by Rachael Blok
‘It seems you were grazed by a bullet. One of the girls – Ana – said you ran towards it.’ Liv’s voice catches, and she stops for a second, strokes his hand. ‘Maart…’
All he can remember is the rain, the feeling of being drenched, of even his feet soaking in his shoes. And when he’d seen the gun, and Harper, he’d run. Then lying on the ground as the rain fell into his eyes, his mouth, his nostrils. And his arm had stung then. He’d slipped away, into nothing.
‘You fell and hit a stone on the way down. They panicked because you threw up, but it was just the once. You’ve been here for six hours, so they said as long as you take it easy you can leave. I knew you’d want to. I’ve brought you some clothes, and there’s a shower just down the hall. You can’t get your arm wet for ten days, so I’ve brought some cling film for you to wrap round it.’
He lies back, opens his eyes and holds her hand. The dark, the night. The rain. The gunshot. It won’t leave his head. He sits upright. ‘Did anyone get hit? Leith Kirwan, he shot the gun.’
‘He shot three times,’ Liv says. She covers his hand with hers and her face is wet with silent tears, like the quietening rain. ‘One of the bullets cut into your arm, but it was a glancing shot. You’ll be fine. We just need to watch out for infection. The second one…’
‘Liv,’ he says.
‘It hit the other DI. Adrika is fine, but Harper, she’s taken a bullet in the chest. She flung herself in front of it. Adrika’s with her now.’
‘But… how is she?’
Liv shakes her head. ‘They don’t know. She’s not awake. She was in theatre for four hours, so it’s early. They’ve taken the bullet out, and they’ve done everything they can. If she wakes up, they’ll be able to assess a bit more. She lost a lot of blood.’
‘You said three times. You said he shot the gun three times.’
‘Maart, he turned the last one on himself. He held it to his head and pulled the trigger.’
A flash, a bang. Maarten feels the rain on his arms. The smell of the graveyard, wet and thick in the air – earth beginning to slip in his fingers as his hands flail outwards, grasping at something to hold him steady.
And the last bang. He couldn’t see anything, but he imagines Leith turning the gun on himself. Everyone else flat to the floor. Falling on his sword. Trying for a very tragic death, revenge and pathos.
‘But he survived?’
‘Yes, but not for long. A lot of blood. Sunny has him under custody in the hospital but he won’t survive.’
‘Will she live? Will Harper live?’
Liv smiles at him; her tears increase. There’s a tiny shake of her head. She strokes his hand. Her voice cracks as it whispers, ‘I don’t think so, Maart. They don’t think so.’
‘I need to go to Adrika. I need to go to them.’
*
The room is losing its dark as Maarten, dressed and showered, enters. Adrika sits at the edge of Harper’s bed, holding her hand. The red hair is darker against the pillow, and there are tubes, the same sort Liv had when she was sleeping, waiting to wake.
He sits by Adrika.
She looks at him; her eyes glisten. There is dirt on her face. And blood. The ravages of the night are marked in black, red and grey. Her bare legs are muddied. She shivers slightly, but the heat is building in the room, after the break of the storm.
He pours a glass of water and gives it to her. Her hands tremble as she takes it.
Outside, the sun is rising. The birds are singing. There are doors slamming as cars pull up.
There is a peace in the room. He lays his hand over hers.
They sit.
72
Saturday 30th June
ANA
‘Maisie, can you hear me?’ Ana leans. Her sister’s cheeks are blanched, and her eyelashes lie against them, dark, long.
‘Mais?’ Ana tries again, but her sister sleeps. Lies with her head tilted to the right and her mouth partly open.
‘Is she awake?’ Her mum slips in and sits next to Ana, placing one hand on Maisie’s blanket, and the other takes Ana’s hand, squeezes it tight.
‘Not yet. They gave her something and it hasn’t worn off. They put her in the MRI, but she was disorientated, distressed. Whatever they gave her they said would take a while to leave her system. It’s all clear. She should be OK. She should be as right as rain when she wakes up.’
‘And how are you, Ana? Are you OK?’
