by Lynda Stacey
‘Not every man’s a murderer, are they? I mean, if he wanted to kill me, he could have done it in the shed, couldn’t he?’ It had been more of a statement than a question, but the words had given Dan every opportunity to play on her emotions.
‘Hey, I totally agree. But you barely know the guy. You only just met him and maybe he is a neighbour… but seriously, the people he mixes with…’ He’d paused, wiped a hand across her cheeks in a feeble attempt to dry her tears, thought carefully about his words. ‘They’re criminals, Moll. They may have been released, let out into the world, but I know how their minds work and you have to trust me on this one. Just because they’ve been let out, it doesn’t suddenly make them law-abiding citizens now, does it?’ He’d sat with her until the tears had subsided, all the time fearful of leaving her alone. Fearful of Niall coming back to her door, of him taking his place. ‘Moll, maybe I should stay tonight, stay with you,’ he’d finally suggested, felt pleased with the indecision in her eyes. The way she’d nodded in approval.
‘With Beth being at Gran’s, I guess you could take her room,’ Molly had said, before jumping up and running down the hallway. ‘I’ll just go check her room, she’d be mortified if she left any personal stuff lying around, if you know what I mean.’
Reluctantly, he’d taken up the offer of the spare room, would have preferred the offer of her bed, of sleeping with her, knew not to push, to give her the space, and made every effort he could to be the person she needed. Determined that he’d be the one to comfort her in all the right ways. At all the right moments.
And now, now he had to alter the chain of events that had already begun, he had to find a way to build back the trust, to be a part of her life.
‘So,’ he thought desperately. ‘Do I make a play of sorting the garden? Give myself a reason to be there, a reason for her to like me again?’ He thought of his own tiny garden, his lack of enthusiasm for cutting grass. The impulsive purchase of forty slabs, all of which still stood against a wall, waiting to be laid. ‘So, do the garden over the winter. Get Molly to trust you again, take her out, be the man she fell in love with the first time. Get her to fall in love with you again. That way, you can look out for her, protect her.’ He knew that it had been his own stupidity that had pushed her away, his own actions had caused the rift, and mentally he kicked himself for not using the time better. He should have been delighted when she ran to him, when she moved back in, bringing Beth with her. Instead, he’d recoiled and thought of himself.
Sighing, he felt his whole body go tense as he saw the double sliding doors of the garden centre slide open, and Niall McCormick walked out. He stood in the doorway, hands on hips, sunglasses on his head. He looked smug. Full of his own importance. And while checking his domain, he wore nothing but a polo shirt and jeans, on a day when the temperature was more suited to an overcoat and gloves.
‘What the hell does any woman see in you?’ Dan whispered as he remembered the way Molly had returned from her run, her voice high-pitched with excitement.
‘You’ll never guess what just happened. I just met my new neighbour, Niall.’ She’d practically danced on the spot. ‘And what’s more, he has the most beautiful dog, Dillon.’ She’d spoken without taking a breath, beamed with happiness and had spent the next hour talking about him, about everything he’d told her.
‘Perfect smile, perfect teeth, great frame, urgh…’ Dan growled, picked up his phone, realised how bitter he sounded and for the second time that week, he began to google Niall McCormick, studied the results. ‘No Twitter. No Facebook. No Instagram.’ He furrowed his brow. ‘Who the hell are you?’ Flicking down the screen, he looked through various posts, the newspaper articles all singing his praises.
‘On paper, you look like a real knight in shining fucking armour, don’t you?’ Dan scowled. Moved further down the screen, clicked in and out of posts. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Yet, in his eyes, nothing seemed quite right. Niall McCormick was literally too good to be true, which probably meant that he was. Even the way he strode across the car park was a little too perfect. Three men, all former criminals, climbed out of their vans and Dan took pleasure in the battle of the body language that began between them. Hovering head and shoulders above the others, McCormick smiled, pointed to a large pile of railway sleepers, spoke and then watched as the men, like over-enthusiastic puppy dogs, jumped to attention. Each one nodded, smiled, began the task of carrying sleepers from one side of the yard to the other.
