by Gayle Curtis
There was a three-page story about the assault and their family argument in every tabloid the following day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE LESTER BARCLAY SHOW
FIVE YEARS LATER
In less than four hours, Rita would be sitting in a television studio with the journalist Lester Barclay. It seemed a world away right now, while she was feeding her mother-in-law some breakfast, trying not to glance at the clock.
‘Where’s Rita? At work again, I suppose?’ Cynthia said, looking directly at her. It still baffled Rita how the woman could seem to focus so keenly on her but be completely unaware of who she was. The consultant had told them to work on staying in the present with her, so she could value her time with them. But it didn’t matter how hard Rita tried, Cynthia couldn’t concentrate for more than a few moments at a time.
Tears burnt the back of her eyes. She was so fond of her mother-in-law.
‘Probably, Mum.’ Rita didn’t argue with her; it just confused her. Instead, she handed Cynthia another small piece of toast. Marmalade and Marmite cut into nine squares – always the same, every day.
Derek poked his head around the door. ‘More coffee?’
‘Better not, I’ll be jangling by the time I get there. His Grace ready for school?’
Derek rolled his eyes. ‘He’s in a particularly special mood today.’
Their son was in the middle of his A-level exams, and nothing they said was helping. They both agreed it could be worse – Joe had worked really hard, something that couldn’t be said of a lot of their friends’ children.
‘Laters!’ Joe shouted, slamming the door before Rita or Derek had a chance to wish him good luck.
‘I’d better go as well.’ Derek came into the kitchen and kissed Rita, planting one on top of his mother’s head on the way out. ‘Hope it all goes okay.’
Rita shooed him out, not wanting to talk about it, placing her hand on her stomach, feeling it sway to and fro like unsettled water.
‘She’s a funny girl, that Rita.’ Her mother-in-law was talking to herself while she overturned all the squares of toast on her plate and pushed them together.
‘Daphne will be here soon, Mum. She’ll look after you today.’
‘She always looks after me.’ Cynthia frowned, while Rita tried to lift her fingers from the plate and wipe them. Daphne came every day for a few hours, the fifth carer they’d tried from this particular agency and the only one Cynthia got on well with. Daphne was good at dealing with her difficult moods and was capable of making her laugh, something the previous carers had never done. The others had always seemed like they were going through the motions, but Daphne was engaged and attentive.
‘Hey, I’m going to be on TV, Mum, what do you think about that?’
There seemed to be a shift, some clarity that drifted across her mother-in-law’s face, like she was back in the room, and she looked at Rita as if seeing her for the first time that day.
‘What TV show? You didn’t tell me, love.’ She smiled and Rita pursed her lips, remembering her therapy sessions and all the counselling she’d had since the case.
‘The Lester Barclay Show, Mum. They’re doing a two-day special.’
‘Ooh, I like him.’ Cynthia frowned. ‘Is it about what happened with those children on Blue Green Square?’
‘Yes, pretty much,’ Rita said, sitting down, making the most of the lucid moment.
‘You need to tell the truth about that Adrian Player,’ Cynthia said, putting a mushed piece of toast into her mouth.
‘Sir Adrian Player, Mum. If he’s cleared, his knighthood will be reinstated.’ Rita heard the key in the front door. Daphne had arrived. ‘I’d better go, don’t want to be late.’
‘Just nipping to the loo,’ Daphne shouted from the hallway.
Her mother-in-law grabbed Rita’s arm before she could walk away. ‘I know what that man did to you, Rita, but he didn’t kill those children.’
‘Correct.’ Rita smiled sarcastically. ‘He got someone else to do it.’
‘You know that’s not right, my darling.’
‘How do you know that, Mum?’ Rita said, frowning. Any mention of Adrian Player and she was immediately defensive and irritated.
‘I just do. When have you ever known me to be wrong about this kind of thing?’
