I, Witness

by Niki Mackay

  She nods and mumbles, ‘I forgot my phone.’ God she’s an absolute blessing. This saves me the job of taking it. I feel almost fond of her. She says, ‘Bathroom?’

  ‘Upstairs, door straight ahead.’

  She lurches as she stands and I am by her side, holding her elbow. I can smell her.

  I say, ‘Do you need help?’ She shakes her head. I let go of her and she manages to get to the stairs. I watch as she leans against the wall, hand gripping the banister as she goes. It seems to take her forever. Which is fair enough. The drugs will be making her feet feel as though they are embedded in concrete blocks. I wait and then I follow her up. She’s left the door open and I watch as she runs cold water, pushing her wrists under its spray, splashing it on her face. She leans forward, grasping the edge of the sink. I hope she doesn’t puke.

  Kate, Kate, Kate. Her idiot sister makes that banging sound again. I slide myself behind the door and watch Kate stagger out into the hallway, making her way towards the sound. Breathing heavily. Martha sees me before Kate does and even attempts to call out. It makes me laugh. I can’t help it and I can’t keep it in any more. Kate turns, startled, and I laugh even harder.

  Kate manages, ‘Dean.’ And I can almost see it as things start flicking through her fuzzy head. She is leaning against the doorframe for support. When I walk up to her she almost falls. It wouldn’t take much. I say ‘Dean’ at her, imitating her whiny tone of voice. She whimpers and I smile.

  Kate just stares at me, trying to add up what she must now know to be the truth. Ruth is in my face and I put my features now into the expression that makes me most like my mother. Hoping her vile daughter can see it. I am the best-looking of her children. I have inherited her beauty in a way Kate, Martha and Marcus have not. And I’m the cleverest.

  I say, ‘Hello, sis.’

  ‘Oliver . . .?’ and she actually looks a little relieved.

  ‘No relation of ours, my dear, so whilst your romantic choices may be poor at least they are not incestuous, eh?’

  She springs at me then, pushing herself off against the wall. Using all of the strength she can muster, but it’s feeble. Martha makes a gurgling sound.

  ‘What have you done to her?’ Kate asks as she tries to hit at me.

  I sidestep her and say, ‘Nothing yet. Why, do you think I should?’ I arch an eyebrow and find I’m laughing again. I push Kate’s arms down, moving her deftly away. She sinks to the floor. She reaches out a hand for her sister and Martha’s eyes open again. Kate works her fingers around her sister’s and Martha whispers, ‘I’m sorry.’ I bend down and smile at them both in turn. I say, ‘Well, isn’t this nice,’ and I find a little buzz start to build up as I sense it in them. Fear. So cloying and so obvious it’s like a palpable thing. It seems so solid, like I could reach out and touch it if I wanted. Good.

  I lean down and pick up Martha as though she weighs nothing. Her small hand is wrenched out of Kate’s who cries out. I plonk Martha on the bed. Then I stand watching them both, letting a little moment pass to savour it all.

  ‘Be careful,’ Kate shouts.

  I’m annoyed she’s broken my enjoyment and I tell her, ‘Oh, shut up. She won’t be making it out of here any more than you will.’

  Kate lets out a cry then. Of frustration, of anger, too late in coming. People-pleasing, stupid, stupid Kate. I stand over her and then bend down, lifting her up. She struggles, I feel her spindly little bones wriggling under her skin. She’s tiny so it’s pointless and I clasp my arms more tightly, hearing her gasp as I push air out. Maybe I should take her now. Suffocate her, death by hugging. I’m humming as we go downstairs. I don’t crush her, instead I lay her flat across the couch. She shouts and I laugh. ‘No one can hear you, dear – neighbours are all at work.’

  She hears my helper come into the room and moves her head frantically. She looks like a fish on the shore, out of water and gasping for air. Oliver sits in the chair opposite her and I can see her trying to implore him with her eyes. She says, ‘Oliver?’

