by Sharon Jones
‘No! Poppy screamed.
Kane’s face snapped up. His eyes connected with hers and his cheek twitched in what could have been the beginning of a smile, but sadness and fear got the better of it.
‘I didn’t kill Maya, Poppy,’ he called over to her, his voice trembling and thick with fear. ‘She killed me.’
With that Kane took a step back and slipped from sight.
As Poppy screamed, the dream came back to her. Maya pushing her. Falling...falling...falling...
She wasn’t even conscious that she had run to the edge until she was staring down at Kane’s contorted body, broken on the pebbles below. One leg had gained another joint, bent the wrong way, and his face stared up at them – seeing or unseeing, she couldn’t tell. As if to finish off the job, a tide of red lake water rolled over him.
‘She pushed him – she pushed him!’ Poppy heard herself shouting.
Arms folded around her and she was enclosed in a tight hug as she gasped for breath.
‘Come away.’
It was Tariq. His fingers tried to brush her hair away from her face, but it was stuck to her cheeks by tears and sweat. It was in her eyes, in her mouth, but she could do nothing other than cling to him and take in deep shuddering breaths of air.
‘Get an ambulance,’ someone was saying, ‘and get down to him, check if he’s alive.’
Tariq squeezed her tightly. ‘It’s OK, Poppy. It’s OK.’
But it wasn’t.
The tipi was packed with people. Mum, Jonathan, DS Grant, the policewoman she’d seen talking to Bob and Pete earlier. Bob and Mo were outside, giving them space, but not willing to leave entirely. Even Tariq was sat by the flap, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth.
She shot him a quick smile. He couldn’t be finding it easy, being surrounded by all these coppers.
Tariq lifted his eyebrows in a question. ‘OK?’ he mimed.
She nodded. And she was OK now. Everything was fine as long as she didn’t think too much...and as long as she was surrounded by ten or twelve people.
As the conversation between Jonathan and the policewoman dwindled to a pause she could hear the bark of police dogs and the hum of engines.
She couldn’t stop her mind from replaying the scene. Over and over like a YouTube clip on repeat. Her imagination had even added a soundtrack. Now she didn’t hear the shouts of the police officers calling for him to stop, instead she heard the sickening thud of Kane’s body as it had tumbled down the sharp incline of the bluff, and the splash as he’d landed head first into the shallow waters below.
‘There’s still a chance he’ll make it,’ DS Grant said, catching her eye.
It had taken twenty-five minutes for an ambulance to arrive. But he was still breathing when they’d loaded him into the back. Just.
‘I think he’s ill. I don’t think he wanted to hurt me.’ She didn’t quite know why she was defending him. He’d killed two women. Or at least she’d thought he had. But he’d been scared and confused and she couldn’t rid her head of the thudding noise, nor the feeling that somehow Maya had killed him, just like he’d said she would.
A hand rubbed her back. She looked up. Mum’s face was surprisingly calm, like she’d managed to fit in an hour’s Zen meditation since her initial freak-out. Mum leaned over, kissed her forehead and then pressed her face against Poppy’s so that she was surrounded by Mum smell. It wasn’t just the scent of the oils she used in her massage, but that special something in her DNA that always made Poppy feel safe and at home.
There was a buzz of static from a radio.
‘Excuse me a minute,’ DS Grant said, getting to his feet and slipping out of the tipi.
Mum’s shoulder shifted beneath her head. Poppy sat up and looked at her.
‘I’m going to call Michael,’ Mum said.
‘What?’ Poppy’s stomach twisted. Michael was the one person she wanted most... but she couldn’t have him. Especially not tonight. ‘No. You can’t. It’s Julia’s party. I don’t want you to call him.’
‘He’d want to know what’s happened,’ Mum said.
‘No! I’m fine. There’s no reason for you to call him. I’ll speak to him in the morning.’
‘You should call him,’ a voice said from the opposite side of the tipi. Tariq’s gaze held hers. He smiled, but there was a frown mark between his eyebrows that told her he wasn’t joking. ‘It’s going out on the news. If my best friend was involved I’d want to hear about it.’
Mum squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’ll just tell him that you’re OK. I don’t want him hearing about it from somewhere else and driving over here if he’s been drinking.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
The soft glow from Julia’s bedside lamp did nothing to disguise the pinkness of the room. Pink fluffy pillows. Pink flowery bedspread that looked like something his gran would choose. And then there was the teddy collection. Hundreds of them. Everywhere he looked there were fuzzy pink and brown noses, glassy eyes...all staring at him.
Were they gonna watch?
Behind him the door clicked shut. He turned to see Julia dragging over a chair to prop underneath the handle, the way that they did in films. A gang of her friends was downstairs still drinking cocktails with no names, listening to husky-voiced women singing out of the iPod speakers, and slagging off all the blokes they’d ever known.
A girly sleepover, that’s what she’d told her parents. He couldn’t believe they’d fallen for that old chestnut.
Happy that the chair would stop any unwanted visitors disturbing them, Julia turned and smiled.
‘Should I put on some music?’ she asked.
Michael shrugged. ‘OK.’
