Kay’s eyes darted over Kenny’s shoulder, across the lawn to the Anderson’s house, looking for any twitching curtains. She scanned the house, studying every window for signs of Tony or Janice Anderson, as Kenny began to speak in hushed tones. When she appeared not to be listening, he reached out for her hand, clasping her warm one in his cold one. Kay’s frightened eyes immediately told him that his efforts were futile.
‘What are you afraid of?’ he asked.
‘You don’t understand,’ she said, with more than a touch of panic in her voice. ‘You must go, now!’
For a moment the set of his face terrified her. But his face softened and he continued to talk excitedly. ‘I’m not afraid of your husband, and you don’t need to be either, not with me by your side.’
‘Why would I need to be afraid of Dylan?’ She was confused at the conclusion he had come to, from unfounded accusations she hadn’t even made.
‘Come with me now and I promise you I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world.’
‘Kenny, please leave. This is neither the time nor the place for that.’
He could see his dream dying before his eyes and his desperation showed. ‘Please,’ he pleaded.
‘Isla’s upstairs,’ Kay explained calmly. ‘She’s been suspended from university. She needs my help. She needs her mother … And Jack has been attacked. This really isn’t a good time.’
Kenny raised his eyebrows. ‘Serious, I hope?’
Kay looked at him quizzically.
‘Pity,’ he said with a snarl.
Kay turned away and opened the door.
Kenny caught her hand. ‘I’m sorry. Meet me tomorrow and we’ll talk.’ He paused, while he touched her face with a trembling finger. ‘You can’t love him, otherwise you wouldn’t be with me, would you? Why can’t you just face up to it? You and Dylan are finished. You just need to admit it and move on.’
Kay turned back towards him. ‘Like I said before, you don’t understand. I really can’t come with you now. Isla has threatened suicide.’
Kenny stared at her, shaking his head from side to side, in small, controlled, rhythmical movements. ‘Will you please stop making excuses. She’s an adult, for goodness’ sake! The way I see it, you’ve a choice, Kay. Meet me tomorrow or, I swear to God, this time I will tell him about us.’ He pulled her roughly towards him, and she stumbled into his big, powerful arms. ‘It’s you who doesn’t understand. Just the thought of you sleeping with him turns my stomach,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I will do anything – absolutely anything – for us to be together.’
There was the rumble of a car in the distance. It was getting closer and Kay knew that meant only one thing. Her heart leapt up into her throat; she felt sick. There were only two places the car could be heading now. She reached up onto her tiptoes to see the bright yellow security lights appear on each side of the Anderson’s garage. She pulled Kenny further into the shadows. With his head to her chest she watched as her neighbours’ garage door automatically opened and their car disappeared inside.
‘Go! Go now!’ she hissed, pushing Kenny away.
‘Okay, I will. But only if you promise to meet me tomorrow,’ he said, a wide grin spreading across his face.
There was movement upstairs. Kay’s eyes darted up to see a bright light shining through the vines from Isla’s bedroom window. Kenny blew her a kiss as he walked back along the border of the lawn, traversing the gravel softly and tiptoeing back to his car. He left his words trailing behind him on the breeze. ‘Till tomorrow, my darling …’
Kay locked the front door and stood with her back against it, breathless. The light at the end of the hallway beckoned her. She needed a drink, and she needed it right now.
Isla stumbled down the stairs, went into the living room and flopped onto the settee. She rolled onto her back, put her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. Kay could smell smoke.
‘Who was at the door?’ Isla asked, curling her feet up underneath her. Isla clenched her fists. Sweat ran down her chest and arms, trickling down the back of her legs. She could hear her mother talking, but from what seemed like a long distance away.
‘Have you been smoking?’ Kay accused her with trepidation as she leaned over the back of the sofa. She watched as Isla rolled onto her side, groaned and suddenly started to heave. Kay dashed into the kitchen, returning with a bowl.
