by K. L. Slater
Me, me, me. Nobody will ever want plain old me.
But that’s what Gareth Farnham had told me repeatedly towards the end and I knew it was the truth. The feelings of inferiority had risen up back then, taken hold and never left me to this day.
Very occasionally, before I cut my hair, I’d occasionally see a man send an appreciative glance my way. I’d shrink away as if scalded, allowing my hair to fall across my face until he’d gone away.
Maybe other people couldn’t see my negative qualities but for many years now, I’ve known they are there and I know I’m not remotely good enough for anyone decent to be interested in spending time with me.
But I’d faced my fears. I’d done more than write a letter to Gareth Farnham, I’d spoken to him as an equal.
I hoped he could see how I’d changed. How I’d managed to live my life without him.
He’d be delighted if he knew the truth of my pathetic existence.
66
ROSE
PRESENT DAY
I pull down the ladder, tentatively climb it. At the top I click a switch on the floor and the lights snap on. I’m amazed it still works but Dad was a thorough handyman and, knowing him, he’d have fitted a light bulb with a fifteen-year life span or something… if such a thing exists.
I take a breath and heave myself up into the attic, which is somewhat easier said than done. The last time I came up here to help Dad organise the space, I was a strong and healthy young woman, not a bag of half-starved bones.
I sit for a moment and look down at my legs dangling down out of the hatch. It almost represents how I’m feeling inside now; my body in the real world and my mind clouded with dark thoughts and unbearable possibilities that I’m terrified to explore.
Mum had a big clear out and the stuff she wanted to keep but needed out of our living space came up here. After Billy’s funeral and after we started to try and pick up the pieces of our lives, Dad put all the stuff – paperwork, notes we’d made, contact names and numbers – in a big packing box and shoved it up here.
Mum had been fastidious in recording any piece of information she thought we might need or refer back to. She’d volunteered as clerk and secretary to the village committee for years when I was younger, so she knew how to keep an organised desk.
It hadn’t been touched since; why would it have been? The evidence box, as we’d named it, hadn’t been touched since Dad resigned it to the attic. Why would it? The murderer had been arrested, tried and imprisoned for life. As we’d fallen apart, DCI North and his team slotted all the jagged pieces into place until the ugly picture was complete.
It wasn’t something we wanted to revisit but it wasn’t something we’d wanted to discard, either. It showed we’d done our very best for Billy, covered every angle and explored every piece of information that came our way.
And now… now everything I thought I knew is threatening to fall apart, I’m so glad and grateful we kept it all.
I shuffle back on my bottom on the dusty chipboard Dad laid up here and bring my legs up to join the rest of me. There are numerous boxes up here, far more than I remember. It’s ironic that Mum felt she needed to keep all this stuff – she never touched it again after it was relocated.
I stand up and shuffle round the boxes, peeking in. Dozens and dozens of school photographs of both me and Billy. And greetings cards, written with love, that Mum just couldn’t bear to throw away. My throat catches when I open a ‘Happy Birthday, Mummy’ one that’s filled with Billy’s childish scrawl.
My finger traces over his letters and the faint pencil lines he’s used as a ruler to keep his words straight.
‘Oh Billy,’ I sigh softly. ‘I miss you so much.’
My brother would have been twenty-four years old this year. He was tall for his age; Mum always said he’d be a six-footer. It would’ve been strange to see… my little brother, towering above me. I’ll never know what that feels like.
Would he have made it, become a pilot, like he dreamed? Probably not. I don’t think he’d have put the necessary schoolwork in but so what? He’d have been brilliant at what he did end up doing and that’s all that counts.
I replace the greetings card carefully in the box and close it up again, protecting it against the dust and ravages of time that Billy himself is no longer at the mercy of.
I’ve been up here all of five minutes and inside I feel weighed down, as if something has sucked all of my energy out. I don’t want to look amongst the memories and be reminded of everything I’ve lost: Mum, Dad, Billy… my entire family.
I pick my way across to the other side of the hatch. The attic is small, like the rest of the house. There are breeze-block walls either side of the space, which cut us off from next door. When I was a teenager I read a serial crime thriller where the killer was crawling along the roof space, peeking in at all his neighbours. It freaked me out so much that I couldn’t sleep until Dad dragged me up to the attic laughing his head off and showed me the walls that had been erected.
Most of the packing boxes are white. I can see the one I need: a slightly smaller, ordinary tan cardboard box a few yards in front of me. I’m moving slowly, taking longer to get there than I need to. I give myself a break, pretend I’m just being careful and sure-footed.
The flaps of the box are open, tatters of no-longer-sticky tape hanging off, like useless, curled tendrils. This is strange because I have a distinct memory of Mum taking great pains to lay a sheet of packing paper on top of the contents of the evidence book and tape the flaps down securely. This was a woman who even used masking tapes on the tops of sun creams when she and Dad went for the odd weekend away.
I bend down and fully open the box. It looks like it’s been rifled through. Who would have done that? I’ve no way of knowing if it’s been done last week or sixteen years ago. I tell myself it’s not significant but there’s a small lump as hard as a nut in my throat.
