The Guilty Party

by Mel McGrath

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. Come in.’

  It has been a long time since I have slept with anyone I cared about. Not since Dex. Far, far too long. So long I’ve forgotten how intimate it can be. It’s lonely out there in algorithm land. Love mapped out in a language of ones and zeros. People reduced to profiles and matches and clicks. Human hearts written up as score sheets in a Big Black Book.

  Afterwards, while Will is sleeping, I sit on the side of the bed and reach for my phone. It’s so automatic but until now it hasn’t occurred to me that it is really a kind of betrayal, a kind of theft. I won’t do it. Not any more.

  To be honest, I don’t think I’m well in the head. Beside me lies my sleeping lover but I have no memory of sex at all. It’s the strangest feeling. Is this what concussion feels like? A wooziness, a kind of mental nausea, a swirling of the neurons and a blank where there should be thoughts and images and the memory of sounds and smells. Maybe I should have gone to A&E. Maybe I should have gone home. I will. I will go to A&E. I will go home. But not tonight.

  Will stirs, reaches out an arm and finds my waist, realises I am sitting up and, rubbing at his face, props himself on his elbows, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  ‘You’re not going, are you?’

  ‘I feel a bit weird.’

  From somewhere outside a siren starts up, so loud and sudden, it has me jumping out of my skin. Will reaches out and strokes my face.

  ‘It’s OK. Someone’s just escaped the YOI. Happens once in a blue moon. There’s only a skeleton staff at the weekend. He’ll probably be off the island by now. Please stay here.’ He sits up, takes my hand and curls his fingers around mine.

  ‘I’ll only keep you awake.’ I’m pulling on my clothes now. If I don’t leave now I will have no choice but to betray them. And then I will have nothing.

  ‘I like being awake. If you’re here, I’d rather be awake anyway.’

  Pulling off the duvet, he rises, naked, from the bed and in a calm voice tinted with regret says, ‘If you really must go, at least let me take you in the car or if you’re not feeling well, maybe we should go to the A&E at Weymouth.’

  ‘Thanks, but all I need is a bit of air.’

  Outside, a single streetlight shines milky light onto a wet pavement. The street is deathly quiet. A bird calls, not an owl, some other kind. In the distance the water sighs over the pebbles on Chesil Beach. Anyone trying to get off the island tonight will have a time of it.

  At the corner of Will’s street I retrace my steps towards the Spar and the churchyard and there, sitting in the bus shelter with a man, illuminated by the light in the churchyard, is Bo’s date, Rachel. I cross the street and walk along under the street lights to the path leading up to the cottage. Everything is quiet. The shrunken moon has spread its silveriness across the black mass of the sea. To the right are the lights of Weymouth. To the left, the darkness. I am tired now. My head is aching and my chest feels wrung out. I want to fall asleep and not dream about the drowned woman or about anything at all.

  By the time I reach Fossil Cottage I am so heavy in limb and heart that I can barely make it inside the door. I do not want to go up to my room. I do not want to pass by Anna and Dex and Bo asleep in their rooms. I do not want to walk under the urchin or see the waves thump and suck at Chesil Beach through the little window or feel the ammonite of fool’s gold which sits under the pillow like an accusation. Tonight I want to stay here, downstairs, where there is nothing to challenge me. And so, pulling off my shoes, I stumble onto the sofa, tug the sofa throw over myself and in the soft breeze coming though the open crack in the French windows try to sleep. But Marika rises up in my mind. Marika who seemed so out of it in the churchyard that she looked more rag doll than human. Tonight, just tonight, I want to forget. Tomorrow I will walk away.

  It’s still dark when I am next conscious but already my pulse is thrumming, the instinctual part of me alert before my mind has had time to catch up. I sit up and rub my eyes and in the clearing blur of red veins against a black background in the shadows on the far side of the room, a shape forms.

  ‘Dex?’ My mind, still half in sleep, begins to stir and rise.

  No response comes. The shape resolves into the form of a man.

  ‘Dex? Bo?’ My voice is taut and full of fury. Every sense scrambles. I’d like to scream but nothing comes. If this is not a dream then what is happening to my body? My nerves are busy sending panicked messages but everything is frozen. I want to get off the sofa, I have the urge to run, but my body is shapeless and my limbs are soft and floppy. I want to speak but my voice has gone to ground.

