Monitors and equipment surrounded us and I wanted to take up my crutch and use it as a weapon. I could slice through all the equipment that was keeping this man alive, knock them over, send them flying. The rubber handle would serve me well as I lifted the crutch and brought it down sharply across his body. I could smash it down on him. Again and again. I’d get quite a bit of damage done before they stopped me.
‘Ughmmmm.’
It was a low sound, a slight gurgle at the end of it. I hadn’t expected him to speak. I knew he was awake but I didn’t think he’d be making noise. I went forward slowly.
‘Sssssummmm…’
His hand looked as if it were waving. It was dangling around from the elbow.
‘Sssssummmm…’
I stopped. He thought I was Suzie. Of course. She’d just left and he couldn’t see my face. As far as he was concerned, I was her, come back in. I went forward and peered over him. Monitors were strapped to his chest, a clamp on his finger, drips attached to his arm, tubes going under the sheets, dressing covering the top half of his head and swollen features. His complexion was grey and he looked like a zombie, just coming back from the dead.
I studied his face, drank in every inch of him, and then, I laughed. Was that it? Was this him? Suzie had described him as handsome as Adonis himself, and Katie had said he was charming. She said he made her feel safe. And here he was. He looked so small. Feeble. Pathetic. He didn’t even have that big of a build.
His face was swollen but now I studied him I could make out the high cheek bones, the curls of hair from under his bandage. I could begin to see what he may have looked like, how he could’ve been.
‘Ssssssmmmmmm…’
‘Gone,’ I told him. ‘She’s gone now. You won’t be seeing her again.’
His eyes were bloodshot and rolling, but I could see he was desperately trying to control them. Slow blinks in between which he made short focus, a brief connection before they went again.
‘Anyone there?’ I asked. ‘Can you hear what I’m saying?’
He looked at me.
‘My name is Rachel,’ I said, ‘but you’ll know me better as Katie’s mum.’
Our eyes locked. That was enough. He knew. I was certain. He might be drugged and struggling to keep up, but he was there, he understood. But that was fine. I had time. I could do this slowly, wait until he understood everything I was about to do.
‘My husband ran you over,’ I told him and waited whilst he did a very slow blink. His head rolled and I went to move it back. My crutch dropped to the floor as I moved my arm, I took a second to regain my balance and then I took my hand and got hold of his chin. His flesh was warm and clammy, there was something wet on his cheek. I turned his head so he was looking at me again.
‘My husband ran you over,’ I repeated, ‘because you abused our daughter. You abused Katie.’
His eyes went wide for a moment and then I could see it, the trace of denial, the momentary defence.
‘Don’t you dare,’ I told him. ‘Don’t you fucking dare. You abused her, made her pose for you, made that film of her. Made her do that. She’s fourteen you bastard. Fourteen.’
He winced in pain and I realised my grip on his chin had got hard, my fingers were clamped around his swollen face like a vice. He was trying to roll his head away from me, his greasy hair sticking to the sides of his temples but I held fast.
‘You know why I’m here, don't you?’ I asked and my voice was calm, it was then that I realised it was the first time I hadn’t felt in a state of panic for days. The first time since I’d been at the retail park that my heart was beating normally, that my stomach wasn’t swirling in a storm of anxiety. It was the first time I could think clearly.
For a second, he seemed to focus. His eyes met mine and I nodded.
‘That’s right,’ I told him. His mouth tried to form a word but it was lost as I still had hold of his jaw. ‘I’m here to tell you that it’s over, it’s all over. You are over.’ He’d started to drool a little, my fingers were getting wet but I couldn’t move them. I needed him to see me, to understand.
I looked at the wires and machinery keeping him alive. All the technology surrounding him, all the money keeping him going. I thought of the professionals, the nurses, the consultants, all helping him get back to the monster he was before. The NHS was struggling enough, did we need to help people like him? Couldn’t we save billions if we stopped trying to save the ones who really shouldn’t be saved?
