Occupied

by Janet Preece

  Kate had been inspiring, but it was Julie who had made the changes happen. A life coach was there to guide, but all change had to be self-made. Julie thought about Dan. How could they take their relationship back to how it once was? It was all so exciting in the early days – so many giggles, so much laughter. When had they given up on each other?

  Suddenly, she thought about the bank statement and Booking.com. She had forgotten to follow up on the surprise holiday her husband was planning. This was the push they both needed. She wrote a quick note in her diary to share at the next coaching session, then crossed it out again. She’d wait and see how things went, then decide if their relationship was worth saving.

  As she walked home, Julie wondered about the cinema. She hadn’t heard any mention in the news, and it had been five days already. She felt remarkably calm but confused, her lack of remorse conflicting with her preconceived notion of how she should be feeling. Did it make her a psychopath, her lack of empathy? She wondered if the police would come knocking on her door. Was she a murderer? It was self-defence, she told herself – but was it? In the last few days, she’d been thinking more and more about the incident. In the heat of the moment, it had seemed like the victim was anything but – not a woman but a thing, waiting to pounce, waiting to kill. She’d just got there first.

  Julie didn’t want to admit panic had led her to overreact. That’s what we’ll call it, an overreaction that just happened to end someone’s life. The reality was too much to take in. Murder. Well, she hadn’t planned it. We’ll downgrade it to manslaughter. She shuddered. Only an autumn shiver. She thought about her situation, wondered what to do next. She was sure it had happened, almost. There was nobody to ask. Dan, or the police? Either way, she’d be committed – to prison or a mental asylum. Dan would be happy to get rid of her. He hadn’t shown any affection for such a long time… Oh, but the booking!

  Fumbling for her keys, Julie finally got into the house. Still quiet. The kids were all at school, and Dan at work. She went into Dan’s study and booted up his laptop. Still no password protection. Shouldn’t that be a thing? The hotel website was already open in his browser, so she clicked into ‘My Bookings’.

  The Woodloch Spa, Cambridge. Ooh, very nice! Julie grabbed her diary to check the dates and noted Dan had already blocked that weekend out for a lads’ trip. How exciting! A proper surprise! Well, it would have been if I hadn’t gone snooping on his computer, she thought.

  Would the kids be going with them? The booking was a double room for Mr. and Mrs. Summers. She smiled. He’d arranged a babysitter for the weekend too. Perhaps she had been too harsh on him. She would make him spaghetti hoops for dinner – her little secret wink to say she knew, she cared and she was looking forward to finally having some quality time together.

  Julie turned off the computer, still smiling on her way downstairs. Only two weeks to go until the surprise trip, and she couldn’t wait.

  The letter box rattled, and a pile of post landed on the front doormat along with the daily paper. She picked it up and threw it onto the dining room table, the neat pile spewing out across last night’s leftover dry dinner stains. She’d cleared the dishes into the kitchen and forgotten to wipe it down. God forbid anybody else had thought about it!

  Oh, for God’s sake, seriously? She shuffled the post into a neater pile hoping it hadn’t picked up too many stains, it wouldn’t pay for Dan to come back and find the mess, his beloved paper soiled. The paper needed refolding where the TV guide had bulged out. Julie cursed it as a useless piece of landfill, just trying to make the job of creating a neat pleat even harder. Dan wouldn’t be happy if it lost its crease – he hated reading a tainted paper. She wanted to please him since he seemed to be making an effort. There would be time enough for arguing later.

  Julie finally folded the front cover over and stopped, stunned, staring back at the headlining news story: Hunt for Horror Movie Killer.

  Oh, shit.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Keys in the door, then a turbulence of running, clothes-shedding, shoe-throwing and an out of breath Jack.

  ‘Mum, there’s a serial killer on the loose! And he killed at our cinema, where we go, like, all the time. Can we go there now? He might have left a clue or something. Do we have to wait for Tommy and William? I might walk up there with some friends now and check it out. It’s going to be so cool. I’ve heard it’s heaving over there!’

  Oh my God. Slow down child. Stop talking, just stop. Think Julie, what to do? What to say? Plead ignorance? Tell him off for being such a gruesome animal?

  ‘I wonder if I could sell something’ he continued, ‘like a local cinema flyer, maybe mock-up something on the computer with blood dripping down the edges and a bloody stabbing taking centre stage? I’m sure there’d be a market for it! Maybe they’ll change the cinema into a tourist attraction like the Tower of London, even make it into a haunted house for Halloween! Now, that would be awesome!’ he went on until I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  ‘Jack, that sounds awful and very inappropriate, a definite No to all your suggestions,’ she said, hoping he was listening and wouldn’t prolong the conversation. Why was he talking about a stabbing? Could it be something else? Surely not, and why was he talking about a serial killer? As much as she wanted to shut him up, it might be better to encourage his gruesome fascination, if only to find out what stories where being passed around.

  Following Jack into the kitchen, she marvelled at his grinning face, his excitement as he bounced around from cupboard to fridge to cupboard looking for snacks, his appetite far from suffering. Nothing phased him. If he’d been there by her side during that moment, how would he have reacted then? Would he have been a help or a hindrance?

