by A J Waines
‘Not that it matters, anyway,’ she went on, ‘coming back wasn’t about the stupid “fortune” anyway.’
The world around me was fading in and out. I thought at first I was dipping in and out of consciousness, then I realised it was the torch.
‘It’s going out,’ I muttered.
‘We’ll wait until it’s gone completely. Then we can use yours.’
We struggled on in silence for a while until the beam tailed off altogether, forcing us to stop in the middle of the track. It was impossible to know how far we had to go. The stretch of wood ahead of us looked exactly the same as the one we’d just walked through; everything turning white as though it was being slowly erased from existence. We could have been going round in circles for all I knew.
Rosie pulled me closer so she could reach behind me and open my rucksack for the other torch. She pressed her hand against my forehead. ‘You’re a bit feverish,’ she said.
The beam from my torch was orange instead of white, not as bright as hers and already quivering when she switched it on. It lasted about twenty seconds, then went out like a dubious omen.
‘What do we do now?’ I mumbled, my thoughts sketchy and feeble with the combination of pain and cold.
‘We’ll think of something.’
Making any headway was hopeless without the torch; the air felt heavy, as if we were wading through water. When I looked up there were only tiny fragments of sky beyond the treetops and they were saturated with snow, blocking out any light from the stars.
‘Who knows how this might end?’ she said, her words coiling out of the gloom. She laughed. ‘Our relationship, I mean.’
The message from Minette flashed into my mind and for the first time I felt a tremble of genuine fear. Had Erica really been pushed down the stairs? Had that triggered the heart attack that killed her? When, exactly, had Rosie had her last appointment? I didn’t want to think about it, I couldn’t afford to let my mind wander off towards what it might mean.
I could hear Rosie breathing in small snatches beside me. She was oddly unperturbed by our worsening situation. We were lost, I was on the verge of passing out, we couldn’t see a thing, it was getting colder and colder and no one knew we were out here.
‘You’ll have to go,’ I told her, standing on one leg clutching a thick branch. ‘Go and find the road on your own. I’ll wait here.’
It was our only chance, wasn’t it? I wasn’t sure. My mind wasn’t working properly.
‘I’m not leaving you, Sam,’ she said firmly, finding my face with her icy fingers and stroking my cheek. Her breath was in my face. ‘I’ll never leave you.’
‘You have to,’ I insisted.
‘Everything’s going to be all right,’ she whispered, nuzzling into my neck. ‘Whatever happens, we’ll be together.’
I wanted to pull away more than anything, but I needed her support. ‘Tell me how you really feel about me,’ she said. ‘Please. The truth.’
‘Rosie, I don’t think—’
‘Come on…tell me…I know it’s been hard for you to be honest in our sessions, because there are so many things you’re not supposed to do. I know you’ve been trying not to cross the line…’
I couldn’t cope with this right now.
‘Rosie, I might have a broken ankle…I’m in pain, I can’t think straight...’
She put her arms around me, dragging me back towards a fallen tree trunk. I wanted to resist, but there was nowhere to go. She pulled me down and began making little cooing noises in a world of her own.
‘Let’s rest and huddle together for a while,’ she muttered, snuggling into me, almost smothering me, rocking me and humming, like a mother with a child. ‘We can stay here as long as want, can’t we?’ she whispered, pressing the words into my hair.
‘Rosie, no…we should keep—’
I froze sharply.
‘Did you hear that?’ I said.
A branch snapped.
‘Someone’s coming,’ I said, trying to stand.
‘I didn’t hear anything,’ she muttered, her grip suddenly vicelike around my head, trying to press my mouth into her coat so I couldn’t be heard.
There was a rustling sound then a spot of light popped up ahead through the thick mass of branches.
With a twist and a shove, I pulled away from her. ‘HELP!’ I yelled with all my might. ‘We’re over here. We need help…’
A dog barked and came bounding towards us, then a voice rose out of the undergrowth.