Nodding, Ana leans and puts her head on her mother’s shoulder, starting to cry. ‘Mum, it was horrible! I thought he was going to kill her. He was going to kill her. And it was all because of me.’
‘Shhh,’ says her mum. Slowly, she strokes her hair, smoothing down the mess, the dried knots, tangled by the rain, the running. ‘Ana, love, they told me what he said. It was nothing to do with you. My poor Ana. When I heard what he’d done to you, all those years ago.’
Ana sobs. Her mind is sticky with the words from last night, the image of Maisie bent forward in the drowning earth. The sound of the gun. And the memory of years ago, of the sudden pain, as she had tried to make herself ready for something she couldn’t stop.
‘My Ana. All you have had to put up with. To deal with.’
The sunlight is creeping through the blinds as Ana lifts her head. It’s a gentle yellow. She can’t hear the rain. It must have stopped. It will feel fresh outside.
‘The other policewoman. Have you heard how she is?’
Fay Seabrook shakes her head. Her blue eyes are watery, her cheeks pale with tiny roses. ‘She had quite serious surgery, I think. They’re just waiting.’
Again, Maisie tipping forward, the rain lashing down, bouncing on her head, her arms. The flash of the gun in the glancing torchlight, the ricochet. Like spinning on the waltzers, images flashing up, spinning round.
‘Have you heard about Ben?’ her mum says, and Ana shakes her head.
She just can’t think about him. He had shut her out. Maisie has to come first.
‘Ana, he was attacked. He’s in hospital. I don’t know any details. One of the police officers mentioned it. I’ll find out more for you.’
Still she can’t think of him. Maisie lies here, the DI unconscious. She is at the heart of all of this and she can’t pull it all together.
‘Look, they’re bound to release him now. He won’t go back to the prison. Once we know a bit more, shall I ask that he’s brought to the pub? He could come and stay with us?’ her mum says, smiling, her hand still stroking her hair, smoothing out the worry. ‘We have room. You wouldn’t have to decide anything straight away.’
‘Mum.’ Her voice is a whisper. ‘I can’t think right now. It’s Ben. Of course he must come to us. But I feel…’ It’s too much. She will go to Ben once she’s sure about Maisie.
Next to them, in the first light of the morning, Maisie opens her eyes. ‘Have they got him?’ she asks. Her hand reaches out and holds Ana’s. ‘Is he gone?’
Ana nods, leaning and kissing her sister’s cheek.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘All gone.’
The sunlight is warm, and Maisie’s cheeks have some pink in them now, like a pale rose, or marshmallows.
‘And he’s not coming back,’ she whispers.
73
Sunday 1st July
BEN
The first thing that hurts is his throat. It’s swollen, and when he tries to swallow, he gags. His eyes fly open and something starts beeping. He tries to lift his arms, to release his hands and claw at his face, instinct driving them before his mind realises that he’s choking to death. But his arms won’t move – they’re heavy too.
His eyes fly open; the whiteness is blinding. But there’s no air.
No air to even mouth the word ‘Help.’
And then the face of someone he doesn’t recognise appears, and the room spins, and he fades.
When he wakes next, his throat is dry, still swollen, but there’s no blockage.
*
And there she
is. She stands at the door. She is crying and there is a cut on her face, and her hand has a bandage wrapped around it.
Ana.
He opens his mouth but it’s still impossible to make a sound. Like a fish, he opens it, closes it.
Still there; time hangs like a picture frame around her face, and he closes his mouth. Using his eyes to speak to her.
He worries she won’t move. That she’ll just stay there and watch him. He’s felt like nothing for such a long time. A pack animal. A hound. He’s been herded. Locked up. Mealtimes, exercise times, shower times. It’s all been about reduction, like boiling a sauce down so it’s thick and turgid. He’s congealed.
And then she comes.
Ana.
Her arms as warm as he’s remembered.
Ana.
74
Monday 2nd July
ANA
‘Is he OK?’ Ana means it. She’s not just being polite. Jack had done nothing wrong. He’d pulled her off the tracks, been arrested for becoming involved. She imagines he’s angry.
