What You Left Behind

by Samantha Hayes

  “Oh, come here,” Lorraine said, embracing him tightly. “We were worried sick about you.”

  The sound of sirens outside broke them up. A moment later there were two paramedics in the kitchen. Lorraine explained to them what had happened and left them to check Freddie out, even though he was protesting that he was absolutely fine. She went over to Sonia, who was leaning against the sink, looking terrified.

  “I’ve let everyone down,” she said. Her face was slick with tears and her eyes flared. “It nearly happened again.” She took a moment to blow her nose. “I’ll never forget that day. We were all packed and about to go on holiday, but couldn’t find Simon anywhere. Then I discovered him hanging. He didn’t look like my boy.” She wiped her face on her shirt sleeve. “Lana was waiting in the car, and Gil was out helping to look.”

  Lorraine allowed her to speak, aware of the police arriving outside.

  “I didn’t register what had happened at first.” She paused, swallowing a couple of times. “He was staring above my head, across the barn. Then Tony appeared, drenched in sweat, glaring at Simon with crazy eyes. I didn’t believe him when he told me he’d just found him like that.”

  Sonia fixed her eyes on Lorraine, ignoring everyone else in the kitchen.

  “Then Tony grabbed me, told me not to call the police. When I saw the scratches on his cheeks, the grazes on his knuckles, I knew he’d killed our son. There was something in his eyes too. He’d found Simon and Jason together, strangled Simon with a belt.”

  Lorraine recalled the pathologist’s report, how it had mentioned a second, fainter ligature mark, possibly consistent with a badly tied knot slipping, in effect hanging him twice. Burnley had missed the obvious, concealed within the spate.

  “Tony told me that he’d found them at it, said it had been going on right under our noses, that it was disgusting, and that he’d had no choice but to put a stop to it. He went after Jason a few days later.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lorraine said.

  “But then something strange happened.” Sonia’s eyes narrowed. “He said there was a suicide note, that Simon had been depressed and wanted to end his life. I didn’t understand at first.”

  “Go on,” Lorraine said, glancing out the window.

  “He kept saying it over and over, making it into something believable, a better alternative to the truth. When I told him to show me the note, he said we had to write one, that we would do it for Simon. I told him no, said he had to give himself up, but then I began to wonder if he was right. How would I manage if he went to prison?”

  She covered her face again.

  “When I went to fetch a pen and paper from my bag in the car, Lana was still in there, listening to music, scowling because we were late. Gil was sitting beside her by then, stiff and white, staring straight ahead. I knew immediately that he knew. From that moment, he became part of our secret. I hated myself for it. But knowing that Simon had been in love was some comfort.”

  Sonia’s face seemed calmer now, as if that thought combined with telling the truth was a relief.

  “He’d planned on dropping out of university, going traveling with Jason.” She gripped Lorraine’s hands. “Tony wrote the words. It’s hard knowing what to put in your son’s suicide note.”

  Lorraine shuddered, realizing just how much danger Freddie had been in the night Lenny was killed. It could so easily have been him on the railway tracks—his faked suicide note instead.

  WHEN LORRAINE WENT outside, the courtyard was filled with the tick-tick of blue flashing lights, and Adam was briefing the officers present. Several others were stepping into white forensics suits, ready to enter the barn once the SIO arrived—Greg Burnley, Lorraine assumed. Another was unraveling tape, cordoning off the courtyard in a wide circumference, logbook already in hand to record all comings and goings.

  A car came down the drive and a woman, about Lorraine’s age and wearing a dark suit, got out. Lorraine went over to introduce herself.

  “And Greg Burnley?” she said after learning that DI Walton had been assigned as the SIO.

  “I understand he’s been suspended from duty, pending an investigation,” she replied, glancing around.

  Lorraine nodded slowly and briefed her on what had happened.

  She was about to head back into the house to see if the paramedics had finished with Freddie when she saw a figure lumbering up the drive. He slowed momentarily when he saw all the police.

  “Frank,” Lorraine said. “There’s been an incident, I’m afraid.” She stared at the plastic bags he was holding.

