by D. E. White
There were sharp concerned voices as I lay broken and helpless at the bottom of the quarry. They asked me to open my eyes, they asked me what happened, who did this to me.
I tried to tell them, but speaking was beyond me.
I could feel my eyelids flutter, and then the noises became distant, as though I was in a tunnel. When I woke again I was warm and safe, still in the light-filled tunnel. New voices came and went.
I can’t open my eyes. I can’t speak. I can’t move. I’m always drifting through my tunnel, observing as far as I can with my eyes shut, but never taking part. Just the one voice has the power to terrify me, even now.
‘Are you scared, Mickey?’
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Dove was in the garden, She’d just laid out her yoga mat in the shade, when her phone rang. She didn’t recognise the number.
“Is that DC Dove Milson? It’s Jenna Essex, from the dance academy . . .”
“Hello, Jenna. Are you okay?”
“No . . .” There was a sob and a scuffling sound. “Sorry, but I’m in the car park at Greenview Hospital. Mickey died . . . She actually died. I can’t bear it.”
“All right, Jenna, I’m so sorry. Is someone with you? Mickey’s parents?” Dove was devastated for the family. Another blow after Caz’s murder charge. And how would Jamie take this? Whatever their thoughts on collusion, the evidence showed Caz alone was the perpetrator — she had carried out the murders. He had lost his partner, his baby’s mother and now his sister. It was a horrific sequence of events for anyone to bear.
“I need you to meet me . . . I . . . I want to show you something,” Jenna said unexpectedly, grief and pain raw in her voice, tears still clogging her words. “Can you meet me at the waste ground by the Delaneys’ house?”
“Yes. Give me twenty minutes to drive out there. Or do you want me to pick you up? Are you all right to drive?”
“I’m fine.” A note of steel had crept into Jenna’s voice. “I’m really fine.”
She ended the call, but Dove was already thinking about the fastest route. Layla had stretched happily out on her yoga mat, narrowed eyes daring Dove to move her, so she abandoned the mat and pulled her shoes on.
Jenna was waiting on the swings. She must have broken all the speed limits to get up here so quickly, Dove thought, as she jogged towards her.
The girl’s face was streaked with tears, her hair pulled back in a messy knot, but she held up a hand as Dove opened her mouth to say again how sorry she was. “Please don’t, or I’ll lose it. Just come with me.”
Dove slid her hand over her phone in her tracksuit pocket, and followed as Jenna led her through a gap in the hedge and into the woods. “Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?” Dove enquired. The shadows were lengthening into evening, and the smells of hot baked earth and dusty greenery filled the air.
It was cooler under the trees, and Jenna led the way to the quarry, paused, gave a stifled sob and turned left. Puzzled, Dove followed her. They carried on for another ten minutes before they came to an old bomb shelter. It was an ugly concrete structure, set half in the ground, half above. Covered in tangled ivy and brambles, the roof was hardly visible from the path.
Jenna stopped. “This was our secret place, mine and Mickey’s when we were kids. Nobody else knew about it, or if they did, they could never get in. The only way is to swing down from that tree and climb in through the broken roof . . .” She pointed to a long-branched ash, which trailed green and grey lichened fingers across the derelict shelter. “We found it by accident one day . . .”
Dove wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but without warning, she dumped her bag, sprang lightly on to an ancient fallen oak and jumped, catching the tree branch as though it was one of the uneven bars. She hung there for a second, before swinging to gain momentum, launching on to the barely visible roof, and disappearing inside.
“Hey, be careful!” Dove found her palms were sweating. Oh God, what was in this place? If Jenna got hurt, she would be screwed for not calling this in. Just as she was wondering whether to follow the girl, and try to find another way in, Jenna emerged, pulling herself out of the crack in the roof with both hands, bending back to retrieve something.
She threw it deftly towards Dove. “Catch!”
Dove retrieved the plastic container, as Jenna reversed her swing and jumped, landing lightly on flattened weeds, her long hair catching the light, her face fierce.
