by K. L. Slater
She rang back four times in the next half hour but got the same response each time.
Where could he be? He’d said he had a meeting after work that would doubtless go on until late and that he was having an early night ready for a one-day weekend conference in Birmingham the next morning.
Granted, it was nearly two a.m. but she’d assumed he also kept his phone on all night, seeing as he was always so insistent she did it. He must have turned it off. Perhaps the meeting had gone on much longer than he’d expected, she pondered.
Silent tears of misery and regret slid down Rose’s flushed cheeks. She really wanted to see Cassie and make everything alright again between them. She wanted to be there in her best friend’s hour of need.
At that moment, she realised that the person she really wanted to speak to was Gareth.
She left him a voice message.
34
SIXTEEN YEARS EARLIER
The next morning Rose and Stella walked round to Cassie’s house.
Carolyn came to the door in her dressing gown, her face tearstained and her frizzy permed hair sticking out at various angles. It was common knowledge she liked a drink or three but Rose couldn’t recall ever having seen her look as rough.
Stella bustled inside and pulled Carolyn into her arms. Rose expected her to start sobbing uncontrollably, but she didn’t. She stood, stock still and frozen with her arms down by her sides, her eyes staring and wide.
It was almost more disturbing than watching her break down.
‘I’ll make us a cuppa,’ Rose said, walking past the two older women towards the kitchen.
‘No!’ Carolyn shrieked, pulling away from Stella’s embrace. ‘They’ve said we can’t go in there just yet.’
Rose stopped dead at the doorway at the stretched yellow tape and looked around. It looked as if someone had emptied out half the contents of the cupboards and scattered them all around the counter tops.
It must have happened here. Her eyes were drawn to dark stains on the carpet tiles near the back door.
Sickened, Rose turned and walked back into the living room. Carolyn had begun to talk.
‘I nearly didn’t go, you know, to our Noreen’s. She’d been a bit off colour but I convinced her a drink would do her good.’ She covered her face with splayed nicotine-stained fingers.
‘Carolyn, you can’t blame yourself for this, love,’ Stella said gently, stroking the wiry, stiff strands of dyed red hair at the back of her head. ‘The only person to blame here is that… that monster who attacked Cassie.’
‘Don’t!’ Carolyn wailed. ‘I can’t bear to think about it. Nobody’s seen our Jed; he’s taken himself off somewhere. The police are aware but seem to think he’s an adult and he’ll come back when he’s ready but he can’t live with it. I’m worried he’ll do himself in, Stella.’
Rose walked over to the sagging patterned velour settee and sat at the other side of her mother. Jed had been in a terrible state when she’d seen him rushing off up the road last night; she hoped Carolyn was wrong about his state of mind.
Carolyn looked up suddenly, her tone regretful, accusing. ‘You always used to stay over here on Fridays, Rose. Why were you not here this week?’
Rose realised in an instant that Cassie must not have told her mum they’d fallen out.
‘I was out with college friends,’ Rose replied easily, pushing away the truth of being over at Gareth’s flat.
Stella nodded. ‘She was home for eleven, weren’t you, love?’
‘The hospital are keeping her in for a couple of days,’ Carolyn said, and Rose began to breathe normally again when she realised there would be no further grilling.
‘Can we visit?’ Rose asked. ‘I’d really like to see her.’
‘They’ve had to do all sorts of horrible tests,’ Carolyn said as if Rose hadn’t spoken. ‘She’s got concussion and she lost a lot of blood. They say she grabbed a knife, probably to defend herself, but she cut all her hands up.’
Rose thought again about the rusty-looking dark stains she’d spotted on the kitchen carpet tiles.
‘That’s terrible,’ Stella said. ‘The poor love.’
‘Can we go, Mum? To see Cassie today.’
‘Of course,’ Stella replied. ‘If that’s OK with you, Carolyn?’