  The figure has emerged from the shadows. Outside, the owl is hooting. A chill breeze comes in from an open French window. Are you directing this, Marika? Is this your show? Your revenge? If it is, I deserve it, I do. Only not now, Marika. Now I need your help. But I know what’s coming and it’s not you, Marika, is it? What’s coming is only more horror.

  For a moment before the hand clamps around my mouth I can feel his body pushing through the stillness, then it’s over. Nothing more to be done. My head jerks back. Monstrous insects buzz just below the surface of my brain. I cannot rid myself of them. The heart is ticking somewhere beyond the fringes of my body. I’ve separated and come apart. A voice, spring-loaded and unfamiliar, hisses, ‘I need the fucking car keys.’

  Something chill and unyielding is pressing into my skin. There is a knife at my neck. The shadow jerks my head back once more. Its palm is sweaty on my lips but the hand is trembling. For an instant I feel myself dematerialising then a brief, abominable pain flares. Whoever is on me is as scared as I am and that makes him unpredictable and dangerous.

  Without moving my arm I point to the outline of Bo’s daypack on the floor.

  The shadow growls, ‘Get up.’

  And so I rise but unsteadily. Something strange is happening to my body. It began yesterday after the fall from the horse. A gradual disarticulation, the parts working loose from one another. I’m in pieces. I’m falling apart. I want to say this but the sound of my voice has slowed to a long moan only I can hear. An arm is around my neck now, the palm still clamped against my mouth, the glint of the blade just visible in my peripheral vision. We stumble a few paces. Pushing me to my knees the shadow reaches for the pack and jams it in my face. I do what I’m asked, open the zip and pour the contents onto the floor.

  A light comes on in the hallway and, there, at the bottom of the stairs, stands Dex. For an instant the three of us, the empty daypack and the mess on the floor, are all part of the same tableau while our minds try to catch up with our eyes. But it cannot last. We are the cartoon characters chased off the cliff, suspended in mid-air and about to plummet.

  ‘He has a knife!’

  A mute, destructive energy surges through the room. How will this end? Time grinds to a halt. For a moment no one breathes. Then, all of a sudden I see Dex rush forward. Something clatters to the floor, there is a dark blur beside me, the smell of piss and sweat. A pair of legs flashes past and something warm and tasting of metal pools across my lips and I am alone, all of a sudden, on my knees amidst a scatter of objects with cold air coming in and a roar in my head and in the background a tinny voice shouting, ‘Call 999,’ and I know instantly that no such thing can be done because there is no phone signal.

  A moment later there are hands on my arms, lifting me up, and I am back on the sofa but now it is safe because Anna’s arms are around me and her right hand is wiping something cold and wet across my face.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Anna says. ‘She’s OK. It’s just a nosebleed.’

  So you see, Marika, I have people, and my people will intervene.

  ‘Christ on a bike. What happened?’

  ‘I woke up and he was already in the room.’

  ‘Did you get a good look at him?’

  Did I? No.

  ‘It was really dark and I’d only just woken up and I think I must have drunk too much or eaten
something because I’m feeling really out of it.’

  Running her hands through my hair, Anna says, ‘I expect it’s just the shock, darling.’

  ‘He ran off,’ Dex says. He’s come back into the room now and he’s panting and wired. ‘I didn’t really get a look at him. Too dark.’

  ‘You hear that siren earlier? Someone escaped from the YOI.’

  ‘Was he after Bo’s wallet?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He asked for the car keys.’

  ‘Did he get them?’ Dex says, bringing over the tea and setting it down on the coffee table beside the sofa. ‘Where is Bo? And why the fuck isn’t he here?’

  I point to the keys which are lying on the carpet beside all the other detritus of Bo’s daypack – a battery pack, a foil of pills, his monogrammed leather sunglasses case.

  ‘He had a skinful last night,’ Anna says.

  ‘Well, wake him up! I’m going to drive up to wherever there’s a phone signal and call the police. Bo needs to be down here with you guys in case that clown comes back.’

  Beside me, Anna stops stroking my hair and holds up a hand. She’s looking at Dex. Something unfamiliar passes between them.

