Ask Me No Questions

by Louisa de Lange

  Steve regained his composure and smiled, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. ‘Of course, we would be happy to oblige.’ He flexed his biceps, obvious even under the suit jacket. Clearly a man who spent a substantial amount of time at the gym. Clearly a man who could easily overpower a woman. Or anyone, for that matter.

  ‘Thank you so much. Your cooperation is very much appreciated,’ Kate said, smiling as flirtatiously as she could without feeling sick. She knew as well as Steve did that he was legally required to provide the CCTV, but going through this song and dance massaged his ego enough to keep him happy.

  ‘But it’s going to take a bit of time to pull the tapes together. Not my area, you see.’ Steve gave an apologetic grin and picked up a glass from the desk, taking a quick swig of the clear liquid. He winced and placed the glass back down. It said ‘Mr’ in big block letters on the side, and he caught her looking at it.

  ‘Joke present from an ex-girlfriend. There’s another one that says “Mrs”, for fuck’s sake.’ He grinned. ‘That’s why she’s an ex.’

  Kate forced a laugh. ‘So who does look after the CCTV?’

  ‘My money man. I’ll give him a call, get him down here asap.’ Steve pronounced ‘asap’ like it was a word, rather than an acronym. ‘He’ll drop it by the station tomorrow. And ask him about Gabriella, if you know what I’m saying.’

  Kate nodded, understanding his meaning. ‘And make sure you include all the cameras, all the footage from Saturday night and Sunday morning.’

  ‘Of course,’ Steve Morgan smiled, his white teeth glowing in the dim light in the office. ‘You can trust me.’

  Kate laughed, a flirty, tinkling giggle, but the truth was no, she didn’t trust him. Who would?

  She ushered Yates out of the door, keen to get as far away from Steve Morgan as possible. He walked them back to the mezzanine and pointed them towards the main entrance.

  ‘Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything else. And feel free to come by on a club night. Just make sure you’re off duty,’ he grinned. ‘You’ll have more fun that way.’ Steve winked, then went back to the office.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ Yates whispered as they walked down the stairs, ‘but I feel like I need a shower after talking to that guy.’

  Kate smiled in agreement, then turned round. ‘Just going to use the loo. Won’t be a sec.’

  She hurried back up the stairs, down the corridor and pushed the door open to the toilets. As she went, she made a mental note of all the CCTV cameras. One above the bar. One over the dance floor. And one above the office door, watching the corridor. She went into the toilets and sat down in a cubicle. She took in the graffiti, the ingrained dirt on the floor and, while she was washing her hands, the lipstick kisses on the mirror, obviously put there over the weekend by exuberant clientele. She wouldn’t have been touching her lips to anything in this place, dirty mirrors or men alike.

  Kate left the toilets and noticed the door to Steve’s office was open. She could hear a one-way conversation going on inside, Steve talking in hushed tones, obviously on the phone. Kate glanced around, then listened.

  ‘No, I don’t know, why would I?’ Steve was saying. ‘Can you do it or not?’ He paused, as the person on the other end spoke. ‘It doesn’t matter why, just do it, will you?’ Kate could see him pacing across the small office, ducking backwards away from the door when he turned towards her,. His face was twisted in annoyance. ‘She’s trouble, you know she is. She was a pain in the ass when we first met her, she’s been weird for the past few weeks and even more so on Saturday. You know as well as I do that we can’t afford a PR nightmare right now. We need punters in the door. We don’t want the shit associated with this girl bringing the club down.’ He paused again, listening. ‘For fuck’s sake, Ryan. Just do it and stop being a whiny little pussy.’

  Kate saw him end the call and she scuttled away, down the stairs to where Yates stood waiting on the empty dance floor. They hurried out of the club into the cold winter air, the bouncer still outside, smoking in the doorway. He watched them as they left.

  Yates turned to Kate as they climbed back in the police car. ‘Do you think we’ll get that CCTV?’ she asked.

