Dead Time

by Anne Cassidy

  ‘Oh, don’t,’ she said, feeling herself welling up.

  She went across to the bed and sat beside him. Even without touching him she could feel how hot he was.

  ‘I always thought that they’d come back. Just walk in one day and say, You won’t believe this …’

  She looked sadly at him. Underneath his misery there was anger, she could hear it in his voice. She edged further up the bed.

  ‘Josh, don’t get upset.’

  ‘How can I not? He left me. He always said to me, It’s you and me against the world, and then he left.’

  He was crying. She put her hand on his chest and it felt tight like a spring. She remembered his tattoo then, there on his side. A butterfly on the point of flight. She let her fingers trace the shape.

  ‘We’re a team, you and me,’ she said, pushing her sleeve up to expose her Blue Morpho.

  His face barely flickered and he seemed to be staring somewhere far away. She wasn’t reaching him and it gave her a fearful feeling. This boy had been her rock over the last six months. Ever since she got his first email it had changed her. Getting over the awful stuff at Mary Linton, the rows with Anna, her insistence at going to a new school – these things had only come about because she had gained strength from knowing that Joshua was in her life again.

  If he fell apart what would she have left?

  She began to cry, tears slipping down her face. He looked at her and softened. He put his arms out and pulled her face down on to his shoulder.

  ‘Oh, Rosie,’ he said, hugging her.

  So what if they didn’t have Mum and Brendan? They had each other.

  She felt a wave of emotion. Nothing mattered now except the two of them. She lifted her face and looked up at him. His eyes were closed and he looked peaceful. She had an urge to kiss him on the cheek, to make a joke of it all, to laugh it off. To go back to the way they were before the email from the Russian girl. He turned his head, though, and she looked at his lips.

  She felt a pull. A powerful urge to place her mouth there, lightly, hardly touching. His eyes were shut and he looked so peaceful and he was everything she had. She moved closer. She felt herself drawn towards him.

  Then abruptly she stopped and pulled back.

  What was she thinking of? Had she gone mad? She stood up and forced herself to step away. He noticed immediately because he opened his eyes. He looked sleepy and gave her a weak smile.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said.

  ‘I have to go.’

  She walked away from the bed, looking around as though there was something of hers there. Her arms hung hopelessly at her side. What had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? Joshua was her stepbrother.

  ‘I have to give that essay in,’ she said, her voice croaky.

  She went out of the room. In the living room she picked up her coat and bag and realised that he was behind her.

  ‘Rosie,’ he said, his hand out to stop her going. ‘Have I upset you? Don’t take any notice of the things I said about Dad and Kathy. I was just mad. I didn’t mean …’

  ‘It’s OK. It’s been an emotional afternoon. I have to go now. To get to school.’

  She talked as she walked past him into the hallway and down the stairs. She could hear him following her. She wished he wouldn’t. Just for now she wanted to be on her own, away from him.

  ‘I just had a lot of anger to let out,’ he said.

  ‘It’s all been too much,’ she said, avoiding eye contact.

  She reached out to open the door. At the same moment he put his hand on her shoulder and she felt it there, heavy and warm. She turned back to face him and his fingers moved on to the top of her arm. Her throat was tight as if it had been pulled by a drawstring.

  ‘You’re not annoyed at me? For losing my cool?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I’ll … I’ll contact you at the weekend,’ she stuttered the words out. ‘I’ve … I’ve got stuff to do at school and it’s Emma’s memorial tomorrow so I’ll be busy. So, if you don’t hear from me you’ll know why …’

  ‘I’m busy too. I’ll call you at the weekend.’

  She went out of the door and stood on Camden High Street. She put her palm on to her arm where Joshua’s hand had been and held it there for a few moments. There were people walking past, but she hardly noticed.

  The weekend was three days away.

  Three days to forget how stupid she had almost been.

  Rose, Rose, she said to herself, what were you thinking?

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Rose passed the tube station and kept going in the direction of school. It was a couple of tube stops but still she needed the walk. It was just past two o’clock and feelings of shame and confusion were flooding through her. She walked with her head down, staring at the pavement, sidestepping people coming towards her. She, who had never kissed a boy, who had never really known a boy in any real sense.

  What had come over her?

  The day had heated up. The October sunshine was heavy and unexpected and Rose took her jacket off. She folded it up tightly and forced it into her rucksack. Her white T-shirt had short sleeves and her Blue Morpho tattoo was clearly visible. The scabbing had finally gone and against her pale skin and black and white clothes it seemed vibrant and alive.

  Instead of being pleased, however, the sight of it made her cringe. Since the day that Joshua had shown her his tattoo, her butterfly seemed somehow linked to his and now she had been on the brink of spoiling that relationship with some inexplicable urge to kiss him.

  She walked on, her head down, her face creased up in irritation.

  She didn’t have any classes but she could give her essay in. It was better to go there than back to Anna’s. She did not want to face her grandmother. They hadn’t spoken since the row and she did not want to be in her company after arriving at another dead end regarding the disappearance of her mum and Brendan. Not for one second did she need to be reminded of Anna’s version of events, her horrible accusation about Brendan.

