by Chris Curran
She was there, sitting with her back against the tree where she’d propped the flowers last time. Her eyes were closed, and sunlight dappled her cheeks with the silhouettes of leaves waving back and forth above her.
Joe stood in the silence, hardly breathing. She looked strange, not like herself. The red patterned skirt she was wearing was unfamiliar and there was something about her face and the way she was sitting…
Oh God.
He was beside her, not sure how he got there, holding her, smoothing her hair, talking to her. ‘I’m here, Hannah, it’s all right. I’m here, love. It’ll be all right.’
There was blood all over her arms, all over her skirt, and her legs were streaked with it. He pulled off his shirt and ripped it apart, tying the torn strips around her wrists and up her arms, all the time talking to her and trying to lift her.
But she was too heavy, her face chalk white, her lips almost blue and he had to lay her down to get to his mobile and gabble into it, hardly knowing what he said.
There was so much blood. His hands were covered and his T-shirt wet with it. Was it better to leave her lying down or to raise her arms? In the end he lifted her, sitting behind to prop her up and leaning his own back against the tree. Her head was a dead weight on his shoulder and she was cold, so cold.
He kept talking and talking, although he hated the sound of his own voice, echoing in the silence.
It was too late anyway.
She couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t hear anything.
Loretta
Loretta parked outside The Children of Light’s farmhouse. There was no sign of Hannah’s car or Joe’s van. So maybe they’d both given her the slip. She’d be in the shite with Philips if she couldn’t track Hannah down and get her talking soon. If the two of them were playing games with her…
And now she had to face that condescending creep, the pastor. She took a breath and rapped on the door, shifting from foot to foot as she waited. Come on, come on.
‘Welcome, sister. Can I help?’ A plump middle-aged woman.
Loretta flipped open her warrant card. ‘It’s Constable Peterson. I’m looking for Hannah Marsden. Is she here?’
The woman pushed back a lock of greying hair. Her lips quivered as if she was about to cry. ‘Oh no, we haven’t seen Sister Hannah since, well, not since she left all those years ago. Poor girl, you’ve seen her, have you? How’s she coping?’
‘As you’d imagine, she’s very upset. I wondered if she might be here, visiting old friends. Or maybe seeing Samuel Barnes. He is back living here now, isn’t he?’
The woman looked behind her, still holding the door. ‘You need to talk to Pastor Jerome, but I’m afraid he’s not here. They’re all out.’
‘What about Samuel?’
Another glance back. ‘He’s outside.’
Loretta looked at her, keeping her eyes steady. She didn’t have time for this. The woman’s hand fluttered at her neck, pulling her collar.
‘I think he’s working in the fields.’
The priority was to find Hannah. ‘Thank you. Here’s my number. If Hannah does turn up, please call me.’
Loretta turned back to her car.
The woman followed her, speaking quietly. ‘We were so sorry about Lily. She was such a lovely girl. Please tell Hannah that Clara sends her love and if there’s anything I can do …’
A sudden thought. ‘You knew Hannah well when she lived here?’
‘Oh, yes. I was her chaperone.’
‘And what about Lily?’
‘Not as well as Hannah, of course, but we talked.’
It was worth a punt. ‘Did you talk about Lily’s father?’ Loretta’s phone started up: DS Davis. He could wait. But the woman was already turning away. ‘Clara?’
‘Hannah never spoke about him; I told Lily that. But I also told her that her mother was pregnant when she got here. And that’s the truth. I know you people think it was one of the brethren, but you’re wrong.’
The mobile again. Better answer. ‘Hello?’ Davis was babbling in her ear, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying, there was so much shouting and clanking in the background. The woman was walking away. ‘Clara, do call me if you think of anything that might help us, won’t you? We must find Lily’s killer.’ A nod and she was gone.
Davis’s voice was clear now. ‘Your arse is on the line this time, Peterson. You better get to the hospital. And fast.’
