Her Last Secret

by P L Kane

  He felt bad then, for thinking this was just someone poking their nose in – or, worse still, one of his own crowd on the hunt for a story. Jake shook his head, sadly, and said, ‘Thanks. Appreciate it.’

  ‘I-I’ll leave you to it,’ the man replied and went off, but Jake couldn’t take his eyes off the baby as the wife cuddled and rocked it in her arms. It didn’t seem like five minutes since Jordan had been that age, and he silently wished she still was. Keeping her safe back then had been as easy as making sure she had something to eat, changing her nappies and tucking her up in her cot.

  But there’d been other things to worry about, hadn’t there? Those rose-tinted glasses again … Things like diseases and cot-death, or when she went off to school something happening like falling over playing and hurting herself. All concerns until she was old enough to look after herself … Should have been able to look after herself.

  Jake shook his head again; these thoughts were doing him no good. He finished his food and drink quickly, aware that the longer he stayed there the more people might come over who’d seen those news reports. The more risk there was of a journalist who was staying here clocking him.

  When he was ready, he ducked out of the restaurant and went to reception, got them to order him a taxi. He had neither the energy after yesterday, nor the inclination to walk all that way into town again – or rather to that particular destination on the far side of Redmarket.

  When it arrived, a black and white affair with numbers on the side, he’d slid into the back and given the driver the address. He saw the man, a thickset fellow who looked like he could have a second career moonlighting as a Sumo wrestler if he wanted one, looking at him in the rear-view as they set off. Saw that recognition there again, was expecting the cabbie to say something as well – as they invariably did – but was grateful when he remained silent throughout the journey. Perhaps he just couldn’t think of anything to say. What was there to say, when all was said and done? If the roles had been reversed, Jake doubted whether he’d be able to think of anything that didn’t sound trite or were platitudes tossed off which didn’t actually mean a thing. This man didn’t know him, the couple back at the restaurant didn’t either – how could they possibly know the right words to say? Hell, even people who did know him like Matt hadn’t been able to make him feel any better.

  ‘This is as far as I can get,’ the man told him when they pulled into the next street, and when Jake looked past him he saw the road to his old house was chock-a-block with media: vans, cameras and reporters flitting about. There were uniformed officers there, too, doing their best to keep those people away from the house, but there simply weren’t enough of them to make much difference. He could just about see his Toyota, parked where he’d left it and mercifully intact.

  Jake paid the driver, telling him to keep the change, and got out. How was he going to play this? he wondered. How was he actually going to get in there? Because he hadn’t just come back for the car; that was only the excuse. He’d come back for a specific reason, and it wasn’t to end up on more news broadcasts throughout the day.

  So, what to do? Rush through them, hurry past and hope that nobody saw him, nobody recognised him? Fat chance of that when his face had been all over the TV that morning, probably even the night before – he just hadn’t caught it. Find a copper to guide him through to the house, create a safe passage if such a thing existed? Again, there weren’t enough of them to hold back this tide. It was a funny thing being on this side of the fence. Being the subject rather than the one filming said subject … Jake had never really camped out in front of someone’s house like this, though. Was more used to filming Sarah as she did a piece to camera, or willing interviewees – not hounding people in their own … in their own homes.

  One thing was for certain – if he just stood there long enough someone would spot him anyway. Or maybe that was it? Maybe that was the way to …

  Jake coughed as he walked towards the neck of the road, trying not to make it obvious this was an effort to gain their collective attention. It didn’t work, and so he coughed again more loudly. A female reporter on the periphery of the group finally noticed and pointed. It didn’t take long for recognition to kick in after that, or word to spread through the ranks of assembled journos, who all began to move in his direction, run even if they could. So he ran, too. Jake knew these streets well, was betting that he could lead them a merry dance and then double back around and just knock on the back door.

