by K. L. Slater
‘She rang and invited her,’ Josh says.
He’s not making much sense and I start to wonder if he’s over-tired after the trip.
‘Maddy hasn’t got a phone though, poppet. You know we’ve always said she has to wait until she goes to senior school.’
‘Bessie left a voicemail on her secret phone.’ Josh shoots me a sideways glance. ‘The one she’s hidden in her bedroom.’
Twenty-Two
I kiss Josh on the top of his head.
‘You did the right thing telling us all this.’ I smile at him. ‘Sit here for just a minute; I need to have a word with Dad.’
Tom and I get out of the car, closing the doors behind us.
‘Carol just told us we’re moving to a juvenile detention centre in Mansfield. It sounds horrible, but it will be better as we get a private bedroom there, so we can stay tonight.’
Tom looks shocked. ‘They’re keeping them overnight?’
I nod. ‘I feel like she’s slipping away from us with every hour that passes. But listen, it’s not the right place for Josh.’ I glance towards the car; our son is pressing his nose to the window, watching us forlornly. ‘I’m not happy him going to my parents’ house, for obvious reasons, so I’m going to ask Beth to look after him. She’s been texting me loads anyway, asking if there’s anything she can do.’
Tom nods. ‘Sounds like the best option under the circumstances.’ He runs his fingers through his hair. ‘I can’t believe Maddy kept a secret phone from us. What else don’t we know about that she got up to?’
‘Don’t even think that, never mind say it,’ I tell him sharply. ‘There are enough people out there who want to believe Maddy is guilty of something she can’t possibly have done. She doesn’t need us turning against her as well.’
He hangs his head guiltily and nods.
‘Kids are kids,’ I add. ‘They do silly things, hide stuff from their parents. It doesn’t make Maddy the monster everyone is trying to say she is online.’
Tom blows out a long breath.
‘I just… I don’t know, I’m shocked. I would have bet my life that she wouldn’t do anything remotely deceitful.’
‘Yes, well, we didn’t conceive an angel, Tom. She’s always been mischievous, you know that… remember the bathroom flooding incident at the dance school and the prank with Mum’s neighbour’s cat?’ I’m snappy, but it’s only to disguise my own shock that my daughter could be capable of flouting what she knows is an important rule to me: no phone until senior school. That somehow she’s got hold of one and proceeded to hide it from us.
It makes me go cold just to think about it. But I don’t want to get bogged down on this point.
I know she didn’t kill Bessie Wilford and that’s all that matters.
Tom sighs. ‘Listen, I know it’s bad timing, but because of the special circumstances, the HR manager has agreed to meet me before she finishes at six. I’m going to need some time off while we get Maddy through all this.’
‘OK, but just sit in the car with Josh for now, will you? Just while I call Beth. I’ll ask if she can come and get him right away.’
Tom nods, his face as troubled as mine, and I turn away and walk over to the side of the building.
Beth picks up on the second ring, and I just sort of vomit everything out in one sentence: Josh’s trip, the bullying comments, the fact that the girls are due to be interviewed again in about an hour by the family therapist.
‘And then to top it all, they’ve just told us they’re keeping the girls overnight, so we have to relocate to the juvenile detention centre in Mansfield.’
‘So you want me to have Josh until tomorrow? That’s no problem at all. I’m not at work until the afternoon.’ I hear the rattle of her keys. ‘I’m on my way right now.’
That’s one of the things I love about Beth: she’s so practical. She has this ability to make my problems seem straightforward when I’m inclined to wrap them up in barbed wire until I can’t see a way to solve them.
She knows what it’s like to lose a brother, the way we lost Corey. Over the years, she has always been there to cushion the guilt arrows from my own family and reassure me that I’m not a bad person.
‘I know you’d have laid down your life for him, Jules,’ she once told me sadly. ‘The way I would’ve gladly put myself in that car instead of Andrew.’