‘Who’s there?’ It was a deep male voice. ‘What are you doing out here in the dark?’ He flicked his torch over our faces and we were forced to shield our eyes.
‘I’ve hurt my leg; I can barely walk,’ I told him, clinging on to a branch.
The dog barked again, snuffling at our pockets.
‘She won’t harm you,’ he said, as the beam flickered across Rosie’s forlorn face.
I mistook his meaning for a second, then almost wanted to laugh. I leant down and patted the dog’s back in gratitude.
‘I’m the gamekeeper – just doing my rounds. Let’s get you out of here.’
Chapter 39
Sam
I’m a bit hazy on how I got back to the B&B. I remember the quality of the air changing from chilly to icy and the moon bobbing in and out of the treetops like a balloon. I remember being helped into a Land Rover and Rosie’s hand gripping mine all the way back to my B&B. I didn’t have the energy to pull away.
My landlady wanted to take me to hospital, but I insisted I just needed a good night’s sleep. It was a sprain I was sure of it, but if anything was broken, I’d know by the morning.
Rosie helped me upstairs to my room while Mrs Waterman filled a hot-water bottle. She knew the gamekeeper and invited him in, making us all a pot of tea.
‘How strange that your friend was staying in the B&B over the ridge…?’ she said, leaving two steaming mugs beside my bed. She glanced over at Rosie, clearly trying to work out the dynamic between the two of us, then backed out of the door, leaving us alone.
Rosie plumped up the pillows and suggested she slept on the floor overnight to keep an eye on me.
‘I’m fine,’ I lied, remaining seated on the edge of the bed.
We supped our tea in silence.
‘You go back to your B&B; they’ll be wondering where you are,’ I said, as soon as she’d finished her drink. ‘Go now, so the gamekeeper can walk you over. We’ll get separate trains in the morning, like we agreed. I’ll catch the one at half-past nine.’
‘But, what about my last session?’
‘I can’t walk, Rosie. You could go back along the road on your own, tomorrow, and record whatever comes up for you, but I can’t go with you.’
‘It wouldn’t be the same,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t work.’
‘I’m sorry, Rosie – it’s over.’
Her bottom lip began to tremble. ‘There are still millions of loose ends about the crash. I can’t bear it. You’re saying it’s all over and I’ve got to carry on as if nothing’s happened. It’s too much to cope with.’
‘Yes. That’s why I think it would be good for you to work long term with someone else.’
She turned to me, fingers at her mouth, like a toddler. ‘So this is it then?’
‘Yes, it is,’ I said, staying perfectly still. ‘We’ll say goodbye and we won’t have any more sessions or any more contact when we get back to London. I think we’ve done a pretty good job, both of us, under the circumstances. This mystery has been a tough nut to crack and I’m really sorry it hasn’t been solved. And I’m sorry your viola’s gone. I know that’s a big disappointment to you.’ I smiled. ‘You’ve been very kind, helping me just now, but nothing’s changed.’
In fact, if anything, her overly attentive behaviour in the woods had left me decidedly uneasy and it hadn’t escaped my attention that she’d been undeniably annoyed, rather than relieved, when the gamekeeper came to our rescue.
Rosie stood
by the bed, waiting, no doubt hoping I’d change my mind.
‘So, we’re not going to see each other…meet up or anything…back in London?’
‘No.’
‘It’s not fair,’ she huffed.
I winced and shuffled back towards the pillow. ‘I’m tired, Rosie. Goodbye.’
She got as far as the door and opened it, then fiddled with the latch, standing half in and half out of the room.
I cleared my throat. ‘Take good care of yourself,’ I said.
‘Yeah…’ she muttered.
She walked out and pulled the door to, disappearing on to the landing.
In an instant, I was reaching for the bedpost so I could hobble over to the door. I turned the key in the lock and rested my back against it.
Why had I let Rosie into my life? What had I done? She was like a smouldering touch paper creeping way too close to a huge pile of gunpowder. What would have happened out in the woods if the gamekeeper hadn’t found us? It didn’t bear thinking about.
