by Helen Phifer
It wasn’t late; in fact, Will officially didn’t finish work until eight so she still had another couple of hours before he’d be home. She was hungry so she went downstairs to make a sandwich. She should really cook some proper tea, but she couldn’t be bothered. Cooking was her least favourite thing, so she made a plate of sandwiches for her and one for Will. Covering his up and putting it in the fridge, she was hoping that he might have already eaten at work.
Often, when there was a murder case, he would work late. His team would stay on past their finishing time and get a takeaway. As she sat at the breakfast bar picking at her chicken sandwich and salt and vinegar crisps, she thought about the house with the blue door and shuddered. Why did it keep coming back to her? What was it about that door that kept drawing her in?
She knew that, sometimes, when a person was killed or died suddenly they got stuck and couldn’t pass on because they didn’t realise they were dead. Did the poor woman whose body had been found yesterday even realise she was dead? Annie hoped so. She couldn’t get a fix on her at all. Normally she was quite good at making contact. Something was stopping her.
Closing her eyes, she tried to think about the inside of the house and the figure whose eyes she had been looking out of. That had never happened to her before. It was a strange sensation. Why had she been dragged inside this house? She let out a loud yawn. Staring at her phone she thought about sending a quick text to Lily to see how Alfie was, but she didn’t want her to think she didn’t trust her, because she did.
Not having the energy to eat any more of her sandwich she pushed the plate to one side and stood up. Tucking her phone into her pocket she decided to go to bed. Hopefully sleep would come fast and when she next woke up Will would be there, next to her and naked. It had been too long since she’d had him all to herself without Alfie and his sixth sense making him cry out whenever they got any further than a quick kiss.
She left the landing light on, not scared of being in the house on her own, but something was unsettling her and she didn’t know what. She turned off her bedroom light and left the door ajar so the light shone through. She pulled back the duvet and sank onto the soft mattress. It was unsettling having the house so quiet.
She peered at Alfie’s Moses basket, which was next to her side of the bed. A feeling of longing filled her chest. She missed him so much. It was strange to be apart from him for any length of time. Her life had come full circle and she was now one of those mums who never let her child out of her sight, although she did have a very good reason for that. Before any bad thoughts could fill her mind she pushed them away. Not tonight – Alfie is fine, Will is fine and I’m fine. Go to sleep while you can, Annie. You’re getting wrinkles with all the sleep deprivation. Turning away from Alfie’s crib she snuggled up and closed her eyes.
Summer 1950
The caravan of circus trailers and trucks was finally packed and ready to begin the long journey north. The next stop was Manchester. Gordy had turned to take one last look at the site where the big top had been. The only reminder was the crushed patch of now-blackened grass underneath the trampled-in sawdust and the rubbish that was swirling around in the breeze.
They were some time into the journey before Colin stirred. He had begun to mumble under his breath and Gordy had sat with him, holding his hand until he’d sat up, confused until the realisation of where he was and who he was with sunk in.
‘How are you feeling?’
Colin shrugged. ‘Off. Where are we? Are we moving?’
‘Well, I have some good news for you. I spoke to your mum and she said it’s okay for you to come with us and be a part of the circus. She even packed you a suitcase with your stuff in.’
He pointed to the battered case he’d stowed under the seat.
‘She said you’re to have a good time, to work hard and – when you’re ready – to learn how to be a clown like me.’
Colin had stared at Gordy, not quite sure what he was hearing was true. He was clearly excited that he was going to learn to be a clown and was going away with the circus, but he looked worried.
‘Are you sure she said that, Gordy? Because it doesn’t sound like something she’d say. She shouts – a lot – all of the time at me. “Colin, get me fags; Colin, put the washing out; Colin, get me beer!” Who will she shout at now if I’m not there?’
Gordy thought back to the last image he had of Colin’s mum lying on the bed like some broken, bloodied rag doll and smiled.
‘She really did. She said she was sorry, that she knew she gave you a hard time and wanted to make up for it by letting you go.’
Colin accepted his explanation without further questions. ‘I think that’s why I’d like being a clown. No one would know I was dumb, would they? Underneath the face paint I’d be just like everyone else.’
Gordy nodded. ‘You will, Colin, I promise you will.’
And he had every intention of keeping his promise. Gordy stole a glance at Colin who was staring out of the window. His mouth was open slightly and a dribble of saliva balanced on his lips, ready to begin the slide down them at any time. He knew this was the best idea he’d ever had.
When the circus finally arrived at the wasteland in Manchester, Colin was once more fast asleep with his feverish head leaning against the cool glass window. Gordy left him to it as he went and unhooked his caravan from the truck; first thing in the morning he was going to start teaching the lad how to be a clown. He was also going to try and bury the desire burning inside his chest that was telling him to kill someone, anyone. It didn’t matter who it was; if the opportunity presented itself he would take it. Until then he would focus on doing what he loved and teaching Colin what he knew.
The next few hours were spent in a blur of unloading trucks and trailers. The sounds of the animals filled the air along with the cursing from the men who were all working flat out. The more they did now while the sun was still setting, the less they’d have to do tomorrow when it was glaring down on them, burning their skin and making them sweat.
