Silent Victim

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘Now that would be a big back garden,’ Mark said, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled a deep breath. ‘I love the seclusion. You could run around naked and there’d be nobody here to see it.’

  ‘Not that we would,’ Kirsty laughed. ‘We may act like hippies but I draw the line at baring all.’

  I flashed a smile, rubbing my hands together as they spoke. I had a good feeling about this, and knew an offer was on the cards. Impressed by my patter, Mark and Kirsty seemed happy enough to overlook the damp climbing the walls and the crumbling brickwork that needed attention. Their faces gleamed with excitement as I quoted a fair price. My colleagues would have asked for more, but my conscience would not allow it. I reasoned that my lack of ruthlessness afforded me a better reputation than some of the sharks conducting business in my office.

  ‘My wife was going to turn the land into a giant vegetable patch, but she never got round to it.’ I looked down at Kirsty’s embroidered flat shoes. ‘Do you have any wellington boots? It’s quite foggy, mind; you might be better off coming back when the weather’s cleared a bit.’

  ‘There’s no need. I’ve seen everything on the plans. It’s just what we want,’ Kirsty said, grinning.

  ‘We can drive down there if you prefer?’ I suggested for good measure. ‘There’s a laneway leading to the back of the land that’s accessible by road. It’s a bit bumpy, but we can take my car if you like.’

  ‘No need, honestly,’ Kirsty repeated, turning her gaze to her husband, pleading with her eyes.

  ‘We’ve literally just put it on the market, so I’d advise you not to delay.’ I had barely uttered the words before Mark spoke.

  ‘Any movement on price?’

  I shook my head. ‘Sorry, we’ve priced it competitively for a quick sale. I’ve been offered a job you see, in Leeds. I can’t afford to hang around. I have other people on my books, and it’s bound to be snapped up. It’s not every day that a property such as this—’

  ‘We’ll take it,’ Kirsty breathed, clasping her husband’s arm.

  He rolled his eyes. ‘So much for playing it cool. Yes, we’d like to offer the full asking price.’

  I shook their hands in a firm grip. ‘You’ve done the right thing. There’s so much potential with this property, and it’s easily worth the asking price and more. You’re getting a bargain.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Kirsty said, looking around the room as if it were Windsor Castle. Clearly she could see beauty where I could not. I felt comfort in knowing that they were the right buyers.

  My dislike for Mersea Island was deep rooted. I had nothing against the residents, and the landscape could be breathtaking at times, but I could not stand the isolation. I could not escape the suffocating sense of claustrophobia when the tide rolled in and the island became closed off from the outside world. At night fog came like a blanket, so thick you could hardly see your hand. Emma used to laugh as she told me the old story of the ghost that haunted the Strood. I didn’t believe in ghosts but she was voicing my worst fear. Some souls were destined to be here for ever and I did not want to be one of them.

  In the past, Emma had seemed pleased when I showed her pictures of the properties we could afford, but this morning as I broke the news in the playground, I could sense her hesitancy. I had a choice: we could delay proceedings by weighing up the pros and cons, or I could carry on full steam ahead. After all, I wasn’t just doing this for me.

  Now that I had the buyers in the palm of my hand, I felt a mixture of relief and excitement. I only hoped that by moving on, my wife could leave the ghosts of her past behind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  EMMA

  2017

  ‘Careful with that,’ I said to Josh as we unpacked a beautiful silk gown from our delivery. Purchased from Oxfam after being worn just once, it had been a steal. I loved my job and often found that immersing myself in work was the best way of getting through the day. Here in Something Borrowed, I could get lost amongst beautiful things and leave the real world behind. I was not the only person to love my shop; Josh did too. My retail assistant was twenty-six years old and, by his own admission, this was the longest he had ever held a job down. A firm believer in second chances, I had been willing to ignore his mediocre references when I’d offered him the position six months ago. Josh might not look like your typical wedding boutique assistant with his floppy auburn hair and black skinny jeans, but he had proved to be a godsend, setting up the online side of things as well as helping with the day-to-day running of the shop.