  ‘We bloody better,’ Kate muttered. ‘Or I’m going to arrest him for obstructing a police investigation.’

  Kate put the car into gear and headed back to the station, resolving to send the biggest, burliest uniformed copper back there first thing tomorrow morning if they didn’t deliver. Police always made nightclub owners nervous, that was true, but Steve Morgan definitely had something to hide. Why the disagreement on the phone? It had seemed more than a simple request for some camera footage. Had Gabriella’s association with the club led to her attack? It sounded like Heaven was struggling to make ends meet, and Kate knew that money made people do risky things. Illegal things.

  She knew that CCTV was important. She just didn’t know why. Yet.

  5

  Thea had cobwebs in her hair, dirt under her fingernails. She had started in the living room, moving furniture and belongings, checking everything inside and out. She scoured cupboards, looked on top of bookshelves; not a single nook or cranny went unexplored.

  But yet, nothing. Years had passed, but she knew it had to be here. She didn’t dare think that she might be wrong.

  She stood up slowly, straightening out her back and wincing. She wrapped her arms around her, feeling the cold from the draughty house waft up through the floorboards, then slowly trudged up the wooden stairs to the master bedroom.

  Thea stood in the doorway and shivered, looking at the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. The day was coming to an end; the light was fading and rain was peppering the window.

  She felt rattled. The detective had shaken her, as much as she’d refused to show it, bringing back memories of being interviewed fifteen years ago, confused, worried and scared. But back then the police had been sympathetic. Kind to the teenagers who had lost their parents, and they hadn’t pushed them hard.

  Today had been different.

  Her sister could be at death’s door, but she felt numb. Before the argument last week, it had been nearly fifteen years since they’d last spoken. She knew her sister disapproved of her life, and in turn, she was condescending and patronising back. But being here, alone, she wondered how much she had actually known her sister. Were they really so dissimilar, even after all this time?

  She walked into the bedroom, picking up the laptop left on the side and pressing it into life, then climbed under the duvet. With only the light from the screen, she sat in bed and typed into the search engine: Gabriella Patterson.

  Within seconds the results popped up. A row of images headlined across the top, a few women she didn’t recognise, obviously with the same name, then photos of the Gabriella Patterson she knew. A list of links and web pages came next, with profiles from social media and LinkedIn. She clicked on the images and took in the photos of someone looking just like her, the various looks she’d indulged in over the years. A particularly glamorous shot had Gabriella with a choppy white-blonde bob, stylish, harsh straight lines, worn with leather jeggings, high heels and a silky black top. She looked incredible, as if torn straight from the pages of a fashion magazine.

  In each photo Gabriella was with a different man. Always powerful, always in classy suits and open collars, Gabriella draping off their arm. It wasn’t a great way to live your life, she thought. Being paid to hang out with podgy pink-faced men.

  For comparison, she opened up another window and started a new search: Thea Patterson. She was curious about how the world viewed them both – what trace their lives had left behind. A list of links in blue appeared on the screen, a few photos at the top. Thea’s presence on social media was scarce – no Twitter or Instagram, and her Facebook page only included two photos. The best link took her to her personal website. Simple, it showed nothing more than her name and ‘Photographer’ on the front page. The background picture w
as an impressive black and white landscape, clouds billowing above with a shot of sunshine breaking through onto a single house, solitary in the middle of the countryside. Isolated, beautiful, alone.

  Sighing, she discarded the laptop next to her. The introspection had made her restless, so she climbed out of bed to get some food, flicking light switches as she went to combat the dull winter gloom, running a hand over the closed doors. She paused with her fingers on the handle to their old bedroom, then opened it. The dust swirled, disturbed in the sudden gust of air.

