Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set

by Paul J. Teague

  The three old ladies had been great company and we couldn’t stop laughing at the cocks and pussies comment. Alex howled when she realised they’d recognised her all the time. It didn’t take long for us to get serious again. I’d learnt that Meg had created a complete untruth about her life before she met me.

  ‘But was it a lie, Pete? Or more of an omission.’

  ‘You know, Meg’s sister has the same first name as the one that was on those flowers. It was Hannah, wasn’t it? Hannah Young? Is that a coincidence?’

  ‘Come on, Pete. You’re imagining things. That can’t be Meg’s sister. Why would it be? It has to be a coincidence.’

  ‘But what if she’d seen what was going on, like every other person out there? What if she was trying to find Meg? It’s not so impossible is it?’

  ‘I don’t see how that could happen. We’ve only just learnt that she exists, and now she’s popping up at the cemetery all of a sudden, putting flowers on graves. Unlikely, I’d say.’

  I didn’t share Alex’s assessment, but I didn’t push it any further. I’d seen enough things that had taken me by surprise already. I’d reserve judgment on Hannah, but I wanted to find her, I knew that much.

  ‘I want to see the house, Alex. I know there won’t be much there, but I’d like to see it. I want to feel closer to Meg. She never told me any of this stuff. Was she hiding it, or was she inventing another past for herself? I think I might do the same if that had happened to me.’

  ‘I wonder how the girls got out of the house, Pete, and why he was locked in that room? It doesn’t ring true to me. I wonder if I can get access to the case files. I know a few people in the Lancashire constabulary – shall I put some feelers out?’

  ‘That’s a great idea, Alex. It’s a few years ago now, it’ll still be on paper, I think, but you never know. I’d love to hear what the official report said. At least I’ll know what really happened that way.’

  Alex took out her phone and started to write some emails.

  ‘Look at all these Twitter notifications. Those pictures that we took earlier have been shared all over social media. Apparently my tits look great in this T-shirt!’

  I took out my own phone and searched for Alex on Twitter.

  ‘I don’t know how you put up with it, Alex. You’re a serious journalist, they always reduce everything to tits. Although I see what they mean ...’

  I chanced the joke. Alex laughed, playfully punching me on the arm.

  ‘Pervert, I can’t help it if they make these T-shirts so small. Maybe I should wear a sack. It’s a good job they didn’t get a photo of us together, they’ll be asking who my mystery suitor is next. Oh wait, there are a couple of us in here. They don’t miss a trick.’

  She was right, there were no posed photos of me, but a couple of tourists had spotted us together and posted pictures on Twitter.

  Never guess who I just saw! #AlexKCrime and some bloke. In Blackpool!

  It was hardly Shakespeare, but I guess it succeeded in expressing the author’s thoughts in 140 characters or less. Alex moved back to her emails and fired off a few notes to her pals in the Lancashire police. I used the free Wi-Fi in the café to connect my maps app and work out where Meg’s old house had been. The women had told us that we couldn’t miss it and that it was easy walking distance from the church.

  As it turned out, it was really close. It was also completely obvious which house it was, even after all those years. It looked as if they’d had to gut the house completely, replacing much of the front brickwork. It was as if somebody had dropped a new house right in the middle of an old terrace.

  ‘It must have been some fire!’ Alex said.

  I was imagining a young Meg standing in the street with her sister, watching her parents burn in the house that was in front of us. Well, her father at least. Who knew what had happened to her mum? She must have been petrified. Would I hide something like that if I’d been the one standing in that street? For a moment I wondered if I was judging Meg too harshly. I was angry with her about what she’d done, screwing me over with the mortgage costs and disappearing into thin air, but she’d been through some serious problems in her life. Maybe I should have been listening a bit harder. Who did she talk to about this stuff? Maybe that was the problem, perhaps she needed to share her experiences more openly.

  ‘Shall we knock at the door?’ Alex asked. ‘See if the neighbours can tell us anything?’