  ‘So, have you spoken to your parents yet?’ I asked, preferring to focus on his problems rather than my own.

  He smirked, carefully smoothing the delicate material and giving the dress a little shake. ‘I work in a wedding shop; I think that’s a big enough clue.’

  ‘We’ll get you out of that cupboard yet,’ I said, smiling as his laughter erupted. ‘What?’

  ‘Closet. It’s closet,’ he said, still chuckling as he carried the dress to the back room to await collection. Under the deal I’d negotiated with the local dry cleaners all my dresses were picked up and cleaned before going on display.

  The old-fashioned bell over my door tinkled as Theresa pushed it open with her backside. We were fully staffed today as we prepared to present our winter collection to our clients. ‘Skinny latte, mocha, and a disgusting green tea for you,’ said my sister, laying them on the vintage ivory table.

  ‘Much obliged,’ I said, my words barely out before the doorbell rang for a second time. I groaned inwardly. The fact we closed on Mondays never stopped a certain client who had been coming since we opened. Given the nature of our business, we did not see a lot of repeat custom. Maggie was the exception to the rule and I did not have the heart to refuse her. At eighty years of age and four foot eleven, she could be swept away by a sudden breeze. She smiled, her bright-pink lipstick eclipsed only by the sapphire-blue eyeshadow courting her lids. Taking my tea from the table, I patted a chair for her to sit down. The interior of our bridal boutique was like something out of a wedding magazine. I loved the vintage ivory furnishings, the plush cream carpet and the scent of white roses dotted in antique vases throughout the store. French designer curtains cloaked two generous changing rooms leading to a platform surrounded by fairy lights and full-length mirrors. Everything fit for a princess on her special day. It was just as I had envisioned it when I’d first met my husband over nine years ago. Most men would have run a mile from a woman with a passion for wedding dresses. Instead, Alex helped me through my business studies course, encouraging me every step of the way. I felt proud that his faith in me had been rewarded. I never would have made it without his ‘dream big’ attitude to life.

  I sat beside Maggie as she stared at it all, her eyes sparkling as they reflected the view. ‘How are you, lovely? All ready for the big day?’

  ‘I came to talk to you about that dress,’ she said, a frown crossing her face. ‘I’m not sure if it’s for me. I heard you have some new ones and I was hoping to try them on.’

  ‘Really? I thought you looked beautiful. What’s changed your mind?’

  Maggie rifled in her bag, pulling out a bent-up snapshot that I had taken during her last visit. ‘They were laughing at me down the pub; said I was mutton dressed as lamb. Bastards.’

  ‘Since when have you cared what anyone’s thought of you?’ I asked, seeing wisdom in her green eyes. ‘Now where are you heading after here? Over to see Bernard?’ I crossed my legs, tilting my head to one side as I took in her expression.

  She gave me a knowing smile. ‘Already been. He told me to pay no heed.’

  ‘Makes sense to me. Besides, what do those old codgers down the pub know about wedding dresses?’

  ‘True,’ she said, gathering up her bags. ‘I suppose you’re right. I should be off. This wedding won’t plan itself.’

  ‘And I’d better get back to work,’ I said, relieved that today at least, she was willing to see sense. ‘Send Bernard my best.’


  It was a spell that Maggie seemed content to stay under. For her, it was preferable to facing the truth. Bernard was not waiting at home, he was in Colchester cemetery, having died on the eve of their wedding seven years ago.

  ‘You’re such a soft touch,’ Josh said after she had left. ‘For a minute there I thought you were going to let her try on the new gowns.’ Eighty per cent of our stock was upmarket second-hand, but at the start of each season I invested some money in the latest designs.

  ‘I don’t think Theresa’s heart would take it,’ I laughed, knowing that by the end of the session there would be more make-up on the dresses than on Maggie’s face. I had a special selection of retired and bargain gowns just for her. ‘She’s a good soul, and if it makes her happy then there’s no harm in it, is there?’ I could empathise with Maggie. Some people went on living, even those buried in the ground.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LUKE

  2002

  I inhaled the smell of freshly mown grass as the school lawn received its last cut of the summer. For me, it marked a new beginning, and as my Year 11 students filtered in through the classroom I pulled the window shut and offered them a warm smile.

