by Ayre, Mark
“What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t answer. Didn’t know how to answer. Had forgotten how to speak.
Forgetting the lack of shoes, she stepped off the grass and came to him. She slid her hands into his and looked deep into his eyes. Saw his hurt and instantly it was reflected in hers. That was how connected they felt. How close they were without even knowing each other.
He had thought he knew her, and she thought she knew him.
They both had it wrong.
“Come inside,” she said.
Back in the bedroom where he had held her against his shoulder yesterday. Her eyes met his, and there was confusion and sadness there.
“Tahir’s dead,” he said, because he could think of nothing else. “Someone stabbed him a few feet from me.”
Shock, but there was something worse than the Tahir news, and she saw it. Saw he was stalling and wanted to know what he was holding back.
“What’s wrong?”
“A man was killed in front—“
“Don’t,” she cut in. “That’s horrible, course it is, but that isn’t it. You can’t look at me. You flinched when I held your hands so unless you think I killed Tahir, which I’m hoping to hell you don’t, there’s something else. Something you don’t want to say and something you do. What is it?”
Fighting tears he took in that beautiful face—like looking into the sun.
“Why did you meet Harris the night he died?”
“I told you.”
“You told me something. I think you were lying.”
“Nice,” she said, the hurt growing. “What makes you think that?”
He went to say it, couldn’t, and shook his head.
“I should go.”
He turned, but she caught his arm, tried to pull him back, but he wouldn’t come. He could feel her tears, and it was killing him.
“You can’t do that. Can’t come here calling me a liar and not tell me why.”
He took a deep breath. She released his arm, but he didn’t go. A long pause dragged between them before he found his strength.
“Davis filmed you.”
Silence. This one so heavy he felt his legs fighting not to give way, his strength sapped trying not to look at her.
“Don’t you want to hear my side?”
Her voice was a whisper. The tears evident in her voice and growing all the time. He choked on his own words before forcing out the sentence.
“I already did, didn’t I?”
“No. You asked why I saw Harris that night. You called me a liar. You didn’t ask anything about Davis because you don’t think you have to.”
“The video was pretty clear.”
“Was it? Oh good, so you’ve made your mind up, and my explanation doesn’t matter. Because I can lie, but the footage doesn’t.”
“Something like that.”
A loud sob met that, and he heard her fall onto the bed. He couldn’t help it, he turned and saw her, head in hands, tears rolling freely. As though sensing he had turned, she looked up.
“Fuck you, James Perry.”
It was precisely what Nina had said, but it hurt so much more.
“I knew you four days, and you can’t know anyone in that time,” she said. “But that didn’t stop me thinking of you these last months. Dreaming of you. Because you were different. Because you looked into my eyes and saw me. Knew me without me having to say anything. Guess I shouldn’t have let myself get duped, right?”
“So you weren’t lying?” he couldn’t help himself.
“I was lying,” she admitted. “You’ve never lied to me? I seem to remember ten months ago you told a big fucking lie and what happened when I found you in that alley, beaten half to death? Did I use that lie to hurt you? Or did I look at you, and trust my instinct? Trust you were worth caring about. Worth trusting even if you lied. I did that for you, but you can’t do the same because sex is involved. Because you’re just another jealous dickhead, who’d rather think me a lying slut than ask yourself why I did what I did. Because it’s easier for you and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
She could have taken a knife to him for an hour, and it would have hurt less than those words. He thought back ten months. To his lies and how she had taken him in after the beating. Hadn’t screamed and shouted, instead requesting his story, listened to it. How right she was. That video made him sick not because of what it might have meant for her, but what it meant for him. Because it made him jealous and angry.
Now that anger dissolved.
“Megan, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sure you are. Please leave.”
“Meg, no, I—“
“James,” she said, firm voice cutting through her tears. “You’re sorry, I get it. You hear me, and you’ve realised what a ginormous arsehole you were being, well guess what? You don’t get to say sorry and make it okay. I’m hurting. You’ve hurt me.”
She stood, drying her eyes with the back of her hands. Stepping towards him she placed her hands on his chest and looked into his eyes.
“Every time we meet it goes so fuck up wrong it's unbelievable.”
This train of reasoning he wanted to cut off right away, but she silenced him with a hand and ploughed on.
“I could be happy, walking away, but I don’t want to. In spite of myself, and in spite of everything, I want to give us a go. I want to see if we can take it somewhere. But I can’t talk to you right now. Can barely look at you after what you’ve said so, please, leave. Go home and do whatever you want to do and, when I’m ready, I’ll call you. Do you think you can do that?”
He wasn’t sure he could, but she was right. He wanted to say sorry and brush his idiotic moves under the carpet, but it didn’t work like that. She had sex with Davis, but he didn’t know why. Couldn’t fathom why so how could he have assumed?
But he had. It was too late to change that now.
“I can do that.”
