by Kerena Swan
Eventually I return home and let myself silently in through the front door. I creep past Rosemary who is predictably comatose on the sofa and go to the kitchen to fetch what I need.
I stand over her and stare at her. She made me the person I am today – a needy, pathetic woman with no self-esteem who can’t tolerate rejection of any kind. It’s her fault for allowing John Butcher to treat me the way he did. Her fault that I took Robert’s life and now I’m looking over my shoulder every day in case the police catch up with me. If I’d been returned to my real mother, I wouldn’t have met Robert and I wouldn’t have been goaded into killing him. It’s time to even the score.
‘Goodbye,’ I whisper.
I tip the jug and pour a good measure of strongly salted water into her open mouth and watch her swallow then splutter. The vomit is almost instantaneous and she gags and chokes in her drunken coma. A trickle of it slides down her cheeks then she inhales sharply and a lump catches in her throat. She’s too hammered to sit up or roll over to save herself. I knew she’d drink herself to oblivion. It’s her only coping mechanism. I watch as she tries to breathe, her lips turning blue and her closed eyes bulging, then I return to the kitchen to rinse out the jug before drying it carefully and putting it back in the cupboard.
I wait until the gagging sounds stop then make my way to the front door. I creep out of the house and back to my car, which I’ve parked down the road, then drive away towards Mark’s house in Monkston, Milton Keynes. When I arrive, I call Derek.
‘Hi, sorry to bother you, Derek, but you probably heard Mum and me arguing earlier.’
‘I did hear the door slam, yes.’
‘I’m at a friend’s house in Northampton and will stay here tonight but I’m worried about Mum. She seems to be drinking more and more but tonight she felt a bit sick. She’s even taken to sipping salt water to make herself sick so that she’ll feel better. I’ve been worrying about her all the way to Northampton. Would you mind checking she’s all right?’
Chapter 47
March | DI Paton
The meeting room at the forensics lab in Manchester was considerably larger than the one in Perth. The lights were bright and the air warm. Paton removed his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair then looked expectantly at the young woman next to him who had introduced herself as Olivia Simons. He was glad Greater Manchester Police had agreed to handle the forensic submissions from the skip. It would have been a real faff to get all the evidence back to Perth for testing.
‘Ready?’ She pressed a button on her laptop and pictures appeared on the large screen on the wall.
This was better than a film premiere with Scarlett Johansson as the lead. Paton settled back in his chair with a shuffle of anticipation.
‘We found several items of interest in the skip,’ Olivia said. She glanced at Paton and smiled.
He beamed back at her then leaned forward to stare at the photograph of an open suitcase of clothing.
Olivia flicked through pictures of various garments. ‘We’ve taken samples of hair, fibres and bodily fluids from the clothing and will be checking these for a match to the DNA at the scene and on the victim, Robert Nash. This could take a few days to process, though.’
Paton had guessed as much but he couldn’t help a niggle of irritation creeping in. He wished DNA results could be done quicker.
Olivia tapped her keyboard and an old-fashioned television appeared on the large screen. It was hard to believe how big and cumbersome they used to be.
‘We found several prints on the television.’
Paton thought they might. It was the perfect flat surface and people would have had to grip the object hard to move it.
‘These have been compared to your crime scene and one set is a match to the partial print on the knife and further prints found at the cabin.’
‘Yes!’ Paton couldn’t resist giving a small punch in the air.
Olivia grinned. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ She changed the photograph to kitchen utensils, toiletries and pictures. ‘We’ve catalogued these for you and you’re welcome to see the originals. Wrapped obviously. We thought you might be able to build a profile of the person you’re looking for.’
Paton’s mind was whirling and he was barely listening. So, Trina was the one in the cabin. Trina killed Robert Nash. But was she really called Trina and where had she run to? All he knew was that she’d left the M6 after Manchester and then taken country roads.
He looked at her possessions flitting across the screen and wondered what sort of person she was. Did she have a quick temper or did she build up slowly to this act of violence? Did Robert Nash provoke a sudden flash of anger from her or was it a culmination of many things that stretched her like an elastic band until she finally snapped?
What did she value? What was her favourite food, television programme, music? Did she feel the cold? Did she like animals? He now knew she had dry hair from the type of shampoo she used. He knew she liked brown sauce and the smell of vanilla air freshener. He knew she liked the Homes and Gardens magazine so probably aspired to live in a beautiful house. A picture of a mug appeared with I love MK on one side with a big red heart in the middle. The next photo showed a cow painted on the mug’s other side.
‘Wait,’ Paton said, holding up a hand. ‘What or who’s MK? A pop star?’
‘Milton Keynes,’ Olivia said. ‘That’s a picture of a concrete cow. Haven’t you heard that Milton Keynes is famous for them?’
Even if the woman didn’t love Milton Keynes she might have connections there. Paton didn’t hang around to chat after the evidence had been discussed. He went into the corridor and called Mitchell. ‘I need you to check the third Fiesta that drove past Manchester on the ANPR cameras again. Widen the search period to include anything up to the present day. Read the number plate out to me again.’