  “I was in the pub when I heard,” he said. “I came as fast as I could, but couldn’t keep up.” He was out of breath and dumped the bags on the ground. “I came round earlier to bring these back, but I couldn’t find Sonia. I collected the wrong ones the other day. I feel awful because the lads at New Hope already took some of the stuff.”

  “Under the circumstances, I’m sure Sonia won’t mind,” Lorraine said.

  Frank bowed his head. “I was guilty myself,” he said quietly. “I feel like a vulture.” He hesitated. “I don’t blame you if you press charges, but I took a cell phone. I couldn’t believe it was in the charity bag, but Sonia’s so kindhearted and I couldn’t afford a new one.”

  “Frank, you’ve done the right thing.”

  “The phone’s back here in the bag,” he said, looking relieved. “And I reckon I gave Freddie a right old fright when I called round this morning. He nearly knocked me over, charging out of Gil’s place. Tony was nearby and marched him straight off, giving him a good telling off, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  Lorraine nodded thoughtfully, said goodbye to Frank, and went back into the house.

  Alison Black had arrived and was talking to Lana and Gil.

  “And how are you feeling?” she said, turning to Freddie. Jo was still sitting beside him, holding his hand.

  “They said I’m fine, that I can go home,” he answered. He was certainly looking much better.

  “The detective has agreed to take your statements tomorrow,” Lorraine said to Freddie, Lana, and Gil. Then she held out her hands to Freddie and Jo. “We should go home now. And you must both come with us,” she added, looking at Lana and Gil. Alison agreed.

  Sonia was still standing rigid against the sink, with a uniformed officer beside her. DI Walton came in and said a few words to the constable before leading Sonia away by the arm.

  “Mum?” Lana said.

  “It’s routine, love,” Lorraine told her. “They’ll need to question her at the station, perhaps keep her overnight, but I’m certain the courts will be lenient in this case. Try not to worry.”

  As they passed through the courtyard, her instincts were telling her to help, to organize, to interview and take statements, but Lorraine had a quick word with Adam and he agreed to stay behind for a while. She told DI Walton she’d be in touch. It was more important for her to provide support to Jo, Freddie, Lana, and Gil now, as well as making sure Stella wasn’t too distressed. Malc had already gone back to Glebe House to be with her.

  The sun was beginning to set as they walked off down the long drive, leaving the blue-and-white crime-scene tape spiraling behind them and the car lights flashing. Lorraine couldn’t help noticing how Lana’s hand slipped into Freddie’s, how her head briefly rested on his shoulder.

  “HUNGRY?” JO ASKED Freddie as they went into the kitchen. He was staring around as if he’d been away forever.

  “Er, yeah,” he said with a sheepish laugh.

  “Lucky I made that chicken casserole then, isn’t it?” Jo said, as if she didn’t quite believe her son was home.

  Malc crushed him in another embrace. “Good to have you back, mate.”

  The kitchen was filled with the scent of wine and herbs and Jo busied about, trying to make Gil and Lana feel at home, even though there was nothing anyone could do to ease their pain, take away what had happened.

  Lorraine left them to it and went to see Stella
. She found her asleep in the living room, a book spread open on her lap. She sat down beside her and gently stroked her head.

  “Love, it’s me.”

  “Mum?” Stella sat bolt upright, bleary-eyed.

  “Come here,” she said, pulling her close for a hug. It was what she needed.

  “Are we going home soon?” Stella asked in a sleepy voice. “It’s really boring here.”

  “Soon, love,” she replied. “Soon.”

  41

  The next morning Adam returned to Birmingham, promising not only to contact the appropriate authorities to ensure the offensive content about Freddie was removed from the internet, but also that they would bring a case against the perpetrators, as well as alert the school and their parents.

  “I should have asked for help sooner,” Freddie admitted as they all sat in the garden to have lunch.

  “That’s how the bullies get away with it, love,” Lorraine said, serving the salad and quiche Jo had brought out. “They bank on the threats keeping you quiet, that the shame will silence you.”

