The Rumour

by Lesley Kara

  Liz. I wondered when we’d get round to her again.

  ‘Liz kept me sane through the bad days. And there were plenty of those. Especially after the injunction. It was supposed to protect us from the press. Stop them hounding us all the time. But things got worse before they got better. Sylvia Harris reacted badly. Reckoned it wasn’t fair that I got anonymity. That I never got bothered by the press when she and her family were bombarded by them whenever an anniversary was coming up. You know, “Ten years ago today, the monster Sally McGowan … Fifteen years ago today … Twenty … Twenty-five.” It never stops. Or whenever another child kills or hurts someone. It’s never me they come to for an interview, because they can’t. They don’t know where I am and, even if they do find me, they’re not allowed to break the injunction. But Sylvia was fair game, and so were the rest of her family. They started a campaign to get the injunction overturned.

  ‘When Sylvia passed away I thought it would all die down. But then her daughter took up the baton. Robbie’s older sister, Marie. She won’t be happy till my face is in the papers all over again. Except this time it won’t be my ten-year-old face, it’ll be this one. And if that happens, my life will be over. I’ll be harassed and vilified everywhere I go. And you and Alfie will be dragged into it too. Your lives will be tainted, just like mine.

  ‘I’ve been terrified ever since I saw what you’d been looking at online. It’s why I’ve been so ill. I told Liz about it and she told me you’d mentioned it at book club too. And then when Sonia Martins was targeted …’

  ‘You and Liz concocted a little plan to scare me into keeping my mouth shut.’

  She stares at me as if I’ve taken leave of my senses. ‘If you think I’d do anything to scare my own daughter, you must be mad. You’re the most precious thing in my life, Jo. You and Alfie both. I’d never do anything to hurt either of you. You must know that!’

  ‘Must I? I don’t know anything any more.’

  And yet I do. Deep down in my bones, in the core of my being, I know what she’s saying is true. She wouldn’t hurt us. She couldn’t.

  She runs her hands through her hair, digs her fingers into her scalp. Then she freezes. Her head jerks up.

  ‘Why did you say that? About us scaring you?’

  I tell her about the tweets from Sally Mac and the Halloween photo.

  ‘Liz wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Yes, she would. She’s already admitted to sending the tweets.’

  Her mouth falls open. ‘But not the photo. She wouldn’t have done that. I know she wouldn’t.’ She looks straight at me, fear in her eyes. ‘Oh God, no! Maybe Marie’s already found me. Do you understand what’s at stake here, Jo? If Marie’s got wind of where I am, God only knows what she’ll do.’

  In one fluid movement, she’s out of her chair and pulling open a drawer in the tall chest next to the sideboard. She pulls out a folder and shakes out the contents, starts leafing through them. At last, she finds what she’s looking for and passes me a newspaper clipping, her hands trembling.

  ‘Marie doesn’t want justice for Robbie. She wants revenge.’

  48

  MOTHER OF CHILD KILLER SALLY MCGOWAN’S VICTIM DIES

  By Sam Adler

  Monday, 6 August 2012

  Daily Mail

  Sylvia Harris, whose five-year-old son Robbie was the victim of child killer Sally McGowan, has died after a long illness, aged 72.

  ‘Mum never got over Robbie’s murder,’ said her daughter Marie. ‘She tried her best to be a good mother to me, but her spirit was broken. I just hope and pray that she’s at peace now. With Robbie.’

  Marie added: ‘Maybe when McGowan dies, we’ll finally be able to move on as a family. But knowing she’s still out there somewhere while my mother and baby brother are dead is a thorn in my side. I’m convinced that Mum’s illness was a direct result not just of what happened to Robbie, but of McGowan getting a second chance at life away from the glare of publicity, while we, her victims, never did. It sickens me to think that someone in my family might come into contact with her or her child and we’d never know.

  ‘Mum always used to say, why should she get more rights than us? The right to a private life, the right not to be hounded by journalists, the right to live in peace?

  ‘She’s not the victim in all this. McGowan’s evil act has blighted our entire family. My parents’ marriage collapsed. My mother suffered serious health problems and I lost my childhood. All because of what that monster did.’

