by Anne Cassidy
How had it got like this?
From upstairs she heard the sound of Joshua moving around. She stood still and listened. The door slammed as he went into his uncle’s bedroom. Then she heard the sound of things being dropped one after the other. She flinched as they thudded on to the floor above her.
She ran up the stairs.
‘Josh?’ she called.
She opened the door.
He was standing in the middle of the room. All the desk drawers had been pulled out and dropped on the floor. The filing cabinet drawers were hanging open and it looked as though their files had been scooped out and chucked.
‘Go away, Rose,’ Joshua said, without looking at her. ‘I need to be on my own.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Go away.’
‘I can’t.’
‘GO AWAY, ROSE,’ he shouted at her.
She stood her ground. He glared at her for a few seconds then he seemed to shrink back. His voice had an unnatural calm when he spoke.
‘I’m getting rid of it all. All this stuff, all this crap that I’ve had my head into for the last few days. Ever since I heard that Stu called out Dad’s name I’ve been obsessed with it.’
‘That’s understandable . . .’
‘I’ve thought of nothing else.’
‘I know . . .’
‘And you know why?’
‘You were trying to work out what happened to Stu on the cliff.’
‘No. I was trying to work my way back to the notebooks. This accident, him falling over the side of the cliff, that wasn’t enough for me to deal with. I thought I was trying to work out what happened but the moment I heard Dad’s name, the second there was a reason to go back to Dad and Kathy’s disappearance I focused on that. I turned the house upside down. I couldn’t think of anything else.’
‘You thought it might give a clue to what happened to Stuart.’
‘No, Rose. I didn’t. The minute I thought I could stop thinking about what happened on the cliff I dropped it. Just like when I went to London in September I never came back for a weekend. Not once. Stu must have thought . . .’
Joshua leant on the extended drawer of the filing cabinet.
‘Josh, this has been so hard for you . . .’
‘I just dropped him. He cared for me . . . At least I thought he did. I thought I knew him but . . .’
Rose stepped forward. She put her hand on his shoulder and it felt hot. He shook it off.
‘Nothing you can say can change the way I’ve been. Stu was my dad for five years but that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted my real dad. Remember him? The guy who faked his own disappearance, the one who left me on my own.’
‘Josh.’
He was shaking, his jaw trembling. Rose took a step up to him and pulled him away from the filing cabinet. She put her arms around him. She hugged him tightly but he was rigid, the muscles in his back tense. It felt as if he was paralysed.
‘Josh, Josh,’ she whispered, soothing.
‘But that’s not the worst,’ he said, shaking her off, stepping across the debris on the floor, walking out of the room. ‘I dragged Skeggs into it.’
She followed him. He went into his room and sat on the bed, his legs apart, his elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor, like he’d done in the hospital the previous night. She leant against his door. She’d seen him upset before but now there was a kind of hysteria in his words. After a few seconds he spoke again, his throat thick with emotion.
‘I pulled Skeggsie into it. He wasn’t unwilling but I made it a big part of his life. I leant on him completely and never once did I step back and ask myself whether he wouldn’t be better moving on. He’s had this new mate at college, Eddie? You’ve heard him talk about him?’
Rose nodded.
‘There’ve been times when I knew he was going to some gig or meeting Eddie and I said, Oh, not tonight, Skeggs, mate, I thought we could work on the notebooks. I pulled him back. I liked the fact that he was my sounding board, my confidant.’
‘He liked it too.’
‘I know. We had a sort of unspoken bargain. We were like brothers only not related but we were bound together by stuff. He was my . . .’
Joshua trembled and Rose stepped forward but he held his hand up in front of him to keep her back.
‘I took my eye off the ball,’ he said through tears. ‘We came up here and I knew there was history here for Skeggs but I was so wound up in all this, I was so busy with all this . . .’
‘He insisted on being involved.’
‘Ever since we got up here it’s been Stu this, Stu that and then back to the notebooks, back to the old obsession. Never mind that someone had decided to settle old scores with Skeggs. I couldn’t see it. I was too busy.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘It is my fault, Rose. You don’t get it. I look out for Skeggs.’ He stood up and began to pace up and down. ‘Not down in London – there, he’s OK – but when he’s up here no one touches him. Everyone knows. Anything happens to him they deal with me, that’s how it’s been for years.’
Rose thought of the previous night in the pub smoking area. Skeggsie had told Joshua then You have to let me fight my own battles, mate.
‘I’ll find out who’s done this,’ he said, walking up to the wall and slamming the side of his fist into it. ‘I won’t rest till I find out.’
She walked up behind him. She put her hands on his elbows. She guided him back to the bed.
‘You’re exhausted. You can’t think straight about this until you’ve rested.’
He let himself be manhandled and sat down on the bed. Then he seemed to weaken and lean against her.
‘Lie down.’
He did what she said. She took his boots off then pulled the duvet over.
‘Try and sleep, just for a few hours.’
He grabbed her hand.
‘Don’t leave me, Rosie . . .’
She frowned and looked down at him. He looked so lost, so battered. She took off her own boots and her jumper and got in beside him. She turned on her side so that he was against her back. He hugged her and she felt him kissing her hair. She pulled the duvet up and they both lay there, clamped together.
