by K. L. Slater
‘No!’ I bark. ‘You can’t.’
Chapter 43
I stretch out my arms and, facing her, place both palms flat either side of the door. I can tell from her face I seem like a crazy person. But I can’t stop it.
She takes a step back, her smile falling away.
PC Storer turns quickly from the window at the commotion and moves towards us.
‘Everything okay, Anna?’ he asks mildly, like I’m a loaded gun that might go off any second.
I blink a couple of times, trying to get my thoughts together.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say with a nervous laugh. ‘It’s just that the toilet isn’t working properly. It’s broken, you see.’ The skin on my face feels taut and stretched as if it might split with the effort of keeping my secrets in. ‘I haven’t got a body up there or anything.’
I giggle, trying to make light of the situation but they eye me suspiciously.
‘I see,’ PC Cullen says, turning to look at her colleague. ‘We didn’t mean to alarm you, Anna, I had no hidden agenda in going upstairs.’
‘I know,’ I say quickly, realising how ridiculous I must look. I allow my damp hands to fall away from the door and relax my rigid stance the best I can. ‘It’s just a bit – well, embarrassing, that’s all. It’s stinky up there at the moment.’
PC Storer nods slowly. ‘Have you called a plumber?’
‘Yes,’ I say. Then, ‘I mean no, I haven’t called a plumber yet. I was just about to do that when you arrived.’
My shoulders relax a little as PC Cullen turns away from the stairs door but then she walks towards the kitchen.
‘We’ll leave you to it then,’ she says, brushing down her uniform.
I feel like running past her and standing in front of the bin bags on the kitchen floor but, somehow, I manage to control myself.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, following them out. ‘About the loo, I mean.’
‘No worries,’ PC Cullen shrugs. ‘We’re going back to the station now, anyway, it won’t kill me to hold on.’
PC Storer peers into the incinerator as they step outside, pausing for just a moment.
‘You’d be better off with a shredder,’ he remarks.
‘Sorry?’
‘The paperwork,’ he says, nodding down into the ashes. ‘Probably less mess to shred it than burn it.’
‘Right you are,’ I bristle.
Mind your own fucking business.
I watch them drive away before locking the gates top and bottom and going back into the house. I lock the kitchen door behind me and lean heavily against it.
The bottom of my back is wet; my heart is pounding.
I say a silent prayer of thanks they’ve finally gone.
Chapter 44
PC Cullen
Gill Cullen slid into the passenger seat of the police car parked outside Anna Clarke’s house and turned to her colleague.
‘What did you make of her?’
Jay Storer glanced in the mirror before pulling away. ‘Pretty weird as far as weirdos go. Thought she was going to knock your head off when you asked to use her loo.’
‘I swear she was lying or at least compromising the truth but why would she do that? As far as I understand it, she was just a random witness of the accident; she didn’t know either of the drivers involved.’
‘Let’s face it, some people are just weird and there’s no logic behind it.’ He shrugged. ‘She’s probably just making the most of the attention. We’ve dealt with that sort before, haven’t we?’
A couple of years earlier a child had gone missing and local volunteers organised a thorough search of the area.
One of the main organisers brought himself to police attention. He seemed to be everywhere at once, getting in the way and shadowing police activity. He even started questioning people himself and reporting what they said back to officers.
Happily, the little girl was found safe at a friend’s house and only then did the man lose interest and make himself scarce.
It was enough to show Gill just how strangely some people could behave; seemingly, just to get themselves in the limelight of an investigation.
Gill stared bleakly out of the window as the car moved past rows of sooty-brick terraced houses and boarded-up shops.
She couldn’t shake her gut feeling that there was more to Anna Clarke than first met the eye.
Eccentric was probably a kinder word than weird. After all, this woman held down a responsible job and lived quite independently and capably on her own.
To her credit, Anna Clarke had also stayed with the victim at the scene of the accident until the ambulance arrived.
Yet she had been very obviously spooked when Gill and her colleague had arrived at her house and proceeded to act in a textbook guilty manner for no apparent reason.
The last time Gill checked, it wasn’t illegal to burn rubbish in your own backyard. Her own dad did it all the time, regularly infuriating neighbours who had just pegged out neat lines of damp laundry.
Despite all this, Gill still had reservations about the people involved in the Green Road incident. In fact, this whole seemingly run-of-the-mill accident left a bad taste in her mouth.
They hadn’t been able to speak to Liam Bradbury yet because of his memory loss and trauma, and getting to see the driver of the other vehicle, Amanda Danson, was proving more difficult than it should be.
After posted letters were seemingly ignored, Gill had personally called at both houses with a colleague to hand deliver letters requesting that Mr Bradbury and Miss Danson make statements down at the station. Two days later, Gill was still waiting for a response.
No representative for Mr Bradbury, who had clearly come off worse in the incident, had been in touch as far as she knew, so Gill had no real reason to put the pressure on Amanda Danson.
Gill yawned and opened the window a touch.
Apart from the odd road accident and nuisance neighbours, her job seemed to consist of little else but community-relations bollocks. She hadn’t signed up for that but it was now a major demand of the job.