  He shrugs at her. He is limp-looking, sagging into the chair. Head down, hands dangling, a sad sack of a man, just like he was a sad sack of a boy. He is filled with guilt, I know that, though of course I can’t relate. I watch it on his face as he keeps his eyes on the floor, unable to meet her gaze. He says, ‘I tried to warn you.’ I roll my eyes. His face is tear-stained and dirty. He looks forlorn, beaten. They probably would have made quite a good couple after all. She says, ‘You have to help me.’

  ‘What can I do?’ He shrugs.

  She starts to lose consciousness then. And I watch her chest rising and falling. She makes a small moaning sound. Oliver looks at me and says, ‘Why don’t you just go? Leave them to it.’

  I smile and ask him, ‘What, and ruin all the fun?’

  He sighs. It’s the closest he’ll come to disapproval. I sit in the armchair watching Kate. She won’t be out for long. She looks almost like our mother. A cheap imitation though.

  I watched her like this, Ruth, all those years ago. As the life drained out of her. She was the first person I killed. Which seemed right. Her back was pressed against the wall. Her hands dangled next to her open legs, she was leaning, almost comically, to one side. I’d paused for a moment to take it in. She could have been resting if the brutality of her death wasn’t everywhere; in the sticky vomit trailing down her chin, in the stained puddle that she sat in. She was disgusting and I was pleased. She finally looked like what she was. There was no more hiding behind a pretty face. She had made a mess of the kitchen. Her fluids were busily staining everything they touched. I had wondered if the family would ever use that room again. If they would stay in the house. I was surprised when they did. The house on the hill.

  I had been enjoying my silent communion with Ruth when Martha walked in. I’d already started feeding her with lies. The girl was unstable and I had used it to my advantage. She’d even given me a set of keys. As always I’d had to resist the urge to laugh, particularly that day – the look of shock on her face was so cartoonish. Everyone else would believe Ruth had done this to herself but Martha would know. I hadn’t planned it but actually I hadn’t minded. I’d suspected it would eat her up inside and so it did. People. Silly people and their pathetic debilitating feelings. Stupid cow had dropped her bag with a clatter and was screaming before I could stop her. She’d looked from me to the prone body of her mother.

  I’d taken this as my cue to go, annoyed when I put my coat on that some of Ruth’s filth had transferred to me.

  It had been too hot for a coat that day but obviously I couldn’t take it off. It hadn’t been sunny but muggy and close. English weather. I’ve never liked it, perhaps it’s good that it’s time to go.

  I had wanted Ruth to love me, accept me, and welcome me into her home. She’d made it clear this wouldn’t happen, so I’d settled for the next best thing. The last words I’d said to her were ‘I’m going to ruin your children’s lives’ and then I’d hummed her a lullaby familiar to us both. I guess it’s right that things have turned out the way they have. I watch Kate’s eyes flicker and grin at her. I’m keeping my promise to Ruth all right.

  54.

  Madison Attallee

  ‘David, I need your help and I need it now.’

  He nods. ‘I figured you might. You’d better come in. I’ll grab my coat.’

  The flat reminds me of a hotel suite. There is nothing personal anywhere except a framed photo of David and a smiling woman with a small child. ‘Is this Amelia?’

  He nods. ‘And Oliver.’

  ‘Didn’t want to include Dean?’

  I see him shudder.

  I tell him, ‘Dean has Kate.’

  He says, ‘He has Oliver too.’

  I ask him, ‘Can you think where they might be?’

  ‘He’ll be at the house in Richmond.’

  ‘What house?�
�

  He’s getting his coat on now and heading for the door, ‘Margaret and Raymond’s. He bought it about nine years ago. That’s where he’ll take them, of course it is. Come on.’

  I shouldn’t be letting him come too but time is running out. I get in, start the car and dial Emma. I put her on speaker and David relays the address. Emma agrees to call Peter, though I think we’ll get there first. We hit traffic on the Kingston Road. I swear under my breath.

  He tells me, ‘He near enough killed Amelia, you know.’

  ‘They were in an accident?’

  He snorts. ‘It was no bloody accident. There are no accidents with Dean. He plans everything far too well for that.’

  A single tear brims in the corner of his eye as he looks at me. ‘I should have been focusing on Oli. But I wasn’t. I’ve just been biding time. Amelia would be so cross with me.’