  She left the shops and cut through some backstreets.

  She pictured the B and B and remembered the moments when they thought they’d found out something important. Joshua had been ecstatic and they’d both talked about it as though it had been a great discovery. It was almost as though they were leaving clues for us. Like a paperchase, Joshua had said.

  But finding out that bit of truth had taken them nowhere. In fact, it had made things worse. Now it seemed as though her mum and Brendan had planned their own disappearance, thereby abandoning their children. And yet they had left clues. The glasses case, the false name, the handwritten signature?

  A paperchase.

  Rose could see the school entrance further up. She slowed down. She felt heavily weighted all of a sudden and pulled her rucksack off her shoulder and let it hang in one hand. There was a brick wall alongside her and she sat on it hoping that the householder wouldn’t come out and shoo her away.

  Her mum and Brendan had left a paperchase. Or had they?

  According to Valeriya Malashenko it was her mum who had been upset at the meal, her mum who had stopped walking along the pavement outside. It was her mum’s glasses cases that had been left behind and of the signatures it was her mum’s that had been the same as normal.

  Her mum was leaving the trail of clues, not Brendan. Had she been drawn into something that she hadn’t wanted to be part of? Was that the explanation? Or was it something more sinister? Was Brendan forcing her mum and so the clues were her cries for help?

  Rose sat very still and thought of what Anna had said. You choose to befriend the son of the person who most likely murdered your mother? She gripped the handles of her rucksack. Then she stood up and headed for the school. She would not think about that. She would not. Brendan would never have hurt her mum. He loved her. Didn’t he?

  For a second she thought of Joshua lying on the bed, her face inches away from his. Would she be as c
lose to him in the future? Or would their relationship stall because of her awkwardness about what nearly happened? Maybe they would lose contact again and then when Anna talked about it all being Brendan’s fault, Rose would have no strength to disagree.

  No, that couldn’t happen. She had to hold on to Joshua.

  There were a few students milling around the corridors but no one took any notice of her. Afternoon classes had started and she headed for the staffroom. She made herself think through her timetable for the next day and the pieces of work that were due in. Then there was the plot of the book they were reading and the characters and the themes. She made herself picture all these things as though they were written as a list on a piece of paper in her head.

  Anything to stop unpleasant ideas creeping into her thoughts.

  Brendan loved her mum. He did.

  Then there was Emma’s memorial the next day. It was due to take place at four o’clock in the George Bernard Shaw Studio. She was definitely going and was bracing herself for Sherry Baxter’s sharp tongue. Emma’s family were due to be there she’d heard, her mother and a younger sister. Rose wondered if Bee Bee would go and Lewis Proctor. The atmosphere was going to be tense.

  And still, as far as she knew, no one had been charged with Emma’s murder or that of Ricky Harris.

  She passed by the library and headed towards the heart of the building where the staff area was. She came up to the IT suite and had to stop as the corridor was blocked by a group of students waiting to go into a class. Just then the swing doors opened and Henry Thompson came out.

  ‘Hi!’ she said.

  The policeman was wearing regular clothes; trousers and a windcheater.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘What are you doing here? Is it about Emma? Have you arrested someone?’ she said, touching the pouch of her rucksack where Emma’s phone sat.

  ‘That’s three questions, Rose. Which shall I answer first?’

  Rose shrugged. Why wasn’t he in uniform?

  ‘I’m not here about Emma. The case is progressing but there have been no arrests. I am here on other police business. A number of computers and laptops have gone missing.’

  ‘Why are you dressed like that?’

  ‘Fourth question. Because I’m not really on duty. It’s my afternoon off. I was on my way home and I was passing the school so I thought I’d come in and talk to a couple of the technicians. It’s actually easier to come into a place like this not looking like a policeman.’

  She studied him. He looked better than he did in the uniform. She remembered him asking her to help him out at his club. She’d forgotten the name of it but he’d asked her to go twice.

  ‘I saw you this lunchtime. I was just finishing my shift and you were coming out of Camden tube with a lad.’

  She nodded. How long ago that seemed. Joshua and her, elated by finding information at the B and B.

  ‘Your boyfriend, was it?’

  ‘No!’ she said indignantly.

  ‘I just thought …’

  ‘He isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my stepbrother!’

  Maybe it was obvious to other people how she felt about Joshua. Possibly it was written all over her face, in her body language. Maybe other people could see it.

  ‘Calm down. I just presumed …’

  ‘Well, don’t presume. He is not my boyfriend.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Do you want to get a coffee?’ she suddenly said.

  She should spend time with people other than just Joshua. Maybe she shouldn’t be so dependent on his company. She looked down at her rucksack and remembered Emma’s phone in the front pocket. She patted the flap as though she was afraid it might spring open.

  ‘We could go to the cafeteria?’

  He looked surprised. ‘OK. If you’re still speaking to me.’

  ‘Just about,’ she said, her face managing a smile.

  ‘I’ve just got to see the Deputy Principal.’

  ‘And I’ve got to give my essay in.’

  ‘Meet you in the cafeteria in twenty minutes?’

  ‘All right,’ she said, heading off for the staff area.