  Marie Harris is reported to have said in the past that she will never stop searching for Sally McGowan in order to name and shame her. When questioned about this yesterday, Marie refused to either confirm or deny her comments, but said, ‘I will never give up fighting for justice for my little brother. Not until the day I die.

  ‘Sally McGowan must pay for what she’s done.’

  My phone rings. Michael again. I take it out into the kitchen, frustrated at yet another interruption, but relieved too. The atmosphere in the living room is intense. I need to breathe.

  ‘Listen, I managed to get through to one of her neighbours and they’ve let me into the entrance hall, but we’ve knocked and knocked on the door and there’s no one there. The flat’s completely empty and the lights are off.’

  It takes a while for his words to filter through the tangle in my brain.

  ‘Hold on a sec. I’ll ring her mobile and get back to you.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Mum says. She’s followed me out into the kitchen and is standing in the doorway. I wish she’d go back into the living room. I can’t deal with her hovering like this, asking me questions as if she has a right to know the answers.

  ‘The babysitter isn’t at home. It’s fine. She probably just had to pop out.’

  ‘What babysitter?’

  I find Karen’s name in my contacts and press call. Her phone rings but then switches to voicemail. I try again, but the same thing happens. An unspecified fear uncoils in my belly. They’ll be back in a minute. Of course they will. This time, I leave a message.

  ‘Karen? It’s Jo. Michael’s gone to yours to pick Alfie up, but you’re not there. Can you ring me?’

  I turn my back on Mum’s anxious face and call Michael straight back. ‘I can’t get through. I’ve left a message on her voicemail.’

  ‘I know. I heard it ringing through the letterbox.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s left her phone in the flat,’ he says. ‘Maybe she ran out of milk or something and had to go out.’

  Yes. It’s something simple like that. Nothing to worry about. Milk. I’m always running out of milk. Although wouldn’t she have left the kids with her mum if she was just popping out to the shops?

  ‘I’ll wait in the car till she gets here.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mum says, the second I finish the call. ‘Where’s Alfie?’

  ‘He’s fine. Karen’s looking after him.’

  ‘Who’s Karen?’

  ‘Hayley’s mum. You met her in the playground. Her and her mother.’

  Mum looks worried. ‘How well do you know her?’

  I almost laugh. ‘That’s a bit rich, in the circumstances, isn’t it?’ I stare at my phone, check the volume’s on full. ‘She’s fine. She belongs to the babysitting circle and I know her from book club too. I’ve been round to her flat before. I told her I’d be late. Maybe she’s taken them to the shops to buy some sweets or something.’

  ‘Bit late for sweets, isn’t it?’

  I look at the clock in Mum’s kitchen. It’s half-past seven. She’s right. It is a bit late to be taking two six-year-olds to buy sweets. But it’s fine. Alfie will be fine. There’s obviously some logical explanation.

  Maybe something’s happened and she’s had to take her mum to hospital. Forgotten her phone in the panic. Damn! I picture Alfie waiting in a crowded A&E department, bored and tired. Picking up all sorts of germs while he’s there. There’s no way for me to get hold of Karen if
she’s forgotten her phone, and she’s unlikely to have remembered my number. I just have to hope she knows one of the other mums’ numbers and can contact me that way.

  But how likely is that? I don’t even know Tash’s number off by heart, and she’s my closest friend. I’d be lost without my phone. If she doesn’t turn up soon we’ll have to phone the hospital and see if she’s there. Or drive there ourselves. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

  I ring Michael again.

  ‘Still no sign of them,’ he says.

  He’s trying not to sound anxious, but I can tell that he is. A dangerous thought starts to form somewhere deep in my mind. More a sensation than a thought, but I can’t haul it into the light. It won’t break free of its moorings. Won’t reveal itself to me. I’m panicking over nothing. Wherever Alfie is, he’s with Karen and Hayley, which means he’ll be fine. And Karen’s mum must be with them too, or else she’d have answered the door. The more I think about this, the more convinced I am that Karen’s had to drive her mum to the hospital.

  ‘Can you ask the neighbour if she knows what the mother’s name is?’

