The Perfect Girl

by Lorna Dounaeva

  Jock looked at her with compassion.

  “Your mum said your dad was innocent. She said he never should have been put in prison.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you believe that, too?”

  She hesitated for just a fraction of a second. “I think he was innocent, but I’d like to know for sure.”

  “What was he like, your dad?”

  Gabriella leaned on her elbows. “He was just like anyone’s dad. He worked hard, liked a round of golf and a pint of beer. He was a very principled man. He had an opinion on everything. His friends called him an armchair conservative, but I never saw anything in him to make me suspect he was evil. And yet …”

  “And yet?”

  “The evidence was pretty damning. The police seemed so certain that Claire was in our house that night. And in spite of all the pressure, why would Dad confess? I just don’t understand what they could possibly have said to him to make him. You couldn’t ‘make’ my dad do anything. He knew his own mind. So why on earth did he say he killed those girls? It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  He would have liked to press her further and ask about her father’s death, but he didn’t want to push his luck. So they both turned their attention to their food and ate in companionable silence.

  “Your friend, Sapphire, what do you think happened to her?” Gabriella asked, as they finished their meal.

  “I’m hoping she ran away.”

  “Is that what you really think?”

  “No. If she really is Gertrude then it’s more likely she jumped into the canal.”

  Gabriella frowned. “Did she seem suicidal?”

  “No. But what do I know?”

  “I hope you get your answers,” she said, dabbing her chin with her napkin. “Just like I hope we get ours.”

  He nodded. They were both part of one big, complex mess.

  “You let me know if you have any more questions,” she said, as she dropped him back at the bus stop. “I mean it; I want to help. And let me know what you find out. I really have to know what happened, no matter what. It’s killing me. Mum too.”

  He scribbled down his number for her and climbed out of the car.

  “Don’t forget your TomTom,” she called after him.

  “Thanks,” he said, although he had a good mind to drop it in the nearest puddle.

  On the bus home, he drew a pencil line through Gabriella and Daphne Helston’s names in his notebook. He wished he could scratch them off his list entirely. They couldn’t have done it, either of them. They were both so nice and normal.

  Jock stopped at the tea shop on his way back. He found Dylan sitting by the window, sketching.

  “I didn’t know you drew?” he said, setting down his bag.

  “Oh, I don’t. These are just doodles.”

  He leaned over Dylan’s shoulder. Simon was instantly recognisable as the Green Man from the May Day parade, all trussed up in feathers and tied to a broken Maypole. He was surrounded by journalists with pads and pens and tiny villagers with pitchforks. Angie and Morgan were down in the muddy sheep pen, pulling one another’s hair. He had greatly exaggerated the size of Angie’s boobs, and Morgan’s skirt was hitched up so high it was almost indecent. Artistic license, he supposed. He flipped the page and found an impressive likeness of himself, cowering inside a huge tea cup, about to be tipped into Stavely’s mouth.

  “This is what you think of me?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t mean squat,” Dylan insisted. “Like I said, they’re just doodles.”

  Jock looked closer. There was a monkey that looked remarkably like DI Sweep, hanging off the bristles of Stavely’s moustache. He was all arms and legs with a sharp, serrated nose. He might have laughed if his own likeness weren’t so uncanny.

  “Did you talk to Simon?” he asked. “He was looking for you yesterday. He didn’t look particularly happy.”

  “Oh, he’s fine,” Dylan said dismissively. “Simon’s a good egg.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “Hey, look what the cat just dragged in.”

  He turned to see Stavely and Sweep standing in the doorway.

  “What are they doing here?” he murmured.

  “They’re still trying to find Sapphire,” Dylan reminded him. “Even if arresting Simon was about as advisable as doing a U-turn on the M1.”

  Angie glared like he had never seen a woman glare before, her lips narrowed to a point. Even Morgan looked impressed. Still, Stavely had a skin as thick as a mole’s.

  “We’d like to ask you a few more questions,” he told Angie without as much as a hello. “When you’ve got a minute.”

  “Just as long as you don’t arrest me,” she said pointedly.

  “We had to go on the information we had,” Stavely told her.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Look, we all want the same thing, don’t we? To find Sapphire.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, looking weary.

  They sat down at a nearby table. Jock tried to act like he wasn’t eavesdropping, but every inch of him strained to listen.

  “So tell me,” said Stavely. “How long have you known Sapphire?”

  “About three years,” Angie replied.

  “How did you meet?”

  “I bumped into her when she was moving into this place – literally bumped into her. I had a load of shopping and she was carrying a large table lamp. We didn’t see each other until it was too late. The lamp got smashed, but she just laughed her head off.”

  “And when did you start working for her?”

  “The very next day.”

  “She gave you a job, just like that?”

  “Well, I dropped in later with some flowers from my garden as a housewarming present. You know, I kind of felt guilty about the lamp. We got chatting and she mentioned that she needed staff. Well, it just seemed like fate. I was working at a really crummy cafe, barely making minimum wage. I was pretty desperate to leave but I didn’t get on with the owner and I was worried about what I was going to do about a reference.”

  “Did she even interview you?”