She reached out, took the box carefully from Dove, and prised it open. With a sound like a gunshot, the plastic, brittle with age, cracked right across the lid. They both jumped, then Jenna reached inside and took out a slim notebook. The once glossy pink cover was mildewed, but the pages rustled with secrets, protected by the box. “This is Mickey’s diary,” Jenna said.
* * *
Jenna sat in the interview room, back very straight, face composed. DCI Franklin started the recording, but Dove hardly had time to ask any questions before Jenna began speaking. Clearly this was something she had been holding on to for years, and the relief she felt at finally releasing the secrets was evident from her body language. As she spoke, her shoulders began to sag, and exhaustion showed in her face.
“Jamie always hated Mickey. Everyone thought he adored her, but the truth was he was jealous. Mickey always said he told her he wanted to be an only child. That stupid story about him starting her gymnastics career by hanging her up on the bars? It was bollocks. He hung her up there to scare her, and he was pissed when she was stronger than he thought.”
“Did he ever hurt her physically?”
“Yes, lots of times, but he was so clever nobody saw what was going on. He would give her Chinese burns or pinch her to make her cry. She was terrified of him, and she said gymnastics gave her a chance to forget. He couldn’t hurt her in the gym, and she trained harder to stay away from home. It was getting worse around the time she had her accident. Mickey said he watched her all the time, stole her stuff to freak her out, but never in a temper, you know? I never once saw Jamie lose it. It’s like he doesn’t have any proper emotions. He’s so cold all the time. He never cries properly because he’s sad or angry, although he’s a bloody good actor and can turn it on when people are watching.”
“Why didn’t Mickey tell anyone what was happening?” Dove asked.
Jenna shook her head. “You don’t understand. Jamie told her he would kill her, would ruin her career, and she was so scared. Don’t forget she had been suffering this her whole life, and by the end she had lost track of what was real.”
“But she told you?”
“I found out by accident,” Jenna said. “I went to her house to see if she wanted to hang out, and her mum said go on up.” She paused. “They were in Mickey’s bedroom, she and Jamie. She was lying on the bed and he had his hand right here,” Jenna indicated high up on her own thigh. “He wasn’t doing anything, but I could tell Mickey was scared.”
“What happened then?”
“He laughed it off and gave her a hug, turned on the charm with me. He’s so good-looking and like I said, he’s an actor, but I’ve always been good at reading people . . .”
“So Mickey told you?”
“She said he had been terrorising her for years,” Jenna frowned. “After that, she would tell me when he hurt her. It wasn’t just physical. It was mind games. That was one of the reasons she said she couldn’t tell anyone else. She said she never had a black eye or anything, so who would believe her own brother hated her so much? She was ashamed, too, like she had done something to deserve it.”
“Was it sexual?”
“No . . .” Jenna considered this. “No, because I don’t think Jamie felt that way about anyone. Caz, Izzy, Mae all slept with him when they were teenagers. Caz has been so in love with him for forever . . . I wasn’t surprised they had hooked up together, but kind of shocked when they had a baby. It didn’t fit. But then I thought he was just blending in, doing what was expected. The escape rooms was perfect for hi
m. He likes to see people afraid, maybe because he can’t experience it himself?”
Dove sat back and flashed a glance at her superior. He looked as drained as she felt. “So what did you take to Caz’s house the night before the murders? Not the diary, surely?”
“Of course not,” Jenna said scornfully. “I promised Mickey I would hide it away, and I kept my promise. I heard Jamie and Caz had a baby, and I was kind of worried . . . Nobody else knows what Jamie is, you see. Even if I showed Caz the diary, she would say it was just Mickey hating her brother, and full of crap. But it’s true I was looking at old photos and I found some from the night Mickey was attacked. I was kind of into photography then and I’d borrowed my uncle’s old camera. I had piles and piles of film I never bothered to get developed, not till recently. Now I’m moving out, I kind of wanted to put the past to rest, as much as I could.”
