Rachel sat down, and looked around at all the customers that were happily smiling and laughing, without a care in the world. She began to feel an urgency building up within herself.
“Hurry up Suzanne,” she said under her breath as she ripped the paper wrapper and sprinkled the sugar into her drink. She was shaking, but it was okay, it was excitement. She threw her paper wrapper on the table and stirred her drink with the wooden sticks.
*****
Suzanne was running a little behind schedule, and this unexpected knock at the door was likely to set her back even further, she thought.
“Oh bugger off.” She muttered as she stood in the kitchen, choosing to ignore the caller. Suzanne knew that it wasn’t Rachel at the door, as she had set off to town almost an hour earlier. Suzanne couldn’t bear the prospect of Tania coming round and bombarding her for an hour, and she couldn’t think who else it might be knocking, and pressing the doorbell.
The person knocked and pressed the bell again. It sounded quite official. It wasn’t Tania anyway, Suzanne quickly realised that, as the person at the door hadn’t tried the handle. Tania would have just walked in by now, reasoned Suzanne. She decided that it would be quicker and easier to just go and answer the door, and send whoever it was on their way. Then she could get on with her business, and get into town and find out what Rachel was so excited about.
“Bloody charity knockers. It’s getting bloody ridiculous!” said Suzanne as she breezed across the hall to the front door and opened it wide.
“Hello?” she said. She was confused. She recognised the man stood before her, but she couldn’t think who he was. “Now, where do I know you from?” she asked, employing her flirtiest, sexiest smile.
“Hello, erm, I don’t think we’ve met before,” said DCI Miller. “I’m a police officer. Is it okay to come in for a minute?”
That was where Suzanne knew the man’s face from. He was a detective. Shit. He was on television from time to time, he’d been the main policeman in the Pop case the previous year. Oh crap! Thought Suzanne. Her legs felt rubbery and she felt a sudden, urgent need to fart as the shock of the moment hit her bowels. Suzanne felt light headed and she could tell that the blood had rushed to her face, just from the heat that was pumping through her cheeks.
“Oh, erm, well, I’m actually just on my way out. An appointment. Can it wait?” Suzanne felt as though she was about to faint. Her visitor’s answer to that question would determine her immediate fate. Suzanne could feel the prison gates slamming shut in her face as DCI Miller spoke. His words made the rubbery sensation in her legs turn to jelly.
“Suzanne Ashworth, I am arresting you in connection with the disappearance of Graham Ashworth on or around the beginning of June. You do not have to say anything…”
Suzanne couldn’t really hear the rest of what the man was saying after that, his words were just noises that were coming over in slow motion. It was like a chewed up video tape that just kept distorting and droning and making no sense. It was as though her head was being pushed under water. Before Suzanne could try and make any sense of the situation, she was sat in the back of the policeman’s car, moving away from Haughton Park.
“There’s… it’s a mistake. There’s been some kind of a mistake!” she said to the policeman, as he drove the car past the luxurious homes on either side of the road.
“It’s alright, don’t worry about it love, we’ll sort it all out at the station.” Said Miller, glancing up at his rear view mirror and trying to look as kindly and trustworthy as he possibly could.
Suzanne looked out of her window, she saw Noel. He was walking home from school, staring at her as the car drove past him and his friend. He waved. Suzanne wanted to wave back but she couldn’t lift her hand. Not handcuffed. Not like this.
Tears of anguish began to trickle as Suzanne started chewing aggressively at her bottom lip.
This was it. Oh shit.
*****
“Hi Mick, just wondered, has Suzanne set off? Her drink’s gone cold!!!! R xxx” Rachel pressed send. It said 16.33 on her phone clock. Suzanne wasn’t normally late. But even if she was running a bit late, she could have had the good manners to text or ring. Rachel was feeling really irritable. The sound of people laughing, scraping chairs on the tiled floor, screaming toddlers and shouting infants were echoing off the walls. People were having great fun all around and it was making Rachel feel angry.
