by C. L. Taylor
Now Wendy jolts in her seat as Lou gently nudges her.
‘The jury are coming back in.’
Seven women and five men walk slowly through a door in the side of the court and take their seats on the benches. Wendy tries to read their expressions but they all look terribly sombre. Is it bad news? She presses her fingers into her mouth and bites down on her nails. She feels sick with fear, as though she were the one on the stand, not Chloe. Lou, beside her, is deathly pale but she seems to be holding it together. There was a part of Wendy that worried Lou might crack under the strain of everything that had happened but she’s stronger than she looks. There was one awful moment, when Wendy was being interviewed by DS Hope, when she wondered whether she could really trust Lou Wandsworth. For all she knew she could be in another interview suite claiming that Wendy was an accessory to Mike’s murder, or even that she was solely responsible. But no, Lou did everything Wendy told her to do. Not that Wendy found any of this out for several days. She couldn’t ring Lou because there was a possibility the police might monitor her calls, despite releasing her without charge. But she suspected everything had gone according to plan when she received a phone call from the vet telling her that her dog had been handed in by a member of the public. On the fourth day after her release she drove to a public library on the outskirts of Birmingham and sent Lou a Facebook message from Saskia Kennedy:
Message me if all is okay.
A couple of hours later her phone pinged with a reply from Lou. I’m okay. How are you?
They couldn’t risk saying more than that to each other, but it was enough to reassure Wendy. She just had to pray that Chloe Meadows was as strong as she claimed to be. Everything rested on what she said to the police.
‘Ladies and gentlemen in the gallery,’ a loud voice says from below, making Wendy jump again. ‘Could we please have silence? Court is now in session.’
There are coughs, creaks and whispers but, very quickly, the huge room falls silent and the court clerk stands up. Wendy reaches for Lou’s hand and squeezes it tightly. Her heart’s beating so quickly she’s sure she’s about to have a heart attack.
‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,’ the court clerk says. ‘Could the foreperson please stand up?’
A middle-aged woman in a blue jumper stands up and smooths down her skirt.
‘Has the jury reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?’
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘We have.’
‘On the count of manslaughter, do you find the defendant Chloe Meadows guilty or not guilty?’
Wendy stares at the back of the girl’s stooped head and holds her breath. Please, she prays. Please.
The foreperson clears her throat.
‘Not guilty.’
Chapter 47
Lou
Three months later
‘Was that Wendy again?’ Ben calls from the kitchen as I put the phone down. ‘I’ll have to have a word if she’s stalking you again.’
‘Nope.’ I laugh. ‘Not Wendy. Estate agent.’
‘Good news?’ My boyfriend pops his head round the door, a pair of tongs in his hand. The pan on the hob behind him spits and sizzles. The whole flat smells of cooked bacon. Not difficult when you could fit all four rooms of Ben’s flat into Dad’s living room.
‘I’ve finally got a buyer!’
‘Yessss!’ Ben bounds towards me, crossing the tiny living room with two steps and whips me up and into his arms. ‘That’s brilliant news,’ he says as he sets me back down on my feet.
‘I’m so relieved. Obviously there are a lot of stages to go yet. Their mortgage application needs to be approved, then there’s exchange and completion, but then I’ll finally be rid of it.’
Mike’s dead, Chloe’s free and the house is my final link to the past. Once it’s sold I won’t ever have to go back to Malvern again.
It all happened so quickly after Wendy set her plan in motion. She’d told me she’d been a nurse in her youth and that she’d only scratch Chloe. ‘It won’t be more than a flesh wound,’ she said. Still, I nearly turned back when Chloe screamed – she sounded as though she’d had part of her body gouged out. Logically I knew that Wendy’s plan made sense, but I still panicked as I searched the streets for my car. What if Wendy was secretly arranging with Chloe to set me up for Mike’s murder? Or worse, what if she’d killed Chloe rather than wounding her and I was next? It was a distinct possibility given the fact she’d just admitted to being Saskia Kennedy and leaving creepy flowers at my door.
