The Waiting Game

by Sheila Bugler

  I was six. I know that because it was three days after my sixth birthday. Wanted a party but the old bastard wouldn’t hear of it. Took the strap to me instead. Then three days later, he must have felt bad about that.

  We were by the sea back then. Beach a ten-minute walk from the house. My mother didn’t want us to go. Six years old and I could sense her anxiety. I was too excited to care about that.

  He held my hand the whole way there. I don’t think I’d ever felt so special. So grown up. Hot summer’s day. Waves of heat shimmering along the silver-grey stones on the beach. Water icy cold when we got over the stones onto the sandy bit. So quiet. No one else about. Like he was a king and this was our own private beach.

  He’d brought a few cans. Course he had. I didn’t mind, though. He was in a good mood and I knew that was the beer working. Drink making him happy.

  We had a net and were fishing for the little crabs that lived in amongst the rocks at the edge of the water. We could see a crab, a bit further out, too far for me to reach. He took my net, leaned out and fell, crashing into the water with an almighty splash. The shock of it – his yell as he realised he’d lost his balance, the sudden splatter of cold water on my face. I couldn’t help it. Felt the laughter bubbling up and it burst out of me. The more I tried to stop, the more I laughed. He got up and when I realised he was okay, I laughed again, relief this time. Then I saw the expression on his face and knew that laughing was the very last thing I should have done.

  Christ!

  I want it to stop. Know what’s coming. I try again to move my arms but I know it’s pointless. I’m right back there now, he’s grabbed me by the neck and he’s dragging me into the water. I’m kicking and crying and screaming, water everywhere, splashing all around us. And he’s shoving me forward. Water fills my mouth, my lungs, can’t breathe, can’t scream for help. His hand on my neck, pushing me down. And I know. Right there and then I know. I’m going to die.

  Fifty-Eight

  At the café, Ellen stopped under the shelter of the porch and peered through the glass door. Sean was there already. Sitting at a table near the back. He had his back to her and didn’t turn around until she ordered her coffee at the counter.

  He smiled when he saw her and she smiled back, ridiculously pleased to see him. She’d nearly cancelled this too. Thought she mightn’t be able to face the inevitable questions about Jim. Now she was here, she knew how stupid she’d been to even consider it.

  ‘I’m amazed you could make it,’ he said. ‘You’re usually so busy.’

  ‘Couldn’t wait to get away,’ Ellen said. ‘Thanks. This place is lovely, by the way. Don’t think I’ve been here before.’

  He’d called earlier and suggested lunch at You Don’t Bring Me Flowers, a flower shop and café beside Hither Green station. He was working on a house in the area. So close to Lewisham it seemed foolish not to make the effort. She hadn’t told him about the break-in and didn’t intend to. She’d have to tell her parents at some point because the children wouldn’t be able to keep it quiet. Until that happened, she didn’t want to talk about it.

  The waitress brought Ellen’s coffee, along with a sandwich for Sean.

  ‘Goat’s cheese and onion marmalade,’ he said. ‘Delicious. You not eating?’

  Ellen shook her head. ‘Coffee’s all I feel like.’

  Sean put his sandwich down. ‘What’s up?’

  The loss of appetite was the first thing that always happened. The mere thought of food made her want to throw up. After that, the shadows would start closing in. Over the years, she’d developed different strategies for dealing with them. Mostly, she could manage the dark moods she refused to call depression. Right now, though, she was so knackered she didn’t have the energy.

  ‘I miss you, El. Don’t see enough of you anymore.’

  Inside her head, a flicker of light. She managed a smile. ‘You know what?’ she said. ‘That sandwich looks bloody good. Maybe I’ll have one as well.’

  While they ate, they chatted about inconsequential things. Midway through his sandwich, he brought up the one subject she’d been dreading.

  ‘How’s Jim?’

