All Things Nice

by Sheila Bugler

  She closed her eyes. The doctor would be back soon. If he was happy with everything, they would discharge her. She didn’t want that. Couldn’t face going back there. Not yet.

  ‘Hey.’

  Charlotte opened her eyes. Saw Ginny’s lovable face staring at her. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her face, usually so vibrant, looked grey and tired. Charlotte couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her friend’s face make-up free.

  ‘I came as soon as I got your text,’ Ginny said. She sat on the side of the bed and took Charlotte’s hand in hers. Instantly, the fear and anxiety became bearable.

  ‘You gave me a fright, Lottie, you know that? I saw the word hospital and … well, you know how much I hate these places.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Charlotte said. ‘I didn’t know who else to call.’

  ‘Oh don’t be silly.’ Ginny’s hand squeezed hers. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I want to be here with you. Look at you, darling.’ Very gently, she touched Charlotte’s right cheekbone, which hurt like hell. ‘You’ve got a real shiner coming up. What on earth happened?’

  Charlotte relayed the story again, stumbling and stuttering as she tried to convey the terror of it. The dreadful certainty that she was about to die.

  ‘They think I’m lying,’ she said.

  ‘Who does?’

  Charlotte shrugged, then wished she hadn’t as pain shot down her bruised arm. At least it was her left arm. She supposed she was meant to feel lucky about that too.

  ‘The police, the doctor looking after me. Everyone.’

  ‘Mrs Gleeson?’

  Charlotte groaned. Abby, the pretty detective, had come into the ward and was standing at the end of the bed.

  Abby. Pretty name for a pretty girl. She looked around the same age as Freya. Totally different in every other way, of course. It pained Charlotte to compare Abby’s glossy hair, manicured nails and perfect skin with her own daughter. If only Freya made the effort once in a while. It wouldn’t kill her. And at that age, it really didn’t take much to keep yourself looking good. Of course, Freya would need to work on her weight too, but that was perfectly doable.

  Maybe that’s what she needed. Now she’d got herself free of Kieran, maybe it was the right time to reinvent herself. They could do it together. A mother-daughter project. Charlotte tried to picture herself and Freya going shopping together, getting their hair and nails done. The image refused to come. She sighed. Of course not. Freya wasn’t going to change. Charlotte would just have to accept that, no matter how unpalatable it was.

  ‘Shall we close the curtains?’ Abby asked, already drawing them around the rail. She smiled at Ginny. ‘Maybe you could give us a few minutes?’

  ‘No.’ Charlotte clung onto Ginny’s hand. ‘I want Ginny to stay.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ginny said. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry.’

  Abby moved in until she was practically pressed against the side of the bed. It made Charlotte feel vulnerable, lying down like this while the detective towered over her. She tried to shift her body so she was sitting up, but it was difficult. Everything was difficult when your whole body hurt.

  ‘Can I help?’ Abby leaned forward and helped Ginny to move her until she was comfortable.

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Abby asked.

  ‘How do you think she’s feeling?’ Ginny asked. ‘Someone tried to bloody kill her.’

  ‘Please, Mrs Rau,’ Abby said. ‘I need to hear Charlotte’s version of what happened.’

  Ginny frowned. ‘I assume you know who I am because I’ve already given a statement to your colleagues. Good. Can we get on with this, please? Lottie needs her rest.’

  ‘Her doctor said she’s well enough to answer some questions,’ Abby said. She turned away from Ginny, focusing her attention on Charlotte. Charlotte tried to smile to show she wasn’t intimidated.

  ‘Tell me about the accident,’ Abby said.

  Again, Ginny cut in before Charlotte had a chance to answer for herself.

  ‘It wasn’t an accident. Someone did this to her. Pushed her down the stairs in her own house. Isn’t it possible that whoever did it is the same person who killed Kieran? I’ve been thinking about it, you see. And Lottie, well she’d had a bit to drink on Friday night so she mightn’t remember everything.’ She squeezed Charlotte’s hand tighter, letting her know she wasn’t being critical, just getting her point across. ‘But I think she saw something she shouldn’t have. I think she saw the killer and whoever that is, they came back last night to … to make sure she’d never be able to tell anyone if she did remember.’

