The Three Women

by Valerie Keogh

  Beth was pleased to see she was right. At the end of the terrace, there was a narrow laneway. Dark and damp, it didn’t appear enticing but it might give them the access they needed. With a jerk of her head at Megan to follow, she started down it. The laneway ran straight ahead, past another row of terraced houses behind and out onto a parallel road. But as she’d hoped, between the back gardens of the two terraces, another lane ran perpendicularly to give access. It wasn’t wide enough for vehicles and with weeds and moss making it slippery underfoot, it looked as if it were rarely used by pedestrians either.

  They walked into it, Beth’s eyes on the houses, Megan’s on the ground, her leather-soled court shoes unsuitable for the slippery surface, raising her head only when she heard Beth say, ‘This is it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, peering at the building, the upper floors just visible over the shoulder-high wall. ‘They all look the same from this side.’ The terrace, multicoloured in the front, was uniformly grey behind.

  ‘I counted the windows.’ Beth reached for the handle of a wooden gate and pushed, half-expecting it to be locked, but the gate opened immediately without a creak or squeak. The small garden it opened into gave lie to Joanne’s story that she’d been doing gardening the day before. There was nothing to garden; the entire area was laid with huge square paving stones, no gaps left to plant trees or flowers. Nor were there potted plants to soften the area or justify Joanne’s claim.

  ‘How awfully sterile,’ Megan said as she and Beth looked around. ‘A shame too. It could be made quite homely with a few pots and some nice furniture.’

  Ignoring her, Beth walked up to the back door and tried the handle. This time she was met with resistance and peered in through the glass-panelled door to the very small room beyond. A utility room, she guessed, pulling back and crossing to the window. Unlike the windows to the front, there were no shutters to impede the view.

  ‘The kitchen,’ Megan said coming up beside her to look through the window. ‘How are we going to get in?’

  Beth tried the windows. They were old, aluminium framed, with two opening windows on either side of a fixed pane. She cupped her hands to the glass, examined the side of one of the opening windows and gave it a firm push. There was definite movement. Turning, her eyes searched the garden. There was nothing there she could use. ‘Wait here,’ she said, ‘I need to get something from the car.’

  Minutes later, Beth returned with a crowbar held discreetly by her side. When she came through the gate, she waved it in satisfaction. ‘Always a handy thing to carry in your car boot.’ She searched closely around the window frame. As far as she could see, it wasn’t alarmed. There could, of course, be sensors inside. ‘If I say run,’ she said, turning to look at Megan, ‘run back to your car and get inside. I’ll follow, okay?’

  She waited until Megan agreed before turning back to the window. Inserting the crowbar, she levered it gently back and forth. It was surprisingly easy and didn’t take long to prise the window open. She stood with her head cocked as she listened for any alarm but there was nothing audible. It didn’t mean there wasn’t an inaudible one notifying an alarm company or the local police station but she’d worry about that if and when it became a problem.

  Dropping the crowbar to the ground, Beth gave Megan a satisfied grin and with little effort clambered up and slipped through the window. It opened onto the kitchen sink that was thankfully empty and she stepped lightly from it to the floor. She stood and listened for a moment but if Joanne was somewhere, she was keeping quiet.

  A narrow-eyed glance around the window and the corners of the room told Beth there were no alarms to worry about. She’d definitely have to have a word with her friend about security. The door to the utility room was unlocked and she went through, nodding in satisfaction to see the key in the back door. Through the glass panel Beth could see Megan looking nervously around and quickly opened the door for her.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Megan said, hurrying inside. ‘I could hear people next door, and I was afraid they’d look over the fence and ask what I was doing.’

  Back in the kitchen, Beth reached over and shut the window, pushing the handle down to lock it. It wasn’t very secure but it would suffice. She turned to see Megan standing in the middle of the room with wide eyes and a jaw-dropped mouth.

  ‘Look at this place,’ she said. ‘It’s like a laboratory.’

