by Norman Wills
Lying in a sterile world where she was safe Lucy had locked herself away from the outside world. She’d place the straight jacket on immediately and sat in a small corner of her mind, sucking her thumb. Lucy’s only company was Sally-Anne. The modelling world and the British public held their breaths and at the same time crossed their fingers.
It would be said by most people that Keith Waterson was a very lucky man. Too lucky most would say if they knew the man. He’d walked away from the crash without a scratch. Physically he was no worse off than he’d been minutes before the crash. In his own mind he knew though that he and he alone had been the cause of Jayne Parkinson’s death.
The police also knew he’d been the cause of Jayne Parkinson’s death. What could they do though? He’d been stone cold sober when they breathalysed him. Even though he was about to use his mobile phone the police couldn’t do anything about it, he hadn’t even been speeding. Driving without due care and attention was the most the police could expect to prosecute him with. The loss of one life, another traumatised beyond a full recovery; and what would Keith Waterson’s penalty be? Probably something that wouldn’t be a major burden to him, when and if it ever came to court.
Yes, most people would say Keith Waterson was very lucky indeed. For Dawn Waterson, Keith’s mother, however, this was to be a turning point. She had believed for so long that her boy was a good boy. She’d realised early on in his life that he wasn’t the easiest son a woman could wish for, especially without a father figure to look up to. She would accept whatever punishment the court felt fit to give. What she would never be able to accept though would be the stories, dragged up by the press, of his life beyond the bounds of which she was already aware. The hooliganism, which she felt reflected directly on the job she’d done of raising him. Or as she now saw it the poor job she’d done of raising him.
Most women would have given anything to have had a life like Lucy Kirkpatrick. She had money, glamour, adoration, all at such a young age.
That wasn’t the case now. Most women were glad they weren’t Lucy Kirkpatrick now.
Come on, Lucy. Let me in. You need me now more than ever. I know what you’re feeling. Let me help you. Please.
Lucy’s mind had needed to switch itself off. A defence mechanism against what it knew to be life’s ugly reality. Some people, in similar circumstances, never wake up again. They have no reason to go on living so they remain in the twilight zone. Somewhere between life and death, slowly fading away, until years later their candle just burns itself out.
Sally-Anne didn’t want Lucy to slowly fade away. She knew Lucy could be so much stronger for the experience. Strength, true strength, comes from the shit you have to endure in life, or at least your perception of that shit. Going through the experience that Lucy had just endured was enough to kill some people. Sally-Anne believed that the same experience could be the catalyst for so much more.
Let’s at least talk about it, Lucy. I loved Jayne just as much as you did. I was there too. I saw what happened. It isn’t easy to carry on, but you’ve got only two choices at this time. Stay here, fester and die, or move on. If you want to die then I’m out of here and you’re on your own, all alone. If you want to move on we can do it together. Two choices, the decision is yours.
She’s dead, Sally-Anne. Why did it happen? Why Jayne? Why not me instead?
I’ve asked myself the same question so many times. I don’t know the answer. Nobody knows the answer to that question. Maybe it was her destiny, who knows? At least now you’re talking, we can discuss it, see where we go from here.
So; Come on Sally-Anne. You can do better than that, Why did it happen? You’re supposed to be here to protect me. Wasn’t that the deal? What happened? Where were you when I needed you? Jayne’s dead. Where were you when we needed you?
It doesn’t work like that, Lucy. I can’t be everywhere, protecting you from everything. I’m here for you Lucy, you’re still alive. This is the worst thing that could possibly happen to you. Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I would do anything in my power to prevent that if I could? Turn back the clock, do whatever it takes? Unfortunately life very rarely gives you a second chance.
So what is the point, Sally-Anne? What’s the point in any of this? Jayne’s gone, what’s the point in carrying on without her?
The point is, Lucy, that you can fade away into this self-imposed exile of none-life or you can move on, try to make things better, try to make things right.
Same question, Sally-Anne. What’s the point?
Revenge, Lucy. Getting even, not letting the bastards, whoever they are, think they’ve got away with it. We’ll be doing it for Jayne, doing it for you, doing it for us, Lucy, you and me Lucy, you and me.
Now rest Lucy. But think about this, I’m not going to give up on you until you decide otherwise. Trust me, let me redeem myself. Give me the chance to at least try. Let me make this right.
…
Sally-Anne and Lucy talked long and often. Not that anybody could see Lucy in conversation. Lucy was still, motionless; any monitors she was attached to were picking up nothing of what was happening in her mind, Sally-Anne’s domain. Her guardian angel was talking her through it, helping her come to the correct decision. A regular little psychiatric nurse, in a slinky red PVC nurse’s uniform. She was much more Sally-Anne than Florence Nightingale.
…
John, Steph and Rosie visited Lucy everyday in hospital. They were, after all, Lucy’s only family; her nearest and dearest, now. As much as they talked to Lucy though there was no change, she wasn’t making any progress. The doctors were grim faced when speaking to John, none of them willing to offer any hope where they couldn’t see it for themselves. Time was the only thing John could cling to. Lucy had lots of time on her hands, a whole lifetime virtually.