  ‘They’ll think it’s This Is Your Life if they see you standing on the doorstep,’ I laughed. ‘Either that, or they’ll crap themselves. Put your sunglasses on, I’ll do the talking.’

  We knocked at the door. Nothing. More knocking. Nothing.

  ‘Bollocks, why do people have to go to work? Why can’t they sit around watching daytime TV all day and be in the house when I want to speak to them?’

  We were turning to walk away, when the door on the right-hand side of the house opened. It was an old guy, probably in his seventies. He used a walking stick.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked. ‘The house is empty, has been for some time. It’s rented out now. Sometimes I hear someone in there, but it must be the landlord. Who are you looking for?’

  ‘We’re doing some research into the neighbourhood,’ I lied. ‘Do you know anything about the fire that broke out in this house? Were you living here at the time?’

  ‘See this stick?’ he asked. We nodded.

  ‘I don’t use this because I’m an old git, I use it because I injured my leg that night.’

  This was getting interesting. We didn’t interrupt and let him continue his story.

  ‘I’ve lived here all my married life. My wife is dead now, she’s been dead for three years. I can still remember that night. I heard glass breaking, that’s what woke me, and the roar of the flames, it was so loud. I looked out onto the street and I could see what it was straight away. Those two girls were standing out there, their faces lit by the light of the flames. I could see it was fire.’

  He paused a moment, he hadn’t thought about it for some time, and I could see that the memories still haunted him.

  ‘There were no mobile phones in those days. Well, we didn’t have one, most people didn’t. We couldn’t even afford a phone in the house. We used to use the phone box that was on that corner over there.’

  He pointed along the street, but there was no longer any evidence of a call box.

  ‘I woke my wife and told her to get the kids out of the house and onto the street, well away from the fire. I told her to get the Yates girls further away from the house, they were standing too close. I was worried they’d get hurt.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Alex asked. It was the first time she’d spoken to him. He looked at her, searching beyond the sunglasses. I think he’d recognised her voice, but seemed unable to place it.

  ‘I ran out the back and got my ladder. I put it up at the back window where there were no flames. We didn’t have double glazing in those days, you could break the glass. I could hear Mavis in there, screaming, but there was no sound from Tom. I could see him on the floor of the back bedroom. He was out cold, a lot of black smoke was coming under the door. Mavis was in the front bedroom. I could only hear her.’

  ‘What did you do?’ I asked, completely captivated by this story.

  ‘I messed up, that’s what I did.’

  His face dropped. He was still blaming himself for something.

  ‘I climbed down the ladder as fast as I could to get a stone or a brick or something to smash the window and get Tom out. Only, I caught my foot on the bottom rung of the ladder and broke my ankle. Quite badly as it turned out. Hit my head on their concrete yard when I fell. I was out cold for a while, that’s what the ambulance guys told me. The fire brigade had arrived by then and they took me away from the house. You know, I still blame myself for Tom’s death.’

  ‘I’m sure there was nothing else that you could have done,’ Alex reassured him. ‘It must have been horrible.’

&nb
sp; ‘They said it was a tragic accident. I never really knew why Tom was stuck in that back bedroom. It was a spare room or one of the rooms that the kids used. I’d had to go round there earlier that night because there was shouting. They’d had a big row about something. It woke my kids up. I had to go round to make sure everything was okay. One of the girls answered the door. Little Megan it was.’

  ‘You don’t sound so sure that it was an accident?’ I suggested.

  ‘It was all suspicious, if you ask me: Tom dying in that room like that, Mavis being so badly burned. Who knows what they did with her after they carried her out of there? She was still alive apparently. There were local rumours that it was a childish prank gone wrong, but the police didn’t say that. They reckoned it was a tragic accident. Some problem with the heater set the place on fire they reckoned.’

  ‘Why do you think the police got it wrong then?’ Alex asked. ‘What did they miss?’

