Kiss Her Goodbye: The most addictive thriller you'll read this year

by Susan Gee

  She comes over and sits next to me and I pretend not to mind. Her leg feels strange touching mine, but I don’t move away.

  ‘You’re going to be all right,’ she says.

  She shakes her head and I wonder if he’ll ever come back here again. We sit in silence and I can’t quite believe it. The snow comes down heavier, sticking to the bushes outside and sliding down the window in frozen wet clumps, until everywhere is white.

  ‘Joyce said he attacked Stefan. I just don’t understand. Why would he do that? Why would he do any of it? And why wouldn’t Joyce mention it till now?’

  I rub my forehead.

  ‘They found bits of that girl’s hair on a knife he had in his pocket when they arrested him. I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have told you that.’

  I’m surprised that they found anything on his penknife. It looked clean to me. I glance down at his picture in the newspaper. He looks so happy in the photograph and I can see all the little black and white dots that make up his smile.

  ‘You’re OK and that’s the main thing,’ she says, and holds out her hand as though she wants to touch me, but it stays there suspended in the air between us. She glances at the Duran Duran album leaning up by the stereo.

  ‘I’m sorry about everything.’

  My head aches.

  She looks at me with wide eyes. ‘I feel like I’ve let you down again, but I’ll be there for you this time…’

  ‘Right.’

  Everyone gets sick sometimes, but they don’t stay sick for weeks, so we’ll wait and see if she’s there for me. She never has been.

  ‘He seemed to really like us. I just can’t believe he’d do that,’ she says.

  ‘No.’

  When I think about it, he did seem to like us, she’s right. He must have been as messed up as we are.

  ‘I know it isn’t easy for you either and I’m sorry.’

  I wonder what for – if she’s sorry for calling me a liar or sorry about the baby. At least Dad tried to help. She was the one still asleep when he cuddled him quiet. I wanted her to wake up, but she never came to help. I stood on the landing and watched Dad hold him tight until the crying stopped. Dad shut the door and that was it. I stayed awake all night and watched the trees outside the window. The shadows were like fingers trying to grab me and I hated the silence. I waited and waited for him to start crying again, but he didn’t. I wanted so much to hear it, but there was only silence and the sound of breeze on the leaves outside.

  In the morning everything had changed. The ambulance men came and left the empty cot and I wasn’t allowed to go in. Everyone shut me out apart from Dad. He kept me by his side day and night. We built the hide and started to look for kingfishers the very next day. We spent hours there and he made me promise that nothing happened, but it did. I know it did. I saw it and I told him so. He loved the baby though. He told me enough times.

  When I tried to tell Mum, she wouldn’t listen. He’s the one that didn’t tell anyone the truth and she believed him. I loved that little baby and now he’s gone. I wonder if she’s sorry for that. It doesn’t matter now though. Being sorry doesn’t fix anything. It’s just a cop-out for people who can’t face up to what they’ve done. I know who I am, even if she doesn’t. I’m not sorry about anything. What’s the point? It can’t be changed.

  I turn away from her. ‘I’m tired. I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  She doesn’t know anything about hurt. As I get up I pick up the album and throw it in the bin. She starts to cry again when I leave the room. I walk up the stairs and lie down on my bed. The sheets smell of washing powder as I press my face against them and try to make sense of everything.

  I think about Mike and wonder if he’s watching the snow too. He wanted a new start for both of us, but I can’t believe they’ve kept him for so long. He can tell them that it was me that took the pictures, but if there’s no proof, they won’t believe him. They must have looked properly by now, after everything he’s said. As I close my eyes and let the breeze cool my skin through the open window, I know I’m getting away with it.

  Outside on the patio, the shards of broken glass from the smashed baubles glint under the moonlight as the snow covers them. If Kirsten comes, I’ll hear the crunch of glass under her bare feet, but I’ve got a feeling she won’t. There are no muddy footprints or dark shadows to hide in now – everywhere is glittering white. She’s happy, because I’m happy. We only ever wanted the same.

