Only You: an absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by S Williams

  ‘You mean the one in the brochure?’

  Mary turns to Jamie.

  ‘It’s a photo of Blea Fell, but not Blea Fell now.’

  ‘But I didn’t know that,’ adds Athene.

  Mary shrugs.

  ‘How could you? You’ve never been here before.’

  ‘What does it matter?’ Jamie says.

  ‘Not just from before, but Blea Fell then,’ Mary continues. ‘I never clocked it when I first saw it; I was too muddled just by seeing it not in ruins. But I’m certain. It was Blea Fell in that summer.’

  Jamie sits down on a stool. He looks like someone has beaten him up from the inside.

  ‘Which summer?’ he whispers, but it was clear from his face he already knew the answer.

  ‘From that summer, Jamie. The summer before Bella died. The summer after you and Trent were expelled and he went on remand. The summer that fucked everything forever.’

  31

  Last Day of School: Summer, 1998

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Trent, stop it! Stop it, or you’re going to kill him!’

  It was difficult to know what shocked the crowd most: the fight in the corridor, or Mouse swearing at the top of her voice, her eyes wild and scared, her voice high and ripped through with terror.

  She slammed herself against the metal lockers, her hand stuffed into her mouth to stop herself screaming. Her entire body was in conflict, the fight and flight impulses locked together. The noise the locker doors made as she smashed into them echoed around the corridor. The fight was almost silent; only the sound of scuffing as Trent held the boy in place with his body, sitting astride him as he threw his fists down again and again. The crowd of students that made up the loose fight ring stared, seemingly struck dumb by the viciousness. Normally there would be jeering and crowd noise; something to encourage the animal display in front of them.

  But not this time.

  There was something about the ferocity of the pummelling; something in the way hate was radiating off Trent.

  If Trent had heard Mouse, he gave no sign. He kept punching the boy’s face, over and over. The noise was like meat being slapped down on a butcher’s counter. Little sprays of blood made patterns around the two boys, a grotesque modern art painting of pain and betrayal.

  The boy was not even protecting himself. Just letting his face slowly turn to a mush of red and white, with his eyes dim cushions of pain.

  ‘Please, stop,’ Mouse whispered, sliding down the locker until she was sitting on the hard linoleum floor. Nobody heard her, or if they did, they didn’t acknowledge her. They stood silently, watching the fight. Mouse could see Trent through the body of the crowd, and let out a gasp.

  He was no longer looking at his opponent. Trent was still hitting him, like he was on automatic, but he was no longer looking at him.

  He was looking at her.

  And his eyes were flowing with a battleground of emotion. They were leaking thick, viscous tears. The crowd of students looked from the fight to Mouse, trying to understand what was going on. How the invisible girl could be involved in the pain and destruction happening in front of them. Trent continued to gaze straight at her, his clockwork fists slowly running down until, finally, they were still on either side of the broken boy beneath him.

  Once the hitting had stopped, the silence became harder; more solid, a stretched rope between Trent and Mouse.

  Trent nodded, the oil tears slipping from his face and landing on the ruin of the boy beneath him.

  ‘This is for you,’ he said into the silence. Mouse shook her head, but couldn’t speak.

  ‘This is for you. Because of what he did.’

  Mouse stared in horror at first Trent, then the beaten boy beneath him.

  A small, bloody, bubble of spit formed in the gap between the boy’s broken mouth. It expanded as he breathed out, then broke with a wet snap. Trent looked down and smiled. Slowly, he brought his hand up to his face, forming a circle around his eye with his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Say cheese for the camera, Jamie,’ he said.

  ‘TRENT BARROW, GET OFF HIM! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?’

  The crowd, a moment before in a drunk of body violence, snapped and ran at the thunder of the teacher’s shout. There was the squeak of a dozen trainers on the linoleum floor as they scattered, then only Jamie and Trent, the teacher, and Mouse remained, as if they had never been.

  ‘What’s happening here, Trent?’ the teacher asked, staring in disbelief at the schoolboys. For some reason, Trent’s face seemed to be covered in ash.

