The Girl in the Green Dress

by Cath Staincliffe

  ‘Or you might decide you want her closer, here at home or in the cemetery,’ his mum said.

  ‘No.’ He couldn’t bear to think of Allie lying with all the dead or of her ashes in an urn on the bookshelf or at the garden of remembrance beneath a polished granite plaque. Maybe with Sarah wasn’t such a bad idea. ‘Teagan wants to go to this vigil on Friday,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It’s good they’re doing it but . . . we’re the ones who lost her. I don’t know that I want to share it with strangers. All these people who never knew her.’

  ‘They’re not strangers.’ Teagan was there. He hadn’t heard her come in. ‘Not proper strangers. It’s a community. Allie was part of it. I want to go.’

  ‘You can,’ Steve said. ‘I’m not sure whether I will.’

  ‘I can take you,’ his mum said, ‘if your dad decides not to.’

  ‘Good,’ Teagan said. She tucked her hair behind her ears and held out a piece of file paper to Steve. ‘I’ve done this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A letter to Allie. I want to post it online, so people don’t just hear Auntie Emma’s side of things.’

  ‘Will it make me cry?’ Steve said.

  ‘Probably,’ she said.

  His eyes scanned the page, caught random phrases, Dear Allie, You were six when I was born . . . I’m proud of you . . . You were scared of pigeons . . . funny, kind . . . Then Teagan made a noise and he saw her face crumple and she was crying. He opened his arms and shuffled the chair round so she could come to him, as Dix whined and struggled to his feet.

  Jade

  ‘Can I see you for a minute?’ The boss stopped at Jade’s desk.

  ‘Sure.’ Jade picked up her daybook and phone, then locked her desk drawer where she kept her bag. There were signs around the room, warning people to protect their valuables, which was pretty ironic, given they were all meant to be upholders of the law.

  ‘What are we going to do about Mayhew, given there’s no match with the DNA?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s not what I want to talk to you about.’ Something edgy in the way she said it as she ushered Jade into her office and closed the door.

  The boss went round to her side of the desk and settled in her chair.

  ‘Please, sit down.’

  I’d rather stand. Jade felt like bolting. Something was wrong. Her mind flew back over the last twenty-four hours – the visit to Candida Gallego, picking up Anthony Mayhew – searching for any mistake she’d made, any act that triggered unease when she thought of it, and came up blank.

  Sitting, Jade forced herself to meet the boss’s eyes. Was she angry? She didn’t look angry, not happy either. Sad, maybe, or disappointed. Perhaps she’d had bad news and this was about her, not Jade. Could that be it?

  The boss tilted her head but it wasn’t one of those pitying gestures, not like she was sorry for Jade, but a tilt the other way, like she didn’t want to get close. A distancing.

  ‘How are you finding work?’

  Trick question. Say as little as possible. ‘Fine.’

  ‘It’s very demanding,’ the boss said. ‘A lot to take in, steep learning curve.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Jade said. ‘It’s what I want to do.’

  ‘It can be stressful,’ the boss said. ‘Not just the hours and the intensity but the emotional toll it takes on all of us.’

  Jade didn’t know what she was supposed to say to that, so she said nothing.

  ‘It’s crucial everyone on the team has the resilience required.’ Was she talking about teamwork again? Was this some sort of pep talk?

  Jade nodded to show she was listening. Hands in her lap, out of sight, she picked at the skin around her thumbnail.

  ‘Mentally as well as physically,’ the boss said.

  Mentally. Did she know? What did she know? Thoughts scrabbled over each other, all claws and teeth. Jade stared at the snow globe. When the silence stretched out she glanced up. The boss was studying her with steady eyes, her mouth turned down, deep creases at the sides. A chill slithered across Jade’s skin.

  ‘You completed a medical on entry to the police service and it was a condition of employment that you notified us of any serious illness, or anything that might impact on your ability to do your job.’

  Fuck! Jade’s heart thumped out of rhythm. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ she said.

  ‘I need you to be honest.’

  ‘I am.’ Jade tugged at the strip of skin and felt the sting of pain.