Paton listened carefully as Mitchell gave him the details. The plate contained a 9 and an F. ‘Good God! They’re easily disguised,’ Paton said. ‘Why didn’t we think of this before? Check out all similar numbers as well. She may have given us the slip for a while, and I know this is a slim chance, but I’ve a hunch she’ll surface again in Milton Keynes.’
Chapter 48
March | Sarah
I’m about to get out of the car to knock on Mark’s door when what looks like a small fridge on wheels trundles along the path nearby. It has little headlights and a pole with a pennant flag on top. What the hell is it? I look around for someone with a remote control. To my surprise the fridge comes towards me and speaks.
‘Excuse me.’
I jump aside in shock and it thanks me. It actually thanks me. A moment later it turns up the path to Mark’s house and the front door opens. Mark looks down at the white box on wheels then notices me on the pavement, staring.
‘Hi, Sarah! This is a nice surprise. Have you eaten?’ Mark looks at his phone and taps the screen. He leans down and opens the lid and the box speaks again.
‘Here is your delivery.’
Mark lifts out a carrier bag, closes the lid and the little machine thanks him before rumbling down the path again. Mark laughs at the expression on my face. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t seen a robot before.’
‘No. Whose is it?’
‘That one belongs to the local Co-op but Tesco sends them out too. It’s only a pound for a delivery.’ He holds up the bag. ‘I’ve got some ready meals here and a bottle of coke to go with my Bacardi. I would have ordered wine but they don’t deliver alcohol.’
‘A Bacardi and coke sounds lovely, thanks, and I am quite hungry. Mum was out for the count when I got home from work and there’s no food in the house. There are only so many kebabs one can eat.’ I laugh. Not at my attempt at cracking a joke but at the thought of the grim discovery Derek is about to make. I’ll switch my phone to silent for a bit to give me time to eat before I take his call.
‘Why don’t we have robots on Netherfield?’ I ask Mark as he places food on plates and
puts them one at a time in the microwave.
‘Starship, the company that makes them, only trialled them in a couple of areas in Milton Keynes but I think they’re rolling them out to other areas. I’m not sure about Netherfield, though.’ He pulls a face and I can tell what he’s thinking. They’d be stolen or vandalised around there.
‘They’re incredible.’
‘We’re lucky to have them. We’re one of the first places in Britain – chosen because of our network of redway footpaths connecting different estate and dropped kerbs everywhere. They initially started up to deliver parcels that people had missed while they were out.’
We chat amiably as we eat and I’m surprised at how little emotion I feel about the death of the woman who brought me up. But it’s her fault if there’s something missing in me because she gave me a totally shit life. She deserves to be dead. Like Robert deserves to be dead. She was on a path of self-destruction anyway so it could be said that I’ve saved the state a lot of money for her medical and nursing care.
When we’ve cleared the plates, I glance at my phone. There are no missed calls from Derek. Is he going round there or has he forgotten? I don’t want to text him a reminder because it might look suspicious. I switch the volume back on then settle on the sofa with Mark to watch a film on Netflix. I’m not keen on the idea of ‘discovering’ the body in the morning. If Derek doesn’t call, I think I’ll stay here for a couple of days, if Mark will let me.
The film has only been on twenty minutes when my phone rings. The sound makes Mark jump and jolts me from my relaxed state.
‘Jesus. That’s loud.’
He clutches his chest and I laugh then look at the screen. At last, it’s Derek.
I answer in a light tone of voice then make my expression grave as he garbles down the phone.
‘You need to get home, Sarah. It’s your Mum. She’s…’ Derek is breathing rapidly as though he’s just climbed a steep hill. ‘Just get home. It’s an emergency.’ He hangs up.
An ambulance is in the street outside Mum’s house and I brace myself for the difficulty of feigning grief for a woman I despise. Despite being close to the hospital the emergency services must have taken a while to get here because I’ve driven around for twenty odd minutes to make it look like I’ve come from Northampton. Not that Derek is likely to notice but best to take precautions.
‘Sarah. You made it.’ Derek’s face is pale and drawn in the streetlight.
‘What’s happened? Is she ill?’ I ask innocently.
He opens his mouth to reply but stays silent as a paramedic walks carefully out of the front door carrying a stretcher.
‘Mum?’ I cry, with a break in my voice. God, I’m good at this. I should be in Hollywood. I rush forward and stop in fake shock as I see the sheet is pulled up over her face. ‘Oh, God. She isn’t…’ I swallow as though I can’t face even the idea that she might be dead.
Derek pulls gently on my arm to move me out of the way. ‘She was sick, Sarah.’
‘No, she wasn’t. She probably has a dodgy liver but she wasn’t sick when I left. What happened?’ I direct my question to the ambulance crew.
The paramedics slow down to look at me.
‘I’m afraid it appears she choked on her own vomit,’ the man in green says. ‘Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen this when people are… Well.’
He doesn’t want to say the word drunk. ‘I’m sorry,’ he adds. They move forward again and wheel her onto the tail-lift of the vehicle. ‘Would you like to ride in the ambulance? As a close relative we need you to come to the hospital to provide essential information.’
