“Jared,” she called out, loudly. “It’s Elena. I just wanted to check that you were okay.”
They walked into the spacious hallway.
“Jared?”
“Maybe he’s passed out cold?” French John said.
They walked into the large living room and saw a beer bottle sitting on the stone surround of the fireplace.
They walked into the kitchen, so clean it appeared unused.
“Jared?” French John called out, again.
They walked into the bedroom and saw clothes in a pile by the bathroom door. The light shone out from beneath.
Elena knocked.
“Jared, are you okay?”
“Jared we’re going to come in. I’ll avert my eyes if you’re naked . . . maybe,” French John said, though he didn’t smile.
She saw the knife first, on the tiled floor—its blade shiny. Had French John not pushed her aside and pulled Jared out of the red water, Elena would have screamed. Instead, she fell to the floor, Jared’s head coming to rest on her lap. French John wrapped towels around his wrists and told Elena to keep the pressure on them. He ran back through to the living room to make the call.
Among all of the panic, and all of the blood and the hysteria, Elena couldn’t help but look down at his naked body and notice what lay between his legs.
Or rather . . . what didn’t.
26
Jaybird
Jerry stared out of the window. The trucks were back again. They’d come because of Max, but a couple of them were sticking around and running pieces about Harry Monroe again. He watched them with interest. The female reporters were pretty and wore lots of makeup. The cameramen sat around drinking coffee and looking bored.
He’d just finished spraying the glass and wiping it down with paper towels. The boys had thrown eggs again, though this time only a couple before one of the cameramen had shouted at them.
He thought about phoning his mother, but he didn’t really want to wake her, especially as she seemed to be getting worse, not better. She was really pale now. And, when Jerry had wiped her head with a cloth, he had found that she was cold too. So he had put another blanket on her, even though her room was stifling with the windows closed and the drapes drawn. He needed to speak to her, to ask her what she had done with the envelope. But deep down he knew she had sent it. He could feel it in his stomach—fear—though as the hours passed, hours he spent looking out of the window, the fear had gradually been joined by a feeling of relief. It would all be over soon.
He turned and began to sort through the photographs. There was a backlog. He wasn’t coping all that well as manager. He needed some help but there was no one to ask. And there had been lots more photographs to print after the wedding. The McDermotts had put disposable cameras on every table. He had liked looking at all of the photographs. He’d never been to a wedding.
As he was sorting them into the correct envelopes, he saw Jessica Monroe across the street. She was putting up posters again, even though there were already posters up everywhere. Sometimes he even saw her stick posters over posters.
He wandered over to the door and stepped out into the sunshine.
The news vans had their engines running, probably to keep the air-conditioning going. Jerry couldn’t remember a summer this hot. He could even see the heat rising up in wavy lines from the street.
He saw Jessica look over as she noticed him. She didn’t look away again. Just stood and stared. She wore a baseball cap and sunglasses. He stood still, staring back. Some of the cameramen noticed her and reached for their cameras. She ignored them, working slowly, smoothing each poster down with great care.
He turned, and walked back toward the PhotoMax. Just before he reached the door he tripped over a thick cable that was running into one of the news vans. He dropped the photographs all over the sidewalk.
He felt her eyes burning into him as he bent to pick them up.
Manny walked into the kitchen rubbing his leg. “One of those little fuckers kicked me. He’s lucky he’s a kid ’cause I felt all my training coming back to me.”
“Save it for the next Somali that crosses your path,” Furat said.
He kissed her.
She pulled away when she heard her mother call her. They walked back out into the yard.
“What’s up, Al?” Manny said.
“I think Abe is stuck in the playhouse. He said he’s fine but he’s been in there a good hour now.”
“I’m on it,” Manny said, as he headed off to liberate his friend.
“Are you excited?” Aarfah asked her daughter.
“Yeah. A little nervous too.”
“Well, don’t be too nervous. You’re going with Manny after all. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”
Furat smiled.
“Is Elena okay? She looks awfully tired,” Aarfah said.
“I think she has problems with that guy she was seeing. Manny keeps asking her about it but she won’t say. We know that he’s in the hospital though.”
“Well, you tell her that if she needs anything, even if it’s just someone to watch Thalia—or watch Manny—then we’re here for her.”
“I already have, though I don’t think you could handle watching Manny.”
They turned to see a group of children stood around Manny as he pulled Abe’s legs free of the playhouse.
“VICTORY,” he called out, and chased the squealing kids around the yard.
French John carried the cake out carefully and placed it in the center of the table.
Elena smiled at him and kissed his cheek.
“Thanks, for everything.”
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m going to see him later. Would you mind sticking around for a bit after?”
“Of course.”
“I keep seeing it. All the blood. It was horrible.”
He nodded. “I do too. I can’t believe the night ended like that. I mean, one minute we were watching Hung turn himself into a rose, the next we’re at the hospital. I just hope he’s going to be okay. I mean, it must be so hard for him. I still find it hard sometimes, and I’m only gay.”