Carolyn nodded slowly, reverting to her strange, trancelike state. ‘I’m going in at eleven this morning. You can come with me if you like. I’m sure she’ll want you there with her, Rose.’
Carolyn appeared at the end of the hospital corridor and shuffled slowly towards Rose and her mother.
Her mouth drooped with fatigue, her expression one of feeling beaten.
‘Rose, I’m so sorry. Cassie won’t see you.’ Carolyn held out her hands and shook her head, perplexed. ‘She wouldn’t say why but she’s adamant.’
Rose looked at her mother.
‘She seems really confused.’ Carolyn twisted her hands and looked at Stella, her tone pleading. ‘She’s not herself.’
‘It’s completely understandable,’ Stella said briskly. ‘Now, you’re not to worry yourself, Carolyn. Perhaps when Cassie’s home and feeling a little more stable, Rose and I can pop over?’
‘Course.’ Carolyn looked at Rose. ‘I’m really sorry, love.’
Rose sighed. ‘I just want her to know I came, that I was here for her. Give her my love, will you?’
‘Of course I will. Thanks for coming, Rose.’
When Carolyn disappeared back down the corridor and into Cassie’s room, Stella reached for her daughter’s hand.
‘Don’t take it personally, Rose. Poor Cassie will be traumatised; it’s natural. None of us would be able to act rationally after what’s happened. There are all sorts of things to deal with after such horror; shame, fear—’
‘I know, Mum,’ Rose agreed in a small voice.
The two women walked to the bus stop together but got separate buses. Stella had an appointment at the optician’s in Hucknall and Rose fibbed that she had some free periods at college so was heading home.
As she settled into her seat, Rose took out her phone and switched the ringer on again.
There were six missed calls and a text – all from Gareth.
35
SIXTEEN YEARS EARLIER
Gareth met her off the bus and she collapsed into his arms, oblivious to who might be watching.
‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ He pushed her gently back to get some space between them and looked into her eyes. ‘What’s wrong with my girl?’
From the midst of snotty tears and sniffles, Rose blubbed out the awful truth of what had happened.
‘What? Oh my God, how terrible… poor Cassie!’
She gnawed at her fingernails ‘She’s been raped. Some evil bastard has…’
‘I heard you, Rose,’ he said quickly. ‘The poor girl, I’m… devastated for her… for you, as her friend. I don’t want you out on your own after dark.’
Rose shook her head slowly. Gareth was saying all the right things but it just sounded – hollow. With Gareth’s threat about Cassie wishing she’d never been born echoing in her ears, it was difficult to reconcile his reaction now.
‘What’s wrong?’ He stared at her.
‘I – I just can’t believe what’s happened,’ Rose stammered.
‘It’s an awful business alright but you’ve told me yourself that Cassie is careless with her personal safety.’
‘What?’ She felt a heat rising inside her. ‘What are you trying to say? Regardless of Cassie’s lifestyle, she doesn’t deserve to be lying in a hospital bed and—’
‘Of course she doesn’t,’ Gareth said tightly. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘She’s my best friend and I—’
‘Best friend? Are we talking about the same girl here?’ Gareth gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Sorry, I thought Cassie was the person who’s been ignoring you all week and issuing threats against us both.’
Rose swallowed hard.
�
�We’ve been friends all our lives,’ Rose said levelly. ‘The stuff she threatened, it was just a blip.’
‘A blip? Is that what you call her threatening to tell your dad about us?’
‘I’m sure she didn’t mean it, she’d have just said it in temper.’
‘Wake up, Rose. Your friend might not quite be the angel you think she is.’
‘Stop! I don’t want to listen to this crap anymore.’ Rose shrugged off his embrace and stepped back. ‘I can’t handle you being like this, Gareth. I can’t understand why you’d say such awful things, it’s as if—’
She hesitated.
‘Go on, Rose.’ He moved closer to her. ‘You were in full flow there; I was getting a nice little glimpse of where your loyalties lie. It’s as if what?’
