Dead Girl Found

by Giles Ekins

  ‘I didn’t., I didn’t.’

  ‘Then why is she saying that? Janet demanded, so angry that she had had a gun in her hand she could have shot him dead there and then.

  ‘I don’t know. We don’t even know if that was Julia, He, Serrano, could have been making it up.’

  ‘How could he be making it up, that was Julia speaking? Your daughter, you heard her voice.’

  ‘We don’t…He could…I…I…,’ Donald raised in hands in frustration, unable to get his protestations of innocence across.

  ’I want to see him,’ Janet said, ‘get to the truth of it.’ And she made for the door leading to the backstage area.

  ‘Janet, you can’t just go barging in on him.’

  But she took no notice of him and carried on, as Donald reluctantly followed her through the door. They were met by the volunteer who had advised that the meeting was over.

  ‘You can’t come back here, it’s private.’

  ‘I want to see him, this Sebastian. I want to see him’

  ‘I told you it’s private, you have to go back.’

  ‘I’m going to see him,’ Janet repeated.

  Janet, you heard what she said, it’s private,’ Donald, taking Janet’s arm to lead her away but she shrugged it off.

  ‘You can shut up and all, all the use you are,’ and tried to edge past the volunteer, who stepped back to block her.

  ‘I’m telling you, you can’t see him.’

  ‘Why not, here’s here in a dressing room, isn’t he?’

  ‘No, he’s left already.’

  ‘Left?’ Already?’

  ‘Yes. Gone. Elvis has left the building. Said that all the disruptions and such disturbed his karma.’

  ‘I’ll disturb his fucking karma, I ever get my hands on,’ snapped Donald, ‘telling lies like that.’

  Six

  They drove home in silent anger.

  Janet was scrunched into her seat, as far away from Donald as she could get, her arms rigidly crossed, her nostrils flaring ad she stared intensely out ahead, as if to find answers in the lights of the oncoming traffic. Donald had tried to talk to her as they set out for home, but she sharply told him to shut up, there was nothing he could say, they had heard what they had heard. He had interfered with Julia which was why she ran away and killed herself with drugs. It was all his fault.

  She felt that she didn’t even know this man, her husband. For more than 28 years he had slept in her bed, made love to her and all the while he was… was what? Having sex with their daughter?

  How long had it been going on? Where did he do it. In their bed? In her bed? She wanted to know but did not want to ask the questions for fear of what else she might find out. Did he interfere with David as well? Was that why he was so angry all the time? She was so distraught she felt suicidal, wanting to grab the steering wheel and drive the car straight into the path of an oncoming lorry, the only way she could see out of this misery.

  Donald was equally angry, angry at Janet’s stubborn refusal to listen, why would she not accept that he had never touched Julia. Never! And he gripped the steering wheel even tighter, wishing that it was the throat of that…that charlatan Serrano. How could Julia have been speaking through him? It made no sense. None of it made sense. None of the other supposedly contacted dead, William’s wife or Doris’s husband had spoken in their own voices, so why was Julia’s ‘contact’ the only one coming out of his lying mouth in her own voice?

  None of it made any fucking sense! He felt as though his head was about to explode.

  The Jarrett’s lived in Fallswood, a wealthy residential district on the upper slopes of the hills to the west of the town. Their home on Blackmires Road was a large double fronted, 4-bedroom house set back some fifty yards from the road, partially screened by a high yew hedge.

  There was a single garage to the side of the house and a gate leading to the rear garden, which backed onto an open field and then the trees of Westwick Woods fifty yards away. Built in the 1930’s it was a substantial house, reflecting well-to-do owners with some standing in the community, without the overt ostentation of some of the newer houses higher up the slopes in Heathcroft, sneeringly dismissed by Fallswood residents as ‘footballers-wives’ houses, bling without taste or character.

  Donald drove the Volvo up to the gates, pressed the remote to open them and then drove up the drive to the front of house, the tyres scrunching on the gravel. He switched the engine off and turned to Janet. ‘We have to talk.’