She went over to a white chest of drawers that was covered with twenty or so bottles of perfume and began fumbling with the stereo. After a minute she sighed.
‘Bloody thing won’t work.’
He gently budged her aside. She hadn’t flicked onto the right function. He pressed a couple of buttons. ‘Remote?’
‘Here,’ she said, holding out the small black plastic remote.
As he took it, he noticed her hand was shaking. A nervous shiver worked its way up his spine. He took a deep breath, pushed the play button and chucked the remote on the side.
Over the course of the evening her eyeliner had smudged. She’d tried to fix it, but it was industrial-strength stuff. She always wore a lot of make-up when they went out. He preferred her without, but now probably wasn’t the time to tell her.
She took a step forward and slipped her hand into his hair. And she stared at him. Her wide eyes were as shiny as the hundreds of glass eyes watching them.
‘I love you,’ she whispered.
She’d said it before, but this time it set bugs crawling through his veins.
Did he love her?
He liked her. He thought she was sexy. But he loved Poppy. He was in love with his best friend and had been for as long as he could remember. Was it possible that he could love them both? He felt paralysed standing there in Julia’s bedroom with all those accusing glass eyes staring at him. All those bears, they knew.
Shit! This was confusing.
Julia pulled down his head to kiss him. Her lips were soft and inviting. She wanted him, for definite. There was no confusion in her kisses and it felt good.
She guided his hands to the zip to her dress. It got caught and there were a few moments of nervous giggling from both of them. Then it was free and Julia, this girl who he’d fancied since they were both gawky and twelve, was practically naked. She was beautiful and she’d been more of a friend to him than Poppy for the last six months. And he did love her in some way.
‘Are you sure?’ he whispered.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
His brain left the plane
t and all he was left with was wanting.
They landed on the flowery bedspread and the teddies scattered. She pushed off his shirt and then they were flesh on flesh.
Ring-ring!
God, it was so good that there were bells.
Ring-ring!
Bells? There were bells? No, it was a phone.
Ring-ring!
Her fingers were on his belt, trying to undo the buckle.
Ring-ring!
‘My phone,’ he muttered, pulling it from his back pocket.
‘Ignore it,’ Julia gasped.
‘Yeah, I—’ He was about to reject the call when he saw the screen: Meg calling. The moment froze. What the fuck am I doing?
Julia grabbed the phone from him and threw it on the bedside cabinet.
‘No! Hold on.’ Michael untangled himself from Julia, grabbed the phone and hit Answer.
‘Meg?’
‘Michael. Sorry to call so late. I know you’re at a party—’
He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘—It’s OK, what’s wrong?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Poppy lay with her head in Mum’s lap, and a big chenille blanket wrapped around her. The constant stroking of Mum’s hand against her hair was hypnotic and Mum had turned out most of the torches in the hope she would fall asleep. But she couldn’t. And so she drifted. Not really awake, not really asleep. Thoughts flitted through her head, some of them so quick she couldn’t grasp on to them. Others lingered and then were gone, forgotten like a dream.
Love is like fire, Poppy; unless it’s channelled it destroys everything.
Everything and everyone. Beth had lost her life to love. Tariq had abandoned his dreams for love of his family. And Kane...
‘Kane was a fool for love,’ said a voice she didn’t recognise. Someone laughed.
Poppy gasped and sat up. ‘Who said that?’
On the other side of the tipi, Jonathan, Mo and Bob were talking in hushed voices. All three of them stopped and turned to her.
‘Who said what, Poppy?’ Mum asked.
‘About Kane. Who was laughing?’
They all looked at her like she was mad.
‘No one was laughing.’ Mum pushed Poppy’s hair away from her face. ‘You must have been dreaming.’
Right...dreaming. She blinked and rubbed her eyes.
‘Err – excuse me. Can I come in?’ DS Grant’s face appeared through the flap.
‘Of course, Sergeant,’ Mum said, beckoning him in.
The detective settled himself on a cushion and took up what was becoming his familiar Buddha-like pose. He kneaded his hands together and stared at the ground. He looked whacked, like he’d been chased by a pack of dogs. He glanced up and their eyes met. He held Poppy’s gaze.
‘What is it?’ she asked, her stomach already tensing up.
‘I’m afraid Kane died on the way to the hospital.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
After hours of darkness, when it felt like the night would never end, Poppy stood at the edge of the lake and watched as the sun steadily crept into the sky, sending ribbons of pink and gold light weaving through the sharp peaks of the fir trees and hills in the distance. The rosy light danced on the rippling waters of the lake as if the water sprites were celebrating the return of the sun.
‘It’s a beautiful morning,’ Mo said, beside her.
Poppy nodded. It was beautiful – the sky, the lake, the trees. Postcard pretty.
But what was that old saying? Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. A cold shudder worked its way up her spine. In a flash, where there had been beauty she could see only danger. The trees were too jagged and the lake too red...blood-red. Poppy tore her gaze away and looked instead at the mottled-grey pebbles beneath her feet.
‘Are they gone now?’ she asked, quietly.
‘Is who gone?’
Poppy turned to Mo.
