It was ten minutes away from kick-off when I balled up a letter of complaint and threw it on the rubbish pile.
‘Can I have a cup of tea?’
‘Sweetheart,’ she shot up from the sofa, ‘of course. And you’re not hungry?’
I’d eaten three vegetables spring rolls, two potato pancakes, and three mini quiches without being hungry at all. So no, I definitely wasn’t. But I reasoned it would keep her busy for a beat longer at least. ‘I think I might like something sweet,’ I lied. ‘Maybe a pudding, or something? Do you have ice cream?’
She thought. ‘Why don’t I pop a lattice in the oven? Apple? We can have it with ice–’
‘Perfect,’ I interrupted. ‘That sounds perfect.’
When she’d hurried from the room – visibly delighted at having something to do – I turned the television on. I caught the end of a news report about changes to schooling policies in the area, before the stern presenter announced they were cutting across to their crime reporter for an unexpected update from our local constabulary.
I cut open the lips of another letter and watched from over the top of the sheet.
‘We’re coming live from outside…’
‘Is it on?’ Madison shouted in.
‘Nothing yet. I’ll shout when it starts.’
‘DS Brooks has called a conference to discuss the so-called Trio Killer…’
Is that what they’re calling you now? I half-read the letter – one praising me for my honesty and thanking me for my book – before I set it on the fan heap with the rest. I was near the bottom of the pile, then, the letters that had been sitting on my desk for the longest, and I tried to pay closer attention to anything I might need to write an apology to. But then Brooks appeared, in a pressed blue shirt and dark grey blazer. Her hair was wild, free, and I imagined her running her hands through it ten times over ahead of leaving the station for the announcement.
‘Thank you to everyone for being here this evening. It’s a pressing matter, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, given the speed with which we’ve pulled this together. So, we appreciate your attendance and your patience. The details, we know, have been thin. However, we now feel we’re in a better position to offer an update and, in truth, a caution.’
My stomach rolled. The sound of the oven door closing cut across my concentration and I flinched. I opened another letter, my hands moving on automatic.
‘You may or may not have heard about the recent murder of a young woman in the Hereford area…’
‘You were meant to shout me when it was on.’
‘…the constabulary in that area were initially concerned this murder was somehow linked to the murders that many of you will likely remember, as having originated in our own city. The Trio Killer, which I believe is the moniker he’s been dubbed with…’
‘It’s not very catchy, is it?’ Madison’s tone was flat, unimpressed.
‘…after working closely with the Hereford team, we now have reason to believe that the most recent victim is likely to be a victim of the Trio…’
‘Christ.’
‘…in the coming weeks we’ll work closely…’
‘Sarah?’
‘…to ensure the safety of everyone in that area, but also the safety of women…’
‘Darling girl?’ Madison set a hand on my shoulder to grab my attention. I looked at her but her edges were watercolour. I pulled in a mouthful of air, another, another, but I couldn’t find a place to put the air once I’d swallowed it.
‘Sweetheart, follow my breathing, okay? One in…’ she petered out and made a show of belly breathing. Between breaths she paused to remind me I should be copying her.
But Brooks carried on in the background. ‘…we’re advising people to stay vigilant…’
‘Darling girl, let me take this?’
She tried to ease the letter free from my hand but my fingertips had tensed on its edges. Would there be fingerprints left? I wondered. If I took it now, would it help? I felt a tremor in my hand that shook the paper loose into my lap, but I snatched at it before Madison could. Would it make a difference, I thought, again and again, would it mean he hadn’t killed her? Should I tell someone that he’d warned me…
27
Sarah,
First day at a new job. Or at least, I’m hoping this will get to you on your first day. I thought of flowers but that seems to set a strange precedent, even for our strange… bond. Is it a bond when one person wants to move on and the other won’t let go? I wonder.
I’ve tried to imagine how busy you must be today. When I think of you that way I wonder whether you’ll get this letter at all. Perhaps it will sit at the bottom of a pile of fan mail until you finally dig your way through to me. Do you get fan mail, Sarah? For the book, I mean. I do – for what I do, I get fan mail. Not directly to me, of course, Sarah, because how could anyone manage that when no one is capable of catching me. But on the internet, there’s a lot of fan mail; a lot of people wondering why I do what I do. I like to read the theories people have. They’re wild, some of them. Dead wrong, most of them. Maybe after these next ones someone will be closer to guessing me – getting me. But I don’t know about that, still. I’ve found a new city, though, pretty place, Hereford. Maybe their police are better; maybe they’re superheroes. Speaking of which…
You’re doing so well for yourself, Sarah. I know it’s not my place but it’s been something like a privilege to watch you. Despite everything, you’re really managing to make something of yourself; what with the job and the book. I read it, by the way. I told myself I wouldn’t; it felt too much like torture. But it was such a good window into you, Sarah, like slipping a key in your chest cavity and taking a look at the pretty and important things you keep there. You must be terribly brave to have shared all of that with the world. I bet you felt brave, didn’t you, sharing it all? I imagine you must have got a kind of kick from it; from everyone telling you how excellent you are, Sarah, and oh, you are. You really are doing so well. So why haven’t you let go of me yet?
