Blood Loss

by Kerena Swan

  Mark appears at my elbow and I sit back. ‘I was just asking the ingredients of the cocktail,’ I say and the barman winks at me. ‘Shall we have another then get a taxi back to your place?’

  Chapter 39

  The Following September | Jenna

  The more I think about it, the more I believe the taxi driver was just trying to deflect attention away from his own bad driving by suggesting I was pushed into his path. There’s no doubt I was shoved but I’m sure it must have been accidental or the result of some arrogant idiot being careless of how they got ahead. I may still suspect Lucy of causing Merlin to bolt that day in the woods but to suspect her of getting a rabbit costume from somewhere and trying to hurt me here is… well, it’s ridiculous and I’m not going to let such negative thoughts spoil my day. There are bad days ahead with Mum, so good days now have to be treasured.

  The pathways around the lake are crowded. Runners jog past with numbers pinned to their T-shirts and tabards display messages for loved ones: For Grandad, In memory of a beautiful daughter and Auntie Sal, we love you. People of all heights and sizes wear colours that shout, ‘Look at me!’ Bright pink tutus collide with orange leggings, green T-shirts and face paint. Everyone is in high spirits and laughter rings out across the still water.

  By the time Nisha and I have walked part of the way around Willen Lake the ache in my leg has subsided so we break into a gentle run. Not for long, though. Neither of us trained for this and soon we’re both puffing like octogenarians on twenty fags a day. We settle back into a walk and only run when we approach a crowd of onlookers and marshals cheering encouragement.

  Despite my resolution to enjoy the day I can’t help keeping an eye out for a pink rabbit costume. I don’t see one, which makes sense as the person inside it was clearly eager to get to the front. Even so I run on the inside of the path away from the water’s edge. The lake’s shallow but I’m not taking any chances.

  ‘Watch out,’ Nisha says to a group of children who stumble into our path in an exuberant game of tag. ‘We’re in the zone. Don’t break our stride.’ She looks at me and laughs. ‘Don’t they recognise top athletes when they see them?’

  I laugh with her but my good intentions aren’t managing to lift my mood and my heart isn’t in it.

  ‘Are you okay, Jenna? Does your leg hurt?’

  ‘It’s fine. It’s my lungs that can’t cope,’ I puff, struggling to talk and run at the same time.

  We complete the course in a reasonable time but the sense of achievement I hoped for doesn’t materialise. I can’t shake off a feeling of unease.

  ‘Let’s have a drink before we head home,’ Nisha says.

  I look at my watch. Grace will be there for another half hour. ‘Just a quick lemonade or something,’ I say.

  The queue at the pub is ridiculously long so we accept free bottles of water from a marshal then find an empty patch of prickly grass to sit on. Nisha chatters on but I barely listen.

  ‘Worrying about your mum?’ Nisha eventually asks.

  ‘I’m always worrying about Mum these days.’

  ‘You’re worrying about something else as well. Best friends know these things.’

  ‘I’m thinking about Lucy,’ I admit.

  Try as I might I can’t quite rid myself of the suspicion that she invented a cold to get out of looking after Mum today. Even if she did, it doesn’t follow that she had anything to do with my fall. And she wouldn’t do anything to harm me while Mum’s so ill. Lucy might not like me much – might dislike me intensely, in fact – but she wouldn’t upset Mum so cold-bloodedly.

  ‘You think it was her in the rabbit costume?’

  ‘Course not.’

  ‘You’re not putting two and two together? Incident in the woods plus incident here, and wondering if they’re part of a masterplan to diddle you out of your share of the inheritance by getting rid of you?’

  ‘You’re being a drama queen,’ I say.

  ‘I know. I’m trying to cheer you up.’ She grins widely.

  I smile but a cold sensation has crept into my stomach. I haven’t given a thought to inheritance but Lucy might have done. And money is important to her.

  When I arrive home, Grace picks up her bag ready to leave. ‘Your mum has slept a lot this morning but she’s up and dressed now. I helped her in the shower and made her a sandwich for lunch.’