  ‘What mother? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Karen’s mother. She’s staying with her at the moment. She’s not very well. I’m wondering whether she’s had to take her to A&E. Can you find out what her name is and ring the Crabton General? That’s the nearest hospital.’

  ‘I’ll find out and ring you back.’

  Five minutes later, the phone rings.

  ‘You’re right. I’ve spoken to one of the other neighbours who said they saw Karen a while back. She’s not sure about the mother’s name. She thinks it might be Mary. Anyway, the thing is, Karen was definitely on her way to A&E. I’m going to drive there now. Don’t worry, Jo, I’ll meet them there and bring Alfie home. You’ve got enough to think about right now. What’s Karen’s surname?’

  ‘Fuck. I don’t know.’

  Michael sighs. ‘Right. Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find her if she’s in the waiting room. I’ll just look for Alfie. I’ll phone you when I get there.’

  The call ends and my breath catches in my throat. That dangerous thought swims up through the depths. A powerful drug creeping through my veins.

  Mum clutches my arm. ‘Joanna, your face! You’re scaring me. What’s going on?’

  The surface is breached and here it is, thrashing about for oxygen. Michael’s words play over in my mind. She thinks it might be Mary.

  A cold hand clenches round my heart. Grips it with icy fingers.

  Mum’s screaming at me now. ‘What do you know that you aren’t telling me?’

  ‘The neighbour thinks Karen’s mum is called Mary.’ My mouth’s so dry I can barely form the words. ‘But what if she’s got it wrong? What if it’s Marie?’

  Mum blanches. I didn’t think it was possible for her to look any paler, but she does. I hear her sharp intake of breath. See the horror in her eyes. The way she’s holding her body.

  ‘And you think …’ Her hands fly to her mouth. ‘You think Karen’s mother is Marie? No. No, it can’t be. That woman I saw in the playground was nothing like her. She was …’

  She looks at me, her eyes round with horror. ‘She was so thin. Her face … her hair. It … it couldn’t have been her. It couldn’t!’

  Mum’s landline makes us both jump.

  We look at each other, the tension and hostility of just a few minutes ago suspended by this new, frightening turn of events.

  She turns on her heels and runs into the living room, snatches the phone from its cradle.

  ‘Hello?’

  I watch her face and know something’s happened. Something bad. She presses the loudspeaker button and turns to me, a helpless expression in her eyes.

  A woman’s voice fills the room. An ugly, abrasive voice. ‘You’ve got a lovely grandson, Sally.’ I clutch my stomach and sink to my knees. I’ve heard that voice before.

  Karen’s mum is Marie. Robbie Harris’s sister. The woman who has vowed never to stop searching for her brother’s killer. The woman who wants Sally McGowan to pay for what she’s done.

  And right now, she’s got Alfie.

  49

  Her voice sours the air.

  ‘You and I need to have a little chat, Sally. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere nobody will disturb us.’

  Mum’s hands are trembling. ‘Where? Tell me where you are and I’ll come. Just don’t hurt him, Marie. Please, don’t hurt him.’

  ‘Like you didn’t hurt Robbie, you mean?’

  Our eyes lock in silent horror.

  ‘He’s a lovely little lad, isn’t he? So trusting. But then they all are at that age, aren’t they?’

  I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.

  ‘Please, Marie,’ Mum says. ‘Leave Alfie out of this. If you’ve got something you want to say to me, I’ll listen. But this isn’t the way.’

  ‘Shut up. You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m in charge now, okay? So shut up and listen.’

  ‘Marie!’ I scream. ‘Please, Marie. Tell me where he is.’

  ‘Ah, that sounds like your lovely daughter. I met you the other day, didn’t I, love? Does she know yet, Sally? Does she know what you are? You did a good job keeping it from her all these years, didn’t you? You always were the clever one.’

  ‘What do you want, Marie?’

  ‘What do I want? I want justice, that’s what I want. Justice for Robbie. And justice for my poor late mum, and me and my dad. But let’s not chat about it over the phone, eh? I’m sure you want to see your little grandson, don’t you?’