  ‘Do we really want to get the police involved? We’re going home soon. Not to mention the fact that your name will come up as someone the Met questioned last week, Dex.’

  There is a pause. Dex, who has moved a couple of paces towards the hallway and the front door, stops, and in the tilt of his head I can see the cogs turning as he considers what Anna has said.

  Then, with a long deep breath, he turns, and walks back to where we’re sitting, closing the living room door behind him.

  29

  Cassie

  9 a.m., Sunday 2 October, Isle of Portland

  It’s been three or four hours since the intruder broke in and, having caught a couple of hours’ sleep together in her bed, Anna and I are already up and downstairs, me with an ice pack pressed to my nose and Anna with the bag of filter coffee in her hand. Dex is in the shower. Bo is still asleep, incredibly. He slept through the whole shebang. The doorbell rings. I check my phone. Nine a.m.

  Anna says, ‘Are you expecting Will?’

  ‘Nope.’

  She goes to the kitchen window, peers out, ‘God, no, it’s that policewoman friend of yours. You didn’t call her, did you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  We both scan the room and Anna is already going for the door when I spot something lying beside the sofa and reaching down, find the foil of pills. I turn it over and check the name of the drug printed there. Nothing I recognise. I drop it in the pocket of my robe then, thinking better of it, fish it back out and stuff it underneath the sofa cushion. Plausible deniability. That’s what they say, isn’t it? The door is open now. From the hallway, sounds of female voices drift in. Seconds later the door into the kitchen-living room opens and Julie steps inside and coming over, hand outstretched and in a cheery, declamatory voice says, ‘Hello again, Cassie.’ She’s in her uniform now, her hair tied into a tight bun, all business.

  ‘That nose looks sore. You get that falling from the horse?’

  ‘Oh, you heard about that.’

  ‘It’s a small island.’

  ‘PC Blythe has come about someone who escaped from the YOI last night, but we didn’t even know anyone had, did we?’ Anna interjects, pointedly, sidestepping Julie and making her way towards the kitchen.

  ‘We were just making breakfast. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee would be great. It’s been a long night.’

  ‘Take a seat,’ I say, gesturing to the chair furthest from the sofa. Anna returns to the living room.

  ‘The others are still upstairs,’ she says. ‘Bit of a late one.’

  Julie smiles and says nothing. The kettle sings and Anna goes back into the kitchen.

  ‘Did you find him?’

  The non-committal smile once more.

  In a bright voice, Julie says, ‘Has Will been round today?’

  ‘We didn’t need any milk, so . . .’

  The policewoman nods and smiles as if this answers her question.

  A moment later Anna returns carrying a tray on which sits a large cafetière, a jug of milk and three mugs.

  ‘Well, then,’ says Anna, taking a seat beside me. ‘How can we help?’

  A couple of tracker dogs has traced the escapee as far as the hedge at the back of the cottage. From here the trail then led back down towards Chesil Beach. Julie wonders if we heard a disturbance, saw anything or noticed anything missing.

  Anna shakes her head slowly, as if she’s only just thinking this through. ‘Nope, I can’t think of anything,’ she says, finally looking at me. ‘We didn’t see anyone, did we?’

  ‘We heard the siren . . .’

  ‘. . . but we thought it was a ship,’ Anna says, ‘we’re Londoners so . . .’ She tails off then leaning over the table, presses the plunger and in a casual voice, she says, ‘Have you caught him yet?’

  ‘Yes. He was apprehended on the other side of Weymouth a couple of hours ago. Shoplifting, poor kid. Hungry, got no money. They always get caught.’

  Anna fills a mug and pushes it over towards Julie, taps at the milk bottle.

  ‘I thought we had some sugar but it turns out we used it all on a cake.’

  Julie smiles. ‘This is fine.’ Then, pulling out a notebook, she continues, ‘So, you were where when the siren went off?’

  ‘Oh, we were here in bed, weren’t we, darling?’

  I turn to look at her but there’s nothing written on her face but a faint flicker of a smile.

  ‘All four of you?’

  ‘Not in the same bed, obviously.’ Anna’s smile grows wider. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Cassie?’

