‘Please dad,’ she begged in that cutesy whine she saved just for him. ‘I really want one, an old-fashioned one with an oval mirror that I can hang necklaces and scarves and stuff on. And it needs a stool with pretty material on it. Like pink velvet, but dark pink not baby pink.’
He turned on the chain of fairy lights that hugged the rim of the mirror and trailed his fingers over the smooth glass top of the dressing table. Not a speck of dust. Just as if she were still alive. He lifted the lid of her jewellery box. The tinny music broke into the silence and he gazed at the plastic ballerina twirling her repetitive dance. Then he closed the lid and sat down on the stool. The scarves and necklaces hung as she’d promised, and the dressing table held open boxes of make-up and other bits and pieces. He picked up a pot of nail varnish then carefully placed it down. He saw her bottle of perfume. Kate had chosen it for her. It was Chanel. Coco Mademoiselle. Anna loved it. She unwrapped it the Christmas before she died, jumped up and bounded over to them, smiles and sparkles and too many thank you, thank you, thank yous. She kissed them both then ripped open the packaging, casting bits of cellophane and torn cardboard like confetti. She pulled out the bottle and grinned at them as she sprayed too much of the scent on her wrists and neck. Then she skipped back to her father and gave him her neck, tipping her head to allow him to smell.
‘Beautiful, my darling. You smell beautiful.’
She grinned and kissed him again.
Now Jon reached for the bottle. Half empty. He pulled the lid off. Lifted the perfume to his nose and breathed in. It smelt exactly of Anna. Then he held out his wrist and sprayed. One spray on one wrist, then he swapped hands and sprayed the other. He put the bottle back on the table, lifted his hands and held both wrists together beneath his nose then closed his eyes and breathed her in. He saw her skipping over to him. Tilting her head to let him smell her. Her eyes gleamed, the coloured lights of the Christmas tree reflected in their shining brown.
Jon opened his eyes and stared at his face in the mirror. He didn’t recognize the man who stared back. Even in the dim fairy-light glow he could see the dark rings that surrounded the eyes. The man’s hair stood up all over and his clothes were ruffled and creased. He was unshaven, and appeared not to have had a shower in days.
Jon broke the stare-off with the man in the mirror and reached for the purple make-up bag that sat next to the music box. He unzipped it. Rooted through. He found a lipstick. He opened it and lifted it to smell its oily waxiness. He looked back at the man in the mirror and put the lipstick to his mouth. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he pushed it on to his lips. The lipstick that had last touched Anna’s lips. He stared at himself again, and watched his newly scarlet mouth twist into an angry snarl. His eyes narrowed with hatred. Then he reached out and scrubbed the lipstick into the mirror, scribbling over the reflection of the pathetic man until the lipstick was used to the nub.
Jon pushed away from the dressing table and went over to her bed. He pulled off the freshly laundered duvet and grabbed her pillow, and then he lay down on the floor and wrapped himself up in a tight cocoon to hide himself from the shit that stank up the world outside her room.
Graffiti
i bet you’re not here :p xxx
bet i am . . . xx
you’re mad!! :O xxx
She peered out from behind the edge of a curtain and there he was, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the road, just outside the circle of light from the streetlamp. He looked up and she jumped away from the curtain and leapt back into bed, her heat racing.
Oh my God, she thought. He’s outside my room! He’s actually there!
She wanted to go down to him but she could hear her mum was up and about. So she decided to text him instead. Then the phone rang and for a dreadful moment she imagined he’d lost all sense and called the house. Her heart beat almost out of her chest. And then her dad had come into her room. She’d only just managed to grab a book in time. He had looked so upset she thought for another dreadful moment it was Haydn on the phone. She braved asking him who it was, but he didn’t know.
are you still there? did you just call our home phone!? she typed when her dad left. She pressed send and waited, her stomach thundering with nerves.
yes still here and no didn’t call . . . xx
He was still there!
She jumped out of bed again and looked out of the window. He was standing on the wall, his arms thrown out wide. She laughed and waved at him. He blew her a kiss and then another. Lizzie put her hands against the window and kissed the glass.
I love you, she mouthed, but she knew he couldn’t read her lips from where he was.
i love you :)! xxx. She pressed send and stared at him. She giggled when he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. She saw him typing and her tummy fizzed. It was like every Christmas, birthday and New Year rolled into one spectacular moment.
i love you too more than youll know . . . you are my world xx
She kissed the window again, closing her eyes and letting the smooth, cold glass be Haydn’s lips. Then she heard a noise downstairs and sprang away from the window and jumped into bed, pulling the covers over her head, her heart smacking against her chest. Nobody came into her room. She lay in the warm, dark den and thought about Haydn kissing all over her body. It was just too heavenly to imagine! Then her phone beeped a text.
your mums just come out xx
can she see you?! xxx
i dont know :L xx
dont let her!! xxx
shes looking this way :s xx
OMG!! :s :O xxx
ah its ok shes got in a car :) xx
wheres she going?? xxx
how the fuck shd i know?? i wish you were here with me . . . x
me too :(. . . are you leaving?? xxx
no i want to be here while you sleep xx
i really love you . . . xx
Lizzie checked he was there twice more that night. She didn’t let him know though. It felt special to know he cared, that he was just there because he wanted to be near her, outside her house, as close to her as he could get. When she checked at two he was sitting on the pavement with his back against the wall, a dark shadowed figure, the orange glow of his cigarette flaring as he inhaled. She climbed into bed and pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them to her. This was amazing. She wondered how many other people in the world were as lucky as she and Haydn. Not many. She actually felt sorry for everyone else; to live and not experience what she was experiencing was a tragedy.