“Good, because I will call you. I just need some time to think, and I need you to decide if you can get over what you know about Davis and me. If you can’t, you tell me when I call, and we can go our separate ways. I hope that doesn’t happen, and if I get my wish, and you decide you can cope with it, I need you to come back to me as the James you were before you saw that video. The one who looked at me and believed I was a girl he could fall in love with.”
“I—“
A hand stopped him going any further.
“I don’t want you making any promises. Not now. Go home. Wait for my call. Make your mind up. We’ll talk soon, okay?”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Their conversation was over, now he had to wait, and hope he could avoid screwing up his next chance.
He needed to devote some time to unravelling this mystery, or at least trying to. Work out how it all slotted together. Where this tape fit in, but he couldn’t. Not now.
The cab took him to the fair, and his car was blissfully where he had left it, unmolested. His friend’s car was gone, reminding him he had not replied to the calls or texts. He sent a message saying he would get in touch soon, then jumped into his car, returning to the flat where he found the lights on and an attractive redhead on his sofa, one leg crossed over the other.
“Hello, Melanie.”
Today she was wearing tight black jeans and a white blouse. Bangles encased her left wrist in which she was clasping a phone. Two large rings were on the hand in which she held James’ largest kitchen knife by the tip. The handle balanced on her knee as she twirled it.
“Come in,” she said, placing her phone on the table. “Close the door.”
James hesitated, his hand on the knob. Mel lifted the knife by the tip, resting the handle on her shoulder. A throwers poise. Her eyes glinted.
“Go on,” she whispered. “Dare ya.”
James considered. Sure he could make it if he was fast. But… too risky. He stepped into the room and closed the door softly
behind him. The flat was still a mess, but Mel had been kind enough to put the two sofas back together. She gestured to the one she did not occupy, and James stepped over as though to take a seat, stopping before he did.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“No,” she said without asking for options.
“Can I get me a drink?”
“Oh just sit down, I’ve places to be.”
He sat, situating himself as far as possible from Mel who leaned in but did not move seat. Now the handle of the knife swung between her knees, almost hypnotically.
“You stole my key,” James said, after a longer pause than he could cope with. Mel smiled but said nothing, so James continued. “I guess you broke in then dropped the original back in my bag when you came to the bar. You’re lucky I didn’t go home in between.”
“Not really,” she said. “You’d have guessed you’d lost the key, called a locksmith or your landlord, come in, found the mess. Cue freak out and everything unwinds as it did. Sorry about the mess, by the way.”
“It was unfortunate,” James said. “I managed to leave everything in place when I searched Harris’.”
“Well bully for you, but time was a luxury I did not have.”
“Why are you here?” he asked, and she gave a horror movie giggle.
“You’re asking questions, like you’re the one with the knife, posing a threat. It’s as if you don’t realise I will slit your throat and leave you for dead, if you piss me off.”
“Yeah, have you killed before?”
“More questions. You’re a boy who likes to take a risk. That’s kind of hot.” She waited, but he refused to respond. Her smiled widened. “I don’t think you care if I’ve killed before. Not in a general sense. What you want to know, methinks, is whether I’ve killed recently. Very recently. You want to know if I killed Harris.”
James watched her. Those mad eyes and that wide smile. She had acted well in the cafe, hiding this. He didn’t talk.
“Oh, aren’t you going to ask?”
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to ask questions?”
“That’s a question, smart arse.” She looked at the knife, he considered diving for her, she looked back. “I didn’t murder Harris. I have no interest in Harris beyond what he possessed.”
“Videos,” James muttered, remembering what Nina had said about Harris being obsessed with Mel when they had shared a school. Looked as though he had finally realised the ambition of his obsession, to Mel’s detriment.
“Video,” she corrected. No surprise, she didn’t seem the altruistic type. As long as she reclaimed any footage of her, the rest could be shown to the masses.
How might she have achieved this? First searching Harris’, leaving the door open as she rushed away. Later searching James’, frustrated again. Had she discovered who had taken the tapes?
“Did you kill Tahir?” he asked.
“No, no, no, that’s enough,” she said in mock stern voice. “There will be no more questions from you. I have the knife, and you have something I need. Where is it?”
“I don’t have it,” he said. “You broke in, found the money. That was everything I had.”
“Lies,” Mel said. “You took it from Harris. You must have. Now, you’ll hand it over.”
“Harris didn’t have it when he died,” James said. “It was gone by the time I found out about it so you can question me all you like. You’re wasting your time.”
Mel closed her eyes and let out a long, frustrated breath.
“This is tiring,” she said. “There are two options. Either you claimed it after Harris died, or, Tahir had it. You were with him when he died, and I think he told you where it was. Whatever option, you know, and you’re trying to keep it from me which is as annoying as it is stupid.”
“You’re wrong. What reason would I have to keep it from you? You think I’m sitting up watching it? I’m not that bothered.”
A whip of anger smacked Mel’s face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Again James considered taking her out, grabbing the knife, but his chance passed in the consideration.