Recognising one of the men, Dan lifted his phone, began to take photographs. ‘Not the man I used to know, Grant, are you? Can’t seem to remember you ever taking orders from anyone before.’ He flicked through the pictures, waited for the conversation to be over, for Niall to disappear inside. Then, with purpose and a fixed gaze, he climbed out of the car and marched across the car park.
‘Grant… over here, I need a word.’
22
Sliding her seat closer to her patient, Molly glanced up at the window. The dense, dark clouds that had been accumulating earlier had now parted. The rain had finally stopped, and she smiled as the low afternoon sun shone between vertical blinds to cast a bright orange hue around the brilliant white surgical environment.
For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Molly felt herself squinting at the clock, swallowing impatiently and consciously counting the minutes. Her new assistant, Tasha, who had been very friendly at first, had suddenly begun throwing questions across the room in rapid succession. She seemed to have an insatiable appetite to find out all she could, in as much detail as you were willing to give.
While pretending to study an X-ray, Molly carefully slid open her personal drawer, made an attempt to covertly check her phone, looked for messages.
‘Oh, didn’t he message you yet?’ Tasha quickly dropped in, with both shoulders hunched and a smirk crossed her face, then, when no answer came, she raised both eyebrows in question, tapped her pen against her teeth.
Throwing a hard stare across the room, Molly took a deep breath and looked for something to do, other than turn back to both Tasha and the patient. She switched on the light box, studied the orthopantomogram. Then, restlessly, she glanced across at her computer, wondered how many more patients she had booked in that day, how many more questions she’d have to answer before escaping for the evening. Tapping her screen forward to study her list, she gave a half smile as she realised there was just one more patient left to see. But then, in direct comparison, she felt the blood drain from her face as she saw Carol Cooper’s name filling that appointment.
Holding onto the thin leather seat with trembling fingers, she leaned forward, felt her frustration levels rise as she tore off her glove, her face shield, then anxiously tapped at the keyboard, only to furrow her brow as she quickly read through the notes at speed. Saw the numerous appointments that Carol Cooper had booked.
‘Oh, that one – she might not be turning up.’ Tasha leaned across, placed a hand next to the keyboard, uncomfortably close. ‘She didn’t turn up for the appointment she had last Friday, which isn’t like her at all. She’s normally really early, and she chats for England, so she does. Drives Ginny in reception a little bit mad with all her tales and stories. But after her not coming in on Friday, I’m thinking she’ll not come in today either.’
‘Friday… the Friday just gone?’ Molly could barely breathe. Carol should have been here on Friday. Somewhere else she should have been other than at the house. Haunted, she thought of the keys, the way they’d been hanging in the door, the bucket of hot steaming water. If she’d been there cleaning, knowing they were about to arrive, why wouldn’t she wait, why would she leave before they got there, especially as they’d only ever spoken on the telephone. As Tasha had said, she had been very chatty, even though they’d had their disagreements, where she’d made it very clear that as executor of the property she’d felt very badly done by, that she should have come away with something for her time and effort. Yet she certainly hadn’
t been rude, which made it strange that she’d acted in such a way.
‘We were parked on the lane, looking at the sea. But she got past us, without us seeing her?’ Molly whispered out loud. Stared at the stainless-steel sink, turned on the tap, watched the water swirl around it, the steam rise up. ‘The water in the bucket was still hot.’ Shaking her head, Molly tried to make sense of the madness that was spiralling around her mind, the thoughts that stacked up, dropped into place, then scattered again.
‘Molly, are you all right?’ Tasha asked with an edge of concern. Her hand went out, pressed down lightly on Molly’s shoulder. ‘I could ask one of the other surgeons to take over…’
Snapping back to reality, Molly felt her skin flush. ‘No, sorry. I’m… I’m fine,’ she whispered, took a deep breath, inched her chair close to her patient, made a pretence of adjusting the light. ‘Okay, Mr Elvin, if you’d open wide.’ Holding a mirror in one hand, a probe in the other, she stared into the older man’s mouth, at the limited range of decalcified, yellowing, misshapen teeth.
‘Err… Molly…’ Tasha whispered, wriggled her fingers surreptitiously behind the patient’s back. Lifted the box of gloves towards her.