With Lucy in hospital and with no sign of any immediate recovery, it was decided that Jayne’s funeral should go ahead without her. Not knowing when or if Lucy would make a recovery the decision was made to bury Jayne in the Parkinson family plot.
So on 15 January 2011 Jayne was laid to rest in a small graveyard just on the outskirts of Wigan. On a wet and windy Monday in winter; hers was just one amongst many funerals taking place in the North of England that day. The only difference between this one and the rest of them was the discreet presence of a handful of photographers. People whose only reason to be there was to collect the very latest images for the continuing editorial saga currently being played out in the broadsheets and tabloids that make up Britain’s national newspapers. The saga that was currently strumming the nation’s collective heart strings being the continuing story of Lucy Kirkpatrick’s recent heart-breaking misfortunes.
The newspapers were working on the nation’s subliminal feelings. They were doing a very good job at showing Lucy in an exceptionally good light and at the same time highlighting the injustice of her recent predicament. In the eyes of the British public she was becoming worthy of being canonised. She was being made into a heroine for the whole country to rally behind and pray for. It could have gone either way, the media decided that the story would sell more newspapers this way so it went in Lucy’s favour.
As they followed the story of her past family misfortunes and her current situation the whole nation was unwittingly being dragged along on a wave of sympathy. If they were to ever know the real truth about Lucy Kirkpatrick the British public would turn on her in an instant, demanding her head on a platter. This, of course, is a very British tradition when it comes to celebrity. A pound of flesh is a pound of flesh after all, and celebrity flesh tastes so much sweeter, celebrity flesh sells newspapers.
But how could they ever know the truth about what went on in her pretty little head? How could they know she had Sally-Anne watching her back?
So what’s it to be, Lucy? Do we part company here or do we show the world what you’re made of? It’s your choice. No pressure, but any time soon would be just fine and dandy.
; So we can have our revenge?
Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe…Life for life.
For Jayne?
Of course, wouldn’t that be the sweetest revenge of all?
What about for us, Sally-Anne? What about for you and me?
Absolutely, revenge for you and me.
And how exactly do you suggest we get our revenge?
Don’t you worry about that for now, let that be my concern, I have a very active mind, or should I say we have a very active mind.
Revenge like the revenge we had on Georgie Dunston and Terence Sandford? Is that the sort of revenge that concerns you? Is that what you want? Is that what we want?
A Life for a life! One life for Jayne! One life for you and me! Is that enough for what you’re going through? Is that enough for what you’re feeling? Don’t you deserve more than merely a life for life?
I do the way I feel now, yes.
Good, that is exactly the type of revenge that concerns me. That is exactly what I want too. Vengeance is ours, Lucy. We will repay, just trust me.
Good. Thank you, Sally-Anne. That was all I wanted to hear.
There’s just one more thing, Sally-Anne. Pain, will they feel pain? Pain like we’re feeling?
It will be a different kind of pain, Lucy. But that depends on you, you and me. But we can make it as painful as you want. How much pain are you feeling now?
I’m feeling a little better now, not as much pain now. Thank you, Sally-Anne. You really are my guardian angel aren’t you?
Yes I am. The money isn’t great but the job comes with some great fringe benefits. So come on, I want to start earning again.
Lucy’s vital signs immediately began to improve. She was coming round, John was called and within twenty minutes of John reaching her bed she was awake. John had wanted to be there when she woke. He wanted to be the one answering the questions about Jayne.
Nobody had been able to tell him what she may or may not remember about the accident. Doctors were unsure as to whether or not she’d remember the accident at all, and if not, whether she’d expect Jayne to come walking through the door at any minute. She may not even remember who John is, or that he’s her brother. She may not remember who she is, let alone John. He would have to play it as it comes and hope that it didn’t all come too fast and furious.
When it did come it came calmly. Lucy told him that she already knew Jayne was dead, explaining how she’d seen that for herself at the time of the accident. No real chance of making a mistake when her head was barely attached to her body.
“Lucy, we’ve all been so worried about you,” said John, “the doctors couldn’t tell us much. You’ve been out for twenty nine days in total. We’ve just been waiting, hoping and praying, it’s so good to have you back with us.”
“Don’t worry about me, John. I’ll be okay from now on. I’ve already accepted that Jayne’s no longer here, but I’ve still got you, Steph and Rosie. You’re what matter to me now.”
With that a solitary tear slid down Lucy’s cheek. That tear was the first and last tear John would see shed by Lucy following Jayne’s death. He obviously wasn’t aware how many boxes of ‘virtual’ tissues Lucy had been through in the previous twenty-nine days.
“By the way,” said John nonchalantly, “Who’s Sally-Anne?”
“Sally-Anne, Why do you ask?”
“You must have been talking to her in your dreams just before you came round.” replied John, “I didn’t pick up much of what you were saying to each other but I’d like to thank her personally, whoever she is, her memory must have helped bring you out of a coma, and I for one will be eternally thankful for that.”
Be careful, Lucy; our secret, remember?