  Charlotte wanted to pull her hand away but Ginny was holding on too tight. She didn’t like this. Didn’t want to think it was anything more than a burglary gone wrong.

  ‘Do I have to go through it again?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m here to help,’ Abby said. ‘The best way I can do that is understanding exactly what happened. I’m your ally, Charlotte, not your enemy.’

  She smiled when she said this and the kindness made Charlotte want to cry.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  Abby patted the hand that Ginny wasn’t holding. ‘Take your time. There’s no rush.’

  ‘I was on my way to bed,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’d been out. I was tired and wanted to go straight to bed.’

  ‘Where had you been?’ Abby asked.

  ‘A wine bar in Greenwich,’ Ginny said. ‘Nothing wrong with that, is there? And why does it matter where we were. Shouldn’t you be concentrating on who did this? Not where she was or who she was with before it happened. Lottie, listen to me. Think. You were okay last night when I left you. There must be something you remember, something that will help us find who did this to you.’

  There was something off about Ginny this morning. Charlotte got that her friend was worried but her certainty that someone had done this deliberately felt wrong. Why would Ginny, of all people, think that anyone would want to hurt her? She wanted to ask Ginny about it but she couldn’t do that with Abby watching her. Again, Charlotte scrabbled through her memories of Friday night, trying to find something that would explain what Ginny was thinking. Again, she hit a blank. Huge gaping holes where memories should be. A random patchwork of scattered images. Nothing that made any sense.

  ‘What do you mean, she was okay last night?’ Abby asked.

  ‘I’d had a drink,’ Charlotte said. ‘But I wasn’t drunk. That’s what she meant. Anyway, even if I was, so what?’

  ‘No reason at all,’ Abby said. ‘After what’s happened with Kieran, I can’t say I blame you. You’re probably still in shock.’

  At last. Someone who understood what she was going through.

  ‘I am,’ Charlotte said. ‘I mean, I’m totally devastated over poor Kieran. Freya is all I can think about at the moment. I want to help her but she won’t let me.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll come round,’ Abby said. ‘So, last night. You came home. What happened next?’

  ‘I was on my way upstairs,’ Charlotte said. ‘When I heard a noise. I think I called out, asked who was up there. The next thing I know …’

  She stopped speaking as it rushed back at her. The dark, the fear and the hand shoving into her back. The sudden, shocking certainty that she might die.

  ‘It must have been terrifying,’ Abby said. ‘Do you have any idea who it was? I only ask because two officers responded to your 999 call last night. They searched the house. There was no sign of any break-in.’

  As if those useless lumps would be able to tell. They hadn’t believed her, either. Speaking to her in slow, loud voices, like she was some sort of bloody retard. They only bothered looking for an intruder when she started screaming at them.

  ‘They didn’t believe me,’ Charlotte said. ‘I could tell from their faces they thought I was lying. Why would I lie about something like that?’

  ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ Abby said. She smile
d again and Charlotte smiled back, waiting.

  ‘Just one more question,’ Abby said in the same kind voice. ‘In October last year …’

  Charlotte stopped smiling, knowing what was coming.

  ‘… you accused a taxi driver of trying to assault you. That wasn’t quite true, was it?’

  Trust the police to bring that up again. Use it to twist things around, make it look as if she was the sort of person who went around accusing people of doing things they hadn’t.

  Ginny started to say something but Charlotte spoke over her.

  ‘That was different.’

  Abby raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I was drunk that night,’ Charlotte said. ‘But I assume you know that already.’

  ‘You accused the taxi driver of assaulting you,’ Abby said. ‘When in actual fact, it was you who hit him. You threw up inside his taxi and then assaulted him when he tried to get you to sit up so you weren’t lying in your own puke.’

