The Good Samaritan

by John Marrs

  ‘Effie, please don’t be like that. Why don’t I meet you for a coffee tomorrow and—’

  ‘No! I’m going to tell Dad what you made me do.’

  ‘Before you do that, remember one thing,’ I replied calmly. ‘You started all of this. Your silly schoolgirl crush began this chain of events. Your precious father is already embarrassed by the trouble you’ve caused him, so I can only imagine what this will do to him. And when the police and the school find out how you lied, you’ll have to move schools again and probably face criminal charges for your false accusations. There’s not much your dad can do to protect you from that. But you’re old enough now to be put into a young offenders institute, aren’t you? God knows how you’ll survive that. So ahead of telling your father about my involvement, I’d think long and hard about the repercussions first.’

  She fell silent. ‘You have to remember, Effie – you and I are cut from the same cloth. You are your mother’s daughter. There is so much you can learn from me.’

  I was so angry with her that I didn’t give her the opportunity to reply. Instead, I hung up and knocked back my glass of wine. All this I had done for her, for all of us, but she was too self-centred to appreciate it. The more I thought about it, the more my blood boiled.

  Whether Effie liked it or not, nothing was going to stop me from getting my whole family back under one roof again. Nothing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  RYAN

  The wind howled through the slats in the car’s grille and under the dented bonnet, making it vibrate. It also blew up and under the wheel arches and along the undercarriage. At times, the car felt as if it was about to be picked up and tossed into the air.

  From the early evening onwards, I’d remained in the driver’s seat, draining every last drop from the vodka bottle. Now daylight was breaking through the thick veil of night and I was sobering up. But nothing was going to change for me with the dawn of a new day. No amount of alcohol could ever blot out what had become of my life.

  I tried to imagine how it could have been, had I not tried to gain a greater understanding of Charlotte’s depression; if I’d just accepted that I’d lost my wife to it, then learned to move on.

  Every now and again another car appeared in the car park and I’d watch as their drivers exited in running gear or with dogs on leads, all making the most of the early-morning quiet. The wind aside, it was as tranquil a location as I’d imagined it to be.

  I’d driven for almost two hours in near silence to reach Birling Gap in East Sussex, the place where Charlotte had killed herself. Several times since her death, I’d mulled over whether I should go and see why she’d chosen that location, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to until now.

  And for so long, I’d asked myself what could be so awful about a person’s life that they’d feel driven to end it. Now I understood that whether it’s a chemical imbalance in your head, a past that haunts you or other people making your world unmanageable, everyone can reach a point where it all becomes too much. It had for me.

  Everything I’d once held so close to my heart, I’d lost. There was no coming back from the things I had done, the things I was being accused of doing and the things I was innocent of. I had no wife, no son, no job, no parents, no brother . . . absolutely nothing to live for.

  I’d parked in the exact same place Charlotte had, according to the dashboard-cam footage. I opened the car door, grabbed an old coat from the back and slipped it on. I’d looked online at photographs and footage of the area so many times that it felt familiar – comforting, even – despite me never having been there in person.

  I took my phone off airplane mode, and message after message flashed across the screen. Missed texts, missed emails, missed calls. Suddenly it started vibrating, and Johnny’s picture flashed up on the screen. I hesitated before answering, but I didn’t speak.

  ‘Ry?’ he asked. ‘Ryan? Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where the hell are you? The police are looking for you.’

  ‘I thought they might.’

  ‘They’ve been to the flat and then Mum and Dad’s. What the hell has happened?’

  I didn’t reply.

  ‘Ry? What the fuck? They’re saying you might have killed some woman?’

  ‘What woman?’

  ‘She volunteered at the End of the Line.’

  ‘Laura?’

  ‘No, Janine Thomson. Was she the one you left the Dictaphone with?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You left her a threatening voicemail saying you were coming to see her and then she was found dead.’

  I looked up at the sky, closed my eyes and laughed. She’d beaten me again. Time and time again I had underestimated Laura, and time and time again she had proved me wrong. Whatever she had done now, she had well and truly got me. My name meant nothing, so there was no point in trying to clear it.

  ‘In a moment, I’m going to email you something,’ I replied. ‘Look after Mum and Dad for me and tell them I’m sorry. I love you, bro.’

  ‘Ry, what are you—’

  I hung up, sent Johnny the email I’d spent much of the night composing, turned off my phone and slipped it back inside my jacket.

  I’d begun my search for Laura because I’d wanted answers as to why my wife had killed herself. But in my three confrontations with Laura, I’d been too busy trying to get revenge to actually ask her. I made my peace with the fact that I was never going to know.

  I walked slowly in the direction of a fence that cordoned off the cliff’s edge. I imagined holding Charlotte’s hand in one hand and our son Daniel’s in the other, and talking with her one last time.

  ‘Did you have second thoughts when you got this far?’ I asked.

  No. I was sure it was what I wanted.

  ‘Did you think about me?’

  Yes, of course I did. I love you.

  ‘Did you talk to the baby?’

  Yes, I told him I was sorry and that we would be all right.

