She Is Gone

by Ben Cheetham

  The figure struck backwards at Steve. A white light seemed to explode in front of Steve’s eyes. He reeled away in pain and confusion. The blow should have glanced harmlessly off his skull, but hot blood was streaming down his face. His vision cleared just in time to see a flurry of punches coming his way. He flung up his guard. The punches bounced off his forearms. Fresh pain lanced through him. He caught a glimpse of its cause – the figure was wearing a black ring on their right hand adorned with a spike two or three centimetres long.

  “You dirty fucker,” gasped Steve, squinting as blood half-blinded him. The figure jabbed at him again. He grabbed their arm and tried to wrench the spiked ring off their finger. The figure took the opportunity to land a thunderous blow against his unguarded head. Steve dropped to his knees, holding on grimly to the ring. His vision swam in an out of focus as more punches crashed into his face. He yanked at the ring again and felt it slide off his attacker’s finger. Now it was his turn to strike back. He thrust the ring at his attacker’s groin. There wasn’t much force behind the blow, but it was enough to make the figure cry out and spring backwards.

  Steve clambered to his feet, panting. His legs felt like melted rubber, a light breeze could have knocked him over, but he wasn’t about to let his attacker see that. Grinning, he spat blood at the bastard’s feet. “Come on then, Robinson,” he said, raising his hands with the spike protruding between his fingers. “Let’s see how tough you are now.”

  Dark eyes stared at Steve through the balaclava slit. The combatants faced each other for a few rapid heartbeats, then the figure pivoted and sprinted away.

  Steve took several staggering steps after his attacker, yelling, “Fucking coward!”

  He stumbled to his knees again, blood streaming from his forehead onto the pavement. More blood was seeping through the arms of his jacket. He felt at a gouge that ran from above his right eye past his temple. A centimetre lower and he would have lost an eye. Fighting a surge of dizziness, he crawled on his hands and knees to his phone. Keeping an eye out lest his attacker returned, he dialled 999 and in a slurring voice told the operator to send police and an ambulance. Then he phoned Jack, but got no answer. “Robinson’s back,” he said after the voicemail beep. He rested his back against a tree, turning the spiked ring over in his hand. It was smooth and beautifully crafted. He chuckled as a thought popped into his head – Maybe you should get down on one knee and offer it to Laura?

  Chapter 11

  Jack was sitting up in bed with Butterfly’s head on his lap. She’d eventually fallen into a fitful sleep. He’d lain awake all night, watching her. He kept thinking about the feel of her hands on his throat. What if he hadn’t woken up? Would she have strangled him to death? He pushed the questions away, telling himself their answers were irrelevant. They had to find a way through this. There was no other option. The thought of life without her or, indeed, without Charlie was more than he could bear.

  The sound of Charlie mewling came through the open door. Jack glanced at the alarm clock – 6:45 AM. Charlie would be hungry. Slowly, so as not to wake her, Jack moved Butterfly onto a pillow and slid from beneath the duvet. He picked Charlie out of his cot, kissing his milky-sweet hair and murmuring, “Morning beautiful.”

  A sting of tears welled up in Jack’s eyes as Charlie smiled at him. What if he found himself bringing up two children who’d lost their mums? He shook his head. No more questions. Focus on the positives. Butterfly is alive and she loves you. Nothing would change that last part. “Nothing,” he said in a voice of soft determination, cradling Charlie against his shoulder.

  He went downstairs, mixed up a bottle of milk and fed Charlie on the sofa. Gurgling contentedly, Charlie gulped down his breakfast. Jack’s mobile phone rang. It was Laura. He frowned faintly. Why was she phoning at this early hour? “Morning, sis,” he said.

  “Have you heard?” she replied in a way that made the wrinkles on in forehead deepen.

  “Heard what?”

  “Steve’s in hospital.”

  “What? Why?”

  “They brought him into the Royal Infirmary last night. I only found out a short while ago. A nurse I know over there called me. He was found unconscious in the city centre. Someone had beaten him up.”