I rang Minette as soon as Rosie’s footsteps had faded away.
‘You got my message?’ she asked.
‘Yes, and it’s got me very worried,’ I said. ‘I’ve just been with the patient you know as “Kitty”, as it happens.’ I briefly explained the situation, giving Rosie’s real name.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘Well, my ankle’s not great, but I’m okay.’ I drew a breath. ‘I’m not at all comfortable with the situation here. I’m coming back first thing tomorrow. Is there anything else you can tell me about Erica’s death?’
‘Only that it’s clear Erica scheduled her last session with “Kitty”, aka Rosie Chandler, earlier that day.’
‘That day? You mean Rosie was with her the day she died?’
‘Yes, but there were witnesses who saw her leave the house and Erica was seen alive and well shortly afterwards.’ She sounded in a hurry. ‘I’ll let you know if I hear anything else. You just be careful, okay?’
Chapter 40
Rosie
I’m in a state. Sam has seriously gone down in my estimation. We were together at last and everything was suddenly giddy and spine-tingling between us, but she didn’t seem to want to talk about ‘us’ at all.
I went out of my way to look after her, but she hardly showed any appreciation for my help. I soothed her and comforted her and all she could say was that she wanted us to stop seeing each other. Unbelievable. Nothing about ending the sessions and moving into a close friendship. Nothing about that AT ALL. I’m gutted. She’s led me on all this time, making me think I was special and that she wanted to be my friend, but it was all FAKE.
When I suggested we went to the Lakes, I laid it on a bit thick about feeling suicidal. I wanted to give her a solid justification for making the trip, so it would look better to the authorities she has to show her cases to.
The bottom line is that she doesn’t seem to feel what I thought she did. I thought she was struggling with her feelings about me, because she wanted to stay professional about it. I thought once our appointments stopped everything would take off between us, but apparently not. I’ve given her plenty of opportunity to turn our situation into a proper friendship, but all she’s done is fob me off. I can’t believe it. She’s just like all the others.
How do I feel about it all? Honestly, I’m not sure yet. Our sessions have ended and she doesn’t want me to contact her, she’s made that very clear, so it’s all over from her point of view. But it isn’t over for me. I can’t stop thinking about her, I can’t let her go, just like that.
Thankfully, I’ve had other stuff on my mind. When Sam said she recognised ‘Teddy Spense’, I pretended not to see it. But Sam was right. She thinks we’ve reached a blind alley – but I lied. I know exactly who he is. He was at that party fifteen years ago, but I had my reasons for not coming clean. I didn’t tell her that I remembered the whole registration on the motorbike number plate either, not just part of it.
She thinks the mystery has dried up, but she doesn’t know the half of it – in fact, it’s alive and kicking, so at least some good came of this trip.
I’m not going to the police, though. I don’t want them getting to him before I do. I didn’t tell Sam either, because the next stage means breaking the law and she wouldn’t approve. I’ll deal with this first, then I’ll sort out the situation with Sam, once and for all.
It wasn’t hard to find his address. Number one in a small block of flats in Tooting Bec. It’s right there beside his name in the phone book. I remembered Richard telling me, at some point, that both he and his brother had been given stupid middle names – Oakley and Yorath – so the initial in the listing gave him away.
I spot the motorbike through the wrought iron gate at the side. The same number plate; he’d been in the Lakes all right. I keep walking, past the flats and down to the end of the road, and sit on the wall to think.
As soon as I’d put two and two together, I realised I’d actually met him a few times in passing, but was never particularly impressed. He’s the kind of guy who wants you to think he’s ‘cool’, with his finger on the pulse, doing well for himself, but I’m not sure he’s smart at all. Streetwise, maybe, in a superficial kind of way, but not adept enough to work out a seamless plan and foresee the consequences. Hence the business with Max’s watch. He hadn’t considered that someone might recognise it. That was pathetic.
I walk up the path and press the buzzer not for number one, but number four. No reply. I wait and press again. I try flat three and there’s a crackle and a woman’s reedy voice.