I tried to push my doubts to the back of my mind as I finally located my car. Wendy had no reason to kill Chloe and if she was setting me up for Mike’s murder she would have let me leave my fingerprints on his knife and phone and my DNA on his body. The one thing that convinced me to trust her was the first thing she’d asked me to do – drive to her house and collect her piebald springer spaniel, Monty. Even if Wendy was a psychopath, there’s no way she would have let me take her dog. I’d seen the way her face lit up when she said his name. And besides, Monty was her alibi.
‘I’ll tell the police that I was driving through town with Monty in the back and he started whining for a wee,’ she said. ‘I detoured to the park and let him out. With no lead with me I had no choice but to let him run free. And that’s when he ran off. You need to go to my house, get the spare key from under the bin and let yourself in. Get Monty, then take him to the vet’s, any vet’s, and say you found him wandering the streets. Don’t tell them your name. When you’ve done that, go back to your house, wash down the barn with bleach and burn anything Mike wore or touched, including that stinking bucket. And make sure you wipe anything he may have touched in your house, particularly door handles. When that’s done, go and get your car valeted – thoroughly – inside and out. Then wait, do nothing until you hear from me.’
It was astonishing – and slightly terrifying – the speed with which she came up with the plan.
I didn’t hear anything from her for three long, torturous days. My guts turned liquid when I turned on the news and saw that two women had been arrested for the murder of a forty-nine-year-old man. Wendy’s plan had failed. She and Chloe were going to spend the next twenty-five years of their lives in prison and it was only a matter of time until the police came for me too. The fear and guilt I felt was incapacitating. I could barely move from the sofa and I spent all of the first day cycling between the different news channels on Dad’s TV. By the second day I felt as though I was going insane from inaction so I tackled the garage. I sorted everything into piles – save, charity shop, burn. My landline rang at lunchtime. The police wanted to talk to me. Could I please visit the station that afternoon, sooner rather than later? I felt sick with fear as I arrived. The only thing that stopped me from puking all over the floor was the knowledge that, if I was a suspect, I’d have been arrested not invited to help with enquiries. Somehow I held it together through my interview and answered every question they threw at me. What was my relationship with Mike Hughes? When had I last seen him? Why had I visited Chloe Meadows at home? Why had I given her my diary? Had I encouraged her to kill Mike? Did I know that Mike had gone missing for several days before his death? Did I have any idea where he might have gone? Why had I given DS Hope a fake name when I’d reported the kiss between Mike and Chloe? What had Wendy Harrison and I discussed on the phone? Why did I think she’d turned up at my work pretending to be a client? Why didn’t I want to press stalking or harassment charges? Was Wendy Harrison planning Mike’s death? Was I? Each time the officer paused between questions I felt as though my heart was going to beat straight through my chest. When the interview finally ended I was utterly convinced that I was going to be arrested and charged with conspiracy to commit murder. Instead the officer nodded curtly and said, ‘Thank you for your help, Miss Wandsworth. We’ll be in touch.’ They didn’t ring me again. But Chloe’s defence barrister did.
The day after my police interview I drove into Worcester to check my Facebook messages in a café. Sask
ia Kennedy had left me a message saying she was okay. If Wendy was able to go on the internet she obviously hadn’t been charged. The plan was working. I just had to pray that Chloe’s plea of self-defence would be accepted and she wouldn’t be found guilty of manslaughter or murder.
Before I drove back to the farmhouse I called Ben. It went straight to voicemail, as I suspected it might. The last time he’d heard from me – or thought he had – it was a text saying that we were over. I left a garbled message saying that Mike had sent that message, not me and that he was dead. Less than thirty seconds later Ben rang me back. He’d seen the news reports about Mike and Chloe and wanted to check that I was okay. I was fine, I said, but there was a lot I needed to tell him and I couldn’t do it over the phone. He went quiet then and I braced myself. This was the moment where he told me that he’d had enough. He couldn’t deal with any more drama. He’d felt something for me once but things had changed. He didn’t. Instead he said he’d drive down that evening. His dad was out of intensive care, and recovering well on the ward. He was only really staying up there to keep his mum company.