Joe
Joe looked up. A girl heading for the plastic chair next to him stopped, her eyes widened, and she turned away. Hannah’s blood was all over his hands and T-shirt. He shoved his hands under his armpits, didn’t dare move, in case the doctor came out.
She wasn’t dead. At least, he didn’t think so. But they wouldn’t let him anywhere near her. It was obvious in the ambulance that it was touch and go. She’d lost so much blood. Once they got to the hospital, they rushed her away and he just had to wait.
He’d pushed her too hard. Now all he could do was sit here and hope, pray even. DS Davis had arrived soon after the ambulance, asked a few obvious questions and dashed away.
Accident and Emergency: that was the sign over the reception desk. The place was busy, but once they’d closed the door to the room where they’d taken Hannah, the word emergency didn’t seem to fit. People sat about reading newspapers; a woman complained because the lights kept buzzing and it was getting on her nerves; a little boy stretched out on the floor. His mum, her thighs wobbling in tight leggings as she jiggled a baby, told him to get up, it was all dirty down there. The only person who looked like he might need emergency treatment was a guy clutching a white cloth to his eye.
Now the lights were flickering as well as buzzing. How much longer was it going to be? The glass doors at the front slid open – unbelievably, it was still daylight out there – and Loretta came in, looking around. For once he was glad to see her.
‘Joe.’ She took one of his blood-caked hands. Hers felt clean and warm. ‘How is she?’
He shook his head. Couldn’t even try to speak.
The door to Hannah’s room opened. Joe’s heart began hammering, and his knees threatened to give way as he stood. He wasn’t sure if it was a nurse or doctor coming towards him, but she looked grim. ‘Mr Marsden?’ He nodded. Please, please don’t say it. ‘Your wife’s still critical, but we’ve managed to stabilize her.’
Thank God, oh thank God. Someone else was talking to him, touching his arm, and he was swaying as the ground heaved under him. Loretta must have caught him, because he was sitting again and she was next to him asking if he was all right.
‘They say you can go and be with her in a while. I’ll show you where.’
He rubbed his face. ‘Thanks, thank you.’
‘I’ll get you a cuppa, shall I, while you go and clean up?’
In the Gents, he stared in the mirror, hardly recognizing himself. There were streaks of blood on his cheek and his eyes were black pits in a grey mask. What the hell was happening? What kind of nightmare was this? He turned the tap full on and put his hands underneath. The water swirled and spun with red and he felt himself swaying, clutching the edge of the sink.
A shuddering breath, a long moment holding on, eyes closed, and he was able to put in the plug and wash his hands with soap, lathering and rinsing, draining and then repeating it. He did the same with his face, shaking his head like a dog to get rid of the drips and rubbing his hands down his jeans.
Somehow, he found himself outside and there was Loretta, holding out a paper cup. He felt so weak he wondered how he’d made it back, but the coffee tasted good, hot and strong. How could he be enjoying it after what had happened, was still happening?
‘Joe?’ Loretta again; he’d forgotten she was there. ‘We can go and see her now.’
In the ward, he sat and looked at Hannah. It was and wasn’t her. Reminded him of the last time he saw Lily. When he identified her body. But Hannah wasn’t dead. Not yet anyway. The machines and the wires all a
round her told him there must be life inside, although she was so still. All the same, he felt she had gone far away from the Hannah he knew. He reached out and touched her arm, but the bandages were too thick for him to feel her skin. A strand of hair was across her mouth and he pulled it away.
‘Any idea why, Joe? Why she would do something like this now?’ Loretta’s voice startled him.
‘It was my fault. I pushed her too hard,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ Her voice was low.
‘Asking about him. Lily’s real dad.’
‘So Hannah does know who he is then? She lied to me?’
He nodded. No point in holding back now. And he needed to talk about it. To get it clear in his own head.
‘Is she scared of him? Is that it?’ she asked.
‘I don’t think so. She couldn’t believe he would hurt Lily.’ Joe looked at Loretta and saw his own face reflected, tiny and far away, in the clear brown of her eyes. ‘I think Hannah loved him,’ he said, wondering, even as he spoke, how long he had known it. ‘She loved him and I think she still does.’