  ‘Fine,’ Ellen said. ‘Well, you know.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘I like him,’ she said. ‘I just want to take things slow. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  ‘Nothing wrong except it’s not true,’ Sean said. ‘Something’s happened. One minute you’re all loved up and he’s coming over for lunch, the next, anytime anyone asks about him, you do your best to change the subject. I’m not the only one who’s noticed it, either. Mum and Dad are worried too. Mum called last night. Asked me to speak to you. She thinks you’re working too hard and you’re doing that to avoid dealing with whatever’s going on in your personal life.’

  Ellen looked down at her plate so he wouldn’t see her face.

  ‘That’s why you called,’ she said. ‘Because Mum told you to.’

  ‘I called because I wanted to see you,’ he said. ‘Jesus, Ellen.’

  ‘Jesus yourself,’ she muttered.

  ‘You sound just like Pat when you do that,’ Sean said.

  She kicked his ankle, making him yelp. He kicked her back. Harder.

  They smiled at each other. For a moment, everything felt as it should. Until Sean had to ruin the moment by talking about Jim again.

  ‘Jim’s called too,’ Sean said. ‘Wanted to know how you were doing.’

  ‘I hope you told him it’s none of his business,’ Ellen said.

  ‘I asked him what had happened,’ Sean said. ‘He said I’d have to ask you that. Said it wasn’t his place to tell me about it.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem to think it’s his place to talk about anything,’ Ellen said. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Jesus, Sean. I’ve only been seeing him a few months and the whole family has a bloody conference about us the moment things ease up a bit? Give me a break, would you? Tell me about next weekend instead. Make me jealous. Come on.’

  Sean relented and started describing the hotel he and Terry would be staying in for their weekend mini-break to Sitges on Spain’s east coast. While Sean spoke, Ellen started to relax, enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him speak and watching the different expressions that shimmered across his face.

  When they left the café, the rain had stopped and Sean walked Ellen back to her car.

  ‘Tell the kids I said hello,’ he said. ‘I’ll miss seeing them this weekend.’

  ‘They’ll miss you too,’ Ellen said. ‘Pat’s been playing up a bit recently. I’m hoping it’s just a phase.’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ Sean said. ‘He’s a good lad. I’ll catch up with him next week. Take him out somewhere. See if I can work out what’s going on.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll have more luck than I’ve had,’ Ellen said.

  ‘You’re a good mother, El. Whatever’s going on with Pat, he’ll talk to you eventually. He always does.’

  At her car, Sean leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Too quickly he let her go. She watched as he walked to the end of the street, crossed the road, turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

  She remembered a day in the park when they were both kids. They’d had a row and he’d run off. She ran after him, trying to catch him and make amends, but he was too fast. She couldn’t remember what the fight was about, or even which park they were in. All she had was the memory of running after him, down a grassy hill. His back in front of her, the space between them gradually increasing as he got further and further away from her.

  Sometime later, she’d promised him she’d never do anything to upset him ever again as long as she lived. Like most childish promises, it wasn’t one she kept. Standing in Hither Green that afternoon, she wished with all her heart that she had.

  Fifty-Nine

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Didn’t want to worry you,’ Adam said. ‘Did I?’

  ‘Well, I’m worried now,’
Bel said. ‘And you still haven’t explained how she got the bloody key.’

  The memories of that afternoon were all muddled up in his mind. When he tried to put them into some sort of order, it was too difficult.

  ‘It’s not easy for me,’ he said. ‘When I think about Annie and Monica, it makes my head go funny.’

  They were standing in the kitchen, facing each other. He wanted to push past her, get to the sink and wash his hands, clean them until his head cleared and he could think straight. He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, curled them into fists and tried not to let his mind think about the germs he must have picked up when he was out. Bel was still talking, jabber, jabber, jabber. She had a high-pitched voice that he found hard to take at times. He squeezed his fists tighter, tried to focus on what she was saying.

  ‘You need to forget about them,’ Bel said. ‘They left you, Adam. Get over it. I’m here now. You don’t need anyone else. I told her, you know. Told her we were getting married.’

  ‘Jesus, Bel, what you have to go and do that for?’

  Wrong thing to say. She crossed the space between them, coming so close he could feel her breath on his face when she spoke. Faint smell of toothpaste and coffee.