  I know the answer, but ask anyway, ‘Why did he want to hurt Amelia?’

  ‘He was sending letters. Stalking, I suppose you’d call it, his mother Ruth.’

  ‘I met Margaret.’

  ‘So, you’ll know she came to us for help?’

  ‘What did you do?’

  He sighs. ‘I’m ashamed to say I huffed and puffed about how I’d been right all along.’

  ‘About Dean?’

  He nods. ‘I’d been saying for years that there was something wrong with him.’

  ‘Amelia didn’t agree?’

  ‘She doesn’t believe in evil, and that’s what that boy was.’ And then David says sadly, ‘He’s going to kill them.’

  ‘What?’

  He says it again. ‘He’s going to kill them.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘They’ve served their purpose, I would have thought.’

  ‘What purpose?’

  David sighs. ‘I’m not sure even Dean knew, to start with. He just wanted to harass Ruth. Terrorise her is more apt. He would have found messing with the children some sort of payback.’

  ‘Messing’ is such an understatement. Dean is clever, he graduated from a top university with a first-class degree in psychology. Brainwashing Martha, a nervous kid, must have been child’s play for him. I say to David, ‘You really think he meant to kill Amelia?’

  ‘I do, yes. Though I think he’s probably happier with the way things turned out.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugs. ‘She’d be better off dead.’

  I look at him sharply and try and weave around a large black sedan. The driver gives me the finger. I give it right on back.

  I ask David, ‘Her quality of life isn’t good?’

  ‘No, she’s just a shell. Watching her has been hell. Dean would enjoy that.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  I see him nod. ‘I’ve played right into his hands. I should have been watching out for Oliver. It’s what Amelia would have wanted.’

  ‘You lost your wife.’

  ‘But I still had my son.’ His voice is so desperate I almost flinch. I recognise the bitter regret. When we don’t put our energies where we’re supposed to. One life. We only get one life.

  ‘Everyone makes mistakes. You can make up for it now,’ I tell him.

  He sighs again. ‘If I get the chance.’

  55.

  Anthea Andrews

  I have followed Kate. I’d had to scramble onto the bus, three people behind her, cap down. Anonymous, invisible. I’d almost lost her on the walk, but luckily Kate didn’t seem to know exactly where she was going and had to double back. I nearly ran when I saw her heading towards me. I hadn’t though, I’d carried on walking, eyes ahead, and then turned around just in time to see Kate go into a little mews house. I’d found a side gate and opened it quietly, squirrelling in and putting myself behind oversized bins in the garden. A large set of French windows exposed the back of the house and I had a good view. I’d watched the therapist faff about. I’d seen Kate arrive and then I’d seen that man Oliver go in through the back. He’d passed within inches of me and I’d held my breath, certain that he’d be able to hear me. He hadn’t though, but he had left the door open and I’d followed him in.

  Now I’m in the kitchen, a galley affair, newly decorated. No amount of fresh paint can make it any better though; it’s pokey. What an estate agent would call ‘cosy’, no doubt. The rest of the downstairs looks good, all opened up. No good for hiding though. If anyone comes in here they will see me standing behind the shutter door, but I don’t care any more. I’m here to finish this once and for all. I squeeze my hand around the handle of my large kitchen knife. I carried it here. Feeling it in my bag. The knife had thumped between my shoulder blades and I’d wondered if I’d be able to use it when the time came. I grip harder. I will use it. I will avenge Naomi’s death. But for now I’m listening and I can feel the anger grow even more. I want to hear him say it. That he killed my beloved child. Just to be certain. My breathing is getting more shallow as I take it all in, that she was just an afterthought. Not even particularly important to this maniac.

  I sent an email to Damian before I left. I told him that I was sorry, that I loved him and would be ending this today.

  I hear Dean laughing at Kate. Kate makes small muttering sounds interspersed with words that are getting more slurred. I saw him add something to her drink. I wonder if he’d forced drugs upon Naomi. Probably not. Naomi never needed much cajoling on that front. Oliver sounds defeated. I think about stabbing him too, but there’d be no reason other than spite. It’s Dean I need to get to. Dean who has to pay. And he will. But I want to hear him say it first.

