Tim is sprawled on one end of the sofa, me the other.
We’re waiting for the others.
‘You called him twenty minutes ago. Where are they? How long—’
A car engine rumbles. I get up and cross the lounge to the window. It’s Nick and Barb. I glance up towards Davina’s house. After today is over, I’ll go and speak to her. Check she’s all right. Tell her I won’t be taking any action against her or Wayne. Let’s face it, my own family appears to have done far worse than hers. I can’t take action against them, Carl or the developers, without taking everyone else down too.
No one has a contact number for Patrick. No doubt he’ll turn up soon – he’s certainly not finished yet if last night’s performance is anything to go by.
The four of us sit silently in the lounge. We’ve exhausted ourselves after over two hours of discussion. Each of us is now reflecting on what’s been said.
About the past. The future.
We’ve come to an agreement: a plan of how to proceed.
And now we wait.
Patrick’s face is set – it has a stony-grey pallor to it. I stare at him for a few moments before letting him in the front door. I quickly cast my eyes up and down the road. I can’t see anyone, but it is daylight on a weekend, so the likelihood is high that at least one person would’ve seen him stroll up the path and enter the house. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. No one knows who he is; why he’s here.
Apart from Davina, of course, but she doesn’t know all of it.
He’s joined the others in the lounge when I get back inside: the silence is unnerving. I’m the first to break it.
‘Now we’ve all had a little time to allow … the revelations … to sink in, I think we need to consider how we’re going to move forwards.’
‘You mean what you and I are going to do with the information we’re now in possession of?’ Patrick says. ‘The fact my brother was killed and buried in his own garden by his teenage son?’
‘Yes, that,’ I say. I look to Barb. As agreed prior to Patrick’s arrival, she’s going to take the reins from here. I sit back, lower my head. My fingers nervously twist a loose thread on my jumper.
‘We need to know your intentions, Patrick,’ Barb says. Her skin has more colour to it today – less pasty than last night. Despite her ordeal, being hit on the head doesn’t seem to have caused any lasting damage – her mind certainly seemed crystal clear when she was telling me and Nick the full story from her point of view just moments ago. I’m still reeling from hearing it all. The absolute truth, they said. Her head’s also now clear in terms of what she thinks should happen next – about how we are going to deal with the consequences of what was revealed as the truth last night.
‘I said it before, I’ll say it again – it’s not for us to decide. We’re not God; we’re not judge and jury. I did wrong, leaving the way I did. Ignoring what was underneath my nose. That makes me implicit in’ – he takes a deep breath – ‘in Bern’s actions, too. I knew he wasn’t right in the head, that things had gone beyond fantasy. And I’m ready to be handed whatever punishment is deemed fit. As you should be.’
I look up. Barb’s face has turned red.
‘Yes, because you’re dying anyway!’ she says. ‘It’s not like you’re giving up your freedom for long, is it? If you go to prison for withholding evidence – which you won’t anyway, I shouldn’t think – it’ll be for such a short space of time it won’t even matter. But you get to die with your conscience clear and that’s all you care about. You’re as evil as your damned brother,’ Barb shouts, her face contorting with rage. My jaw slackens. I don’t recall hearing Barb raise her voice to this extent before, and I certainly haven’t witnessed this level of anger. It unnerves me.
‘Maybe,’ he says.
‘She has a point, Patrick,’ I interrupt. ‘Tim has the chance at having his own family, and Nick has two sons to care for and support. By ensuring you’ve got justice, you’re ruining their lives, your great-nephews’ lives.’
‘Should’ve thought about that before they did what they did,’ he says, narrowing his eyes at Tim and Barb.
‘You didn’t think things through. You’ve admitted as much. Tim was a child, Patrick,’ Barb says. ‘Even as an adult you made the wrong choices; made a mistake. But you’re judging a child’s actions?’
‘He was seventeen – hardly a child.’