  “She said she had a good feeling about me. She could just tell I was the right person for the job.”

  “She sounds most unorthodox.” Stavely frowned his disapproval.

  Sweep smiled slightly. “She sounds pretty cool.”

  “Yes. Yes she is.”

  “So you and Sapphire were friends outside of work?” Stavely went on.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Did she have any other friends?”

  “Lots.”

  “Anyone special?”

  “Not really.” She glanced over at Jock and he did his best to look uninterested.

  “Did she have any concerns about the May Fair? Did she say anything to you about it?”

  “No, but then she knew I didn’t like the idea. All those missing girls. The legend. I thought it was morbid. But there was no talking her out of it. Once she’d made up her mind, that was it. Sapphire follows her gut. That’s just her.”

  “Do you think she knew something was going to happen?”

  “Not at the time I didn’t.”

  “But now?”

  “With hindsight? Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “There’s a parcel for you upstairs, Jock,” Neil said when they arrived back at the Dragon.

  Jock frowned. “I’m not expecting anything.”

  “Well it’s upstairs in the hallway, all the same.”

  Neil wasn’t kidding. There was a huge box blocking the door to his room. He checked the address label and groaned.

  “What is it?” Dylan asked.

  “It’s from my mum. She’s tracked me down. She’s like a bloodhound, that woman.”

  He unlocked his door and hauled the box inside. Dylan followed. Jock took some scissors from the nightstand and slashed the tape holding it all together.

  Dylan dived in. “Dundee cake,” he said triumphantly. “Hmm! … It smells homemade.�
�

  “I don’t even like Dundee cake,” Jock said, setting it aside. He delved further and found a couple of shirts and a pack of underwear.

  “Nice Y-fronts!” Dylan hooted.

  There were also a couple of thermal vests, a packet of tea, several boxes of custard, a jam roly poly and a tin of spotted dick.

  “She just can’t help herself,” Jock said.

  “Your mum sounds like a great lady,” Dylan said, eyeing all the swag.

  “She’s formidable,” Jock said. “A force of nature. She’ll kill me with kindness, one way or another.”

  “It’s not a bad way to go,” Dylan said, pulling out a jar of lemon sherbets.

  Jock’s mother had also enclosed a letter, which he read briefly then tossed in the bin.

  “Are you going to eat that?” Dylan asked, eying up the Dundee cake.

  “Take it. Take all of it,” Jock said. “I don’t want it.”

  “You can keep the Y-fronts,” Dylan said, packing the rest back into the box.

  “No, it’s all or nothing,” Jock told him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some work to do. Make sure you shut the door on your way out.”

  The punch landed in the middle of DCI Stavely’s face, giving him a bloody nose.

  “I’m sorry,” Gertrude gasped. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I know, I know. It was the shock.”

  He produced a hanky and did his best to mop up the blood, but it clung stubbornly to his moustache, turning it from brown to red. The other detective sat down with her and tried to explain what had happened, but Gertrude felt like her ears were full of sand and she could only take in a fraction of what he said:

  “Peter Helston confessed … Body not yet recovered … There may be others … Terribly sorry for your loss.”

  Mum sat unmoving in her chair. She was pale and expressionless. But she heard every word – probably grasped it better than Gertrude did. She clicked her fingers in front of her, impatient for a reaction.

  “Mum?”

  “Why isn’t she moving?” Stavely asked, peering at her in concern.

  “Mum!”

  Gertrude hurled a cushion at her, but it made no impact. She went for another, but helping hands stopped her.

  “Mum!” she screamed, her throat on fire. “Mum!”

  But still, her mother didn’t move. She was still breathing, still blinking, but her mind wasn’t there. She was gone.

  “I hate you, Mum!” Gertrude fell back onto the sofa, exhausted.

  Not even that got a response – not even the slightest twitch of an eyebrow. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It was just too much. Her mum should have been the one to punch DCI Stavely, the one to slip her arm around Gertrude’s shoulders and tell her they still had each other.

  “Is there a friend or neighbour you’d like us to call?” Stavely asked, the blood still streaking down his shirt.

  “No,” Gertrude replied.

  She was on her own and this would probably be it from now on. She thought of killing herself. Of course she did.

  Sapphire drummed her fingers on the floor as Ingrid wove her hair into hundreds of tiny plaits. She had nothing to tie the ends with, so once woven, they slowly uncoiled.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked, shifting her weight from one side to the other. Her bum was numb from sitting on the cold, stone floor and no amount of shifting made it any more comfortable.

  “A long, long time,” said Ingrid, starting on her left side.

  “You don’t know how long?”

  “I’ve lost count,” she said, plaiting more vigorously.

  “She’s been here the longest,” Fizz said, shooting her a look.

  “Can you tell me a bit about Sweden?” she asked, changing the subject. “What’s it like? I’ve never been there.”

  Ingrid thought for a moment. “Well, the capital is of course, Stockholm. At least, I think it is?” She glanced at Fizz in confusion.

  “Don’t you know?” Sapphire asked.

  “I should. It’s just my memory …”

  “They whacked her over the head pretty hard,” Fizz said. “She has trouble remembering things, things she ought to know.”

