by K E Coles
‘That’s true,’ Dad said.
The room felt stuffy and airless, and far too hot. I fidgeted, chewed my lip, nervous and impatient to get outside. For the first time I noticed a policewoman sitting on a chair by the door.
Jim frowned. ‘Relax, Pearl. Are you sure we’re not stopping you from meeting someone?’
‘No.’ I tried to relax my muscles, clasped my hands together in my lap. It took a huge effort to keep still.
‘You’ve had an interesting week, haven’t you?’
I raised my eyebrows, didn’t answer.
‘I mean, you’re on a school trip when two people are seriously hurt.’
‘I didn’t see that,’ I said.
‘Strange how no one saw anything.’ Jim frowned. ‘Not even the victims. Odd, that, don’t you think?’
‘Don’t know,’ I said. ‘Can I go now?’
‘Just one other thing.’
I perched on the edge of my seat.
He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. ‘I’ve had a rather interesting week, too. The murder on Monday, the school trip assaults on Thursday, and now I’ve been asked to help Brighton CID with a little problem.’
Brighton. The word slammed into my chest.
‘And, strangely,’ he said, ‘you happen to have been in the vicinity - again.’
‘A lot of people were in Brighton.’ My voice shook. I could hear it.
‘Indeed, indeed. It’s just a coincidence.’ His eyes told me he didn’t believe in coincidences. ‘Your boyfriend, too, was in the vicinity of both.’
‘He wasn’t on the trip.’
Jim raised his eyebrows, consulted his notes. ‘But didn’t he – how did you put it - rescue you?’ He smiled. ‘In London, I mean of course – not Brighton.’
I stared at him while my mind searched for a clever response.
‘What did he rescue you from, exactly?’ Jim said. ‘It wouldn’t be Matthew Tipper, would it? I mean,’ Jim consulted his notebook, looked up, smiled, ‘he’s no angel, according to your schoolmates.’
‘I told you.’ Blood punched again and again at my temples. ‘It was just some girls – bitchy bullying. Jack took me away, that’s all.’
Jim smiled. ‘He’s a regular knight in shining armour, isn’t he?’
I tried to smile back. My mouth wouldn’t do it.
‘And you were both in Brighton on Friday?’
I noticed a red light on the voice recorder. ‘Are you taping this?’
‘Oh, sorry,’ he said. ‘Yes. Do you mind?’ The detached smile.
I shook my head. Jim raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the tape.
‘No,’ I said, defeated.
‘So, you were in Brighton?’
‘You know I was. You were there when I got home, remember? For God’s sake.’ Heat radiated from my face.
Dad and Jim both looked surprised. Jim’s mouth, he didn’t really have any lips, twitched in satisfaction. ‘Yes, so you returned home at,’ he glanced at his notebook again, ‘ten forty-seven. Does that sound right to you?’
I shrugged.
Jim raised his eyebrows.
I sighed, irritated. ‘Suppose so,’ I said. ‘I don’t really know what time it was.’
‘While you were there, did you see any of these young people?’ He passed some photographs over the desk.
God, no. Don’t let it be them. Please, don’t let it be them.
‘They’d have been together, in a group,’ Jim said. ‘They were a group of friends.’
Were – were a group of friends - past tense.
I didn’t look at the photos, looked slightly to the left of each so I didn’t have to see the faces, see the eyes. Don’t think about it. ‘Never seen them before, sorry.’ Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
‘Take a closer look, Pearl.’ Jim pushed the photos under my nose. ‘There were five of them - five young people, like yourself, just starting out in life, just wanting to have a good time.’
I pretended to examine the photos, looked instead at the backgrounds, the shadows, trying to block the pictures in my head. Later – think about it later - not now. I knew Jim was watching me. I tried to focus my mind on the Reformation, the dissolution of the monasteries, the stuff we’d been doing in history. Instead, I saw that room, the red curtain, the altar, the . . . ‘No,’ I said, too loudly. ‘I didn’t see them.’
Jim smiled. ‘You haven’t asked what happened to them.’
