by Chris Curran
Loretta
Loretta had a text from DS Davis while she was at the hospital, telling her to get over to the nick right away: Philips wanted them all in for a meeting. She knew it would be bad but, when she saw Raj, another FLO, sitting in Philips’s office, she had to force herself to go in.
Raj gave her a nice smile, but Davis didn’t look at her. Philips was standing, leaning on his desk. His face was yellower than ever. ‘Right, let’s get on with this,’ he said. ‘What’s happening at the hospital?’
‘She’s still out of it, sir, but they say she’ll be all right. Should be talking later on today.’
‘That’ll make a change,’ Davis said.
Philips shot him a look. ‘This doesn’t feel right. I mean, why now? Why does she try to kill herself now? I think we need to check her alibi again. And her background, of course. Let’s go through all those records from The Children of Light once more and talk to everyone over there. And, while we’re at it, we need to absolutely verify the husband’s whereabouts at the time of the murder. We got distracted by the boyfriend before.’
Raj was fidgeting in his seat, looking from Davis to Philips.
Philips gestured to his computer screen. ‘News of the suicide attempt is on the Internet already. And we’ve got nothing. Expect the papers to be down on us like a ton of bricks tomorrow.’
He waved his hand at Raj. ‘With the way things are going I think we need two FLOs on board.’ Raj turned to smile at Loretta again, and she was able to smile back. She was OK for now. ‘Fill him in on the situation, will you, Peterson? Though fuck knows exactly what that is.’
She went straight home after leaving the station, stopping only to buy a bottle of red. Raj was on his way to the hospital, so she could have a few hours off.
Pearl’s bedroom light was on, the dull thump of music coming down the stairs. Dex, of course, was with his dad. What a mess she’d made of everything.
In the kitchen, she couldn’t get the cork out and sat at the table, holding the bottle, resting her head on the cool glass.
‘Mum?’
Loretta turned away, taking the bottle to the worktop and facing the wall so Pearl couldn’t see her expression. She was still struggling with the cork when her daughter pulled her round. ‘What is it, Mum?
Loretta couldn’t answer, just sat at the table again, head in her hands.
Pearl sat opposite. ‘You’re scaring me, Mum. What is it?’
‘Hannah, the woman whose daughter was killed, has tried to commit suicide.’ There was no point in hiding it from Pearl if it was on the Internet. ‘I should have stopped it happening. And it’s already leaked to the papers. I’m sure Philips thinks I’m behind that. They’ve brought in another FLO, too. Probably to keep an eye on me.’
‘No way. Those bastards know you wouldn’t do that.’ Pearl, put her hand over Loretta’s. ‘You tell ’em, Mum. Don’t let ’em bully you.’
It was the look in her daughter’s big brown eyes that brought the tears to her own. And she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. She shook her head. ‘I’ll try not to. But it’s going to get heavy from now on and I won’t be around much for a while. What say you go and stay with Dad, too? I know he’d love to have you and it’d be good for Dex.’
‘You’re joking, Mum. I’m staying here with you. I’m fine on my own. No way are you getting rid of me.’ Pearl came behind her, leaning her chin on Loretta’s head. ‘We’re in this together.’
Rosie
Because Fay had eaten at Scarlet’s there was no rush for their own dinner, and Oliver had offered to make it. But Rosie enjoyed cooking, and she hadn’t been able to concentrate on the lesson planning, so she told him to relax. ‘I’ll try to do some more work later on if you put Fay to bed.’
He went up to have a shower and Fay sat drawing at the big table, in her pyjamas, humming to herself. The French doors were open, the sounds of gulls drifting in on the breeze.
The Lily Marsden case was in the headlines again and Rosie hadn’t been able to resist turning on the TV in the kitchen as she chopped vegetables. She tipped the salad into a bowl, covered it in cling film and looked up at the screen again. A view of the outside of the hospital where Lily’s mum was being treated for her suicide attempt. Now some older film: the parents when they visited the site of the killing. The mother’s face was pressed into her husband’s jacket. His eyes, staring ahead, were wide and unblinking.