  ‘Jade, it has come to my attention that you have been taking medication at work,’ the boss said.

  ‘That’s personal!’ How did she know? How the fuck did she know?

  ‘Not when it affects your performance.’ The boss looked sad, her eyes hooded.

  ‘It doesn’t. It doesn’t.’

  ‘I can’t ignore this. If you’re being treated for a mental illness, given the pressure you’re under—’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jade said. Her body humming with indignation. Dark spots dancing at the edge of her vision.

  ‘I don’t think so. You need time off. You need to speak to Human Resources, look at a referral to Occupational Health, and see if you can agree a plan. I’m not saying you can’t eventually come back—’

  ‘You’re sacking me from the team?’ Jade was on her feet, heart banging in her chest. ‘Don’t do that – you can’t do that! Look, I got you Bishaar, that interview. That interview made the case, gave us suspects, an eyewitness account. That’s all good. OK, thanking people, I’ll get better at that and I know teamwork matters . . .’ She could hear herself gulping air, rabbiting on. Calm down. Slow down.

  ‘Jade, if it has an impact on your work—’

  ‘How? How has it impacted on my work? It hasn’t.’ She was shouting. She shouldn’t shout but she had to make the boss listen.

  ‘The video from Fredo’s on Water Street, losing that, losing evidence. Then lying about it to DS Harris.’

  A kick to the stomach. ‘What? I never!’

  The boss blinked, shook her head. Despairing.

  Harris. The bastard. ‘I never had the video. I never!’

  The boss held up her hand. ‘To put into evidence.’

  ‘No! Was it DS Harris told you all this?’

  ‘I’m not prepared—’

  ‘Why does he want rid of me?’ Jade said. ‘Have you asked yourself that? There must be a reason.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jade,’ the boss said quietly. ‘But you’ve misled me. You’ve failed to disclose a serious health condition. I can’t ignore that.’

  ‘He’s fucking me over and you can’t even see it cos you’re so fucking pally.’

  The boss’s face pinched with disapproval. ‘Jade, don’t.’

  ‘Best mates together, isn’t it? Closing ranks. What a joke. He’s setting me up. He’s a fucking liar. And you’re a stupid bitch.’ Jade hit at her own head with her fists.

  ‘DC Bradshaw!’ The boss’s tone was hard as steel. ‘Enough.’

  Jade was trembling, eyes burning. She wanted to lunge and turn over the desk, pull down the filing cabinet, hurl the chair through the window, savour again the delicious release of letting go. Letting the rage out. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’ she yelled, fury howling inside her.

  ‘You need to calm down. This is not helping.’

  ‘You won’t even listen to me. Fuck you, then! Fuck you all!’

  She ran out, her teeth clamped together, her breath thin and tight. At her desk she grabbed her things and, ignoring the sideways glances from some of the other staff, walked out.

  The air was soft and warm. The sky showed patches of blue between the pale grey banks of cloud. She stared at the cars in the car park, the riot vans at the far side, the patrol cars, saw the coppers swapping banter as the shift changed. This was her life.

  The bristle of anxiety came, seesawing with her anger, like a rash spreading over her skin, burrowing into
her organs. She took some tablets. The medication kept a lid on it all, just about.

  She looked back at the buzz of activity in the car park. Now what? What the fuck was she going to do now?

  Sonia

  Rose was on the doorstep. ‘I rang the shop – they said you were off sick.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sonia said. ‘Fluey, you know. You don’t want to catch it.’

  ‘I’ll be all right. I won’t stay long.’

  ‘Rose, really.’ She wanted to close the door. How could she do that? Shut out her closest friend.

  ‘Really nothing,’ Rose said. ‘I knew something was up when you didn’t answer your phone. It’s not like you.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Sonia caved in, stood back and let Rose past.

  ‘You sit down. I’ll make a brew.’

  Sonia watched as her friend, relaxed and at home in her kitchen, filled the kettle, fetched mugs and coffee.

