Do No Harm

by L. V. Hay

  Inside the flat at last, he winced at the smell. It was like dozens of blackened bonfires, drowned by rain. He jumped down, his bare feet landing on the sodden carpet. Drenched soft toys sat limp and sad on the shelves. Posters and wallpaper hung in sodden ribbons from the wall, soaked by the firemen’s hose. An involuntary shiver worked through Sebastian, both from the cold dampness under his soles and the close call his wife and stepchild had had.

  Denny’s room was smoke- and water-damaged, but more or less intact. Sebastian picked his way through the top storey with care. He was worried about floor joists, especially upstairs. He didn’t need to plunge through to the lower floor, or worse, the empty flat underneath. But, besides the odd creak underfoot, there were no worrying or ominous structural groans. After a few steps, Sebastian grew in confidence. He padded through to his and Lily’s bedroom. Like Denny’s room, it had escaped the worst of the fire. It was mostly dry too, the firemen having focused their jets of water up to the left side of the house where the fire had raged.

  Sebastian went to the wardrobe and opened it: all their clothes smelled awful. Even so, he took a pair of socks from the chest of drawers, dried the soles of his feet off on the duvet and pulled them on. He needed shoes. He dropped to the floor and spotted his trainers underneath the bed. He grabbed them and pulled them towards him, then shoved them onto his feet. That was better.

  On top of the chest was Lily’s handbag. Sebastian rooted through it, glad she hadn’t hung it up downstairs. Inside was her phone. Perfect. He grabbed the bag, and took it with him.

  If he was going to see Lily next, he still needed a key for the car. He had no idea who could have taken his from the hospital, but there was a spare. Since Lily didn’t drive, he’d never given it to her. If he remembered correctly, he had left it in his bedside cabinet. He yanked out the drawer and tossed its contents on the bed. Mostly papers, a book he’d never finished, various odds and ends and … the key. He picked it up like a precious artefact and pocketed it.

  The rain started pouring down as Sebastian left the maisonette the way he’d gone in: via the flat roof below Denny’s room. As he jumped down onto the tarmac, he groaned loudly with pain.

  From the corner of his eye he saw someone nearby start, then heard them laugh. ‘Jesus! Where’d you come from?’

  Sebastian froze. It was the teenage son of the couple from the icecream parlour; he was standing in his pink-and-white striped apron, his arms full of cardboard, heading for the big green bin at the back of the courtyard.

  Sebastian raised a hand in greeting, and indicated Lily’s bag. ‘Stairs are out. And I had to get a few things.’

  The youth nodded. ‘Everybody okay, then?’

  Sebastian smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. ‘And thank you, again.’

  The teen shrugged. ‘No worries.’ He went back to his recycling.

  Sebastian unlocked the car and slid in behind the wheel. As he put the key in the ignition, something caught his eye. He turned and saw a plastic bag on the passenger seat.

  The bag was wrapped around something. Heavy, hard and long – he realised with a thud of his heart what it was. Unable to help himself, almost in a trance, he unwrapped the plastic. The item fell out onto the passenger seat.

  A knife, its blade dulled with dried blood.

  Fifty-one

  Sebastian left the little courtyard, and pulled out into the traffic, but, as he slowed for the lights at the junction, he spied a Community Support Officer in his wing mirror. He had to fight the urge to slump down in his seat. The CSO was just behind Sebastian’s car, walking up the pavement on his side of the road in his yellow hi-vis jacket. Sebastian shouldn’t have touched the knife, he knew that. But he had, so what could he have done about it? He’d dropped it in Lily’s bag, as if it was burning his fingers.

  Finally, the traffic moved on and Sebastian left the CSO in his wake. As he flicked the indicator to turn the corner, his tormented stare reflected back at him in the rear-view mirror. In his mind’s eye he saw Lily by his hospital bedside again. Her rigid and severe manner, her accusations.

  He had to see her.

  Sebastian had a fairly good idea of where Lily would be. He pressed the name on Lily’s phone.

  It rang only once. ‘Sebastian?’