  ‘Thanks, Grace, you’re a star,. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. She looks surprised but pleased.

  I run upstairs to see Mum and get changed but she’s not there. I check the bathroom then go back downstairs and through to the lounge. Mum is sitting by the open doors looking better than I’ve seen her for a while and my heart squeezes as she gives me a warm smile. How many more smiles will there be?

  ‘How was the run?’ she asks.

  ‘Great fun. More of a walk really as we’re so unfit. Have you had a good morning?’

  ‘When I finally woke up I felt so lazy I had to make the effort to get up and come downstairs. I feel much better for it. I need to stop spending so much time in my room. Where’s Merlin? I was hoping to see him in the paddock.’

  ‘He’s in his stable as I’m cutting down on his grazing. He’ll get laminitis if I’m not careful. Would you like to come and see him?’

  ‘I will later, but now I need you to drop something at Lucy’s for me. She’s having a few issues at work and I promised to lend her some books and case studies to read while she’s nursing her cold.’

  My first feeling is resistance. I don’t want to be anywhere near my sister. On the other hand, seeing her might lay my stupid suspicions to rest. Twenty minutes later I leave my car near Lucy’s flat. Walking towards the entrance I notice her parked car and on impulse touch my hand to the bonnet.

  It feels warm. Is that because the morning has been hot even though it’s cloudy now and the car is parked in the shade? Or has Lucy been out?

  I press the security intercom and with no hesitation that I can detect, Lucy tells me to come up. I haul the bag of books and documents up the stairs to avoid the confines of the tiny lift.

  Lucy opens the door and I study her face for signs of hatred. All I see is puzzlement at my hesitation, along with a red nose and watery eyes. ‘Are you coming in or not?’ she asks, with her usual impatience.

  ‘Not,’ I tell her. ‘I just brought these from Mum.’

  I pass over the bag. Lucy peers inside it then mutters her thanks.

  I turn to go.

  ‘How was your run?’ she asks then.

  ‘It was okay. Have you been out in your car today?’

  ‘What, looking like this?’ She pulls at her baggy cotton trousers and oversized T-shirt.

  ‘Your bonnet is warm.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The bonnet of your car. It’s—’

  ‘I know what you meant. I just didn’t know what you were implying. That I’m pretending to be ill so I can go off and enjoy myself instead of looking after Mum? Perhaps you think I’ve been to a spa or out buying myself a new dress or something? For your information, the cat from next door sleeps on my car bonnet.’

  I stand with my mouth open, not knowing how to respond.

  ‘You’re such a bitch, Jenna,’ she says and shuts the door on me.

  Chapter 40

  The Previous March | DI Paton

  The landlord refused to open the door again or to tell Paton where the skip was. Paton swallowed his frustration and set off down the road at a trot. He reached the corner and peered down the next street, breathing heavily. The daylight had leaked away but the orange glow of the street lights reflected off the parked cars. No skip there. He jogged back along the way he’d come and past the flats until he reached the other end of the street. He rested his hands on his knees for a moment and took deep breaths. Perhaps he should join Cheryl’s gym after all.

  A tall house had a builder’s board outside so he made his way towards it then saw the skip behind a parked car. It was full of broken
old plasterboard, rolls of cable and rubble. Paton held the side and peered over, looking for any sign of personal possessions.

  ‘Oi! What are you doing?’

  A broad-chested man wearing dusty overalls and large workman boots was coming down the steps from the house behind him.

  ‘I hope you’re not planning to fly-tip your rubbish as well. You lot need to get your own bloody skip. It’s costing me a fortune to clear away everyone else’s crap in this neighbourhood.’

  Paton turned to show the builder his ID and the man stopped abruptly.

  ‘How long has this skip been here?’ Paton asked.

  ‘Just over a week.’

  ‘What sort of stuff has been dumped in it?’

  ‘All sorts. Old televisions, a suitcase full of clothes and even a box of food – tins and packets and such like. That was weird. We shared the good stuff amongst the lads but some was out of date so we chucked it back in the skip. I’m expecting the pick-up soon, which is why I’m still here. He’ll be swapping this for an empty one.’