  Rose kept talking as she spooned out coffee, opened the milk. ‘They’ve cancelled Dad’s outpatient appointment again. It’s the third time. I feel like wheeling him down there and chaining myself to the radiators, or whatever, refusing to leave until they’ve seen him. And the GP’s been out to us because this new drug Dad’s on is making him feel sick so I want them to try something else.’

  Had Rose seen Oliver’s picture? Was she building up to it? Was that why she really called round?

  ‘You should be in bed,’ Rose said, putting the drinks on the table.

  ‘I was, not been up that long.’ Sonia hated lying, had never been very good at it. She preferred to face things head-on, the same as Rose did.

  Rose got out her e-cig and Sonia picked up her fags. Without need of any discussion Sonia opened the back door and they went out. There was a moment of silence as they both smoked.

  Say it, Sonia willed Rose. Let’s drop the pretence.

  ‘Last time I had flu was that holiday in Lanzarote. Bloody awful. You remember?’ Rose said.

  Sonia murmured in agreement. Rose had managed to get a carer who would call in on her dad twice a day so she could have a break. Oliver had been eleven, just finished at primary school. He’d been lovely at that age, happy to play in the pool all day long, and he soon made friends with some of the other boys, Sonia calling him back every couple of hours for food or more sunscreen. His fair skin burnt badly if she wasn’t vigilant. Even so, by the third day his nose and the tips of his ears were red and peeling, but it hadn’t spoilt his enjoyment.

  They had gone out on the first night, she and Rose sharing Sangria with their paella, Oliver wolfing down chicken nuggets and chips and angling to buy an inflatable octopus for the pool. Rose had felt grotty, wanted to get to bed early, and she didn’t get up again, other than to use the bathroom, till the journey back.

  ‘I don’t suppose Oliver’s been bringing you cups of tea or anything,’ Rose said now.

  Sonia waited, expecting her to go on and start talking about the news or the police. But she didn’t. ‘No,’ she said. She began to cough, sounding like she really did have some virus. When the spasm stopped, she sipped her coffee. She thought about what the detective had told her to do, then said, ‘He’s away, actually.’ She felt a rush of heat in her cheeks.

  ‘How come? Where?’

  ‘It’s a residential thing, part of his course.’ More lies. ‘A couple of weeks. Team building.’

  ‘Camping and outdoor stuff?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hope the weather stays nice for them. Sounds great, though,’ Rose said. ‘At least you don’t have to worry about him while you’re ill.’

  Oh, Christ. She longed to tell her, to crumble and let the truth spill out, to have someone to share the dreadful feeling with, to reflect the shock back at her.

  Rose would understand. Rose knew Oliver, had known him his whole life. She had cuddled him and tickled him, teased him and treated him to birthday and Christmas presents. She’d listened to his chatter about Angry Birds or his fantasy football team. She’d been his auntie and his godmother. Only in these last two or three years had her role in his life waned, as Oliver grew more independent. And more awkward.

  ‘Rose.’ Sonia turned to her friend, cigarette smoke catching her eye, making it sting.

  ‘Yeah?’ Rose said.

  ‘There is . . . erm . . .’ But the truth was lodged solid beneath her breastbone. Leaden. Dangerous. ‘I . . . I think I’ll go back to bed.’

  ‘Course. You poor thing. But keep me posted.’

  Inside, Rose poured away the remainder of her coffee. ‘Text me if you need anything. Promise?’

  ‘Sure,’ Sonia said.

  ‘We’ll have a proper catch-up when you’re back on your feet.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Sonia. But she couldn’t imagine it. She was losing everything – that was what it felt like – respect for herself, trust in her son, and now her friend, their relationship tainted by secrets and lies.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Donna

  Donna was shaken by her confrontation with Jade and saddened that Jade’s reactions, her refusal to accept she was in the wrong regarding the medication, the attack on Martin, the lie about the tape, appeared to confirm everything Martin had said. Donna needed to frame an email for HR about the situation but she’d find it easier when she was calmer.

  Could she have handled it differently? She’d tried to keep things professional, formal, wanting to give Jade space to address the concerns, but Jade had simply exploded. Emotions out of control. Fucking bitch and Fuck you now rang in Donna’s head.

