by NC Marshall
Chapter 18
As Eva drops me home, Luke is coming out and he takes the heavy case from me. I search my bag for my keys as he misses catching the open door in time, and it slams shut behind him.
“Did you and Eva have a good time?” he asks, dropping the case in the hallway as I finally open the door. It crashes on its side on the marble floor.
“Yeah, it was good,” I reply, convincingly.
In reality, I hadn’t seen very much of Eva. This morning, although she’d promised we would spend it together, she had met up again with the elusive Jack Dalton and, as a result, I’d spent the morning watching television, hiding from the possibility of bumping into Will again.
“Are you coming in for a cuppa Luke?”
“No thanks. I’ve got to get home and changed as I’ve got footie practice. I just thought I’d pop in and feed Tilly on my way there, as I wasn’t sure what time you were getting back.”
“Thanks for looking after her for a couple of days, Luke. I appreciate it.”
“No probs! You got anything planned for the rest of today?”
“Not really,” I reply, glancing up at the cloudless blue sky. “Think I’ll go for a walk actually.”
“OK, well look after yourself, sis.” Luke pecks me on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner at Dad’s.”
“Yes, you too. See you then.”
I wave as he drives away. There was nothing more that our mum loved to see than us all sitting round the dinner table, tucking into her weekly roast and, since she died, it’s a regular tradition we make sure we keep.
***
It’s getting colder by the time I get to the cemetery and, although I’m aware that I should really call DCI Morgan as I’d promised, for some reason I can’t do it yet. Instead, I’ve spent the last hour walking and as always when I go for a stroll these days, I’ve ended up at the cemetery, standing before Johnny’s memorial plaque.
Crouching down to reach his stone, I brush away the crispy, orange leaves that have fallen from the oak tree overhead and I pull my coat sleeve over my hand to polish the dried soil from its surface. Even though either myself, Eva or Johnny’s parents visit every week to tend to it, it’s difficult to keep on top of it during the winter months.
A noise close by breaks the silence of the deserted cemetery and makes me jump. It’s then that I notice a large black crow perched on a gravestone a few rows down. It cocks its head as if questioning why I’m there, before flying off into the trees. Holding my hand against the cold marble, I trace Johnny’s name, and then I remove my wedding ring and trace the same initials engraved inside.
As always, I think of Johnny – trying to recapture the memories of the early years in our relationship, when we were both young, carefree and totally besotted. However, I am now also compelled to relive the memories of closer to the time of his death, when we were overworked, stressed and barely had time for one another.
Unfortunately, Johnny and I had drifted apart during the last couple of years leading to his death. We hardly saw each other and, when we did, we ended up arguing. I’d like to believe that what others saw from outside our marriage, was still true. In reality though, and if I’m honest with myself, our marriage was more than halfway to being over.
Johnny and I loved each other, we always had, but sometimes love alone isn’t enough. Maybe the crow was right!
A cracking sound nearby drags me from my memories and back to my senses. Standing up, I brush the dried dirt from my jeans and look around. In the dwindling twilight of the extensive cemetery grounds, it's hard to see, but I can clearly make out a silhouette standing by a tree, not too far away.
Slowly, I begin to make my way over and although I can’t make out who they are, I can tell that their attention is focused on me. They realize I’ve seen them and begin to quickly walk away. I follow, keeping my sights set on the stalker and, quickening my pace, I begin to jog. They do the same and by the time I get to the tree, they’ve gone. Vanished. I wonder who it is, and, actually, if there was anyone there at all. Maybe it was Johnny’s ghost and my mind playing tricks, like it used to in the weeks after Johnny first died when I would see him in the house all the time – standing in the corner of the bedroom studying me, or sitting on the bottom of the bed watching me sleep. Sometimes I’d see him lying in the empty bathtub before I switched on the bathroom light, or waiting for me at the top of the stairs. The image seemed so real; his skin pale and bruised, his eyes empty and lifeless. He was always wearing the same clothes, dressed head to toe in white; the same outfit he’d worn the last time I saw him and said goodbye, when he left for the airport with Eva. There was no emotion then – his unknowingly final kiss loveless and cold.
In the early days of losing him, when I saw these visions, I would scream, close my eyes, and, on opening them again, he would be gone. I soon learned that the visions were nothing more than grief, coupled with an overactive imagination; something I’ve been burdened with since I was a small child.
Although I still occasionally see Johnny, I’m now aware that it’s just my mind playing tricks, and I’m no longer scared by it.
Walking back to the cemetery exit, I see a car enter through the iron gates ahead and it makes its way down the road towards me. It’s pretty dark now, and the headlights blind me at first, once again making me think about the accident. I’m suddenly aware that I'm alone, in a deserted cemetery, and how careless it is of me not to contact the police when I arrived home. I suddenly begin to panic!
The car continues towards me and I look around for another path I can take, but the gate I’m heading towards is the only one open. I freeze, and as the car pulls over, the driver’s window is wound down. At that point relief rushes through me.
“Meg! I didn’t know you were coming here today?” Eva shuffles over from the driver's side and pops open the passenger door for me to climb in.