  Freddie was nodding, having already agreed to chat with a counselor about it. “I thought I’d have a look at universities online later,” he said. Lorraine noticed the smile on Jo’s face. Freddie was thinking of the future already, planning what he wanted to do. “I like the idea of studying economics.”

  “Get you,” Lana said, squeezing his hand. A phone call from her mum earlier had cheered her up: Sonia was going to be allowed home that afternoon.

  “And what about you, Lana?” Lorraine said. “You’ll be off to medical school before too long, won’t you?”

  Lana blushed and looked at Freddie. “Mum’s not going to be very pleased,” she said, sipping her water.

  “Just tell them,” Freddie said. “The truth’s always better.”

  Lana nodded and took a breath. “I never wanted to be a doctor,” she confessed. “It was … it was Dad’s idea initially. Then Mum latched onto it, hoping I’d be as clever as Simon. The truth is, I didn’t actually write a single word on my exam papers. I’m not going to be a doctor.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “You’re very brave to do that Lana but now I won’t get better,” Gil said, munching his food.

  “You don’t need to get better, Gil,” she replied, taking his hand. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  They ate the meal, enjoying being together despite the shadow cast by the week’s events. Malc promised he’d stay in Radcote for another week, adding to Jo’s growing relief, and Lorraine also promised not to leave for a couple more days.

  LATER, LORRAINE OFFERED to take Lana to fetch her mum from the Justice Center. Lana was nervous but agreed it was the right thing to do.

  “She’s been released on bail,” Lorraine explained on the journey there. “There’ll be a court case, but not for a while yet. Taking everything into account, how she helped save Freddie, I think things will be OK for her.”

  Lana nodded, taking it all in. “Thanks for everything,” she said earnestly as they walked up the steps of the police station.

  When they all got back to the Manor, Gil was waiting at the door, excited to tell Sonia that he’d moved back into the main house.

  EARLY ON WEDNESDAY morning, Stella sat bleary-eyed in the passenger seat next to Lorraine. She had to get back for work meetings. In the last couple of days they’d been on two outings, including coaxing Freddie out on a narrow-boat day trip. He’d come willingly, knowing Lana would be joining them.

  “Go, go!” Jo said with a laugh, pretending to shoo them away. “Get yourselves out of here while you can!”

  The last few days had done her a world of good. Lorraine hadn’t said anything on Monday morning when Jo and Malc had come down for breakfast together in their dressing gowns.

  “I’m coming back to see you for the day on Sunday, OK?” Lorraine said through the open car window. “And I’ll phone later tonight.”

  Jo grabbed her arm through the window. “I’m sorry it’s been so awful.”

  “Oh, Jo …” Lorraine got out of the car again. “It’s been pretty awful, yes—pretty much the most awful you’ve managed yet.” They fell into a hug. “Let’s keep in touch. We’re all we’ve got.”

  Jo agreed, nodding furiously against Lorraine’s shoulder, fighting the tears.

  “Are you sure you’ll be OK?” Lorraine asked.

  “Malc’s staying for a bit.”

  Lorraine held her at arm’s length. “Do you think you two will …?”

  “I really hope so. It’s made Freddie so much happier already. I just hope Malc will be able to forgive me.”

  “Keep talking to each other,” Lorraine said. “And look after that nephew of mine.”

  She got back into the car, and Jo stepped back toward the house. Malc and Freddie had also come outside to see them off. The three of them stood in a huddle, Freddie in the middle, taller than both his mum and stepdad. He’d already said his goodbyes, thanking Lorraine profusely for sorting things out with DI Walton. As long as he was helpful and gave detailed and accurate statements, no charges would be brought against him.

  Lorraine tooted the horn, crunching over the gravel as she turned out onto the lane. Soon they were leaving Radcote, heading back the way they’d come the best part of two weeks earlier.

  “Is this Devil’s Mile again?” Stella asked, pulling open a bag of chips she’d found on the back seat.

  “It is,” Lorraine replied.

  She glanced in her rearview mirror before speeding up. She wanted to get out, get home. Leave events behind, though not leave her sister. Things would be different now. Closer, better. They’d see each other more.