  ‘Good morning, class,’ I said, raising my voice to gain their attention. ‘My name is Luke Priestwood and I’m replacing Mr Piper, who’s retired early due to ill health.’ They seemed surprised but pleased to see me, and I glided over the lie. In reality, Mr Piper had been pushed. Last year’s exam results in Art & Design had been shamefully poor. According to the head, I had been brought in to inject some ‘fresh blood’ into the class. That and my indisputable talent had landed me the job. My eyes roamed over the class. At twenty-three, I was freshly qualified and only seven years older than most of the people in the room. Not that I was intimidated. I watched the male students hitch up their trousers before taking a seat. Arseless and charmless, they paled into insignificance next to me. The chatter in the room quietened and I gazed down on their expectant faces. Already I could see the effect my presence was having on the female students. My morning gym sessions left me lean and toned, a vast contrast to the pot-bellied Piper, who could barely climb the stairs without coughing up phlegm. I licked my lips as a tinge of satisfaction made itself known. It felt good to be back in the school I’d been taught in. I felt like I had gotten somewhere in life. That I was in control.

  I loosened my tie, my eyes roaming over the chattering female students. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed. There was little evidence of that here. They were the stereotypical gaggle of teens: layers of make-up, tight short skirts and the stink of cheap perfume lacing their skin. Beneath the confines of the school uniform, they held little mystery to me. The shrill ring of the bell jolted me out of my thoughts, signalling it was time for class to begin. I walked to the door, curling my fingers around the handle to push it shut. It met with resistance from the other side as one last student ploughed through.

  She may have been a poor timekeeper but my new arrival was deliciously pert, with curves in all the right places. Laden with books, her bag slapped against her thigh when she came to a sudden stop. She briefly met my gaze, and I felt an instant spark of attraction as her cheeks flushed a furious pink. Her dark wavy hair was swept over in a sexy side parting, framing her face. She brushed an errant lock from her cheek, panting from the exertion of rushing to be on time. I regarded her with a look of amused curiosity. Inside I was thrilled that a gorgeous young creature would be subservient to me for the forthcoming year.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ she mumbled self-consciously, before finding a table at the back of the room.

  Tugging at her skirt, she took a seat, entwining her summer-tanned legs. Devoid of make-up and jewellery, she carried an innocent beauty as yet untainted by the modern world.

  I began the class without a moment’s hesitation, explaining my plans for the curriculum. She gave her name as Emma, and I struggled to keep my thoughts in check. She was jailbait and I was newly qualified. I could not afford to be caught up in an illicit affair. ‘If you can take out your text books . . .’ I said, clearing my throat as I tried to focus. But I knew that I was fooling myself. My mind was not on the history of art, it was on the brooding schoolgirl at the back of the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EMMA

  2017

  My keys rattled as I locked the shop’s front door. It had been a long day and I was dying to get home and kick off my shoes. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

  Theresa smiled, her shoulder-length blonde hair catching the last of the dying sun. ‘No need to detour to the nursery, I’m picking Jamie up today.’ Theresa was Jamie’s godmother. With no other siblings, I had not had many choices when it came to candidates, but there was nobody better suited for the role than my big sister. At thirty-seven, she hadn’t yet had children of her own and was more than happy to take on babysitting duties. She and Jamie made a fantastic team, and she spoiled him rotten during their time together. ‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘It’s news to me.’

  Arching one eyebrow, she gave me a conspiratorial smile. ‘Alex asked me to babysit for a few hours. Looks like he has something in store for you.’ Alex was an old romantic at heart and I loved his little spontaneous acts – even now, after almost a decade, he still had the ability to give me butterflies.

  After rolling down the shop shutters, I thanked Theresa and left. But as I walked to the car park, my nerves got the better of me. Sure, Alex was no stranger to sweet gestures, but this felt different. Had Theresa misunderstood? Did Alex have something else in store?