  The teacher turned and looked at Mouse. ‘What’s been going on? This is…’ He petered off, as if unsure how to finish. Mouse shook her head. He looked back to Trent and Jamie. ‘Christ,’ he muttered. He stepped forward to pull Trent off, but then stopped, the sheer violence of the scene overwhelming him. He looked around wildly then, spotting the rag of students peering around the corner at the end of the corridor, shouted, ‘Go and find a teacher! Tell them to call an ambulance and get me the first aid box from Mrs Croft!’

  The children just stared wide-eyed past him at the two boys on the floor.

  ‘Now!’ the teacher shouted, before turning back to look at Trent.

  ‘Jesus, you’ve practically killed him! Stand up and step away.’

  The teacher stepped forward, then stopped again as Trent shook his head.

  ‘Nah, he’s all right, sir. I was just explaining the finer details of composition to him, when we got a bit carried away.’

  ‘Carried away?’ he stared at the boy incredulously. ‘He’s going to need to go to hospital, Trent! I’m going to have to call the police! This is way beyond…’ The teacher ran out of words again.

  Trent looked up at him, wide-eyed. ‘The police, sir?’

  The teacher nodded. ‘Get off him, Trent. I need to check his airway. Go and stand by the lockers.’

  Trent blinked and looked down at Jamie. His face was swollen, a Halloween pumpkin, with his eyes almost completely shut. Trent stroked his face gently.

  ‘I said get off–’

  Trent slapped Jamie backhanded, ripping the flesh off his temple with his ring. Mouse screamed as the pumpkin skin split open. The ring must have been sharp, as blood and fat oozed out of the long gash.

  ‘You know, Jamie? I think that might leave a little scar,’ Trent said pleasantly, as the teacher lunged forward and dragged him off the boy’s body.

  The last thing Mouse saw, before the scene went blank and she shut down, was Jamie, with his ripped face and his strange limp body.

  The last thing she saw as it all went blank was Jamie, with the teacher and Trent in the background behind him.

  The last thing she saw as the world tilted and everything disappeared was Jamie, smiling at her with his almost-closed eyes and broken-teeth mouth.

  32

  The Craven Head

  Jamie turns away and walks behind the bar, pulling a glass from the shelf and slotting it under the gin optic. He is amazed to see his hand is steady.

  ‘I’m not getting this.’ Athene looks between Jamie and Mary. ‘Why was Trent expelled, and sent to…’

  ‘Remand,’ Mary says.

  ‘Remand. Did it have something to do with what happened with Bella?’

  ‘It was a misunderstanding that got blown out of all proportion.’ Jamie shrugs one shoulder. ‘Trent beat up a student at school, and they expelled him. It was no big deal; it was his last year and he was going to fail his A-levels anyhow. The whole remand thing was way over the top.’

  ‘No big deal? Are you fucking joking with me or what?’ Mary’s voice is tight, as if she was trying to choke it. ‘He nearly blinded you, Jamie! If he’d caught you any lower, your eye would have been bouncing along the school floor like a bloody ping-pong ball!’

  ‘What? The student was you?’ Athene looks at him, confused. ‘Why did he beat you up?’

  Jamie shrugs. ‘Like I said, it was a misunderstanding. Anyhow it’s twenty years
ago! It doesn’t matter anymore.’

  ‘Except it clearly does, Jamie.’ Mary walks forward a couple of steps and hooks a finger at Athene. ‘Because somebody sent mystery-girl here a picture of Blea Fell in the summer before Bella died, and got her to come up here and start digging up the past.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, Mary, what do you mean mystery-girl? I–’

  Mary raises her hand without looking at Athene, keeping all her attention on Jamie.

  Athene looks at the hand, held in front of her like a warning sign.

  Mary continues. ‘And Trent, your Trent, Jamie, not long out of prison, is also sent a picture, not just of Blea Fell, but of me and him and Bella, leaning against the car. A picture you took. The car that a few hours later will be involved in a fatal accident. The accident that, incidentally, sends Trent to jail.’

  ‘What do you mean, his Trent?’ Athene asks. ‘I thought you said he was Bella’s boyfriend?’

  Jamie and Mary ignore her. Mary still has her hand up, looking like a demented lollipop lady, and Jamie is bleeding daggers from his eyes.

  ‘Not my Trent, Mouse. He was Bella’s Trent. Her Heathcliff.’ Jamie’s voice is soft, but his words seem to slice into the room. ‘Bella’s, and yours,’ he finishes.

  Nobody speaks.