  ‘The only talking I’m going to be doing is to a solicitor.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Janet,’ he said and tried take her arm, but she brushed him and got out of the car but then had to wait for Donald who had the house keys. The rain of earlier had moved on and the night sky was clear, velvet smooth, the moon a bright silver crescent, as cold as a usurer’s heart.

  ‘Don’t for one minute think you are sleeping in my bed tonight, and don’t you even dare to suggest sleeping in Julia’s room. You can sleep on the settee or in your office I don’t really care where,’ Janet, snarled, once they were inside. ‘Don’t ever come near me again.’

  ‘Janet, don’t be like that,’ Donald pleaded, taking her hand.

  ‘Get off me, you bastard,’ she snapped, snatching her hand back.

  David Jarrett, hearing their angry voices, came out of the kitchen, a can of Red Stripe in his hand. Even though not he was not very perceptive where relationships were concerned, he could hardly fail to sense the tensions between his parents. ‘What’s going on? What’s going on between you two, eh?’ he asked before taking another swig at his beer.

  ‘Nothing, just a bit of a spat, that’s all,’ answered Donald.

  ‘That’s all? Come on,’ David said with a disbelieving sneer, ‘Janet, you’re all steamed up and so red faced you look as though you’re about to burst, and you Donald, you’re absolutely tight-arsed with anger, so don’t say it’s nothing, just a spat, ‘cos I’m not totally stupid, you know. So, what’s going on?

  ‘Your father and I are getting a divorce, if you must know. I have found out something so appallingly disgusting about him that I can no longer tolerate his presence.’

  ‘Yeah? What, come on then, spill the dirt, what you been up to. eh, Donald?

  ‘It’s none of your business. And in any case, none of it’s true. None of it.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever, if you say so, but I did always think there was a dark side to you,’ David said, taking another drink.

  ‘What do you mean by that, David, come spit it out, whatever’s on your mind or apologise.’

  ‘Apologise to you, you must be joking.’ At that David drained his beer, turned on his heel and walked back into the kitchen to get another can from the fridge.

  David’s intrusion seemed to have changed Janet’s mind where Donald was to sleep, for she said, ‘For sake of appearances you sleep in our bed, but I shall be putting pillows down between us and you do not touch me, not even accidentally.

  ‘If that’s the way it has to be, OK, but we need to talk.’

  ‘Maybe, but not tonight. My head’s in such a state that if you say another word to me, I shall scream.’

  ‘Fine, I’m going to get a scotch.’

  ‘That’s right, alcohol, your answer to everything. Drink yourself to death, see if I care.’

  And that’s the way it was. In bed, they lay stiffly side by side, neither of them speaking, not even to say goodnight, neither of them really sleeping that night. There was just too much swirling around in their heads, the harsh words, the vivid images, reliving and reliving the awful revelations that could destroy their lives together forever.

  Things were no better next morning, the atmosphere tense, febrile and acrid. Donald and Janet stepped cautiously, even courteously, around each other. They spoke hardly a word over breakfast, although neither had much appetite.

  ‘Well? Donald asked at last.

  ‘Well what?

  ‘What are we go
ing to do, we can’t go on like this. And honestly, honestly I swear I never touched Julia.’

  ‘I just don’t believe you. You’re vile and evil, and I wish to God I had never laid eyes on you.’

  ‘Well, in that case, since you can no longer tolerate my presence and as David seems to have no time for me either, I’ll move out,’ said Donald, seething with resentment at both his wife and son. ‘I’ll get out now, today. I’ll stay at the Premier Inn or somewhere until I find a flat or something.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t Donald, you don’t get away like that, just so you can go and carry on your dirty little tricks with other girls.’

  ‘Well what do you want, for fuck’s sake? he shouted. ‘You say you want a divorce, that you can’t stand the sight of me, but you don’t want me to leave, you make accusations about me without a shred of evidence, but you won’t talk to me, so we can resolve things.’

  ‘Don’t you shout at me with that false indignation, we both know what you did, you heard it, I heard, the whole bloody town has probably heard about it now.