“Even though you took photos on the night Mickey was attacked, you didn’t bother to get the film developed?” Dove queried.
“It didn’t seem important, and everyone had their phones anyway. The police got us all to show them any photos and videos we took, checked through our social media. There were over twenty kids at the football, and me trying to get artistic shots with an old camera didn’t seem relevant. I still didn’t think it was, even when I finally got them all developed and shoved them in a folder. I never saw anything wrong. Until the night I was packing up my stuff.” Jenna pointed at the photos that lay before them on the table, now displayed in tagged folders. “They’re timestamped, which always annoyed me because I figured it ruins a good photograph.”
Dove and DCI Franklin let her push the photos into order, even though they had already been through them. Jenna had been smart enough not to part with the originals to Caz. She had copied the relevant ones on a home printer and stashed the real ones away.
“Here at half nine, Jamie is playing. He’s in the red top. I’d only just arrived because I was hanging out with Mickey, before she said she was tired and walked off into the woods.”
Jenna tapped the next two photos. “Jamie had finished his game. The next team came on and he was drinking with Nathan and Oliver.” There were a few pictures of the next match, more of bystanders laughing and smoking. Cans of lager were stacked by the hedge. A few kids were dancing. Dove could almost feel the heat of a carefree summer evening.
“This is the last one Jamie is in. It was taken by Izzy, and it’s me, Becky and a few more from gymnastics. You can only just see it, but . . .” She broke off and bit her lip.
Behind the pouting, posing girls, a back view of Jamie in his red top, slipping through the gap in the hedge, heading towards the woods.
“Did you mention to Jamie that was where Mickey had gone?” DCI Franklin asked.
Jenna nodded her head miserably. “Yes. I was annoyed she wouldn’t come to the game with me and hang out. When he asked where she was, I said she had gone off into the woods. He would have known she was heading down to the quarry. It’s where we went to smoke or party sometimes. Whether Mickey lost or won a competition, she liked to just sit there, on the edge of the quarry, going over every move she had made during the event. She told me once it was what made her good. She could correct any mistakes in her mind before the next training session.”
“You must have suspected it was Jamie who attacked Mickey?” Dove said flatly.
“Of course, but I thought he was there, at the game, partying with us. Everyone said so, and there was footage to prove it,” Jenna said. “I was terrified of Jamie afterwards, because of the diary, and he came looking for me, found me on my own by the swings. He . . . he was so convincing when he said it was Ellis, so intense and . . . I suppose I wanted to believe him, didn’t want it to be Mickey’s own brother. Even though he had been a bastard to her, she was kind of obsessed with him. Anyway, why would he suddenly want her dead?”
“Maybe they had a row?” DCI Franklin suggested.
“No . . .” Jenna hesitated. “Mickey was holding out for this letter. She’s gone for a scholarship at an elite training academy in Yorkshire. It would have meant being at boarding school, training and touring during the holidays. She’d gone through all the selection process and she was waiting to hear. Every day she’d text me to say the mail had come and the letter hadn’t.”
“Did Jamie know about this?”
“No. She made me promise not to say anything.”
“Her parents didn’t tell Jamie? It’s a big thing to hide from him if they didn’t?” DCI Franklin mused.
“Mickey said Jamie didn’t know,” Jenna told them.
“Okay, leave that for now.” The DCI made a note and moved on. “What happened when you realised Jamie was implicated in the photos you developed?”
“When I saw the photos, I felt sick. Eventually I called Caz on her business phone. Her mobile number is on the website, hers and Jamie’s. I didn’t know who else to tell, and suddenly it seemed important to speak to the only other person still involved, who had been there with us. It was a massive mistake, wasn’t it?” Jenna’s eyes filled with tears. “I made it worse.”
“You couldn’t possibly have predicted what would happen, so please don’t beat yourself up about it,” DCI Franklin said kindly. “Thank you, Jenna, for being so honest with us, and I can promise you Jamie will not be walking free from this one.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“Mickey!”
