by J. A. Baker
She drums her fingers against the side of the chair, her body rigid with suppressed rage. It’s no surprise that Alec keeps a low profile on social media with the flurry of activity surrounding Sheryl’s disappearance. He may well be an immoral and thoughtless husband but he isn’t an idiot. Audrey doesn’t want to do anything too rash however - go around making accusations without all the proper evidence to back it up otherwise Peggy will make absolutely certain they never see each other again. When Audrey does finally confront him, she will also go to the police. She isn’t so stupid as to think she can solve this thing on her own. She was once a professional herself and understands the importance of informing the appropriate bodies, making sure all the different strands of evidence are brought together properly, not some half-hearted attempt she has cobbled together herself. But the time has to be right and at the moment she doesn’t have enough to go on. She needs more proof, more than supposition and her gut instinct. Until then she will continue watching and waiting, watching and waiting. Waiting for him to make a mistake. Which he will. If he thinks he can hide away in that cottage of his and get away with this heinous act then he can think again. Because she is onto him. She understands his psyche, his movements, has even got his motive sorted. All she needs to do now is work out the final part of the puzzle. Find out where he has concealed the body.
19
Maude
He’s here again, that young man. Always hanging about he is, getting under her feet. She has no idea what he wants. She’s tried asking him but he just laughs and shakes his head then asks her if she wants more tea. More tea indeed. All they seem to do is drink blooming tea. She wonders where they’re getting it from with all the rationing and shortages going on at the moment. Stealing it, probably. He looks the type; suspicious looking and shifty. Always has a funny look in his eye, as if he’s planning something underhand. She’s knows all about people like him. She’s met his type before, wheeling and dealing, getting hold of stuff from the black market. Well she doesn’t want any part of it and has told him so. She told that Brenda as much yesterday as well but all she did was make a funny face and do a thing with her eyes that made Maude really cross. They all think she’s daft - a batty old lady who doesn’t know anything about anything. But they’re wrong. Because she does know about something that nobody else knows about and she’s tried telling Brenda and this lad but neither of them will listen. They pull more of those strange faces and sit her down on the sofa with yet more tea and a plate of biscuits asking her if she would like to watch an old film or listen to the radio when all she really wants to do is draw a picture.
‘Here Maude, is this what you’ve been looking for?’
The boy is standing in front of her holding something out.
She narrows her eyes and stares at the object, ‘What is it?’
He does that annoying laughing thing again and wiggles the object about as if she is a small child or some sort of simpleton. ‘It’s Bobbin. You remember Bobbin, don’t you?’
Maude reaches out and grabs it from him - fancy shaking poor Bobbin about like that as if he’s some sort of ragdoll. She still doesn’t know why he is even here, this young lad. And where’s Brenda? Always off somewhere doing something or other. Busy, busy, busy. Always busy doing nothing.
‘You’ll break his brain shaking him about like that!’ she yells, her temper starting to get the better of her. Sometimes it feels as if there is an angry animal inside her trying to get out. When she feels like that it makes her head hurt and she wishes could stop it but she just can’t. The angry animal always seems to win.
‘Sorry Maude,’ he says and sits down next to her putting his hand on top of hers.
She holds her breath in, not sure what he is going to say or do next. Bobbin feels lovely and soft on her lap. She runs her hand over his fur, up and down his back. Up and down, up and down, over and over until she feels the angry animal start to calm down. Her chest is tight and she feels out of breath - as if she’s been running round and round in circles. She is dizzy and tired but a picture has come up in her head and if she doesn’t talk about it, it will vanish along with all the other things that slip through her brain like water disappearing down a plughole. It’s a wonder she can remember who she is most days.
‘Can I have the writing thing?’ she whispers, trying to keep the angry animal hidden from view, ‘and the white stuff to put it on?’
He is annoyed. He tries to cover it up but she can see it in his face. She asks again, ‘Please? I would like to have them. I need them.’
‘But Maude,’ he says in a soothing voice as he drapes his arm around her shoulder and stares down at her face, ‘you’ve done nothing but draw all week.’