I know why you’re at the paper. At the crime desk. Writing a new book. I understand it all, Sarah, but it won’t help you. I’ll be seeing you – but don’t expect for it to work the other way. Because I’ve got this far easily enough…
Take good care now, won’t you?
Sincerely, yours –
Part III
28
2016
Sarah,
You’ve been doing better than I thought, Sarah. I don’t know how you worked it out but there you were – touching distance. It would have been so easy to give myself away and see you properly, although I’ve wondered if that’s what you were hoping for. How did you work it out, though, or was it a lucky guess? See, I know my system because I’m the person who made it. But no one else in the world could know. And yet, there you were.
I’ll tie myself in riddles with it, Sarah, really, I will.
Whatever your magic reasoning was, I can’t have you that close again. So, consider this a Dear John, dear Sarah. You’ve scuppered things a little for me now, but your tenacity is something I’ve admired over the years so I suppose I can’t condemn you too fiercely for it. I’m sure you’ll keep looking for me. But mark this as the start of my hiatus in your notes, won’t you? You got the city right, but you won’t find the women here. Who knows when you’ll find the next women, or how many there’ll be. The victims might accumulate.
But that’s me being cruel, Sarah, because deep down you probably know it doesn’t work that way. You’ll wonder, though, won’t you? You’ll carry that wonder through every anniversary until my comeback tour. And it’ll all be as much a guessing game for me as it is for you because no one really knows how long I can go without it now, Sarah. So, maybe this will be good for us both…
Maybe this distance will help you.
Take care, Sarah.
Sincerely, yours –
29
2017
I’ve learnt that Ma
dison isn’t exactly keen on surprises. But when it comes to big birthdays, I’ve never really cared much about what Madison is keen on. Since Mum, every birthday has felt important. So, despite protests in the weeks leading to it, I was determined to throw Madison an embarrassingly lavish birthday party, orchestrated by me and my friends, for the enjoyment of Mad and her friends. Landon made a PowerPoint presentation packed with photographs of Madison through the ages; Jessie and Tyler were in charge of the guest list (or Jessie was; Tyler was in charge of keeping the twins occupied). Meanwhile, I was in charge of decorations, refreshments and the cake. The surprise element arose because Madison thought we were planning a home-cooked meal with her closest friends. By the time the night rolled around, Jessie was juggling a guest list of nearly fifty people, all of whom were eager and waiting to shout, ‘Happy birthday!’
‘You little shit.’ Madison clipped me around the shoulder with the back of her hand and then pulled me close enough to kiss my forehead. ‘You said we were having a few friends over for dinner.’
‘We are.’ I gestured to the room full of people in front of us; the handful balanced on the stairs; the others wedged in the hallway. ‘It turns out you have a lot of friends.’
Madison catapulted herself into the crowd with the same smile and zest that I’d always seen her wear. She even managed to take it in her stride that we’d plastered fiftieth birthday banners in every room of the house.
‘You weren’t meant to tell anyone,’ she protested to begin with.
‘We didn’t,’ Landon lied, ‘people just guessed.’
‘Because I look fifty?’
Landon looked from me to Jessie and then back to Madison. ‘I– ah. I mean…’
Madison burst out laughing. ‘You’re all right, Lan. Get me another drink, would you?’ She thrust her half-empty glass in his direction. ‘Then we’ll call it even.’
Madison had become the mother of my friendship circle. Jessie, distanced from her own parents by a good few hundred miles, had leaned on Mad throughout her miscarriage – and the unexpected pregnancy that followed. Tyler had leaned on her during marital problems with Jessie, after Madison had sworn on pain of death to keep his worries a secret; although she’d told me, reasoning that I didn’t count. Even Landon had come to lean on her; though I hadn’t known exactly what for. In a lot of ways, she did everything Mum used to do; only we were adults, and she still wasn’t Mum. But I’d made my peace with that.
Two hours into the party, we finally got around to cutting Madison’s cake: a blue and white fifty I’d had made. There was chocolate sponge and vanilla buttercream inside the five and vanilla sponge with strawberry jam in the zero. Madison made a big song and dance about sampling each before anyone else was allowed to. She wouldn’t admit to it, but I knew it was so she could pick a favourite. She spent the next hours steering people towards the zero, which meant she thought the five was the better cake.
‘She thinks we don’t know.’ Landon leaned against a nearby door frame. ‘The five is the obvious winner.’
I smiled. ‘Maybe other people just don’t know her well enough.’
‘Probably a good thing. Otherwise they’d steer clear of the zero.’ He shifted closer and gave me a nudge. ‘Are you okay with all of this?’
‘What do you mean?’
He gestured to the bustle around us. ‘Birthday celebrations, the big fifty.’
‘Mum wouldn’t have been fifty.’
‘No, she would have been forty-one. But probably thirty-one, probably for the third year running.’
A sad laugh passed between us. ‘She’d still want this. It’s just that she would have been the one making the plans and inviting the friends and–’
‘Eating the best cake,’ Jessie interrupted as she came to a stop behind us. ‘Everyone doing okay over here?’ She looked between us and we both nodded in turn. ‘I’m going to have to make a move,’ she pulled me into a hug, ‘because the twins are– well, you know, you’ve met them.’