  Jack grimaced. “How is he now?”

  “He’s concussed, but he’ll be OK.

  “Had he been robbed?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him. I’m on my way over there.” Laura told him which ward Steve was on, before asking, “Has this got something to do with you? The last time I saw him he was heading out to meet you.”

  “It might have,” admitted Jack. “I’ll see you at the hospital. I’ll tell you all about it then.”

  Jack got off the phone, his brows knitted in thought. Had Steve got drunk and fallen prey to a mugger? No, it had to be Karl. It was too coincidental. He headed back upstairs with Charlie burbling in his ear. He gently shook Butterfly awake. Looking up at him with puffy, painfully apologetic eyes, she squeezed his hand and mouthed, I’m sorry.

  He stooped to kiss her knuckles. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

  “I could… I could have killed you,” Butterfly said haltingly.

  “No you couldn’t. You were disorientated and scared.” Jack cupped his hand over her cheek, feathering the tattoo with a fingertip. “I trust you, Butterfly, with my life and the life of my child.”

  She pressed her face against his palm, her eyes glazing with tears.

  “Listen, I have to go out. Something’s happened to Steve. I’m not sure if he’s been mugged or if he just fell over drunk and hit his head, but he’s in hospital.” Seeing Butterfly’s eyes widen with concern, Jack added, “He’s fine. Just a concussion. As soon as I’ve seen him, I’m coming straight back here. Are you up to doing the school run? I can take Naomi with–”

  “I’ll be fine,” broke in Butterfly. “I just want things to be as normal as possible. You know?”

  Jack nodded understanding. He handed over Charlie. Wrenching his eyes from Butterfly, he dressed in jeans and a polo-shirt and hurried from the room. He looked in on Naomi. She was still fast asleep. He crouched at her side, whispering her name. As she opened her eyes, he put a finger to his lips. “I have to go out,” he said. “I need you to keep an eye on Butterfly. If she falls ill or… I don’t know, acts odd in any way, I want you to call me at once. OK?”

  Naomi nodded. Jack kissed her on the cheek. “Good girl. Have a good day at school.”

  He felt a twinge of guilt for having effectively asked Naomi to spy on Butterfly. He told himself it wasn’t because he didn’t trust Butterfly, it was because he was worried about her health. But his eyes glimmered with uncertainty as he headed for his car.

  His thoughts turned to Steve as he drove through the beginnings of rush-hour to the angular mirrored-glass building that housed Manchester Royal Infirmary. When he got to the ward, he found Laura at the end of Steve’s bed, perusing his charts. She hadn’t changed out of her nursing uniform. Jack noted that her bump had become considerably more prominent in the week since he’d last seen her.

  Steve was propped up on pillows, tucking into tea and toast. His head was swathed in a bandage. His right eye was blackened and swollen shut. Strips of butterfly stitches crisscrossed his forearms. “Bloody hell, mate,” said Jack. “You look as if you’ve been hit by a truck.”

  Steve made a dismissive gesture as if to say, It’s nothing. “Did you get my message?”

  “No.”

  Steve glanced at Laura as if uncertain whether to speak his mind in front of her. Jack motioned for him to go ahead. Even if he’d wanted to, there would have been little point trying to hide anything from Laura. Once she caught a scent, she was like a bloodhound. Right then, she was treating both men to a narrow look through her black-rimmed spectacles.

  “I’m sure it was Robinson who put me here,” said Steve.

  “Who’s Robinson?” asked Laura.

  “Karl Robi
nson’s an ex-con who claims he was in a relationship with Butterfly before… Well, before she was Butterfly,” said Jack. “Now he wants her back.”

  “And how long’s this been going on?”

  “A couple of days. Butterfly wants nothing to do with him. Steve and I tried to warn him off but–”

  “But it obviously didn’t have the desired effect,” Laura interrupted with a glance at Steve’s battered face.

  “I would have wiped the floor with the bastard if he’d played fair,” said Steve.

  “You were punched in the face with a metal spike,” chided Laura. “You were lucky you weren’t killed.”

