Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set

by Paul J. Teague

  ‘Red ink and capital letters again?’

  Diane nodded, looking over her glasses like a doctor about to deliver bad news.

  ‘Show it to me,’ I said. ‘It’s only a letter. I have to keep telling myself that.’ I took the paper from her.

  PETER BAILEY. I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE. I’M WATCHING YOU ALL THE TIME. I KNOW YOUR SECRET. ONE DAY YOU’LL SEE ME. J.D.

  ‘He’s printed this out via a PC, he doesn’t seem to know how to remove the caps lock,’ Diane said, attempting to lighten the moment, ‘although his communication skills are better than some of the young reporters we get in here nowadays. What do you make of it?’

  ‘The guy’s a nutter. It’s the same old thing, he’s trying to rattle me. It frightens the life out of me to think he might be out there. But what can I do? Until he shows himself or gives his location away, I’m shafted.’

  For a moment I considered telling Diane about my thoughts of relocation. A job move and change of city would probably shake off this guy. I’d thought the letters had stopped, I’d begun to feel more confident, but he was back messing with my mind again.

  ‘I’ll pass it straight onto the police. I’ll lean on the chief constable a bit, maybe offer to go a bit easier on him about stop and search. At least this guy hasn’t figured out where you live, they’re still being sent to the radio station.’

  She was right. All the time the letters were being sent to the radio station, he knew no more about me than any other listener. This JD guy had been a pain in the arse. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my weekend. He was probably some silly man in an anorak getting the only bit of excitement that he could in some sick power game. Well, screw JD, he wasn’t going to mess up my weekend with Alex, I wouldn’t let him get to me.

  I headed back into the office. I’d lost my appetite for that egg and bacon butty.

  Chapter Four

  They’d been disappointed when they visited the cathedral to see where she’d jumped. You could still tell where a few paving slabs had been changed. The local council had been unable to remove the stains of blood. There were ageing wreaths resting against the cathedral walls marking the spot. Even six months on, people came to visit, they had to look. The thought of her jumping from that height onto the ground below. She must have been in a right state.

  The woman knelt down to get a closer look at the messages which were attached to the flowers. They were alone, so she bent over further than was necessary, giving him a glimpse of her bare behind. She parted her legs slightly so that he could get a good look. He clocked it immediately, he knew what she was doing, and a surge of lust flowed through his body.

  She had him completely on a chain. When she tugged on it, he came running. Willingly, too. He’d never met a woman like her. Sexy, on heat, and definitely not missionary position. She liked it a bit messed up. He’d never been with a woman like her before, it was intoxicating to him, he couldn’t get enough of her. It suited who he was.

  He knew that, soon, he’d have to let her go to him. It was part of her plan, but he thought he was okay with that. If it made her happy, he’d get the benefit of it. She’d be insatiable once she’d got what she’d gone for. And when she felt that way, she’d come back to him again.

  She returned to her kneeling position, allowing her short skirt to cover everything up again – there were a couple of people walking through the cathedral grounds. She’d given him just enough to keep him hungry. She picked up one of the tags which was loosely attached to the flowers.

  It read, Why?

  Why not? she thought. What a stupid thing to write on a wreath of flowers. She placed it back contemptuously, picking up another card. The ink had run, it had been exposed to the rain for some days, but she could still make it out. Another generic platitude straight off the pages of social media: God has a new angel. Sleep tight, KL & VB xxx

  She considered the initials. Probably a couple of voyeurs, not one of the family. The flowers had been left by people who’d heard the story and felt the need to express their horror in some way. They were the lowest level of vulture, getting off on the horrific events yet ashamed enough to feel the need to leave some flowers. They were lightweights.

  ‘Shall we try our luck with the bell tower?’ she asked, noticing how closely he was watching her.

  ‘I don’t fancy our chances during daytime, but we could give it a try.’