The new photo of Lily they’d started using came on, the voiceover saying: ‘The teenager’s funeral has been postponed until her mother has recovered enough to attend.’
‘Are you all right, Mummy?’ Fay said, her forehead creased, a crayon suspended above her drawing.
Rosie came to her, resting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. She could understand a mother wanting to die because her child had been murdered. Mum had certainly felt like that after Alice. At the time Rosie had resented the intensity of that grief. She was mourning her sister too and thought Mum’s pain must be like her own. But it wasn’t the same. She knew that now. Nothing could compare. And Lily Marsden was an only child. Like Fay. The thought made her shiver.
‘Mum?’
‘Sorry, sweetie. I was miles away. Great picture.’
‘Nah.’ Fay scribbled over the brilliantly coloured bird she’d drawn. ‘It’s rubbish.’ She looked at the TV. ‘Can I watch a DVD?’
‘OK, in the living room. Just until Dad comes down. Then it’s bedtime. I’m going up to do some more work.’
The laptop was still on and Rosie clicked onto the Internet. The news page showed a picture of the dead girl again. Just a little younger than Alice was when she died.
She swallowed down on the painful lump in her throat. Don’t, don’t do it. But the desk drawer was already open and she couldn’t stop herself taking out the photo album and turning to a picture of herself and Alice, laughing, as they sucked ices on the beach. They must have been around Fay’s age, and she could see a resemblance to Fay in the smiling 9-year-old Alice.
Rosie remembered that day as clearly as yesterday.
* * *
They had played crazy golf against Mum and Dad. Their father suggested teams of one adult and one child, but Alice insisted she wanted to be with Rosie. ‘Kids together and grown-ups together, that’s fair, isn’t it?’ When she looked at Rosie with a beaming smile, Rosie jumped up and down with happiness. Even though they didn’t win, Alice linked arms with her as they headed off for fish and chips. ‘Don’t worry, Ro, Dad always cheats.’
* * *
Nobody else had ever called her Ro. She covered her face with her hands, elbows resting on the desk. Oh, God. Behind her eyes the images kept playing.
* * *
Alice, laughing on the beach, sunglasses pushed into her brown curls as she ran through a sparkle of water; now, shivering in a towel; now, threatening Rosie with a dripping ice cream. At a bonfire party, eyes bright in the darkness, circling a sparkler, the flickers of silver and red moving faster and faster until the light died away and the stick turned black and cold.
* * *
She jerked herself alert. This was no good. She checked her emails. Nothing from Mum. There had been no phone calls either since Marion had shown her the letters. Rosie couldn’t help wondering if her mother knew more than she had said and was trying to avoid questions. Talking to Dave Crawford and Lisa Griffiths had reminded her how involved Marion had been with the kids who came for music lessons.
Before Rosie’s dad was forced to give up his place in the orchestra, Marion kept his diary, did his accounts, and hosted parties and dinners for his colleagues. When his illness forced her to get a job, she had still been the one who organized him. Carrying on with the illusion that she was only working until he was better and that their days were still filled with his important activities. Maybe the way she welcomed those youngsters into the kitchen, baked for them and chatted to them, was a way of retaining her identity as the gracious hostess.
&nbs
p; And, surely, surely, she would have got to know some of them well.
Until this sudden bout of silence, she had constantly begged Rosie to keep in touch. OK, she’d get her wish. Her fingers clicked over the keys.
Mum,
I just wanted to let you know that we’re all fine.
But I’ve been thinking about those letters you let me see and the girl who sent them. If she was one of Dad’s pupils you must remember more about her than you said. So please tell me everything. Otherwise there was no point in showing the letters to me.
Rosemary x
Her hand dithered over the keyboard. A thunder of footsteps on the stairs and Fay’s laughing shrieks as Oliver chased her up to bed. Rosie pressed Send.
Loretta
When Loretta got to the hospital next morning, Raj was nodding in a chair beside Hannah’s bed. It was warm and the shiny floor was striped with bars of sunlight. Raj jumped as she opened the door, and turned to her, rubbing his face. ‘Am I glad to see you.’