Staring at her hands. Molly immediately realised what Tasha was telling her, silently chastised herself for not replacing the glove and dropped the mirror and probe back into the stainless-steel tray, pulled at the box.
‘…Upper left one, two and three are all missing, four we have an occlusal composite, five distal composite, six missing, seven…’ She blew a jet of compressed air onto the tooth, poked at it with a probe, tipped her head to one side and pressed her lips tightly together. ‘The seven has a large mesial occlusal amalgam in it. I’d like to put a watch on it distally until next time. Upper left eight is missing.’ She sat back, studied the X-ray and watched as Tasha quietly keyed the information into the computer.
Jumping up from her seat, Molly leaned across the man, carefully replaced his denture. ‘There you go,’ she said softly as she pressed her fingers under his jaw, closed his teeth together and checked his alignment. Once satisfied, she moved the chair into an upright position. ‘If you’d like to give your mouth a rinse.’
‘Am I done?’ He picked up the thymol flavoured water, sipped, spat out, swiped at his mouth with the back of a shaking, aged hand.
‘Yes, Mr Elvin, you are.’ Molly removed her gloves and watched Tasha as she leaned forward to unclip the paper bib that covered the front of his shirt, gave him a genuine smile and watched him shuffle across the surgery and out of the room, with Tasha closely behind him.
Breathing out as the door closed behind him, Molly felt the pressure of the day rest heavily on her shoulders. She had to get a grip, had to calm herself down. Methodically, she turned to the sink, held her hands under the hot running water for as long as she could endure, dispensed three generous squirts of soap and began scrubbing at her hands with more vigour than normal.
Coming back into the room, Tasha perched on the edge of the patient’s chair. ‘Come on then, are you going to spill the beans? I’d love to know who he is, so I would.’ Searching Molly’s face for answers that didn’t come, she sighed with disappointment, stood up and with a professionalism that Molly admired, she began to clean and organise the surgery. Sides were wiped, the spittoon sprayed with generous amounts of antibacterial spray and instruments, aspirator tubes, used drill heads and burrs were all placed on a metal tray in readiness for taking to the scrub room.
Closing her eyes for a beat, Molly took a breath. Knew she was unconsciously listening for the front door, for Carol Cooper to arrive and walk in, full of life. But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t happen. Like Friday, she felt a little disappointed. She’d wanted to meet her, and even though she had an empty bank balance, she’d wanted to put things right. The strange happenings had made the whole event of moving into the house one to be remembered and momentarily she was back on the beach, with Niall, looking into his eyes, being captivated by his smile, his lips, the way his eyes had been deep, dark and unyielding, and he was telling her about the house and how everyone associated with it had ended up dying in a violent or mysterious way.
Sighing, Tasha broke through her thoughts. ‘I don’t think Carol Cooper is coming. She’s never this late, normally sat in the waiting room for so long before her appointment we often feel as though we should offer her coffee, so we do.’ She clicked at the keyboard with a long, pointed finger, watched the screen turn from bright opal to black, then tipped her head to one side to catch Molly’s eye. ‘Now then, are you okay? I’m a bit worried about you. You went awfully pale back then. I thought I was going to be picking you up off the floor, using me mammy’s old smelling salts to get you back up.’
Raising both eyebrows, Molly rolled her eyes, knew an explanation of sorts was necessary. ‘Sorry, it’s no excuse, not in this job. But I have a lot on my mind.’ She paused, thought. ‘I’m hoping my fifteen-year-old sister will send me a message.’ She once again checked her phone, waved it around in the air. ‘Since our mum died, she’s lived with me and today is her first day at a new school and she went off this morning in a mood. Apparently, I’m ruining her life.’ She emphasised the word ‘ruining’, and sighed.
Uncannily, Molly thought, Beth had always messaged. After their mum’s death, she’d messaged constantly, panicking if a response hadn’t been immediately returned. Which confirmed her thoughts. Beth was still in a mood and it was going to take more than a phone call, text or the promise of pizza or new shoes to make things right. Which would be a great way of making it up, if only her bank balance hadn’t been dwindling by the minute.
