by Gemma Rogers
Feeling low, I ordered a pizza takeaway with ice cream, it was what Saturday nights were for. I moped over reruns of The Office which never normally failed to make me laugh while James tried his best to cheer me up. I abstained from wine, knowing it would make me sink further into the pit I was wallowing in. Which in turn meant that when it was time for bed my brain switched on and began reliving the events of the past week. When would it end?
On Sunday morning, I called Diane, hoping to visit Frank. I wasn’t going to my parents’, that was for sure. Not until we’d all cooled off. Diane was polite but still a bit standoffish and it was awkward over the phone. It was arranged I would come round in the afternoon, so I filled my morning with washing, ironing and responding to emails. With two sales due to complete next week and one being Park Lane I was eager to get that off my desk and out of my life. James wasn’t feeling so great and moved from the bed to the sofa and then back again. I was sure his wound needed looking at, but he wouldn’t let me take him to the walk-in centre.
When I got to Frank’s laden with a large bag of vegetables and my Nutribullet, still in its box, unopened since I’d bought it, Diane welcomed me in and was warmer than she had been on the phone.
‘You just missed our Tommy.’
‘Ah that’s a shame. I haven’t seen him for years.’
‘All grown up now,’ Diane said, sadness hinting behind her smile.
‘I bought this round. I thought you could juice him up double portions of his daily veg in there,’ I said, handing Diane the box.
‘I might have to hold his nose.’ She laughed, before tapping me on the arm and leaning in to whisper. ‘Listen, I don’t want you to be alarmed, he doesn’t look particularly well today.’
I gulped, worried that Frank’s appearance might be the final straw for me this week.
The lounge was a mix of cream and duck egg blue with a heavy piled carpet. A large bay window immersed the room in sunlight. I tiptoed in, wanting to see Frank before he saw me, so I could make sure my face gave nothing away. He sat in a high-backed armchair, reclined with his feet raised. A pair of checked slippers adorned his feet and he wore navy blue jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt. Diane was right, his pallor was grey and he seemed to have aged since I last saw him. The stress on his body having taken its toll.
‘Hello, Frank.’ I mustered the largest smile I could.
He gazed upwards and the dark circles under his eyes made my chin wobble.
‘Poppet,’ he exclaimed, opening his arm to pull me in for a hug.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like I’ve been in the ring with Mike Tyson,’ he said, stifling a cough. ‘Although you don’t look much better. You’re wasting away!’ he said, giving me a knowing stare.
‘Thanks!’ I nudged him playfully, I didn’t want to talk about my problems.
‘Well, you need rest, and plenty of it, lots of healthy food too. I’ve bought you a juicer, so Diane can keep you topped up with all your vitamins. No more bacon butties for you.’
He winced and it struck me how fragile he looked. This ginormous man, shrivelled to what seemed like half his size, in the chair.
‘Don’t you start.’ He rolled his eyes.
I sat beside him, resting my hand on his arm.
‘It’s so good to see you. I was worried, we all were.’ My voice broke and I blinked back tears, moving aside when Diane entered carrying tea and biscuits on a tray. Thankful for the interruption.
‘You’re only allowed one.’ Handing Frank a lone digestive and a mug of builders’-coloured tea.
He tutted in response and nibbled on it.
‘You have to do something, she’s starving me,’ he said in mock complaint.
It was Diane’s turn to tut them. She sat on the opposite sofa, Frank in the middle of us in his chair.
‘How’s work?’ Frank asked.
I was about to speak but Diane interrupted. ‘You don’t have to worry about that now dear.’ Her voice curt.
‘That’s right, you don’t, Frank. Everything is fine, you need to concentrate on getting better,’ I replied and Diane smiled at me. I’d suspected it was what she wanted me to say and I avoided the topic thereafter.
‘I’m so bored.’ Frank shifted in his chair, narrowly avoiding spilling his tea.
‘I’ll buy you a jigsaw, 1000 pieces.’
He rolled his eyes to that suggestion. We made polite conversation for a while. Frank didn’t ask me anything about Hayley in front of Diane and I was grateful. I was also sure they hadn’t heard anything from my parents about the argument yesterday.
I stayed for an hour, trying to keep Frank upbeat about all the things he could spend his time doing now he was going to retire. When I left, my face ached from all the smiling I had been doing. Wearing it like a mask, pretending everything was fine. I’d got rather good at that. It pulled at my heartstrings and I let the tears fall, clouding my vision as I drove home. Retirement would be the end of Frank, not the heart attack. I just knew it. But I had no place to tell Diane. He wasn’t my father after all.
43
November 2018
I woke with a start on Monday morning, having had a nightmare that the leaflet brandishing me as a slut had been pasted all over the office windows. My own giant billboard, covering the glass front entirely. I was scraping it off as passers-by looked on and laughed when the beeping of my alarm clock sounded. I could only hope the leaflet at Mum’s wasn’t one of many that had been distributed around the village. It would be the easiest way to try and ruin my reputation. I had a brick in the pit of my stomach that wouldn’t shift. James and I felt like we were living under a constant cloud.