  As children, as twins, they had started out there: two tiny babies in the same cot, then two tiny cots next to each other. Two sets of everything – hats, coats, jumpers, dresses – their mother trying hard to keep them looking the same and enjoying the attention that came with it: her perfect identical daughters. But after a while it became apparent that these two little people had their own personalities, each diametrically opposite to the other. While Gabriella demanded the dresses, expressing her free will in a forceful way early on, Thea didn’t care what she wore as long as it didn’t stop her getting outside. Soon her mother realised that expensive frilly frocks weren’t worth the bother for her tomboy daughter jumping gleefully into the nearest muddy puddle.

  They would argue – about anything and everything – the fights turning physical in a second, ending as suddenly as they’d begun. But as much as they would argue, they couldn’t stay apart for long: like magnets, they’d spring back into the other’s vicinity without comment. Thea had never said sorry to her sister; it hadn’t seemed necessary. It was as superfluous as apologising to yourself.

  Eventually their parents couldn’t bear the spats any longer and allocated them separate rooms in the hope of reducing the noise. But the separation didn’t work. Come morning they would always be found curled up like puppies, in Gabriella’s single bed.

  It was funny how time had moved on, yet nothing had changed. She missed being in her sister’s vicinity as keenly as if she were missing an arm. There was no doubt her twin was an integral part of her, and it had taken real effort to keep the distance between them all these years.

  Resting her shoulder on the doorframe, she flicked the switch. The room was flung into light from the bare bulb, displaying the garish decoration of pinks and pastels, blue gloss skirting boards and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. It had been the same since she left all those years ago, her legacy abandoned in towers of brown boxes, inscribed with their contents in black marker pen.

  She poked around in the piles. The top box was labelled Gabriella – clothes and she opened it. Tshirts were crumpled in with jeans and scarves and jumpers. A scrap of sequin in one corner caught her eye and she pulled at a strap, dragging it clear from the box. It was a long dress, a dress she remembered clearly from their school days. The American craze of school proms had reared its ugly head when they were eighteen. Thea had dismissed it from the beginning, but Gabriella had been surrounded by a continual throng of hormonally charged schoolboys, each hoping to be her date on the big night. Gabriella had dragged her decision out, as boxes of chocolates and bouquets of flowers arrived on their doorstep, finally choosing to go alone, with a decision that even Thea admitted a grudging respect for. Harry had tried to persuade Thea to go with him but she declined, preferring to spend the night watching old Eighties movies.

  And now, here was the dress. Their dad had raised an eyebrow, but their mum had let Gabi wear it, saying that if she looked like that, she would wear the dress all day long. It was a tube of gold silk and sequins, barely held together by a few strands across the back and over the shoulders. It was full length and trailed along the ground, and she remembered Gabi had worn a pair of gold teetering heels along with it.

  She held it up in front of her, slightly creased, then, out of curiosity, slipped out of her jeans, sweatshirt and bra and pulled it over her head. She shook it down to the ground and repositioned the straps, running her fingers through her hair and fluffing it up a bit. She faced the mirror, turning first one way, then the other.

  Even she had to admit, the transformation was pretty incredible. There were a few more bumps and curves than they had back then, but otherwise she fitted the dress perfectly.

  ‘That’s uncanny.’

  She jumped at the voice behind her and turned to face Harry, smart in his jacket and tie, scarf wrapped round his neck.

  ‘I remember that dress. She was quite something that night. And here you are, looking exactly the same.’

  She turned back to the mirror, impassively looking at her reflection. Even with no make-up and translucent skin from a winter under wraps, she looked every inch a movie star; she could demand the attention from anyone in any room, and all it took was a scrap of gold dress.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just finished work – I wanted to see how you were after your run-in this morning.’ He caught her eye in the mirror. ‘Have you phoned any hospitals?’

  ‘No, I got distracted.’

  ‘I can see. Have you been trying on Gabriella’s clothes all day?’

  Suddenly she felt silly, standing in the cold, playing dress-up in clothes from their teenage years. She felt exposed in front of Harry, as if he had caught her standing there naked.

  ‘Go and get some dinner downstairs and let me get changed.’

  ‘And then we’re making some phone calls.’

  ‘Fine, just get out of my way.’