  ‘Because I knew you’d never get around to telling her,’ Bel said. ‘What’s wrong, Adam?’ She moved closer, her groin pushing against his. She took his hand, slipped it inside the top of her blouse.

  ‘I thought it was what you wanted.’ She leaned into him. ‘It is what you want, isn’t it?’

  He felt the lacy fabric of her bra and squeezed hard.

  She threw her head back, so she was gazing up at him, face flushed, eyes bright. Her pupils big and dark, the way they always went when she was in the mood. The top of her blouse was open, giving him a clear view of her small round breasts.

  Pervert.

  He pulled his hand away, the memory of his daughter’s voice ruining it.

  ‘Adam?’

  Bel, lovely Bel. He’d already lost so much. Couldn’t bear to lose her as well. She was all he had left.

  He trailed his finger down her neck and onto the smooth, soft skin outside her bra. He forced himself to do it slowly, knowing how much she hated it when he rushed things.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ he said. ‘I’ll speak to the registrar tomorrow. First thing.’

  He pushed the bra to one side, giving his hand free rein with her tit. He rubbed his thumb across her big brown nipple, feeling it harden. She moved in closer, hot breath against his ear.

  Christ, she was a good girl.

  ‘Promise?’ she said.

  She grabbed his hand, pushed it down her stomach until his fingers were touching the lining of her lace panties.

  ‘Promise.’

  He’d missed her. Missed this, more to the point. Six days every month he had to go without. He’d tried talking to her about it. Even offered to pay for the operation. She took it the wrong way, though, got the hump and wouldn’t let him touch her for days after that. He’d been too scared to raise the subject again but once they were married, maybe she’d reconsider.

  She pushed his hand down further and he groaned. She said something else about the house and his will, but her voice was lost in the rush of blood roaring through his head. If she wanted the house after he was gone, she could bloody have it. She did things for him that no other woman ever had. Things he’d never thought possible after the accident. He’d get her as many houses as she wanted if that’s what it took to make her carry on doing these things for him.

  * * *

  The board in the incident room was filling up. Names added as witnesses came forward and more suspects were identified. Ellen was looking at Nathan Collier’s name when Abby came into the room.

  ‘Do we know anything about a woman Chloe was friendly with?’ Ellen said.

  ‘Why?’ Abby asked. ‘Is she important?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ellen said. ‘I spoke to Raj yesterday, he mentioned it.’

  ‘What about her mum?’ Abby said. ‘She might know who Chloe was friends with. Want me to ask her?’

  ‘Good idea,’ Ellen said. ‘How’s she doing, anyway?’

  ‘How do you think?’ Abby said. ‘She’s in bits. Keeps asking when Chloe’s body will be released so she can organise the funeral properly. How did you get on with Collier earlier?’

  First thing this morning, Ellen had paid Nathan Collier a visit. She’d wanted to follow up the information Raj gave her.

  ‘He swears he doesn’t have a set of keys to Chloe’s place,’ Ellen said. ‘Says the front door was on the latch and that’s how he was able to get in. I’ve checked the door myself. Raj is right about the hinge. It’s broken. But it’s also possible Collier was telling the truth about the latch.’

  ‘You don’t believe him, though?’

  ‘Not for a second,’ Ellen said. ‘I’m just waiting for Alastair to confirm one more thing. As soon as we’ve got that, we’ll be taking Collier in.’

  ‘I need to speak to you about something,’ Abby said. ‘Is this a good time or…?’

  ‘Now is fine,’ Ellen said. ‘How’d it go with Jenkins, by the way?’

  ‘Odd,’ Abby said. ‘He didn’t seem to care about the piece in the paper. More concerned with telling me what he thought of his ex-boss. Didn’t tell me anything we don’t already know. Nathan Collier had the hots for Chloe but she wasn’t interested. Then again, he’s hardly likely to say anything else, is he?’

  The office door burst open, making both women jump.

  ‘Ellen!’ Alastair came out, looking jubilant. ‘Just been on the phone to Rui. He’s managed to get a partial registration from the CCTV image. I’ve already cross-checked it against Collier’s car. It’s a match.’