  Uptight cow. Might do her good to let go occasionally. Charlotte knew it was no good. Whatever she said, the police wouldn’t believe her. She closed her eyes, willing Abby to piss off back to her shitty, self-important little life and leave her alone. She felt Ginny’s hand and she held on tight, as if Ginny was the only thing stopping her from falling.

  She heard Abby say goodbye and say she’d be in touch over the next few days. Then there was the whoosh of air across her face as the curtain was pulled back, followed by the click-clack of heels gradually fading as the detective walked down the ward, away from her.

  When she couldn’t hear the footsteps any longer, she opened her eyes. Saw Ginny’s pale, pixie face frowning.

  ‘What is it?’ Charlotte asked.

  Ginny shook her head, gave a smile that was false and bright and had none of the warmth of her real smiles.

  ‘She didn’t mention Freya or Nick,’ Ginny said. ‘Don’t you think that’s odd?’

  Charlotte remembered how she’d thought it was Nick. Moving around upstairs in the dark. She wondered if she’d been right about that and if it was worth calling the detective back to tell her.

  She decided not to bother. It wasn’t as if Abby would believe her, even if she did.

  Four

  Nick sat in his car, watching the grey river sludge past him on its way east out of the city. He was parked on a stretch of riverside concrete in Woolwich, a spot he knew from his childhood. He’d grown up in one of the tall council buildings around the corner. He hated Woolwich but loved this unlovely stretch of river. It reminded him of his old man. They used to walk out here on Sunday mornings, father and son, talking about everything and nothing. Dead twenty-five years and it still hurt.

  He’d tried hard to make his father proud. But his father hadn’t lived long enough to see Nick’s progress from Woolwich tower-block to Blackheath mansion. The only real regret in his life. There was other stuff, things he wasn’t proud of, but he could live with those. His marriage, for example. A right bloody disaster zone, but at least it had produced Freya. She mightn’t be every father’s ideal of a perfect daughter but by Christ he loved his little princess.

  Which made all of this worse. He hit the steering wheel, pounded it with both hands, rage and fear and frustration ripping through him, until his hands hurt. He couldn’t bear to see her suffer. He’d called around first thing this morning and her pain had been almost too much. She’d done her best to hide it, but he could see how deep it went. It cut him up. Especially when the piece of shit she was grieving for wasn’t worthy of such emotion.

  Nick stayed with her for as long as he could but after a while he’d had to get out of there. He needed to clear his head, work out what he was going to do. Impossible to do that when he was with Freya.

  He was scared. A difficult thing for a man like him to admit but there you had it. All the years of bloody slog and here he was, in danger of losing it all. He got out of the car and walked to the railings overlooking the river. A sharp wind cut across the water and sliced through his body. He opened his jacket, welcoming the cold. It helped him focus.

  Kieran fucking Burton. He should never have let things get as far as they did. It was obvious from the first time he met Freya’s boyfriend that the bloke was a lazy tosser who was only with Freya for what he could get from her. Why the hell hadn’t Nick done something back then? What sort of a father did it make him, knowing his daughter was shacked up with a lowlife piece of scum like that and not doing a single thing about it? Sitting back and watching that sleazy little shit worm his way into the seams of his family and rip apart the last few threads that held them together.

  He started walking, feet pounding the hard concrete, face turned towards the easterly wind, forcing his mind to go back over every angle, making sure he hadn’t missed anything.

  He kept his phone tidy so no problems there. There was always a risk that Kieran had kept the photos on his phone but Nick didn’t think so. The coppers would have checked that by now. If the photo was there, they’d have found it.

  There was Loretta, of course. She might be tricky. Especially with their history. Maybe he could have handled that one better but how was he to know this would happen? He’d have to have a word all the same. Make sure she knew what would happen if she didn’t keep her mouth shut. She was a clever woman so he wasn’t too worried. If he gave her the choice between a decent bonus or the chance to lash out, she’d take the money.

  He walked until he’d gone through every possibility, every single way he could be caught out. He examined each one in turn, made sure his arse was covered, then moved on to the next. At the end of it, the fear was gone. He felt in control again. The coppers didn’t have anything on him. He was in the clear.