“I think we worked that one out, French,” Manny said, as he appeared behind them and grabbed a fistful of potato chips. “Come on, the clown’s about to do his shit.”
They followed Manny over to where the children were sitting, cross-legged, looking up at the clown. All except for Thalia, who was in the kitchen, crying her eyes out.
“What’s the matter, Thal?” Manny said, crouching down and pulling her close.
“It’s the clown,” she said, between sobs.
“You don’t like him? Is it because you could smell booze on him? ’Cause I could. You want me to go and kick his ass?”
“Why don’t you like him?” Furat asked, gently stroking her hair.
“Because my friend Harry used to love clowns, and I miss him.”
Manny kissed her head. “Did he have a clown at his party too? Maybe it’s the same clown. Maybe we can talk to him about Harry. Would you like that?”
She shook her head. “It’s not the same clown.”
“How do you know? It might be,” Furat said.
Thalia looked up at her. “Because that’s not Harry’s daddy. And Harry only liked it when his daddy dressed up as a clown.”
Jared opened his eyes, but the effort needed to smile proved too great.
Elena held his hand gently.
“You sure know how to show a girl a good time. What’ll you do on our next date?”
He tried to laugh, though no sound came out.
He motioned for his water and she held the glass in front of him and put the straw to his lips.
He took a small sip.
“That’s better,” he said, his voice strained.
“You don’t have to talk. I’m happy just to sit here for a while.”
“I owe you an explanation. It’s the least that I owe you.”
; She looked down at his bandaged wrists. He had lost a lot of blood. If they hadn’t found him, if French John hadn’t acted so fast, she didn’t know what might have happened.
“I grew up as Jay. That was my name. Jay. My dad called me his Jaybird. I was a tomboy, of course. It could’ve been a boy’s name, couldn’t it? Could’ve been short for Jason or something.”
He cleared his throat.
She gave him some more water.
“I lived as Jay for most of my life, but I knew—I always knew that I was born in the wrong body. And it just wasn’t something I knew deep down. It was right there, always on the tip of my tongue, at the front of every thought. I was Jared, just in Jay’s body.”
She stroked his hand.
“I had lots of cousins, all boys, and my parents just thought I was a tomboy because I didn’t have any female friends. And then they worried when I didn’t bring home any boyfriends. That’s what my childhood was. Worry; all the time, worry. Well, for me and my mother it was worry. My father was happy to hide behind a big wall of denial. He was happy to take me shooting and hunting, but not so happy when I wouldn’t wear a dress to my uncle’s wedding. They just thought I’d grow out of it. They thought that all the time I spent in my room was normal teenage angst.”
“But it wasn’t,” Elena said, softly.
“No. I was so sad, Elena, so hopelessly sad. I grew to hate the skin I was in, hate it enough to try and cut it off. That got me sent to my first shrink. And it was actually the best thing that ever happened to me. Despite the two-hour train ride to visit her office, and the bills that arrived every month addressed to my father, she was amazing. She knew exactly what I was going through. She even offered to speak with my parents, who were horrified. That night after we got home my father was so mad I thought he was going to hit me.”
“What are your parents like?”
Jared smiled. “They were great parents, if a little . . . overactive at the church, which made it all the more hard, especially when I started taking the hormones. The changes were gradual, over years and years.”
“What did they say about the hormones?”
Jared laughed. “I didn’t tell them.”
Elena smiled.
“It was like a double lie. I started going to the gym, to explain my changing body. I kept my hair long, even though I hated it. And I wore so much makeup, to try and hide the hair growth that they thought I was finally happy being a woman. They still worried though, because my cousins were settling down, getting married and leaving home, and I was just stuck.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “They must have known something was going on.”
“My voice got deeper, but it was so gradual. If my mother said anything I told her I had a cold, and then, get this, I even started smoking to explain away the change. I worked lots of different jobs, never really fitting in.”
“So you spent years like this, transitioning, and then you left home?”
He nodded, looking down. “I used their money to pay for the hormones. I took it without asking, and then I took much more to pay for my mastectomy.”
She leaned forward and wiped the tears from his eyes with her thumb.
“It was all the money they had in the world, all of their savings. It was going to help with my father’s retirement, but I took it, because I couldn’t stand it anymore: to look in the mirror, to live the lie for another second. I said I was going away for a few days with some friends, even though I didn’t have any. And when I got back I was so sore that I could barely move. It was obvious something had happened to me.”
The words were coming faster now, the tears too.
“It was bad that night. My father ripped my shirt from me, and they saw what I had done. Their darling daughter, taken from them—that’s all they saw. I had become the person that had stolen their little girl: a monster, covered in scars. And they hated me for it. I saw the pure hatred, especially in my father. He told me I was ugly, that’d I’d have big ugly scars for the rest of my life, and that I deserved them. I deserved to see them, so that they would remind me what I had done to my family. So I left. That night, I left town. I took the last of the money with me too, because fuck them. I thought. Fuck them.”