‘He was a young boy who’d just found out the most hideous thing about the man he lived with, looked up to, respected, loved. Can you even begin to imagine what he felt?’ Barb and Tim exchange quick glances, and I see Tim give a slight nod of his head before she turns back to Patrick. ‘And then to be confronted with that angry man, someone filled with rage because his secret was out … Seriously, Patrick – what would you have done if you’d been in his shoes? Bern launched himself at Tim, his fists raised, drool hanging in threads from his mouth like a rabid dog. Tim did the only thing he could. He protected himself. He protected me.’
Patrick’s eyes are glassy with tears. Who knows if they’re tears of sadness, guilt, compassion …? I’m praying for the latter right now. For us to be able to move on, for the Millers to be able to get away with it, Patrick has to concede; has to agree they only did what they had to do.
And that they should be left alone.
Patrick needs to say he’s happy to know the truth, and that’s all.
No justice-seeking. No revenge for his brother.
Just the Millers’ forgiveness for him leaving, and the knowledge he’s given them a chance at a future.
Surely, that will be enough.
Chapter One Hundred and Two
Barb
It’s eerily peaceful. Dark. The rain a few hours ago means the earth has softened a little.
Perfect conditions to bury a body.
I managed it before, when I was thirty-four years old. I’m not fancying my chances now, though. Especially after last night’s abduction. I’ve taken a battering, and my bones ache. I’ve certainly no strength in my muscles to dig. Not like before, when adrenaline gave a helping hand.
This killing is different. There’s no emotional connection.
It feels good, in a way, to have my family here with me. We’re all together. Me and my boys.
I didn’t think I’d ever have this opportunity again.
Shame it took another man’s death to get it.
Chapter One Hundred and Three
Amber
Families who kill together, stay together.
Not a phrase I’ve ever heard before, but one that springs to mind now as we stand in the kitchen after cleaning ourselves up. The exhaustion, the enormity of what we’ve done, is imprinted on our faces, evident in our fatigued bodies; the slouched postures outward signs of the task we’ve just carried out.
‘Thank you for going along with it, Tim,’ Barb says. ‘Patrick wouldn’t have even thought twice if he’d known it was me who ended Bern. We gave him a chance, this way, didn’t we? He could’ve agreed not to go to the police, to have kept the secret, for your sake. I thought he was about to.’
‘So did I at one point,’ Tim says. ‘But, he had a bee in his bonnet, and he wasn’t leaving this house, or Stockwood, until he’d got what he came for.’
‘Justice?’ I ask.
‘He believed something more happened to Bern than I’d ever let on; he felt he had a score to settle – so yes, I suppose he was after some form of justice for the man. And I think he needed to be seen to have admitted his guilt for the part he played. For running away from it all. I guess he thought then his sins would be forgiven, and he’d have a chance at going to heaven,’ Barb says. ‘Or some such twaddle.’
I’m guessing Barb doesn’t want to think about what will happen when she dies – doesn’t want to believe her actions will mean she doesn’t get to go on to a better place. She needs to protect herself from those beliefs given she took a man’s life. We’ve all now had a hand in another person’s death, thoug
h. Reconciliating that with my own belief system will be difficult, but I’ll have to try.
‘It’s a huge risk, burying him here, too,’ Nick says. ‘We don’t have a clue who he told about his visit. When he doesn’t return, someone might come looking for him.’
‘We’ll have to cross that bridge when we get to it,’ Barb says. ‘But I don’t think he had anyone, Nick. He was a loner before; I can’t imagine he’d changed.’
I realise, once Barb passes away, this awful, criminal legacy will be mine, Nick’s and Tim’s alone.
How will it be possible to stop the truth coming out forever? Will we have to tell Finley and Leo about it one day? Pass on the appalling secret to them?
I’m nauseous at the thought.
But the repercussions of telling the truth sicken me far more. We’d all be in prison; the boys would go into care …
No. For now, this is what has to be done to protect my family.