  ‘I always wanted to know why it was Meg who answered the door to me. At that time of night. What was she doing up so late? And she screamed at me when I asked what was going on. Told me she hated her mum and dad. She slammed the door on me. It made me wonder what that row was about. And why she and her sister were the only people who got out of the house unharmed.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The old guy’s name was Edward – or Ted as he preferred. He’d been the second brilliant find that day. We were lucky that it was still a traditional community where the older residents lived in houses that they’d occupied for years.

  We chatted to Ted for a bit longer, but there was nothing else that he could tell us. We thanked him and moved on. It was quite a walk back to the seafront, but we had so much to talk and think about that it was welcome. There’s something invigorating about being near the sea. I’d experienced it while living at the Golden Beaches Holiday Park.

  Alex was looking at her phone.

  ‘I’ve got two replies to my emails already. One of my contacts has moved on, he won’t be able to help. The other can get access to the files, and she’ll see if she can find them. They’re quite old, there might not even be a record of the case. If it was written off as an accident, there won’t be much paperwork, if any, but she’ll do her best to see what she can find. What’s the full address?’

  Alex emailed the name of the street and the house number and even sent a photo, in case it was useful.

  ‘Do you think there’s anything in Ted’s suspicions? That’s the second time that somebody has told us that Meg didn’t cry during the fire or even at the funeral. She was always very straightforward at home, she never cried or got emotional about things. I never thought anything of it. While some guys at work had to deal with emotional wives getting tearful, I never had that with Meg. You never cried when we were together either. I assumed that was the kind of woman I’m attracted to. That and the fact I’m such a great guy that there’s nothing to cry about when I’m around.’

  ‘Ha, ha! Yeah, right, who gets sad when Pete Bailey is around? It’s true, though. I don’t get particularly emotional about things, I never have. Maybe that’s how you like your women. Straightforward, hot, intelligent, sexy, sophisticated ...’

  ‘Okay, okay, I get it! But it is interesting, what they were saying. Do you know anything about being in shock? Would that make the girls behave like that?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Alex replied. ‘Maybe you should talk to that shrink of yours. Martin Travis, is it? Or what’s the name of the new guy ... Blake?’

  ‘Yes, Blake Crawford. Would you mind if we popped in to see them before you leave? I need to speak to Martin Travis. He knows where Meg is. I’m going to ask him to set up a meeting in a neutral place, with him there. Meg trusts him. That’s not too pushy is it? It’s not weird is it?’

  ‘No, of course it’s not, Pete. It’s perfectly reasonable that you want to speak to your wife. You need to know about the baby too. I’d say it’s more than reasonable. Besides, the police will be contacting her about Glenn Elliot’s murder – and Len’s. They’ll want to speak to her, she owns the house. You should contact Martin. I’ll come with you.’

  Alex took my hand again as we walked along the street. I liked the way she did that. It didn’t mean anything, it wasn’t a come-on or anything like that. It was ... nice. She was nice, she’d always been like that.

  All the time, while we were at the church and outside Meg’s old house, we could see Blackpool Tower. Just like in the photos. It was as if we’d stepped back in time. I was picturing what the streets would have been like then. Fewer cars. The same amount of dog shit probably.

  We sat down on a wall outside a corner shop. Alex popped in to buy a couple of chocolate bars while I emailed Martin Travis. I tried to be as conciliatory as possible, I didn’t want a row with him. Surely he wouldn’t block me this time. I got Alex to Bluetooth me her picture of the house and I added it to the end of the email. I hoped it would intrigue Martin, but he probably knew all about Meg’s past already. They’d hit it off straight away when we were in counselling, she seemed to tell him everything.

  It wasn’t long before we were back on the promenade. The sounds of amplified music, screaming teenagers and mobile phone ring tones filled the air. It was Bedlam, but that’s what you get when you visit a British seaside resort.

  ‘What do you fancy doing then?’ I asked Alex. ‘We can’t progress anything until we hear from your mate in the police or Martin gets back to me. Shall we go on some of the rides?’

  ‘Hell, yeah!’ Alex replied. ‘How brave are you feeling?’