  She was on the point of leaving to get something to eat when a call came through, an unknown number. She hesitated. If it was important they’d leave a message, wouldn’t they? But . . . Before her voicemail picked up she swiped to answer the call.

  ‘Mrs Bell?’

  Not work, then. ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is the Accident and Emergency unit at the Manchester Royal Infirmary.’

  Oh, Jesus. Kirsten? One of the twins? A sporting accident? ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your husband, Mr Bell, was brought here, an hour ago, after a traffic accident.’

  ‘Oh, good God.’ Oh, Jim. Donna’s vision swam. She leant against her desk and closed her eyes, waiting for what came next. ‘How is he? What happened?’

  ‘He’s conscious and we’re ordering tests to make sure there are no internal injuries. He’s got a fracture to the right leg and some cuts and bruises. His blood levels indicate he may have had some sort of heart event.’

  Heart event?

  ‘All being well, he will then be admitted to a ward, either cardio or orthopaedics. He asked us to call you.’

  ‘Yes.’ The children. School pick-ups – Matt and Kirsten finish at three. ‘Do you know what happened?’ Donna said.

  ‘He has no clear recollection of the collision. Has he been experiencing any dizziness or blackouts recently?’

  ‘He complained of chest pains.’ She’d told him to see the GP, time and again. The stupid man. She was so angry with him. ‘I’ll come down,’ she said. Collision? ‘What did he collide with?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what we know when you get here. Ask for Dr Vaughan.’

  She rang Martin straight away. ‘Jim’s been in a car accident. He’s OK, a broken leg. I need to see him, sort the kids out.’

  ‘Donna, I’m so sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Can you act as senior investigating officer until I’m back? Arrange for Mayhew to be taken home.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She parked in the multi-storey at the hospital and walked through the site to the main entrance. A and E was not unfamiliar territory, though Jim had probably done more trips here with their various children than Donna had.

  Building work had been going on around the complex for years. There was now a new children’s hospital and a new eye hospital, glossy buildings with clean, sleek interiors that put the main entrance and the older parts of the building to shame.

  Donna passed a c
lutch of smokers and made her way through to A and E reception.

  She gave her name, and Jim’s, and asked for Dr Vaughan.

  The doctor was a young man with a squat build, a plump, polished face and a rich Welsh accent. ‘Come through here, please,’ he said, ‘where we can hear ourselves think.’

  ‘Here’ was a tiny office off one of the corridors. Dr Vaughan opened the door and gestured for her to go in.

  At that moment someone called his name and Donna saw two police officers approach.

  ‘Ah, come in,’ the doctor invited them. ‘This is Mrs Bell. She’s just arrived but hasn’t had the full picture.’

  ‘What picture?’ Donna said.

  No one answered, but Donna took in the serious expressions, the thick silence, and sweat broke out across her skin in response. Jim? Was there worse news about him?

  ‘Please have a seat, everyone. We should be able to fit, if we put this one here and . . .’ The doctor fussed about arranging chairs until the four of them were crowded around the small desk.

  ‘Mrs Bell,’ the doctor said.

  ‘Detective Inspector Bell.’ She wanted them to know she was in the job. One of the officers, the older man, gave a nod and she saw a flicker of surprise in the eyes of the other.

  He’s dead. Jim’s dead. That’s why they’re here. She could see cup marks glinting on the table top. Old tea or coffee. Her throat was dry and cracked.

  ‘As you know, your husband was involved in a collision this morning,’ Dr Vaughan said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He was brought here by ambulance.’ His cheeks shone, squeaky clean.

  He’s dead. Just say it, she wanted to scream.

  The doctor looked over at the older police officer who took up the story. ‘His car mounted the pavement on Audenshaw Road and collided with a pedestrian. A young man. An ambulance was called but I’m sorry to say he was pronounced dead on arrival here.’

  Not Jim. Not Jim, then. Relief made her weak, then came the backwash of shame at the relief. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ‘Does he know? Does Jim know?’

  ‘Not yet. We thought it best to wait until we were sure he was not in any danger himself and until somebody could be here when he’s given the news.’