  ‘Do you think school will be closed tomorrow?’ Jack shouted, not realising his mum was standing right behind him and jumping slightly on spotting her. He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t really care, was just asking the question for himself breathing through the excitement of possible change. Crisps in hand, he then ran off like a tornado, flew upstairs, knocking his coat off the banister en route. Julie wasn’t sure how to respond to him, she was angry, but soon realised it was more about his discarded shoes and dropped coat than his perspective on the murder. That’s my boy.

  When he was gone, she sat down heavily at the dining table, regretting not spending the time to read the newspaper before she’d disposed of it. It’s not like she could just grab it from the bin, having put it through its own vigorous punishment. She had chosen to shred and soak, to blur the wording – a massive waste of time. Like most of my life until now.

  ‘Hi, Mum! Have you heard – ?’ William started, opening the door with a grin.

  Julie couldn’t bear another child revelling in the ‘untimely death of an innocent’ (that’s what Jack had called her, likely quoting something on social media.)

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard,’ she quickly interrupted. ‘Your brother’s just told me all about it, so there’s no need to go through all the gory details again. Just, please, don’t mention it in front of Tommy when he gets home. I don’t want him having nightmares. And take that stupid grin off your face. Somebody has died.’ Somebody has died. She replayed the words over and over in her head, but still it didn’t seem real, just a story about someone else.

  William was sulking, disappointed he hadn’t been the one to break the news. It’s not your news to share, it’s mine! She watched him as he sulked off, making his way upstairs away from her, slamming his bedroom door on cue as per usual. Relief. Nothing has changed, the boys are their usual selves. Whether that’s necessarily a good thing is another matter.

  Julie could hear William chatting away excitedly – phoning his friends perhaps, or talking through his headset while booting up his PlayStation. She was alone once more, this would have been the perfect opportunity, but she was wary of searching for more information on her phone, realised t
hat if she were to become a suspect, the police would likely be searching her phone, amongst other things. She wished she’d taken the time to read through the article in the paper. Curious as she was, she had panicked and quickly got rid of it to keep the news from her family. She should have known the kids would be updated at school.

  Her phone beeped with a message: Please be informed, there are reports of a commotion at the local cinema, so children are advised to stay vigilant and go straight home after school. If you can collect your children from the school gates, that is advised. If not, please encourage them to walk home in pairs.

  Julie shook her head. Well, that’s great advice. A bit of a commotion? Really? And what help is walking home in pairs unless they live together? One of them will be left on their own regardless. She sighed. Why am I worried? It’s not like there really is a killer on the loose! She would tell William to wait for his younger brother before school tomorrow, so they could go together. Must keep up appearances, or it would look suspect.

  ‘Bye, boys! I’m off to get Tommy. Back soon!’ she shouted up the stairs to no response.

  She wondered if her boys were a bit psycho – maybe she’d passed on a faulty gene. They’d been… excited, thrilled even? She wondered what the cinema had reported but didn’t have time right now to find out.

  At the school gate, there was a small gathering of mums. Usually, everyone stood in a queue, on their phones, not making conversation. The news has made its way over here too then. She wondered how the parents would tackle the issue with their younger children, or whether they would totally avoid it. Would it be better to hear a dumbed-down version from a parent, or a distorted version in Chinese whispers from another seven-year-old at school?

  ‘Well, I heard it’s the same killer who murdered that man up in Yorkshire last year!’

  ‘Who, the Yorkshire Ripper?’

  ‘No, don’t be ridiculous. That was years ago.’

  ‘Was it a man or a woman that died?’

  ‘They don’t know because the killer took the skin clean off their face!’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘No! Don’t be so ridiculous! As if! Look at me, I’m covering my face – am I a man or a woman?’

  Laughter, gates opening up and a hushed quiet; back to selective mutism for the perfect pick-up; then the bombardment of questions:

  ‘Hi, darling, good day?’

  ‘So, what did you eat for lunch?’

  ‘What did you do at school today?’

  ‘What was your favourite time of day?’

  All the usual questions, parents being parents, back to the mundane realities of their parenting lives. Kids whining, refusing to speak, asking for ice-cream from the overpriced van parked conveniently opposite the gates so there was no escaping it. Today, Julie would give in. She did it too often, and she knew it.

  Hugging Tommy a bit too tightly, she felt relief. He squirmed but allowed her because he could see the ice-cream van over her shoulder, knowing that cuddly mummy meant easy to manipulate. She knew it, he knew it. They held hands and crossed over.

  ‘One of those ninety-nine cones, please,’ Tommy piped up, confidently pointing to the biggest ice-cream on the picture board.

  ‘Here you are, young man,’ the seller replied, almost instantaneously creating an obscene offering and handing it across Tommy. The small boy took a huge lick to prevent the precariously placed ice-cream swirl from toppling off its cone and onto the floor, either for that reason or because he wanted to mark his territory.

  ‘That will be two pounds ninety-nine please, ma’am.’