I could not think of a single thing to say. I didn’t want to know what happened to them. Sweat oozed from my skin, ran down my back, under my arms, down the back of my neck.
‘They were murdered,’ Jim said.
I tried to swallow but couldn’t. While the rest of my body was slippery with sweat, my mouth had dried up completely.
‘Thrown off the cliffs – after they were killed.’
My hands shook. I put them under my thighs to keep them still. All dead. All of them. Matt looked up at me from the table, red-hair, cheeky smile, mischievous eyes – Dyl, dark hair, serious – looking cool.
‘Are you okay?’ Dad put his arm over my shoulder. ‘I think you’d better leave it, Jim. She’s upset.’
‘Okay,’ Jim said. ‘Just once more, then.’ He watched me, sharp eyes boring into my brain. ‘Did you see them, Pearl?’
‘No!’ I shook my head. My hair dripped with sweat. I rubbed my wet hands on my jeans. ‘I told you. I’ve never seen them before. Now, can I go?’ I stood up.
Jim’s eyes narrowed.
‘I feel ill, Uncle Jim. I don’t know these people, okay? I didn’t see them, and I don’t know what happened.’
Dad, bless him, said, ‘Jim, Pearl doesn’t tell lies. If she’d seen them, she’d tell you.’
Jim’s eyes told me he knew, knew I was lying. ‘Okay, we’ll leave it for now but ask your boyfriend to pop in. We’d like a DNA sample.’ He smiled his hideous non-smile.
‘Why?’
‘I’m sure he won’t mind,’ Jim said, ‘if he has nothing to hide.’
Now he was threatening Jack. ‘Of course he has nothing to hide. He was with me, for God’s sake.’
‘Pearl,’ Dad said.
Jim inclined his head to one side. ‘You’re very defensive.’
And I’d kill you to protect him, I thought. ‘I’m not defensive - I’m pissed off.’
‘Pearl!’
‘Sorry, Dad, but it’s ridiculous. Jack was with me.’ I hated Jim, hated his flinty eyes. ‘Can – I - go?’
‘Of course,’ Jim said, apparently satisfied. ‘You’re not under arrest.’
I gave Dad a hug.
‘I’m sorry, Pearly,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t know what’s wrong with Jim.’
‘It’s fine.’ I walked straight past Jim without looking at him and marched out of the cramped, airless room. I made it through the foyer, out of the station, and into the fresh air before Jim stopped me. ‘A quick word, Pearl, please.’
He was on his own.
‘You just had a quick word.’ I stared at the pavement. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘I asked him to get me something from the office.’
Sneaky, snidey Jim.
‘I think you should know,’ he said, ‘they were ritualistic – these murders.’
Don’t think, don’t think about it. They’re just words. They mean nothing.
‘Most of the bodies were washed out to sea,’ Jim said, ‘so a lot of evidence was lost. Thankfully not all of it. We still have some DNA. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’
I met his eyes. Don’t think about it or your voice will shake and he’ll know, he’ll know. ‘Yes, thank you,’ I said.
My hatred for Jim bounced back at me, reflected in his eyes, in the furious rictus of his mouth.
‘I went to your school this afternoon,’ he said. ‘They’ve never heard of your boyfriend. In fact, there’s no record of him anywhere.’
‘He’s not in school, Uncle Jim. I don’t know what gav
e you that idea.’
A laugh of disbelief. ‘Do you know where he is now?’ He shook his head even as he asked, knowing I’d tell him nothing.
‘No.’
Jim leaned towards me, pinned me with his sharp eyes. ‘Niece or not, Pearl – if you’re withholding evidence, I will prosecute you.’
‘Okay, Uncle Jim.’ I gave him my brightest smile.
He looked as if he wanted to hit me. His body trembled, fists clenched at his sides. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’ he said.
I turned away.
‘Look,’ he said, his tone almost pleading, ‘if you don’t care about yourself, then at least think of your parents.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said.
‘If anything happens to you,’ Jim said, ‘it’ll destroy them.’