  Paton checked the time and saw it was already seven. Damn. He’d have to delay booking in to his hotel. He couldn’t risk losing this evidence. Within ten minutes he’d made a call to the SIO and arranged for the skip to be taken to the Manchester Police garage and storage yard, he had the Tactical Aid Unit on stand-by awaiting the delivery of the skip, and he’d called Wendy. She’d sounded okay and had promised to let the hotel know he’d been delayed but would definitely be checking in. He hoped they offered room service because his stomach was already rumbling and the restaurant might be closed by the time he got there. Before he said goodbye to Wendy, Tommy took the phone.

  ‘Dad, have you caught the bad guys yet? Will you be on the telly?’

  ‘I think I’m getting closer. But even if I do catch the criminal I won’t be on the telly.’ He smiled as he talked. Because Tommy was obsessed with old episodes of The Sweeney, he often expected his dad to appear on the screen like the detectives, Jack Regan and George Carter, whom he idolised.

  ‘When are you coming home, Dad?’

  ‘In a couple of days. Look after your mum and make sure you do the drying up. You’re the man of the house until I get back.’

  The skip hire foreman wasn’t happy at having to relinquish one of his skips and complained vociferously when Paton told him he understood, but it was unlikely the company would be able to claim compensation for loss of earnings.

  Back in his car he programmed the address of the police garage into his sat nav and saw it was a fifteen-minute drive through town. A small price to pay if it got him a step closer to the killer.

  He rummaged in the glove box in the hope of finding a few loose sweets but he’d finished them all. He needed food but not as much as he needed to see what was inside the skip.

  Chapter 41

  March | Sarah

  ‘Come on, Rex, I know you’re helping but you’ve already sniffed that lamp post.’ I tug his lead and continue walking.

  A woman approaches with a white Westie that wiggles with excitement when it sees Rex and pulls forward so they can touch noses.

  ‘Nice to see the sun, even if it is only for five minutes,’ the woman says.

  I agree politely and we carry on walking. It’s great having a dog as he’s the perfect camouflage for me as I scout the neighbourhood, and people seem to be friendlier when you’ve got a lead in your hand.

  I’m glad I offered to walk Rex for Derek. He’s such a useful person to know. As well as being able to obtain fake ID and cars with untraceable number plates he’s let me borrow Rex every day. Not that he knows what I’m up to. I told him I’m on a fitness regime.

  I’ve wandered around Bow Brickhill three times now and, despite looking on Google Maps and walking up and down every road, I’ve not seen anything that resembles a barn conversion.

  There’s certainly nothing on the outskirts towards Bletchley as that’s mostly old council houses and 1980s estates. I’ve walked towards Woburn Sands and not found any barns and also up the steep hill to the woods in the older part of the village. The only road left to check is London End Lane. I pass pretty terraced cottages and wander along until the lane opens up to a field on my right. A couple of small ponies graze peacefully, their tails swishing the early flies away. It must be wonderful to live in a place like this. No McDonald’s wrappers slung in the hedges and no kids throwing stones as you drive past.

  Towards the end of the lane the tarmac peters out and becomes a dirt track. Rex pulls towards the woods but I tug him back and opt instead for the public footpath that runs along the edge of a field on the right. I’ll be able to look at the backs of houses on the main road from here.

  I’m halfway across a meadow when I notice buildings in the distance. My heart beats faster. That one definitely looks like a barn conversion. I stop and take a photo so I can zoom in later to study it in more detail. The field I’m in runs parallel to a paddock with an outdoor riding arena at the bottom of the hill. My excitement mounts. That can only mean horses. I see a black one in the distance, his coat gleaming in the weak March sunshine. Is that Jenna’s horse? He ambles around and tugs at a new clump of grass and I see the flash of white on his nose. I’m sure it’s the one on her Facebook profile.