  ‘What was the last thing you thought about?’

  Our wedding day and when we all went out into the gardens to light the Chinese lanterns. Do you remember? We threw them up into the air and watched as they floated across the fields and into the distance. If I could go back and remain in any one moment forever, it would be right then.

  ‘Why did you leave me?’

  It wasn’t your fault. It was what I had to do.

  Only now, by following in Charlotte’s footsteps, could I understand that she wasn’t being selfish in taking her own life. No suicidal person is. Like I was now, she truly believed in her heart of hearts that sometimes it is all there is left to do.

  And as I climbed over the fence and walked my last few steps towards the cliff’s edge, I stared into the horizon and let the wind blow through my hair. I closed my eyes, so that all I could see were the oranges and reds of the sun on my eyelids, and all I could feel were the soft, warm hands of my wife and son.

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you or convince you to stay. I hope before you died that you found a way to forgive me for letting you down, as I forgive you. I love you.’

  I love you too, Ryan.

  I smiled as we all fell together.

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER ONE

  LAURA – TWO MONTHS AFTER RYAN

  The Mayor of Northampton smiled as she pulled the rope cord that opened a small pair of red curtains. The photographer’s flash lit up the heavy gold chain of office hanging from her neck as she, myself and the area manager of End of the Line posed for pictures either side of the copper-plated plaque.

  Janine Thomson House, it read. In memory of our friend and colleague.

  A small gathering of staff from our office, and some faces I didn’t recognise, representing neighbouring county branches, joined us to mourn our loss as I perched on the steps outside the building. I wasn’t sure if I was feeling jittery because I’d been asked to speak in fro
nt of a crowd or because Tony was standing just a few metres away from me. It was only the second time I’d seen him since poor Janine’s sudden demise.

  I’d attempted to make contact by text and I’d left several messages on his phone, but he’d yet to call me back. Seeing him brought my skin out in goosebumps, and just thinking about our future made me want to burst into a broad grin. But I stopped myself; it wasn’t the time or the place for that.

  I wondered why Effie and Alice weren’t with him. I’d watched them a month earlier from my seat way back inside the church at Janine’s funeral. The order of service looked nice among the others in my black bag. My girls were sitting in the second row with their father, close to the heart of Janine’s family. It was a little excessive – it wasn’t as if there had been anything serious between her and Tony. He’d just been using her to get at me: to teach me a lesson . . . showing me that I needed to be a good wife, a better wife.

  Once Janine’s bulk was reduced to a pile of ashes, I’d texted Effie to offer her an olive branch, but she was still wallowing in self-pity. She didn’t seem to understand that putting the recording of her and Ryan’s conversation online had been a necessary sacrifice. But patching up our relationship wasn’t my priority right now – it was Tony. Once we were together, the rest of the fragmented pieces of my family would fall into place.

  I guessed he needed to keep up the facade of the grieving boyfriend for now. I wore the copper-coloured earrings and matching necklace he’d bought me for our ninth wedding anniversary, and the black dress I’d worn on our last night out together at his work Christmas party. Back then he couldn’t wait to get me out of it as he pushed me up against the filing cabinets in his office and eased his way inside me. His face had been contorted with lust, miles away from how he looked today. Only he and I knew this was an act.

  Next it was my turn to speak at Janine’s ceremony. I unfolded a piece of paper from my pocket, cleared my throat and began to read aloud.

  ‘Good morning, everyone, and on behalf of End of the Line, thank you for coming.’

  I glanced in an appropriately solemn manner at the people around me. Tony was the only one whose stare was cold and intense.

  ‘The horrific death of our dear friend Janine shocked her close friends, co-workers, and the rest of the country, too,’ I continued. ‘She had dedicated her career to helping others with her generous spirit, kind nature and charity work. And she was repaid for that devotion with a brutal attack that ended her life so very, very prematurely. Unfortunately, we at End of the Line were unable to help the troubled man responsible for her death and, as you will no doubt be aware, he took his own life rather than face the consequences of his actions. But the events of that awful day prove just how necessary a safe haven like our charity is for people who are desperate for someone to listen. That is why we have named this building after Janine Thomson as a reminder to others that we are always here to hear you.’

  I dabbed the crocodile tears pooling in the corner of my eye with a tissue, when a polite ripple of applause began. As we made our way inside, a morbid fascination made everyone’s heads turn towards the closed door of the room where Janine had breathed her last.

  When the police had eventually allowed us access to it, I’d been the one to organise everything from its professional clean-up to the fitting of new locks. I was also the only person to have an extra key, and sometimes, on my way out following a shift, I’d take time to sit in the exact same spot on the sofa where Janine died. I’d close my eyes and relive our confrontation. The thud of the hammer against her head and her last, desperate gasp for air – sometimes I remembered it as clearly as if she were still next to me.

  In the conference room at the back of the building, I’d provided the food for the buffet using a little of the money donated in the wake of Janine’s death. The story of how the kind-hearted charity worker had been beaten to death with a hammer at her place of work had made national newspaper headlines, and more than £100,000 in donations came flooding in from well-wishers. It irked me at first that she was being held up as a heroine and that I could never take credit for that money, but eventually I made my peace with it. In the end, I’d won.