Cynthia was right. Over the many years Rita had known her, she’d often talked about big cases she was working on and Cynthia had usually had some sort of sixth sense about the suspects. Not that Rita had ever made any decisions on the back of it, but she’d always been surprised afterwards when she remembered her mother-in-law’s words.
‘Well, there’s a first time for everything.’ Rita kissed her head a little harder than she’d intended and pulled her arm from Cynthia’s vice-like grip.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The skin along the side of Rachel’s thumb was red and sore where she’d been flicking a hangnail. She started to pull it, wanting to feel pain, to punish herself, needing to bleed. At home, she would have covered the sharp piece of nail with a plaster so she didn’t snag it. When Rachel gripped her thumb, it throbbed and a tiny spot of blood began to seep along her cuticle.
She stared at the speckled, non-slip floor that reached the black rubber skirting at the edges. The room stank of disinfectant with undertones of urine and old microwave lasagne, and she began to imagine what it would be like to stay in here on a permanent basis. She had been desperate for her phone, needing to tell Cara and Jason the plan was off, but it had been seized when she was arrested. Causing a fuss made it obvious she had something to hide. She knew Jason wouldn’t text her anything incriminating, but she couldn’t be so sure about Cara. There was so much on her phone she needed to delete that even the thought of it caused her leg to fidget up and down. She had a new phone plugged in and charging at home, because she’d planned to ditch her old mobile once she got Cara in situ.
When the police had offered her a call, she’d almost made the mistake of ringing Jason.
Voices became clear just outside the door. She recognised Patrick’s, and her stomach flipped around like a fish caught in a net. It had been an unlikely friendship – her and Lorna’s father – that had manifested itself when Rachel and Patrick had been struck by tragedy at similar times. Green-on-the-Sea was a cruel place to live when you were suffering; the gossips spared no one and both of them had felt ostracised overnight. A chance meeting in a café as they’d sat separately and alone had sparked a conversation, but Rachel had never talked to him about her secret life and she wondered now what he would think of her.
Patrick walked in and sat down next to her on the single bed that was more like a bench. The custody sergeant left the cell door open, helping her breathe more easily.
She turned to him. ‘Have I spoilt your evening, dragging you away from your farewell party? I didn’t know who else to call.’
‘Not at all, I was glad of the excuse to get away. It’s never any fun being around people who are drunk when you’re sober.’
‘Many there?’
‘Yes, but I think it was more to do with the bank holiday than saying goodbye to me.’
‘Well, I think I’m going to win an award in the most-hated-resident stakes.’ Rachel smiled and nudged him.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘They tell me you’re being charged but released on bail.’
Rachel had no idea where to start or what to tell him.
‘It’s okay, there’s obviously been some sort of mistake,’ Patrick said quietly. ‘Tell me what’s happened, and we’ll sort it out.’
‘This isn’t the kind of thing you can just sort out. You can’t fix it.’ Rachel rubbed her sore eyes. It was getting late and she’d been there for hours.
‘Has something happened at school? One of the kids made an accusation against you?’
Rachel laughed ironically. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. It’s far more serious.’
They sat in silence for a few moments.
<
br /> ‘Okay, well, you don’t have to tell me. Should we just get out of here? I’ve got a long drive tomorrow and I’m sure you need some sleep.’
Rachel took a deep breath, blowing it out sharply, making her dark fringe fly up from her face. ‘I’m being questioned about a student . . .’ She stared straight ahead at the wall, unable to bring herself to say the word ‘misconduct’.
Patrick was silent. Rachel could feel him staring at her. But she’d started telling him now and she had to carry on.
‘The police wanted to talk to me because I – I’ve been . . .’
‘Been what?’ he said, slightly more forcefully.
‘Because I’ve been . . .’
‘Go on, say it.’
‘I can’t, not here.’ It was so tempting to lie, seeing as she’d denied everything when she was interviewed. ‘He’s sixteen.’
‘You say that as though that makes it . . . I don’t understand. What’s him being sixteen got to do with anything?’