‘Have I?’ Maude looks up, perplexed, a crinkle appearing across the bridge of her nose. She watches, confusion a tight band around her head as the man stands up and shuffles off into the dining room. He comes back a minute later carrying a big pile of those things she can never remember the name of - the white things. Lots of them. They are bunched up between his large fingers as he sits back down next to her. Maude flinches. She can feel the heat coming through the fabric of his trousers and doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like boys really. Not since that Alfred Byrnes tried to shove his hand up her skirt in the playground. He was a horrible one, that lad. Used to parade around the school yard bothering all the girls. He once pulled Mary Waites’ knickers down when she was doing a handstand. He got the cane for that one but it didn’t stop him. He still carried on bothering all the girls, doing horrible things to them and making them cry. Including Maude.
‘Can you remember now, Maude?’ the young man sitting beside her says, laying all the white things out over the sofa. They cover the entire surface, balancing on cushions, some of them dropping off and floating down to the floor like huge square snowflakes fluttering in the breeze.
Maude squints and tries to focus on the drawings. Scratchy lines and scribbling. A house, people lying on the ground, more lines, arms reaching out. And something red. Lots of red.
‘What is that?’ she asks, pointing to one of the pictures. Something has clicked in her mind and she stops, trying to recall what it is. She sits silently and then smiles and nods, delighted that her brain has decided to work for once and has allowed her to recall what it is that she is staring at on the white stuff, ‘That’s them!’ she half shrieks, staring up at him, ‘they were fighting! Pushing and shouting. I saw them. I saw them!’
Maude puts Bobbin to one side, jumps up and hurries over to the living room window, a large bay overlooking the privet that surrounds the house. She points towards the far end of the window, her tiny hand now shaking with excitement, ‘Over there! They were fighting!’
He is standing behind her now, his breath close to her ear. She moves away slightly and turns to look at him, unsure what he is going to say or do.
‘Over where, Auntie Maude? All I can see is the hedge. And who was fighting?’
‘There!’ she yells, starting to feel frustrated. Is he one of those stupid boys who sits at the back of class eating chalk? Why can’t he see it?
He leans closer to get Maude’s vantage point, almost squatting on the floor. There is a break in the privet, a small gap at the bottom and beyond that is a view of the old coastguard’s cottage.
‘The house, Maude? Is that what you mean?’
She claps her hands and starts to jump up and down on the spot, ‘Yes! That’s it. I was starting to think you were blind as well as stupid!’
‘What happened, Maude? What exactly did you see?’
She sighs and tried to do the eye roll thing that Brenda does with her all the time but ends up feeling a bit dizzy and sick so stops and puts her hands on her hips, ‘I told you already. They were fighting and pushing each other.’
‘Who? The people who live there?’
Maude nods, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. Finally, they understand her and she is being listened to. Not before time. Sometimes this boy an
d Brenda are so dim.
‘A big fight. And shouting. I opened the window and could hear them being angry.’
‘You opened the window?’
Maude stops and watches his face. He looks like the angry one now. And worried. He reaches up over her head and pulls at the handle, tugging at it with his big, long fingers. She watches as he takes a small, silver key out of it and slips it into his pocket, tapping at it as if to make sure it hasn’t jumped right back out again.
‘Please don’t open the windows, Maude. You know Brenda doesn’t like you doing that.’
‘Oh, pooh to that Brenda.’ She puffs out her cheeks and considers sticking her tongue out at him but stops herself, ‘Anyway, they had a big fight and she fell on the floor.’
There is a silence as they both stare out at the cottage in the distance.
‘Come on,’ he says, mildly embarrassed by the whole sorry scenario. Getting involved in other people’s domestics isn’t his thing. ‘Let’s see what’s on the television, shall we? How about the news? You like the news, don’t you, Maude?’
Taking her tiny hand in his, they walk back to the sofa where he gathers up the rest of the papers. Maude slumps down in the seat and places Bobbin on her lap, rubbing her fingers deep into his ragged, patchy fur.
