by Dan Clark
Carolyn’s nerves ease slightly. If Julio has described her to the owner, he seems not to recognise her.
She scans the room quickly. There is no storage room behind the man, and nothing out of the ordinary; no shovels, ladders or plastic sheeting that’s visible. There are only inflatable Teletubbies and Peppa Pig balloons. Nor is there any horrific smell of a decomposing body. A door is to Carolyn’s left, next to a display of Halloween costumes in plastic packets. Though the room behind can only be slim, it doesn’t look as if it would store much; the walls come out about two feet less than the average coat cupboard at home. There is no other storage space at the back.
If the body is here, it would have to be inside this cupboard. The door is locked. Carolyn stands next to it, pretending to look through the funny black-and-white birthday cards with googly eyes.
The padlock attached to the door is thick and bulky. It’s the type you would use for shutters outside. It isn’t for a simple storage cupboard.
The thought of a decaying corpse behind that door, wrapped in plastic sheeting, sends a chill through Carolyn. The smart thing to do would have been to bury the body somewhere else. She has no idea if that’s what they’ve already done. She doesn’t know anything. She only knows that something suspicious is going on with Julio Alcala, and her grieving mind is jumping to conclusions that involve this overweight owner. The idea that the party shop owner had anything to do with the missing boys is pathetic. And to be honest, the man behind the desk – wheezing and struggling to breathe – isn’t capable of digging a hole, or even of carrying a body. He looks as if ascending a single flight of stairs would bring on a heart attack. No wonder the stock is still waiting in unopened boxes. So if there was a digger involved in the crime, it would have to have been Julio.
She has to find out what’s behind that door. What needs hiding so much that you’d use such a big padlock? She wanders off, thinking of ways to gain entry.
Then, as if an unknown force has answered her wish, the door of the party shop opens and a workman decorating one of the unoccupied units sticks his head in.
“I take it that’s your van outside?” he says.
The obese man behind the counter looks up from his paper. “Yeah, it is. Why?” he wheezes, catching his breath.
“Just to let you know, you’ve got a flat tyre, mate.” The man behind the counter sighs “Shit” and follows the workman out of the door without paying any attention to Carolyn, leaving her alone in the shop.
Now’s her chance. But now that it’s here, her heart is beating fast. She pauses for a moment, then races through the path of boxes on the floor to the counter. She searches through the shelf underneath, pushing invoices and receipts out of the way. Under the mess of paperwork are nude magazines; a few of them centre on Asian women and women with large breasts. Carolyn picks one up: Uniform Specials. She grimaces and carries on searching, not looking at the titles of the rest.
Finally she discovers a small wooden box. She opens it and finds the padlock key inside. She looks up to the window and can see the obese man still hasn’t yet reached his van. His poor health and inability to walk has worked in her favour today. She runs to the locked door and slips the key into the padlock. It scratches around before sliding in. What is usually a simple task has proved to be difficult by her nerves and her trembling fingers.
Her accusations of Julio and the shop owner come flooding back. Expecting the worse, Carolyn braces herself to come face to face with the body again.
She pulls open the door.
The room is how she pictured it: only big enough to store coats or a mop and bucket. It smells of sweat and fast food, like the internet café. On the back wall is a corkboard, pinned to which are magazine clippings of young girls wearing summer dresses and bikinis. Nothing illegal, but definitely not right either. Secured to the wall under the corkboard at about waist height is a plank of wood that acts as a makeshift desk. On it is a grey laptop. Next to that is a box of tissues and hand cream.
Carolyn’s face tightens, and she realises she’s pulling a face of disgust. There’s no way the party shop owner could sit at this laptop and close the door behind him. She imagines him wheeling over his swivel stool from behind the counter and sitting at it with the majority of his body hanging out. It would explain why he’d close the shutters, obviously for privacy. But what was Julio Alcala doing here?
She desperately wants to open the laptop. The magazine cut-outs above have already stirred things up in her mind. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to guess what kind of man he is, or what type of sickening things he is into.