  The cafeteria was busy. She bought a peppermint tea and found a table in a quiet corner. She put her rucksack on the chair beside her so that no one else came close. When Henry came in she waved to him. He went up to the counter, got a drink and then sat opposite her. They were alongside one of the windows that showed the High Street outside.

  ‘Over there? That building next to the carpet shop?’ he said, pointing. ‘That’s where the Sundown Club is. Every Wednesday, six to eight.’

  She stared straight ahead, deciding not to answer him.

  ‘Interesting tattoo,’ he said eventually.

  She wasn’t sure what he meant by interesting.

  ‘It’s a Blue Morpho. My favourite butterfly.’

  ‘Is it symbolic?’

  ‘Not really. I just like it.’

  ‘Something beautiful that dies young? Transformation?’

  ‘No …’

  ‘People used to capture butterflies and keep them in jars until they died. And of course they were collected and mounted in glass cases. I personally don’t like that. Creatures, insects, animals kept in cages.’

  ‘It’s none of that,’ she said sharply. ‘It’s just that I love the look of them. That’s all. It’s not symbolic or metaphorical or whatever. It’s a great shade of blue.’

  ‘Yet you wear black and white?’

  ‘God. You sound like my grandmother now.’

  ‘Point taken.’

  ‘It’s Emma’s memorial tomorrow,’ she said, changing the subject.

  ‘I know. I’ve been liaising with her family. They’re really looking forward to it.’

  ‘Looking forward to it!’ she said.

  ‘These things are important for people who are grieving. It keeps them close to the people they’ve lost. This and then the funeral. When the funeral is over it’s usually a really bad time for the parents or husband or wife, whatever. ’Course, in this case there won’t be a funeral for a while because of the investigation.’

  ‘What exactly is happening?’

  ‘I can’t really talk about it.’

  ‘You mean nothing.’

  ‘We’re moving slowly forward.’

  ‘No new suspects, then,’ she said.

  ‘We’re doing our best.’

  ‘I’ll bet, if Emma had been a celebrity or the daughter of Prince Charles, then you would have found the murderer.’

  ‘Prince Charles hasn’t got a daughter.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Rose huffed. Skeggsie was right about the police not making an effort.

  She looked around. There were empty tables on each side of them. An exclusion zone. It was as though students knew that Henry was a policeman. Maybe they did, even out of uniform. The atmosphere was stiff and Rose didn’t know whether she could be bothered to make any more conversation.

  ‘We found the knife,’ Henry finally said, lowering his voice.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It was alongside the railway line. Someone had tossed it over from Cuttings Lane.’

  ‘The person who was running across the bridge at 6.20,’ she said, thinking of Bee Bee.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Was it Lewis Proctor’s knife?’

  ‘It didn’t have his name on it, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘But were there fingerprints, stuff like that?’

  ‘Rose, the only thing on the knife was blood.’

  Rose felt herself wilting. Emma’s blood caked along the blade of a knife that had lain on the gravel by the side of the train tracks. She had been on trains back and forward to school. She had sat at the window and looked out and perhaps passed right over the very spot.

  ‘It’s with forensics so they may be able to lift a print from it. So you see we are getting somewhere.’

  Rose looked at the pocket on the front of her rucksack. If
she thought they were really taking it seriously she might give them Emma’s mobile phone.

  ‘However, something new has opened up in the Ricky Harris case. I mentioned to you that I was here today because of some thefts in the IT suite? Well, it turns out that our friend Ricky may have had a hand in taking laptops from the suite after hours. We think he may have been let in by someone on the inside. One of the technicians has stopped coming into work over the last few days and we’re looking into his background.’

  ‘But Ricky was killed two weeks ago. What has this got to do with that?’

  ‘It’s been going on since the beginning of term. We think he might have been taking them and selling them down at King’s Cross. There is some organised crime down there and we think that Ricky might have been trying to earn his stripes so to speak.’

  ‘He was killed for a laptop?’

  ‘Ten to twelve laptops. Maybe he was due to give money to someone else and a row happened. Remember I told you that he was killed with his own knife.’

  ‘So he wasn’t killed for love?’ she said, thinking of Lewis Proctor.

  ‘Not ruling it out completely. The Proctor boy still has no alibi but …’

  She sat quietly, looking at her empty mug.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You asked me about the cases and I told you even though, strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to talk to anyone about them. You accused us of not making progress and I’ve told you about two new lines of enquiry that we are pursuing. What have you got to say about that?’

  She said nothing. Was he expecting a gold star?

  ‘Are you this awkward with everyone, Rose?’ he said.

  She quite liked him in a grudging way. Not as a friend or anything but he was a nice man and she always seemed to be arguing with him. She thought of Joshua, his hand on her shoulder, patting her arm, unaware that she had been a second away from kissing him. Maybe Henry was right in his own way. She did need some other friends. A new scene, even if it was cool.

  ‘Do you still want me to help you in your club?’ she said. ‘Whatever it’s called.’

  ‘The Sundown Club. Yes! But I thought you said …’

  ‘Just to help mind. I’m not one of the teenagers you’ve got to save. I’d just come to help make the tea or whatever.’