  Triss’s voice on the end of the line was suspicious, cold. No doubt Lily had told her what he was supposed to have done – to Maxwell, to her and Denny. He closed his eyes, the betrayal still piercing through him.

  ‘Is Lily with you?’

  ‘No,’ Triss replied instantly. But he knew her, she was a terrible liar.

  Sebastian gritted his teeth and rang off. Then headed for Triss’s flat.

  When he parked outside Triss’s home, it was growing dark. It was an ugly concrete nineties’ low-rise block of flats, with hanging baskets placed around the main door to try to offset the grimness. It was opposite a small scrapyard, filled with the metal skeletons of crushed cars. Sebastian hovered on the front doorstep, then pushed at the door in the hope it would open. It did.

  He wandered into yet more concrete; it looked more like a multistorey car park than a home. There was a bank of metal post-boxes opposite him, plus a noticeboard, the condensation on its Perspex cover almost rendering its posters for salsa classes and international phonecards unreadable. His nostrils wrinkled as he smelled the stale dregs of beer – and perhaps something worse – on the stairs. No wonder Triss had preferred it at the maisonette.

  Fatigue and pain gnawed at Sebastian’s bones, but he made it up the stairs to the top floor of the building. As he drifted past the open front door of one flat, a big Staffie launched itself at him, only to be arrested by a child’s safety gate screwed into the wood of the doorframe. He flinched, giving the creature a wide berth as it continued to bark furiously. No one came to see to it, though he could hear the tones of a jeering chat show inside.

  Triss’s flat was next door. Sebastian pressed his finger on the doorbell. The door opened, the chain rattled and Triss peered through the gap.

  ‘Oh, so you finally turned up, then.’

  Irritation coursed through Sebastian, but he tamped it down. ‘I need to see Lily.’

  ‘Yeah, I bet you do.’ Triss shut the door.

  Sebastian was about to press the doorbell again when he heard the clatter of the chain as Triss unhooked it. She opened the door, her posture hostile, as if she’d rugby tackle him at any moment. She was taller than him, so she might just have managed it. He hesitated on the threshold. Was she going to stop him seeing Lily? Her body language was proprietorial, challenging.

  ‘Well, I suppose you’d better come in, then!’ Triss said at last, waving him in impatiently, like he was one of the kids in her class.

  Sebastian skulked into the flat after her. The hallway was narrow and windowless; there was scarred lino underfoot. The walls were painted magnolia. Sebastian could smell damp in the air.

  Triss bid him follow her into the room furthest away, at the end of the dingy corridor. Lily and Denny lounged on the sofa together, watching Finding Nemo on DVD. His head rested on her shoulder, thumb in his mouth as she tousled his hair. But as soon as Sebastian came in, Lily sat up, wary. Denny sat up too, eyes wide. Sebastian groaned inwardly. This was not going to be easy.

  ‘C’mon mate, let’s go to the shop, get some sweets.’ Triss held a hand out to Denny. The little boy was noticeably thrilled at the thought of getting sweets after dark, but he looked from Sebastian to his mother for reassurance.

  Lily nodded and smiled. ‘It’s fine, Denny. See you in ten minutes.’ She shot Sebastian a warning glance; message received. She hadn’t told Denny about Maxwell, yet.

  Triss gave Sebastian a long stare, then took Denny’s hand and led him from the room slamming the door closed after them.

  Sebastian collapsed in a threadbare armchair opposite Lily. He looked around the small room. Triss had worked hard to make the place nice: there were throws on the sofa, black-and-white prints on the
wall. A small television sat on an upcycled table in the corner, and there was a rag rug on the floor. But it was hard to conceal the cigarette burns on the cheap cord carpet, or the ominous wet patches on the ceiling. He could hear muffled voices from the other flats, the continued barking of the dog next door. It was a far cry from the life Sebastian had led at his mother’s quiet, exclusive home out near the common, or even the imposing dormitories of his boarding school.

  ‘They haven’t arrested you yet, then,’ said Lily.

  Sebastian blinked. ‘You thought they would?’ He was hurt, but he couldn’t go down that route right now. Instead he fixed her with what he imagined to be a sympathetic stare. ‘I know, Lily.’