  Grinning, Steve rapped his head with his knuckles. “Nah, I’ve got a head like a bag of cement. It’ll take a lot more than that to do me in.”

  Laura’s hand went to her swollen belly. “This isn’t a joke, Steve. You do want to be around to see your baby, don’t you?”

  Steve’s grin faltered. “Of course I do,” he said with a gentleness that belied his rugged appearance.

  “Then stop playing these stupid sodding games!”

  Jack was surprised to hear a wobble of tears in Laura’s voice. She’d never been the type to cry. She turned her head away as if she didn’t want them to see the tears welling into her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Laura. I…” Steve trailed off as if he didn’t know what else to say. He looked at Jack as if appealing for backup.

  “This isn’t Steve’s fault, Laura,” said Jack. “I got him involved him in this. I’m the one you should be angry at.”

  “I’m not angry at you. I’m…” Laura heaved a sigh. “I don’t know what I am. Christ, why do I constantly feel like crying these days?” She cupped a hand over her belly in a manner that suggested she knew the answer to her question.

  “Just wait until the little bugger’s born, then you really will feel like having a breakdown,” said Steve, rediscovering his grin.

  She arched an eyebrow that warned him not to push his luck. “I’m going to get a coffee and leave you two to plan your next disaster.”

  Steve watched her step out of the curtained cubicle with awed eyes. He puffed his cheeks at Jack. “I’d rather take on a thousand Karl Robinsons than one pregnant Laura.”

  “So what happened?” asked Jack.

  Steve described the fight with the masked figure. He chuckled when he came to the part where he jabbed the spike into the figure’s groin. “Whatever he’s got down his pants, he won’t be sticking it in anything anytime soon.”

  “Where’s the ring?”

  “Forensics have got it. If they come up with Robinson’s fingerprints, he’ll be back in Wormwood Scrubs faster than you can say smooth-talking donkey.”

  “Sorry about all this, Steve.”

  “Ah forget it. I shouldn’t have been out on the lash.” An unusually thoughtful look crossed Steve’s face. “Sometimes I wonder if I invite this crap on myself. The ex-wife used to say that all I’m good for is trouble.”

  “She sounds like a perceptive woman,” Jack commented dryly.

  Steve laughed, then winced and put a hand to his bandaged head. Fuck you, he mouthed.

  As Laura returned with her coffee, Jack bent in to kiss her cheek. “I have to go. Keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t sneak out to the pub.”

  “Oh believe me, he won’t be seeing the inside of a pub for quite some time.” Laura gave Steve an ominous look. “Will you?”

  Steve’s grimace intensified. He stared at Laura for a moment before caving in with a mournful shake of his head. As Jack turned to leave, Steve said, “Be careful. Robinson’s a tricky bugger.”

  Jack gave him a nod. He took out his phone and dialled Butterfly. The call went through to voicemail. Why wasn’t she picking up? He looked at his watch – 8:27. She was probably dropping Naomi off at school. He wondered whether to leave a message warning her about Karl, but decided against it. He didn’t want to risk triggering another of her episodes. His rapid footsteps echoed along the corridors.

  Chapter 12

  After swallowing her painkillers, Butterfly changed Charlie’s nappy and took him downstairs. Naomi was munching cereal in the kitchen. She cast a lingering look at Butterfly. A smile spread over Naomi’s face as she turned her attention to Charlie. “Morning Charlie.”

  He waved his pudgy hands, burbling at her.

  Butterfly put Charlie in his highchair and mashed up a banana for him. She felt gritty-eyed with tiredness, but she was glad to be busy. Anything was better than lying around worrying about what was going on inside her damaged brain.

  Half-an-hour later the three of them were in the people carrier, negotiating the congested streets around Naomi’s school. Butterfly kept glancing in the rearview mirror. Despite there being no sign of Karl’s Porsche, she insisted on walking Naomi to the school gates. Naomi gave her an even more enthusiastic cuddle and kiss than usual and treated her to another searching look before heading into school. Jack had obviously said something to her. Butterfly didn’t blame him, but she felt a pang of sadness. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t things just be normal? Normal. She heaved a sigh. It seemed as if she would never learn the true meaning of that word.