I don’t feel strong enough to go through each item in here. One day I will, when the time is right. For now, I keep delving under the layers, looking for Mum’s notebook with all her old contact numbers in.
I pull something out thinking it’s the notebook but it’s a small white prayer book with Billy’s name printed in pale gold on the front. Probably sent by a kind villager to comfort Mum and Dad. As I hold it up, something falls from it that had become stuck to the back cover.
It’s a letter.
I stare at the handwriting and a shudder travels throughout my body. It’s not just any letter; it’s a letter from Gareth.
I swallow, momentarily frozen. I felt absolutely certain that all the mail he sent had been destroyed.
My hands feel hot and unsteady but I take out the folded sheet within and flatten it out. And I read Gareth Farnham’s poisoned words all over again.
My dearest Rose,
I am so sorry for your terrible loss.
One day you will know that I am innocent. That day, you will understand your betrayal of me, your abandonment in my hour of need. I would have never abandoned you, Rose, but I forgive you. I FORGIVE YOU for not listening, not helping me… I NEED TO TALK TO YOU, ROSE.
It’s not too late. There are things I need to tell you… things that could prove my innocence so we can be together again.
I am so sorry for what happened to dear Billy but it was not my fault, my darling. The real killer is still out there, living his life unpunished.
Nobody will listen to me. Nobody wants to hear I did nothing wrong. That village condemned me the moment Billy went missing.
But I thought better of you, Rose. I honestly thought you loved me.
I NEED TO TALK TO YOU. Please, Rose. Billy’s killer needs to be punished NOW.
Whether we are together or apart, always remember, Rose… you will always be MINE FOREVER.
All my love,
G xxx
I push the letter aside and close my eyes, willing his vile words and lies to leave me. I should never have read it.
> I shiver, cross my arms over my body and hold myself as I rock back and forth.
How can he have such power over me after all these years? How could I have gone to see him… given him the opportunity to control me all over again?
After a few moments I shake myself and reach for Mum’s notebook. In the back, right where I left it, is a small white envelope containing a small white piece of paper.
As I put the other stuff back inside, I catch sight of a headline on a folded newspaper:
MAN, 28, ARRESTED FOR LOCAL BOY’S MURDER
Gareth’s words play in my head: The real killer is still out there, living his life unpunished.
I take the envelope, turn away and make my way back downstairs. I leave the box undone and in a mess. How a box of stuff can still control me like this I’m not sure… but I can’t face it any longer.
I turn off the light and clamber down the ladder.
I walk to the front door to check for mail and stop dead in my tracks. There is something wedged in the letter box.
I walk over and pull it from the door. It’s a brown, used envelope with a window. Inside is a folded white piece of paper.
Still standing by the door I open it up and read the four printed words.
Let sleeping dogs lie.
67
HMP WAKEFIELD
PRESENT DAY
‘Hello, Rose, it’s so nice to see you again,’ Gareth said, sliding the chair back and sitting down. ‘Did you bring the things I asked you for? The Imperial Leather soap and the magazines?’
‘Yes,’ she lied. ‘But I had to leave your parcel at the desk.’
‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’ He smiled at her. ‘So, what have you been up to since I saw you last week?’
He spoke to her in a strange, conversational manner, as if they’d just met up in the local pub for a drink.
Rose bit down her impatience and answered him.
‘Just the usual. Work, checking on Ronnie, my neighbour. He’s not been well.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said, not sounding at all concerned. ‘He’s had a good innings though, hasn’t he? Probably on his way out, and you’ve done such a lot for him, Rose; you never know, he might leave you his house.’
Rose laughed. ‘I doubt that. He has a son, Eric, who lives in Australia.’
He looked up, searching his memory. ‘Yes, I remember Eric. Creepy bloke he was, a bit of a loner if I recall.’
That was rich, coming from him, Rose thought. How he’d relish learning of Eric’s secret.
‘He’s married now, apparently.’ She shrugged, fixing her eyes on him. ‘When Ronnie went into hospital for a few days, I cleaned his house, even did the upstairs.’
‘Little angel, aren’t you?’ He winked without hesitation. ‘Always helping others and yet you wouldn’t help me out when I so desperately needed it, would you, Rose?’
‘My priority was my brother,’ she said, looking at her hands and thinking about the wording of his letter. ‘You can’t blame me for that but perhaps we can help each other now.’
His head jerked up. ‘In what way?’
‘You tell me what you did with Billy’s blanket that day and I’ll bring you more stuff that you need.’
Gareth laughed. ‘There you go again, trying to hoodwink me, Rose. I’m afraid you’ve taken up some rather sly habits since I had to leave you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Something’s happened. Nobody waits sixteen years to ask what happened. Not even you.’
‘Just tell me why you did it. You’ve constantly denied it like a coward… I want to know what happened that day.’
She clamped her mouth shut, annoyed with herself. She’d managed to keep her venom under wraps so far but it was so hard.
‘One thing I’m not, little girl, is a coward.’ Gareth glared at her and his face darkened in that way she remembered, which made her insides turn to liquid.