  But he’d underestimated their resolve – some even skirted round the other side, meaning that he was suddenly trapped in the street running parallel to his old house; a pincer movement approaching. Left with no choice, Jake aimed for the fencing at the back of that building and clambered up and over it before any of the media people could reach him. He was willing to bet none of them would risk trespassing to get their exclusive; Jake just hoped Julie would be all right with him doing that. Surely she wouldn’t object, given what was going on out the front.

  He heard a couple attempt to scramble over the wood, but then gave it up as a bad job. Jake couldn’t help feeling triumphant, but at the same time was torn – those people were in his line of work, after all. Kind of. He flapped a hand to dismiss it, and began making his way up the garden towards the French doors at the rear. The curtains on the other side were closed, which was probably for the best as he didn’t want to give anyone inside a scare, so he began to tap gently on the glass. When nobody answered, he knocked a bit louder. Then louder still.

  When the curtains were yanked back suddenly, Jake started – stepping back onto the paving slabs that separated the grass from the doors. There, meeting his gaze, was an angry-looking Greg Allaway. Jake had been hoping the man had gone to work by now … Greg shouted something at him that Jake couldn’t hear because of the double-glazing, then called back over his shoulder to somebody inside.

  The next thing he knew, Greg was unlocking the French doors and swinging one wide. ‘Well, look what the cat dragged in,’ he said snidely. ‘What’re you doing skulking around in our garden, Radcliffe?’

  Jake almost replied that it wasn’t his garden – he’d planted the flowers in there, had mown the lawns for years – but instead he just answered: ‘I wasn’t skulking anywhere, Greg. I was knocking. On the back door. The front was a bit hard to get to.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Is Jules … Julie inside?’

  ‘What’s it got to do with you?’

  ‘I want to see her.’ Greg bared his teeth, then Jake heard a female voice calling from behind. The man in front of him closed his eyes and cocked his head back, then reluctantly stepped aside so that Jake could enter. ‘Cheers,’ he told Greg, but had never meant anything less in his life.

  Jake stepped through into the kitchen, which he noted had been painted a different colour since he’d lived there – pale yellow having given way to a darker blue. Julie was standing in the hallway and he made his way towards her, only for her to back off and step sideways into the living room.

  He followed her, with Greg bringing up the rear, crowding him. The first thing Jake noticed was that the liaison officer wasn’t present. ‘What happened to the lady? The female police officer?’ he asked.

  ‘I told her to piss off,’ Greg snapped from behind. ‘Couldn’t stand all that tea and sympathy shit, could we?’ He looked to Julie for support on this, but she said nothing. ‘Getting under our feet.’

  It was only now, in the light from the living room, that Jake could properly take in her face. She looked like she hadn’t slept in months; probably felt that way as well. Her eyes were puffy and scarlet, and she wore the same jeans as the day he’d last seen her but a different baggy shirt which was half tucked in at the waist, half hanging out. ‘What are you doing here, Jake?’ she asked, echoing her husband.

  ‘What am I …’ He realised he didn’t know what to say, how to explain what he was actually here for – to say that he was trying to get to the bott
om of this, for Jordan’s sake. ‘I … I came back for my car, but well, I thought I’d see how you were while I was here. Had some trouble getting to the house, though.’

  ‘Been there a couple of days. Parasites,’ Greg muttered.

  ‘I thought I’d give you a bit of time,’ Jake continued, totally ignoring him. He realised that made no sense if all he was coming back for was the Toyota.

  ‘Well, you’ve been a busy boy, haven’t you?’ Greg again.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Greg pushed past him and strode into the room, snatched up a newspaper from the couch and then slammed it into Jake’s chest. He tried to stand his ground, but wasn’t expecting the push and stumbled back a step or two. ‘Hey!’ he said.

  ‘Haven’t you seen the morning editions? Well, go on then – now’s your chance!’

  Julie had lapsed into silence again, but he could see tears threatening once more, her eyes moistening.

  ‘Congratulations, you made the front page,’ sniped Greg.