‘Have a baby, they said,’ Landon joked as Jessie leaned into him.
‘Give my best to the birthday girl?’ She nodded in Madison’s direction and I turned in time to see her taking a shot with her boss. ‘I wouldn’t want to interrupt.’
‘Thanks for everything you did, Jess.’
‘Any time.’
While Jessie pushed herself away from us, launching across the swimming pool of bodies that had come to take up the hallway, Marcus was making his way towards me. He’d been my boss for three years, and a close friend for about two and a half of them. When I’d dropped the party invite on his desk, though, he’d seemed surprised.
‘Bloody brilliant party, Sarah.’ He kissed my left cheek, then moved towards my right. But when he noticed Landon he changed his mind. ‘Thanks so much for the invite, really. I got to chat to Madison for a little while earlier, too, and she was telling me all about your new book.’ I narrowed my eyes at the lie and held a stare until he started to laugh. ‘Okay, she told me nothing about the new book.’
‘That’s because she knows nothing about the new book.’ I landed a playful fist on his arm. But at the mention of the blessed new book, I felt like making it a more sincere punch. Marcus chased me about my private writing projects as often as he could, for no other reason than sheer nosiness. ‘When I give my publisher a draft, I’ll tell you everything.’
‘Big guy, you bear witness to that, right?’ he asked Landon.
‘I sure do,’ he replied, his tone flat, ‘big guy.’
I threw Landon a raised eyebrow and then tried to make my tone overtly friendly, as though I could somehow compensate for his. ‘Landon and I need to be on goodie bag duty in the kitchen, Marcus, so we’ll have to dash. Thanks again for coming, though.’
‘Of course, of course. I’ll see you Monday, Sarah. Nice seeing you, Landon.’
‘Don’t cock measure with my boss,’ I snapped as soon as we were out of earshot.
‘I wasn’t.’
‘I sure do, big guy,’ I mimicked, taking on Landon’s flat tone.
‘Well, bloody big guy.’ He cracked open a can of gin and tonic. ‘Big guy, indeed.’
It was the early hours of the following morning when Madison’s house fell quiet. She and I had taken it in turns to thank guests in the end, hoping our slurred gratitude would be a sign for them to get moving, and largely it was. Landon had been last out the door, after he’d hung on to see whether I wanted to share a taxi – even though we lived in different directions.
‘Whatever your intentions,’ Madison had garbled, leaning heavy against him, ‘you can save them for another night. She’s with me.’ Landon had graciously accepted the knock-back; it had been my easiest experience of turning him down.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow about the show,’ he said, halfway out the door.
‘You won’t because she doesn’t work Saturdays,’ Madison shouted back, but Landon didn’t show any sign of having heard. Madison liked to think I didn’t work Saturdays, even though I’d been working six days a week for as long as I could remember. She worried, though, so I let her think what she needed to.
Once Landon had gone and the clock rolled around to two thirty, I set a hand on her leg and gave her a gentle squeeze. ‘Happy birthday, Mad.’
‘Thank you, darling girl.’
Madison gave a hard sniff and I turned around in time to see a tear rolling out of the corner of her eye. I reached an arm around her and pulled her in to a tight hug, and she let the side of her head drop against mine. Her shoulders jerked as the tears came faster and soon she wasn’t moving at all, but holding her breath between each sob. When she came up for air around the tears she was gasping – like someone was choking her.
The cries were free-flowing for a while. I can’t remember how long it lasted. But when she wiped her face with her palms, that came away muddied with mascara, I knew she was finished. She pushed herself upright but stayed close enough for me to keep my arm around her; my hand hug
ged against the ball of her shoulder. I squeezed and sighed.
‘I miss her, too.’
30
I hadn’t got used to the experience of waking up next to someone. It seemed strange, how you could go from knowing someone in a professional capacity all the way through to knowing how their hair looks after sex – and then how it looked the next morning, too. Although staying over was a relatively new thing. I’d argued it was a step too close to intimacy; that we were better off tiring ourselves in a shared bed and sleeping in separate ones. But that had opened up a line of questioning that, as a reporter, I should have seen coming. In the end it had been easier to agree to the occasional night of sleeping next to a warm body, rather than having a difficult conversation and, worse still, ruining a good set-up. Finding someone else who didn’t want a public relationship – in The Golden Age of Social Media – had felt like finding gold dust. Although we both used the R-word in a fast and loose way. Neither of us really wanted one of those either.
At an ungodly hour one Sunday morning, Wren’s phone vibrated across the bedside table with fury enough to wake us both up. Her cheek was pressed against the flat of my back and I felt her stir, but not fast enough to get to the handset. Despite knowing the source of the noise I remained wide-eyed and rigid until she’d rolled away. It still happened, sometimes, when an intrusion startled me enough. She set a gentle hand on my shoulder and massaged at the skin, as though physically trying to loosen my posture one point at a time.
Sincerely, Yours Page 12