  Athene finally breaks the silence, moving a couple of steps abruptly towards them.

  ‘Right. You two clearly have some issues to discuss; I’m going to the shop to get some supplies, then I think I’m going to pack. It’s all getting a bit intense for me, I’m afraid. I don’t think there’s any way I can work in this environment.’

  She nods sharply at them, then turns and walks quickly to the door. With her movement the tension seems to break in the room.

  ‘Athene, I’m sorry…’ Mary begins, but the student doesn’t slow down; just continues, disappearing through the doorway and into the hotel lobby. Mary and Jamie listen to the front door open and close.

  In the silence that follows, Jamie smiles at Mary, his face twisting. ‘That went well, don’t you think?’

  ‘Fuck off, Jamie,’ mutters Mary, staring at the doorway. She glares at it a moment more, then swallows, the fizzing fear and anger that had been buoying her up dissipating. ‘I haven’t got the energy for it.’

  Jamie slings back his glass, pouring the gin down his throat. Wiping his mouth, he puts down the empty tumbler.

  ‘Do you know how they make gin,’ he says, turning the glass on the scarred bar with his fingers. Watching as it slowly revolved.

  ‘What?’ Mary turns away from the doorway and looks at him. ‘What are you even talking about?’

  ‘Gin. Did you know that they have to throw most of it away? That in the process of making it, the first bit of it is poisonous?’ He raises his eyebrows at her, making his scar crinkle.

  ‘Fascinating, Jamie.’

  ‘No, really! You make up the batch, add your botanicals – herbs and spices and whatever – then you have to throw a third of it away because it’s pure ethanol. If you drank it, it would kill you.’

  Mary looks at him, then looks back to the door, where Athene had left a moment before.

  ‘You’ve fucking lost it, Jamie, you know that?’

  Jamie nods. ‘That was Bella, at the end. She was the poison.’

  Mary stares at him, disgust colouring her voice. ‘What are you saying? What do you mean, she was the poison? She died, Jamie. She died screaming.’

  ‘Before then.’ Jamie’s voice is flat. ‘Before that night. Before the fight at school. Before even–’

  ‘I held her in my arms, Jamie, and she wasn’t poison, she was broken. She was a rag doll with bits of stuffing poking out. She wasn’t poison, Jamie, she was a fucked-up girl who got killed!’

  Jamie shrugs. ‘Whatever. You were always in her pocket, ever since you were little. You never saw her without your Bella-glasses on. You never knew what she was really like.’

  ‘What do you mean? Of course I knew her! I was her best friend, Jamie!’

  Jamie sniggers. ‘Sure. That’s why you fucked Trent.’

  Mary’s mouth drops open. Jamie raises his hands, palms out, his face a picture of mock amazement.

  ‘What, you think I didn’t know?’

  Mary shakes her head. She feels hot with shame and anger.

  ‘You think Bella didn’t know?’ Jamie whispers, his voice snaking through the air.

  It was as if Jamie had slapped her. She actually feels herself reel from his words.

  ‘She didn’t.’ It sounded like somebody else was saying the words. Mary’s head is full of snowstorms and stunted trees. Of moonshine and a kiss from the past that meant more to her than anything. ‘Trent would never…’

  ‘You know he would, Mouse. Trent had his own agenda.’ Jamie’s lizard eyes flick over her body. ‘Anyhow, you’ll be able to ask him soon.’ He looks at his watch and swallows. Even in her shocked state, Mary can see that he was frightened. She suddenly has a memory of Jamie on the school bus, when they were all just starting high school. It was the same look; like he was terrified a secret was going to be found out.

  Mary takes a ragged breath, and straightens up, binding her emotions until later. ‘Fuck you, Jamie, and fuck Trent too.’ She leans down and picks her coat off from the floor; begins walking out of the bar.

  ‘You know who she is, don’t you?’ calls Jamie.

  Mary stops and turns slowly. ‘Who?’

  ‘The mystery girl, Athene. You know who she is, who she must be, yes? I mean, otherwise nothing makes sense. Photos for you and Trent. And a photo of Blea Fell for her. That can only mean one thing. That she’s connected somehow. That means she must be her.’

  ‘It can’t be,’ says Mary quietly, not even believing herself. ‘She was given a new identity. A new name and everything. She wouldn’t remember anything. There would be nothing to connect her to here.’

