he said. “And I think it’s from Caden Reece.”
***
Jenny opened the letter and studied it for several seconds before handing it to Kayla. “Dad’s right. It’s from him.”
Rob looked at Josie, who pressed a finger to her lips. Let her alone.
It was written on lined notebook paper. The writing was large and untidy but easily readable even from a distance. Kayla sat down and placed the letter on the coffee table in front of her. “You can all read it with me if you want,” she said. “There’s nothing he has to say that I’ll want to hide.”
Rob could see her hands shaking as they gathered around. This was the man who had murdered an innocent girl and was intent on taking another two lives.
Dearest Kayla,
I hope you will read this to the end because this will give you some kind of closure. God, I hate that word, but you probably wonder why I did what I did. The thing is, I am possessed by demons. Yes, you’re probably laughing right now. You’re probably thinking I’m after a cushy ride in a hospital wing while some shrink in a white coat tries to get inside my head.
They said I needed a lawyer, but I just asked them for a priest. They sent me one too! Fat lot of good he was. He nearly shit himself when I told him about the demons. He said I needed psychiatric help and just read me a passage from the Bible and said some weird prayer in Latin.
I told him how it all started when I was a boy. I was bullied at school like lots of kids but it was really bad. My parents never knew anything about it. I was timid but stubborn. I wasn’t going to look like a wimp, hiding behind my mother, so I put up with the names and the beatings, but it was two of the older lads. They used to drag me onto some wasteland at the back of the school and they’d rape me behind the bushes.
I had nightmares, and even though I was thirteen, I’d wet the bed at least twice a week. But there was this really weird lad called Lucas. He never really mixed with anyone, and we started hanging out together. At first, he never said too much. He wasn’t interested in music or sport and I don’t think he watched TV either. I told him about the bullying. He would listen and not say anything, even when I told him about the rape. He would just look down at the floor. Then one day, during the school break, Lucas invited me round for tea. It was strange because I don’t think anyone had ever been invited to his house before.
It was one of those big old places with far too many rooms and a bit cold too. Lucas’s parents didn’t even asked who I was. We had beans on toast with an ice cream and juice. I figured most of their money went on keeping the house.
It was only after we’d been hanging round for a few months Lucas asked if I would l
ike the bullying to stop. I said that yeah, of course I would. He told me there were forces that could help. I thought he meant the police. Maybe he knew someone. Lucas just laughed and told me to follow him. He took me down some concrete steps into the basement. God, it stank! It was really musty, and there was another smell. A really bad one.
Lucas lit a candle and I found myself in this room with dark cloaks hanging from black painted brick walls. There was a table in the centre, stained with red. Lucas told me this was where they summoned the powers. I asked him how, and that was when he told me they worshipped Lucifer.
I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t run, but when you’ve had two boys bend you over with your pants around your ankles, Lucifer doesn’t sound like such a bad dude. The Tullochs had practised their own brand of Satan worship for generations—the old house had always been in the family. When Lucas realised I was interested, he told his parents. They held the ceremony at the weekend. Just Lucas, me and two other women along with Mr. and Mrs. Tulloch. They all wore black robes. I was stripped naked while they did these strange chants. Then they produced a cat. They told me it belonged to one of the lads who raped me.
I didn’t give jack shit about the cat. It was almost as if all my hatred for its owner was concentrated on that animal. They called upon Lucifer to give me his strength and avenge my oppressors—then they slit the cat’s throat and drained the blood into a silver cup, and I had to drink it. The next day, they delivered the dead cat back to its owner’s doorstep.
That priest asked me how it made me feel, but I told him that in the following days I just felt numb. It was almost as though I had been drained of every emotion. Like I was dead inside. I never went back to the house, although I still hung out with Lucas, and he was watching me, waiting for those lads to drag me away. When they did, there were three blokes in hoods waiting for them. I watched as they stripped those lads and poured acid over their dicks. I can still hear the screams and I remember laughing like crazy. I don’t know what happened to them. Never heard anything on the news and never saw the cops hanging round asking questions.
I should have been horrified at the sight, but it made me feel good. There was this thing inside me, boiling up like a rising evil. I don’t think I remember being able to love anyone until I met you, Kayla. I couldn’t empathise with others, no matter what they were going through. I only cared about myself. The priest told me that was a sign of psychopathy. The thing is, no one believes in demons these days. They always have some fancy explanation, but I know better.