She put her phone into her jacket pocket, picked up her bag, and left her empty cup beside Suzanne’s full cup on the table. She couldn’t get outside fast enough. All the noise, the laughter, the staff shouting out orders, people talking shit all around her. It was driving Rachel mad. The noise was getting louder, filling her head. She could feel the start of a panic attack brewing. Shit. Slow down, you know what’s happening, just take control. That’s it, slow, slow. Big, deep, slow breaths. Take a seat on the bench. That’s it. Big slow breaths Fill those lungs up.
Rachel’s phoned pinged. She wanted to grab it and see if it was Suzanne, to read a message that explained that she was stuck in traffic, or that she’d had a puncture, or that she was at the wrong McDonalds.
But she couldn’t grab the phone just now, she had to concentrate, she had to carry on talking to herself about the panic attack which she was fighting off. The terror, the banging heart rate, the inability to breathe, the full on drama of dropping dead in front of all these people was fading, diminishing, lessening, ever so gradually.
Rachel was getting better at keeping control with her panic attacks. She was getting better at it each time. The key was to keep control, and to tell herself that she knew what it was, what was happening, and that everything was going to be okay. It used to be terrifying when she didn’t know what was happening, when she had no idea if things were going to be okay, or not.
Eventually, after a few minutes of controlled thought, and self-reassurance, Rachel sensed that this one was past the worst. She was sat on the bench outside McDonalds, sweating and talking quietly to herself. Onlookers just assumed that she was a drug addict on a horrible come-down. She certainly looked the part.
When she finally felt strong enough to stand up, she set off towards the bus station, and had a look at the text message as she walked slowly and calmly.
It wasn’t Suzanne.
It wasn’t Mick.
“Text CLAIM now to 68777 and we’ll get you your money from that accident.”
“Mick you ignorant bastard why aren’t you replying?” Said Rachel to herself as she stared at the phone. She pressed the phone icon on the text message, and the screen said “Dialling…. MICK.”
“Answer the phone Mick! Please…” Rachel felt like crying, just out of sheer frustration.
“Welcome to the O2 messaging service, I’m sorry but the number…” Rachel hung up. She started scrolling through her contacts until she found Suzanne’s number. She pressed the phone icon again. “Come on…” she said under her breath.
“This is the Vodafone messaging service….” Rachel hung up and quickened her pace as she headed towards Bury Interchange. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her water.
Rachel arrived home at half past five. She saw that Suzanne’s car was on the drive opposite. She went inside her own house. Mick was giving the kids their tea. Britney was sat there, staring at her phone, sulking. Mick was laughing along with Maureen about total bollocks. Everything just seemed normal. The kids, they were just looking at her like everything was normal.
It was bizarre. Rachel just felt weird. Drunk almost.
Everything went in slow motion again. Mick looked up, and started making a long, drawn out drone noise. Rachel had to concentrate hard to work out what he was saying.
“Alright Rach, everything alright love?”
Mick looked scared, he rushed towards his partner.
Rachel had collapsed onto her knees. She was crying, sobbing uncontrollably. She started punching Mick as he went to her aid. She was throwing wild, hard
punches at his chest and his arms as he tried to get near.
Liam and Noel were trying to get near and help. Shania was crying and hugging her Gran. Britney was sat on the settee, still holding her phone but now looking at the unimaginable drama of her mother screaming and crying, lashing out at her own family.
“It’s too late Mick! You were too late!” she shrieked.
Chapter 33
“It’s going to be alright. Trust me Rach. When have I ever let you down?” Mick hugged Rachel tightly, and kissed her cheek, and then her neck tenderly.
“Promise, Mick?”
“I promise.” Mick let go of his partner. She should be his wife, by rights, he thought. But they’d never had the money to get married. Life had got in the way every time they’d talked about it. A bill, a blown head-gaskett followed by a birthday and then a new school blazer or a broken washing machine would always stall any plans. Still, they both knew that one day, when they could, they would get married. It was more a question of when, rather than whether.
