‘OK, if you’re sure. You’ll keep me updated, won’t you?’
She puts in her earbuds, covers them with her ear muffs, and jogs towards the exit.
‘Hey, guys,’ shouts Derek. ‘Turn the news up.’
‘Just seen it on Twitter,’ says Amanda. ‘A body’s been found.’
‘Oh God,’ says Luke. ‘Any details?’
Derek gets up from his seat; it’s the most Luke’s seen him move all day.
Luke turns to the television. It shows a white tent in the distance, beyond the yellow crime scene tape. It looks like a picture taken from social media.
‘Police have discovered the body of a female in a disused house in Preston. It is not believed to be the body of the missing teenager Leanne Livesey.’
There’s a collective sigh of relief as the brief report ends.
‘So who the hell is it?’ says Luke, walking to Amanda’s desk. ‘Anything on Twitter about where it was found?’
‘Someone’s saying it was an older woman. No idea who found her.’
‘Anyone mentioned Craig Wright?’
‘Not that I can see.’
‘Drugs maybe?’
‘Don’t think so.’
Amanda looks up at Luke and seems to have the same thought as he does. Luke’s blood runs cold.
‘What if it’s Helen?’
‘It won’t be her, Luke. Don’t worry. You’d have heard from the police if it were Helen.’ She glances up at him, but he can tell she’s worried too. ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Someone’s tweeted a picture of the house the body was found in. It’s on Inkerman Street.’
‘I can’t look. That’s near Erica’s house, isn’t it?’
She types both street names into Google.
‘Two minutes’ walk between the two.’
‘Oh God. What if Craig’s taken my wife there?’
Luke feels like he’s going to be sick; he can’t breathe.
Amanda looks at him, her eyes wide.
She grabs her bag from her bottom drawer. ‘Let’s go.’
It’s dark outside. It makes Luke worry about Helen even more. Please, God, please don’t let it be Helen. He closes his eyes as Amanda drives them across town.
‘It won’t be Helen,’ she says. ‘It can’t be.’
‘That’s what I keep telling myself.’
Luke checks his phone again: no messages. He dials his wife’s number; this time it doesn’t ring at all – it goes straight to voicemail.
‘I think her phone’s been turned off,’ he says.
‘It’ll have run out of battery. Try not to worry.’ She glances at him. ‘I know, it was a stupid thing to say. Of course you’re going to worry.’ She slows down to take a right. ‘We’re about a minute away.’
They turn on to Inkerman Street and it’s obvious from the blue flashing lights and the gathering onlookers where the house is.
Amanda pulls up a few metres down the street.
‘I don’t think I can move,’ says Luke. He folds, putting his face in his hands. ‘I just want a few more minutes where everything’s OK.’
He feels Amanda’s hand on his back.
‘Take your time. Whenever you’re ready.’
He pictures his lovely wife’s body in a derelict house; pale, lifeless, like the photographs of Lucy Sharpe that were shown in court.
He opens the door and vomits on to the road, retching until there’s nothing left.
Then he wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.
‘Oh God,’ he says, though he feels as though he’s choking. ‘I don’t want it to be her, Amanda.’
Her hand is still on his back.
‘I know. Come on. Shall we?’
Luke nods.
He stands slowly, not even bothering to close the car door. His legs are numb. Amanda takes his elbow and guides him to the officer standing next to the crime scene ribbon.
‘Hi,’ she says. ‘We’re from the Chronicle. Any ID on the body?’
‘Not yet,’ says the officer.
‘How old was the victim?’ says Amanda.
‘It’s hard to say.’
‘Did you see the body?’
The man nods.
‘Hair colour?’
‘Fair.’
‘Oh fuck,’ says Luke.
He feels his knees weaken. If it weren’t for Amanda holding him up, he’d be on the ground. He holds up his phone and scrolls to the most recent photograph he has of Helen. He hands it to Amanda.
‘Was this the woman?’ she says.