‘I’m so sorry to bother you,’ I say. ‘I’ve been ringing Mr White’s bell, on the ground floor, and he doesn’t seem to be answering. You haven’t seen him today have you? I’m his sister.’
‘Oh…erm…let me think…no, I think I saw him go out this morning.’
‘His bike’s still here.’
‘Yeah…that’s right. He was on foot. He was with someone. About ten o’clock, I think it was.’
‘Not to worry, he must have forgotten.’ There are four buttons on the intercom and four floors to the house. Luckily he’s on the ground floor. I know what to do next. ‘Thanks very much. I’ll try round the back, just in case. Bye.’
The block has a small back yard with access via a narrow alleyway. I retrace my steps and count the houses along the back alley until I reach the right house. There’s a wheelie bin outside a sturdy locked gate, so I climb onto it and clamber over. It’s second nature. Smart move, I think, warning the tenant I’ll try round the back; she won’t freak out if she spots me.
As I’d hoped, one small window at the back is open a fraction. I find a barrel in the yard, upturn it in front of the window ledge and trail my fingers inside. I find the latch and lift it. The window makes a sticky click and opens freely. I pull it wide and climb through onto the draining board, trying not to knock a pile of unwashed mugs and pans onto the floor.
The kitchen is a disgrace; mouldy takeaway cartons, age-old plates with fried egg and crusty baked beans strewn over the surfaces. My first thought is Don’t touch anything, more out of self-preservation than to avoid leaving evidence. There’s no way I’m going to take my gloves off.
I take a quick look around and then creep out into the hallway. I stop and listen for sounds. The woman in flat three saw him go out, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t come back in again. I can’t hear anything, though.
There’s a row of hooks by the front door; one with a few loose keys and one with a leather BMW logo on it. The hook nearest the door itself is empty.
The sitting room door is ajar; I slide up to the crack beside the doorframe and look for any signs of movement. Nothing. I slip inside and look around. I know what I’m looking for, I just don’t know where he’d be keeping it. Surely not out in the open: under the bed maybe or beneath the floorboards, perhaps. I recoil at having to snoop – everything about the place – the dank smell, the torn wallpaper, the bare
carpets – makes me think ‘squalor’.
I creep reluctantly into a bedroom. It looks like someone has got here first and trashed the place: pillows on the floor, drawers left open, a guitar leaning precariously against the wardrobe, an upturned laundry basket on the mattress. I kneel down and look under the bed. It’s stuffed with boxes. I pull a few out; they’re filled with CDs and computer games. I check the wardrobe and a built-in cupboard. A jumble of clothes fall out. I leave them. I don’t suppose he’s going to notice.
I reach the box room when I hear a noise. A click. The front door. Bugger. He’s back. The door slams and something heavy lands on the floor. He swears. I look desperately for somewhere to hide, but there’s no space; there are clothes, boxes and damp washing everywhere.
I change my mind and decide on a different tack altogether. I walk openly towards him as he bends over a large box on the doormat, making no attempt to soften the sound of my footsteps.
‘What the f—’ he says, snapping upright like a jack-knife.
‘Hi, Greg,’ I say nonchalantly. ‘Surprise, seeing me?’
He clears his throat and brushes past me into the kitchen. ‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ I say, on his heels. ‘Could do with a cleaner.’
‘How the hell did you get in?’
I point to the kitchen window. ‘It wasn’t rocket science. You should put security higher up your list of priorities, especially when you’re hiding priceless stuff about the place.’
His eyes narrow. He can’t tell whether or not I’ve found it yet.
‘What the hell,’ he says, opening his hands by way of a forced welcome, pretending to be all laid back. ‘Actually, I was expecting you earlier. What took you so long?’
His comment throws me for a second. Was he really expecting me to drop by?
‘Well…’ I say, forcing my eyes to meet his. ‘Aren’t you going to fill me in?’
‘Fill you in?’ He looks at me oddly.