  Rex licks my hand as if to remind me to carry on walking but I don’t need to go any further. I think I’ve found what I was looking for. I have to make a plan now. More than anything I want to see what my family and Jenna look like. I can’t think of a valid reason to knock on their door yet, so maybe I’ll come back and hang around up here – walk Rex every day so I blend in with the locals. Jenna’s bound to ride her horse up to the woods at some point. I recognise the local bridleway from photos on her timeline so she must ride up here.

  I walk back to the main street to look for the front of the house so I can walk past it in the hope of seeing my family. I can’t find it initially, but from working out the direction I’ve just come from and the lie of the land it must be around here somewhere. I see a stocky postman approaching in a pair of baggy, knee-length shorts and a red polo shirt. He has a large bag slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Could you tell me where I can find the Old Hay Barn?’ I ask as he draws level. Rex lunges forward to sniff him and the postman draws back in alarm.

  ‘He won’t bite,’ I tell him, pulling hard on the lead.

  ‘They all say that,’ he mutters, pointing to a puckered scar on his leg.

  Ouch. Hazard of the job I suppose.

  ‘The house you want is up there,’ he says. He points to a long gravel driveway.

  The barn must be set behind this white farmhouse. No wonder I struggled to find it.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say and walk away, glancing back at him. He watches me depart, then hoists his bag into a more comfortable position and carries on his way. He’s probably wondering why I asked for directions to the house then walked straight past it. I need to be careful not to raise suspicion in future.

  When he’s gone I stand and let Rex sniff the lamp post to give me thinking time. I’m so tempted to call at the house. My real family is in there. My mother and father, possibly brothers and sisters. I need to build up courage and work out what to say, though. If they don’t yet know about the swap they might be shocked and I don’t want that to spoil the reunion. I want to be sure they give me the welcome I deserve from the outset. Not that Jenna will welcome me because she’ll have to step aside and fade into the background. I know the swap wasn’t her fault but it’s tough luck. I’m here now and it’s my family – not hers.

  I visit the lane leading to the woods four times before I see Jenna. At first I only hear her, a soft voice drifting through the drizzle and across the paddock.

  ‘Good boy, Merlin. Steady. It’s only leaves blowing in the wind.’

  A thrill of anticipation courses through me and I hurry back the way I’ve come so I’m obscured by the trees dividing the lane from the paddock. I need to keep my distance yet still ge
t a good look at her. Rex glances up in confusion as I pull my hood up, making sure it shadows most of my face, then turn around again and walk slowly back towards the entrance to the field. I shorten his lead and stand still, holding my breath as I wait for her to appear.

  Then I see her, riding up on the back of the black horse. She leans forward out of the saddle and pushes a lever to undo the gate. She guides the horse around expertly then pulls the gate shut.

  It’s only a fleeting moment, and she’s twenty or more feet away, but as she turns I get a full view of her face and have to stifle a gasp. She’s the image of the Rosemary Butcher I remember from my childhood. The small forehead, the slightly too large nose. The set of the eyes.

  There’s no possibility of a mistake. This girl is the real Sarah Butcher and I’m the real Jenna Winterbourne. I should be the one living in that huge house. I should be the one riding a horse and living a life of privilege in a setting good enough for the Homes and Gardens magazine. It shouldn’t be me staying in a dump with an alcoholic old woman and working in a stinking kebab shop.

  The girl gives me the vaguest of nods as she sees me holding the dog back so he doesn’t scare her horse. She’s like the landed gentry looking down her nose at the local peasant, taking it for granted that I’m the one who should get out of her way. What a stuck-up cow. Anger bubbles up inside me and I have to fight the urge to run after her and push her off the horse. She rides away, back straight in her fancy riding gear, and onto the track to the woods.

  Imposter.

  I stand still and breathe deeply to calm myself, my hands clenched by my sides. Rex whines but I ignore him. She’s taken everything from me. Everything. I picture her arriving home from her private school, showing her loving parents what she’s achieved as they all sit around a table laden with home cooked, healthy food. Her father – no, my father! – ruffling her hair and praising her instead of me. I see my real parents sitting proudly in a large University hall, clapping as she’s awarded her degree. I see ‘Daddy’ paying for her driving lessons and buying her a car, then getting her a job in the family firm.