The officer leans forward, taking the phone for a closer look. Luke can’t take his eyes from the man’s face.
He shakes his head.
‘No, it wasn’t her. This woman was much older.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ says Luke.
He bends over, his face in his hands.
It’s not Helen.
Tears roll into his palms, finally released. He wipes them away, trembling, before standing straight.
‘Thank you.’ Amanda takes the phone from the police officer. ‘Shit. Are you OK, Luke?’
He takes a few minutes to breathe. It’s not her; it’s not Helen.
‘So,’ says Amanda. ‘If it’s not Helen, then who the hell is it?’
35
‘You shouldn’t have got rid of my weed!’ I say to her. ‘What makes you think you can do that? Who the fuck do you think you are?’
This house is so dark that I can’t tell if it’s four o’clock at night or four in the morning. I can’t even see the expression on her lying bitch face.
‘I’m hungry,’ says Leanne, lying on the mattress.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ I say. ‘You ate only an hour ago.’
‘I can’t help it,’ she says.
‘Have a sleep,’ I tell her.
‘Hmm.’
Good job I let her have a smoke earlier – she’s a lot quieter than she was before.
She sits up suddenly.
‘I can’t sleep. It’s too hot.’
‘You can’t be too hot – it’s fucking February.’
‘Please.’
‘For fuck’s sake.’ I go to the window and open it a few inches. ‘Five minutes … that’s all it’s staying open for.’
I walk over to my mother and grab her feet, shaking them to wake her. How can she fucking sleep at a time like this?
‘Come on, Mother,’ I say. ‘I’ve given you time. If you tell me where it is, then you can go home.’
She’s staring at me. Her eyes look as though they’ve no fight left in them.
‘I told you,’ she says. ‘I didn’t touch your things. I’ve no idea what happened to—’
‘You’re lying,’ I say. ‘You’ve always hated me, really, haven’t you? Always so disappointed with how I turned out.’
‘I’m not,’ she says. ‘I love you.’
‘I don’t believe you. You called the police on me last time. You didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t do it.’
‘I wouldn’t do that. I gave you an alibi.’
I kneel at her feet. ‘If you just tell the truth, everything will be fine,’ I say. ‘You know how much trouble I’ll be in when they found out I’ve lost it all? They’ll kill me.’
‘I’m sure you can sort it out,’ she says.
‘“Sort it out”? What planet are you living on? They’ll find me … hurt me. This is fucking serious.’
‘I … I …’
I crawl on to the mattress, putting my arms either side of her.
‘You, what?’
‘I didn’t know …’
‘What have you done, Mum?’
‘I got …’ The last few words are mumbled – a jumble of words.
‘What did you say?’ I lower my face so it’s only inches from hers. I turn my head, my ear right above her mouth. ‘Say it again.’
‘I got rid of it.’ She’s sobbing, sniffing. Crying for herself. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she shrieks. ‘I’m sorry.’
&nb
sp; She brings her hands up to her face, her shoulders shaking with her cries.
I slap her hands away.
She winces – screams – when my ring catches the corner of her eye.
She places a hand over it, dabbing her face. She screams again when she sees the blood.
‘Shut up, Mum,’ I shout, but her wails are getting louder.
I glance at the open window and place a hand over her mouth.
She’s wrestling, struggling beneath me.
‘If you promise to stay quiet,’ I whisper to her, ‘then I’ll take my hand away.’ Her eyes are wide – almost bulging out of the sockets. ‘OK?’
She nods, quickly.
Slowly, I slide my hand from her mouth.
But she screams again. Louder this time. She heard me open the window. Was she pretending to be asleep before?
I put two hands over her mouth this time.
‘Why did you do that, Mum? Why couldn’t you just behave for me? You owe me that.’
She’s struggling more than ever now. She won’t bloody stay still.
‘Mum!’ I shout. ‘Stop it! It’ll be OK if you just stop it, stop screaming. Please, Mum!’
But she won’t stop.
I press harder, but her body shakes even more, like she’s having a fit.