For a split second, Carolyn debates starting up the laptop and searching the hard drive, the files, even the internet search history, but she knows there isn’t time. She’s sure that the obese, wheezing man isn’t going to change the flat tyre himself, which means he’ll soon be back to call a tyre fitter, and then he’ll catch her snooping around.
After seeing the clippings on the wall, the tissues and the hand cream, and the fact that the laptop is heavily guarded behind a locked door with a padlock, Carolyn feels uneasy. She knows she has to find out more.
She imagines the embarrassment of being arrested for stealing in her mother’s town. Richard Williams would love that.
No, she’ll have to find another way of seeing what’s on this computer.
Looking out of the window, she sees that the party shop owner is now bending over, leaning down as he examines his tyre. She closes the door and clicks the padlock closed again, and rushes over to the counter, hitting her shin on a box as she goes, and replaces the key. Then she straightens the papers and nude magazines back on top of the box and selects a Get Well Soon card with a picture of an elephant in bed, a bandage wrapped around its huge head, and a thermometer hanging from its frowning mouth. She waits at the counter as the owner comes back through the doors, with sweat running down his face. He looks at the price tag on the back and holds out his hand for payment, too breathless to speak. Carolyn hands him the correct amount and leaves.
She pulls out of the gates of the industrial unit, and then parks in the same spot as the other night and writes down what she has found: the locked door with the heavy-duty padlock, the laptop, and the clippings on the corkboard. Her heart is thumping wildly, and she’s full of adrenaline. It feels good to be doing something out of the ordinary like that, something to occupy her mind and not think of Simon and Ryan’s deaths.
Without clouding her mind too much with how she would manage to see what’s on the laptop, she Googles Barry Cookson, Llanbedr Painter and Decorator. His business address also acts as his home address, and Carolyn makes a note to visit him tomorrow. Tonight, she is going home to celebrate her small victory with a bottle or so of red, even if she can only celebrate alone.
***
The man tosses and turns a lot that night. He’s been thinking of how much he could have lost if only somebody had turned up unannounced and discovered that foul smell for themselves.
How stupid he has been to keep the body all this time.
Stupid, he thinks, shaking his head and thumping his pillow. What he has done is stupid, idiotic even. Like serial killers who keep trophies of their victims. He knows better than that. How could he have risked it all?
What’s done is done. They’ll never find the body now. Never.
Chapter Sixteen
October 24th
Jeanette has already thumped on Carolyn’s door three times, urging her to wake up. The smell of eggs and sausages cooking has enticed Carolyn to push the duvet off, but it’s the smell of fresh coffee that makes her stumble to her feet. Jeanette likes to make coffee in the morning. She’s confessed numerous times that she wouldn’t go back to the instant stuff, not after Carolyn, Simon and Ryan had bought her an electric coffee grinder for Christmas a few years back.
“What’s the rush?” Carolyn says, looking at the clock. “It’s only eight-fifteen… and it’s a Saturday. Why don’t you try sl
eeping in sometime?” She slumps into a chair at the small kitchen table.
Jeanette sets a plate in front of Carolyn and pours her a mug of coffee before taking a seat facing her.
“I need the car today. I’ve got a thing on,” Carolyn says.
“No. That’s not going to happen.”
“I need it today. I’ve got an important thing to do,” she insists, slurping her coffee and taking a bite from a sausage.
Jeanette places her cutlery down onto her plate and gives Carolyn a quizzical look. “What important thing would that be?” she asks. Carolyn finishes chewing her food and goes to answer when her mother speaks up. “Is it too important to visit your father’s grave on his birthday?”
Carolyn looks at the puppy calendar on the wall next to the door leading out into the garden. October 24th.
“That’s today?” Carolyn asks as she finishes chewing.
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m so sorry, Mum. I’ve been so caught up in all of this shit that I completely forgot. I’m sorry.” She remembers past birthdays. Her father had never been one for celebrating and making a fuss of himself. He’d rather be left alone to sit in the ugly reclining armchair and read his paper while smoking his pipe, as if it had been the same as any other day. Jeanette isn’t very sentimental, and after his death she’d made an exception to bring the chair with her when she moved to Llanbedr. It had spent a couple of days at the upholsterers for some new fabric, and now she sits in it to watch TV.