“Neither did I really,” I reply, as I sit down. “I just fancied some fresh air after you dropped me off.” I take off my gloves and rub my hands in front of the warming heaters. I didn’t tell Eva about the call from Morgan yesterday, and I don’t mention the police wanting to see me; I have no intention of worrying her unnecessarily.
“Hi, Aunty Meg!” A little voice emerges from the darkness in the back of the car and I turn to see Maisie, smiling back at me, a toy rabbit in one hand and a packet of crisps in the other.
“We’ve just been to see my mum and dad,” says Eva, pulling away from the cemetery gates in the direction that I had just walked. “I thought I’d pop here before we head home – I’ve brought some flowers to lay down, for Johnny.” She points to a small and pretty winter bouquet, resting on the back seat next to Maisie. “I’ve been thinking about him a lot since we went to Morteford; memories of us as kids, you know?”
I nod thoughtfully. “Yes, I understand.”
Eva pulls up, close to Johnny’s stone, and opens her door.
“I’ll be 2 minutes and then I’ll give you a lift home. It's too cold for you to be roaming the streets.”
“Thanks, Eva,” I reply, gratefully.
“How are you then gorgeous?” I ask Maisie, as I watch Eva wander down the narrow footpath towards the stone. I turn in my seat to get a clear view of my niece. It’s only a few weeks since I last saw her, but I’m sure she has grown in that time. She’s wearing a pink polka-dot coat; her naturally blonde hair hanging down to her waist, and her striking blue eyes peer back at me in the faintly lit car. She looks more and more like Eva as she gets older, and, because Eva and Johnny were so alike, it’s hard not to visualize him in Maisie too.
“I’m fine, thank you, Auntie Meg. Are you?” I smile at her manners – polite as always – not something you could say about many 6-year-olds.
“Oh I’m great, thanks!”
“Would you like one?” Maisie leans towards me and offers her packet of crisps.
“Oh, yes please!” I reach forward and take one; it's shaped like an anima
l of some sort, I can’t decide which one.
“You can have another if you want?”
I pop the crisp into my mouth, filling it with flavour, and it’s only then that I realize I haven’t eaten anything today. My stomach grumbles in discontentment.
“No, you’re OK sweetheart – you go ahead and finish them.” Maisie smiles, and continues to munch on her snack.
“What’s Mummy doing?” Maisie queries, once she’s finished eating; placing her head against the back-seat window to watch Eva.
“She’s visiting Uncle Johnny.” I give my niece a reassuring glance in the rearview mirror.
Maisie nods, understanding. “Is Uncle Johnny in heaven now?”
“Yes, darling. He is.”
“Is he an angel?”
I can’t help but smile at Maisie’s question before I answer her.
“Yes, I’m sure he is.”
At Maisie’s young age, it was difficult to explain, when he died, as she loved him very much, but all things considered, she has taken his death extremely well. It’s true that he was a loving, caring and generous man towards his niece, and someone who Maisie looked up to, but he was far from an angel!
I watch as Eva reaches Johnny’s grave and kneels in front of it, just as I had done earlier. She mutters a few silent words and places the flowers down, putting her fingers to her lips and kissing them before placing her hand gently on her brother’s name; after a few minutes, she makes her way back to the car.
Climbing in, she starts the ignition and wipes a tear from her eye.
“Right,” she smiles sadly, “let's get you home.”
***
It’s gone 6 pm by the time I’m home and, when the doorbell rings, I’m not surprised to see who’s there as I’ve prepared myself for whatever they have to say.
“Hi Megan. Is it OK if we come in?” DI Taylor asks, before the door’s even fully open. She’s already halfway through it when I respond, and my heart beats quickly. I once again think how irresponsible I’ve been not to call them to tell them I was home before now.
“Yes, I’m so sorry! I know I was supposed to call, but I only got back from Morteford half an hour ago,” I say, untruthfully. Morgan glares at me, and I know immediately that he thinks I’m lying. In hindsight, I’ve probably done myself no favours in avoiding them.
“Don’t worry about it Megan. We were passing by and thought we’d check you were here,” says DCI Morgan, as he follows Taylor into the living room.
“We have some news about the crash, Megan,” announces DI Taylor, choosing to sit in the same place on the sofa as she did last time. She doesn’t look quite as pristine as she did previously; her long, blonde hair is pulled back into a grip at the nape of her neck and her complexion is pale, with dark circles shadowing her eyes.
“Really?” I sit down opposite them. “Have you caught the kids who were driving the car?”
“We’ve caught the owner of the car, but it wasn’t kids. Do you remember me asking you if the name Rick Donovan meant anything to you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we believe he was the man behind the wheel of that car.”
I’m more confused than ever.
“Erm, OK,” is all I manage to say.
DCI Morgan continues.
“We still haven’t found that car, but we have discovered some CCTV footage from a nearby garage, which captured a car as it left the area. It was around the time the incident occurred, and it fits the description that you gave to the police officers when they visited you in hospital.”
I nod.