  ‘Well, I’ve been for a shit today so I should be safe on most things. If you want to go on anything too scary, let’s do it now before I eat. I’d rather do it on an empty stomach.’

  ‘How about The Big One?’ Alex asked.

  ‘What here and now? In public? And how nice of you to show the reverence my penis so rightly deserves.’

  More laughs. Her face lit up when she smiled. I hadn’t realised how worn out she’d looked when she arrived. Serious. We’d been laughing a lot over the past couple of days. I’d forgotten how much we used to laugh. Despite all the shit that was going on, Alex helped me to forget it.

  Fairground rides seem to get bigger, higher, faster and scarier all the time. There has to be a limit to the fear that humans can withstand. Alex took it in her stride, but I wanted to get off as soon as we started the high climb. It was too late. It was three minutes of bowel-loosening discomfort for me. I’m pleased I did it, but it was only going to be a one-time thing. And the queues too. We’d had to wait almost an hour to work through the long line of people.

  I was ready for food once we stepped off the ride. My legs were unsteady, I was exhilarated but delighted to be back on the ground again. We filled up on grey, greasy burgers, half-cooked chips and a bucketful of cola.

  ‘What do foreigners make of our food when they visit Britain?’ I asked as I slurped the over-sweetened drink. There was no way I could finish it.

  ‘We eat rubbish in this country. If I was a visitor from abroad, I’d ask for my money back. Think of the lovely food we eat on holiday and all we can offer is this crap.’

  We walked back to the promenade. There was one of those giant Ferris wheels on the central pier.

  ‘You ever been on one of those?’ I asked Alex.

  ‘I’ve been on the London Eye, it’s great. Shall we go on this one? They’re not too fast, we won’t throw up our lunch.’

  ‘If I throw up my lunch, it’ll have nothing to do with the big wheel,’ I laughed, and we started to make our way over to the pier.

  We got a carriage to ourselves. I was pleased about that. Alex was able to remove her sunglasses since it was unlikely that she’d be noticed up there. Everybody was too busy admiring the spectacular views. It was a great place to stick a big wheel.

  ‘Do you think it was because of the baby that we went our separate ways, Pete? Do you ever regret it?’

  ‘Shit! Where had that come from
? As we slowly rose higher and higher, people entered the carriages below us. Alex had taken the stillness to hijack me with that question. It was the killer question. The one that struck to the heart of our relationship.

  ‘I don’t know, Alex. I really don’t know. It wasn’t until after the murders and Meg left that I realised what an impact it had had on me. I thought I was over it, but it was affecting how I felt about me and Meg having a baby. I was scared.’

  I’d never told anybody that before. I’d only recently admitted it to myself.

  ‘I was wrong to go to London, Pete. We should have tried again. Losing the baby affected me more than I thought. It was weird. If it had been born and died, we’d have got more sympathy, but it was as if nothing had happened, people expected me to get over it. I felt I should get on with things, I hadn’t lost a real baby. But it felt like a real baby to me, Pete. It was a baby to us, wasn’t it?’

  I nodded. It had come as crushing news at the time. Maybe Alex was right. Perhaps we shouldn’t have drifted as we did. Maybe we let things go too easily. We should have tried harder.

  My thoughts were suddenly interrupted. Alex jumped up as if she’d been stung by a wasp. We were in motion again now –the ride had started properly, we were moving around. It took me a moment to figure out what was going on.

  ‘Look! There, over there! He’s following us. Look, Pete!’

  I couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. Alex was pointing wildly, she seemed to have spotted someone in one of the carriages.

  ‘What Alex? What is it? What are you pointing at?’

  ‘Look down there, he’s almost opposite us, on the other side of the ride. Straight ahead, two carriages down. It’s him. I’m sure it’s him!’

  I followed her pointing finger, still not sure what was going on. I looked in the carriage. There was a bloke on his own in there. Close cropped hair and a hoodie. He was wearing a black I Love Blackpool T-shirt, the same as Alex’s. I’d never seen him before, but I didn’t need Alex to tell me who it was.