  They were running low on baby wipes, but she drove straight home, too weary to face the shops. By the time they got there, Charlie was hungry for his next feed. She returned him to his highchair and set about sterilising a day’s worth of bottles for his milk.

  There was a knock at the front door. Leaving Charlie in his chair, Butterfly went to see who it was. As she opened the door, she stiffened at the sight that confronted her. Karl’s left eye was weepy and shot through with red veins. He was smiling, but there was zero amusement in his expression.

  “Hello Io.”

  Butterfly made to slam the door in his face. He jammed a foot against it.

  “Move your foot!” she demanded.

  “Please, Io, I just want to talk.”

  “Move your foot or I’ll scream.”

  Karl removed his foot from the door, taking a step backwards, hands spread. “Like I said, I just want to talk. We’ve got so much to say to each other, Io.”

  “Stop calling me that. My name’s Butterfly.”

  “OK, Butterfly. I’m happy to call you whatever you want.”

  Butterfly eyed Karl uncertainly, poised to slam the door. “And what if I say I want you to go away and never come back? Will you?”

  “If that’s truly what you want, then I’ll accept it. But first let me say what I came to say. I think I deserve that after all the years we spent together.”

  “I don’t remember those years.”

  “That doesn’t mean they didn’t happen. Thirteen years. We were together for thirteen, almost fourteen years. We had something…” Karl sought for the words to describe what they’d had. “Nothing and no one else mattered. It was just us against the world.”

  “If what we had was so great why did I have another man’s baby?”

  Karl winced as if Butterfly had poked a finger into his good eye. “The last time I saw you before this week we had a big old row.”

  “About what?”

  “You came to see me in prison. You wanted something from me, but I wouldn’t give it to you.” Karl reached inside his t-shirt and pulled out a silver necklace with a jigsaw piece pendant dangling from it. ‘Little Sis’ was engraved on the pendant.

  Butterfly’s mouth dropped open. The drum started up in her head. Thud… Thud… “Tracy’s necklace.”

  “So you do remember some things.”

  Butterfly shook her head. “I’ve read about the murders.”

  “Then you know that whoever has the other piece of this jigsaw killed your parents and sister.” Karl took off the necklace and proffered it to Butterfly. Warily, as if fearing he might grab her, she made to accept it. He closed his hand around it. “Let me come inside and speak to you. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for.”

  Butterfly’s gaze flicked from
the necklace to Karl and back. She stepped aside. “Five minutes,” she echoed as he entered the house.

  “M...m…m…” Charlie was calling from the kitchen.

  Butterfly lifted him out of his highchair. “Hi there, little one,” said Karl, reaching to tickle Charlie’s cheek. “Aren’t you beautiful? Just like your mummy.”

  Butterfly moved out of Karl’s reach, holding Charlie protectively against her chest.

  “What’s his name?” asked Karl.

  “Charlie.”

  Karl nodded as if he wasn’t surprised. “You always said if you had a kid you’d name it after your sister. Seems to me there’s a lot left of who you used to be in that head of yours.”

  “You’re wrong.” Butterfly tried to say it with conviction, but the doubt in her voice was unmistakable.

  Karl gave a smiling shake of his head. “I never thought you’d actually have a baby though. I just couldn’t see you changing nappies and cleaning up sick. You hated getting your hands dirty.”

  Butterfly cocked an eyebrow at him. “So what was I doing with a scumbag like you?”

  Karl laughed. “There it is. There’s that bitchy streak. God, I’ve missed that.”

  Butterfly gritted her teeth. The drum was thundering in her ears loudly enough to make her sway on her feet. Karl darted out a hand to steady her. She pushed him away, saying, “I’m fine.” She drew a deep breath through her nostrils – in for seven, out for eleven. The thundering receded to a slow thudding. “It’s the bullet,” she explained a touch hoarsely. “I get these headaches.”