  Harry turned and she could hear his heavy tread on the wooden stairs, then a tap running as he filled the kettle. Cheeks blazing, she pulled the gold dress off and tugged on her jeans and sweatshirt. ‘Ridiculous,’ she muttered to herself as she shut the door to the room firmly behind her, then stopped by the window in the hallway.

  A large black saloon edged slowly up her driveway. She felt adrenaline flood her body and glanced down the stairs to where she could hear Harry rattling around in her kitchen. She looked back nervously. Under the canopy of the trees she saw the car door open and a man get out.

  She saw a smart black coat and dark hair. She froze and in that moment he looked up, straight to the window. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t dare move, her eyes locked on his. He nodded. A sudden knowing gesture, before he moved out of the protection of the trees and back to his car. The BMW reversed, then disappeared down the road, plunging the street into darkness.

  She let out a long breath and pulled the curtains tight shut behind her. That was the second time she had seen him – why was he following her? What did he want? Suddenly she appreciated the thick old walls of the house, the prison-like locks on the front door, the tall man downstairs, his presence unwittingly reassuring. Pushing down the unease, she quickly ran down to the light of the kitchen, never so pleased to see Harry in her life.

  6

  Harry had a permanent crouch in this house, an automatic stoop adopted as a necessity after years of banging his head on low doorframes. At six foot two he had the same problem in most places, but he had learnt it first growing up around here. Downstairs, he took off his scarf, draping it over his coat, left by Thea earlier on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs along with her others, stacked on top of each other. Harry stopped for a moment, looking at the purple velvet coat that used to belong to Thea’s mum, remembering his dad’s old faded green army jacket that would accompany it. He sighed, and went to the kitchen to work out what meagre pickings he could find for dinner.

  As usual, the fridge was pretty much empty. He cobbled together what he could, and cooked scrambled eggs, delaying making any phone calls about Gabriella. All day at work he’d been troubled, drifting off mid-conversation with clients, absent-mindedly tapping his pen when he should have been answering emails. Should he go and visit her? Would she want him to? Something pulled him to her, and he knew there was no way he could ignore it.

  He and Thea ate dinner in near silence, but as Thea tidied up the plates, he couldn’t put it off any longer. There were four hospitals in their area
– two NHS and two private. Harry went for NHS first, finding the right one on the second call.

  ‘Thank you, and when are the visiting hours?’ He looked at Thea, who raised her eyebrows in response. ‘We’re family. Yes, thank you.’ He put his mobile down. ‘Until eight.’ He looked up at the clock, then back at Thea. ‘Come on, we’re going.’

  He expected Thea to resist, and a small part of him wanted her to; for her to be the excuse he needed to stay away. But she sighed, and closed the dishwasher with finality.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said.

  They found the hospital easily, parking Harry’s car in the stuffed multi-storey, then following signs to the intensive care unit. Along a long corridor, up in a large cranky lift, then more walking until they came to an automatic door, locked with an intercom on the outside.

  Harry pressed the button and pushed Thea forward.

  ‘Thea Patterson to see Gabriella Patterson?’ she said.

  A loud buzz and the doors opened, releasing an oppressive, fuggy air.

  The nurse at the desk looked at them both over the top of her glasses. ‘Are you family?’

  ‘Yes, I’m her sister,’ she said.

  ‘Well, obviously you are. But what about you?’ she said, gruffly. It was late, and the nurse had obviously had enough for the day.

  ‘I’m her brother,’ Harry said instinctively, and Thea looked up quickly. The nurse indicated for them to follow her down the corridor. Closed doors to darkened rooms lined the sides, and they were shown to the last on the right.

  ‘Has she had any visitors?’ Thea asked.

  ‘No one, no,’ the nurse said pointedly, gesturing to the bed next to the window. From the door Harry could only make out the bumps under the blue blanket where Gabriella’s feet were. He felt uncharacteristically mute; the smell of the hospital brought back memories of his mother: hushed conversations, sitting numb in a corridor, his father crying in the room next door.