Her Last Secret

by P L Kane

  Find out more about his life, maybe even be involved in it somehow now they’d had contact again – as ridiculous as that sounded. Couldn’t do it when Greg was about, so she waited till he headed off for work on the Monday and called a cab. She braved what media there still was outside to get to it, deciding she would just tell Greg she’d needed to head out for a bit if he got wind of it. Needed to get away from the house …

  But she’d had a destination in mind all along – the hotel she’d been told Jake was staying in. Even if anyone said anything about that, they had things to discuss. The arrangements for Jordan’s funeral for one, once the … the body was released. That would all need to be talked about at some point. Jake would need to be involved, would want to be involved. As the dutiful father again … Julie pushed aside the resentment she felt at that again, remembering the good times. Remembering he had a right to at least be kept in the loop, to have a say.

  It was one of the reasons she found herself at his hotel on the Monday morning, loitering and deciding whether or not it was a good idea to go inside. She’d tried calling his mobile, but it was going straight to messages. So she’d decided she would get one of the members of staff at the desk to call him up in his room, or get him to come down or something.

  What she hadn’t been expecting was that he wasn’t even at the hotel. That he’d show up in an expensive-looking car with an attractive-looking woman whose hair was cut in a bob, chatting to her, heading to the front doors and through them. Julie had made herself scarce, skirting round the side of the building so she wouldn’t be seen like something out of one of those spoof spy flicks from the 1960s. Peering round the corner until they’d gone in, an insane curiosity gripping her and causing her to sidle down, to get to a window so she could look inside.

  And there they were, in the restaurant/café bit, ordering food and drink. The woman was saying something and smiling, then Jake reacted to that – smiling back at her. Who the hell was she? Someone from out of town who’d come to see him? Someone from back where he lived? Someone special perhaps?

  Julie wasn’t ready in the slightest for the barrage of emotions that flooded her system, chief among them – though she had no reason or right to feel it – being jealousy. Raging jealousy.

  She shook her head, breath coming in heavy gasps. What are you doing? she asked herself. What are you actually doing, Jules? You’re acting like some fucking crazy stalker or something … This isn’t you. This really isn’t you.

  In the first few months after they split, maybe – although even then her pride had prevented her from trailing him to his new home. Fear of seeing … seeing something like this keeping the impulses at bay. It was why, she realised, he hadn’t been near his old house since Greg came along; certainly since he moved in. Too weird, it was too …

  This was all too weird.

  Christ, she didn’t even know who this woman was. Could just be a concerned colleague from work or something, who’d come to make sure he was okay. Was making sure he had something to eat, to drink – because, you know, somebody ought to. Somebody who wasn’t already attached, who wasn’t already married.

  She needed to get out of there, now. Before someone saw her. Not just Jake, but someone else. Someone with a camera possibly. Their lives were being played out inside a goldfish bowl right now, everything under scrutiny. How long that would go on for, Julie had no idea – it was beginning to tail off at the house, because nothing very interesting was happening (today’s news, tomorrow’s history and all that) – she’d never had any experience of it. What wouldn’t help any of them would be a photo in the papers of her crazy behaviour:

  ‘MOTHER OF MURDERED GIRL CAN’T LEAVE EX-HUBBY ALONE … PEEPING THROUGH WINDOW OF HIS HOTEL AS HE HAS INTIMATE LUNCH WITH NEW LOVE.’

  Intimate. Was it intimate? Did it look intimate? Julie risked another quick look. It did appear to be fairly pally.

  None of your business, she reminded herself. It’s. None. Of. Your. Business.

  Another car pulled up nearby, and that’s when she decided to move. To walk away as if nothing had happened, not draw attention to herself. Walk away and then call another cab when she got a suitable distance from the hotel. But instead of doing that, she continued to walk. Up one street and down another, not really knowing where she was going, where she would end up. Not really caring.

  It was something she’d very often done when she was younger, following her nose, letting the wind take her where it may. Something Jake had done as well, he’d often told her … Jake, don’t think about Jake back there with …

  Something they’d done together on occasion, when things had gone wrong. When they were trying to figure things out … They’d done it a lot when Jordan had announced herself.

  Walking, walking. Inevitably, you had to end up somewhere. And, on this day, this Monday, she found herself turning the corner and facing a small, out of the way pub in the middle of nowhere, that obviously serviced the people local to the few streets surrounding it.

  A far cry from some of those clubs her daughter used to frequent, it actually looked quite seedy. Looked like somewhere you really shouldn’t be unless you knew how to handle yourself.

  The Slaughtered Calf, it was called, probably named when this whole town still relied on the meat market. The sign was accompanied by quite a graphic artist’s depiction of a baby cow being cut into with a knife (and how that had still been allowed to remain outside was anyone’s guess).

  Julie had a flash then, a vision of her daughter being stabbed with a similar weapon, her own baby being slaughtered.

  It just made her want a drink even more. Nodding to herself, she crossed the road and headed for the drinking hole, pushing on the old wooden doors. The two customers that were inside, an old man in the corner wearing a cap and doing a crossword, a golden retriever laid at his feet, and a youth who didn’t even look old enough to be in here, wearing trackies and playing the fruit machine, both looked over.