Rosie
Fay had gone to her friend Scarlet’s after school. She was staying for tea and Oliver was going to collect her on his way home. Rosie was grateful for that because she was booked to do some supply teaching for the next couple of days and she could use the time to plan her lessons.
She carried her laptop up to the bedroom. Oliver liked to work in the downstairs office, but Rosie moved around the house, depending on her mood. She had a desk by the window here, the only one where the sea was visible over the rooftops.
Today the sea was absolutely still, a strip of wrinkled blue silk flung out along the shore. Sometimes you could see Beachy Head, about twenty miles away, but today the horizon was hazy with heat and even the cliffs of Bexhill, just up the road, were faint in the mist.
It was difficult to keep her mind on her work. She usually found the view soothing, but today every seagull that flew by, every noise from the road, distracted her. She wasn’t pregnant and that was for the best right now because she knew she couldn’t cope with anything else until she’d dealt with the situation with her parents.
She’d done only half the work she wanted when the front door opened and Oliver called up that they were back. Her mobile rang from downstairs. ‘Answer it will you, Oliver?’
His footsteps sounded on the stairs and he was at the door, holding the phone against his chest and mouthing, ‘Someone called Lisa?’
She felt herself flush, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. ‘It’ll be about work.’
Oliver gave her the phone with a crooked smile and dropped a kiss on her head.
‘Hi Rosie,’ Lisa said.
‘Hello.’ She was very aware of Oliver still in the room. She flipped open her diary and picked up her pen, willing him to go away. When she looked round at him, he smiled and took the pen from her hand, leaning over her shoulder. ‘Sorry, Lisa. Just a minute. I dropped my pen,’ she said trying to laugh, but breathless again. Oliver drew a wine glass followed by a question mark on her notepad. Go away, please, just go away. He passed her the pen and when she’d written ‘yes!’ in large letters, followed by an exclamation mark, he moved to the door.
‘Are you still there?’ Lisa was saying.
‘Yes, I am.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I rang Dave Crawford, but he couldn’t help me.’
‘I know. I think you touched a sore spot there. He called me because he guessed I’d given you his name and is obviously upset. Says he doesn’t know anything that can help you and wishes I’d kept him out of it.’
‘Oh Lisa, I’m sorry.’
‘That’s OK. I should have thought before I opened my big mouth. Dave says he doesn’t think any of them will be happy to talk about your dad. It brings back really bad memories. Things they’d rather not be reminded of.’
Oliver was back and she turned the page of her diary, scribbling a couple of invented times and dates. ‘OK, Lisa, that’s fine. I understand. Thank you.’
Oliver put a glass on the desk next to her and stood looking out of the window, drinking his own wine. As she turned off the phone, he said. ‘It’s such fine weather and with these light evenings we should make more use of the boat in the week. Especially if we’re going to move away. Next time we all manage to get home early let’s take her out, shall we?’
She smiled, making herself focus on him. ‘Sounds good.’ But Oliver was glancing at the phone and she found herself gabbling, ‘That was someone I met at a course. We’re going to share notes.’
He laughed and held up a hand, his eyes, the same blue as the sky behind him, crinkling at the corners. ‘Whoa there. Too much information, I’ll start thinking there’s something funny going on.’
She stood to wrap her arms round him, speaking into his shirt, avoiding those bright eyes ‘Well, now you mention it, the guy that runs the course is not bad looking.’
He gave a mock growl, bending to kiss her and she spoke against his warm lips as they touched her mouth. ‘Or so they tell me but, of course, I’ve never noticed.’
When he’d gone she sat at the desk again raking her fingers through her hair as Lisa’s words echoed over and over in her head. Things they’d rather not be reminded of.
Chapter Fourteen
Joe
Hannah’s arms were swaddled with bandages from her elbows almost to her fingers and all Joe could think of as he sat by her bed were the wounds underneath. When her eyes opened they fixed on Joe and, for a split second, seemed to smile. But then they clouded over. One of her hands came to her mouth and she looked at it as if surprised to feel cloth against her lips. Joe sat, afraid to move or speak. Then she raised the other hand and lurched forward, sobbing.