  They walked through the heavy wooden doors. She knew every detail of what had happened there. She could see the light patch on the stone slabs where they’d had to scrub with bleach to remove the blood left from the wound on the verger’s head.

  He’d died soon afterwards, not from the superficial wounds that he’d received, but from the shock of it all. Two months later, going about his business in the cathedral, and he died. Heart failure, apparently. But it was attributed to the terrible events that had taken place there. He’d been up early, preparing for the 7am service of morning prayer. He’d got more than he’d bargained for.

  She’d already studied the layout of the building online, so she knew where to head. They traced the steps that Meg and Pete would have taken. She pictured every move and sensation. Fear, terror, exhilaration. It was a delightful mix of all human emotion, and it had happened in that place.

  They neared the door leading to the bell tower. They would first have to access a narrow staircase to reach the higher levels, it was quite a climb to get there.

  ‘Damn it!’ she muttered. There was no access to the bell tower where Jem had been decapitated. It was strictly out of bounds, they’d never get up there. There was a security guard, of sorts, positioned by the entrance. He didn’t look as if he could have chased off a Chihuahua, but they couldn’t draw attention to themselves by causing a scene. The staff would be used to the morbid sightseers at the cathedral, they’d probably had to stop several people already. She had thought that by visiting so long after the events, their path would be clear. But it wasn’t, she’d have to return to this place later, wait for things to blow over a little more.

  But now they were at the heart of the nest, the place where the main players had lost their lives. She closed her eyes and took in the sacred silence of the place, the echoing footsteps and the hushed voices, the vastness of the ornate roof.

  She pictured them running up the staircase, Jem being tied to the bell wheel, and then forcing Meg up onto the highest turrets, Pete running up the winding staircases, out of breath, exhausted, desperate to save his wife. Then the moment when Sally jumped. The ringing of the bells when 7 o’clock came. The thump of Jem’s head on the old wooden floor as the heavy wheel ripped through his neck and tore it away from his body.

  It had been well worth the wait. She’d read every newspaper story, scanned each word of the magazine articles and watched the reconstructions on TV. She’d used online translation services to scour the foreign reports; they were often less sensitive about sharing the full gory details. She knew every part of this story.

  They’d even stayed in the hotel, the OverNight Inn, the place where it had all started. They couldn’t get either of the two rooms that they wanted. The hotel chain had had to make that last block of rooms on the ground floor out of bounds to customers, it had become a bit of a freak show. But they managed to get part way along the corridor where it had all happened. She could touch the doors, walk through that part of the building, picture everything that had gone on there.

  She couldn’t take it anymore. She was wild with excitement and desire. He was watching her, knowing that the combination of frustration and location would drive her crazy.

  She began to look around for a place where they would not be seen. The old man sitting in front of the door to the staircase seemed to have dozed off. She ducked into a side chapel, a place that was normally used for prayer and quiet reflection.

  Sensing her intention, he followed her, making sure that they were alone. She had moved behind the altar, out of sight. He took out his smart phone and placed it
where it could record what they were about to do. As she hitched up her short skirt for the second time that day, all that she could think of was that she had to do this for real now. She had to find Peter Bailey.

  As I drove into the entrance of the caravan site, Vicky gave me a wave from her office window. I pulled over in front of the shop and she came out to meet me. I was happy for the distraction. The letter from JD had been troubling me all day, it was souring my plans for the weekend.

  ‘Hi, Pete, luv. Sounding good on the radio today, as ever!’ she smiled. ‘I’m in a bit of a fix with the family bar this evening. Would you mind helping out?’

  There was all sorts of entertainment available at the site and the family bar was my favourite. I had never been keen on traditional pubs, where guys take refuge from their wives and kids, nursing pints and bemoaning their lot. That was never really my thing. I preferred female company or, at the very least, mixed company. I’ve never been keen on groups of men together. Maybe it’s a throwback to caveman days when a gang of men meant you were about to get raided and beaten up; depending on where you live, it can mean the same thing nowadays.