  56.

  Kate

  ‘What have you given me?’

  ‘Rohypnol,’ Oliver says.

  Dean grins. ‘Ah, my fake brother knows me so well.’

  Oliver goes on, ‘He’s been drip-feeding it to Martha for years.’ Dean scowls at him. Oliver looks at his feet.

  I say, ‘Oli, you have to help me.’ I lean forward, attempting to stand but instead I flop off the sofa onto the floor. Oliver is at my side quickly but Dean gently pushes him back.

  ‘If she prefers the floor let her have it. Go and get Martha, would you. I am more disappointed in these stupid girls than I thought possible.’ He smiles down at me and I feel bile rise into my throat. ‘I was going to leave you both alone. I’ve bought a natty little villa in Tenerife and a load of paperwork with a name change.’ He sighs. ‘I’m finally ready to give up “Dean”, and it’s all she left me, you know. A poxy name.’ He glares down at me as though this is also my fault somehow. Who knows, maybe in his sick head it is. I swallow thickly, feeling the acid slide back down. He says, ‘I would have been happy enough to let you live, Kate, but you’ve pissed me off now.’

  ‘Oliver?’ I’m trying to scream but it comes out small, raspy.

  Oliver looks at me without meeting my eyes and sadly tells me, ‘You can’t do anything, Kate.’

  Dean repeats, ‘Get Martha. Now.’ Then he turns his attention back to me. ‘No, you’ll have to go and you may as well take that whiny Martha with you. Besides, I’ve been forced to get her to undertake some admin for me of late, and if I’m not around to remind her what not to say the silly cow will probably slip up.’ He shrugs as though this is all an unfortunate mistake which can’t be helped.

  Once Oliver is gone Dean leans down and puts his face next to mine. He’s so close I can see his pores, some of them wide and open, a small flaw on an otherwise perfect face. He hisses, ‘Years I’ve listened to you and your crap and this is the thanks I get. It needn’t have ended this way, you know.’

  I’m crying now and I hate myself for it. I say, ‘I thought we were friends.’ It comes out as a long slur.

  He snorts. ‘I probably would have let you live, a favour for taking the fall, even if it was unintentional. But not now, Kate. Now I have to le
ave this house, my career, all before I’m ready because you couldn’t keep quiet about Naomi.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Oh, begging, are we? Bit bloody late for that, and disappointing. She begged too. Ruth.’

  ‘What?’ Even through the fuzzy drug haze his words reach me and I’m desperately trying to untangle them.

  He smiles. It makes his face even prettier but it doesn’t quite make it to his eyes – they are crazy, blazing. How had I not noticed? He says, ‘Oh yes, Mummy pleaded with me. Not for herself, mind, for you brats.’ He spits out the words. ‘The kids that mattered.’

  I shut my eyes. I’m thinking about listening to Ruth sing. My mother sweeping me up into her arms. That feeling of being loved. She loved me. I’m surprised to feel a joy sweep through me.

  I smile at Dean then and I tell him, ‘She loved me.’

  His face twists and I’m pleased even when he slaps me quickly and hard across my face. I say it again and he hisses, ‘Shut up.’

  I glare at him, using my hate to focus, to fight the drugs, to pin him in my sights. I ask, ‘What did you do to her?’

  His face contorts and he pushes it close to mine. I feel his hot breath roll across my cheek, fear shatters in my bowels but I keep the terror off my face. I don’t flinch, I don’t move, and I don’t look away. ‘I gave her chances,’ he shouts and the sound reverberates in my ears.

  ‘Gave her chances to do what?’ I ask him and suddenly it’s important. I’m going to die but I want to know. I want to die knowing as much about her as I can.

  ‘To be a better person. The bitch. Like all you fucking women. You plunge us out into the world, unasked for, and then fucking abandon us.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Why would you? She kept you.’

  ‘Did Dad know?’

  He laughs. ‘No. The stupid man. I said I’d tell him though. I should have told him. I felt sorry for the poor sod. And Marcus, but at least Marcus grew a bit of backbone. His wife is in far better order than Ruth ever was.’