“It’s fine, love. I understand,” Jeanette says. “I know it’s not a priority at the minute with everything you’re doing. But I just wish you’d stop and relax. That’s what you’re supposed to be doing here, remember? Relaxing. Not out following people and causing trouble.”
Carolyn nods modestly and starts on her eggs.
“So, after we’ve been to the cemetery, how about joining me at the annual Halloween fair in Fishguard? I’ve been going since Father Joseph told me about it. I haven’t missed a year yet.” Jeanette slurps her coffee before adding, “I love that it’s based in your father’s hometown, where he lived when he was a boy. It was before we met, of course, and before we decided to move to Leeds.” She looks down and smiles. “I visit his grave and wish him a happy birthday, and I tell him about everything that’s going on. I sit there for a while before I go and spend the afternoon at the fair, drinking tea.” She smiles into her cup.
“Of course, I’ll come. I’d love to. Thanks, Mum,” Carolyn decides that speaking to Barry can wait for another day. Today will be about remembering her father, spending quality time with her mother, and forgetting about this mess. Just for today.
The cemetery is a forty-minute drive from Jeanette’s bungalow, and she enjoys the journey. It’s one filled with country lanes and scenic views. The cemetery is a huge and peaceful place, well-kept by the full-time groundsmen, who today are gathering up the golden autumn leaves. Carolyn and Jeanette arrive close to eleven, having stopped for flowers on the way. The air is crisp, and condensation leaves their mouths as they walk to the grave. Jeanette crouches down, puts on her gardening gloves and pulls out the dead flowers and weeds, fixes the stones around the headstone and picks up the smoking pipe that’s left under a small painted pebble Ryan had done. She tips out the debris from the chamber of the pipe, pulls out a pouch of tobacco from her coat pocket, pushes a small pinch into the pipe and sets it back in place.
Carolyn watches and smiles. “How long have you been doing that for?”
“I come on his birthday and close to Christmas before I make my way up to yours. Oh, and on our anniversary, of course. I think it would be something he’d appreciate.” Jeanette kisses the top of the headstone. “Have you got anything to say to your father?”
Carolyn wishes she could tell him everything that has been going on, and talk to him about how much she misses Simon and Ryan and her search for the missing boys. She wants to tell him about what she saw down the well and about her suspicions about the owner of the party shop. Her father would have known what to say and what would be the best thing to do next. Instead, she says she misses him and hopes he’s looking after Simon and Ryan.
The comment makes Jeanette smile, and she leans in, resting an arm around her daughter. They sit for thirty minutes before leaving and heading for the Halloween Fair.
They pay their fee at the gate and head straight for a drinks stand. Jeanette slurps a hot chocolate while Carolyn decides to try a Witch’s Heart cocktail, served in a plastic glass, with a jelly worm hanging over the brim. Jeanette gives her a raised eyebrow.
“I’m not driving today. You are.” Carolyn laughs, hugging herself. Jeanette purses her lips, smirks and shakes her head. She points to a huge tent across the field, a pop-up bar with heaters, tables and chairs. They find an empty table in the corner, next to a young couple engrossed in each other’s eyes. On the table between them, two straws stand out of a plastic skull that is filled with ice cubes and a colourful blue and green liquid.
Carolyn notices a few faces from Llanbedr. Possibly from the day at Llanbedr Convenience, though that incident with Frank and Gwen Lloyd has now been forgotten about, at least for now. Today she’s here to drink Halloween-themed cocktails, indulge in pumpkin-flavoured pies, and judge the outfits of the vampires, werewolves and bear-mauled victims walking around them.
“Carolyn, Jeanette, nice to see you here.” Father Joseph joins them, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses back up his nose. He’s wearing a flour-stained apron and a chef’s hat sporting a huge smile, though Carolyn can still feel his dislike for her through his beady look.