  “Is it where that boy killed himself?” Stella asked.

  Lorraine slowed as they passed the wilted flowers tied to the tree. She turned sideways, catching a glimpse of a fresh bunch that had been put there—the colors were vibrant reds and yellows, the wrapping paper equally bright and new.

  “Yes, it is,” she said.

  “Do you know what happened to him?” Stella went on, crunching. Crumbs showered down her front.

  Lorraine glanced at Stella, and stuck her hand in the bag of chips, pulling one out. “In all honesty, love, I don’t think I do.”

  EPILOGUE

  I’d never felt so alive, but that’s what Dean did to me. It had been a long time since I’d smiled like that. He convinced me, laughing, encouraging, kissing, that I could do things. He had such white teeth. His smile was one of the things that had drawn me to him. We’d met at New Hope, of course, where desperate souls collide.

  I’d wanted to prove something on that stolen bike that night. I thought it was to Dean, but I was wrong. It was to myself.

  You’re a natural!

  He never saw my grin. I wanted to go faster. Much faster. That’s why I twisted the accelerator toward me as far as it would go. My entire life—and his—gripped in one hand.

  Then came that seemingly interminable tumble, every part of me jarring and twisting and tearing. A battering noise inside my skull. A taste of blood inside my mouth. An engine rumbling, resonating through the ground.

  Dean? Dean, where are you?

  No reply.

  I was about to scream but stopped. Was someone there?

  The engine cut out and everything was quiet.

  Hello?

  When I found him, I barely recognized him.

  Keep calm.

  And then something kicked in, I grabbed the broken helmet, paused again, listened. The crack of a twig, the thud of footsteps, the rasp of breath even more terrified than mine.

  Without stopping, I managed to get myself home, limping across the fields the back way, ducking into hedges or shadows whenever cars came along the village lane. I crept toward the house and clicked open the back door. Everything was silent, and I slipped the broken helmet through the loft hatch where no one would look. The visor was missing but I daren’t go back for it.

  R
eluctantly, I removed the ring Dean had given me and stashed it in an old handbag at the back of my wardrobe. I didn’t have the heart to throw it away, although I should have done.

  I got in the shower and scrubbed Dean off my body. The water swirled with mud and red and flecks of grass.

  It was late—or early—but there was no way I could have slept. Soon, a band of orange-pink light filtered through, making it seem as if nothing bad had actually happened, as if the birds weren’t singing out what I’d done, the dogs weren’t whining to the tune of my crime in the kitchen below, the bin men weren’t trundling through the village collecting up the trash of my life.

  “Morning,” I said cheerily at breakfast. I was so stiff I could hardly walk.

  “Morning,” they all said back.

  The day had begun and I drove to New Hope, early for my shift.

  Dean, of course, wasn’t there.

  “What’s got into you?” Frank asked cheerily, but I ignored him, claiming a headache. That much was true. Every time the door opened to the church hall, every time a phone rang, my heart skittered and stalled.

  Then I remembered the stuff Dean said he’d got in a locker. There was a master key hidden in the kitchen. The boys were always losing their keys.

  Dean’s life consisted of the contents of a holdall. His scent wafted out when I opened the locker—sweat mixed with the powdery smell of value-brand deodorant. A balled-up sock tumbled to the floor, so I picked it up, put it back in his bag along with the note I’d just written. Someone would eventually find it.

  “You look awful,” Frank said. “Sit down and have a cuppa.”

  It was true. I felt sick. Dead inside. I could have shown him the bruises blooming on my back, let him see my purple swollen ankle beneath my trousers, have a feel of what I’m certain was a cracked rib. But I didn’t. It all remained concealed. Besides, I wanted the pain. It was punishment.

  Something about the way Dean had looked at me, the way he smelled, the way he walked, those long limbs never knowing quite where to put themselves—it reminded me so much of Simon. The youthful and carefree way Dean breezed through life. I’d half expected him to pick me up, spin me around. For a few months that summer it had been like having Simon back.