by Alison James
And then Lucy hears laughter in her head, peals of laughter from the twelve-year-old Adele as she bounces on the bed in front of the camcorder. She feels the ecstatic rush of icy water as they plunge themselves into Blackwater Pond. She hears the laughter mingled with screams at the Hot Box concert and remembers the joy of that night; the most intense happiness she has ever experienced. The most euphoric moments of her life have been spent with, and orchestrated by, Adele.
Hurling herself back into the living room, she snatches a lump hammer from the pile of tools left on the dust sheet. And then, at the exact moment Denny is pressing the blade of the knife into Adele’s windpipe, she brings down the hammer. There is a horrible splintering sound as it makes contact with Denny’s skull. Then silence.
Thirty-Seven
When she looks back on that day, Lucy will never be quite sure how long she was standing there, the hammer still in her hand, staring down at the damage it has caused to Denny’s skull.
But she will always remember the sight of it. The chasm that has appeared, like a bony sinkhole, falling in on itself. And the blood; some bright red splashed over her jeans and soaking into the carpet and some – more distressingly – black and clotted around the site of the wound, matting his hair.
Adele, unable to speak or move, is rolling her eyes wildly and making muffled sounds. There is a horizontal gash across her windpipe, and her white shirt is turning scarlet with a spreading stain. At the sight of it, Lucy is jolted out of her fugue state and hurries over to her, pulling the duct tape from Adele’s mouth before fetching a tea towel from the kitchen and staunching the wound.
‘Is he breathing?’ Adele croaks.
‘I… I don’t know,’ Lucy mutters. She pulls the cloth away and inspects the cut on Adele’s neck. Fortunately, it seems to be shallow. ‘But you very nearly had your throat cut.’
The shock catches up with her, turning her lips and her extremities numb and making her shake violently.
‘We need to check,’ Adele says with an impressive calm. ‘But first you need to untie me.’
Lucy fetches scissors and cuts the duct tape from Adele’s legs, helping her swing them round and sit up on the sofa. She somehow manages to keep her gaze averted from the large, hulking body at their feet while she does this. ‘Where’s the key for the padlock?’ she asks.
‘I don’t fucking know!’ Adele’s face is white, and she’s sweating profusely. ‘Probably in his pocket. But I can’t check while my hands are like this; you’re going to have to.’
Swallowing down the saliva that has pooled in her mouth, Lucy drops to her knees.
But then immediately she recoils, and needs to breathe deeply and slowly for a few seconds before she can speak.
‘I can’t, Adele. I can’t touch him.’
Adele closes her eyes briefly, her lips moving slightly as though praying. ‘The key. Check his pockets,’ she repeats. ‘Come on! Quickly!’
‘I’ll have to turn him over,’ Lucy hisses. ‘You’ll have to help me.’
With her wrists chained but her fingers free, Adele manages to grab hold of Denny’s left shoulder while Lucy twists his legs. For the first time, she understands the meaning of the expression ‘dead weight’. When the body is finally dragged into a supine position, both women gasp. Denny’s eyes are opened wide and fixed in a furious stare, and blood is oozing from his mouth and nose.
‘Oh Christ, I’m going to throw up.’
Adele stumbles into the bathroom, chains jangling, and Lucy hears her retching. Closing her own eyes, she fumbles inside first one, then the other of Denny’s tracksuit bottoms until she finds the padlock key.
Once Adele’s hands have been freed, she drops to her knees and touches her fingers to Denny’s broad, tattooed wrist. His flesh looks cool and waxy. She shakes her head, gnawing her top lip with her teeth. ‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lucy croaks.
‘He’s dead, Luce. You killed him.’
Don’t think about that now. You can’t think about that now.
Lucy makes a sound that is half gasp, half shuddering sigh. Then she takes hold of Adele’s arm and guides her back into the bathroom. She makes her remove her shirt and sit down on the closed toilet seat while she soaks the tea towel with antiseptic and cleans her neck.
‘I should be able to patch this up, I think,’ Lucy says, inspecting the clean edges of the cut, forcing herself to focus on practicalities. ‘Have you got any dressings?
‘There’s a first aid kit on top of the cabinet.’