“Sally-Anne James do you mean? I haven’t seen her since we lived in Aldershot.” replied Lucy. “And that seems like it was a long long time ago. It feels like a whole lifetime ago now. I probably wouldn’t even recognise her if I saw her. She was a dumpy little fat girl with scruffy greasy hair back then, but then I think we’ve probably all changed a lot since we lived in Aldershot.”
A Dumpy little fat girl with scruffy greasy hair? Thanks Lucy…I think not.
There’s just no pleasing some people, Sally-Anne.
Good to have you back baby girl.
I wish I could say it was good to be back.
But you will do, trust me.
…
The British public loves a happy ending, and Lucy coming out of a coma was about as happy as it could possibly get under the circumstances.
Not everyone was happy though. Keith Waterson was finding life as the nation’s pariah, the man people love to hate, more than a little tiresome. He couldn’t walk down the street without being recognised. Inevitably, with recognition came the verbal abuse. He didn’t dare go near a football ground on match day for fear of the mob mentality. The hunter finally becoming the hunted, his own friends, such as they were, refusing to be drawn into his private battle. People he knew well and who he’d fought alongside, in the name of sport, turned against him. A small justice… of sorts.
Lucy meanwhile was coming to terms with a life without Jayne. She spent the first two months of her convalescence with John, Steph and Rosie. It was too soon to move back to the apartment, too many memories.
There had been no physical damage to Lucy on Christmas Eve. She could have glided down the catwalk with the rest of the models in any major city in the world. But people would know something was wrong, something was different. Not enough pain, not enough grief, they would comment.
Those same people would never realise that twenty-nine days to relive the horror, twenty-nine days to ponder a life without Jayne, twenty-nine days to weigh-up your options, is a very long time. As mere words, pain and grief just don’t come close.
Lucy knew what she craved, but she also knew that now was too soon for that. She could wait, time meant very little to Lucy now. Lucy was with the people she loved most in the world, the living ones anyway.
Twenty-Four
As much as Lucy hated her new life without Jayne, and swore revenge, Sally-Anne was only too aware of Lucy’s fickle nature. Georgie Dunston had highlighted her feeble side, her ability to ‘give in when the going gets tough’. Sally-Anne knew that living with Rosie’s innocence could be the downfall of Lucy’s rage. She would become soft in the head before too long. Rosie could do that to most people just by being with them for any length of time. Sally-Anne was only too aware of Rosie’s virtuousness, her mesmeric nature.
The first of April 2011, all fool’s day, saw Lucy’s anger restored. At Sally-Anne’s suggestion, that was the day she decided to face the challenge of moving back into ‘their’ apartment.
It would always be their apartment. Even though Jayne had been dead for over three months she was never going to be totally alone. Sally-Anne lived there too. Wherever Lucy set up home in the future, it would always be ‘their’ home. There could be no show without Punch.
We should send Jayne’s clothes to a charity shop, and send some things back to her mum and dad. We need something to keep us busy, keep us occupied. Do you think you’re up to that?
Truthfully, Sally-Anne; I don’t think I am, I don’t think I ever will be. But then I know it has to be done, and we’re the only ones here now, so I guess we don’t really have any choice. I don’t want anyone else delving into her privacy, our privacy, so it’s just you and me.
When we’ve finished I want to show you something. I’ve had an idea for the spare bedrooms.
Revenge?
Eye for eye; tooth for tooth; hand for hand.
Show me now, Sally-Anne. The way I’m feeling right now, revenge is a very appealing topic for discussion.
Okay, before we start on Jayne’s things just lift up the edge of the carpets in the spare bedrooms. If I know Stein it won’t be just wooden floorboards looking back up at us.
Lucy struggled again
st the carpet grippers but eventually pulled up the carpet to reveal what was hidden beneath.
Red rubber, just as I thought. The pervy old bastard just couldn’t bear to see it go. I wonder if he kept anything else from the ‘good old days’.
The basement, if it’s anywhere it’ll be in the basement.
Get the key; let’s see what hidden treasures the old tart stashed away for us down there.
Lucy took the basement key from a drawer in the kitchen, she’d needed it only once before now, to restart the building’s gas boiler in November. She made for the door.
Come on then, let’s take a look.
You lead the way.
…
The part of the basement not being used by Stein Studios was tucked away in one corner room. It was very rarely entered, if at all, since Stein’s death. It was like stepping into a junkyard full of someone’s past life. To John it was just a roomful of tat that he’d get around to clearing, someday when he wasn’t so busy. He was a very busy young man at the moment.
He obviously didn’t get chance to pass any of this stuff on to his old fruity friends, ‘for old times sake’. It looks like he kept it all, cage, bedsteads, manacles, whips, chains, everything. Killed himself before he got chance to move it on. Oh well, wouldn’t you just know it, his loss is our gain. You know what I’m thinking?
Eye for eye; tooth for tooth; hand for hand. When can we start?
Lucy restricted herself to ‘reorganising’ the first of the two spare rooms during weekends and evenings only. No need to let John know what was happening. Least said soonest mended.