I looked at the monitor that was in charge of his heart. That small pulse. There were thick pillows behind his head. What if I took one of those pillows? How much pressure would I have to apply?
The room was dark and apart from the hum of machinery, it was quiet. I had time. There would be syringes in here somewhere. I’d heard that if you injected air into someone, it would enter the bloodstream and cause an embolism. Or what if I pinched the drip, or the long thin tube that was taped to his arm? What if I dislodged that, removed it from the IV filter, would that mean air was entering him rather than the lifesaving medicine he was getting? Would the monitors alert the staff before it was finished?
‘Rachel?’
It was Sergeant Bailey. I blinked rapidly at him as he came beside me and got hold of my arm. It was fixed, I couldn’t move it.
‘You can let go now,’ he said and I shook my head. ‘Rachel, we know. We’re here, you can let go of him.’
He went to my fingers that were still clamped around Adam’s jaw and began to peel them off, one by one.
‘Your family is worried about you,’ he said as he removed my hand from Adam’s face, ‘no one knew where you were. He alerted us, your husband. He’s told us it all, Rachel, and we’ve had a call from Ms McFadden. Some new evidence.’ He looked to the bed, to Adam who was now trying to say something, a low sound coming from him, ‘but you know all about that, don’t you?’
‘Nummmmbffff.’
We both stared at him for a moment.
Sergeant Bailey picked up my crutch that had fallen to the floor.
‘You’ve two girls who need you,’ he told me as he handed me my crutch. ‘Who are going to need their mum very much indeed, Rachel, so let’s not be stupid here, alright?’
I took it from him, regained my balance.
‘Come with me now, you shouldn’t be in here. Let’s go get a nice cup of tea.’
I looked back to him, to Adam, the monster lying in the bed.
‘I know,’ Sergeant Bailey said before I could argue my case. ‘If it had been my daughter I’d have wanted to do the same, but let us do our job, Rachel. We’ll deal with him now, let’s you and me go…’
‘Sergeant?’ It was his partner, the younger one with the overbite. ‘Suspect has arrived at the station, he’s in with his solicitor. The new evidence has been verified and we need…’ He went on to list the state of play whilst I turned back to Adam. The man who was responsible for destroying everything. It would only take me a second. A pinch or pull of something while Sergeant Bailey was distracted, if I reached…
Then the alarm went off.
It was a flashing thing, loud and intruding. Adam was rolling his head, his large swollen head, swinging from side to side. The drool from his mouth was collecting under his chin and he was making a terrible sound. A low, formless moan. He tried to raise his head and it was then I saw his mouth had dropped heavily on one side, his whole face had dropped on one side. It was sagging down as if being pulled by invisible weights.
‘Good God,’ Sergeant Bailey said as staff ran into the room. There were suddenly nurses everywhere, shouting, moving. I was swept aside, ushered out along with Sergeant Bailey who helped me get to the family suite. He left me there with his partner at the door whilst he went off to seek out a consultant, a doctor, to use his position to gain information.
I sat in that family suite and thought about my girls. My two beautiful girls. My husband who was sat in the police station, my best friend who was handing in evi
dence against her fiancé and I prayed.
I was never one to be religious, but I sat there and prayed as hard as I could. I made silent pleas with a deity I didn’t fully believe in and begged that he should die. Prayed with everything I had that Adam Staple would go away. That he would never wake again.
One Year Later
Christmas Eve
Mild frost. No snow or rain forecast.
Epilogue
Rachel
Adam Staple did not die.
He suffered a massive stroke after regaining consciousness that left him in an immobile state. It was never determined what caused the stroke, or why it happened, only that it had.
‘Locked-in syndrome’ is how Sergeant Bailey describes it. ‘He can understand everything, is conscious but completely paralysed. He can only communicate by blinking.’