  The knowledge restored him. Restored something else as well. He closed his eyes, remembering how good last night had been. He took his phone from his pocket and dialled her number. Held his breath until she answered.

  ‘Are you free?’ he said. ‘I really need to see you.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d call,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking of you.’

  The sound of her voice sent a shiver of lust through his body. He pictured her face, her body, her lips. Remembered what those lips felt like. He moaned. She laughed. He told her where to meet and hung up. Walked quickly to the car and drove off.

  Moments earlier he’d been asking himself if she was worth all this. Now, he couldn’t even remember why he’d ever thought that. He’d do anything to keep her and make her his own. He’d known it the first time he’d met her. Nothing had changed. If anything, the longer he was with her, the more determined he was to keep her. No matter what the consequences.

  Five

  ‘How did you get on with Ben Lowe?’ Ger asked.

  The three women were sitting around Ger’s desk, drinking freshly made coffee and discussing the case. Ellen was trying – and failing – not to feel patronised. This wasn’t how she’d worked with Ed, her previous boss. Her irritation was made worse because she didn’t have much time. She’d finally got around to reading the letter from Pat’s new school. As soon as she’d finished it, she’d picked up the phone and called his counsellor. She had an appointment to see him in an hour.

  ‘Disappointing.’ Ellen forced herself to stop thinking about Pat and focus on work. ‘He’s not a pleasant person, but I don’t think he’s a killer. Kieran stole some money from him.’

  ‘Surely that’s a motive?’ Ger said.

  Ellen shrugged. ‘Fifty pounds. It was money for speed which Kieran never provided. Lowe was pissed off but not enough to kill. I don’t think so, anyway. Even if he was, he’d have had to rush out straight after the row, find a knife from somewhere, find Kieran and know – somehow – that he was on St Joseph’s Vale so that he could kill him. The landlady at the Dacre has already confirmed that Kieran left the pub first. Ben stayed and had another pint after that. The timings would only work if Ben had planned it all in advance. And I don’t think that’s true.’

/>   ‘Well let’s keep him on our list of suspects for now,’ Ger said. ‘What about Charlotte? Any luck there?’

  ‘She certainly believes someone was in the house,’ Abby said. ‘But she’d been drinking. She doesn’t deny that. She claims she hadn’t much to drink but the manager of the wine bar says Charlotte and her pal consumed two bottles of wine that evening.’

  ‘So this was an accident,’ Ger said. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Abby looked embarrassed at having to admit she didn’t have a definite answer. ‘Going by the facts alone, I’d say yes. She drank too much, came home pissed and fell down the stairs.’

  ‘But?’ Ger said.

  ‘I think I believe her,’ Abby said. ‘She seemed so … I don’t know, vulnerable somehow. She had a friend with her. Virginia Rau. She’s on our witness list and she also happens to be who Charlotte went drinking with on Sunday night. She seems convinced that Charlotte saw something on Friday night that’s connected with the murder.’

  ‘One of the PCs interviewed her,’ Ellen said, remembering her conversation with WPC McKeown. ‘She thought Mrs Rau was hiding something.’

  ‘What?’ Ger said.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Ellen said. ‘Charlotte was upset the night of the party, apparently. Mrs Rau claims some guy at the party upset her. I got all this from WPC Laura McKeown. She didn’t believe Rau’s story and even interviewed her a second time. Didn’t get any fresh information but came away with the same feeling.’

  ‘But it’s so stupid,’ Abby said. ‘I know she wanted me to think it was the killer who pushed Charlotte. But pushing someone down the stairs? It’s not exactly a foolproof way to kill someone, is it? As demonstrated by the fact Charlotte’s still alive.’

  Ger smiled and nodded her head in agreement.

  ‘We know it wasn’t a burglar,’ Ellen said. ‘There’s no sign that anything was taken. Why would a burglar break in and not steal anything? I’m definitely going to speak to Virginia Rau again. Even if you don’t want to.’