Rose sensed things were getting out of hand but she found she couldn’t stop. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could bite them back.
‘You don’t even seem surprised that Cassie’s been attacked. I can’t stop thinking about you saying you’d make sure she’ll wish she’d never been born. Why would you even say something like that?’
Gareth snatched her hand and squeezed – really squeezed until she whimpered.
‘Do you think it was me, Rose? Do you think I went around to your friend’s house and raped her last night?’
‘No! Don’t say that.’
‘Because she’d have liked it, you know. I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but when you were upstairs at her house washing your face, she came on to me.’
‘What?’ Rose staggered back from him. She could hear approaching traffic and crows cawing in the wood nearby and then all the different noises began to swim together in her ears.
‘She tried to kiss me, Rose. Asked me, wouldn’t I like a real woman like her instead of a little girl like you.’
‘You’re lying,’ Rose whispered. ‘Cassie would never do that. She just wouldn’t.’
‘It’s interesting, Rose,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘how when Cassie says something she doesn’t mean it. But all I have to do is make a throwaway comment and you can’t get over it.’
‘My point was that you said she’ll soon wish she’d never been born and then Cassie was attacked.’ Rose sighed and looked at her hands. ‘I don’t think you had anything to do with it, Gareth.’
‘Doesn’t sound that way to me.’ He held her gaze. ‘I’m sorry if I squeezed your hand so hard, Rose. You’ll no doubt get your revenge though.’
‘What do you mean… revenge?’
‘If you tell the police what I said, they’ll pull me in. I’ll become their prime suspect.’ He looked at the floor. ‘I can’t blame you if that’s what you want to do.’
It was a sobering thought. Rose hadn’t thought about the police.
Gareth stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her.
‘Don’t you see, Rosie? They’ll be looking for someone to blame and I’ll be the perfect scapegoat. An outsider who was in Cassie’s house the night before the attack. You can just hear the villagers gossiping about it, I’d be the highlight of their sad little lives.’ He sniffed. ‘Maybe I should just go to the police myself, tell them what I said. It’ll save you the bother.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll tell them about my off-the-cuff comment, so you don’t have to betray me,’ Gareth said quietly. ‘But I know what places like this are like. The villagers will have their own kangaroo court and I’ll instantly be found guilty. I’ll have to leave my job, leave the area.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Rose shook her head. ‘That’s not going to happen.’
‘Isn’t it? People around here are the forgiving sort, are they, Rose?’
Rose suddenly remembered that a couple of years ago there had been a dishevelled-looking young man hanging around, a wanderer who’d been in the village for about a week. People said he was squatting in a derelict shed in the churchyard.
Rose would see him around the streets, sitting or lying at the edge of the pavement, pale and wiry, holding out his hand for coins.
A couple of the villagers took him food and blankets and Jim Greaves even treated him to a basket of chicken and chips at the Station Hotel.
Then people’s garden sheds started being broken into overnight and items stolen. Someone said they’d seen the beggar riding a bicycle just like the one that had been taken from the O’Reilly’s house on Byron Street.
The well-wishers swiftly dissipated. A group of local men visited the beggar in his makeshift home, questioned him. They alerted the police, who took him down the station. Rose never saw him again after that.
‘I’m not going to say anything to the police,’ Rose whispered. ‘I know you’ve done nothing wrong and it was just a silly comment.’
‘You must do what you think is right, Rose,’ Gareth said, turning away. ‘If you feel bound to support Cassie at my expense, then go ahead. I can’t expect your loyalty above someone you’ve known all your life.’
‘Gareth—’ she reached for him, pulled him gently towards her ‘—my loyalty is to you. I want to be with you. I – I love you.’ He liked her to tell him so but the words still felt strange when she said them, as if something inside kicked against it.
He tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her forehead.
‘Then keep away from Cassie,’ he murmured. ‘She’s jealous of what we have. Can’t you see that, Rose? We only need each other now.’