“See-you then.” Rachel was crying.
“Love you. I’m going to miss you every day.” Mick’s eyes were full of tears too.
Mick and Rachel had enjoyed and endured an eventful life together over the previous eighteen years. Most of the time, they’d been as happy, and content with their lot as they could be. Some of the time, they despaired at the difficulty and hopelessness of just trying to get by. Bringing up a young family with little money was hard going, but they had tried their best since they became parents in their teen years. The finer things in life had never been on the couple’s aspiration list. The basic struggle of juggling bills and keeping on top of the day-to-day requirements of renting a council house, heating and lighting it, feeding and clothing their children and each other, while all the time trying to keep a happy, positive outlook was a full-time, all consuming, relentless commitment.
The house-fire had been the big turning point, for everybody in the family. Life suddenly went bad, for them all. Losing possessions hadn’t taken too long to get over. But adapting to a life of six people living in the confines of a static caravan for such a long time had been a real test. Rows and fights could flair up for the most trivial of reasons. Just being so close together, having no space, it got on top of everybody. Especially when somebody did an eggy fart.
Getting the house on Haughton Park was supposed to herald the new beginning. A clean slate. A chance to start a fresh, and get the whole family back to feeling some sense of security. At least, that was how Mick and Rachel had imagined it.
Standing here, at the entrance to Bury police station, Mick Crossley knew that he was doing the right thing. There was no question about it. It was the best solution to the mess.
“It looks more like a swimming baths than a police station, doesn’t it?” He smiled. Rachel just looked down at her hands which were clasped together at her groin. “I’ve never really weighed it up before. But it doesn’t look too scary. I’ll treat myself to a chicken soup out of the vending machine.”
“And some pickled onion Monster Munch!” said Rachel, without any hint of a smile. “You love them, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Best crisps going. Right, any road, I’d best make a move. Seeya. Love you more than Boris Johnson loves being a dickhead.” Mick leaned in and kissed Rachel again. It was a peck on her cheek, the bitter, sour taste of her tears made him feel sad. He turned, and looked again into the large glass fronted building. He actually couldn’t wait to get in there now.
“I love you Mick!”
“Don’t forget, I’m running this thing now. If you get brought in, you answer no comment to everything. No matter what Rach. Right?”
“Yeah, I know. No comment.”
“That’s my girl!” Mick kissed Rachel’s forehead and turned to walk away. He must have had something in his eyes as he walked inside, he was wiping at them.
As she watched him disappear behind a wall inside the building, Rachel turned and started jogging away. Soon, her jog had developed into a run, and then into a sprint. Rachel was sprinting away as fast as she could. She wasn’t heading anywhere in particular. She just needed to get away from there, as quickly as possible. It was all that she craved.
*****
“Hello.” Said Mick, to the officer who was sitting behind the wooden counter, typing onto a computer keyboard.
“Hello. How can I help?” Asked the policeman, without looking up. He seemed quite bored, and Mick felt like he was a bit of a nuisance. Mick looked over his shoulder. There were a couple of sad looking teenagers sat near him. A drunk man looked as though he was trying to sleep on the seat opposite the counter, and a lady, possibly in her thirties was sat reading a leaflet in the middle of the waiting room.
“I said, how can I help?” the officer sounded quite snappy.
“I need to talk to someone.” Said Mick, quietly.
“You are doing. How can I help?” asked the officer, who still hadn’t looked up in Mick’s direction at all.
“I’ve erm, well, I’ve killed someone.” Mick was whispering, quite loud. The sad looking couple suddenly sat up a little straighter.
The policeman looked up from his screen, and focused his eyes on the man standing over him at the counter.
“You what?” he asked, confident that he had misheard the man at the desk.
