As he puts on his helmet, the sirens get louder and louder until flashing blue beams bounce over the stone facade of the church.
He knows his time is running out. It’s time to go.
It’s only when Theo is accelerating away down the country lane leading from the village to the main road that it occurs to him: he forgot to pick up Celeste’s black Nike trainer and Celeste’s black Nike trainer is soaked in Ben’s blood.
AFTER
52
I watch You walking up the hospital corridor that leads to his private room. You have a bunch of red roses in one hand and your floristry box in the other. There’s a bounce in your hair and a spring in your step as You clip along the polished floor in the sparkly red shoes that You wore that night at Heavana – the night of my fall. The night we fell in love.
Until yesterday, I used to listen out for the squeak of your trainers. I wasn’t expecting the click-click of stilettos, so You caught me unawares. Today your hips swing, and your stride is shorter, faster, purposeful. You’re wearing the same clingy red dress that You wore the night I first set eyes on You at the club. It’s a strange outfit for a hospital visit. But I guess You have your reasons.
There’s a police officer standing outside the door of his private room. The officer won’t give You any trouble. I saw him flirting with the nurses earlier on. One sweet smile from those rosy red lips and he’ll stand aside and let You in.
The flowers are a special delivery – compliments of CelestialHeadstones.com – an armful of blood-red blooms from the bed of roses strewn across Tom’s grave. Your floristry box contains more than just ribbons and twine – though You may put those to good use too. I know this because I watched You through the glass frontage of Seventh Heaven taking the secateurs and the floristry scissors from the shelf and placing them in your box before You picked up the keys to the van.
I thought I knew You so well, but today I cannot say if You come in the name of redemption or revenge. I shall give You the benefit of the doubt. Those implements could be to strip the leaves and trim the stems of the roses. You are a perfectionist when it comes to flower arranging, after all.
You don’t look in my direction. I don’t mind. I am your fall guy waiting in the shadows. The police officer will find me here when You are gone.
And then the story of Us will begin.
*
Celeste concludes her course and hands in her project at the end of August. She receives a commendation for her website. The examiner’s comment reads as follows:
Candidate 697 is awarded a commendation for the originality and creativity of her website ‘CelestialHeadstones.com’ combining sophisticated software solutions, an innovative business idea, aesthetic website design and impressive artistic content.
Despite this accolade, Celeste has decided that she will close her website at the end of the year. She will take her last new order on Christmas Eve. The business is not financially viable. The costs of delivering to churchyards and cemeteries make it unsustainable as a business model. What’s more, she’s had enough of visiting graveyards. She wants to get back to the land of the living. She wants to enjoy life and make a fresh start. She’s had enough of living in the UK.
Celeste is in contact with Mia who moved back to New York in time to enjoy the fall and is getting her life back together. Mia reconciled with her family and has been living at home working as associate manager in a family-owned art gallery on the Upper East Side. Her baby is due any day. She intends to go back to work a few months after the baby is born.
Mia has offered Celeste a temporary position working in the gallery while she takes time out with the baby. Mia is deeply grateful to Celeste for helping her to escape from her coercive and aggressive partner. All those hours Celeste gave up for her, listening and counselling, helping her to understand that she didn’t have to put up with his abuse, that however much she may have once thought she loved him, she had to get away. ‘It won’t get better. He won’t change,’ Celeste had said. ‘I know him. It’s in his DNA. If he treats you like this when you are his fiancée, imagine what he will be like when you are married!’
Celeste hands in her three months’ notice to Meghan on 1st December and she tells Jessi and Anya that she will be moving out of the flat at the end of February. She gets a rush of late orders for the Christmas and New Year period in the few days leading up to Christmas Eve. She is so busy prepping flowers for the Christmas Day deliveries that she asks one of the Christmas temps to process the last orders on her website on Christmas Eve, and when she gets back to her flat after the Midnight Service, she takes CelestialHeadstones.com offline. She spends Christmas Day and New Year’s Day delivering floral tributes to graveyards in London and the suburbs. She is glad to have an excuse not to visit her mother and the ghastly Mike. She is happy to skip the celebrations and lose herself in work.
She goes back to Seventh Heaven when the florist’s shop reopens after the Christmas break. Now she is busy planning her departure, applying for visas and work permits, and putting her stuff into storage and the like. She is thrilled to have the opportunity of spending the spring in New York. Who knows? Perhaps she will make that great city her new home. There is one cloud on the horizon. She knows that at some point in the not too distant future she will be called as a witness in Theo’s trial. She has given an undertaking to fly back from America to attend the trial. She will testify against him for the prosecution. Her story is all worked out. Her statement was drawn up weeks ago. Her testimony contains it all: evidence of his stalking; his obsession with her; his fantasy that they are in a relationship together (his psychological disorder named as ‘erotomania’ in her statement); details of the photographs of her taken at so many different graves in locations all around the south east of England (powerful tangible evidence of his obsession, said her solicitor); his violent jealousy towards imagined rivals; the break-in and vandalism at Steve’s place; the smashed windscreen on Ben’s car; Theo’s attempt to rape her in the cemetery in front of Tom’s grave interrupted only by the arrival of Ben, and culminating in Theo’s assault on Ben with her own floristry scissors, which Theo grabbed from her workbox and used to stab Ben in the back in a frenzied and intentional attempt to kill him… This damning testimony is all neatly typed in black on white in the solicitor’s file.