36
ROSE
PRESENT DAY
I tapped ex-DCI Mike North’s postcode into Google Maps and set off in the car to Colwick, a suburb in the east of Nottingham and about a thirty-minute drive away from the village.
I don’t drive too often these days and although I’m always a bit nervous at first, once I get going, I can usually relax and enjoy the ride.
I think it’s something to do with the barrier of metal a vehicle affords. You look out from a car but pedestrians rarely look in. I feel more protected than when I’m on foot.
I’d rather not walk to and from work across the village but it’s a valuable part of keeping me from becoming a recluse. I just wish it would get easier.
Stumbling on Mike’s contact details at work came as a complete surprise and served to convince me it was a ‘sign’ that I should carry through my intention to speak to him without delay.
Miss Carter, on a visit to the library, mentioned she’d been at a WI meeting close to Nottingham and that there had been a talk by none other than a retired lawyer called Tessa North.
‘She gave a very eloquent talk about women having a career in law and she was especially interested in hearing I lived in Newstead Village,’ Miss Carter told me, a little self-righteously.
‘Oh, and why was that?’ I said, trying to look interested but wishing I could just get on with losing myself in validating a pile of new customers’ library cards.
‘Her husband is an ex-detective and he had a big case here. His name is Mike North.’ She seemed to suddenly realise who she was talking to and her error in bringing up Billy’s case. The colour drained from her cheeks. ‘Oh! I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to—’
‘It’s fine,’ I said, sitting up in my chair. ‘Did she say where they were living now? I don’t suppose you got her email address?’
‘I can do better than that, dear,’ she said, looking pleased with herself again. She delved into her purse and held a business card aloft. ‘She gave us all one of these.’
I’d called the mobile number later and left my number and a voicemail explaining who I was. It had been a nice surprise when Mike returned my call himself and readily agreed to see me. Even more so because he’d suggested we meet at his home.
‘I don’t get out much these days,’ he said. ‘It’ll be nice to see a new face around here.’
I am predictably tense driving over there. I don’t put the radio on. Instead, I try to think of how I might get advice from Mike without – at this stage –
implicating Ronnie.
They say once a copper, always a copper and Mike North may well feel obliged to pass on any details I give him to the contacts he still has on the force.
If my neighbour is innocent, which despite everything, I’m still ninety-nine per cent certain he is, I have to protect him. At least for the time being.
I turn into Riverside Crescent and drive along the length of the exclusive apartments to the second visitor car park at the end, as per Mike’s instructions.
The apartments are situated on the banks of the River Trent and although there is no sign of the river from this, the car park side, the balconies all overlook the water.
I grab my handbag and walk up to the imposing building. There is a lot of steel and glass here and the windows glint in the weak sunlight. I approach block seven and punch in Mike’s apartment number, then ring the bell button on the keypad.
‘Hello,’ a woman’s voice says when I tell her my name. ‘Come on up, we’re on the first floor.’
I ignore the plush lift and take the stairs to the first floor. When I emerge from the landing, one of the doors to the three apartments opens.
I walk towards the smiling woman with short blonde hair.
‘You must be Rose,’ she says and shakes my hand. ‘I’m Tessa. Mike’s been so looking forward to seeing you today.’
Tessa looks to be in her early fifties, tanned and attractive, casually dressed wearing cropped white jeans, bare feet and a baggy white T-shirt.
‘I’ll take you through to Mike,’ she says as we enter the hallway. ‘And I’ll get you a cool drink. Home-made lemonade or water?’
‘A lemonade would be lovely, thanks,’ I beam, looking down to slip off my flat pumps.
‘Oh, leave those on,’ she insists, waving me through. ‘Mike’s waiting for you out on the balcony.’
I nod and walk past her where the hallway opens out into a large lounge flooded with light. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sliding French doors are open, fully exploiting a very impressive view of the river.