‘Do you still feel nauseous?’ Kay asked, as she stroked Isla’s back soothingly. Isla, who now sat upright beside her, shook her head. She patted her puffy, grey face with a damp cloth. Her lips were bleach-white, and her pallid skin felt hot to the touch, although she was shivering uncontrollably. Sitting backwards, she leaned her head heavily against the cushions, groaning now and then. She opened her eyes to see a large bug in the corner of the room. Instantly, she closed her eyes tight.
‘What is it?’ Kay asked, seeing her daughter recoil in horror.
‘The bugs!’
Kay looked at the wall but saw nothing there.
Isla tried again, but the walls were closing in, then expanding outwards. She’d seen it all before. If she just sat for a while it would soon pass.
Kay covered her with a throw. ‘What have you been taking?’ she demanded.
‘The vodka from the kitchen cupboard …’
‘What, the whole lot?’
Isla nodded and the nausea washed over her again; cramps gripped her stomach. Doubled over in pain and crying, she tried to stand. Kay held out her hand to steady her, but it wasn’t enough and she watched helplessly as her daughter fell to the floor.
Shocking images and scenes ran through Isla’s head and Kay watched on in horror to see the distorted look on her beautiful face. Isla covered her ears. Intermittently, her eyes flashed open and she cowered at the ceiling, the door, the sofa and the chair as if they were all closing in on her from every angle. All Kay could do was look on.
‘Get off, get off,’ Isla screamed at something unknown, trying to knock it off her body. She clawed furiously at her skin.
Kay picked up her mobile to ring Dylan as she watched her daughter wet herself, and then she was finally still.
‘Oh my God, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me!’ Isla’s cries reverberated through the house.
Chapter Ten
Jennifer Jones was very grateful for the offer of a lift home. The slight amount of alcohol she had consumed was far from rendering her over the limit, but she never had been one to take risks; that is, until now, she concluded, as she looked up at the bright square of the bedroom window in the old, end-terrace house.
With tired eyes and one hand on the iron gate she waved a hand to Rita, proffered a smile and watched the tail lights on the vehicle disappear as Rita continued on her way towards Tandem Bridge.
Jen stood for a moment, her back to the closed gate, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark. Gradually, the long back garden and the high fence came into view, a black slab against the sky. There were street lamps beyond high conifers at the end of the garden, casting a dim light. She edged her way up the uneven path. The biting cold pressed against her face and clawed at her hands. It streamed into her ears and round the back of her neck, penetrating her flimsy, billowing silk jacket. Her teeth chattering, she put her hand in her pocket and stopped, her smile slipping from her face as she began to fear she had lost Martin’s spare key. It was then that the darkness wrapped around her tenfold. Fists clenched, she stood anxiously at the door. Without a shadow of doubt, he’d be waiting for her and her only hope of escaping a showdown was to sneak past his slumbering figure as he slept in the chair in a drunken stupor, like he had last time; in fact, every time they had been invited out with their colleagues and he had refused to go.
The lower floor of the house was in darkness and no sound came from within. She reached for the leather bag that hung on her shoulder and, with trembling fingers, unfastened the zip. Fumbling around, she felt a long, thin cardboard box. She hesitated, looking up at the sprinkling of stars in
the sky, and began to pray fervently. Please, God, let there be some pills left. Just one to soothe my nerves. But, the thought was gone as soon as it came, like the wisp of cloud that glided past the moon. She didn’t need anxiety drugs. What she did need was to grow some balls and face life’s challenges head-on, just like she’d told Shaun he should do when she’d left the island.
Her feet had begun to go numb when her fingers finally touched on cold metal. Her heart leapt with joy: the key. ‘Thank the Lord,’ she said, but her voice floated away, up into the night sky. A shiver ran down her back, as she felt a furry warmth brush against her leg. A scream caught in her throat. If Martin hadn’t let Harry in, that meant he wasn’t in bed.
In truth, Martin had seen her come home and was watching her from behind the curtain where he’d been waiting for some time.