Beth’s brother was travelling home from a weekend break at Butlin’s with his best friend’s family. They were just three miles from the village on a busy dual carriageway when a car coming the other way hit them head-on. Andrew was the only person who didn’t die at the scene.
Mum was still working part-time at King’s Mill Hospital when he was brought in by the ambulance crew.
‘His injuries were far too severe for him to live,’ she told us afterwards. ‘He never regained consciousness.’
It almost killed Beth to know he was alive and all alone for two hours after the accident. She blamed herself that she didn’t get to see him before he died, but Mum sat down with her, held her hand and tried to set her mind at rest.
‘The team did everything they could for him, Beth, love. He didn’t suffer.’
It was the first time I realised that Mum was able to transform herself into another person altogether, becoming this caring, sensitive soul who, with a few well-chosen words, was able to really help Beth. I remember wondering why she was never able to show us, her own family, that side of her nature.
Losing our brothers bound Beth and me even tighter together. Much to Chloe’s annoyance.
Seeing that each other’s guilt was unfounded helped a little, even though we weren’t able to forgive ourselves.
* * *
Beth arrives ten minutes later. She jumps out of her car and folds both me and Josh into her arms.
‘I’ve been worried sick. I’m so glad you called,’ she sniffs, her eyes shining. ‘Where’s Tom?’
‘He’s had to go into work, and then he’s going to get more clothes and stuff from the house.’
I feel bad not keeping her up to speed with what’s been happening.
‘I’m sorry, there just seem to have been a thousand things to do,’ I tell her. ‘But thanks for being here and for offering to look after Josh.’
‘Sorry I can’t stay with you a while,’ she says. ‘I’ve got an online food shop delivery scheduled.’ Beth lives in Newstead, a village just a couple of miles away.
‘I’m really sorry to muck up your plans,’ I apologise. ‘Just take your rucksack with you to Beth’s, Josh. I can sort out your dirty clothes and stuff tomorrow.’
‘I want to stay here with you and Dad.’ Josh scowls, folding his arms. ‘And I want to see Maddy.’
‘You can see her soon, I promise, sweetie.’ I kiss the top of his head again.
‘But when will she be home?’ he demands.
I look at Beth. ‘We’re not sure yet, Josh. Soon, I hope.’
There’s no conviction in my words, and it’s painful to hear. Josh looks at me a little fearfully. I think he can sense the emptiness, how things have changed.
Beth holds out her hand to him. ‘I’ve got two words to say to you, Josh Fletcher. Pizza and Netflix. Coming?’
He tries to keep frowning, but his mouth softens and finally he takes her hand.
‘Good man.’ Beth winks at me. ‘Let me know what’s happening soon as you hear anything. I’ve got a spare key to the industrial unit, so I can be there for the delivery in the morning if you need me to be.’
I hit my forehead with the heel of my hand. ‘It completely slipped my mind! You’re a lifesaver, Beth, thank you.’
My head hurts with the effort of trying to juggle everything that needs to be done. Right now, I can’t see even a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.
Twenty-Three
I look at my watch and see I’ve got forty-five minutes before the girls are interviewed again. What I need to do will take about half an hour if I get a move on.
I haven�
�t said a word about my plans to anyone else, even Tom. I didn’t really even make up my mind to do it until Beth agreed to look after Josh, but now I’m decided.
I’m going back to our house. Alone. I just hope Tom doesn’t decide to pop back home and I bump into him there. He wouldn’t approve.
Tom has taken the car, so I open my Uber app and order a cab. They estimate a five-minute pick-up time. I don’t want to risk bumping into Chloe or the detectives while I wait, so I walk quickly across the car park and out onto the road.
I sit on a low brick wall to wait, and start questioning my decision. What am I hoping to find? The answer to that is easy: Maddy’s secret phone.
If I do find it, what will I discover on there? Josh has already said that Bessie left a voicemail message asking Maddy to visit back in May. It’s July now, so there might have been more messages since.