“Father, good to see you. How are the cookies selling?” Jeanette asks, taking a sip of hot chocolate.
He looks from Jeanette to Carolyn, down at Carolyn’s Witch’s Heart cocktail and then back to Jeanette.
“Great. I’m almost sold out. Thank you again for helping. I wouldn’t have had nearly enough if it wasn’t for you.” He pauses and looks at Jeanette. “You really are a saint. Come over and taste a few when you can. I’ll save some under the counter, just for you.”
Jeanette’s cheeks turn a rosy red colour, but Carolyn knows her mother can’t use the excuse of alcohol today. Father Joseph gives Carolyn another disapproving look before turning back to Jeanette. Carolyn feels the urge to ask what his problem is. It’s gone half past twelve, and she’s an adult enjoying a cocktail in honour of her late father. She’s tempted to open her mouth and tell him that if he doesn’t like her company, then maybe he should leave, and let her and Jeanette get back to enjoying their day.
The words burn her tongue and ache to be released into the air. Instead, she puts on a brave face and smiles. “I’m going to the bar. Would you like a drink?” she asks.
“I no longer drink,” he says. “I had a problem and I got help. I’ve been sober for eight years now. Today I just keep to the boring stuff.” He chuckles, with a fake grin on his face.
“Oh, well done. You’re really doing well,” Jeanette says, resting her hand on top of his on the table.
Carolyn fights to not let her emotions show, despite the sickening feeling in her stomach. Although now lapsed, she knows from her Catholic upbringing that their priests are supposed to be celibate. But Father Joseph appears to make absolutely no effort to discourage Jeanette’s attentions.
She walks to the bar and leaves them to talk. From there, she watches the movement of her mother’s lips. She tries to figure out their conversation, but it’s pointless. The young couple sitting next to their table are now chomping on each other’s faces. Carolyn can imagine the wet smacks, how she and Simon had been the same when they first met, with not a care in the world about the people standing by and watching in disgust. She turns away to be served.
She heads back over to her table, this time clutching a Zombie Finger drink, with an eyeball floating on top, and a hot chocolate for Jeanette.
“Gone back to his cake stand, has he?” Carolyn asks.
“Yes, we�
��ll have to head over and see him soon. He’s saved us a few cakes. I helped bake most of them, months ago though, and we’d freeze them.”
Carolyn picks out the floating plastic eyeball and places it on the table, rolling it back and forth under her finger.
“Father Joseph doesn’t like me very much, does he?” she says.
Jeanette looks shocked. “Of course he likes you. He just hears a lot of things that are going on, like you causing trouble with the Lloyds the other day.” She sighs and lowers her voice. “Not to mention the police.”
“I know what I saw. It wasn’t my imagination!” Carolyn barks, sipping her drink and pulling a sour face.
“Well, let’s not get into that today, shall we? Besides, you should stay away from the Lloyds. They’re not nice people. Take it from me, they won’t be too happy with you if the rumours start again.”
Carolyn looks up from her drink and turns to face her mother head-on. She wonders if she heard correctly. “Rumours? What rumours?”
Jeanette lowers her body closer to the table and looks around. Carolyn does the same.
“Well, their boy that went missing. Dylan. Anyway, apparently, he’s not Frank’s son. His wife, Gwen, she had an affair some time back. When Dylan went missing, it all got brought up again. I heard it from Anne at the shops. People say, and I don’t know how true it is, but people say it’s the man who owns the candle and fragrance shop on the high street.” Jeanette pauses as the young kissing couple stand up and leave. “There’s no doubt he’s the father. They look so alike!”
“Who look alike?” Carolyn asks, intrigued.
“Dylan and the candle shop man. Everyone must know.” Jeanette blows on her drink and takes a small sip.
Carolyn reaches into the inside pocket of her coat and pulls out her pad and pen. She jots down the information her mother has just given her and replaces the pad into her coat. That’s the last she will think of this today. The rest of the day is for celebrating her father’s birthday and for talking about their memories of him.