Lucy has just finished fixing a series of Steri-Strips in place when there is the unmistakeable sound of a key turning in the front door. She freezes, staring at Adele in horror.
‘My mum!’ Adele whispers. ‘Quick! You’ll have to do something. She can’t see me like this.’ Bundling the blood-stained shirt and tea towel into the laundry hamper, Adele scuttles into her bedroom and slams the door. Lucy pulls the sitting room door shut and is poised awkwardly in the hallway when the door opens and Dawn Watts stands there, key aloft.
‘Oh,’ she says confused. ‘Where’s Adele?’
‘She’s lying down… migraine, well… bad headache. I came over to see her, but she wasn’t feeling too good, so… I’m Lucy. You might remember me?… Lucy Gibson. From school.’
She’s babbling so fast that it takes her a few seconds to realise that Dawn is not alone. Paige and Skye have followed her into the hallway.
‘Oh yeah,’ says Dawn, looking her up and down suspiciously. Lucy is grateful that her jeans are a deep-dyed denim and therefore the blood splatter isn’t immediately visible. ‘She did say something about that.’
‘We know Lucy,’ Skye says confidently. ‘She took us to guinea pig land and brought us sweeties.’
‘Girls!’ Adele calls from the bedroom. ‘Come in here!’
They trot off obediently, and Dawn follows them. From the doorway, Lucy can see that Adele has tugged the curtains across, making the room dark, and has covered her neck by pulling the duvet up to her chin.
‘What’s going on, Dell?’ Dawn demands. ‘I’ve never known you have a migraine.’
‘I don’t know what it is,’ Adele says in a half-whisper. ‘It could be flu. I feel like shit.’ The sallow cast to her olive skin gives substance to the lie.
The girls dive onto the bed and snuggle up next to their mother.
‘Mum, can you keep the girls a bit longer?’
‘No, I can’t, I’m going out.’
‘Please!’
‘I can’t Dell, I’ve had ’em ages as it is. I’ve got to go to the doctor, and then I need to go down the town hall to sort out my council tax. I can’t have the kids with me.’
‘But Mum—’
‘Lucy here can help look after them, can’t she?’
Lucy somehow forces a smile. ‘Sure.’
‘And anyway, just bung ’em in front of the telly. They won’t be any trouble.’
Adele and Lucy exchange a look of alarm, both picturing Denny’s – now Jason’s – corpse a few feet away from the television.
‘Right, I’m off,’ says Dawn briskly, turning on her heel and slamming the front door before she can be presented with any further argument.
‘Shit!’ Adele mouths to Lucy.
‘Why don’t you two show me your room?’ Lucy says quickly, and the girls happily grab her hand and pull her into the tiny second bedroom. ‘If you stay here and keep your eyes closed, and count to twenty, I’ll have a surprise for you.’
She darts back into the sitting room and covers Jason’s body with the dust sheet left by the builders, before retrieving her iPad from the coffee table where he left it. It hasn’t been charged for at least twenty-four hours, but there is a modest amount of battery life remaining. Lucy shows it to the delighted girls, telling them they can chose a movie from the iTunes store. ‘But you’ll have to stay in here to watch it, okay? It won’t work if you leave your bedroom.’
Adele emerges from her own room
, dressed in sweatpants and a navy polo-neck sweater that covers her wound. She gestures silently towards the living room, and the two of them go in together, closing the door quickly behind them.
‘I’ve bought us a bit of time with the girls,’ Lucy whispers.
‘We’re going to have to get them out of here, like, immediately.’ Adele looks down at the huge shrouded figure at her feet. ‘Bloody hell, Luce, I can’t believe you clipped him. I didn’t think you had it in you.’ Her tone is almost admiring.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ Lucy pulls her arms around her body, still shivering with shock. ‘I didn’t really think; it was just instinctive. It just… happened.’
Adele takes a deep breath. From the girls’ bedroom come the distant strains of Elsa in Frozen singing ‘Let it Go’. ‘Okay, so we have to sort this situation, and we have to be quick.’