‘It sounds like you need me more,’ he said. ‘I’m coming down whether you like it or not.’
For once I didn’t put up a fight.
I told him everything that evening – including what had happened with Mike in the barn and how he had died. It was the first time I’d completely opened up to anyone and the words poured out of me. I wasn’t afraid of him sharing my darkest secrets. I wasn’t afraid of being judged. I wasn’t afraid at all.
I didn’t look at him as I spoke. Instead I stared out of the living room window as the sun dipped down and the sky darkened and all I could see was my own reflection, silently spilling my secrets. When I finally finished speaking I was surprised to see Ben sitting across the room from me. I’d forgotten he was there.
‘Jesus,’ he breathed. ‘Jesus Christ, Lou.’
His eyes were so full of love and concern that I started to cry.
The next day he helped me ferry all the charity stuff to Bromyard and Malvern, then we visited an estate agent and I put Dad’s house on the market. We were both knackered by the end of the day but neither of us wanted to spend another night at the farmhouse so I packed up all my possessions and we loaded them into both our cars. We were halfway down the M40, me trailing Ben’s car, when I suddenly remembered the van. Every other trace of Mike had been eviscerated but the van was still in the lake. I’d need a crane to get it out of there and some kind of truck to tow it away. It wasn’t something I could do in secret. I’d have to pay people to help. Alternatively I could just leave it. I’d had to swim several feet under the water to try and get in. The chance of anyone accidentally discovering it was tiny but I wasn’t sure it was a chance I wanted to take. I rang Ben, to ask what he thought.
‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘Mike’s dead and Chloe’s free. Even if the next owner did discover it it’s not like they’d run a check on the licence plate.’
‘They might report it to the police though.’
‘Would you? If you bought a new place and found a rusty old car? You’d be pissed off with the previous owners but you’d get it towed away or sell it for scrap or something.’
‘I guess.’
‘Lou, it’s just a van. Forget it. This is a new start. Remember? Clean slate and all that.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am. Now get off the phone or we’ll both be arrested.’
I’ve been in London ever since. I was only supposed to stay at Ben’s for a few days until I’d found a place to rent but days became weeks and then, one night, when we were lying in bed he asked if I wanted a hand packing. I was so shocked I pulled away and tried to get out of bed.
‘Wait!’ He grabbed my wrist. ‘You didn’t let me finish my sentence. I was going to ask you if you wanted a hand packing or if you’d officially like to live here full-time. As my girlfriend?’
I punched him lightly on the arm. Then I wrapped myself around him.
Ben was only joking when he asked whether Wendy’s started stalking me again, but we have been in touch a lot. She’s moved too, from Worcestershire to Herefordshire. She received a phone call, a couple of weeks after Chloe’s trial, from one of Mike’s friends – a guy called Brian Davies. He was the executor of Mike’s will, he said, and he wanted to meet at the solicitor’s for a chat. Wendy being Wendy demanded he tell her there and then so he did – Mike had written a will several years earlier but he hadn’t passed it to a solicitor. That meant his first will, the one he wrote when they were still married, was the only one that was legal. She’d inherited everything. The house she’d loved so much and over sixty thousand pounds in savings. The will wasn’t contested. Mike was an only child and his nearest living relative, a second cousin, couldn’t be traced. Wendy put both houses on the market – hers and Mike’s – and they sold quickly. Last time I spoke to her she was following a removal van towards Ledbury.
‘It’s huge,’ she said of her new place. ‘Five bedrooms, enormous garden. Monty’s going to think he’s died and gone to doggy heaven. And it’s the sweetest little village. I’ll be sorry to leave my neighbours on Clarence Road, but I left them a little gift.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Left my stereo plugged in in the bedroom. I put a Queen CD on, pressed it right up against the bedroom wall, turned it up to full volume and programmed it to play “We Are the Champions” on a loop. The new owners don’t move in for two weeks.’