The faintest of smiles carved a way through the medicine woman’s solemn features. Mo wasn’t even pretending not to know what she was talking about. But she was going to make her say it anyway.
‘Maya, Beth. Whoever it was in my head.’
Mo’s dark eyes reflected the glow of the sunrise, as if they could filter out the pure light of the morning from the blood and horror of last night. She nodded, considering Poppy’s question.
What did she need to consider? Kane was dead. The police had found a notebook in his pocket complete with mad rantings about Maya that had convinced them that he’d killed her and Beth. They were even going to begin the search for Maya’s body. Poppy had worked out what had happened to them. She’d done all she could do, hadn’t she? ‘Why the hell would they still be haunting me?’ she blurted.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ The panic she’d been so careful to keep under control broke free. ‘I can’t take them home with me, Mo. I can’t handle them screwing with me any more.’
‘Maybe they still have something to teach you.’
‘I don’t want any more lessons.’
‘Or maybe you haven’t let them go.’
‘Me? Are you saying it was all in my head?’ Poppy ran a hand through her hair and laughed. Just two days ago, if the roles had been reversed, she’d have told Mo to book herself in for a few sessions with Jonathan.
‘Doesn’t matter what I think,’ Mo said, gently. ‘Only matters what you think. Whether they’re spirits or memories, the best medicine is to let them go from your heart.’
Michael had said something about her needing to learn to let things go. It was true. If she’d have let go of Michael rather than chasing after him, maybe they’d still be friends. If she’d stopped searching for Beth’s killer, maybe the police would have found Kane before he ended up dead in the water.
‘How do I do it, Mo? How do I let them go?’
‘I’m sorry, no more questions today,’ Bob said, waving away the gaggle of journalists holding out Dictaphones and scribbling in notebooks. ‘Go and find yourself a nice celebrity scandal to fill your pages.’
As he stalked away from them, a couple of women police officers stopped the news hounds from following.
‘Got your own bodyguards now?’ Poppy asked, smiling.
Bob glanced over his shoulder. ‘Aye. Nice girls. One of them was telling me that her old gran used to read the tealeaves. Happen even the police aren’t immune to the Old Ways. Let’s go and make her a cuppa, hey? Put her to the test.’
Bob’s arm clamped firmly around Poppy’s shoulders and he led her to the caravan.
Once inside the darkened tobacco-smelling cave, Poppy slumped down at the fold-down table where the police had interviewed her after finding Beth. Was it really only a couple of days ago? It felt like weeks. On the table were the usual mountains of books as well as a couple of business cards with the phone numbers of various police officers. That had to be a first. Usually, Bob was trying to evade the police, not contact them.
‘New friends?’ Poppy asked, holding up one of the cards.
Bob chuckled. ‘Have to admit, they’ve been pretty decent,’ he said, pouring boiling water into a teapot. ‘We’ve even been allocated a family liaison officer to help handle the press. All part of their community relations programme, apparently.’ He snorted. ‘Could have done with some community relations the last time they hauled me off the bypass protest.’
Bob dumped two steaming mugs of builder’s brew on the table and slumped down opposite her.
‘Thought you were making tea for your bodyguards.’
‘In a minute. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind first?’ He scratched his beard and raised an expectant eyebrow.
Poppy picked up one of the mugs of tea and wrapped her hands around it. ‘
Mo says I need to let go of what’s happened.’
Bob nodded, but said nothing.
‘She said I could leave offerings to their spirits. Parting gifts. She said it’s normal, it’s what people are doing every time they leave flowers on a grave. I didn’t want to ask Mum and Jonathan, they’ll only want to make a big deal out of it and I don’t want to talk about it, or work out what I think happened, I just want to do it. Will you help me?’
Bob grabbed his pipe, shoved it in his mouth and reached for the matches. ‘What do you need?’
It took nearly an hour to select three gifts. It was worse than buying birthday presents for people she actually knew.
Bob stuffed everything into a cloth bag and handed it over to Poppy. She took it and hugged him. His arms encircled her and leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
‘I should be at yours before dark,’ Bob said, ‘so tell that mad dog of yours that I’ll be requiring my usual armchair, and there’s only room for one of us.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Bob let her go and stepped back. ‘Are you going where I think you’re going?’
Poppy nodded.
‘Could you do me a favour while you’re up there?’
‘Of course.’
Bob grabbed one of the books from the table, opened it up and took an envelope from between the pages. ‘Could you put that through the door of the farmhouse? It’s just a thank you. They got more than they bargained for this year.’
‘No problem.’ She grabbed the caravan door and yanked it open. Light flooded into the gloom.
‘Pops?’
She stepped down onto the wobbly metal step and turned back to Bob. ‘Yeah?’
He shoved his pipe into his mouth and chewed the end. ‘I meant what I said the other night. You’re a good soul, lass. None of this was your fault.’
People were starting to pack up. She wandered through the cars and VW vans that were being piled high with camping equipment, towards the food vans. She knew she didn’t have long to get up the bluff and back before Mum started looking for her, but there was someone else she needed to talk to first...if he hadn’t cleared off or been arrested.