  Also making the news was the man accused of murdering her. Ryan Smith’s DNA had been found on the murder weapon and a screwed-up photo of me was discovered in the neighbouring yard. It was assumed I’d been his intended victim until a voicemail from Ryan was discovered on Janine’s phone threatening that she ‘owed’ him.

  Ryan’s car was later located abandoned in the same place as his wife’s, and with the assumption he’d followed in her footsteps over the cliff’s edge. I only wish I’d caught his last, desperate breath, as I had his wife’s.

  Kevin and Zoe approached me to tell me how much Janine would have appreciated my speech, but they knew as well as I did that she’d have hated the fact that I had given it. I looked around the room to see if Mary had changed her mind and joined us, but after finding Janine’s body she couldn’t bring herself to set foot in our building again.

  Suddenly I became aware that Tony wasn’t there either. I hurried outside and caught him further up the road, his car keys in his hand.

  ‘Tony!’ I shouted. ‘Please wait.’

  He paused and held his back to me before turning. He seemed angry and I couldn’t think why.

  ‘You didn’t stay for the drinks.’

  ‘That was a nice speech,’ he replied.

  ‘Thank you. I thought it best to keep it brief.’

  ‘It’s a shame you didn’t mean a word of it.’ His directness caught me unawares.

  ‘Can you blame me?’ I asked. ‘I’d heard the two of you had been dating behind my back. But while Janine and I may not have seen eye to eye, that doesn’t matter now. Death is a great leveller and nobody deserves what happened to her.’

  ‘Spare me, Laura. I know how you think. You could barely keep a straight face as you read that script out.’

  I didn’t want to argue with him, despite his best efforts to pick a fight.

  ‘How are the girls?’ I continued. ‘It feels like an eternity since I last saw them. I’ve left them voicemails but they haven’t called me back yet.’

  ‘And what does that tell you?’

  ‘I was thinking of popping by the house—’

  He moved closer to me. ‘You are not coming anywhere near them, do you hear me?’ he growled. ‘You have done enough to fuck them up already.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Is this still about Effie and her teacher?’

  ‘What else would it be about? She told me everything. How he tried to groom her and how you warned her not to tell me. I’m her bloody father! I had a right to know!’

  I bet she hasn’t told you everything, I thought. If she was anything like her mum, she’d have remained tight-lipped over being a willing party in setting Ryan up, knowing full well he wasn’t a paedophile.

  ‘I dealt with it,’ I replied. ‘I was trying to show you I’m ready to be a good parent again.’

  ‘A good parent would’ve told me. A good parent would not have publicly humiliated their daughter by posting the recording on Facebook for the world to hear.’

  ‘The school was taking too long to handle it.’

  ‘Did you know she’s now being home-schooled because the bullying became so bad?’

  ‘No. But if you’d answered my messages, perhaps I could’ve helped her.’

  He raised his voice. ‘How could you have helped when this is all your fault in the first place? I know what he was accusing you of saying to those callers. So what that bastard did to my daughter and Janine is because of what you started.’

  Something about his expression told me he had his regrets, too, but quite what they were I couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Everything I have ever done is because I love you and our family. All I want is for us to be back together again. Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘No, Laura, everything you do is for your own good and i
t always has been. Everyone else is just collateral damage in the fight to get what you want.’

  ‘I may have made a few mistakes along the way,’ I conceded, ‘but this all began because you broke our family up.’

  ‘And it was the best thing I ever did, because the girls and Henry are in a safer environment without you. You are a bad force in all of our lives. Janine was a kind woman and worth a hundred of you. The only good thing to come about from her death is that people will remember her for the wonderful person she was.’

  Not for much longer, I thought. In taking her iPad from her handbag the afternoon she died, I had access to the typed list of passwords she’d saved because she was too stupid to remember them. And that included both her bank details and those of End of the Line. Shortly before she met her maker, I’d transferred £40,000 from the charity’s account to her own. A further £5,000 had been deposited into her online gambling accounts. It would be a few more weeks before the accountants began their annual audits, and it wouldn’t take long to trace the missing money.

  I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. ‘Tony, this isn’t the time or place to have this discussion,’ I continued. ‘Why don’t you come around to the house tonight and we’ll talk properly.’

  ‘No, Laura. You’re not getting it, are you?’ He sounded exasperated. ‘I don’t ever want to be in that house or anywhere near you again. You are poison.’

  ‘Eight o’clock,’ I replied. ‘Come round for then and I’ll make us something nice to eat.’

  He shook his head as he approached his car and drove away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LAURA – THREE MONTHS AFTER RYAN

  There weren’t many mourners at Ryan’s funeral – a dozen at best and probably all family, from what I could see, although my view from inside the car wasn’t clear. There had been at least twice that number at Chantelle’s, and she was a filthy drug addict. But then who would want to be seen in public bidding a final farewell to an accused paedophile and murderer? It wouldn’t reflect greatly on anyone.