  How did that make sense in any way, shape or form? Was the flake two pounds? And more to the point, what was with the ‘ma’am’ again? Julie had half a mind to return the now empty cone, but thought better of it. She wanted to keep Tommy calm, not start unnecessary arguments. She noted that the queue for ice-creams was much reduced today. Were other parents wondering if the seller was a danger, somehow linked to the cinema killing? She hoped so. He’d get his comeuppance for ageing her prematurely, she wasn’t ready to be a ma’am.

  As she strolled along with Tommy, Julie wondered who else would be affected by the incident. She knew most of the other parents didn’t go out-out after school – not for themselves, anyway. Most, she knew, went straight home, fed their nagging kids, then made their way with them to some club or other: swimming, jujitsu, tennis, piano lessons… It was a never-ending list of middle-class necessity to extend the school day. Oh, and of course, compulsory tutors to push them through their exams and into grammar schools that would mean an extra four-hour commute each day if they passed. Yay!

  Would the tutors come under suspicion? The teachers? All the lone strangers out walking in the area? Would mothers refuse to have them in their houses? Would their children’s education fall behind because of it, their life paths changing forever? How far would the knock-on effect reach?

  If, God forbid, you were murdered, the killer was most likely to be someone you knew, according to crime statistics. Julie wanted to shout out, ‘I’ve messed up your statistics!’ But she figured it wasn’t a planned murder, so they would likely dismiss her claim. Damn. She wondered if the victim’s family were questioning each other, searching for clues as to which uncle, brother, or son had overstepped the boundaries. She smiled, feeling safe. Feeling powerful. She was in control. Julie had influenced so many people’s lives in just one moment of madness.

  Madness? Imagine what she could do if she actually planned a murder! The chaos and anarchy she would create. She could pick someone out whose life she wanted to mess with and fuck them up. She didn’t even have to kill them. She could kill someone they loved and watch their house of cards come crashing down around them. Oh, the beautiful simplicity!

  The taste of control was invigorating. Julie had always thought murderers must be terrible people, angry people, with revenge and hate in their blood, but it seemed the opposite. It was more a culling of the not-so innocent as a way of bleeding yourself; self-harm without the pain. She thought of the Horrible Histories series Tommy was always watching, of leeches being used to suck away an illness in early medical journals. She pictured herself as the leech, preying on the sick, in her mind, cleansing the world and making it pure.

  Since the cinema incident, Julie had been thinking more clearly. She was more patient, better able and willing to show kindness to those who were deserving – the chosen few. The friends you choose, rather than the family that is thrust upon you. Maybe that was why a murderer was likely to be someone you knew, a family member who just couldn’t cope with the stupidity of having to keep up relations when all they really felt was hatred? She wondered who she would kill first in an ideal world. Her mother? Her husband? Her sister? Her children? What would the fallout be? She wished her father hadn’t died already or he would have been the first on her list, that would have been an easy decision.

  She pondered over whose absence would have the most beneficial impact on her dysfunctional world, then laughed at the ridiculousness of her thoughts. Get back to the kitchen, Julie, Dan’s going to be home soon wondering where dinner is. Maybe Dan should move up the list? Oh, the liberty!

  She smiled opening the fridge and pulled out four steaks, resisting the urge to prod the fleshy pulp behind its vacuum-packed wrapper, the bloody lumps conjuring up images, reminding her. What would she look like now? Would her body be served up on a slab, waiting for family members to identify her? She squeezed a piece of steak, willing it to pop through the packaging but without success. Damn. How is it some things are so difficult, when others just come so easily?

  Slowly peeling it back, she breathed in the stale aroma, searching her mind for familiarity, but found nothing. She grabbed hold of one of the soft clumps of aged, dark meat, passing it from hand to hand, watching the blood seep into the creases of her palms. Just one lick, she couldn’t resist. She would
serve them up extra-rare tonight, blood dripping into a gravy on each of their plates. A smile spread across her face as she looked forward to seeing if the kids had the stomach for it, or if they were all talk.

  How disappointing.

  Dan wolfed down his food without a thought‚ and she doubted he’d even noticed the puddle of blood on his plate. He’d picked up the Evening Standard on his way home from work, which he sat reading at the table, oblivious to the kids chatting excitedly around him while texting on their phones. She hadn’t bothered with Tommy, he wouldn’t have eaten it raw, cooked or cremated so she didn’t include him in the meal, decided it wasn’t worth wasting a decent bit of flesh. Nobody else commented on the blood, but maybe that was the point she was trying to prove: they didn’t care, didn’t associate. The older boys scoffed their food and ran off, leaving their plates on the table and going straight back to their gaming, shouting loudly with the usual inappropriate language.

  To them, the murder was something far-removed from their personal lives despite it being practically on their doorstep. It didn’t directly affect them. It was just a story, a movie trailer they could dip in and out of without it disturbing their equilibrium.

  Pick your battles, Julie. Life was just too short to care about every little thing, especially when there was fun to be had!

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Dan eventually looked up from the paper. What was his take on it? She waited to see if he could read her thoughts; if he instinctively knew what she had done.

  ‘I don’t want you going out, Julie. You’re my wife, and I am responsible for your protection. It’s too dangerous out there at the moment, and with it getting dark so early, you never know where people will be hiding out, waiting to take advantage. And don’t be going anywhere near that cinema!’