  ‘Know what?’ Lily’s hostility faltered for the first time. She adopted a defensive pose, her arms crossed, her feet pulled up underneath her. It was as if she couldn’t bear even the possibility of her limbs crossing into his space. She looked even more confused and suspicious than she had before. ‘Sebastian, what the hell are you talking about?’

  Sebastian chose his words carefully. ‘I’m saying I understand how you must have felt … For him to have gone this far – endangered Denny’s life. It had to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. You thought you had no choice. You were protecting Denny. I understand that…’

  ‘Whoa, whoa.’ Lily put a hand in the air. ‘You better not be saying what I think you’re saying … You think I could have killed Maxwell? Seriously!’

  But Lily’s outrage did not stop Sebastian in his tracks. ‘I found the knife, Lily. In my car. I forgive you.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Lily was on her feet, as if she might move across the narrow room and strike Sebastian across the face. She flexed her hand, grabbing it with her other to stop herself. Then she seemed to register his last three words. ‘Wait. Forgive me for what?’

  ‘Trying to frame me. I understand. You can’t be parted from Denny. You had to pin it on me – I’m the most likely suspect. But we can sort all of this—’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Sebastian, will you listen to yourself?’ She took another step back, like she didn’t trust herself. She closed her eyes and inhaled, to calm down.

  Sebastian could still see the anger in her stance, lurking below the surface, just waiting to peak again as she forced out the words. ‘How the hell could I have killed Maxwell? He died around midnight, the police said. I was asleep. The fire started not long after! Or do you think I started that, too?’

  Confusion swirled through Sebastian’s mind. That seemed as nonsensical as him starting it. The police had to have been wrong…

  Lily looked at him like DI Su had. She gave a pained, slightly weary shake of her head. ‘You’ve been under a lot of pressure, for months—’

  Sebastian cut in. ‘No. No!’

  ‘The wedding, the school inspection, Maxwell’s meddling, the problems with Denny, the fake cancer diagnosis…’ There were tears in Lily’s eyes. ‘It’s no wonder … You were pushed too far. You’re not bad, you just cracked.’

  ‘I didn’t kill him!’ he bellowed suddenly.

  But as Sebastian saw Lily’s frightened eyes, for a microsecond he wondered. He had been the last person to see Maxwell alive. Even Sebastian could see how bad it looked for him. Maybe he had done the deed and then erased it from his mind? After all, who could have slipped in and killed Maxwell, if it wasn’t him or Lily? And who could have set the fire?

  Lily threw her hands in the air. ‘Then who did all this, Sebastian? You tell me!’

  You tell me. A vision hit his mind’s eye: he saw Triss, sitting at his kitchen table, that smirk on her face. Like she owned the place. Like she had replaced him, made him extraneous. He recalled the figure in the dark hoody, the strength as they’d grabbed him and pushed him hard against the brickwork. Triss had always been tall, strong, lithe, like a gymnast. She’d always wanted Lily and Denny to herself. It was so obvious now. It hadn’t been Maxwell, after all.

  ‘Where was Triss at midnight last night, Lily?’

  I wait, biding my time. I look at my watch. The timing is absolutely crucial for the ultimate plan, the endgame I have spent all these months planning. A car roars away from Maxwell’s house.

  Now.

  I have dressed all in black. My form is indiscernible from the shadows as I scamper across the lawn. I spy him through the open blinds as he lurches from his living room out into the bright, white hallway. The inner porch door is still open, though he ignores it. He ducks into the downstairs wet room. Perfect.

  Full of purpose, I reach forwards and place a hand on the porch door, letting it creak loudly. This will bring him to the porch, where I want him.

  Seconds later, he’s there. He’s bare-chested, wearing just a pair of jogging bottoms, bare feet. With an arrogant swagger, he’s ready to land another fist and give the cocky little shit who just left another pounding. He wrenches open the front door again, just as I hide, camouflaged by a tall ornamental fern.

  No one there.

  Maxwell falters. Standing on the porch step, he doubts himself. He’s so wired, perhaps the sound of the door was in his head? I feel a flicker of a smile pass across my face.