  Beth had to agree. Glossy white cupboard doors, white stone countertops, white backsplash. Even the floor was covered in shiny white tiles. The room was pristine, not a speck of dust, not a single crumb marred the shiny glaring whiteness. She remembered the lounge; it too had been white. But they weren’t there to discuss Joanne’s decorating foibles. ‘Let’s find out if Joanne is actually here,’ Beth said.

  Megan couldn’t let it go though. As they went through into the hall, she commented on the glossy white painted woodwork and couldn’t resist peeking into the lounge, pushing the door open with the vague excuse that Joanne might be inside. ‘Oh, my word,’ Megan said in a loud whisper, ‘this is beyond bizarre!’

  Beth remembered being surprised by the all-white décor but she’d been too engrossed in Joanne’s appearance to give it more than a passing thought. But after the all-white kitchen, she had to admit Megan was right. This was a little bizarre. They stood in the open doorway and scrutinised the room. Woodwork, carpet, sofa, light shades, even the few ornaments – were all startlingly white. The only colour in the room came from the spines of the books on the bookshelves and a few photographs in silver frames.

  ‘This is creepy,’ Megan said.

  ‘Come on,’ Beth said, taking Megan by the elbow and pulling her out. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’

  The stairs, unusually, were uncarpeted, painted instead in a whitewash reminiscent of a Scandinavian-type décor Beth had seen in style magazines. Had there been colour elsewhere, it might have looked good but the unrelenting white was eerie. They stood a moment in the hallway, glancing up. ‘Joanne?’ Beth called, waiting a second before starting up the stairs.

  Megan’s leather heels on the wood knocked with every footstep, even Beth’s flat synthetic-soled pumps made a sound. Surely, Beth thought, if Joanne were here, she’d have come out to investigate by now. Perhaps, after all, she was away.

  The first door off the landing led into a large bright front bedroom. A king-sized bed faced the window, a locker on each side, a large wardrobe against the far wall. Here the colour choice continued; glossy white furniture, thick white carpet and crisp white duvet cover.

  ‘It’s just too weird.’ Megan’s voice was still an unsteady whisper, her eyes wide in what Beth guessed was the same horrified amazement she felt.

  The next door led into a small bathroom where the all-white glossy décor made it look cold and clinical. Even the soap was white. Beth frowned. There was something very wrong with this level of obsession. How had they never seen this? In all the years they’d known Joanne there’d never been the slightest hint. It was no wonder that she’d never invited them there. Beth doubted if she’d ever invited anyone. How could she possibly explain this?

  Megan pushed open the door of the next room and gasped. Beth peered over her shoulder. There was a bed against the wall covered in a white spread. Piles of clothes had been left untidily on top and were spilling over onto the floor. Freestanding clothes rails, hung with what looked like hundreds of dresses, trousers and blouses, had been pushed into the middle of the room. At the bottom, shoes of every colour and heel type, lay willy-nilly as if thrown there from the doorway. After the constant white, the array of colour in the room was almost shocking. ‘She always did like her clothes,’ Megan said, shutting the door and following Beth to the last door.

  By this stage, convinced that Joanne had gone away, Beth was annoyed with herself for having bothered to come, and irritated with Megan for putting the idea into her head. Beth pushed open the last door with little enthusiasm, turning to say to her that they were wasting their t
ime. ‘This is a–’

  But Megan’s sudden and complete look of horror made Beth shut her mouth and turn. What she saw sent the floor heaving under her feet, managing to stay upright only by tightening her grip on the doorknob. As the door swung open fully under her weight, she sagged against it. ‘What the fuck?’

  The room was in semi-darkness, the one window papered over, the only light coming from the open door in which they stood. Unable to move, Beth held on to the door, Megan clinging to her arm. As their eyes adjusted to the light, they could see better the carnage within, the streaks of dark red on the white carpet and on Joanne’s cream shirt. She lay, half lying, half sitting, on the floor, shoulders leaning against the wall, head slumped forward.

