Last Night

by Kerry Wilkinson

  ‘What do you want?’ he asks.

  ‘Who put you up to it?’

  Whatever he expected, it wasn’t that. His neck cranes back a little. ‘What?’

  ‘Someone put you up to all this. Who was it?’

  Declan starts to shake his head slowly. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  We stare at each other for a moment, seemingly both a little off guard. With everything that’s gone wrong in the past week, I’ve linked it all together. Stephen was put up to doing something for money and I thought Declan had been as well.

  Trust is such an important part of a person’s life. It’s intrinsic to someone’s well-being that the people in his or her life can be relied upon. Over the past week, I’ve viewed almost everyone with suspicion. It’s only Olivia who has escaped that. When that trust goes, everything becomes a conspiracy. But I can see in Declan that the timing of his complaint is a coincidence that made everything worse. Graham might have given Declan’s details to Natasha or Claire – and the complaint would have come about either of them. This was a dodgy scheme to try to get a discount for a struggling business. Nothing more. As with Stephen, it’s all about the money.

  It’s almost disappointing.

  ‘You’re going to call Graham,’ I tell him. ‘And you’re going to say that your complaint about me was all a misunderstanding. Got it?’

  Declan doesn’t seem to know what to do. He steps forward and then back, pivoting and turning to the side, glancing towards the exposed wires on the wall. His teeth are clenched and I can almost see the cogs whirring in his mind as he tries to figure out the best thing to do.

  ‘I thought you’d quit.’

  ‘Who says I didn’t?’

  ‘So why should you care if I withdraw the complaint?’

  ‘Because I do care. Because it’s my reputation and I’ve worked with those people for a long time. Because the way people see me is more important than you getting a few quid.’

  He glances past me, through the window towards the car park. I check over my shoulder but there’s no one there. When I turn back, he’s taken a stride towards me. For the first time since I got here, there’s a flicker of fear. Declan is bigger than me, stronger, and we’re on our own. This part of the trading estate is new and empty. Anything could happen.

  ‘If I make the call, what then?’ he asks.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What happens to me?’

  ‘Nothing happens to you. That’s the end of it.’

  His nose twitches as if there’s a bad smell in the room. ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘That you’ve thought things over and that you think there was a misunderstanding. No harm done but you think it’s best for all involved if you do business elsewhere.’

  He’s thinking it over. I’m in a hole but he could be, too. I don’t actually have his girlfriend’s phone number; all I have is a name. There are photos of Declan and Nicole across Facebook. He’s not willing to take the chance.

  ‘Fine,’ he replies. ‘I’ll do it now.’

  I listen as he does precisely that. It’s a short, awkward phone call. I can’t hear Graham’s half of the conversation but I can imagine him joining some dots back in the office. Declan has to repeat the ‘misunderstanding’ line three times and I suspect it’s clear to all involved that ‘misunderstanding’ is a poorly concealed version of ‘made it up’.

  By the time Declan ends the call, I already have the door open. He shouts after me, asking if the deal’s still on. I don’t reply. This tawdry deal is on, seeing as I couldn’t call Nicole even if I wanted to.

  I’m back in the driver’s seat when my phone rings. It’s Graham, perhaps ready to apologise without actually having to apologise. He’s not one for admitting mistakes, so he’ll phrase it in a way that makes it sound like he’s a victim somehow. He might even go for the ‘misunderstanding’ line as well. I should probably take the call and tell him I quit, that I’ll find another job somewhere. Perhaps the guilt will kick in and he’ll offer me the pay rise I very much don’t deserve.

  I ignore the call anyway and it goes into the missed calls list along with the two from Ellie. I press to return her call and Ellie answers on the second ring.

  ‘I was starting to worry,’ she says without a hint of hello. She sounds rushed.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I reply.

  ‘Did Liv call you?’

  ‘No.’

  It’s only the length of time it takes to breathe but there’s a pause from the other end of the line. In that moment, my chest tightens and it feels like I can’t get all the air I need.

  ‘She ran off halfway through accounting class,’ Ellie says.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She got a call from Tyler and said she had to go meet him.’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  I stumble over my words because so many thoughts collide at once. Tyler’s back? Olivia’s gone? Is she in danger?

  ‘Did you hear me?’ Ellie asks.

  ‘Yeah… I… when did she leave?’

  ‘About a minute before I called you the first time.’

  That was a good fifteen minutes ago, when I was busy with Declan. I should’ve answered the damn phone.

  ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘Well that’s the weird part?’

  ‘What is?’

  Ellie sounds unsure of herself. ‘She said she was going to the watermill.’

  ‘The mill? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. She was speaking really quickly. I was trying to keep up. I offered her a lift but she was already half out the door. She didn’t look like she was thinking straight. I think she was going to call a taxi. I don’t know.’

  Ellie doesn’t have anything else to add but that’s not surprising considering it sounds like everything happened in a matter of seconds.

  I hang up and try calling Olivia. There’s no reply, so I leave a message asking her to call, and then phone her again. Still no answer, so I text, telling her to please call.

  If she was getting a taxi, she’d be at the mill in a matter of minutes. If only I’d answered my phone.

