by Frances Vick
‘What time is it?’ She sat up. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘For the past twelve hours,’ David told her.
She put the light on. Her face was flushed, her hair tangled. ‘Shit, I was meant to call Freddie.’
‘It’s too late now,’ he told her.
‘What d’you mean? “Too late”?’ she said sharply.
‘I mean it’s midnight,’ he said.
‘I’ll text him then, where’s my phone?’
‘I looked in the car, but I didn’t find it. It’ll turn up,’ he said and smiled reassuringly.
She looked hard at him. The light from the bedside lamp shone through her hair, creating a nimbus of light, dazzling. ‘I’ve got a headache,’ she said. ‘And I’m hungry.’
He scurried off to make her some toast and brought it up on a tray, along with some paracetamol and fresh orange juice.
Her expression softened. ‘You are good to me,’ she said.
‘I try,’ he muttered. ‘And when I don’t succeed, I try to put it right; you know that, don’t you?’
She looked at him keenly and gave one sharp nod. ‘I do.’
61
Jenny. The Day after Freddie’s Death
When Jenny got the call from Graham, her shock and grief were absolutely genuine. It had never occurred to her that David would do something as insane as kill Freddie.
She had to think quickly, lay the ground. Escape.
After coming back from seeing Freddie’s body, she made her notes about the hospital visit, wrote about her fear that David had drugged her and killed Freddie. She’d give them to Cheryl once she managed to get away. Hopefully this, coupled with knowledge of David’s stints in the psychiatric wards, the pictures on Freddie’s phone (if the phone was found), as well as the stuff David still probably had buried in the garden, would help catch him and keep him caught. Hopefully all this would outweigh the one thing David had that might reflect badly on her: the chiffon scarf. She hadn’t been able to find it. God knows where he’d hidden it.
The fact that David had the scarf meant that he’d been there the night Sal died. If he was close enough to find the scarf, he was close enough to have overheard Jenny’s promise to come back, and close enough to see that she didn’t. That meant David knew that she’d left Sal in the snow to die. And he hadn’t said a word.
62
Catherine was having one of her bad days. Jenny sat with her, listening to her mutterings, trying to work out what she knew, what David might have told her. They stayed in the room together all day, until Catherine began to feel frightened. She didn’t like Jenny. She didn’t like her didn’t like her didn’t like her. Get out of my house!
‘Keep your voice down,’ Jenny told her.
‘Piers!’
‘Piers died,’ Jenny told her flatly. ‘And so did Tony.’ She was sick of this woman. They were sick of each other.
‘I know you,’ Catherine told her. She narrowed her eyes, sat up straight in her chair. ‘You’re fired.’
‘Believe me, at this stage of the game, if I could leave, I would,’ Jenny told her.
Catherine paused. Wilted. ‘Need the loo,’ she whispered.
‘You need the loo or you’ve already pissed yourself?’
‘You’re fired.’
‘OK. I’m fired. Let’s get you to the loo…’
But once outside the room, Catherine tried to run. With a hoarse cry she dashed blindly towards the darkened hall. Jenny ran after her, caught her by the nightgown, but the woman slapped at her arm.
‘I don’t like you I don’t like you!’ And ran to the bathroom.
Jenny followed her. Rage, tired rage, made her grab Catherine by the hair. She kicked the door shut behind her.
‘Piers!’ cried Catherine, and Jenny slammed her head onto the side of the sink.
Catherine fell like a dead thing. She looked like a dead thing. Shit. Shit! Jenny put an ear to her chest – was that a heartbeat? Yes? Was it?
‘Catherine? Catherine? Answer me!’ One eye half flickered open. ‘Catherine, listen to me. You fell. You tripped and you fell, OK. I’m helping you. I’ve been helping you.’
‘…tripped…’
‘That’s right. You tripped. That’s right. David! David!’