Her Uncle George had been a detective for over thirty years, and his one consistent piece of advice to her was that she should trust her gut.
‘You need to work to get noticed in this job, Gilly, or you’ll end up a beat copper for the rest of your life,’ he’d cautioned.
Uncle George told her how, over the years, he’d watched people who had begun their career with drive to subconsciously allow that drive to seep away, day after day. Dealing with small-time druggies and lost pets seemed to have that effect.
‘Before you know it, the years just melt away,’ he told her. ‘Those once-ambitious beat coppers resigned themselves to the fact that it was now too late to do anything about it and just accepted their lot.’
Such pathetic acceptance was not in Gill’s nature but she knew George was right. The only way to stop the same thing happening to her was to rise above the chaff and go with her gut.
She needed a way to win recognition from the management for being smart and using her initiative.
‘Do you get the feeling there’s more to this accident than meets the eye?’ She looked over at Jay.
‘Nah,’ he murmured, raising a friendly hand to a group of hoodies as they passed the car at the lights. One of the lads responded with the finger.
‘Cheeky bugger,’ he chuckled.
Gill liked Jay on a personal level, but his lethargic and accepting nature of the job infuriated her. If ever there was a career beat cop, it was him. She wouldn’t get tarred with the same brush.
It was time to put some pressure on the people involved in the Green Road accident to make their official statements. Maybe she’d invest some time of her own, dig around a bit.
Chapter 45
Anna
After I hear the police car pull away, I sink on to the kitchen floor with my face in my hands for a long time. I managed to fool them but my head feels swelled and fit to burst with
the volume of stuff I’m worrying about.
My mail-destroying plan seems a very bad idea now but it’s all I’ve got. It is the only way to set things straight and quick.
I glance at the wall clock and I’m astounded to see it’s nearly four in the afternoon. I know Liam will be wondering where I am, waiting to have a cuppa and a chat with me after being holed up in the house with Ivy all day long.
I stand up slowly, feeling woozy like I’ve had too much to drink.
The three black bin bags hunker down in the corner of the kitchen, full of silent threat. They seem bigger, somehow, as if the mail inside is stealthily growing in bulk.
Much as I want to get over to see Liam, I know I have to clear up this mess. It won’t do to allow any traces or clues to remain. I’m certainly not expecting any more unwanted visitors but it’s only sensible to plan for the unexpected.
My mind instantly presents scenarios that would be out of my control. Someone could break in when I’m out. If I forget to turn off a plug and there was an electrical fire, the local fire brigade would have to force entry. I’ll be discovered and nobody will believe I’m just having a temporary problem at work and that it isn’t my fault.
Pulling myself together, I stand up and go back outside. Squinting against the wind, I begin to shovel ashes out from the bottom of the incinerator.
They aren’t cool enough yet to pile into the wheelie bin so I stack them in a small pile in the corner of the disused coalhouse at the end of the yard.
There are a few larger unburned pieces of paper within the ashes that the eagle-eyed PC Storer somehow managed to spot.
I replace the lid on the incinerator and put that into the coalhouse too. Then I take the big brush and sweep up the tiny shards of paper that have fluttered out, escaping into the corners of the yard.
With the outside sorted, I go back inside and lock the door behind me. I feel so much safer with the gate and doors locked. I don’t like surprise visitors.
I take hold of all three bin bags and drag them back across the kitchen floor into the middle room. My throat seems blocked up with what feels like cotton wool, and I have to pause for a few seconds to catch my breath.
The bags are heavy but I’d rather do it in one trip upstairs if I possibly can.
I’ve barely taken a few steps into the middle room when something stops me dead in my tracks. I let go of the bags and lift my chin, inhaling deeply to the left and then to the right.
The smell I thought I had scrubbed and cleaned away only two days earlier is back with a vengeance. That rotting, vile stench.
There is something familiar about it but I don’t know what. There’s something hanging around on the edge of my memory that I can’t quite grasp.
I think I’ve smelled it before, not in the last week or so but years ago. A ragged lump swells in my throat and I take a few deep breaths to stave off the sickly feeling that’s quickly rising from my stomach.
Standing by the kitchen window, I grip the worktop to steady myself.
I look out, almost expecting the two officers to appear again from round the corner with their little faux-friendly waves and smiles. They’ll have to knock at the front door if they want to speak to me again and, of course, I won’t be so silly as to answer this time.
I take a couple of sips from a glass of water and reach for the bottle of cleaning fluid and a cloth from the cupboard underneath the sink. I venture back into the middle room and sniff the air. Yes, it’s there and back to its unbearable normal strength.
I move around the table. Is it my imagination or does the smell seem stronger on the side where the police sat?
I spray the tabletop and wipe around. Then I do the same on the chairs, including frames, legs and even the floral cushions, which are sodden with lemon cleaning fluid by the time I’ve finished.
I hear Albert yowling in the front room. I’d completely forgotten he was in there. When I open the door he stalks past, tail upright and refusing to look at me.
Albert hates visitors, too.