I got to the office early to work on the completions and make my usual calls to the homeowners. Mrs Davidson was thrilled it was all going through smoothly and was on target to complete this week. She was having a great time in Cornwall; it was a different pace of life and she was contemplating purchasing a property there with the proceeds of the sale of Park Lane. I didn’t tell her my suspicion that someone was living there illegally. I’d wait until there was confirmation from Detective Wren on his findings. I didn’t want to worry Mrs Davidson unnecessarily.
I hadn’t heard from either Robyn or Becca and sent a message out to the group chat to check everyone was all okay. It was easier to keep in touch that way. Becca, no doubt, was tied up with Mark’s recovery and she had her children to look after too. I envied the life she had; one I may never know. The gift of a child was unlike any other. There’s still time, the voice in the back of my head piped up. There was time; although the idea of becoming a parent terrified me.
‘Sophie, we have a complication with Park Lane.’ Gary poked his head around the door.
Even the road name made me shudder. I closed my eyes for a second – that property was a nightmare.
‘What is it?’
‘The buyers are having issues with the transference of funds, it seems their mortgage offer has expired and it’s going to take a few days to sort another.’
‘Jesus.’ I shook my head and picked up the phone to dial the solicitors. Perhaps I could delay completion until Friday. Covering the mouthpiece with my hand, I called out to Gary who’d disappeared. ‘Tell the Barons to pull their finger out and get another offer in place asap otherwise the whole chain could collapse.’ I knew the Martins further down the chain had lost their buyers twice and threatened to pull out altogether if it didn’t go through this week. I had to make sure it would. Park Lane was one property I wanted off the books. With everything else falling apart, I had to keep the business going. I was clinging on to it like a raft in choppy waters, it was the only thing keeping me afloat.
The rest of the day was tied up with Park Lane, emphasising the importance of the chain collapsing to all the solicitors involved if we didn’t get everything ready to go as soon as the new mortgage offer was in place.
Robyn called to say she was fine and asked whether there had been any updates on
the police investigation. I told her I was expecting a call from Detective Wren, but Hayley was proving increasingly difficult to find.
Becca messaged back with a photo of Mark smiling with his thumb up, his right arm in a sling. It looked as though he’d been allowed home.
By six o’clock, I’d had enough for the day and logged off. I was taking my cup out to the kitchen when I noticed the post on Beth’s desk still sitting there – it hadn’t been distributed, which was unusual.
Gary was out taking on another new instruction and Lucy and Beth had already left.
‘I don’t think she felt too well today,’ Hope said, noticing my disapproving look. They were buddies enough already that she was covering for her?
I was too tired to disagree and shuffled back to my desk to sort through it. When I got to the white handwritten envelope, an icy finger caressed its way down my back. My shoulders tensed, inching upwards at the familiar sight. I chewed my lip as I tore open the flap and saw the blood-red cherries on the inside. The cute picture I’d become accustomed to, one that made my stomach sink. What was written inside? What more could she do to us? But this time it wasn’t an attack, it was an invitation.
Free to see an old friend?
I left the card on my desk and grabbed my keys and coat without pause.
‘Can you lock up if Gary’s not back?’ I said to Hope, chucking her the spare set I’d retrieved from my desk, without waiting for an answer.
‘Sure. You okay? Where are you going?’
‘Park Lane,’ I called over my shoulder as the door swung shut. There was no doubt in my mind where my ‘old friend’ would be, only one place it could be. The house where it all began.
I lit a cigarette as I walked, my hands shaking, full of trepidation. What if the meeting was this morning? Should I have had that card at nine o’clock? There wasn’t a stamp on the envelope, so it didn’t come with the regular mail. Either way, in a few minutes I would see Hayley. I’d have the opportunity to try and talk some sense into her. Find out what the hell she was playing at.
As I was about to call Detective Wren, my phone rang. It was James, I declined the call, but another came through in seconds. I was trying to dial out when it did, and I accidentally cut off whoever it was. Cursing, I fumbled with the phone, my sweaty palm causing it to slip from my grip and fall to the pavement. Tiny shards of glass littered the ground, the phones screen smashed in the corner, the display fading.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ I cursed.
Everything was going to shit. The chain for Park Lane was collapsing, my parents weren’t speaking to me; Frank had left, and James and I were living in fear. My chin wobbled involuntarily. Keep your shit together, the voice in my head demanded, but my mind whirled despite the warning. I wanted to see Hayley. I couldn’t decide what I wanted more, to hug her or kill her for everything she’d put us through.
I carried on, towards the house. Like it was drawing me in, about to swallow me whole. I wanted answers, I needed answers.
My phone beeped with a voicemail message, coming back to life, the screen flickering.
‘Miss White, it’s Detective Wren, I’m on my way to you now, we’ve had some results back. The DNA recovered from Mr Dixon’s accident is a match to the DNA from the cards you received,’ I gasped.
Hayley had killed Gareth after all, Detective Wren had just confirmed it. I missed the rest of the message, there was a lot of traffic noise, he must have been on the road somewhere and replayed it from the start, to pick up what I’d not heard.