‘David, listen, calm down, listen. David, she needs to get to casualty. David, call an ambulance! I’ll stay with her, I’ll stay…’
By the time the ambulance came, David was completely hysterical, while Jenny, though shaken, was the epitome of calm. She explained what had happened, stayed with Catherine long enough to make sure she said the same thing, and, as they strapped her to a stretcher, and levered her out of the house, Jenny ran upstairs, shoved some underwear, her wallet and phone into a bag. She dug out the notes for Cheryl that she’d hidden around the bedroom and shoved them into an envelope Finally, she approached the mirror, took a deep breath, and hit herself sharply on the left cheek, opened her eyes, closed them, and hit herself again in the eye until it watered in pain.
‘Jenny!’ David’s panicked call sounded from downstairs.
She shook her hair down from her ponytail, letting it cloud and partially obscure her face, and in the back of the ambulance kept her head down and held David’s hand. She whispered to him that everything was going to be OK. She promised him that things would work out. To Catherine she said: ‘It was just a fall, just a fall.’
Half an hour later she was running towards the police station, her hair back in its ponytail, the bruise just coming out around her eye.
63
David. The Day after Freddie’s Death
The police did speak to David, but only because he called them. His girlfriend had gone missing that afternoon and her phone was turned off. This was really unlike her. Yes, of course he’d come in. Was she OK? Was she there?
In the station he was able to tell them that Jenny had… problems. She’d always been an anxious, imaginative person – sensitive and dreamy. Her mother had recently died, her best friend had just been killed, and seeing Catherine injured and in the hospital, well, it might have been too much for her.
‘It’d be too much for anyone,’ he said seriously. ‘I shouldn’t have let her come to the hospital with me, too many associations. God.’ He shook his head. ‘I completely respect her privacy, but did she tell you where she was going? She’s… she’s not well.’
But the police didn’t know. They suggested he contact family members. Good idea, yes. He’d do that, thanks.
‘Can we ask you where you were two nights ago?’
‘Yes, of course. I was at home. Jenny took a long nap, and I watched University Challenge with my mother.’ He smiled. ‘She has dementia, but she still got a higher score than me. Why?’
‘Routine enquiries. Anyone close to Mr Lees-Hill is being asked the same thing.’
David nodded. ‘I understand. I didn’t know him very well but what a horrible thing. You know he was gay? Could it be a hate crime?’
‘We’re looking at everything.’
David nodded again. ‘Jenny was obsessed with the attack. Last night she had terrible dreams about it. She seemed to think they were real…’ He shook his head. ‘Please, if she gets in touch with you, please tell her to come home. I don’t know if she told you but we’re actually engaged.’ His smile faltered. His sad, sad eyes misted. ‘I always thought that if she had a real family – a family of her own – it would help her get over all the horrible experiences she’s had. Please, tell her I love her? Just in case she calls.’
He told Ruth and Graham the same thing when he went round to offer his sincere condolences. They weren’t to be upset if she called, and he was… florid. Losing Freddie had tipped Jenny over the edge. He’d just been talking to the police about her. She’d gone missing. ‘But I don’t want you to worry. She’ll come home. But if she calls you and tells you where she is, please let me know?’
He thought he’d handled this very well. Very well indeed. He di
dn’t blame Jenny for leaving – well, he did, but he could understand it. She was distraught, overtired, she needed a break. When people were… in a state of shock, they sometimes acted out of character. Now that everyone knew how fragile she was, they’d be more gentle with her when she got back, more forgiving.
She hadn’t been herself for a few days – she’d spoken so sharply to him when he’d picked her up from the station – almost as if she hated him. She’d been under so much stress lately, and a whole night with that emotional leech Freddie had exhausted her. David should have been more understanding… All those years living with vampires like Sal and Freddie had made it hard for her to accept the love and respect that she deserved. Now that he’d freed her of them both, her gratitude was being poisoned by fear: fear that she didn’t deserve him, fear that she’d become a burden to him.
It made total sense in a tragic sort of way.
Fortunately, he had a perfect plan to not only get her back, but make her understand how much he loved her, how safe she’d be from now on.