  The air is icy fresh with no river smells at all and I get the best night’s sleep that I’ve had for ages. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and I decide that if we don’t bother with Christmas this year it doesn’t matter, because I’ve already got everything I could ever want.

  41

  DS Beverley Samuels

  Friday 16th May 1986

  I’m tired but reassured, as I drive back from Michael Lancaster’s hearing in court, out of Manchester and past abandoned factories tagged with graffiti. It feels like a new start. The red-bricked ventilation tower of Strangeways Prison peers over the buildings as I make my way to the Reynolds’s’ to tell them the good news.

  Hayley’s mum wanted me to tell her in person and I can’t wait. Michael Lancaster was found guilty. There couldn’t have been a better result. In the twenty minutes it takes for me to get there I have a smile on my face. When I park up outside I feel nervous, but relieved.

  I walk up Hayley Reynolds’s drive and the garden’s in colour with the scent of spring on the air. I loosen the button on the top of my shirt under the heat from the afternoon sun. One of the flowers touches the path in a kiss and I remember Hayley telling me about some bulbs that Mrs Green gave to her. I wonder if they’re the ones flowering now.

  When I ran down that river path this morning, I said a silent message in my head to those girls. The trial wasn’t short and, despite my fears, I knew we’d win. It’s a huge relief.

  Mrs Green cried when the judge read out the sentence. She leaned on the woman next to her and it was the first time I’ve seen her break down. I had to turn away. There were so many unanswered questions and he didn’t say what really happened. His silence was his last cruelty. Michael Lancaster didn’t admit to anything. He was a coward to the end and I wonder if that hollow, empty look will ever leave Mrs Green.

  White cherry blossom falls from the tree like confetti onto the garden as I knock on the door and Hayley answers it almost immediately, as though she was standing waiting. Her hair looks newly washed and her clothes pressed. I remember how she was while we were waiting for Mike’s trial. The last time the pair of them came to the police station they were unkempt and disheveled-looking and Hayley had dark circles around her eyes as though she hadn’t slept for days. Now, in her crisp white shirt, she looks like a different person. She searches my face for a clue to what’s happened, but my expression remains blank.

  ‘Mum’s in the living room,’ Hayley says.

  I walk in to see Mrs Reynolds sitting on the cream sofa in front of the window. Her brow is furrowed in anticipation and her hands are held tight as though she’s praying. The trial hasn’t been easy for her, but at last it’s over. Since Michael Lancaster’s arrest, Hayley’s had a look of fear, as though she’s worried he’ll be released any day. It makes me wonder what would have happened to them if we hadn’t stopped him when we did.

  I go over and stand next to Mrs Reynolds on the sofa. It’s time to give her the release that she’s been waiting for.

  ‘Guilty,’ I say. ‘The judge said he was to serve a minimum of thirty-five years in prison.’

  Hayley’s mum makes a noise that’s somewhere between a moan and a sigh. She puts her face in her hands and breathes loudly. I look over at Hayley to see if she is upset, but she’s smiling. All the stress has finally gone. I wait for her to go and hug her mum, but she doesn’t.

  ‘For real?’ Hayley asks.

  I nod and smile. />
  Hayley’s mum lies back into the sofa with closed eyes.

  ‘Are you all right, Mrs Reynolds?’

  ‘I need some time to myself,’ she says, and turns away towards the window.

  I wonder if she’s still in denial, but Hayley looks as if she could laugh.

  ‘I’m going for a walk,’ Hayley says. ‘Come if you want to?’

  ‘Your mum might want you here,’ I reply.

  ‘She wants to be on her own.’

  I look down at her on the sofa and wait for her to speak, but she doesn’t.

  ‘Mrs Reynolds?’ I ask, and she nods her head.

  ‘I can’t talk about this any more.’

  Hayley leaves the room and I follow her out, feeling glad to get out of there. I never did like being in that house.

