by Janet Preece
Julie stared back, unsure of how to respond. What was he expecting? She went with argumentative. He would relate to that.
‘I think you’re being a bit ridiculous! I mean, what’s actually happened? What do we know? Somebody died in a cinema. What else does the paper say?’
She was desperate to hear and pleased Dan was willing to oblige, to fuel his argument.
‘Three teenagers have been arrested after missing mother of four, Amrita Devi, was found beaten to death in the toilets at a London cinema,’ he read. ‘The three suspects are due to appear at the Uxbridge Magistrates Court on Friday. The charges bring the total number of suspects in the case to five. PC Tailor said, ‘May I remind all concerned that these defendants are now actively awaiting trial, so if anybody has any further information, please come forward to your local police station to report it. Do not share it with the public, especially not on social media, as this could harm the case. Let’s not allow the perpetrators of this heinous crime to go unpunished because of a glitch in the legal system.’ Dan put the paper down.
‘Wow, that was quick! We’re in a modern age now, Julie – CCTV everywhere. I’m betting that’s how they caught them. Five though! Jesus Christ, that woman wouldn’t have had a chance.’
Julie cringed. CCTV? Not inside the toilets, she hoped. If they had seen footage from the day, wouldn’t they have come for her already? Five suspects, and she wasn’t on the list. Thank Christ. Surely, it couldn’t be that easy?
She headed out of the room, left Dan looking smug and satisfied as he took her departure to mean her accepted subordination, that she would give in to his authority.
Upstairs, Julie locked the bathroom door behind her, then reached for the bath taps and let the water gush full-throttle as she slumped to the floor. She wanted to know what was going on and suspected her mobile would be plastered with more insightful stories than the paper could offer. Have I waited long enough? Would it be more suspicious if I didn’t check out the stories on my phone?
She opened up her Facebook page and was greeted by a picture of the inside of the toilets, blood everywhere, hands smearing it down the cubicle walls. This wasn’t the image she remembered; the romanticised release. Her body spasmed and began to retch as she closed her eyes tight, tried to block out the conflicting images – but the reported scene remained imprinted on her mind. Had something happened after she left? It was all so clean in her memory. Clinically precise, contained.
What was the reality? She needed to find out more. She focused on the noise of the water as the bath continued to fill, breathed through the horror to regain her control and looked at the articles once again. What had those kids done to put them under suspicion? Or was it just because they were teenagers, in the wrong place at the wrong time? Were they known offenders? Had they gone in after her and finished the job? But they couldn’t have, could they? A million questions rushed around her head as she sat next to the cascading water and read through a Huffington Post report.
‘On Monday, Police were called to a brutal murder scene at a London Hillingdon cinema, where a woman was beaten to death in what is suspected to be a hate crime. There have been five arrests so far, two males and three females, all teenagers who cannot be named. We believe this to be gang-related retaliation, and the victim’s family has been taken to a safe place. If anybody has any further information, please come forward.’
What was going to happen to those teenagers? How old were they? Did Jack know them? Were they dangerous? Her mind was a blur of possibilities. Why had they been arrested? Did they do it?
She dropped the phone on the floor, cracked the screen cover. Fucking typical. Julie dragged herself up, leaving it to one side, and reached for the bubble bath, pouring a generous glug under the taps and using her hand to further splash it around so it didn’t just sit there, a stagnant blue lump at the bottom of the tub. She stripped off and tentatively lowered one foot into the bath. Red-hot pain; pleasure. She slowly braved it, enjoying the sting as she lowered herself in, skin prickling and shivering against the scalding, searing heat, which subsided as soon as her body acclimatised.
Julie smiled as she submerged her head under the water, relaxing in the womblike tranquillity. Of course the teens hadn’t done it, but they must have done something awful to be arrested. Had she done the world a favour by ridding the streets of such delinquent kids? There was a lot to be said about this murder business. But why had the police decided boys were involved when it had taken place in the women’s toilets? Maybe the girls pulled them in for other reasons, a fumble that would cost them more than their virginity? She thought about the victim. Her victim. Four children! Perhaps it was for the best if her children were mixed up in a gang. No mother needs to witness that.