  ‘I didn’t do it...’

  The rows continued, the words might vary but the accusations and denials went around and round and round, ever more bitter and rancorous, never resolving, the voice that came out of the mouth of Sebastian Serrano ever present, echoing and echoing but never receding.

  And to make things worse, if that was possible, Newcastle United lost 3-1.

  Seven

  ‘What the fuck?’ Donald Jarrett shouted angrily as he unfolded the ‘Garside Gazette’, the bi-weekly local newspaper that had just been delivered.

  The headline, in large black print read:

  ‘AN ACCUSATION FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE’

  The story continued:

  Uproar at spiritualist meeting.

  At a sensational spiritualist meeting held in the Easedale Community Centre on Wednesday evening last, the medium, Mr Sebastian Serrano apparently received a message from beyond the grave. According to a ‘Gazette’ informant, the message, purportedly from a dead girl known only as ‘Julia’, accused her father, named as ‘Donald’ of sexually abusing her. As the meeting descended into anger directed at the alleged abuser, the girl’s mother, ‘Janet’ was seen attacking and denouncing her husband for his suspected vile actions.

  As a family newspaper, the ‘Gazette’ cannot go into details of the accusations, suffice it to say, they were amongst the most debauched this paper has ever had to report upon.

  Mr Serrano left the scene almost as soon as the disruptions began and so is unavailable for comment, however the ‘Gazette’ will remain diligent in our efforts to contact Mr Serrano and discover more about this disturbing incident.

  The ‘Gazette’ asks, in the public interest, who was ‘Julia’ and what vile secrets is ‘Donald’ concealing? Readers are requested to contact the ‘Gazette’ news desk if they have any information that can assist in identifying this alleged monster. However, it must be stressed, that as yet, the allegations remain unproven.

  ‘Janet!’, he shouted, ‘have you seen this? It’s bloody disgusting, libellous. I’m getting straight onto Ken Brookes to threaten to sue the arse off them if they don’t print a retraction and apology, Fucking rag! I don’t know why we bother getting it.’

  He thrust the paper at Janet, who read the article, looked up at Donald and read it again, more slowly this time.

  ‘So? It’s all true Donald. That is exactly what happened.’

  ‘They’re accusing me of abusing Julia’, he shouted.

  ‘No Donald, Julia accused you of abusing her!’

  ‘But I swear. I…did…not …touch…her!’

  ‘I just don’t believe you. I heard what she said, and so these protestations of innocence are meaningless.’

  He snatched the paper back from her. ‘I’m going to sue, see if I don’t’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘What do you mean, this is libellous,’

  ‘Read it, Donald. Read it carefully. You can bet their lawyers have vetted every single word of that article, it says, purportedly, apparently, suspected, alleged, allegations unproven, a judge would throw it straight out it if ever got to court, which it won’t, because Ken won’t touch it. Or you for that matter.’ Janet turned and walked away from him.

  ‘Where’re you going?’ Donald demanded angrily.

  ‘Outside, get some fresh air, you make me sick,’

  ‘Fine!’

  Angry and frustrated, Donald made for his study, sat at his desk and tried to work but found it impossible to concentrate. He sat there, staring unseeing at his laptop screen when the telephone, a direct business line, rang. He checked the caller identifier to see who it was. ‘Fuck, Peter!’ he swore, Peter Donnelly, his business partner. He was tempted not to answer but knew that Donnelly would just keep ringing and so he picked up. ‘Peter?’

  ‘Donald, not disturbing you, am I?’

  ‘No, no, just looking at the Greenspan account.’

  ‘Funny you should mention that, I’ve just had Duncan, Duncan Kennedy on the ‘phone. He is not pleased with what he read in the ‘Gazette’ today. Not pleased at all.’

  ‘Oh, yes why’s that?’ Donald asked, as if he had no idea.

  ‘Come off it, Donald, the allegations about familial child abuse. A couple called Donald and Janet who attend spiritualist meetings and who’ve lost a daughter called Julia, come on, who else could it be?’