  A slight breeze ruffles through the tall hedges that line his property. The dog barks somewhere inside the house. A bat flits across the black-and-purple sky.

  Just as he’s about to turn on his heel I clear my throat deliberately. His head snaps around. He narrows his eyes, trying to make out shapes in the darkness.

  ‘Hello?’

  Only the breeze answers him.

  I fancy that a cold finger of fear works its way down his back now. Before it can hurry him back inside, I let out an unmistakable whimper. I allow it to escape, cutting through the night air.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  Maxwell moves from the hall into the garden. A slash of light illuminates the bottom half of his face: a smirk tugs at his lips.

  ‘It’s okay, darling.’ He’s guessed it’s me. He raises both his arms in my direction. In his mind, he fancies he must look like an all-forgiving angel. So predictable.

  I rush towards him, like he wants me to. He braces himself to envelop me in his arms. Maxwell likes to hug crying women; it makes him feel manly, a protector. But I do not throw myself into his embrace.

  I stop dead just a fist’s distance from him. Before he can beckon me closer, I thrust forwards, feeling the deep connection between us. The blow is not the raw, red, heat of the punch he gave Sebastian earlier. This time, it feels deep, sharp and cold.

  ‘Wha…?’

  Then he realises. I’ve not hit him at all.

  His gaze finds its way towards the knife buried deep in his stomach. He looks down, stupefied. I imagine the kaleidoscope of thoughts and images rushing through his mind, chased by thoughts of his impending death. Not now. Surely not now! And why?

  He doesn’t have time to puzzle this, because I pull the knife free again. He utters a strangled cry and falls to his knees, back across the threshold and into the porch. He can feel his life pouring from him, he is becoming more light-headed by the second. He can’t raise his head; it’s too heavy.

  I pull a plastic carrier bag from my pocket and wrap the knife in it. Then I clamber over him, kicking his hand away as he grasps at my ankle. I push my way into the hall, making sure I close the front door after me, the sound of nails on the tiles wandering towards me. The dog sniffs around me – she knows me, after all – as I locate what I’m looking for. His mobile, plugged into a charger in the kitchen. I pocket it.

  I slip back into the porch, shutting the dog in the house and Our Mutual Friend in the porch. Well, it’s the kindest thing, really. I don’t want her lapping up his blood.

  I kneel and murmur. ‘If there was any other way…’

  He gargles something unintelligible. There’s blood on his lips. Internal haemorrhage. It does seem a waste, but Our Mutual Friend is now surplus to requirements. Besides, from the offset, his demise was inevitable, if I was to make sure m
y plan worked out. I leave, making sure the porch door clicks shut behind me.

  I’m sure he realises his predicament straight away. He is half-dressed, with no phone, badly wounded with unconsciousness rapidly approaching. And he is locked out of his home, yet also masked by the tall hedgerows outside. No one will see him, until it’s too late.

  Now, for the final phase.

  Fifty-two

  Lily collapsed back on the sofa, head in her hands, as if she couldn’t hold her own body up any longer. ‘Stop it.’

  But it all slotted into place for Sebastian. It made perfect sense. Lily and Triss had been torn apart by Maxwell; she can’t have been thinking clearly. Perhaps she’d only wanted to talk to him, yet it had got out of control. Or maybe she’d planned it. Whatever the case, she’d waited until Sebastian had left, then stabbed Maxwell. The front of Maxwell’s home was surrounded by leylandii, so it was likely no one could have seen Triss butchering Maxwell just feet away.

  ‘Think about it, Lily,’ Sebastian entreated. ‘Triss has always been so close to you. She probably thought she was protecting you from him. And she wants to protect you from me too! And the fire. That was her too … I fought with her; I thought she was Maxwell! Maybe she didn’t mean to hurt you. She just wanted you here. With her. She—’

  Lily sat up, her expression more exasperated than ever. ‘Are you on drugs? Or is this what a breakdown looks like? Triss couldn’t stamp on a bloody snail without giving it a matchbox funeral. Never mind kill Denny’s dad. Whatever he’d done – to her or to me – he was still Denny’s father.’

  ‘She put the knife in my car! She’s got Denny, this could all be a ruse!’ Sebastian began.