  I think about calling Dan – she is his daughter too – but he’ll be at school and, besides, I don’t trust him.

  Who do I trust? When the confusion and obfuscation is shunted away, is there anyone I have faith in? Maybe.

  I race away from the trading estate, trying to think if there’s a quicker way to get to the mill. The very fact it’s on a river means there isn’t. There are bridges a few miles up and downstream on either side – and then one road in and out. The only way to get there is the long way.

  The alleged voice assistant on my phone seems to have had a meltdown because, whenever I say ‘Call Olivia’, the voice chirps back ‘Did you say, “All you live here”?’. I give up after the third attempt and try something else.

  It takes me almost forty minutes until I bump across the dried mud on the road and pull into the empty weed-ridden expanse of tarmac that was once a car park. A taxi might have dropped Olivia off, but there are no vehicles parked here now.

  The breeze has whipped up a light mix of dust and dirt that flits across the crumbling lot at ankle-height. I try calling Olivia once more, without the useless voice assistant this time, but there’s no answer. I try Ellie to let her know where I am but she isn’t answering either.

  I follow the once familiar trail into the woods, heading towards the rush of the river and then tracing the route towards the mill. When we were young, this route had been walked bare. It was dry and dusty in the summer, like walking on concrete. Ellie, Wayne, Jason and I didn’t visit as much in winter, partly because the mud could reach knee-height in places but also because the mill itself was so cold. There was never any heating and a lot of the joy was lost when we’d have to traipse out here in coats, scarves and wellington boots. That’s not to say we never came. If ever it snowed, we’d meet on the street and then race here to build snowmen, hurl snowball
s, and try to walk across the semi-frozen river. This area felt like more of a home than our respective houses ever did. We grew up here as a foursome. Sometimes we’d allow others into our circle but they never lasted long. It was always us four against the world.

  Then there were three and then two.

  I get to the fence surrounding the mill and stop, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I’m not sure what I was expecting but there is no sign of Olivia or Tyler. The fence is taller than me and much of it is covered with the bright ‘keep out’ signs that only ever serve as an invitation to see what’s beyond. The rest of the fence is made up of tight rings of thick metal, which makes it easy enough to see what’s on the other side – not that there’s much. The mill is a run-down shell of its former self. Weeds and plants have started to grow around the base and the window frames, climbing and entwining into the rotting wood and brickwork.

  ‘Liv?’

  Her name echoes around the empty space, bouncing from the trees and mill until it sounds like there are half a dozen people calling her name.

  There’s no reply.

  I phone Ellie again, wanting to double-check she was definitely right about the mill. Could Olivia have said something else that sounds like it? She was off to a hill, or something like that?

  No answer.

  I try Olivia’s number next, not really expecting her to pick up. She doesn’t and I’m about to hang up when I realise the ringing I can hear through my phone’s speaker isn’t the only sound. There’s a gentle distant-sounding chirp of a tinny rock song. I muffle my own phone, leaving it to ring as I walk closer to the fence, trying to figure out where the music is coming from.

  I’m almost sure it’s emanating from the mill itself – but then it stops. The call has dropped, so I hang up and try again. Perhaps it’s because the wind changes or it might be because I’m listening for it properly, but I can hear the tune clearly now. There’s the grinding of guitar strings and then a thump-thump-thump of drums. I vaguely recognise the song but couldn’t place it.

  It’s definitely coming from inside the mill.

  ‘Olivia?’

  Her name bounces around the woods once more without reply. I follow the line of the fence from riverbank to riverbank as it loops around the outside of the mill. It’s too steep for me to climb – and the metal looks sharp and dangerous in any case. I could wade out into the river and walk around the fence to the other side – but the current is surging, the water smashing into the rocks, and that’s probably the least appealing option. It might be fine but there’s every chance I could be half a mile downstream before I know what’s happened.

  ‘Tyler?’

  His name reverberates with no response, moments before the wind fizzes louder, stealing the word and sending it far away.

  If Olivia’s phone is inside the mill, then she must have got through, over or around the fence somehow. I can’t believe she went around the outside, but she might have got a boost from Tyler to get over. That doesn’t explain how he’d have got in. If he’d tried climbing, his hands would have been scratched bare.

  I follow the route once more, this time pushing on the fence every metre or so, hoping for give. I’ve not gone far when I spot a patch where the wire has been snipped neatly. From anywhere other than directly next to it, the fence looks intact, but with the merest of pushes, one section separates from the other and opens like a cat flap.

  It seems simple but the sharp edges of the fence rake my forearms as soon I push inside. There’s blood instantly, thick and dark red, dripping onto the grass and my shoe. The pain stabs as if I’m still being gouged and it doesn’t help when I take a moment to prod and poke the skin. It’s opened me up like a burnt pasty and is a good millimetre or two deep. When I clench my fist, the blood oozes, trickling along my hand and again running onto the ground.

  I swear under my breath, digging into a pocket for a tissue and clamping it onto my arm.

  ‘Liv?’

  No answer.