If I find the phone, then it is evidence, and if the police decide to arrest the girls, they might well search our houses. Do I seriously want to be in a position where I hide possible evidence from the police? Of course not.
But I don’t want there to be any nasty surprises either.
I could cancel the Uber and focus on what’s happening here at the police station. Maybe new evidence will come to light and the girls will be released without charge.
I look up as a silver Nissan turns the corner. My cab has arrived.
* * *
The journey takes twelve minutes. I use the time to formulate a plan in my head. It covers what I’ll say if I bump into anyone – I’ll explain politely that I’m not able to discuss anything at this point – and precisely what I’ll do when I’m inside the house.
I haven’t got much time, so I won’t waste time picking up clean clothes; Tom can do that when he gets back and before we go to the new facility in Mansfield.
It’s paramount that I’m back in time to sit in on the girls’ next session with Dana Sewell.
Increasingly I feel like Tom and I are Maddy’s only supporters, with my parents and Chloe slowly moving into Brianna’s corner.
‘You can drop me off just up here…’ My voice fades as I spot an enormous crowd of people right about where the cab is going to pull up. ‘Actually, I’ll jump out now, thanks.’
‘They’ll be here for the murder of that old lady.’ The driver shakes his head as the car comes to a standstill. ‘Terrible business, isn’t it? They ought to throw the book at those two girls, kids or not.’
‘Have you heard of the saying innocent until proven guilty?’ I snap before slipping out of the car and flinging the door shut harder than necessary.
I’m about two hundred and fifty yards from the crowd. They certainly don’t look a friendly lot, but this is my house and my daughter has not yet been charged. I’m damned if I’m going to cower from this motley crew.
As I get closer, people begin to turn around and whisper to each other. Suddenly a roar seems to go up and they all rush towards me.
‘Mrs Fletcher, has your daughter admitted to killing Bessie Wilford?’
‘Will you be accompanying the girls to the juvenile detention centre, Mrs Fletcher?’
We’ve only just found out ourselves that they’re transferring Maddy and Brianna. These people must have a hotline to confidential police information.
Photographers battle their way to the front of the mob, sticking cameras in my face as I walk. I mustn’t stop, because they’ll surround me and prevent me from moving.
The noise feels like I’m at a football match with Josh. Everyone yelling and shouting different things at the same time. I can’t hear myself think.
‘No comment,’ I say firmly, but my voice is lost amongst the noise. Even though I’m nearly at the front gate, I wonder if I’m going to make it. My legs are shaking and I feel light-headed, but I have to stay strong. For Maddy’s sake, I have to do this.
I can barely hear anything coherent now amidst the collective roar. The odd poisonous word or phrase manages to escape and worm its way into my ears. Killer… murderer… parental neglect.
I keep my eyes trained on the pavement and forge ahead as microphones are pushed close to my face. I’m making slow progress, but I’m nearly there. I’m very nearly there.
I push open the creaking gate that I’ve been asking Tom to fix for weeks now and look at the house. A gasp catches in my throat and I stall momentarily.
KILLER! RIP BESSIE W!
The shocking words have been daubed in foot-high black letters on the pristine white garage door we had fitted last year.
People are so close, pushing behind me now. I can hear them breathing and I force myself forward and up the path, turning only to shout as loudly as I can, ‘This is private property. Keep out!’
I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake coming here. I knew the locals would be buzzing with the awful gossip, but I didn’t expect this… this lynch mob.
Moisture prickles my forehead and my hands shake as I fish blindly in my handbag for my keys. The shouting continues, structured questions from reporters mixed with insults from locals intending to shock.
I try not to listen, focusing on just getting inside the house.
I push the key at the lock again and again, but for some reason, it isn’t going in. I hear mocking laughter from the crowd, and when I peer closer, I see the lock has been encased in a bulbous ball of hardened glue.
I walk around the side of the house without looking back. It’s cool here at the back. I wish I could stay here a while to calm down.