But she brushed this thought aside and reminded herself that she was far from Gareth’s little girl now. She wasn’t anyone’s little girl, she was a woman. A woman determined to find out the truth at long last.
‘Then prove it!’
‘Rose, Rose.’ He laughed softly. ‘Let’s not get annoyed with each other; we’ve waited too long to spend time together.’
‘If you still cared about me you’d do this for me,’ she said. ‘You’d tell me what happened to my brother.’
‘I’d do anything for you, Rose, I would.’ His face grew serious. ‘But I can’t help you with this request because I didn’t kill Billy.’
She sighed.
‘I admit I lied to you at times when we were together, Rosie. All men do, it’s just the way we are.’ He flipped his palms and shrugged. ‘But the day I told you I was innocent of Billy’s murder, I was telling the truth. I know it’s hard to hear, Rosie, but the truth is this: Billy’s killer is still out there.’
The wording of his letter echoed in her head.
‘Stop it!’ Her voice raised in volume and a nearby officer frowned and looked over. She raised a hand apologetically to him and turned back to Gareth. ‘If you continue to lie, I won’t come here anymore.’
‘I’m not lying,’ he hissed, exposing ruined teeth that used to form the winning smile she loved so much.
She took a breath, then spoke the words before she lost her nerve. ‘Who did you ask to hand deliver me the message? I haven’t gone to the police yet but I will, if I have to.’
‘I haven’t sent any messages,’ he said curtly.
‘Nobody knows I’m coming here except you and me. Last night I had a note hand delivered through my door.’
He scowled. ‘Nothing to do with me, Rose. What did it say?
‘It said, “Let sleeping dogs lie”.’ She watched his face carefully.
He was doing a good job of looking confused but then she knew only too well what a good actor he was. But that open window… the strange feeling she’d had in the house…
‘If I never see you again, Rose, the truth is this – so get it into your thick skull. I. Didn’t. Kill. Billy.’ He looked around him furtively, dropped his voice lower. ‘I asked you to help me because I was telling the truth. I was out of the area. Now someone has dropped you a note that I’ve had nothing to do with. The killer is out there. He must’ve sent you the note.’
She stared at him without speaking. Ronnie was back on his feet now. Was it possible that…
‘Do you remember the flowers I bought you?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The Stargazer lilies.’
‘That’s right. If only you’d listened to me, you might have found a receipt in the bag that—’
‘You already told me that back then.’
‘I told you because it was true!’ He groaned and clamped a hand to his forehead. ‘You could have found that receipt and then—’
‘A receipt alone wouldn’t clear you if you were innocent,’ Rose stated, interrupting him. She suppressed a smile when a darkness flared in his eyes. He didn’t like being interrupted, she remembered, and it felt like a tiny victory. ‘You could’ve got someone else to pick up those flowers while you hurt Billy. A receipt in itself proves nothing.’
‘Agreed but it could have provided the basis for them to reopen my case. When the police checked out my alibi, the florist’s assistant claimed she couldn’t recall me making a purchase and the duplicate receipt book apparently couldn’t be located… very convenient, don’t you think?’ Rose watched his face twist with suppressed rage. ‘I always got the feeling I’d been shafted by the coppers. That receipt was the one piece of evidence that could have put enough doubt on that lead copper to force him to slow down his persecution of me. But you wouldn’t even look for it, you’d already condemned me like everyone else in that shitty little village.’
Had Mike North covered up evidence that could have helped Gareth’s case… was it possible? Rose decided she didn’t care. As far as she was concerned,
he was guilty as sin.
‘I did find the receipt,’ Rose said simply.
She watched as his mouth fell open but forced her own face to remain impassive.
‘What did you do with it?’ he whispered urgently. He reached his hand out across the table but didn’t touch her. It was as if he’d become frozen in anticipation of her answer.
‘I still have it,’ she replied.
68
HMP WAKEFIELD
PRESENT DAY
For the first time since she’d known him, Gareth Farnham was rendered totally speechless.
‘I found it when you told me that day, when you tried to get me to help you. But I didn’t believe you, didn’t believe it wasn’t another of your tricks, your lies.’
‘Rose, listen to me, sweetheart. If you were willing to give a statement that I bought you the flowers, and with the receipt to back it up even after all this time, that might be enough to start the process to get me an unsafe conviction.’ He looks away and smiles in wonder. ‘Oh my God, it really could happen.’
He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. She tried to snatch it back but he held on fast.
‘Rose, listen to me. I’ve made mistakes. There are times I didn’t treat you well but you have to believe me… whatever I’ve done is only because I loved you so much.’
He looked at her for a response but she remained silent. His words slid off her like hot butter from a knife. He really wanted her to accept he abducted her, sexually assaulted her… and God knows what else… all because he loved her?
She shook her head slowly.
‘Just listen to me,’ he said hurriedly, as if he knew she was ready to walk away. ‘My solicitor contacted the florists about that day, you know. But it was around Mother’s Day and they’d seen so many people, they couldn’t say for certain they recognised me. No CCTV, no number plate recognition in those days … our hands were tied. That copper – North – he just wanted to send me down. If they’d had the receipt, they would’ve had to investigate my alibi more fully.’