Colin and Gordy pitched in along with everyone else, working themselves into a sweat. Colin was feeling much better than he had the night before. When they’d finished and gone back to the caravan to get washed up and have something to eat, Colin had spent ten minutes standing in front of Gordy’s clown costume, which was hanging up over the small bedroom door and was still damp.
‘Why is it wet?’
‘I had to wash it. Those bright lights in the centre ring make you sweat like a bitch. No good being a smelly clown. Kids won’t like that, will they?’
Colin shrugged. He pointed to some rust-coloured spots that Gordy had scrubbed and soaked, but still hadn’t been able to remove.
‘What you got on it?’
‘Oil off the generator.’
Gordy turned away. He’d been tempted to say ‘your mother’s blood’, but he hadn’t. Colin might freak out and start screaming if he thought the unloving, cold, hard bitch was dead.
‘I’m hungry.’
‘I bloody know you are. Jesus, give me a chance, kid. Your mother was right when she said you never stop eating.’
Gordy paused. He’d been careful not to strike up a conversation about Colin’s mum in case he decided he no longer wanted to be in the circus and wanted to go home. ‘Do you want to try the costume on when you’ve had some tea?’
Colin smiled. His whole face lit up as he nodded his head violently up and down.
__________________________
The stench seeping through the gap in the open window was what had first made the neighbours call the police to the small terraced house. The constable who had been out walking his beat arrived. Mrs Turner – who had worked in the abattoir – led the big, burly man around to the back of the house and the opened back door.
‘It’s been open for three days now, just keeps blowing backwards and forwards in the breeze. The other night it drove me round the bloody bend, slamming every five minutes. I sent our Bobby round
to tell Colin to sort it out, but there’s no sign of Colin so Bobby just pulled it shut. No one’s seen him since the day the circus left town.’
‘And does this Colin live here on his own?’
‘No, he’s only seventeen, but he’s simple in the head. He’s got a head full of slamming doors.’ She twirled her finger at the side of her head. ‘His old slapper of a mother should be around, though. She only goes to the pub and back. I haven’t heard her screeching for Colin either and she normally does that every half an hour. Something’s not right. There’s a terrible smell coming from that house. Something’s died in there.’
Constable York took out his truncheon as he walked through the old, knackered gate to push the back door open. The stench of decay filled his nostrils and he gagged. ‘Bloody hell, something’s dead in there all right.’ He stepped back.
‘That’s what I said. Aren’t you going to go in and have a look?’
His ruddy cheeks had paled significantly in the last thirty seconds. He nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose I should. You wait out here.’
‘You can say that again; I’m not going inside there. It stinks bad enough from out here. I can’t imagine how bad it will be in there. Poor Colin, I hope he’s okay.’
The constable tugged his handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around his nose and mouth, then he stepped inside, trying desperately not to breathe through his nose. The kitchen was dirty – a sink full of unwashed pots – and there were big bluebottles buzzing around everywhere. He wafted a couple of them out of the way with his hand and walked through the living room to the stairs. As he stepped on the bottom tread he heard a humming, vibrating noise and paused to listen.
The smell was much stronger and, whatever it was, the answer to his question was waiting for him up there. The humming got louder the higher he climbed, and he reached the top landing, looking around to see what the source of the noise was. There were three doors: two of them were shut and one was ajar. A bluebottle flew out of the gap in the door and he headed towards that one first. The stench was horrific and his stomach began to heave.
Forcing himself to move until he was outside the door, he paused and listened to the humming noise, which was much louder in there. He wondered if there was some kind of generator on inside of the bedroom causing the noise. Pushing the door open with his truncheon he shouted, ‘Police.’ And didn’t speak again, when he realised what the sound had been. A huge black wriggling mass on the bed swarmed and filled the air.
Screaming louder than he’d ever heard anyone scream in his entire life, he let the door swing shut as he turned. His mouth filled with hot liquid and he ran down the stairs. Within seconds he was out of the back door, which he pulled shut behind him. Unable to hold it in any longer he bent over double and retched into the brown, shrivelled-up rose bush at the side of the back door. Hot vomit spewed everywhere and his legs turned to jelly. He reached out and relished the feel of the cold, damp, rough brick wall against his hand as he used it to keep himself upright. What the hell was that?
‘What was it? Was it bad? Is Colin okay?’
The questions from the neighbour began to swim around inside his brain and he felt as if he was looking at her through a thick fog. He was going to faint; he needed to stop it now. The sergeant would have his guts for garters and he’d never hear the last of it. A small boy appeared with a glass of water and with a shaking hand the constable took it, nodding his thanks. Drinking the cold liquid down in one gulp to freshen his mouth and wake him out of the almost drunken stupor he felt as if he was in, he looked at the woman who was watching him with her hands on her hips.
‘I don’t know what it was – too many.’ He retched once more; he would never get that image out of his mind ever again. Those bluebottles had been feasting on whatever or whoever it had been lying there rotting on the bed.
‘I need my sergeant to come and take a look.’
‘Bobby, make yourself useful instead of gawping at the constable. Go round to the station and tell whoever is in charge to get here now.’