Some of it is true but her evidence is riddled with appalling lies. It would be easy for him to contest it. But she knows he will not break faith with her. All along, he was ready to make the sacrifice. He resolved long ago to be her fall guy. Because he is in love.
However, there are blatant inconsistencies between Theo’s account and that of Celeste. Theo was willing to confess to attempted murder, but he drew the line at attempted rape, which he denied. His confession states that he was watching Celeste in the cemetery when Ben turned up and got into an argument with her in which Ben became violent and assaulted her verbally and physically before attempting to rape her. Theo confesses to stabbing Ben in the back with Celeste’s floristry scissors after she managed to escape her attacker and run into the woods. Looking back, Theo can only think that he said this because he wanted to situate Celeste as far away from the stabbing as possible. He cannot forgive himself for being such an idiot. The minute he uttered the words, he knew his confession to the police was inconsistent with the physical evidence. The police have Celeste’s black Nike trainer and Celeste’s black Nike trainer is splattered with Ben’s blood. He cannot forgive himself for this schoolboy mistake. Maybe it is this that tips him over the edge.
AFTER
53
Theo does not cope well with prison. Care for the mentally ill should be therapeutic and in surroundings conducive to peace and recovery – not the barred, noisy, stressful and windowless prison where he is incarcerated in a cell for sixteen hours of the day.
A remand prisoner held in custody awaiting trial has certain privileges in accordance with the fundamental principle of English law that an individual is innocent
until proven guilty. But in HMP Shadwell prisoners on remand for crimes of attempted rape and attempted murder are not treated well by the other inmates. The only place Theo can get some respite from the claustrophobia of his cell or the callous and casual aggression of the corridors and the dinner hall, is in the computer room.
Despite the gravity of the allegations against him, due to his compliant demeanour, he’s classified as a ‘low risk’ prisoner so the prison officers don’t monitor him too closely. He keeps his internal agony to himself. His conduct is exemplary. He volunteers for extra duties. He is the quiet one who doesn’t cause trouble. He is always docile, respectful and polite. He has a plan.
Theo joins the prison computing club and becomes a useful member of it. Because he knows so much about information technology and computer programming, he forms a rapport with the prison officer who runs the sessions. Prison regulations are relaxed in the computer room and Theo is able to show the tutor some things he didn’t know. Sometimes he stays behind when the other prisoners have returned to their cells to help the officer shut down after class.
On Christmas Eve, the prison officer breaks the rules. Alarm bells and a commotion in the corridor give the officer a reason to leave the classroom. Theo is left unsupervised alone. Five minutes to hack into the computer. That’s all the prisoner needs.
The classroom will be closed over Christmas and all the equipment must be cleared. The officer asks Theo to pack up all the printers and carry them to the storeroom. Theo gets his second lucky break. Down in the storeroom, he helps himself to a three-metre USB cable. When the clearing job is done, he wishes the officer a Happy Christmas and walks back to his room with the cable wrapped around his middle concealed by the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms.
Back in his cell, Theo makes a small hole in the seam of his mattress cover and pushes the USB cable deep into the padding. Like the Princess and her Pea, he tosses and turns for the next eight nights, feeling as if the cable is digging into his bones and his soul. But come 1st January he is prepared.
There are special rules for remand prisoners relating to sending and receiving letters and phone calls and engaging in reasonable activity to maintain their business outside the prison. Theo has made use of these to sort out his affairs. Now all his things are in order and his New Year’s resolution is made. He chooses New Year’s Day because on this day he will be alone in his cell. His ‘roomie’ is in solitary confinement in the punishment block for punching a prison officer on Christmas Day. Also, he knows this is a shift when there will be fewer officers on duty and the ones who are here will be sluggish and bleary-eyed the morning after the festivities of New Year’s Eve. Today of all days, they won’t want to be here any more than he does.
The cells are designed to be ‘ligature resistant’ but he judges that the metal bedpost and a loose metal protrusion on his door will do the job. It wouldn’t hold the weight of a man but is strong enough to hold the tension of the cable for his purpose. He wedges the bed against the ceramic toilet pan. Then he twists the cable round his neck like a scarf and ties one end to the metal bedpost. Just before ‘unlock’ for breakfast he jams the other end of the cable into the gap behind the metal protrusion on the door. The door opens outwards. The cable is taut. He sits on the floor with his legs outstretched, his head held high, his back against the cold cell door… and waits.
In his right hand he holds a photograph of Celeste in her red dress.
Technically, it is the prison officer who strangles him in forcing open the door and tightening the noose about his neck. But in the Government statistics it will go down as suicide.