Somewhere in the distance she thought she could hear church bells and she remembered, before she went to sleep, that it was Christmas Day.
When she woke up it was dark. She was hot, the duvet up to her nose. She realised then that she was on her own. Joshua had got up. She turned over and the whole awful thing came back to her. Skeggsie was dead. She pulled her knees up and hugged herself. A few days ago she had been convinced that things were as bad as they could get. How could she have known then that they had darker places to go?
She thought back to the previous night. It had been a mess, everyone feeling out of sorts. Skeggsie had been on edge, especially when Rory Spenser came into the pub. Joshua arrived, wound up by the discovery of his uncle’s letter to the solicitor. Then there had been the horrible scene in the pub smoking area. Joshua enraged at Rory Spenser, the row with Skeggsie who had said Sometimes it’s like you two are the only people in the world who’ve ever felt loss. Skeggsie had thrown his lot in with Joshua. He’d been happy to put aside his own life to pursue their search. But in doing that his life had been disregarded.
After all the arguing and fighting and hurt feelings he’d gone out of the pub to get Joshua and bring him back. He’d slipped out of the noise and the lights and beery atmosphere into the cold night. He’d headed for Joshua’s house, no doubt sidestepping partygoers. He’d turned off the Promenade and somehow he’d been drawn into the alleyway between the shops.
Rose closed her eyes tightly.
She and Joshua knew loss but this was different. Skeggsie had been so close, so near. She’d seen him moments before it had happened. It almost seemed as though she could have put her hand out and stopped him. Maybe she could have said, I’ll come too. We’ll walk together. Or she could have
persuaded Skeggsie to give Joshua time. Come and play some darts, she could have said, Josh’ll come round. And he did come round. Joshua’s anger had fallen away and he’d come back to the pub.
The door opened and light poked into the room.
‘Rose,’ Joshua whispered, ‘I phoned the hospital and left a message for my uncle. I just said there’d been an accident.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Now I’m taking Poppy for a walk.’
‘Wait for me,’ she said. ‘I want to come.’
She staggered up, out of the warm bed, picked up her jumper and boots and stumbled towards the bathroom. She rinsed her face for the second time that day. She combed her fingers through her hair and went downstairs. Joshua was waiting by the front door. He was wearing the leather bomber jacket that he’d bought for his uncle as a Christmas present. It gave her a start to look at it. It made her think of his other coat gory with blood.
‘What time is it?’ she said.
‘Five o’clock.’
It seemed later. She put her coat on and Joshua held a scarf out for her to wrap round her neck. Then he opened the front door. A veil of snow wafted in and she did her coat up and stepped outside into it. The cold air woke her up and she walked quickly to keep pace with Joshua. He pulled Poppy across and held her lead with one hand. With the other he grasped hers and pulled it into the pocket of the bomber jacket. She held his hand tightly.
They walked on, coming up to the alleyway, deserted now, just the scene-of-crime tape flapping in the wind. He let go of her hand and walked towards the opening between the shops. She followed him. Poppy was straining on the lead to go further. Neither of them spoke for a few moments.
‘I’ve decided,’ Joshua said eventually. ‘From now on I’m going to spend every minute trying to find out what happened to Skeggs.’
She nodded.
‘My uncle, the notebooks, all that will be put on hold. I won’t think about any of it until I find out who’s responsible.’
‘I’ll help you.’
‘I knew you would, Rosie,’ he said, his hand squeezing hers.
‘We’ll do it together,’ she said.
He stared at her, his eyes dark. He lifted one of his hands up to her face and touched her skin.
‘I’m not going to rest until I find out who did it.’
‘I know,’ she said, taking his hand and kissing it.
He pulled her to him and hugged her, his arm like a vice around her back.
‘I owe him this,’ he said, stifling a sob.
‘We both do,’ Rose said.
EIGHTEEN
On Boxing Day Rose and Joshua were called to the station to give statements to the police. They were there for most of the morning. They returned to the house and took Poppy for a walk. In the afternoon Joshua slept on the sofa, his feet hanging off the end. Rose put the single duvet from her bed over him and then went into the kitchen and called Anna to tell her what had happened. Her grandmother was shocked and asked if Rose wanted her to come up to Newcastle. Rose gently declined the offer. Her grandmother sounded bewildered at the news and after ending the call Rose wondered what she must have thought about her granddaughter. After coming home from boarding school six months before there seemed to have been a string of violent deaths associated with her. Anna was unsettled by these events; her safe world, her music, her friends, her charity work, her house in Belsize Park, was not so solid now. Rose seemed to attract death. It left her feeling responsible in some way, as if her very presence made something bad happen.
Now there were deaths that came from the past. The Butterfly Murder. Judy Greaves, a ten-year-old girl, murdered and left in a room full of mounted butterflies. These things hung in Rose’s thoughts like heavy black clouds.