  Oh God, if anything’s happened to Alfie …

  ‘Remember where it happened, Sally? Remember that house? Of course you do.’

  ‘Where are you, Marie? Where have you taken him?’

  She laughs. A horrible, mirthless cackle. ‘Be funny if I’d taken him back to Broughton, wouldn’t it? I can just imagine the state you’d be in if you had to drive all the way up there. Only I don’t think that old house is still standing. Don’t think any of them are. I doubt we’d recognize the place now, to be honest. Probably just as well, all things considered.

  ‘No. Your little Alfie’s much nearer to home. It’s much bigger than the house where you killed Robbie. Must have been quite something in its day.’

  ‘Where is he, Marie? What have you done with him?’

  ‘Done with him? I haven’t done anything with him yet. The little lamb. But I will do. If you don’t do what I say.’

  ‘Where is he?’ I scream. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Ask your mum what happened, love. Ask her where she stabbed my little brother. I reckon, between the two of you, you can work out where I’ve taken him, but let me tell you this: I don’t want any police involved. You bring the police with you, or anyone else for that matter, and things could get nasty for your little boy. And I mean really nasty. See, I don’t care what happens to me any more. I don’t care if they cart me off to prison and throw away the key. So don’t get any ideas, will you? If I see any police sniffing around, I might have an accident with a kitchen knife. You know all about those, don’t you, Sally?’

  The phone goes dead.

  ‘No!’ Mum screams, her fingers stabbing the handset.

  The phone is still on loudspeaker and the words ‘the caller withheld their number’ reverberate around the room.

  Panic swells in my chest, surges up to my throat, almost drowning my words.

  ‘Oh my God! I think I know the place she’s talking about. The derelict house on the seafront! It’s just a few hundred metres from The Regal. She must have taken him there.’

  With trembling fingers I call Michael’s number, but it just keeps ringing. Why isn’t he answering? Of course, he’s probably back on the A12 by now, with the radio on. He always puts it on full blast when he’s on his own in the car.

  ‘I can’t get through to him. Let’s just go. Where are your car keys?’

  Mum stuffs her feet into her trainers. ‘The
garage door’s playing up again. We’ll be quicker if we run.’

  I race to the front door. Yank it open. Sol starts barking, but Mum shuts him in the kitchen.

  ‘Come on!’ I yell at her, and now we’re outside, running down the driveway and out on to the street. Mum sprints ahead of me. I do my best to follow as fast as I can, but by the time we reach the end of the road, I’m breathless. Somehow, I find the strength to keep going. Chasing my mother down wet pavements, I’m powered by something more than fear. Adrenaline courses through me like fire, spurring me on. My son’s life depends on us getting there. Nothing else matters. Nothing.

  The rain’s coming faster now. Sheets of it slicing into us sideways. My chest heaves with pain but we’re almost there. I can hear the dull roar of the sea, can see the wall of darkness ahead where the cliff ends. Mum’s already turning the corner. She knows the house too. Must have passed it a thousand times, walking Sol.

  My feet pound the pavements. My heart thuds in my chest, my neck. Blood booms in my ears. I have to be right. She has to be there. Where else could she have taken him?

  At last I’ve caught up with Mum. She’s outside the derelict house, staring at its boarded-up windows, transfixed with terror. I push past her. The tiles on the path are jagged and broken, the ones still intact glassy with rain. My feet slip and slide. Mum’s behind me now, her ragged breath in my ear.

  Whoever’s responsible for this place still hasn’t secured it since it was broken into a while back. My hand closes round the door knob and the door shifts forwards, taking my arm with it.

  Karen must be in on this too. I’ve been played by her all along. She was only being friendly to gain my confidence. Why oh why didn’t I ask Kay to pick him up? Who cares if she’s been lying about her daughter? There must be a reason for that. She’s a kind, sweet lady.

  We stumble through the door, Mum pressed up so close behind me it’s like we’re one person. We’re inside a dark, cold hallway. It smells of damp and mould. It smells of decay. Somewhere from inside the house comes the sound of rain falling on timber. But there’s something else too. Mum stiffens beside me. Cigarette smoke. It’s unmistakable.