The lad, who had been one of the boys teasing Colin the first day the circus arrived in town, took off running. He was scared for his friend. They’d been mean to Colin that day and he was scared in case something bad had happened to him.
By the time he’d returned with the sergeant and inspector, Constable York had got his bearings. His legs weren’t as shaky and he tried to stand up straight. His sergeant, who was a right grumpy bastard, looked at him.
‘Thank you for your concern, madam. We have everything under control now. If you would be so kind as to go back inside the house, we can do what we have to.’
Rita Turner tutted, shook her head and walked towards her house. She looked at York and muttered, ‘We’ll see how under control he has it when he’s been inside.’
She winked at him and he smiled. Then she disappeared into her back kitchen and he heard her yell, ‘Bobby, get yourself in here now! Let the coppers get on with it.’
Bobby, who had been peering over the fence, turned and ran to the back door before his mum dragged him in and gave him a clip around the ear.
__________________________
Some hours later there was a knock on Rita’s back door and she opened it to see Constable York, who was a much better colour than the last time she’d seen him.
‘Can I come in, Rita? I need to speak to both you and Bobby.’
She stepped aside to let him in. ‘Any news?’
He looked around to see if Bobby was anywhere to be found.
‘It’s okay. He’s gone out to play down the park with his mates. I told them to keep out of the way for a couple of hours.’
‘Good. Well, yes, there is news. There is a body in the back bedroom; it’s badly decomposed so it’s hard to tell, but we think it’s probably Margery Lister.’
Rita nodded. ‘What about Colin?’
‘Well, there’s no sign of him. We checked out his bedroom and his wardrobe door and chest of drawers were open. It looked as if he packed his stuff and left in a hurry. Do you know where he could have gone?’
Rita shook her head when Bobby came rushing through the door.
‘I know where he is, mam.’
‘No you bloody don’t, you little fibber. How would you know where he is and who told you to come back already?’
‘Everyone knows where he is – he’s run away with the circus. No one’s seen him since the circus left town.’
York, who was busy writing it all down, looked up at Bobby.
‘I see – and do you know when the circus left town?’
He began to count on his fingers.
‘Sun, Sat, Fri, Thursday night was the last show. It had all packed up and left on Friday morning.’ Bobby crossed his arms, smiling at his mam.
‘You better not be fibbing or you’ll be for it when your father gets home.’
‘I’m not. I swear I’m not. Colin loved it. He kept hanging around with that clown called Tufty.’
‘Thank you, Bobby, that’s very useful. We need to find Colin and make sure he’s okay and also to tell him about his mam.’
Rita shook her head. ‘That’s a shame, really. She was… Bobby cover your ears or go back outside.’
Bobby lifted his hands and covered his ears as he darted back out of the front door.
‘Well, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but she was a drunken old tart who would sleep with anyone for a packet of fags and some cider. Poor Colin is probably much better off without her.’
‘I know, but we need to tell him. We don’t know whether he’s alive or dead. Until we find out, we need to know what happened and he might have been the last person to see her alive.’
Rita sighed. ‘I suppose so, poor lad. Even if he did snap and kill her I don’t blame him one little bit. She made his life a misery.’
York nodded, not sure he should be agreeing that the woman deserved to die because she’d been a crap mother. There were plenty of those around.
Hell, if the bodies started stacking up because of that, there wouldn’t be enough cemeteries to put them all in.
‘Right, well, I’ll be off. Oh, you don’t know what that circus was called, do you? Or where it might have been going?’
‘Darlin’, I haven’t got a clue. I don’t agree with them myself, keeping those beautiful wild animals in captivity like that. The kids out the front will be able to tell you, though. They couldn’t bloody keep away.’
Chapter Eleven
Annie felt the bed creak and the mattress sink down as Will climbed into bed next to her. The smell of lemon shower gel and mint toothpaste filled her nostrils. She turned to face him.
‘What took you so long? I’ve been waiting.’
He pulled her close to him. ‘Do you have any idea how far away we live from Barrow when I need to get home to you in a hurry?’
She laughed. ‘Yes, believe it or not I do. How are you feeling now?’
‘Almost human – it’s been a long day. Adele’s been a great help although I feel a bit bad because I ended up completely throwing her in at the deep end.’
‘Still short-staffed then?’
His lips found hers, signalling the end of talk about work. When she came up for air she gasped.
‘Glad to see you still have it then.’
‘What?’
‘The ability to leave me breathless.’
He pulled her even closer and she closed her eyes as he began to softly kiss her throat.
__________________________
In her dream Annie was in a confined prison cell. She looked around her, the panic building in her chest as she tried to breathe. She could hear a man’s voice not too far away from her, praying. Through the bars she could see the outline of a priest she didn’t know. She knew it wasn’t Father John because it was a different voice that was reading from the black Bible. Standing in front of him were two prison guards. What was she doing in a prison? The guard standing to the left opened the cell door and she rushed towards him, glad to be let out. He grabbed her, pulling her hands behind her back. She felt the cold. biting metal as a pair of handcuffs snapped around her wrists.