‘What if she died?’ she murmurs softly, her eyes downcast.
Andrew is searching for the remote and stops suddenly, ‘What?’
‘The lady over there. What if she died?’
‘She definitely didn’t die, Maude,’ he says resignedly, silently wishing she would stop this carry on and shut up or have a nap or just watch the TV. He’s fed up now and wishes Brenda would hurry up back. He needs a break. All of a sudden, the money she gives him doesn’t seem so appealing. This whole babysitting thing is bloody hard work.
‘How do you know that, Mister Smarty Pants?’ She is waving the toy at him and has her head tilted to one side in a childish fashion.
‘Because we saw her the other week, didn’t we?’ After you escaped and almost wrote their bloody car off, he wants to add but remains silent. He’s tired now. Completely worn out by it all. Where is Brenda? He’s ready to go home.
‘Yes, well, we’ll see,’ she adds and turns away from him in annoyance.
Maude sits surrounded by the white stuff, her brain trying to piece it all together. She saw it. She definitely saw it and him saying she didn’t won’t make the bad pictures in her head go away. It happened. What she needs to do is go over there and see if the lady isn’t dead after all. She smiles, suddenly buoyed up by this thought. Yes, that’s exactly what she will do. She will take these white things to show the person in that house what happened. As soon as she is on her own, she will find a key to get out of here and she will go over there and show them her drawings and then everything will be all right. She can just feel it. She did it once before so she can do it again.
Maude watches as the young man fiddles with the remote, saying bad things under his breath - rude words - as the picture on the screen flickers on and off. He turns away from her, still muttering under his breath, his eyes angry. She recognises when people are getting mad and doesn’t particularly like it. It scares her when they do that because she doesn’t know if she is the one that has caused it. Sometimes it’s her fault and sometimes it isn’t and she doesn’t always know the difference. She slowly takes a handful of the drawings and shoves them under the cushions on the sofa while he is busy. She will put them somewhere better later when he isn’t looking. He may even go to the place where that Brenda woman goes to. She doesn’t know where the place is but it means she can be on her own for a bit and hide the white things, the paper. Maude cackles and covers her mouth as he looks over at her. That’s the word! Paper. She will take the paper and give it to the cottage people to show them what went on. Her tummy feels all tight and a buzzing sensation fills her head as she tries to cover her smile. She continues to ruffle Bobbin’s worn fabric and picks him up to look into his face. She rubs at his nose and pulls him close to kiss his patchy fur.
‘You believe me, don’t you, Bobbin?’ she says softly, giving the cat a gentle shake.
The head flops down and its limbs hang sadly by its side, the stitching stretched and puckered from years of wear. Maude whispers his name then pulls at his arms and watches as they drop and hang lifelessly by his side.
‘Bobbin?’ Maude says again, mildly rattled, ‘you believe me, don’t you?’
She continues to stare at the cat, her eyes narrow and dark. Why won’t he answer?
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ she suddenly shouts, flinging the tatty bundle of fur onto the floor in disgust, ‘what would you know anyway?’ She feels the angry animal start to move about inside her and takes a deep breath to stop it building. She doesn’t even like having it in there. It makes her feel a bit sick and frightened. Reaching her leg out she gives the old toy cat a small kick and watches as it slides across the living room floor, landing in a mangled heap in front of the fireplace, ‘I don’t even know why you live here,’ she says under her breath, ‘You’re very stupid.’
There is stillness in the room, a slow burning air of immobility, as if everything has been slowed down before Maude reaches her leg out again and gives the cat another strong kick, ‘In fact,’ she says crossly, ‘sometimes it’s as if you’re not even alive at all.’
20
Alec
The lights are far too dim. Not nearly safe enough for female members of staff working late, heading out here on their own, especially if they’re parked round the back of the huge storage sheds that house the goalposts and spare chairs and tables that they keep for school concerts and governors’ meetings. Alec looks up at the flickering bulb hanging from the top of the canteen wall. It has failed to fully illuminate one of the darkest corners of the car park. It’s a part of the school that scares even him; hidden from view, full of shadows. A perfect place for attackers to pounce. Alec pulls up his collar and shivers. He makes a mental note to get the lights sorted next week. Hang the cost and their shrinking budget. Safety first.