Standing up, Tasha continued to clean, her slender frame moving around the surgery with ease. ‘I mean, come on, for the love of God, she can’t really think that you’re ruining her life, can she?’
‘Who knows? She’s a teenager.’ Molly picked up her drill, detached it from the high-pressure hose, squirted ample amounts of oil through the hand piece and shook it. After carefully reattaching it, she pressed her foot on the pedal and watched as pressurised water sped back through it and into the sink where, once again, she watched the water flow, swirl around the bowl.
‘I’ll just pop these to the scrub room.’ Tasha picked up the metal tray, opened the door. ‘You want a coffee?’
‘Sure, that’d be great, thank you.’ Molly smiled. She didn’t want coffee. What she did want was a moment alone, a moment to decide what to do. Standing up, she walked across the room, stared aimlessly out of the window, waited until she could hear Tasha in the room next door, the sound of instruments hitting the sink, water running and the sound of an autoclave door slamming to a close. These were followed by Tasha’s heels clicking along the tiled corridor to disappear into the kitchen, where she’d probably spend the next ten minutes chatting to the other girls, making coffee.
Sitting back down, Molly quickly pulled her phone from the drawer. Then, with her lips pressed tightly together, she turned back to the computer, felt the anxiety begin as she flicked through the unfamiliar screens of the new system, tried to navigate her way back to where she’d been earlier, to Carol Cooper’s notes. Once located, she held her phone up to the monitor, took a series of photographs. Hoped that one of them would show her a clear, concise picture of Carol’s address. New data protection meant that her wings had been clipped. Taking the address wouldn’t have previously been a problem, but now, the guidelines were blurred, and she couldn’t risk being caught.
‘Here you go, a lovely mug of coffee. Just the thing before you finish for the day and drive all the way home,’ Tasha said as she passed her the mug. ‘Did your sister get hold of you yet?’ She perched on the chair, raised both eyebrows at the mobile phone Molly still held in her hand.
Shaking her head, Molly pressed the messenger icon. Hoped somehow a message would be there, that in her flicking and clicking at screens it had been opened and closed without reading it. Then, as covertly as she could, she tapped on th
e photographs, scanned the ones she’d just taken, flew quickly past them to one of the house, of the view, of Niall’s property in the distance. Guilt seared through her. He hadn’t deserved the way she’d treated him. The events of that night had played over and over in her mind and she began to wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t seen the bottle. If it hadn’t been the same make that had been on her mum’s worktop the night she’d been killed. Would she have reacted differently? Would she have invited him in for a drink? Would he have kissed her again? How far would things have gone before Dan had turned up, knocked on the door like a knight in shining armour, fully expecting to stay the night? And now, she regretted that too.
‘Wow, it takes a certain kind of memory to make a woman blush like that,’ Tasha said, still perched on the chair. ‘So, what do you say. Are you gonna share the gossip with me, or do I have to go and pretend to check the autoclave again?’ She pointed to the door, laughed, picked up her mug and took a slurp.
Feeling her skin continue to radiate, Molly bit down on her bottom lip, considered the pros and cons of sharing gossip and paused before speaking. ‘My new neighbour. I met him the other day and – well, you could say he’s kind of cute.’ She hesitated, laughed. ‘To be honest, he’s more than cute and I think I owe him an apology.’
Tasha nodded, excitedly. ‘Really? So, what did you go and do, ’cause by the look of your cheeks, it had to be something?’ She stood up, continued to wipe the surfaces, shuffle instruments and tidied paperwork.
Molly continued to weigh up her new assistant, began to relax in her company. Liked the way she’d stood up, almost danced on the spot, swayed with excitement. ‘We were getting along quite well, I guess, but I completely blew it. And now, along with my little sister, he probably hates me.’
‘Really… so why would he be hating you? Come on, tell Tasha all about it.’ She went to the door, opened it, checked the corridor, clicked it to a close. ‘Looks like the others have all gone home, so it’s just you and me and a pair of coffee mugs.’ Pulling the elastic from her hair, she shook her head to let her strawberry blonde locks drop loosely onto her shoulders.