  I take a couple of steps towards the mill and then freeze as an overwhelming sense of trepidation hits. It’s almost as if I’ve walked into a wall. It’s there but it’s not. For a moment, it feels as if something has touched my shoulder but, when I spin, there’s nobody there. Only the wind. Only the woods. Only the rampaging rush of water.

  I’m being watched.

  I can’t know that for sure – the windows of the mill are boarded up and there’s no one visible around the treeline – but there’s a prickling at the base of my neck that’s almost overpowering.

  ‘Liv?’

  I take a step forward and then another, moving slowly towards what used to be the front door. It’s boarded up – but then it always was. When we first came here, it was nailed into place but Jason and Wayne brought a pair of hammers to take care of that. We’d leave the board in place and then move it to one side when we needed. It would have been fixed in the decades since but this is always the type of place where no entry and keep out signs feel optional.

  The board is thick wood but it’s only leaning against the door frame, with nothing holding it in place. Like the old days. I nudge it aside, sliding into the mill for the first time in more than twenty years. I can’t remember the last time I was here for sure but suspect it was before Wayne died.

  The inside of the mill is almost entirely dark. The electrics never worked when we used to visit and certainly wouldn’t have been fixed since. Thin tendrils of light creep through gaps between boards and there’s one large spotlight in the middle of the floor beaming down through what must be a broken window high above.

  ‘Liv? Tyler?’

  My voice echoes again but nobody moves, nobody answers. I take out my phone once more and the window of white almost blinds me against the shadows. I call Olivia one more time, waiting the second or two it takes to connect until something on the far side of the mill flashes to life. The almost familiar tune blares as Olivia’s phone screen blinks on and off.

  I set off towards it, the worn soles of my shoes slaloming on the sawdust and dirt. Olivia’s phone has been abandoned on the floor. The screen is cracked like a spider’s web from numerous drops and accidents. She’s asked Dan and me to buy her a new one in the past but we always say that if she can’t look after this one, then how can we expect her to look after a brand-new one.

  It seems so silly now.

  As I crouch and reach for Olivia’s phone, there’s a scuffing scramble of feet from behind. I turn but it’s already too late. Something, someone, is upon me – and then it all goes black.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  There’s blood on my windscreen.

  It’s in the corner, a few speckled spots and then a thicker pool towards the bottom.

  This is definitely a dream. There can’t be any question about that. There’s a hazy grey around the edges of my vision; that blinking, fuzzy sense that everything in front of me is a bewildering construct of my imagination.

  Only this time, it is a dream.

  My mouth is parched and I cluck my tongue trying to catch my breath. When I open my eyes, there is blood but it’s not on a windscreen; it’s on my arm. The scratch from the fence has started to dry, leaving a gloopy mound that is neither solid nor liquid. Like paint drying on the can’s lid.

  It takes me a few seconds to realise I’m still in the mill. I’m leaning against a wall with the dampness of the flaking plaster soaking through my top. There’s a thin shaft beaming down from above, giving me barely enough light to see the slice along my arm. The back of my head hurts close to my ear and, when I touch it, there’s more sticky blood there.

  I pull myself to my feet, calling Olivia’s name. There’s no reply and I reach for my phone – except it’s no longer in my pocket.

  Aside from the bump on my head and slight dizziness, I don’t feel too bad. It’s then that I notice the gentle undercurrent of moaning and realise it isn’t coming from me; there’s someone else here.

  Another limp sha
ft of light is illuminating the corner of the mill and there’s a lump there, which, from a distance, looks like a discarded bin bag. It’s only as I take a few steps closer that I see the shape bobbing up and down with each intake of breath. Every exhalation brings a husky groan.

  I take a few steps towards the shape, wary that someone has very recently bashed me in the back of the head.

  ‘Liv?’

  I hiss the name, hoping she’ll roll over – but it’s not her. The shape does twist, blinking into the light. His face is so much narrower than the last time I saw it, hair straggly and unkempt. One of his eyes has swollen and closed, like a boxer who’s been on the end of a hiding.

  ‘Tyler…?’

  He moans an acknowledgement, rolling around until I can see that his hands are bound in front of him. I hurry towards him and kneel. He reels his head back, like a puppy frightened of being kicked. It surprises even me but there’s definitely relief at seeing him alive.

  ‘It’s Rose,’ I say. ‘Liv’s mum. It’s me.’

  I can barely see him but his one good eye squints through the shadow with an ominous gleam. His hands are bound with some sort of plastic cord; perhaps a washing line. The knots are tight and small and I have no chance of getting a fingernail inside.

  His voice is husky and dry: ‘Water.’

  ‘I don’t have any on me,’ I reply. ‘We’ll get you outside to my car.’

  He starts to croak something but is interrupted by a third voice from behind me, ‘You won’t.’

  It’s a woman’s voice but hard to place. Vaguely familiar but like she’s trying an accent. I spin but there’s nobody there, only the shadows.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  There’s the creak of a floorboard but the echo is so loud that I can’t figure out from which direction it comes. I’m literally backed into a corner. Tyler is at my side, still trying to croak something.

  The voice echoes around the empty mill: ‘You did it, didn’t you?’