Elena wiped her own tears away and kissed his hand.
“I moved from town to town, wherever there was work. Always some place different. I worked all kinds of jobs. I just . . . I just don’t fit in anywhere. The last place was Echo Bay. I’d worked construction before. I liked it. I liked feeling like one of the guys. But then something happened there, with a lady. I fucked it all up. I went home and couldn’t bear to see myself so I broke all of the mirrors—I shattered the last one with my hand and severed an artery. I nearly died.”
“Oh, Jared.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was all wrong, I handled it all wrong and I’m sorry. I just wish I could make my parents see that. And I’m not even happy now, because it’s just an act. Without them I don’t know who I am, or who I want to be. I don’t know anything anymore, except that I’ll never forget what I did to them. Like my father said—the scars. I don’t let the scars heal, Elena, I don’t let them heal. So that must prove that I’m sorry, right? That must prove that I haven’t forgotten; that I’ll never forget.”
She held his face in her hands.
“You’re a good man, Jared, and there are people that care about you. I’m one of them. You made a mistake, that’s all, but you made it because you felt that you didn’t have a choice.”
He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Elena stood, and walked to the door. She nodded to the elderly couple sitting outside.
The man stood. He was tall, and proud, but she could see the fear in his eyes.
The lady was petite, and, if Elena looked hard enough, she could see Jared in her.
They walked into his room.
Elena turned in time to see them both lean over and take him into their arms.
27
The Sting
Henrietta found him at the end of the backyard, by the willow tree. The bench he sat on was new, the plaque glinted in the early evening sun.
“What does it say?”
Roger shuffled to the side, so she could see.
In memory of Thomas, our baby.
She smiled at him. She wouldn’t cry anymore, she had too much to look forward to.
“I was going to put something in the ground but I didn’t know if you’d like that. But the bench . . . I mean, I see you sitting out here sometimes on the grass, so I thought you might like it.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, settling beside him.
“It’s lovely out here.”
“Yes, it is. Do you ever miss England?”
“Sometimes. But not today.”
“The other day I was thinking, I never really asked if you wanted to move to Tall Oaks. I know we agreed to it, but that was a long time ago. Then I just went ahead with everything, arranging the move at breakneck speed. I was so desperate to get back . . . to get home again.”
“I know. You mentioned it every day in London.”
“It’s not the same for men. You can settle wherever you lay your hat; women like to be close to family. But I never really asked if you were happy.”
He shrugged, looking back at their beautiful home. “I suppose I am.”
“Come on, Roger. We’ve been stuck in this dance for a long time now. The back and forth, neither of us saying how we really feel. I know that I can be difficult, stubborn.”
“And I can be a bit of an ass at times.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Okay, most of the time.”
“I would hate for us to hate each other, if that makes sense, if we carry on as we are. I would hate that, Roger, because you’re a good person. Even if we don’t see eye to eye on anything at all anymore, even if we drive each other mad by being so polite . . . I know that you’re a good person.”
&
nbsp; He leaned across and took her hand.
“I know that you’re pregnant, Hen.”
“And I know that you’re having an affair, Roger.”
She smiled, a single tear falling down her cheek.
He tried to pull his hand away but she held it tight.
“It’s okay.”
“Is it?” he said, looking up at her, tears of his own forming.
“At first, I thought that you were having a mid-life crisis,” she said.
“And I thought you were going through the change.”
“How did you find out?”
“Because, contrary to popular opinion, I’m not a total idiot, just a partial one. Can I ask you the question that I don’t really want to know the answer to?”
“Eddie, one of the builders.”
He nodded, closing his eyes, taking a moment. If he was surprised then he tried not to show it. “Ah, Eddie: the body of a Greek god. Good choice, Hen. Good genes no doubt.”
She looked at him and swallowed. “Are you crying, Roger? Please don’t. Please don’t do that.”
He wiped his eyes with his monogrammed handkerchief. “No, it’s not why you think. I’m happy for you.”
“You are?”
“I am. I’m truly happy for you. You deserve it, Hen. If anybody does, you do. And you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll be a fantastic mother, I have no doubt.”
She smiled.
“What does Eddie think?”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t want to be involved, and I don’t want him to be. It was a stupid one-night thing, a little too much wine. He’s a young man; I have no interest in having him in my life.”
“Are you sure about that? It’s a big decision.”
She looked out across the bright, green grass, at their perfect house and their perfect swimming pool. It all looked so perfect.
“Yes, but it’s my decision. It’s my baby. I know this is strange, this whole situation, and we’re probably not reacting the way we should, but I’d like us to stay close. I’d like you to be involved in the baby’s life, in my life, in any capacity, even just as a good friend, because a baby needs a male role model. And above all else, I’ve always thought of you as a real man.”
Tall Oaks: A gripping missing child thriller with a devastating twist Page 24