“I said I’ve killed someone.” Mick’s desperate whisper wasn’t at all quiet. “ I’m just handing myself in.” Mick looked nervous, and he felt a bit silly. It was a strange thing to be saying, and he realised this for the first time as the words came out of his mouth.
The lady with the leaflet looked quite scared, and put the brochure down on the metal seat beside her. The drunk man was completely oblivious.
“Are you taking the piss?” asked the officer, who was now standing, and facing Mick Crossley across the counter.
“No. Course not!” said Mick, feeling embarrassed by the policeman’s response. “Why would I be?” he asked.
“Well, you know… we get people saying stuff like that all the time. Most of the time, they just want a warm bed for the night.” The policeman still didn’t seem too interested in Mick’s revelation, and the cool, couldn’t-care-less demeanour shocked Mick. This was not how he’d imagined that this was going to be at all.
“Well, I’m not… and I don’t need a bed. I’ve got one at home. But I’ve come down to confess. I want to get it off my chest.”
The policeman was just gazing at Mick, he’d been watching his mouth move up and down as he spoke.
“Okay. Just take a seat and I’ll get an officer to come down and have a word with you. Shouldn’t be too long, but it is tea-time so quite a few officers will be otherwise engaged until about seven. Just take a seat over there.” The officer waved at the seating area and sat back down and restarted whatever task it was that he’d been distracted from. Mick just stood there a moment, wondering if this was a wind-up. He’d come in here to confess to a murder and he’d been asked to sit down in the waiting room. This wasn’t how he’d imagined it would be at all.
Mick did as he was told, and took a seat. The sad looking couple seemed nervous as he walked across towards them. The lady re-started reading her pamphlet, desperately trying to avoid eye-contact.
It felt strange, realising that he could just walk out of here and the copper probably wouldn’t even look up. Probably couldn’t give a toss, thought Mick.
Eventually, after a fifteen minute wait, a lady police officer came to the glass door at the side of the counter and opened it.
“Is that him?” she asked of the policeman at the computer.
“Yes, that’s him.” Said the desk officer without looking up from his work.
“Excuse me, Sir, can you come this way please?” asked the lady officer.
Mick stood up and walked across to the door, feeling really silly in front of the other people in the waiting area. He was glad to get beyond the public area, and into the police s
tation properly, where he was following the officer down a corridor. She stopped as she reached the doorway of an interview room and turned on the light inside.
“Power saving. We have to turn all the lights off and on when we leave rooms now. What energy we save, we pay out for on all the new bulbs we blow. Come in, take a seat.” Said the officer. Mick was astounded by how friendly she was being. He was here to talk about a murder he’d committed. Mick thought that this was the most surreal experience of his life.
“Right, I’m police constable Kerry Townson, I need to take a few details down from you.”
“Cheers.” Said Mick.
Fifteen minutes later, PC Townson had finished taking down her notes and told Mick that she would have to go and check a few details out, and told Mick to sit there, asking him if he’d like a hot drink.
“No, I’m alright. Cheers.” He said, looking down at the table top.
“Okay, I won’t be long. See you in a bit.”
PC Townson left the room, leaving the door wide open. Mick was amazed at how laid back the police seemed to be, especially as he was confessing to a murder. He’d always thought that murder was a pretty hardcore crime. He’d envisaged lots of officers pinning him down on the floor, tying his legs together, pushing his face into the floor and lots of shouting, calling him a murdering son of a bitch. He’d certainly not envisaged being offered a brew.
A few minutes turned into five, and then to ten. Time began to pass slowly and Mick was fidgety. His leg was bouncing up and down and he couldn’t keep his hands still. His mind was wandering, wondering what Rachel was up to, wondering how she was feeling, wondering if she’d got home alright.
*****
Rachel arrived home loudly, which both shocked and pleased Maureen in equal measure. It was a relief to see her daughter.
“Any news on Suzanne? Anyone seen her?” she puffed as she entered the living room. She had a sweaty, rosy glow about herself, and looked as though she’d run home.
Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist Page 24