Rachel watched Patrick’s face change from kindness to deep disappointment, and it made her feel terrible.
‘You’ve obviously been listening to local speculation, so what’s the point in me telling you?’ Rachel’s tone was becoming angry and dark.
‘I don’t think you have any right to be pissed off. I had heard something, but I chose not to believe it because I thought it was just cruel gossip – and not only that, I considered you my friend.’
‘There you go, now you know who I really am.’ Rachel wiped her nose and chucked the tissue on the floor.
‘How could you do this, Rachel? After everything with Lorna and . . . and that bastard.’
‘Just a minute, Patrick, it’s not the same at all! I’m not one of those kinds of people. How could you say such a thing?’ Rachel didn’t really want the answer to that. She felt sick.
‘He’s sixteen,’ he said. ‘You hold a position of trust and you’ve taken advantage of a young teenage boy.’
Rachel shifted her legs and sat on her hands. The reality of the last few months, and how many people she would hurt now the truth would come out about this awful mess, seemed like a landslide she hadn’t anticipated.
‘You do realise, if they prove he was fifteen when your weird relationship started, you’ll be on the sex offenders’ register?’
‘Come on, Patrick . . . All the years at the university, you must have had feelings for at least one of your students?’
‘No. No, I can honestly say I haven’t.’ Patrick glared at her, a look of disgust on his face, making her feel even worse.
‘You know my life has been shit for a very long time, Patrick. I deserve some happiness.’ Rachel stabbed at her chest. ‘Give me a fucking break.’
‘Give you a break?’ Patrick stood up and walked towards the door. ‘Out of everyone in this awful place, I thought you were different. I should have known what sort of person you were when I heard a rumour you’ve been working at Player’s gym. You kept that quiet.’
‘I didn’t want to upset you. What with Lorna.’
‘Rachel, it makes absolutely no sense to me. After all that happened there – just on the grounds of Lorna alone – that you would still choose to work there and at his private gym too . . . I thought you were my friend.’
‘I was your friend – am your friend!’ Rachel said, her voice getting louder. She couldn’t bear the thought of Patrick turning on her. He was literally the only friend she had, apart from Jason; the only one she could talk about her problems with.
‘No, you’re not. Friends are loyal and trustworthy. And I don’t keep the kind of company who think it’s okay to take advantage of children!’
The raised voices brought the custody sergeant to the door. ‘Everything all right in here?’
‘Yes,’ Rachel said firmly, wiping a tear from her cheek. ‘Can I go?’
‘Just need to formally charge you and explain your bail conditions, and then you’re free to leave.’
Rachel got up and walked to the door, leaving Patrick standing there with his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. She paused in the doorway and looked back at him.
‘You may as well know everything. I’m pregnant.’
CHAPTER NINE
As promised, Patrick drove Rachel home, but they were silent for the entire journey – and as soon as she closed the car door, he drove off without saying goodbye or waving farewell.
She felt off-kilter, unable to grasp what she’d done that was so awful or why he was taking it so personally, conflating it with what had happened to Lorna. It occurred to her for a brief moment that she might be in the wrong, but by the time she’d settled herself down with a large drink, she decided he was overreacting.
Rachel called Jason from her landline, thinking it was unwise to ring him from her new phone. Someone picked up but didn’t speak, so she did.
‘Jason? It’s me, Rachel.’
Eventually he spoke, sounding like she’d woken him up. ‘I thought I told you not to call me under any circumstances, not even from a landline.’
‘I know, but something’s happened. I was arrested this afternoon and my phone has been seized. I have no way of contacting Cara.’
‘I heard.’
‘Who told you? Do you know what I’ve been nicked for?’
‘Rachel, you were cuffed in the middle of the pub car park – everyone is talking about it. Go to bed and don’t call me again.’
‘But what about Cara?’ Rachel shouted before he could end the call.