Half an hour later, he was driving quickly northwards, brain humming, nerves quiveringly awake. The kitten tin with the hat and the knife in it sat next to ‘Precious Memories!’ on the back seat. In his pocket was Sal’s scarf. Together they’d burn it all, and start afresh. Scarborough. There she was, pinned on a map. Lucky he’d put that tracking software on her phone… No, not lucky, he shouldn’t put himself down like that. It was planning, foresight. He was a Good Boyfriend who’d always had her safety at heart. Always. Each minute brought him closer to Jen’s pulsing dot, and the closer he got, the calmer he felt.
64
Endgame
They sat in the car, ‘Precious Memories!’ between them.
‘We can do this later?’ David said anxiously. ‘We could go to a hotel, and you could have a rest?’
She smiled gently ‘No. You’ve come all this way. Let’s do it now. I think it’s the right time.’
So he showed it all to her, explained it all to her – the train tickets, the photographs. God, it was so good to be honest, come clean, even show off a little.
‘Really? You didn’t know I followed you? Really? I followed you all the way to your house.’
‘I didn’t see you,’ Jenny said after a pause. ‘You’re… very good at following people.’
‘Thanks! And I saw you pass that pub. What was it called?’
‘The Fox,’ Jenny said softly.
‘The Fox, yes. I saw him hurt you. I…’ He shook his head. ‘I’m still ashamed of myself. I didn’t help you. I should’ve helped you.’
‘That’s all right,’ Jenny managed. ‘You don’t need to… feel guilty.’
‘Really? Honestly? I’ve felt bad about that for years. Anyway, I collected as many of your photos as I could. They were all over the road, and… I got as many as I could. And I gave them back, d’you remember?’
‘In the coffin? The box like a coffin?’ Her voice was still soft.
He groaned humorously, nodded. ‘God. Sorry about that. It was only once you’d got it that I realised it looked a bit coffin-like.’
‘You saw me get the box too?’
‘Mmm. Well, not right when you got it because I overslept, but yeah.’ His smile faded. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. It was meant to be a nice thing, but you thought it was from Marc, that he was threatening you, that he’d found you, and, well, I had to make it all right again.’ He took her hand carefully. ‘I had to. You went off to see him and I had to make sure you were safe, so I followed you again. You’re sure you want to hear all this?’
She nodded then, and smiled. A sweet smile, if a little tired. ‘It feels… great to finally understand everything. But, I’ve got a bit of a headache. I need a Coke and some paracetamol maybe. There’s a shop around the corner, I’ll just nip out,’ she said.
‘I’ll come too.’
They walked to the corner shop. While David chatted happily, Jenny made sure to look straight at the security cameras. All four of them.
Back in the car he anxiously watched her take the pills. ‘How long have you had a headache?’
‘Oh, it’s not bad, let’s carry on talking.’
‘Have you eaten?’ he asked. ‘You need to eat.’
‘I will. I promise. Can we drive somewhere else now though? Somewhere quiet, near the sea, and you can tell me everything?’ She smiled. ‘It’s time I knew everything, don’t you think?’
And so they drove to a miserable scrap of land on the edge of a caravan park. The windows fogged and the air grew humid, but Jenny didn’t take her coat off – he hoped she hadn’t caught a chill? ‘No, no,’ she reassured him. ‘I’m fine, I promise. Tell me about this. Is it…?’
‘Yes. Marc Doyle’s hat.’ David looked at it, his expression a queasy mix of pride and hatred. ‘After I sent the pictures back? In the box? I followed you to his house, and I saw him hurt you again. It made me so… mad. And you were being so brave, and there was I, cowering behind a wall, doing nothing… so I stayed. After you left, I stayed, and I followed him too.’ He smiled fondly at the memory.
‘Where did you follow him to?’ Jenny asked softly.