  ‘She has to be dead,’ Beth said in a whisper. ‘So much blood, she can’t be alive.’ Light caught the long-bladed knife that hung loosely from Joanne’s right hand. ‘Oh, Joanne,’ Beth whispered, a lump in her throat. ‘Why didn’t you talk to us?’ Taking a steadying breath, she took a step forward, holding a hand out to stop Megan from following. ‘Stay here,’ she ordered. ‘The police won’t like us traipsing over a crime scene.’ They wouldn’t appreciate her walking over it either, but she needed to make sure there was nothing they could do for Joanne before ringing the police.

  Beth was only one step into the room, her eyes fixed on Joanne’s blood-smeared body when she saw movement. Had she imagined it? Then she saw it again, the slightest rise and fall of Joanne’s chest. ‘Oh my God, she’s breathing! She’s alive. Megan, call an ambulance,’ Beth said, rushing to Joanne’s side, uncaring of her footsteps in the blood-soaked carpet, and dropping to her knees to check her pulse.

  ‘No,’ the voice was barely a whisper but they heard it. And then it came again, stronger, firmer as Joanne lifted her head and looked at them, ravaged eyes in a ghostly face. ‘No, no ambulance. There’s really no need.’ She lifted her arms, the knife hanging loosely from one hand. Joanne’s hands were streaked with blood, her wrist and forearms criss-crossed with red lines but, up closer, Beth saw what she meant. There were multiple superficial lacerations to both arms with some deeper damage to the left but none looked bad enough to cause major concern. Blood was oozing and dribbling from their edges, not pumping.

  Letting the knife fall, Joanne brushed the blood away and wiped it on her shirt. She laughed pitifully as she watched bubbles of red rise again from the cuts. ‘I couldn’t do it,’ she said. ‘No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do it. I tried my left arm and then, when I couldn’t slice deeply enough, I tried my right.’

  Kneeling beside her, Beth reached out and smoothed a limp lock of hair from Joanne’s face. ‘Oh, Joanne,’ she said softly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me things were so bad?’ Concentrating on her, she didn’t hear Megan coming in behind and stop a few feet away. It was her moaned oh no that brought Beth’s head up. Turning, she saw Megan, her eyes fixed, not on the shocking sight of their blood-streaked friend, but on the walls of the room. Beth followed her gaze and stood slowly, frowning as she tried to understand what she was seeing.

  ‘It’s Matt Peters,’ Megan said.

  Beth heard the strain in Megan’s voice and saw her look of anguish. It took Beth a few seconds to place the name. She shut her eyes in disbelief before opening them and moving closer to look at the A4 pages that were plastered over every surface. ‘Matt Peters? Are you sure?’ she asked, squinting to read the small print, unable to in the dim light. But she could tell they were photocopies of newspaper articles, two different articles, each with the same photo of a smiling man. Every inch of the room, even the window, was plastered with the pages. Following Megan’s shocked eyes, Beth glanced upward, almost not believing what she was seeing. Joanne had covered the ceiling too.

  Moving to the wall near the door where there was more light, Megan read the text. ‘This one says he went missing.’ She turned and stared at Joanne with wide shocked eyes. ‘Not very long after–’

  ‘After you accused him of raping you,’ Joanne interrupted, her voice tired and weary.

  Megan shook her head. ‘I never accused him–’

  ‘Sins of omission,’ Beth said. ‘You didn’t deny it when we jumped to the wrong conclusion, did you?’

  ‘You let us believe he raped you,’ Joanne said. ‘The torn clothes, bruises, scratches. What were we supposed to believe? Why would we have thought you were deceiving us?’ Groaning, Joanne shuffled up to lean her back against the wall, holding both arms across her lap. ‘I felt guilty for neglecting you that night, more than guilty when I saw your devastated face, your battered and bruised body. How could I sit back and do nothing?’

  The blood drained from Megan’s cheeks as the words sunk in.

  Beth stood, and moving to the doorway, she felt around under the sheets of paper for the light switch. But if she’d hoped that light might take away some of the horror of the situation, she was wrong – instead it emphasised it; Matt Peters’ handsome face surrounding the bloody mess of Joanne’s slumped body.

  ‘Oh God, Joanne,’ Megan said, her voice cracking, ‘what did you do?’