  *

  It’s a cold day, but the sun’s out as we instinctively walk towards the river. Mrs Green still brings flowers here. She puts them on the bank or drops them in the water near the sewerage pipe and I know that, later, the current will take another bunch of yellow carnations past the fields where Kirsten Green used to play as a child.

  When we get to the bottom of the lane, Hayley looks pleased as we sit on the bench by the weir. As we watch the water she reminds me of myself. I know she’s going to make it. She learnt to be strong when her dad left, as I had to, and it’s got her through this. It makes me proud to have helped her.

  ‘What did he look like when they told him?’ she asks.

  ‘Shocked,’ I reply. ‘As if he thought he’d get away with it.’

  She nods and squints.

  ‘But I knew we’d get him,’ I tell her.

  A flock of yellow-winged birds fly up over the bank towards the bridge, before they land on an oak tree at the edge of the field.

  ‘Goldfinches,’ she says’

  I turn to her. ‘Still birdwatching?’

  ‘I’m saving up for a Canon. It’s the lenses that cost though.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  As the sound of the water rushes over the weir, I realise that I’ve moved on too. I haven’t thought about Moira Timperley for weeks and I’ve started to get out more. I’ve even been on a date. We’re both rebuilding our lives.

  ‘Your mum going to be all right?’ I ask, and she exhales through her nose.

  ‘She’ll be fine when I get back. Sometimes it’s best to leave her on her own.’

  I nod. I know what mothers can be like. That’s something else we’ve got in common. I decide to check in on her sometimes, now that all this is over.

  ‘Well, she’s lucky she’s got you to look after her,’ I tell her.

  She doesn’t answer and I can’t imagine what she’s been through. She probably feels guilty for what happened to Maxine, as I do. Unspoken words hang between us as the river churns over rocks towards the sewerage pipe.

  I have never met a girl as resilient as this one. As the traffic roars in the distance I remember her words after we caught him: ‘I wanted to tell someone, but I didn’t know how to.’

  I wanted to apologise for that, but the past is gone. It distorts and bends in your memory, but you can’t change it. Only today matters and I’m glad that we’ve come here, because we both need to make peace with this place. It’s connected us in ways I never would have expected.

  ‘Is it really over?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, and she smiles.

  It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. She’s young. She doesn’t need to know that real pain never goes: it just morphs into something more tolerable.

  ‘You’re going to be fine.’

  She shrugs. ‘Mum’s booked us a weekend away in Anglesey. I said I’ll go.’

  I smile. ‘A change of scene will be good for you.’

  I’m pleased that she’s got a chance to reconnect with her mum. Perhaps it’s time for me to try to do the same. She’s just a person after all. Nobody’s perfect. We all make mistakes.

  ‘So long as she doesn’t start playing “The Power of Love” on a loop again.’

  I laugh. The things that Michael Lancaster said about her in court were terrible and yet, she’s coping well. It was mentioned in the newspapers, but her mum told me that they didn’t read them. She wouldn’t even watch the news, in case she saw his face. The thought of it makes me angry, but it just made the jury hate him. He showed no remorse. He would have done anything to get out of it. He lied in front of the girls’ mothers and left the truth with the river.

  ‘What about you?’ she asks as the water shines like black pearl.

  ‘Same old, same old,’ I say.

  ‘Remember when we first met?’ She smiles.

  I nod. My head was all over the place then, and I’ve learnt to give myself space. We sit in silence as the wind comes up over the field.

  I notice a red ochre stone on the riverbed from when the Brickworks were here. This town is built on its past. From the pub on the hill made from the same factory bricks to those little red pebbles in the silt. Michael Lancaster has left his mark too, an irremovable stain that will always taint the river.

  ‘Did he admit it in the end?’ she asks.

  I shake my head.

  ‘Sorry.’

  She knows he tried to blame her. He said she was involved. It was unthinkable. He even convinced his ex-girlfriend to say they were together when Kirsten Green went missing. It didn’t take long to break her down though. She saw him that week, but couldn’t be certain of the day. He stood in his ill-fitting suit and told one lie after another in an attempt to manipulate everything. In the end, the jury could see what a sick and twisted man he was.