  Jake pulled the newspaper away and turned to the front. There he saw a grainy picture of himself and the policeman with the flashlight from last night, standing next to the stall where Jordan had died. The copper looked like he was either trying to get Jake to come away, or about to catch him if he fainted. The headline read: ‘HEARTBREAK FOR FATHER AS HE VISITS SITE OF HIS DAUGHTER’S MURDER.’

  ‘Jesus,’ whispered Jake, wondering just where the photographer had been; he hadn’t seen anyone.

  ‘Yeah …’ said Greg. ‘Go on, it gets better.’

  Jake scanned the rest of it, which talked about how devastated Jake was – how he’d even been to the station to try and help the police. How in Christ’s name had they known about that? Unless … Yes, if the photographer had been that close, he might have heard the uniformed officer talking about seeing him at the nick. Either that, or there was some kind of leak there? Wouldn’t surprise him in a place that bent.

  Seemed like more of a possibility as he read on to find out details of the murder, how it had obviously been a crime of passion because Jordan’s boyfriend was in the frame. How he’d stabbed her in the heart, picking up on the headline once more to drive the point home.

  Without even asking, Jake made it to a chair and slumped down in it. ‘I-I don’t know what to say.’ He looked up at them both. ‘You don’t think I’ve been talking to them, do you?’

  ‘Why not? Birds of a feather and all that. It’s what you lot do, isn’t it? Stick together.’ Greg folded his arms. ‘That’s your job.’

  Jake slapped the paper. ‘No, this isn’t my job.’

  ‘Making money out of other people’s misery. Why not your own, why not ours?’

  Yeah, thought Jake, you look real cut-up about all this … Then he realised his poor choice of words. He found Julie’s eyes. ‘Julie, you know me. You know this isn’t … I wouldn’t do anything like that, not when it might damage Jordan’s memory.’ He sighed. ‘I didn’t even know my picture was being taken, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘What gets me,’ said Greg unabated, ‘is the whole “father’s grief” bullshit. You haven’t been near her in God knows how long.’ Jake could tell this was something that had been said quite a few times over the last couple of days, maybe even before the events in town. Stirring things up even more with Jules, as if they needed it. ‘She fucking hated you, mate!’

  ‘That’s enough!’ snapped Julie. Then, more quietly, ‘That’s enough, Greg.’

  ‘But you were the one who—’

  ‘I said that was enough.’ There was still a spark of the old Julie left then, enough to tell this idiot to back off. He glared at his wife, though, in a way that said this conversation was far from over.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Jake. Now he was the one who didn’t know what to say to make things better. It was something he seemed to be doing a lot of lately, apologising.

  ‘You’re sorry, I’m sorry.’

  ‘What have you got to be sorry about?’ Greg asked his wife.

  ‘We’re all bloody sorry!’ she completed.

  ‘I’m not,’ growled Greg. ‘Not sorry at all.’

  ‘What are you doing here, Jake?’ Julie asked him again, still ignoring her husband. It was probably for the best, thought Jake.

  ‘I … Look,’ said Jake, scrunching up the paper and shoving it down the side of the chair. ‘I-I was wondering if I could have a look in Jordan’s room.’

  ‘You what?’ Greg unfolded his arms now, throwing back his head again. ‘You can’t be serious?’

  ‘What for?’ Julie now, asking the more pertinent question of him.

  Jake looked her in the eye. ‘I-I dunno, I guess I need to feel close to her or something. It was why I was at the market square last night.’ Only half a lie. ‘I just want to feel some kind of connection to her again, find a keepsake possibly?’

  ‘Whatever for? You weren’t bothered about a connection when she was still alive,’ spat Greg, then looked across at Julie. ‘You can’t possibly be considering letting him do this?’

  ‘She was his daughter,’ Julie said without hesitation. ‘He has every right to—’

  Greg threw his hands up into the air. ‘Oh, I give up. I’ve had enough of this. I’ve got to go to work anyway, someone needs to bring in money to put food on the table.’ He strode out again, shooting Jake a filthy look as he went. Jake rose when he heard the front door go, went to the window to watch Greg pushing past the reporters that had returned and were gathered once more on the street outside. He seemed to be enjoying shoving them, elbowing and generally forcing his way through, not giving a shit about hurting folk.