  After paying for my ticket, I entered the Osbourne Street multistorey car park. My heels echoed ominously down the hollow concrete construction. Devoid of fresh air, it carried the stale smell of engine oil and diesel fumes that I could not wait to escape. Level C had been full when I’d driven there this morning but, apart from a rusted Mercedes in the far corner, my yellow Volkswagen Beetle now stood alone. A sudden sense of vulnerability sharpened my senses, hastening my steps. I didn’t notice the newspaper nestled under my windscreen wiper until I opened the car door. Odd, I thought, plucking it from its resting place. I was used to seeing flyers but never a whole newspaper. In the absence of a bin, I threw it on to my front seat, locking myself inside my protective yellow shell. As the car engine rumbled into life and I put the car in gear, I gave the paper another glance. Why had it been placed on my car? Sighing, I threw the gearstick back into neutral while I unfolded the paper, smoothing over the creased pages to reveal the front-page headline. CRASH INVOLVING THREE CARS CAUSES MAJOR DELAYS. I frowned. I didn’t remember hearing about that. It was only when I glanced at the date that I froze: 1 October 2013. The same date indelibly branded on my mind. The day I killed a man. I exhaled a painful breath, the blood draining from my face. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Maybe it was some kind of promo. Maybe they were on all the cars. My mind raced as it tried to provide me with answers, fuel to enable me to push my fears away. It was someone messing around. It had to be. Only two people knew the significance of that date – and the dead kept their secrets well. I breathed fast and deep, panic rising as the past returned to haunt me. I spun the car round, desperate for the open air. Through my windscreen, I caught sight of the CCTV camera, my glance falling guiltily back to the newspaper on the passenger seat. I could hardly afford to draw attention to myself, not when I had gotten this far. I lowered my window, depositing the newspaper in a litter bin on the way out. It was silly, I told myself, panicking like this over nothing. Just as I always had, I pushed my fears to the back of my mind, focusing on my journey home.

  I didn’t know what to expect when I walked through the front door. I adjusted my eyes to the darkness of our narrow hall, negotiating our uneven terracotta tiling, which was in need of repair. The smell of spicy food wafted from our kitchen and, despite my anxieties, my stomach grumbled in response.

  ‘Hey, you, how was your day?’ Alex said, looking relaxed in sweatshirt and jeans. His enviably clear
skin still glowed from the Indian summer we had enjoyed before the cold autumn winds took hold. Taking my coat, he kissed me on the cheek. I slid my fingers beneath his jumper and he gasped at the contact of my icy skin.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, chuckling as I withdrew my hands. ‘Work was fine. I’m really pleased with the new lines. Well, all except one. It’s a beautiful dress but it’s got this whopping big footprint on the train.’ I did not care about the dress, much less want to talk about it, but he would think something was up if I didn’t share my day.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll work your magic on it,’ Alex said. He was proud of what I had done to the business, though he had no idea just how lucrative it had become. Had he known, he would have pushed for a move long before now. The thought sent a frisson of worry through me. Had the person interested in the house come through? Was that what this surprise dinner was all about?

  Alex opened the door to our dining room and I saw that the table was set. With soft music playing and candles flickering, he had transformed it into a warm, cosy space, but still there was a chill growing inside me and I could not hold back the question on my tongue. ‘What’s the special occasion? It must be good, you’ve bought oysters.’

  ‘Fresh off the bay,’ he said, avoiding the question as he poured me a glass of champagne. Oysters were my favourite food and I rarely went a week without indulging. Jamie called them fish bogeys, and Alex wasn’t much better, reluctant to admit liking anything that my birthplace produced. I took a few sips from my glass, my nerves jangling as I waited for him to tell me what was going on. We ate in silence, my thoughts racing. It was not until we had finished our desserts that he let me in on the secret. He topped up my glass with the last of the bubbly and I wondered if he had been hoping for the alcohol to take effect before he broke the news.