In the afternoon Joshua went to the hospital. He asked her if she minded if he went alone. They’d missed their visit on Christmas Day. Joshua wanted to talk through what had happened to Skeggsie with his uncle. When the front door shut after him she was mildly relieved. The thought of seeing Stuart Johnson after everything that had happened was making her a little nervous. His confession about the murder of Simon Lister was on her mind and she wondered if she would ever be able to act normally towards him; as if he was just some nice uncle of Joshua’s that she had never met, not this man she’d been thinking about and talking about for days.
When Joshua got back he told her how his uncle was and how shocked he’d been about the news of Skeggsie’s death. She asked a few other questions but Joshua seemed tired and dispirited. The energy with which he had started the day had disappeared. Later in the evening he put the bottle of whisky by his side and poured it into his glass from time to time. Rose watched him with apprehension.
‘Tomorrow we make a start,’ Joshua said, his words slurred.
He went to bed before her. She let Poppy out into the garden and then went up to bed herself. She hesitated as she passed his door. On Christmas Day they’d slept together for hours but the previous night they’d each gone to their own rooms. It was as if it hadn’t happened. She reached out to the handle of his door.
Why not go in?
Why not get in beside him? Hold him close?
She walked on, though, into the box room and her single bed.
She slept soundly and felt fuzzy-headed and dry-mouthed when she woke up the next morning. Joshua, it appeared, had been up for ages. The half bottle of whisky had had little effect on him. He’d showered and changed his clothes and told her that he was getting going. He was busy and looked organised and she felt a little distanced from him as though the closeness of the previous two days was not needed now that they were getting going.
‘We’ll clear the house up. I have to sort out my uncle’s room for when he comes home?’
‘Did the hospital say when?’
‘A couple of days.
‘And Rosie, I’ve decided, when Stu comes home I’m not going to mention the Butterfly Murder. I’m going to put all the stuff away and it’ll be as if we never found it.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘For the time being. We need to completely focus on Skeggsie. And even after that I still have to get my head around what it all means in relation to Dad and Kathy. But I can’t do that now. We can’t do it now. So I don’t want to let Stu know that I know anything.’
She shrugged in agreement.
‘Bob Skeggs is coming round later so we can find out what’s happening in the investigation.’
Joshua worked upstairs and Rose took the downstairs rooms. She started with the kitchen and filled up a number of rubbish bags. She paused and then decided to clean out the cupboards. She took the mugs and plates out, scrubbed the interior, and replaced them in some sort of order. The living room didn’t take long. She got the vacuum cleaner out and moved the furniture and tidied.
Then she went into the garden. There was dog mess to clear up.
Poppy leapt around her, thinking it was a game.
Back inside she paused. She considered taking a rest but immediately felt the weight of everything pushing at her temples. If she stopped she would just start thinking again. She found other things to do. The cupboard under the stairs was a mess. She took the coats out and tidied them on to hangers. She struggled with the vacuum cleaner and pointed the nozzle into the corners of the cupboard and came across a pair of walking boots that were encrusted with mud. She took them to the sink and started to clean off the dirt. It was a mindless job, getting a knife into the treads of the sole and shifting the mud. She wished she had a whole row of boots to clean.
It was robotic work and it filled the time and every half hour that passed took them further away from the events of Christmas Eve. About two she made some toast and took it upstairs to Joshua. He was in his room looking at his laptop. He took the toast and nibbled at the corners. She stood awkwardly, finding it impossible to settle on any conversation. Joshua was looking at her but she knew he was not seeing her. His sight was somewhere else, m
aybe still in that dark alley.
Soon after Bob Skeggs arrived.
Rose held Poppy back as he came in. He looked white-faced and only had on a suit jacket over trousers even though it was bitterly cold. He kept saying, ‘Thank you for what you did for Darren.’ Rose felt full of emotion and was afraid that if she said a single word it would all pour out so she just nodded and patted him on the shoulder. Joshua came down the stairs two at a time. He took him into the living room and when the door closed behind them the hallway seemed warmer, as if he had taken the cold with him.
Rose stood for a moment and heard the murmuring of voices. She was grateful for the sound of conversation. It was so much better than the stark silence of the morning.
She went upstairs. Joshua had been scrupulous in clearing up. She looked in on Stuart’s study and saw that all the drawers were back in place. She sat down at the desk and opened each one and saw piles of files with felt-tip writing on them. Everything, it seemed, had been sorted into newly labelled files. Joshua had tidied up Stuart’s life – Bills, Salary, Union, Classic Cars, Bank Statements, Debts.
When Bob Skeggs left the house Rose went downstairs. She found Joshua sitting in the living room. On the coffee table were a set of car keys and Skeggsie’s laptop.
‘How’s his dad?’ she said.
He shrugged.
‘Bob wants me to use the Mini. And look after the flat. For the time being.’
Joshua reached over and picked up Skeggsie’s keys. He clutched them tightly as though someone might want to take them from him. She saw the veins on the back of his hands stand out, the muscles in his forearm tense. He stood up, putting the keys in his pocket.
‘How come he’s brought the laptop?’
‘He wants me to contact Skeggsie’s tutors and friends. Fill them in on what happened. I can’t really face doing it now. How many of them are going to want to have an email about this over Christmas?’
‘And the case? Have the police made any progress?’