  ‘Making friends and influencing people again,’ Jake said, before he had a chance to self-edit. He turned, saw Julie had her arms folded now, or rather was hugging herself in the absence of anyone else who might be willing – Jake bit back the offer that was rising in his throat, the urge to go across and just hold her again like he used to do when she was this upset. Her mouth was a thin line.

  ‘Don’t let all that nonsense fool you, he’s a good man.’ Jake couldn’t help letting out a sarcastic laugh at that one. ‘Believe what you want, he’s been good to us.’

  Jake held his tongue. He’d get nowhere with seeing the room if Julie was mad with him, if she threw him out on his ear. So he said, ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Do … would you like a cup of tea or something?’ she asked without looking at him. That good old British tradition in times of crisis, Julie obviously picking up where the female liaison officer – who’d been told to ‘piss off’ because of it – had left things in that department.

  ‘I’m good thanks,’ he told her.

  She nodded, then looked upwards. ‘The police have taken a look at Jordan’s room, taken her laptop. They already had her phone, she … she dropped that in the street when … Said it was standard procedure. I daresay they’ll be doing the same with … with Bobby’s.’

  ‘I see,’ said Jake.

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘Actually, is it okay if I go up alone?’

  Another nod. ‘Well, you know where it is … I’ll make myself a cuppa, I think.’

  Jake’s turn to nod, but before he headed up he said, ‘You do know I had nothing to do with that report, don’t you? Nothing to do with any of them, Jules – or the stuff on TV.’

  She met his eyes now and said, ‘I know, Jake. I know.’

  Chapter 8

  Julie had left him to it, heading for the kitchen where she’d fully intended on making that tea.

  Instead she simply stared at the kettle, trying to summon up enough energy to fill it, to switch it on. She was trying desperately not to cry again; she was so sick of crying. She was sick of tea too, if the truth be known. That FLO, Linda, had made cup after cup of the stuff – all too sweet, when she’d eventually tried it, but apparently that was good for shock, for nerves.

  She hadn’t deserved the way Greg had spoken to her th
ough, asking her to leave like that. Sometimes she wished he was a bit … calmer about things, wouldn’t get so worked up. But he’d only done that because he could see the state his wife kept getting herself into. He was protecting her, in his own way.

  Julie knew what people must be thinking, Linda, Matt … definitely Jake. Wondering just what the hell she was doing with a guy like that. But they didn’t see the other side, the side she’d fallen in love with. The side that was just looking out for her, that had been looking out for Jordan as well.

  Yes, she admitted she’d fallen quickly. She had for Jake as well … It was something she’d hoped she hadn’t passed on to Jordan, but, well, if wishes were horses …

  ‘Act in haste, repent at leisure.’ That’s what her mum had always said, and especially when she’d told her about Jake, about Jordan. Her dad hadn’t said anything like that, he’d just delivered an ultimatum that had left her no choice but to leave home. She couldn’t walk away from the father of her child, she just loved him too much.

  So they’d struggled on by themselves, got by even though it was hard work at their age. But true love always won through in the end and they’d had some happy times, hadn’t they? Jake had knuckled down and worked his arse off, she’d got a job herself after Jordan was born – okay, maybe not the career she’d always wanted as a vet, but close enough working there and helping out. Her real ‘career’ was as a mum anyway, and she put her heart and soul into that.

  Things had got better, money-wise and with her parents as they went along. They’d put down a deposit on this place and moved in, made it a real home and been a real family.

  For a while.

  Then the stuff with Jordan. Julie had always been more tolerant of it than Jake, could understand it all more because she’d been there. Times had changed, certainly, but people were people when all was said and done. Girls were girls, women were women – and Jake had never really got either. Had taken it all so personally, when really those were things Jordan had to figure out on her own. Life lessons only she could learn … if she’d let herself.