‘Forget it. We can’t do this while you’re under investigation.’ Jason hung up before she could say anything else. Rachel knew he was right – it would be unwise to do anything right now – but she couldn’t help feeling it was all slipping away from her. This was their one and only opportunity, it was now or never. She dialled Jason’s number again.
‘You’re really pushing your luck,’ he said gruffly down the phone.
‘She’s my daughter. I say what happens and we do it tonight as planned, or we don’t do it at all.’
There was silence and Rachel knew he was thinking about all the money he’d lose out on if they knocked this on the head. Thousands of pounds had been raised for families with a missing child, and they both knew that when Adrian got involved they’d be looking at hundreds of thousands.
‘Okay. Have you been charged?’
‘No . . . released pending further enquiries,’ Rachel lied. ‘It could work in our favour; the police will be distracted by what I’ve been getting up to.’
‘You’ve been watching too many detective shows. It might give you an excuse to look shifty though. Your nerves might be taken for humiliation.’
‘Exactly, and at least they’ve found out now rather than digging it up later.’ Rachel could feel her stomach flipping over. She’d had time to think in the police cell, and instead of the experience frightening her, it had given her renewed confidence. The plan was easy – a no-brainer – and it was the only solution to all their problems.
‘Fine,’ Jason said, and hung up.
Satisfied, Rachel set the alarm on her oven for 2 a.m. in case she fell asleep, and then settled herself on the sofa to watch television.
She awoke two hours later, the noise in the kitchen disorientating her. In her mind she was still in the police cell. Once she’d worked out how to switch the timer off, she was completely awake. She entered Cara’s mobile number into her new phone and sent her a text:
This is my new number, hope you’re having fun, love Mum xxx
Then she poured herself another drink and resumed her place on the sofa, waiting for the day to break.
CHAPTER TEN
The hangover that had engulfed Kristen when she’d woken was now hovering in the background, ghostly alcohol fumes reminding her of the previous night’s celebrations. Guilt smothered her lungs, making her hold her breath as – not for the first time that morning – hazy clips flashed through her mind. All the fun she’d allowed herself t
o have, just because of her stupid birthday, and what that had now led to.
Some time earlier, Kristen – realising Raymond wasn’t in his bed nor in the tent in the garden – had frantically searched the house. Finding it empty, she had run out front and her eyes had been immediately drawn to him across the dew-speckled green opposite her house, though among the empty beer cans, crumpled bunting and serviettes, he hadn’t been obvious. Kristen had run to him, finding him lying on the grass like a prisoner in some war game, though she’d known immediately he wasn’t playing. She pulled at the tourniquet around his neck, but it was so tightly fixed it wouldn’t come off. All she could do was kneel on the wet grass holding her boy in her arms, trying to breathe death out of him and reverse the blue pallor that had crept into his skin – into their lives – when she wasn’t looking, when she’d been asleep and hadn’t been watching her son. She had been afraid of this happening – known it would happen, somehow – since the day he was born. It had haunted her that she could love another person so much – that someone so special could be a permanent fixture in her life. She was a bad person, and bad people didn’t get everything their own way.
She couldn’t understand how or why Raymond had left the garden and ended up on the green. After a nightcap she’d dropped off at 1 a.m. During five hours’ sleep, briefly broken once when she’d checked the garden and nipped to the toilet. It was as if a window of time in the night had been opened and someone had taken an opportunity.
As she’d clutched his body on the green, a low, deep, guttural cry that sounded so distant she hadn’t recognised it as her own had brought a few of the neighbours outside.
Somehow, Kristen now found herself back inside her own home, with no idea how she’d got there or who had taken Raymond away from her. She stood up carefully, aware of her damp, muddy pyjamas and dry mouth. Everything seemed magnified, exaggerated somehow. In the downstairs toilet she emptied more fluid into the bowl and, gripping the porcelain, began to cry, as fear of what was happening began to wrap around her like tendrils of black seaweed. She couldn’t face this; it wasn’t happening – not to her.