“Rick Donovan is a well-known criminal, Megan. He’s been on our radar for many years and was released from prison almost 2 years ago. Since then, he’s been on his best behaviour, but he’s an extremely clever man and has, up until now, always been one step ahead of us. This time it appears he was not so lucky.”
The room starts to swim and I grab the side of the sofa, understanding what Morgan is sensitively trying to tell me and forcing back another black-out episode.
“You’re telling me that this man tried to kill me?”
“We believe so Megan. Yes.”
“But, why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. He’s not talking much yet, but we believe we will get to him soon.”
I take a deep breath. “I just don’t understand. Why would anyone purposely want to run me off the road?”
“As we said, we don’t know…yet.” DI Taylor pulls a file from her bag and removes a photo.
“Do you recognize this man, Megan?”
I study the photo, more commonly known as a mug shot. The man staring back looks fairly ordinary; late 50s/early 60s, with an unshaven, grey stubbly face, dark, steely-grey eyes and a full head of silver hair. It’s immediately apparent to me that I’ve never seen this man before in my life.
“No, I’ve definitely never seen him before,” I say with certainty, pushing the photo back across the coffee table in Taylor’s direction.
“Are you sure?” she asks, sliding the photo back to me.
“Yes, I’m absolutely sure!” I repeat, impatiently. I don’t like being kept in the dark and in this case I feel it’s pitch black!
“Any silly feuds with anyone, petty arguments?”
“No!”
Morgan nods, “do you know of anyone at all you feel would want to harm you in any way?”
“No. Most definitely not!” I can’t help but feel insulted by Morgan’s ridiculous questions.
He nods and looks at Taylor, who is staring at me, searching my face for answers. Her bright green eyes are cold and I wonder if she thinks I’m lying to them.
“Alright,” she says abruptly, and then adds “we’ll be in touch if anything new comes up.”
I stare back at her dumbfounded. They have just told me that someone purposely tried to kill me, and they are just going to leave…?
Taylor finally stands, prompting Morgan to rise too, and they both move towards the door. Morgan obviously notices a look of trepidation cross my face and he slows his pace before reaching the hall.
“You're not in any danger now, Megan. We have Donovan safely in custody, which is where he will stay until we can get to the bottom of this.”
I manage a smile, before seeing them out.
“Please call us straightaway if there’s anything at all you need,” Morgan smiles back, and for the first time since we met, I notice a softness to him that I’d not detected before.
“Thank you,” I reply.
Then they are gone and once again, I am alone.
Chapter 19
Will was sitting at his usual table in the Anchor. He’d only been there an hour, had already downed four pints, and had no intention of stopping anytime soon. He made his way to the bar; as normal for a Sunday, it was heaving.
“Can I get another Carling, please Mike?” he pushed his way to the front where Mike was standing, and placed his empty glass on the bar. He hadn’t seen Mike yet and, up until now, had been served by Lisa, Mike’s daughter, and one of Elliott’s many ex-girlfriends.
“Yes, no problem, Will. How’s things?”
“Fine, thanks.” Will tried to hide the annoyance in his voice and pretend that things were as they always were. Inside, he was raging and could feel himself reaching boiling point as the hours rolled on.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you!” Mike finished pulling the pint and levelled the head on it. “There was a young lady looking for you in here, on Friday night.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Did she manage to track you down?”
“She did, yes.”
Mike raised his eyebrows, “There are worse problems than having a pretty girl desperate to find you!” Will managed a smile through gritted teeth and, taking his pint, returned to his window seat.
Half an hour later, Elliott made his way to the table.
“Sorry I’m late mate! Had to pop over and check on the guys at the apartment to see ho
w they’re getting on. They called me an hour ago to tell me they’re having problems with the electrics…again.” Elliott shrugged off his coat. His cheeks were rosy from the cold and he looked frozen.
Will nodded, finding it difficult to look his old friend in the eye, and even harder to make general chit-chat. Elliott left him to get a drink, returning with a bottle of cider, and he pulled up the stool opposite. Will chose that moment to look Elliott in the eye, and he wondered how long it would take for him to tell Will what he already knew.
“So, I suppose you want me to tell you exactly what happened yesterday?” asked Elliott, gingerly. It was obvious that he’d picked up on Will’s anger.
Will felt it bubbling inside him. He had planned on letting Elliott tell him his side of the story – he deserved a chance to explain, but fury got the better of him and he couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“What the hell were you thinking, Elliott?” he snapped, before Elliott could speak. He kept his voice low, although he wanted nothing more than to scream in his face. He was well aware of the fact that there were ears everywhere, and it didn’t take long for this small village to start gossiping if peace in the community was disturbed. Even a childish, drunken squabble, if not kept under wraps, was pretty much front-page news the following morning.
Elliott looked scolded, like a small child caught eating sweets before meal time.
“Erm, I’m not sure what you mean Will,” he replied, unable to meet Will’s eyes.
“One favour! I asked you for one favour as my best mate and you couldn’t even get that right!”
“Actually, I did what you asked,” Elliott responded impatiently.
Will laughed sarcastically, “yeah, plus a few additional extras thrown in for good measure!”
“What do you mean by that?”