  Jamie shrugs again. ‘But she looks like Bella a bit, doesn’t she? And she’s the right age. And she’s trying to find out about Blea Fell, and the fire.’

  Mary feels the past shiver through her; sees in her mind’s eye Athene picking up the owl in the carcass of the house.

  It’s funny, because my name means owl.

  Mary takes a step back into the room. ‘You think she’s Bella’s sister, Jamie?’

  Thing.

  Mary hears Bella’s voice in her head, calling her sister by The Addams Family nickname she had for her, but isn’t sure if it’s conformation or derision.

  Shut up, thinks Mary. You’re no use: you’re dead.

  ‘You think she’s Martha? You think someone tracked her down for some reason, sent her a cryptic clue to come here?’ Mary smiles at him, arranging her face into bemused amazement. ‘Sent Trent one too?’

  Jamie looks uneasy; unsure.

  ‘Why?’ said Mary simply. ‘What could the possible point be? Her sister’s dead. Her parents are dead. Who would gain from it?’

  Jamie doesn’t say anything. Mary continues to gaze at him, and eventually, he looks down at his empty drink.

  ‘What aren’t you telling me, Jamie?’

  Jamie stays staring at the glass on the bar, until Mary eventually shrugs, and turns away.

  ‘I’ll see you, Jamie. Say hello to Trent, for me. Wish him a good journey home.’

  ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,’ Jamie says before she can turn fully away again.

  Mary stands motionless. ‘Sorry for what, Jamie?’

  Jamie shakes his head, then points at the wall to the left of her. ‘I saw you looking. Looking and listening. When you came in before.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ she asks harshly. But she knows what he’s talking about. What they’ve never talked about, and she doesn’t want to hear it. Not now; maybe not ever.

  ‘The pinball machine,’ Jamie continues. ‘In the back room. Dad got rid of it that winter.’ Jamie smiles, but the gash in his face looks painted on. Black and cold and badly forme
d. ‘It kept on breaking, so he just got shot.’

  ‘Great, Jamie. Thanks for sharing.’

  ‘It didn’t though.’ Jamie’s words tumble out of his mouth like a cork has been popped. ‘Break, I mean. I mean it did but I did it. I kept on breaking it. I couldn’t stand the sound.’

  Mary stares at him, incredulous.

  ‘You couldn’t stand the sound?’ she says, wonder in her voice. ‘You couldn’t stand the sound? Well, poor you.’

  ‘Like I said; I’m sorry.’ Jamie doesn’t look at her; just stays looking at his empty glass.

  ‘Too late for sorry, Jamie.’

  Mary is quite impressed that she doesn’t fall over as she leaves the barroom and walks out of the hotel. When she gets outside she leans against the door and breathes in the crisp autumn air, replacing the stench of the past that had filled her lungs. What had happened that night with the pinball was something she had locked away; and she wasn’t going to unlock it now.

  Across the road, sat on the bench by the beck, is Athene. The girl was jabbing at her mobile phone, no doubt letting her mum know what a bunch of nut-bags she’s gotten mixed up in.

  She really does look like Bella, thinks Mary. Or at least, maybe I want her to. Maybe I want to finish everything and stop being turned over by the past.

  Mary checks the small road for non-existent traffic, then crosses over toward her.

  If it is the past, a small voice says inside her.

  33

  Bella’s Secret Diary: 1992

  I have found a secret about my room!

  Yesterday it rained and rained and I spent the whole day in my room.

  Mum came and lit the fire, which is a real fire, and I locked the door and was going to spend the whole day reading.

  Anyhow, after a while the fire started spitting, so instead of reading I just watched it, because it was alive and talking to me in crackles and light and heat. Every now and then a bit of coal would spit out and land on the floor, and that’s when I noticed that it must have happened loads of times before because the wooden boards were covered in burn marks! All over the floor around the fire. It is like the fire was trying to escape but could only get a little way. The further away from the fire the less burn marks there were. It was like a fire-tide. Anyhow I forgot about my book (Wuthering Heights, again! When I grow up I want to be Cathy, not Isabella!) and decided to spend the afternoon with my fire. Outside the day was so dark it was almost night, and the fire was so sparkly and pretty, with its spitting coal like a volcano, that I couldn’t concentrate.