‘Anything happened?’ Loretta said.
He shook his head. ‘They’ve had her sedated pretty much the whole time.’
‘Where’s Joe?’
‘Just gone for a pee. He hasn’t said much either. Looks like he’s about to keel over.’ He stretched and yawned. ‘I’m done in.’
‘Well, you get off.’ She patted his shoulder. Raj was all right. This wasn’t his fault.
He stood, smiling and gesturing to his chair. ‘Be my guest.’
Loretta took off her jacket. Then leaned forward and brushed Hannah’s cheek with the back of her fingers. ‘Hi there, Hannah. It’s Loretta. How’re you doing, my love?’
Hannah’s eyes opened, clear and bright. She must have been awake the whole time. ‘Tell him to go home, please.’ Her voice was a whisper.
‘He has gone. Raj is fine. He’s just an FLO like me. But don’t worry, he won’t be back for hours.’
Hannah’s head twisted on her pillow, looking through the glass in the ward partition. ‘Not him. I mean Joe. Tell Joe to go away. I don’t want him here.’
A kick of excitement – this could be the breakthrough. But along with the excitement a chill ran through her. Loretta had known from the start it might come to this, although lately she had begun to think of Hannah and Joe almost as friends. But this was the job and, in the end, it was young Lily she was working for. If Joe was implicated, it was her business to see him brought to book.
When he came in, it was obvious he was glad to see her and she clamped down on a quiver of sympathy. She took his arm, leading him back into the corridor.
‘Hi, Joe. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay with you, but Raj is a good guy. I knew you’d be all right with him. I needed a kip and you look like you could do with one too. Why don’t you get off home and have a sleep and something to eat?’
He looked back towards the bed, but she began to walk them down the corridor. ‘Come on. She’s still out of it and I’ll be here. I can ring if she needs you. You’ll be no use to her if you’re exhausted, will you?’ she said, trying to smile.
His chin trembled and he nodded.
She patted his arm. ‘Not to worry, I’ll hold the fort.’
She watched him shuffle away up the corridor thinking he’d aged ten years. Then she turned back to Hannah. Save your sympathy for Lily. Sitting by the bed she leaned forward. ‘It’s OK, Joe’s gone. You can tell me, whatever it is.’
The wide awake eyes stared into hers. ‘I don’t want him here. Promise you’ll keep him away from me.’
That nasty little thrill of excitement again. ‘Of course, if that’s what you want. You’ve no need to be afraid. He can’t hurt you.’
If Hannah heard her she didn’t show it. Her eyes were closed, the lashes fluttering, her head shifting on the pillow as if she was dreaming – or having a nightmare. Loretta waited, hardly breathing, praying the place would stay quiet, as she watched the ripples crossing Hannah’s face, her bandaged arms moving back and forth on the white sheet.
Then, so quietly Loretta almost missed it, she spoke, as if to herself, ‘He’s going to hate me.’
Wait, give her time.
‘She hated me too. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.’
Go on, go on.
‘Should never have kept her. It was all wrong.’
Behind the closed lids, Hannah’s eyes were moving. Loretta clasped her own hands tight in front of her mouth; don’t say anything.
Finally, when Loretta was convinced she had fallen asleep, Hannah’s eyes opened, staring hard into hers again. ‘It should have been me who died, not her. I deserved to die, after what I did.’
And then the eyes clouded, went somewhere else, seeing something else.
‘Hannah,’ Loretta tried to call her back. ‘Hannah, love, what did you do? You can tell me.’
But Hannah’s bandaged hands were at her mouth, pulling it down so hard her whole face was distorted. And from under the bandages, muffled by the white cloth, came moan upon moan, as her head jerked and twisted on the pillow, and a nurse came running, pushing Loretta aside.
Joe
Back home, Joe had forced himself to eat a sandwich and lie on the bed for an hour, but he couldn’t sleep. Eventually, he had a shower, changed his clothes, and called a taxi firm, giving a false name and telling them to pick him up round the corner from the house.