Jen opened the door. The rustle of fabric was loud to her ears as she bent down to slip off her shoes. Carefully and quietly, she placed them neatly by the doorjamb next to Martin’s, just where he liked them to be. Martin didn’t like anyone wearing shoes in the house. The hallway was pitch black. The only noises were the tick of the clock and Max, her golden retriever, bounding up at the door of the utility room where he slept. She frowned and paused for a moment; his cries were unusually muffled.
At that very same moment there was a flash of white fur, followed by a hysterical meow as Harry streaked up the side of the pine dresser. But before she had time to consider why the heavy front door had slammed violently behind her, a clammy hand came from nowhere to cover her mouth and bring her to her knees. The sickly taste of aftershave made her retch. Jen struggled, writhing under a heavy weight when suddenly she felt something cold pressed against her throat. She swallowed hard, choking down her sobs, breathless and sweating. She lay still, blinking tears from her terrified eyes, silently begging Martin not to use the knife.
‘You disgust me,’ Martin hissed, his breathing strong and hard.
With every ounce of strength she could muster she reached up with trembling fingers to touch his face. Immediately, the pressure that held the knife down disappeared.
Martin’s head tipped to one side. ‘Do you still love me?’ he asked. ‘Say it!’ he demanded. ‘Say you love me and that there isn’t anyone else.’
Jen’s voice faltered. ‘I … love you.’
‘Again. Tell me again.’
‘I love you,’ she said, her voice much stronger this time.
‘One more chance,’ he said, through narrowed eyes. ‘Just one more chance …’
Martin rolled off her and lay on the hardwood floor next to her. Jen’s face crumpled, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her sobbing made him reach out and pull her towards him. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her face to his chest.
‘Don’t cry. You’re okay. It’ll be fine and dandy when it’s just you and me and nobody else sticking their two penn’orth in,’ he said, patting her soothingly, like a parent would a child.
Although much of Isla’s night had been lost in an alcohol-induced blackout, the last thing she remembered was stepping back from her open bedroom window through which she had been wafting the smoke of her cigarette because a posh car was crawling past the house in the street below. The occupant appeared to be taking a great interest in the place. It wasn’t long afterwards that she had seen the visitor approaching the front door from the shadows and heard him knock enthusiastically. He and her mother had stood under the vines, the muffled excitement of their voices loud enough to keep her awake.
She assumed her mother had kept him outside because she was ashamed of her daughter. Who was he? she wondered when she woke from her alcohol-induced oblivion; or had he also been a figment of her imagination?
‘Welcome back,’ said Detective Sergeant Dawn Farren, nodding at Dylan’s overflowing in-tray and scowling at Larry Banks who sat with one elbow resting on the chair arm and one hand to his brow. A white plastic bag hung from Dawn’s wrist and three cups of strong coffee sat on the tray she was carrying.
‘Hmm, something smells good,’ Dylan said, eager to see what was in the bag. He tossed his head in Larry’s direction. ‘I hope that coffee’s strong enough to waken the dead!’
‘It’ll sure scare some of the fuzziness out of his brain.’ Dawn chuckled, her shoulders bouncing up and down.
Dylan grimaced. ‘You mean he’s actually got one? He put himself down for eleven till seven today.’ Dylan pulled up his shirt sleeve at the cuff and looked at his watch. ‘So, my guess is that it’s probably not worth going home and he’ll be working at least three hours for Queen and country today.’
Larry looked up at Dylan, his bleary red eyes widening in horror. ‘You are joking?’ he said.
Dylan shook his head.
Dawn laughed out loud.
Larry groaned, raising a middle finger in Dawn’s direction. She slapped him on the back.
‘You’ll be all right, our kid, as soon as you’ve got the hair of the dog down you.’ Dawn offered Larry a greasy sandwich. So packed were they with bacon, eggs and ketchup that she had to open her mouth wide to take a bite of her own. ‘I feel your pain,’ she said, swallowing her mouthful. ‘My bedroom was a terrifying spiny place when I woke up this morning. Thank goodness for Ralph,’ she said, her smile cheerfully wide. ‘My very clever chef of a hubby is great at getting rid of the goblins that creep in during the night and decide that my head will make the perfect addition to their percussion band.’