I don't quite know the rules on sentencing a paralysed man, or how they'll determine his time in jail. It's a big police investigation. Everything Suzie gave them and then, new evidence emerged. Adam Staple has a criminal history. He’d been in jail before for similar crimes and as the police investigated further, it transpired that he was working with others, so the case is still ongoing, but for now, his condition is enough. It's enough for all of us to know that he'll never walk again, never talk again, never move again.
I was taken back to my family whilst Adam Staple struggled with his life. They were at the station, along with the solicitor and Suzie, and when they saw me, my girls and my husband, they ran forward. We all clung to each other as if in the centre of a tornado, everything rushing erratically around us. It was one of the most difficult days of my life. Explaining what had happened and why. I wanted to be angry with Katie, to shout at her for being so stupid, for lying to us, for knowing all along that this man was everywhere and for trusting him and not us and yet, how could I be cross with her?
He was an expert. Skilled and experienced in deception. Grooming and exploiting young girls was his speciality, he played on all of the things she wanted, used her childish vanity and naivety to his advantage. The woman they got to see us at the police station explained it better than any of us. She made us all see how Adam had targeted Katie, he’d used classic predatory behaviour, and, he’d done it many, many times before.
She's still suffering, even now, each time we visit Phil, each time we go through the gates, go through the checks, the burden of it lies heavy on her shoulders no matter how much we try to take it away. We insist it wasn't her fault, we've explained that no one blames her. We’ve enrolled her in more counselling and we’re in family therapy but the damage will be there for some time. It's going to take a while for her to heal, but I'm so grateful. So bloody thankful that we found out when we did, because when I hear the stories of what happened to the others, it could've been so much worse.
Phil was charged and then out on bail after his confession, but his arrest was imminent anyway. Sergeant Bailey had worked out that his alibi was false. Phil’s smudged train ticket, his hopeful thoughts that the CCTV cameras wouldn’t have caught him were absurdly optimistic. The only thing that helped his case was that he confessed before they got the chance to arrest him. We had time before he went to court and we spent every second we could in that time together, as a family. We consoled Katie, explained it to Jessica and my daughters grew up in those days as I would never have wanted. But, they did. It happened.
‘How much longer, Mum?’
I checked my watch. ‘They'll be here in fifteen minutes,’ I told Katie. ‘Now get upstairs and check the guest room again will you? Put those clean towels on the bed.’
I looked about my kitchen. Bizarre to think that before this past year, I’d hardly cooked a family meal in it. I used to let Della do everything. Even though my job was as a caterer, I would let Della feed the girls and then eat alone or make something for me and Phil afterwards. It was only when I let Della go that I realised I’d not sat down and eaten with my daughters in over five years.
I was making a Christmas Eve curry for nine and it smelt delicious. It was hard to believe that my mother, her partner, and Phil’s parents were staying with us over Christmas but that’s what was happening. It was funny really, I’d always thought of Phil’s parents as estranged, always thought my mother the same, but when they heard the news, they surprised me. Everyone surprises me actually, the level of support and concern from our friends and family overwhelms me. It still does. No one is as ever as judgemental as you fear.
‘All set for Nana, Mum!’ Katie called down and I nodded.
Her resilience and determination to get on with life is humbling. It could be the fact that her grandparents have rallied round, or that I’m no longer working so much and I’m at home for her, but Katie has made me so very proud.
Each time we visit Phil, she cries, we all do. But Phil makes it as good as he can for us. He's upbeat, I don't know if he's making it all up for our benefit, but he says prison isn't so bad. Apparently, he's a bit of a hero in there. Once they all learned what he'd gone inside for, their attitude to him changed. I don't buy it. Prison is prison no matter how respectful the inmates are, but I'm grateful to him for painting a nice picture for me and the girls. With good behaviour he could be out in a few years. We hoped for less, the solicitor made a strong case but the fact was Phil had intentionally tried to hide his crime.