I had to laugh.
I haven’t spoken to Chloe since what happened in Priory Park. I got hold of her number from Wendy but, when I rang, she wouldn’t talk to me. Her mum wouldn’t talk to me either but, when I explained who I was and that I’d been through the same thing as Chloe, she slowly opened up.
‘It’s all been a bit much,’ she told me. ‘The trial and me and Alan splitting up. Chloe’s refusing to go back to school and I can’t say I blame her. I thought I might take her away for a little holiday, just me and her. I feel so guilty about what happened. I was so miserable with Alan I had no idea what she was going through and I need to make it up to her. She says she understands why I ran off to my sister’s and left her behind with her dad, but I think she’s still angry with me.’
I told her not to be too hard on herself, that Mike was clever and shrewd and there was no way she could have known. I suggested she take Chloe to a psychologist who specialised in post-traumatic shock syndrome and that she should be there for her when she wanted to talk, and to give her space and time when she didn’t. And I asked her to give her daughter my number, saying she could call me any time of the day or night.
Three nights ago Chloe finally rang. It was just after two in the morning and, for several seconds I couldn’t work out who was sobbing down the phone to me. And then it clicked. I slipped out of bed and curled up on the sofa with a blanket over my shoulders and the phone pressed to my ear. We talked until the sun came up.
‘So you hated him too?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Even though, in a weird way I still loved him.’
‘Even after everything he did to you?’
‘Even after that. I know it doesn’t make sense.’
‘Actually it does. Do you still love him now?’
I glanced towards the closed bedroom door and pictured Ben curled up in bed, one lazy arm slung over the duvet, the other folded under his head.
‘No, not anymore.’
‘That gives me hope,’ she said softly. ‘I still think about him and how things were before …’
‘You will. But those feelings will fade and you’ll move on. Are you seeing anyone, a psychologist?’
‘Yeah. I saw her today. I think that’s why I couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts going round in my head.’
‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Better.’ I could almost hear the smile in her voice. ‘Lou, do you mind if I ring you again sometime?’
‘Wheneve
r you want. Honestly. I’ll always be here for you, Chloe.’
‘Thank you. That means a lot. One more thing, Lou, before I go.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I don’t hate you. I want you to know that. I couldn’t see it before but we’re the same, you and me.’
‘We are,’ I said, ‘but you’re definitely braver.’
Chapter 48
Mavis
One year later
Mavis Horne shuffles down the aisles of her local Co-op, her handbag and basket hooked over her right arm. She’s not moving slowly because she’s got arthritis and can’t move any quicker, she’s killing time, hoping Elaine Fairchild will show up. They often have a little chat when they run into each other and Mavis looks forward to it. It’s not that she’s a gossip per se but she does enjoy sharing the little snippets she hears on the radio and sometimes a conversation or two that she happened to overhear. It makes her happy, keeping other people entertained and informed. She’s pretty sure that, if she could rewind her long life, she’d make a pretty damned good disc jockey herself. Maybe even a news reporter. That Angela Rippon did it for years and she’s still on the telly even though she’s in her seventies.
Mavis completes her slow circuit of the shop and sighs. No sign of Elaine and she really can’t justify dawdling much longer. Her granddaughter’s bringing her new great-grandson over later and she has sandwiches to prepare and a Victoria sponge to bake. She ignores the shorter queue for Brenda’s till and joins the line to be served by Edward instead. Mavis likes Edward. He must be late twenties or early thirties but he’s got a lovely twinkle in his eye and an amusing turn of phrase that reminds her of a young Terry Wogan. God rest his soul.
‘How are you today, Mavis?’ he asks as she loads the conveyor belt with the contents of her basket. ‘Hot, isn’t it?’
‘Hottest summer since 1976,’ she says. ‘According to the weatherman.’
‘Feels like it.’ He wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, then scans her flour, packs it in a plastic bag for her (he never charges her the 5p) and then reaches for the strawberry jam.