He makes a beeline for the table and proceeds to wind his way around the chair legs. He isn’t purring or pleasuring himself from the rub, he’s trying to eradicate the smell of the imposters. We both are.
Soon, the pungent sting of lemon cleaning fluid fills my nostrils and relieves the stench a little. Albert is none too pleased and within a minute or two he’s sneezing and hacking. He brushes past me with barely disguised disdain, and I open the kitchen door to let him outside.
‘Don’t go too far, Albert,’ I call before closing and locking the door again.
He’ll come round and forgive me later when I tempt him with one of his favourite treats.
I grab the bags again and half-drag, half-carry them upstairs. By the time I get them onto the landing, the bags are badly torn and a trail of letters spills all the way back down the stairs.
I sit on the top step to steady my shaking legs and stare back down at the litter of white and brown envelopes and multicoloured flyers.
Part of me wishes I could just set the whole house alight and get it all done with in one go. I could start afresh then. Even that, given my current luck, would fail.
No doubt the authorities would put the fire out before it destroyed all the mail, or the water tank would burst and extinguish the flames.
Sharp pains shoot across my scalp. I lower my hands and release clumps of hair, wriggling my fingers so that the tangles flutter down and settle on top of the scattered mail.
I can’t allow myself to get distracted like this or I’ll never make it to Liam’s house, and that would please Ivy and Amanda no end.
Ignoring the mess that is on the stairs for now, I stand up again and drag the bags along the length of the landing and into the spare bedroom, leaving them by the boiler cupboard until I can continue with my incinerator plan tomorrow.
I allow myself a little smile in the bathroom. I certainly outwitted the supposedly smart PC Cullen with my impromptu broken-toilet excuse.
I flush the loo and wash my hands at the sink. When I glance up at the small mirror a sharp cry escapes my lips.
My already sparse hairline has receded back very noticeably at my temples. Two large jagged patches of bare scalp are bleeding and inflamed.
I don’t know how it got so bad so quickly.
Chapter 46
Present day
Anna
I glance at my watch and realise it is only an hour until Liam’s check-up appointment at the hospital, and I am supposed to be driving him there.
When I arrive at the house Ivy is in an obstructive mood, giving Liam a hard time.
‘There’s no need for you to come,’ I tell her as kindly as I can. ‘You’re struggling to get about as it is. We’ll come straight back and tell you how it went, won’t we, Liam?’
‘Rubbish.’ She struggles up from the couch. ‘The Grim Reaper isn’t knocking yet, you know.’
‘Gran,’ Liam says gently. ‘Anna’s right. It’s silly you traipsing all the way to the hospital with us and back again when there’s no need.’
It is obvious that Liam is looking forward to escaping her clutches for a short while and spending time with me. He hasn’t said anything about the fact I didn’t come over yesterday but that will just be him being polite and not wanting to upset me. I hope he didn’t spend hours watching and waiting for my arrival, though.
If we manage to get some respite from Ivy this morning, we can have a coffee and chat in the hospital café afterwards or maybe even grab a spot of lunch.
‘I’m fine,’ Ivy insists between clenched teeth. Her voice is steely, despite her frail appearance. ‘Anyway, he’s been out all afternoon; be nice to see him a bit.’
‘You’ve been out?’ I ask faintly.
He ignores my question and gets to his feet. I am surprised by how much easier he seems to be moving.
‘No, Gran, you stay here and rest. I’ll go with Anna this time, end of.’
Ivy sighs a
nd her shoulders sink down like a deflated balloon. It’s well known that a troubled mind responds to firm direction, and that’s told her in no uncertain terms.
I fetch Liam’s jacket and crutches and shoot Ivy a look as I walk past her.
‘We’re trying to look out for you is all, Ivy,’ I say. ‘I want to help you in any way I can to make your life a bit easier.’
‘I just feel so – so useless.’ She wipes her eyes with the back of a liver-spotted hand.
* * *
The sooner Ivy realises I am a permanent fixture in their lives, the better off we’ll all be. Putting up with this nonsense every time I come over is really getting on my nerves.
I’m sure she will feel more able to accept my help when I have moved in. If her health gets worse and she refuses to accept our help, Liam might even be forced to look for a suitable care home for her. I can only pray it doesn’t come to that.
Once we are in the car and on our way, I notice my breathing gets a bit easier. Not least because Liam begins to talk to me.
‘It’s driving me mad being stuck in the house, seeing stuff around me that I don’t remember anything about,’ he says.
‘It’s bound to feel frustrating,’ I agree. ‘Hopefully, bits might start to come back to you soon.’
He shrugs but doesn’t comment.
‘I haven’t been out all afternoon at all,’ he remarks. ‘I think Gran is losing her concept of time. I just had a walk to the park and back to get some fresh air.’
It seems Ivy is getting confused about everyday matters. And after having sight of the report that is currently hidden away in her wardrobe, it’s no surprise to me at all.
‘I’m worried about your gran, Liam,’ I say. ‘She’s doing far too much, and I overheard one of the nurses saying she is a prime candidate for a heart attack.’
I didn’t actually overhear those exact words but I’m certain it will have been said by someone at some point following Ivy’s collapse.