He'd run someone over, provocation or not, and then left the scene. On top of that, he also lied to the police, tried to get rid of the evidence and so the result was prison. I want to scream at how unfair it is, how unjust, but I know that it isn't. What Phil did was wrong, it may have been done for the right reasons, but it was still wrong whichever way you dress it up.
I checked the curry one last time and then opened the wine, letting it breathe before they all arrived. I’d downloaded some Christmas music and went to set it up, wondering at the kind of woman I used to be before it all happened. I used to tell people that I didn’t have time for music. Didn’t have the time to sit and listen. I’d boast how busy I was to people, enjoyed listing off my commitments as if they were badges. ‘Look how brilliant I am!’ I’d be implying as I told them of how little free time I had. ‘See how in demand I am! How indispensable, what a vital person I am!’ If I could walk back in time I'd give myself a good shake. I'd slap myself about the face and shout, ‘Wake up, you foolish woman, no one cares.’
I've still not quite got my response right for when people talk about it. Yesterday, a woman who'd read about Phil's arrest in the Chronicle asked, ‘That your husband then? The vigilante?’ and I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing. I need to work on that.
The investigation into Suzie’s role was brief, and once it became clear she wasn't involved she got an insurance pay-out. Business partnership insurance. It was the bank that told her, because although Suzie had let Adam sort out her finances, and steal all of her money, it seemed the loan she’d taken out involved free insurance. It paid out a lump sum should either of them die or have a critical illness. She was able to pay off what she owed and still have her flat but understandably she sold that as soon as she could. She wanted nothing that reminds her of Adam, or of her life with him, and besides, there were loan sharks involved. Names and numbers she handed over to the police, so she didn’t want to be around should they call on her again.
I’d invited her to spend Christmas with us, but she was in Hawaii and couldn’t get back. In the past year she’d set herself up as a travel photographer, working for some government tourism organisation out there or something. We wrote to each other, sent cards, that kind of thing, but as she explained at the time, she couldn’t stay. After what the men in our lives had done, we couldn’t run a business together. And besides, I wanted to close my businesses up. I just did consultation work now, nothing more. The girls were my priority and if it meant cutting back and penny-pinching then so be it.
‘All set, Mum?’
Katie walked into the room. She'd had her hair cut, a sho
rt bob, and she looked lovely. It swung around her face and I went to her, kissed her cheek as we heard the rumble of a car engine outside.
‘They’re here!’ Katie shouted, and there they were. My mother and her partner. Phil’s parents. All arrived together, tanned, smiling and chatting. The most unlikely of friendships had blossomed in their communal concern over us.
‘Is Della coming?’ Jessica asked as she came downstairs and I nodded. ‘Says she’ll be a little late as she’s some college assignment to finish.’ Jessica grinned, we still kept in touch with Della. I’d helped her apply for a grant, was helping with her finances, how to manage her money and she was now studying to become a teacher.
‘Hello, love.’ It was my mother, ridiculously dressed in a long purple skirt and red velvet shawl. She came over and kissed me on the cheek, she’d got dreadlocks and they tickled my chin as she leaned in. ‘How’re you doing?’
I hugged her, smiled and bit back any urge I had to comment on her attire or hairstyle.
‘Good,’ I told her. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
‘Rachel, are we in the downstairs room again?’ Phil’s mother asked. ‘Did you manage to switch off that radiator, it was so warm in there last time?’
‘I did,’ I told Phil’s mother. ‘And it’s all ready for you.’
I helped Phil’s parents in with their cases and watched Jessica and Katie chatter with them all as they went inside.
Tonight we’d eat together, and tomorrow, Christmas Day, we’d speak to Phil in jail. Tell him about the ridiculous presents we’d got each other, passing the phone around and later, I’d write him a letter detailing how irritating his parents and my mother could be, hoping it would amuse him. We’d share presents, overeat, drink and generally have a nice time. It was something that I’d have thought unthinkable a few years ago. Something I would’ve hated, protested against, but now I was so pleased they were here.
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