  When I push my hair back from my eyes, I realise that Hayley’s staring at me. She tells me that the counselling has been useful and she’s been going for three months. This is why I do this. My mother doesn’t understand what it feels like to change someone’s life. Without me Hayley didn’t have a future.

  ‘Did you find out about those courses?’ she asks.

  I smile. ‘I’ve got a booklet in the car. Remind me to give it to you.’

  Hayley wants to do a degree in Criminology and I’m proud that I’ve been able to help her to move on. Despite what she’s been through, she’s going to be all right.

  As I’m about to get up the wind blows against her shirt. Her top button has come undone and that’s when I see it: a thick silver pendant engraved with the initials KG. It’s edged in ivy leaves and it glints, bright and heavy against her pale skin as she sits back on the bench. There isn’t any doubt what it is.

  She frowns as she follows my stare and puts her hand over it, pulls her shirt back as my thoughts race. I wonder if Michael Lancaster gave it to her or if she found it somewhere in the house, but we went through it all. It wasn’t there. The whole house was searched – we took up the carpets and even pulled out the panel on the bath. If it had been in there, we’d have found it.

  ‘Where did you get that pendant?’ I ask.

  She looks past me, to the river behind, and makes an odd sound in her throat. She tilts her head as though she’s thinking as she stares at the water. It’s full to the bank and the shadows on the surface are marble black. Hayley leans towards me with a smile, before she cups a hand over her mouth and whispers, ‘You know where.’

  She bites her bottom lip and waits to see what I’ll do. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. My mouth goes dry. As she strokes the pendant I can’t speak. She knows exactly what it is. I showed her a photograph of it. Her face twists into a smirk as she looks me up and down. I can’t breathe. It can’t be. It just can’t be.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  That isn’t true. I finally begin to. I remember what Michael Lancaster said about her at the trial. The look on his face as they told him that he was guilty and how he stumbled when they took him away. His insistence to the end, even though the jury hated him for it, that he hadn’t taken those photographs. It all comes back to me. The times I saw Hayley at the river,
her reluctance to speak, the feeling she was hiding something. I don’t want to believe it, but I know it’s true. I remember the day I first saw her, watching the police cars near the Bowl. She was always sure that Kirsten hadn’t taken her own life and I knew she was hiding something. I thought she knew more and I was right.

  ‘You didn’t?’

  She smirks at me as though I’m stupid. Her facial expression is hard. She’s not the vulnerable girl I’ve been trying to protect. She’s grotesque.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ she asks.

  Thoughts rage as rapid as the river’s current. Thoughts of how I wanted to protect her and how wrong I was. I look down the river path towards the place where Kirsten Green was found and almost gag. Remembering the way her blonde curls were caked in river mud and how her mother begged me to get justice for her daughter.

  ‘Both of them?’

  ‘So what?’

  My mouth drops. I look behind for someone to help, but there’s only the two of us. The sound of the water gets louder as though it’s rushing through my head. I can’t think. She repulses me.

  ‘How could you?’ I ask.

  ‘You don’t get it. I did it for them.’

  My head is throbbing. It doesn’t feel real.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You wanted it to be him,’ she says.

  ‘I…’

  Hayley frowns and tilts her head.

  ‘You saw what you wanted to see, the same as everyone else. Don’t feel bad. It always happens.’

  My head spins as I look from her to the river. The wind comes over the fields and the white garlic flowers shake. She stands to face me as stalks of purple knapweed bend in the breeze behind her. Her look is defiant and I try to get up, but my legs are weak. The image of Moira Timperley comes into my head. How I failed her then, and now, how I’ve failed again. This is worse. Michael Lancaster is innocent and in prison. I didn’t listen.

  Hayley manipulated me. Water fills my mouth and my stomach tightens. I could have stopped her. I could have saved Maxine. She stands over me, controlled and amused.