  ‘Oh, well you can tell him it’s all lies. A complete fabrication and I intend to sue the ‘Gazette’ for every penny.’

  ‘Thank you, that was just the confirmation I wanted.’

  ‘Confirmation?’

  ‘Confirmation that it’s you who’s accused of child abuse.’

  ‘I tell you, it’s completely untrue.’

  ‘So you say, but until this is all resolved, Duncan wants me to handle the Greenspan account.’

  ‘I’ve handled that account ever since it came into the office.’ Donald retorted angrily.

  ‘Take it up with Duncan if you wish but I doubt he’ll even take your calls. He is well disgusted with you. His words were,’ I don’t give my business to a fucking paedophile’. And he is not the only one. I’ve had a number of calls from client’s expressing concern about doing business with an accused child abuser, somebody who molested his own daughter.’

  ‘Allegedly, allegedly. What happened to innocent until proved guilty?’

  ‘Unfortunately, Donald, it doesn’t work that way in a business such as ours which depends on probity. Any hint of a scandal like this and our clients’ will desert in drives. I cannot allow that to happen.’

  ‘You cannot allow it to happen, this is my business Peter, and I will decide what happens, not you.’

  ‘No, Donald, it is no longer the one-man band you started up all those years ago, it’s a business and I am a partner, an equity partner and I am telling you, you do not come into the office, you make no contact with any client and you return to this office any and all files you have there. If I have to, I will take out an injunction against you on the very reasonable grounds that having an accused child abuser as senior partner is detrimental to the good name of the business. Don’t make me do that, Donald.’

  ‘The only way you get to make those decisions is if you buy me out Peter, otherwise it is still my name on the letterhead and it’s going to remain that way.’

  ‘I might just do that, Donald, it’s been obvious for some time that you’re holding the business back, your reluctance to expand, refusal to embrace the latest technology and IT solutions.’

  ‘Well do so, you devious back-stabbing bastard. Don’t forget, I brought you into the business and gave you your start.’

  ‘Come off it, mate, you were dying on your feet, I brought in all the corporate clients, without me you would have been out of business years ago. This business with Julia, true or not has given me the impetus to something about the business before it gets totally moribund under your d
ead hand.’

  ‘Just do that, Now, fuck off,’ Donald snapped, resisting the temptation to slam the phone down.

  Breathing heavily with anger, Donald sat back in his chair, ‘Peter Donnelly, the worst decision I ever made, allowing him to buy in as a partner, 49%, seemed like a good idea at the time, but from day one he was undermining me, taking over clients, demanding a name change. OK, he brought in some good corporate clients but nothing to the extent he claims. Well, sod him, I’m sick of the business anyway.

  Might for the best he buys me out, I can retire, shit, I’m nearly sixty, we can take a long holiday, maybe move away, Spain, Portugal somewhere. Away from all this. Janet and I can make a fresh start. Sell this house, buy David an apartment on Redemption Island and get him out of our hair at last.

  But then he received a text from Paul Gosling, his long-standing golf partner, ‘sorry Don, can’t make our game Sunday, followed by an email from Gordon Travers, the secretary at the West Garside Golf Club,

  To donaldjjarrett@hotmail.com

  From: secretary@westgarsidegolf.com

  Donald,

  In view of the current circumstances, I am obliged to advise that your presence at this establishment would be considered inappropriate and as such your membership has been temporarily suspended.

  Once the allegations against you have been dismissed, your membership will of course be re-instated, and you will be welcome to return.

  Regards

  Gordon Travers.

  Donald put his head in his hands. ‘How did everything get so fucked-up so quickly? Julia. Janet’s obsession with spiritualism, that meeting, the article in the ‘Gazette’, the business and Peter Donnelly, Janet not talking to him and our marriage in jeopardy, the golf club, what else is going to come along and kick me in the balls? What have I done to deserve all this, eh God? Tell me!’

  He just sat there for the rest of the day, staring into space, his stomach churning with tension although the amount of scotch he was drinking did not help that. He had not slept properly, he had little appetite and all he could think about was why overnight, his life had gone down such a shit-slope.