  The family bar was where I tended to have all of my luck with the single mums. Every night it would start at six thirty with family entertainment: magicians, people dressed up as furry mascots, kids’ entertainers, kiddie discos and so on. At eight o’ clock they’d line up all the kids on the dance floor, then start playing the Nighty Night song. What a great wheeze that was. All the kids would be singing their hearts out, and then they’d all exit the building leaving the adults to get smashed and cop off with each other.

  Maybe it wasn’t quite like that, but it’s true that as the final lyrics faded away, the kids would file out, ready to be met by their parents and taken off to their static caravans. They’d be put to bed, listening systems activated, and the parents would be back in the family bar by nine o’ clock.

  Nighty Night!

  Sleepy Tight!

  Wake up nice and bright!

  I loved that part of the evening. Nine o’ clock was when the single mums filed back in, pleased to have packed the kids away for the night, and ready to let their hair down for a few hours. It was sacred adult time for them. Vicky had scored a winner when she had the camp-wide listening system installed. Any peep out of the children, and the parents would be texted immediately.

  I was quite happy to work a shift in the family bar. I was always delighted when Vicky asked me.

  ‘No problem,’ I smiled, ‘although I have a friend staying over for a few days from tomorrow morning. This will have to be the last shift for a day or two, is that okay?’

  ‘No problem, luv. We’ve been hit by a bit of sickness today, but it’ll all be fine by tomorrow. Do you want me to get towels and sheets sent around to your caravan ... or won’t you be needing them?’

  Cheeky cow! She was trying to find out if I had female company.

  ‘She’s an old TV friend, Vicky. Yes, I’ll need extra bedding and towels please. Knock it off my wages, is that okay?’

  ‘Have these on me, Pete. It’s about time you had some friends around here. You’ve been lonely ever since ... ever since ... well, you know what. Is she anybody I know?’

  ‘Can you keep a secret, Vicky? You must keep this to yourself – she’s coming here for a break. You know her already, we’ve discussed her before. Promise to keep it secret?’

  ‘Promise!’ said Vicky, sensing that celebrity gossip was afoot.

  ‘It’s Alex Kennedy, she’s staying with me for the weekend.’

  ‘You mean the Alex Kennedy – off the TV? That Alex Kennedy? Ooh Pete, you know all the important people!’

  Vicky looked ecstatic at the news. She’d moved up several notches, from meeting a local radio newsreader to a national TV show presenter.

  ‘Please don’t make a big deal about it, Vicky. If you promise to keep it quiet, I’ll make sure that Alex joins us for a drink over the weekend. Deal?’

  ‘Ooh Pete, I can’t wait! I do like you being on the site. I watched Alex on the telly last night, and you say she’ll be here at Golden Beaches tomorrow? I can’t believe it.’

  Vicky was one of those people who think that celebrities somehow have lives that operate completely separately from theirs. They’re surprised to find that they shop in supermarkets and occasionally have to frequent public conveniences.

  ‘She’s travelling up on the train tomorrow morning, Vicky. She’s got a break now the TV series has ended. For some reason, she thought it would be a great idea to visit me.’

  ‘I won’t say a word, Pete. It’s going to make it really exciting seeing her on the telly from now on!’

  After I’d finally got Vicky to calm down, I found out the time that she needed me at the bar and returned to my caravan. Vicky had sent the cleaners over after I’d moved out all the boxes, and it was spotless. I took a shower, changed into some more suitable clothes and opened up my laptop. A Facebook message from Ellie. We’d kept in touch since that fateful weekend in Newcastle, the one that started everything. We got on well, she’d send me jokes and gossip from her part of the journalistic world. We never talked about what had happened, but I was pleased that we were in touch. I liked Ellie, I’d have liked her if we’d been working in the same office together as colleagues.

  I was pleased that she’d finally ditched her dodgy bloke. It had taken a while for her to shake him off, but she was writing to tell me that he’d got a new girlfriend.