The two of them look directly at one another, locking eyes. With this seismic event comes a new, unspoken pact and they both know that from now on they have no choice but to cooperate. To face what comes next together. Lucy gives a terse nod of agreement.
‘First off, we have to get the girls away from here,’ Adele goes on. Her voice is deadened, robotic. ‘Is there anywhere you can take them where they’ll be safe? Somebody who can look after them?’
‘I don’t know…’ Lucy’s gaze is drawn by the awful stillness of the shrouded corpse. ‘Surely you must be able to ask someone round here? A neighbour? A friend?’
‘It’s too close to home.’ Adele looks down at Jason’s body. ‘Literally. I can’t risk people round here asking questions, or seeing something.’
‘Okay,’ sighs Lucy. ‘I suppose I could try and find someone.’
‘Great. And once they’re out of the way…’ Adele prods the lifeless shape with the toes of her left foot. ‘We’ll deal with him.’
Thirty-Eight
‘I’m thirsty,’ whines Skye, as Lucy edges her car onto the Redgate bypass.
‘Me too!’ protests Paige.
Once they are on the dual carriageway, Lucy pulls into a petrol station and buys crisps, flapjacks and cartons of Ribena. She hands them the drinks and watches the girls in her rear-view mirror. They seize on the drinks like wanderers in the desert, their pink cheeks moving rhythmically in and out round the straws. Taking advantage of this moment of peace, Lucy pulls out her phone and scrolls through the list of contacts. She dials Rhea’s number, then immediately cuts the call before it has a chance to ring out. Her cousin will probably be at work, and even if she is free, she’s the type to ask far too many questions. The only choice is to head to London. She passes the packets of crisps to the girl, turns the radio up loud enough to drown out her nightmarish thoughts, and heads towards the A3.
Jane Standish is the obvious person to petition for help. She can be relied on to babysit a couple of strange children without asking too many awkward questions.
But when Lucy pulls up outside the house in Clapham, her heart sinks. The shutters are closed and the blinds drawn in the upstairs windows. She realises that the private schools attended by the Standish children will still be on summer holiday, and that the family must be away at their house in France. Jane’s car is parked in the driveway, but there is no sign of Robin’s.
The remains of the drink and snacks are now strewn across the back seat, and the girls are growing restless.
‘I need a wee!’ complains Paige.
‘So do I,’ Skye squirms under the seat belt.
Lucy considers driving to Helen’s flat, but not only does she live on the far side of London, but she will probably be on her way home from work, having secured a job in Haringay Social Services after graduation. She needs to locate someone who doesn’t work, or who works from home. Someone who won’t ask too many awkward questions.
Someone like Noah Kenyon.
Smiling at the girls through clenched teeth she says, ‘Not long now,’ and heads round the South Circular towards Putney Bridge.
When she rings Noah’s doorbell twenty minutes later, Lucy’s heart is thumping and her palms are sweating. It strikes her as deeply ironic that Noah will probably attribute this to nervousness over seeing him again, when in reality she is still in severe shock after causing a fatal blow to Jason Fox’s head. At least the bloodstains on her jeans have dried, making them a little less conspicuous.
‘Hello there!’ Noah answers the door in the rumpled T-shirt and jogging bottoms he wears when he’s working. His reaction is one of mixed pleasure and surprise. Then he sees that she’s not alone and blinks hard. ‘Oh.’
‘Noah, I’m really sorry…’ Seeing him standing there, so solid and reassuring, Lucy feels her voice crack and tears surface from nowhere. She just wants to throw her arms round him, to be held; if only for a few seconds. ‘This is Paige and Skye… they’re daughters of a friend of mine.’
‘Hi, Paige and Skye. I’m Noah.’ He raises a hand in salute.
‘I need a wee,’ Skye tells him solemnly.
‘And me,’ Paige adds.
‘In that case you’d better follow me…’ Noah ushers the girls in the direction of the bathroom, then comes back to the hallway, where Lucy is hovering, car keys in hand.
‘I take it you’re not just here because you couldn’t find any public toilets in the vicinity? Although if you are, that’s fine.’
‘The thing is, their mum’s going through a bit of a crisis, and I’ve got to get back to her and help her sort something out… I know it’s a huge ask, but could you mind the girls, just for a couple of hours or so?’