  Seconds earlier, she’d felt her energy levels dwindling. The sudden breakthrough was just the hit she needed.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘Across to the lab first, take a look at what Rui’s got for us. Alastair, you come with me. Abby, go see the boss, tell her what we’ve got. Check she’s happy for us to bring Collier in.’

  Abby nodded and Ellen followed Alastair, already heading down the corridor to the lift at the end.

  As the lift doors swung open, Ellen remembered something. She turned back.

  ‘Abby!’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You said you wanted to talk to me,’ Ellen said. ‘What was it?’

  ‘It can wait,’ Abby said.

  In the lift, Alastair pressed the button for the ground floor, the doors closed and the lift started moving. Ellen watched the numbers on the digital display counting down to the ground floor. The breakthrough they’d been waiting for. All going well, Nathan Collier would be charged by the end of the day.

  Sixty

  This wasn’t happening. A week ago, his life had been as good as it had ever been. The Chloe effect. Secretly, that’s what he called it. She seemed to add magic wherever she went. Business booming since she’d come on board. Doing so well he’d been looking to open a new office in Downham. The connection between them had felt so real. And then she’d opened her legs for Carl Jenkins and all of it was ruined. He would have forgiven her. She wouldn’t even have had to ask. But now, before he had a chance to make things right, she was gone.

  They’d turned up at the office. Told him they were arresting him. He’d tried to run. Stupid, stupid. A fat bastard like him, he didn’t stand a chance. They were on him in seconds, stronger than they looked. Got his hands behind his back, cuffed him and here he was.

  How much longer?

  They did it to freak you out. So the important thing was not to get freaked out. Stay calm. He tried to think what they could have on him. Nothing. They couldn’t have anything because, if they had, they’d have arrested him before today.

  Arresting you for the murder of Chloe Dunbar.

  Murder.

  Fear clawed his insides, made it difficult to breathe. Chest so tight he thought maybe this was a heart attack. Mind
full of Chloe. Standing in the doorway, lit up from the sun, blonde hair like a halo. Her smile. The way it made him feel when she smiled at him, like he was the most important person in the entire world. The laundry-fresh smell of her underwear. Opening the drawer and lifting things out, pressing his face into them, the gentle sound of her breathing while she slept in the bed just inches from where he stood. Moving across the room to watch her, so close he could reach out, touch the soft skin on her face. Not daring to do anything else in case she woke up.

  Diazepam. Prescribed in the weeks after Mum passed away. Easy enough to crush into tiny pieces that he could slip into the water filter she drank from every night before going to bed. Worked like a dream. It was difficult not to tell anyone what he’d done. Not to show people just how clever Titty Collier could be when he put his mind to it.

  The Diazepam was the one thing he’d omitted from the confession box. God knew he was sorry and that was enough for Nathan. No point involving poor Father John in all of this. It wouldn’t be fair on him. At the time, he’d felt guilty about that. Now, he was glad. Meant he knew for sure there was no way Father John could have told the police. He’d had the foresight to empty the filter that morning. Which meant, apart from God, there was no chance anyone else could possibly know what he’d done.

  He tried to focus on that, but he couldn’t. Mind kept wandering back over the last six months. Always coming back to Monday morning. The smell of it. The mess she’d made – did that happen before or after you died? – so disgusting it didn’t seem like it was his Chloe. He’d gone to her anyway, held her and kissed that beautiful, ruined face. Blood on his hands afterwards. Warm, sticky blood. Retching into the sink as he tried to wash it off. Watching the water turn red, still not believing it.

  He couldn’t stand this. Brain too full of it all, as if the weight of it was pressing down on him. He stood up, pushed his chair back, breathing deeply, unable to get in as much air as he needed. Staggered over to the door, black shadows closing in on either side, reducing his vision to two single pinpoints of light. Somewhere, deep inside his mind, he knew what was happening. His own fault. He’d stopped the medication a few weeks ago. Thought he didn’t need it any longer. He needed it now. Thought he might die without it.