‘Please, Mum,’ I whisper, even though she’s probably not listening any more. ‘Please stop.’
And then, she does.
I take my hand away, and there are no more screams.
When I hear footsteps on the stairs, I can’t move.
He’s here. I suppose he might as well be.
‘Shit, man,’ he says. ‘What the hell have you done?’
‘I didn’t do it,’ I say. ‘You did.’
36
Erica
It was the telephone that woke me. It’s so hot in here – Craig must’ve turned the heating on. I’m lying on my bed, too warm, too nauseous, to get under the covers. The pain is taking over my back, my side, like it’s possessing my whole body. It’s never been this bad before. I remember standing at the top of the stairs as he walked up towards me. There was a look in his eyes, like he’d been smoking that wacky baccy stuff.
‘Hello, Mother,’ he said, the way he used to greet me at visiting time. ‘You don’t look so well.’
He kept walking towards me – like he’d forgotten about personal space. But I shouldn’t have been thinking that about my own son, wanting him away from me.
‘It’s my kidneys again,’ I said. ‘I’ll make an appointment with the doctor in the morning.’
He went into the bathroom and I waited on the landing while he splashed water on his face. He came out patting it dry with a towel.
‘I’ve been inside for too long,’ he said. He took hold of my hands and guided me towards my room. He sat next to me on my bed. ‘I just need to check something outside.’
He went downstairs, and I must have fallen asleep.
‘Craig?’ I try to shout the words, but my mouth is dry. There’s a tumbler of water on my bedside table, so I take a sip. ‘Craig! Are you there?’
He walks into my bedroom.
‘Have you seen Leanne?’ I say. ‘It’s been all over the news. And Denise? Jim said she didn’t come home. It’s been such a long day, Son. What time is it?’
He’s pacing the short space between my bed and the wardrobes.
‘It’s late. I’ve seen Denise. She said she hid Jason’s supply in our shed … that she put it into empty tins of paint. Jason didn’t believe her … he said that she’s always on his case. He said that she grassed him up the last time she found drugs in the house. Is that true?’
‘I don’t know anything about how they are now,’ I say. ‘He was always a wild one.’
‘Did Denise put the tins in the shed?’ he says, sitting on the edge of my bed.
‘I don’t know who put them there,’ I say, feeling so ill, so tired, so fed up with all the lies. ‘But I flushed it all down the toilet.’
‘Fuck!’
I shouldn’t have trusted the kindness in his question.
He leaps up from the bed and begins pacing again, grabbing at his hair.
‘Mum, why did you do that?’
‘The police had just been round.’ I prop myself up with my elbows and reach over to touch him, but he’s too far away. ‘Please, Son. You have to understand: I didn’t want you getting into trouble. I was trying to protect you. I thought you put it there.’
He kneels before me, wiping the tears from my face that I have no strength to hide.
‘No, Mum. It wasn’t me.’ He lowers his head, laying it on my stomach. He’s shaking. ‘You should’ve left it there. It would all’ve been fine then. He wouldn’t have hurt Denise.’ He stands, slowly, and strokes the side of my face. ‘He hated her, Mum. He hated the way she treated him. And this was the last … Oh shit. What a mess.’ He sits next to me again, his arm resting on my shoulder. ‘If he knew you were the one who got rid of it, he’d probably …’
I grab hold of his hand, squeezing it tight to quell both our trembling.
‘Has he got Leanne, too?’
‘Yes.’ He stands again, rubbing his hands through his hair. ‘Well, he had her. God knows what he was going to do with her. But she managed to escape. I had to help her, Mum. She was only a kid. I’m a lot stronger than I was before, but the punch I gave him won’t have knocked him out for long. It’s like Jason’s someone else – he’s changed … or he’s been like that all along … I don’t know. It’s like he hated me too. I mean always hated me. The police’ll be there soon. They’ll find Denise. Shit, this is such a mess!’
‘What’s happened to Denise, Craig?’