She was woken by her phone bleeping a text. She fumbled in her sleepy haze and grabbed at the phone on her desk. She squeezed her eyes shut and open to try to get them to focus on her phone.
i need to see you
when?? xx
asap fucking shit here :L i shd have stayed outside your house . . .
leaving now whats happened?? xxx
wait and see
i’ll be 10 mins xxx
As Lizzie turned into his street she was met by chaos. People were standing around the Howes’ house. There was a police car. A man was taking photos on his phone. Some kids were laughing. Women and men looked shocked, their hands covering their mouths, shaking their heads, whispering. A mother held her child on her hip, a protective hand placed against his cheek. Her face was ashen.
When Lizzie saw what was causing the commotion, she stopped in shock and amazement and stood bolted to the pavement beneath her.
Graffiti.
Black, red, navy blue. Across the front door and the up-and-over garage. Splashes of paint slashed the front lawn and over the brickwork of the house.
Paedophile. Child abuser. Bastard pervert.
Lizzie didn’t want to go any nearer. The scene scared her. She hung on the corner of the road and texted Haydn to tell him she was there. She waited, but there was no reply and no sign of him. She shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to go or to stay. Then there was a hand on her shoulder.
Haydn stood beside h
er. He wore a hooded top with the hood pulled over his head. His shoulders were hunched and his hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans.
‘I snuck out the back and jumped over the wall. Let’s get the fuck out of here.’
With their heads low and feet moving quickly in time, they walked hand in hand without talking. When they were clear of the road they broke into a run in the direction of her grandparents’ house. They didn’t stop until they got there so that her lungs burned as she tapped in the entry code and tried to catch her breath.
As soon as the shed door was closed behind them, she curled her arms around Haydn and held him until he stopped crying.
Shepherd’s Pie
‘Hello?’
As soon as Kate answered the phone she wished she hadn’t. Her head pounded and she felt as if she might throw up at any moment.
‘Kate, it’s Marlena.’
Marlena Sanders was the mother of a child in Anna’s class at school. Her daughter, Emmie, had joined primary school with Anna and the two girls had not been friends ever since. Marlena used to run the PTA, but quit because she fell out with three of the governors. She baked a cake every Thursday, and passionately loathed dogs, travellers, modern art, Big Brother and the homeless ‘who will insist on lingering around looking dirty’. She was, to all intents and purposes, a pain in the arse. The last time Kate had heard from her was a trite sorry-for-your-loss card that gave the impression Kate and Jon were burying a gerbil in a shoebox rather than their eldest child.
Kate considered putting the telephone down.
‘Hello, Marlena,’ she said instead. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m, well . . . I’m obviously a little concerned . . .’
‘Oh?’ Kate tried to sound interested.
‘Haven’t you heard?’
‘Heard what?’
‘Oh my goodness. I can’t believe you haven’t heard!’
Kate didn’t reply.
‘Dr Howe’s house has been vandalized.’
Kate’s stomach hit the floor and she reached to steady herself on a kitchen chair.
‘Graffiti. All over it.’
Kate’s head swam as she struggled to breathe. ‘When?’
‘Last night.’
She looked at the ceiling and quietly swore.
‘Kate?’ asked Marlena.
She held the phone away from her and took two deep breaths. ‘I’m sorry, Marlena, I’m not feeling too good today. Do they know who did it? Kids, I suppose.’
Kate imagined policemen sitting in a darkened surveillance room at that very moment, poring over flickery images of her and Dan daubing the house.
‘You know, I don’t think it is youths.’ She paused. ‘Or even hoodies.’
Kate held on to the kitchen worktop for dear life as she tried to keep her thumping head straight. This was it, she was the most depraved criminal there was; she’d attacked a child, she’d taken drugs, she’d vandalized a house.
‘It’s the things written that are most disturbing. Awful things about Dr Howe,’ said Marlena. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. ‘That he’s a paedophile.’
Kate wanted to die.
‘It’s scrawled all over the house, roof to foundations, and this wasn’t thugs, no, this was someone who knows something. Thugs use spray paint. This was gloss and matt emulsion.’
‘I’m sure it’s kids,’ said Kate, weakly.
‘No, this was a warning. The brother or father of some desperate child begging us to find out the truth. I’ve never liked that man, and I’m a jolly good judge of character. These men, these kiddyfiddlers, need to go to prison and have their wotsits cut off by hairy burglars.’
Kate’s aching head was cloudy, mussed up, as if someone had shaken it. Vague memories of her scrawling the word paedophile on to Stephen’s home flashed up. Christ, what had she done? ‘It’s just words on a house,’ she said quietly.