  Seeing nothing of interest, or nothing that might interest them at any rate, they went back to their own business. If they recognised her, they didn’t show it. The lady behind the bar, and Julie would definitely use the word loosely with her bright blue eyeliner, back-combed hair and ample cleavage on display, eyed her up and down before asking what she wanted. Again, if there was any hint of recognition, she hid it well.

  ‘White wine please,’ Julie told her, taking a seat on one of the stools at the bar itself.

  ‘Large or small?’ asked the woman, revealing hideously yellow teeth behind the bright pink lipstick.

  ‘Large,’ Julie told her. ‘Definitely large.’

  As it was brought to her, the best this place had to offer – which tasted vaguely of vinegar – Julie thought then again about time. About how much things could change again in the space of a few days (drinking before noon on a Monday morning, for one thing; that was new).

  How, just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, they absolutely could. And how they could change, in such a short time.

  How they could change so, so much.

  PART TWO

  Much has been made of how Redmarket has reinvented itself over recent years. From a market town that relied more or less solely on its trade in meat, to a place known for its leisure industry and buzzing nightlife, the latter in particular. Young people especially flock here of an evening, guaranteed of a great night out with fun and laughter. But there is much to see and do for the entire family, from gyms and leisure centres – which boast state of the art swimming pools and climbing facilities – to cycle paths and visiting local landmarks. These include the market area itself, which is still open on various days (enquire with the local council, whether you wish to buy or sell), some of the oldest public houses in the land which serve a range of delicious real ales and wines, and the local church of the parish. This dates back to almost the founding of Redmarket itself, give or take a few hundred years, though it wasn’t converted to the Christian faith un
til almost 740 AD. It is worth visiting for its stunning stained-glass windows, which depict a fantastic battle between angels and the forces of evil, led by the Devil himself. Some have joked in the past that it is not clear from the artwork in the windows which side is winning …

  Chapter 15

  Redmarket church wasn’t that much to look at from the outside.

  It was hard to tell what kind of architectural category it belonged to, as it appeared to be a mish-mash of various styles, almost as if different buildings were competing for the same space in different time zones. There were stories that it had been set on fire at several points in its history, and those bits had been rebuilt in the current prevalent style – which would explain the schizophrenic nature of the building. The most talked about feature of the church, however, couldn’t be seen very well from the outside at all, but rather was best viewed from inside.

  The stained-glass windows which ran the length of the building depicted a furious battle between the forces of Heaven and Hell, culminating with a rectangular showdown at the rear of the church between the Devil and the Archangel Gabriel, giant sword in hand, wings at his back. It was almost as if these warriors were fighting for the souls of the people who made up whatever congregation happened to be inside at the time.

  As Jake sat in that space, looking up and around at this particular display (which should have been in widescreen, or deep focus) he couldn’t help thinking that they’d definitely lost one soul that day. Or had they? If you believed in the afterlife, then the soul – assuming you’d led a decent enough life – would end up in Heaven anyway. Was no longer inside that body, which itself was encased in wood at the front: yet another box. The only box that actually mattered.

  He liked to think Jordan was in paradise or headed there. But at the same time he couldn’t help thinking she wasn’t at peace yet. Could never be at peace until the truth about what happened was uncovered, whether that involved Bannister – and if you listened to a certain lawyer he knew, it didn’t – or someone else. All he knew was that he’d vowed to find her that peace, had promised it to her personally.

  Jake could barely believe the funeral had come around so quickly. That time thing again, speeding up and now slowing to a crawl in this place. Every minute like hours as he sat there trying not to look at the coffin they had carried from the hearse, one at each corner: Greg Allaway, his son William, Matt, and finally him. It had been Julie’s call, so he’d gone along with her wishes. If he’d been strong enough, though, Jake would have carried it himself, alone, to the front.

  She’d been in touch about arrangements a few days ago, after he’d stopped by for his car and found nobody at home. A curt phone call in which she had explained was what happening and where. He’d thought they were getting along better, but obviously not from the frosty tone of her voice.

  ‘Just let me know … I mean, how much I owe for …’ He felt so stupid bringing that up, like he was paying his share for a pizza delivery or something. But funerals were an expensive business, and he wanted to feel like he’d contributed.

  ‘I will,’ Julie promised him, voice softening but only marginally. ‘Do you want to say anything?’

  Jake thought about it for a moment or two, then declined. He didn’t really feel it was his place, and Julie was getting up to say a few words anyway. She could do it for the both of them. She was always better at expressing herself than him, particularly when it came to the emotional stuff. That’s what had got him into trouble in the first place.

  The gathering would be small, Julie had told him; just friends and family really. And as Jake glanced around now again – anything to avoid his eyes settling on that coffin – he found he only recognised a few of the people present, all dressed in black or navy (during his latest shop for clothes, he’d picked up a black suit and tie himself). Had he been that out of touch with Jordan’s life? He supposed he had … Grateful to see a few familiar faces in the form of Laura, Becky and Raju at the back, he’d nodded to them and they’d nodded back.