I walked away and didn’t look back. My insides trembled. Tears poured down my face, blurred my vision. I felt Jim’s eyes on me, knew he was watching me, so didn’t wipe them away until I’d turned the corner. There, I stood for a moment and leaned my head back against the wall, closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I’d fall apart if I even began to think about what happened at that sabbat and falling apart was not an option, not yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I texted Jack and asked him to meet me by the canal, a plan forming as I walked. I followed a convoluted route just in case Jim had anyone watching me, but by the time I reached the waterside, I was certain I was alone.
An early evening mist had begun to form, giving the whole scene a spooky feel that, in other circumstances, I’d have loved. I leaned on the railings and watched the mysterious smudges of water vapour move across the water. It was hypnotic, watching them drift lazily, as if they were ghosts on their way to a party, but in no particular hurry to get there.
I began to have second thoughts about my plan to show Jack his childhood home. It had seemed a good idea at first, to make him face up to Papa’s vile wickedness, but as I waited, I grew more uncertain. Perhaps he would remember nothing about the abduction. On the other hand, if he did remember - if he relived that horror of that night, there was no telling what it would do to him.
His smile wavered when he saw my face. ‘You okay?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ I walked along the towpath.
He followed me. ‘Have you been crying?’
‘I had to see my uncle.’
‘The copper?’ Jack stopped walking. ‘What for?’
‘He asked about Brighton.’
The colour drained from his face. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘Nothing. I just said . . .’ something tugged at the corners of my mouth, ‘. . . said I didn’t see them.’ Something hard stuck in my throat. My eyes stung. ‘But I did – I did see them – and now they’re dead.’ Tears spilled from my eyes and ran down my cheeks.
Jack went to hug me. I shook him off. ‘What happened to them?’
He shook his head, looked away, over the water. ‘I don’t know.’
‘He said it was ritualistic murder. They have DNA. What DNA?’
‘Forget it, Pearl,’ he said. ‘It’s done. Just forget it.’
‘Oh, you’re good at that, aren’t you?’ I said, bitterly. ‘Forgetting.’
He stared ahead, tight mouth, hard eyes.
I brushed away my tears and grabbed his arm. ‘Come on, we’re going for a walk.’ I pulled him away from the water, marched him across the road.
‘Where we going?’
‘You’ll see.’
As we went on, he began to drag on my arm. One street before Coldershaw Road, he stopped dead.
‘Come on.’ I tugged on his arm.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not unless you tell me where we’re going?’
Perhaps he sensed something. His eyes scanned the surroundings, obviously uneasy. Doubts began to grow about my plan, about its possible consequences – for him, for me.
‘A coffee shop,’ I said, ‘by the Cathedral. I thought it would be nice – romantic.’
‘Romantic?’ He looked around. Dirty, grey buildings.
‘Well, more romantic than those bloody garages.’ I tried to laugh. ‘It’s meant to be amazing.’
‘Amazing?’
‘Fine, don’t bother,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
He rubbed his forehead. ‘Sorry - You just seem weird, as if you’re up to something.’
I hugged his arm, hid my face in his shoulder and prayed I wasn’t making a huge mistake.
As we neared his childhood home, the muscles in his arm tensed. As we turned into the street of red brick, terraced houses, his steps faltered then stopped altogether. He looked up at number 62. His mouth opened. He looked at me, his eyes shockingly blue. ‘You knew,’ he said. ‘You knew and you still brought me here.’ His eyes filled up.
I went to hug him.
He pushed me away. ‘Don’t.’ He looked up at the sky and blinked repeatedly. I waited and watched him struggle to control his emotion, cover it with that armour, that tough, impenetrable veneer.
He looked at me, hard eyes, clenched jaw. ‘You want me to remember, do you? Want to know all about it? Okay, I’ll tell you. The day they took me, I shot my father. Happy?’
‘What?’
‘My mother wouldn’t let me go so they dragged her off me, threw her to the floor. The back of her head hit the doorframe. Surprising how much blood you get from a head wound.’
‘Jack.’ I touched his arm.
He snatched it away. ‘My father was leaning over her and screaming and crying.’
‘Jack, don’t.’
‘What? Now you don’t want me to remember.’ His lip curled. ‘Well, tough shit. D’you know what I did then?’