‘Yeah, he’s fine. He’s back at work. The press around the shooting has been everywhere – he was arrested but everyone knows he’s innocent now. He’s enjoying a brief flirtation with fame. If anything, he’s a sympathetic figure. Gets to bask in reflected horror.’ Fran rolls her eyes, moving her hands as she speaks, pulling her chair in. She leans in close, her long hair brushing Ana’s hand as she hugs her gently.
‘But it wasn’t him it happened to,’ Fran continues, whispering the next three words, ‘it was you. And there’s nothing for you to bask in except nightmares. So really, it’s all about you. Don’t you start worrying about how anyone else is coping with this.’
Shaking her head quickly, trying to brush it off, but her eyes sting again. At some point these tears must stop. She can’t drink water fast enough to replenish them.
‘I heard he was framed by coincidence. The Leith thought something was going on between you two, that it made him an easy target. And he knew Leo worked in pharmaceuticals abroad… I don’t think even Leith knew about the university thing. But following you on the platform, pushing Jack. And apparently he paid that motorcyclist to scare you, part of his whole tactics. The Leith. Who would have known?’
‘It’s OK. I get Ben back. I wouldn’t have otherwise. It’s been horrible, horrible, horrible. But it’s over. And Ben’s coming out. I saw him today. He’s OK.’
‘Are you OK together?’ Fran asks, reaching for the chocolates she had brought, opening them and eating one, gesturing to Ana to eat one too. Her fingers deft with the box, her hands sweeping quickly.
‘Yes. Baby steps. But yes.’ She hadn’t told him about sleeping with Leo, but she’s decided she will. ‘He told me he loves me. I know he loves me. It will be OK.’
‘Must be a bit weird. Not having seen him for almost two years.’
There’s a movement outside. Ana sees Jansen climb out of his car. The sun is back. The light bounces off the bonnet and Jansen’s face looks older, tired, in the glare.
‘One step at a time, I think. Just knowing he’s safe is good for today. I’ve dreamed about him, longed for him. But I think at some point he became an idea… he was like a fragment of a memory. Not a living thing. He chose to do this bit on his own. Part of that is rejection.’ She ducks her head, her eyes dry, but she’s suddenly tired. An ache begins quickly in her head and she knows Jansen’s come to update her. It makes her shake, thinking about that night. She’s not sure when the nightmares will finish.
She reaches for a chocolate so she has something to do and Fran kisses both her cheeks, stands, collecting her bag. The energy that is Fran moves backwards, nodding a goodbye, and she’s almost gone.
‘So, are you seeing Jack again? Like on a date?’ Ana says, remembering she has forgotten to ask.
‘Jack812? That dreamboat?’ Fran winks and makes a clicking noise with her tongue, clapping her hands quickly. Laughing. ‘You betcha!’
*
Jess enters quietly, her walk slow. Her hair, Ana sees, has green streaks at the end that pick up the colour of her eyes, which fill as she sits before Ana.
Reaching out, Ana takes her hand. ‘Jess, what is it?’
She shakes her head. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers. ‘Aggie’s finally in a home now, and I went to clear out her stuff. Me and Charlie did it together. A whole life, now in a few bin bags.’ She shakes her head again. She is crying now, and her voice breaks as she pushes a book into Ana’s hands. It has ‘Diary’ written on the front, and Jess has it open at a page with a bookmark.
‘I found these diaries. She’d kept them for years. I sat down and read them all. Every single one. I started reading them just for me. But all the babies she’s brought into the world – there are some stories in there. And then I found this. All what you’ve been through.’ She smooths the page out on Ana’s lap.
‘It should make sense,’ Jess says. ‘I’ll go and make us a cup of tea, and leave you to read it in peace.’