I’m mindful that time is ticking on and I have to be back for Maddy’s second interview. I have to be.
I let out a relieved breath when the back door opens easily. I step inside the kitchen, locking the door again behind me. I leave my bag on the breakfast bar and walk into the hallway.
This morning I stood in exactly the same spot, calling upstairs for Maddy to get a move on.
‘What have you been doing up there?’ I asked when she appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘You’ve not even brushed your hair yet, madam!’
Now I can’t help but wonder if she was listening to a voicemail from Bessie instead of getting ready. Maybe it was all completely innocent, just a lonely old lady who loved the two vibrant young cousins to pop in to brighten her day.
But then why the secrecy? Why didn’t Bessie communicate with the girls via Mum or Dad, who she knew well… and who gave Maddy that blasted phone in the first place?
I slump against the side of the polished mahogany banister. I can still hear the muffled noise of the crowd outside.
This morning, there wasn’t a soul at the gate. Life was normal, the fabric of our family intact. We were all looking forward to a pizza tea and Josh coming home.
Now, our faces are plastered all over the Internet.
The stairs are opposite the front door, and as I walk forward and turn to climb them, my hand shoots up to cover my nose. There’s the most awful stench in here.
Today’s mail is scattered on the floor, and… No, it can’t be! I step closer, and my worst suspicions are confirmed. Three piles of dog mess have been delivered through the letter box on folded sheets of newspaper.
I dash upstairs, away from the horror of it, pushing the abusive, vile act from my mind before it sends me over the edge. I can’t dwell on the thought of how much someone must hate us. I just can’t.
I head straight for Maddy’s bedroom, standing for a moment in the doorway to look around. I dash in and out of the kids’ rooms on a daily basis, usually to pick up dirty washing, replace clean laundry or strategically place stuff they’ve left downstairs on their beds to be put away in its proper place.
But busy with the everyday demands of life, I never take the time to really look at the room my daughter spends so much time in.
Her dressing table is cluttered with all the usual stuff I’d expect to see there. A hairbrush, colourful hair clips and bands, random items she’s obviously put down when she’s walked into the room: a half-em
pty glass of cordial, a dog-eared paperback about a lost puppy, and a small teddy she’s loved since she was a toddler.
There’s a hand towel draped there too, and when I lift it, I see a make-up compact underneath. Not one specifically designed for children, but a proper adult set with a Perspex lid that shows off the collection of dark, sultry eye colours, mascara and eyeliner.
It’s odd. I wouldn’t buy her anything this adult, and I know for a fact Tom wouldn’t either, even if she begged him.
I shake myself. Time is of the essence, and although I have some questions that need answering, it’s not going to happen now. I have to find that phone and get back to the police station.
I rifle through her chest of drawers and the one in her bedside table. I drop down and peer under her bed, sweep my arm across the carpet there, but there’s nothing apart from the missing side plate I was hunting for yesterday, complete with toast crumbs and smeared jam.
I hoist myself up and take a couple of strides across the room, flinging open the wardrobe doors. I slide my hand along the shelf, which is packed with all manner of rubbish, but I can’t feel anything like a phone. I spot a pile of hardback annuals by the side of her bed and carry them over to the floor in front of the wardrobe.
When I stand on them, I can see everything that’s on the shelf. I pull it all out, letting the whole lot fall to the floor.
Soft toys, board games, a blanket, screwed-up T-shirts I haven’t seen in ages – and there behind it all, a small, old-fashioned silver Nokia phone.
Twenty-Four
The village
A quarter of a mile away from the Fletcher house, Dana found herself with time to kill before she needed to get back to interview the girls again.
She’d driven back to the village to feed her unimpressed cat, Heston, who was particularly keen on regular mealtimes, always appearing from nowhere a minute before the next one was due.
But when she opened the fridge to feed herself, she found it bare save for a tub of spreadable butter and a solitary egg. She vaguely remembered planning on picking up a few items from the supermarket, but that was as far as she’d got.