I shook my head, appalled.
‘I shot him. They put my hand around the gun and shouted at me to shoot.’ He shook his head. ‘The blood, the noise – I couldn’t think. Someone put their hand over mine – and squeezed.’
‘Then it wasn’t you. It was them.’
He didn’t seem to hear me. ‘I made a hole in his head - and his blood, his brains, splattered all over my mother’s face, over her best blouse.’
I put my hand over my mouth, tried not to see what had happened in that house. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.’
‘Forget it.’ He turned and marched back the way we’d come.
I hurried to catch up with him and put my arm through his, my hand in his pocket. He didn’t push me away but his fingers stayed unclenched, unresponsive. I’d made a huge mistake and saying sorry was not going to make it right, so I said nothing.
It seemed he’d kept his armour intact but, as we walked back along the canal, I saw his lashes were wet, saw tears running down his face. I sat on a bench and pulled him to sit next to me. I held him in my arms and stroked his hair. I kissed his head and he cried on my shoulder, sobbed. Years of grief and pain seemed to pour out of him. Then he lay with his head on my lap and slept, his beautiful face still and peaceful. It was freezing cold, and yet I couldn’t bear to wake him. I watched him sleep and wanted to keep him there. When he was sad, he was all mine, he belonged to me. I knew no one else had ever seen him like that, nobody had ever seen him cry like that. That part of him was mine and mine alone.
When he did wake, he jolted upright and seemed embarrassed. ‘It’s dark.’ He sounded surprised. ‘Better get you home.’ He glanced at my damp shoulder. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘It’s fine.’ I said.
He pulled me to my feet. ‘Can we forget about it?’
I nodded but I knew I’d never forget it.
He fished about in his coat pocket and handed me a battered, faded photograph. ‘I want you to have this.’
I held it up to the lamplight. It was him, a younger him, eager, gentle, innocent.
‘I’ve just remembered how I got it.’
‘How?’
‘My mother put it into my hand when she heard them co
ming. She said it would make me remember.’
‘But it didn’t?’
‘No, but I kept it anyway. It seemed important, somehow.’
I looked at the photo again. No trace of the shadows, the sadness. This Jack had been full of life, excitement, hope for the future. ‘How old were you?’
‘Eleven.’ His face was in shadow and I couldn’t see his expression. ‘It was taken just before . . . I want you to keep it, to remind you I wasn’t always like this.’
‘I don’t want it.’ I held the picture out towards him. He shook his head and avoided my attempt to push it into his hand. ‘If I have you,’ I said, ‘I don’t need a photograph, do I?’ Dread swamped me. I stared at him. ‘Oh, my God! You’re going to leave me.’
‘No, I’m not.’ He put his arm around my shoulder and hugged me. ‘It’s just - Mesmeris, they own me. One day, when they see a weakness, they’ll kill me. I want you to have something, that’s all.’
‘You can leave them. That priest, the one in Brighton, said he could help you.’
He laughed. ‘He can’t, okay?’ He kissed my nose, his way of shutting me up.
But Andrew had said he could help – and if he could, maybe my dad could too.
I tucked the photograph in my pocket but couldn’t shake the feeling it was some kind of cursed talisman. Perhaps it was the cold and dark getting to me. The mist over the canal was positively eerie, and I was chilled to the bone, from sitting while Jack slept. I shivered. Jack put his coat around me but it didn’t help. The cold came from inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Halfway down our path, Dad appeared. He stared at Jack. The air seemed to crackle between them.
Jack said hello.
‘Can you see,’ Dad said, ‘what you’re doing to my daughter?’
‘Dad!’
He ignored me. ‘Can you see the change in her?’
Jack didn’t answer.
‘No doubt you think it’s a game. A laugh.’
‘No,’ Jack said.
‘She was happy before you came, and now look at her. She doesn’t eat, she never laughs, she looks half dead. Can you see it?’ He was shaking with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. ‘Can you?’
A flicker of emotion, pity perhaps, crossed Jack’s face and then the shutters came down, the shield fell into place.