‘I’ll follow in my car,’ I say, unable to bear being in close proximity with her. I turn to Derek. ‘I’m sorry you had to find her like this. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
He lets out a long breath, clearly relieved that I haven’t asked him to accompany me. I get in my car and as soon as I turn the corner I put the radio on and sing.
Chapter 49
The Following September | Jenna
For once I might beat Mum at Scrabble but I’m not sure if I’ll like the sense of victory. I’ve started the game with a seven-letter word that’s earned me a fifty point bonus. I’ve done this before and Mum has still thrashed me, but is she up to it today?
She shuffles her letters around listlessly then leans back against the sofa. ‘Can we finish this game later, love? I can’t concentrate. I might have more chance of winning if I can have a little nap first.’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I’ll change your bed covers while you lie on the sofa.’ I arrange the velvet cushions for her and she looks so thin and fragile that I drape a cashmere blanket over her legs. I resist the urge to sprinkle her face in butterfly kisses by turning to the window to close the curtains.
I’ve got my head in the airing cupboard looking for clean bedding when Grace emerges from the bathroom, clutching a cleaning spray.
‘How’s Fiona?’ she asks. ‘Has she had her nutrition drink this morning?’
‘Yes, but she’s still got no energy. She’s sleeping on the sofa.’
Grace nods and, because she doesn’t move, I sense she wants to say more. ‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Nothing.’
‘We need all the help we can get, Grace, so if you’ve any ideas…’
‘I don’t want to interfere in your family matters but… Well, I’ve been looking at that Doulah course online that you mentioned. It really appeals to me and I think it’s the sort of thing I might like to do as a career so I’ve dipped into my savings to pay for it. I’ve already signed up actually. It involves 120 hours of study in total but I’ll cover it in modules so I can go at my own pace. I’ll be learning about end-of-life planning, loss, grief and more. Obviously, it’s not going to make me an instant expert but I’ll be glad to do what I can to help Fiona, and if there’s anything I can do to take some of the pressure off you, please ask.’
‘Thanks, Grace. You’ll make a wonderful Doulah.’
‘I want to do something worthwhile with my life but I’ve never known what that is before. What about you, Jenna? Have you thought about the future?’
‘I can’t,’ I whisper. I pull a duvet set and sheets from the cupboard and walk away along the landing. It’s much too painful to think about a future without Mum.
But I’m grateful that Grace is willing to help further, and the more she does the less I’ll need Lucy to pitch in. I really don’t know where I stand with Lucy right now.
I’m bundling washing into the machine when I hear the back door open and close. Lucy walks into the kitchen and stops abruptly when she sees me.
‘Not at work?’ she asks airily, dumping her heavy designer handbag onto the table and pulling items from a hessian bag, including a bunch of bright cellophane-wrapped sunflowers.
‘Clearly not.’
Either she’s pretending not to know I’ve been given the sack or she wasn’t the person making the call. Would Lucy really want to hurt me or are the situation and my exhaustion messing with my head? I don’t know. Right now, I’d like to curl up in bed and have a short sleep rather than consider whether my sister wanted me to lose my job.
‘Is Mum awake I’ve bought her a few goodies to tempt her appetite,’ Lucy says.
I look at the mushroom pâté, pains au chocolat and fruit trifle. Three of Mum’s favourites – or at least they used to be. ‘It’s kind of you, Lucy, but she can barely manage her nutrition drinks now.’
Lucy opens the fridge and puts the food on the shelf. ‘Oh, well, they’re here if she wants them. If not, you can eat them. They’re vegan.’
I’m surprised. She must have gone to some trouble to buy vegan. This small act of kindness blows away all my doubts about her like a cleansing, healing breeze. Of course she doesn’t want to harm me. She’s my sister when all’s said and done.
‘So why aren’t you at work? I thought you cared for the twins after school.’ She reaches for the large china vase and fil
ls it with water then arranges the cheerful sunflowers in it before placing it in the middle of the table.
I don’t want to tell Lucy the real reason. She might think there’s some truth in it.
‘Mrs. Watson doesn’t need me for a couple of weeks. She’s got her mum staying.’
‘Is she still paying you?’
‘Er… no. Why would she?’
‘Because you have rights as an employee – such as annual leave and notice. What does your contract say?’
‘I…’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t got a contract?’ Lucy looks and sounds incredulous, and I wince, waiting for the inevitable verbal lashing.
‘My God, Jenna. How can you let yourself be used like that? Employed when it suits them, then dropped when it suits them. You need to go back there and insist that you need paying for the two weeks. You’re entitled to paid holiday.’
I look away from Lucy’s direct stare, feeling humiliated. She’s always been successful in her studies and career. She can’t understand why I’m such an educational failure and only have mundane, dead-end jobs. But surely valuing and helping other people, and being kind to animals, is far more important? Money, property and pensions only make the world a better place for the individual. I shrug and turn away from her, internally bracing myself for her lecture.
Thankfully, Grace pokes her head around the door to tell us that Mum has woken up.
‘I’ll go and muck out Merlin’s stable while you’re here to sit with Mum,’ I say to Lucy. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’
‘I’m leaving in a minute,’ Grace says, taking her cardigan from the back of the chair. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
I thank her and run upstairs to put some old clothes on.