“You’re playing a dodgy game, James,” she said. “Pretending to work for the Chappells while whispering in the ears of the police. How long before they’re after you? How long before you run out of lives my little cat?”
“How long before you realise I’ve not got what you want?”
Her arm was a blur, swinging across his face with such lightning pace he didn’t feel the cut until a few seconds after the blade was gone. Then it was stinging, and his hand slapped to where a line of blood had begun to trickle down his cheek.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry,” she said, rising and rushing to the kitchen area. “I did tell you not to ask questions. I have this temper, and sometimes it gets away from me but—” she was opening cupboards and looking through them with speed— “where is your first aid kit?”
“I don’t have one.”
She looked at him with mock shock.
“That is very irresponsible. What happens if you cut yourself chopping veg?”
“I don’t know.”
“Careless.” She was tutting as she grabbed a tea towel and came to him, chucking it in his face as she retook her seat. He pressed it to the cut but didn’t take his eyes off her, waiting.
“I know you don’t believe me,” he said, trying to temper his tone, keep the questions at bay. “But you ransack my place. Come here to try frighten me—“
“Are you saying I’ve not succeeded?” she cut in. “Must try harder. How about this? If you don’t give me what I want, I will chop you into so many pieces you’ll fit down the drain.”
She stood. James held the tea towel to his face and looked to her, feeling pathetic. The deep throb in his cheek continued, and the tea towel was soaking faster than if he’d held it under the tap. Still, he tried for a defiant stare.
“I don’t have what you need.”
“Then you know how to find it.”
“I—”
“No more talking. I’m telling you I want the video and you know where it is because there is no other explanation. I’ve checked. So here’s what happens. I, being a Saint and feeling a little guilty for cutting your face open, am going to give you until tonight to find what I need. If you do, I’ll kiss your poor cheek better, if you don’t I will—” she thought— “wait, did I already make the chopping you up and throwing you down the drain threat?”
James nodded.
“Right, well that. And worse. Get it?”
“I’m not going to be able to find what you need.”
“Fine, then I’ll kill you, but hey, don’t write your life off too soon. At least give it a try. I’ll be back later. Do your best, that’s all I can ask.”
“I’m not going to be able to find what you need.”
Mel rolled her eyes and leaned in. There were one too many buttons of her blouse undone, and he tried not to look at her cleavage. Before he knew what was happening she took his wrist and pulled. Panic as he the blade came for his exposed skin, before she twisted at the last second, pressing the hilt into his hand. A beat passed between them. James’ hand trembled. He could end this now.
Mel kissed his head.
“Just try your best, okay, sweetie? Don’t be so defeatist. It’s unbecoming.”
She stood, backing away. In a second she was out of his reach, and he knew his legs were too weak to carry him forward in attack. All he could do was watch as she walked to the door, swung it open, and turned back.
“Oh, and by the way, try run and I will catch up, and slit the throat of that pretty little girl you like in front of you. Okay?”
Now he was on his feet, but she was already slipping away.
“Bye, lovey, see you tomorrow.”
The door closed, leaving James alone, knife in one hand, tea towel in the other.
17
The flat might well have been cursed.
He sat in the ruins and thought about tid
ying but couldn’t bring himself to. Mel’s appearance had him frightened, more so than Davis had managed. This was no veiled threat with an unquantified end. This was a knife to the throat, and a promise of bloodshed in a few hours was he unable to acquire what she wanted.
Leaving the flat, he went and sat in his car.
Now what?
His cheek stung, a constant throbbing reminder of Mel. Was it so simple as a sex tape? Sure, she would want to avoid its release, but would she kill to get it? She claimed she had not murdered Harris, but she was unbalanced, he would not put lying past her. There had been no definitive answer on whether she had killed Tahir. Though why? If she suspected him, why not threaten him as she had James? Unless he was seen as a softer touch.
Action was needed. Proof he was not a soft touch. Though if Tahir had the videos, likelihood was they were at the home he had recently been ejected from, and the thought of being seen by Emily terrified him.
Could he face her?
Not yet. Weak as that made him he couldn’t risk her wrath. Besides, there was more to this mystery. More leads to follow. Later he would return to the pub he had visited with Nina before their mugging, but first—
Withdrawing the slip of paper from his pocket he looked at the phone numbers of Ollie and Andros. Trying Ollie first, he leant his head against the cold glass window and listened as the dial droned on and on and on and—
No answer. No voicemail. James clicked off and tried Andros.
“Hello, Andros Stevens speaking.”
James opened his mouth and carped, realising he had made no plans for this conversation.
“Is anyone there?”
“Hello,” he said, sounding more like an automated salesman than intended. “My name is James Perry. You don’t know me, but I was hoping I might grab a couple of minutes to talk to you about something.”
“Let me put your mind at rest,” Andros said. “I’ve never had PPI, I’ve had no accidents, and I already contribute to many worthy charities.”