  27

  Beth felt like the world was splintering under her feet, one wrong step and it could fall apart. She wanted to get out of the room, away from all the damn staring eyes but first they had to take care of Joanne. Putting a hand on Megan’s shoulder, she said, ‘Listen, this isn’t the time for explanations or recriminations. We need to clean Joanne and get some dressings on those cuts, okay?’

  Megan looked like she was going to argue but instead, she looked to the door. ‘I’ll go and get a bowl of hot water.’

  A bowl of hot water? Beth wanted to snap that Joanne wasn’t bloody well pregnant but shut her mouth on the words and let Megan go. As soon as she heard her footsteps on the stairway, she reached a hand down to Joanne. ‘You think you can stand if I help you?’ She waited patiently for a hint that she was able to move and when she saw the almost imperceptible nod, took a bloody hand in hers, reached down to put a supportive arm around her back and with a grunt, helped Joanne to her feet. When she swayed, Beth was forced to compensate, shifting her weight, holding her body closer. A nauseating combination of smells wafted from Joanne. A noxious mix of blood and body odour that made Beth gag. She swallowed. ‘Let’s try to get into the bathroom, Jo,’ Beth said.

  It took a couple of minutes to go the short distance. Beth crooned encouraging nonsensical words every time Joanne slumped, struggling to keep her balance as she led her forward. The bathroom door was open, Beth pushed her through and used her hip to manoeuvre her down onto the toilet seat. The shower, Beth was relieved to see, was modern and spacious with an inbuilt bench to sit on. She switched on the water, adjusted the temperature, left it running, and turned back to Joanne. Her breath caught; in the light of the bedroom, Joanne had looked shocking. In the glaringly bright whiteness of the bathroom, there was a nightmarish zombie-like quality to her blood-streaked body, the matted ropes of hair, the pale dirt-streaked face.

  Beth gazed down at her bloodstained hands. Her life was already a nightmare before she came there. Now it was like she was living in a horror film. Leaning over her friend, she started the difficult job of gently removing the stained clothes. ‘Move your arm, Jo,’ she said patiently, moving it herself when there was no reaction. It was awkward, exhausting but, finally, it was done. ‘Okay, my friend, let’s get you into the shower.’

  Putting an arm around Joanne’s naked waist, Beth took a deep breath and helped her to her feet. ‘Well done,’ she encouraged, pressing her forward and helping her to negotiate the step into the shower. The water quickly soaked both of them, bloodstained water hitting the glossy white tiles and filling the shower tray. Beth was struggling to keep her balance as she tried to persuade Joanne to lower herself to the bench when Megan came in, a bowl of hot water in her hands, looking pathetic.

  ‘Help me,’ Beth said sharply, afraid Joanne was going to slip and fall. Megan dropped the bowl of water into the sink, the water
sloshing over the side to drench the floor even more. With Beth holding one arm, Megan took the other and, between them, they persuaded Joanne to sit.

  Water running down her face and dripping from her hair, Beth spluttered, ‘Get some clean clothes for her while I shower the blood away, and see if you can find something to use as dressings. Tear some clothes if you have to. Hurry!’

  Beth used half a bottle of shower gel to wash Joanne’s matted hair and filthy body, using a separate shower attachment to hose the debris away. Once most of the blood was washed away, she was pleased to see that the damage wasn’t as bad as she had first thought. Some of the lacerations on Joanne’s arms were deep and were still oozing blood. Without being sutured, they were going to leave some interesting scars that Joanne would find difficult to explain, but none were serious enough to be worried about.

  Switching off the water, Beth grabbed one of the big white bath towels that lay across the towel rail and wrapped it around her friend’s shoulders. Grabbing a second, she rubbed her hair, and wrapped a towel around her head. ‘You’re going to be okay,’ Beth said repeatedly, soothingly, as she worked, wishing the dead look in Joanne’s eyes would go away.

  Megan returned with her hands full. ‘I guessed pyjamas would be easiest,’ she said, handing her a soft pink cotton top and bottoms. ‘They’re stretchy and the arms are fairly wide. And I thought we could wrap these around her arms.’ She unfolded two crisp white pillowcases.