Jenna is calling me, and I shout back. She’s crying, saying something about a letter. My letter. My whole life could change with that letter.
“Mickey!”
I am running down the stairs, hearing the thump of letters on the mat, my fingers fumbling to see the names on the envelopes. Nothing. I sink on to the bottom stair, and my phone beeps with a message. Jenna wants to know if today is the day. I reply with a sad emoji.
I don’t remember when it started. I’ve lived with this my whole life. It sounds stupid, but I wouldn’t even know how to begin telling anyone what happens behind closed doors.
My brother has always hated me. He’s kept up a string of little cruelties since I was a young child, probably even since I was a baby. He thinks I’m the favoured one, the one given a chance to pursue my dreams. He never misses a chance to tell me I’m nothing, pathetic and weak.
From stolen toys to the time he burned my cuddly toy bunny with a cigarette lighter, right in front of me in the garden. I was eight, and he said I was too old for soft toys. He watched me constantly, and I know from the outside looking in he was the devoted brother, but the hugs and hand-holding people saw came with pinches and squeezes that left me breathless and hurting.
He tried not to leave bruises, although these were always explained away by my active nature, my clumsiness, and then my gymnastics training.
Jamie teamed up with Caz, although he told me she was pathetic too. He used her to hide my kit, steal my lucky mascot, a pocket-sized plastic pig. Just before try-outs I would find my possessions missing, catch a group of girls whispering and laughing behind their hands.
My brother would feed Caz little bits of gossip — how I still slept with the light on, how I wet the bed, how I cuddled up to an old brown bear at night. Little cruelties. The kids at school devoured it all, and my handsome big brother indulged them. He made his way through the lot of them, telling me the intimate details of his sex life, how the girls were boring or pathetic.
Only Caz seemed to remain in his good books. He was still disdainful of her, but he told me she was different. She liked to be scared, and he liked to be worshipped, so I suppose they were a match made in heaven. Or hell, depending on how you look at things.
* * *
I was almost at the quarry when I heard him coming. A twig cracked under his feet, and when I swung around I spotted the red of his football shirt. Exhausted from the competition, relieved to be almost free of him, I walked a little faster. I could turn left at the fork in the path, and hide down by the old bunker until he went away agai
n.
But he called my name softly, and I knew then. The smell of dust and dense greenery filled my senses as I paused in panic, before I started to run.
I could hear the drumbeat of his running feet, following me steadily, the hunter after its prey. When I stopped at last, bursting from the overhanging branches into the dappled late-evening sunlight, I whirled round to confront him.
I was exhausted, terrified beyond my worst nightmares, body hurting, sweat sticky on my face. I saw in his face what he was going to do. It was what he’d wanted to do all along.
The thrill of the chase, maybe . . . He moved quickly towards me as I threw up my hands to ward him off, opened my mouth to say something, anything. His hands were on my arms, long fingers cruel and pinching my skin. The pale blue eyes, so much like mine, but faded somehow, colder, without any fire and passion.
He was like an automaton, moving towards his goal. I noticed then that he was wearing those plastic gloves Dad keeps in the shed for when he does the weedkiller. Thin, blue surgical-type gloves that Mum jokes make him look like a serial killer.
“Why do you hate me so much?” I rasped finally, my throat dry and dusty, finding the courage to confront him, here in this private place. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
He smiled, slowly, contemplatively. “Are you scared, Mickey?”
“Why? Do you want me to be? You do, don’t you? It’s all you’ve ever wanted, to make sure I live my life being scared of you and what you might do to me.” I was astonished at my own bravery. Even though I felt so small and fragile against his superior height and physical strength, I was still strong.
Jenna’s words stayed with me when I told her about the scholarship, gave her my diary. “Soon he won’t be able to hurt you ever again.” I could still feel her arms around me, her soft hair on my face, our cheeks touching. My one true friend, and I loved her so much.
He didn’t answer, just pulled me close, forcing my chin up so our eyes met. “You can’t just leave me, you know. Did you really think you could get away with not telling me? ”