Noah rubs his chin, looking uncertain. ‘I don’t know, Luce, they’re only little, and they don’t know me from Adam…’
‘Please,’ Lucy is aware her voice is rising, aware of the clock ticking. ‘They’ll be fine, honestly.’
Noah glances over his shoulder at the girls and sighs. ‘Okay, go on then,’
‘They’re easy enough kids, but if you want, you can take them over to my place. I’ll pay for a taxi.’ She holds up the house keys, then wonders if this is a good idea. The last person in the house was Jason Fox, and who knows what sort of evidence he might have left behind him. The last thing she can afford now is to reinforce a link between Fox and herself. Thank God she never got round to taking the phone he gave her to be fingerprinted. From what she now knows of his history, Fox’s prints would definitely be on a police database.
‘No, you’re okay,’ Noah tells her. ‘I’ve got DVDs and stuff from when my sister’s kids come over, and there’s always the CBeebies channel. I can feed them if you like?’
‘Thank you,’ Lucy says. ‘That’s incredibly kind of you.’ And then, because even now she can’t quite help herself, ‘Are you sure your girlfriend will be all right with this?’
‘No girlfriend,’ Noah says equably, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I’ve been on a couple of dates, but nobody has met my ridiculously high standards.’ He gives her a meaningful look with his dark-fringed eyes.
Lucy gives a little shrug. ‘Great. That you’re free to mind them, I mean. I’ve got to dash back now, but I’ll explain everything later, I promise.’
But she wouldn’t be explaining, of course; how could she? She will end up having to give Noah a fabricated backstory, and this makes her a little sad. A second irony occurs to her as she walks back to the car. Noah finished with her because he thought she might have conspired with Jason Fox to cause her husband’s death. He was wrong about that. And yet now she has killed a man: Fox himself.
By the time she gets back to the A3, it’s rush hour and the traffic is moving at a frustrating crawl. Her mobile rings.
Rhea calling.
Perhaps she had not cut the call to her cousin after all, and Rhea was phoning to see what she wanted after getting a missed call notification. She picks up using Bluetooth. ‘Hi, Rhea. Sorry, I didn’t mean to call—’
‘You called me?’ Rhea sounds confused. ‘I didn’t notice that… why, were you phoning about your dad? Has someon
e already told you?’
‘Told me what?’
‘He’s had a bad fall. Broken a hip. He’s in the Royal Surrey, Ward 6. I’ve just been to see him now, and he’s a bit confused. He’s asking for you.’
Lucy slaps a palm against the steering wheel. Why, she asks herself. Why now, today?
‘Okay thanks, Rhea… look, I’m a tiny bit tied up just now, but I’ll get over there as soon as I can. Give me an hour or so.’
She parks as close as she can to Adele’s flat, mindful of the fact that whatever happens next, they will need her car as a means of transport. Once she gets inside, she finds that Adele has been busy cutting up thick black bin liners and using them to wrap Jason’s body. The resulting mummy-like package has been sealed with his own roll of duct tape.
‘I’ve had a go at cleaning the carpet,’ she points to a bucket of soapy water and a scrubbing brush. ‘But it’s effing impossible. I don’t think I’ll ever get the marks out.’
Lucy inspects the stains, brownish against the light grey carpet. ‘You’ll have to replace it, I think.’
‘How am I supposed to afford that?’ Adele grumbles. ‘Easy for you to say… Anyway,’ she points to a strange hump on top of the plastic clad body, ‘I packed up his bag with him – with the fucking chains in it – and I put that hammer in too. The one you used to… you know. Thought we may as well use it to weight him, since we need to get rid of it anyway.’
Lucy simply nods, following Adele into the kitchen. Anything not to have to look at the huge black shiny cadaver. Adele takes two cans of lager from the fridge and hands one to her. Lucy, who doesn’t normally drink beer, takes it gratefully.
‘I’m bloody glad you’re back, I can tell you. It’s been freaking me out being all on my own here with… with him.’ She takes a large mouthful of lager, then sets the can down on the worktop while she lights a cigarette. ‘Girls okay?’