If I’d been asked if I were capable of covering up a murder, let alone two, a few weeks ago, I’d have categorically said no. Never. Not possible.
I suppose no one truly knows how they’ll act in any given situation. Not until you’re in it. Living the nightmare. As a mum, I believe my job is to protect my young.
The lengths a mother would go to in order to do that should never be underestimated.
The morning passes in a haze. No one leaves the house; we just move from room to room, chatting here and there, brewing tea, making sandwiches none of us really want, while contemplating our next steps.
I walk into the kitchen and go to Barb’s side as she pours yet another cup of tea and lay my hand on her shoulder.
‘I guess we’ll be staying, then,’ I say.
‘Thank you.’ She blinks away tears. ‘But what about the boys – living here – are you okay with that now? I mean, knowing what’s in the garden …’
‘It’s not ideal,’ I say, almost laughing at the biggest understatement of the year. ‘But Nick apparently has a plan. And Tim’s going to help out with it.’
‘Richard is,’ Barb corrects. ‘He has to be Richard now.’
‘Hmm, okay – Richard will.’ This part I’m still not sold on yet. ‘He’ll be spending more time in Stockwood, will be offering his support.’
‘And is there a future there?’ Barb offers a thin smile.
‘I’ll take each day as it comes,’ I say.
Chapter One Hundred and Four
8 Months Later
Amber
The summer sun beats down, its bright rays touching each of the people gathered as though it’s highlighting them, casting a spotlight.
I’m sitting at the large wooden table on the patio, a Pimm’s in my hand. My face is turned up towards the sun, eyes closed as I relish the warmth on my skin. Davina sits opposite me. A big, floppy sunhat covers her face, but I know she’s smiling. At last she’s found peace, and friends. Wayne hasn’t bothered her since the night she told me what he’d been doing. He and the developers seem to have gone underground – for now, at least. Carl Anderson unsurprisingly moved to a new house – he and his wife now live in an unknown location, but I note his estate agency is still in business. Miss Emery, who did return to her teaching position after a period of sickness, told me how he’d given her money in exchange for her silence. She wasn’t proud of herself for taking it. I was in no position to judge her.
Barbecue smoke wafts on the soft breeze. Richard is standing, sporting an apron and armed with tongs, flipping burgers and turning sausages. His face is ruddy with the heat, but relaxed – his smile wide. He’s enjoying being part of a family again. He’s happy being Richard Lock. To him, and everyone else assembled here, Tim Miller no longer exists. Time will tell if I can forgive him fully for his deceit or think of him as my boyfriend again, but things are moving in the right direction. Time supposedly heals all wounds in the end.
Squeals from the boys bouncing on the trampoline fill the humid air.
The garden isn’t as long anymore, so the sounds are louder – closer.
I’m glad. I need my boys close to me.
The shed has been demolished; the top end of the garden laid to concrete. We’d never put that part of the garden to full use – it was boggy anyway, so better to make it solid.
Better to know the bodies are six feet under the ground with a thick covering of cement lying on top. It’s not in any way ideal – but now it’s separate, cordoned off, I can pretend it’s not a problem. Most of the time.
‘Anyone for another drink?’ Barb asks as she steps out from the kitchen to join us on the patio.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ I say. ‘Come and sit down, Barb – you must be exhausted.’
‘I just want it all to be perfect,’ Barb says. She’s flustered. Not as relaxed as the rest of us. She’s been on tenterhooks all day.
‘It will be,’ I say, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘He’ll be all right.’
Nick is giving evidence. We’re waiting for him to come back so he can celebrate the end of a long, drawn-out hearing. He was determined to gain closure for the family of the missing girl, Chloe Jenkins. He struggled with what to do. He’s a detective; his job is to bring justice. But after that night last year, he became someone who covered up three murders in order to protect his family. True justice wasn’t something he could deliver in this case.