He goes to the window, lifting the net curtains. He looks for a few minutes before standing at the end of my bed.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ I say. The dread of his reply gives me the strength to sit up. ‘What has happened to Denise?’ Then it dawns on me. ‘You said Jason hated her. Did you mean to say that in the past tense?’
He’s rubbing his face with his hands – like there are insects crawling under his skin.
‘I think he’s killed her. I couldn’t stop to check. I had to get Leanne out of there. I phoned the police as soon as we left. I’d gone to Inkerman Street to show the necklace to him and tell him about the top that you found. He admitted it was him – and that he planted those things in our house. How could he have done that to me? I thought he was my friend.’
‘What? Jason?’ My hand goes to my mouth. The room is spinning again. I can barely breathe. ‘I don’t understand … You’re his friend! You were like brothers.’ I wipe the tears from my face, though my hands don’t feel as if they’re mine. This can’t be real. ‘There must be some mistake. He wouldn’t do that, would he? Let you go to prison for so long.’
‘But he did.’
‘I can’t believe this.’ I swing my legs on to the floor. ‘Denise, Lucy … I can’t—’
‘Everything will be all right, Mum.’
It’s as if our roles have been reversed.
‘But it’s not going to be all right!’ My heart’s beating too fast. I’ve a fever. I could be delirious, hallucinating. I dig my nails into my palms, but I feel the pain. ‘How can it be – Denise is dead!’
‘I know … I know.’
There’s a bang on the front door.
Craig puts a finger to his lips. I sit up slowly.
‘I know you’re in there, Craig!’ It’s Jason, shouting outside. ‘You’d better fucking come out now.’
Craig leaves the bedroom; I hear him tread slowly down the stairs.
I manage to make it to the top of the stairs, but I don’t trust my knees not to collapse under me, so I sit and shuffle down them one at a time.
‘I can see you both,’ says Jason through the letterbox. ‘If you don’t come out now, Craig, I’m going to pour petrol in and throw in a match. Is that what you want?’
The pain in my side is overwh
elming. I think it’s spread to my middle, to my neck. It feels like I’m either going to pass out or be sick. I sit on the bottom step.
Jason bangs on the door again.
‘If you don’t open up, I’m going to knock on every door in this street and tell them all to come out.’
Craig steps towards the front door. He looks back at me.
‘He wants to frame me for killing his mother. But I’m stronger than he is now.’
‘Don’t go out there with him, Craig. Phone the police! Please!’
He opens the door and Jason’s hands reach in to grab my son.
I stagger to the front door.
Jason is shoving Craig towards his car; it’s as though my son isn’t fighting back.
‘Craig!’ I shout. ‘You don’t have to go with him. You’re stronger now, remember!’
‘I’ll be fine,’ says Craig, looking into my eyes. ‘Trust me on this one.’
Jason scowls at me as he walks to the driving seat. It’s like his face is someone else’s – someone I don’t recognise.
‘Craig!’ I raise my hand, reaching out to him.
His eyes are locked on mine as they drive away. He looks afraid, and my heart is breaking all over again.
37
Luke
As they drive away from Inkerman Street, Luke’s mobile phone beeps. It’s a message from Helen.
Thank God, he thinks, swiping it open.
‘Sorry about last night. Had a really bad day at work yesterday and had to let off some steam. Battery ran out on phone. Stayed at a friend’s. Am heading to bed. See you later.’
‘Who’s that from?’ asks Amanda.
‘Helen.’
‘Jesus. Thank God.’
‘She didn’t put any kisses on it. And she didn’t say where she stayed last night.’
‘It’ll be a mate from work.’
‘I guess.’
Luke clicks on Helen’s contact details and presses Call.
It goes straight to voicemail.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ says Luke. ‘Just wanted to make sure you’re OK. Had a strange call this morning saying a car was following you last night. Make sure all the doors are locked, will you? Give me a ring when you get this.’
He ends the call and selects the number for the house landline.
It rings countless times, there’s no answer.
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