  Nearer to the front was the no-less-familiar form of Jules’ father, Norman, in his wheelchair, someone from the home he was in accompanying him. The old man caught Jake looking and glared back, those beady pupils beneath bushy eyebrows making him look a bit like a vulture. Their one and only encounter outside while they waited for the black vehicles to arrive (Jake hadn’t been invited to be part of that procession, as it had come from the ‘family’ home), had been less than pleasant.

  ‘Norman,’ Jake had said by way of a greeting.

  ‘I’m surprised you had the balls to show up,’ the man had wheezed.

  He was shocked at first, then remembered just how much Julie’s father had hated him. ‘I-I … Jordan was my daughter, Norman. How could I not?’

  ‘You ruined my daughter’s life, you bastard,’ Norman had replied, and even the carer with him – a small but sturdy lady wearing round glasses – had balked at that one. ‘And Jordan would still be alive if it wasn’t for you!’

  Jake had shaken his head, while the carer made noises about getting the old man inside and settling him in, like he was being put to bed or something. There was only one person that was happening to today, permanently, and according to Norman Brent it was all Jake’s fault. He should allow for age and whatever form of dementia he had, but there had been no mistaking the anger and rage behind those words. And no mistaking the fact that Julie’s father believed every single one of them.

  Here, in the church, Jake broke off that gaze – a reminder of those accusations outside. A reminder that he might actually be right, and if Jake had been around …

  ‘You left her when she needed you the most.’

  And there she was, the person who’d said those words when they’d gone to identify Jordan. Sitting with Greg, who had his arm firmly around her shoulders, squeezing tightly in what Jake supposed was a gesture of support, but came across very much as another ‘she’s mine’ gesture to him. He couldn’t help feeling a pang at that, thinking how beautiful she looked in spite of the occasion. On Greg’s other side was his son William Allaway who’d come back from university especially to be here. Jake hadn’t really talked to him, but the lad looked nothing like his father, which was a tick in the right box. His features were quite soft, almost to the point of feminine, so Jake wondered whether he took more after his late mother than Greg. If so, maybe the young man had more of her in his personality as well. They could but hope.

  Jake was on the opposite side to the ‘family’, which rankled if he was honest but he didn’t want to cause a fuss. Not today. He looked over his shoulder, scanned back across the rows behind him and spotted Matt there, head down as if in silent prayer. Jake knew he wouldn’t be, it was just that these places had always made his old friend nervous; probably still did. They still hadn’t talked to each other since the cells, but Jake knew that he’d arranged for the police to keep the media at bay – and for that he was grateful. Next to Matt was a neat woman, sitting bolt-upright, who could only be his wife. She was wearing very little make-up but was quite attractive in a severe-looking way, hair pulled back so tight it stretched the skin around her eyes. She was, as his old mum would have put it, quite ‘prim and proper’. Not Matt’s type at all, but then Jake reminded himself he didn’t know the bloke anymore. Not really.

  The hall had descended into a hush then, the vicar at the front in his dog collar rising to take his place at the pulpit. Rosy-cheeked, with mad white hair, he reminded Jake of that priest from the Nineties sitcom, but when he spoke it was the exact opposite of what you were expecting: a soft voice filled with a great gentleness.

  ‘We are gathered here today to pay our respects to Jordan Abigail Radcliffe,’ he began. Abigail after Julie’s mother. ‘We will start, though, by singing the first hymn on your sheet: “Abide with Me”.’

  Everyone got to their feet and when the organ cranked up, the smattering of people assembled did their best to get through to the end. Jake could feel himse
lf welling up, having kept his tears under control till that moment. Lines like, ‘When other helpers fail and comforts flee. Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me …’ certainly did not help. Other helpers, the people who should have been helping Jordan.

  Him. That meant him.

  But then he chastised himself. How selfish to be thinking of that on Jordan’s day, to be pitying himself. She was the one who should be pitied, her whole life ahead of her and it had been cut short.

  ***

  For Julie, most of the day so far – and much of the service – had gone by in a bit of blur. Readings, hymns, though she did stop to listen as the vicar read out the poem they’d chosen: ‘“God looked around his garden and found an empty place. He then looked down upon the earth, and saw your tired face. He put his arms around you. And lifted you to rest”.’

  That would be nice to think, wouldn’t it? Jordan, a tired Jordan, now up there at rest. At peace. Which was more than could be said for anyone down here. Her eyes flicked over again to Jake, who’d had to sit on the opposite side to them, and she felt a pang of guilt at that. He should have been on this side; he was Jordan’s dad after all. Regardless of everything that had happened, regardless of how furious she’d been since she’d seen him at the hotel.

  Furious, bitter … jealous (no, don’t say that, especially not today). But mainly furious. She hadn’t been able to keep it from her voice when she called to tell him what was happening, and it had clouded her decisions about where people should be during the service. The fact was, she needed those closest to her around her, people like Greg and his son; the family she’d made for herself, that she’d had to make. And her own dad, her dear sweet dad, who she’d inflicted so much heartache upon, but had been there for her in the end. People she could rely on.