Starting at the top, Ana sees the date: June 2010. The handwriting a spider’s scrawl; it takes her a moment to make it out. It’s when she sees the name ‘Katie’ that she catches her breath, reading quickly, then rereading. There’s one sentence:
… Katie said her boyfriend knows. He found her being sick after school and she’d only just done a test. Later he sent her a text saying he can’t see her for a few days, that he needs more time. What is it with these boys? This girl is no one’s toy to be chucked to the side. She owes him nothing – but she’s still feeling guilty. He didn’t even stick around long enough to hear that he wasn’t the father. She told me they only slept together a few weeks ago, and that girl wouldn’t even know yet if it was his. She’s at least eight weeks gone.
I finally pulled it out of her – David Tabbard is the father. That young teacher at the school – they all race after him like puppies. She said he’d been helping her with a science project, and she’d wanted to enter a competition. Bet he thought all his Christmases had come at once, having her on his own. Beautiful little thing she is, and she don’t even know it. It happened quickly, she said – she doesn’t regret it. But it was only afterwards he said it was to be just the once. That he was leaving the school. She knew she’d been dropped like a hot potato. That teacher needs locking up!
I wanted to go to the police about him, but she didn’t let me. Says she’s happy just as she is – she doesn’t care about any of them any more. Just the baby. She holds her stomach like she’s cradling silver. She gleams, that one. No looking back. There’s no regret.
Ana lets the diary fall to her knee and she grips the arm of the chair for support. So it had never been Leo. His guilt, Ben’s guilt – Andy Miller’s anger. It had never been him.
Jess appears in the doorway, holding two mugs of tea. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers.
Epilogue
‘She was going to be all mine.
I want to just say now that it’s the right decision. Whatever anyone says. It’s the right decision. I’ve just cried and cried. So if anyone reads this – I’m doing the right thing. I just can’t carry on. I can’t carry on like this.
I look at things. Everyday things – my toothbrush, the mug, the kettle when it boils. My phone. My pen at school. I hold it in my hand but I can’t use it. School is so pointless! It makes me want to scream. I locked the door in the toilets at break today. I could hear some girls smoking and I sat quiet. I don’t belong here any more. I don’t feel, really, not any more. It’s like I’m numb. It’s like it’s me who died.
I want to be dead.
Maybe, maybe I could find her. Maybe she’s waiting for me. And I could get to hold her?
I know I’ve done something wrong. I should have spoken up when I heard the girl crying and being sick. I could have helped her. It makes me feel sick, to think of her and now here I am. We both let her down.
I’m so sorry. I really love you Mum and Andy. I really do.’
Maarten reads this goodbye letter. He thinks of the smell of the summer, of the trees in the woods.
The letter had been found in Leith Kirwan’s apartment. It had been in his bedside table. Its edges worn and faded. Read. Reread.
It was evidence, clear-cut. It was laid out. A young girl consumed by grief.
Her brother had left school, started a new life. But as he had told Ana, sitting in the London office, seeing her arrive for an interview, successful, in love… He had asked her about Ben in the interview, and she had even mentioned Leo.
After that, it had been planning. Just casual interest, from a distance. Hearing of the trip. Scoping it out. Renting the shed. He could keep the body there, under lock and key. Never quite getting rid of it.
But the house had been put up for sale – his hand was forced. And what better way to finish it all than by setting up Ana as an accomplice? First to suggest she had killed Leo, and then, when that didn’t work, to suggest Leo was never dead at all. To seed the idea in the mind of the police that Leo and Ana had faked Leo’s death. The photos he’d found on Leo’s phone suggesting an affair provided a motive.
Insane with grief. Insane. He wasn’t the first.
Maarten thinks of his own reaction. To zip himself up. To hold it in. He had always been anxious to move on. He had always struggled with cars. When he drove, he drove against himself. There had been an incident in Rotterdam, and then St Albans.
The haziness of death that has hung over him since Liv’s car crash – since he has grasped hold of the memory of hearing the news of his parents. All that loss.
He’d known something was wrong, started to weep silently as the politieagent came into the house and his grandparents sat him down.
Liv had suggested that instead of a beach holiday, they go to Rotterdam. That they show the kids the graves. That Maarten visit the graves. Something had come full circle. Dots were merging into a solid line.