AFTER
54
The flowers are delicate with bright yellow centres and small radial sky-blue petals that set off the colour of her eyes and match the soft woollen jacket that she wears over a simple fitted black dress. The order specified this wildflower variety, Myosotis scorpioides, of the genus Boraginaceae. She had some trouble sourcing the variety through her wholesalers this early in the season but she persisted and has put together a lovely arrangement of long stems loaded with the Myosotis flowers in coiled, elongated clusters that gradually unfurl as the flowers bloom, their luminous petals set off by long deep-green leaves.
This order feels significant because it’s her last. Her website is now archived and she’s moving on. In two weeks, she’ll be on a plane to New York. She walks straight up to the grave – fearless and assured. This time she left her workbox behind. The bouquet is ready, arranged to perfection.
The headstone is new, made in white stone, square-cut, plain, nothing ostentatious. She glances in passing at the inscription on the back:
Greater love hath no man
She is not moved. She’s seen these biblical words so many times before that they seem almost trite. But as she walks round to the front of the headstone her eyes fall on the name. She stumbles and almost drops the bouquet.
*
It’s a simple inscription. He wanted it that way. Unsuspecting, the prison chaplain passed on the letter setting out his instructions unopened, as requested.
Theodore Petwick
6th July 2000 to 1st January 2019
Theo placed the order for his memorial flowers anonymously, when he hacked-in to the prison computer on Christmas Eve. She had no idea. She followed it to the letter, as he knew she would. It’s his parting gift. He chose Valentine’s Day for the order to be fulfilled because his last wish was to make her understand what she meant to him.
*
She feels his presence here – the way she has felt his presence on every visit to every churchyard and cemetery she has travelled to in the past year. She glances over her shoulder, as if expecting someone to join her at the graveside. The churchyard is empty. She sinks on to her knees to arrange the bouquet carefully in a grave vase at the base of the headstone. When she is done, she covers her face with her hands and allows herself to cry.
While her head is bowed and her eyes are closed, he sets her free. He takes his leave silently, melting away into the shadows of the trees.
Perhaps tomorrow she will feel remorse, but for now, what she feels is an overwhelming sense of release. She breathes in quietly, soothed by the intense, sweet fragrance of the pretty blue wildflowers whose common name appears below his on the headstone.
When she opens her eyes, the touching epitaph is in her direct line of vision, as he must have intended.
Forget-Me-Not
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my wonderful publishers, Aria, such a friendly, fun-loving, dynamic and committed team of professionals! – and to all in the wider Head of Zeus community. I feel so very lucky to be one of your authors. Thank you especially to my brilliant editor, Hannah Smith, for your wise advice, your transformative editorial suggestions and your cheerful patience with my missed deadlines! Thank you also to Rhea Kurien, for your work on the audio book of She’s Mine and to Vicky Joss, for your wizardry with all things marketing and social media. Many thanks for the meticulous work of proof-readers and copy-editors dedicated to making the text as good as it can be and, of course, to the talented artists who have lit the flame of No Smoke Without Fire with such an eye-catching and intriguing cover design.
A big thank you to my fabulous agent, Hayley Steed, and to all at the Madeleine Milburn agency. You get the prize for the best Christmas parties (and the coolest new premises!) and it’s been lovely getting to know everyone and meet other authors over the Champagne and mince pies! Particular thanks to MM author Lesley Sanderson for so generously taking time out from her own writing to read and review my first novel, She’s Mine.
If anyone thinks writing is a solitary business, think again. It’s a real pleasure staying connected with my hugely talented Faber writing group friends and making new friends in the writing world. I had a perfect time socialising and researching No Smoke Without Fire in peaceful country churchyards in the idyllic English countryside on a Blue Pencil retreat – thank you – and I ca
n’t wait for another spell away with fellow writers thanks to Sophie Hannah’s wonderful Dream Author programme. Thank you, Kerry Fisher, for the intros to local authors and for being such a wonderful friend – I’m looking forward to dog walks and coffee in the Surrey hills! It’s also been so nice reconnecting with old university friends I had lost touch with when our paths happen to cross in the cyberspace!
I am so grateful for the support I’ve received from friends and family. Thank you so much to my lovely loyal early readers, especially Sara (who has a gift for these things) who read an early draft (again) and gave me such insightful and helpful suggestions, to Sam for her input and thumbs up on the first few chapters, and to Carol for reading and passing on her expertise on all things botanical. Christine - thank you for those long transatlantic phone calls plotting the story and for reading and correcting and spreading the word among your friends in Texas over tea and cakes and crochet! Thank you to so many family, friends and neighbours who have lifted my days by contacting me with such nice and positive comments about my first book – this has given me the courage to keep going with the second.
I’m sure I’ve gone way over word count on this, but I must include my love and thanks to my long-suffering husband Nigel (who reads nothing but military history) for indulging my ‘vocation’ and my paranoid musings about florists and stalkers; to Clara and Louisa for always being my most honest, perceptive, inspiring and creative critics and early readers; and to Jack (what can I say?) – well to Jack, for providing an endless fount of entertaining material for a future novel and for smashing only the mouse and not my screen when his Minecraft glitched! Of course, heartfelt thanks also to my father, Graham, for his invaluable help and support as ever, and to Anne, and to Peter and green-fingered Sylvia who taught me the names of so many flowers while I photographed every bloom in her beautiful garden.
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