If Julie had the choice, she wondered, would she give her own life for her children? If it meant changing their futures, keeping them on the path to success rather than ruin? The ultimate sacrifice; that’s what her victim had bequeathed her children, whether it was intended or not.
The woman’s husband, if she had one, would now be realising her worth, missing her and the role she played in their world. She wondered what Dan would think if she was the one lying there cold on the slab. Would he even know how to put the dishwasher on? How would he keep up with the washing – the mountains of endless washing?
Julie enjoyed the warm water caressing her skin as she relaxed in the bath, blocking out her family’s noise; the arguing, the shouting. All of it became white noise in a distant world. She felt good. The water refreshed her like a baptism, marked the beginning of her new life. So many possibilities. So much excitement. So much fun to be had. Why, oh why had she waited forty years to start enjoying herself? Julie felt like a woman in a nineteenth-century novel, burning her bra for women’s rights before anybody had even thought to ask for equality; before bras even existed. She would be a trailblazer, it was simply a matter of planning. Take your time and think things through. Enjoy every moment as if it’s your last – because if you’re caught, it will be. But oh, what a ride would come first!
That night, Julie slept soundly, her body not responding when Tommy came in at six a.m. to give his usual rude awakening. Maybe he’d slept in for once? She couldn’t remember him waking her and doubted Dan would have stirred from his slumber.
Her alarm blasted at seven-thirty a.m., and she jumped out of bed, rearing to go. The sun streaked through the blinds and made beautiful patterns on the wardrobe door. Julie opened it and grabbed her comfy vest top and dark-grey cotton jumper, threadbare but well-loved. It had sat at the bottom of the wardrobe for an age too long. Dragging a brush through her hair, she thought better of it and pulled it up into a rough topknot. Wispy bits of baby-hair framed her face and fell romantically around her neck, natural and windswept. She had fallen asleep the night before with still-wet hair and had woken up with a controlled surfer-girl look, a stark contrast to her usual frizz. She smiled at her reflection. A quick line of eyeliner, and she was done. No need for blush – her face looked flushed and glowing.
Holding Tommy’s hand on the way to school, Julie had a skip in her step, her good mood inadvertently rubbing off on her son too. He smiled and chattered happily, asked if his friends could come over for a play date.
‘Yes, why not?’ Julie sang, waving him off happily. As she turned, she saw a couple of parents chatting by the front gate. ‘Anybody fancy joining me for coffee?’ she called over confidently, and both mothers nodded in agreement. Well, that was easy!
Julie listened to their chatter as they walked up to Starbucks, waiting for them to bring up the topic of the cinema. And there it was. Let them lead. What did they think? She was fascinated and enjoyed peppering the odd word in to keep involved while she listened to what they thought of the situation.
‘I’m not sure I want my older kids going out anymore,’ Angry Angie said.
Stumbling Suzy piped up, ‘I know!
It’s like we’re constantly told to get the kids off their electronics, get them out playing in the fresh air, give them independence, old-school entertainment, let them climb trees, ride their bikes – but it’s all so dangerous! I’d much rather they stay home so I know where they are, safe. It’s not like they’re not socialising! All their friends are chatting away to them, even playing the same games with them over the internet, just not in person. I mean, they’re together all day at school, so what’s the harm in having them stay home in the evenings? It’s supposed to be home-time!’
Okay, Suzy, time to rethink your nickname if you’re not going to let anyone get a word in edgeways.
Suzy finally snorted and took a breath, letting Angie creep back into the conversation.