‘That may be, but we all know that where smoke billows fire rages—’
Kate put the phone down on Marlena and pinched the bridge of her nose. She took a deep breath, counted to five, then let it slowly out. Her head was so sore. She was losing it. She was going to end up in prison. She thought back to the night before, about how she’d walked out of the house without even a thought to Jon and Lizzie. What kind of mother was she to leave her daughter and vandalize a house?
She was hit with a sudden, overpowering urge to see Lizzie, to hold her, hug her tightly and tell her just how very much she loved her. She looked at the clock. It was nearly three. If she left immediately she’d meet her at school and they could walk home together, or maybe even go for a coffee and a slice of cake like they used to.
Kate hung across the road from the school gates and scoured the children as they poured out of school like a burst dam. She chewed the corner of her nail, worried that she wouldn’t be able to see her in the crowd. But then there she was, piling out in a group of girls. Kate lifted her hand to wave and was about to call to her, when something stopped her. Perhaps it was the group of girls she was with; she didn’t recognize any of them. One might be Sammy, and Kate wondered if she’d been unfair to disbelieve Lizzie and assume she was making up mythical friends with mythical birthdays so she could spend time with Haydn Howe.
Kate watched the girls as they walked and chatted, holding their books to their chests, laughing and pushing each other playfully. Lizzie threw her head back and squealed, flicked her hair, then readjusted her bag on her shoulder, secure, confident, outgoing. It wasn’t a Lizzie Kate knew. When she thought about Lizzie at school, she pictured a fragile girl devastated by her sister’s death. She saw her sitting on her own at lunch, head hung, tears falling into uneaten food, bereft, forlorn. But there she was, normal and seemingly happy, carrying on with her life. Kate was surprised by the rush of pride and joy that came with seeing her like this.
Kate watched as Lizzie waved a cheery goodbye to her friends then disappeared around the corner at the end of the road. She stared after her for a moment or two feeling terribly alone suddenly, as if she were the last survivor clinging to a shipwrecked boat, the one not brave enough to swim for it, preferring to sink with the wreckage rather than risk the unknown. This wasn’t her. It wasn’t who she was. Something lifted off her then. It was as if a blindfold had been removed and she was blinking into the sunshine of a brand new day. Could it be this easy? She wanted to run after Lizzie and grab her and kiss her all over, and tell her they were going to be OK.
She glanced back at the school gates. The flood of children had faded to dribs and drabs, and amongst them was a face she recognized. It was Rebecca. She was on her own, dragging her feet, drawn into herself like she wished she were invisible. If Kate believed in God she would have sworn blind that He had put Rebecca across the road from her right then, on purpose; her first test.
‘Rebecca!’ she shouted, waving wildly. ‘Rebecca!’
Rebecca glanced in Kate’s direction, caught sight of her and then began to walk quickly away.
Kate crossed the road to follow her. ‘It’s OK,’ said Kate, as she caught up with her. ‘I just wanted to say hello, that’s all.’
Rebecca sped up her walk.
‘Look,’ said Kate, having to jog to keep up with her, something that didn’t suit her hangover well. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you when you came to see me. It’s just . . . it was, well, a shock, what you told me. And the memorial—’
‘Leave me alone,’ Rebecca whispered. ‘I’m not allowed to talk to you.’
Kate couldn’t believe how ill Rebecca looked, thinner than she’d ever been, with dull grey skin and dirty lank hair. ‘I really am sorry,’ Kate continued. ‘My behaviour . . . it was unforgivable.’ Rebecca stopped walking, her eyes bolted to the pavement in front of her. Kate laid a hand on Rebecca’s arm, but Rebecca flinched and pulled away.
‘I wasn’t in my right mind. You know that, don’t you? It wasn’t anything you did. It was—’
‘It’s not you,
OK? Just leave me alone. I’ll get in trouble.’ Rebecca looked up at Kate with teary eyes.
‘With who?’ Kate tried to keep her voice calm.
‘I shouldn’t have shown you that film.’
‘Did he say that to you? Dr Howe?’
Rebecca didn’t reply. Her lip trembled as she looked over Kate’s shoulder.
‘Rebecca? I want to help you.’
‘You can’t.’
Kate stared at Rebecca, realizing then how scared she was. She wondered if maybe the web was thicker and darker than she imagined.
‘The video, Rebecca. Did he make you film them?’
Rebecca didn’t answer her.
‘Did he?’ Kate asked again.
Rebecca shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered.
‘If it was, you have to say something. It’s illegal. Do you understand? He should be in prison for making you do it.’
‘It wasn’t him.’
‘So what, you just decided to film them?’
Rebecca shrugged and her eyes filled with tears. She dragged her sleeve across her eyes. ‘I have to go.’
‘Rebecca—’
Rebecca began to walk away, but Kate reached for her arm and gently pulled her back. She turned her to face her.
‘Did he do something to you too?’
Rebecca looked shocked, but then she shook her head.
‘To anyone else? Another child?’
‘How the hell would I know?’ she snapped.
‘I don’t know. I just—’
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