He wrestled with his conscience – how could he close Chloe’s case without implicating his father? At the time, none of us could see how it was possible without dragging us all into it. It was hard, but as a family we worked through it. Helped Nick to see the most he could offer Chloe’s family was an ending. Using the bracelet that he said had been sent anonymously – plus other links Nick had uncovered – it gave them reason to believe she was dead, not coming back. That way, they could stop looking over their shoulders, searching the face of every woman the age she’d be, forever wondering if it was their Chloe. Nick promised he’d keep looking, though – for Chloe’s body. Using what we know, Nick feels there’s a strong possibility of finding the remains.
Barb had no proof of Bern’s death – no death certificate could be issued without a dead body. After Tim found out what Bern had done and confronted him, the ensuing argument had been terrifying, and Barb was afraid Bern was going to hurt Tim to shut him up. She’d taken a cricket bat and forced herself between him and Bern, yelling to Tim to leave, get out of the house and away from his evil father. Tim ran, and kept running. Barb was left to deal with the fallout alone. She’d attacked Bern, who tried to get away from her by running up the stairs, all the while she was demanding answers from him. When he wasn’t forthcoming, she’d lost her temper, cornering him on the landing, smacking him over the head with the bat. He was dazed, but not knocked out, so she’d raised the bat for a second time, and this, she later believed had been the fatal blow.
Bern stumbled, falling backwards down the stairs. Blood spattered the up the wall, splashing across the picture frames hanging there. She reckoned he was dead before he hit the hallway floor. The trauma to his head didn’t correspond to the fall – she knew police would suspect it was an unlawful killing. She could say it was self-defence; she believed there was enough proof to ensure he would be found guilty of the abduction and murder of Chloe Jenkins.
But what would that do to her boys? Tim had already left at her demand and was in shock, disgusted at finding out what his father was. She had to make sure Nick was not affected by any of it. He’d been blissfully unaware of any of the events leading to this moment – thankfully he’d been having a sleepover that night. She had to keep it that way because how could she let him grow up knowing his father was a killer and that his mother, in turn, had killed him? It wasn’t an option.
So, she’d planned how she could get rid of Bern, protect her sons and carry on her life without ever telling a soul. She cleaned the house, got rid of anything with blood splatters – even her beloved picture of the boy and the kitten that had broken when Bern
’s head made contact with it. She did what she believed to be a thorough job. Burying Bern had been the most difficult – the sheer strength and determination that she was doing what needed to be done to protect her and her boys was enough in the end. She’d done Stockwood a favour getting rid of a monster.
Barb took it upon herself to cover it all up, but Tim eventually figured out what had really happened to his father that night – it didn’t take a genius given the scene he’d left behind. Barb and Tim decided how they should play it. Tim would stay away, be classed as a runaway: a missing person – and Barb would tell everyone that Bern, distraught at his son’s disappearance, left to search for his son – taking him abroad in the process. Barb wrote letters, faking Bern’s handwriting, to his employers, giving his immediate notice, citing his current family circumstances as a reason he’d not be returning. He had kept himself to himself – he had no work friends. No one missed him. She’d even forged his signature on any legal documents, including those for the sale of the house to Nick and Amber.
Officially, Bern Miller is still alive. His heart attack a cover story.
Nick had been placated by his mother’s stories over the years and had no reason to question them. It was only Patrick who would ever come looking. But Patrick had been so keen to leave, keep himself out of the horror, that he hadn’t been a problem. Until he found out his illness was terminal, and felt compelled to unburden himself.
And of course, then the developers came into the picture. An unforeseen event that threatened everything.
That’s when Tim knew things were about to get complicated; ugly. He knew everything about his brother, about his family – he had kept track through social media and, on rare occasions, via Barb. He knew Nick had left the family home, and that I’d been left there. He felt obligated to get me and the boys out of the house before things turned nasty. He didn’t, he said, imagine he’d fall in love with me.
The Open House Page 29