He stood up, but couldn’t bear to touch her. Instead he pulled the cord beside the bed, saying, ‘Please, don’t do that. It’s all right. Please, love.’ The same useless words again.
Two nurses rushed in, holding Hannah down, talking to her, telling her to stop being silly. He stood watching, helpless. The white bandages made Hannah look a bit like one of those sad has-been boxers from the old films his dad used to watch on TV. He’d always hated those films.
He turned away, looking out of the window, focusing on an ambulance pulling up outside and, even when Hannah’s sobs had quietened, he couldn’t go back to the bed. Afraid he might set her off again.
A touch on his arm and a gentle male voice. ‘She’s all right, we’ve given her something and she’ll sleep for a bit now. I’m Doctor Patel.’ He smiled and held out his hand. Joe felt so weak it was an effort to return the handshake.
‘In fact, this might be a good time to have a word,’ the doctor was saying.
He led Joe to a little room along the corridor; empty, apart from four easy chairs and a coffee table. It was so quiet Joe could hear his own breathing. The folder the doctor was carrying crackled as he laid it on the table.
He looked at Joe. ‘Well, she’ll make it, but I’m not at all happy about her mental state.’
Joe tried to speak, but his voice broke and he felt tears filling his eyes. He blinked them away and rubbed his face, conscious of the doctor watching him. ‘Our daughter was killed.’
‘Yes, I know, and obviously your wife isn’t coping well.’ The doctor leaned forward and Joe was forced to meet his gaze. His eyes were clear as slivers of dark glass. ‘She actually wanted it to work, you know, Mr Marsden. Wanted to die. Most people just slash their wrists …’ Joe flinched – the image of her propped against the tree flashing out at him again from under the stone at the back of his mind where he’d tried to bury it.
The doctor paused. ‘Sorry, Mr Marsden. I know it’s hard, but you need to hear this for Hannah’s sake. As I was saying, most attempts at suicide are just a cry for help, especially with this method, because it’s actually very difficult to kill yourself in this way. It looks to me as if Hannah really went for it. Maybe even researched it first. She wante
d to die. And, as you saw just now, she’s still extremely distressed. So, she needs you very much and will do for some time. Your support is vital,’ he said, gathering up the folder.
Joe felt a surge of anger. Do I look such a shit I’d leave her now? He said nothing, of course, just let the doctor walk away, but the anger made him feel better as he went back to the ward.
At least it did until he saw Hannah in her drugged sleep, her bandaged arms lying loose. Her mouth was half-open and her freckles stood out dark against her white face.
His stomach growled. God only knew how long it was since he’d eaten.
He wondered where Loretta had gone, surprised again to realize he would be glad to see her. He thought about ringing her, but it wasn’t fair, she must have her own life; although, where she found time for it he couldn’t imagine.
And anyway, she wasn’t really on his side. No one was.
If Lily was here, she would be. ‘Love you, Dad,’ he could almost hear her saying, as she waved goodbye when he dropped her off at school, or at home, before she went up to bed. The memories were little knives probing deep inside: too sharp to bear.
And he wasn’t really her dad, was he?
He stood up, couldn’t sit still, tried to focus on what was happening outside. Another ambulance, moving away this time, and a woman in a dressing gown and slippers pushing a stand with a drip attached, looking for somewhere to have a smoke.
He tried to imagine a time when he and Hannah could be together almost the way they used to be. It was what had kept him going until now. But he couldn’t do it. Kept remembering the last time they’d made love. It had just been a way of shutting him up. Stopping him asking questions.
And he needed answers. He turned back to the bed, wanting to shake the truth out of her. You loved this man – Lily’s dad – so why did you leave him? What happened that was so awful you’d rather die than talk about it?
She’d said he would hate her if he knew the truth. And there was a part of him that was beginning to hate her. Because he knew there must always have been someone else. Someone she loved in a way she had never loved him.