‘Yes, I’m with you, especially on these cold, dark winter nights. Who wants to be going out doing drop-offs and lifts all the time? That can wait until they’re seventeen and able to drive themselves. Mind you, then we’ll be worrying about them driving and having accidents because they’re blaring their music or getting distracted by friends.’
‘Or using their mobile phones while driving!’
Angie raised her eyebrows. ‘If you ask me, those teenagers did us a favour killing off that poor old dear. It means we don’t have to make up stories to keep them home.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Julie said, feeling it was about time she contributed to their debate. ‘In my house, my husband has really put his foot down. He doesn’t even want me going out alone, never mind the kids!’
Silence. Were they judging her? She felt the need to justify Dan’s controlling behaviour.
‘I guess it was a woman our age who was murdered after all…because her teenagers were a part of that gang. If the kids had been around, would the killers have targeted them instead?’
They all looked at each other, taking a moment to sip their decaf caramel soya-milk lattes. Suzy was the first to comment, ‘Have you seen how many calories are in the new Gingerbread and Cream Frappuccino? Nearly six hundred! I’m going to try and get through Dry October without one, save myself for the Christmas Black Forest Frostino, or the Billionaire Frostino… Oh, my God, they are just to die for!’
Sadist Suzy. That was how Julie would remember her name. How on earth had she taken the conversation from murder to fucking Frappuccinos, or whatever the latest made-up coffee concoction would be? Julie looked at Angie, willed her to reprimand Suzy’s inappropriate, tactless disregard for the important news of the day.
‘Just make sure you ask them to hold the whipped cream, limit the drizzle, or go for a sugar-free syrup. Then, you can keep the calories down to a breakfast and lunch combo and still hold something back for dinner.’
Unbelievable. Priorities, darlings. Clearly, these women were more concerned about what went into their stomachs and keeping themselves thin than worrying about a murderer on the loose. But, as far as they were concerned, the killers had been detained.
Oh, how she’d love to wipe the smiles off their smug, self-interested faces and put them straight. Perhaps they would one day make her short-list?
Chapter Fourteen
That night, Dan freaked out. ‘It’s in all the newspapers! It’s headline news, for Christ’s sake! I can’t believe you went out with your friends for coffee like nothing’s going on. I thought better of you, Julie. I must insist you and the boys stay home until they catch the killer! Just because they’ve made arrests, doesn’t mean it’s safe out there! Innocent until proven guilty, remember?’
Good God, man! There’s nothing to worry about. You must “insist”, must you? What gives you the right? You’re not the boss of me! If you think you are you’ve got another thing coming! Just chill a bit, I’ve got this. You’re safe, the kids are safe, and I am definitely not going to be attacking myself anytime soon, so it’s all “good”.
Had she said that out loud? He stared back at her, open-mouthed. Oh dear.
‘Julie, for Pete’s sake, speak! Have an opinion! Fight your fucking corner! Or are you just going to stand there looking gormless?’
Thank Christ for that. She tried to control her facial expression to not look too pleased since his words warranted a more sombre response.
‘I was only out for coffee with a couple of the mums from school. I’ll be more careful, but I really don’t think I need to be under house arrest.’ Under arrest? Quite possibly. ‘And as for the kids, well, they’ll be more than happy to stay home playing on their consoles all day and night if we let them.’
He nodded back, satisfied, and turned towards the wardrobe to hang up his suit trousers. Julie would wait until he left and then rearrange them to ensure the pleat was perfectly aligned on both sides, otherwise it would somehow be her fault later.
‘I want you to be really vigilant, Julie, especially when I’m away next weekend.’
She was pleased but surprised he hadn’t thought to cancel the trip away and wondered when he would break the news to her about the surprise. She would have preferred him to be open with her at this stage, so they could build the excitement together and make some plans, maybe even buy a new outfit for the spa.
‘Work’s been so full-on lately – I really need some down-time with the lads. Watch a few games of football, have a few beers and just forget about all the crazy goings-on.’ He smiled at her apologetically as he left the room.