  Julie scribbles something in her notebook, stops and reaches for her coffee. ‘And before then?’

  A tiny tic starts up in Anna’s eye. She hasn’t anticipated this.

  ‘Oh, well, we all had dinner at the Crab Shack, then we went to the pub down by the quay.’

  ‘The Mermaid?’

  ‘No, the other one. The Quarryman, is it?’

  ‘What time would that have been?’

  ‘Maybe half ten.’

  ‘And you were all there?’

  Anna casts a sideways glance at me. She’s giving me permission to tell at least part of the truth.

  ‘I was at Will’s house. By the time I got back everyone else was asleep. I didn’t turn on the light because I didn’t want to disturb anyone,’ I say.

  ‘But you checked all the rooms?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You said everyone else was asleep.’

  ‘The three of us came back from the pub then went to bed,’ Anna interjects, quickly.

  ‘And when you got back, everything was normal?’

  ‘Well, obviously, this a holiday rental, so we wouldn’t necessarily notice. But nothing of ours was missing, if that’s what you mean.’

  Anna reaches for the cafetière and tops up everyone’s coffee. Nothing to see here.

  ‘I’d like a quick word with the others. If you could ask them to come down?’

  ‘Oh,’ says Anna, looking puzzled. She’s unused to her having her charm go unnoticed. ‘I don’t think . . .’

  ‘All the same,’ says Julie.

  ‘Of course.’ She rises and disappears up the stairs.

  Julie clears her throat. ‘So, did you get anywhere with your neighbour?’

  My heart jumps.

  ‘The Coroner’s reports.’

  ‘Oh that. I forgot about it, to be honest.’ I’m doing my best to sound neutral.

  Draining her coffee, Julie says, ‘Will likes you. He’s a good guy, Cassie. Don’t, you know . . .’

  ‘Mess with his head?’

  She glances at me then looks away. I have irritated her. The atmosphere is broken by the reappearance of Anna trailing Bo who comes and sits on the sofa beside me. While I make the int
roduction, Anna brings another couple of mugs from the kitchen and pours out the last of the coffee. Moments later Dex appears, wet-haired and green-hued.

  Julie waits for the men to settle, then asks each in turn to describe the evening. She lets them get as far as the Quarryman, then says, ‘So how did you get back here?’

  ‘We walked,’ said Dex. ‘Didn’t we?’ He does his best puppy dog look. ‘Tbh it’s all a bit of a blur.’

  From the other side of the sofa Anna flares her eyes. ‘We asked the barman to order us a cab but he said there was only one serving the whole island and it being Saturday night . . . so yes, all three of us walked back together.’

  ‘Staggered more like,’ Bo says.

  Julie smiles but it does not reach her eyes.

  ‘So, you got to the pub around ten thirty. When did you leave?’

  Bo looks at Dex for affirmation. ‘Just after midnight? Before that siren thing went off anyway.’

  ‘And you didn’t see anything untoward when you got back to the cottage? No lights on that weren’t on before, no door open, nothing taken?’

  Bo shakes his head. ‘Nope, nada, though we were wasted, or at least I was, so . . .’

  Anna rises to her feet. ‘What we’re all saying, PC Blythe, is that none of us saw anything.’

  30

  Dex

  6 p.m., Saturday 13 August, Tower Bridge Road

  Dex really isn’t into lighter-skinned guys, though that makes him sound super-superficial, so the one buzzing the video entry right now leaves him feeling deflated. Fabien is almost blond. On his profile pic he looked darker. But then it was a dick pic. Anyway, now his date is at the door and, evident blondness aside, he’s none too shabby.

  He pops the lock and goes to the door. Naturally Gav will assume he’ll have gone on Grindr. The moment he gets home he’ll be wanting the minute-by-minute. Dex obliges, though, in all honesty, he finds it slightly creepy in a way he doesn’t when sharing with the Group.

  ‘Hi, Fabien?’ he says, inviting his date to step inside and take off his light summer jacket, using the few seconds while Fabien is occupied as an opportunity to check him out. Naturally, he’ll have to invent a location other than the house for the date when talking to Gav or the Group. He thinks about it for a moment and settles on Elephant and Castle. Yes, Fabien looks the Elephant and Castle type.