‘To the canal,’ David answered her dreamily. ‘It was raining. Remember the rain that night? I was soaked through by the time I got to the canal. I caught a rotten cold, not a cold, worse. I even ended up in hospital, it was pneumonia, d’you remember I was off school—’
‘Tell me about the canal’
‘Oh, yes. So I already had the knife; I picked it up in his garden,’ he told her. ‘And the knife bit went OK, but he didn’t fall down. And so I had to think quickly. You know what I did?’ He smiled gleefully in recollection.
‘No. What?’
‘I ran up to the top of the bridge and I threw a rock at him! A big one.’ David pulled it out of the kitten box. ‘Look, here it is.’
‘And that’s how he died?’ Jenny asked softly.
‘Sort of. He was like Rasputin though!’ David laughed, shook his head. ‘I mean the knife hurt him but didn’t, you know, put him down; the slab put him down, but even then I still had to push him in the water, and he didn’t sink for ages, and—’ He stopped, his smile faded. ‘I’m not going on and on, am I? Talking too much?’ he asked anxiously.
‘No. No, carry on. I’ve… always wanted to know what happened.’
‘Don’t want to bore you.’
‘You’re not.’ She coughed, paused. ‘What about Freddie?’
David’s face darkened. ‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘Are you?’
‘I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I should’ve told him to back off and leave you alone. He was bad for you. He fed off you.’ David’s voice rose. ‘And he stole from me, spied on me. And he frightened Mother.’ David shook his head.
‘Tell me, David. How did you get him there?’
‘I didn’t. Ryan did. You know this though—’
‘Yes, but it was all so… stressful. I might have missed some things. Can you tell me again? If you don’t mind, I mean? If I hear the whole story in one lump, it might make me… understand a bit better.’
David nodded soberly. ‘OK. So Freddie texted me – sorry, he texted Ryan.’ He smirked. ‘And he said all these awful things about me. He’d found things. You know. And I didn’t want him to,’ David screwed up his eyes and mouth, searching for the right phrase, ‘make things more difficult. He’d done that enough. He was going to carry on doing it, too.’ Then he paused. The smirk almost faded, disappeared. ‘I know this might still be… difficult to hear. But he’d seen the scarf. Your mum’s scarf? I couldn’t let him tell anyone about that. Obviously.’
Jenny stiffened, coughed, took a sip of Coke. ‘What scarf was that?’ she asked carefully.
‘The scarf she had when she died. The one with the roses.’
‘And how did you get hold of that?’ Careful, very careful. She put one cold hand in her pocket.
‘Because I was there
,’ David told her. ‘I was there, when, you know…’
‘When she died?’
‘Yes.’
Jenny left a long pause. ‘Have you told anyone about that?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘No. Nobody.’
‘How long… how long did it take?’ Jen’s voice was shaky.
David placed a hot hand on her knee. ‘Not long. Once I got her up, it was easy to push her down. And it was quick. I mean, I don’t think she suffered.’
‘You did it? But—’ she stopped then. ‘Tell me what happened with Mum.’
‘I don’t really want to talk about this.’ David was solicitous. ‘It’s too painful for you, and you’re tired and—’
‘I’d like to know.’ There was force in her voice.
David, hesitated, capitulated. He told her how he had listened to Sal crying, a weak, pitiful sound, an annoying sound, and then something told him to get up, get up and approach her. When he saw the scarf, he almost didn’t bother with it, but then something told him that it was Significant, so he stooped, picked it up, wound it around one hand. Then he advanced towards the sniffs and moans and found her, half frozen, her nose clotted with slushy blood, one leg caught on something buried in the snow…
He had stopped a few feet away and lowered into a squat.
She’d fixed him with one exhausted eye. ‘Hurt my leg.’
David had tilted his head, smiled.
‘Help me up?’ Sal had gasped. One hand made a feeble attempt to push herself up. David did nothing. She raised her voice. ‘Help me up! Please!’
He had tilted his head again. ‘Oh, d’you need help?’ He extended one hand. She grabbed it with surprising strength. Her other hand made clawing movements in the snow. One woeful eye winced. ‘Nearly there,’ he’d told her.
‘My foot’s caught!’ she gasped again. ‘Can’t feel it.’