  Sapphire nodded. “I think that’s what they did to me, too.”

  She thought she remembered feeling a hard knock to the back of her head, but she wasn’t sure if it was an actual memory or just her mind trying to fill in the blanks. Maybe it was better not to remember. It was probably less painful that way.

  “Well, anyway, it’s a big, bustling city,” Ingrid went on. “I hardly ever went there. My family are from the countryside. A beautiful area, with lakes and trees.”

  “Did you celebrate May Day in Sweden?” Sapphire asked.

  “Yes,” said Ingrid. “We didn’t have a May Queen but we used to light a bonfire. My Nan said it was to ward off evil spirits, but Dad would just roll his eyes. We’d eat a picnic of salted herring and meatballs, and if we were feeling brave, we’d dip our toes into the water.”

  “I had Swedish meatballs at Ikea once,” chimed in Harmony.

  “Why did you come to England, Ingrid?”

  “I had the wanderlust, you know? I wanted to see the world. I was offered a scholarship at Liverpool University and I thought I’d be mad to pass it up. But now I wish I’d never left home.”

  “What are you drawing?” Fizz asked, looking down at the lines Sapphire had traced in the dirt.

  “My shop,” she said. “I’ve got a lovely little tea shop.”

  Ingrid smiled. “Maybe we can all visit it one day, when we get out of here.”

  Sapphire swallowed. “That would be nice.” Her eyes misted over as she thought of her little flat above the shop. She had only lived there for a few years, but it felt like much longer. She had chosen every stick of furniture and painted every wall. She had worked so hard to make it warm and cosy. And now she might never see it again.

  “Hey, I know a song that might cheer us all up. Would you like to hear it?” Ingrid asked.

  Sapphire nodded, though she wasn’t really in the mood. Ingrid began to sing a tune she had never heard before. She had a beautiful, high-pitched voice and she sang perfectly in key. The others soon joined in. Fizz wasn’t too bad, but Harmony was completely tone deaf, despite her name.

  “Hey, pipe down everyone!” Fizz hissed all of a sudden. “Can’t you hear that?”

  They all fell silent, their ears attuned to the sound of the lift creaking its way down the elevator shaft. A moment later, the door opened and someone stepped inside.

  “Achoo!”

  Sapphire hadn’t meant to look, but the sneeze caught her attention. She saw her only for an instant, but that instant was enough.

  “Claire!” she gasped. All at once, the world around her turned black and fuzzy. Her body was paralysed with shock. But before she could utter another word, Claire was gone.

  16

  Sapphire closed her eyes. She could remember how it felt, the adoration of the crowd, the applause, the excitement, as the float set off up the hill towards the castle. And then she had seen that one-in-a-million face in the crowd. Claire was not dressed in her May Queen dress as she had always pictured her. She was wearing a black, hooded top and no make-up. But Sapphire had recognised her all the same. She would recognise her anywhere.

  It was the ultimate game of hide and seek. She struggled to keep her in her sights as she wove in and out of the crowds, past the railway bridge and down, down, down to the canal. For a moment, she thought she had lost her, but then she saw her again, at the window of the little cottage that sat on the bank of the canal. The lock keeper’s cottage, the locals called it. Despite its name, there hadn’t been a lock keeper there for many years. Most people passed the old house without giving it a second thought.

  She burst in without knocking, not caring as the door slammed behind her.

  “Claire!” she gasped. “It’s really you!” She grabbed her sister, fina
lly held her in her arms. Claire did not resist, but she did not respond either. It was several minutes before Sapphire was ready to let go, several minutes before she noticed that her sister had not returned the hug.

  “Let me look at you!” she exclaimed. She stepped back and took in her sister’s hollow eyes and empty expression.

  “What have they done to you?” she asked. “Whatever it is, it’s over now. You’re free Claire. We’re–” but she never got to finish that sentence. She hadn’t sensed the third person in the room with them, but perhaps she should have, from the way Claire’s eyes kept shifting to the right. The heavy weight came down on her before she had time to react. This was not to be a happy reunion.

  “Claire!” She now called into the darkness, but there was no reply. “That was Claire!” she gasped. “That was my sister!”

  Ingrid, Fizz and Harmony all looked at her.

  “She’s your sister?” Fizz said.

  “What? Don’t you believe me?”

  Harmony licked her lips. “It’s just, you’re so nice and friendly and–”

  “Don’t you … like her?”

  It was an added shock. Being Claire’s sister had always been like a passport to acceptance. There was something in the look people gave her, something akin to respect. Everybody wanted to know Claire, to be her friend. For a very long time, being Claire’s sister had been the only thing she was proud of. And then Claire had been taken. A tear trickled down her cheek.

  Ingrid came and sat beside her. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “It’s just all so overwhelming,” she said. “One minute she’s dead and the next she’s alive. But why won’t she talk to me? The least she could do is explain what’s going on.”

  Ingrid shook her head. “Claire’s not like the rest of us,” she said, as Sapphire blotted her eyes on the hem of her dress. “Don’t you get it? She sold us out. They let her live up there with them while the rest of us are trapped down here in this godforsaken cellar.”