‘Now, neither samples taken match the DNA lifted from Hayley’s hairbrush that we got from Mrs Keeble, however it’s—’ The phone cut out again, the screen flickering and not responding. What had I missed? What was he going to say? However what?
So, Hayley wasn’t behind it? I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. Realising I’d stopped in the middle of the pavement, my surroundings hazy. Who on earth was behind it, if it wasn’t Hayley?
I resumed walking at speed, trying to make up time. I had to see who had sent me the invitation to meet, if it wasn’t Hayley, then who was it? Park Lane was where it all started and where it had to end.
44
November 2018
Grey clouds gathered ominously overhead. My pace slowing automatically as the back of the house came into view. Shit, I’d forgotten the keys. It was a sign and I shuddered, my body in the grip of an icy wave. I wanted to turn back. My feet were heavy, legs dragging. Drawn like a magnet, unable to stop. What was I heading into?
I stood out of view from the windows, lighting a cigarette. Whoever was inside could be watching. The flame from my lighter amplified the fading light. Dusk was like a cloak, slowly being drawn over the sky. Shutting out the light and cutting me off from everyone. The road was quiet, no passers-by. I should have told James where I was going? What if I never came out of that house?
I saw no movement through the patterned glass of the door when I moved around to the front. I rang the bell, which echoed too loud inside the empty shell, making me wince. My teeth chattered expectantly, nerves on edge, but no one came to answer. Was I too late? What did I expect, someone to throw open the door and welcome me in?
I retraced my steps around the side and opened the gate into the garden, its groan announcing me. It was rush hour, but there seemed to be little traffic. As if everyone had been told to give Park Lane a wide berth. Everything was quiet except the wind, which had ramped up, whipping around my legs.
My heart skipped when I saw the back door was ajar. I stood, rooted to the spot, afraid to take another step. Someone was inside, but they wanted me to come round the back. I could hear the thudding of my heart in my ears now, louder and faster. A relentless beat that was so loud I couldn’t think. I faltered, could I turn back? No. I had to find out who was waiting for me. Sweat pooled under my arms, the moisture soaking into my blouse. Forcing myself forward, I slowly pushed the door, its hinges screeched as it opened, and I recoiled. Pressing my lips together tightly to quiet any noise my jabbering teeth were making. First the gate, now the door. There was no chance I hadn’t been heard.
‘Hello?’ I called into the gloomy kitchen. My voice tremoring, the word sticking in my throat. There was no reply. I crept over the threshold, trying to reason with my imagination, which had taken the opportunity to run wild. I visualised a masked intruder jumping out from behind every shadowed corner. I’d given away the element of surprise, so switched on the kitchen light and moved forward to peek around the archway into the living room.
‘Sophie?’ A voice came from behind me and I squealed, spinning around. A pale-looking James stood in the doorway, the breeze from outside gushing past him into the house uninvited. A few autumnal leaves flew in and scattered around our feet.
‘James. What are you doing here?’ My hand jumped to my chest.
‘I just missed you at the office. Hope told me you were here, so I jumped in the car. What are you doing?’
Without answering I resumed peering round the corner, but no one was waiting for me in the living room. Steeling myself, I moved round into the den. But that too was empty.
Behind me, I heard the back door close and James shuffled in to the room.
‘God, you look awful.’ Now that he was closer, I saw his skin was ghostly white with beads of sweat on his top lip; his hands trembled as he fumbled inside his coat.
‘I think I’ve got an infection,’ he said, lifting his shirt gingerly to show a fresh bandage over the wound at his side.
‘You look like you should be in bed,’ I scolded, gently kissing his lips. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t glad to see him. The house signified something terrible and I was relieved not to be alone.
James’s eyes darted around, squinting. Something about his expression put me on edge. He was afraid.
I turned to make my way upstairs. ‘I’ve had enough.’
‘We’ve got to finish this,’ he called behind me as I climbed. James’s voice was flat and lifele
ss. My shoulders shook, the shiver running down the backs of my legs, skin prickling in its wake.
I heard James cough and a stair creaked behind me. I reached the landing, considering where to go: three bedrooms and a bathroom. My ‘old friend’ had to be up here if they weren’t downstairs. The box room was empty. I crossed the hallway, glancing back down the stairs, seeing the top of James’s head as he pulled himself up. Levering his body against the bannister. He looked so weak, I was worried he’d fall.
‘James, go back down. I’m fine,’ I whispered, trying the second bedroom.
James was still coming, I could hear his footfalls.
Both bedrooms were empty, no furniture for anyone to hide behind. Exactly how it was back then, twenty years ago. The sun outside had set, the darkness crept in, swallowing 32 Park Lane whole.
James hadn’t made it up the stairs and I couldn’t see him from the hallway. I flew down, two at a time.
‘James, I think we need to get you home or even to the hospital. You must have a temperature?’ I found him rinsing his face in the kitchen sink, leaning heavily on the counter by the back door. Splashing water everywhere. ‘You’re not well. Let me get you home. What on earth did you come out for?’ I stepped towards him; my arm outstretched to hold him steady.
‘Detective Wren called,’ he croaked.
‘Well, what do we have here? Two for the price of one?’ A voice sounded from behind me, interrupting James.