Larry’s head still felt woolly, but at least the pounding headache was starting to ease and he didn’t feel half as nauseous as before. He looked up to see Dylan was already ploughing through the work Larry should have completed in his absence.
‘Er, sorry about the paperwork, boss. I don’t know how on earth you manage to keep up with it all. The last few days have been really busy, haven’t they?’ He looked towards Dawn for support.
‘Hey, I might bring you the perfect hangover remedy, but I’m not so soft in t’head that I’ll be your alibi.’
Dylan raised his head. He wrinkled his nose and his voice was gruff. ‘Tell me, Larry, have you been home yet?’
‘Please don’t,’ Larry said, clutching one hand to his head. ‘Not so loud. I went clubbing and I met Gwen. She’s an old flame. How could I say no?’
‘You mean Gwen, the hippy shoplifter you bailed last week?’ asked Dawn. ‘I saw her drop you off in her rusty pink tin can.’
Dylan shook his head.
Larry stood up and attemped to balance himself as the world took another sickening spin, placing his hand on Dawn’s shoulder. ‘I’ve got clean clothes in my locker. I’ll go have a shower and I’ll see you at the briefing. Nothing happening is there?’
Dylan shook his head again.
‘You do realise, one of these days he’s going to end up dead?’ said Dawn when Larry had gone.
‘Won’t we all?’
Dawn laughed. ‘Touché!’ She paused. ‘But seriously, have you met Gwen’s husband? He’s a bare-knuckle fighter.’
Dylan had his head down, reading. ‘I’m not his mother,’ he said.
‘Last week he was bragging about being chased by an irate husband wielding a weapon!’
Dylan looked up. ‘Have we had a complaint?’
Dawn pulled a face. ‘Not that I know of.’
Dylan nodded and continued reading.
‘He’s always on the take, though, and that makes him vulnerable.’
‘Spreading rumours and a bit of bragging is what Larry does. The rest, well, it’s best I don’t know. If I do know DS Banks though, he’ll smarten himself up ready for the briefing. He might play hard, but he works pretty hard too.’
Larry Banks slowly made his way to the gym. In the changing-rooms he discarded his clothes on the floor of the cubicle and lay naked on the warm glass of the sunbed. As soon as his body felt the heat from the bulbs, he closed his eyes against the bright lights and fell into a deep sleep.
One hour later, he opened his s
ore eyes to the sound of the buzzer. It was dark and, although his body was hot, he felt a chill from the fan. A distinct smell of body odour wafted under his nose; his throat felt as dry as dust. Clutching at the sunbed, he lay very still and tried to gather his bearings as he recalled the vision of a roll of smoke and a bang louder than fireworks, which had resulted in the panic still tight in his chest. The images hadn’t been quite like a dream, but definitely weren’t reality; they had felt vivid, but also distant. The long, winding ribbon of undeveloped upland trodden by the Pennine Way he knew so well had stretched out before him and in his wake was Dylan, chasing after him relentlessly until his legs were weak and wobbly. Larry’s lungs had felt a tightness he’d never known before and he’d struggled to breathe. He’d known that if he’d stopped running, even for a second, Dylan would catch up with him. At the top, around a hairpin bend, the road had vanished – he was heading nowhere at all. Larry’s legs had cramped and he’d fallen, the palms of his hands landing on wet turf. Tentatively, he’d glanced behind him to see Dylan standing there and Kay’s face looming over her husband’s shoulder. ‘Dylan must never know,’ she’d breathed down the back of her husband’s neck.
Just remembering it made shivers run down his spine and his skin turn cold.
Larry headed for the showers, stopping at the sink to splash cold water on his face. She was right; Dylan must never, ever know about them. The cool water trickling down his warm skin was a refreshing sensation. He put his face up to the shower head and rubbed his eyes to clear the tiredness. Leaning against the tiles, he let out a quiet groan. It was going to take more than coffee, greasy sandwiches, a sunbed session and a shower to completely shift this hangover.
Poetic Justice Page 8