Still keeping up with the pretence then.
‘I’m just popping out Julie, won’t be long.’
‘Okay. Bye!’ was her automatic response to his door-slamming. She hadn’t thought to ask where he was going.
Hold on, why is there one rule for him, and another for me? How come he was able to leave the house while she was stuck at home? Prising open the blinds, Julie watched Dan through the window as he walked up the road, phone at his ear, happy, content, youthful. Like when they’d first met some twenty years before, he seemed both carefree and impetuously agitated – like he was looking for adventure. Who was he speaking to now? Was it the lads he was meeting at the weekend? She grinned at her own confusion. She would make the weekend one to remember, remind him why they were together and the reason they chose each other all those years ago. Free from the role of wife or mother for once, she would simply be a devoted lover rekindling their old flame.
His trousers! The wardrobe door stuck as she tried to slide it over, forcing her to lift it clear off the brackets and move it back and forth until it found its runner. Why and how it happened to her every time, she would never know. There was nothing stuck – she had been careful – but careful wasn’t proving to be the best policy. Finally! She managed to close it, exposing her side: the main shelf of creased staple items, and a second go-to selection of clothes she wore daily, whatever the weather.
Julie didn’t understand why she kept so many clothes as she rarely strayed from a select few. Everything she wore was crumpled, like her life. In a rare emergency, she would reach for the hair straighteners and quickly run them over collars or cuffs, a stray hem that needed a quick fix. She had successfully steered herself away from any form of sewing too, rebelling against the supermums at school. Her trusty marker-pen was always on hand to write directly onto clothes that needed tagging; material glue at the ready to stick on replacement buttons or any other stitching needs. Julie prided herself on quick-fix parenting, enjoying as many shortcuts as possible to make life that bit easier. She thought of the arguments she’d had with an eco-mum at school about her overuse of the tumble dryer, but oh, how wonderful it was.
Tumble dryers. Ah, the romance! If she’d had to pick between a father figure and a tumble dryer, she’d pick the dryer every time as the more practical and beneficial influence on the children’s lives. It was a life-saver, giving her flexibility to decide when to tackle the fearful job of washing. The freedom of not having to rely on the weather or blast the radiators through the height of a boiling but rainy Britis
h summer. And, God love them, the kids were not particularly forward-planning when it came to their clothes. Everything was an emergency: I need it now! Mum, where’s my blue top with the Lego on it? I need it now!
It’s most probably under your bed in a heap of filth where you left it, she always wanted to respond. If, however, you had walked the few steps and placed it in the dirty washing basket instead of leaving it rotting at the bottom of a bag, you might find it magically appear again, folded and clean in your wardrobe.
Julie reached into her own wardrobe to touch the rows of beautiful dresses hanging crisp and perfect on the other side, untouched; unspoiled. They had been ironed and hung up in her happier years – years of dancing and freedom and being spontaneous without fear of child retribution the morning after. The book club was her only escape now, and she couldn’t even rally motivation for that. None of these dresses fitted her now anyway. She heaped them out into a pile on the floor and stuffed them into recycling bags. No point keeping a stuffed wardrobe of wannabes. She was left with a few frumpy-looking mum dresses, appropriate Christening and funeral attire, sacks that swamped her and provided some level of decency. She wasn’t looking forward to wearing swimwear in public, all that extra weight she’d been carrying like baggage from motherhood.
Oh, dear God, grooming! She looked at her swimming costume and realised a quick leg-shave would not be sufficient for the amount of flesh that would be exposed. Could she squeeze her mum-bod into the costume that promised to have an inbuilt control panel? She suspected she would only spill out around the edges, but it was too late to worry about that now.
‘Mum! What’s for dinner?’ Tommy called up the stairs.
Her life really was a constant cycle. That time already? Kicking the clothes back into the wardrobe, she pulled the door shut. It could wait, she couldn’t cope with it all now.