  Dave’s got a new woman! She’s good-looking too! Check out his Facebook profile, he doesn’t know how to lock his settings down, you can see all their pix :-)

  I checked out the profile. There was aggressive, muscular Dave with a new girlfriend. He’d even changed his relationship status.

  Does that mean he’s out of your life forever now?

  Hope so! Good riddance, she’s welcome to him :-)

  You okay Ellie? Everything fine at work?

  All good thanks. Busy at work. We have a job coming up in the TV team. Ever thought about TV?

  I’d avoided TV all of my career, but I was so bored with what I’d been doing that I was ready for a change. Ellie’s timing was perfect.

  At your place? What grade? Is it on or off screen? Will I like it?

  It’s off screen. You’d be great. Grade above yours, you’d get a pay rise! You can buy me lunch when you get the job :-)

  I’d been putting off the job-hunting, but six months after the deaths, with no word from Meg, I was fed up and ready to move on. This latest letter from JD had unsettled me even more. I could leave the house on the market and let the estate agent handle everything. I was on a month’s notice at the caravan park, my stuff was in storage. I felt like a single man, there was nothing stopping me from starting afresh. And if Meg decided to show up again? Well, I’d deal with that when the time came. She could take a train to London, after all, even with a baby in tow.

  Send me the details will you? Sounds interesting!

  Will do :-) Would love to see you working down here. Let me know how you get on, Ellie x

  Would it be difficult for me if I ended up working in the same office as Ellie? I could see no reason why it should. If I’d stayed with Meg, it would have been a no-no. I couldn’t have risked it, regardless of whether or not she knew about Ellie and me. It would be playing with fire.

  Ellie and Alex were lucky to have escaped the fallout after the deaths. Nobody really knew about Alex, not the public anyway, and Ellie had been portrayed as a hostage. Like Martin, our marriage guidance counsellor, she’d been a bit player. The public didn’t know what Ellie and I had done that night, and there was no way I was going to tell anyone about it.

  Five of us knew what had happened, and each one of us had our own secret to hide. Martin Travis probably knew too – I had to assume that Meg had told him in her counselling sessions, or however it was that she was now communicating with him. It made little difference to anything, but I wanted it to remain pri
vate. It was nobody else’s business.

  I had a couple of hours to kill before my shift in the bar started. I decided to take a look through Meg’s photos once again to see if there were any names or locations that I could use to make a start on some research. I hadn’t got a clue where to begin, but I was anxious to find out more about my wife. We’d been married for seven years, not that long I suppose, but surely long enough to know who you’re married to?

  I thought back to how we’d met. It was, perhaps, not the best way to meet your spouse. But nobody plans this stuff. You get what you’re given. We first ran into each other while I was doing an interview at her offices. We slept together the first night we met. Should I have held back a bit, got to know her better first? Not a chance, we couldn’t wait to tear each other’s clothes off that day. Temperance and restraint were not words that figured too much in our relationship.

  It probably wasn’t a good sign that everything started with a lie. Not a lie so much as an oversight. Meg had forgotten to mention her boyfriend. It was all but over between them, that was clear from the row that followed when he walked in on us. But it was the first example of Meg not telling me the whole truth. I didn’t give a toss at the time. I’d bedded a hot and beautiful woman. I wasn’t the wounded party. But I was beginning to wonder if Meg left victims wherever she went.

  Take Daniel, Meg’s spurned boyfriend, for instance. He cursed and yelled when he found us naked in bed, that was understandable, but he seemed an alright guy. He’d met somebody after Meg, and they were doing well. Meg was the guilty party there. I’d assumed that she was a free agent, but it turned out that she wasn’t.

  It was looking like she hadn’t told me the whole truth about her family either. As I held the photographs in my hand, I wondered what untruths would be uncovered. I was a journalist, for God’s sake. I was paid to ask probing questions. If I’d been interviewing Meg for one of the news shows, what would I have asked her?