He went out the back way – there were reporters in front again. The taxi dropped him by the wood where the car and van were still parked. He hesitated but, in the end, took Hannah’s Fiat and left the van there. The car was less recognizable, but, even so, he parked a couple of streets away from the hospital. The press were still there too.
It was a shock to see Hannah’s bed empty when he got to the ward, but Loretta was sitting next to it and held up her hand, smiling at him.
‘It’s OK, don’t panic. They’re just moving her to another ward.’ She patted the chair next to her. ‘Sit down, Joe, there’s something we need to discuss.’
A jolt inside. ‘What?’ What’s wrong?’
She put her warm hand on his. ‘She’s coming along all right, physically, but seems very upset still. And, Joe, I’m sorry, but she doesn’t want to see anyone.’
‘Well, she doesn’t have to.’
She shook her head and he could see that tiny double image of himself again in the shine of her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry about this, Joe, but she doesn’t want to see you, either.’
He was on his feet, and at the door, looking down the corridor, before he realized he’d moved.
Loretta twisted round in her chair. ‘Joe …’
Her voice was soft, but she was looking at him the way she’d done at the beginning. Something had changed.
‘That’s rubbish, the doc said she needs me.’
At the nurses’ desk he asked where Mrs Marsden had been taken, but the girl hardly seemed to understand English. ‘Dr Patel. I need to see Dr Patel,’ he said. ‘It’s urgent.’
It was too harsh and the girl look scared. She rang a bell and an older woman came hurrying. Her badge said ‘Ward Manager’. ‘Can I help you?’
But she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell him where they’d taken Hannah. When he asked for the doctor she said he was off-duty, Joe could see him in the morning. There was nothing to do but go back to Loretta.
He sat beside her, his fists clenched. ‘What’s wrong with her? Why won’t she see me?’ he said.
‘She seems ashamed of the suicide attempt. Look, don’t take it to heart. I’ll speak to her when she’s calmer. Just give her time.’ When she touched his arm he shifted it away, but she carried on as if she hadn’t noticed. ‘And use that time to have a proper rest yourself,’ she said.
He nodded and left her. She was right about one thing, he was very tired. But he couldn’t rest until he’d seen Hannah. In the corridor, he turned on the spot, not knowing where to look.
Down to the main entrance first, but the signs were no help: Cardiolog
y, Radiology, Fracture Clinic. The shiny corridors all looked the same, going on and on. In the end, his feet stopped by themselves and he leaned his shoulder against the wall, choking back tears.
He should give up and go home. But he’d had enough of being patient, waiting for answers. He’d been thinking too much about Hannah and not enough about Lily.
‘Love you, Dad.’ He heard her 14-year-old voice. Then he let himself remember Lily at 5 or 6, and he could feel her sticky little hand holding his as she swung on his arm and stamped in puddles till the water splashed into the air – she loved puddles.
He’d let her down, let someone hurt her, and from the way Loretta had looked at him just now it seemed he might be a suspect again. If they settled on him as the killer then the real murderer would go free. He couldn’t let that happen. Had to find some answers for himself.
Chapter Fifteen
Rosie
Rosie had expected her mum to reply as soon she got the email last night, but there had been nothing all day. Fay was helping Oliver load the dishwasher, and Rosie sat at the kitchen table. She had just picked up her mobile to check her inbox when its tune began to play. It was her mum. She headed for the stairs. Didn’t want Oliver or Fay to hear this.
‘Rosemary, please don’t ring off. I need to speak to you.’
Dad.
She closed her eyes for a moment. Then went into the bathroom and locked the door.
‘What do you want?’
‘I’m using Mum’s phone while she’s having a lie down. I don’t know what’s happened, but something has upset her. I’m really worried about her and I can only guess it’s to do with you. You came over to see her when I was visiting Richard, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please, Rosemary, there’s clearly something very wrong and she won’t talk about it. Pretends nothing has happened, but I know she hasn’t been in touch with you as much as usual so …?’
‘I told her we were thinking of moving abroad because I’m worried about you being near Fay.’ She sat on the toilet seat, wanting him to go away, but knowing this might be a chance to find out what she needed.