The noise is indistinct, so low he barely notices it at first. A gravelly rumble, like the ticking of a distant running engine. He turns and looks behind him, unsure what it is he expects to see. Nothing. The place is empty. Alec continues walking, his senses suddenly heightened, his hearing attuned to every whisper of wind, every ragged breath that exits his body. The sound of his own heartbeat begins to thrash in his ears - a deep, sharp crunching - as a murky, ill-defined shadow appears from round a corner, covering his own grey, fuzzy form. Alec’s skin burns as a hand is placed on his shoulder and a voice fills the early evening air.
‘Now then, Alec lad, how’s it going? Long time no see, eh?’
Alec feels the blood seep out of his body and has to fight the urge to slump down onto the pavement. The voice hasn’t altered; the pitch still recognisable with that deep rumble from years of sucking on unfiltered cigarettes. Alec is incensed. The old swine has actually had the audacity to track him down at work and quite literally corner him; he has watched and waited outside, ready to swoop, to force him into a situation from which he cannot possibly extricate himself.
‘You’re a hard man to get in touch with,’ Barry says, a laugh forcing its way out of his belly, contrived and rehearsed. His stomach bounces up and down as he laughs and Alec has a vision of catching him unawares, ramming his fist in there with force, taking the wind out of his sails, squeezing every pocket of breath out of his body.
‘I do my best,’ Alec replies through clamped teeth.
The whooshing in Alec ears intensifies. He feels dizzy and mildly sick, the wet tarmac tilting and bending under his feet. He walks on, needing the support of the car under his grip, longing for the feel of cold metal under his fingers to stop him falling to the floor.
‘I only want a minute of your time,’ Barry says, every syllable that falls from his mouth an assault on Alec’s ears.
‘Fuck off,’ Alec
says softly and continues walking until he is close enough to his car to almost touch it. He presses his key and has to resist the urge to jump in and mow Barry Wilson down right here in the school car park. Alec turns and stares at him. He’s much smaller than Alec remembers, with arms like Popeye and a broad, rotund body. His hair is thinning and he’s aged badly. Of course he has, having spent most of his adult life in prison and a series of hostels. You get the face you deserve. Alec notices a few scars down the side of Barry’s cheek and wonders if the inmates at Frankland Prison did that on his behalf. He hopes so.
‘Come on, Alec son, I know you’re pissed off with me an’ all that but all I want is a few short minutes with you. Is that too much to ask?’
‘Yes,’ Alec replies, a pain starting up in his abdomen and reaching up into his neck, winding round and round, strangling him with its intensity, ‘it is too much to ask. Now do me a favour and piss off out of here.’
A noise disturbs them. Alec swings round to see Ellen walking towards her vehicle. Joanne the office manager is next to her carrying a pile of papers. They stop and chat by Joanne’s car, Ellen’s gaze switching between Joanne and Alec’s father. Typical. The one evening he leaves on time is the one evening his father turns up. He couldn’t have made it when there was nobody else around could he? This is perfect for him, putting Alec in a situation he knows will make him more compliant.
‘Aw, don’t be like that, Al,’ he says just loud enough for the two women to hear.
Both of them turn to watch, a distinct lull in their conversation as they observe Alec and his father in the corner, waiting to see what happens next.
Knowing he will regret it, Alec speaks. It’s the only thing he can do to stop this sorry scenario from escalating in front of two members of staff. And Barry knows it. Such a devious, manipulative, worthless piece of shit. He hasn’t altered. Alec had always secretly hoped that in the intervening years his father had developed a conscience of sorts, become a changed man - perhaps even missed his only child. Turning his back to the two women to avoid their probing gaze, Alec opens the door and hisses quietly over to his father through a jaw clamped so tightly he feels as if his teeth will dissolve into dust, ‘Get in. And don’t say a single word. Just get in the bloody car.’